A Priest's Loyalty

It has been almost two weeks since I wrote to my parish priest to tell him that I was excusing myself from membership in the parish I love because I could no longer accept the institutional homophobia of the Church and at the same time maintain my personal integrity. I copied the priest-in-residence in the e-mail. Both of these men know me quite well. As of today, I have not received a response from either priest.

I am frankly not sure whether I am surprised or not by their silence. I do know that I am disappointed. And although I do not like to admit this, I am hurt. I feel as if I have been left in the cold; it may even be that they are glad to be rid of me because my absence means there will be no more letters or comments on the Church and homosexuality. Or they may have sought advice from the Chancery and been told that the best response is no response; after all, this guy has chosen not to accept the wise teachings of Mother Church.

Anyway, although I am obviously feeling sorry for myself over this, and these feelings certainly cannot be separated from what I write here, the purpose of this post is not to elicit sympathy (after all, it was I who made the decision to withdraw; I was not kicked out of the parish) - so please do not offer any. It is rather to muse about what might be going on in the minds of these two men. And I do mean muse - or speculate - as I am in no way privy to their thoughts, nor am I a psychologist.

Both of these priests are Vietnamese; both of them came to Canada in the 1980s as refugees under very difficult and dangerous circumstances. Both come from devoutly religious families. My pastor has one brother who is a priest and two sisters who are nuns. The priest-in-residence has a brother who is a Benedictine monk about to be ordained a priest. The two fathers are outgoing and intelligent; each has a wonderful sense of humour. They are warm and thoughtful and appear to be happy in their chosen vocation.

At one time I believed that there was a budding friendship between myself and each of these men. We went to lunch a couple of times, I helped them to edit documents they wrote, and the pastor even once sent me a Christmas card in which he wrote that he thanked God for our friendship - I was touched by his message and kept the card for a long time. While they remained warm to me in church, the "friendship" seemed suddenly to cease. About a year and a half ago I suggested to the pastor that it had been some time since we had had lunch together and that it was about time we made a date; I was quite cleverly put off. Again, perhaps they were advised by fellow priests or by the Chancery that it was not wise to get too close to a gay man.

In my study of Chinese culture (I have a B.A. in Chinese language and and M.A. in contemporary Chinese literature and taught Chinese history and culture for a number of years in a Vancouver college) I learned that Vietnam and Korea were two countries that were most strongly within China's sphere of influence. These countries,which were "tribute states" to the Chinese emperor, adopted the Chinese writing system and, most importantly, Confucian ideology. One of the most enduring features of Confucianism, which looked to China's past for examples of ideal attitudes and behaviours, has been an emphasis on patriarchal authoritarianism. In addition, in these East Asian countries, loyalty and service to the group - family, clan, village - take precedence over the rights and interests of the individual. Finally, in the 1980s Vietnam was still very much a communist country. When I was a student in China in the mid-seventies, before the economic reforms and the open-door policy instituted later in the decade, a characteristic of communism that I found surprising - for a supposedly radical, left-wing ideology - was its puritanism. It is interesting that Karol Wojtyla, who became Pope John Paul II, also came from a very conservative, communist-dominated country.

All this is to say that my two priests are not culturally disposed to accept homosexuality, to recognize the rights and interests of one individual over those of the group (i.e. the Church), and to do or say anything that might be construed as going against authority. They are also culturally predisposed not to offend. So what do they do when someone they may like personally - and who is older than both of them - presents a compelling argument that is in conflict with their belief system? Where a priest from a Western country might express sympathy for the dilemma the protester finds himself in but kindly yet firmly remind that protester of the inerrant teaching of the Church, my guys take the only option that fits within their cultural paradigm: silence. If my somewhat speculative but also somewhat educated theory is even partially correct, it goes to show how powerful these cultural predispositions can be: both priests have been in this country for nearly thirty years.

Regardless of the reasons for the silence of these priests, I cannot help but wonder at the woeful pastoral inadequacy of a priesthood that is unable or unwilling to come to the aid of a soul in distress even when that soul is constitutionally unable to accept one of the doctrines of the Church.

In the two weeks since I withdrew from my parish, I have felt the loss keenly. Yet I am also beginning to experience a kind of liberation. The Church has unwittingly freed me to explore other options like the Old Catholic Church, which welcomes everyone without judgment, and gay-friendly Anglican communities. No matter which option I choose, however, I believe that if I were ever fortunate enough to find a Roman Catholic parish in which the pastor was truly modern and truly pastoral, I would return in a heartbeat.

The Third Miracle: A Review

As mentioned in an earlier post, I love priest movies. The Third Miracle is one of my favourites. The film, directed by Agnieszka Holland, tells the story of a Chicago priest, Father Frank Shore (played by Ed Harris), whose faith was badly shaken when a popular priest he was investigating for sainthood turned out to be a Satanist and a depressive who likely committed suicide. Father Shore is brought back from the flophouse he has installed himself in and is ordered by the bishop to gather the facts in a new case, that of Helen O’Reagan, an ordinary but pious woman who is credited with causing a statue to shed tears of blood, blood which has apparently already cured one young girl of lupus. The statue only bleeds when it rains and only in November, the month in which Helen O’Reagan died.

Early in the course of the investigation, Father Shore meets Helen’s daughter Roxane (Anne Heche), who is bitter because her mother abandoned her at the age of sixteen to enter a convent. Roxane is dismissive of sainthood in general and of her mother’s cause in particular, but in their first meeting a spark is lit between her and the postulator; soon it is not only Father Shore’s faith that is in danger. Just as relations between the two characters begin to seriously heat up, however, the case for Helen’s sainthood is strengthened by the evidence that the blood shed by the statue is not only real, it is Helen’s type. The priest makes the choice to plead Helen’s cause to Rome, and Roxane is left in the lurch.

The second part of the film deals with the tribunal that is held in the Chicago archdiocese. Two cardinals and an archbishop preside. The archbishop (Armin Mueller-Stahl), a rigid and arrogant German, is opposed to Helen’s cause and hostile to the postulator Shore. During the tribunal the girl who was supposedly cured of lupus several years earlier and who is now an addict and prostitute, is brought back from death; this becomes the first official miracle attributed to Helen. In the end we learn that the German archbishop was present when another miracle occurred. He was a young German soldier in a Slovak town bombed by the Allies late in World War II. During one bombing raid, he witnessed a young girl pray to a statue of the Virgin Mary in the town square and the bombs immediately turn into flocks of pigeons. The young girl was Helen O’Reagan. Father Shore’s case appears to be on its way to being made.

At the end of the movie, we see Frank Shore, three years after the tribunal, as an ordinary, and obviously very content, parish priest who has just given First Communion to a group of children. Suddenly as the children run off, he sees Roxane, who now has a baby. They speak pleasantly and then go their separate ways.

The Third Miracle was reviewed by Stephen Holden of The New York Times when it came out in late 1999. I have seen the movie several times and respectfully disagree with Mr. Holden’s assessment. Here is some of what he says:

One of the problems of ''The Third Miracle''…is that it wants to have it both ways. By showing a statue of the Virgin Mary dripping with blood and portraying the sudden miraculous recovery of a teenage prostitute from a coma, it seems to confirm the faith of believers. The tone of the rest of the film, however, is deeply skeptical.

As the debate over Helen's eventual canonization intensifies, Father Shore, who argues in her behalf, goes up against Archbishop Werner (Armin Mueller-Stahl), an imperious European cleric, and the movie becomes bogged down in fussy theological arguments and an investigation into Helen's childhood in Slovakia during World War II. Even given its rich, finely shaded performances and intellectual subtleties, ''The Third Miracle'' ends up feeling more like an exercise, a carefully outlined set of variations on a challenging theme, than a movie that had to be made.

This film is not about “the faith of believers,” nor is the tone sceptical, even though some of the main characters are. Moreover, there are no “fussy theological arguments” in the movie and it decidedly does not involve “a carefully outlined set of variations on a challenging theme.” The Third Miracle is the story of a man—a priest—who has lost, and who recovers, his faith. It is interesting that the reviewer does not give us his take on the movie’s title. What is the “third miracle”? To me it is quite clear: the miracle is Father Shore’s rediscovered faith and vocation as a priest.

There are a number of serious flaws in this movie, the worst of which are several outrageous coincidences. The first of these occurs when Father Shore is visiting the police precinct his late father worked in. We hear some commotion and, lo and behold, Roxane is brought in wearing handcuffs and loudly protesting her innocence over an alleged traffic violation. This incredible chance meeting sets up the scenes to follow in which the priest begins to fall for Roxane. An entire set of coincidences involves the German archbishop who just happened to be present at the miracle which could decide the sainthood of Helen O’Reagan, and who just happens to be a prominent member of the Vatican congregation that decides on sainthood, and who just happens to be in the U.S. on a lecture tour when the tribunal is called. Another problem with the film has to do with stereotypes: Archbishop Werner is an almost ridiculous caricature of an imperious German, and Bishop Cahill of Shore’s diocese is the stereotypical well-fed, well-connected prince of the Church who cares more for appearance and his own power and position than he does for his priests or his flock.

What makes this movie work—at least for me—in spite of the rather serious issues noted above, are the performances of Harris and Heche. I never doubt for a second that Frank Shore is a good man who is in a painful struggle for his faith; the man wants to believe, to conquer his doubts, to be a real priest. Harris takes us on a tour of the symptoms and manifestations of this struggle: the anguish, the anger, the weakness, the despair, the hope, and finally the peace. Heche is both beautiful and magnificent in her role as Roxane. The combined cynicism and vulnerability of this woman can be seen in every gesture and every facial expression. Her bitterness and her need for love can be heard in every word she speaks. I have not seen Anne Heche in other films, but if this performance is an indication of her talent, she is a fine actress indeed.

The Third Miracle does not romanticize the priesthood, nor does it (intentionally) caricaturize or ridicule it. Frank Shore is a real man in a real life crisis who is given an opportunity for redemption by striving for something much greater than he is. It is in the striving rather than winning that the miracle of redemption takes place.

Two Priests

I met him only on a handful of occasions and spoke with him once on the phone. I likely heard more about him from my parents and my sister than I actually experienced of him first-hand. Yet Father Bob, the beloved priest who regularly visited my parents' village church from his own parish 55 kilometres away, said Mass, and socialized with the parishioners, left a deep and lasting impression on me.

One was first struck by his appearance, which was most unpriestlike. In the good weather he wore running shoes, baggy shorts, usually in some wild colour or ridiculous pattern, and a tee-shirt. To say Mass he would throw on a clean white alb and a stole with the liturgical colour of the day; I never saw him wear a chasuble (but them I only saw him in the summer). Throughout the hot summer months his "thirty-degree rule" was in effect: no homily if the temperature was over thirty degrees. And by the time any member of the congregation reached the church stairs after Mass, Father was already there in his shorts and tee, smoking his ubiquitous cigarette.


I imagine that no one, not even the bishop, had seen him in a Roman collar in years.

Father Bob died of cancer in January 2008. Shortly after his passing and the funeral Masses that followed, my father, already in the early stages of Alzheimer's, touched me deeply by sending me a copy of Father's obituary, which he had clipped from the local newspaper. On it - thoughtfully, in the tiny spaces between the tiny paragraphs - he had scribbled, "Thought you might appreciate this. Dad." I wonder how he had known how much I would appreciate both his simple, loving gesture and having this memento of a man I so admired. My father died in December of that year.

In addition to the usual biographical information, Father Bob's obituary said the following: "There was no pretense about the man. He lived very simply, spoke by both his words and example, and had a special gift of ministering to children. His droll humour, sharp wit, and empathy for those less fortunate will long be cherished."

The lack of pretense and the simple living were certainly reflected in the dress, both secular and liturgical, and also in the pleasures he took. He loved to sit in his garden at the rectory and meditate and he loved to stay in the little house beside my parents' church that had originally been built for catechism classes but was later renovated for the use of the visiting priests. He enjoyed drinking coffee - and smoking - with the men of the parish, and certainly appreciated a glass of wine - or two. There were very few children in the parish as my parents' village is more and more being populated with the retired; what children and young people there are do not attend the Catholic church. But it was commonly known in the parish that Father Bob loved his nieces and nephews; he once broke his collar bone playing football with them. He liked football too.

Father's obituary left out an important aspect of his character: his integrity. Bob was his own man, not the bishop's man, not his Basilian superior's man. He said what he believed and what he believed did not always conform to the "party line" of the hierarchical Church. In one of the few homilies I was able to hear him deliver, he stated that if the Church expected to attract young people into the pews, fundamental changes had to be made. When a Basilian colleague with whom he shared the duties of administration of the parish was transferred back to the southern United States, Father Bob made it clear that he was not going to be transferred. He liked being right where he was, and if anyone tried to move him, he would simply retire, which he was old enough to do. He knew how desperate the diocese was in its need for priests.

It is said that when the hard-line traditionalist Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger was elected pope, Father Bob openly expressed his disapproval. My sister, considering returning to the church after many years of lapse, told Father that if she came back she wanted nothing to do with confession. His reply was that she shouldn't worry: confession was highly overrated anyway. And in a telephone conversation I had with him after he had read one of my scripts, we talked a bit about the local seminary; he informed me that he did not like that institution and was not at all impressed with the product it turned out. In the same conversation he expressed his disgust over the Vatican's treatment of women. Then he wondered aloud why the bishop let him get away with so much.

When I met Father Bob, I had recently read Father Dominic Grassi's book Still Called by Name: Why I Love Being a Priest. I had just returned to the Church and was already thinking of the priesthood; Father Grassi, a diocesan priest in Chicago, was a real human being, an approachable man with strong emotions and with doubts and flaws, who loved people, loved God, and loved his vocation. He was nothing like the pastor of my youthful Catholicism, and I wanted to be a priest like him.

Still Called by Name is a collection of stories that reveal a multitude of facets of Father Grassi's personality, his ministry, and his relationship with his family and friends. It is by turns humourous, touching, enlightening, and inspiring. The accounts are also unfailingly honest. In the second chapter, "Remembering Faces," he laments his chronic inability to remember names:

I, on the other hand, really struggle with names. Sometimes during the course of a meeting with someone, I forget the person's name. Once I tried to fake it while helping a couple fill out their wedding questionnaire. I had drawn a blank on the name of the bride, whom I had just met, so I asked, "Spell your name for me please, so I get the right variation." She hesitated and then smiled at me, saying sweetly but quizzically: "M-A-R-Y." Oh, well, it was a nice try.

In another chapter, entitled "Passion and the Priesthood," he says:

When I laugh it is out loud. I cry often. I am quick to anger. And I love deeply. The only priesthood I know is one filled with passion. It does wear me out. It might even shorten my life span. But it is only by being passionate that I can be the effective priest I have to be.

In a recent article in America Magazine, Monsignor David Rubino offered to young clergy advice he had gathered "from among their retired brothers" in the Bishop Michael J. Murphy Residence for Retired Priests in Erie, Pa. The advice included Be yourself ("Learn from [your parishioners] and with them. Otherwise, your efforts to prove yourself rather than be yourself may obliterate the 'real you' from your priesthood.") Practice sacrificing self ("...practice becoming a better person and a better priest by sacrificing your self, as well as those petty things attached to your self-definition.") Be easy on the folks ("Smile and take it easy. People should not be harshly judged. Tenderly wait on your people and be present to them.") And much more. From the nature of the advice Msgr. Rubino offers in this article, it is not difficult to discern that he is also "a priest of the people." His excellent piece would have been splendidly crowned with one more suggestion: Read Father Grassi's book.


Despite their self-admitted personal weaknesses and spiritual doubts, Father Bob and Father Grassi have both maintained an unshakable belief in God's love for his children and in the gentle healing power of grace in the face of suffering and pain. The essence of the priesthood of each of these men has been its humanity; they have been servants of the people of God in the fullest sense. Neither was - is - a slavish adherent to Church tradition or a yes-man to autocratic Church leaders.

As I have stated in other posts, I am fascinated by priests and the priesthood - by the Roman collar, by the vestments, by the priest in celebration of the liturgy of the Mass. This fascination is perhaps one aspect of being a liturgy queen. I really don't know. Father Bob wore no collar, was casual about vestments, and said Mass in the simplest possible way. Father Grassi says of himself: "Neither hero nor saint, but also neither tragic loser or addicted idealist, I am just an ordinary person who still finds incredible joy, profound awe, silencing mystery, and overwhelming peace as a priest." Nevertheless, I am more in awe of these two men than I have been of any other priest.

I do not know what drew me as a child to the priesthood if the attraction was not simply to the theatrical. I was not exposed to priests like Father Bob and Father Grassi. The pastor of the church we attended during my childhood and adolescence does not in retrospect strike me as a particularly holy man or as especially pastoral. He was cool and remote as a person and neither liturgically nor homiletically inspiring as a priest. Without a true priestly model, it is no wonder then that at the age of 13 I was not at all prepared for the hard realities of seminary life and left (or was asked to leave) after only two months. My passion for the priesthood went underground after that experience.

It has been gloriously revived by these two men, who in my humble judgment, are true holy fathers.