TIME: Almanac 1995

home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search

/ TIME: Almanac 1995 / TIME Almanac 1995.iso / time / 122694 / 12269910.000 < prev next >

Wrap

Text File | 1995-02-20 | 11.8 KB | 237 lines

<text id=94TT1807> <title> Dec. 26, 1994: Man of the Year:Tale of One Parish </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994 Dec. 26, 1994 Man of the Year:Pope John Paul II </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> COVER/MAN OF THE YEAR, Page 74 Tale of One Parish </hdr> <body> St. Gertrude's struggles with the question of being Catholic while disagreeing with the Pope By Jon D. Hull/Chicago At St. Gertrude's Church on Chicago's North Side, even the traditional Mass is a little too hip for some old-timers. "I miss the Latin Mass; it just seemed more reverent," says Raymond Seitz, 68, who married into the middle-class parish in 1950 and is still smarting from the seismic Vatican II reforms of the early 1960s. "And when they started ending the Mass with this `peace be with you' stuff, where you have to shake your neighbors' hands or kiss them, well, that didn't go over well at all." But at St. Gertrude's, the 10 a.m. Mass is downright stuffy compared with the alternative 10:30 Mass held each Sunday in the adjacent parish gymnasium. It features folk music and an open dialogue between priest and parishioners during the homily. "When they started that folk Mass I was waiting for John Wayne to come down the aisle on a horse singing `Yippee-yi-yo-ti-yay!'" grumbles Seitz, a member of the parish council. "They say, `Oh, you old fogies, all you want to do is hear the 45-minute Mass and get out.' But we go to church to pray and meditate. We don't want to listen to pop music." Liberal parishioners counter that they don't want to petrify in their pews listening to stodgy sermons, which is why the "gym Mass" attracts about 80 mostly young worshippers a week. Keeping both factions happy is the delicate challenge that confronts Father William Kenneally and thousands of other priests like him throughout the U.S., who must minister to the world's most rambunctious group of Catholics. That tumult is reflected in the way American Catholics view the Pope. A TIME poll shows John Paul II enjoying a 74% approval rating. However, 73% of Catholics also feel they can make up their own minds on such issues as birth control. In fact, 89% believe it is possible to disagree with the Pope and still be a good Catholic--a stance that John Paul II would vigorously contest. Caught between pre-Vatican II conservatives who threaten to leave the church if the Mass is further altered and liberals who find the current liturgy too limiting, Kenneally, 59, must regularly supplement prayers with politicking. "The challenge for me is not in being between the church hierarchy and the ordinary people but in being between the flanks of the ordinary people," he says. Especially when the ordinary people have such deep and conflicting feelings about the church hierarchy. Stocked with Irish and German Catholics when it first opened in 1912, the middle-class parish on the city's northern edge is increasingly filled with Asians, African Americans and Hispanics. That influx has not been enough to offset the impact of smaller families and the exodus of many parishioners fleeing rising crime. Since Mass attendance peaked in 1975 at about 2,700, it has steadily declined 5% a year. Kenneally decided to start the gym Mass just months after he arrived at the parish in 1984 as a way to lure back Catholics who considered the traditional Mass too male-dominated, or intimidating, or simply boring. "Folks who are divorced, as well as gays, lesbians and feminists, might find a home in the gym Mass," says pastoral associate Peter Buttitta. The informal service, which can include dance performances by children, offers open discussion between priest and parishioners on topics ranging from feminism to divorce. "There is much more of a sense of warmth and community," says Judy Pier, 50. "The bigger church feels much colder and anonymous." Conservatives remain baffled--at best. "I attended it once," says Dorothy Papachristos, 43. "It was so liberal! They talk openly about a lot of things that the church teaches against." Over the past decade, attendance at weekend Mass has fallen from 1,400 to 950. (Nationwide, only 41% of those who call themselves Catholics say they attend weekly Mass.) Kenneally must cope with the challenge of bringing people back into the fold at the same time as he and his fellow pastors face a growing priest shortage. Since Kenneally joined the parish 10 years ago, the number of full-time priests has dropped from four to just one: himself. St. Gertrude's five-year plan identifies one key challenge as "Saving Pastor From Burnout." Kenneally jokes, "Maybe it's my hangdog look." With six different Masses to officiate at each weekend, as well as weddings, baptisms, confessions and funerals, Kenneally must delegate. But to whom? He gets some part-time help. But last summer, when he gingerly suggested that ex-priests--who left holy orders to marry--be allowed to preside over the alternative Mass, the proposal was quickly quashed after angry parishioners complained to the archdiocese. Says Chicago's Joseph Cardinal Bernardin: "It was I who indicated to Father Kenneally that `you are going against church discipline.'" At a meeting in January, church members will debate a proposal to allow lay people to preside over a Communion service once a month using wine and wafers that have been previously consecrated by a priest. Whatever the outcome, Kenneally is certain the church will eventually accept married priests and ordained women. He says, "These things are inevitable." Within the parish, the bitterest battles are usually fought within the hearts of individual parishioners trying to square their own faith with the dictates of Rome. For Bruce Schermerhorn, 47, the struggle escalated when he got divorced in 1976. Remarried by a judge in 1985, he attended Mass regularly without taking Communion. "I've always had an adversarial relationship with the church," he says. Last year, after joining a weekly men's prayer group, he finally decided to take Communion. "Well, I wasn't struck down by a bolt of lightning and the ceiling didn't open up," he says. "The church and I are at odds, but I feel I'm right on this one." Bernie O'Connor, who manages the gym Mass, says, "It's an individual thing. There are no Communion police, so no one will say, `You're divorced!'" Kenneally counsels parishioners to follow their faith in such decisions. Some issues are less controversial. "Nobody ever asks me about birth control," he says. "It's just taken for granted that you do what you've got to do for birth control." For conservatives, who still dominate the parish, Pope John Paul II provides much-needed reinforcement during a period of discomforting ambiguity. Reaction among liberals varies from weary toleration to outright ridicule. "To me, this guy is a saint," says Papachristos. "But my son says he's no good at all. I say 'Where did I go wrong with my son?'" Andrew, 18, considers his mom a little closed-minded and counters, "The church has to keep changing or it will lose people." The church already is changing, whether Rome likes it or not. "We are the church," says Mary Anne Barry, 71, whose faith remains unshaken by her strong differences with the Vatican. "I'm really not an admirer of John Paul II," she says. "He still thinks that sexual sins--I call those pelvic sins--are the big going-to-hell sins, and I don't believe that." Mike Tobin, a deeply committed Catholic who helped organize the gym Mass, says, "Rome is very irrelevant to me. I'm thankful the Pope helped shut down communism, but in many ways I disagree with most of what he says. There are a lot of goofy rules." However, even liberals have sympathy for Joseph Cardinal Bernardin. "I just love him," says Barry. "I know he's in the hot seat because he has to keep Rome happy, but I really respect him." Kenneally commends Bernardin for not making his own job more difficult. "It would be tough under some of the other bishops, but Bernardin believes that pastors are the ones in the trenches, and he lets us do our job," he says. "He's extraordinarily sensitive." Says Bernardin: "No good bishop would want any of his priests to experience a burnout." While some parishioners struggle mightily with the seeming contradictions of their faith, most are too busy trying to raise families and pay bills to debate the finer points of papal policy. For them, faith is not about obeying the latest encyclical from Rome but rather about God and Jesus and the search for meaning in everyday life. The parish is about community in a society where fellowship seems harder and harder to find. At the men's Friday-morning prayer group, half a dozen men grapple with issues ranging from faith to careers. At the women's Tuesday-morning spiritual meeting, talk whipsaws from God to child care, jobs and Pap smears. Few parishioners have read the new catechism published in English or John Paul II's book Crossing the Threshold of Hope. Says Kenneally: "Nobody reads papal documents here." Especially not the youth. At St. Gertrude's, as elsewhere, Catholic youth are particularly at risk: American pop culture lures them out of the pews even as the Vatican's conservative stance repels many of them. "When I talk to the youth about the Pope they say, `He doesn't get it. He doesn't have a clue,'" says Joe Swearingen, 57, who teaches youth religious classes. Swearingen sometimes agrees, and fears the church is losing touch with the young. "We lost three kids to a big Pentecostal church that has a Christian rock band," he complains. Swearingen tries to teach teens that it's cool to be Catholic, no matter how out of touch the leadership might seem. Not all his lessons are by the book. "When it comes to sex, I tell them the church says the only way is total abstinence, but if I know they are not doing that, I'll give them advice on how to protect themselves," he says. "I'd rather be dealing with a live sinner than a dead child." That is not Swearingen's only unorthodox act. A strong believer in both married and female clergy, he also indulges in an occasional pipe ceremony to honor his Native American roots. "I'm a faithful dissenter to the Pope," he says with a smile. "Like most people, I make choices about what I will or will not accept in church teachings. If they throw me out the front door I'll just sneak back in through the side door." No problem. At St. Gertrude's, the side door is always open. QUESTION: Does "too conservative" describe Pope John Paul II? <table> <tblhdr><cell><cell>August 1993<cell>December 1994 <row><cell type=a>Yes<cell type=i>58%<cell type=i>50% </table> Is the Pope infallible when he teaches formally on matters of religious faith, such as the divinity of Christ? Yes 45% No 45% Is the Pope infallible when he teaches formally on matters of morals, such as birth control and abortion? Yes 38% No 56% Is it possible to disagree with the Pope and still be a good Catholic? Yes 89% No 8% Do you favor: <table> <row><cell type=a>Allowing Catholic priests to be married<cell type=i>66% <row><cell>Allowing women to be priests<cell>59% <row><cell>Allowing divorced Catholics to marry in the church<cell>70% </table> From a telephone poll of 507 adult American Catholics taken for TIME/CNN on Dec. 7-8 by Yankelovich Inc. Sampling error is plus or minus 4.4%. </body> </article> </text>