ROMERO, SCRUTINIES, AND MORE

I am in San Pedro Sula today, preparing for my third round of chemotherapy treatments. But the last four days have been adventuresome.

MONSEÑOR ROMERO 

Friday was the feast of Saint Óscar Romero, bishop and martyr of El Salvador. This year there was a major celebration in the aldea of El Zapote Santa Rosa in our parish.

A young man in the community, Darling, is a grand devotee of Monseñor Romero and arranged the Mass with people in their village.

The church was packed. Darling and his brother Ronal provided the music.

We sang the Misa Popular Salvadoreña, a quite intense Mass composed by Guillermo Cuellar. We even sang the grand Gloria which Romero mentioned in his last Sunday homily, with these intense verses.

Pero los dioses del poder y del dinero 

se oponen a que haya transfiguración. 

Por eso ahora vos, Señor, sos el primero 

en levantar tu brazo contra la opresión. 

But the gods of power and wealth 

oppose the Transfiguration. 

Therefore, you, Lord, are now the first  

to lift up your arm against oppression.

This Gloria reflects the central role of the Transfiguration of the Lord in El Salvador, whose national feast day is August 6, the feast of the Transfiguration. 

I think that there is also a subtle – or not so subtle – reference to the statue of the Divine Savior in the Plaza El Salvador del Mundo in San Salvador...

... and perhaps a hint of the revolutionary raising of the fist against oppression. Note this image of Mary of the Magnificat.

It was a good afternoon and I even had the privilege to preach at the Mass.

PREGNANT WOMEN 

Saturday, Padre German had a Mass for pregnant women in Dulce Nombre. I had forgotten about this and so didn’t attend. This was probably for the best since Sunday was busy. In addition, I had to work on the material for our parish stations of the cross.

CATECHUMENS AND SCRUTINIES

Sunday was busy – but in a very positive way.

At 9 am I found myself in Vertientes, a mountain aldea.

They have nine young people preparing to be baptized at the Easter Vigil. It’s the largest group from a single village. Of these, five are eighteen or older.

This year we have permission from the bishop for the pastor to confirm those catechumens who are 18 or older at the Vigil. This is the tradition in most of the world, but until this year the catechumens only received the sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist at the Vigil. Of the 38 or so catechumens, about 12 will be confirmed at the Vigil this year.

Since we have the catechumens in scattered villages, we try to do the major rites in the main church but we celebrate the scrutinies in the villages. It was with great joy that I could do it in Vertientes. 

But there was another special reason to be there.

One of the catechumens had missed the rite of inscription (or election) in Dulce Nombre on the first Sunday of Lent. This young man and his brother are both preparing for their baptism. Both have some intellectual deficiencies and the younger one sometimes has difficulty focusing. With great affection, I call him our lost sheep.

He came with the group from Vertientes for the rite of election, but he got lost and didn’t arrive at the church until the end of Mass.

When I went to Vertientes the next Sunday, I met him on his way to Dulce Nombre; he seems to have had no sense that I would be there for the rite. In fact, the next day he showed up in Dulce Nombre for a meeting that had nothing to do with the catechumens.

This Sunday, though, he was there. His presence, and the efforts made to include him make real for me Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep.

After the Celebration, I headed home for a few hours before heading out to San Agustín for Mass. 

There also I celebrated the rite of election with a young man who had also missed the rite in Dulce Nombre. (Some liturgists might not approve of all this, but we have to respond to the pastoral needs of people of all types in all types of situations.) 

When I arrived, I found that Padre German was hearing confessions. He is trying to visit all the communities to offer them opportunities for confession during Lent. The lines are often long, as they were in San Agustín.

Mass was supposed to start at 2 o’clock and he was still hearing confessions at 3 pm. 

So, he started Mass, handed over the Liturgy of the Word and the Scrutinies to me, and returned to hear confessions.

It was a great privilege to be able to pray the scrutinies another time – after leading the San Agustín community in the Celebration of the Word and sharing a homily with them. 

I was moved as I prayed, laying my hands on the heads of the three catechumens there in San Agustín.

Padre German emerged at the Offertory (even though there were still a few people waiting for confessions) and he finished the Mass. He’ll return to San Agustín on the morning of Wednesday in Holy Week for confessions for the sick and others.

After Mass, he had a Mass in Plan Grande in thanksgiving for someone’s safe return from abroad. I opted out since I was rather tired. I also had to prepare the texts for our parish Stations of the Cross this coming Friday.

LAB TESTS AND EXPERIENCING VULNERABILITY

Monday morning, I had to get lab tests in Santa Rosa to prepare for another chemotherapy session on Wednesday. I got there late – fasting.

After the test I went to a café to have breakfast. Even after eating I felt a little off and, as I put my computer in my backpack, I fainted. I recovered a bit with two large glasses of water and then decided just to sit and rest. 

All of a sudden, Padre Elias, a priest of the dioceses and director of the radio station, dropped in. The owner of the café had called him to tell him of my fainting. I am moved by her concern and the effort of Padre Elias to accompany me. 

So life goes on with many surprise blessings. 

HOLY WEEK BEGINS

Our parish stations of the cross in the streets of Dulce Nombre is Friday. Next week is full of Holy Week activities. 

I have to evaluate carefully with the pastor what I can do. I don’t want to do either too much or too little.

I have a retreat with the catechumens and their sponsors on Tuesday of Holy Week, but I am already working to involve two other persons in the retreat. (I’m finally learning to share responsibility.) 

There are lots of processions during Holy Week. I won’t be walking in them, though I will probably ride in the car that has the sound equipment and participate in the Masses after the Stations on Friday and on Palm Sunday and the Easter Vigil. 

It’s a great temptation to try to do too much – but learning to recognize my fragility is one of the most important lessons for me this Lent.

Pray for us, especially for the catechumens who will be baptized at the Easter Vigil. May we be signs of hope and resurrection for our parish, our nation, and the world.

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Note: I refer to those who will be baptized at the Easter Vigil as "catechumens," even though they are, at this point really the "elect" - after the rite of election on the First Sunday of Lent. 

Deacons and collars - not again

Returning Thursday from our diocesan clergy retreat, I spent some time going through e-mail and Facebook. On a Facebook page for permanent deacons, I came across a short article on deacons wearing clerical collars by Deacon Dominic Cerrato. I found the article a little shallow, but what troubles me more were many of the comments.

Almost five years ago I wrote on this topic (here and here) and was roundly castigated, even accused of not having a good diaconal formation. (I plead partly guilty to having a very different formation process. I can explain that later.)

So it is with some trepidation, that I return to the subject. I want to open a serious discussion with a few key questions and a few of my initial reflections. There are some initial questions that the collar controversy raises for me.

1 - What is the role, the ministry of the permanent deacon in the church? In particular, what does it mean to be a cleric?

I think this question is basic and is essentially a question of ecclesiology. I don’t deny that deacons are clergy – both those who will later be ordained priests and those who serve in the diaconate as a permanent state. But this does not make us above the other members of the church. 

Most of us don’t hold such an opinion. though Archbishop Crepaldi seems to advocate such, if this note is true. 

A few weeks ago, a friend sent me this translated note from the Facebook page of Salvo Coco. I cannot attest to the translation but the note does indicate a rather separatist notion of the clergy and the deacon: 

A typical example of clerical doctrine can be found in these words of Giampaolo Crepaldi dated September 17, 2022. The deacon's ministry is intended as a sacred role that "separates" and constitutes an exclusion from the common, daily, existential dimension of the community. No trace of Jesus' secularism. The identity of the clergy suppresses the common baptismal dignity because it “separates” (or sacralizes) the so-called ordained ministries. In this perspective the deaconate and even more the presbyterate and the bishop are placed on an ontologically different and hierarchically superior level than the faithful. In this doctrine lies the doctrinal-clerical core that hinders any serious and profound church reform.

I much prefer the discussion of the Scott Detish in Being Claimed by the Eucharist We Celebrate, who writes of the ontological claim, rather ontological difference or change as being a more appropriate way of speaking of this phenomenon. Detisch also notes how this is not exclusive for sacred orders.

…being baptized and confirmed must also be recognized as involving an ontological change, yet church tradition rarely spoke of this and almost exclusively reserved the phrase for ordination. (p. 36)

Another way of looking at this is to note how the deacon is ordained to the ordering of the community and to be a driving force for the diakonia of the whole church. according to both Pope Saint Paul VI and Pope Saint John Paul II.

In the early 1960s, Yves Congar, OP, wrote Power and Poverty in the Church. At several points I see him putting the sacrament of orders in a larger ecclesial perspective:

“St. Paul expressly says that ordained ministers organize the ministry of the saints, that is, of Christians, (Eph 4:23). They organize it, but they also invigorate and animate it and drive it forward. The are the drivers and governors of the Body in the condition of responsibility and universal service that is the Christian condition itself.” (p. 45)

With this understanding, one is ordained for the ordering of the People of God in its evangelization, its charity, and its prayer in common (the liturgy, the work [ergon] of the people [laos]). Thus, the sacrament of orders is for ordering the community and assuring that the Church reflects who it is. It is not insignificant that the diaconate is called to be the animator, the driving force for diakonia, and, as Pope Francis puts it, the custodian of the diakonia of the People of God.

But I think a very serious issue in this discussion is a question that is not addressed directly: what do we mean by "clergy"? 

In his article, Deacon Cerrato states “The absence of clerical attire by deacons sends the unspoken message that deacons aren’t clergy, diminishing not only the diaconate in the broader Catholic imagination but also an ecclesial presence.”

I think that symbols are extremely important, even though they may distort the meaning of reality. Clericals do not make the clergy, even though they may indicate that one is clergy. I wonder if at time they might distort the message. Is there something more fundamental than clericals that should enable people to identify clergy? In addition, the wearing of clericals, even though mandated for priests in canon law and often permitted for seminarians and transitional deacons is a custom that can be changed.

 

2 - Where is the deacon to be found? With whom does he identify? 

Pope Francis has been insistent that the place of the deacon is with those on the margins. the margins of society.

I would suggest that the deacon should be in direct contact with the physically poor. This does not only mean that people come to him but that he is a driving force for the church going out and immersing itself in the poor. 

I am writing this post on the feast of St. Oscar Romero. I believe his ministry can give us a hint of what might be important for us deacons.

At first, he was somewhat of a closed cleric who did respond to the poor and even, at one point, gave away new pants that some had gifted him. But he was noted for his close contacts with people in power.

Yet, when he became bishop of Santiago de María he began listen more closely to poor people who came to him.

While archbishop of San Salvador, he did not wait for people to come to him, but went out to meet them, even eating in their homes. Images of him walking along the railroad tracks amid the shacks surrounded by sisters and the poor. He went out to be among the marginalized.

So, where is the deacon to be found? Among the poor, the marginalized, those cast-aside by society.

Yes, he is with the suffering middle class, but I believe he must be among the poor, the victims of a society in which we, the middle class, profit.

I believe that if a deacon is not in direct contact with the physically poor, something might be missing in our ministry. As Thomas Halik writes in Touch the Wounds:

The painful wounds of our world are Christ’s wounds. If we ignore pain, poverty, and suffering in our world, if we turn a blind eye to them out of indifference or cowardice, if we are unwilling to acknowledge the injuries we inflict (including the injuries inflicted in our churches), and conceal them from others and ourselves with masks, cosmetics, or tranquilizing drugs, then we have no right to say to Christ, like Thomas the apostle when he touched Jesus’s wounds : “My Lord and my God.” (p 10)

And so I continually ask myself, “When was the last time I was in the home of a poor person?” It’s harder for me now, since I’m in treatment for cancer, but I feel it’s a crucial question for a deacon. 

3 – How to be among the marginalized? 

But how are we to be there? 

Not as one who comes from without, but as one to listen, to share, to be a brother to those who are poor, suffering, marginalized. 

For this we need a kenotic spirituality. We need to lower ourselves, become one with the poor and marginalized. We need to recognize that we don’t come as one with the answers, as the well or well-off person to rescue the poor. We come as brothers who share in the fragility of our human condition. 

Sheila Cassidy, a doctor who was tortured in Chile and who later became involved in care for the dying, writes in Sharing the Darkness: The Spirituality of Caring:

More than anything I have discovered that the world is not divided into the sick and those who care for them, but that we are all wounded and that we all contain within our hearts that love which is for the healing of the nations. What we lack is the courage to start giving it away. (p. 11)

We are all wounded - and God can use our wounds and the wounds of others to heal all of us.

Ann so we deacons need to offer a different spirituality, a different way of being and living. 

I would suggest that we need to move away from signs of power and privilege, to be servants of God and the poor. ;

In an essay on the priesthood, “The Man with pierced heart,” Karl Rahner notes that, “Tomorrow's priests will not be those who derive their power from a socially powerful Church, but who have the courage to let the Church make them powerless.” 

This is also a challenge for us permanent deacons. 

4 – What is the right question? Who is the deacon to be? 

I think we are asking the wrong question.

Maybe we should not be spending so much time and energy asking if deacons can and should wear collars.

Maybe we should be asking what is there in our life, our style of living, our ministry that brings us in contact with the marginalized and opens among us a place for grace

I think that when we do this, the question of collars and clericals will become superfluous – or will be easily discerned in individual pastoral circumstances. For the questions will be: 

• How do we stand at the threshold of church and world? 
• How do we live so that the grace of the altar of the liturgy where we serve penetrates the lives of the poor?
• How do we open the doors of the church, enabling the joys and griefs of the marginalized (Gaudium et spes 1) to penetrate the walls of the church gathered in prayer? 

 The central question for me is this:

How do I become an icon of Christ Jesus the Servant, who came not to be served bur to serve and to give his life for the ransom of many? And how can I be this amidst the wretched of the earth?

 

I have no one

“Do you want to be well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me.” Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.”

Monday, I went to the oncologist in San Pedro Sula. My defenses are good, though my platelets are a bit low. We scheduled the third chemotherapy for next Wednesday. 

I returned to Copán and joined the diocesan clergy retreat that had started that afternoon. Tuesday morning at Mass, tears welled up within me as I read the Gospel of the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda. (The ruins of this pool are near the church of Saint Anne in Jerusalem.) 

Photo of the pool of Bethesda (November 2004)

The people believed that an angel would stir up the waters of this pool and those who arrived first would be healed, but this man was all alone, with no one to help him. So, he was waiting. He had been ill for thirty-eight years. 

Jesus approaches him. The paralytic looks to Jesus to move him into the water, but he is in for a surprise. Jesus does not carry him to the waters, but the Living Water, Jesus, comes to him, to hear his plea and to heal him. 

It is interesting how our life experiences often shed a new light on the scriptural text. What struck me that morning at Mass is how I feel surrounded by so many people, who are – in their way – carrying me to the water.

Yes, it’s lonely, sitting for hours in chemotherapy. But Padre German, our pastor, has come twice to be with me for a few hours. Sure, it’s so uncertain, but people ask about my health. How many people are ill, without someone to aid them, to accompany them! 

In his message for the World Day of the Sick this year, Pope Francis wrote pointedly,

Illness is part of our human condition. Yet, if illness is experienced in isolation and abandonment, unaccompanied by care and compassion, it can become inhumane. When we go on a journey with others, it is not unusual for someone to feel sick, to have to stop because of fatigue or of some mishap along the way. It is precisely in such moments that we see how we are walking together: whether we are truly companions on the journey, or merely individuals on the same path, looking after our own interests and leaving others to “make do”.

How true and how sad! One of the most challenging but fulfilling parts of my diaconal ministry has been visiting the sick. At times I don’t have much to say and will use the ritual prayers as a starting point. At times, I find myself inspired and we talk for a while. When the person is disposed, I will share the Eucharist. It is always a joy when those who accompany me offer a hymn after the ill person has received. I don’t know how much I can do this now. At least, I try to share this with the communion ministers (whose main ministry is to visit the sick.) And I can help others become more aware of the central need of the sick for that human touch, that touch of the hand of God, through our hands. I recently finished a book that helps me reflect on my situation: Father Tomas Halik's Touch the Wounds: On Suffering, Trust, and Transformation.

Here are a few quotes that sustain me:

Jesus is everywhere that there are the needy — and for us they are everywhere (and he in them) as an “opportunity,” as an open gate to the Father. (p. 43) 

The first step to healing the world’s wounds is our conversion, repentance, humility — or in everyday language: the courage to be truthful about ourselves. (p. 146) 

...when Christ comes and shows us his wounds it can rouse our “courage for the truth,” our courage to take off the “armor, masks, and makeup” that we use to conceal our wounds from others, and often from ourselves. (p.147)

Disconcerting

So far, I’ve had two chemotherapy sessions to treat my prostate cancer. 

Both sessions have been long, almost eleven hours each. My oncologist explained that this is to diminish possible negative reactions.

I’ve had few reactions, none really serious.

The most difficult has been insomnia the night after the chemo. Both times I could not get to sleep. I don’t know if it was psychological, physiological (a reaction to the steroids), somatic (having slept a bit during the sessions), or a combination of these and other factors. But it only lasted one night. I could sleep on the drive back to Dulce Nombre.

But the most disconcerting has been the persistence of an awful taste in my mouth. 

At times, it’s metallic.

After the first session I had some sores in my mouth, but now the problem is with my taste buds. 

Eating has lost its attraction – though I am making sure I eat. In fact, yesterday, I made a really good lentil soup (which should last for several days). It smelled heavenly, though the taste was a bit off. 

Yet, every once in a while, the awful taste goes away. Yesterday, I had a few moments when my coffee was delectable.

I guess I need to savor such moments and remember them – in hope.

But, considering what others have experienced in chemo, I would say that I’ve been fortunate.