Saint Stephen, deacons, and the poor

Today, the feast of Saint Stephen, deacon and martyr, I’ve been reflecting on my ordination as a deacon on July 15, 2016.

Stephen, “a man filled with faith and the holy Spirit,” was the first among the seven “reputable men” chosen by the apostles to serve the Greek-speaking followers of Jesus who complained that “their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution.”

There are some scholars who say that these seven were not really “deacons.” Yet, the prayer of ordination of a deacon refers to the naming of seven men by the apostles, as narrated in Acts of the Apostles 6: 1-6. I remember that day, as the bishop prayed:

en los comienzos de la Iglesia, los apóstoles de tu Hijo, movidos por el Espíritu Santo, eligieron siete hombres de buena fama, como auxiliares suyos en el servicio cotidiano, mediante la oración e imposición de manos, los dedicaron al servicio de los pobres, para poder entregarse ellos, con mayor empeño, a la oración y a la predicación de la palabra. 

"in the beginning of the Church, the apostles of your Son, moved by the Holy Spirit, chose seven men with a good reputation, as helpers in the daily service; by means of prayer and the laying on of hands, they dedicated them to the service of the poor, so that they [as apostles] could devote themselves with greater commitment to prayer and the preaching of the Word." (My translation)

Though I had read and prayed over the prayer before that day, when I heard the words “los dedicaron al servicio de los pobres,” my body shook. It was as if all that I was trying to do in my life here as a missionary and all that I had tried to live in my life before coming here was being confirmed and indeed “ordered” as a public witness and ministry with the People of God. 

The English translation of the prayer of consecration is slightly different: “the apostles entrusted to those chosen men the ministry of serving at tables.” For me, the Spanish version has a fuller meaning: we are called to be at the service of the poor. 

The poor are at the center of my diaconal ministry, as they have been at many times of my life before coming here to Honduras, as they have been part of my missionary calling here in Honduras since I arrived in 2007.

I am convinced that being with the poor, at their side, serving them and accompanying them is central to who I am and to what I have been called. 

This past year, especially the last few weeks, I have been remiss in this – partly due to emotional pressures and, more recently, a series of colds. But I am convinced that we deacons ought to include this question as we examine our consciences: “When was the last time I was in the house of a poor person?” – more specifically, a physically poor person. 

It is good to be an advocate of the poor; it is good to minister to those who are poor emotionally or in terms of their faith. But I am convinced, partly by my experience, partly by the words and witness of Pope Francis, that Jesus calls us to be with those who are impoverished physically and that this is a special call for us deacons. 

In his Mass on December 24,  Pope Francis noted:

"...let us remember that it is not truly Christmas without the poor. Without the poor, we can celebrate Christmas, but not the birth of Jesus. Dear brothers, dear sisters, at Christmas God is poor: let charity be reborn!"

In that homily, Pope Francis cited the sainted archbishop Óscar Romero, who on Christmas 1978 preached these challenging words:

“No one can celebrate an authentic Christmas unless they are truly poor. The self-sufficient, the proud of heart, those who despise others because they do not possess the material goods of this earth, those who do not need or want God --- for these people there is no Christmas. Only the poor, the hungry, and those who need someone to come to them because they have need of someone, someone who is God, someone who is Emmanuel, God-with-us --- only these people are able to celebrate Christmas. Without the spirit of poverty, one is unable to be filled with God.”

Toward the end of his homily, Pope Francis said:

"He who lay naked in the manger and hung naked on the cross, asks us for truth, he asks us to go to the bare reality of things, and to lay at the foot of the manger all our excuses, our justifications and our hypocrisies. Tenderly wrapped in swaddling clothes by Mary, he wants us to be clothed in love. God does not want appearances but concreteness. Brothers and sisters, may we not let this Christmas pass without doing something good. Since it is his celebration, his birthday, let us give him the gifts he finds pleasing! At Christmas, God is concrete: in his name let us help a little hope to be born anew in those who feel hopeless!"

I believe that we ordained deacons need to show the love of God for the poor concretely, being at their side, listening to them, making their cause our own, suffering with them. This is not easy. It takes us out of our comfort zones. It takes us where we sometimes done want to go. It may even get us into trouble. 

But it is where our Lord Jesus, the Servant of Yahweh, is.

“For you know the gracious act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that for your sake he became poor although he was rich, so that by his poverty you might become rich." (2 Corinthians 8:9)

 One extra reminder of all this came in the early hours of Christmas. Just back from our Christmas Mass (our midnight Mass that began at 10 pm), I was doing a little computer work when a message arrived from a young man I know from one of our parish villages, with a Christmas greeting. In the course of our messaging back and forth, I found out that he was at the El Paso/Ciudad Juárez border, hoping to cross the bridge and get legally into the US. Jesus among the migrants.

Worker priests, deacons, and the Little Brothers and Sisters of Jesus

Today is the anniversary of the death of Pere Henri Perrin, the worker priest, born in 1914, who died on October 25, 1954.

The worker-priest movement arose to respond to what many in France and other parts of Western Europe saw as the failure of the Church to reach the working class. Priests left the rectories and worked in factories and other industries.

The priest-worker movement was especially strong in France, responding to the sense that France was not really “Christian,” and that the Gospel seemed irrelevant to the concerns of the working class. The movement was suppressed by the Vatican, partly because the priests got involved in all aspects of their work, including unions. Since many of the unions were dominated by the Communist Party, their involvement in the unions, even elected as union officials, was a “red” flag, literally and figuratively. 

I believe that the Vatican’s decision was sort-sighted and blinded by the virulent anti-Communism of the 1950s (and beyond.)

Though the movement was officially ended, the immersion of priests as well as women religious and lay missionaries, in the daily lives of the poor, living among them, has continued to nurture the real missionary dimension of faith, especially in parts of Latin America. 

About the same time, faithful in the German Church were pushing for the diaconate as a permanent state.  

There had been discussions since the nineteenth century, but one of the most profound discussions happened in the priests' barracks in the Nazi concentration camp at Dachau.

The priests there pondered the tragedy, the scandal, of a church that had not been ready to respond to Hitler. They wondered if the institutional church needed the input of people who were involved in the daily life of the people, in the offices, streets, and factories. 

The notes of one of the imprisoned priests, Father Wilhelm Schamoni, are pointed:

3. The preaching of these deacons, who would be involved in the work-a-day world, would be particularly persuasive and down-to-earth. One perceives in current preaching that it is being done by individuals who are “segregate a populo” [“separated from the people”]. 

4. The Church has largely become a Church of authorities and officials. The feudal state and the civil servant state have rubbed off on her. The diaconate would be an effective means to return Holy Mother the Church to a Church of the people. 

5. The Church has not succeeded in holding its ground among either the leading intellectual classes nor among those classes most easily led astray, the proletariat. In their own milieu, deacons from these classes for these classes could gain influence incomparably deeper than could any priest, since priests would never develop within this milieu the kind of rapport that deacons would have already established. One could develop the diaconate into a means to win back the de-Christianized milieu. An intelligent deacon from the working-class would, without any special theological training, be able to touch the heart of his worker colleagues with just the right words.

After World War II, several of these priests wrote and discussed the diaconate as a permanent state of life. Their work, the work of theologians such as Karl Rahner, and various movements, especially in Germany, paved the way for the diaconate as a permanent state as approved at the Second Vatican Council.

Another movement to be leaven in the everyday world was the formation of the Little Brothers and Little Sisters of Jesus by René Voillaume and Little Sister Magdeleine of Jesus to be a presence among the poor and outcast.

Their first field of presence was among the Muslims in Algeria, following their inspiration by Little Brother Saint Charles de Foucauld. But now their field of mission is among the poor and marginalized. They work and live among the people, witnessed to Christ by their prayer and their daily presence.

All these three movements, in my mind, rose from a concern to be present to those who might not be part of the church community.

The witness of the worker priests and the Little Brothers and Sisters as well as the testimony of Saint Charles de Foucauld mark my understanding of the diaconate. My ordination stole bears the heart and cross of Saint Charles.

Today, remembering Père Henri Perrin, I remember the witness of priest workers as well as many women and men religious who immerse themselves in the lives of the poor, especially the Little Brothers and Little Sisters of Jesus. 

Reflecting on their commitment with the poor and marginalized, I believe that the diaconate should always include some sort of physical presence with those on the margins of society, especially the impoverished.

We are called to reach out to those who might not come to the doors of the church. The call of Pope Francis to go out and encounter those in the margins, central to Evangelii Gaudium and found throughout his teaching, should be central to our diaconate. 

 --- 

 Some photos of me in action as a deacon.

Picking coffee in the parish coffee field

Getting help in directions from a campesino

Helping change the flat tire of the pastor's car

Incensing the faithful at Mass

Baptizing a child in San Agustín

Toward a spirituality of service - in the form a critical book review

I didn’t think it was possible. A recent book on a spirituality of service, Discovering Christ the Servant: A Spirituality of Service, by Deacon Dominic Cerrato, Ph.D., mentions the poor ten times but does not make their existence a matter of major concern. 

How is this possible? 

This type of spirituality can be disincarnate. The author may speak of a spirituality of the sacrament of the present moment, but the sacrament of the poor is ignored. As Pope Francis wrote in his 2021 Message for the World Day of the Poor, “The poor are a sacrament of Christ; they represent his person and point to him.”

This is a very brief critique that I need to develop. I admit I may be missing something in the deacon’s two books. But I want to open a larger discussion of a spirituality of service for the deacon and for the entire church. 

The spirituality espoused by the author is intent on making oneself like Christ the Servant – but I think it is a disembodied Christ with little connection with the embodied poor around us. 

I would trace the author’s error back to three major issues I have with the book.

First of all, there is little discussion of the Baptismal call to conform oneself to Christ – Prophet, Priest, and Servant-King.

This is interesting since, in an earlier work, Encountering Christ the Servant: A Spirituality of the Diaconate, he cites number 1547 of The Catechism of the Catholic Church, on page 23.

… While the common priesthood of the faithful is exercised by the unfolding of baptismal grace … the ministerial priesthood is at the service of the common priesthood. It is directed at the unfolding of the baptismal grace of all Christians.

The second is that the author subordinates his spirituality of service for the laity to a diaconal spirituality.

I think he’s got it backward.

At one point he writes “…an authentic and complete lay spirituality of service is not possible today without the diaconate and the indispensable role it plays in the Mystery of Salvation.” (p. 21).

Further on he notes, “servant spirituality is both old and new. It’s old in that it draws heavily from the great Catholic spiritual traditions and is grounded in the ancient order of the diaconate.“ (p. 27).

As noted above, I see the servant spirituality is rooted in our Baptism. It is not derivative of a diaconal spirituality, though a diaconal spirituality ought to make public this spirituality and its relationship with the Eucharist.

Thirdly, hierarchalism is present, though obscurely, in the author's understanding of Holy Orders.

I understand that the Catholic Church has a hierarchy, but it’s in service to the Body of Christ, the Church, and the world. For this reason, I find the author's Establishment Hypothesis very problematic.

“Step 4: The apostles, having received this gift-of-self from Christ in the forms of the priesthood and diaconate, now gift themselves, in the forms of that same priesthood and diaconate, to their successors, the bishops. 

Step 5: The bishops, having received this gift-of-self from the apostles in the forms of the priesthood and diaconate, now gift themselves to priests and deacons through the conferral of Holy Orders. 

Step 6: The priests and deacons, having received this gift-of-self from the bishop in the forms of the priesthood and diaconate, now reveal in a distinctive and complementary manner the whole Christ (Christus totus). As a result, they gift themselves to the laity through evangelizing and the sacraments. 

Step 7: The laity, having received this gift-of-self from priests and deacons, now gift themselves in the living out of their vocations for the salvation of the world. (pp. 58-59).

In this reading, those who are ordained appear as those who give the gift-of-self, whereas it would be better to say that God gives the gift-of-self through the Church, The Body of Christ, through the ministry of the bishop, priest, deacon.

I much prefer the much more inclusive ecclesiology of Yves Congar, OP, in Power, Poverty, and the Church, p. 49:

…ordination is not only the hierarchical transmission of powers but also the consecration of the action by which the Church orders her charity and builds herself into a body in realization of the ministry that is concomitant with the state of being a Christian. To have a vocation to the priesthood, to prepare and present oneself for ordination, and eventually to receive consecration from the bishop is to be called to Christian service in a more concentrated, more specific way, to be qualified to become a leader in this service and publicly to accept its character, having first accepted it in one’s heart and striven to be worthy of it.

There is one other concern I have that I cannot at this time articulate very well. While reading both books, I find myself concerned that some of the author’s expressions might lead to a dualism. In Encountering Christ the Servant, the author, while discussing the work of John Collins, writes on page 88)

The deacon’s service is first and foremost to God rather than to the people; only in God and with His grace can he truly serve the people.

Is there really such a distance between serving God and serving the people? 

FINAL THOUGHTS

I need to study these works more – as well as two recent books that I find much more holistic: Father Scott P. Detisch’s Being Claimed by the Eucharist We Celebrate: a spiritual narrative for priests and deacons and Deacon Tim O’Donnell’s The Deacon: Icon of Christ the Servant, Minister of the Threshold. I wrote on Tim O'Donnell's book in an earlier blogpost, here. 

I have written this so that we can begin to reflect more on the theology and spirituality of the diaconate, especially in terms of its relationship to Baptism and the deacon’s relation to the entire People of God.

Holocaust Remembrance Day

My life has been shaped by my high school encounter with the reality of the Holocaust.

I don’t know when I first learned about the Holocaust but during high school I began to be concerned about this horror. At that time I was in a Franciscan minor seminary and so one of my concerns was the apparent failure of the Catholic Church to respond to the rise of Nazism and the Holocaust

There was Rolf Hochhuth’s 1963 play, The Deputy. Some consider it to be overstated and a piece of propaganda against Pope Pius XII, but it raises the question of why the church was so hesitant to speak openly.

I also ran across Gordan Zahn’s 1962 study, German Catholics and Hitler’s Wars: A Study in Social Control Though Zahn’s interest was mainly in the failure of most of the German bishops to respond to Hitler’s wars, it also brings to the fore the failure of the church to speak out.

Two years later, Gordon Zahn published In Solitary Witness: The Life and Death of Franz Jägerstätter, his account of the life of an Austrian who refused to serve in Hitler’s army. He ran across the story when he was researching his book on war and German Catholics and proceeded to make known the life and writings of this farmer who discerned the evil of Nazism and sacrificed his life for his convictions. He was subsequently beatified by the Catholic Church and recently a movie was released, A Hidden Life, which I heartily recommend.

About this time, I came across the speech that Albert Camus gave at a Dominican monastery in 1948. It put into words my concerns – not just about the Holocaust but also about the Vietnam War which was raging in the mid and late 1960s.

“What the world expects of Christians is that Christians should speak out, loud and clear, and that they should voice their condemnation in such a way that never a doubt, never the slightest doubt, could rise in the heart of the simplest [person]. That they should get away from abstraction and confront the blood-stained face history has taken on today.”

Camus concluded his remarks with these prophetic words:

“…if Christians made up their minds to it, millions of voices — millions, I say — throughout the world would be added to the appeal of a handful of isolated individuals who, without any sort of affiliation, today intercede almost everywhere and ceaselessly for children and for [human beings].”

In 1973, I took an extended vacation to Europe, traveling mostly by bicycle and train. I stopped in Munich, in part for the beer, but also I wanted to visit Dachau, the concentration camp. It was not a death camp but many died here and their bodies were cremated. I walked in silence around the camp, paused at the crematory (where I sensed the smell of death), and prayed at the chapel there. As I returned to Munich on a train, I noted that this place of mass death and detention was so close to a major city. How could the people in the nearby town not notice the smell of death and how could the city of Munich not note the presence of this center of evil.

Crematoria at Dachau

Remembering the holocaust and other crimes of mass destruction of the twentieth century as well as the massive civilian deaths in war and concentration camps throughout the world, I have been moved to be with those who suffer and to speak up with them. In some way, it opened me to come to Honduras. 

But it opened me to something more.

A few years ago, the bishop asked me to consider the permanent diaconate. As is my custom, I began to look for information. The first article I came across, by William Ditewig, mentioned that priests in Dachau discussed the permanent diaconate. They asked why the church didn’t respond to the evil of Nazism and wondered whether the clergy was too distant from the realities around them. They thought that it might be good to have people involved in the world as members of the clergy to keep the church closer to the reality people experience. I wrote about this in a blog post a few months before I was ordained. I also wrote ab out this last year in another blogpost.

Last year, I had planned to go to an international deacons’ conference in Germany and had planned to spend a day at Dachau. That, of course, was cancelled due to the outbreak of the Corona-19 virus. I still have hopes to one day visit that seedbed of the contemporary diaconate.

For me, this has meant that for me the diaconate has a strong prophetic dimension.

We are called to announce the Reign of God, that God has come near and is present among us. But that also means that we help people identify the evils – both personal and institutional – around us. We are not just to wash the wounds of those who suffer but we are called to speak up about what has brought about this suffering and death.

This means that we may have to take risks of offending others. But silence opens the way for evil to flourish. It might also mean that we stand with those who suffer. 

I know many deacons stand at the side of the unborn, but how many of us stand with those who suffer from racist attacks? Many stand with the poor, offering them assistance, but how many of us raise questions about why they suffer

For this reason, I have a rather peculiar idea of what it means to be a deacon. 

The deacon must stand at the side of the people in need – all of them, most of all the impoverished. I have my concerns with any deacon who does not get his hands dirty at the side of the poor and who is not willing to speak up with them (and for them). 

We should not do this from the outside, but from within the world of the poor - living the "culture of encounter" that Pope Francis stressed. 

It’s a challenge that I don’t live up to – but God keeps calling me. 

---

 Photo of crematoria at Dachau from Wikipedia.

Don't call me Doctor or Señor Diácono

I have read the condescending and tendentious article of Jacob Epstein, in The Wall Street Journal, castigating Dr. Jill Biden, the future first lady, for using Doctor. I don’t care if she uses the title or not. She earned her doctorate in education and almost no one is going to be disappointed that she is not a medical doctor. 

I have an earned doctorate in philosophy from Boston College, but I don’t use the appellation "Doctor." However, I remember the facetious remark of a dear departed friend, a teacher of philosophy from the University of Scranton, Tom Garrett. I don’t have his exact words, but he noted that we (philosopers) are the true doctors – teachers – and the rest are technicians. He was, of course, joking; his wife was a nurse and he wrote much on medical ethics.

But I do not use the title doctor for other reasons. I may have used it occasionally when I taught a few classes at Iowa State University, but I see no reason to use it here in Honduras. In fact, I think it would be wrong for me to use it here.

Class and privilege are engrained in the Honduran society. The people I work with in a rural parish are often looked down upon by government officials, educated people in the cities, and even some clergy. I remember one remark of the president of the National Assembly in 2008 who called people from our area, protesting for strong mining legislation, “gente del monte,” which could be translated as “hillbillies” or “hayseeds,” obvious terms of contempt.

Classism pervades the culture, sometimes in subtle, non-provocative terms. It is not uncommon to refer to someone as “profe” – professor – even when they have been retired for years. I know it’s a mark of respect, but still it strikes this egalitarian gringo as classist.

But what is even more serious is how some with advanced degrees insist on being called “licenciado” (“I have a university degree”), or “ingeniero” (“I’m an engineer”), or “abogado” (“I’m an attorney”). Sure, you’ve worked for that, but that doesn’t make you better than another person who cannot read or write, possibly because his family was poor and there was no school nearby and he had to work to help his family survive.

And so I don’t want to be called “doctor.” 

When I first came to Honduras in 2007, the bishop asked me to help put in campus ministry at the Santa Rosa campus of the Catholic University of Honduras (UNICAH). I soon realized that only the rector of the campus and I had doctorates. Many of the professors only had undergraduate degrees. Part of my style of ministry is to be available and get to know people by just hanging out – which Dominican friar Timothy Radcliffe once called “loitering by intent” (which, I believe, is a crime in England).

I got to know a number of students and professors. There was one young prof whom I often spoke with. He called me “Juan” or “Juancito,” until one day he called me “Doctor.” He had found out that I had a doctorate. I know it was a sign of respect, but I quickly and politely told him that he should address me as “Juan.” He now calls me Juan.

But I also found that this classism is not limited to Honduras. On one of my visits to the US, someone told me that someone I knew was questioning my working so much in the countryside, thinking I was possibly wasting my time and education. My response is, “Don’t the poor deserve people with doctorates working with them?”

And so I'd prefer not to be called "Doctor." 

 Nor should you call me "Señor Diácono."

Four and a half years ago I was ordained a permanent deacon in the diocese of Santa Rosa de Copán, the first in our diocese and the third in the country. It was, as I’ve noted in other blog posts, not something I had sought but rather I resisted it, even when my pastor and the bishop suggested it.

But now I faced a new dilemma. What would I be called?

The people I worked with in the parish know me as “Juancito,” a name I got from the kids in the parish of Suchitoto, El Salvador, when I volunteered there for six months in 1992. In many ways, I cherish this name more than any university title. 

Juancito is the diminutive form of Juan in parts of El Salvador and Honduras. It's like calling me Johnny or, better, "Jack" - which my parents calle me and the name my cousins use.

Most of the people here still just call me “Juancito” or, at times, “Diácono Juancito.” That suites me fine, though I don’t hesitate occasionally that the word “diácono” means “servant.”

Yet a few priests began to refer to me as “Señor Diácono,” which could be translated “Mr. Deacon.” I quickly began to respond that “Señor Diácono” is a contradiction, an oxymoron

It is important to note that, in Spanish, “Señor” means “mister,” but it is also the translation for “Lord.” To hear someone call me, “Señor diácono,” feels like someone calling me a Lord Servant.

I know that Jesus told us that we are not to be like the “rulers of the gentiles” (Matthew 20: 25), who ‘lord it over them” (Mark 10: 42) but to be like the Son of Man, “who came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28; Mark 10:44).

So it is better to call me "Siervo".

More recently, I have occasionally begun to refer to myself as “el mozo diácono” – the servant who is a helper, an attendant – even a hired hand. For me, this expresses more what the deacon is called to be, the one who accompanies those on the margins.

And so, I continue to resist being called “señor diácono,” despite what others say. I believe that to do otherwise is to give into a clericalism that denies my servant vocation. 

This, of course, is not just something that happens here in Honduras with priests. A while ago I wrote a blog post on permanent deacons wearing Roman collars. To put it simply, I don’t see this as fitting, in most cases. The post can be found here. I posted a link on a private Facebook group for deacons. Although I did not argue against wearing the collar in terms of clericalism, I was rather strongly attacked, some questioning my formation, and so on. A couple of response were much more thoughtful and helped me nuance my position. But what struck me was that such a strong reaction from some permanent deacons. I think this may indicate the temptation to clericalism is strong among some deacons. I revisited the issue with another blog post which you can read here.

These reflections lead me back to reflecting on my calling. I am here in Honduras to accompany the people, to be their servant. I bring with me knowledge and experience which I ought to share, but in a way that respects them and, even more, respects what they could be.

Sharing the Gospel in another culture doesn’t mean that one has to accept all aspects of the culture. But it does mean that one has to respect the persons and accompany them on their journeys.

I still have major problems with the authoritarianism, machismo, and passivity I find among some people, tied to traditionalisms as well as to traditional political parties. I also have problems with the occasional unquestioning acceptance of whatever a priest says (and not just about doctrine.)

But I know that I don’t have all the answers. (I don’t even know all the questions.) But I want to be with the people as we journey together in our efforts to follow Christ and live as citizens of the Reign of God. Call me "hermano juancito,""brother Jack" if you want. It's what the kids in the rural cantones of Suchitoto called me in 1992. I think they got it right. Now I have to live up to it.

Photo in Haciendita II, Suchitoto, 1992.

ADDENDUM: 

A friend put a link to this post in a post on a Facebook group for Catholic Deacons. There were several thoughtful responses, some critical. One was particularly helpful for me. I'm posting it and my response below.

A comment from a deacon: 

Well, I happen to come from a Hispanic culture, I am an engineer and a permanent deacon so I feel qualified to comment on this. I'm sure that in his years of service this brother deacon has learned much from the people he serves and yet, I feel he has missed a very important lesson from Hispanic cultures; what people from these cultures call "El Respeto" (The Respect). You see, in Hispanic cultures one form of showing appreciation is by using the appellatives, "Doctor", "Ingeniero" , "Diacono". This is done not to separate or stratify society (Although it sometimes that is the result) but as a way to express respect and appreciation for a person accomplishments. In the same way in Spanish we have the formal "usted" and the informal "tu" tenses. When a priest calls him "Senor Diacono" he is expressing the respect he has for another fellow servant of The Master. I wonder if the good deacon lets everyone call him "Tu" and is bothered by the use of "Usted". Don't get me wrong, I know what my brother deacon is trying to say but he is just projecting his anglicized idea of social relationships into a culture that works in a very different way. 

My response to the comment: 

 

I noted in the article that sometimes this is a way of expressing respect. But I see it all too often in a context in Honduras - which may be different from your experience. 

I have heard academics speaking down to campesinos; I have also heard disrespect for campesinos by clergy as well as by politicians. 

I have no problem with anyone using "tu" with me, although this is not used much in the Honduran context. With my friends in El Salvador, I am accustomed to have them speak with me using "tu" and "vos." In fact, I find myself thankful when someone uses "vos" with me, since it indicates a sense of equality and friendship. 

As for the question of projecting my anglicized idea of social relations, I think there may be some of that, but you may note that I refer to examples from both the US and the Honduran culture. 

Also, cultures are not static, nor are they always good. Sometimes one might challenge a culture. In my response to priests calling my "Señor diácono," I am very clearly challenging the culture of clericalism which is all too strong here in Honduras. I am also encouraging them to think about the servant aspect of the deacon. 

Today, at the ordination of a transitional deacon, I was sitting at lunch with some seminarians and tried to explain this. I think they understood. Whether they agreed or not is another question.We didn't have enough time for a good discussion, but I think it's important to raise questions that challenge us in the way we live and the way we live our faith.

The deacon and the World Day of the Poor

“Stretch forth your hand to the poor.” 

Sirach 7:32

 This is the theme of the fourth world day of prayer for the poor, this coming Sunday, November 15. It is a theme that should be at the center of the ministry and spirituality of every follower of Christ and, especially, of every deacon. 

Recently I listened to a webinar of a prominent deacon promoting his recent book. As I listened, I felt a lack of connection of his spirituality of the diaconate with the materially poor. He had some good insights on spirituality, especially on Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s idea of “the sacrament of the present moment,” but I did not find any suggestion that, in the encounter with the poor, we are face to face with “the sacrament of the suffering Christ.” 

My question is: how can we have a spirituality of the deacon without a careful investigation of how service with the poor makes us who we are as deacons? 

I believe that a diaconal spirituality that does not incorporate the poor into an understanding of our identity as deacons is incomplete. In my opinion, a deacon without frequent and continuous encounters with the poor, the materially poor, may be missing part of our calling. 

Before I began working as a lay campus minister in the parish of St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, Iowa, I had a very limited understanding of this. I was very involved in advocacy, especially of peace and human rights, but my direct contact with the poor was limited. But, through the witness of members of the parish and students involved in the service and justice team, I learned this truth and began to involve myself more directly with those at the margins of society. 

Now, I live in the midst of the poor – though my house is not anyway near as poor and simple as my neighbors. 

Recently, there have been several articles and books that refer to the work of John Collins that, in my opinion, displace the centrality of the poor in the diaconal vocation. This does not mean that the deacon’s ministry and identity are limited to “humble service,” but service to the marginalized is critical. 

Attempts to contextualize the diaconal service of the poor can lead to a marginalization of this central aspect of our vocation. What is needed is an integration of the triple diakonia: Word, Sacrament, and Charity. 

According to a recent Vatican document, the ministry of the deacon is both evangelization and charity, brought together at the Eucharistic table. (Congregation of the Clergy, The pastoral conversion of the Parish community in the service of the evangelizing mission of the Church, ¶ 82) 

I would suggest that the deacon should be seen as a sacramental presence of Christ the Servant, who became poor. 

Present at the altar we should bring the needs of the poor, especially the materially poor, praying for them in the Prayers of the Faithful. 

In our preaching we should bring to light the needs of the poor and God’s special love for the poor. A friend who worked with deacons in his archdiocese for many years has suggested that when the deacon preaches, he should make present the poor in our midst. 

When we send forth the assembly at the end of Mass, we should be sending them to live out their baptismal commitment of service and charity. We ourselves should be animating them to accompany the poor in our midst. 

Deacon Enzo Petrolino, commenting on a passage of the Syriac Testament of the Lord, writes, 

“The edifying role of the deacon in his community requires him to perceive the suffering and needs that are present in the community and, as much as possible, to spread the mercy of Jesus Christ in a concrete way, making it visible to man." (Pope Francis: Deacons: Servants of Charity, p. 245)

The deacon is a herald who should be “Good News to the Poor,” in what we say and do. We should make real the connection between the People of God and the poor and marginalized and help the Church live this.

Much has been made recently of the role the deacon has in relation to the bishop, and rightly so. But the deacon also has a role for the entire church, directly related to the poor and marginalized. 

Commenting on the Epistle of Clement to James, Bishop Shawn McKnight noted that the deacon is a bridge between the poor and the community at large. 

"Whereas the emphasis had been placed upon the deacon bringing the needs of the poor to the bishop, here the deacon is to motivate and challenge the community to satisfy the needs of the poor…. The bishop must be advised as to the needs of the people and be made aware of the charisms available within the community to satisfy these needs. Deacons are clearly described here as servants of the church, and not merely personal attendants of the bishop. The deacon serves to animate the faithful to fulfill their Gospel obligation, working to bind the church more closely in solidarity with those in need. (Understanding the Diaconate: Historical, Theological, and Sociological Foundations, p. 137) 

How then can we deacons “stretch forth our hands to the poor” and motivate the whole church to the charity and solidarity of Christ, in a world filled with suffering?

-----

The photo is a detail of a mural being painted in the church of Dulce Nombre de María in Dulce Nombre de Copán, Honduras. 

Deacon reflection 5

 Dachau and the prophetic role of deacons

The first thing I read after Bishop Darwin Andino asked me to consider the diaconate was an article by Deacon William Ditewig in US Catholic. (Source noted below.)

 

In that article, which is well worth reading, he noted the recent origins of the permanent diaconate in the priests’ barracks at the Dachau concentration camp. More than 2,500 priests, as well as Orthodox priests and a bishop and Protestant clergy were held there. I wrote about this shortly before I was ordained in this blog post.

 

In Dachau, several priests began discussions about the church, concerned that, in the face of World War I and the rise of Nazism, the Church had not been as aware and forthright as it might have been. Having deacons, who were involved in their “mundane” occupations, might be a way for the institutional church to be more aware of what was happening – not just in the political sphere but also in the daily lives of the faithful.

 

I see this as one of the most important aspects of the restored diaconate, one that I fear is not always practiced.

 

The permanent deacon has, most often, a family and a job “in the world”. I am an exception, being single and working in the church.

 

The married deacon can bring to his ministry the joys and the struggles of family life, including raising children with values that are very much different than those of the dominant culture of competition, individualism, and domination. These can influence his preaching, his ways of connecting with people, and even his role in the sacraments of baptism and matrimony. They also can open his heart to the needs of poor and broken families.

 

The deacon with a “secular” job can not only bring the Gospel to impact on the workplace, but he has the opportunity to show in his work the dignity and holiness of work that serves the common good and keeps the poor at the center of our concern.

 

But there is another dimension that I have not seen all too often. The deacon can bring to the Church, both the local congregation and the bishops and priests, the injustices and the temptations to worship the gods of power, wealth, and sex that he encounters in the world.

 

I wish that we deacons were more visible in this prophetic aspect of our ministry – following the example of Christ who is prophet, priest, and servant-king.

Where am I in the face of the injustices around us?

 

I do mention the problems of corruption in some of my homilies, but is there more that I can do? A few times I have shared my concerns with the bishop, usually in a letter or e-mail. I accompanied the bishop and some priests when he went to the town of Azacualpa where a mining company is moving a cemetery to extract the gold found under it. I also try to share my concerns in my blog and on my Facebook page.

 

This can be done and we deacons should do it more.

 

Our prophetic word, our analysis of reality, our denunciations of injustice must be done – but with a spirit of love and based in the message of the Gospels.

 

So much of the discussion about issues is partisan and vituperative.

 

How can we be prophetic – in truth and in love?

 

 ------------------------------------------------

 

"A call of their own: The role of deacons in the church", US Catholic, June 2014.

http://www.uscatholic.org/articles/201406/call-their-own-role-deacons-church-28973

Hands of a deacon

A few weeks ago, before the rite of election of the catechumens in our parish on the first Sunday of Lent, we had a special rite of acceptance into the catechumenate of two young men who had been unable to get to the parish celebration in December of the rite of acceptance into the catechumenate.

The signing of the catechumens in the rite of acceptance is, for me, one of the most moving rites. The presider and then the sponsors sign the senses of the one who will become a catechumen. The rite here doesn’t have the signing of the feet, as is found in the US ritual, and so I have introduced it in our parish. It is moving to see the presider and the sponsors kneeling before the one who wants to enter the People of God.

But this time, after singing the hands of the two young men, remarked that he was glad to feel their callouses, signs that they were working men.

Thinking back this reminded me of my ministry as a deacon.

While I was discerning how to respond to my bishop’s invitation to consider the permanent diaconate, I came across this quotation of Father Paul McPartlan who wrote:[1]

“The deacon stands at the altar and prepares the gifts with clean hands, but he stands also where the practical need is greatest, getting his hands very dirty.”  

I am an anomaly as a permanent deacon.

I am single, celibate for all my life. There are perhaps less than five percent of us celibate deacons, who are not in transition to the priesthood or members of religious orders.

I also work full time in a parish. Most deacons have full-time work outside the parish – some are professionals, others are manual workers. They bring their world of work with them to the altar, showing in a concrete way that the altar and the workplace are not to be separated.

As I understand it, that was one of the concerns of the priests in cell block 26 of the Dachau concentration camps when they wondered why the church’s response to the threat of Hitler and Nazism was so weak. As Deacon William Ditewig put it, “why wasn’t the church able to somehow influence society to prevent all of this from happening? What can we do in the future so this doesn’t happen again?” Was the clergy so separated from the daily lives of people that they didn’t see the evil at their doorsteps? Did the church need persons who would bring the experience of their daily life to the altar? Did they need persons who would be the “eyes and ears” of the church in the everyday world

I think that’s a part of what Pope Saint John Paul II was referring to when he said in a 1993 general audience:

A deeply felt need in the decision to re-establish the permanent diaconate was and is that of a greater and more direct presence of Church ministers in the various spheres of the family, work, school etc., in addition to existing pastoral structures.[2]

What I as a deacon do outside the liturgy is as central to my diaconal identity as what I do at the altar.

In an article[3] Fr. Paul Mc Partland sent me, he wrote:

In preparing the gifts all of the work of the deacon promoting communion between the bishop and the people, solidarity between the Church and the world, and the link between the altar and the workplace is symbolized. All of that work can be seen, in ways more or less remote, as preparation of the gifts: alleviating suffering and hardship so that the needy can feel the love of the Lord, hear the Gospel and respond to it (see Acts 6:1-6); being alongside people at work, sharing their troubles and dreams, helping them to see that all of those matter to the Lord who came to save us and that nothing is beyond the scope of his mercy; keeping the Church’s leaders and members aware of the marginalized and the abandoned, and seeking in every way to facilitate contact and care. In countless practical ways, the deacon is called to connect the world to the saving sacrifice of the Lord, and to help transform the raw material of human life into spiritual sacrifices. If priests must “teach the faithful to offer the divine victim to God the Father in the sacrifice of the Mass and with the victim to make an offering of their whole life” (PO 5), the task of deacons is to help the faithful to do so and to show them how.

Are my hands embracing the poor and the sick? Am I taking up the shovel and the broom to help clean not just the church but the homes of the poor? Am I washing the poor man who has been in his bed for weeks without a bath?

One experience at a diocesan liturgy to celebrate the canonization of Mother Teresa of Calcutta brought the connection home to me.

I was purifying the vessels after communion. The hosts that we use here have lots of particles and so I was trying to carefully consume the particles and clean the ciboriums. I looked and there in the middle of the aisle in the auditorium were kids from Amigos de Jesús, a home for kids who were orphaned, abandoned, or being raised in precarious situations. I had gone several times to their center and met the kids and spent some time with the volunteers. I also know the directors as well as their priest chaplain (who had not yet been ordained at the time of this Mass.)

As I looked up, I immediately sensed the connection of what I was doing with what they do at Amigos de Jesús. I was caring for the smallest particle of Jesus in the hosts. They are calling for those who are smallest in this world. As I would not want to neglect to care for the smallest particle of the Eucharistic Body of Christ, I don’t want to neglect the smallest and most abandoned child in this world.

The Eucharist is where Jesus and the abandoned of this world come together. As my hands care for the Eucharist, so too must they care for the least among us. Without the one, does the other make sense.

In fact, I feel there is more than a casual connection between them. There is a necessary connection. Thus I have changed the quote of Fr. McPartland:

The deacon serves at the table of the altar with clean hands because he has dirtied his hands serving at the table of the poor.

I write these words on the feast of the martyred bishop Saint Óscar Romero, forty years after he was gunned down at the altar, at the end of his homily. These were the last words he preached, connecting the Body and Blood of Christ with the reality of the world he lived in.

May this Body immolated and this Blood sacrificed for humans nourish us also, so that we may give our body and our blood to suffering and pain — like Christ, not for self, but to bring about justice and peace for our people.
Let us join together, then, intimately in faith and hope at this moment of prayer…[4]

And let us bring our hands – so that Christ may use them for the healing of our world.

---

[1] Rev. Paul McPartlan, “The Deacon and Gaudium et Spes,” The Deacon Reader (p. 67)

[2] Papa Juan Pablo II, Audiencia General, Deacons Serve the Kingdom of God [Los diáconos sirven el Reino de Dios] (6 de octubre de 1993), núm. 6.

[3] Msgr. Paul McPartlan, “Priesthood and the Deacon”, Chicago Studies, Winter 2017, Volume 56:2. pp.48-49

[4] Archbishop Oscar Romero, Voice of the Voiceless: The Four Pastoral Letters and Other Statements, p. 193..  (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1985)

Roman collars or muddy shoes

Deacons wearing collars

I am completely against deacons wearing Roman collars. If I am fortunate, my bishop will never ask me to wear one.

A recent discussion on a closed Facebook group yielded over 150 of comments, many of them in favor of wearing the Roman collar, many arguing its usefulness to distinguish deacons as clergy.

My first reaction was that this may be a symptom of a growing clericalism of the permanent diaconate. But this is not my major concern.

My second reaction was that wearing a collar can create distance between the deacon and the rest of the People of God. When the local bishop asked me to consider the diaconate I told him that I was concerned that this would create a wider breach between me and the people I serve.

As a layman from the US, a missionary in Honduras, I had privilege. I could leave whenever I want and return to the US. I had the financial security of social security monthly payments and a bank account. And there was more.

Would becoming a permanent deacon pull me further away from the poor in whose midst I serve.

But my real reason against the collar is theological. I think the theology of the diaconate is not sufficiently developed and so we fall back upon arguments of the deacon being a cleric and the usefulness of being recognized as one.

But I think we need to get back to the roots of the move toward the permanent diaconate.

After talking with the bishop, one of the first articles I read on the diaconate mentioned that priests in the Dachau concentration camp seriously studied the crisis in Nazi Germany and the failure of the church to recognize and respond to the emergent evil of the Third Reich.

This was not a move to clericalize the church. Rather, as William Ditewig wrote in The Emerging Diaconate,

the pioneers of a renewed diaconate, incarcerated at Dachau concentration centration camp, saw the diaconate as a necessary component of a renewed church transforming the world so that tragedies such as the Second World War and the Shoah would not happen again.

I wonder. Was there no one in the Resistance to Nazi Germany who had the ears of the bishops? If there were permanent deacons, living and working in the streets of Germany, would they have been able to let the bishops see what was really happening?

If the deacons are “the eyes and the ears” of the bishop, they may make them more aware of the serious crises facing the lives of ordinary peoples.

The deacon should be in a place in the secular world – not only revealing the sanctity of the world of work by his presence, but also bringing the experiences of his coworkers to the altar. He also should be the one who brings the poor to the church and the church to the poor.

Does the permanent deacon bring the world of work into the structures of the Church? Will he let the bishops and those in authority know of the challenges facing the world?

In addition, would the deacon in his daily life of family and work be better able to show the presence of Christ? This seems to be what one of the priests at Dachau noted:

The Church has not succeeded in holding its ground among either the leading intellectual classes nor among those classes most easily led astray, the proletariat. In their own milieu, deacons from these classes for these classes could gain influence incomparably deeper than could any priest, since priests would never develop within this milieu the kind of rapport that deacons would have already established. One could develop the diaconate into a means to win back the de-Christianized milieu. An intelligent deacon from the working-class would, without any special theological training, be able to touch the heart of his worker colleagues with just the right words.

The working permanent deacon might be the one who can better connect the world and the altar, the Church and the people who are alienated or marginalized from faith.

I think this is part of what Pope Saint John Paul II meant when he spoke in a 1993 general audience:

A deeply felt need in the decision to re-establish the permanent diaconate was and is that of a greater and more direct presence of Church ministers in the various spheres of the family, work, school etc., in addition to existing pastoral structures.

This line of thought leads me to suggest that we need to develop the practice and the spirituality of the worker-deacon.  One of the experiments in Europe in the mid-twentieth century that I think held out some hope for the re-evangelization of Europe was the worker-priest movement. Perhaps that movement should be the inspiration of a theology of the “worker-deacon.”

I write this as one working full-time in the church but I see the need to develop a diaconate in the world, a diaconate of the blue collar worker, a diaconate of the campesino, a diaconate of the bus driver, a diaconate of the civil servant.

In addition, the deacon should be recognized by who he is and what he does – not just at the table of the Lord at Mass but at the table of the poor.

Is the permanent deacon – am I – an icon of Christ the Servant at the Table of the Lord and an icon of the Servant Body of Christ in the world?

A final thought.

If the deacon is to serve in the margins, to witness the church’s love and justice for the poor and neglected, what might be our distinctive sign?

Father Paul McPartlan pointedly wrote that “The deacon stands at the altar and prepares the gifts with clean hands, but he stands also where the practical need is greatest, getting his hands very dirty.”

The dirt under our fingernails might be a worthy sign of our diaconal ministry. But I think there is another image that might help us develop a practical theology of diaconal ministry.

Pope Francis worked for some time with Jesuits in formation in Argentine. When they returned from their visits to the villas miserias, the poor neighborboods, he would inspect their shoes to see if they had walked among the poor.

Maybe muddy shoes should be the sign of the deacon.