Why have we spun into decline -- almost into
meaninglessness --since the Second Vatican Council?
Simply put, it is because we have not taken our vows
seriously, or worked sufficiently hard, or prayed with
sufficient fervor. And, as well, because we have
abandoned the systematic study of theology. Those of us
who are older have been dispirited because some of the
human traditions which drew us to the Order have
disappeared to be replaced by practices which leave us
uninspired.
How often do I think of the observances which filled
out my days as a simple novice at River Forest (I
received the habit in June of 1947), as a student
brother at River Forest for three years, and as a
solemnly professed student at Dubuque for four! I was a
reasonably good student in academic matters (as perhaps
Fr. Tom Donlan will agree) during the seven years of my
academic formation. I fell in love with theology,
thanks to St. Thomas and thanks to my teachers; and so,
after the "young dad" year, I went off to Rome to
pursue further studies at the Angelicum. All of this
ended in 1957, and after serving for one year with Fr.
Gilbert Graham as a vocation director, I went to the
University of Dallas. Teaching there was a very great
joy.
But in 1967, I was transferred to Chicago to work on
the Provincial staff. In the Fall of that year, I went
with a classmate and a very close friend to South Bend
for a Notre Dame game. Driving there, we conversed on
many matters. One stands out in memory. "Forget St.
Thomas!" he said to me. "We must find new ways to
convey the truths of Faith." I was stunned. And the
more I reflected on what he said, the more dispirited I
became. Altogether too meekly, I told him that he was
surely wrong. Even if we had been presented with
Aquinas' Summa articulatim with perhaps too great a
stress on the article-by-article approach, his theology
remains sound, his schema peerless, his balance an
eternal wonder. In a later conversation, I told him
that if the Dominicans abandon Thomism, their days as
an Order of consequence are numbered. He disagreed.
There can be no doubt that many changes which we have
wrought in our Order since the General Chapter of 1968
have been wholesome. And there can be no doubt that
some changes have been harmful. As with the other great
religious orders, of men in the Church -- the Jesuits,
especially, but also the Franciscans -- some of our
brothers have been doing more harm than good to the
faith of religious and of the laity.
Today, I look around at so many congregations of
religious women which are rapidly disappearing and I
say to myself: "This is taking too long; the quicker
they disappear, the quicker will be the Church's
strengthening." Well, that's too cavalier, I know, and
I need to struggle to overcome that merely human
attitude. I have the most profound sympathy for many,
many elderly religious women who have seen their
tireless, patient efforts over so many years of
dedicated service nullified by younger women who first
radically altered their congregations and then
departed. I know, as many of you must, religious women
who no longer have the Faith, who do not practice the
simple life to which every religious is called, and who
engage in every kind of professional undertaking, often
secular works, leaving aside the work to which their
congregations were committed. One example suffices. The
School Sisters of Notre Dame in their Dallas Province
have by design given up as school teachers. A few
remain here and there in the schools, but the province
has abandoned the Congregation's basic commitment. And
so they fade from view, and now ever more rapidly. Most
of the congregations of Dominican Sisters are as bad or
worse. As these congregations die, the Church loses one
of its greatest assets.
Renewal means "another beginning." I do not say a
second beginning because the Church has had many
renewals. And so has our Order. All of you know as much
about that as I, and probably most of you know more.
When the majority of you were in the prime of life, the
Church broke from many staid attitudes in the sincere
dedication to Christ. At first things went badly. To a
certain extent, they still do. Why? Frankly, I believe
it was because of short-sightedness born of the
contemporary insistence on immediate results and
personal gratification. Careful reflection was largely
absent. Too many intelligent people, abetted by the
secular press, leapt on the bandwagon. Every new
possibility had to be tried, no matter how silly or how
mundane. The voices calling for patience, for obedience
to the Holy See, for a profound respect for the sacred
and a love of the mysteries of the Faith, were too few.
And they were drowned out by the thunder of a hostile,
almost pagan press. Well, they say, things must
sometimes grow worse before they can become better. You
and I have lived through a period of botched attempts
at renewal which may prove the truth of that
observation.
When I was a kid, a two-reel special was shown at the
movies one Sunday afternoon. It was a study of the Holy
See. Mind you, this was long before the Age of
Ecumenism. And this was in Houston where Catholics were
a small, sometimes an oppressed, minority. Pius XII was
the recently-elected Pontiff. On long segment of this
two-reeler featured the Dominicans. In those years,
quite a few of our priests labored in the Vatican,
though much of the footage was taken at Santa Sabina. I
had already made up my mind that I would try to enter
the Dominicans; and so I was thrilled with the footage.
I have always known that the Holy See looked to the
Dominicans for sanity, balance, sound judgment in
matters of Catholic dogma and morals. Our leading
thinkers were formed by St. Thomas. In the degree that
they pursued a spiritual, prayerful life, and practiced
a reverent obedience, our Order needed no other
credential. We held the trust of the Holy See.
But in incredible numbers, we succumbed to the
contemporary trends; and many of our brothers in the
United States, Canada, and Western Europe gave up the
priesthood (perhaps in greater number, relatively
speaking, than any other Order) and many who have
remained have become irrelevant. I haven't looked at
the data for a few years, but at the General Chapter of
1983 it was evident that provinces in (England, the Low
Countries, Lyons, Germany,. S. Albert's in Bavaria-
Austria, Sicily) were all in dire straits. In the
United States, we have been slowly declining. And the
reason for this decline, while newer religious orders
are flourishing, is so obvious. We have given up our
stout commitment to the preaching of the doctrine of
the Faith; and we have done this because we have ceased
to study and to be formed by the theology of Aquinas.
In the First World, the mold has been broken, or at
least severely fractured. And so our Order holds on,
but just barely, sliding ever more into irrelevance.
I am sixty-two years old and I know that the best years
of my life are over. Looking back, I remember many
things about which I used to argue with other
Dominicans because I thought the issues were important
(and, alas, too often, because I wanted to be proven
correct!). Today, many of those matters are of no
concern to me. They are relatively speaking, trivial.
But I look to the rock whence I was hewn. I thank
Almighty God that I was privileged to study carefully,
and to be formed intellectually and spiritually by
Dominicans who loved the study of St. Thomas and who
were, as a result, outstanding preachers of the Faith.
(As an aside, answer this question for yourself: How
many Dominicans have you known in years past who were
in the Order because of the preachers they heard who
were formed in the Thomistic tradition? They were
many.) I am sixty-two. But old men dream dreams. I
dream -- and I should pray more fervently - that it is
not too late for us to return to the careful study of
Aquinas and to reclaim within the Church the reputation
which should be ours; the reputation, that is to say,
of men committed to Truth, acquired through the
patient, careful, systematic study of St. Thomas,
together with all of the supporting studies, including
modern approaches, that can remake us into Defenders of
the Faith and True Lights of the World.
Each of us should pray fervently for this gift of God
to his Church. If we do, God our Loving Father will
answer our prayers.
To St. Dominic, we must address our appeal. To St.
Thomas we must humbly pray. And then we shall see the
renewal that the Church has called for and that the
contemporary Catholic so desperately needs.
II. The Spirit of Obedience
At Providence College, there is a marvelous statue of
St. Dominic which was crafted by Thomas McGlynn.
Dominic holds a book in his left hand, probably the
Gospel of Matthew and certain Epistles of St. Paul. St.
Dominic is moving forward and, as Leonard Cochran said
in one of his finer poems, Dominic is "poised out of
balance with the world. In his beautiful words to St.
Dominic, Leonard adds: "You lunge forward, forever
falling, never fallen." We do no work in the United
States that is more important or more successful than
our efforts at Providence College. Which may be why one
of the finest images of St. Dominic is beautifully
situated on that lovely campus.
I am certain that the reception of Thomas Aquinas into
our Order was Dominic's gift -- or God's gift to the
Church and to us because of St. Dominic. While it is
proper and fitting for us to promote the example of
Thomas, our spirit should arise from the example of St.
Dominic. In what does that consist?
Nothing stands out in my awareness of St. Dominic more
than his reverence for the Holy See. How many trips did
he make to Rome to obtain approval of his ideas for the
Order which he was founding? He wanted the Order to be
a work of the Church, not his work. He wanted his
brothers to preach what the Church wanted preached, not
merely what and, mostly, he wanted a well-educated
group of obedient men, obedient to the Holy See and
obedient to their superiors. I have noted with
considerable discouragement the decline of these
elements in the Dominican psyche. You can name the
Dominicans who are, in considerable numbers hostile to
the Holy See. You can cite instances of our brothers
who proclaim their views with vigor, even though their
ideas are in opposition to what the Church teaches. And
how many of us are there -- I fear the numbers are
uncountable -- who want our superiors to do what we
want to do and in the time, place, and manner in which
we want.
Once when I was a superior, I made a trip to visit
three of my older brothers. At each stop, I intended to
ask the Brother to change assignments, even though I
know that it is more difficult for an older man to be
transferred. In each of those three instances, I was
met with an instantaneous, humble obedience. Is this
what you want me to do? Yes, it is. Okay, when do you
want me to make the change? But on most occasions, I
had to deal with men who were disinclined to move, even
given a superior's request. Twice, I was able to obtain
a priest's agreement to transfer only after a threat to
issue a formal precept!
When I was a young priest, I noted that there were
members of my Province who were forever being
transferred. Some were just too wrapped up in
themselves to be of much utility. Some were afflicted
with alcoholism in the years before adequate treatment
for that illness was available. Some lacked the spirit
of that true obedience about which I have been
speaking. Some were trying to fulfil assignments which
they considered demeaning. All were suffering from
human weaknesses, the most glaring of which is in our
Order the weakness of -- not to say, the absence of --
sincere obedience.
There can be no doubt that prompt, unhesitating
obedience is the tie that binds us. All of your
talents, your opportunities, your efforts on behalf of
others are of little utility unless you are a man of
spontaneous, prompt, positive, even joyful obedience.
This is the fundamental value in Dominican Life. Other
great, indispensable elements come into play in our
lives, without which we are going to be disappointing
to others and to ourselves. But none of those
indispensable elements will save our Order until each
of us recommits himself to obedience.
You know so well that obedience is the only vow which
we publicly profess. When many of you took first the
simple vow and then the solemn vow of obedience, the
ceremonies were austere, puritanically simple. Since
the late 1960's, rites have been developed that enhance
the ceremonies, especially for solemn vows. But I
remember so well the ritual of my solemn profession.
Bunny Marr was the Prior at River Forest (for both my
simple and my solemn profession). My class attended
solemn high mass, at he conclusion of which we donned
the cappa and entered the sanctuary. We made the venia,
responded to the question, "What do you seek?" with the
response, "God s mercy and yours, listened to Bunny's
admonition that we were to be "sticks and stones," one
by one professed the vow of obedience, received the
kiss of peace, and departed. Yes, the rite was austere.
And altogether fittingly so!
Through most of my adult life, I have judged that there
is a difficult conflict in the fundamentals of
Dominican Life. The conflict is easy to resolve for
those who are holy. It is most difficult to resolve for
those of us who stopped advancing in holiness years
ago. But even for us sinners, the conflict is resolved
by the proper answer to one question: At whose disposal
do I place myself? At my own? Or at the disposition of
my superiors? My brothers this is so fundamental that I
must emphasize -- never fearing that I will exaggerate
the point -- that you and I are solemnly committed to
total obedience. And our obedience should be
spontaneous, joyful, confident, and undertaken as the
most fundamental issue in the following of Christ. "I
have not come to do my own will but the will of Him who
sent me." "Not my will but your will be done. Father,
into your hands I commend my spirit."
The renewal of the Dominican Order begins and ends
right here. Can we resurrect the simple, yet profound
spirit of obedience which alone binds us together?. Ask
yourself now, and ask yourself throughout the remainder
of this retreat: Do I place myself without
qualification at the disposal -- please note the word
carefully -- of my superiors, urging them to do with me
what they judge suitable? or have I laid out a plan for
my life which I shall pursue, regardless of my
superior's judgments or preferences? If in sufficient
numbers we answer "yes, I do place myself unreservedly
at my superior's direction," then there is hope for our
Order and its apostolic mission. If but a few of our
brothers respond in the affirmative, we shall continue
to dissolve and perhaps to disappear early in the
twenty-first century.
Now I know that superiors require practical knowledge
if they are to perform their services to us with any
success. Accordingly, it is proper for you to tell your
superior what your principal interests are and what you
believe you are sufficiently talented to achieve. We
are not, in fact, "sticks and stones." Of all
religious, we should be the most reasonable, as should
our superiors. But it surely one thing to inform your
superior of your interests and of your inclinations. It
is another to presume that you can use your superior to
give you what you want. My superior is reasonable, but
he is not all-knowing. I tell him what my concerns are,
wherein my preferences lie, and what my abilities seem
to be. I have never had a superior who wasn't glad to
hear from me about such matters. Yet, I know that he
has more obligations than he can fulfil, more
difficulties in assigning the brethren than in any
other area of his responsibilities. I must be quite
prompt -- quick, even -- to accept the assignment which
he offers me, even if -- especially when -- it seems
less trivial to me than some other possibility that I
know of.
The Fundamental Constitution of our Order states that
"we are incorporated into our Order by profession and
consecrated totally to God." Our solemn profession of
obedience is, to be sure, a consecration. One who is
properly disposed receives at his solemn profession the
absolution of every sin and of every penalty owing to
sin. It is a moment of second baptism and why? Because
our solemn profession a total consecration to God. Ask
yourself then: Do I do what my superior wants me to do?
or do I do what I prefer? Is my commitment to the Order
a full commitment? or is it partial? Does my spirit of
obedience sparkle? or is it dull? Am I one who strives
to have my superiors approve, even grudgingly what I
want to do? or do I place myself humbly, fully at their
command?
Maintaining a true spirit of obedience requires a life
of prayer. If I do not pray, if I do not attempt to
observe a routine of mediation, then I become too
committed to this world. So committed, it is not
possible for me fully to be committed to God, lacking
which commitment, obedience becomes an onus and not a
liberation.
At the end of this retreat, with the permission of the
Prior, I shall invite each of you to renew your solemn
vow of obedience. To do that with any meaning, you must
prepare for the moment by prayer and meditation. love
of God, the Father. Do it as an attempt to impersonate
Jesus Christ in your own time and place. Do it as a
humble response to the urging of God the Holy Spirit.
Do it as you picture in your imagination that stunning
statue of St. Dominic at Providence, "poised," as
Leonard Cochran suggests, "out of balance with the
world."
III. The Spirit of Chastity
Over many years, I have suffered annoyance with those
who describe the virtue of chastity in the priesthood
as "celibacy." Some who substitute that term for
"chastity" do so without understanding that it
expresses a significant change in the virtuous life.
Some - a few at least - do so with deliberation. The
life of celibacy is the state of being unmarried. And
yes, we are all celibates. Chastity is another matter.
Now, there is surely such a state as "marital
chastity," practiced by more people than one might
think possible in this post-Christian age. And there is
that state of life which is commonly termed "religious
chastity," which means not only the priest or religious
will not marry, but that he will abstain from
deliberate sexual activity of every kind. This being an
inordinately difficult way of life, as we all know too
well, the religious binds himself by vow to refrain
from the urgings of the flesh. All priests, however
and, indeed all human being, are bound by the virtue of
chastity.
The virtue is most helpful ... in the lives of those
who continually recommit themselves to be Jesus Christ
for others. Unfortunately, too many of us fail to dwell
on this virtue as often as we should. Ask yourself:
When is the last time that you spoke to God about the
life of chastity? When was the last time that you
carefully recommitted yourself to the chaste life? And
how often have you renewed your promise to yourself to
take the careful steps that are necessary to live the
life of chastity? I must emphasize the adjective in
that last question; the careful steps!
Perhaps I should say, the careful "step." it is surely
most difficult. Bodily mortification. Physical self-
denial. I hear lots of daily confessions at St.
Dominic's in New Orleans. I try to be kind and helpful,
failing in that occasionally, to be sure. But
routinely, I tell those who commit sins of
masturbation, fornication, adultery, and homosexuality
that they will never have any success in overcoming the
urgings of the flesh until they chastise the body and
attempt to bring it into subjection. In earlier years,
our Church instructed us to practice various forms of
fasting and self-denial. Alas! Those practices are now
in the memory only. And while I do not suggest that
their abrogation is the principal reason for the sexual
misconduct of so many of our number, their absence from
our lives is surely a contributing factor.
During my years in the seminary, sexual misconduct was
a very rare occurrence. Very rare. In part, that was
owing to the strict schedule which we were required to
observer Many of you remember: rising at 5:40, Prime,
Pretiosa, the Martyrology, Tierce, morning Mass, part
of the Office of the Dead, breakfast around 7:10, first
class at 8:00, second class at 9:00, third at 1 0:00,
fourth at 1 1:00. Then mid-day prayers at noon followed
by lunch, followed by recreation or manual labor,
frequently an afternoon class, study for an hour and a
half to two hours, then evening prayer, dinner (such as
it was), Rosary, a halfhour mediation, 45 minutes of
recreation, study for two hours, lights out at 10:30
(except for Neal McDermott) and others who spent late
evening in the john!). Perhaps we didn't have time to
think about chastity or to be bothered much by
temptations to unchastity.
And for half the year, we were undergoing the monastic
fast. Frankly, I didn't like the fast. But, then, when
I resigned myself to it, it proved a massive antidote
to the temptations of the flesh! For what have we
substituted the monastic observances? In fact, for
nothing. So we see, especially among younger priests,
but also in our own lives, that we are more given to
the comforts and ease of the American life and with it
to the temptations of the flesh.
Many, many years ago, I made a retreat in Chicago. Also
making the retreat was one of the oldest priest I knew,
Father Dominic Noon. After a conference on chastity, at
which the retreat master remarked that temptations of
the flesh subside only after one reaches advanced
years, I asked Father Noon whether he enjoyed the
conference. "He's a marvelous speaker," was the reply,
"but he doesn't know what the s--t he's talking about!"
His observation underscores the problem which each of
us experiences. Through our young years, we had to
fight the good fight to be chaste. Perhaps for many the
fight becomes less urgent through the middle and later
years. Perhaps. But we must continue to press ourselves
-- especially through bodily mortification and self-
denial -- or we shall submit to the flesh. What could
be more obvious, more certain? Surely in the matter of
chastity, we must continue to become more virtuous or
we shall slip into vice. Surely it is true in this
matter, more than in almost any other, that one cannot
stand still!
At St. Dominic's in New Orleans, we hear many priests'
confessions, there being a special confessional for the
clergy near the front door of the Priory. The physical
arrangement allows for anonymity. On the one hand, it
is always moving and a very great privilege to hear a
priest's confession. On the other hand, it is manifest,
that the chastity of the diocesan and religious clergy
is a matter of common failure. To be sure, these are
sins of weakness and not sins of malice. I am confident
that God, who knows our weaknesses, will be sparing,
forgiving of those who acknowledge their failures and
humbly ask for forgiveness. I know that the mercy of
God will be offered to those who struggle, even through
their failures, to practice chastity. "I chastise my
body and bring it into subjection." Can any one doubt
that Paul the Apostle is here referring to the bodily
mortification, the bodily chastisement that is
essential for those of us who hope to save our souls?
To what else can he be referring when he talks of "the
thorn of the flesh?"
Think of any of the great saints to whom you are
devoted and you will find a man or a woman who beat the
flesh into subjection, by rigorous fasting, by
abstaining from meat and other more palatable foods, by
keeping sleep to a minimum, by less comfortable
clothes, by a less comfortable bed, by various devices
to make the flesh penitential, usually through
inflicting pain. Bodily chastisement is far and away
the most important of the mission elements in the lives
of contemporary Catholics, especially of contemporary
priests and religious.
As I keep saying, I abhor puritanism, especially the
Catholic from usually called "Jansenism," which is not
only excessive because prideful, but which also
deprives one of the joy of life. Now, to this you must
carefully attend. The Catholic code of morals by no
means subjects those who live by that code to a loss of
joy, of happiness, of the beauty of human life. I have
never resolved a problem in my life, in this regard,
concerning the Irish. Perhaps through the suffering and
oppression which they have experienced through so much
of the history, much of it owing to their stout
Catholicism, the Irish have always been charmed by
human life, while observing the need to repress the
unwholesome desires of the flesh. Witty, delightful to
be around (though there are always exceptions, to be
sure) the Irish have never submerged themselves in the
love of riches or to an undue commitment to this life.
True, a certain form of Jansenism afflicted some of the
Irish Catholic leaders in this country, especially
during the last century. But most Irish tolerated that
attitude, at best, and many ignored it altogether. In
any event, the lesson here which is inherently,
indispensably part of priestly spirituality, is that we
are not to practice bodily mortification with a
humorlessness, with a glumness, that cuts us off from
the way of living the life of a priest. Bodily
chastisements are intended to free us from captivity.
And joy belongs only to those who are truly free.
Therefore, my brothers, be quick to confess sins of the
flesh. Remember that fleshly sins are objectively
grievous and usually are subjectively grievous as well.
And be constant in bodily mortification, avoiding the
puritanical. Do these observances rigorously not only
for yourselves but especially for those to whom you
minister, knowing that by your penance and self-denial
you can overcome the world, the devil, and, to be sure,
the flesh.
IV. The Spirit of Poverty
"How blest are the poor in spirit. The kingdom of
heaven is theirs."
It is fatuous for me to attempt a conference on the
virtue of Poverty? I don't know why, but I have little
respect for money, yet I care too much for material
possessions. In every moral virtue, two vices are in
opposition, the virtue standing somewhere in between
them. Father Gerald Vann loved to cite the phrase of
T.S. Eliot: "Teach us to care and not to care, teach us
to sit still." Vann thought the expression almost
perfectly summed up the correct Christian attitude
toward material possessions. Of course, the poetic
reference is clear: we should reverence material things
of value as God's gifts to us, and so should "care" for
them and use them with appropriate delight. Yet we
shouldn't "care" for them as though they were unduly
important possessions which clearly express the degree
of God's love for us. I know quite a few Fundamentalist
Protestants -- the Southern Baptists especially, and
the 7th Day Adventists, -- for whom human wealth is a
measure of the degree of God's love. The greater your
wealth, the greater is the degree of God's love for
you!
When I was a student in philosophy, my class was given
an assignment by Father Sebastian Carlson, God rest
him, who was teaching us a course in the moral virtues.
Each of us had to select a minor virtue and write an
essay about it. Cagily, I chose "Liberality." Now,
Liberality is a moral virtue that deals with the use of
unnecessary funds. Its opposing virtues are, on the one
hand, Prodigality, the wanton wastefulness of money and
other valuables, and on the other, Miserliness, the too
cautious saving of extra funds at one's disposal. In
the priesthood I have known misers and I have known
prodigals. To be honest, I have also known many truly
liberal priests.
I have a brother-in-law who lives in Gettysburg who was
enormously successful in the business world, so that he
and my sister entered their retirement years very
comfortably fixed. Not bad for a couple that raised
thirteen children, put each of them through sixteen
years of Catholic schools -- four graduated from
Providence College (the best four, though don't quote
me!) -- and without the benefit of scholarships. My
brother-in-law is a liberal man, in that he is very
generous where generosity is called for, but quite
pecuniary. He does a lot for those who have less than
he, but don't ever try to cheat him because he will
never be generous to you again! Liberality is something
that is rather clearly understood by that old German
(German-American, I should say).
Liberality is a marvelous virtue for all of us. But it
is only the beginning of the life of simplicity to
which we have offered ourselves. We have to be more
than liberal. We have to relish a life in which, as St.
Augustine teaches in his- Rule, "it is better to need
little than to have much." One of my favorite priests
lived an exacting life of simplicity. Funny, I didn't
know a happier priest. As with the practice of positive
Chastity, true poverty of spirit is liberating, freeing
one "naked to follow the naked Christ."
Simplicity of life, as you understand, is not an end to
be achieved but a means. We must, then, be careful not
to be judgmental of other priests. We have different
needs, different weaknesses -- certainly different
opportunities. I live with Father Val McInnes, whom
some of you may know. Val travels in high circles. One
week, he's off to Taiwan, another to the Mediterranean,
still another to Latin America. I exaggerate. But Val
does travel a lot and he has to. He raises funds both
for the Religious Center at Tulane University and for
the Southern Province, a difficult obligation and one
for which few of his brother in the priesthood
appreciate. Yet Val leads a simple life, as I know,
because one cannot belong to a rather small community
and have no recognition of other members' basic
attitudes. Val is forever asking me to take him to the
airport or to meet him there on his return. And I don't
mind. I'm glad that he has the fundraiser's job and
talent, delighted that I do not, and happy to help him
save the cost of repeated cab fares.
With Neal McDermott, another Dominican with whom I live
(he's the pastor of St. Dominic's, New Orleans), I once
engaged in a verbal contest about the number of famous
people whom we have met. Together with Ed Conley, who
until recently was pastor at St. Anthony's in New
Orleans, we made a trip to Italy. Sitting one afternoon
in the glorious Piazza San Marco at Venice, we wondered
whether anyone famous would stroll by. Neal remarked
that he had met so many of the rich and famous that it
really didn't matter to him. Discussion turned into a
contest between him and me concerning the famous we had
met, until Ed Conley, who was sitting between us, had
enough of our nonsense and yelled, "Bull ---- !"
Not to play that game with you, but I did have dinner
one evening the Dorothy Day. She was a close friend of
Caroline Gordon, the novelist and former wife of Allen
Tate, the well-known American poet and essayist. Coming
through Dallas to stay with Caroline for a few days,
she suffered my driving abilities or lack thereof, and
so I was invited to join the two of them and the
President of the university and his wife for dinner. We
went to the Las Colinas Country Club. I though that
Dorothy Day would be ill as ease in such a ritzy place,
yet she accompanied the four of us, engaged animatedly
in conversation, ate quite simply, and did not
complain. Fortunately, none of the high-rollin' Texans
there knew who she was, and ignored her, probably
because she was dressed in homespun clothing. She lives
as she thought she should and was the least judgmental
of anyone I have ever known.
On another occasion -- really, I am not playing the,
Neal McDermott game with you -- I was invited to dinner
at one of Dallas' finest restaurants, The Old Warsaw.
The host for the evening was Bishop Thomas Gorman of
Dallas; the principal guest was his classmate from
Louvain days, Archbishop Fulton ("Full Tone" as some
called him) Sheen. Three other priests and I were in
attendance. We were given a corner table, unfortunately
one in which Archbishop Sheen was placed in angled
corner so that all the patrons could see him. The poor
man had little peace and almost no time to eat, as
patron after patron approached him to shake his hand,
solicit an autograph, or simply visit. Living as he did
in a small apartment in New York City, where he cooked
his own meals and lived an ascetical life, I could feel
his discomfort. But he did not criticize those who had
brought him there. Poverty of spirit, as I have said,
is relative -- relative to one's state, one's
obligations, one's opportunity for the Lord. Jesus
dined with rich men, yet no one ever practiced the
virtue of poverty to which we are committed better than
He. For this virtue is a relative value, not an
absolute one.
Until we embrace a simplicity of life, our priesthood
is less productive if not deceitful. The next time you
go to your quarters, then, take a quick inventory of
the clothes, the books, and the other accoutrements
which you have acquired (should I say "amassed?"). Then
sit down and ask yourself: How much of this do I need?
Books are an exception, as I believe, yet some of us
carry the matter to extremes. I know a priest who goes
off to various bookstores on his day off. Always he
returns with purchases that are almost certainly
excessive, an unnecessary spending of money. But, to be
sure, given my own excesses in the matter of
simplicity, I really have no grounds to criticize him.
We have to be detached in order to do what God has
asked us to do. So, we must worry about material
possessions all through our lives. We should promise to
move from the necessity of having the security of
certain possessions, to become ever more simple in our
style of life, ever more free of material cares. So you
must ask yourself: Does the worry continue? Am I, that
is to say, careless about material values? Am I
selfish? Do I save money in order to entertain myself,
more lavishly than is in keeping with a man committed
to the apostolic life? Sadly, quite sadly, some of us
must answer yes to most of those questions, though the
positive answers may vary in degree, that is to say, in
the width of our failures.
Today, we should recommit ourselves to the constant
teachings of the Church, which urges priests to be
simple in their possessions in order to be effective as
witnesses to Christ. When you hear the Lord say: "Go
sell what you have and give to the poor, and come
follow me" (Mt. 9:21), you must be attentive, urging
yourself to conquer greed so as to be more in
conformity with Christ: "Who for our sakes became poor,
that by his poverty we might become rich."
V. Priestly Consecration
"Something which has existed since the beginning, that
we have
heard, and we have seen with our own eyes; that we
have watched
and touched with our hands: the Word who is life --
this is our
subject. . . What we have seen and heard we are
telling you so
that you too may be in union with us, as we are in
union with the
Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ" (I John, 1 and
3).
How many of the contemporary arguments among Catholics
revolve around the sacrament of Holy Orders! I offer a
partial list:
1. The Ministry of the Laity, especially those who are
asked to be special ministers of the Eucharist.
2. The ministry of women, notably the question of why
women cannot be ordained.
3. Catholic relations with the Anglican Church,
especially the validity of Anglican orders.
4. Priestly celibacy.
5. Authority of the Presbyterate versus Episcopal
authority.
6. The dispensation of priests from the obligations of
the priesthood.
7. Communion by Protestants in Catholic churches, and
vice-versa.
And then there are the extreme practices. I know a
priest who allowed an Episcopalian "priestess" to
concelebrate the Eucharist with him. One of his friends
allowed an Episcopalian "deaconess" to preach at a
Catholic funeral liturgy. I also remember well the
occasion -- this is far less egregious, but still
objectionable -- when, I was supplying for a
vacationing pastor. The permanent deacon at the liturgy
shoved me to the side, allowing me (I exaggerate, but
not by much) to recite the Eucharistic Prayer but
little else. He gave the opening greeting and lead the
faithful in the penitential rite, he read the gospel,
preached, and baptized two infants, he said the Prayer
of the Faithful including the final prayer. He told me
to be seated while he received the gifts and prepared
them at the altar. At the exchange of peace, he paraded
through the Church in a flurry of gestures, leaving me
standing at the altar. When, at communion, he told me
to be seated while he and lay ministers distributed
communion, I strenuously objected! With regrettable
meanness, I allowed him to say no further word,
including the "Go in Peace" which, in common practice
the deacon offers.
As you know so well, there is a strong movement in
American Catholicism to eliminate, insofar as possible,
the distinction between the ordained ministry and the
laity. People whom I do not know well frequently call
me by my first name, a practice that was foreign to
Catholics a quarter of a century ago. When I was a
newly ordained priest, I remember asking Father Eugene
Klueg (now dead, God rest him!) how I should address
older priests. "Call them by their first names when
they tell you to," was his answer. And I observed that.
Those were the days, though, when Catholics, as well as
some Protestants and Jews, retained a special reverence
for the priesthood -- when Catholic sense still
reverenced the sacred.
All of us are consecrated, made sacred, set apart. What
does this mean? First, it means that we are "other
Christs." But it is far better to speak of this mystery
in the singular: each of us is "another Christ." In the
singular, I say, because there is but one Christ; we
have each of us to be and to do in our time and place
what Jesus would be and do there. We are, therefore,
set apart: "You shall be witnesses to me." And we are
set apart to show forth the love of Christ: "Let this
heart be in you which was in Christ Jesus . . ."
In examining your conscience during these days, there
are few areas where you should be more exacting with
yourself. You have been given God's incredible gift of
the priesthood, of priestly consecration. Routine takes
a special toll on you, though, and you neglect to
meditate on the sacred character which you have been
given. Too many of us forget that we have been set
apart, consecrated! Yes, how often we fail! Far from
being "Christ" to others, we too often are mean,
impatient, intolerant, unduly critical, self -seeking
..
The power which was given us at our ordination is the
power of Jesus Christ. Why do we shy away from
reflecting on that incredible fact? We possess Christ's
very power. We have the power to dedicate material
things to God -- as though God himself took these
elements and held them as a special possession,
offering his personal protection, making his choice of
them.
When you administer the sacraments, you do so in Jesus'
stead. You are Jesus at the altar. So often, this is
not obvious to anyone, least of all to the priest
himself. My sister's first husband was a convert to
Catholicism. He became a Catholic, I believe, because
of the priests whom he knew. Of one of them, though, he
once remarked to me that he is a "floater." What is a
floater, I wondered. "Well," my brother-in-law said,
"just watch him say Mass! His main concern is the
impression he makes rather than what he is supposed to
be doing."
This is surely a point which requires careful self-
evaluation. Now, all self-criticism by an observant
Catholic must begin with the question: How do I become
more and more self-obliterating? How do I erase myself
from consideration so that I can lead others to
reflection on matters of the sacred? That is so
terribly hard to achieve, impossible to achieve
perfectly. But we must carefully enter that struggle,
constantly examine our consciences about the matter,
continually make good resolutions with the reminder
that I am, not "a" priest, but "The" priest, that is, I
am to be in my time and place what Jesus Christ would
be in the same circumstances.
You are a priest not merely as a surrogate of Pope John
Paul II or of Archbishop Schulte. You are one who
functions in persona Christi, especially when you
preside at the Eucharist. Saying Mass, you are Jesus
Christ! What frightful errors ensue from the
misconstructions of contemporary "Theology!" So many of
our brothers refuse to wear clerical dress because they
do not want to be set apart. How many there are who
refuse to concelebrate because they do not want to
offend religious women, or, even worse, because they
want to emphasize their unity with the laity!! To
concelebrate the Eucharist is to exercise one's
consecration in persona Christi. But that is so sadly
misunderstood.
The celebrations of the sacraments are the moments when
we need to be most conscious of the sacred -- of our
own sacredness, first of all -- and of the sacredness
of certain times and places; for it is then especially
that we can be caught up into the Trinitarian Life. God
is always with us, ever present, omnipresent. But when
we enter into sacramental rites, we are invaded by God
in a perceptible manner (depending on the degree of our
faith). These are the times when we know God's glory,
yes even in a sensible manner.
Of course that is true for all participants, the
ordained and the non-ordained. But the minister -- all
the ministers -- especially must be cognizant when
sacraments are celebrated of the sacredness which is
theirs and of the sacredness into which they enter. The
loss of the sense of the sacred has wrought havoc in
our Church. There are too many of us who preside at
sacramental rituals in a routine manner, without awe,
hurriedly, without preparation, offhandedly. And there
is so much that is foolish in the efforts of some to
make the Church's celebrations "meaningful."
The awareness of the sacred should be predominant when
we approach the sacraments. Vere iste locus sanctus
est. Coming to the celebration of our sacred rites, we
should often recall the words of the Psalmist: I have
loved, O Lord, the beauty of your house and the place
where your glory dwells." This is where priestly
character and temperament must be at its finest. Great
saints spent long hours before the Blessed Sacrament
because they were devoted to God's sacred gifts,
especially to the most sacred gift, to the most
outlandish gift, the gift of himself! And holy priests
rarely miss the daily celebration of the Eucharist,
even when that is humanly speaking, very inconvenient.
But permit me to insist that our love of God's house
begins with our deep perception that we, ourselves, are
sacred because of our baptism, and -- this bearing on
our primary task -- because of our priestly
consecration.
Having been consecrated by the Sacrament of Holy
Orders, we are to proclaim the Gospel and to preach.
Others who are qualified are allowed to "preach," that
is, to address the body of the faithful, though at the
Eucharist they may do so only at the conclusion of the
rite. Men who preach in the Christian assembly exercise
a function on behalf of Christ's body; the Church; and,
indeed, on behalf of Jesus Himself. "He who hears you
[whom I have sent], hears me." When we preach, we
preach in the place of Jesus. And this you know! How
often, how very often, have your words struck others in
ways that you could never have foreseen? People tell
you of their reactions to your sermons and you are left
wondering. He who hears you, hears me.
The proclamation of the word of God within the formal
settings of the Church -- within the sacramental
liturgy, that is -- requires the consecration of Holy
Orders. We who preach must be reminded that we have
been consecrated to this purpose whenever we ascend the
pulpit. Word and Sacrament. The two are inseparable, as
constant Catholic tradition has taught and as the
Second Vatican Council proclaimed anew. For it said:
"The People of God are joined together primarily by
the word of the living God. And rightfully they expect
this from their priests. Since no one can be saved who
does not first believe, priests as co-workers with
their bishops, have the primary duty of proclaiming the
Gospel of God to all. In this way, they fulfill the
command of the Lord: Going, therefore, into the whole
world, preach the gospel to every creature, and they
establish and build up the People of God" (Chap. II,
sect.1).
VI. The Choral Office
In 1942, when I was an altar boy at Holy Rosary in
Houston Father Philip Pendis (who had been ordained the
year before) sent me to his room in the Rectory to
fetch something. On the wall of bedroom was a painting
that caught my eye. Later, I asked him what it was so
he took me back to his room and explained that it
represented Dominicans on earth and Dominicans in
heaven, all bowed down before the Blessed Trinity. Our
Lady was also in the picture. Underneath this whole
representation were the words, Gloria Patri et Filio et
Spiritui Sancto. Many years later, I gave a retreat to
the cloistered Dominicans at Lufkin, during which I
mentioned this painting. When I finished the retreat,
one of the nuns, who was familiar with the painting,
presented me with a reproduction which now hangs as a
reminder to me in my room.
Nothing, of course had been more troubling to us on a
day-to-day basis than choral office. Presently, I live
with older men, one of whom is fairly deaf. He is
habitual at daily office in our priory chapel. Since he
doesn't hear well, he usually is either ahead of, or
behind, the rest of us in the recitation of the psalms.
Sometimes, he's reciting the wrong verse. But no one
troubles him about the matter, which may be a sign that
we are a fairly decent community. I have noticed, as I
know each of you has, that we are each authorities on
the manners and morals that are required for the choral
office. Tom Cain (whom I mentioned earlier) used to say
at St. Albert's in Irving, when he was prior there,
that he would never say anything to a Dominican about
the way in which he celebrated Mass or recited the
Office. There is wisdom in his observance. Usually, if
you try to correct someone in these matters, you only
make matters worse. We must be placid about the
imperfections of our community observances, even about
our liturgical obligations, while at the same time
struggling to be inoffensive to others, and struggling
especially to seek to praise Almighty God.
The primary purpose of the liturgy -- it has other
purposes, to be sure -- is the praise of God. Do I say
too much when I suggest that this is our most important
activity in life? To praise -- laudare -- and to praise
corporately is a radical foundation of Dominican life
and ministry. Recognizing this, it becomes easier to
join the community at prayer. But we must recognize the
truth in this matter. St. Paul says: "Let your hearts
be on heavenly things, not on the things that are on
the earth, because you have died, and now the life you
have is hidden with Christ in God" (Col. 3:2-3).
Often I say to penitents who have been rather cavalier
about the fulfillment of the Sunday obligation that
they should not go to mass for what they can get out of
it, they should go for what they can put into it: to
praise God, an incredibly loving Father, a wondrous
Savior, a gentle guest in our souls. "Since you have
been brought back to life with Christ, you Christ look
for the things that are in heaven, where Christ is . .
" (ibid., 3: 1). Those who are loyal Christians know
something about God which others do not. We know that
God is Triune. You can meditate on this revealed truth
all of your life and never exhaust mind or your heart
and never fully capture the mystery of the Trinity. But
one conclusion stands out most soberly in this
revelation that Jesus gave us so lovingly. Because God
is Triune, the Persons of the Trinity are each outward
turning. Completely each of the Divine Persons is
turned away from Himself toward the other two Persons
in a loving disposition that has no boundaries. And
because of that, the Most Blessed Trinity is turned
altogether toward God loves you without limit, and
while perfectly respecting your freedom, lovingly urges
you to return his love. There is, as you know so well,
no benefit to God in the love that you return to Him.
There is immense benefit to you -- a transforming
benefit that not only brings about your salvation but
ushers you into the presence of the selfless joy of the
Trinity.
Bonum est diffusivum sui. Remember the old scholastic
adage? Goodness, through its inherent makeup, shares
itself with others. And infinite goodness shares itself
without measure, without limit. Now, our liturgical
life is supposed to draw us out of ourselves, just as
the Persons of the Blessed Trinity, by nature are drawn
out of Themselves. "Forever I will sing the praises of
the Lord." "Glory be," not to me or to you or to
others, not to the saints primarily, neither to the
Church itself, but 'lo the Father and to the Son and to
the Holy Spirit."
The choral office has other values, though of a lesser
importance. These values are, to be sure, important,
but they are secondary. What are they? First, the
office which we chant together should prepare us for
contemplation. I do not say that the choral office is
contemplative prayer. It is surely not. But for
contemplation, it needs to be a preamble. St. Dominic
always went apart away from the choral office to pray
in silence. He would do this for hours. Those were the
times of his contemplation.
Second, the choral office should foster within us a
divine instinct. This means that from our community
prayer, we should derive a sense of the sacred. My
goodness What is more needed today within our ranks and
among the faithful than this antidote to the rampant
materialism that engulfs us?
Third, the choral office should prepare us for
preaching. I fear that this is hardly the case any
more. Too often, we recite the prayers with hardly a
pause for reflection. Yet it is the moments of silent
reflection that can cue us for the work which is ours.
We preach what we believe, what we know, what we
understand; but our faith is enlarged through our
selfless meditation, and the urge to speak to others of
God and of the things of God is fostered in sincere
meditative prayer. The celebration of choral office is
the best setting for him who is preparing to preach, as
St. Dominic understood so well.
Fourth, though only from time to time, the choir can
satisfy an emotional need. How often have you been
thanked by your brothers, or by the laity for the
beauty of the liturgies which you have performed? "I
have loved, O Lord, the beauty of your house. . ." We
all have a hunger for loveliness. What is more
dispiriting -- and at times, more humorous -- than an
awful liturgy? I have a first cousin who is a Jesuit
priest in New Orleans. Recently, he was telling me
about a mass at which a number of his confreres con-
celebrated. Was the liturgy successful? I asked. Yes,
he said. No one was critically injured. Of course, the
Jesuits were never given to liturgical observances
until this post-Christian age. But liturgical
loveliness is inherent in a Dominican's schema, and
partly because it can, at times, be an emotionally
uplifting experience.
Fifth, the choral office, faithfully observed can be a
discipline for us and can foster the penitential life.
Humbert of Romans said: "The greater part of our
penance consists in the recitation of the divine
office. When I was a student at the Angelicum so many
years ago, attendance at choir was truly penitential. I
sat between a Dutchman and a Northern Italian. Both
were decent fellows and both were "odor free." Other
Americans at that time were not so fortunate; for them,
the divine office in choro was a major penance. But
even under the best of circumstances, choir can be a
penance at times. Why? Because you must stop what you
are doing to attend, and that is hard, especially if
you are engrossed in your work. At times, you are just
weary or otherwise indisposed -- and the choir demands
energy. And, you sometimes say to yourself that I just
can't cope today with the distracting individuals with
whom I am supposed to pray.
On the other hand, few things are more distinctive of
St. Dominic's daily life than his love for community
prayer. Ventura of Verona, who testified at St.
Dominic's canonization process testified:
"Almost always, when outside the priory, on hearing
the first stroke of the matins bell from the
monasteries [near midnight], he used to arise and
arouse the friars [his travelling companions]. With
great devotion he celebrated the whole night and day
office at the prescribed hours so that he omitted
nothing. After Compline, when traveling, he kept and
had his companions keep the silence just as though he
were in the priory."
If we are Dominic's sons, we will be valiant in our
attendance at, and participation in, the choral office
and the community Mass. We will understand that the
choral office is not our inner life of prayer, though
perhaps a part of it. We will more and more appreciate
that the divine office is an act of worshipful praise
during which we unite ourselves with Christ who came to
worship the Father and who calls us to do this in union
with Him. And we shall find a richness added to our
lives when, with dignity and attentiveness we recite or
sing: "Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the
Holy Spirit."
VII. Dominican Brotherhood Conclusion of Dominican
Retreat
When I was a young dad [newly ordained priest] at
Dubuque in 1954-55, I was sent across the river to
Sinsinawa, Wisconsin, to say Masses for the Dominican
Sisters, while the chaplain was away. Arriving there, I
was surprised to find my Provincial, Father Edward L.
Hughes, sitting on the porch of the chaplain's
residence. He had come to seek some quiet time away
from his office in Chicago.
The day before, he had received the documents that
officially summoned the General Chapter of 1955, at
which Father Michael Brown was to be elected General.
Fr. Hughes was furious because the Vicar of the Order,
the estimable Terrence Stephen McDermott, had delayed
the chapter for eleven months. Eddie Hughes was
convinced that the delay -- unnecessary, in his view --
was designed to offer Steve McDermott a sufficient
chance to campaign for the office of General! I was
amused to not that Ed Hughes never referred to Steve
McDermott by name. His references were always,
unexceptionably to "New York."
Months later, I made my first visit outside of the
territory of St. Albert's Province. That same Father
Hughes came to the room where I was staying at St. Pius
in Chicago, and asked what I was doing? It was August
and I was helping with daily confessions, daily masses,
and the reading of mail for the Shrine of St. Jude,
while awaiting the time of my departure for Rome and
the Angelicum in mid-September. "Go up to Adrian
[Mich.]," he said, "and replace the diocesan priest who
is chaplain at the Motherhouse for four weeks."
While I was there, I met one of the best Dominicans I
have known, Fr. Cyril Burke, who had come at the
invitation of Mother Gerald Barry to discuss something
or other. We spent time together, and I soon realized
the Cy Burke was a marvelous model for any Dominican.
And I began to wonder about the negative feelings
toward St. Joseph Province that had seeped into my
consciousness.
Later in September, I stayed at St. Vincent Ferrer's in
New York with two of my classmates for a few days
before boarding the ship for Italy. I was surprised to
find the Dominicans there altogether hospitable, truly
fraternal. Where are the ogres that I had heard so much
about? (Of course, I met two of them on the ship bound
for Italy, but I reasoned that there are always
exceptions!)
In 1970, I participated in the first Interprovincial
Council Meeting of the three American Provinces. Fr.
Clem Collins was Provincial in Chicago and he
engineered that first meeting, using guile and patient
encouragement of Fr. Ken Sullivan and Fr. Paul Scanlon.
There was a lot of blood-letting at that meeting, at
the end of which it was clear that the first steps had
been taken to foster a spirit of true fraternity in the
American Provinces. In 1971, we held a second meeting,
this one in California, and one could sense the spirit
of fraternity. The six shooters were no longer worn;
there was a familial atmosphere throughout that
meeting. Later meetings were held annually -- in New
York, in New Orleans, at Monterey, and so on. Finally,
everyone realized that little more could be
accomplished and so meetings were made biannual and
then, more-or-less, terminated. The Provincials, I
believe, still meet in the Spring.
Each of us, I suppose, is somewhat critical of other
provinces, though equally most of us are critical of
our own. But it is most refreshing to know that
wherever there are American houses of our Order, we are
always extended a very warm welcome, as I have been
here, and as I know Tom Donlan and Jack O'Malley will
wholeheartedly agree.
We do not live in a perfect world, so there is no such
thing as a perfect religious order, or province, or
priory. Always there are difficulties, disagreements,
spats. One has only to reflect on St. Paul's remark
that "I withstood St. Peter to his face," referring to
a tense situation in which an argument erupted that, in
fact, St. Paul won. One has only to recall that St.
Paul and St. Mark came to a parting of the ways, Paul
refusing to allow Mark to travel with him any longer.
We have arguments among ourselves often enough, and
that is fine so long as: (a) we avoid personal offence
insofar as possible, and (b) we accept defeat and move
on to the next issue.
To be honest, I became a Dominican because I loved the
fraternity. That was what first attracted me to the
Dominicans, long before I knew anything about the
choral office, serious study, the widespread use of
true election democratically, or the fact that all of
my classmates would be damn yankees!
I have always believed that we are not a family; we are
a brotherhood. We have not wanted to be under a
"father" but rather the subject of a "brother." In the
reformation Of 1968, this fact is underscored in our
constitutions, as is the premise that one ought not to
serve for very long in a superior's role.
Still, we are as successful a brotherhood as our vow of
obedience will allow. That is, if we are truly in
earnest about obedience as the practical tie that binds
us together, our Order will be strengthened, perhaps
immeasurably. We take our vow of obedience to a person,
to an individual. I do not bind myself in some vague
manner to "my Order," or to "the Dominicans." I commit
myself, in my whole being, to other men, to my prior,
my provincial, my master. I tell Almighty God, myself,
and my superiors that I shall do what they ask of me.
This telling, this commitment is most solemn.
We do well, then, periodically to renew our commitment,
even publicly on occasion. This, with the Prior's
consent, I ask of you this morning as the last moment
in our retreat. Please pray for me as I shall for you
that we might be, each in his time, place, and manner,
obedient sons, struggling to be, even in a small way,
defenders of the faith and true lights of the world.
