Archbishop Thomas Toolen of
Mobile Alabama who forbad
his clergy to participate in Civil
Rights Demonstratons
|
I want to give another example of
where the Council brought about a change of direction in the Church—here
perhaps more of what Pope Benedict would call “reform” rather than “rupture”
but a change none the less. Robert Blair
Kaiser writes in his Tablet article
to which I have referred in my last two posts:
Before the Council, we
thought we were miserable sinners when we were being nothing but human. After
the Council, we had a new view of ourselves. We learned to put a greater
importance on finding and following Jesus as 'the way' (as opposed to what we
said in the Creed. It didn't matter so much what we said. What mattered was
what we did: helping to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and find shelter for
the homeless. That's what made us followers of Jesus. ….
Before the Council, we
identified 'salvation' as 'getting to heaven.' After the Council, we knew that
we had a duty to bring justice and peace to the world in our own contemporary
society, understanding in a new way the words that Jesus gave us when he taught
us to pray, 'thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.'
By the end, among the most influential figures at the Council, we encountered two
humble souls, one a woman, Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Worker
movement, who wasn't allowed to speak to the assembled bishops at Vatican II
(no woman was), and a bird-like figure, Dom Helder Camara, the archbishop of
Recife, in Brazil. Both of them went around Rome telling individual bishops and
those who were putting together the Council's crowning document, Gaudium et
Spes: please don't forget the poor.
The Council did not forget
the poor, and the statement out of Rome in October 2011 allying the Church with
the world's have-nots only proves that even the current powers-that-be in the
Church (still so unaccountable in so many other ways) get it. I will quote
Gaudium et Spes: The joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the
men of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these
are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ.
The Council radically reshaped what
we meant by “sin.” Before the Council
sin meant—to the Catholic-in-the-pews a personal violation of the Church’s
moral code. While this most frequently fell into the category of a
sexual transgression, there were other types of sin possible ranging from
missing Mass on Sundays or Holy Days to eating meat on a day of abstinence to
stealing from one’s employer to lying under oath. The pivotal element was, however, that it
was a personal violation of the moral
code. There was no awareness—to the
ordinary Catholic—of the social dimension of sin. While various popes such as Leo XIII and Pius
XI had written encyclical letters talking of the rights of labor and the
obligations of employers towards their employees, connections were not being
made in the pulpit or confessional between such magisterial teaching and moral
culpability. Of course, in the first
half of the twentieth century, as in the century before, most people in a
position to exploit their employees were in the Protestant ascendancy in this
country and Catholics were far more likely to be sinned against than sinning
when it came to the sins outlined in the economic theories of the magisterium. But the Church’s hands were not entirely
clean. Such prelates as Cardinal O’Connell
of Boston and Archbishop Corrigan of New York, being Paddies of the most shameless
social-climbing sort, had always allied
themselves with the Protestant ascendancy and its economic interests. And of course Cardinal Spellman in 1949 sent
his seminarians to dig graves to break a strike by cemetery workers in Archdiocese
of New York graveyards—and was proud of it.
Moreover, while the Church did have—at
least on paper—a credible theology of defending the rights of workers, there
were other social sins rarely spoken of and even more rarely condemned. Racism was not only rarely denounced from the
pulpit but the Catholic Church had long supported policies of segregation and
did not accept African-American candidates for the priesthood until the ordination
of Father Augustus Tolton in 1886 and such vocations remained rare until the
mid-twentieth century. Tolton himself
had to be sent to Rome for his studies as no American seminary would have him
as a student. (In telling this story I have
omitted the saga of the Healy brothers who—despite their slave mother managed
to be accepted and treated as whites—one becoming a bishop, a second a Vicar
General of the Boston Archdiocese, and a third, president of Georgetown
University. See entry for February 14,
2011.) Cardinal Glennon of Saint Louis blocked
the integration of Webster College and tried to do the same with Jesuit Saint
Louis University. Archbishop Toolen of
Mobile forbade his priests to take part in any civil-rights demonstrations and
won the support of other bishops who initially forbad their priests to travel
to Alabama to be part of the marches led by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King
Jr. Cardinal McIntyre suspended priests
and expelled from this Archdiocese priests and religious who preached or spoke
on civil rights. (See entries for August
31 and September 1, 2011). All this changed with the Second Vatican Council. Catholics have become very much aware of the social dimension of sin and consequently have moved from being a conservative force in American society to a force for social change and liberation. This fits the model of a “hermeneutic of reform” more than a “hermeneutic of rupture” as the Ecumenical and Interfaith issues addressed in yesterday’s posting. However it is probably one of the reasons that some influential members of the hierarchy are so anxious to “turn back” the Council and the Church’s record of social progress during the last 50 years.
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