Religious
Life Lives
of commitment behind the quaint image
By JEANNETTE BATZ
Lay people sometimes speak of religious life as a medieval sort
of self-denial, or as the dwindling legacy of Catholicisms golden years.
Yet there are priests and nuns all over the world who are engaged in
life-giving vocations, and every day they quietly deepen their
commitment.
They just dont make the evening news.
Br. Steve Erspamer
Steve Erspamer wasnt drawn as a child to the mystery of the
liturgy; he wasnt even wild about Mass. But in high school, his Latin
teacher was a young Marianist brother, an antiwar activist passionate about
peace and justice. Hes since left, grinned Erspamer.
But at the time, he asked me if Id ever thought about being a
brother. I thought it was sort of funny. I went home and told my mom, and she
said, Forget it, youd be home in two days!
The idea kept coming back to me, he said. I
wanted to do something good, something more than just get a car, get married
and have my little life.
By his 17th birthday, he was dead serious about entering the
Society of Mary. His parents were appalled. This was 1968, right after
Vatican II, and so many people were leaving, he explained. Before,
religious life was very structured, and as long as you performed the tasks and
followed the timetable, you could be as cuckoo as anything and you just sort of
fit in. After the council, there was more emphasis on personal responsibility,
and more dialogue. It opened the door to a lot of questions. Many people left,
and some of them seemed lost, and my parents didnt want that to happen to
me.
He won their reluctant permission on the proviso that he not study
art -- his impractical love -- for the first year. But he spent that year in
the Marianist house in San Antonio, a contemporary version of a medieval
monastery. The place dazzled him. Every time you turned a corner you saw
a painting, sculpture or tapestry, he recalled. The chapel had a brick
floor and a larger than life-sized corpus of welded steel hanging free from the
ceiling. I hadnt yet consciously put art and faith together, but when I
saw this place, and heard the music they composed -- this was a place where
faith was alive. Not cranking stuff out of a hymnbook but creating it
new.
He went on to the novitiate in Galesville, Wis., where he prayed,
reflected, learned about the order and did backbreaking manual labor on their
farm. He loved it. Of the 12 who entered with him, four finished the year, and
after temporary vows, only two remained. Every time somebody left, I
thought, What do they know that I dont? Why am I here?
he recalled. But I always just felt I was in the right place. He
took a deep breath. The reason you enter always turns out different from
the reason you stay. Your understanding of love deepens.
He worked in the Marianist art studios for eight years, then went
to their new mission in India. People were sleeping in the streets amid
piles of trash and cows, and I remember looking out the taxi window thinking,
This was such a mistake, he said. But it was one of the
most wonderful experiences of my life.
He returned to India five years ago to design a chapel for a
hostel for orphans. Theres a big domed forecourt open to the
air, he said, and oil lamps instead of candles, and the
altars on the floor. Marys shown wearing a sari, and the baby Jesus
is standing in her lap with his hands outstretched, henna designs on the
palms.
When he returned, he enrolled in Boston Universitys
masters program in ceramics, ruthlessly competitive and relentlessly
secular. Artists arent too tied into religion; many find it too
confining, he remarked. But the rules are about things Id
probably do anyway. To me they dont seem constricting, they seem like the
least I can do.
Soon Erspamer was showing in galleries around the country, but
something was missing. He spent six months working on a one-person show and
decided to slip in some subdued religious imagery. It turned out wonderfully
well, but the gallery owner rejected every piece, saying no one would buy it.
Furious, Erspamer threw the huge urns and plates in the Dumpster and decided to
start doing what he wanted to do.
He got a job designing a new church in Texas: the layout, the
stained-glass windows, the frescoes. Job after job followed, all through word
of mouth. He studied liturgical design at the Catholic Theological Union and
began educating parishes about the rich symbolism lost with Vatican II.
We started replacing statues with potted plants, and like any revolution,
the cleansing went a little too far. There was a break in the ability to
decipher symbolic language, and now theres a whole generation that has no
idea what anything means. They dont look at art as a springboard
for meditation, they look at it as pretty wallpaper. I keep telling parishes,
This art is supposed to speak to your soul. Every time you see this, it
should invite you to come back and pray and discover.
Erspamer works in the Emil Frei stained-glass studio, up a hill
and back in the woods, wearing a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up and
a denim apron. At the end of the day, he goes to the South St. Louis flat where
he lives alone, after an exhausting stretch as superior of his community.
Actually, hes not alone; Hampton, his 13-year-old Airedale,
is the perfect contemplative companion: He doesnt talk, and
hes always happy.
Religious life is the only life Erspamer can imagine for himself.
It feeds my soul, he said quietly. They say art imitates life
-- well the cycle of prayer, and the psalms, all that gets filtered back into
my work. People think religious life is like the movies, you never talk, or
its somehow inhuman, when the opposite is true: You are paying attention
to what is most deeply human.
Sr. Kathy Madden
A picture of Kathy Madden, taken shortly after she learned to
walk, shows her bending to kiss the cross of her aunt.
Congregation of Notre Dame Sr. Kathryn Madden has been seeking God
ever since.
My spirit was formed in the beauty and mystery that
characterized the church before Vatican II, she said, remembering how
close she felt to St. Thérèse of Lisieux, and how immanent
Gods presence seemed.
The social justice and liberation theology she learned later fired
a different passion in her. And in 20 years of teaching on South Dakotas
Pine Ridge Reservation, shes learned theyre not mutually
exclusive.
Her inspiration for religious life was the sisters of the
Congregation de Notre Dame, a Montreal-based order founded in the 17th century
by St. Marguerite Bourgeoys. They taught at her junior high, St. Jude the
Apostle in South Holland, Ill., and she liked the femininity of their charism
-- the way they strove to imitate the impulsive generosity of Marys
journey to Elizabeth -- as well as their lively passion for teaching.
She entered the congregation as soon as shed paid off her
college loans, and waited eagerly to go wherever she was sent. One day she
heard a sister talking about Red Cloud Indian School, and ached to go there.
She didnt dare hope -- until an older sister reminded her that God
does not inspire these desires in us for no reason.
For the next 20 years, Madden taught Montessori preschool through
the primary grades at Red Cloud, weaving Lakota culture and language into the
curriculum. She became director of the Montessori school, earned a
masters in Christian spirituality, made herself part of the Lakota
community, the parish community and her own religious community.
Recently she lived with sisters of four other communities, and she
thinks this kind of lived collaboration will be an important dimension of
religious life in the future. She also sees a continued movement toward
more diverse forms of ministry and living situations, and it doesnt
dismay her in the least; she delights in the challenge of finding our
common ground more in ways of being, rather than doing.
The Notre Dame sisters have a new focus, for example, on fostering
the art of conversation, because mutual sharing -- like Marys visit to
Elizabeth -- has the power to change us, and bring us peace.
Madden sees her vocation as witnessing to a life beyond this
one and attempting to make both big and small choices out of the context
of her relationship with God. The gift of these past 20 years, she
added softly, convinces me that, as religious, God calls us to the place
where our own gladness meets the worlds deep need.
Still, nuns are a mystery to the Lakota children, whose culture
places the highest value on motherhood. Maddens students fingered her
silver cross in bewilderment, wondering what could be more important than a
family of ones own. This for God dimension of our life
is perhaps the least understood, in a church where one surely does not need to
be a priest or religious to serve, she remarked. I am certain that
if I had married, I could have been just as fine a teacher, but I would not
have been as free to live a life of prayer and presence, unencumbered in my
devotion. And that I will always cherish.
Listening to a little girl ask, God, why did you blow your
own house away? after a devastating tornado, Madden thought about the
many times the Lakota have had to rebuild lives swept by tragedy, poverty and
despair. I have often felt that my presence as a praying person was the
most important contribution I could offer, she mused, in the face
of so many complex realities beyond my control.
She spoke of the beautiful but costly intimacy of religious
life, recalling how, as a little girl in the Chicago suburbs, she wanted
to marry a farmer. She married God instead, and on her runs through the hills
behind the Jesuits Holy Rosary mission, she fell in love daily with the
sacredness of sky and endless prairie, sunrises and clear, cold starry nights.
Le paha akan Wakantanka epazo wacin ye, she mutters breathlessly when
she runs: On this hill I want to point to God.
Fr. Tony Pogorelc
At the age of 4, Tony Pogorelc watched the Franciscan pastor of
their tiny, Slovenian Milwaukee parish enact the liturgy and announced that he,
too, was going to be a priest.
Either it was an early bid to get a job in the limelight, or
I saw my soul there, he grinned. At 19, he joined the order of his high
school teachers, the Marianists, and found himself caught up in the great
experimental period in the church. He hit one challenge after the next:
community life, and the negotiation that requires; a hierarchical system,
having others very much in the mix about the decisions of his life, seeing the
flaws of superiors hed viewed in awe.
Now he is a formation director himself, at The Catholic University
of America. I tell the seminarians its important to experience some
disillusionment with the church before you make any commitment, he said
gravely. People need to come to terms with what their expectations
were, he said. Its planting your feet on the ground and
seeing the wonderful aspects but also the struggles and limitations, and
saying, I can embrace both.
In the attitudes many Catholics have toward clergy, and many
religious have toward their superiors, Pogorelc said he sees the same
dynamic that operates with parents. As a child, you think they are flawless.
And then you realize they have clay feet. Some people say OK and live with it,
and others nurse a terrible disappointment all their lives.
Trying to be an adult participating in any group is
difficult, he pointed out, because you want so badly to be
connected to the group, but you also want to say what you see and think.
Thats a very adult thing to do, and do well. In a sense, thats the
prophetic dimension of the church. Theres always been a tension between
the hierarchy and the poetic, prophetic voices who, by the way they live,
really challenge the status quo.
As a young Marianist brother, Pogorelc faced his own challenges on
mission in East St. Louis, which seemed like a church version of the
television show M*A*S*H.
There he met diocesan priests for the first time, and he watched
as they had to close parishes and navigate fierce racism. He already knew he
wanted to be ordained a priest; now the seeds were planted to choose diocesan
priesthood, which seemed somehow freer, better suited to his temperament.
Next, he went to Kathmandu, Nepal, for a year. If people had
told me Id be bathing with a cup and bucket! he exclaimed. So
many things we Westerners define as necessities really arent.
Stripped of comforts as well as illusions, he next enrolled at the
Toronto School of Theology. There, the doubts invaded. Did he want to continue
on this path? Did he really want to live a life of celibacy? One simple answer:
I really did want to be a priest.
Now a diocesan priest associated with the Priests of St. Sulpice,
who specialize in the education of seminarians, Pogorelc holds a doctorate in
the sociology of religion from Purdue University and teaches at Washington,
D.C.s Catholic University and its theological college. Im
amazed at the number of seminarians who are converts to Catholicism and the
number whose parents were divorced, he said. I was the tail end of
something, produced in a Catholic culture that was waning. In the boom of
religious vocations, there was a real esprit de corps: People used to enter in
groups, drawn to the excitement of being a part of this larger world. Today,
the motives are more individual; I dont think there are strong social
forces pushing people into religious life anymore.
Still, as formation adviser he works closely with the seminarians,
and hes impressed by what he sees. A lot of these men really want
to serve, he said. Some are former lawyers or businessmen. All are
interested in the growth and persistence of the institutional church, and that
makes them unique. Younger people arent interested in institutions in
general, these days. But Catholicism has a well-developed sense of the common
good, and people are beginning to see it as a way of restoring value and
dignity to human life.
People at a distance might look at religious life today and
say, Isnt that quaint? But lay people who get closer see that
the struggles of the spiritual life are universal. Its just another way
of trying to grow in holiness. People plant themselves in different situations
to do that. But the issues are the same.
Jeannette Batz is a staff writer for The Riverfront
Times, an alternative newspaper in St. Louis. Her e-mail address is
jeannette.batz@riverfronttimes.com
National Catholic Reporter, February 21,
2003
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