Column
A corporate alternative to collection baskets
By TIM UNSWORTH
Recent pew gossip holds that church
contributions are down ever since the sexual abuse bomb exploded, leaving coins
scattered all over the place. I really can’t say, although I have
researched the problem for at least five minutes, largely by chatting with some
knowledgeable church mice.
I learned that the “good guys” -- the ones who baptized
the kids with care, who presided at marriages with even more care, who worked
the curb after Mass, returned phone calls, and who buried the dead -- did not
see their parishes suffering financially.
I learned that collections were down where episcopal aloofness and
arrogance were up.
Nine months after Boston became the epicenter of the sexual abuse
crisis, and the scandal ricocheted around the country, some people are still
withholding contributions. But they appear to be largely from the collection
baskets of charities tied to the bishops’ palliums, and not from the
pockets of the lunch bucket Catholics who still give generously to their
parishes.
I found a few parishes where the numbers were down as much as 20
percent, but in each case there were other circumstances. Back in Boston,
Cardinal Bernard Law has ordered his pastors not to accept money from the Voice
of the Faithful, a lay group formed only in February but already boasting over
22,000 members. The group doesn’t want to withhold funds from the church.
It only wants to insure that money given for one purpose isn’t used for
another -- a practice dating to well before “Going My Way” when Barry
Fitzgerald gave 50 cents each to Bing Crosby and Frank McHugh so that they
could play a round of golf. The fictional and terminally cute Fitzgerald took
the dough from the Ladies’ Altar and Rosary Society. The practice of
cooking the books to hide such transactions has grown immensely since the
1930s. One estimate, made not many years ago by the state’s attorney in
Chicago, held that 25 percent of all bingo money ascended into other
wallets.
God knows, the nation’s economy is in the dumpster. My modest
pension, accumulated at three universities where I labored in dignified
fundraising for nearly 20 years, has sunk to a few holy cards. Diocesan
portfolios, still largely under an episcopal seal, have also shrunk. However,
some of the wisdom I accumulated among those eccentric and learned development
solons at universities suggests that contributions are down for a number of
other reasons apart from those connected with the crimes of some priests and
the cover-up of the crimes by virtually all of the bishops.
Parishioners aren’t getting raises at work. Some have been
laid off. The loose change is drying up.
Meanwhile, parishes are doing their damndest to stay alive by
introducing electronic giving and credit card giving. Some are into automatic
giving through checking account deductions. Others give through newly formed
e-giving groups such as ParishPay, which permits donors to level out their
annual giving so that they can ensure that their parishes get a steady stream
of revenue, even on Sundays when the worshiper stays home because of a winter
snowstorm or a Sunday at the beach. This way, they may be in mortal sin, but
the parish can pay its winter heating bill or buy some light bulbs in the
summer. It can bypass the seasonal giving wherein some 40 percent of the
contributions come in December when the taxpayer is considering itemizing or
feeling vaguely guilty at the sight of a tattered chasuble.
As an alternative, parishioners could just swipe their credit
cards into a gadget installed next to the holy water font -- not unlike what
one does at gas stations.
I have been wondering if we could borrow from the world of sports.
We could carve up the Sunday liturgy and seek sponsors for the various elements
just as sports advertisers do the kickoff, the half-time show and the like.
Thus, we could announce that the processional hymn, “Drop kick me, Jesus,
through the Goal Posts of Life,” is “brought to you by
McClatchy’s Funeral Home where you can rest in peace during a dignified
service.” The penitential rite could be underwritten by Dr. Luther Doofus,
a psychologist and member of the parish, whose specialty is guilt. The chant
style “Gloria” could be supported by your local monks’ bread
distributor, and the opening prayer could have a modest sponsor such as
Harvey’s Plumbing -- “A member of the parish who believes that
Catholics should deal with their own kind.”
Just think: “Buy your next barrel of beer from Gus’
Bunghole Beer with 225 different brands.” Or “Get in spiritual shape
here at St. Aleve’s, but restore your sagging butts at the St. Atlas’
Fitness Center -- ‘the Lourdes of Lard.’ ” Heck, we could find a
corporate sponsor and lease the naming rights for the whole parish. Thus, the
Fursey Bodkin Used Car Center of St. Citronella’s Parish could be painted
over the tympanum in front of the church, and Fursey could have seat leases on
the first 10 pews. Some schools are already doing this, giving exclusives to
soda pop companies that sell their tooth-rotting liquid in the cafeteria.
So it goes, until the recessional hymn, which must be
“Amazing Grace,” now sung at every liturgy, to remind us that we are
all wretches.
It’s going to take time. A lot of priests are going to be
lost to the clergy corps. Bishops will still have their free parking slots but
they will die isolated from the very people they pledged to serve. But I think
it will come back just as soon as the anointed clergy, especially their
episcopal leaders, begin to act like New York City firefighters.
Tim Unsworth writes from Chicago where he works part-time,
standing behind politicians and bishops at news conferences. You can stand
behind him at unsworth@megsinet.net
National Catholic Reporter, September 13,
2002
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