Illuminations Pastor shocked by poverty builds Appalachian
ministry
By ARTHUR JONES
NCR Staff
Ralph W. Beiting was a 20-year-old
seminarian who fell in love -- with Appalachia. But not before hed first
said no to his bishop.
It was 1946. Covington, Ky., Bishop William Mulloy had
instructions from Rome to do something about Appalachia and wanted to send a
mission team down to the mountains. He wanted Beiting on that team.
In those days, people in Newport, Ky., across the Ohio River from
Cincinnati, regarded people in Appalachia with suspicion and disdain. But that
wasnt why Beiting refused. He was the oldest boy in a family of 11
children, and his carpenter fathers leg had just been crushed in a work
accident.
I told Mulloy, recalled Beiting more than 50 years
later, that I couldnt do it, that my family was poor and I felt I
needed to get a summer job.
Mulloy said, Where did you go to school? Didnt they
tell you that when the bishop says something, you say amen?
Said Beiting, in his 70s a powerful, erect and broad-shouldered
man with a fine crop of smartly trimmed white hair, I said
amen.
He went, and soon found himself street preaching outside hardware
stores and county courthouses. And he fell in love -- with the place and the
people.
Then he went back to the seminary.
A bright student who won a four-year scholarship to
Cincinnatis Xavier University, Beiting had passed that up to enter the
priesthood. Ordained, he received his licentiate in sacred theology from the
Catholic University of Americas theological college. Back in the diocese
he was sent to teach and be an associate pastor. Not much later, in one 24-hour
period, he lost both jobs and was told to report to the bishop.
He was 26. The bishop told him he was now a pastor and sent him
back to Appalachia, to Berea, Ky. He had no church, no rectory and no
congregation.
But he did have an old Chevy car and $41 a month priestly stipend.
The parish had a name, St. Clares -- for Clare Booth Luce, writer and
wife of magazine publisher Henry Luce.
What happened was that eight Catholic students at Berea College,
who were not allowed to leave town to go to Mass, wrote to Clare Booth Luce
asking her to help. She promised the local bishop some financial assistance if
hed open a church.
Build a church, the bishop told Beiting. In a region
larger than Rhode Island, where only one person in a thousand was Catholic,
Beiting over the next half century built 10 Appalachian churches.
Luces money bought a tumbledown house that Beiting set about
restoring. He was not ill prepared -- he had a carpenter dad and uncles and
brothers who were skilled craftsmen.
In Berea, Beiting stuck a sign outside the old house,
Catholic chapel. And as he worked clearing out debris, fixing
up the porch and roof, people would stop by and ask to talk to the Catholic
preacher.
They needed clothes. They needed food. They needed fuel for the
stove.
Id grown up poor, said Beiting, yet I went
to their houses and was shocked by what I saw. Just so much poverty. He
went to his northern Kentucky family and friends for food, clothes and money.
The bishop gave him a station wagon for hauling the stuff.
But Beiting needed money for church land, and to help people.
In Somerset, Ky., the young priest met an old priest who had
rebuilt his church after a fire. Beiting asked him how he did it. The old
priest said hed gotten some telephone books and written to everyone who
seemed to have a Catholic name.
I thought, my God, not a bad idea! said Beiting.
I got phone books for Baltimore and Philadelphia and Washington and sent
a mimeographed letter to people with Irish and Italian names. It was the
beginning of a mission fund.
But Beiting wasnt satisfied with the trickle of funds.
It was 1956. I was driving back late one night, I could see
the two mountain peaks and knew I was about five miles from Berea. The station
wagon was full of stuff. This night there was a full moon. I thought,
Boy, youre nothing but a truck driver. Youre bringing stuff
in but youre not changing anything. Youve got to do something to
change things.
He talked to the bishop who said whatever you do, make it
work.
Beiting in 1964 founded the Christian Appalachian Project. He used
the word Christian because the area was notoriously anti-Catholic.
There was such prejudice against Catholics no one would have
come.
He lined up volunteers, Catholic high school and college kids, and
in twos had them visit every house and ask people what they thought ought to
happen, even their dreams and so forth. The grown-ups were so
cynical, said Beiting. Theyd been promised so much and
nothing ever happened.
First, he had his entire family and his friends help build a
childrens summer camp, Cliffview Lodge on Herrington Lake.
The people wanted a clothing thrift store, a Bible school that was
ecumenical -- most didnt have any religion -- and jobs. Catholic college
student George Williams had grown up on a farm. Beiting found money to buy a
farm and Williams ran it, creating farm jobs. The pigs and cows were donated by
the Trappists at Gethsemane and the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth.
Another student signed on to build and operate greenhouses; yet
another to start a lumber mill. More jobs. We began child development
centers before Head Start, said Beiting, We kept responding as the
people told us their needs -- literacy programs, services for the
handicapped.
Beiting was traveling, too, in Appalachia -- and beyond. At
Harvard, where he gave a talk, a student told him, If I had a lot of
money, Id sure give it to you. Beiting replied, Boy, if I
hear that one more time Ill throw up.
But the student had a brother-in-law who was in fundraising.
Before long two fundraisers from Baltimore traveled to Kentucky to look at
Beitings work.
They were impressed. People will give to this, he was told,
because youre helping people help themselves. Not just Catholics
will help you.
Had Beiting $10,000 for a mailing? No. Well, had he $1,200 for
postage. The fundraisers would take credit, but the post office
wont.
How much will I get? Beiting asked.
Nothing, he was told. Youll lose
money.
I can do that on my own, he replied.
Ah, but youll write to the first donors, and then
youll get money, they said. And thats what happened.
The Christian Appalachian Project these days is -- including
donated materials and services -- a $70 million a year operation, said Beiting.
The programs range is amazing: 270 full-time employees, 70 full-time
staff volunteers, working with tens of thousands of people in all 49
Appalachian counties as well as portions of Virginia, West Virginia and
Tennessee. Project services are funneled through 112 community-based
organizations.
The range is from services for elderly people to transportation.
There are adult learning centers, financial aid for secondary education,
job-readiness programs, teen centers, a domestic violence crisis line, home
renovation.An in-kind donation program draws on 1,193 churches and community
groups.
The project is widespread and ecumenical. Its current president is
a Methodist minister.
Yet Beiting was essentially still a pastor. When, in 1981, the
bishop couldnt get anyone for the city of Martin, he asked Beiting. Who
again said yes. The project board hired an executive director to replace
Beiting, who became president.
Always willing to tackle the new, when the bishop wanted Beiting
on the road for five years preaching missions, Beiting gave up the project
presidency and is now chairman.
A half-century ago, he received his licentiate in sacred theology
at Washington Theological College. Recently, Beiting was given the
colleges alumnus lifetime service award, joining prior recipients such as
Washington Cardinal James Hickey and the late Chicago Cardinal Joseph
Bernardin.
In the 1990s, Beiting built more churches and started saying no to
the bishop. The years were closing in. Priestly retirement loomed at 65.
Beiting demurred. Retirement loomed again at 70. I sent a one-paragraph
letter accepting followed by six paragraphs saying ignore the first
paragraph. The bishop made an exception. And again at 75.
Now pastor of St. Jude Church in Louisa, Ky., and St. John Neumann
in Hode, Ky., the energetic church-builder is still on the road. Periodically,
he attends family reunions. Nine of his 10 siblings are still alive, a sister
is Notre Dame Sr. Mary Martha, and all live within 15 miles of where they were
born.
And the family that once built a summer camp for Appalachian
children now has 53 grandchildren of its own.
National Catholic Reporter, February 11,
2000
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