|
Vatican II: 40
years later
Across the Age Spectrum
A GenXer looks forward, looks back
By RENÉE M.
LaREAU
The post-Vatican II church is
characterized by its own unique lexicon that is rife with colorful, high-octane
phrases: Catholic character. Zero tolerance. Generation X. Cafeteria
Catholicism. Church renovation. And my personal favorite: vocation crisis. This
misnomer has given rise to a host of new literature on the subject of the
priest shortage, some of it honest and forthright, some of it vitriolic and out
of touch. Seminary directors have scrambled to hire more vocation directors,
design clever billboards, purchase trendy magazine advertisements and host
information nights for prospective seminarians.
If I ever had the opportunity to advise a group of vocation
directors, I would suggest that they invite a few young men out to a nice
dinner. That simple act of hospitality, if extended repeatedly over time, can
be instrumental in the cultivation of a vocation. At least that is the way it
happened for me.
To this day, I believe that I have chosen theology as a course of
study and ministry as a profession because, during my high school and college
years, more than a couple of priests invited my younger brother to dinner.
Presumably, they thought he was one of a few good men. And he is. Their
intuition was right on. My brother is bright, articulate and faith-filled. The
priests were successful in their attempt to cultivate a vocation, though
probably not in the way they had in mind. I thank those priests, wherever they
are, for those dinner invitations they extended to my brother. I thank them
because, embedded within the response of a strong-willed mother, was an
invitation of a different sort.
“They should be inviting you too,” I remember my mother
saying to me on more than one occasion. “You have just as many gifts to
offer to the church as your brother does.” That simple
statement-turned-injunction, repeated throughout my teenage years, spoke
volumes to me. My mother’s words conveyed both equality between women and
men, and that I was expected to have a role in the church. Perhaps she was
speaking for a bevy of baby-boom mothers, mothers who, shaped by the cultural
overhaul of the 1960s, will not readily hand their sons over to the church
unless their daughters are accepted too. Whether or not my mother’s
statement is representative of others in her generation, I know that it was
life changing for me in the cultivation of my own vocation.
The real vocation crisis in the post-Vatican II church is not that
half-empty seminaries now serve as weekend retreat facilities, but that we have
failed to acknowledge the vocation of mothers, marriages, professors, business
professionals, social workers, physicians, engineers and fathers. The real
vocation crisis is that we ignore the gifts of faith-filled laypeople who serve
and have loyally served the church for years, both as volunteers and paid
professionals. The real vocation crisis is that we have failed to acknowledge
that it is the laity, in large part, that provides the church with its
lifeblood, its color, its vibrancy, its energy. The real vocation crisis is
that we have neglected a wholistic theology of vocation. The real vocation
crisis is that we have neglected to acknowledge the laity who “hung in
there” when things got rough.
Born more than 10 years after the Second Vatican Council began, I
feel fortunate to have reaped the benefits of the pioneering work of the
laypeople and clergy who came before me. I work at a vibrant parish that
celebrates the gifts of the laity, acknowledges the richness of other faiths
and commits itself to good liturgy. As I began my work two years ago as a
pastoral associate who coordinates the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults
and worship, I had little explaining to do in terms of my work or my education.
Parishioners knew what my role was expected to be. They even knew what a master
of divinity degree was.
And this was no accident. The parishioners’ understanding of
lay ministry was the result of a pastor with broad vision and many committed
laypeople who preceded me, both those who have worked at the parish level and
those who have worked for the larger church. Those laypeople had to work harder
in their early days than I have had to work thus far to gain credibility and
trust, whether they have been employed as staff writers for diocesan papers,
directors of religious education at parishes, college professors or
volunteers.
When I complain about the lack of a voice for the laity in the
church or the dearth of public leadership opportunities for women, “my
elders” gently remind me of the laypeople who pursued graduate degrees in
theology before there was financial support to do so. They remind me of the
women who worked quietly behind the scenes for so many years before their work
was acknowledged with a just wage and a professional title.
When I look at the opportunities in front of me and ask them,
“Is this all?” they tell me, “Its so much better than it
was.” They tell me, “We have worked very, very hard to get
here.” In my own evaluation of the general welfare of the church, I feel I
must walk a fine line between appreciating the advances of previous
generations, yet demanding more in order to move forward in the future.
For many older Catholics, the Second Vatican Council drew an
indelible line through our church’s historical landscape, so much so that
the life of the contemporary church is now defined in terms of
“before” and “after.” Sometimes I am tempted to ask,
“Before and after what?” I have never known any other reality
than a world in which we sang the music of the St. Louis Jesuits, trained
laypeople as eucharistic ministers, and educated the laity for a professional
life in the church. That’s just the way it has always been.
It is often difficult to remember that Vatican II was an actual
historical event, not just a thick green-and-yellow paperback of documents that
sits on my bookshelf for the purpose of study. It is often difficult to touch
the reality that the council encapsulated colorful characters and
personalities, lively debate, grand ceremony and sweeping change. Behind the
pages of tiny black-and-white type stood persons of conviction, persons of
faith, hope and passion with grand ideas for the future of the church. Behind
even such nuances as the numbering of each document chapter, there are stories
and anecdotes, amusing footnotes and battles fought behind each one of the now
neatly bound documents. That humanness is a reality that is, on one level, hard
to grasp, not having lived through the Second Vatican Council.
If I think back to thoughtful conversations with friends and
acquaintances about religion, about what impact Vatican II has had on our
lives, I think many of us would say, “not much.” As far as we are
concerned, this is how the church has always been.
Perhaps the fact that we were born years after the sweeping
changes were made lends itself to what a priest friend has called our
“leaden indifference” to matters concerning the church. Perhaps,
though, this leaden indifference is borne of the disconnect we feel between the
two worlds that we inhabit. On one hand, as young adults coming of age during
the dawn of the 21st century, we are products of an American culture that
values living life at breakneck speed. We have unprecedented access to tools
and technology whose primary characteristics are speed and efficiency. Cell
phones allow us to stay connected with our most recent voice mail messages.
Drive-throughs and massive deli takeout counters allow us to eat on the run.
E-mail allows us to communicate almost instantaneously and the Internet permits
access to unprecedented amounts of information on any topic. We are children of
a culture that pays homage to the god of working overtime, doing too much, and
doing it as quickly as one can.
On the other hand, as Catholics, we are a part of an organization
that was once described as “always arriving late and out of breath.”
The church has hardly ever been associated with efficiency or hurriedness.
It often seems that the institutional church has lost a sense of
what the contemporary moment is like. It is sometimes bewildering to be a part
of both worldviews: one that prizes efficiency, speed and forward movement, and
another that prizes tradition and the ability to withstand passing fads and
trends. Perhaps some day the interplay of these two cultures will make more
sense, with the help of the creative and analytical work of theologians,
broadened pastoral sensibilities, and our own ability to distinguish between
the valuable and the expendable in our American culture.
For the time being, I am willing to stand with my feet in these
two worlds. And as I do so, I will pray for the church and vocations, that is,
I will pray that the institutional church recognizes that laypeople are living
out vocations everywhere.
Renée M. LaReau has a master’s of divinity from the
University of Notre Dame. Author of a forthcoming book on vocation, she is a
pastoral associate at the Church of St. Charles Borromeo, Kettering,
Ohio.
National Catholic Reporter, October 4,
2002
|
|
