A Roman Catholic woman priest wends her way home

I'm in the midst of saying good bye to a dear friend, and this Sunday's first reading about the anointing of David speaks to my friend's experience: "The Lord does not see as the human sees; the human looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7b).

God saw something in my friend, Ruthie, and called her to the priesthood as a young child. She had two great-uncles who were Redemptorist priests, and they would visit her family and say mass. To hear her tell it, Ruthie, the oldest in her family, became the clan presider when the kids would "play church" together. It went much deeper than play for Ruthie, though, because she knew God was calling her to do as her uncles did.

Of course, humans and human institutions don't see the way God does. Because the Catholic Church doesn't yet see that women could be called to the priesthood, Ruthie chose the next best thing. Her love for God led her to become a sister with the Ursulines of Jesus, and she taught in the Catholic school system for many years, sharing God's love with her students and colleagues. She also took courses at Newman Theological College and developed a solid foundation of theology, scripture and tradition.

I first met Ruthie and some of her siblings during my summers at Our Lady of Victory Camp. Not only was she an excellent quarterback for touch football, but she wrote the camp theme song of the time, Love Life, which was published in Young Peoples' Glory & Praise and recorded by Carey Landry. We sang her melody and performed the actions to the song hundreds of times at camp each summer, the woods around the campfire ringing with enthusiastic young voices and guitars. Love Life was a song that told the story of salvation history in a way that kids could understand -- Ruthie has always been about helping people to understand and experience God's love.

Our lives went different directions after camp, but about five years ago, I heard that Ruthie had been diagnosed with lung cancer. Exploratory surgery revealed that there was no way to remove the cancer so she opted for experimental drug therapies. Aware that her time would probably be short, she left her home to a Muslim family that she had befriended and moved in with her longtime friend, Jocelyne, who cared for her through the progression of her illness and the side-effects of different drugs. Their friendship, which dates from their joining the Ursulines, is a really beautiful story in itself.

With no time to lose after her cancer diagnosis, and with a fresh perspective on what was really important in her life, Ruthie chose to follow her conscience and obey God's call to the priesthood. After learning about and connecting with the Roman Catholic Women Priests of Canada, Ruthie went through a thorough screening process, and because of her already extensive theological training and pastoral experience, she was ordained by one of Canada's Roman Catholic woman bishops on March 31, 2012. She is in the line of apostolic succession thanks to a Cardinal who followed his conscience and ordained the first women priests and bishops in 2002 and 2005.

When I met Ruthie again eight months after her ordination, she was exercising her priestly ministry with a small inclusive Catholic community that gathered in her home most Sundays, and she welcomed me like a long-lost friend. The Sunday liturgy was simple and beautiful, with no pompous prayers to distance us from the tender Father and Mother God who loves us all. Ruthie presided with deep joy, consecrating the Eucharistic meal, and the sacred bread and wine were offered equally by each person in the circle to the person beside them, Ruthie receiving last of all in true servant-leadership. For me, the liturgy was a revelation, a celebration of the sacrament in the way early Christians did -- according to historical records, they had male and female presiders, and there were no "spectators" because of the priesthood of all believers. Everyone in the room contributed to the celebration.

The experimental drugs gave Ruthie more time, but there is still no cure for her cancer. At the community's last liturgy at the end of January, she told us that she was having rather serious memory issues and was going through some more tests. February and March brought many appointments, decreasing balance, and time in and out of hospital. On Friday morning, I spent several hours at Ruthie's bedside in Hospice. The cancer has metastasized to her brain, she is weakening, and her words are now confused, reminding me of what it's like to have a conversation with someone who is talking in their sleep. While I was there, she dozed on and off, but whenever she opened her eyes and saw me sitting beside her, she smiled.

Sitting in silence with Ruthie, I had a lot of time to think about the gift she has been in my life. She is a warm and loving person with a wonderful sense of humour and a deep yearning for justice. She has strong opinions about what is right, and though I have barely glimpsed it myself, I can imagine that others might see her as stubborn at times. Her liturgies often focused on care for creation, right relationship with Indigenous communities, local and international social justice issues, inclusion of the marginalized, and the needs of various members of the Emmaus Inclusive Catholic Community. She gave excellent homilies, and always invited the community members to share, too, which helped us all to learn from each other. Her friendship and love these last four years have meant so much to the faithful people she has gathered around her, and to me. We had deep theological discussions, and plenty of laughs. Her heart is open to everyone, and she offered encouragement and hope to everyone whose path she crossed, even as she faced her own decline and death. And now she is showing us the way to Paradise. Her gratitude for and gentle appreciation of those around her in Hospice is both moving and humbling.

After a bed bath and lunch, she was a little more awake and asked for her rosary. I gave it to her and asked if she wanted me to pray. "Not just now," she said. But a few moments later, watching her try to untangle the beads, I reached to help her and she said, "We could pray it together." So we did, she holding onto the cross, and me working my fingers around the five decades with tears trickling down my cheeks. Even though my Lenten practice this year is to pray a daily rosary, for some strange reason, I couldn't recall Friday's First Sorrowful Mystery for the life of me (the Agony in the Garden! Ruthie's sister reminded me later) -- so I took that as the Holy Spirit's suggestion to start instead with the First Glorious Mystery, the Resurrection, since that's what Ruthie's working toward anyway. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved intermittently to the prayers. She smiled frequently, especially every time I started a new decade.

Though her words are no longer clear and she fades in and out, the words to one of her favourite devotions haven't left her, and never will. I suspect that, as she wends her way home to God, the rosary plays like a gentle pastoral symphony in the background of her mind. We prayed and Ruthie smiled, and I couldn't shake the feeling that Mary and Jesus are walking along the path to Paradise with my friend, and they are smiling, too.

Thank you, my dear Ruthie, for your conviction and courage, your love and compassion, your ministry and your openness to all, and for being my friend. God saw your heart and loves you deeply. I miss you already.

Ruthie couldn't resist the heavenly Easter celebrations and went to join them early Easter Sunday morning, April 16, 2017.

Prophetic change from within

For some people, the fact that the Catholic Church moves at glacier pace -- when it comes to change -- is a source of pride. In their minds, the rest of Christianity of late has been changing with the wind, following whatever is most trendy rather than what has held true since Jesus started it all two thousand years ago.

What they aren't realizing is that Jesus actually instituted very little in the way of structure for his followers. He was about change -- about transforming the stuck-in-a-rut, top heavy religious structures of his day. He was less concerned with the letter of the law and more concerned with showing people how to live their love of God by being open, non-judgmental, inclusive, inviting and welcoming. He was about unity, not division; about connecting rather than setting apart.

So more and more, when I hear people go on about structure and authority and rules and propriety in the context of Church life, and especially "us" vs. "them," I'm afraid I get the heebie-jeebies. Yes, there needs to be enough structure that we actually get around to gathering the people, telling the stories, singing the songs, and breaking the bread together at least once a week, but does it really need to be more complicated than that? And why not think of all those who believe in God as "we"?

I am finding, these days, that when I attend Mass in my local parish, it is hard to say all the theological gobbledygook that I am expected to recite at different times. It is difficult to watch as a male priest stands at the altar all alone, the rest of the community held back from approaching the table by the invisible wall of rules about Eucharist made by the old men at the top of a patriarchal pyramid. It is heartbreaking to know that women who feel called to the priesthood are excommunicated if they act on their call, and that divorced people, people of other denominations and faiths, and those of certain sexual orientations are also not able to share in the community's meal of thanksgiving because they aren't judged to be "one of us," (read: in the right "state of grace"). But what is worst of all is that the Catholic Church clings to all of this non-inclusiveness as if Jesus would insist upon it too.

Jesus. Remember him? The guy who relaxed with tax collectors and sinners. Who eschewed invisible walls of rules and instead offered living water to a less-than-perfect Samaritan woman at the village well. Who loved everyone, and discouraged judgmental attitudes. Who invited us all to come home with him and meet his Abba. I'm thinking he would have called God Imma, too, except that he might have been crucified too soon by the patriarchal people of his day.

Even with my struggles with the Church's glacial pace, two steps forward and three back, I can't sever my Catholic roots, but I also can't shake the feeling that if Jesus started a church today, its liturgies wouldn't look much like the ones to which I'm most accustomed. Jesus would probably gather people in small groups, maybe at a kitchen table. No one would bother wearing clerical clothing to set themselves apart because it's just not necessary. Scripture would be proclaimed, the world and the community's needs would be shared and prayed for, the Spirit would be invoked by the presider, God would be thanked without reference to one gender over another, and everyone would offer each other the blessed bread and wine.

Fortunately for me, I've found a community much like this. It's not perfect by any means, but I can easily imagine Jesus feeling at home enough to slide into a chair and pray along. The format is simple, the prayers follow the usual liturgical format (but without the pompous clutter of the most recent translation of the Roman Missal), the presider can be either an ordained female or male, and no one is turned away. And we are all Catholic (though if the Vatican knew about us, it would probably beg to differ on the point of our Catholicism because we disagree with that one rule about priests being only men and that other rule about participants in the meal having to be in a particular "state of grace.") Unfortunately, I don't get to join this community nearly as often as I would like.

The thing is, there are more and more inclusive Catholic communities -- like the one I have found --gathering all the time around Roman Catholic Women Priests (the group also includes men priests). Seven women were ordained or made deacons in the U. S. in June; more ordinations will take place in September. These women could have chosen to leave the Catholic Church and start new churches or to exercise their vocations in other Christian denominations, but they are Catholic, and they believe that it is time for the Catholic Church to change. So they're being prophetic, and giving the institutional Church a little nudge by being ordained and by celebrating inclusive liturgies wherever people ask (the first women were ordained in 2002 by male bishops in good standing with Rome, so the women haven't disowned the Church as much as the Church has disowned them by excommunication). And more and more, faithful and educated Catholics ARE asking. Whether the institutional church likes it or not, change is coming, and it is coming through committed and prophetic people who are not leaving the church, but who are creating a new model from just within its margins (though Rome refuses to acknowledge most of those particular margins).

There's an interesting documentary floating around these days, called Pink Smoke Over the Vatican. It tells the story of the Roman Catholic Women Priests, and makes a clear case for the ordination of women and inclusive Catholic communities. It makes it obvious that they are not radical feminists with an anti-male agenda, but ordinary women who are quietly living their vocations as women did in early Christianity. According to a fair bit of archaeological and historical research, the early Christian Church was far more inclusive in its first 200 years than the present Catholic Church is now. It seems at times that its glacier pace has actually moved it backward, but to me it feels like the fire of the Holy Spirit is starting to move it forward once again. If you ever have the opportunity to view Pink Smoke, I'd recommend it.

For now, I dream of the day when there are so many inclusive Catholic communities everywhere that all the Pope can do is open his arms and say, "I am sorry it took so long to recognize the gifts of women's vocations to the priesthood, and the validity of inclusive communities. We are all one." In the meantime, I will continue to worship at my parish church sometimes, and at Emmaus Inclusive Catholic Community whenever I can. I love Mass there, and I want to support and encourage a new springtime for women and men in the Catholic Church -- without actually leaving it. I much prefer change from within.

If you would like more information, or to join our inclusive Catholic community for Eucharist in the Edmonton area, check out the community's website by clicking here.

Good questions on a Sunday

After posting my best friend's sermons for the past two Sundays, I thought I'd post this video homily by Fr. William Grimm, MM. He asks two very good questions at the very end of his reflections on today's Gospel reading about Mary and Martha. Don't miss them...

A Sunday daydream...

As I sat in church on a Sunday morning two years ago, listening to religious language that gave God only one gender and excluded the full participation of 50% of the human race (and would only get worse with the new translation of the Roman Missal), an oft-recurring daydream came to me for the first time...

People come to the church on a Sunday morning, but rather than going into the building, all of the women stay together on the steps and sidewalk outside. One of them brings a guitar, another sets up a small table, two more bring earthenware chalices, and several young girls pass out song books. As mass begins inside the church, the women outside, young and old, raise their voices in joyous song to begin a liturgy that includes femininity along with the masculine.

Inside the church, the men conclude their opening hymn, as the final verse of the women's song wafts into the church, sweet and clear. The men look at one another, confused. Some of them frown, but a dozen or so (who have daughters and wives who have made them well aware of the sin of sexism) smile and slip out the door to join the women.

The Roman Catholic woman priest invites her congregation to begin with the same sign of the cross as the men inside, only with inclusive words that speak of the All-Holy Mystery: "In the name of God, Source of All Being, Eternal Word and Holy Spirit," and the women (and the few men who have joined them) respond with reverence and enthusiasm. They sing Glory to God, scripture is loudly and joyfully proclaimed from the top of the church steps, and as three women sing the verses of the psalm in gorgeous harmony, a few more men and their sons trickle out of the church to pray with their wives, daughters, mothers, and sisters.

After the Gospel reading, the woman priest invites several of the crowd -- who have discussed the scripture with her in advance -- to give the homily together, and comments are invited from the listeners, responsive women  and men who give thoughtful reflections on the lessons they have learned from the Word, and how they plan to live more like Christ in the week ahead.

Then the entire crowd begins the creed, "I believe in God, the Tender Almighty..." followed by the prayers of the faithful, which are voiced by the gathered community as even more men come out of the church to join the women, whose eucharist prayer emphasizes the priesthood of all. The outside congregation prays for the pope and their local bishops, naming both women and men among them.

Inside the building, the male congregation is rapidly dwindling. With every sung eucharistic response that wafts in through the windows, a few more venture outside. By the time the crowd begins to pray "Our Father and Mother in heaven..." the priest and two acolytes are alone in the church. They look at one another, the priest shrugs, picks up the chalice and paten, and the three process through the empty church to the small altar outside -- just in time to share a joyous sign of peace with everyone.

As the communion song begins, the female and male priest stand side by side to offer the chalices to the people, who share them with each other until everyone has partaken of the eucharistic feast. Then two small children bring the chalices back to the priests, announcing, "The Body of Christ." The man and the woman, both of whom have been ordained as Catholic priests (though the woman is not yet fully recognized by Rome) say "Amen," and receive communion last of all, signifying their equality in the community, and their servanthood. Then they wash the vessels with the help of the children while another song of thanksgiving is sung by the congregation.

As the liturgy comes to its conclusion, the two priests pray the closing prayers together, and then briefly confer before announcing that next Sunday, if the weather is fine, mass for all will be held under the trees in the park next door because all of creation is a holy place. If rain is in the forecast, they say, everyone is welcome into the church for an inclusive eucharist, and in either case, both priests will preside together.

And all the people say, "Amen." 

As the final song is sung, young children moved by the Spirit (and others not so young),dance.

I can see it all. Can't you?

"Mom, why can't women be priests?" Part II

(Click here for Part I.)

This life is an interesting journey, to be sure...

On a recent Sunday morning, I woke up to an interview of Toronto's Cardinal Archbishop Thomas Collins on CBC radio. He was talking to Michael Enright in connection with the 50^th anniversary of the second Vatican Council of the Catholic Church. Michael asked Archbishop Collins about the ordination of women, and his reply was that the church cannot change the male priesthood that was instituted by Christ. And I replied, aloud, “where exactly in scripture did Jesus say that only men could offer the Eucharistic meal and that women aren’t allowed to participate as fully in the priesthood as men? And why do you cling to man-made laws over justice and equality for Jesus’ female followers, who hear God’s call just as clearly as men do?” I'm sure I reacted that way because I know a few of those female followers personally, women who feel they are unable to live their vocation because the Catholic Church won't allow it.

Cardinal Collins’ interview was an interesting start to a day that we had planned, as a family, to go to Ruth’s house for eucharist. I’ve known Ruth for almost 30 years, ever since we both worked at a Catholic youth summer camp, but I had lost touch with her until recently, when I learned (by a series of what a friend of mine likes to call “God-incidents”) that Ruth was ordained a Roman Catholic Woman Priest this past spring. I contacted her, and after some thought and prayer and a few emails back and forth, I finally asked my family what they would think about attending a mass with a woman presider. Without exception, they were all VERY interested, so we let Ruth know we were coming, and off we went.

I know that this moodling will ruffle some feathers (if it hasn't already), but I risk sharing these reflections here because, for me, silent acquiescence to a male-only priesthood feels like a perpetuation of injustice. Over the last few weeks, I've discovered that ruffling a few feathers on this topic brings about interesting discussions and new awareness. Maybe, just maybe, those things can help to bring about the ever-dreaded but often-needed event known as change.

When we arrived at Ruth’s house that Sunday, we were greeted at the door by some of Ruth's community. After introductions all around, we and two others who had never been there before were invited into the living room, where the kitchen table was surrounded by living room furniture and a few strategically placed kitchen chairs. There were duotangs containing the prayers of the liturgy, in which God was God, Source of all Being, Father and Mother God, and tender-God, a name with a double meaning that I really like. Readings were passed out among the group, we had a short music practice of a couple of less familiar hymns, and we began the liturgy in the name of God, Source of all Being, Eternal Word and Holy Spirit. Throughout the celebration, God was transcendently Great and Glorious and Triune, but also close and loving and intimate.

The penitential rite and prayers were less formalistic versions of what we usually hear on a Sunday at our church, with beautiful, evocative imagery. After we heard the scriptures, Ruth began the homily with her own reflections about the story of the Rich Young Man and the other readings, and then invited the gathered community’s reflections. For my husband, this felt more like a bible study than a homily, but our kids were most attentive and interested in the sharing of ideas and self expression. Our kids heard every word of that homily. When I quiz my kids about homilies from the pulpit at our church, the usual response is often a blank-eyed shrug.

The Eucharistic prayer was simple and covered all the usual bases, with no over-emphasis on the masculinity of God. Not having God stuck in male pronouns was refreshing (but no worries, Jesus was definitely male). It was also amazing to hear Ruth pray for our bishops Richard, Gregory and Marie. At that point a tear trickled down my cheek, and I found myself praying that the fullness of humanity could be represented both in the clergy and throughout the liturgy, male and female, simply and without fanfare. A missing piece clicked into place.

We sang no acclamations but the Alleluia and the Holy, but other than that, the mass proceeded as usual until the prayer of Jesus, which began, “Our Mother-Father God, who art in heaven...“and ended, “For the Kin-dom, the power, and the glory are yours...” Ruth broke the bread and offered the plate/patten to the person next to her, saying, “The Body of Christ,” and it was passed from person to person that way, as was the wine. Ruth received communion last of all, a much different model than the one offered by the male-led Catholic Church at present.

After communion, we reflected quietly for a few moments and prayed for peace in the Middle East. The closing prayer concluded with, "The mass is ended. Let your service begin!" We sang River of Glory, and were invited to enjoy coffee and snacks in the kitchen. The cats were allowed out of their bedroom exile, and our kids enjoyed making friends with them while we got to know the other adults.

The mass in Ruth’s living room was simple and beautiful, and there was a warm sense of community among the dozen of us who hardly knew each other at the start. I’m sure Jesus was there among us, and present in the bread and wine consecrated by the Holy Spirit and Ruth, yet at the same time, I felt Rome breathing down my neck, saying, “WE HAVE NOT SANCTIONED THIS. HOW DARE YOU GO AGAINST MOTHER CHURCH!”

It reminded me of the disciples running to Jesus and saying, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us” (Mark 9.38) -- just change the pronoun's gender.

Ugh. If it wasn’t for Rome's rules, it would have been a perfect day.

Our kids enjoyed the experience of mass at Ruth’s, and told Ruth herself that they look forward to return visits. They don’t have their parents’ hesitations and hang ups when it comes to stepping outside of the boundaries set by Rome. My own struggle is not with the idea of women presiding – it’s that so far, the Holy Spirit hasn’t nudged the hierarchy to give Roman Catholic Women Priests full stature in the Church. The Church seems to be going the other way entirely, putting women's ordination on par with pedophilia as a grave sin (I wish it weren't so, but here's a link to a Time Magazine article.) Simply by the fact of her ordination, Ruth has suffered the Church's worst punishment -- being excommunicated -- even though she can trace apostolic succession right back to Christ through the laying on of hands, just like any other priest. But she clearly loves the Church, prays for it, and does what she does because of her love and her desire that it come to fullness in Christ. She IS faithful to the Catholic Church and has been all her life -- the only part of the pope’s teachings that she ignores is where it says that only men can be priests.

The more I think and study and pray and learn, the more I understand that Jesus didn't set out to be the founder of Catholicism, or even Christianity... those things just happened on their own (with some help from the Holy Spirit, whose true intentions are rarely fully followed by we imperfect human beings with our very human biases). That God loves us and wants relationship with us is what Jesus came to show us. Unfortunately, his followers make church about power and authority too much of the time. But as Henri Nouwen says in my Bread for the Journey daily reflections book on October 26th,

There is such an enormous hunger for meaning in life, for comfort and consolation, for forgiveness and reconciliation, for restoration and healing, that anyone who has any authority in the Church should constantly be reminded that the best word to characterize religious authority is compassion. Let's keep looking at Jesus whose authority was expressed in compassion.

I suspect that very compassion would rule out sexism if Jesus had his way. Sexism is an ugly thing wherever we find it in our world, and not, I'm convinced, what Jesus intended. Most of the other Christian churches have recognized this and made necessary changes already. I can't help but think how much richer the Catholic Church would be if everyone who discerns a true calling from God could share their priestly gifts within Christian community! As Ruth is doing. We certainly wouldn't be facing a shortage of time-pressured priests that forces our faith into mega-churches; rather, we would have a wealth of men and women connecting with a world of people hungry for God -- and I'm guessing that most people can find God more easily in intimate Christian communities than in a huge crowd of strangers.

As much as I loved mass at Ruth’s house, I won't turn my back on my little parish community, though I am praying that God’s calling of women to the priesthood in the Catholic Church will soon be as fully recognized as men’s vocations are. I'm delighted to see Ruth quietly answering God's call and living her vocation in her own way, even if it makes her persona non grata in the eyes of the hierarchy. I pray that the Holy Spirit will continue to work gently through the Roman Catholic Women Priests, and that it won't be long before they are called back into the arms of Rome, because when that happens, I think the Church will become much more welcoming and less narrow-minded -- it will become fully inclusive, and create a greater sense of community in the world through its wide compassion.

I was a little concerned that mass with a woman presiding would feel like “playing church,” but that wasn’t the case at all, and I am sure we will join Ruth again from time to time. Eucharist at Ruth’s was a simple, beautiful, and deep experience of God's love, and I came away wondering, for the second time that day, “what is the magisterium so afraid of?” But I suspect the real question is, “Is this the Holy Spirit’s quiet and gentle way of bringing about change, a few hearts at a time?”

God of Conscience, God of Courage, give us whatever grace we need to work for the coming of the reign of God now, here and always. Amen.

-From a prayer by Joan Chittister

"Mom, why can't women be priests?"

It's a question I've faced time and time again. I have three kids who, I'm happy to say, think before they swallow the party line and who reject the response, "because that's how it's always been," if it doesn't make sense.

And honestly, I've never had a good answer for this question, because I also happen to be a woman who thinks for herself and doesn't swallow the party line of my Catholic faith when the party line is archaic and makes no spiritual sense.

I might end up in a lot of hot water for this moodling, but here goes, anyway. I can't help what I think. It's just what I think, and no one has to agree with what I think. I'm just being honest here, so don't shoot me, for honesty's sake.

Yes, Jesus was a man. But if he had been a woman (and yes, that's a bizarre thought, I admit it), would we only have women priests? I somehow doubt it. Women aren't so territorial. We believe in sharing roles. I suspect Jesus did, too, as much as, or maybe even more than his society allowed. And in our society, I suspect he'd be okay with women answering God's call to the priesthood in the same way as men who have sincerely discerned their vocation do. I can't believe that God would only choose men. God doesn't play favourites, though human history does.

Yes, Jesus' disciples were men. But there were also women who followed him, and women who took leadership roles in the early Christian community. Unfortunately, they get pretty short shrift in scripture, but keep in mind that history is always recorded and laws made by the "winners." As a result, I suspect that a good chunk of the feminine portion of Christian history was eradicated by the people who had all the power in those days, though I have read the unobliterated portions of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. What I liked about Mary's Gospel was that it empowered men and women equally, rather than placing all emphasis on the succession of Peter. But of course, her version of scripture was too mystical to make it into the Bible. If it had, though, I suspect the priesthood would be a healthier place because it would be inclusive, rather than an exclusive club for men.

Yes, Jesus' disciples were mostly men, but as my youngest pointed out to Father at a recent confirmation retreat, it was the women who stood by Jesus at the cross. Father, to his credit, agreed, and also pointed out that the men who followed Jesus were in hiding while the women were at the tomb meeting the Risen Jesus. Father said that women played an important role in Jesus' life, and that they should also be honoured and respected in the church today. That appeased my child somewhat... but not enough.

Honestly, for most of my life, I didn't even think about why women weren't priests. The priests in my life have all been good men without exception, several of whom I count as very dear friends. But in the last few years, questions from my kids and various conversations and encounters with holy women, some with M. Div behind their names, have made me question why it is that the priesthood is only reserved to men. I can't just swallow it now.

The whole argument about priests acting "in persona Christi" -- in the person of Christ -- just doesn't demand maleness in my mind anymore. I have a woman friend who is an Anglican bishop. I know too many Christ-like Catholic women (some of whom are more priestly than some of the priests I've met). And the argument about the Church being the Bride of Christ, and therefore requiring a male counterpart in the priestly role is becoming for me, more and more, a semantic distraction from the real issue: that God made men and women equal, and as equals, we should be able to serve God as equals, even in the priesthood. Wouldn't it make sense that our theologically and sacramentally educated women pastoral assistants could be pastors, too? They often do everything except what's reserved to the priest, and are as educated as a priest... which again begs the question, why should ordination and sacramental ministry just be reserved to Catholic men?

Oh yeah, because Jesus and his disciples were men, and because it's always been that way. Sigh.

Men have been given most of the roles in the church -- from pope on down to deacon -- by default, as the male gender was dominant in the time of Christ. And yes, men are still dominant in many world cultures, but things are changing. Even so, thus far, women are only allowed to be Sisters (nuns), and as such, aren't allowed to preside at eucharist or offer absolution (though a few Sisters have heard my own confessions on more than one occasion). They can't preside at most sacramental celebrations without a special dispensation from a bishop.

And women in the church seem to be valued only if they've taken some sort of vow... so where does that leave single laywomen? And men, if they're not priests or the fathers of good Catholic families, seem to be seen as somehow incomplete by those promoting vocations. Something is wrong with this picture, this over-emphasis on vowed vocations. Yes, we need ordained and consecrated people, but it's too easy to get the feeling that they are the only important ones in the Church's thinking, and this hurts those who aren't called to the priesthood, religious life or marriage. The vocation of "single lay person" is too often ignored and is certainly not celebrated or acknowledged by the Church very often. And recent changes in the Roman Missal would indicate that the Church would rather not allow lay people near the altar at all. Heaven knows we can't usurp the priest's privileged role as presider, even if it's just to do the dishes after communion!

There was a time when lay Catholics (meaning not priests or religious) were a rather uneducated bunch of sheep who blindly followed our "shepherds," but those days are long gone. Since the second Vatican Council in the 1960s, lay people have taken a deeper interest in becoming priests, prophets and holy royalty in our own right, and have learned to think for ourselves about Church teachings. The Church encouraged this for the past 50 years, opening its theological schools to lay people, but now it seems to be re-thinking that decision, preferring "sheep" to educated parishioners who think and question and perhaps even challenge the way things have always been.

Unfortunately, the Church's reversals are pushing spiritually educated people to the margins. For better or worse, social change has come among many of the people of God, and as Cesar Chavez says, "Once social change begins, it cannot be reversed. You cannot uneducate the person who has learned to read. You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride. You cannot oppress the people who are not afraid anymore."

What I am seeing, more and more, is that dedicated lay Catholics, people who have taken courses in theology and worked as pastoral assistants and taught catechism and run youth groups, people who love Jesus and the people of God, these same people are very aware of the Church's attempt to return to pre-Vatican values. But because they are educated lay people, they value themselves and their faith to the point that they can no longer be humiliated or oppressed by an institution that seems to want them to return to their old ways of being sheep, swallowing what they're told without thinking for themselves. Educated Catholics know that God loves and accepts them whether they toe the party line or not.

So more and more of them are simply walking away. I count at least a dozen in my own devout Catholic extended family. And who can blame them? I'm tempted myself at times, especially when I run into people who insist that the Church is always right no matter what, and that I'm too prideful if I can't agree with the Vatican's point of view on any given topic. I'm sorry, but I have come to believe that God loves me and accepts me no matter what, and I have a hard time imagining that He and She will refuse me entrance to heaven if I happen to disagree with the Church's stance on women's ordination or some other contentious issue that I have thought through carefully.

And my friends who have walked away from the Church, some of whom call themselves "recovering Catholics?" Well, they may not be willing to listen to "the party line" at Mass on a Sunday morning anymore, but most of them continue in a deep relationship with Jesus, which can be seen in the way they interact with their neighbours and family members on a daily basis outside of the Church. Instead of meditating on "holy mysteries" (which I sometimes think is Vatican-speak for "we've made up an implausible explanation, but because we're in charge, you have to believe it or you're endangering your soul's hope of heaven), my friends are simply following Jesus' greatest commandments -- "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength, and love your neighbour as you love yourself," but apart from any institution.

I could go on and on, but I already have. So I'll end with last week, when my eldest googled "why can't women be priests?" and came up with the following commentary from a blog somewhere. The line in red angered my child beyond speech:

The Church was not given the authority to ordain women and thus can't ordain women.  It's not a matter of won't ordain or cultural traditions. Women are held in such high esteem by God that they have not been chosen to serve Him in a servant's capacity like a priest.... Women were not meant to be the sacrifice...if that were so, God would have had an only begotten daughter... He was not afraid to break cultural norms, that argument is ridiculous.... It is up to us to serve God in the roles He intended. Let it be done unto us as He wills.

It's an anonymous comment, but if I could, I would be tempted to ask its writer the following questions: How do we know that Jesus and God would still insist on a male only priesthood in 2012? And if women are held in such high esteem that they are not chosen to be priests, what does that say about men who are? If Jesus wasn't afraid to break cultural norms, why has the Church ignored women all these years? And who is to say what God intends? Human beings and human institutions? Form an institution, and everything seems to get a lot more complicated than it was orginally intended to be. Including the most recent translation of liturgical prayer, but I've already ranted on that.

I know it will take a lot of adjustment for the people of God in the Catholic church if the priesthood is opened equally to all believers. But I also deeply believe the Church would be a much healthier place if it wasn't running on so much testosterone. The Church has always managed to cope with growing pains of various kinds. Of course, it may take a few lifetimes for things to change... unless the Holy Spirit jumps in, as She and He did with Vatican II.

All I can say to my angry and speechless child is, "I know, kiddo, I know. Let's pray that the institutional Church soon educates itself and others about how to respect women as equals rather than inventing all sorts of semantically silly reasons that they're not fit to serve. Let's pray that the hierarchy gives thinking people of God some credit, and soon. If clerical gender roles were switched, and only women could serve God in the priestly role, you can bet men would be clamouring for justice the way women are now. But in the meantime, let's keep our eyes on Jesus and try not to let frustrations like this get in the way of our relationship with him."

Of course, this is only my opinion. God bless us all. Come, Holy Spirit!

(Click here for "Mom, why can't women be priests?" Part II.)