A few weeks back, you referred to yourself as a Free-Range Catholic [A free-range welcome for the Pope, Ken Trainor, Viewpoints, April 16]. Interesting term … I had never heard it used before. At times I have referred to myself as a Cafeteria Catholic, though I have always been a tad uncomfortable with the term.
To me, it somewhat implies a degree of theological and intellectual laziness that certainly does not describe many good friends who share concerns similar to mine. And yet, I must admit that the term has sticking power. So, what the hell, I guess I’m a Cafeteria Catholic.
Certainly my upbringing could not have been more traditionally Catholic. I was raised on the West Side of Chicago in a secure Catholic ghetto. I loved my childhood. My family was large and broadly extended. My parents were loving, intelligent, supportive-and devoted to their Catholic religion. And I am the beneficiary of 16 years of Catholic education, the final eight with the Jesuits. Yeah, I was raised a Catholic.
And yet, I was also taught to think. My parents demanded it. Later the Jesuits ruthlessly beat the concept into my brain. I vividly recall a religion course that I took during my senior year at Saint Ignatius-a young Jesuit, Dan Flaherty, spent an entire semester, three hours a week, playing devil’s advocate to church teaching. And we damn well better have had the right answer.
It was one of the most fascinating intellectual exercises I have ever been involved in. Similarly, while in college, it was mandatory to take a full year of Ethics. The course had little to do with Catholicism … but everything to do with my salvation. It was the most stimulating class I took in four years of university.
And yet, that’s all a very long time ago. My first slap in the face occurred in a confessional. I was 20-something, married, with two toddlers. During the course of what would seem a rather boring recitation, the priest interrupted to ask if my wife and I were practicing the Rhythm Method (a totally useless form of birth control OKed by the Church). Yes, Father. For how long? Our baby is six months old, Father. My son, you must stop!
I quietly stood and left the confessional. I have admitted my sins again since that time, but only face-to-face-with men I respect.
Now, admittedly, that singular experience did nothing to shake my faith. And today I am a firm believer in God and in the message of Jesus Christ. However, I also believe in the primacy of the individual conscience. Only I can affect my salvation. I take that reality seriously, and sometimes it means going against the pronouncements of the Hierarchy. Too often, reason, well considered, contradicts what the Church calls Tradition.
And yet, I will also tell you that I continue to examine, to seek the truth. A few years ago, I hadn’t the time … I was raising a passel of kids and trying to earn a living. Finally, though, I have time for reflection. What a luxury!
I’m getting old … I’ll be gone fairly soon. But I’ll die professing to be a Catholic. And, yeah, wave that incense around my casket. It’s got an interesting smell to it … makes people feel sad. But whether it’s five, 10 or 20 years, I’ll still be doubting. I’ll still be challenging. And I’ll still marvel at what Christ really said.
Just don’t tell me that the Pope is infallible.
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