Cover
story
Obedience the Hickey way
By PAMELA SCHAEFFER
NCR Staff Washington
A grouping of framed pictures on the wall of
Cardinal James Aloysius Hickeys chapel tells much of his story. Certainly
the pictures illuminate the character of a man who, because of his many friends
in Rome, wields possibly more power than anyone else in the U.S.
church.
In one of the frames is just a few lines in French that Hickey,
archbishop of Washington, had painted on a page after discovering them in a
spiritual diary. The diary was the legacy of a former rector of the Salesian
seminary whose buildings now serve as the power hub of Hickeys
archdiocese.
The lines within the frame read: Obéir à Dieu
sans retard, sans réserve, sans retour. Translated, they mean:
To obey God without hesitation, without reservation, without turning
back.
When I discovered the words, they impressed me so
much, said Hickey, twice a seminary rector himself. Its what
we are about as consecrated priests and religious.
Many of Hickeys associates said, in so many words, that
those lines describe what drives Hickey -- with the understanding that to the
cardinal, obedience to church authority equals obedience to God.
Hickey has made and broken many a church career. His name will be
linked in history, for instance, with that of Fr. Charles Curran, the highly
respected theologian who was ousted from The Catholic University of America on
Hickeys watch. Hickey has raised up nine bishops for other dioceses. He
has also been a strong supporter of black priests, including Fr. George
Stallings and former Archbishop Eugene Marino, both of whom, according to some
who know Hickey well, subsequently let him down.
On the same wall as the rectors words in Hickeys
chapel are photographs of two women who died while working with the poor of El
Salvador: Ursuline Sr. Dorothy Kazel and Jean Donovan, a 27-year-old lay
worker. The names are well-known to many Catholic activists. Kazel and Donovan
were in El Salvador under the auspices of the Cleveland diocese when Hickey was
appointed bishop there in 1974. They persuaded him to allow them to stay on
after the assassination of Salvadoran Archbishop Oscar Romero in 1980.
Those pictures, anchored by a colorful Latin American crucifix,
round out the story. Hickey the power broker is a man of deep compassion.
Hickey up close is different from the Hickey of the headlines. For
a man so often cast as rather one-dimensional -- a sort of chief of the
Vaticans police force in the United States -- contradictions abound.
He is unyielding on principle, associates say, flexible on
tactics. He is a statesman who dislikes messy confrontations yet has been
thrust into the limelight on some of the most controversial national issues in
the church. He works in the most political of environments but generally shuns
national politics. He is a voracious reader of newspapers but avoids the press.
In a city that thrives on wealth and power, he lives modestly and is a good
friend to the poor, architect of an impressive network of social services in
one of the nations most troubled cities.
He is likable but feared -- a really great guy and, boy,
just a vigilant watchdog, in the words of one Washington priest.
Three of Hickeys top 10 staff members are laypeople, two are
nuns -- four women in all, including Jacqueline Wilson, who has headed
Washingtons office for black Catholics for nearly 20 years. Hickey meets
weekly with his staff -- a highly competent group, observers say. The cardinal
dislikes yes people and expects his staff to be prepared for give
and take.
I found with Hickey that once you won his confidence you had
a lot of support, said John Carr, Hickeys secretary for social
concerns from 1981 to 1990, and now secretary for social development and world
peace for the National Conference of Catholic Bishops. He added, I found
that whatever I gave him, he had already read.
His style is very collaborative, said Dan Curtin,
Hickeys secretary for Catholic education. He wants to hear it all,
the good and the nasty, all sides of a question. He doesnt like to make
decisions in isolation.
Hickey, showing a reporter the massive wood conference table where
his staff holds weekly meetings, said, I dont want you to think we
gamble in here. He grinned as he held up a squeegee for cleaning windows
that someone had given him for pushing papers across the table.
No photo-ops
His national reputation as an enforcer is not who he
is, said Carr. Theres a pastoral side to him that a lot of
people dont see. In part, Carr said, thats because Hickey
abhors photo-opportunities. I went to the prisons with him every
Christmas for eight years, and he never invited the press. Carr said.
Its just not his style.
Hickey, perhaps demonstrating the kind of obedience he values,
remains in his post, though he is now three years past the 75-year mandatory
retirement mark and the second-oldest cardinal in the U.S. church. Hickey
submitted his resignation, as required by canon law, when he turned 75 --
as publicly and personally as I possibly could, he said, by
traveling to Rome and putting it in the hands of the pope.
Three weeks later Hickey had his answer: Pope John Paul II asked
him to stay on until further notice, as the pope had previously asked of
Cardinal John J. OConnor of New York, who is 10 months older than Hickey.
Though weakened by recent health problems, Hickey said he would continue to
build the Washington archdiocese.
Hickey, obedient, compassionate and powerful, is also a man who
wants to get it right. Nicknamed Picky Hickey in Cleveland, he is
given to fussing over small details -- once, for instance, he sent out a memo
on how lemons should be cut for removing oil from the bishops hands after
confirmation. And he agonizes when important decisions turn out to be
wrong.
Thats what Hickey believes happened in 1980, when things
were getting rough in El Salvador. He thought the women missioners should come
home. He went to El Salvador to attend the funeral of Archbishop Oscar Romero,
a controversial spokesman for human rights who had been shot by an assassin as
he celebrated evening Mass. He also wanted to determine whether it was safe
enough for the women to remain. Unfortunately, he now says, he allowed himself
to be persuaded to let them stay.
When the wolf attacks the flock, he recalled that
Kazel had told him, the shepherd doesnt leave.
Nine months later, Hickeys charges were among four women
slain, two of them raped, in one of countless gruesome episodes in El
Salvadors civil war. Hickey said their fate haunts him now, 18 years
later. I think that was too simplistic an interpretation of
scripture, he said.
Hickey readily granted a reporters wish to see his chapel, a
shrine, really, to the Salvadoran workers. From there, he guided a tour of the
top floor of the pastoral center, which has been converted to a modestly but
tastefully decorated living quarters where he can comfortably accommodate four
guests. Hickey lived there for 10 years, from 1981, when he sold a large home
bought by his predecessor, Cardinal William Baum. Baum, who headed the
Washington archdiocese from 1973 until 1980, was appointed prefect of the
Vatican Congregation for Education.
Hickey had been concerned that Baums controversial home --
situated in the exclusive Rockwood Parkway area and valued at $1.2 million when
the church sold it -- would isolate him from the people. He is
proud of the pastoral center, where he collected archdiocesan offices formerly
scattered around the city. The center is situated in a low-income neighborhood
in Hyattsville, Md., a block from the District of Columbia line.
In 1991, Hickey moved again, when his doctor recommended that he
put more distance between work and home. He now lives in the 13-room former
residence of Baums predecessor, Cardinal Patrick OBoyle. Hickey
still uses the living quarters at the pastoral center when he has more than one
guest, moving there himself to be with them.
The bishops of South America are often housed here when they
come up, giving him privileged time, he said, with the likes of Cardinal
Raúl Silva Henríquez of Chile, whom he describes as that
great worker for rights of the people.
The walls of the pastoral center are a creamy yellow, the carpet a
rich orange. The atmosphere is bright and congenial, less clerical in feeling
than archdiocesan headquarters often are. Hickey himself pointed up the
contrast between the pleasant surroundings and his public image. At least
the walls can be pleasant, he said, even if some of the things we
do arent regarded as exactly pleasant.
Obedience flows naturally
Hell charm you, a source had assured this
reporter. In a two-hour interview he spoke softly and kindly, often with quiet
humor, sometimes directed at himself.
Undeniably, though, Hickey knows how to use power. He is
well-connected with Vatican officials, in part through his years as rector of
the North American College in Rome. He is deeply loyal to Pope John Paul II and
respected in return. In 1988 he was invited to give a retreat for the pope and
papal household.
Hickey is aware of the seeming contradictions. To me, the
unifying force is the church, he said. I personally believe in the
church. I never doubted what she taught. Within that framework, I would hope
people would see some consistency.
Its the image of the church as the mystical body of
Christ that pulls everything together, he added. Obedience to the
Holy Father flows quite naturally from that.
Undoubtedly though, Hickeys upbringing also nurtured a
respect for hierarchy. He grew up in Midland, Mich., where life centers on the
major corporate citizen, Dow Chemical. Hickey was surrounded by corporate
types, team players who know their roles. He was the second child,
surprising everyone when he came along, he said. James Peter
Hickey, a dentist, and Agnes Marie Ryan Hickey, daughter of a local
businessman, had just one other child, a daughter 13 years older than
James.
According to an extensive profile by Laura Sessions Stepp,
published in The Washington Post on May 21, 1989, Hickeys parents
had high expectations for their son, turning him at an early age into a young
adult. But Hickey said it wasnt true that his parents were tough. I
got away with a lot, he said. During the Depression, young Hickey watched
as his father cared for his patients even when they were unable to pay. His
mother regularly took supplies to a needy family.
Religion was a given. I feel very privileged to have grown
up in a very Catholic home where the sacraments were a part of our regular
week, Hickey told NCR. Every Saturday night we went to
church for confession, every Sunday morning at 8 or 10 oclock for Mass.
There were only two in those simple little days, he said with a
smile.
At 13, Hickey entered the seminary and earned a reputation for an
ability to follow rules that governed every aspect of daily life. Asked if
hed ever had a rebellious streak, he said, I kept it well in
check. He graduated in 1942 as valedictorian of his class, studied
theology at The Catholic University of America and was ordained a priest in
Saginaw, Mich., in 1946.
Hickeys concern for the poor developed in Saginaw. He wrote
an article for his college newspaper about the plight of migrant sugar beet
pickers in the Saginaw Valley. He now regards the article as somewhat
sophomoric, but it caught the eye of Bishop William P. Murphy, who
challenged the newly ordained Hickey to see what he could do to help. Hickey
traveled with the workers for several seasons, learning firsthand a lesson he
never forgot: the realities of grinding poverty.
In 1947, Hickey was sent to Rome to study. He earned doctorates in
canon law and moral theology, returned to the United States to serve for nine
years as secretary to Bishop Stephen S. Woznicki in Saginaw. Hickey helped to
establish St. Paul Seminary in Saginaw and served as its first rector. He
experienced one of his rare moments of feeling betrayed by the church, he said,
when just nine years after it opened, the seminary was closed.
In 1967, he was named auxiliary bishop. Two years later he was
appointed rector of the North American College in Rome, where the best and
brightest seminarians from U.S. dioceses are sent to study. Five years later,
in 1974, he was named bishop of Cleveland. He was assigned to Washington in
1980, where he serves both as archbishop and as chancellor of The Catholic
University.
Today, in addition to overseeing affairs of 500,000 Catholics in
the District of Colombia, including 80,000 black Catholics, and five Maryland
counties, Hickey serves on four Vatican congregations. They include the
Congregation for Catholic Education, headed by Baum, and the powerful
Congregation for Clergy. Hickey also serves on the Pontifical Council for the
Family.
When called upon to serve as Vatican disciplinarian, Hickey
complies but insists he doesnt relish the role. I dont get
any joy out of those kinds of situations, he said. If I didnt
see it as my duty, I would probably try to sidestep.
The Curran controversy
The most memorable for many Catholics was the protracted conflict
over Fr. Charles Curran, former professor of moral theology at The Catholic
University who disagrees with church teaching in several areas of sexual
ethics. Hickey was a key player in Currans ouster, saying he had no
choice but to take the steps leading to Currans suspension in 1987.
Curran lost a breach of contract suit against the university.
At one point, Curran said, he had worked out a compromise with
Hickey and the late Cardinal Joseph Bernardin of Chicago that would have
allowed him to teach in an area of The Catholic University that did not grant
pontifical degrees. Hickey took the compromise to Rome, in good
faith, Curran believes, though he suspects that Bernardin would have
pushed it harder. The compromise was rejected in Rome.
Jesuit Fr. Ed Glynn, former Jesuit provincial in Maryland,
suspects Hickey may have blocked a major career move for him. Glynn was denied
the Vatican approval needed to become president of Weston School of Theology in
1996. He speculated that approval was withheld because in 1991, when officials
allowed an abortion rights student group to meet on the campus at Georgetown
University, a Jesuit school, Glynn had refused Hickeys request that the
provincial intervene. I suspect some bishops may have some concerns that
I may not be sufficiently cooperative, Glynn said.
Fr. William Callahan, a former Jesuit, concurs that it can be hard
to tell where Hickeys hand has been. Cardinal Hickey doesnt
leave many fingerprints, said Callahan, coordinator of Priests for
Equality in Washington. Callahan, who has challenged church teaching in some
areas and U.S. government policy in Latin America, was ousted from the Jesuits
after he refused to comply with demands that he suspects originated with
Hickey.
Hickeys efforts to influence events at Georgetown have
continued. New Ways Ministry, a Washington-based Catholic advocacy group for
homosexuals, organized a debate there last year, inviting three theologians to
present contending views, including the churchs teaching that gays and
lesbians should abstain from sex. Hickey was unsuccessful in getting Georgetown
officials to cancel the program.
Hickey is often regarded as unsympathetic to gays. In 1987, he
persuaded the late Jesuit Fr. Timothy Healy, Georgetowns then-president,
to ban its chapter of Dignity, another Catholic organization for gays, from
holding Mass on campus.
The Washington-based New Ways ministry came under attack in 1981,
when, over Hickeys opposition, the organization sponsored a national
symposium on homosexuality and the church. New Ways founders, School Sister of
Notre Dame Jeannine Gramick and Salvatorian Fr. Robert Nugent, though no longer
affiliated with New Ways, have been under formal Vatican investigation for a
decade.
On the other hand, when Fr. Michael Peterson, the Washington
priest who founded St. Lukes Institute for troubled priests, was rumored
to be dying of AIDS, Hickey was remarkable in his show of kindness. Never
asking Peterson how he had contracted AIDS, careful to avoid coercion, Hickey
encouraged Peterson to allow the nature of his illness to be revealed after his
death. To Hickey, truth cloaked in compassion was preferable to rumors that
might undermine Petersons work.
After Petersons death, Hickey announced that Peterson had
died of complications from AIDS, marking the first time any U.S. bishop had
publicly acknowledged a priests death from AIDS. Hickey led 180 priests
in concelebrating Petersons funeral Mass.
With a couple of notable exceptions, in contrast to Hickeys
high profile nationally, he has faced few public controversies involving his
diocesan priests. In part, longtime residents say, the relative calm derives
from a predecessors heavy hand. In 1968, Cardinal Patrick OBoyle
curbed dissent by suspending priestly faculties of more than 40 Washington
priests who signed a statement declaring that birth control was a matter of
conscience between husband and wife.
George Stallings is one of the notable exceptions. Stallings, a
popular black priest, had been a student at the North American College in Rome
when Hickey was rector. When Stallings was ordained in 1974, Hickey supported
Stallings wish to be a priest of the Washington diocese. I vouched
for him, Hickey said -- another of his decisions gone wrong. The defiant
Stallings was suspended by Hickey, then declared excommunicated after he
established a movement for black Catholics outside the church. It was a complex
situation in which Stallings had been accused of sexual abuse and Hickey had
urged him to go to a center in New Mexico for treatment. Hickey has two words
for his reaction to the loss. It hurt, he said.
A close associate of Hickeys said simply, Stallings
and Marino broke his heart. Eugene Marino, Hickeys former auxiliary
bishop in Washington, appointed archbishop of Atlanta with Hickeys
support, resigned that post in 1990 after news broke of his romantic alliance
with a young woman.
Another exception locally was Hickeys decision to
investigate Holy Trinity Catholic Church, a progressive and prominent Jesuit
parish in the Georgetown district. Threatening to remove church leaders,
including Jesuit Fr. Lawrence Madden, the pastor, Hickey commissioned
investigators following reports that a Lutheran woman had presided over an Ash
Wednesday service in 1997 and had also preached.
In a nine-page letter to Madden underscoring Hickeys
commitment to orthodoxy, he cited violations ranging from gender-inclusive
language in the liturgy to allowing laity to preach at vespers. One of the
investigators was Auxiliary Bishop William E. Lori, a hardworking, feisty
Italian who has Hickeys complete trust. Parish leaders complained of what
they described as Loris inquisitional tactics. Lori, who also
serves as vicar general and moderator of the archdiocesan curia, said the
problems had been resolved. A source who requested anonymity said a
veneer of compliance had kept Holy Trinitys leaders in place.
Hickey has also, by some reports, kept a tight rein on The
Catholic Universitys theological faculties and, of late, has been nudging
the university to become a model of conformity with Ex Corde Ecclesiae, the
Vatican document stressing the importance of Catholic identity for
church-related schools. In November, the new president of The Catholic
University, Vincentian Fr. David OConnell, broke with previous tradition
by publicly reciting a loyalty oath at his inauguration. It is a
Vatican-pleasing step most other university presidents would be loathe to
take.
During Hickeys first five years in Washington, he reshaped
The Catholic Universitys religion curriculum. In 1985, he vetoed the
universitys choice for theology department head, Fr. John Boyle,
supporting Dominican Fr. William Cenkner instead.
But Jesuit Fr. William Byron, who served as Catholic University
president under Hickey, said it would be a mistake to think of Hickey as a
heavy-handed chancellor. I could count on one hand the number of phone
calls I got from him in the 10 years I was president, Byron said.
Hickeys decisions on candidates for pontifical faculties couldnt be
automatically predicted, he said.
Hes very concerned on some of the issues about the
reputation of the church, Byron said, but I wouldnt want to
convey the impression that hes hovering over the place. Hes really
a very fine person totally dedicated to the welfare of his people and the
church.
In Washingtons political world, Hickey has kept a low
profile, leaving national issues to the National Conference of Catholic Bishops
and speaking to Congress only where he thinks a personal perspective might
count: El Salvador, for instance, or abortion or the needs of the poor. I
always said you wont find me skulking down the halls of Congress,
he said. I dont see that as my role.
What Hickey does see as his role, as a key component of his
fidelity, is service to the poor. He can outline the social
encyclicals, said Carr. If someone asks him why the church supports
unions, he doesnt need note cards to talk about it.
Hes very much a risk taker when it comes to providing
social services, said Charity Sr. Carol Keehan, president of Providence
Hospital in Washington. If theres a big enough need, hes
going to push until he finds a way to get it done.
Extensive social services
Msgr. Ralph Keuhner, archdiocesan secretary for social concerns,
can tick off a long list of services demonstrating the difference Hickey has
made to Washington. They include 12 homeless shelters, a health care network of
volunteer medical professionals that handles some 2,800 referrals a year, a
network of 250 volunteer attorneys who do pro bono work for about 2,000 people
a year. Share, a program Hickey started with the Knights of Malta, has
distributed over a million pounds of food to some 70,000 families. Substance
abuse treatment, housing for the elderly, refugee resettlement and free
birthing services for women with crisis pregnancies are part of the mix. The
Kennedy Institute, which deals with developmental disabilities, has boosted its
budget from $1 million to $11 million under Hickey, its staff from 53 to
340.
Other social services are provided by the Spanish Catholic Center,
which helped some 7,840 people last year, Keuhner said. A related dental clinic
served 30,000.
The cardinal lives by Matthew 25, Carr said: Whatever you
did for one of these brothers of mine, you did for me. A person once told
the cardinal that archdiocesan homeless services didnt seem very
spiritual because we dont pray with those folks, Carr said.
The cardinal offered his philosophy in reply: We dont serve the
homeless because theyre Catholic. We serve them because were
Catholic.
Curtin said Hickey has steadfastly refused to close any of the
citys 16 inner-city elementary schools, instead meeting declining
enrollments with a head-on program of marketing, fund-raising and professional
development for teachers. After one year, the program has produced a 7 percent
enrollment increase, Curtin said.
For relaxation, Hickey, a Civil War buff, enjoys visiting historic
sites and shopping malls, mostly for window shopping, he said, a pastime he
attributes to growing up in the Depression. In retirement, he hopes to organize
his papers so somebody who follows after me will know what I tried to
do, perhaps write his autobiography, give some retreats.
What he hopes to be remembered for -- still -- are the same things
he told a reporter for The Washington Post a decade ago: loyalty to the
church and serving the needs of the poor. Its a package, he
said. If theres enough stone, hed add a third piece, he
said: support of Catholic education.
What keeps him going, Hickey said, is his vision of the church as
spirit-filled -- though, he added, the church doesnt always have a
sense of its being spirit-filled.
Do divisions worry him?
Not in the sense that the church would ever cease to
exist, he said. But, he wonders, as he holds the reins of orthodoxy
firmly, could I do more to heal them?
National Catholic Reporter, January 15,
1999
|