Column Elderly Catholics still optimistic for the church they
love
By TIM UNSWORTH
A few weeks ago, before my recent
time in the hospital, Jean and I went to Florida for a mini-vacation. We rented
an economy car that looked like a venial sin compared with the yacht-sized cars
favored by those little old men with peaked caps who cruise by at a steady 25
mph. The cars are polished like a pro basketball players head with,
believe it or not, cherry-scented wax.
Florida is paved with doctors offices (In-the-Office
Vasectomy Reversals) and pharmacies (Viagra Delivered to Your
Home.) Sadly, it is also plagued with growing numbers of HIV-positive
seniors. There are lots of mobile home-sized churches (The Church of
Practical Christianity), announced with signs that read Kick Start
Your Day with Jesus or No Jesus, No Peace. Know Jesus, Know
Peace.
Ponce de Leon, who gave the state its name -- Pascua
Florida, or Easter Feast of the Flowers -- should have hung
around a little longer.
Floridas Catholic population continues to flourish. In just
over 40 years, six new dioceses have been established. In less than five years,
the Catholic population has increased by 202,000, to 2,024,185 Catholics,
including its governor, Jeb Bush, who converted in 1995. It is a Catholic
Limbo.
We worshiped at an attractive church that was filled with people
with white hair, white belts and white shoes. The priest sounded like W.C.
Fields, hacking his way through a three-pack throat, while urging the faithful
to return to get their throats blessed on the Feast of St. Blaise.
The experience got me thinking about the elderly and the church.
When we got home, we motored out to Franciscan Village in Lemont, Ill., where
more than 300 people, most over 80, are waiting for God. They include
Jeans 98-year-old mother, Marie Morman, who remains as nimble as a judo
teacher and as clear-minded as a crossword puzzle fanatic, which she is.
She has lived at the village for six years where she lectors
almost daily at the 9:30 liturgy. She and her friends are part of the 13
percent of the U.S. population that is over 65. According to Peter C.
Petersons book, Gray Dawn, in less than 25 years senior citizens
will comprise more than 25 percent of the total population. There will be more
grandparents than grandchildren.
Longer life spans and a falling birthrate will cause the U.S.
population to inch its way toward Florida.
At Franciscan Village and in Florida, I was able to glimpse the
church of the future. Although the church performed over 1,044,000 infant
baptisms last year, its likely an even larger number reached 65. (In
largely Catholic Western Europe, the population is aging even faster.)
According to a recent Newsweek essay, in 2038, seniors will
make up 34 percent of the population. They will be overwhelmingly white because
at the present time most blacks, Hispanics and Asians dont live that
long. Because women continue to enjoy a longer life span, it is quite possible
that portions of the population -- and the pews -- will have 10 women for every
man, as do some retirement communities in Florida.
Currently the average priest is 59; 34 percent are over 70.
Overall life expectancy for males is 76 and, sadly, a priestly vocation is no
longer considered socially significant. The losses would be bearable were it
not for the fact that our church remains a clerical church. The pastors
name remains on the signature card at the bank, and the bishop is a corporation
sole, holding all diocesan property in his own name.
But the clergy would have to become more malleable in order to
minister to people who have more control over their lives because their
children have moved far away, their bad marriages have long since broken up and
their lived experiences have caused them to view life differently. Like the
people at Franciscan Village, they will have learned to deal with loss, will
have found new and engaging interests, and will remain optimistic and more
liberal.
Only a handful of older people remain morbidly obsessed with the
past. The rest have learned to distinguish between divine law and church law.
Its likely that most have never heard of the renowned Protestant
theologian Reinhold Niebuhr but they would agree with his sentiment.
Frantic orthodoxy, he wrote, is never rooted in faith but in
doubt. It is when we are not sure that we are doubly sure.
In the future, seniors will likely tip the balance of political
power in society at large. It is entirely possible that the percentage of
practicing senior Catholics will be even higher than the percentage of seniors
in the nation at large. (Many parishes now report an average age of 57
presently in the pews.)
Again, the majority will be female -- not a comforting thought for
a church that still blames Eve for everything.
There will be a need for older priests but their numbers will have
dwindled and most who are still around will have retired before 75. Years ago,
an aging pastor could hang in until he couldnt tell the difference
between the curate and the housekeeper.
But his incipient senility could be compensated for by a covey of
curates, living on the third floor. In the near future, however, most priests
will likely be alone, overworked for their age and growing more eccentric than
an English country rector. (Currently, 2,460 U.S. parishes are priestless, and
a majority of the 19,677 parishes have only one priest.)
I have been blessed with many conversations with Marie
Mormans friends. They are exceptionally devout people, at Mass every day,
attending scripture readings, praying the rosary and doing laps around the
stations, although the Franciscans at the Village require none of this of them.
The priest chaplains devote many of their homilies to reminding them of how
good they are.
The seniors do not pine for the old days; prefer the English
liturgy to the old arcane Latin and are uplifted by the blessings of group
reconciliations.
Years of experience have taught them to be Catholics on their own
terms. They have learned to be experts at forgiveness and acceptance -- quicker
to forgive others than themselves. If pressed concerning a moral or domestic
issue involving a family member, they answer quietly, Well, that is a
matter for their own conscience.
One of the women who has lived nearly every year of the 20th
century said, Oh, we dont even talk about those things.
She was saying that the issues once carved in stone have been
become weather-beaten with love and understanding. I had a good
marriage, one widow said. My daughter didnt. Now that she has
found a good man, I cant tell her not to marry.
Perhaps the only time I sensed that Maries elderly friends
were nonplused was when Lea, their friend, died. She was their
companion at Mass and other devotions. Her daughter was a frequent visitor.
Yet, when she died, a funeral director came to collect her remains -- and that
was that. No family. No wake. No funeral. Her friends were shocked. They
thought it might be a family decision, but later the daughter told them that
Lea had ordered the undertaker to collect the body and to dispose of it without
ceremony.
Her friends only concern was that she may have harbored some
guilt inherited from a hell-centered church and didnt want to embarrass
her family. Whatever the case, her friends were willing to be part of any
service or to assure her that the Catholic church would respect her conscience.
No grand jury or special counsel.
The elderly are not asking charged questions. There are no missile
launchers next to their pews. They are not Kevorkianites, for example, but they
accept the fact that over 70 percent of them will receive some pain reliever
that will probably hasten their deaths.
According to a recent article in The New York Times, the
religious right is backing out of politics largely because they cannot find a
candidate who meets their litmus test. Its equally likely that even the
gentle souls at Franciscan Village would not pass a barcoding process
administered by an increasingly restrictive church they love so much. But they
remain placidly optimistic that the God they love even more has not left every
decision in the Vaticans hands.
Its just a suggestion, but perhaps the next synod of bishops
should be held in Florida or in a retirement community.
Tim Unsworth writes from Chicago where he collects Social
Security and indulgences. To save his soul, contact him at
unsworth@megsinet.net
National Catholic Reporter, July 16,
1999
|