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Summer
Books Author analyzes churchs wound of divided spirit,
flesh
THE UNHEALED
WOUND: THE CHURCH AND HUMAN SEXUALITY By Eugene Kennedy St.
Martin Press, 224 pages, $17.95 |
REVIEWED By DONALD
COZZENS
Bring up the subjects of sex, celibacy and the church at the next
cocktail party you attend and you are likely to generate considerable heat. Do
so after reading Eugene Kennedys The Unhealed Wound: The Church and
Human Sexuality and you will be able to bring considerable light to the
heated discussion.
Kennedy is a longtime observer of a church he clearly loves. Those
familiar with his extraordinary career know this former Maryknoll priest to
wear many hats -- psychologist, journalist, biographer, novelist and syndicated
columnist. But its the priest and psychologist, the healer of souls, that
is at work here. His goal is to help the people of God see the depth of their
spiritual wound, to understand its origin, and to discover a path to healing
and wholeness.
To accomplish this goal, Kennedy puts the institutional church on
the couch and examines not only the churchs wound but also how the wound
affects the exercise of celibate power and authority by its episcopal and
clerical leaders. Like any analysis, the process is often disturbing and
uncomfortable. But if what Kennedy brings to light is heeded, it can relieve a
great deal of unnecessary suffering, especially the suffering of unhealthy
guilt.
Analysis, as we know, is work, and Kennedys bold look into
the psychic depths of the church is not always easy reading. Yet, this book,
written for the educated Catholic, does what a good analysis does -- it brings
to the light of day what is ailing us and how our unhealed wound affects the
lives of the people of God. In particular, Kennedy wants to help his readers
see why those in the church who exercise authority and power often do so in
ways that demean and humiliate, especially in matters of human sexuality.
Whether one finds the analysis a success or not, it brings to the surface an
important dimension of church life that has not, until now, received the
attention it deserves.
We come to see that our unhealed wound is the result of an
unnatural sundering, from a radical division between God and his
universe, heaven and earth, and spirit and flesh. The result is a
profound mistrust of human desire and passionate longing. Not only are we the
poorer for it, we find in this sundering the origins of loneliness, lust and
our pervasive, restless anxiety.
Christianity, of course, is held in the cradle of paradox -- life
through the experience of death, fulfillment through compassionate service,
liberation and salvation through the cross. The paradox takes on a different
hue, however, when it comes to the church and sexuality. What other major
religion raises the sexual union of husband and wife to the status of
sacrament? Our theology of incarnation holds that all of creation has been
lifted up and redeemed in the life, death and resurrection of Christ --
including human sexuality. We Christians, Kennedy reminds us, profess that
human sexuality is good and that intimate communion between husband and wife is
holy.
At the same time, the institutional church obsesses about the
dangers inherent in human sexuality -- dangers that are quite real, but dangers
that are allowed to eclipse the profound goodness of our enfleshed being.
Acknowledging the sacramental character of married love, it raises as the ideal
the states of virginity and celibacy.
Kennedy understands more than most of us sexualitys power
for weal and woe, its depth and mystery, its demonic potential and its
pervasive influence in our personal and social lives. What The Unhealed
Wound makes evident to the reader is the toxic nature of ecclesial power
exercised by conflicted, asexual or psychosexually underdeveloped individuals.
This unhealthy exercise of power in the guise of pastoral authority contributes
to the human suffering grounded in the mythic wound at the heart of
Kennedys analysis.
If sexually conflicted themselves, Kennedy warns, it is easy for
ordained celibates to miss the sexually charged nature of their exercise of
authority and power over their parishioners, and in the case of bishops, in
their exercise of authority and power over priests. How men exercise power over
men, especially how asexual, conflicted celibate men exercise power over men,
is telling. Often, Kennedy believes, it exposes the presence of suppressed
eros. Leaders who remain alienated from their own sexuality, leaders who think
they can live as angels, wind up wounding others in spite of their best
conscious efforts to do otherwise. Here healthy members of the laity and clergy
know instinctively that something is wrong.
It is here, in Kennedys analysis of the dynamics of sexually
charged celibate power, that priests, in particular, will find his book both
enlightening and healing. Even veteran priests confess to a certain tightness
in their stomachs as they wait for an appointment outside their bishops
office. In naming the unhealthy, eros-charged tendency to dominance evident in
the power transactions of many church officials, especially in matters of human
sexuality, the author helps priests and others subject to ecclesial authority
to grasp the primitive undercurrents of dominance and submission that mark many
of their exchanges with superiors. This aspect of Kennedys analysis will
prove controversial, but it deserves attention and study.
Both clergy and laity have suspected for some time now that the
exercise of power is in itself dangerous, and when power is exercised by the
sexually conflicted or confused, it tends to shrink the human soul. The healthy
exercise of authority, on the other hand, strives to liberate the human spirit
and expand the human soul.
The proper exercise of authority, therefore, is to enable -- to
empower -- the life and work, the freedom and authenticity, of those under
authority. This is the kind of authority we witnessed in the pontificate of
Pope John XXIII and we witness today in the ministry of many of our bishops and
pastors. When psychosexually immature and conflicted church officials exercise
authority, however, their unmet human needs demand the kind of appeasement that
comes from exercising power over others. They reveal to the careful observer a
need to control and manage, not only the behavior and ministry of their
charges, but even the innermost chambers of their souls where freedom meets
responsibility and where their urgent longings lead to God.
I found Kennedys analysis of the church and human sexuality
compelling. He knows the human soul and its wounds. He also knows that we need
not fear what God has created and deemed good. His analysis raises,
nonetheless, a number of questions. Is our unhealed wound somehow distinct from
the universal wound we Christians understand as original sin, our original
woundedness? What can we learn from cultures that have transcended our radical
division of spirit and flesh? And what can we learn from the way celibate women
exercise authority over others?
I suspect there will be calls for a second opinion.
Kennedys analysis certainly will be disturbing to those who equate human
sexuality with genital sex and to individuals suspicious of human desire and
passion. To those, however, who understand the intimate relationship between
sexuality and spirituality and between eros and power, The Unhealed
Wound will be a source of healing and liberation.
It deserves to be widely discussed. At cocktail parties, in coffee
houses, certainly. Even more so in chancery and Vatican offices.
Fr. Donald Cozzens is president-rector and professor of
pastoral theology at Saint Mary Seminary and Graduate School of Theology in
Cleveland. He is author of The Changing Face of the Priesthood
(Liturgical Press, 2000).
National Catholic Reporter, May 11,
2001
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