Ministerial service and personnel Archives

Why Are We Persistingly Celibacing?

“Celibacy” is a curious word. Etymologically, it is derived from Latin words. The primary word is “caelebs” which means unmarried and, related to it, “caelibatus” meaning the state of being unmarried.
   However, it also later came to be associated with the notion of abstention from sexual relations—probably because at that time it was presumed that only within marriage were sexual relations appropriate.
   This led to celibacy being identified with chastity or the state of being chaste, words derived from the Latin adjective “castus” meaning to be clean, pure, or chaste.
   The main Gospel reference to celibacy in the teachings of Jesus is Matthew, 19:11-12:

The disciples said to him, “If that is how things are between husband and wife, it is advisable not to marry.” But he replied, “It is not everyone who can accept what I have said, but only those to whom it is given. There are eunuchs born so from their mother’s womb, there are eunuchs made so by human agency and there are eunuchs who made themselves so for the sake of the kingdom of Heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.”

   A eunuch is a castrated man. In some cultures (e.g. the Roman empire) a eunuch was a man of trust not only in the sense that, if he were a harem guard, he wouldn’t take advantage of the women in his care but also that, if he were a military leader, he wouldn’t seek the throne for his progeny.
   Jesus himself, of course, was no eunuch; as a matter of fact, he never married, although he certainly was a man who loved and was deeply loved.
   Jesus spoke of an ideal of men committing themselves, as though they were eunuchs, to the service of the kingdom of God, and his life displayed this kind of generosity and strength of purpose.

   The selflessness of the eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven is above all their renunciation of their giving themselves entirely to self-aggrandizement and that of their family—the renunciation of progeny, and, consequently, of seeking prosperity, prestige, privilege, and power for them.
   For the first centuries of Christianity and while it was established as the imperial state religion, its officials, its deacons, priests, and bishops, were not necessarily required to be celibate men at all.
   It was years later that the Western church, not the Eastern churches, gradually restricted the selection of all clergy from among men vowed to a life of celibacy.
   There were many other influences that led to this development—especially martyrdom, radical renunciation (e.g., the desert ascetics), the development of monasticism and later religious life, and, it must be confessed, concern for the control of church property that might be contested by heirs.
   Even though the Western or Roman Catholic Church adopted clerical celibacy as a matter of canon law, its practice and discipline can change, has changed occasionally, and may continue to change more in the future.
   For instance, already in the post-Vatican II church, by way of exception, there are married priests of other Christian churches who have been accepted into the Roman Catholic church and remain married.
   Presently the tradition is being critically examined, and there probably will be other even more extensive changes in the future.

27 February 2022

[See also the reflection, The Obligation of Celibacy, and the article, How Priests Came to Be Celibate: An Oversimplification]

Preaching the Gospel

What is it, exactly, that a priest or deacon does or should be doing at Mass after the reading of the Gospel?
   Traditionally, we call it “preaching”, meaning 1. the act or practice of a person who preaches. 2. the art of delivering sermons. 3. a sermon.
   But this is kind of circular, since “sermon” is defined as 1. a discourse for the purpose of religious instruction or exhortation, especially one based on a text of Scripture and delivered by a member of the clergy as part of a religious service. 2. Any serious speech, discourse, or exhortation, especially on a moral issue. 3. a long, tedious speech.
   Religious instruction implies “teaching”, usually defined as 1. to impart knowledge of or skill in; give instruction in. 2. To impart knowledge or skill to; give instruction to.
   I suppose that there often is an element of teaching in what is communicated after the Gospel, but Mass shouldn’t be the main place and time for teaching religion or scripture. However, stimulating reflection about the meaning and implications of well-known religious teachings may be useful or appropriate.
   Exhortation is 1. the act or process of exhorting. 2. An utterance, discourse, or address conveying urgent advice or recommendations. Advising or recommending a course of action to someone makes sense and may be helpful, so long as it avoids becoming doctrinaire, partisan, or divisive.
   Years ago, in seminary days, we had a minor course in public speaking and homiletics. It had some excellent advice about how to communicate effectively and to organize a sermon or address.
   I still remember what one of our (lay) professors called “The Magic Formula”. It consisted of four key components: Ho Hum, Why Bring That Up, For Instance, and So What.

   Ho Hum: you need to capture the attention of your listeners, usually by something unexpected but interesting.
   Why Bring That Up: you need to establish a personal connection between your listeners and the topic at hand, illustrating why it is important for them.
   For Instance: practical examples, appropriate to the situation of your listeners, are needed to stimulate remembrance of what they already may know and/or critical thinking about it.
   So What: the reason for having a sermon or homily is motivation—to motivate the listeners to choose and implement a course of action, to do something, or to change their behavior.
   I must confess, after all these years, that this simple plan is still a personal checklist for me. Each of these four elements seems vital to a successful and effective sermon.
   But, there’s more to preaching than a formula at play; the real “magic” is the Holy Spirit influencing the life, action, and words of both the speaker and the listeners.
   There’s an odd word you could use to describe this: “ventriloquism”. Usually that’s defined as the art or practice of speaking with little or no lip movement, in such a manner that the voice does not appear to come from the speaker but from another source, as from a wooden dummy.
   In preaching, a sort of ventriloquism happens. But, it’s not the preacher who is the ventriloquist—the preacher is the wooden dummy! The words that come from the preacher’s mouth often are inspired by God and touch the mind and hearts of all those who listen—including the mind and heart of the preacher himself/herself!

5 December 2021

Expansive in Folly, Limited in Sense

Solomon finally slept with his fathers,
   and left behind him one of his sons,
Expansive in folly, limited in sense,
   Rehoboam, who by his policy made the people rebel;
   (Wisdom of Ben Sira (Sirach) 47:23a)

   “Expansive in folly, limited in sense.”
   What a blunt summary of the life of the third ruler of the united kingdom of Judah and Israel, Rehoboam, son of Solomon, son of David.
   They weren’t a dynasty of angels. David, hailed in tradition as the greatest king of Israel, the very prototype of the good king, was an enterprising young man, a military tactician, a renowned battle leader, fighter and killer.
   He also was a man who contrived to sleep with the wife of one of his officers, Uriah, who was away on active duty. And, later finding her pregnant, he ordered that her husband should be placed in the front line of a major attack and then abandoned to die there.
   When his bastard child died, David repented, and God forgave him. He married the widow, Bathsheba, and fathered another child with her, Solomon, who ultimately succeeded him.
   Solomon ruled a peaceful, united kingdom. He went down in history as the prototype of the wise man, but he also was a womanizer, who for political reasons introduced pagan worship into his kingdom to satisfy some of his many foreign wives.
   With the ascent of his son Rehoboam, the briefly united kingdom began to fracture and fail. There’s not much said about him in the Bible beyond the brief summary, “Expansive in folly, limited in sense.”
   David and Solomon also had their follies, misjudgments, mistakes, and failures—but at least they regretted, repented, and amended their ways.

   The morals of this little history are many, but one thing stands out—that nobody is perfect, always gets things right, doesn’t make stupid and even destructive decisions.
   However, some people do come to their senses, realize that they have failed or damaged others, and change. They admit their mistakes and strive to do better.
   Every idolized human person has clay feet. Short of divine intervention, of a special act of God, no one is faultless, and sometimes the faults are major, monumental, and their unintended consequences may live on and can’t be remedied.
   We would need superhuman wisdom and strength never to fail. Everyone’s biography has sections we’d love to edit away. But our failures are not the ultimate measure and judgment of our lives, no matter how great or consequential they may be.
   In this regard, St. Paul’s message to the Corinthians is consoling (1 Co 1:25-31):

Consider your own calling, brothers. Not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong, and God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something, so that no human being might boast before God. It is due to him that you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, as well as righteousness, sanctification, and redemption, so that, as it is written, “Whoever boasts, should boast in the Lord.”

1 August 2021

Clergy Retirement Implications

It was a great surprise when Pope Benedict XVI declared in 2013 that he was resigning his office, explaining that “. . . I have come to the certainty that my strengths, due to an advanced age, are no longer suited to an adequate exercise of the Petrine ministry.”
This unusual act challenged common understanding of the nature of the papal office. By this decision, Pope Benedict established that accepting election as Bishop of Rome is not necessarily a commitment for the rest of one’s life.
With this decision, the relatively recent practice in the Church of resigning one’s office and retiring now extended to all ranks of clergy in the Church—deacons, priests, and bishops—without exception.
Resignation or retirement presumes a separability between the person and the office the person holds. Traditions notwithstanding, the acceptance of election or ordination is no longer considered an irrevocable bonding of the person and the office, lasting forever or until death.
Further, since resignation and retirement are now expected and required at a certain set age for most clergy, in effect they are being ordained for a set, predetermined period of time in the first place.
And, it would follow that, if they are being ordained for a set, predetermined period of time in the first place, the set period of time could be shorter then up to the fixed retirement age.
For example, religious congregations of brothers or sisters, monks or nuns, have set periods of limited or temporary vows before making a permanent commitment.
Many other occupations have something similar—e.g. military services, civil services, and educational institutions.
For all, there is no stigma attached to completing an agreed-upon term of service and declining to renew it for another.

Regarding offices or jobs in general, usually someone may accept the offer of a job, make a contractual commitment to it, perform it for better or for worse, and resign it or be released or dismissed from it.
In practice, generally all jobs are undertaken for a set, limited period of time, even though they may be classified as “temporary” or “permanent”.
In some occupations resignation or retirement presumes a willingness to return to service if called upon in a situation of emergency and need.
In some occupations and situations of emergency or need, a qualified person can be deputed to assume a responsibility or office on an ad hoc or temporary basis.
How many general employment policies can be, could be, and should be applied to clergy office holders? For example:
– “Temporary” (set, short-term) ordinations—for, e.g., three, five, or ten years—as well as “permanent” ones?
– Clear, agreed-upon clergy position descriptions, detailing prioritized current work responsibilities?
– Probationary, ordinary (usually annual), and extraordinary performance evaluations of clergy?
– Immediate work supervisors or superiors with responsibilities for the regular monitoring of clergy performance?
– A clear procedure for honorable and dishonorable discharge or termination of clergy service?
– minimum period for investment in retirement benefits?
Could even Jesus have made a living if he hadn’t done a good job?

6 October 2019

Pastoral Burnout

When I was assigned by the Archbishop of New York in 1959 as a Parochial Assistant to an old established large Manhattan parish, I was the “3rd assistant”. The assigned clergy staff consisted of the pastor, an elderly monsignor; the “1st assistant”, an older priest, but not yet old enough to be a pastor; the “2nd assistant”, a somewhat younger priest; and me, the junior, only one year ordained.
There also were an elderly Italian and a younger Cuban assistant priest in residence, having been engaged by the pastor.
We also had live-in lay staff: a cook, a waitress, and a maid. There was a separate staircase in the rear of the rectory that led to the servants’ quarters. The idea of a lay staffer engaged for other than housework—e.g., a secretary for processing mail, preparing baptismal certificates, attending to the parish office—was unthinkable.
The pastor delegated responsibilities to his priest assistants and clearly was in charge; however the first assistant assisted him as a sort of executive officer.
There were many Sunday Masses offered to accommodate the preferences and number of the parishioners; each priest would celebrate one, and occasionally two (utilizing a special permission or faculty to binate granted him by the archbishop)
That same Manhattan parish today has one priest assigned to its care as pastor. He speaks English and Spanish. He lives a solitary life in a rectory that once accommodated nine persons.
Priests like him often celebrate two or more Masses on weekdays and three or four on Sundays. They do their best to recruit part-time priest assistants from the dwindling pool of available clergy.
Their myriad responsibilities include fund-raising and the management of a complex and declining physical plant.

No matter how committed, holy, and dedicated they may be, most share a common affliction—and it’s not their fault. It’s commonly called “burnout”.
The term was first used in psychological circles in 1974 to describe a group of symptoms resulting from long-term, unresolved, work-related stress due to excessive work demands.
Burnout involves emotional and physical exhaustion, and may lead to headaches, sleeplessness, irritability and feelings of negativism and cynicism, reduced feelings of personal accomplishment, and depression.
Burnout is often associated with work overload in situations of downsizing, where fewer staff members are required to realize the same organizational goals. Other causes of burnout include:
– Not enough time to accomplish what needs to be done.
– Lack of communication or support from one’s manager or immediate superior.
– Lack of clarity about what one is supposed to be doing and priorities.
– Unfair treatment regarding, e.g., evaluation, promotion, compensation.
– Working too much without enough time for socializing or relaxing
– Lack of close, supportive relationships.
– Perfectionist tendencies, the need to be in control, and reluctance to delegate.
In “Network,” a 1976 satirical film about the television industry, a frustrated newscaster invites his listeners to open their windows and shout, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”
A pastor may feel like that sometimes, but he’s not likely to do it—and it’s no solution.

29 September 2019

Vanishing Clergymen

Fifty-two years ago, two years after the conclusion of Vatican Council II, an article by Msgr. Ivan Illich was published in The Critic magazine. It was entitled “The Vanishing Clergyman”.
Like much of Illich’s reflections, talks, and publications, it was way ahead of its time, almost prophetic. It was also startling, controversial, and criticized by very many of its readers.
It can’t be summarized any more than a few bars of only one of its melodies can summarize a concerto. Illich’s clear, tightly-packed, and well-organized exposition is a meal no slight tasting can fully imagine.
From the moment I first read this article it was unforgettable. Re-reading it now, I marvel at how prescient it was and find new depths of insight and meaning in it.
Some have misunderstood Msgr. Illich, thinking him to be an eccentric genius, a wild man whose biased extremism was destroying the church—but, his thought and his work faithfully echoed the spirit of John XXIII in convoking the second Vatican Council and of Paul VI in reconvening it and patiently and perseveringly guiding its implementation.
A brilliant thinker and reader of the signs of the times, Msgr. Illich had little patience with head-in-the-sand reactions to them. He spared no punches in suggesting courses of action to address them from a prospective of deep faith.
Of course, he also knowingly and intentionally wanted to rattle his readers out of their lethargy and hesitation—e.g., the striking title of his essay (which did focus, in particular, on ministry)
It has taken half a century for many of the analyses, ideas, and proposals he advanced, long treated as marginal and extreme, finally to start becoming matters of serious mainstream consideration.

Here are a few excerpts of his thoughts (their selection reflects my own bias):
– the Church’s institutional bureaucracy is in need of radical structural reform;
– the relationships between sacramental ministry and full-time personnel, between ministry and celibacy, and between ministry and theological education need to be re-examined;
– the post-conciliar growth of the Vatican is leading to an ungovernable bureaucratic maze, overwhelmingly staffed by clerical specialists, members of the aristocracy of the only feudal power left in the Western world;
– in the entire Church, a clergy survives partly because priestly service at the altar is united with clerical power and privilege;
– the Church needs men deeply faithful, living a life of insecurity and risk, free from hierarchical control, working for the eventual “dis-establishment” of the Church from within;
– the era of religious congregations may be over . . . an analogous movement is at work among the clergy;
– an adult layman, ordained to the ministry, will preside over the Christian community of the future. The ministry will be an exercise of leisure rather than a job;
– the current ecclesiastical imagination is still inadequate for defining this new function—the lay priest;
– the union of the clerical state, holy orders, and celibacy in the life of the Church has confused the understanding of their individual realities; (and above all)
– the Spirit, continually re-creating the Church, can be trusted.

9 June 2019

Standing Ready and Waiting

“How do you like being retired,” is a question often asked of me, and one I find difficult to answer. For better or for worse, being retired has been hard—harder, in a way, then any work assignment I ever had before.
I always embraced whatever was asked of me as a priest and whatever assignment I received. Our spiritual formation stressed this, to accept whatever was asked of us by religious superiors as the will of God.
But, humanly speaking (how else does one speak!) the change from one day to the next, from exercising a significant role in many people’s lives and bearing multiple responsibilities to an almost total absence of responsibilities is a challenging kind of “freedom”.
It’s also wasteful. Curiously, the notion of retirement was introduced in a time in which there was a relative abundance of priests and where the priest usually served until death. By the time it began to be implemented there was a newer situation of increasing scarcity of priests in ministry.
In some ways, the legislation of our contemporary U.S. civil society is more nuanced than our canonical practice. No one can be retired involuntarily merely and solely because of chronological age; termination of employment requires adequate cause—e.g., poor performance, substantial diminished or in-capacity, violation of rules, etc. . .
Of course, the retired priest is retired in the sense that he is not given any assigned responsibility (job) by his religious superiors; however he freely may seek and negotiate his services on a voluntary basis with a local parish or religious institution.
If one’s work is only a job, retirement may be welcomed. If one’s work has become one’s life, retirement may be a kind of death.

There is a dual aspect to the vocation and life of a priest: to be a man of the Church and a man of God.
The man of the Church, the employee entrusted with and exercising important responsibilities in the ecclesiastical institution, can retire or be retired.
The man of God, the servant of the Lord bearing witness of love in the midst of the world and the community of his disciples, cannot retire or be retired.
God may use our work to achieve his purposes, but all our plans, projects, and strivings are not necessary to the great plan of his providential love and mercy.
John Milton wrote a very beautiful sonnet on his blindness. For me, it’s also a moving spiritual reflection on being retired:

When I consider how my light is spent,
E’re half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide:
“Doth God exact day-labour, light deny’d?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best. His State
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’re Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and waite.”

19 May 2019

Military and Ecclesial Service

“Serviceman”—for convenience, I’m using only masculine nouns and pronouns—usually means a person who is a member of the armed forces or someone whose work is to repair or service something. (Also, sometimes domestic workers—e.g., butlers or maids—are said to be “in service”.)
The military aspect of the definition of serviceman is an interesting metaphor for the service of a clergyman.
First, in both military and ecclesiastical service, there’s a distinct difference between the serviceman (clergyman) and the civilian (layman). The serviceman’s role is to protect and defend the entire civilian population, and, of course, the serviceman leaves civilian life when he enters military service.
Also both the military and the clergy have a hierarchical organization of authority. The military distinguishes enlisted personnel and non-commissioned and commissioned officers. Shifting the metaphor a little, this has some similarities to the ecclesiastical distinctions of laity, non-ordained ministers, and ordained clergy.
However, the analogies break down in one significant aspect, the permanency implied by ordination. “Thou art a priest forever” has implications that have some similarities with the military but which are conceptually fundamentally different.
A serviceman can have a commitment of temporary service or life service; he can be discharged, honorably or dishonorably, or retired. Some categories of retired servicemen may be reactivated in cases of national emergency.
An ordained clergyman cannot make a commitment of temporary service, only life. He never is “discharged” but dispensed from his commitment to celibacy, “reduced” to the status of layman, and forbidden, except in cases of dire emergency, from exercising the sacramental power and authority of his status as an ordained clergyman.

Interestingly, members of religious orders, unlike clergy, freely can make temporary or permanent commitments of service (vows). It is possible, even for religious personnel with solemn or permanent vows, to be entirely dispensed or freed from them.
Mercifully, the practice of dispensation, of authorization of an exception to a general rule, exists. However, it sort of begs the question if it used increasingly; it can reach the point where the very appropriateness of the general rule is called into question.
This isn’t necessarily bad. Although it could be interpreted as a growing laxity, it also could reflect development in the understanding of the matter in question.
What would ecclesiastical service be like if it had some of the practices of the military regarding its commissioned officers? For instance,
– allowing fixed, and renewable, terms of service;
– making regular formal performance evaluations (using some of performance factors of the military—e.g., job knowledge, fitness, communication skills, leadership, bearing, judgment, dedication, responsibility, loyalty, discipline, integrity, moral courage, selflessness);
– adopting a clear, stated promotion policy and procedure;
– having a separation policy providing for honorable and dishonorable discharges in addition to retirement;
– utilizing, in appropriate circumstances, a quasi-public judicial procedure like the military court-martial.
Older ecclesiology spoke of two perfect societies, church and state. There are things the state could teach the church!

5 May 2019

Guru vs. Cleric

In Ethiopia’s ancient Orthodox Church, the traditional way for a young man to prepare to become a priest was to live among a small group of disciples with a wise, holy, and experienced priest. The lifestyle for all was poor indeed: living quarters were often tiny, individual wattle and mud huts; classrooms, the shade of large trees.
The disciple — the seminarian — lived no better, if not worse, than his neighbors. Over many years, he learned by heart the words of sacred scripture and the prayers of the liturgy. Finally, when ready, he was ordained and would serve another small village like the one in which he grew up.
Ethiopia’s younger Catholic Church follows Western ways of priestly formation. Candidates for the priesthood live and pray together in the seminary residence of their diocese or religious order. Most attend formal classes at a common philosophy-theology institute for six or seven years after completing their secondary education.
The seminary residences are modest by Western standards, but modern and comfortable by those of rural Ethiopia. A challenge for the newly-ordained Catholic priest is returning to live among the simple people he came from, after becoming used to a more affluent lifestyle during his professional education.
These two different ways of formation with their different emphases could serve as symbols for two different polarities in the life of every priest. There is a dual aspect to priesthood — the priest must be both a man of God and a man of the church.

The very vocation to priesthood has this same dual aspect — the seminarian is called both by God and by the church.
During my college days, I wrestled long and hard with whether God was calling me to be a priest and whether I was good enough for such a job.
Later, in the major seminary, the rector called me to enter the clerical state — the “civil service” of the church — and to orders, culminating in priesthood.
Fidelity to these two calls is a vital tension for the priest. To be a man of God means to be a holy, a “separated” man, not living by or succumbing to worldly values or ways. To be a churchman means to be a public officer of the church with responsibilities of leadership, teaching, and administration.
Faithfulness to the demands of the Spirit may strain the priest’s relations with the community he serves or with ecclesiastical authorities. Conversely, the priest’s solidarity with the local Christian community or ecclesiastical authority may conflict with the promptings of the Spirit.
It’s not an “either-or” but a “both-and” situation. God spare us from a priest who serves people and institutions well, but not the Lord! And, a good, holy priest may become a great saint, but he can’t neglect carrying out effectively the responsibilities of public office in the church.
A priest lives with great expectations — the church’s, the people’s, and the Lord’s.

(Published in
CNEWA World, 28:4, July 2002)

When I Am Weak, Then I Am Strong

It seemed like it was sheer determination and the grace of God that impelled Pope John Paul II during his pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Television certainly captured the physical weakness and infirmity of the Pope as he made his pilgrim way through Jordan, Israel and Palestine.
What a contrast was this great journey in the waning years of his pontificate to his first bold trips to the far-flung corners of the world, when the younger Pope captured the imagination of the world by his strong and dynamic presence.
Paradoxically, it was the slow, laborious progress in the footsteps of the Master of this very diminished Pope John Paul II that proved to be the most powerful moment of his long papal ministry.
It reminded me of St. Paul’s reflection on his first visit to Corinth in 51 A.D. A few years later Paul wrote to his disciples there:

When I came to you, brothers and sisters, proclaiming the mystery of God, I did not come with sublimity of words or of [human] wisdom. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. I came to you in weakness and fear and much trembling, and my message and my proclamation were not with persuasive words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of spirit and power…

The first image of the pilgrimage was that of the young King Abdullah II of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan escorting the frail Pope from his airplane to a beautifully arranged pavilion set up for his welcome.

The King, fresh from his own pilgrimage to Mecca the week before, spoke of this special moment “that witnesses a pilgrimage by a holy man to a crossroads of history and geography, where religion started and civilization first emerged.”
In Jordan, in Israel, in the Palestinian Territories, it was not the head of the one billion strong Catholic Church who captured the minds and hearts of the people. It was the holy man, the prayerful pilgrim, the messenger of peace.
More than once, others tried to politicize his journey; sometimes there were bitter or hostile sentiments expressed in his presence — but the Holy Father calmly, serenely, and patiently ignored them all, remaining ever focused on the deep reality of his journey of faith.
I was there when he fell to his knees in silent prayer in the grotto of the Nativity as well as when he told the Palestinians living in the nearby refugee camp “Please God it [my visit] will help draw attention to your continuing plight.”
The Pope standing in supplication at the Western Wall, meditating in sorrow at the holocaust memorial on man’s inhumanity to man, preaching the word of God in the public liturgies — the Jews and Muslims of the Holy Land and millions around the world saw not the powerful pontiff of Rome, but the simple man of prayer, the disciple of Jesus, the successor of the fisherman from Galilee.

(Published in
Catholic Near East, 26:3, May 2000)