Responding to the Sex Abuse Crisis in the Catholic Church (Workshop Notes)

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Against the background of the still-unfolding sexual abuse crisis in the Catholic church, the Ignatian Spirituality Network offered a workshop last month called Hope Does Not Disappoint: Spiritual Direction in Challenging Times for the ChurchThis workshop did not – as did a recent missive by former Pope Benedict – address causes and remedies – but rather was aimed to help spiritual directors as they both reflect on their own vocation in light of the crisis and create space for directees to respond during direction sessions.

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The two main questions wrestled with in the Ignatian Spirituality’s workshop were these: What is our calling as spiritual directors in the midst of the sex abuse crisis? How do we accompany people who are rightly suspicious, hurt, angry, and grieving by the shocking failure of their beloved church — people who are betrayed by leaders they literally trusted with their souls? The workshop was not necessarily focused on directing either survivors or perpetrators of abuse, although those subjects did come up, but more on how we as directors can understand and carry out our vocation in light of everything that has and continues to happen.

Although I am not Catholic, as someone trained in the Ignatian tradition, I consider myself “Catholic adjacent.” I also have seen firsthand that abuse, willful ignorance, and systemic corruption and institutional failure are not limited to the Catholic church. I won’t go into details here, but it doesn’t take much beyond curiosity and a search engine to confirm that the Protestant church has got plenty of its own problems.

During the workshop several themes emerged:

  • Each one of us has a basic calling as a Christian to discipleship. That calling exists within the larger “Christ project” – the redemption of all people and all creation. For directors, our calling as disciples is primarily lived out within the space of direction. We may or may not have a voice within the larger power structure of our institutions, but each of us can live every opportunity we have to take part in Christ’s work to the fullest.
  • It’s important to keep our eyes on the risen Christ and the presence and action of God in our lives. Ignatian practices help us continue to discern and stay attuned in the moment.
  • One of the speakers explained a revelation he came to, in contemplative prayer, of the sex abuse crisis as a continuation of the crucifixion today. We are standing as witnesses, much as Mary and John did at the foot of the cross, to the suffering of Christ in our time. The abuse crisis, like the crucifixion, is a deliberate rejection of God’s love. This is an especially poignant thought to reflect on at Easter time. It neither minimizes the pain experienced by those victimized – pain that, as both speakers affirmed, will be with them for all of their lives – nor leaves all in desolation. We are journeying, slowly and surely, with God towards the full restoration of all humanity.
  • The “bloodletting” among the ranks of priests and bishops is a right and necessary purification of the church.
  • As we offer spiritual companionship to those who are rightly struggling with the institution of the church, and who may leave or already have left in response, we can ask a few questions:
    • What are the ways you are nurtured by the institutional church and what are the ways that you’re not? Where you are not, where can you go to find nurture? Where can you discern an invitation to deepen your relationship with God even during these times?
    • What are you feeling? What is it like for you to feel those emotions?
    • What are your interactions with God like? Who is God to you at this moment?

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As we accompany those who are hurting and also deal with our own emotions in the space of direction, we continue to look, listen, and pray for the presence, love, and healing of God in our lives and in the life of the Body of Christ.

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*On a much lighter note, while I was writing this blog post — blissfully sipping my warm cocoa oolong bubble milk tea — I overheard the following statement from a black-leather-clad woman talking loudly on her phone:

“Oh, I am much more evil than his exes. He just doesn’t know that yet. He’s about to find out.”

She looked like she could flatten that boy with her hands tied behind her back, using only her pinkie toe and the force of her malice. I hope he’s a better runner than he is a boyfriend.

Find me on Instagram! @ravishedbylight. 

Image credits:

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Better than Redemption (Bourbon)

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This past Christmas, my church co-hosted a Christmas party in Long Island City. Our good friend Cici, owner of the Mighty March Liquor Store in Elmhurst, donated three cases of wine to the party. (My dad, a staunch Nazarene until the day he died, is probably giving me judgmental glances from heaven right about now. Nazarenes, who are both teetotalers and cessationists, don’t even get “drunk” in the spirit, much less on a good Chardonnay.) As a thank you, and to prepare for my in-laws’ upcoming visit to New York, we bought a few bottles of red wine. My husband had also – I can’t remember why – decided he wanted to drink bourbon.

So what else is a good Christian wife to do when she sees a bottle labeled “Redemption” but tell her husband to buy it? I’m pretty sure that’s what John Calvin would do, right? (Martin Luther, of course, was a beer guy.) Not that I had to flex many of my persuasive powers: As I said, he was on a bourbon kick for some mysterious reason. (For the purposes of this post, I’m not going to dwell on Redemption’s problematic claim that it’s a “true reflection of ‘America’s Native Spirit.'”)

Now, my experience with hard liquor is very limited. My husband is a scotch drinker, but scotch to me tastes exactly like a band-aid smells – rubbery, sharp, and with a whiff of bodily damage having taken place somewhere. Bourbon doesn’t rate much better with me, although the smell is more nail polish remover than plastic adhesive. So believe me when I say that the only reason I chose this particular bottle was its name. (There’s probably some sub-SAT level analogy there – choosing a book : its cover :: choosing a liquor : its name. Alas, I think analogies have been scrubbed from the SAT, which means millions of high schoolers are now illiterate in the mysterious symbology of analogies. Which I think was one of the rejected tracks from Schoolhouse Rock?)

Not that it matters, since I have no idea what a “good” bourbon should taste like. My husband seemed to like it okay, although he quickly moved on from straight shots to making Old Fashioneds with Angostura bitters. He hasn’t chosen to re-purchase Redemption, though. (That sounds like the boozy equivalent of re-committing yourself to Jesus, which, to my recollection, every good Nazarene does at least half a dozen times a year.)

Last week, I visited Wilmore, Kentucky, home of Asbury Theological Seminary, for a conference. Since Kentucky is the birthplace of bourbon, it only made sense to pick some up as a souvenir for my husband, whose Redemption had long run dry. (The puns are endless.) While my traveling companion Larry and I were hunting down a liquor store on the way to the Bluegrass Airport, three different people recommended Woodford Reserve as the best local version.

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The people at Woodford Reserve, besides having apparently thoroughly mobilized the airport-adjacent population of Kentucky on their behalf, are conscientious folks. I couldn’t even click on their website without putting in my birthdate to prove I am above legal drinking age. I am more than a little confused by this precaution, given that the limit for legal consumption of html is somewhere around infinity. Their website also helpfully informed me that their bourbon has zero caffeine, zero carbs, zero protein, zero sodium, and zero sugar and is friendly to butterflies, watercress, and native white pond lilies. Except for the part where it can cause inebriation, lead to poor romantic choices, and smells like I should be scrubbing my toenails with it, this makes it no worse for your health and arguably better for the environment than Diet Coke.

My husband likes the way the Woodford tastes, too. He said it tastes like “burning velvet.” (My oldest daughter says this would be a great name for a band. She’s too young to have heard of the Flaming Lips.) Asked for a comparison to Redemption, he thought for a second and said, “The Redemption had the burning, not the velvet. And not even as much burning.”

So there you go, folks. Better than Redemption, and with more burning. Do with that what you will.

(P.S. I made gentle fun of the Nazarenes here, but I grew up with them and consider them my family. I jest with love.)