Category: Church

Be the Reason They Stay

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Earlier this month, my friend Rita Buettner published an article about those small things we do — or don’t do — that cause people to leave a parish. She commented:

There are a thousand things we can do to help make our church a more welcoming one for others.

I’ve been on both ends of that situation. Maybe you have, too. We left a parish (looking back, maybe we didn’t give it enough of a chance) when we first moved to this area and then did a little church shopping before landing in our current parish; we eventually moved into the parish’s zip code and then, once it merged, we were officially living within its territory. In other words, we backed into our parish territory.

We didn’t feel welcome in that original parish. And right now, as I see new families filling our pews, people whose faces are quickly becoming familiar, I want to make sure I’m not the reason someone leaves.

I’m a daily Massgoer, and I often am a musician at two of the weekend Masses. At daily Mass, I serve as a lector a couple of times a week and substitute for the sacristan when she’s not available. And I’m a musician at funerals (my fifth funeral this month is tomorrow). I’m there a lot. So I see a lot — good and bad.

It is the whole community, the Body of Christ united with its Head, that celebrates (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1140, emphasis original).

Mass, in other words, is for praying and celebrating as a community. It’s not our private prayer time. There are other people around us, and sometimes they need something. If you were hosting a party and one of your guests needed help, you’d make sure they got that help. Mass is no different.

Rita mentioned parking attendants in her article, and while parking is a perennial problem, we’ve never had the luxury of attendants. We’re a little parish, but I’ve seen many people go out of their way to do little things for someone else that make a world of difference.

Be Aware of the Needs of Others Around You

  • Hold the door for someone using a cane, walker, or wheelchair.
  • Share the pew.
  • Point out the correct page in the hymnal or missal. Share yours if there aren’t enough to go around.
  • Open the cry room door for parents with full hands.

Welcome the Stranger (or the Friend You Haven’t Met)

  • Give a compliment.
  • Encourage the family with kids.
  • Say, “It’s good to see you” to someone.
  • Invite someone arriving alone to join you at the parish picnic or other event.

A Special Note to Parish Volunteers

If someone is interested in volunteering for your ministry, welcome them. Return their call or email. Make sure they have a task to do. Share materials; teach them what they need to know.

Gatekeeping ministries at church is a big reason people leave. (And you don’t get to do that and then complain that nobody helps you with your ministry.)

The Proof Is in the Pew

A couple of years ago I sang at a funeral. The procession from the funeral home to the church was delayed for almost an hour. We musicians wound up standing near the entrances and letting people know there would be a delay. Everyone was nice about it; it was a nice day, so some people went outside to talk with each other in the parking lot, and others stayed in the church to pray. One couple wound up having a long conversation with the other musician after they realized they had a mutual friend. For the past two years, that couple has showed up at Mass at our parish every single week. They sit right up front. Recently, they told us, “We were going to another parish, but not every week. You made us feel so welcome that we started coming here.”

Bottom line: It’s not that hard to be welcoming. And the payoff goes both ways.

Copyright 2025 Barb Szyszkiewicz
Photos copyright 2024, 2025 Barb Szyszkiewicz, all rights reserved.

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“We made it to another one!”

franciscanmom1 Comment

Every parish has those dedicated souls who will stop at nothing to get to daily Mass.

They’re an inspiration to the rest of us. Referring to the 101-year-old gentleman who still drives himself to Mass, a fellow parishioner once said to me, “If he can make it to Mass, WE can make it here.”

She’s right.

Our 101-year-old friend has had some medical challenges lately and he hasn’t been at daily Mass for a few weeks, though he’s made it every Sunday. Today, though, he was there, in his regular pew, the first to stand and kneel when it’s time for that (yes — he still kneels).

Another elderly gentleman has also struggled lately with his health, and it’s always good to see him there too. He never fails to greet me with a big smile and a wave when I get to my pew.

In his homily today, Father mentioned the difficulties Catholics face in some parts of the world, such as Nicaragua and China, noting that we should always be grateful for our opportunity to freely attend Mass every day.

These two men clearly took it to heart. Leaning on their canes, they headed out the front door of the church after Mass, where they looked at each other, smiled, and said, “We made it to another one!”

It’s never guaranteed, after all, whether or not we’re 101 years old. But when we do make it there, we should be rejoicing.

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Copyright 2024 Barb Szyszkiewicz
Image copyright 2024 Barb Szyszkiewicz, all rights reserved.

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A Pair of Books that Show Catholicism’s Ins, Outs, and Influence

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While I’m not sure these books were intended to be a series, they go together amazingly well and, together, provide a refresher course on Catholic doctrine, traditions, and beliefs as well as a look at the ways Catholicism has shaped our lives without our even realizing it. They’re fascinating to pick up and browse through; while not as large as coffee-table books, these are excellent books to leave around for your kids, visitors, or yourself to explore.

Either or both of these books would make perfect gifts for Confirmation, for someone who has recently joined the Church or completed their sacraments, or for a man beginning formation for the permanent diaconate.

 

All Things Catholic: A Guide from A to Z

by Shawn McAfee
Sophia Institute Press

All Things Catholic is organized encyclopedia-style, with alphabetized entries for an extremely easy-to-use research experience. There’s also a table of contents that lists each entry (this might be overkill in a book already organized alphabetically, but it does let you see at a glance whether the term you’re looking up has an entry). If you have a question about the Church, this is a great place to get started.

Most entries are at least a half page in length, which is enough to easily satisfy most general queries. Some of them include a “Further reading” section listing more in-depth sources including books and papal encyclicals. Small illustrations, often photographs of sacred art, portraits of historical figures and saints, or simple line drawings, complement many of the entries in this book.

My favorite part of All Things Catholic is the occasional “Catholic Tip,” set off in a box from the rest of the text. These tips are usually written informally, offering real-life examples of some of the information included in this book. Some of the “Catholic Tips” provide explanations on how to pray the Rosary and the Divine Mercy Chaplet, as well.

 

 

Catholicism Everywhere: From Hail Mary Passes to Cappuccinos, How the Catholic Faith Is Infused in Culture

by Helen Hoffner
Sophia Institute Press

This book covers all the things you never knew were Catholic — as well as plenty of Catholic things you didn’t realize were so fascinating! I didn’t have to read more than 20 pages before I found a location mentioned that was very familiar to me: a shrine at a parish church in a town near where I grew up. A few pages later, I learned that the inventor of the first modern submarine (launched in the Passaic River, also near my hometown) had been a Christian Brother — the same religious order that founded and still ministers at the university all my children attended. I loved making these connections as I read Catholicism Everywhere.

Chapters in this book include:

  • The Catholic Calendar
  • Health Care
  • Catholics on the Road
  • Catholics at Sea
  • Traveling the Skies
  • Catholic Education
  • Catholic Fashion
  • Food, Fasting, and Faith
  • Television and Radio: Broadcasting the Faith
  • Science and Catholicism
  • Weather from a Catholic Perspective
  • God’s Creatures Great and Small
  • Catholicism in the Garden
  • Sports and Recreation: The Catholic Influence
  • Expressing Faith through the Arts
  • Catholic Weddings
  • Catholics in the Military
  • Catholic Organizations
  • The Catholic Roots of Common Expressions

Catholicism Everywhere is a lot of fun; it explores how Catholicism has influenced so many aspects of our lives without our even realizing it. Did you know about LeBron James’s Catholic-school legacy? How about the name of the patron saint of pierogi? You’ll learn about the priest who created the Big Bang Theory (not the TV show), and that we can still invoke the intercession of Saint Christopher before we head out on a journey.

A glossary and a brief Frequently Asked Questions section complete this book.

 

 

Ask for All Things Catholic and Catholicism Everywhere at your local Catholic bookseller, or order online from Amazon.com or the publisher, Sophia Institute Press.

Copyright 2024 Barb Szyszkiewicz
Image copyright 2024 Barb Szyszkiewicz, all rights reserved
This article contains Amazon affiliate links; your purchase through these links supports the work of this website at no cost to you.

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My Tuesday Church

franciscanmom5 Comments

In September, my parish moved the daily Mass time to noon on weekdays.

I love this, because it allows me to work from 7:30 to 11:30 and then head to Mass before having lunch—if I get it together enough to start that early, and if I have no afternoon meetings.

On Tuesdays, though, I do have a meeting—at noon—so I can’t attend Mass at my own parish. So on Tuesdays, I take a field trip. I’ve tried one church that offers an 8 AM Mass, which works well with my schedule, but there were some other factors that made this not a good fit. (If going to daily Mass is a near occasion of sin, and it was, then some things need to be reconsidered.) So I visited another parish that’s not too far away and has a 9 AM Mass.

 

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I struggle, some weeks, with the idea that I’d rather be at my home parish, my parish home. A part of me feels disloyal for going somewhere else once a week, and for liking it there. But I think it’s OK to want to be at your own parish, because that means it’s important to you—I love my parish home. And it’s also OK to take field trips when you’re unable to attend Mass at your home parish. Better that than to skip! After all, Jesus is present in any Catholic church.

But my Tuesday church has been a real gift. It’s a diverse parish, with weekend Masses in three languages. At daily Mass, the pastor effortlessly switches among those languages as he distributes Communion, so each person receiving hears “The Body of Christ” in his or her own language. This is a beautiful sign of respect for each person’s culture. Father Jorge knows who speaks English, Spanish, or Portuguese, and greets them accordingly.

And on some days, like today, the homily is a real treat, because it’s like it was written just for me. I will remember, going forward, to focus on this:

It’s interesting that every day during Mass, right before we receive Communion, we all hear these words of Jesus Christ: “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you.”

Father went on to discuss the many times peace is mentioned in the Gospels, and how the Blessed Mother has urged us to pray for peace. He encouraged everyone to read Pacem in Terris, the encyclical by St. John XXIII. And he asked us all to consider how we can be peacemakers and peacekeepers.

I got home from Mass this morning to learn that my noon meeting was canceled. But that’s OK. God gave me a beautiful gift at Mass at 9, at my Tuesday church.

 

 

(If you want to skip to the homily, it’s 20 minutes in. Highly recommended.)

Copyright 2023 Barb Szyszkiewicz

Photos copyright 2023 Barb Szyszkiewicz, all rights reserved.

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One-Verse Reminders

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Every morning I begin the day with Liturgy of the Hours and the daily Mass readings, along with the Daily Gospel Reflection from CatholicMom.com.

That means I’m reading parts of three psalms every single morning.
The Psalms have the power to derail my morning prayer—or, more accurately, switch it to a different track—like no other element of the readings and prayers for the day.
Usually that’s because, as a musician and sometimes cantor at my parish, I can’t help but hear the melody for those psalms from when I’ve sung them at Mass. (This is only a bad thing when the verses I’ve sung before are different from the verses I’m reading now.)
But Psalm 42:3 (from yesterday’s responsorial psalm) hits different.
Athirst is my soul for God, the living God.
When shall I go and behold the face of God?
I don’t hear a melody behind that one: I hear a voice.
There’s a woman in my parish who served faithfully for many years as a sacristan for daily Mass and a frequent lector. When I read that psalm, which comes up fairly frequently in the weekday readings, I hear Cathi proclaiming it. Her accent (there’s more than a hint of New York City) sounds like home to me, so that might be the reason her delivery of the first part of that verse made such an impression.
Athirst is my soul for God—the LIVING God.
That’s not a word I would have emphasized, but every time she did so, I’d lose track of the rest of the psalm while I mulled over how it’s important to remember that God IS a living God. Living, present, active, and loving. And our souls long to see Him. We were created for exactly that.
I suppose it’s OK to be derailed a bit if you’re actually thinking about the message of the readings, as opposed to your grocery list or how behind you are on the laundry or how you’ll solve this or that problem at work.
If you’re a lector, your natural inflection and emphasis can lead the reader to contemplate in a way you probably never expected. You are bringing the LIVING Word of God to your parish. And our souls long to hear it.
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Copyright 2022 Barb Szyszkiewicz
Images created in Stencil

What I’ve Learned (so far) This Holy Week

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We’re almost at the end of Holy Week. Today is a Friday that feels like a Sunday (because I’ve been to church) and then tomorrow will feel like a weird day all day long, and then I’ll go to Easter Vigil Mass and wind up feeling like I’m supposed to be somewhere on Sunday, even though I have nowhere to go.

But I’ve learned a few things, this Holy Week. The pared-down version of the Holy Week Masses and services has meant that we carry less; we sing less; we pay attention more; we notice more. Most of the time, the pared-down version has been a good thing.

On Palm Sunday the blessed palms were available at the end of Mass as we left the church. There were no palms to hold during the entrance procession, but since we were using the simple entrance without the Gospel reading about the triumphant entry into Jerusalem, we didn’t need palms. This meant that we didn’t have palms to fiddle with, drop, or braid into crosses.

We also didn’t have hymnals (which, in our parish, contain the missal). Those are all locked away in the parish library, except a few in the choir area for the musician and cantor to use. On Palm Sunday when the Passion was read, no one had the readings available to proclaim the crowd parts. The lector read those along with the “any speaker except Jesus” parts. And that turned out to feel really odd. When the Passion is proclaimed at Mass and the assembly participates in a way that’s only done two days per year, saying the words “Crucify Him!” really brings home the message of our own participation in the burden of sin that Jesus died to take away.

It turned out to be a gift that I didn’t sing this year on Holy Thursday. We musicians have to pay attention in a focused sort of way, because we’re listening for cues (and sometimes on the special days the cues are very different from ordinary Sunday cues). But I was sitting with the assembly and I had the chance to just listen and not worry about being ready to start the next acclamation on time, because the musicians would cue me. And in all my years of attending the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper, I never noticed this:

On the day before he was to suffer
for our salvation and the salvation of all,
that is today,

(iBreviary; emphasis mine)

That sacrifice was happening right then and right there. Not only in Jerusalem 2000 years ago. Right here in New Jersey on Holy Thursday night in 2021. I’m not expressing this well. I don’t know how to express this well. But I think it means that the sacrifice was made once by Jesus but we are reliving it, and now I will need to go read the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1365-1369) and ponder that.

This Holy Thursday, the ritual of the washing of the feet was omitted. Of course, we heard about it in the Gospel, but the actual washing of feet did not happen. For me, that was a good thing because if I’m a musician I’m busy the whole time and if I’m not a musician I’m distracted by either the music (for good or for ill) or by my own thoughts about how I’d never want my feet washed because who would want to look at my awful feet?

In a way, it’s hard to strip much from Good Friday, because it’s already as stripped down as a liturgy can get. By this point in Holy Week I think the simplicity of it all had finally settled in for me. I didn’t spend the silent entrance procession sulking about the missed opportunity for a hymn. I was ready for the silence, and my soul was happy for it.

It seemed like a lot of people thought the same as I did about Palm Sunday, because when the Gospel was proclaimed for Good Friday, out came the smartphones and the missals and Magnificats that people had brought in with them. It wasn’t everybody, but it was enough that when the crowd had something to say, we could hear a good number of voices saying it.

Finally, on Good Friday this year we did not have individual veneration of the cross. Our deacon-in-training carried the cross from the back of church to the altar, proclaiming three times, “Behold the wood of the cross, on which hung the salvation of the world. Come, let us adore.” Then our pastor asked everyone to stand and silently adore from our places. Again, this is a situation where I’m usually busy providing music while everyone in church stands up, lines up, venerates the cross, and returns to seats. It takes longer than Communion and it’s important to end the music the second the last person has been seated, so it’s a little stressful. And the musicians never get to venerate the cross. This time, we all just stood in our places. You could hear a pin drop in that church. It was powerful.

Holy Week 2021 has turned out to be very different from Holy Week 2019, our last normal Holy Week. It’s also turned out to be a million times better than Holy Week 2020.

Tomorrow night is the Easter Vigil, and we will make a joyful noise, in praise of the Resurrection and our return to Mass and seeing Mass attendance numbers creep up, little by little each week. We won’t have an Easter Fire, and that’s sad. But after Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, and Good Friday, I know that, whatever’s missing, there will be a lesson for me in it.

Copyright 2021 Barb Szyszkiewicz. All rights reserved.

The Words I Sing

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I have a song stuck in my head. And it’s glorious.

It’s been quite a while since that’s happened. Actually, I think it’s been a year.

The weekend of March 21/22 last year was the first weekend our parish was closed to the public because of the coronavirus pandemic. It was a solid three months before public Masses resumed. We still can’t sing in groups here or invite the assembly to sing. The hymnals are still stacked on tables in the parish library, which is still closed to the public.

Music at Mass for the past nine months has basically been walking music: hymns for the entrance procession, preparation of the gifts, Communion, and recessional. And we sing the Gospel acclamation. We have a cantor and accompanist, and we’re singing behind plexiglass shields, far away from each other and anyone else.

We haven’t been singing the Responsorial Psalms. The lector simply reads those.

But starting at this year’s Easter Vigil, we’ll be singing the psalms again.

Psalms are a challenge for the cantor, because they’re a whole new song you basically sing as a solo (so you have to get it right, since there’s no one to cover your mistakes), and sometimes you won’t sing that particular one again for another three years. They’re not like a new hymn you’ll sing several times within a liturgical season and get to know quite well.

For some weird reason known only to the music director, whenever I’m one of the singers at the Easter Vigil, I’m assigned the Exodus 15 psalm: “Let us sing to the Lord; He has covered Himself in glory.” A couple of years ago we got the Spirit & Psalm arrangements for the psalms and learned those; they’re more guitar-friendly than Respond & Acclaim. Since we don’t have enough organists or pianists to cover all the Masses at our parish, that option is a welcome one.

Some psalms are more difficult to learn and sing than others. Sometimes there are a lot of syllables stuffed into a short musical space. That’s what happens in verse 4 of that psalm for the Easter Vigil:

You brought in the people you redeemed
and planted them on the mountain of your inheritance
the place where you made your seat, O LORD,
the sanctuary, LORD, which your hands established.
The LORD shall reign forever and ever.

Five lines, but only four musical phrases. That “mountain of your inheritance” seems pretty insurmountable when you’re tripping over the syllables. And the Easter Vigil is less than two weeks away.

On Saturday I had a rare opportunity to be alone in the house, so I grabbed my copy of the psalm and headed for my little keyboard, where I belted out the refrain and stumbled over the verses a few times, worrying because the Easter Vigil is less than two weeks away and I don’t want to mess this up.

I practiced it so much that, while I still don’t have it right, I do have it stuck in my head.

Sunday morning when I prayed Liturgy of the Hours, as soon as one of the psalms contained a word or phrase that’s also in the Exodus 15 responsorial, my brain immediately switched to Easter Vigil mode.

I had to keep dragging myself back to the right words.

As I prepared and ate my breakfast, Exodus 15 was running through my mind.

But I’m not irritated about it. I’m grateful.

My last Easter Vigil was two years ago. We had many musicians and singers, all there to make a joyful noise. We had a Baptism that year, so we did all the readings and all the psalms. We made so much joyful noise that our voices were tired before the Communion hymn. And most of us showed up the next day to do it all again.

It was good.

Last Easter our parish had livestream issues (the technology was still new and frequently hiccupped) so we didn’t even get to see the whole Mass; we finally were able to view the stream from a neighboring parish.

And here we are, a year later, slowly adding back music to Masses where we can’t invite the assembly to sing with us — because they have no hymnals (who knows when the bishop will let us bring those back?).

People wave at us on their way out as we seize the opportunity to sing more than one verse of something, flashing a thumbs-up since we can’t see them smiling behind their masks. Some have stopped us in the parking lot to thank us for providing even the little bit of music we have, because “it makes things feel normal.”

All that to say: it’s been a long time since I’ve had a psalm stuck in my head because I’m learning it for Sunday.

Easter is coming. Easter music is coming. More music is coming.

And there will be great rejoicing.

Copyright 2021 Barb Szyszkiewicz
Photos copyright 2021 Barb Szyszkiewicz, all rights reserved.
Main image created in Stencil Pro.

“He Said the Name.”

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One recent weekday, the Mass intention was for the repose of the soul of a parishioner who passed away earlier this summer.

The daily Mass crew is pretty consistent (and had been, even before the pandemic), so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that the group of ladies sitting together in a pew that’s normally unoccupied were family members or friends of the deceased. I found that out because, after Mass, I couldn’t get out the door while they were standing around in the vestibule – probably looking for Father.

“Nice Mass,” one of them commented.

Another agreed. “He said the name.”

Maybe it’s not standard procedure to announce the names of those for whom Masses are offered. At our parish, it is done during the general intercessions.

At first, I didn’t see what the big deal was. I remembered back about 10 years when, during Lent and Advent, the pastor at the time required the choirs to chant the general intercessions, and people complained that they couldn’t hear their loved one’s name mentioned. (We tried. Really, we did. But it was extraordinarily difficult to chant those intentions and include the names. Fortunately that practice died in the water pretty quickly.) At the time, I thought it was shallow that people were making a big deal about the mention of a name.

But it is a big deal, to be prayed for by name. It’s a comfort. We want to be seen, and we want our loved ones to be seen – and that mention of a name in prayer is the Church’s way to express that someone has not been forgotten, that we do remember them and pray for them.

It is never shallow to want to have a loved one remembered in prayer. And it’s not shallow to need to hear that it’s happening.

Next time you’re at Mass, listen for the name. Pray for the deceased for whom that Mass is offered – that’s not just the priest’s job. And pray for the family that person left behind.

Pexels (2017)

Copyright 2020 Barb Szyszkiewicz
Image: Pexels (2017)

Beyond the Reach of Virtual Mass and Virtual Bulletins

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In my part of the world, the churches have been open (at very limited capacity) for a little more than two weeks. And as in just about every other place, we’re wearing masks, the hymnals have been removed, there’s no holy water in the stoups, and “holy hand sanitizer” awaits you at the entrance where you check in with the ushers of a Sunday, for low-tech contact tracing.

And there are no bulletins.

Sure, you can read them online — and I do — but when a good number of parishioners are not comfortable with technology (if they even have access to a computer or smartphone at all), those parishioners are cut off from the life of the Church in yet another important way.

Yes. Bulletins are important. If the parish leaders think it’s important enough to create a bulletin (whether or not it’s offered in printed form, and during this pandemic, it’s digital only) then there needs to be a way to get them to the people who, I’d argue, miss them the most.

I wouldn’t even have thought of this, were it not for one of my friends, a fellow Secular Franciscan, who lives alone and does not have access to technology. While she is in good health, praise God, she is the ultimate people person and has definitely suffered during this time of isolation. I haven’t seen her at Mass yet because I have been singing at a different time than normal, but our first Sunday back she saw our music director after Mass and mentioned that she really missed reading the bulletin.

The music director immediately reached out to me after that conversation to see if I had a mailing address for this friend and ask if I’d take care of sending her a bulletin. Since I have a computer and a printer and envelopes and stamps, how could I say no? So I’ve been printing the bulletin and mailing it out on Monday morning, with a little note to say hello.

Yesterday my friend showed up at my front door with a little gift and a thank-you note. It has meant a lot to her to receive those bulletins in the mail. It’s no big deal for me to do this, but it’s a big deal for her to get them. She thanked me several times — for the love. And that’s what it really is, just a small gift of love.

(Boy, that was a tough visit. I could see her holding herself back. She just wanted to give me a hug. Her arms would start to move toward me, and then she’d catch herself. As I said, she’s the ultimate people person and an incurable hugger. It was heartbreaking.)

Here’s my challenge to you: Can you bless someone who’s not a digital native? Can you print a bulletin for someone in your parish who has no access to technology, but would love to read the parish news? If you don’t know someone, ask at the parish office if there is a homebound parishioner who would like to receive a bulletin with a note and a promise of prayer. Who knows: you may foster a friendship that lasts longer than the painter’s tape marking social distance in the church pews.

view from pew 06092020
Copyright 2020 Barb Szyszkiewicz. All rights reserved.

 

Copyright 2020 Barb Szyszkiewicz

Making sense of the church crisis

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I don’t want to read about it.

But I know I have to. (And not just because I work in Catholic media.)

Even before the Pennsylvania grand jury report was released, the sex-abuse scandal in the Church was back on my radar screen. That’s because Cardinal McCarrick served in two New Jersey diocese. He presided at my husband’s Confirmation.

Before the grand jury report was released, my pastor dedicated his bulletin column to this difficult topic. He shared his disgust and how the first sex-abuse scandal had affected his priesthood. He called for our parish to participate in a 54-day Rosary novena, beginning August 15.

I’ve been reading about it, and trying to pray, and trying to figure out what it will mean for a Church that’s largely empty already — largely due to the first round of scandals in 2002.

Since 2006 I have been VIRTUS-certified so that I could volunteer and substitute-teach in a Catholic school. I have had to attend the class (which, having also been through the Boy Scouts’ Youth Protection Training, was less informative than the class the BSA offered). I’ve had to go to the really sketchy places in semi-abandoned industrial parks every 3 years to get my fingerprints done. (How sketchy, you ask? How about so creepy-people-in-the-elevator-sketchy, you think it’ll be safer to take the stairs on the way out — because at least you can run if you’re on the stairs? Yeah, that sketchy.) And to be honest, I haven’t had the best attitude about all of that, because I feel like I was being treated like a criminal because some other people were criminals.

I tried to turn that attitude around by praying for the victims and, yes, even for the criminals (they need prayers too) but I still feel that the rest of us were punished for the actions of a few.

But if that’s as much as this has touched me, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I cannot imagine the torment the victims and their families have experienced.

I feel like something is broken in the Church and it’s not something I have the power to fix.

I’m very unsatisfied by the statement of the New Jersey bishops, as well as the bishop of my own diocese. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling that we need more than platitudes and talk of best.

We need shepherds, not CEOs.

Especially right now.

On Thursday, when I went to Adoration and took my rosary out of the little pouch, it was broken. That nearly undid me. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but that broken rosary (which was all in one piece the week before when I’d prayed it at Adoration) was a symbol, for me, of the brokenness we are experiencing now. So I sat there using my fingernails to try to repair the links, since I don’t generally bring pliers to the Adoration Chapel. I had to make it whole before I could begin to pray.

I will not stop going to Mass. I think we need to pray harder than ever right now. We need all the grace we can get. The criminals are not the Church. The bishops are not the Church. The Pope is not the Church. They are all part of it, but they are not all of it, and there is too much that is good in it to toss out the whole thing because of the bad stuff.

Helpful Resources

(to be updated)

The National Catholic Register ran an interview with seminary professor Janet Smith this week. It’s worth the read, especially if you are wondering what you, one lay person in a broken Church, can do right now.

What can the laity do right now?

We should certainly pray and fast and try to keep our faith strong and that of others.

We also need to help other Catholics see how seriously bad the presence of homosexual networks in the Church is. We should write letters to our bishop. We should 1) commend our bishop for the good works he has done 2) demand a clean-up of whatever homosexual network exists in the diocese. Carefully give evidence if we have some prefaced by “I have heard; I don’t know if it is true but I have heard it enough to think queries if not an investigation should be made.” Demand that if there are credible accusations against priests and more evidence is needed, that private investigators need to be hired 3) tell him that if cleaning up the homosexual network means that there will be such a priest shortage that parishes will close and services will be curtailed, say that we will stand by him and support his actions 4) that a lay board be set up to which priests and others can make charges of sexual harassment by the bishop himself and priests and the particularly priests can report any mistreatment from the bishop without fear of reprisals; 5) send the bishop copies of the best articles published expressing lay outrage; 6) promise to pray and fast for him 7) send copies of your letter to DiNardo and the nuncio; 8) get signatures of others who may not be inclined to write; 9) ask for a reply. Be polite but firm. And write again every month until something is done. If we don’t get a satisfactory reply, we need to consider writing to the public newspaper.

Father Willy Raymond, C.S.C., President of Holy Cross Family Ministries (and one of my employers) offered a short prayer for the innocent victims.

Copyright 2018 Barb Szyszkiewicz, OFS