2001 CONFESSIONS
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Contents © 2001
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

JUNE 2001 CONFESSIONS

THE CHASM

My third child was born on April 25th, a daughter. As she has done twice before, my mother-in-law (I call her Mom) took a week off from her job as a nurse in Kansas City and flew out to help out in the days that followed. She arrived on Saturday the 28th; that evening, we had our first reminder of the awesome chasm that yawns between us. For the first time, she told us -- in an offhanded, almost casual fashion -- that she would not be attending Mass with us the next morning.

That she wouldn't attend Mass was no shock -- she is a lapsed Catholic from way back, a former president of the Kansas City chapter of NOW, ardently pro-choice, and quite pagan in her spirituality. The surprise was that she wouldn't attend with us. Always before, she had kept up appearances. Now my four-year-old would wonder. "Grandma goes to a different church," explained my wife when he asked after Mom's whereabouts the next day. My son took the statement at face value, for which I am grateful. I didn't want to explain that the "church" she was referring to was a group of women gathered in her home for quasi-ritualistic goddess worship.

Mom told us about one such ritual that evening -- a celebration of Passover that "incorporated elements from Christianity, Judaism and feminist spirituality." She and her friends likened "the oppression of women by the patriarchy" to the Israelites' slavery in Egypt. "What do you mean by 'oppression'?," asked my wife. "Well, for example, women not being able to be priests," she replied. "I have several friends who are nuns who wish they could [do that]."

I knew my wife was wondering if I would jump into the fray and offer some account of the all-male priesthood. But how? A simple appeal to history -- Christ commanded only men to "Do this in remembrance of me" -- would not avail; she was no great believer in history, as I had learned a while back. She and her friends once celebrated a kind of anti-St. Patrick's day, having decided that the snakes he supposedly drove out of Ireland were actually witches -- their spiritual forbears. I pointed out that as a missionary, Patrick was not in a position to drive anyone out of Ireland, and that his life was spent converting pagans, not driving them away. "We just decided that that's what it meant," she replied, unfazed.

An appeal to the ontological distinction between male and female, such as the one given by St. Thomas when he explains why we call God "Father," would just smack of the patriarchy she had mentioned. Further, she treats philosophy much the same way she treats history. My wife once drove her all the way to the brink of admitting that simple will determined the status of the fetus -- my wife's fetuses were all babies because they were wanted, but other, unwanted fetuses lacked personhood. I kept silent on the question of women priests; my mother-in-law is not going to be won back to the faith through appeals to her intellect.

I think I know how she will be won back, if she is to be won at all -- she has to be attracted. She has to see something she wants and does not have -- joy. She has to be desperate to know the secret -- that Christ is God and that knowing and loving Him is the source of ultimate happiness. Right now, I don't think she suspects that there is a secret. Some Catholics she knows are no better as persons (certainly no happier) than anybody else; some are markedly worse. A couple have gotten pregnant out of wedlock -- probably a function of lust, but to her, it looks like hypocrisy, and it's certainly a scandal.

So how to attract? My wife and I can both sense a profound difference between Mom and ourselves. It's more than differing theology; it's a different sense of life. Mom's talk has always dwelt on the mundane (coupons, schedules, etc.), but it's getting to the point where her own daughter finds that she has nothing to say to her. We're hesitant to bring up the chasm -- we see so little of her; Mom is sacrificing to be out here; she is a great help. Besides, neither of us knows how to articulate the difference. Rather than acting as a light, we find what otherworldly joy we have overshadowed in her presence -- we have trouble maintaining the normal course of our own relationship. (It hasn't helped that Mom is always here when my wife is suffering from postpartum depression.)

After Mom left, I talked to a friend about my distress -- here is such a clear call for evangelization within our own family, and we feel paralyzed and impotent. "Yes," he replied, "I've been frustrated with the lack of formal prayer in our family as well." At first, I thought it an odd reply -- rites and rituals are not what Mom needs. But it's a good point. If she saw that the Faith had infiltrated our lives -- that we sought prayer like the rosary of our own accord, or attended daily Mass -- she might begin to wonder why. And if we practiced these devotions, perhaps we would find a way to shine for her.

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