‘Feeling alienated from your new government?
I can relate. I’m a Catholic woman.’
By MARGARET STACK
Contributing Columnist
I am among the many Americans grieving the outcome of our last election. As an American woman, I feel alienated from my country and betrayed by the institutions that I thought would safeguard our democracy. I find myself wondering what new havoc will be wreaked, and what will I do about it. This experience echoes the sense of alienation that I feel as an American Catholic woman.
I was born to this church and raised in it. I was baptized as a very young infant and made all my sacraments at the expected intervals, except my first confession and First Communion. I had to wait an extra week because I had the measles. The older Polish priest from the seminary who heard my confession was very kind but taken aback – until my mother went in after I finished and explained why I was a week late with this sacrament, out of place. I was the only child making her First Communion, so I got to go up on the altar, behind the communion rail. I wasn’t sure when to open my mouth and stick out my tongue, so I did that a little early. It felt like a long time. I must have looked like a little bird waiting to be fed. All of this to say that being Catholic has always felt as much a part of me as being the first child born to my parents (there were 7 before they were done, not counting 2 that my mother lost) and belonging in my very large extended family.
Being on the altar behind the communion rail at my First Communion was to be a rare experience. I wasn’t allowed to be an altar server (they were called altar boys at that time), although I was permitted to help the boys who aspired to this role learn the Confiteor in Latin. I knew it by heart before they did. All of this was before Vatican II, which came during my high school years. But it didn’t really open up roles for women very much, even then. I wasn’t allowed to be a deacon, and I could never aspire to ordination. After Vatican II, I was allowed to read at Mass, but not preach. I could distribute the Eucharist, but not consecrate the host. I could dress the altar (set the table), but was not permitted to celebrate the Mass (make the meal). In my work as a psychotherapist, I have heard many confessions, but I have not been able to offer absolution.
I was married in the Church at age 21. After the birth of our son, I tried to contact the priest who had married us to ask if he would baptize him. He told me that he could not do this because he was leaving active ministry to get married. I put the Baptism on hold and told my mother that I was not superstitious. I had stopped going to church. We sent our son to a Catholic school, however, where he learned about God and the Church and the sacraments. When he was 8 years old, he told me that he wanted to be baptized and make his First Communion. So I found another priest who baptized him. Then he made his other sacraments at the expected intervals. I took him to Mass. Eventually, we found parish communities where we found belonging and acceptance. My marriage did not survive this revival of my Catholicism. Looking back, I think that we were just too young.
When I was 50 years old, I married Tony Kosnik, a Catholic priest who had left active ministry after 47 years. He had his own struggles with the Church. He spoke out about official teaching on sexuality and was sanctioned, i.e. fired from his job teaching seminarians. He made his way after that but continued to be at odds with the Church hierarchy. After our marriage, we were invited to various churches, different denominations. Nothing felt right. We went back to the Catholic parish in the inner city where I had found a sense of belonging years before, and we were welcomed. It felt right. Sometimes we had Mass at home. We said the prayers together, held the host together, but inside I held back a little. This was, after all, his show. My husband has since died. I have unconsecrated hosts in the cabinet, 13 Bibles (at last count), vestments in my cedar chest, oils for anointing, candles everywhere. I am still Catholic, but finding a viable parish community is elusive. The inner city parish where we had belonged has changed. It is no longer welcoming. When I go to Mass, I go to the neighborhood church where my husband’s friend is pastor. He was very kind to us when my husband was failing.
Through all this, I am still Catholic. It is just part of me, perhaps waiting for a new kind of expression. I haven’t yet found a path forward, but I have found ways to cope that may be useful to fellow Americans wondering how they’ll cope over the next four years.
I have been involved in faith sharing groups with other Catholics who believe that our Church is a living and growing organism. I have sought out opportunities to learn from the experiences of respected Catholic leaders who have been treated badly because they have spoken out. I realize that I still love my church, as my husband did in his best and worst moments. I haven’t stopped searching, and I haven’t left. It is my church too. This experience helps me make sense of being an American in the wake of the last unfortunate election. I am still an American, and I still believe in the ideals upon which the country was founded—despite leadership that has lost its way. It is my country too.
Margaret “Peggy” Stack, Ph.D. is a clinical psychologist in Huntington Woods. She is writing a memoir of her marriage to the late Tony Kosnik.
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