I was a
little girl when Pope John Paul died and was replaced by Pope John Paul II.
Upon hearing the news of the new Pope, I commented to my mom on the incredible
coincidence that another man of the same name was chosen to be pontiff. My mom
explained to me how Popes changed their names once they are elected.
I decided
right then that if my Church’s tradition would evolve to include women priests,
and I would ever find myself in a position to be elected pope, I would change
my name to Chrissy — a name that sounded substantially more fun to me than
Annemarie.
I hadn’t
thought of that exchange with my mom in years — until this past Good Friday,
when Bill and I, driving home from Holy Hill’s Stations of the Cross, somehow
wandered into a conversation about requirements we’d make for the Church if we
were Pope. Interestingly, in our conversation, we didn’t remove any of the
current requirements. We added more. I’m not sure why were able to have an
uninterrupted twenty-minute conversation in the car with all the kids, but
maybe they were tired from all the walking uphill for the Stations. Or maybe
they were listening, and thinking that since we make up so many rules for them
(no dessert if you don’t finish those vegetables), we could probably make up
rules for the Church, too. In any case, here’s what we came up with:
A required yearly
overnight retreat for all people 16 and over (Annemarie): I love retreats. I wish someone would
make me go on one. We have Sunday obligation and holy days of obligation, but the
obligation is never more than an hour or so. The retreats of my high school and
college years were some of the most spiritual weekends of my life, and I know
many other people who feel the same. Once we hit full adulthood however (and
actually have something to retreat from)
the retreats stop for many of us. Retreats are an opportunity to hit the pause
button and reflect on where God may be calling us. I’ve learned that I rarely
hit pause for myself. Someone needs to hit it for me. I need a retreat mandate.
A requirement that
churches must integrate sustainability into all aspects of their buildings,
grounds and parishes (Bill): Pope
Bill would require solar panels on church roofs, geothermal wells on their
premises and native plantings in the gardens. He would also require all healthy
parishioners to walk or bike to church rather than drive. “Every parish should
be a neighborhood leader in terms of sustainability,” he said. “The parish
should set an example to the surrounding community about what taking care of
God’s creation looks like.”
A requirement to lean
harder on Reconciliation (Annemarie): Reconciliation may have gotten a
scary and bad rap when it was called Confession and took place in a dark closet
with a sliding door. Going to reconciliation should be like taking vitamins,
not medicine. Call it Reconciliation Sunday once a month and offer it right
before or after Mass, along with coffee and donuts while you wait. Tell
parishioners not to worry about listing every single little sin. Choose your
main one and call it a day—stay focused on what is giving you grief right now.
Make going to Reconciliation convenient by tying it to Sunday Mass, which is
each church’s most popular hour of the week. Gas stations have the right idea
by selling the optional food and beverages with the required gas. Offer the
optional sacrament (Reconciliation) with the required one (Eucharist).
A pilgrimage once
every five years (Bill): Your choice — Rome, the Holy Land, a Marian
apparition site or a week-long mission trip to serve in an impoverished area. I
noted to Bill that since our family drives to church, doesn’t go on yearly
retreats and has never gone as a family to any of his pilgrimage sites, we
would not be meeting the requirements of being Catholic in very church of which
we were the theoretical co-Popes. This didn’t seem to bother Bill, who went on
to make up a requirement for each suburban Catholic to switch homes with a
central city resident for Lent. When I challenged him on this one, he
threatened he threatened to ex-communicate me.
Our
conversation oscillated from the practical to pie-in-the-sky idealism. We both
agreed that some of our comfort level with making more rules came partly from
living in a neighborhood with many Orthodox Jews. Our Jewish neighbors’
commitment to a 24-hour Sabbath, keeping kosher and walking to temple in all
kinds of weather is a witness to us about religious commitment that requires
much more than an hour a week. We agreed also, that our rules were less about
what we expected from the leadership of our church, and more about what we
expected from ourselves, in terms of deepening our own faith response. It was
an admission that when a law or rule surrounds something — be it going to Mass,
keeping the speed limit or getting to work on time — we are more likely to do
it.
Bill and I
have no illusions that we’ll be moving from Glendale to Vatican City. Our names
will remain Bill and Annemarie (which, by the way, I like much more than
Chrissy, now that I’m grown.) Any change in careers that we make over our
lifetime will not be announced with white smoke. But the beautiful thing about
the Catholic Church is that every change that Bill and I came up with on our
drive home is compatible with the rules that are already here. Our ideas are
not new or revolutionary — each one has its basis in the doctrines and
teachings already established. We belong to a church that values retreats,
stewardship of the Earth, sacraments, pilgrimages, service and a preferential
option for the poor. We belong to a church that trusts its people to define
what it looks like to live these teachings and doctrine.
We belong
to a church that says, Pope or not, live your faith as authentically and fully
as possible. We belong to a church that invites us to lead— even without that
puff of white smoke.
