WELCOME! Do you find contemporary life a challenge? Are you a confused Catholic, or even just someone seeking to understand faith? Since 2003, CrossCurrents has appeared 40 times each year. My aim: to provoke thought and enrich faith by interpreting current events in the light of Catholic tradition. I hope you find these columns both entertaining and clarifying. Your feedback and comments are welcome! Find information about my pastoral consulting at http://www.crosscurrents.us/ NOTE: TO READ OR WRITE COMMENTS, CLICK ON THE TITLE OF A POST.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

#423: Beware of dangerous knowledge!

A history book that is likely to become the default resource for many Catholics is full of dangers perspectives. 

We’ve all heard “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing”--but wrong knowledge is even worse.  And too often that’s exactly what Catholics get about their own faith. 

Last month, during a weeklong vacation at a family-owned seaside cottage, I came across a new addition to the cottage bookshelf:  James Hitchcock’s A History Of The Catholic Church: From The Apostolic Age To The Third Millennium. After examining it for a couple of days, I realized that this is a very dangerous book. 

Hitchcock is written a 500-page, single volume history of Catholicism aimed at a broad readership of educated Catholics.  Catholics need a resource like this, since few of us have the time or energy to plow through dozens or even hundreds of history books in examining specific periods of Catholicism’s 20 centuries.  A general overview like this can be invaluable in helping Catholics grasp the “big picture” of catholic history. 

Moreover Hitchcock’s 2010 book has little competition among recent publications, so it is likely to become the “default” church history for millions of people, finding its way onto the bookshelves of parish priests, parish libraries, book discussion groups, Catholic schools, and even the hands of ordinary Catholics.

All these people need such a big picture Catholic history.  The trouble is, Hitchcock’s picture seriously distorts the reality.

Many readers may not realize how reactionary and misleading this book is.  They will not know that Hitchcock is peddling a partisan history full of ill-grounded opinions parading as established facts.  But as the saying goes: he is entitled to his own opinions, but he is not entitled to his own facts.

One way to grasp how Hitchcock has skewed Catholic history is to survey his index, which supplies several clues about his priorities and prejudices.

Look up “contraception,” for example, and you find 11 references; under “birth control,” the same 11 references appear, as if Hitchcock feels the topic needs  double billing.  By contrast, “anti-Semitism” has zero (0) references.  Those familiar with  Father Edward Flannery’s classic The Anguish Of The Jews or the words of Vatican II or Saint John-Paul II on this subject will find the omission very troubling.

Look up “sin” and you find 15 references, but “God” gets only 11, and “Trinity” gets zero!  “Consecrated virgins” get 6 references, but the “just war theory” gets only 1, and “evangelization” gets only “see missionary activity.”

There are 12 references to “abortion,” but only 1 reference to “gospels,” no reference to the canon of the Bible, no reference to “fundamentalism,” no reference to the poor or poverty.

“Sexuality” rates 24 references, but “Eucharist” gets only 4, under “Eucharistic practices.”

Thus the index reveals Hitchcock’s preoccupation with certain hot button issues that raise red flags for so-called “traditionalist” Catholics--and then he turns a blind eye to several significant elements of Catholic history.  Clearly, Hitchcock is writing history with his own personal agenda.

I am no expert on church history, but if I focus my attention on things I do know, Hitchcock’s agenda becomes even clearer.

Treating Vatican Council II (1962-1965), he asserts “Why the council was summoned remains somewhat uncertain,” since “the Church at that time seemed quite healthy.”

He then describes pre-Conciliar Catholicism in glowing terms.  His nostalgia for 1950s Catholic life is no doubt genuine, but it is nostalgia for a “golden age” that never existed.  He mentions high church attendance that packed churches, for example, but avoids the fact that 85% of such mass-goers avoided Communion.  Younger Catholics might be seduced by Hitchcock’s skewed account, but millions of Catholics are old enough to remember that era’s guilt-wracked spirituality, and its reduction of Catholicism to a set of rules.  Such Catholics can simply say: “Mr. Hitchcock, I was there.  I knew that time.  It was no golden age.”

This example is high revealing, for Hitchcock’s “golden age” myth renders his entire account of Vatican II and its aftermath suspect.

He claims, for example, that the Council’s attention to church renewal was “contrary to what John apparently intended” and produced a grave crisis--even though we know that John and his successor Paul VI carefully planned the Council’s direction and managed its agenda.

He claims that Catholic life since Vatican II has pushed collegiality even though the council itself “scarcely touched…the question of how the idea…applied to other levels of the Church.”  Thus, he says national Bishops’ conferences “formed themselves,” as if filling a vacuum left by the Council.  But in fact Vatican II was quite explicit in its call to establish councils at all levels of church life:

Councils which assist the apostolic work of the Church…should be established as far as possible also on the parochial, interparochial, and interdiocesan levels. (Second Vatican Council, Decree on Apostolate of the Laity (Apostolicam Actuositatem), November 18, 1965, Art.26)

But Vatican II is not the only target of Hitchcock’s skewed history.  He derides the Latin American bishops conference for endorsing the “preferential option for the poor,” implying that its link to liberation theology reflected a lack of orthodoxy.  He wrote this in 2010, three years before the first Latin American pope confirmed the idea, in his first major teaching, by quoting John-Paul II:

Without the preferential option for the poor, “the proclamation of the Gospel, which is itself the prime form of charity, risks being misunderstood or submerged by the ocean of words which daily engulfs us in today’s society of mass communications.”

But Hitchcock also targets an important Jesuit, Bernard Lonergan, by claiming that he was the inspiration for a “new theological approach” called “aggiornamento” (updating or modernizing) that “moved in the direction of modernism,” a heresy:

Aggiornamento owed much to…Lonergan…who distinguished the “classical” from the “historical” mentality, arguing that the former…was now discredited and that theology had to operate within the historical mode.

Hitchcock is wrong twice here. 

First, “aggiornamento” was actually coined by Saint John XXIII (the pope who called Vatican II), not as a “theological approach” but as a purpose of the Council itself. So to imply we should dismiss it for bordering on heresy is simply wishful thinking, not history. 

Second, the Council ended in 1965, and Lonergan first published his paper on “historical consciousness” in 1967--two years too late to impact the Council! 

Hitchcock also goes after the Dutch Dominican priest Edward Schillebeeckx, citing the many times between 1979 and 1994 he was summoned by Vatican officials to justify his views. But he avoids telling readers the conclusion, as this commentator does:

Schillebeeckx behaved with civility and docility, never provoking his inquisitors, submitting to each inquiry no matter how demeaning the procedures against him became.  And the bottom line is this: no matter how threatened officials felt, and no matter how many times they cautioned him against such controversial views, he was never found guilty of heresy or even penalized, even while other theologians lost their jobs, their priesthood, or were actually silenced.

Hitchcock also attacks the Jesuit Robert Drinan, who served in the U.S. Congress from 1971 to 1981. Summarizing his legislative career, Hitchcock describes Drinan as “a passionately pro-abortion Congressman.” Hitchcock is certainly entitled to his opinion, which is shared by many.  But he presents this opinion as if it were established fact.  Yet a case can be made that Drinan, while opposing many abortion bans on legal grounds (he was previously dean of Boston College Law School) never supported abortion itself, as evidenced by his words from 1996 and 1997:

I write this as a Jesuit priest who agrees with Vatican II, which said abortion is virtually infanticide…I do not believe that every moral evil should be outlawed. I do, however, see abortion…as a grave evil and can understand why Church leaders are urging lawmakers to ban it.  I do not want anything to impede that effort. On the contrary, I join in that effort and stand ready to promote laws and public policies that aim to protect vulnerable human life from conception until natural death; I support the Catholic bishops in their efforts to exercise moral leadership in the fight against abortion.

Hitchcock even targets John F. Kennedy as “denying that his religion could or should have significant influence on public policy.” But JFK’s famous 1960 speech to the Houston ministers reveals a different position, as I wrote in CrossCurrents #305:

“I do not speak for my church on public matters,” Kennedy he said, “and the church does not speak for me.” He said that…he would always make his decisions “in accordance with what my conscience tells me…” Finally, Kennedy acknowledged the possibility of a circumstance where his Catholic conscience might conflict with his oath of office. “And if that time should ever come,” he said, “when my office would require me to either violate my conscience or violate the national interest, then I would resign the office.”

 In fact, Hitchcock’s book is laced through with rash historical judgments paraded as facts and character attacks masking his personal bias (Hitchcock was a well-known adversary, for example, of Robert Drinan).

For the most part, Hitchcock is preaching to a like-minded choir of reactionary Catholics, but objective readers with historical insight of their own will dismayed by his accounts.  His portrait of Eastern Catholic churches, for example, has drawn the sharp criticism of Eastern Catholic expert Adam DeVille:

In…treating the Christian East, we see a picture little short of disastrous. Not only are hugely important events given no mention at all, but even very basic factual matters are dead wrong.

For one thing, Hitchcock insists on calling such churches “Uniates”—a pejorative label long since banned from scholarly use. 

Such cringe-worthy mistakes and oversights appear as well when Hitchcock describes Pope Paul VI’s encyclicals, his 1965 speech to the United Nations, his work on evangelization, and his role of Vatican II.  He also misses almost entirely the point of Benedict XVI’s first encyclical, God is Love

I’ve focused on late 20th century Roman Catholicism because that is what I know best.  I can only imagine the errors that Hitchcock applies to other centuries! 

With all this in mind, dear reader, you will not be surprised if I (1) advise you to avoid this book like the plague, and (2) express my hope that some competent historian will soon write a reliable one-volume Catholic history to fill the vacuum that otherwise might suck Hitchcock’s dangerous “knowledge” into our parishes, schools, libraries, and homes. 

  © Bernard   F. Swain PhD 2014

Friday, September 5, 2014

Summer's End

[Now that the official "Summer Season" has given way to school days, I reprise one of the most popular posts from previous years.]

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven...
As Labor Day brought the “official” end to the summer season, I sensed within me that same feeling millions have at this time of year: sadness at the prospect of summer’s end.
And I don’t even like summer!
For years summer meant some menial job (usually factory work) at low pay to earn meager sums of money I would never see anyway. This was called “paying your way through school,” and it reduced my summers to debt-reduction drudgery.
Once I entered the workforce full-time, summer often meant shifting my activities from day-to-day deadlines to advance planning for the coming parish year. But then I discovered how little I like warm weather (working in heat lacked the appeal of a childhood spent camping at the lake). As I’ve aged, I gradually developed a new rhythm: as spring ends I resign myself to the heat ahead, enduring it as creatively and comfortably as possible, and I wait for the arrival of “sweater weather.”
With this outlook, why in the world does summer’s end nonetheless make me sad? The answer, I suspect, lies on several levels.
On the surface, my sadness is about lost opportunities. In a four-season climate, summer promises options unavailable the rest of the year: cookouts, picnics, outdoor concerts, lazy outdoor meals and gatherings, beach and boats and swimming and biking and reading on the deck. Inevitably the possibilities cannot be squeezed into the 8 weeks between the Fourth of July and Labor Day, so at summer’s end my hindsight focuses on all the things that happened without me. I never fail to feel that summer’s bounty has somehow slipped through my fingers.
Of course, the sense of summer’s missed opportunities naturally resonates on a deeper level—it inevitably reminds me of my life’s missed opportunities. Relationships I neglected, skills never learned, books unread, trips bypassed, careers I never explored---all these come to mind and compound the feeling of unfulfilled potential and lost time.
Our life’s time passes so swiftly, summer reminds us—especially in places like New England where summer is so brief.
And then, of course, summer’s end brings autumn. In New England as elsewhere, autumn brings bright colors that reveal another side of creation’s glory.
But autumn also brings longer nights and shorter days, colder weather and harvest time as the growing season ends. And, of course, even those brilliant leaves are merely blazing briefly before falling to earth, dead.
Summer’s end thus holds before us the prospect of a world ending its productive growth and returning to the seasons when many things die and lie dormant in the ground. It reminds us that no earthly life lasts forever. It reminds us that we all live lives that begin in spring, blossom in summer, blaze in brief glory during autumn and finally arrive at winter. It reminds us, finally, that if we have missed some of life’s opportunities, we will not get to replay our lives, and we cannot rewind them.
In short, summer’s end is sad because it reminds us of our own mortality. Summer itself may be, as Scott Turow writes, “The season of ripeness and promise”—but summer’s end is the beginning of the end, and it reminds us of our own end.
So our sadness combines regret for what might have been, and anxiety about what will come.
But this feeling is not, of course, the same for every person. It’s true, as Dick Francis wrote, that we are all dying at the same rate—one day at a time. But for each of us, those days depend on the season our life has reached.
When my mother died in April, at 91, she had clearly reached the deep winter of her life. On my last visit I raised the window blinds so she could turn her head to gaze out at the blooming dogwoods. Her eyes glowed and she smiled, grateful for one last glimpse of new life on her last full day.
Some weeks later my great-niece Nora celebrated her third birthday, blooming pink much like those dogwoods, still early in the spring of her life.
My youngest son turns 30 next month, and now all three of my children live in the full summer of their lives.
The pills on my kitchen table, the cane at my side, the white in my beard all suggest that my life passed summer’s end some years ago. Autumn has always been my favorite season, October my favorite month, Thanksgiving my favorite holiday—and now I am deep in the autumn of my life, perhaps still blazing brilliant colors but still moving to winter.

My father, at 94, has entered hospice care at home, embracing the winter solstice of his life with remarkable serenity.
As our lives pass summer, the beginning of the end comes in many forms. For many, it is forgetfulness, or stiffened joints, or the progressive loss of muscle, or deafness, or just the decision to finally invest in a pair of reading glasses. Accepting our life’s seasons with grace is one of the prime challenges of all our lives.
It is easy to overlook the simple fact: all summer long, the days are already getting shorter and the nights longer. And the summer of our lives is already moving us to our autumn.
I am reminded of the musical version of Les Miserables. The show is in two acts, and both acts end with the same rousing song “Do You Hear the People Sing?” The tune remains the same, but the lyrics and singers do not. In Act I, the song is a political battle cry sung by rebels mounting the barricades of revolution. In Act II, the song becomes the hymn of all those fallen in battle, singing not of revolution but of salvation.
The show's imagery and language is drenched in the Catholic notion of two communities linked by divine Providence. The first is the earthly communion (once called the “Church militant”) of all who struggle in faith to transform a fallen world. The second is the “Communion of Saints” (once called the “Church triumphant”) who support our earthly struggles from beyond the grave.
In Les Miserables, both communions share a common tune with different lyrics. And both march forward toward tomorrow.
As summer 2012 ends, we all march too. Regrets and fears may have their place, but we know that however sad or eager we are, however much we focus on what might have been or what may come, we know one thing is true, one thing is our constant condition: no matter what, we march into tomorrow.
  Bernard F. Swain PhD 2012

Sunday, August 24, 2014

#422: Rank Disorder

The events in Ferguson, Missouri invite us to reflect on our nation’s unfinished business--and the principles we need to get that business done.

Wouldn’t it be awful to live in one of those countries where arrest and jail are a constant threat, where the crime rate is far above the average of developed democratic nations, where infant and maternal mortality are scandalously high, where life expectancy and literacy lag behind the leading nations of the world, where the gap between rich and poor disrupts the economy and even triggers violence in the streets? 

And wouldn’t it be even worse if that country’s citizens did not realize their plight?  If they blindly accepted their condition as “normal,” or even inevitable?  If they did not demand or even expect any improvement? 

Well, my dear reader, as awful as this sounds, it actually might describe your own country--if you live in the United States.  But most Americans ignore their country’s true condition most of the time--until something explodes. 

A year ago this month, a college classmate was visiting Boston, and over lunch she recounted her recent travels with her husband to various parts of the United States.  Three or four times her story was punctuated by an episode of petty crime: and attempted mugging at an ATM, a snatched purse or picked pocket, a stolen credit card.  These events clearly marred their travel memories.

As we returned to the car, she commented, “I hope you won’t be offended if I say this.  But sometimes I feel like the U.S. is becoming a third world country.”

My reply caught her by surprise.  “I’m not offended at all,” I said.  “In fact, I think you’re quite right, except that ‘becoming’ is too kind.  In my view, the U.S. has been like a third world country for many years now.”

If this seems farfetched or shocking to you, be a bit patient while I explain.

When people say “first world,” they are generally thinking of western nations in Europe and North America, plus economically advanced countries like Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Israel, South Korea, and Chile.

The term “third world” labels countries that are mostly poorer and less developed, especially in the southern hemisphere: Africa, Latin America, the Middle East.  The difference is not simply geographic, it is economic and cultural.  But whatever reasons people have for attaching these labels, they have the effect of lumping certain countries together in people’s minds.  So Japan seems to belong with England, and Bangladesh seems to belong with Haiti.  Thus these terms create strange bedfellows.

But the strangest combinations of all come when one looks at the facts of American Life in a global perspective.  It does not take much research to realize that we often keep unexpected company.

As summer winds down, many “first world” workers are completing vacation time that they receive as a job benefit guaranteed by law.  Such vacation time varies from several weeks per year in France to several days per year in China and Japan.  But American workers stand alone, for the U.S. is the only first world nation that guarantees no legal vacation.  The result: many poorer Americans get no vacation at all.

But the U.S. does rank ahead of other nations in a number of negative categories.

We have the highest incarceration rate in the world (760 imprisoned per 100,000 population) and more people in jail than any other country (2,310,984 by the end of 2007).  That is ¼ all the prisoners in the world.  Yes, you read that right: 25% of the entire planet. We also have the most private firearms and the largest external debt.

In many other areas we are not alone--but we are in very surprising company.  (I relied on data from the CIA World Factbooks for 2010 and 2013, the UN, and Global Finance Magazine).

Among the world’s most dangerous cities, for example, Washington, DC--our nation’s capital!--ranks #5 in the world, a little better than Mogadishu but worse than Rio.

In overall healthcare, the U.S. ranks #38, behind Costa Rica and just ahead of Slovenia.

In infant mortality, the U.S. comes in at #50, just behind the Faroe Islands and just ahead of Croatia.

Our rank for maternal mortality is even worse: the U.S. is #136 in the world, between Iran and Hungary.

In overall life expectancy, the U.S. ranks #53, just ahead of Bahrain but worse than Taiwan.

Then there are economic disparities, which have emerged as major discontents behind the current troubles in Ferguson, Missouri.

In income inequality, for example, the U.S. ranks #41, better than the Philippines but worse than Uruguay.  In income distribution, we rank #80, behind Nicaragua and just ahead of Morocco.  In income shared by the top 10% of the population, the U.S. comes in #64, between Iran and Liberia.

Notice that in none of these quality-of-life measures does the United States come even close to the top 10.  And we never rank near our “peer” nations in Europe or Asia.  The same is true for our rankings in literacy and education.  In fact, our neighbors in all these rankings are the very countries people generally think of as “third world.”

It is no great surprise to me, then, that American society is prone to volatile outbreaks like the one in Ferguson.  We have the richest and most powerful nation on earth, and we like to say we have the freest one.  But the hard data reveals another truth: ordinary people in many other countries live better than ordinary Americans.  No wonder we are not a contented people.  Our low rankings breed trouble--call it rank disorder.

All this depressing data begs two questions: why does the U.S. lag behind its peers?  And what can be done about it? Or are we resigned to our “third world” status as normal or even inevitable?

I believe much of our problem lies in the wide public acceptance--indeed, it is virtually a civic consensus—of a woefully, perhaps even criminally, inadequate concept of human rights.  If so, the U.S. urgently needs a broader vision of human rights as well as a commitment to secure them for all our citizens.  Only this will promote a better life.

I have long believed that the human rights vision embraced by modern Catholic Social Teaching offers much brighter prospects for a happier, more peaceful social order than the vision that prevails in the U.S.  As I have written elsewhere:

It was my wife who reminded me that seeing faith as an antidote to hate, fear, and division was what got me into church work first place, nearly 40 years ago. In today’s Church (divided by the cultural wars and rent by scandal) that may seem a laughable choice, but the fact is I was not alone. The civil rights movement was largely faith-based, and its greatest leader was a preacher. The peace movement had important Catholic actors like Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, and the Berrigans. Community organizers in Chicago, Boston, and elsewhere discovered that, while many secular activists disappeared when their cause ended, church congregations provided a more stable support base for long-term social missions.

A simple comparison shows how different the Catholic vision is.  The simple fact is that Catholic Social Teaching lists many human rights at current U.S. law does not even recognize.

The American list of human rights is largely found in the U.S. constitution and subsequent amendments and Supreme Court decisions.  The list consists mainly of legal and civil rights: free speech, voting rights, the right to avoid self incrimination, the right to a fair trial, etc.  Mostly these entail rights we enjoyed because the government cannot infringe on them.

But the human rights list of Catholic Social Teaching goes much further to include economic and social rights we will not enjoy simply because the government keeps out of our way.

These include: the right to food and shelter; the right to education; the right to employment at a fair wage with reasonable benefits; the right to decent housing; the right to healthcare.

Framing this list is several principles that should guide specific social policies.  The first of these is a focus on the poor and vulnerable: “The basic moral test for our society is how we treat the most vulnerable in our midst.” This includes a priority concern for the marginalized, persons with disabilities, the elderly, the terminally ill, victims of injustice and prescient, and particularly the poor.

The second principle is the importance of a humane economy: “the economy should serve people, not the other way around.” It has been more than 30 years since John–Paul II taught that in any conflict between “labor” (people) and “capital” (money), people must come first.

(One may reasonably ask how many of Ferguson’s young people believe that describes the U.S. economy.)

The third principle is “solidarity”--the attitude that recognizes one human family and sees those in needs as our neighbors, to be supported and cared for.

Just suppose, for the sake of argument, that in the coming year’s American leaders were to champion Catholic Social Teaching’s longer list of human rights - - not because the list is “Catholic,” but because those rights are right.  Suppose the U.S. puts more focus on the vulnerable and marginalized.  Suppose people get a living wage and some vacation.  Suppose our leaders promote a more humane economy, and suppose our leaders--political, civic, religious, and cultural--inspire a spirit of solidarity among all Americans.

If all that happens, I have no doubt the U.S. would rise through the ranks of the world’s nations and achieve the place of honor we think we deserve.  The result?  No more rank disorders.  Instead, a more just and justly proud and peaceful land.
  © Bernard   F. Swain PhD 2013

Monday, August 4, 2014

#421: Would Jesus Send Them Back?

As tens of thousands of unaccompanied minors flood across our southern border, Americans face a growing moral challenge.  And this challenge touches on both our national character and on  Catholic identity itself. 

When Massachusetts Governor Duval Patrick offered temporary shelter to 1000 immigrant youths, he unleashed a firestorm of protest in supposedly “liberal” Massachusetts.  Officials of the towns where Patrick proposed sending children for shelter said that their communities should not be burdened with the responsibility, explaining “we need to take care of our own.”

When Patrick compared the current crisis to the case in World War II, when a ship carrying Jewish families was refused entry to the United States (and those families mostly ended up in NAZI death camps), people howled that the comparison was inappropriate.  Letters to the editor argued that we should “send them back where they belong.” And on Saturday, July 26, thousands cheered a “Stop the Invasion” rally at the Massachusetts State House, chanting “Send them home!  Send them home!”

For many, it seems, these children are simply “illegals,” case closed.  As one rally speaker explained:

Our government sees no difference between law-abiding, freedom-loving, taxpaying citizens and lawbreaking aliens.

All this makes me fear that, as the ghost of nativism rears its ugly head, our national character might be recoiling from generations of social progress.

The fact is that hospitality to migrants in trouble is a longstanding tradition in this country.  I recall my third grade teacher announcing the arrival of Hungarian children in her hometown.  Refugees from the 1956 Soviet invasion of Hungary, they came to the U.S., often unaccompanied, because it was not safe to stay home.

To an 8 year old like me, this announcement contained three life lessons.  First, the world beyond our borders was sometimes dangerous.  Second, our nation is seen to be--and was--a place of safe haven for “refugees” (which was a new word to me!).  Third, Americans by nature sacrifice for those who need our help.

Four decades later, my church work repeated these lessons, when some of my client parishes sponsored summer programs (offering housing, host families, recreation, and health care) for “Chernobyl Children.” These minors were fleeing the unsafe milk, crops, and spaces contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear explosion.  Despite presenting itself as a temporary relief program, “Chernobyl Children” naturally encouraged these young Russian guests to think of America as a desirable permanent home.

Catholic social teaching clearly calls for this kind of “open arms” embrace for refugees.  In fact, our tradition holds that people have a human right to migrate if their current location makes them threatened, endangered, oppressed, or destitute.

This certainly applies to at least some of the minors now flooding into the U.S..  And Catholic leaders are championing their cause. John Allen reports that Pope Francis himself sent a clear message to last week’s crisis summit in Mexico City:

Such a humanitarian emergency demands as the first urgent measure that these minors be protected and duly taken in. [They] cross the border under extreme conditions, in pursuit of a hope that in most cases turns out to be vain. (http://www.bostonglobe.com/news/world/2014/08/02/immigration-takes-its-place-pro-life-issue-for-catholic-church-leaders/LwwqcL3WlOhyWqMdiWtgqL/story.html)

The pope’s message echoes the consistent position of U.S. bishops, especially those from the areas most affected by border crossings.

Bishop Eusebio L Elizondo of Seattle heads the U.S. Bishops Migration Committee.  In a July 17 letter to members of Congress, he spoke against Republican efforts to roll back the legal protections for migrating children, saying “this vulnerable group is fleeing violence from organized criminal networks.”

This claim was verified by Richard Jones of Catholic Relief Services, who said:

We have seen the homicide rates grow, forced displacement increase and Mexican and Colombian drug cartels battle over who controls the moves through Central America…In El Salvador and Honduras, there are more gang members than police.

David Fiske, president of Marygrove College (a Catholic school in Detroit), issued a statement calling the situation a “classic” refugee crisis typical of “war-torn regions in which unprotected civilians will take extreme measures to reach a safe haven.”

That safe haven is, of course, the United States--yet millions of Americans (including, I fear, American Catholics) reject this historical badge of humanitarian honor in favor of “you don’t belong here” and “send them back.”

How striking is the difference between this attitude and the way Los Angeles Archbishop Jose H. Gomez spoke of such migrants at a July 20 Mass held to focus attention on the crisis:

We celebrate the immigrant spirit that gives life to our great country and our great city.  As we all know, this land was built by the blood and sacrifice and the vision of missionaries and immigrants from every race of language and every nation.  Today we give thanks for all those men and women who left the places where they were born--to bring their faith and values, their talents and gifts--to create a new life and the new world here in America.  We thank God also for the spirit of our new immigrants--those  joining us every day to be our neighbors and friends and family members.

In addition to praising the migrant spirit itself, Gomez used the occasion to spell out the link between immigration policy--especially the treatment of refugees--and Catholic identity itself:

Pope Francis is right, and in the face of this emergency, our first duty must be to protect these children.  My brothers and sisters, what we are doing for these children as a church--it’s not about politics.  We all know that.  It’s about who we are as Catholics… We don’t do it because we are “social workers” or “nice people.” We do it because we are being faithful to our identity and duty as Catholics.  We do it because Jesus calls us to do it.

As a Catholic, I’m proud of my tradition’s strong and clear message that protecting migrants’ human rights reflects true gospel values.  As an American, I am troubled and even ashamed that so many citizens cannot see beyond the red tape of customs regulations and our newfangled and arbitrary immigration quotas.

Once we acknowledge that migrants in need are exercising their human rights, any talk of them as “illegals” becomes nit-picking.  It is like jailing a poor man for fishing to feed his family, just because he could not afford a fishing license.  The law is there to serve people, and for our common good.  Laws that violate a human right are unjust.  And, as Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote, unjust laws are not really laws at all--they are a form of violence.

For me, this begs two questions.

First, why are so many Americans afraid to embrace our longstanding tradition of humanitarian hospitality?  After all, any talk of who “belongs here” is just ignorant.  If “belongs here” means “was always here,” then nobody belongs here.  Even Native Americans migrated here from Asia, and that was long before Europeans and Africans migrated here, and that was long before Asians and South Americans migrated here.  Originally, all our ancestors “belonged” somewhere else--not here.

But millions of Americans continue to ignore this, or deny this, or just shut their eyes.  They prefer to believe that they have a “right” to be here while others do not--and they hide behind the law to avoid the truth.  What are they afraid of?

Second, I wonder about American Catholics.  Does ours faith impact our attitude?  Do U.S. Catholics know the Church’s position on migration and refugees?  Do we know what our traditional beliefs mean?  Do we know our own Catholic identity? 

Or are there millions of Catholics who, if they were asked “What would Jesus do?” would answer: “Jesus would send them home!”?

Pope Francis has called this response the “globalization of indifference,” and my worry is that too many Catholics believe such indifference is compatible with our faith.  I hope I am wrong.

  © Bernard   F. Swain PhD 2013