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I had no idea that my post on Fr. Cutie, the hopefully-soon-to-be-defrocked or -disciplined priest, would be received with so many passionate comments. There seems to be a pervasive frustration with the Church’s view on sexual behavior, one which even Catholics have mixed feelings about.
I watched the interview on Univision with Fr. Cutie (here’s an English one from CBS) and was underwhelmed by his answers, to say the least. When asked why he got involved in a (sexual) relationship with this (divorced) woman, knowing his vows were permanent (he even explains the Catholic principle that ordination is a “mark on the soul”) he said simply “I fell in love”. When asked why he, a public figure, would carouse with a woman on the beach, he responded that he “got tired” of hiding. When asked what he’ll do now, he said “I don’t know.” Stoic, realistic, and honest.
But wrong- something he’s loath to admit. It was wrong.
And that’s what I’m waiting to hear from this guy. He can say he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and that he’s sorry if he caused offense, but it’s all empty until he admits he was wrong, and asks forgiveness. Hard? Yes. Right? Yes.
The hardest thing in the world is to do what’s right. Even when you know you’ll have to face the music. Even though you’re loved by the masses and priest to the stars. And especially if you’re Father Cutie.
In case you haven’t been watching the fireworks down in Miami, a popular relationship guru cum Roman Catholic priest, Father Cutie (no, I’m not making this up) was photographed on the beach, smooching what he has admitted is the love of his life. Next to that other love, that is- the one he’s been married to for some time (the Church).
[Insert rant about celibacy, the Catholic church, and Oprah here, if desired].
He says that it’s a struggle for him between his love of the church, and his love for this woman. He’s considering leaving the Church to be married. He doesn’t want to be the poster boy for celibacy (I think you blew that one, Cutie), but that the church’s stand on celibacy isn’t going to change, especially not just for him.
You can say what you want about the Church’s position on celibacy (pedophelia, homosexuality), and I can’t help but admire Cutie for taking honorable, careful steps to ensure that he’s not playing for both teams.
My problem is this: he’s about two years too late. He and his girlfriend have been romantically involved for that period of time, having been friends for even longer. Without the collar it would almost be idyllic. BUT…
Is being unfaithful only wrong if you’re caught?
Hard to say what would have happened if some enterprising photographer hadn’t realized who the guy in the baseball cap was. Would Father Cutie have come forward, or resigned his post, if the faithful remained clueless? Doubtful.
I can’t help but think of that Coke commercial. Ladies, enjoy.
…enjoying the spring rain. We’ve had tons of it here, though we’re still not back up to non-drought stage.
…trying to help a dear friend who doesn’t want my help. I think the hardest part of friendship is realizing that you’re much more invested than the other person is. Nothing like a few “let me call you”s and “we’ll see”s to make you feel needed.
…doing my taxes. (Done! Come ooooon, return!)
…nursing my son through the delightful world of molars.
…grading piles of papers (Hey, Ink!) and trying not to look at all the ones that have yet to be done.
…laughing at Obama. (Come on, it’s me…)
…seriously considering giving up blogging. I find I’m more focused on my kids, husband, and work when I’m not brewing up a new blog post. Some recent acquisitions of lovely cloth-bound journals have been calling me to step away from the computer. And then churn some butter and salt down some venison.
…enjoying our bilingual church. Young and old, rich and poor, monolingual and poly, this place is what I visualize when I think “community”. And the tamales are great!
…attempting to explain to my 4-year-old what bunnies and eggs have to do with Jesus rising from the dead. (“Ohhh….now I get it, Mommy, the bunnies all came out of the tomb when the stone rolled back. And we have eggs ’cause bunnies lay eggs! Right? Right??”)
…wishing a 30-something mom can get away with rain boots and not look like I’m trying too hard.
We’re not pew-jumpers. I promise.
One of the more egregious sins hurled over in the Protestant direction by Roman Catholics is the “parishioners-gone-wild” nature of our propensity to change churches. Take a dislike to the organist? Bolt. What was that craziness about serving in VBS? Vamoose. No labeled parking place for “visitors” (even though we’ve been attending four years)? Checking out.
And I have to admit- there may be people like this. I just haven’t met them.
Living biracially, biculturally, and bi-religiously has been a challenge, one only complicated by both R’s and my religious education. We actually do care about things like election and sacramentalism. We get fired up and fling names about the living room like Pascal, Bonhoeffer, and Kierkegaard. We’ll spend an entire evening debating total depravity and transubstantiation. I know. You can’t wait for the video.
But what won us over were the brownies.
We heard about a bilingual church in the area, a church plant from a larger one with which we were familiar. As a linguist I was intrigued, with a million questions about codeswitching and turn-taking. As an armchair sociologist I was interested in the social dynamics of hispanic/white, legal/illegal, English/Spanish. And as a believer, I wondered what the theology was.
They meet in a local high school’s band room, and it’s cozy and familiar. The people are Cuban, Mexican, American, and from a number of South American countries (even Colombia, from R’s hometown nonetheless!). At the front of the room, where I usually stand in class, they have their instruments for the singing. To the left is a long table, filled with platters of food from numerous countries to be shared in communion, which forms an integral part of each service.
The kids run wild- very Hispanic. People stand and sit at the appropriate times- very “Anglo”. The pastor’s walking us through Genesis, verse by verse, nuance by nuance (good theology, BTW). And I’m intrigued- not by the place or the food or the novelty, but by the people.
From the minute we walked into the band room, we knew we were “en familia”. Here were people like us, with values like us- diversity, family, solid teaching. The chairs were filled with people rambling in Spanish, or English, or a combination of the two. There were parents from the old countries, kids who looked like our daughter, and young couples dangling with children. People talked and ate, picked up our kids, gave me hugs though they had just met me, and addressed R in tones that sounded remarkably like his own.
And we knew we were en nuestra casa- not our own, of course, but that unique place where His casa is Our casa. En comunidad.
This was too good to pass up…
A French Archbishop wins the “Macho of the Year” award.
See the article for a rundown on his very manly comments on women in the church.
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