Of those of us ordained in September, 1994, only Dick Pashby and I are still alive. The feast days of my other classmates stretch from Thanksgiving through the middle of March. Jerry’s feast day is in late November, Tom Semlak’s is in December. Tom Coleman’s feast day is in January, By’s and Bill’s feast days are in February, John’s and Dominic’s feast days are in March. Mixed in with these are the feast days of many of their wives. Ruthie and I, Dick and Sandy Pashby, and Mary Beckfeld are the only surviving members of our class. The lives of these people have impacted my life positively in so many ways, not only during my time of formation but after ordination.
The importance of these men and women I thought imperative from the very beginning. I began diaconal formation with an MA in Pastoral Studies from the St Paul Seminary, and was told that I could skip many of the classes in formation. I responded by telling the selection team that I wanted to take the same classes as my classmates, for a couple of reasons: 1) not only might I learn something not covered when I was in graduate school, but more importantly, 2) the men and women in formation came from many different backgrounds, work experiences, and spirituality, and it was important for me hear, see, and reflect on what they learned from the subject matter we were studying. So very greatly, I honor the blessing of these people to me on their feast days (for non-Catholics the day of one’s death is consider a person’s birthday in heaven, hence it is a day to be celebrated) and the immense influence they have had on my life.
One might think that with the majority of these feast days occurring during the long, cold, emotionally oppressive Minnesota winter, it would be easy to move through a series of emotions, from depression at their loss to fond memories of long weekends in classes, meals, prayers which we shared together. Unlike those ordained with me, I was had already worked in church ministry for 17 years, so I was already hardened by ministry, well aware of the tremendous blessing and tremendous disenchantment in church institutional life. Yet, I, nonetheless, was just as caught up in the initial excitement of ministry as we all adapted our lives from that of very private, to lives that became very public. The other thing we all shared was disappointment as we encountered the reality of church ministry with all its inner politics and agendas both on the local and Archdiocesan levels, as well as tremendous affirmation by those we served. Over time we became acutely aware of feelings of betrayal by those in church authority (pastors and bishops), and a lack of appreciation of our ministry by bishops and some pastors. This required all of us to screw our heads on right about ordained ministry in the Church, namely, we were ordained to serve God and those whom God gave us to serve. I got to the point in which I didn’t care a whip as to what the bishop thought about deacons and the ministry deacons do.
Most ordained to the diaconate do not work full time in the Catholic Church. The majority of deacons work 40 hours a week in another job and volunteer ministry hours in a parish or in community service. Among my classmates was a lawyer, a couple janitors, a dentist, one who worked in business administration, one who worked for a newspaper, another who held a number of different jobs. Deacons in the Catholic Church were labeled the “new nuns”, in that they practically work for nothing, and that was true for all of my classmates except for me. I was different from the rest of my diaconal classmates in that I worked full time in the Catholic Church. Having worked as a lay minister for 17 years prior to ordination as an educator, a director of liturgy and music, and later as director of pastoral ministry, an adminstrator, and in my last assignment, as a pastoral associate, I was allowed by the Archbishop to continue to work full-time in the Church. The difference for me following ordination was that I was assigned even more to do in the parishes in which I worked … more hours of work, same salary. The most I made in salary was at St Hubert, at which I worked for 20 years, and it was a livable salary. However, with every reassignment by the Archbishop to other parishes, I lost $10,000 in salary with each move. Thankfully, my wife, Ruth, as an RN and made double the salary I had.
What follows below, while pertaining to my experience was the experience of my classmates, too. On those occasions following ordination, when we would gather for a meal, we would often share both positive and negative stories of our experiences following ordination. It was our way of providing support for one another that was lacking on the part of the Archdiocese.
THE EARLY DAYS OF ORDAINED MINISTRY
I recently drove by a place at which I was somewhat active in the days immediately following my ordination. I remember that visceral feeling of diving into ministry, hoping to have a positive influence in the lives of those I served. I was active not only in the parish I served, but I served on the Archdiocesan Liturgical Board, was a member of the Archdiocesan Deacon Council, and at one time, president of the Deacon Council, often found running around from the Cathedral to the Basilica of St Mary assisting at the many confirmations celebrated by the bishops.
Those days were very exciting, very exhilarating, but also were very exhausting. In chasing all over the Archdiocese attempting to be the super deacon. Those days are filled with stories of going nose to nose with the Archbishop on justice issues, helping to plan Archdiocesan liturgies, liturgical mistakes I made (I live by the motto that if you are going to make an ass of yourself liturgically, do a good job of it), diving into diversity, especially among the Latino immigrant community, the LGBTQ community, and others living on the margins. During that time of all those experiences, I learned the hard way the truth that was taught me on the first day of diaconal formation by Fr Steve Adrian. There is a certain folly among those newly ordained to focus on the smells and bells of liturgy, and less on the REAL ministry of the deacon. The words of Fr Steve Adrian in diaconal formation came back to me in the early years of ordination, “There are already too many males in the sanctuary during Mass. We don’t need you there. We need you serving those in the market place, in their homes, places of work, and places where priests are NOT welcome.”
What I was not as cognizant in all this activity and what Steve Adrian was covering was the toll it was taking on my family. I was rarely at home with my family, the burden of raising our four children falling on Ruth.
THE REALITY OF ORDAINED MINISTRY
Steve Adrian was absolutely spot on! As time passed, while I still assisted at Masses, weddings, funerals, baptisms, and grave site services, I found that the real ministry of the deacon was NOT wearing all the liturgical vestments, swinging thurifiers spewing incense, and so on; rather, the real ministry was that originally described in the Acts of the Apostles, chapter six, serving the needs of the disenfranchised and suffering. The real presence of Christ for the deacon is NOT the distribution of a consecrated host at Communion, but bringing the presence of Christ in human flesh and blood to people as the deacon holds the hands of a dying person, listens to a person going through broken relationships, marital and friendship, assist those in poverty, befriending immigrants, reassuring those confused and at times, lost. The real ministry of the deacon is outside a church building sanctuary, and placed in the midst of the world, which is the real and greater sanctuary of God.
In ministry, people come to you for numerous reasons, including answers to questions way beyond any one person’s knowledge, theological and non-theological. I felt it incumbent that if someone wanted spiritual direction, I had better know something about doing spiritual direction, so, off I went to school to be certified as a spiritual director. With people from Latin America began requesting baptisms, weddings, and funerals, I was off to study Spanish, one time away from my family for a period of time to do Spanish immersion. There is an excitement in going to school and increasing one’s knowledge and encountering new cultures and ways that people look at the world. In spite of the downside of lengthy papers to be written and comprehensive exams to be taken, education can be very addictive … and, also, very expensive. Again, while all of this was wonderfully exciting and personally fulfilling, however, doing all of this took its toll on my family.
THE DANGER OF CLERICALISM
It is easy to get an inflated ego when people think you are the pinnacle of theological knowledge. This inflated ego is what is known as the sin of clericalism, in which the ordained minister believes that because he is ordained, he sits at the right hand of Jesus. Humility is not always a virtue of the ordained, but something that is sorely lacking. Perhaps deacons are less prone to this sin because it is very clear that the church does not revolve around us as servants of Christ, but the temptation of clericalism is still there. I cannot speak for those ministering in other Christian traditions, however, in the Catholic Church, next to sexism, clericalism is one of the Catholic Church’s greatest sins. It is easy to build a false sense of self, clothed differently from those you serve, priests running around in archaic cassocks, all the liturgical garments with their accoutrements. The bottom line is that all of that masks the fact that the priest and deacon are just as human, with all its blessings and curses, as those they serve. We all put our pants on, one leg at a time. We are no different than those we serve. Just because we can throw an MA in Theology or Pastoral Studies behind our names, doesn’t make us immune from all that afflicts those we serve. The only way that clericalism can be irradicated is when all who are ordained acknowledge that they are NOT above those they serve, but that they are the SAME as they serve. Ministry is NOT about a POWER OVER relationship over those they serve, in which the possibility of abuse manifests itself, but rather a POWER WITH relationship with those we serve. At the very least, for the ordained deacon, the danger of clericalism is less than that for the ordained priest. Because deacons are rooted in family life, our wives and children have a way of keeping us honest and aware of our humanity.
THE REALITY OF ORDAINED MINISTRY AND ITS IMPACT ON FAMILY
With the exception of the last 9 years of ministry, I was gone six days a week from my family. Since the majority of my days were close to 10 hours, and 45 to 60 minutes away from home, six nights a week I ate alone, reading books while I ate a subway, or ate some macaroni salad from some local grocery deli, or at times, eating in a restaurant of a McDonalds. In fact, when I was assigned for the last time by the Archbishop to my family’s parish, I wondered if I would even be welcomed home by my family members and welcomed to eat with them again.
I remember a time when my oldest son, Andy, reprimanded me for being gone so much while he was growing up. It was well deserved criticism. All I could do was apologize. My only excuse was I was gone trying to help provide a home for my family. And, it was a “job” that paid extremely poorly for a family of six. During formation, we were preached to put family first, job second, ministry third. Lovely sentiments, however, the reality and expectation of the Church, both hierarchy and people in the pews is ministry first, job second, and family last. I remember I was in Chicago to do the funeral service of my brother. Two hours prior to my leading that funeral liturgy I was being pestered by parishioners about a funeral that would be later in the week. Many times while I was on vacation with my family, people would call or find me about a leaky roof at the church, or that there was not enough herbicide to keep down the weeds at one of the cemeteries. My family was always last. The one thing I finally had to be brutally hones with myself was that in my desire to serve the people in the parishes to which I was assigned, I neglected to serve the most important people in my life, namely, my family.
I recently was talking about this to my son, Luke. I told him my fear in being reassigned to St Wenceslaus of not being welcomed at home by him and his siblings. Luke told me, “I was so happy you were home with us again.” That was a feeling of great relief.
Over 42 years of ministry, I had a number of hospitalizations, some health related and some as a result of a car accident. While I was still working actively in ministry I had 12 surgical procedures, one heart related and eleven orthopedic surgeries. Since retirement, I have added five more orthopedic surgeries.
I knew it was time to retire when I was playing a Christmas Midnight Mass in a rural Minnesota parish. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are exhausting days. I had already been at two Christmas Eve Masses. I thought about two deacons who died preparing for Midnight Masses at Christmas and decided that I would be damned if I would die preparing for or assisting at a Midnight Mass. I had already sacrificed enough my family and my health for ministry. I decided that if I had the choice, I would prefer to draw my last breath in the presence of my family. I also had a good idea of who would be assigned as the next pastor of my parish, and I had neither the emotional, spiritual, and physical stamina to work for that individual.
Epilogue/Would I do it again?
I cannot speak for the rest of my classmates, but, knowing now what I know, would I do it again? Quite simply … yes, but I would do it much smarter. I would place my family first and not last. I would learn to say no … even to the Archbishop.
Of course, this all assumes I would be accepted for diaconal formation today. Given the present state of the Catholic Church and the diaconal formation program, I know I would be rejected by those selecting candidates to the diaconate. I am far too attached the real ministerial needs of the people, and less attached to the traditionalist issues that present day bishops embrace e.g. I care far too much for the real issues that are in the lives of people, social justice, and the environment than I care for hierarchical obsessions on birth control, and gay marriage. I feel far more comfortable on the margins of society among those many rejected by Catholic Church hierarchy, than I do in church sanctuaries, rectories and chanceries.
The diaconate, like marriage has changed my life so much for the better. I learned more about diaconal ministry from my wife, Ruth, than I ever learned in diaconal formation. Her life has been one of great service not only to my children, grandchildren, and I, but also to many of the elderly and veterans at the State Veterans Home in Minneapolis. She is far more a deacon than I ever have been, and I continue to learn by observing her and sitting at her feet listening to her.
There is that indescribable call of God that draws you to ministry. It is what drew me at first to be an educator in Catholic parishes and as a director of liturgy and ministry. It nagged me throughout the 1980’s until I finally began the process to enter diaconal formation, three times. Note: I was finishing up my MA in Pastoral Ministry the first time. The second time, Ruth was not ready to commit her life and that of our children to me being a deacon. The third time, we were finally ready to begin the process.
Diaconal ministry drew me into the lives of those who live on the margins of the Catholic Church. I am in awe and have discovered the littleness of my faith alongside that of my LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters who accept themselves as God created them, and live committed lives with their partners, and live a dedicated faith rooted solely in God, even while their Catholic faith of origin condemns them. I am in awe and have discovered the littleness of my own faith when I witness the incredible courage and faith on the part of many of my undocumented Latino brothers and sisters, who somehow navigate the difficulty of learning a new language, a new culture, and at times surviving the prejudice they experience as immigrants in the United States. These people place ALL their trust in God.
It was the diaconate that opened up for me that God is all merciful and all loving, far more merciful, understanding and loving than all the so called authorities in the Church. Jesus lived among the rejects and religiously unacceptable of his society. It is there at which I feel more at peace and feel loving presence of my God. the diaconate opened my eyes in ways that blew away all my preconceived notions of what Church really is. For that I am forever grateful.
Would I do it again? Absolutely! My prayer is that of a Franciscan priest, Fr Barry Schneider, for which I once worked many years ago. When the time comes when I die, and am called to stand before the throne of God, I desire, like all of my classmates to be judged more on how pastoral and accepting I was of those I served, than for being to rigid in orthodoxy. And I hope, that my brothers and sisters in the diaconate will be there to plead my case for me.