It was this past Wednesday, September 25th, that Ruthie turned to me and said, “Yesterday was your 25th ordination anniversary.” I looked at the calendar and realized I had forgotten that day. Usually, milestone anniversaries don’t get overlooked. I suppose three surgeries in a time span of 12 weeks has a way of refocusing one’s attention.
A lot of time has passed since that momentous day. I have changed in so many ways. I remarked in a note to a friend that at the time of my ordination, I thought I had a good idea of what I was getting myself into having already worked 17 years for the Church and knowing all the grace and goodness of the Church and all the shitty part of the Church as a human institution. Of course, I hadn’t a clue. As in all things of life, were we to know all the good and bad of every life changing decision we make, e.g. working in a new job, moving to a new community, getting into a relationship, we would probably never make any decision or change at all. I can honestly say, knowing what I do know today, I would still seek to be ordained a deacon.
It has been an incredible adventure in faith. Were I not ordained as a deacon I would never have had the opportunity to grow in my faith and meet so many people of great faith. I would never have gotten to know the tremendous faith, courage, and friendship of the many Latinos I have come to know. I would never have been moved by the lives and faith of those in the LGBTQ community, the homeless, the disenfranchised, the ex-offenders, and so many wonderful people who changed my life utterly. I would never have learned how to cope with my own limitations and my own health crises were it not ministering to so many people challenged by health, by grief, and so many other challenges. These people ministered to me more than I ministered to them. The presence of God in their lives have illuminated for me that same presence of God in my own life.
Getting into diaconal formation took approximately a year. Ruth and I went through the application process twice. After many interviews, 8 hours of psychological tests with an in depth follow up with a psychiatrist, we came to our last interview with the selection team. On our drive up to the interview, Ruthie told me in the car that she wasn’t ready for me to start diaconal formation. I always respect everything about Ruth and I said, we will take ourselves out of formation. Upon meeting with the selection team, I told them that Ruth wasn’t ready for this commitment and I withdrew my application. They told me to wait and reapply. A couple of years later, Ruth was ready and we did most of the application process all over again and we were accepted into the program.
We met with our selection team twice a year. I remember the team asking Ruth whether she was okay with me becoming a deacon. She replied, “He is already doing diaconal work. Nothing is going to change much for the family and I.” Truth be told, Ruth is better qualified to be a deacon than I.
After three years of many classes, retreats, many nights away from family, the time for ordination arrived. It was the summer of 1994 when Ruth and I went with the rest of the class to meet with Archbishop Roach. It was then we signed all the papers that would connect our lives with the Catholic Church in ways we never thought possible. I remember when it came to signing the paper stating that should our wives die, we would remain single and celibate the rest of our lives. With the exception of the one bachelor in our class, John Mangan, all pens paused as we consider the commitment we were making. With our wives standing behind us, their right hand on our right shoulders, our pens descended and we sighed and then we signed.
The Thursday and Friday before our ordination (our ordination was on Saturday, September 24, at 10 am), our diaconal class gathered at the Mary Hill house (mansion) on University Avenue for our ordination retreat. Bishop Larry Welsh was our retreat master. It was a powerful time for Ruthie and I, and I believe all of our class. Bishop Welsh told us of his own spiritual journey. How is own alcoholism led him into behaviors he would never have done sober, and how it nearly ended his ministry as a bishop. Having resigned as bishop of Spokane, he began his recovery living at the Basilica in Minneapolis, working at Branch 3 of Catholic Charities ministering to the homeless, and just being with people, none of whom knew he was a bishop. On Easter, the rector of the Basilica asked Welsh to preside as bishop at one of the Easter liturgies. As he walked in procession in vestments, miter and crosier, one of his homeless buddies shouted to him, “Larry! I didn’t know you worked here!” Bishop Welsh taught me that our sinfulness can be a path to greater growth and strength as people of faith. Larry Welsh was a very humble man, and was a tremendous help to me as I began my ministry as a deacon. The other thing that both Ruth and I took away from the retreat was a great love for tomato basil soup. The chef that was hired made a tremendous tomato basil soup and though everyone begged for his recipe, we had to get use to the disappointment of not getting his recipe.
I was as nervous and excited the day of my ordination as I was the day of my wedding to Ruth. The day was cool and cloudy. Getting to the Cathedral was a bit of hassle. President Clinton was in town and some of the major thoroughfares to the Cathedral were blocked by the Secret Service and police because of the President’s motorcade.
I have often said that getting ordained was similar to getting married, only this time I was wearing the long white dress. Many of those ordained with me were wearing knee pads having been warned that the hard marble floor of the Cathedral sanctuary was hard on the knees. Of the Mass, I remember kneeling on that hard marble floor. Laying prostrate on the floor as the prayers were prayed by the Archbishop over my class and I. I remember getting up, kneeling before the Archbishop and placing my folded hands within his, promising him my obedience to him and his successors. And, then, the moment (pictured above) when he placed his hands on either side of my head, and prayed the prayers of ordination, ordaining me a deacon. After the ordination ritual, we rejoined our wives, now as ordained deacons and worshipped with them for the rest of the Mass.
I had composed a special hymn for the ordination Mass, dedicated to Trish Flannigan. Trish, administrative secretary to the diaconate and diaconal formation of the Archdiocese was a de facto member of my ordination class and to this day remains a good, dear friend and a part of my diaconal family. The hymn (heard above as it was heard at the Cathedral that day) is a sung Trinitarian prayer, asking God to bless us in our ministry to those God is sending us to serve. In 2018, I decided to reimagine the same hymn as music for solo piano. There is the piano version of the same hymn.
The homeless guy that nearly drained the communion cup (Deacons are liturgically the minister of the Blood of Christ at Mass), the wonderful reception held for me at St Hubert by choir members, friends, and staff, following the ordination Mass, and my first Mass as an ordained deacon at St Hubert will remain in memory to the time I die.
While I can speak only from my own experience, initially it is easy to get caught up in the liturgical role as a deacon. I have served as a deacon at many Archdiocesan Liturgies (confirmations, ordinations, Chrism Mass and so on), and of course, at many Masses on the parish level. I have baptized many babies, and witnessed many marriages. I have presided over many wakes and funerals. But truth be told, to be ordained to put on a long white dress and wear a diagonal stole is not what it means to be a deacon. It is just a small part of a more important ministry.
Being a deacon is going into places where priests may not often be welcome. It is going to places where others may feel uncomfortable. It is sometimes being a religious target for those who are angry at God, religion, and the Church. It is often ministering to people at the lowest times in their lives, when they are hurting the most. Helping women and children out of dangerous domestic violence situations. It is often just being a quiet listener as folks pour out their lives to you. It is being in the most sacred place of all, that interior place where a person encounters the God who created him/her. There are those intimate secrets that people will reveal to you that they will not even reveal to their spouse. Being a deacon is clothing yourself in the social justice doctrine of the Catholic Church, being a thorn in the side of those who are unjust, including civil authorities (and Church authorities) and speaking out publicly to the injustices perpetuated by others, even when it is not popular. It is the reporting of physical, sexual abuse of minors by family, clergy, to the authorities (I have done both over 25 years). It is long hours, being on call 24/7, hours away from family on Christmas, Easter, and other major times in a life of a family.
Being a deacon is about often being and feeling ignored, unsupported, and forgotten by the Chancery (not always a bad thing, mind you). It means sometimes being rejected by people you serve (especially those whose faith life is stuck in a pre-Vatican II Church). It means not receiving much in the way of affirmation. It means doing your ministry and not being recognized for the ministry you do because most of it is not public and behind the scenes.
What a deacon is not, is getting sucked into the superiority, demi-god mindset of clericalism. It is not about wearing a Roman Collar and getting the high places at the table or a celebration. If a deacon gets all caught up in the smells and bells of liturgy, and the glory that clericalism demands, then the deacon is worthless.
Why on earth would anyone want to be a deacon, if the life of a deacon is challenging and has it own level of negativity? I remember all this being presented to Ruth and I by our selection team when we were in formation. The selection team didn’t mince words. They basically told us that the life of a deacon is hard, often without much reward publicly, often without much support from chancery, sometimes abuse by those you serve and so on. The team always ended with the question, “Knowing this why on earth do you still want to be ordained a deacon?”
This is a good question. Why on earth do I want to be a deacon? Am I a masochist in some S & M relationship with the Catholic Church? No. It is hard to put into words.
To answer the question, I felt called to be a deacon by God. Not some crazy Michele Bachmann thing where she believed God spoke to her to be a member of the House of Representatives or to run for the presidency. God did not speak to me in a specific way. Rather, it is knowing deep inside me that I was being called to something different. I knew this even as a young adolescent. I went on a retreat and knew that I wasn’t called to the priesthood. Besides, I REALLY like girls, and looking at Ruthie, you can understand my great attraction to her.
It was that same feeling I had when I knew that I wanted to marry Ruthie. I just knew. I knew that I was being called to something more and could not get rid of that feeling even when I wanted not to be bothered by it or tried to ignore it. I felt called to something deeper. Then, the diaconate was restored to a permanent ordained order in the Church. Having discovered this, I just knew that it was to the diaconate to which God was calling me. Like I said earlier, I had a good idea of how the Church as a human institution, uses, abuses and casts off people who serve the Church, just like any business or human institution. Yet I still felt called to serve this institution we call the Church.
It is all couched in mystery. It is in that realm of God, when ones journey is dictated by a dream (a la the prophet Daniel, or Joseph, spouse of Mary, the mother of God), by an angel (a la Gabriel and Mary). You just know and cannot explain it. It dogs you everywhere you go. You can’t escape it. You just know.
Secondly, the deacon embodies Christ as Servant. We are joined to Christ, the Suffering Servant of Isaiah. The suffering, the rejection, etc of Jesus is that depicted of Isaiah’s account of the Suffering Servant. Accolades, affirmation, and places of honor are not meant to be the path of those who are called to be servants either of God or human manors. As Jesus said in the Gospel, you are just being a good servant. You are just doing that which you have been called to do. Nothing more. Expect nothing more.
At the same time, Jesus will say, well done good and faithful servant. Receive the reward awaiting you. It is this becoming one with Jesus, The Servant of God, that makes the diaconal ministry so powerful, and helps when you get shit on sometimes by the institutional Church and those you may be called to serve. It is this powerful “oneing” with Jesus, to use the term of Julian of Norwich, that sustains the deacon during the lowest times of ministry and offers hope.
I remember coming home from St Hubert, the Sunday following my ordination. Ruthie plopped on the couch in the living room. She looked at me and asked, “Being a deacon mean being a servant, right?” I replied, “Yes.”. She then said quietly, “Good. Serve me.” If only I served her as much as she has served me. If only I served her as much as I served those assigned to me as a deacon. Now that I am retired, perhaps, I can begin to serve her in the manner she deserves.
