Saturday, July 4, 2015

God and gender diversity

By Frei Betto (English translation by Rebel Girl)
Adital (em português)
July 3, 2015

Diego Neria Lejárraga, 48, is a Spaniard. He was born a woman. But since childhood he felt like a man. At 40, he underwent surgery to reassign his sexuality. He became a man. The priest of his city, Plasencia, accused him of being "the devil's daughter."

Diego wrote to Pope Francis before Christmas 2014. He asked what his place was in "God's house." Francis called him twice. He invited him to Rome on January 24th. Diego, accompanied by his fiancee, was received in Casa Santa Marta, where the Pope dwells. Francis showed that the Catholic Church is open to sexual diversity. On leaving the meeting, Diego said he felt immense peace.

The Pope embraces the boldness of Jesus who defended the adulterous woman from the Pharisees' attack, welcomed Magdalene who bore "seven demons" as a disciple and the first witness of his resurrection, and praised the veracity of Samaritan woman, who was on her sixth husband, and made her the first apostle.

Love and, with it, compassion and mercy, should bury prejudice and discrimination.

"Who am I to judge gay people?," Francis asked in July 2013, on leaving World Youth Day in Rio. "If someone is gay, is seeking God and has good will, who am I to judge him?"

The pope is the head of the Catholic Church in a double sense -- as its leader and because of his prophetic gospel attitude. In October 2014, during the Synod of Bishops on the Family in Rome, the cardinals rejected the proposal for greater acceptance in the Church of homosexual couples. Francis, who prefers democracy to imposing himself as absolute sovereign (incidentally, he is the only one in the West), did not contradict the cardinals. He chose to raise an issue that cornered the homophobic prelates: gay couples have children. "Are we going to leave those children out of catechism?"

In the Gay Parade in São Paulo on June 7th, the transsexual actress Viviany Beleboni appeared semi-nude nailed to the cross. Many Christians accused her of "blasphemy." The same people who don't consider homophobia a sin or a crime, and haven't lifted a finger to fight the enslavement of women as body-objects, abused and exploited by men throughout the ages.

In colonial Brazil, preachers exalted the crucified Christ so that the slaves would submit resignedly to their masters' whip. When a transsexual uses the cross as a symbol of the suffering of all LGBTs, today's Pharisees "throw rocks at Geni"* ... As if the macho culture followed from the will of God. This, indeed, is taking His Holy Name in vain. And wanting to reduce social morality to sexual issues, as theologian Ivone Gebara has emphasized.

When gender diversity violence is clothed in religious garb, it raises the alarm that snake eggs are being hatched [Isaiah 59:5]. Nazism also resulted from the perverse religious ideology that accused the Jews of being "Christ killers".

Killing is a mortal sin. Killing in the name of God is even more serious. And you don't just kill by physical elimination. Symbolic death uses the weapons of prejudice and discrimination as well to demonize gay people, who are  created in the image and likeness of God -- who is neither man nor woman -- and who are loved by Him as beloved sons and daughters.

Frei Betto is a writer, author of "Paraíso Perdido – viagens ao mundo socialista” (Rocco), among other books.

* Translator's Note: "Throw rocks at Geni" is a reference to a well-known Brazilian song by Chico Buarque, "Geni e o Zepelim", which tells the story of Genival, a transvestite who was often physically persecuted in his town.

Friday, July 3, 2015

Sister Rita Mboshu: "Some nuns are selling what they gave to the Lord to be able to live"

Translator's Note: I wanted to make this story available in English because I want to see the Church rigorously address Sister Mboshu Kongo's accusations of abuse of nuns by male clergy and by their own religious superiors. If we have zero tolerance of child abuse by clergy, we should also have zero tolerance of sexual abuse and harassment of women who have given up everything to serve God and the Church. If Pope Francis is, as he says he is, committed to ending sex trafficking, we should not have nuns being forced to give sexual favors in order to survive. These allegations merit a Vatican inquiry far more than any doctrinal problems among North American nuns ever did.

By Darío Menor (English translation by Rebel Girl)
Cristianisme i Justícia Blog
July 2, 2015

In the Mass celebrated at noon on Sunday, May 31st in the Roman basilica of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, the readings and petitions were read by Sister Rita Mboshu Kongo, a Congolese woman religious who teaches at the Pontifical Urban University. The celebrant, Cardinal Pietro Parolin, Secretary of State, asked her to come to the ambo.

Thus he acknowledged Mboshu Kongo's remarks during the seminar on the condition of women in the Church that ended with this Eucharist. This nun's talk in the encounter organized by Donne Chiesa Mondo -- the women's supplement to L’Osservatore Romano that Vida Nueva publishes in Spanish -- made an impression on the audience by exposing an often hidden reality -- the abuse by the clergy that some African nuns are suffering and the mistreatment to which they are subjected by their own superiors.

"Are you aware of the recent suicide of a Congolese nun near Florence? She had a great love for life. Her death shouldn't be trivialized by saying that she took her life because she was depressed. We must find the root causes that led her to do this ugly act for the Church and for women," this woman consecrated to the Daughters of Mary, the Most Holy, Co-Redemptrix told Vida Nueva before starting one of the seminar sessions. The keys for her are in the "lack of training and support." "She lived in a completely dark tunnel; she suffered alone without spiritual or psychological assistance," she complained, comparing this case with that of a Latin American woman religious who gave birth to a baby in January in Macerata. "Whose fault is it? That girl's, who in the end had to leave the convent?"

Lack of resources

Lack of resources is one of the underlying causes of this problem that ends up exploding in cases like those of the two nuns. "There are many poor African orders that send women religious to study without providing the means for their livelihood." To get ahead, the consecrated women are sometimes pushed into begging. In that situation, "the one who gives you a hand is the boss."

"Their benefactors make them submit and exploit their bodies. If they have nothing to give in return, they sell what they have -- they have to take the part they surrendered to the Lord and trade it in order to live," Sister Rita denounces, asserting that many women religious have known this reality. They don't talk about it out of fear. "It's only dealt with when a problem arises like a pregnant nun. In such cases, the nun is often condemned by throwing her out of the convent. That's the usual in Africa. The order and the Church don't know where these poor little ones end up. It's considered shameful. They're like the lepers of the Old Testament. No sister wants to speak to them."

The harassed nuns aren't able to confront the clergy who demand sexual favors from them in part because they grew up in a culture where women are inferior to men. "It's thought that you have to obey them. Some priests even use false theological arguments to justify their behavior," the Congolese instructor denounces. In countries where AIDS is abundant, rapist priests and bishops consider nuns "safer" to avoid catching that disease when they're having intimate relationships with women.

Some African women religious also suffer abuse when they travel to Rome and other Western capitals to complete their training. "Sometimes they send them to Europe without scholarships. When they arrive, they have to find some way to support themselves and that's when they're lost."

The greatest abandonment often happens when the bishop or priest who founded the diocesan order to which the woman religious belongs, dies. These small institutes have proliferated in Africa. The nuns are then left without a protector or a plan and sometimes end up on the street. "Behind some of these entities, there's no charism or a calling of the Holy Spirit, just the willingness to try to solve a specific problem. They're created without homes, without means and almost without prayer books. Nobody asks how these nuns are going to live or what training they're going to get."

Confused and without identity

To this Donne Chiesa Mondo contributor [Mboshu Kongo was appointed to the publication's editorial board in March 2015], these local orders are as objectionable as institutes from other countries who come to Africa to "fish" for vocations. "Sometimes they're not going to underdeveloped countries to find people interested in religious life to train them. It's done to solve problems -- they need people to work in schools or asylums they manage. They do that instead of hiring staff." In the end, the goal is the same as the small local consecrated entities -- trying to plug a hole. "Then, some African women religious are doing a thousand things and end up confused and not being clear about their identity."

The Pontifical Urban University professor says it's almost impossible to quantify how many nuns have been abused by their benefactors or have been abandoned by their orders, stating her wish for the Church to intervene to help them. "They're spread throughout the world. Who has ever cared about these women religious? Where are they? What are they doing? We don't care. The nuns should be the ones seeking the lost sheep, but it's these nuns who are lost."

The Church should carry out "concerted action" to reverse this abuse. "Until it faces the suffering of African women religious," Mboshu Kongo warns, "the Church won't clarify women's place within it."

Returning to the denunciation made by another of the seminar participants, the nun from the Daughters of Mary, the Most Holy, Co-Redemptrix criticized the fact that the tribalism of some African societies has crept into the consecrated life. "In some orders, to elect the superiors, you just vote for someone who's from your ethnic background. There are also some tribes that are considered inferior, so even if there are trained nuns belonging to these tribes who would be worthy to lead orders, they're never elected."

This phenomenon that exists in various African countries comes to the point that the superior makes the women religious who supported another candidate, "suffer." Tribalism, says Sister Rita, has become exacerbated in recent years. "Now there's no longer an effort being made to consider ourselves equal, being that Jesus unites us. Now each one is entering the convent with her own cultural baggage." This is another problem that also should be addressed by the Church hierarchy and it explains why "so many good women religious get discouraged and end up leaving the convents."

A theologian among the stoves

Sister Rita Mboshu Kongo is 49 and has an infectious laugh, which spilled over her listener when recounting, half amused and half embarrassed, how she came to become a professor at the Pontifical Urban University, the Roman Atheneum focused on the formation of priests and religious from mission countries. During her student years, Sister Rita combined books and work in the kitchen of Capranica College in Rome, a service her order, the Daughters of Mary, the Most Holy, Co-Redemptrix, has been performing since 1978. "Working in the kitchen with my sisters is part of our apostolate. I always organized myself to have time to study. You don't have to give up."

Her doctoral thesis was devoted to how to adapt her institute's identity to the Congo, since her superior claimed she would return to her country to open a mission there. At the party her Capranica colleagues organized to celebrate her doctorate, she met Lucetta Scaraffia, coordinator of Donne Chiesa Mondo, who suggested working with the publication.

Sister Rita praises the training she has received and believes that therein lies the key to improving the situation of African women religious. "Seminarians do at least eight years of study and nuns, only three. We want more solid training to know the basics of consecrated life and how to live the vows as women."

Video: Sr. Rita's remarks at the Donne Chiesa Mondo Seminar on May 30, 2015

Sr. Rita's remarks begin at approximately 36:00 in this video, though you don't actually see her until a few frames later. The soundtrack is in Italian.



Don't despise the prophet

by José Antonio Pagola (English translation by Rebel Girl)
Buenas Noticias: Blog de Jose Antonio Pagola
July 5, 2015

Mark 6:1-6

The story doesn't stop being surprising. Jesus was rejected precisely among his own people, among those who thought they knew him better than anyone. He arrives in Nazareth with his disciples and nobody comes to meet him, as sometimes happens elsewhere. Nor do they present the sick of the village to him so that he will cure them.

His presence only awakens astonishment in them. They don't know who could have taught him a message so full of wisdom. Nor can they explain where the healing strength of his hands comes from. All they know is that Jesus is a worker born in a family from their village. Everything else is shocking to them.

Jesus feels despised -- his own don't accept him as the bearer of God's message and salvation. They have formed a concept of their neighbor Jesus and refuse to be open to the mystery that lies in him. Jesus reminds them of a saying that they probably all know: "A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house."

At the same time, Jesus "was amazed at their lack of faith." It's the first time he has experienced collective rejection, not from religious leaders but from his whole people. This wasn't expected from his own. Their disbelief even manages to block his ability to heal -- "he could work no miracle there, except that he cured a few sick people."

Mark doesn't tell this episode to satisfy his readers' curiosity, but to warn Christian communities that Jesus can be rejected precisely by those who think they know him best -- those who are locked in their preconceptions without being open either to the novelty of his message or the mystery of his person.

How are those of us who think we are "his own" welcoming Jesus?
In the midst of a world that has grown up, isn't our faith too childish and superficial?
Aren't we too indifferent to the revolutionary novelty of his message?
Isn't our lack of faith in his transforming power strange?
Aren't we running the risk of quenching his Spirit and despising his Prophecy?

That was Paul of Tarsus's concern: "Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise the gift of prophecy. Test everything; retain what is good." (1 Thes 5:19-21) Don't we Christians today need some of that?

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

The mountain went into labor, a little mouse was born: the Synod draft

By Juan Masiá Clavel, SJ (English translation by Rebel Girl)
Vivir y pensar en la frontera Blog
June 24, 2015

To those who studied the classical Humanities as undergraduates, this succinct Latin verse might sound familiar: Parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus -- Mountains will be in labor, and a ridiculous mouse will be born. (De arte poetica,139).

Let's take the Horatian phrase as a title for the draft (Instrumentum laboris) for the next Synod of Bishops (October 2015), the working paper published on June 23rd. It (supposedly) gathers the proposals of the universal church on the Final Document of Synod 2014, converted per Pope Francis' wishes into discussion material (Lineamenta) for the next Synod of 2015.

But the recently published Instrumentum laboris fits the Horatian quote about the labor of mountains (a vast range, a text of 146 cumbersome paragraphs, "more of the same").

A difficult labor for Cardinal Baldisseri, open-minded and of good will, who must condescend to "neo-con ecclesiastical" language to pay the price for the expected minimum return.

An example: When dealing with the integration into the community of divorced and civilly remarried people (paragraphs 120ff), it timidly suggests that "the forms of exclusion currently followed in liturgical and pastoral practice be re-examined as well as those in education and charitable activity"(121), but it adds, in ambiguous Curia style, "without prejudice to the recommendations made in Familiaris Consortio 84." That is, nothing changes.

In paragraph 123, there's an attempt to make Pope John Paul's exhortation a bit more flexible, proposing "a way of penance, meaning a process of clarifying matters after experiencing a failure and a reorientation which is to be accompanied by a priest who is appointed for this purpose. This process ought to lead the party concerned to an honest judgment of his/her situation. At the same time, the priest himself might come to a sufficient evaluation as to be able to suitably apply the power of binding and loosing to the situation."

(This is what has already been done for years to accompany people to solve the problem, whether in the forum of conscience or in the context of the conversation in the office or in the sacrament of reconciliation, without the need to feel bound by any canon law, episcopal procedure, or papal document. To quote the classic theological adage: Sacramenta propter homines!}

But, as if the writer were frightened by the minimum opening just granted, he adds in the following paragraph a reference to two documents (The Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church concerning the Reception of Holy Communion by the Divorced and Remarried Members of the Faithful from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, 1994, and The Declaration concerning the Admission to Holy Communion of the Faithful who are Divorced and Remarried from the Pontifical Council for Legislative Texts, 2000), which "examine thoroughly the objective situation of sin and the moral culpability of the parties."

So it's the same old story...In the coming months, looking towards the Synod, we will devote the blog topic to discussing and annotating the Instrumentum laboris, while we pray for the health of our brother Francis with the traditional prayer: "Oremus pro Pontifice nostro Francisco. Dominus conservet eum, et vivificet eum, et beatum faciat eum in terra, et non tradat eum in manus inimicorum eius."

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Dom José Maria Pires: The trajectory of a bishop of the people

By Thaís Brito (English translation by Rebel Girl)
O POVO (em português)
June 22, 2015

His mother had African and Gypsy blood. His father came from a Portuguese family. During his career in defense of black people and the oppressed, Dom José Maria Pires was also known as Dom Pelé and Dom Zumbi. At age 96, the retired archbishop of Paraíba travels around the country to speak about the Second Vatican Council that ended in 1965. He is one of the few living conciliar fathers in Brazil.

Born in Minas Gerais, he united a mineiro's calm with the frankness of a northeasterner to defend the poor during the military dictatorship. In the man from Ceará, Dom Helder Câmara, he found a personal friend and ally in the struggle for human rights. In an interview with O POVO, he recalls the pact signed by the Church to reach the weakest and pursue simplicity. After 50 years from the last conference, he thinks that a conversion to the Council's message is needed.

O POVO - Where do the nicknames "Dom Pelé" and "Dom Zumbi" come from?

Dom José Maria Pires - When I was ordained bishop in 1957, I was the only black bishop in the Brazilian episcopate. It was the time when Pelé was at his height, a young man. At one of our meetings, I came in a little late with another bishop. When I entered, they said, "Feola (Vicente Feola, former player of the national team), who was chubby, and Pelé." Then they started calling me Pelé.

OP - And how did the "Zumbi" come about?

Dom José - "Zumbi" was in Serra da Barriga (Alagoas), on the centenary of the abolition of slavery. We had made a pilgrimage to the mountain range, which was the seat of the Quilombo dos Palmares. There, Dom Pedro Casaldáliga (emeritus bishop of São Félix do Araguaia) says, "Look, Zé Maria. Pelé doesn't do anything for black people. You keep fighting for the blacks. So we're going to change your name from Pelé to Zumbi because he also gave his life for blacks." From then on they called me Dom Zumbi.

OP - And do these nicknames please you?

Dom José - No, they don't matter to me. Some call me José, others Zé Maria. I answer to all of them. (laughs)

OP - You entered the seminary when you were still young?

Dom José - I was just 12 in the seminary. At that time, we finished primary school and then entered seminary. The whole junior high part we did there.

OP - At the beginning of your studies, as a black child of humble origins, did you face difficulties or discrimination?

Dom José - I didn't think it was discrimination. Minas Gerais has a very high black population. Because of being a land of mining, especially diamonds, there were lots of slaves there to work the land. And a black person there is normal. Now, really whites made their exceptions and distinctions. For example, in my first year of seminary, at age 12, I had a disagreement with a colleague of mine. We fought, the person in charge came, he separated us and punished us. We were kneeling in the hallway. Then the director of the house came by, he saw us and called the person in charge. "What did these boys do?" He said, "They were fighting." Then the director: "This one is a very good boy, from a good family. It's that black one that's no good."(laughs) That was the view and we accepted it. I thought that black was inferior. Only later did I come to see that wasn't the case. Black is different. It's neither superior nor inferior; it's different.

OP - In 1965, you were transferred to João Pessoa. Did coming into contact with the people in Paraíba bring more the vision of a church dedicated to the poor? Or was that already part of your work in Minas Gerais?

Dom José - It was in part. Because at that time there was a very strong social distinction between Minas Gerais, which was in the south, and the Northeast. Mineiros are very quiet, withdrawn. There's a marked difference. But northeasterners are wide open... You come and talk with them half an hour, you already know their whole life. And there was a problem in the Church in the Northeast because, even during the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965), there was a very great divide in some diocese. One of them was Paraiba. The clergy were divided almost in half. The archbishop was 62, but was unable to work. So it was necessary to provide someone who was new and in condition to face that situation.

OP - What division was that? Were there two distinct visions of Church?

Dom José - The Second Vatican Council projected a new image of the Church and a new image of the priest. Before, the priest went around in a cassock, celebrating Mass and baptizing in Latin. He had to be someone quite remote; he celebrated with his back to the people. The Council projected a different image. He's the one who's social, talks to everyone, gets close to them. So a group of older priests stayed in that ancient rite, the younger priests didn't. So it led to tremendous confusion. In the Northeast, they had this. What does the Holy See do? It picks someone who doesn't know the Northeast. So they took me out of Araçuaí (Minas Gerais) and sent me there. So because of being a mineiro and knowing nothing there, I came in without any concern. I didn't take any step whatsoever and let the priests do it. It really was interesting for them, but it brought them together. Because the bishop was not on one side or the other. We managed to work. It wasn't my own merit, it was the mineirice [being from Minas Gerais]. Being a little different from them changed the situation. And I was turning into a paraibano.

OP - Was it in Paraíba that you came to know Dom Helder Câmara?

Dom José - I had already met him since he was elected bishop. But it was a fairly generic meeting, in that crowd of bishops. When I came to Paraíba, it was different there. I was his closest neighbor.

OP - Dom Helder's beatification process has now begun; there's now a committee gathering testimonies about him...

Dom José - (interrupting) I was the first to give testimony.

OP - That testimony is secret, but what can you tell people about Dom Helder?

Dom José - I can tell them everything (laughs). He was a great priest, a great bishop. An ability to understand people, to coexist. He was an authority, but he never exercised authority. He never presided a Region 2 (a division of the National Conference of Bishops of Brazil) session. He who was president. The one who presided was his auxiliary, Dom José Lamartine. He was there in the back like one of the other bishops. From time to time, he'd get up and say, "But, my brothers ...". And then he came out with his view, which was masterful. He had a good relationship with the people. Who ever heard of an archbishop of a city like Recife not having a car? Having no secretary, eating at home? It really was a wonderful witness. Because I was his closest neighbor, we had a lot of contact in order to see how things could move forward. I had a deep friendship with Dom Helder.

OP - Because of your actions in defense of the people during the military dictatorship, people still refer to you as red archbishops. To what do we owe this title and the idea that you were in a progressive wing of the Church?

Dom José - Everything depended a lot on the region of Brazil. There in the south, they didn't have the problems we had in the Northeast. The bishops in the south were much more settled. And they didn't believe in much of what people said. Recife, for example, was a cauldron. It was that constant boiling. That was the first reason. The second is the fact that we lived in the Northeast, seeing the situation of the people moved us a lot. Why? They had poor people there in the south too. But in the Northeast it wasn't the poor, it was the impoverished. You had to provide conditions for people to develop. Not in the south -- if someone wanted to work, there was land for him to work. In the Northeast, if he wanted to work, he didn't have land or anything; it was a kind of slavery. This completely changed our view. You're used to a region where there's a good coexistence. You come to one that's at war, right? That greatly obliged us to take a stand. With Dom Helder, it was the same thing. He was bishop of Rio de Janeiro. During the International Eucharistic Congress (1955), he was in Rio facilitating. Then he was transferred to the Northeast. He changed his language, changed his activity. Why? We are archbishops of the people. So if the people are suffering, our mentality has to change.

OP - How did the Church become close to the disadvantaged and act in their defense?

Dom José - It's what it has done since Vatican II. There were very serious events during that period, 1964 and 1965. The first for us was the military dictatorship. And for the Church, the closing of the Second Vatican Council. So we left the Council with that enthusiasm, wanting the Church to be of the poor. Then a group of 42 bishops celebrated in the catacombs of Rome and signed a pact to have the Church of the poor. It was saying: "We bishops will no longer live in palaces, we won't have any gold objects. Whoever has a gold cross will sell it, will donate it." Simplicity, right? Pay special attention to the poorest families. Instead of sticking with the more important ones. Not only the mentality changed, so did the lifestyle. That, to those in power, was communism (laughs). But we weren't bothered by that. They called Dom Helder a red bishop, wrote on the wall of his house. It didn't bother us.

OP - And did it make you stop acting for the people?

Dom José - No. Dom Helder used to do incredible things for an archbishop of Olinda and Recife. We were there at a meeting of Northeast Region 2, of which he was president. People came from the [Ministry of] the Interior and warned us that the property owners of that area had ordered the fence near where the poorer people were living, where they had their crops, to be opened to release their cattle there. Dom Helder tried to find out if it was true. And it was. Then he said, "And are we going to go on with our meeting here? Leaving the people to suffer like that? We have to do something." Dom Helder never decided what to do, he tossed out the problem, and we discussed it. That's where the solution came from. It came out of a gathering of opinions. The result was: "Someone has to go there and support the people." So four of us bishops went. Me driving a Beetle, Dom Helder beside me. When we got there, that thing was set up, it had over a hundred soldiers. Then one of the commanders came to greet Dom Helder. When they saw the bishops coming in, people cheered. Everybody was trapped in their homes, and the cattle were eating everything. People came out of their houses and Dom Helder started to recite the commandments of nonviolence with them. Dom Helder yelled, "First." The people said, "Never kill." "Second." "Never harm" and so on. Having finished the commandments, Don Helder said, "Now we're going to throw the cattle out." A soldier came and said, "You can't do that." He said, "So you're going to let the cattle eat the people's crops?." The soldier said, "But the owner has to do that." But it was the owner who ordered the fence to be open and sent the police to guarantee that. Dom Helder didn't argue anymore. He took some manioc, a small cassava rod, and said, "We'll deal with the cattle slowly. Because the cattle have eaten a lot of cassava and may feel bad if they run. Let's go slowly, OK?." Soon we four were herding cattle. It was a very symbolic thing.

OP - And with your actions in the Archdiocese of Paraíba, did you suffer any
persecution during the military dictatorship?


Dom José - Not persecution. Dom Helder and I had restrictions. For example, Don Helder made many trips abroad. And they would hold his passport. In those days, the passport was only for that trip. The passport stayed with the Federal Police. When it was almost time for the trip, someone would come there with his passport. It was pressure on him. They also put pressure on us by violating [the privacy of] our correspondence. You could see it clearly. There was that kind of persecution, then intimidation. I scheduled a visit to the Potiguara Nation, which is some indigenous people who have a whole city there in Paraiba. A police officer came and said, "Do you have permission to enter there in the indigenous area?." I said, "No, I don't need authorization." He said, "Oh, you need it." I said, "But I'm not there just to visit; I'm going to make a pastoral visit. I'm the archbishop so I'm going to visit them." The policeman said, "Ah, but if you don't have authorization from the army, you're not going in there." I said, "Okay." We got there with a nun and another guy; there were the police. They asked for my documents. I handed them over, they looked at them and opened the gate. What they did a lot was intimidate people. If you would give in, it was their victory. But if you would insist, they didn't have the courage to confront you. It was a very interesting time (laughs).

OP - The Center for the Defense of Human Rights was founded during that period in 1971. Was that institution linked to the Archdiocese? How did it help people?

Dom José - Our center for the defense was the first one that emerged in America. The Council emphasized the issue of human rights a lot, people's rights, the value of the individual, including in the Church. And how would we help people, mainly the poor who were being hardest hit? So you would resort to a lawyer to defend so and so who was arrested. But it didn't happen because you would need people who would take this seriously. Then the diocese of Paraíba decided to hire a lawyer to stay just on that account. That's where the Center for Human Rights started. We now had a lawyer, one of those who doesn't wait around for something to appear. There's a land problem over there, he goes there to get to know it, spends a lot of time there and has all the data to make a defense. It was a blessing for those poor people knowing they had a lawyer. And some cases weren't for the attorney to solve; they were an army thing. He'd give a letter to the guy to go to the Grupamento de Engenharia [Corps of Engineers]. Then the citizen would go and say, "Look, this is a letter to the commander." The commander would read the letter; it was from the lawyer. He'd tear the letter up and say, "When you have problems, you don't need to go there to that Communist place."

OP - To this day, you are called to meetings to talk about the Second Vatican Council. In addition to changes in the image of priests and the proximity to the people, what change in the role of the Church would you highlight?

Dom José - It's not a matter of changing. All that earlier doctrine is still valid. You will now focus on those things that are important to the people. Before, the image of the Church was like a pyramid. At the top is the Pope, then come the bishops, the priests, the religious, and at the base are the people. Vatican II projected another image. The Church is the people. It's all here; there's no one on top. Here's the pope, the bishops... Each with his role. It's like in a company -- people have authority precisely to exercise that function. In the Church, there are some who are assigned to be in authority for the benefit of the journey. The Church is the people of God on the way. It's not static; it's not an institution that is standing there. On this journey, you have constant change. The Church is ready for these changes. On this journey, you need food for the road. Prayer and the Eucharist are great food. And the Eucharist isn't a prize for pious people, it's food for those who are traveling. So it changes completely. It doesn't negate the old stuff, but projects a different image of Church for today.

OP - Were this theory and this image conceived during the Council applied?

Dom José - It wasn't conceived during the Council. It's the original image of the Church. The apostolic communities began that way. What we were doing after the Council is what John XXIII called renewal. Going back to the sources. How was the Church in the beginning? How was it born? Let's go back to the sources. Now, the theory speaks of sources. But it happens that, over the centuries, things change. Women today no longer dress like they dressed in that period. So we have to get up-to-date. So the Church has to be faithful to that beginning, but updated. You'll keep the ardor, but use the opportunities to update it.

OP - And how was the Church's dialogue with other Christian denominations? The Council discussed ecumenism. Was it important to talk about that?

Dom José - Look, ecumenism was something a bit theoretical before. With Vatican II comes the practical stuff. We're going to meet because we have something in common between us. For example, every year we have a meeting of bishops and evangelical pastors. What do we have in common? The Bible. If it's the Bible, in the morning we have to have a celebration of the Word. And the one who presides is a Protestant. In the evening, there's a celebration of the Eucharist. The one who presides is a bishop. And everyone attends. And during the day we'll discuss issues that concern society. For example, we'd talk about violence. It matters to Protestants and Catholics that people understand one another and come closer.

OP - You are of African descent from your mother. In the dialogue with other religions, how do you view the spirituality of millions of blacks in Brazil who have a heritage of Catholicism and African culture, combining devotion to the saints and the orixás?

Dom José - In the beginning, the Church condemned all that. Because it entered Brazil and America through those who came from Europe. They were all Catholics. They thought religion was that, that it had to be that way. Anyone who didn't practice that way, in that style, was out. Indigenous stuff was considered superstition. Black stuff was superstition. So it threw candomblé out. Time passed and then we discovered that God is really present in all these cultures. You have to respect different cultures. It wasn't easy. In 1992, we still had a strong argument about this in Santo Domingo at the General Conference of the Latin American Bishops [CELAM]. We saw that what the Church believes in is the inculturation of faith, of the gospel. And I can't live my faith the same way as someone from over there in Europe, who has a completely different lifestyle. The faith is the same; the way of life is different. For a European to pray, the quieter it is, the better. Not for a black person. The more dancing, the more he thinks he's praising God with his dances and drumming. Until 1992, this inculturation process wasn't accepted. In Santo Domingo, the need to inculturate the gospel in America was adopted. That required an adaptation and showed that cultures aren't bad. What's fundamental in the Afro [Brazilian] culture? The orixás. If they had understood this from the beginning, blacks would have worshiped them. The orixá is like my guardian angel. Everyone at birth has their orixá. In Catholic doctrine, everyone has their guardian angel. So is it just because the name changed? Everyone in the Catholic Church worships God. In the African culture, I worship Olorum. I only changed the name, right? The fact that the Vatican has given attention to these cultures has caused a lot of stuff that was previously impossible to become easy. This dialogue between different religious cultures is still there too.

OP - The Council also brought the message of a more merciful and less condemning Church. We see this idea a lot in Pope Francis' speech, going to the outskirts and reaching people. In your opinion, what does the Church need in order to follow this path and have a more merciful view?

Dom José - It would just need one thing. For Vatican II to be studied more in the seminaries. All this is in Vatican II. A Church that's not in the center, that's at the margins, on the periphery. It has to go to the periphery because that's really where its mission is. You would need people to convert to Vatican II and want to put it into practice. Because it isn't easy.

OP - So it would be a conversion?

Dom José - It would be. And this conversion is not only in the people. It begins the bishops. It would be returning to the original tradition we gradually lost over time. The important thing is to return to the early gospel communities. People even lived as brothers and sisters. There wasn't "this is mine." This here is ours. Communities were really living in brotherhood. They weren't concerned about defending this or that. They were concerned about living the gospel. We need as much as possible to go back to that spirit of brotherhood.

OP - Why does the vision of a Church for the poorest need to start with the formation of priests?

Dom José - According to the gospel, the Church has to be of the poor. Christ, by making himself someone like us, made the option for the poor. He could have been born in a big city; he was born in Bethlehem. He could have been born in a palace; he was born in a cave. He didn't even have a house. The first time he slept, he slept in a trough. The manger is the trough where they put food for the animals. He made this option for the poor. He didn't exclude the rich, but the preferred option was for the poor. So if the Church wants to be faithful to him, it has to see where there is more poverty. Not just material poverty -- sometimes it's intellectual poverty, people who aren't accepted, who committed a crime. All these people who are experiencing physical, material, intellectual or spiritual poverty are the main target of the Church.

OP - So how should this training converted to Vatican II be applied?

Dom José - The model is in the Gospel. Christ wasn't a teacher like the others. The others had their classroom, their disciples came and sat down, then they gave their lessons. Christ was different. He went out among the people and was carrying on his life. And they were learning -- how I treat people, how I should assist so-and-so. Training today should give a lot more space to reality. Not just be intellectual training, just studying philosophy, theology. That's part of it too. But contact with reality is indispensable. Priestly formation should be much more integrated into the lives of the people. Since Vatican II, there have been attempts in this direction. Some have succeeded, others not. For example, the time of the Teologia da Enxada ["Theology of the Hoe"]. Young people who went into a rural environment, went to a property that belonged to the Church to work and study. The teachers went there periodically, they studied in their free time. The teacher would come back later and would want to see how they were discussing it. It didn't succeed, but those who were ordained at that time are excellent priests. Even bishops and some are also archbishops. We would need it to be more assumed by the Church such that we could have doctors and teachers with intellectual training side by side with pastors coexisting with the people during the whole training period.

OP - How is liberation theology viewed at the Vatican? Is there a division within Catholicism?

Dom José - The answer isn't easy. For those of us who live in an areas where people are still very enslaved...There are many people who go hungry in a country like ours, which could feed twice the population it has. For those people, the useful theology is one of liberation. They have to be freed from hunger. In other places, people have to be freed from vice. A theology that is theory is useless to them. No, it has to be something practical. This will require that pastors better know the reality. Be more in touch with the situation of the people and be able to reflect upon it. How are the people being led? Is this what God wants? If not exactly that, what should we do so that people get on the path of God's will? Liberation theology is something that, in a country like ours, is indispensable. In the past, theology was theory. You learned all those theses. Liberation is seeing how people are, asking if that's what God wants and doing something.

Friday, June 26, 2015

The Forbidden Mass

By Mónica García Peralta (English translation by Rebel Girl)
La Prensa
June 14, 2015

Forty years ago, on an earthen floor and between adobe walls, the Misa Campesina Nicaragüense [Nicaraguan Peasant Mass] rang out for the first time. The Church and the government thought it heretical, blasphemous, and dangerous. Both banned it. Now Carlos Mejía Godoy, its author, will ask Pope Francis to lift that veto.

And there they all were. A white haired and bushy bearded priest officiated the Mass. The peasants anchored their boats and pangas around the island. The mazurkas rhythms echoed, Nica sound, sound of bulls, the “miskitu” and five musicians sang at the beginning of the rite: "Vos sos el Dios de los pobres/ El Dios humano y sencillo/ El Dios que sufre en la calle/ El Dios del rostro curtido..." ["You're the God of the poor / The human and simple God / The God who suffers in the street / The God of weathered face ..."]


A small plane was flying over the shingled church, but inside the Misa Campesina didn't stop. It was a Sunday during Holy Week, says poet and sculptor Ernesto Cardenal. In 1974 or 1975, vaguely recalls Carlos Mejia Godoy, its composer and singer, with the musical group Los de Palacagüina. "Spies from the Somoza government also came and the plane was still there, threatening us from the air, almost about to fall on us," remembers Ernesto Cardenal, the former priest who was also an adviser with his brother Fernando Cardenal in the creation of verses for this Mass.

Many people came that day, says Cardenal, from different places, but especially from San Carlos, "especially the young people." "All the guys were there. The future combatants who would later take the San Carlos barracks: Felipe Peña, Alejandro Guevara, Laureano Mairena, Elvis Chavarría."

Mejía Godoy finished shaping the refrains on that piece of earth on the waters of Gran Lago. "Solentiname was the little laboratory where we were putting together that brainteaser. That's where the Misa Campesina was sung for the first time."

The Nicaraguan Bishops Conference, presided in those days by Monseñor Manuel Salazar y Espinoza, reacted against the songs. On November 9, 1976, it decreed "the non-approval of the Misa Campesina because it is not considered liturgical song" as the Church published in a communique, according to the study Canto Popular de Nicaragua by Francisco “Pancho” Cedeño that is soon to be published, says Roberto Sánchez, the book's editor.

The great "sin" of the Misa Campesina was the boldness that Carlos Mejía Godoy wrote into the lyrics, in Cardenal's opinion. "It seemed heretical," he says, because it put God as a worker in the street. "A God who sweats, a God who is Christ the Worker. And that is Christ himself, it's the Biblical Jesus. It seems like outlandishness or blasphemy but no, it's talking about God himself incarnated in man," explains the poet, who at that time wrote an explanatory document for the Bishops Conference defending the texts. No answer ever came.

Even so, the ban remained. Carlos Mejia Godoy recalls that the Vatican itself issued a veto and the state also forbade it. According to Ernesto Cardenal, Archbishop Miguel Obando y Bravo also forbade it. "And it's still prohibited today," he reiterates. And although these conflicts did not stop the spread of the songs that sounded later in Bolivia, Guatemala, Peru, Spain, the United States and many other countries, this year, Carlos Mejia, on the 40th anniversary of its creation, is going to ask Pope Francis for an audience so that the Misa Campesina Nicaragüense can resound again under the church atria.



PURE NICA HEART

In those days, Carlos Mejía Godoy was already a thirty-year-old. He had already recorded two albums -- Cantos a Flor de Pueblo and La Calle de en Medio. He had studied three years to be a priest in the National Seminary. And he had become disenchanted with Christianity because of the "monastic" training in which he had been taught since childhood.

The Spanish priest José de la Jara, his music teacher in seminary, urged him to participate in the creation of a Nicaraguan popular Mass on leaving the seminary. "In those days, national Masses were being written everywhere. There was a Salvadoran one, a Honduran one, and Father de la Jara created the Nicaraguan one," comments Ernesto Cardenal. Mejía Godoy wasn't involved in that Mass because "in conscience I still wasn't clear about my position as a Christian," he explains. "I just told him a little later, never imagining that it would really be so."

The Misa Popular Nicaragüense began to be sung in all the Nicaraguan churches in 1968, historian Roberto Sánchez points out. "Father de la Jara had left his role as a teacher to found San Pablo Apóstol parish in Colonia 14 de Septiembre and they put out a record with those songs that had the Mass on one side and on the other side, Ernesto Cardenal's psalms sung by William Agudelo," says the historian.

"He (Father José de la Jara) gave birth to the Nicaraguan people's churches and that's the experience on which I worked, later," says Godoy, who saw a potential movement to fight for the poor, which originated in the eastern neighborhoods of Managua "and so yes I became enthusiastic; that Mass served as a parameter for me and I started planning something different, a little deeper."

"That was the main antecedent of the Misa Campesina Nicaragüense. The Misa Popular was traditional, but still pointed to the identity of Nicaragua," explains Wilmor López, journalist and cultural researcher, who believes that was the base on which Carlos Mejia began the composition and arrangement of 11 songs intended to accompany the church liturgy of Nicaragua.

"The difference with the Misa Popular was perhaps in its musical rhythms and its song lyrics. The latter incorporated the instruments and rhythms of mazurkas, sounds of bulls, a Nica sound, songs with the harmony of Miskito songs and new creations, like the meditation song, known as "Canto de los Pájaros" ["Song of the Birds"], by Pablo Martinez Téllez of León," López says. But the unexpected leap of this creation "was taking the living word of the gospel in the mouth of peasants and workers," says Mejia Godoy, who was given the task of gathering -- tape recorder in hand from the four corners of the country for more than a year -- what people understood from the gospel.

"When you say 'Christ have mercy, Christ take pity on us', what are you thinking?," Mejía Godoy would ask people. He says that thus, with that curiosity, he went to the ministry in the north, where pastor Gregorio Smutko, affectionately known as "Goyito", assigned him to Anselmo Nixon, a seminarian in the area so he would sing the Miskitu Lawana, an anonymous hymn of the Moravian Church. "Because I didn't want the Mass to just be from the Pacific but I wanted it to be from all of Nicaragua, the guy came to Managua to sing it, as I wanted it to be, in the original language," says the songwriter, who also went to the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, to later come to a stop in Solentiname.

The most important thing about this Mass, says Carlos Mejía, is that it not only contains the rhythms that were already sounding from end to end in Nicaragua, but also the words. "Those of the workers, those of the peasant. It's slang, escaliche [Nicaraguan urban slang], words derived from Nahuatl. It's the fruits, the birds, the flowers. Nicaragua is alive there."

RELIGION, PERSECUTION, AND CONFLICT

That small plane that was flying very low over the church of Solentiname the first day that this mass was sung on that archipelago, was only a warning. Those who attended the celebration heard a huge noise, but the harassment would go beyond a document issued by the Bishops Conference and that noise against the music would be heard many other times.

A large opening Mass was planned that would be attended by over a thousand people and would be in Managua. They chose to celebrate it in Plaza de los Cabros in the Open Tres neighborhood, now Ciudad Sandino, but the celebration hadn't started when the National Guard made a massive eviction. "At rifle butt, with shots and tear gas they kicked everyone out. Carlos Mejia himself was put in a military vehicle," recounts Roberto Sánchez. All because of different lyrics -- "Lyrics that called to liberation and Somoza wasn't going to allow those expressions, anything that smacked of freedom clashed with the dictatorship and the Misa Campesina is a liberation song," says the historian.

The day after that thwarted premiere, the Mass was already being sung in the four corners of the country, says Mejia Godoy, that this "was a vast wave of spirituality and love for Nicaragua." Sanchez says it was the music itself that won the people's love and imposed itself over Church measures. "It became popular religiosity, even when it couldn't be celebrated in any church officially."

The judicial vicar of the Archdiocese of Managua, Julio Arana, recalls the situation very differently with regard to the Misa Campesina. According to him, there was just one conflict in the eastern neighborhoods of Managua, in a chapel where "some people wanted the Misa Campesina to be sung every Sunday at all the Masses." In some years it was allowed to be sung, said the priest, and this served to attract people to an experience of the Eucharist "as something folkloric, but you must understand that the songs of Carlos Mejia Godoy's Mass were responding to a reality of the times, a specific political situation and in the context of liberation theology. But the Church has never forbidden singing the Misa Campesina. There is no document that expressly forbids it," says Arana.

Yet according to the memories of those involved, only some "progressive" priests allowed this Mass. Today parts of it are sung in some churches, but there are sectors that still don't allow it, says Sanchez. "I think if Carlos Mejia Godoy wants to make that request to Pope Francis, it's his right. I think the Vatican is going to say that you have to go to the commission of the Bishops Conference and in this case, the liturgical commission so that any kind of theological errors that these songs might contain is evaluated," Father Arana says, for his part.

"ANTES QUE NAZCA EL DÍA..."

Carlos Mejía Godoy is the main author, but other musicians also collaborated. Here is the structure and the contributions made:

Entrance hymn: compilations by Carlos Mejía in the Popular Sound Workshops.

Kyrie: is a Greek word meaning mercy. The song is a Segovian mazurka with Jinotegan music from La Perra Renca.

Gloria: contains the sound of bulls known as La Mama Ramona, the music was played by the popular band of Diriá under Professor Teodoro Ríos.

Credo: was composed with parts of the testimonies that were given after the gospel [at Masses] officiated by Ernesto Cardenal and were a sort of dialogue with the peasants.

Offertory: has parts of a Segovian mazurca -- La Chancha Flaca.

Miskitu Lawana: is an anonymous song from the Moravian Church; it was interpreted by Anselmo Nixon.

Meditation song: known as "El Canto de los Pájaros" ["Song of the Birds"], it is a creation of Carlos Martínez Téllez, El Guadalupano.

The Sanctus: the music is a version taken from the musicians called Los Soñadores de Saraguasca, from the Tomatoya district in Jinotega.

Closing hymn: it was the last song to be composed in the popular sound workshops.

ABOUT THE MASS

The Misa Campesina was evaluated by Nicaraguan and foreign theologians from different religious denominations, among them Catholics, Evangelicals, and Baptists.

Carlos Mejía Godoy, according to Julio Arana, followed the structure proposed in the Roman Missal after the Second Vatican Council.

It has been translated into six languages and is still sung in many parts of the world.

Father Arana defines this composition as "something that was not contrary, but they aren't strictly liturgical songs."



  • Full text of the Misa Campesina Nicaragüense and other Central American folk Masses. (PDF)

Secret wounds

by José Antonio Pagola (English translation by Rebel Girl)
Buenas Noticias: Blog de Jose Antonio Pagola
June 28, 2015

Mark 5:21-43

We don't know her name. She's an unimportant woman, lost in the midst of the crowd that is following Jesus. She doesn't dare speak to him like Jairo, the head of the synagogue, who managed to get Jesus to go to his house. She could never have that luck.

Nobody knows that she's a woman marked by a secret illness. The masters of the Law have taught her to see herself as an "impure" woman while she has bleeding. She has spent many years looking for a healer but no one has been able to cure her. Where will she be able to find the health she needs to live with dignity?

Many people among us are going through similar experiences. Humiliated by secret wounds that nobody knows about, without the strength to confide in anyone about their "illness", they are seeking help, peace, and consolation without knowing where to find it. They feel guilty when often they are just victims.

Good people who feel unworthy to come forward to received Christ during Communion, pious Christians who have been suffering in an unhealthy way because they were taught to see everything related to sex as dirty, degrading and sinful, believers who, at the end of their life, don't know how to break the chain of supposedly sacrilegious confessions and communions...Will they never be able to know peace?

According to the story, the sick woman "heard about Jesus" and sensed that this was someone who could extract the "impurity" from her body and from her entire life. Jesus doesn't talk about worthiness or unworthiness. His message speaks of love. His being radiates a healing force.

The woman looks for her own way to meet Jesus. She doesn't feel strong enough to look him in the eye -- she approaches from behind. She's ashamed to tell him about her illness -- she will act silently. She can't touch him physically -- she will just touch his cloak. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter one bit. To be clean, that great trust in Jesus is enough.

He says so himself. This woman must not be ashamed before anyone. What she has done isn't bad. It's an act of faith. Jesus has his ways for curing secret wounds and tells those who seek him: "Daughter, son, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and health."