At the Crossroads

I am in a tricky spot these days. Our diocese is about to undertake a huge reorganization of parishes (still in the consultant phase) which is meant to cut the number of pastors in half, reduce the number of extraneous pieces of real estate, join parishes together in fundraising and Mass attendance, and reduce redundancies (aka... STAFF!). Suddenly a large part of my job is getting the word out about these plans (much more to it than I'm listing here) to our parishioners and gather feedback. So I find myself in this weird position of trying to communicate the possible future to people, all the while knowing that possible future might mean that my job is gone.
On top of that, last night in a meeting at the parish someone mentioned the conscience laws that are being challenged by the president, which would insist that all companies (except church/parishes) would have to provide insurance coverage for contraception. Already the law change would not apply to me or my fellow co-workers, and honestly I don't even know anyone who would want that kind of coverage from the parish for whom they work. But this week, the Cardinal published a letter with a threat included that if the law passes, the Church will be forced to either go against their own conscience or to STOP PROVIDING HEALTH INSURANCE TO ITS EMPLOYEES.
Remember, this rule already doesn't apply to me and my colleagues. In Fact, Cardinal Sean's threat is empty: it's against the law for Massachusetts citizens to go without health insurance, so if the Church doesn't provide it, its employees will have to turn to another source. By law, of course, any alternative source will have to cover things like contraception. Far from barring his employees from contraceptive coverage, Cardinal Sean will be forcing it upon us.
To me, it's a clear sign that the Cardinal doesn't trust that his employees, even if offered this benefit, wouldn't necessarily use it. (Of course, he's probably right about that!) And it's also a sign that he doesn't have any confidence in his ability to persuade his employees to do the right thing through teaching the Truth of the faith. He doesn't believe that what the Church teaches about contraception will bear any weight, and he doesn't believe that his word has any weight. He is only able to find persuasive power in threats. If he's right about that, then we are indeed in bad shape.
My husband and I will not be able to pay for our own health insurance, and will have to end our ministries in the Church. In fact, I don't know anyone who works for a parish who could pay for their own insurance for the rest of their ministerial careers.
So last night, there I was leading a parish meeting when this bill was brought up, and the parishioner who mentioned it urged us all to contact our representatives. Was it wrong for me to mention the Cardinal's threat? Or to urge them that while they're contacting the government, they might also call the Cardinal's office and remind him how wrong it would be to cancel the insurance and therefore the ministries of the employees who sat before them?
I don't know. I am not sure what my right response is to all this. And I do want to do what's right. If I'm going to lose this job, I want to leave it having fought for justice. I don't want to bite my tongue to keep my job, like I have done in varying degrees for so long. I want to do the Lord's work. I know that in this archdiocese, it's risky even blogging about this, exposing my own opinions. I guess we'll (pray) what happens.

C'est La Vie?

I was intrigued when I heard the announcement that the CBC radio show "C'est la vie" would be broadcasting a show about a woman traveling to her "small town in Maine" for the closing of her French-American Catholic parish. I dialed up the show and listened to it online. It turns out that small town is Biddeford, a place with which I'm pretty familiar. I listened with interest as she described herself as having moved away from the town many years ago, and having left the Church altogether.
When she returned for the final Mass, though, she was moved to tears. She kept saying things like "They are taking our Church away from us" and "They are taking my culture." She mourned this Church which she admitted she had stopped supporting and stopped believing in (but fully expected to be buried from) years ago.
This is baffling to me.
Who, I wondered, does she think "They" are? Who is taking this Church away, and from whom? Now, I don't deny her feelings, and I'm sure they are deep and sincere- but, what do those feelings mean? Is this what the parish church has become, merely a monument to our childhood faith? Why do we think the buildings should be held open until we are done using them, and until we are ready to use them again? How has our association become so strong to a building and not to a God?
The narrator said that if she'd ever known that the church building would ever close, she would have done things differently- she would have sent her donation checks, even from far away in Canada. But... why? Why pay to keep one building open while she's surrounded by thousands of churches where she lives?
I don't think this generation, this postmodern world, is completely to be blamed for this disassociation- I think as a Church we are constantly reaping what we sow, especially in the form of repercussions for how we've (or how we've failed to) evangelized, served, and educated our people. So, how did we come to this place? Here in our Archdiocese, people sit in the cold, dark, empty church buildings of their closed parishes rather than go down the block to join another congregation of people who are just like them.
How did we get here?