Mass Appeal

Fictional characters and situations often can express truths that people find it easier to face in the world of 'story.' If the truth becomes too difficult, it can be shrugged off with 'but that did not really happen'... though what 'did not happen' happens every day. Of course, one reason for which I'm grateful that such characters exist is that they give me an opportunity to ravel a thread without mentioning my own experience specifically.

Though it would win no awards for literary depth, the film "Mass Appeal," in which Jack Lemmon portrayed Father Timothy, pastor of a large and wealthy parish, touched on many realities of church life. Timothy reminded me of many priests I have known in 'the real world' (which is not to say that such types are a majority, only that one cannot be in church work for years without knowing a few.) He has a reputation for being an outstanding priest, and his charming manner, not to mention enthusiastic sermons which say nothing of substance but are appealing for their seeming warmth, have made him very popular. One would know, from seeing the splendidly appointed church and massive rectory, not to mention the clothing and homes of the parishioners, that Timothy (whose acclaim is high in the diocese) must have quite a talent for fund raising.

Yet Timothy is a master of illusion. He is an alcoholic, and avoids people because (outside of Mass times, though soon enough afterward) he is usually drunk. Somehow he has managed to keep this hidden. He has a packed calendar, but never actually keeps the appointments, always telling those who arrive that he has an emergency (usually someone who is thinking of having an abortion, or a death), thereby placing them in the position where they would have to be monsters to object. In one case, a couple with a troubled marriage come to see him, and he pretends that the wife wrote down the wrong date - and Timothy is relieved that, in the ensuing fight which he knew would happen, they'd be too busy blaming one another to see him disappear.

Timothy seems unaware, or at least unwilling to face, his lack of caring for others. It never enters his mind that someone who asked to see him may be on verge of either conversion or despair - may have prayed for weeks to have the honesty (and accompanying vulnerability) to ask for help, all the more because Timothy gives an air of having a packed schedule. Nor does it matter to him that, though his evasions may work once, no one could be subject to it again without seeing that it is highly unlikely that emergencies always arise at the exact time when they were to meet with him. Or that, at the very least, the message is "someone else contacted me - you did not matter, nor does your pain - the other person was more important - it does not matter that it's been weeks that I've left you waiting for news that I had a single free hour, and I'm saying the other person only just phoned - and I could not even think of another hour in the day when I could see the other."

Why would anyone return? Oh, that is simple. First off, those such as Timothy present excuses which are far-fetched but not fantastic - and though no one is really fooled the second time, there always is the possibility that the excuse is true. It would make one feel horribly selfish and cruel to think that one expressed hurt when another, in greater need, had to come first. More importantly, where can people turn to have the slightest chance of discussing sin, conflicts of faith, their overall relationship with God - the doubts, the fear, the confusion? Anyone over the age of 12 who has tried to walk the spiritual path has been turned away in the past. Requests for any talk "one on one" are refused with recommendations of groups or reading a Scott Peck book. Someone who ever tried to open up about pain may well have been told either to 'offer it up' or 'talk to a therapist.' At least there is that chance in a thousand that Timothy might really be there one of these days... one can see the faith and love he expresses in sermons. Or perhaps, on one occasion, he really was helpful... maybe it might happen again...

A young man whom I know is going to be confirmed in the Roman Catholic faith this coming Easter. He is enormously excited - not least because his new parish community is so welcoming, and very enthusiastic about the treasures they see in him. Well, I hope he does not see the other side too quickly. Chances are, a year from now, all in which they will be interested (if indeed they think of him at all) will be what volunteer service he can offer or that he is equipped with collection envelopes.

Admittedly, I do not have extensive knowledge of the training which secular priests received. I have heard enough to know that, for many, priesthood is a profession - and such services as those liturgical are part of the arrangement, but don't bother them outside of 'work hours.' My own experience (both lived and studied) of religious life shows me other deficiencies, secondary to the essential point one was taught. The other side of reserve and detachment (good things in themselves) is a lack of concern for individuals. Oh, "The Church" matters - but the individual? In religious life, it was easy to wonder if one had any individual identity remaining. The message "I do not care about you" was not even obvious - because one was not supposed to want caring in the first place.

As well, too many of us 'got burnt' badly. I was always running to hospitals, funerals, the police station, whatever, when I heard of someone's need - little did I know that some of those 'in need' were less than scrupulous. I saw my work (as a department head for a major archdiocese) as ministry - but I was sacked with no compassion. When my mother died a year later, though her funeral was held in a church directly across the street from the diocesan offices, not a one of the priests I had worked with for over 20 years even bothered to attend, nor did any of the priests I knew so much as send me a note. (This cut me deeply... all the more because I knew full well that, were I a large donor, the notes and visits would have been copious.)

The eternal question, of course, is why the Timothys of this world (and their number is substantial) manage to rise, to obtain the enormous donations, to have the reputation for being sterling priests. Yet there will never be a study of this. They are far too valuable.

I was listening to some tapes of the Servant of God Fulton J. Sheen. Many of his anecdotes have to do with providential times when someone came to him and let out the pain or made sacramental confession. I do not doubt Fulton's honesty or kindness - yet I cannot help but wonder what sort of 'aftercare' these people had. I hope they never approached a "Timothy."

May God grant us a spirit of true compassion and love.