Letters & Articles from Archbishop Weisgerber

Devotion wears jeans and a tattoo

By Jim Coyle

The last time I saw a Catholic bishop at work up close, I was being confirmed.

Even as I was being enlisted as a soldier of Christ, the man terrified me, representing a God whose finger I took to be perpetually wagging in admonishment, whose radar was forever scanning for sin (or even thoughts thereof), whose nuns were dab hands with a leather strap (their habits notwithstanding), and whose priests were as apt to use a cuff on the head as they were a Gospel reading to instruct one in the ways of goodness.

What the next 35 years bring to Catholic churches is anyone's guess. What the last 35 have brought, in changed style at least from the days of gloom and fear and incense and Latin, is enough to send some heads spinning so fast you'd be tempted to summon an exorcist.

Even before 9 a.m. yesterday, when things got going at Holy Name Roman Catholic Church at Danforth and Pape, the kids on hand for the World Youth Day catechesis were bopping in the packed pews to the guys on guitar.

They wore flip-flops and shorts, jeans and T-shirts, tattoos and pierced you-name-its. Some had fashioned their Youth Day scarves into bandanas, and had shades perched on top of those. Someone had his hair dyed red, white and blue. There were ball caps on heads, midriffs on display, glimpses of thong and bra straps.

They might easily have passed as the spring-break crowd at Lauderdale — presumably without the sex and drugs. They seemed less likely to light holy candles than they were to hold cigarette lighters aloft in the way of a rock concert. Their rhythmic clapping would have outdone a Jerry Springer audience.

But when they thrust hands in the air en masse, thumbs and forefingers in the shape of an L, they weren't saying "loser," they were praising the Lord.

Musicians Steve Anglican and Tony Melendez of Littleton, Colo., led the young people in song. Sixteen-year-old Brittney Bunnell and her friend Kathleen Morton, 15, of St. John the Baptist Parish in Orange County, Calif., told of how faith had changed their lives.

Every Sunday of her life, Brittney had been hauled, grudgingly, to mass by her parents, she said. But it was only when she attended World Youth Day in Rome two years ago — even that a trip she took reluctantly — that she surrendered to God, felt the global power of the Church, became able to hear what she was being taught. Only then that she stopped living to impress others but started living with purpose and meaning.

"All you have to do," she said, "is surrender to God and open the door."

Kathleen told of how prayer and faith had sustained her family when her little brother was born with profound health difficulties, and how this gathering and the arrival of Pope John Paul II has renewed that commitment.

"We as the youth of the world can also be the light of the world."

At the end of the testimonies, there were hugs and kisses and whoops and raucous cheers. At the altar stood James Weisgerber, the 64-year-old archbishop of Winnipeg.

And he couldn't have looked happier at the uproar.

There's no question, Weisgerber said, that the message in the Church has sometimes sounded like "you do it our way or you don't do it at all." But "we really need you to struggle to make us young, to make room for questions."

Across the city yesterday, Youth Day pilgrims had fanned out to churches for catechesis — education sessions in the faith led by bishops from around the world. But if this one was any indication, the kids were here to celebrate, not debate. The questions were few, the hard ones almost non-existent.

Weisgerber was tender and witty and metaphorical as he led the delegates through the meaning and importance of the sacraments — baptism, confession, communion. He urged them to set time aside for prayer, to centre themselves in the rush of daily life. He told them that to stop attending mass is "very quickly to forget who you are."

He talked of how modern life seemed a lot like rats in a trap.

"The faster you run, the faster it goes, but you don't get anywhere."

He talked of how God, if he were to read the paper over his morning coffee, would probably turn first to the comics. "I think He thinks we take ourselves too seriously."

Weisgerber urged them to take interest in economics and politics, the realms in which decisions are made that put values into action. He told them of the hard work and reward of marriage, that not everyone was "hopping in and out of bed" at the pace you might think through movies and TV. He told them they will be formed by the choices they make.

"We are the only creatures that have to choose to follow God's will. Every other part of creation simply does so."

He told them the world outside was hostile to their faith and the Gospel message. (A fact the pilgrims would have faced in a nearby subway station, which displayed large advertisements, side by side, for condoms — "Ride Safely" — and legal counsel — "Timing is Everything; Call Now" — for those seeking divorce.)

In the quarter-hour allotted for questions, Weisgerber was asked about the significance of the rosary, the discerning of vocations, why it is no longer customary to kiss a bishop's ring. He was asked whether Harry Potter should be read in Catholic schools.

But as the session drew to a close, the delegates risked topics more controversial.

One asked how religion should affect politics, whether leaders should be expected to let private moral views shape public policy. Then, finally, the great taboo.

A young man asked about the Church's view on homosexuality.

"That's a very controversial area, indeed," Weisgerber said.

"The standards of our society and culture have changed very, very, very much. ... Now, wherever you look, you see it."

The teaching of the Church is that all are to be loved and none are to be judged, he said. Everyone has the right to be treated with dignity, everyone the duty to treat others that way. But the Church sees sex as connected with permanent love and reproduction, legitimate only within marriage.

"Same-sex marriage, I'm really not sure what that means."

Presently, Weisgerber was given a standing ovation. He celebrated mass. And the kids tumbled out into the streets.

Looking to raise a little heaven.

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