Powerless

I am writing in response to Professor Mary Jo Bane’s article, Exit, Voice, and Loyalty in the Church (6/3). In 1968 I was 29 years old and had six children. I remember exactly where I was when Pope Paul VI spoke from Yankee Stadium and essentially said, Set another place at the table. That was the message of Humanae Vitae. I sat in my kitchen listening to the radio and sobbed. My husband and I had had six children in seven years, and two miscarriages.

Did I experience lay dissatisfaction and anger? No. I think it was desolation, futility and awful resignation. We were two good, educated, Catholic parents; what could we do? We did the only thing possible at the time to preserve our marriage and our family. We exited from the teaching, and that only after prayer, more tears and lots of guilt.

The current scandal, or Catholic Watergate, has also made me cry, and I have incredible anger. I was not so angry in 1968, just more resigned. I have changed; my church has not. They are still in my bedroom!

Sexual abuse of children is not even in the same category with the teaching of Humanae Vitae. It is despicable, sinful and manipulative. Yes, I live in Boston and have been assaulted by all of it for five months, but never in 1968 did I feel as powerless as I do now. My faith is much stronger now; it is who I am; it is the peaceful, powerful part of me. It speaks to me and says, You are mine, I have counted every hair on your head.

If in two years nothing much has changed, if the same dusty, musty mitres and crosiers are still around, I will be so angry at myself for not speaking out. Please don’t anyone compare the encyclical on birth control in 1968 to this mess. I was there. Then it was resignation and personal decisions; now it is rage, and all decisions are completely out of our hands.

Barbara M. Donahue

In Remembrance

I had to chuckle while reading Elizabeth Ficocelli’s Avoiding Mass Hysteria: Teaching Children to Behave in Church (5/6). She and her young ones would be as discomfited as I was by the children wandering loose at Sunday Mass in the Catholic chapel of the state penitentiary in Tijuana. Some are visiting their fathers; others are in residence with their mothers. None of their motion or commotion, however, seems to distract the prisoners from close attention to the Eucharist or the word, God bless them. As to my own reactions as a priest, I have this poetic meditation, called Suffer the Little Children:

the benches crowded and solemn