It is hard to be just to politicians in moments of crisis. When we are hurting, we get testy and take things personally. Minor slights feel intolerable. Hard words come easily. In the wake of last Wednesday’s attack on Annunciation School, Catholics in the Twin Cities are certainly hurting, myself included; everyone has some sort of personal connection to the tragedy. I spent last Wednesday fielding phone calls and answering messages from concerned friends and relatives, all asking the same questions: Is this your school? Are your kids O.K.? What really happened? The whole diocese is reeling.
Accordingly, I have tried very hard to discipline my emotions and consider fairly whether the anger directed at Minneapolis’s Mayor Jacob Frey over his “thoughts and prayers” remarks is justified.
I think it is. It was not malicious, but it was deeply insensitive. It is always distasteful to treat a religious group’s sacred worship as fodder for political messaging. Doing it right after a murderous attack on children at prayer is simply inexcusable.
To be clear, I do not imagine for a moment that Mr. Frey intended to insult grieving Catholics by disparaging their faith. I am sure he didn’t. He thought he was saying something appropriate, even compassionate. “Don’t just say this is about thoughts and prayers right now,” he said, in an address delivered shortly after the deadly shooting. “These kids were literally praying.” Someone liked that line enough that they promptly posted it to the mayor’s feed on X. Then they posted the clip, so the whole nation could watch and admire. Then he doubled down on his central message in a CNN interview, responding to criticism from Vice President JD Vance, who wrote in a post on X, “It is shocking to me that so many left wing politicians attack the idea of prayer in response to a tragedy.”
“I’m all for prayer,” Mr. Frey responded. “Prayer has a deep foundation for so many people, throughout our country. I’m all for thoughts. I mean, everything begins with a thought. But in this case, it’s got to end with an action.” He proceeded to move the conversation back toward his policy agenda.
On one level, this is all readily understandable. To some in the political world, prayers are little more than happy thoughts, while demanding tougher gun laws is the way to show that one truly cares in the wake of a tragedy. Perhaps Mr. Frey was saying what he himself would want to hear in a moment of indescribable grief, which might be sufficient to excuse him if he had merely raised the issue sometime in the aftermath of the tragedy. But that is not what happened. Standing on the site of the church where Catholic children had just been murdered, he went so far as to contrast their apparently ineffectual prayers with his own political agenda. Respecting the beliefs and customs of Catholics was clearly not a priority, even when addressing a Catholic community that had just been shattered by a hate crime.
I don’t want to veer into paranoia by suggesting that anti-Catholic hatred is a pervasive phenomenon in America. That doesn’t seem true, in the sense that relatively few Americans are actively hostile to Catholics. But animus against the church need not be widespread to provoke real fear, and such fears should not be dismissed out of hand. In a moment when gender ideology is immensely controversial, the uncritical acceptance of a view of the church as an obstacle to desired social and cultural reforms can raise reasonable fears among Catholics of being targeted.
While the motives of the Annunciation shooter are still being assessed, a reaction to church teaching on gender ideology seems to have been a relevant issue, possibly alongside the shooter’s personal history with the school. Yet public figures seem to be striving to minimize this likelihood. For example, Mr. Frey went out of his way later that day to emphasize the importance of protecting “our trans community” but made no such plea on behalf of Catholic communities.
In a state that has openly signaled its commitment to advancing gender ideology and even serving as a “sanctuary” for its adherents, religious people (especially, for instance, Catholic school parents like myself) quite reasonably want to hear that the protection of our communities and children is also a priority. Our leaders clearly don’t appreciate how much those assurances are needed, which seems unconscionable under the circumstances. The shooter barred the doors of a church and sprayed bullets on children praying at Mass, and the state’s political leaders don’t even wish to acknowledge that Catholics were targeted.
This, unfortunately, is politics as usual in Minnesota. It has been clear for years that our state’s leadership does not appreciate Catholics or our contributions to this region. It is a sad thing because Minnesota’s Catholic culture is admirable in so many ways. I have long believed that this state is a wonderful place to raise a Catholic family (a view that often surprises politically conservative friends in other places). Catholicism is deeply woven into this state’s history and culture. We have a well-established network of Catholic institutions that endlessly inspire me with their patient service, perpetuating the faith, serving people in need and educating the young. We have many thriving parishes. Our churches and cathedrals beautify the city. Fall festivals at our parishes offer fun and fellowship to everyone in the neighborhood. The state as a whole may have tacked in a different direction, but I still feel blessed to live in a place where the Catholic community is so strong.
On a slightly personal note, I have felt particularly blessed in recent years because, as an anti-Trump conservative, I have known like-minded people (especially evangelicals, but Catholics are not immune) who have been ostracized or shunned within their own religious communities, possibly even to the point where they felt obliged to move their children to other schools so they wouldn’t be bullied. This is appalling and incomprehensible to me. Here, my family is part of a parish and school community particularly known for its liturgical traditionalism, and I have never heard an unkind word over any of my political writing. We don’t have that kind of culture here.
Unfortunately, we have become accustomed to the reality that it is at times necessary to defend our churches and institutions from state intrusion or pointed neglect. We have had to resist initiatives clearly meant to pressure religious schools into softening their commitment to Catholic teachings, especially concerning sex and gender. We have had to fight to keep the small lines of funding that the state gives our schools for textbooks and school nurses. Late this week, a letter surfaced from the Minnesota Catholic Conference to Governor Tim Walz, authored in the wake of the Covenant School mass shooting in 2023, asking the governor to extend some help to religious schools in need of better security. He had just proposed that $50 million be allocated to improve public school security, but religious schools were excluded from participation.
When Minnesota Catholics stand up to our political leaders, those initiatives are always peaceful, showing respect and civility toward all our fellow citizens. Our one flirtation with lawbreaking came in 2020, when our bishops warned the governor that we would practice civil disobedience if he did not lift restrictions on Mass attendance during the Covid-19 pandemic. When we do engage in activism, our pastors have consistently stressed the importance of civility and respect for law; we are loyal Minnesotans who love this state and want the region to thrive.
It frustrates me that this kind of patient, constructive engagement so often goes unnoticed in the context of America’s ongoing culture wars. The past few years have seen an outpouring of anxiety over Christian nationalism and politicized religion more broadly, and I notice that the people who voice these concerns rarely reflect much on the right way to be both religious and a good citizen. So I’ll just volunteer this: Anyone who wants to live peacefully with people of faith should see Minnesota’s Catholic culture as exemplary. We are part of the solution, not part of the problem.
When praying Catholic schoolchildren are murdered by another kind of violent extremist, I don’t think it is too much to expect our political leaders to show concern for our community. Don’t pivot to a familiar Democratic talking point. Tell Twin Cities Catholics that we are valued and that attention is being given to our security needs. I don’t expect to hear those assurances. But that would be the right way to respond to an unspeakable tragedy and the right way to foster a healthy and respectful pluralism in any region.
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