Resources

Cardinal Mahony's Lenten Message. The archbishop asks forgiveness of gays and lesbians for past rejection by the Church.

A Place at the Table. This reprint from Edge Magazine, a local gay and lesbian publication, describes Cardinal Mahony's outreach to gay and lesbian Catholics in the archdiocese.

Messages from St. Victor's. A series of advertisements placed in local gay and lesbian media dealing with various issues facing the community.

Notes from a Community — Catholic and Gay. This cover story in America, the national Jesuit weekly, was recognized by many across the nation as describing the welcoming environment at St. Victor's.

Always Our Children. This is an official document from the U.S. Bishops encouraging acceptance of gays and lesbians. It is written especially for parents, so if your parents have expressed difficulty in accepting you because of Church teaching, you may want to share this document with them.

Two-part series from the Tidings. Fr. Peter Liuzzi, O.Carm. wrote this two-part piece for the archdiocesan newspaper. Part One: Acceptance in the Church. Part Two: Debunking myths of 'curing" gay and lesbian people.

On the Dedication of the AIDS Memorial Chapel at St. Victor's. These thoughts on the dedication of our Lady Chapel by Bishop Stephen Blaire, then auxiliary bishop of Los Angeles and current bishop of Stockton, were reprinted in the Los Angeles Times. PDF format; Adobe Acrobat Reader required.

Notes From a Community: Catholic and Gay

by Eric Stoltz

The following is the original version of an article that appeared in an edited form in America, the national Catholic weekly published by the Jesuits. It has been reprinted in a number of other publications since.

I live in a City of Angels. More exactly, my city's full name is the City of Our Lady, Queen of Angels, el Pueblo de Nuestra Señora, la Reina de los Angeles. My mother was born here, as was my grandmother and my great-grandmother. Before then, my family lived in the City of St. Francis, to the north. One of our ancestors was a Mexican governor of this land before it was forcibly annexed by the United States; there is a street named after him (Alvarado Street) near the old chancery office, bordering on MacArthur Park.

I am a child of Our Lady of Guadalupe, who inspired Juan Diego to proclaim his heritage and GodÕs unconditional love of him as an outcast in a colonial society before the skeptical bishop of Mexico City. Every year, I make it a point to slide into the pew for Mass on December 12. But more precisely, I live on the Westside, or at least what the Los Angeles Times considers the Westside (I get the Westside section in my paper). When I tell people what district of the city I live in, I often get quizzical looks: Miracle Mile? Where is that? Yes, I live in the Miracle Mile of the City of the Angels. Where is that, you may ask? It is about a mile and a half south of West Hollywood, and therein lies a story.

The story I have to tell is about what Cardinal Newman described as the consensus fidelium, that innate instinct that we as baptized Christians have for the truth. Does the consensus fidelium exist in a quiet, comfortable environment, or is it forged in the blazing light of the nations coming together, of many peoples and ideas fermenting? It seems to me that the consensus fidelium abhors the self-satisfied confidence of the status quo; it is a creature of fire and wind, an everlasting reminder of the Day of Pentecost, when the air was filled with turmoil and the faithful went forth into a cosmopolitan hubbub to proclaim the Word of God. Indeed, Christianity became a way of life that challenged the world in the cities, where many worlds converged, because it was there that its essential simplicity and value came to be acknowledged as the universalÑor catholicÑfaith, against the rich fabric of many cultures and languages. Was that not the gift of tongues? What is the value of a gift of tongues in a place where everybody speaks the same language?

And what is the value of Christianity, specifically Catholic Christianity, in our cities today? I can only attest to it as a gay urbanite, one of that despised class widely assumed to be irreligious and hedonistic and an imminent threat to everything that is good and holy in our society. (This always puzzles me; we are supposedly to blame for the breakdown of the family, yet I know of no gay people that have abortions, abuse children, get divorced, neglect the ethical and religious education of children; heterosexuals do all these things, but blame homosexuals for the results. Not that we donÕt have our own faults...)

I am a creature of the city, and I could not live elsewhere but a big city, for it is only in places such as this that we can forge communities and obtain, by our sheer numbers, the reluctant respect of our fellow citizens; a respect it often seems we can only gain in other places by dying a lingering death. Even here, in this enlightened place and age, in one of our few refuges, I and my friends have been humiliated in restaurants, denied employment, discriminated against by Chancery officials. ItÕs all very hush-hush, you know: ÒIf you tell anyone I said this, I will deny it.Ó And yet, for all the opprobrium heaped upon me and my kind, I have tales of grace to tell. I treasure a Christmas card I received a few years back from a priest in what we might sometimes disparagingly call one of those Òfly-over statesÓ that lies between Los Angeles and New York.

It was in response to a letter I wrote to America: ÒWe in the 'straight' community (whatever that means) need so much to hear from you and learn from you. Our images come mostly from the media and the 'parades' etc. I am a rural parish priest who lived 50 years of my life before I met a gay person and began to discover the injustice and hurt experienced by gays,Ó wrote this admirable pastor. In the city, no priest need live 50 years before meeting an openly gay person. Indeed, here in my world, I could go weeks without interacting with a single straight person, except perhaps for busboys, valets and janitors. At the bookstore, the video store, the gym, the grocery store, the diner, the dry cleaner, I meet only gay people, and that is continued every Sunday at Mass, when I vest with the other gay acolytes and serve Mass and distribute communion to a congregation that is almost entirely composed of gay men. No, it is not a Dignity chapter, as I have often had to explain, but a regular parish that happens to be in a predominately gay area, so the congregation reflects that. It is not a gay parish, but a Catholic (read: catholic) parish, as our pastor is fond of pointing out. (Wow! You mean gay people go to Mass? Certainly! We also pay taxes to support schools, contribute to charities and wonder whatÕs happening to Social Security, just like straight people.)

And what do I se as I look out on the congregation at our parish? Do I see anger? Do I see resentment? Do I see the very embodiment of the ÒliberalÓ (whatever that means) agenda? No. I see only people faithful to their Catholic heritage, who are striving to live their lives in accordance with the Gospel, who discuss the sermon over brunch after Mass, who write their checks at the offertory and who respond ÒLord, hear our prayerÓ when the general intercessions plead for greater respect for life, for these people know first-hand what it means to experience a disrespect for life.

Oh, and you'd be surprised at out liturgy: Incense and bells, and a shimmering silver Gospel book, and an antique silver processional cross (a gift in memory of a parishioner who died of AIDS) and acolytes in cassocks and surplices, and a well-respected choir leading the people in the Latin plainchant of the Agnus Dei. So much for stereotypes that assume all gays must be present only in the trendiest of liturgical settings. And the church is packed; how many parishes have standing room only for the whatever Sunday in Ordinary Time? You see, this is the part of the homosexual lifestyle that doesnÕt make it to ÒNightline.Ó

As a fairly visible member of the gay community (and I know little of the story lesbians have to tell; they are conspicuously absent from my world for reasons that I do not pretend to understand) here in the City of the Angels, I have been blessed to meet many people, of all walks of life. One of the distinguishing characteristics of the gay community is its catholicity, both with a small ÒcÓ and a capital ÒC.Ó I have noticed that heterosexuals tend to congregate in gathering places according to their socio-economic status, but this is not the case with gay men. We meet together in places where everybody is welcome; the multimillionaire chats with the waiter and the executive laughs with the temp. One could say that the gay community means ÒHere comes everybody.Ó

And, for some reason that I have yet to entirely understand, most of those who participate in the life of the gay community tend to be either Catholic or Jewish. Where are the Protestants? I recall one Holy Thursday when the board meeting of an AIDS service organization I served on had to be rescheduled because so many of the directors planned to attend Holy Thursday Mass. I think of the worldÕs largest gay and lesbian organization, the Metropolitan Community Church, a Protestant denomination, that estimates that about half its members are former CatholicsÑa majority that has required the denomination to adopt liturgical vestments and pattern its services after the Catholic Mass. Even gay Protestants, it seems, are really Catholics at heart.

And I think of our Anglican counterpart, the Episcopal parish that borders ours, where the High-Church rector (please, call him ÒFather;Ó after all, he lists the times of Mass at his church) estimates that half his flock are former Catholics. Until recently, he had a moving painting of Father Damien in the AIDS chapel of his church (before it was moved to the Episcopal Cathedral Center); one of his sons died of AIDS, so he understands, and it is his understanding nature that has brought his parish up from some 30 disgruntled members many years ago to a thriving faith community of several hundred, composed mainly of gay men.

What is it about the Òhomosexual lifestyleÓ that instinctively craves the comforts of Catholicism, of the Anglican or Roman variety? I believe it is our innate understanding of the value of community. No rugged individualism for us; we know that being alone can kill us, literally and figuratively. In community we have found our salvation, so it is only natural that we seek our salvation as a community. At our church, we also have an AIDS memorial chapel. ItÕs in the former baptistery, and we have a leather-bound memorial book that lists about a thousand names. The central figure in the chapel is an old statue of Our Lady, maimed during the French Revolution. It was dedicated by one of our auxiliary bishops some years ago on Palm Sunday, who marked the occasion with an op-ed in the Los Angeles Times: ÒCrucify him! Crucify him!Ó the bishop recalled from the passion reading, asking if we were not crucifying those with AIDS. At that time, those were controversial words; in some places, they may still be.

Every year, on Palm Sunday and the Feast of the Holy Cross, we have an AIDS Mass. During the Eucharistic Prayer, all those attending are invited to call out the names of the sick and the dead. It takes a very long time, and is an experience that is more emotionally draining than you can ever imagine. Dozens come up to be anointed after the Gospel. We advertise these Masses with full-page advertisements in one of the the local gay publications, and many who attend out of curiosity continue to come for Sunday Mass, at first slipping into a back pew and, in time, coming forward and volunteering their time and talent. Lately, with the advances in HIV treatment (AIDS deaths are down 44 percent), we have less funerals and smaller crowds at our AIDS Masses, but Sunday Masses are increasingly crowded. Is this the aftermath of the epidemic, or is there another explanation? I leave that to the discernment of those wiser than I.

I remember the first time I set foot in this church. I had not been to Mass in eight years, except for a few forays at Easter and Christmas and a few assorted Sundays when I woke up and felt the need to seek out the Lord. Invariably, I was met with mediocrity at the churches I visited (and there are 250 churches to sample in the city of Los Angeles): here was a priest who actually complained about missing a football game to celebrate Mass (ÒI know we'd all rather be watching the big game, but I'll go through with this sermon anyway.Ó I didnÕt even know what the big game was. America readers will be chagrined to know it was a Jesuit parish.) Here was a parish caught in the musical time-warp of the 1960s, here was a lackluster, pro-forma fulfillment of a Sunday obligation.

But one Holy Thursday (for I have always loved the liturgy of Holy Thursday; the stripping of the altar and the bareness of the open tabernacle that seems to peel away the layers of my own defenses and lay me open to the vulnerability of God-with-us, emphasized by his very absence) I went to this one church I heard the Lamentations of Jeremiah, and they not only reminded me of my seminary days, but also spoke deeply to my own brokenness, for my life was like the ruined Jerusalem.

That Good Friday, I went to confession: ÒBless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eight years since my last confession.Ó (None of that new rite of penance I used in the seminary, with greetings and readings, this was strictly from the heart, a memory that predated my first communion.) After I enumerated several sins (none of them sexual, I might point out), the priest asked me why I had not been to confession for eight years. I broke into uncontrollable sobs: ÒBecause I am gay, Father, and I thought I was not welcome.Ó ÒThat's ridiculous,Ó he said earnestly and with great passion, although his voice was a whisper. ÒYou are always welcome here. This is your home. This is your church.Ó I've been there every Sunday since then.

Many in the outer world see self-assured, handsome, successful gay men, but I can assure you that we all suffer from an immense lack of self-esteem. All these externals are things we build up to give us value in others' eyes; unfortunately, they rarely give us value in our own. Do we need any further proof than the AIDS epidemic, the first epidemic in history to be caused by lack of self-esteem? Ponder this for a while, and consider the emotional circumstances that put people at risk of infection with HIV. The damage done to a manÕs sense of self-worth can indeed be deadly, and we are surrounded and pummeled by messages of inferiority every day. Do you wonder why we seek to create our own communities?

I recall the words of a priest in charge of gay and lesbian ministry for the archdiocese who encountered the protests of a deacon who complained about gay people ÒflauntingÓ their orientation; why couldn't they just keep all that to themselves? (Don't ask, Don't tell.) ÒAnd what about that ring on your finger and the picture of your wife on your desk?Ó he asked the startled deacon. ÒAre you not flaunting your heterosexuality?Ó

And what have I seen in the Church since I returned? I've seen wonders that you can never imagine. IÕve seen my friends received into the Church with their lovers as sponsors. IÕve seen bishops welcome the gay and lesbian community by name. IÕve seen gay couples bring up the gifts at the offertory procession. I've seen the funerals of friends who accepted death from AIDS with joy as new members of ChristÕs Mystical Body. I have seen the archbishop of Los Angeles process into a church (for the record, not my parish) preceded by six gay pride flags (and I wept).

I remember a friend, dying, whose father was a famous entertainerÑyou would recognize his name in an instantÑand for whom I was privileged to serve as his confirmation sponsor. I would visit him at his home, and he would ask me to say the rosary with him. ÒOf course,Ó I would respond, and he would pull out two 15-decade rosaries before my incredulous eyes, but I would do that for him. Of course, he was always one for grand displays; one day he asked me to come and see his new crucifix. It was a huge, life-size Spanish-style crucifix that greeted me in the entry of his condominium. Like so many gay men, he was a convert. My mother is a convert, so I understood.

What else shall I tell you of my experiences in the gay community of Los Angeles? Shall I tell you of my friend who strongly proclaimed his indifference to any religion whom I heard silently reciting the Nicene Creed from memory before a thatched tabernacle in Fiji? Or the dinner companion who admitted to me over the ruckus of a popular gay restaurant that he wept uncontrollably during an A&E program about the life of John Paul II? Shall I tell you about the exotic dancer who performs at gay clubs whom I see every Sunday in the back pew of my church, or the hundreds who visit our AIDS memorial chapel during the week, making our church one of the few churches in the archdiocese that is not locked during the day? Or shall I recount the many people that have come up to me on Sunday afternoon at a popular gay bar who recognize me from church and who long to discuss their personal spiritual journeys and romance with the Catholic Church over the loud disco music, not only born Catholics but also Mormons, Presbyterians, Congregationalists and Methodists introduced to Catholicism by their lovers? And these are not conversations filled with anger over Church teachings, but rather insightful reflections on the vitality they see in Catholicism. These are people of deep faith, anawim if there ever were any, who await only an invitation to join you at the table.

Shall I bypass the consensus fidelium and talk of what the elect think? Of the publicly orthodox Western bishop who says privately that the Catholic Church will recognize gay unions within the next 20 years? Of the pastor who counsels parishioners on how to develop a positive gay relationship? Of the bishops who dine regularly with gay couples? Of the pastors who give the blessing of the meal at all-gay dinner parties?

Such is the life I lead in the Miracle Mile in the City of the Angels. It is a life that perhaps can only exist only in a great city, bounded by my work, my gym, my restaurants, my shops, and my church. Vatican bureaucrats and self-proclaimed defenders of orthodoxy may take offense at my experiences, but I know that I have been witness to wonders and marvels that will forever affect the nature of the Mystical Body, for we, too, gay men as we are, are also members of that body. And mind by mind, soul by soul, heart by heart, we are building a consensus fidelium that will one day set us free. For such is the promise of our common baptism and the rights we derive from that sacrament.

Although my experience in this area is limited, I must also admit that I have never seen evangelism at work in everyday life as I have seen it in the gay community. There is a hunger there to be fed, not with Stoicism or obtuse declaiming of a supposed natural law or judgment or self-righteousness, but with a listening spirit that can understand the standard response to a statement that one attends Mass: ÒReally? I'd like to go to Mass sometime.Ó

Have you noticed that I named no names in this article? What does that say for a Church that proclaims that Òyou will know the truth, and the truth will set you free?Ó On the day that I can name names in this article, pastors, people and parishes, we will all be truly free. Until then, we will continue to struggle against the imperfection of the Church, gay and straight, to the day when we can clearly hear the cleansing wind of Pentecost call us to perfect honesty and unity in the Risen Lord. Until then, life goes on in the City of Angels.

visit the AIDS Memorial Chapel at St. Victor's