From Jesuit Priest to Unitarian Universalist: A Journey
John Crowley, September 21, 2008
Good morning!
Some of you already know a fair amount about my journey. Others of you may know nothing about me except that I’m an older gent with a bald pate and a grayish beard. All of you, however, are also on your journey. I hope that mine might provide insight into your own. Mark Twain remarked: “Once you reach age 70, you no longer have to behave.” I don’t plan to behave in this talk, so fasten your seat belt. There are speed bumps ahead.
I was born into a Catholic family early in the Great Depression. I was the third child and first boy; another boy and two more girls were born over the next four years. My poor mother: six children within eight years! My dad worked hard, but times were tough. My mother seemed overwhelmed by so many kids and so little money. I believe that, in an effort to get her attention, I became a pleaser, a trait that is still part of my makeup.
We kids attended Catholic schools, of course. Our teachers were nuns, who energetically pushed vocations to the priesthood and sisterhood. I was told more than once that I should think about becoming a priest. After all, I was smart, obedient, and I pleased the nuns. And the idea stuck with me. I was reinforced in the notion by the high status of priests. I saw the attention and even reverence that they received. In addition, as an altar boy and choir member I became familiar with the priests at our church.
When I a huge problem arose, however, I didn’t go to them for confession. An outside priest had come to give us a retreat. His talk on sex made me believe that I had sinned mortally: I had permitted a man to abuse me sexually for months. I will never forget what the priest told me: “You have not sinned. You are an innocent victim—but this man has done a terrible thing to you.” I was so relieved. The priest’s words filled me with peace. I felt that he had been God’s messenger to me. Could I also be a savior to other young men by becoming a priest myself?
We already had a priest-to-be in our own family: my father’s younger brother John, who entered the Jesuits three months after I was born. He was a demi-god in our house, especially following his ordination to the priesthood when I was 13. Our family traveled from Michigan to Wisconsin to attend his first Mass. I was blown away by his voice, his good looks, and, I think, by the overwhelming attention he received from everyone. He became my instant hero.
Father John didn’t know it, but Fr. Mike Maher, a new priest at my church, was also my hero: he, too, was young, handsome, and athletic. He came to all our high school games, sat with our coach, and came into the locker room afterwards. At times he would scrimmage with our varsity basketball team—and was the best player on the floor! He didn’t ask me about becoming a priest; I think he knew that it was already on my mind.
Some of the nuns, however, kept prodding. They told us that we could risk going to hell—and I believed in hell!--if we refused God’s call to become a priest. Nonetheless, I fought hard to ignore the call. I immersed myself in high school. I was an excellent student. I played football, basketball, and baseball. I dated. I could not, however, drive the thought of the priesthood out of my head. Besides being sure of going to heaven, I knew I would achieve a very high status; I would never have to worry about a job; and with the single decision to enter the priesthood I would never have to make another major decision in my life. (Oh, how wrong I was!)
My parents and my Jesuit uncle conspired, I believe, to settle the question. A few weeks before my senior year in high school we traveled again to Wisconsin for a family reunion. Father John asked me to take a walk with him. We had not gone far when he asked: “So, Johnnie, what are you going to do with your life?” I knew the answer he wanted to hear…and in that moment it was the answer I, the pleaser, wanted to give: “I want to be a Jesuit priest like you.” A year later, I was in the Jesuit novitiate.
I found the transition from high school to the novitiate unbelievably hard. Rise at 5:00 a.m., two hours of meditation and Mass before breakfast; unending classes on Jesuit rules and spirituality; serving meals or doing dishes for 200 Jesuits; conversations mostly in Latin; a 30 day retreat; very little to get excited about; no newspapers, no radio, and, of course, no dates, parties, or high school sports. We were warned not to have strong personal ties to the other novices and especially to beware of women. We were to see Christ in everyone, but not be close with anyone. And like all the other novices I tried to find “spiritual consolations”: a kind of warm glow in the heart that meant that God was touching us. In vain! My relationship with God was essentially an act of the will. My consolations were touch football on Thursdays and special food on feast days. Nonetheless, I gradually became accustomed to the routine of prayer, meditation, Mass, spiritual reading, bodily punishment, and a semi-monastic life. Most importantly, I continued to believe that I wanted to become a priest….or perhaps, that I had to become a priest.
Speed bump!
Part of the Jesuit training was teaching for three years. After seven years and two college degrees, I was sent to a Jesuit high school north of Chicago to teach Latin, Greek, and social studies. I was 25 years old and had been celibate for the preceding eight years. But now I was in a milieu in which school dances and gatherings with parents exposed me to women once again. I was shocked at how strongly attracted I was to some of the girls and women I encountered. It was overwhelming. I had thought I had celibacy under control. What was I to do? I sought out a young Jesuit priest and asked him how he could maintain his celibacy in this setting. He said: “John, you are a good teacher and a fine Jesuit. But if you cannot handle celibacy, you have to think about leaving.”
Another issue arose as well. Ironically, I began to think about how much I enjoyed teaching and coaching football. I loved those kids! I already had nearly 20 nieces and nephews. I began to wonder if I could truly be happy without children of my own.
But I would not, could not think about leaving. It would be shameful; I would be labeled a quitter; my parents, family, and friends would be upset… And so I made a fateful decision: I denied that I had a problem. When I returned from teaching to study theology the priesthood loomed just three years ahead. I continued to doubt deeply my ability to live the priestly life. My elderly Jesuit advisor always answered my doubts with “God will provide.” Once the preparation and excitement of the ordination year began, however, I again went into denial….and was ordained a priest in June, l964.
Speed bump!!
Eighteen months after my ordination I was studying theology in Europe—and I broke my vow of celibacy. I had never before experienced such intimacy, emotional as well as sexual. It felt like my arid and will-driven life had suddenly become fertile and full of promise. How was I to live the rest of my life without such intimacy and emotion? Yet as a priest I was denied the former and didn’t know how to find the latter. I became deeply depressed. I actually began thinking of suicide. Prayer and meditation didn’t work. God, where are you? And then I broke my vow again…and again. And each time I plunged deeper into despair.
I wrote my Jesuit superior with the entire story. He gave me the option of transferring to Rome and doing a doctorate in theology (ugh!) or returning to the States and teaching in a Jesuit high school. I chose the latter…and one year later left the Jesuits.
My family was appalled. My mother was furious. Although close Jesuit friends and one of my sisters supported my decision, my Jesuit uncle did not. He severed his relationship with me. I moved to Pittsburgh to stay with my sister Judy, her husband, and two boys. It was a terrifying, turbulent, yet terrific time. I was excited, scared, and unprepared. I had spent the last 17 years of my life as a Jesuit. I was now 35 but unemployed, naïve, and out of step with the “real world.” Paradoxically, I never felt so free in my entire life! With the help of Judy and her husband I was able to buy a used car, find a job, and support myself. Calm gradually returned to my life.
Speed bump!!!
Leaving the Jesuits didn’t immediately bring me to UUS:E. It took another eight years, dramatic changes in my theological thinking, and a second profound depression. I had married—most likely too soon--about two years after becoming a layman. Five years later I was right where I had hoped to be in my life: I had a beautiful wife, two gorgeous young children, and a wonderful career teaching at Manchester Community College. Granted, my wife and I had difficulty communicating and we both buried our feelings. In addition, she was a devout Lutheran and found my growing agnosticism unacceptable. I didn’t acknowledge the warning signs until it was too late. When she asked me to leave our home I was shattered. I still remember walking one day on Case Mountain, looking at a tree and thinking of using my belt to hang myself…but I could not do that to my children.
The depression, however, actually had a silver lining. It brought me here. My friend Bob Richardson knew that I was deep in the pits and invited me to sing in the 1975 UUS:E Christmas choir. His kindness and concern opened the doors to what became a new life. I loved the experience. I found the people in the congregation open and welcoming. I was on my way home.
What I found just as welcoming, however, was the openness of the UU theology. Some years prior I had discovered I could no longer believe in Catholicism or even in God, just as earlier I had wondered about the Mass and the sacraments, papal infallibility, the Catholic stance on birth control and homosexuality, and its negative view of sexuality. I believe my study of Darwin, anthropology, and comparative religions also moved me away from theism. I had finally realized that we can’t be compelled to believe. Rather, we use our freedom to discover what we can believe. Can you imagine: A former Jesuit priest a closet UU!
Intermezzo: I want briefly to acknowledge that I am grateful to the Jesuits for a number of things. The intellectual discipline was first-rate, if medieval in some respects. Over 15 years I acquired degrees in classics, philosophy, sociology, and theology. My Jesuit professors varied in their abilities, but I had at times brilliant and even charismatic teachers.
I lived with highly motivated and intelligent men. I hammered out my teaching skills on the anvil of a Jesuit prep school where teachers were respected and nearly every young man went on to college. I had the opportunity to study in Germany and Rome, and travel in Europe and Ireland.
And I did have many good friends. My two closest Jesuit friends, Art and Ron, are both dead now; and I love them and miss them still.
Let’s fast forward. I’ve now been a Unitarian Universalist for over 30 years. What have I discovered about my beliefs in that time? I attended the “Building Your Own Theology” this past spring and it helped me clarify what I now believe.
I believe that God—if God exists—is totally incomprehensible; God cannot be captured by our intellects. Many people believe in God. I cannot.
Further, I do not believe in life after death. Oh, I certainly hope there is. That would be an incomparable gift. But what I believe is that we receive only one life. As a 75-year-old I can never have my youth or my middle age again. But at this moment I still have the gift of life. I believe this is the only life I ever will have; it is incredibly precious; it presents trials and difficulties but also profound joys and happiness. And I believe that this one life must be cherished.
I believe in transforming love. I believe that loving and caring are essential to a happy and authentic life. I had been divorced for over 20 years when I met Barbara. When we fell in love, my good life became a great life. I hope that Barbara, my children and grandchildren, family and friends will know that I have loved them deeply.
I believe in the value of prayer. I do not believe that anyone is listening or answering, although I hope so. Nonetheless, prayer makes me more meditative and more focused. In prayer I can give thanks or seek solace by acknowledging my fears or feelings. And if I am praying for another, at least I keep that person alive and important in my heart.
I believe in music. I believe in its power to move the emotions, to portray a vision, to create a place of meditation and peace. The Latin motets and anthems of my past and the music of my present bring me to a deeper, inner place. Music helps me find my soul.
I do believe in one kind of immortality: that of being remembered, of living on in people’s hearts and minds. It is incredibly sweet to think that some might say that I had lived a good life, that I had been a good person.
Finally, I believe in this religious community. I find great inspiration from the commitment I see here: Josh’s commitment to powerful sermons and to creating a better world; Vicki’s commitment to the nurturing of our children; Pawel’s commitment to wonderful music, and to all those who would sing or perform; Jane’s commitment to our building and grounds; Annie’s commitment to her administrative work. I am inspired by our leadership and by our foot soldiers, from president to R.E. volunteers. I am inspired by our building expansion committee and their labors and conviction that we will indeed enlarge and transform our religious home. I am inspired by our welcoming congregation, accessibility and environmental activities, community outreach and social justice, choir, musicians, and small group ministries. You are a caring, giving, doing people. Thank you for taking me in when I was desolate and despairing; thank you for having me as a member for all these years. You have made my life fuller and happier, my soul more content, and my future more serene. And after my ashes are placed in our Memorial Garden—but not too soon!--please visit occasionally. Perhaps we will touch each other even then.
Amen and blessed be.
The following is an excerpt from a Boston Globe column by James Carroll. No date is given.
“Is doubt part and parcel of rational inquiry, or not? Is ambiguity essential to human knowing, or not? If the ground on which one stands while thinking and the time within which one pursues a thought…are both in flux…why is relativity to be taken as wicked?
“If the human species is evolving, how can perceptions of the truth not be evolving as well? Is science itself the sacrilege? Is the heart of religion dogma, or is it mystery?” [My emphasis.]
A Religious Response -- by Cory Clark
See, you and I don’t disagree really.
It’s just a difference of direction,
where the vector starts and where it’s pointed.
You believe we are created ideally
in God’s image, saved by Christ’s resurrection
and by this belief are with grace anointed.
I say God is our divine expression
of truth, beauty and love, a reflection,
forever a reminder of tasks we’re appointed.
You praise Allah and Muhammad
or Yahweh, the Buddha, Krishna, Venus,
the Sun God, Moon Goddess.
The name you use, the life you are promised,
the consequence of greed and meanness
or the reward for love and goodness…
All this means little to me
as long as we honor the perfection
of the questions within, not disappointed
by divergent answers when we
look out at this intersection
of our blue planet and our time together.
By the grace of seeking, learning, striving,
we are all blessed.
