When my Roman Catholic mother died, I had a very different experience at
her funeral than did Barbara Johnson, the gay woman, recently denied Communion
during the service for her mother at St. John Neumann Church in
Gaithersburg.
Until my mid-20s, I was, as a friend commented, “a little more Roman
Catholic than the Pope.” But after starting a news reporting career, marrying a
good Irish Catholic in my family’s parish church and giving birth to three
daughters in three years, I had many questions for the church. Soon I found that
the church did not welcome questions and had unsatisfactory, rigid answers to
many of them. In 1966 I voted with my feet and left for the Episcopal Church,
where a priest told me, “We may not have answers but we’ll walk with you on the
search for answers.”
My journey led to ordination as a priest and a 30-year ministry. Once the
culture shock wore off, my parents proudly told the world, including their
pastor and his assistant, “Our daughter is a priest.”
As my mother’s congestive heart failure approached its end stage, she and
Dad informed their pastor that they wanted me to participate “up front” at her
funeral. When she told me that the priest had agreed, I cynically thought, “The
Second Coming will arrive first.” But I said I would ask about funeral
participation when the time came.
Mom died in the early morning hours of a beautiful autumn day, and in the
afternoon I called her priest to inquire about funeral planning. Prepared to be
put in my place as an apostate, I gingerly approached the subject of
participation, asking if I might read a lesson or lead the psalm.
“Oh, more than that. You can do anything you want,” Father responded.
“Anything?”
“Anything,” he repeated...
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story of what the church can and should be.
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