From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded (Luke 12:48).
The bishop is the steward of grace of the supreme priesthood especially in the Eucharist ... "sanctifying the Church by his example 'not as domineering over those in your charge but being examples to the flock' (1 Pet 5:3). He should not refuse to listen to his subjects whose welfare he promotes as his very own children ..." (Catechism of the Catholic Church #893, #896).
"Your interview with Cardinal George is set!" my wife exclaimed over the phone, her voice filled with emotion. It was seven months since we put in our magazine interview request with the Chicago Cardinal, and we were finally seeing the dream fulfilled—or so I thought. For as the interview unfolded, it became clear that the real dream was still a ways off, and it was up to his flock to fulfill it.As we awaited our appointment with the successor of Cardinal Bernardin, I was surprised to find in George's waiting room only two magazines, both of dubious reputation. The coffee table contained a couple of issues of Commonweal, as well as the current issue of U.S. Catholic. Having had my fill of Commonweal for awhile (after reading the Aug. 14th issue's take on Truth entitled "Punishing Dissent," "The canons roar ... what John Paul II's Apostolic letters 'To Defend the Faith' and 'The Theological and Juridical Nature of Episcopal Conferences' mean and why they will be counterproductive ...") I instead picked up the U.S. Catholic to see if it had gotten any more orthodox since my last reading. A quick glance at the table of contents told me no, and after reading a U.S. Catholic article that contained a Protestant understanding of the Eucharist, I resolved to bring the issue up with George just as Mary McDonough, the Cardinal's communications director, ushered us in.
As Jeanette (my convert from Lutheranism wife who, in addition to being the perfect spouse, doubles as my photographer) observed the Cardinal and myself shake hands and then seat ourselves, she was struck by two things. First, instead of positioning himself behind his desk to answer questions, as most men of importance would, he pulled up a second chair in front of his desk and sat next to me. Conditioned to job interviews over the past eight years with an owner who not only sat behind an impressive desk, but in a chair that towered a foot and a half higher than the employee (hot) seat, I too noticed this as a refreshing touch. But the second thing, that George let her photograph him throughout the interview, at any angle she wanted, while just as rare, was a fact that only a photographer would appreciate—at least until the prints came out.
As soon as we got settled, I kidded the Cardinal about how long it took the interview to materialize, expecting a chuckle back from the man I wanted to regard as a friend. Instead, I found my comment, meant to break the ice, had run into an iceberg, and was returned with a rather cold response. A bit surprised, I plunged ahead, opening with a question about how his priestly vocation came about.
"My brother Bill, who recently was ordained a diocesan priest, told me he knew he had a vocation ever since the first grade, when he heard a visiting Franciscan talk about the religious life at our parochial school. Did you have a similar youthful experience, or did the call come later in life?"
"My first communion was an important moment for me. It was the first time I remember thinking seriously about my vocation. But no one is sure of a vocation at that age. God calls, but the Church discerns."
"I didn't mean to imply you were 100% sure in second grade—"
"You are not 100% sure until the bishop lays his hands on you and you are ordained."
Although I didn't quite see it (yet), a pattern was forming. Certainly, there was nothing wrong with Francis' last answer. It just struck me as a little hard-edged for such a simple (and innocent) question. Still believing that humor was the solution, I tried again.
"In many ways, you and your predecessor Cardinal Bernardin are a lot alike," I stated, as the Cardinal stared. "You both wear glasses and neither of you have a lot of hair." This time he did laugh! Asked to elaborate on how it felt to follow such a beloved figure, George stated, "It is a great strength to follow someone who was such a powerful witness to the faith, both in his courage when he was wrongfully accused [of sexual misconduct] and in his gracious acceptance of death as a 'friend.' I believe we have the same mission, but different priorities, different styles."
"On the one hand you have Cardinal Bernardin being criticized for projects such as Common Ground, because detractors say they give the impression to dissenting Catholics—and perhaps other Christians—that Church doctrine can be changed, while on the other, you have Catholics [including Bernardin] who are horrified when Bishop Fabian Bruskewitz tells Catholics in some of these same groups that Common Ground dialogued with—that they have thirty days to renounce these organizations and their teachings or be excommunicated. Who do you think was right?"
"I don't think Bernardin or Bruskewitz ever disagreed on [Church] doctrine," said George, treading delicately on the subject. "Cardinal Bernardin was clear about what he taught and believed, but also felt it painful to exclude people. Bruskewitz believed the same revealed Truth that Bernardin did, but because of his faith, he felt he had to draw the line for those under his authority. I don't think Cardinal Bernardin ever disagreed with Bruskewitz's right to draw the line, but on when and how he did it."
Cardinal George was careful to not reveal where he would "draw the line" in that scenario, but I did definitely find out his feelings on where to press for orthodoxy when I asked him about the sorry excuses for Catholic literature in his waiting room. And while I succeeded getting a definite stand on this question, he also did not laugh the remainder of the interview.
"The Catholic media often seems to be divided along political lines which I think is a mistake," I stated. "Liberal magazines emphasize social justice and political action, while conservative magazines talk mostly about Catholic sacramental and prayer life, and I think Catholics sometimes get the impression they have to choose one over the other, when both are necessary. For example, the one magazine in your waiting room always contains some good social justice articles, but in regard to the sacraments, you get commentary like this." At this point, I picked up the October issue of U.S. Catholic, to read its quote on the Eucharist verbatim. "It's insulting enough," the article declared, "that the institutional church believes it has an exclusive claim on the sacraments and won't allow other believers to join us in celebrating the one who died for all of us." Although some might have a hard time believing a cardinal as learned as George would be surprised to find such heterodox statements in this popular local "Catholic" magazine, his genuine ignorance was evidenced by the fact he reacted to the quote like he had just been punched in the gut.
"That's terrible. The person who wrote that has no understanding of what the Eucharist is about. The Eucharist is the sacrament of unity, and to let those who don't believe in the Real Presence receive, dishonors the Catholic doctrine of the one true Church."
Unfortunately, instead of being happy (or at least relieved) that someone had informed him that a heretical magazine, pretending to be Catholic, dominated the coffee table in his waiting room, where it could easily prey on the weak believer, George seemed to grow even more wary of me from that moment, as if I had either planted the periodical or was deliberately trying to dig up dirt. Hoping some of my own published writings would alleviate his fears, I talked about my personal love of the Eucharist, determined to turn the tide.
"I recently wrote an article for The Catholic Faith [magazine] on the importance of Perpetual Eucharistic Adoration Chapels, in which I also talked about the necessity of frequent communion. I started the article quoting from the Catechism of the Catholic Church which stated the Eucharist was the "source and summit of the Christian life," "the sum and summary of our faith—"
"That quote is actually from Lumen Gentium in Vatican II."
"Ah ... yes. The first quote is actually the Catholic Catechism quoting Vatican II. In any event, I read recently how the America bishops talked about canceling holy days of obligation in the United States when they fell on a Saturday or Sunday ... but in light of what the Church teaches ... wouldn't it be logical for a person to want to celebrate Mass and receive the Eucharist daily?"
"Yes, that would be logical ... but they shouldn't stop going on Sunday." George then went into a long explanation of why the Sunday Liturgy is of more primary importance than the weekday Mass, something I did not question. In fact, it almost seemed like George brought it up just so he appeared not to agree with me.
"Cardinal, you talk often about the need for Catholics to evangelize. Do you mean devout Catholics to evangelize uninformed or lukewarm Catholics, or also those in other Christian denominations and non-Christians as well?"
"Yes, I meant we should evangelize all people."
At this response I got excited again, because I figured I could draw on recent personal experiences. "Cardinal, I have a friend named Paul who was raised Catholic and attended Catholic high school with me, but since has left the Church and is now an Assemblies of God minister. In fact, his church, Lincoln Park Assembly, is not far from here. Do you know Lincoln Park well?"
"Ah ... somewhat," George said seemingly baffled by my line of inquiry.
"Well, his church is right there ... actually, they don't have a church building; they conduct their services in the Apollo Theatre." At this point I stopped for a second, for originally I had planned to ask the Cardinal to give my friend Paul a call, and welcome him to the neighborhood, but George's glare made me think the better of it. "Anyway, Paul's a great Christian and a good friend. We talk often about the faith, and recently he even started to agree with me on the Catholic theology of saints when I told Paul that if Christ really conquered death, then the saints aren't really separated from us, and we can be friends with them just as we are friends, and they can pray for us just like we pray for each other, or talk to them just like we talk—"
"But there is one big difference," George cut in.
"Yes?"
"With saints, we can manipulate the relationship. But with those on earth, there is a reality check."
"Reality check?"
"With the saints, the conversation can be one-sided. But if someone talks to me, I can talk back." Again the Cardinal's answer struck me as both perfectly correct, yet somewhat cynical. "Well, anyway, I've attended a couple of their services, and while Paul is a good preacher, as good as his talks are ... there's always something missing in them.
"Of course there is! He has lost the Eucharist!"
"Yes! Exactly!" Now I was getting somewhere, I thought. "You see, Paul loves the Bible and is very knowledgeable of it ..."
"But if you have just the Word, you have to rely too much on yourself, on your own interpretation. But the Eucharistic Christ never comes alone ... and you never go to Him alone. We go young and old, rich and poor together. The Eucharist is the total Christ."
"But the Eucharist should never be separated from the Word, right?"
"No, of course not."
"That's what I told Paul. Do you know the story of the [Eucharistic] miracle of Lanciano?"
"Yes," George replied, again puzzled.
"Well, I told him about the priest who doubted the Real Presence in the Eucharist, and how one day when he said the words of consecration, the host actually turned into flesh and the wine into blood—and that flesh and blood from back in the 700s is still preserved undeteriorated today. I asked Paul to guess what part of the body the flesh was. When I told him 'it was the heart,' he gasped. So I told him that maybe the Word was the mind of God, but the Eucharist was Jesus' heart— and when the Protestants separated the two, they separated God's mind from the heart." I stopped.
"Well, do you have a question for me?" George demanded.
"Just, I guess, whether or not that was a good explanation for a fundamentalist, the Bible being the mind of God and the Eucharist being His heart."
"The Eucharist is the whole Christ. It is Jesus' present body, blood."
"Soul and divinity," I chanted, softly joining in the stern, yet comforting refrain from Trent. "But was that at least a good way to explain the two?"
"I suppose it is a good analogy. But those are your words, not mine."
George's pointed disclaimer hung in the air and stung me, but there was nothing I could do but continue. "When you met with leaders of other denominations, how does it make you feel?" I wondered.
"On the one hand, you feel the joy of being in the presence of so many men and women that truly love Jesus, but on the other, it is painful because you realize firsthand the great separation between us."
"So since you know that they disagree with you, how then do you share the Faith? At Paul's church, I met a brilliant girl of sixteen, who as it turned out, also shared my love of writing poetry. We agreed to trade poems, but one of hers was a 26-page epic; a poem that depicted abuse, silence and despair. When darkness is so deep, it just seems like vague ecumenical Christian answers won't cut it ... so I gave her a book of poetry by St. John of the Cross, and then I talked about the peaceful silence of Eucharistic Adoration, but she seemed taken aback ... my advice was very Catholic ... maybe I shouldn't have shared it ..."
"Why shouldn't you share your faith? In that situation, I think it was something you had to do," George encouraged.
Vindicated, at least for the moment, I continued on my road to faith—sharing from the viewpoint of vocations. "Part of the difficulty in [my] everyday evangelizing stems from the difference in our vocations. Vocations to the priesthood or religious life have long been taught as 'the' vocation, in fact in many parishes I've been in, prayers of the faithful petitions for vocations are synonymous with 'religious vocations—'"
"Well, I know parishes that discourage religious vocations," George countered.
"True ... I suppose that is the modernist backlash to the traditional call for religious vocation ... but there was a kind of pervasive piety that taught if you really loved God, you would be religious, but if you couldn't hack it, you could at least save your soul in a Catholic marriage. In fact, many of the canonized saints wrote commentaries that stated religious life was the 'higher' vocation, and of course, most of the canonized saints were celibate religious—"
"Marriage is just as holy of a vocation as the religious life if it is your vocation," George offered.
"Then do you think this is partly because there are more books written by devout religious on how to achieve sanctity than by family men and women, and that more holy married Catholics need to write down their experiences so that others in their state have more practical guides to marriage perfection?"
"I think there is some truth to that, but married adults rarely have time to write their ideas down!" Well there is some truth to that I thought to myself as the Cardinal continued.
"The religious vocation on earth does more closely mirror the relationship we will have with God in heaven where 'they neither marry or are given to marriage' (Matt 23:30). Marriage ends in death. In heaven your union is with God alone. But you do bring what you were on earth to heaven, and that includes your relationships, especially your relationship with your spouse."
"So I won't be one with my wife in heaven?"
"Your path to heaven is mediated on earth by your spouse, while mine is mediated by the Church. You need to accumulate a certain amount of wealth to provide for your wife and children, but I do not. There is nothing worse than a rich celibate. They are merely ecclesiastic bachelors, and are great failures in their vocation."
Not being a theologian, I didn't really grasp the part about how married folks were no longer joined in heaven, but I did understand poverty from personal experience, so I pursued George's views on the question of (making) money.
"I recently wrote an article for Culture Wars which questioned the idea of Catholic capitalism—whether one can become wealthy through business and still remain a Catholic, especially if those working for you are poor."
"You need both the rich and poor in society. The rich are needed to provide jobs for the poor, and the poor are necessary because without them, the rich would not get into heaven," George answered without addressing the problem.
"But surely it is not right for a company to pay a family man merely what the market dictates if their salary is below a true living wage."
"It's not just the market," explained George. "It's also the law of the land. Our laws forbid a company from compensating a man according to his family situation, because they state that each individual, man or woman, just receive equal pay for equal work," George concluded, thinking the matter was settled.
"But this type of answer, often espoused by corporations, is not good enough," I countered. "If there are ways around it on one end, there must be ways around it on the other." As George listened, I explained how, in my retail job, a wholesaler is required by state law to sell goods to each retailer at the same price. So although the price is the same on invoice, the next day a salesman will often appear with a free case (or two) to make the deal sweeter for bigger retailers. "And there is nothing unlawful about giving an employee a Christmas bonus of $50 and another a bonus of, say, $5,000."
"No, I suppose not."
"So, isn't it really the employer's responsibility to see that his employees get a living wage?" The Cardinal, perhaps not prepared for an intellectual battle on this subject, appeared perturbed.
"Although the Church does teach that a worker is entitled to a just wage, it does not provide models as to how this should take place. Do you change the laws in our government? Do you change the economic structure of your company? Or should society provide the 'safety net' for families whose income isn't enough to meet their basic needs?"
"That's all fine, but I'm saying a Catholic owner of a company shouldn't be considered a Catholic if he owns several homes, when he has full-time employees who can't afford a place to live."
"Many Catholics would be shocked to hear you say that," George said, not yet tipping his hat as to whether he agreed with me or not.
"Well, it's true. Can you really call yourself a Catholic when you don't pay the people who work under you enough to live on?"
"Define what you mean by enough to live on."
"Not always having enough money to buy food, not always having enough money to buy clothes for your kids," my definition again coming from personal experience.
"Yes, those are necessary, but I still don't think a president of a large corporation can always be responsible for knowing individual employee needs."
"True, but in a mid-sized company, there is no excuse," I countered. "The owner should know his employees, and if the owner is a Catholic, he should be responsible for, say dropping a food basket off at a poor employee's house ... slipping him food vouchers, or a little cash in between checks."
"I think, in some small companies, that type of thing does happen," George sighed. "Perhaps it should happen more often," George stated finally succumbing on this point. But as Jeanette noted through the eye of her camera, each "defeat" left George's expression more determined, and each answer more defensive.
"John XXIII, when still a cardinal, would open up his office to the public each weekday morning for three hours, letting in any soul off the street who, for whatever reason, wished to talk to him. Although we live in a far different time and place, wouldn't that be a cool thing to do, perhaps on a limited scale?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't have the time to talk to you if that policy was in place," came the cold reply.
I then asked him about his own disability (George's boyhood bout with polio has left him unable to walk witout pain) and how it helped him relate to others with similar plights. While his insightful answer ("My disability has made me more vulnerable ... sometimes it's a struggle to look upon it as a blessing rather than a curse ... I see that it's important to keep the disabled visible in the Church community so the affluent realize they are not lesser members, just because they can't do anything,") was undercut by the fact he was now trying to see my notebook, and read my notes. I tried to go on to a "safe" question. But even that proved anything but.
I next asked the Cardinal who he prayed for and while his answer, "I pray for the archdiocese, all its people and their welfare. I pray for the bishop and all the priests under my charge, and all those who minister to others. I pray for vocations to the priesthood and religious life, and for fidelity to my own vocation. And I pray for the specific needs of those who I meet in parishes or hospitals ..." was remarkably similar to Pope John Paul's answer to this question in Crossing the Threshold of Hope, the next one wasn't.
"I know many priests and bishops set aside a specific hour each day to pray, and do so in front of the Eucharist. In fact, I read that Cardinal Bernardin said his decision to do so, when he was already a bishop, was the turning point in his ministry. Do you set aside a specific time to pray each day, and is it in front of the Eucharist?"
"When I was in a community house [Missionary Oblate of Mary Immaculate] we used to have Eucharistic Adoration before dinner. But I'm far too busy during that time now, so I try to pray in the morning ..."
"You mean in church?"
"No, in my room."
"While you're getting ready for the day?"
"Yes."
"Do you have Eucharistic Adoration there?"
"No."
This, of course, was perhaps the one question the Cardinal least wanted asked and the answer I least wanted to receive, and now we both knew I had better end this interview ... quickly. I figured I'd rap things up with a light question, but at that point, even that backfired miserably.
"If you had one piece of advice to give the world's Catholics, what would it be?"
"That's such a broad question!" George said with annoyed amazement.
"Well, what if we limit it to American Catholics?" I said hopefully. George looked like he wanted to strangle me, but, perhaps due to the intercession of our patron saints, and guardian angels, thought the better of it.
"Know and live the faith," George finally stated looking relieved that it was over.
Jeanette and I said our thanks, and quickly got our things together. Still hopeful to salvage George's respect, I gave him a few copies of various Catholic articles I've written, and then picked up the copy of U.S. Catholic, which George commented on immediately.
"I was going to use it in my article," I told George who frowned.
"I'm sorry; I'll leave this copy here and just get a copy from the library," I told him.
"No that's okay," George sighed as he let me take it.
"They shouldn't call a magazine U.S. Catholic when it contains articles that aren't," I offered.
"They're probably just being controversial to sell copies," George replied half-heartedly.
"Yes ... well thanks again."
"Pray for me." We were almost out the door, and the suddenness (and sincerity) of his request caught us off guard.
"We will," I promised.
As we were exiting from the elevator to the street, an archdiocesan employee, a jovial man named Jim, was entering. Not recognizing us, he asked us our business in the building. "We just saw the Cardinal. I did a magazine interview with him."
"Really?" said Jim, perhaps aware of the rarity of the occasion.
"Yes, we had been waiting and praying for this for a long time," Jeanette added.
"Yes, well I have a saying about things like that. Be careful what you pray for ... you just might get it."
The prophetic nature of Jim's statement didn't hit me fully until we arrived home and found a message on our answering machine. It was the concerned voice of Mary McDonough. When I called her back I knew it must be urgent by the fact that Mary, not her answering machine, picked up the phone, something that rarely happened. "The Cardinal was concerned about the nature of your questions," Mary stated after a brief hello. "He wants to know what the focus of your article will be."
"I would have to go over my notes and actually start writing before I could tell you exactly, Mary. It certainly will touch on the Eucharist ... but it will touch on a lot of things. I suppose you could tell him the theme is a family man getting to spend an hour with the Cardinal."
Mary was not appeased. "You're writing the article for _____________________ . What other magazines have you written for?"
I started to name them, but then remembered I had given the Cardinal some of my articles personally. "Mary, I already gave Cardinal George copies of my stories. If he's concerned, tell him to read them. I'm sure that will give him a good idea of what I write, and what type of content my articles would include."
"Tom, the Cardinal is not going to have time to read any of your articles. He wants to know what issue his story will be in and wants a copy of the article before it goes to printing."
I was stunned. These were tactics of a police state, not the Chicago Archdiocese. "I don't know what issue it will be in, Mary. I'm not sure about getting you a copy beforehand. I'm sorry he didn't like the interview," I said softly.
"He didn't say he didn't like it, Tom. He was just concerened about the focus ..."
"Be careful what you pray for ..." I again remembered Jim's words, as I tried to put the interview in perspective the following day. I had gone there expecting an inspiring interview with an orthodox friend (as did the magazine!) and I was instead left with a complex series of confrontations to write about. I vaguely recalled reading an article entitled "Pastors Warn George about Abrasive Style" (National Catholic Reporter, November 21, 1997) but had then concluded the prelates who had nicknamed him "George the Corrector" were all liberals, and George was just doing his pastoral duty. But as I re-read it, I realized I went there a married man who loved the Church and all its teachings, and George corrected (if not silenced) me as well.
This was not going to be an easy article to write, I thought while driving home from my retail job. It was my only time to think about the article that day since I was heading to another job late that night, and my wife had called and asked me to take the kids out for fast food in the hour or so in between. But, as anyone with four children knows, such plans rarely go as smoothly in reality as they do in your head.
When I got home, I instead find one kid wants to go to the restaurant, another needs me to go to Osco and buy him school supplies, a third wants to stay home and study, while the fourth one wants ... "I don't have time for all these things," I yelled angrily. "I barely have time to take you to Wendy's!" But then my daughter started to cry, and her tears told me otherwise.
Well, we went out to that restaurant, got supplies at the drug store, brought a doggy bag home for my bookish son, and I still got to my other job with three minutes to spare. And after that job was over, I again started to think—and to realize Cardinal George and I were not that different after all. We are both too busy, running from one thing to another, not finding enough time to pray. Sure we both go to daily Mass (actually he presides and I attend) and we both try to sneak in a few prayers when we get up in the morning, but our lack of patience with our vocations proves it isn't enough. If Cardinal George is at a crossroads, a learned bishop and able administrator who, with an hour or so a day of Eucharistic Adoration, could also become a saintly priest, than so am I, a Catholic father and husband, struggling to make time for my family while making ends meet, who with a little more "focused" prayer in front of the tabernacle could not only write about the virtuous Catholic life (as George challenged) from a married perspective, but live it. Finally realizing what I needed, I pulled off the road and stopped at a Perpetual Eucharistic Adoration Chapel at a nearby parish, went in, and began to take the Cardinal's last words to me in earnest.
Postscript:
It was October 16th (ten days after the interview) and the morning radio led with the story of the 20th anniversary of John Paul II being elected pope ... and, of course, being in Chicago, they were asking Cardinal Francis George his thoughts on the subject.
"I didn't know Cardinal Wojtyla very well at the time, but I had talked to him briefly about his writings and how he was convinced, quite prophetically, that Marxism, because of its flaws, would eventually fail." Here the Cardinal paused, and then resumed. "I think the Pope is now convinced that the economic system in America is flawed and must someday fail too."
This last comment made me pause, and then it made me smile. While I could not be sure from that statement that George had taken my economic theories seriously, I became convinced at that moment that my prayer for him had been heard. And if one struggling writer's prayer had that much effect, think of what may happen if all this article's readers pray for Cardinal George too. Who knows—he may not only become a saint—but maybe even invite me back for another interview!
Cardinal George to Honor Father Pfleger With Lifetime Achievement Award
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