When I was a little girl the Sisters at Bishop Conroy Memorial School taught us about Catholic missionaries working in remote places of the world spreading God’s word to the pagans. (To us, a pagan was anyone who wasn’t Christian.) In our classroom we had a competition between the boys and girls to raise money to support the missions. Two jars sat on Sister’s desk, one for the boys and one for the girls. Every time we raised $5.00, we were issued a beautiful certificate of adoption by the Pontifical Association of the Hold Childhood as a “souvenir of the ransom and baptism of an adopted pagan baby” which also included the name we had chosen for our newly adopted child. By the end of the school year, certificates proudly circled the walls of our classroom.
Looking back it seems like a silly thing to do, but in those days we sincerely worried about the fate of the poor pagan babies living in darkness without Jesus in their lives. We were so sheltered in our world we were totally unaware that God was in their lives even if Jesus wasn’t. It never occurred to me that just maybe these “pagans” had their own faith in God and way to worship, or how the peoples in Africa felt when European missionaries arrived and set their worlds upside down….until now.
Last year our parish was assigned a new administrator. Our previous pastor had become ill and could no longer fill the needs of two rural parishes in Central Virginia with a mountain between them. Due to a shortage of priests in our diocese, the bishop looked to other countries where there is an excess of clergy to fill our empty rectories. Our new priest, Fr. Michael, came to us from Uganda.
Since his arrival, I have thought of the pagan babies many times. Not because I think he was a pagan baby, but because in many ways, he appears to be like a missionary to us.
Naturally there are some cultural differences. Fr. Michael is much more conservative/traditional than most American priests I’ve known in my lifetime. He wears a cassock when he is in his official capacity as priest and embraces many of the old “smells and bells” of the pre-Vatican church. Although these things are familiar to me because of my age, I find myself very uncomfortable with the return of the old ways. In some ways I feel like I am the “pagan baby”. Our ways are not his ways and the impression is that our ways are incorrect and must be changed.
He is a good and kind man, but I’m not so sure he has spent much of his clerical life working with the laity. Because our parish has always had a non-resident pastor, the lay folk have pitched in and have done almost everything, with little direction. Leadership in a group like this is not easy.
Somehow we will have to find middle-ground for our parish to thrive. Our congregation is graying and there are fewer young folks joining to take on the added burdens being set aside by those ready for rest. It is a sad thing when the “young folk” are in their fifties and nearing sixties.
I don’t know what the answer is. The good news is that I’ve realized I don’t have to find the solution; which has been a weight lifted from my shoulders. I’m praying that the answer will eventually be revealed.