Diana and Dorothy

This was the closest to a royal wedding that I have ever seen live. The church was packed with hundreds of guests who, on the late afternoon of Independence Day, awaited the cortege. In due course, the procession entered through a side door and made its way to the back of the church before advancing triumphantly down the center aisle.

There were several dozen attendants in the bridal procession: young and old, famous and unknown, gay and straight, solemn and smiling. All were dressed with cheerful formality, and flowers were much in evidence. Last in line came an Episcopal bishop, robed and mitered and carrying a crozier.

When the attendants reached the sanctuary, they turned to face us in the congregation, awaiting the couple to be married. Then, to the strains of Purcell’s Trumpet Tune and the fervent applause from the congregation, the couple came down the aisle together, splendidly dressed in long gowns with broad brimmed hats. Their faces were radiant as they acknowledged their families and guests.

After Diana and Dorothy had taken their places before the assembly, the bishop welcomed the congregation, charged us to support the couple, and ritually asked them to declare their intention to marry. The congregation then joined with spirit in the singing of “Now Thank We All Our God,” and listened with attention as some members of the wedding party gave short speeches in celebration of the two women.

As the service continued, great Welsh hymn tunes were interspersed with readings from the Bible, Shakespeare, and e.e. cummings. The wedding address was given by a justly renowned preacher Reverend Professor Peter Gomes, who on this occasion served also as Best Man. After Diana and Dorothy had exchanged their vows, the marriage was pronounced by a woman minister and blessed by the bishop.

After the church part of the celebration, guests walked in a less than perfect file through Harvard Yard, and across two main streets (the police blocking traffic), for a meal under a tent in the courtyard of the undergraduate residence where Diana and Dorothy serve as masters. During dinner, a few guests came forward to propose toasts to “the glorious couple,” as Professor Gomes consistently called them.

“Only in Cambridge,” you might say dismissively of this hyper event. Why should a column on spirituality be devoted to a same-sex wedding, a union that is legal only in Massachusetts?

A solid reason for its place here is because this wedding was so religious. Both partners are professionally involved with religion, Diana as a professor of the subject, Dorothy as an ordained minister. Beyond that, both women are seriously committed to religion in their own private lives and order them according to religious ideals.

They made a point of endowing this signal event with the trappings of religion so that everyone would recognize that their wedding was of God. Doubtless, they also wished to define the event as an act of independence as well. That is why they choose July 4th as the date of this celebration and why they had everyone sing “My Country Tis of Thee” before leaving the church.

One of the notable guests was Margaret Marshall, Chief Justice of the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts, whose leadership and vote led the Commonwealth to legalize same-sex weddings. How most members of the congregation felt about her action emerged loud and clear when they applauded her thunderously in the church and later at the reception.

My appraisal of this and other same-sex weddings continues to evolve. I believe that these unions deserve serious attention for the spiritual values they contain. Not only do I rejoice that Diana and Dorothy have been able to form a family with the blessing of the state and of some churches, but I draw spiritual inspiration from their love for one another.

However, I also sympathize with those who have doubts about the course Massachusetts has followed. A friend named Emily feels both approval and disquiet. “It makes me feel good,” she says, “that people make a commitment to each other and enjoy the privileges that this gives them, to enjoy the advantages of family life.”

At the same time, Emily feels that in legalizing same-sex marriages “we did not know what we are doing because it’s too profound, too difficult to sort out.” Surely Emily is not alone in feeling that Massachusetts has moved too fast, but still she respects the spiritual values in same-sex unions, as do I.

Richard Griffin

Bob and Steve: The Attractiveness of Spirituality

My car was one of dozens and dozens that seemed to stretch along the highways and roads for at least a mile. We were following the hearse that carried my dear friend’s body the 15 miles or so from the church to the cemetery. I had never before seen such a long line of mourners taking the somber trip to the place of burial.

To me, the outpouring of people going to the cemetery was yet another sign of how much my friend was loved. Serving as pastor of the Catholic parish in Sharon for 25 years, Father Robert Bullock had forged deep bonds with the people who came to church there and with many others outside his church and local community. We all had many reasons for esteeming him but I suspect it was his deep and authentic spirituality that we found most attractive in him.

In dealings with their pastor, his parishioners knew that his faith not only remained solid but also grew and developed as he grew into later life. Despite the buffeting that his church has suffered in recent years, they knew that Father Bullock would be there for them with open-hearted service. As a parish priest, he put his people first and responded to their spiritual and other human needs generously.

Seeing the response at his funeral, I felt confirmed in my belief that spirituality attracts people, that sincere faith, expressed in spiritual exercises and public service, responds to the deep feelings of a great many people. As human beings, we want to find spirituality enfleshed in the lives of others, especially those who have emerged as leaders.

These same feelings surfaced in me in response to the ordeal of another friend, namely Steve Collins. For the last decade, he has served as executive director of the Massachusetts Human Services Coalition, an organization that lobbies the state government to support services to those with various kinds of needs.

Now Steve is suffering what appears to be a disease that will end his life sometime soon. No longer is he able to work, but must endure an inner assault on his vital organs. The prospect of dying in middle age, only seven months after entering into marriage, must be difficult indeed.

I hope that he can take some comfort from the way his friends and associates responded in big numbers to a invitation for an event dubbed “For Steve.” At a meeting place in Boston’s Back Bay area, fans of Steve gathered to pay tribute to him as a person and in recognition of all that he has accomplished for others.

Among those accomplishments was an inventiveness that made office holders in state government willing to change priorities and provide money for social programs in need of funds. This he often did by making people laugh, rather than threatening them with political sanctions.  As the Boston Globe recently editorialized, he “used his humor like a weapon in the fight for economic justice.”

At the rally for Steve, Michael Dukakis, the former governor and nominee for president, said that Steve’s humor was more than a mere tactic. For Dukakis, it was a quality of mind and heart that, at certain times, could have served his own administration well.

What I said about Father Bullock also applies to Steve Collins. People have found Steve attractive because of his spirituality. It is his thirst for justice that has been widely recognized as deeply human, and also as a quality that comes from the soul.

On the surface, the spirituality of Father Bullock and that of Steve Collins admittedly seem quite different. The first operated in an explicitly religious setting whereas Steve worked in the secular world. But they shared a spiritual vision that had something in common, an unselfish dedication to the community of people who looked to them for support.

Of course, they probably shared much else, but spirituality is rooted in the secret places of the heart and cannot easily be described. I like to think that these two friends of mine, different yet sharing many values, have given a good name to spirituality.

The attractiveness that their people have found in the spiritual lives of these two men indicates once again how much we love to discover genuine spirituality in the life of others, as we strive to deepen our own spiritual life.

Bob Griffins

Two D-Day Mementos

Two keepsakes related to the recent 60th anniversary of D-Day have emerged from our family files and stir further reflection.

The first is a dinner menu from Longwood Towers in Brookline, where my father-in-law, Roger Keane, was general manager from 1928 to 1963. That imposing chateau-like structure served in those days as a full-service hotel as well as a long-term residence.

The dining room’s bill of fare for Tuesday, June 6, 1944 bore the heading “D-Day,” indicating that both Roger and the printing company had reacted quickly to breaking events.

The menu featured: Broiled Eastern Salmon, New Peas; Fried Smelts, Corn Relish; Yankee Pot Roast; Creamed Chicken Short-Cake; Ham and Eggs, Country Style; Broiled Spring Lamb Chop; Half Young Chicken Broiled to order.”

Austere items like smelts and ham and eggs may have been designed to please the New England palate; more probably, though, they reflected an effort to cope with the restrictions of wartime rationing.

The prices for the complete dinners featuring the dishes listed above ranged from $1.50 to $1.80. If you preferred the so-called Plate Dinner, it would cost you 25 cents less, in all instances. With a nice touch, the Shredded Cabbage and Carrot Salad, was bestowed the anticipated title “Victory Dressing.”

Desserts included Hot Apple Pie, Peach Ice Cream, and Orange Layer Cake. The menu on this patriotic occasion ended with Demi Tasse, perhaps as an unconscious tribute to the land where allied forces were even then establishing an heroic beachhead.

That evening on the east coast of the United States was not yet the time for festive and celebrative moods. Maybe the serving of wine would thus have been inappropriate but, in any event, there was no wine list on the tables and patrons were almost never observed ordering bottles or even glasses of bubbly or flatter vintages. That amenity would have to await the aftermath of WWII.

In fine print just below notice of the Massachusetts Old Age Tax 5% came assurance of the prices being in accordance with regulations of the O. P. A. –  –  the office of wartime price controls, administered then by the now 96-year-old John Kenneth Galbraith.

The second of our keepsakes is a pocket-sized French Phrase Book, marked Restricted, and dated September 28, 1943. It was issued by the War Department and intended for use by military personnel who would come into France and other countries where the 52 million French speakers lived.

Most of the linguistic entries in the paperback’s 117 pages are actually single words or brief phrases. They largely envision situations in which American soldiers would be arriving as invaders, though friendly ones allied with European governments in exile.

Each English entry is followed by a transliteration that gives an idea of how to pronounce the French word or phrase. “I am hungry,” for instance, is described as “jay FANG.” “Get a bandage” is rendered as “ah-lay shayr-shay ung pahnss-MAHNG.”

Whether any native French speaker would understand these renderings is a question that lies outside the phrase book’s scope. However, the unknown War Department author hedges his bets: “If the person you are speaking to knows how to read, you can point to the question in French and ask him to point to the answer.”

It would be interesting to discover adventures that allied soldiers had with this simple language guide. No word came down from my wife’s uncle Paul Berrigan who was a colonel in the Army Corps of Engineers and landed in Normandy two days after June 6, 1944. Doubtless this bridge-building West Pointer constructed linguistic bridges to French speakers but we have few details.

Other families surely could extract more dramatic trophies from their attics than our menu and phrase book. That they were saved suggests, however, the value put on them by family members. Looking over them has brought me the pleasure of recalling world-reshaping events from my teenage years.

On the front cover of the little book a name jumps out at me: G. C. Marshall, Chief of Staff, the person who must have authorized many publications at that time. But his name also evokes the great plan that would reconstruct Europe once the war was over.

The menu brings back a simpler time when we could count our salaries and expenditures on our hands. The same prices charged by distinguished restaurants back then must now be multiplied by a factor of 15 or 20, if not more. It’s all relative, of course, but the simpler arithmetic does point to a less complicated time, even with a monstrous war raging across much of the world.

As I never tire of repeating, change is one of the large factors that make later life so adventurous internally. We current elders have lived through and will continue to live through astonishing changes that often leave us reeling, sometimes with dismay, often with heady excitement.

Richard Griffin

Robert Bullock, My Friend

Of Father Robert Bullock it is told that many Jewish residents of Sharon, Massachusetts called him Rabbi. This was a sign of deep respect for this Catholic pastor of many years in that town.

It also serves as one indication of the pioneering work that Father Bullock had done to bring Catholic and Jewish communities closer together in mutual understanding and love. His time as Catholic chaplain at Brandeis University, his 26 years of service in Sharon where many residents are Jewish, and his involvement with Facing History, the organization dedicated to educating students and others about the Holocaust, all qualify as features of that work.

Perhaps Father Bullock’s work in this area was ironically prefigured back in 1936 when he was a 7-year-old altar boy at Sacred Heart Church in Newton Center. That is when Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli, the future Pope Pius XII, came to visit that Newton parish and, while there, reached out his hand to Bob and gave him a blessing. Who could have predicted that the young boy and the future pope would have such contrasting histories with regard to the Jewish community?

Another large area in which Father Bullock distinguished himself was leadership in the profoundly troubled Archdiocese of Boston. He was one of the first priests to speak out about the clericalism that infected ecclesiastical life in Boston and elsewhere. When the media looked for analysis of what ailed the Catholic Church, they found in Father Bullock a trustworthy spokesman.

What made him so reliable was the selflessness with which he analyzed issues. Paradoxically, perhaps, this quality freed him to include himself among the blameworthy for not having spoken out earlier about his fellow priests who were guilty of sexual abuse. At the same time, he rejected the way that the official church sometimes acted against priests without due regard for their rights.

Perhaps another secret of Robert Bullock’s inner freedom came from his rejection of ambition. I love the old story, recounted by veteran television news broadcaster David Boeri, of Father Bullock’s meeting the famous community organizer Saul Alinsky on an airplane ride.

Alinsky reportedly asked him which he wanted to be, a priest or a bishop. When the young priest asked Alinsky what he meant, the organizer answered “You need to decide now because it makes all the difference what path you take.”

Still, some of us would have liked to see our friend Bob have a position of greater leadership in the church, even if he had to become a bishop to achieve it. We think that it might have made for a much better church than what we have had.

My friendship with Bob began 61 years ago this September. Schoolboys together, we entered the ninth grade at St. Sebastian’s Country Day School, as it was then called. Located in Newton on Nonantum Hill, this school was weaker than it should have been academically in the first years of its existence, but it forged friendships that have lasted till death.

As a young man, Bob showed many of the qualities that would make him outstanding as a priest and a thoroughly devoted pastor. I remember him as committed to his studies, active in sports (notably on the same baseball team with me) and full of grace and humor in his social relations with friends of both genders. Though he was responsive to religion in high school, his vocation to the priesthood did not take full shape until he completed his education at Boston College.

His education, however, was to continue throughout his lifetime. He remained a learner always, keeping up with the latest biblical and theological scholarship and taking an active interest in the thinking of leading intellectuals in secular fields.

What I especially admired was the way my friend grew all through the years of his ministry. The many trials he faced seemed to make him stronger, someone whom others would wish to consult on personal issues. His courage in speaking out against authority, leading to the resignation of the cardinal archbishop, marked Bob as a leader ready to take criticism for his actions. Bob showed some of the advantages brought by a lengthy life.

When you live long enough, you experience the death of many friends, as I am discovering. Bob’s loss is one that hits me with special force. He was easy to like, admire, love. I thought he would be with us for much longer because of his apparently strong body and vibrant spirit.

But, once again, growing in years has brought me and others personal loss. The mystery of suffering, physical decline, and death surprises us once again. No more than anyone else do I have an answer to this mystery, no answer other than which my faith community has handed down to me.

Bob received much from that faith community and gave much back. I like to think that his life, though now lost to earthly appearance, will continue transformed.

Richard Griffin

Sweetening the Core

“‘How can the harshness of existence be sweetened at the core?’ the Ba’al Shem once asked his disciples.

He then answered his own question: ‘By raising oneself toward the greatest desire of all: the longing for true goodness.’

‘And what is true goodness?

It is perfect compassion.’”

I found this brief passage from a book referred to in this month’s issue of Tikkun, a Jewish magazine that typically offers much to think about. In this instance I would add: and pray about too.

Ba’al Shem Tov (the Master of the Good Name) as he is usually referred to, was one of the great rabbis of the Hasidic tradition that swept through Eastern Europe a few centuries ago. Living in the 18th century, the Ba’al Shem Tov inspired such devotion among his followers that he is still held in great reverence even now.

Many stories are told of this charismatic man whose teaching was collected and handed down after his death. The Jewish philosopher Martin Buber, writing in the 20th century, said of his name, “the term ‘Baal Shem Tov’ signifies a man who lives with and for his fellowmen on the foundation of his relation to the divine.”

In this instance, his teaching starts with a realistic view of human life. That life was especially difficult if you had to live as a Jew in Eastern Europe some 300 years ago. Your chances of being persecuted because of your religion were excellent and, almost surely, you lived in poverty.

Was there any way of changing this grinding way of life, asks the teacher. In putting the question, he suggests an image of daily life as a piece of fruit. The outside many be rough and prickly but there may be some way of changing it as the material nears its core, of turning it from bitter to sweet.

The rabbi’s first answer – – raising oneself toward the longing for true goodness – – does not impress us as surprising. He sets forth a spiritual task that sounds quite familiar. Most masters of the inner life would assent to his recommendation.

Developing in yourself the desire for true goodness sounds like a beautiful agenda for one’s whole life. The phrase “true goodness” suggests that one will encounter false goods, those substitutes for the real thing that often deceive us.

Also the instruction “raising yourself” teaches us that we must move to a higher plane if we are to lay hold of true goodness. It is above us and reaching it requires a discipline that stretches our capacities.

This first answer coming from the Ba’al Shem Tov moves the heart immediately.  Who among us does not aspire to true goodness? Does not everybody deep down want to be good, to grasp goodness and never let it go?

But it’s the second question and answer that throw us off stride. What is true goodness, the teacher asks? Perhaps we think we already know the answer, something like cultivating within ourselves spiritual perfection.

To our surprise and perhaps dismay, the rabbi’s response is outer rather than inner directed. For him, true goodness is perfect compassion. That means entering into the suffering and problems of others and responding with sympathy and understanding.

Once more, we discover how central compassion is to the religious spirit. When you come right down to it, caring for and about other people is more important than looking toward ourselves.

Of course, we must have compassion for ourselves too. But that comes comparatively easily, at least for those who know themselves loved by God. That knowledge allows us to sympathize with ourselves in the difficulties we encounter.

But then, reaching out to love our neighbor as ourselves, that is the test of true goodness, says the Ba’al Shem Tov – –  and not only he, but most of the other great spiritual teachers as well. They form a kind of chorus: if you want to be good, first be compassionate toward others.

These masters love to put things in a nutshell, to make us think, reflect, and pray. The words discussed here provide ample material for contemplation. They might even help us to find some sweetness at the core of existence, no matter how hard we find our lives to be.

Richard Griffin

Calendar on Display

Here’s some fast-breaking news of statuesque interest.

More than 50 people resident in my urban community have posed nude, or in some instances almost nude, for a new calendar that will cover the academic year that starts in September 2004.

Several of those seen without notable clothes are citizens prominent outside their home town, notably the erstwhile gubernatorial candidate Robert Reich and the husband/wife authors Anne Bernays and Justin Kaplan.

Though news of this event has not shaken the burghers of my home town, it has provided considerable amusement to some others from more staid communities.

A prominent resident of Boston’s Beacon Hill, Smoki Bacon, for instance, when she heard about the publication said about the Kaplans: “At their age, they are entitled to do anything they want.” My friend Smoki’s spouse Dick Concannon added: “With the advent of Bush the elder jumping out of a plane, who says seniors cannot show their bodies?”

Neither of these Bostonians expressed any envy of the chosen 50. And, when I showed the calendar to members of El Grupo – my circle of special friends who share a meal each week – they all perused the calendar with amusement but greeted with horror any prospect of themselves posing.

I called my friend Justin Kaplan, whom I respect for many reasons. Among them, I think especially of his fine literary work on Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, and the entertaining memoir that he co-authored with his wife Anne Bernays.

In contacting Kaplan and asking about his motivation for posing without covers in the stacks of my favorite bookstore, I received a surprise. Others had suggested that he wanted to display the septuagenarian body proudly and without shame.

According to this surmise, which I bought into, he was demonstrating how even in advanced age the human body retains its splendor and that only a false modesty would have made him refuse the invitation to pose clotheslessly.

This distinguished writer surprised me, however, by rejecting noble motivation and answering: “We were drugged.” So much for my theories.

When pressed for more motivation for him and his wife posing, Kaplan replied lightheartedly: “If anyone is offended or scandalized, the hell with them.”

Despite the celebrity status of some of the poseurs, you won’t find your favorite columnist among the nudes anytime soon. Fortunately I was not judged distinguished enough to be asked.

In the abstract I would have welcomed the opportunity. After all, I serve as a champion of all things older and would have felt it an honor to display the athletic 75-year-old body tout nu, as the French say. In the concrete, however, it was too cold for me to have disrobed last winter when the show-all photos were taken.

Even if the photographer had allowed me to use a book as a fig leaf, as Kaplan did with his own memoir, or the studied placement of her arms, as Bernays did, I would have rejected this photo op. Revealing myself in words is ample enough self-disclosure for this proper Greater Bostonian.

I would like to have asked Robert Reich his motivation for posing. This 58-year-old took a half-way approach, only baring it all behind an amply stocked fruit basket that concealed his entire lower-mid section. Though known as a candidate who is candid with voters, his physical candidness apparently has limits. Perhaps he wants to run for office again.

Quite a few of these nudists posed in groups of friends or fellow workers. That meant they revealed their bodily selves to others even before the calendar hit the newsstands. Given the delays involved in professional photography, that must have involved considerable time spent together nude. For me that would have provided more opportunity to get to know my associates than I needed.

I wonder how many of the disrobed would agree with this shocking conviction of mine: Most people look a whole lot better with clothes on.

Yes, there are exceptions – Michelangelo’s David comes to mind, as do many Venuses– but for most of us, clothes, if they do not exactly make the Man or the Woman, go far to improve our appearance.

I think it significant that Justin Kaplan has not seen the calendar and does not want to. We, its purchasers, look at it with a certain wonder and curiosity to see to what extent others, stripped bare, look like us, but I remain thankful for the law that prohibits us from walking down the street in the altogether.

Yes, let me again express my appreciation of God’s work in devising the human body, and allow me to endorse Shakespeare “What a piece of work is a man,” but when it comes right down to it I prefer to see my neighbors adorned with clothing.

Richard Griffin

Father Rynne’s Letter

A letter written by a beloved pastor to his parishioners provides abundant inspiration for this week’s column. His words express courage, peace, and love, enough to fill the hearts of readers with material for reflection and prayer.

The pastor whom I will call Father Frederick Rynne, has been a friend of mine since we first met as high school freshman, 60 years ago. Not only did we share intellectual adventures in the classroom but we played on the same baseball team, he at third base, I on the pitcher’s mound (occasionally).

Even more important, we shared the same spiritual ideals that helped activate our post-college careers. He has been outstanding as a priest who has served with distinction the people of several parishes and, at an earlier time, also directed campus ministry in the Boston archdiocese.

In the last few years, as the archdiocese was torn by the sexual abuse scandals, Father Rynne has assumed a wider leadership, calling for the removal of the previous archbishop and heading a priests’ association that has spurred reform.

His tenure as pastor in his current parish has been marked by devoted service to the people there, helping that community of faith to flourish. He has given serious attention to liturgy and homilies, and to current biblical and theological scholarship. His parish is active in service to others.

Now, however, this outstanding priest has become sick with a life-threatening disease. He has an inoperable tumor that involves a kidney and his liver. Currently, he is consulting with doctors about how best to deal with this serious threat to his bodily well being.

Were I in this situation, I fear that my response would be fear and foreboding. “Why me?” I would probably ask as I searched for reasons for my  fate.

Father Rynne, however, feels at peace despite the diagnosis. “It is not for me a great misfortune,” he writes, “but a necessary part of my life to which I feel called.”

To respond the way my friend is doing takes not only courage but spiritual vision. He sees this latest blow as something that fits in with his vocation. He does not, of course, think that God wants him to suffer but, still, he accepts suffering as part of his calling. As he tells his parishioners, “I have always felt fortunate, blessed by the Lord, and I do now.”

The word “always” suggests that his attitude forms part of a life-long habit of regarding himself as blessed. Now that a time of personal crisis has arrived, he can draw upon a spiritual reserve made up of gifts received from a loving God.

Father Rynne regards his parish as his home and he wants to stay there. He has so informed his archdiocesan superiors, who have shown themselves sympathetic to his request.

As he tells his parishioners, “I love being pastor here. It has always seemed right for me and the conviction that this is part of my vocation has never wavered and still does not.”

He also assures his readers that the works of the parish will continue as usual. Despite his illness, he will do what he can to serve parishioners and will see to it that the priests who have helped there will continue their service.

In closing, he asks for prayers and support, both of which I feel sure he will receive in abundance. I have seen at first hand the way in which his parishioners have supported Father Rynne before now, an indication of how they will respond in his time of crisis.

My friend does not regard himself as a person of outstanding virtue, I am sure. However, I regard him this way. He has thus far lived out his priesthood faithfully and generously, a sign of hope in a period of scandal and grief in the Archdiocese of Boston.  

No doubt there are other parishes where pastor and people are well matched and share mutual respect and affection. To find it in my friend’s parish to such an extent has buoyed up my faith as it has the spiritual life of others. For this pastor to have responded to personal crisis with such faith and courage gives to his parishioners and others who know him a renewed appreciation of spirituality.

Richard Griffin