Reflections: 50th

‘What CLS Means to Me’ by Dean V. Marek

PART I: ST. FRANCIS DE SALES SEMINARY¹

Let me begin my story with an event in 1964, the year before my ordination to the priesthood. I was in the printshop at the seminary, silk screening “holy cards” with a seminarian colleague and friend. I got a splitting headache from inhaling ink and turpentine fumes.

My colleague said, “Come up to my room; I can give you some aspirin before you go home.” I lived in another building on campus, so that seemed reasonable. I went with him to his room and sat on a chair just inside the door while he got the aspirin.

Suddenly, the door opened; there stood the student prefect. His job was to keep order on his assigned floor and check attendance at chapel services. “What are you doing here?” he asked, “You know the rule against visiting rooms.” I told him why I was there, and he ordered me to leave, which I did.

The next day, the rector summoned me to his office. “What were you doing in another room with the door closed and the window drapes drawn?’ I told him the story about my colleague’s offer of aspirin and added, “By the way, those drapes were wide open with the sun shining in.”

He opened a file folder that was on his desk and took out what he said were my Rorschach Ink Blot Test results. “It says here that you could be prone to lying.” I didn’t know how to respond but finally asked, “Monsignor, here I am in front of you; why are you looking at a psych test instead of believing what I told you?”

“Your breach of this particular rule could be subject to expulsion . . . but instead, I’m going to clip you from ordination to the subdiaconate² until September. We’ll see what happens in the meantime.

Then, the dean of students summoned me to his apartment; the assistant dean was there, also. I sat on a couch while they took chairs on the other side of a coffee table. It was the early days of Vatican II, and a cultural revolution was taking place. In response to those events, they brought up several issues that perplexed them about my behavior and that of my classmates.

“Why are you caught up in this belief that love is the answer for everything?” one asked. “When you see a family in your parish, do you think the husband kisses his wife and goes off to work because of love? No, he goes out of a sense of duty! He has a wife and children to support!”

It must have been the Spirit prompting me when I responded, “Perhaps you guys couldn’t preach about love in your day, but this is a new day, and we’ll succeed where you failed. By the way, when I saw the rector, he told me that the drapes were closed when the perfect entered the room. That’s false. Who told him that? Or did he lie?”

One of them must have reported the incident to the rector, but neither responded. So, I stood up, said I had enough of their interrogation, and walked out the door, which I slammed behind me. “Holy shit,” I thought, “What have I done?”

But I survived. My classmates elected me the deacon class president, and I was ordained the following Spring 1965.

PART II: ASSIGNMENTS

When I arrived at my first assignment to St. Edward’s Parish in Racine, the pastor answered the door and invited me to sit in the parlor. He told me that he “heard about me” and decided he would treat me differently. “I’m not going to tell you the rules here. I will let the senior assistant do that.” I thought it sounded like a setup for failure.

On August 15, after one of the Holy Day Masses, the pastor stomped into the rectory and yelled at me, “Where were you? You didn’t help me distribute Communion!” “Monsignor, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know I was supposed to.” “You’re not sorry!” “You’re right. I’m not.”

That set the stage for similar encounters, and two years later, I got a call from the bishop’s office. It was the chancellor telling me he was going to transfer me to a new parish. “And something we never do,” he said, “You can choose your next assignment. Here are the two choices.”

When he told me the choices, I didn’t know anything about either. “Could I have some time to find out about them?” I asked. “We’re really in a hurry to get this done today . . .” “Well then, how about I call you back in about two hours?” He reluctantly said, “Okay.”

I called a priest friend. “What should I do?” “Come to St. Joseph’s in Kenosha.” I immediately called the chancellor. “I’m sorry, but we already assigned you to St. William’s Parish in Waukesha.”

The pastor of St. William’s warmly welcomed me at the rectory door. He was going fishing, so he said, “Your room is up the stairs to the left. Make yourself at home. I don’t want to have to tell you what to do. See you later.” “That’s interesting,” I thought, “where have I heard that story before?”

Others had made most of my life choices for me up to that point in time. Sure, I freely chose the seminary, but somebody else was in charge for the next twelve years. Seminary wasn’t the best academic experience, but it taught me skills they never intended: to own my decisions and speak my mind. So, at St. William’s, I did.

PART III: COMMUNITY OF THE LIVING SPIRIT (CLS)

St. William’s parishioners were down-to-earth good people who took responsibility for their parish and welcomed new adventures in experiencing and celebrating faith. As a result, a religious education program flourished under creative leadership. And after attending courses in the history of the liturgy, members were asking for a contemporary Liturgy in the parish Gym, where in essence, CLS was born.

A committee of seven families from the “Gym Mass” met on the evening of July 1, 1971, after failing to get diocesan approval to start a new community parish. They “pledged themselves to secure and support a new community to be called ‘The Community of the Living Spirit.’ The name was chosen because those present felt that the Holy Spirit inspired them toward their action.”³

I was called later that evening and informed of the committee’s decision. They asked me to become the minister of the community, and I accepted wholeheartedly. “Holy crap,” I thought, “the shit’s going to hit the fan this time! How exciting!”

I’m amazed how paths I never chose got me to the place I was meant to be. I answered the call and decided to sign up for a journey into the celebration of “Be Here Now.”4

“Where are we?” “HERE!” “What time is it?” “NOW!”

PART IV: “LIFE IS A JOURNEY, NOT A DESTINATION”5

In retrospect, CLS was the best seminary experience I ever had. You grew me up from delayed adolescence into the person I’m forever becoming. You taught me self-worth and how to encourage it in others. You taught me to receive and give the gift of love. Oh, so many hugs.

In community, we explored the meaning of spirituality, love, and life. I learned to theologize, liturgize, create, celebrate, delegate – and even dance. I was challenged to preach honestly, never advocate for what I didn’t believe, and celebrate rituals authentically with reciprocity.

You awakened in me an examination of my tribal, cultural, religious, and racial beliefs that caused me to judge others as less than me. Conversations, liturgies, workshops, and retreats in self-reflection – based on a belief in the common good, social justice, and God revealed in all of creation – led me to appreciate myself and others as more like me.

I’m currently trying to understand why so many others unlike me choose to believe lies and conspiracy theories trumpeted by politicians and preachers. I realize that such opinions are not about facts but are an emotional defense against unwanted change. Fear of a privileged life upended is a powerful incendiary for social chaos. No wonder the scriptures urge us to embrace faith over fear. “Instead of fear, have faith,”6

At CLS, I lived a “foretaste of the heavenly liturgy”7 and looked for it wherever I went thereafter. I found it in Milwaukee, serving an aging community of retired Franciscan sisters who educated, cared for, and healed thousands in their lives of service. I found it in Rochester, MN, ministering among Mayo Clinic patients whose souls had been opened wide by illness.

And more recently, I found it in Richmond, VA, as a member of a multi-ethnic, multi- generational parish aptly named “Sacred Heart.” In preparing this reflection on what CLS means to me, I had an “aha moment” when I remembered a quote on one of my ordination holy cards. “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”8
And the quote on my other ordination holy card still holds true in my life wherever I go.9

I am always surprised where the journey leads because those quotes from the Little Prince and The Prophet were what my friend and I were silk-screening in the seminary printshop fifty-seven years ago.