A GenXer looks forward, looks back - Across The Age Spectrum - Generation X religious and the Catholic Church - Column

National Catholic Reporter, Oct 4, 2002 by Renee M. LaReau

The post-Vatican II church is characterized by its own unique lexicon that is rife with colorful, high-octane phrases: Catholic character. Zero tolerance. Generation X. Cafeteria Catholicism. Church renovation. And my personal favorite: vocation crisis. This misnomer has given rise to a host of new literature on the' subject of the priest shortage, some of it honest and forthright, some of it vitriolic and out of touch. Seminary directors have scrambled to hire more vocation directors, design clever billboards, purchase trendy magazine advertisements and host information nights for prospective seminarians.

If I ever had the opportunity to advise a group of vocation directors, I would suggest that they invite a few young men out to a nice dinner. That simple act of hospitality, if extended repeatedly over time, can be instrumental in the cultivation of a vocation. At least that is the way it happened for me.

To this day, I believe that I have chosen theology as a course of study and ministry as a profession because, during my high school and college years, more than a couple of priests invited my younger brother to dinner. Presumably, they thought he was one of a few good men. And he is. Their intuition was right on. My brother is bright, articulate and faith-filled. The priests were successful in their attempt to cultivate a vocation, though probably not in the way they had in mind. I thank those priests, wherever they are, for those dinner invitations they extended to my brother. I thank them because, embedded within the response of a strong-willed mother, was an invitation of a different sort.

"They should be inviting you too," I remember my mother saying to me on more than one occasion. "You have just as many gifts to offer to the church as your brother does." That simple statement-turned-injunction, repeated throughout my teenage years, spoke volumes to me. My mother's words conveyed both equality between women and men, and that I was expected to have a role in the church. Perhaps she was speaking for a bevy of baby-boom mothers, mothers who, shaped by the cultural overhaul of the 1960s, will not readily hand their sons over to the church unless their daughters are accepted too. Whether or not my mother's statement is representative of others in her generation, I know that it was life changing for me in the cultivation of my own vocation.

The real vocation crisis in the post-Vatican II church is not that half-empty seminaries now serve as weekend retreat facilities, but that we have failed to acknowledge the vocation of mothers, marriages, professors, business professionals, social workers, physicians, engineers and fathers. The real vocation crisis is that we ignore the gifts of faith-filled laypeople who serve and have loyally served the church for years, both as volunteers and paid professionals. The real vocation crisis is that we have failed to acknowledge that it is the laity, in large part, that provides the church with its lifeblood, its color, its vibrancy, its energy. The real vocation crisis is that we have neglected a wholistic theology of vocation. The real vocation crisis is that we have neglected to acknowledge the laity who "hung in there" when things got rough.

Born more than 10 years after the Second Vatican Council began, I feel fortunate to have reaped the benefits of the pioneering work of the laypeople and clergy who came before me. I work at a vibrant parish that celebrates the gifts of the laity, acknowledges the richness of other faiths and commits itself to good liturgy. As I began my work two years ago as a pastoral associate who coordinates the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults and worship, I had little explaining to do in terms of my work or my education. Parishioners knew what my role was expected to be. They even knew what a master of divinity degree was.

And this was no accident. The parishioners' understanding of lay ministry was the result of a pastor with broad vision and many committed laypeople who preceded me, both those who have worked at the parish level and those who have worked for the larger church. Those laypeople had to work harder in their early days than I have had to work thus far to gain credibility and trust, whether they have been employed as staff writers for diocesan papers, directors of religious education at parishes, college professors or volunteers.

When I complain about the lack of a voice for the laity in the church or the dearth of public leadership opportunities for women, "my elders" gently remind me of the laypeople who pursued graduate degrees in theology before there was financial support to do so. They remind me of the women who worked quietly behind the scenes for so many years before their work was acknowledged with a just wage and a professional title.

When I look at the opportunities in front of me and ask them, "Is this all?" they tell me, "Its so much better than it was." They tell me, "We have worked very, very hard to get here." In my own evaluation of the general welfare of the church, I feel I must walk a fine line between appreciating the advances of previous generations, yet demanding more in order to move forward in the future.