At Call to Action, stories show softer side to disputes

National Catholic Reporter, Nov 19, 1999 by Tom Roberts

A quite irony was at work when two women religious, known primarily for their celebrated jousts with Rome, took the stage during the opening session of the recent Call to Action national conference in Milwaukee.

Two stories emerged that shed light on a different, human side of the disputes that School Sister of Notre Dame Jeannine Gramick and Mercy Sr. Theresa Kane have had with the institution. The two continue to work on behalf of reform issues, but the tales that surfaced showed that behind deep disagreements may be room for moments of accord and respect between those on opposite sides of divisive issues in the church.

The stories represented a kind of alternative leaven for a conference that otherwise maintained its historically edgy relationships with the church, through its persistent calls for renewal and reform, and with the world, through its growing commitment to themes of justice and human rights.

The tales surfaced in different ways. In the case of Gramick, it was through a public recounting at the opening night session of the conference, which drew more than 3,000 from around the country to the Midwest Express Convention Center in downtown Milwaukee.

Kane's account, on the other had, circulated primarily her religious community and, gradually, to a wider public.

The evening opened with Kane receiving Call to Action's 1999 Leadership Award in a presentation that recalled her welcome, on behalf of religious women, to the pope during his first trip to the United States in 1979. Kane at the time was president of the Leadership conference of Women Religious and urged the pope to open "all ministries of our church to women." The award recognized the significance of that moment in spurring wide discussion of the topic of ordination of women and women's rights generally within the church.

In the 20 years since, in every recounting of that encounter before 5,000 sisters at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, the two are cast as combatants. And there is substantial reason for that perception. Pope John Paul II has attempted to remove the matter of women's ordination from even the remotest consideration, while Kane and others remain unceasing advocates of women's rights within the church, including ordination.

So Kane, who now teaches at Mercy College in Dobbs Ferry, N.Y., and volunteers at a Bronx shelter for women and children, said she was moved, after all these years, to receive a personal greeting from the pope. "I was surprised, pleasantly surprised. It was a pleasant greeting to receive," she said.

As Kane, who confirmed the story and elaborated for NCR, tells it, Sr. Sharon Euart, associate general secretary of the National conference of Catholic Bishops and also a Mercy Sister, was with a group of U.S. bishops who met in October of 1998 with the pope in Rome. The pope, when he was told that Euart was a Mercy sister, asked if she knew Sr. Kane. When she said yes, the pope asked about Kane, if she was still active and what she was doing. Euart reportedly told the pope what she knew, and then he said, "Give my regards to Sr. Kane."

Some time later, when the meeting was ending and goodbyes were being said, Pope John Paul took Euart's hand and told her to remember his message and "be sure to give Sr. Kane my greetings."

Euart confirmed that she had conveyed the message, but said that while she had no objection to Kane telling the story, she felt constrained from adding any details for press reports because she "considered it a private exchange at the time." The story, however, was told in detail earlier this year when the Mercy sisters held their chapter meeting in St. Louis.

Gramick told of a serendipitous -- or perhaps providential -- encounter. Earlier this year, Gramick and Salvatoran Fr. Robert Nugent were banned by order of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, headed by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, from any pastoral work with gay and lesbian Catholics. The ruling was the culmination of nearly two decades of intense scrutiny by church leaders in the United States and in Rome. Gramick said she would attempt to have the ruling reversed.

The story Gramick tells occurred about a year before the ruling on a flight from Rome to Munich. She had visited Rome to meet with her superior to pray and discuss how to respond to the latest exchange in the long legal process.

The two decided to visit the grave of the order's founder in Munich.

On the plane they saw a man dressed in a black suit, who looked like Cardinal Ratzinger, but who was not wearing a Roman collar or other clearly clerical garb.

The seats next to the man were empty, so Gramick, curious, sat down and began chatting. She asked if he was a priest, and he said yes. She said she was a School Sister of Notre Dame from the United States.

He said he knew the order because his father's sister was a member.

"And what is her name?" asked Gramick.

"Ratzinger," was the response.

"I'm Sister Jeannine Gramick," she said.

"Ah, I've known you for 20 years," he replied.