Catholic roots

Crisis, The, Jul/Aug 2003 by Dyer, Ervin

Blacks have a rich history in the church dating back to early times

IT'S SUNDAY MORNING, and a light snow falls down on the frozen cement outside St. Benedict the Moor Roman Catholic Church. Parishioners gather their coats and scurry into the 114-year-old church, a red stone cathedral that sits as the gatepost to the Hill District, the oldest Black neighborhood in Pittsburgh.

It's warm inside. Today the Catholic faithful and the curious - a racial mosaic of Africans, Black Americans, Whites and Hispanics - have settled into the cavernous sanctuary to hear a homily on the church's namesake: The story of Benedict the Moor, a slave turned saint, is touchingly told by the dimple-cheeked Father Carmen D'Amico.

Dressed in a white frock accented with a Kente scarf, D'Amico, a White priest in a mostly Black church, is a passionate storyteller. But what really moves the worshippers of this Catholic church is the celebration of St. Benedict the Moor as a Black man. In fact, it's the reason many people have come to church this frosty February morning.

With Black History Month in full swing, a tri-parish committee in Pittsburgh is using the occasion to lift up the story of Black saints in the Catholic church. D'Amico's sermon kicks off the series. When he finishes, he receives a standing ovation.

GOOD SIGNS

ACROSS the country there are many other encouraging signs that the Catholic church is embracing its Black past and preparing to be more inclusive of Blacks in its future.

Cardinal Francis Arinze, a Nigerian, is frequently mentioned as a possible successor to the Pope. Last year, Wilton Gregory was elected head of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, the first Black American to hold the influential post. New York's Pierre Toussaint (1766-1853) and Baltimore's Elizabeth Lange (1789-1882) of the Oblate Sisters of Providence are the first Black Americans to be considered for sainthood. And more and more U.S. parishes are rediscovering and educating their members on the lives of the Black saints, popes and leaders in the church.

"This kind of momentum is all good," says Sister Anita Baird, director of the Chicago archdiocesan Office for Racial Justice. "It means there is hope. But [the church] has to make sure it isn't superficial." After all, she adds, Bishop Gregory is only one person, and to be Black and Catholic is an everyday struggle.

Gregory's position remains significant, though, because Black Catholics have urged the church to become more culturally relevant in recent years and have long awaited recognition in the church's hierarchy. Still, despite the break-through, leadership of the Catholic church has remained disproportionately White.

Of 282 active U.S. Catholic bishops, Gregory is one of only 13 Black bishops. They lead nearly 65.3 million Catholics nationwide, of which about 2.3 million are Black.

As head of the Conference of Catholic Bishops, Gregory, 55, can lead the way on social issues important to all Catholics, such as abortion, terrorism, commitment to Africa, immigration and school choice. He has already shown his mettle in dealing with the sex abuse scandal in the church.

Gregory was hailed by fellow Bishops, laypeople and even non-Catholics as having offered the most humble and heartfelt apology to date to sexual abuse victims during the bishops' annual meeting in Dallas last year.

"I am deeply and will be forever sorry for the harm you have suffered. We ask your forgiveness," Gregory said more than once during his presidential address.

He vowed to Catholic parents that the bishops would recommit themselves to making protection of their children a priority.

"I thought it was ironic," says Sister Baird, "that it would take this long to see a Black in this position [and when it came], the church would look to a Black man to shepherd them through the crisis."

It is not the first time Gregory has been tapped to provide calm leadership in the time of trouble.

In 1994, when he became the bishop of the Diocese of Belleville, Ill., he inherited and dealt with a scandal involving nine priests accused of homosexuality and pedophilia.

Belleville is a largely White, rural, conservative diocese, and Gregory has visited all 28 of its counties to preach racial tolerance. But, he has said, the road to racial reconciliation is a marathon, not a sprint.

In an interview last year with the monthly Catholic magazine, St. Anthony Messenger, Gregory talked about the church's recognition of its multicultural heritage. While progress has been made, he said, there's still work to do.

"We realize that we are a church of many languages, many races, many cultures, many ethnic backgrounds - and it's a good thing not to pretend that we have to be exactly alike," Gregory said. "Our catholicity includes learning to live with each other, recognizing that it's okay for people of different languages and different cultures to bring those gifts to the church."

AFRICAN ROOTS

IN the early church, to be Christian was to be Catholic. Before the church was split in two by the Great Schism in the 11th century and furthur splintered by the Protestant Reformation in early 1500s Europe, man was either Catholic, Jewish, Muslim or engaged in polytheistic or indigenous worship.