Critical Thinking: Stand in the Place Where You Live

by: Kersley Fitzgerald

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I went to a Catholic college, back in the day. I’m not Catholic, but it had AFROTC, a good engineering school, and my grandparents lived two blocks away.

I never used my degree. Post-graduation, what I’ve come to value most is Portland, the quarterly magazine. Catholics are more philosophical and contemplative than Protestants. Less strident in their writing (although equally self-congratulatory) and more thoughtful.

The first section, after the always-poignant personal essay by Brian Doyle, is letters. This latest edition included a letter responding to a previous issue’s article on Islam. The article apparently forwarded the belief that true Islam is a religion of peace. The letter refuted this.

In addition to quoting a few choice selections from the Koran encouraging the eradication of all Jews and Christians, the author presented as evidence that if true Islam is a religion of peace, then true Moslems would publically defend their faith against the extremist militants who have slandered it.

Who does speak for Islam? The author didn’t convince me that the fanatics don’t speak for the good Muslims too. We hear few if any arguments or pleading by good Muslims against their terrorist brethren.

Because all they have to fear is a Fatwa.

But it made me wonder, what do we have to fear?

Summer of ’87 I spent babysitting a cute little elementary school girl. Her mom worked full time. Her brother was in my class in high school, although in a completely different social group—I took honors classes; he took electronics. (And which is more useful all these years later?)

That summer there was a man in a white van kidnapping and molesting kids. One day I heard my charge’s brother and his friend discussing the situation—specifically what they would do to the sick bastard if given the opportunity.

It was the first time I’d heard anyone with a Y chromosome speak critically about a sexual crime. However they may feel about the issue, it’s one of the few times, yet (besides a particularly powerful Toad the Wet Sprocket song). Where are the men standing up and saying, “This is not true masculinity”? Truth be told, I have seen it in their actions, and some do speak. Just not within earshot, I suppose.

As I write this, the Pope is under investigation for his role in not properly dealing with a priest who joined the long list of those who used their position in the church to abuse kids. I’m sure that, behind closed doors, priests and church leaders have shown regret or disgust, but all I’ve heard from is a couple of nuns.

Well, until this Monday. While drawing cabinets, I listened to this last weekend’s edition of “This American Life.” They repeated the story of Patrick Wall, a Catholic monk who inadvertently found himself in the role of a “cleaner.” It was his job to go to churches that’d recently lost a priest due to less than honorable circumstances. He wasn’t told much about the situations or the men he’d come to replace, although he generally learned more as the congregation came for confession or counseling. He found himself in an impossible situation; his heart was to reach out and heal, but he was, in his words, a part of the defendant. A part of the institution under legal scrutiny for the crime. He eventually reached his breaking point when put in a leadership role over several priests. He was in his twenties, listening to priests’ confessions, when he had the epiphany—he was on the wrong side. He quit the priesthood and offered his expertise and knowledge to a law firm representing several victims. He married, had a girl, and, several years later, quit the Catholic Church.

I’m impressed with him, though, for standing up within the institution and declaring the truth. He shined the light on the abuses, yes, but his goal was not revenge or scandal but to return the church to its true nature—helping, not harming.

Not that drama is in any way unique to the Catholic Church. I could write books about Conservative Evangelicals. Yet there are those who rail against the machine while firmly entrenched within its cogs. The Southern Baptist preacher Michael Spencer (AKA: the Internet Monk), who sadly passed away after a four-month battle with brain cancer, constantly railed against “churchiosity” and tried to bring his denomination back to a “Jesus-shaped spirituality.” Our friend Alan Cross, another SBC preacher, willingly takes flack from conference leadership over his public criticism of their policies. He’s also working to get the church in the South to admit its historical failings of Black brothers and sisters.

But they’re the exceptions. Where are the voices of the Evangelical Right condemning the Westboro Baptist Cult? Or the militia in Michigan? Or the murder of the abortion doctor? Or televangelists? There’s a time to confront a friend or colleague privately. But there’s a time to defend the integrity of the organization that (ostensibly) embodies the tenets to which you ascribe.

We too often value and identify more with the organization than the tenets. This compromises our integrity and the effectiveness of the organization. And maybe you say compromise is essential. That you have to close your eyes occasionally to ensure support for larger issues. I think that’s just sad.

People are speaking out, but if the general public doesn’t hear, it’s not loud enough. One word, one acknowledgement that not all is right in the state of Denmark could be enough to soften the hearts of those on the outside. People who might be able to help, but won't if all they hear is defensiveness and excuses.

So why do I bring this up? Because if you’re reading this, you’re probably a writer of some sort. A communicator. Blessed with creativity and a strange sense of optimism. As such, you’re in a somewhat unique position to defend not your chosen organization, but the truth that you believe your organization has turned away from. Take a break from spamming your friends with diatribes of how [enter your least favorite politician here] is destroying the country, and talk about how your party could do things better. Stop ranting about the Middle East—or the French—and tell the world how you’re going to make your country better. Shut up about other people’s faith and be an effective representative of your own. Work it into your fiction; not in a message-driven plot way, but subtly and hopefully.

Like Hissa Hilal.

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Kersley Fitzgerald comes from a politically dysfunctional family—half never saying anything about anything, half World's Poorest Ultra-Conservatives who talk too much and say too little. Is it any wonder she's so often confused?