Musings from Prison of a Priest Falsely Accused
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. . . So my resolution for the New Year in 2012 is to let the mourning of loss become the triumph of the Spirit. It’s a tough sell to a world that measures success in the most material of terms. It’s an even tougher sell within me, however, having to witness the world of grace from within prison walls, at least for now. Hence, the resolution. . . .
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. . . A “cup o’kindness” in the Scotish tradition is usually something with the words “single malt” imprinted on the label. That, too, is not possible in prison. But I have some Starbucks coffee I’ve been saving, and I plan to brew it on New Year’s Eve. I’ll have a cup o’that in honor of you, the friends I have met on this long and winding road. These Stone Walls is such a strange and unlikely place, yet it exists, and from it every week you let me reach into your hearts in friendship, and with a shared vision of grace at work in our world. . . .
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. . . But Josephine never ceased to pray for John Wayne and his conversion, and she never married again until after his death. In 1978, a year before John Wayne died, her prayer was answered and he was received into the Catholic Church. His conversion came late in his life, but John Wayne stood before Hollywood and declared that the secular Hollywood portrayal of the Catholic Church and faith is a lie, and the truth is to be found in conversion. That conversion had many repercussions. Not least among them was the depth to which it inspired John Wayne’s 14-year old grandson, Matthew, who today presents the story of his grandfather’s conversion as one of the proudest events of his life and the beginning of his vocation as a priest. . . .
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. . . After I wrote “Father John Corapi’s Kafkaesque Catch-22,” a lot of comments about his situation from other blogs were sent to me. Both admirers and detractors of Father Corapi seemed disappointed with his response to being accused. Some felt downright betrayed by his announcement that he was leaving ministry without a fight. A number of commenters, and some letters to the editors of Catholic newspapers and magazines, seemed unable to help comparing Father Corapi’s post-accusation demeanor with that of Padre Pio who suffered under similar and far more chronic accusations in his life and priesthood, and suffered them while also bearing the visible wounds of Christ. The comparisons of the reactions of these two priests – a half-century and an ocean apart – have some built-in problems. I’d like to think that Padre Pio would respond today as he did back then – with heroic virtue. That’s going to be the bottom line. Padre Pio did everything with heroic virtue, and just how heroic it was is something I learned from a recently published book . . .
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. . . A decade has passed, and we still struggle with trading civil liberties for security, due process rights for safety in a free society edging toward becoming less so. To our nation’s credit, we have declared our unwillingness to blame all of Islam for the crimes of its twisted and radical few. But while refusing to allow Islam to be reflected in the acts of its lunatic fringe, we’ve tolerated – even cultivated – a virulent anti-Catholicism that holds the Church in contempt for not acting in 1965 as it would in 2005. If America truly believes that the answer to jihad is to abandon our own faith, and our fidelity as Catholics, then the war is over. The 9/11 terrorists have already won. . . .
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. . . A few TSW readers – notably Sharon Morris and Lavern West – have traveled to New Hampshire to obtain one of Pornchai’s vessels. Lavern has a magnificent tall ship displayed in her living room window in Cincinnati with some beautiful handcrafted stained glass in the window just above it. She sent a photo which Pornchai proudly added to the collection on his cell wall. One day, a guard came into this cell and was looking intently at the photos of Pornchai’s beautiful ships. When he saw the one in Lavern’s window, he said “Wow! That’s just incredible.” Pornchai smiled and sat up straight waiting for the usual comments about his carving skill. Then the guard said, “That’s some of the nicest stained glass I’ve seen!” I just about hurt my ribs laughing. Pornchai told me that on his next ship, he’s adding a plank for me to walk. . . .
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. . . My posts over the last few weeks have been some of the longest I have written for These Stone Walls. I thank readers for their forbearance and patience, and especially for sticking with these long but important posts. But I think you need a break, and I cannot look the other way while something very important for These Stone Walls is occurring on the Church calendar. Though August 14 is a Sunday this year, and the Sunday celebration takes precedence, it is also the Feast of St. Maximilian Kolbe, the inspiration behind These Stone Walls. August 9th is the Feast of St. Theresa Benedicta of the Cross, also known as Edith Stein, and a saint for whom I have great personal devotion. They died one year apart in prison at Auschwitz, but that is not the end of their story. It’s a story of the triumph of grace over great evil. Please read . . .
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The “About” page for These Stone Walls describes that Saint Maximilian Kolbe is one of the patrons of this blog. This post first appeared just a few months after Pornchai Moontri was received into the Catholic Church on Divine Mercy Sunday in 2010. The invitation from Saint Maximilian Kolbe described here is a way to [...]
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. . . In the post, I made a brief mention of a letter from Father Neuhaus to Pornchai Moontri, and of how that letter was among the forces that caused Pornchai to become a Catholic. What surprised me was the number of comments mentioning my brief paragraph about Pornchai. He was certainly not central to that post, but lots of people mention him in their comments on several of my posts. In fact, I’ve noticed a pattern. It might be just my imagination, but when I mention Pornchai, readers seem to comment more. I showed the comments on that post to Pornchai and told him about my theory. He readily concurred. “If you don’t mention me,” he said, “no one reads it!” Well, I doubt that’s true. At least, I HOPE it isn’t true! . . .
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. . . It felt strange standing for the first time upon Cemetery Hill where the Civil War pivoted toward victory for the North. But there was really no victory. It was America against itself, and the powerful imprint of death and sacrifice was still upon that battlefield as I stood there 116 years later. It was both eerie and inspiring. My friends went off to tour the museum and stare at row upon row of cannonballs and muskets, but I couldn’t leave that field. I realized standing there for the first time just what an idea can cost, and what hardship and sacrifice it can demand from those who serve it. . . .
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