Our recent discussions about Vatican II have triggered a good deal of reflection on my part. I'd like to briefly share one strand of thought here. I mentioned, in a recent post, that my parents, both products of the pre-Vatican II church, loved the church of that era, from the Latin Mass to Marian devotions to Notre Dame football to the Legion of Decency to, eventually, John F Kennedy and, for all I know, Fulton Sheen. I hope that list didn't include Fr. Coughlin and Senator McCarthy, but I see those latter two as rather extreme examples of spirituality which I take as having been widespread.
If I had to characterize my parents' spirituality, it would be quite different than my own. To describe theirs, I'd choose words like "loyalty" and "suffering".
My parents both lived, not just their spiritual lives but the entirety of their lives, according to a code that would have done credit to Notre Dame offensive linemen lining up across from Army in the 1940s and 1950s: they believed in being tougher and more disciplined and working harder than anyone else, and that was the secret to getting ahead.
It wasn't just my parents. Many of the priests and some of the religious sisters I knew in my youth were cut from the same cloth. And many of my older relatives on both sides of my family.
Charles Morris, in his history of the American Catholic church, American Catholic: the Saints and Sinners who Built America's Most Powerful Church, wrote that Catholics from my parents' era were well-suited for work in large command-and-control institutions such as large, urban police forces and fire departments, the armed services, and even the telephone company. As a matter of fact, one of my dad's sisters spent her career working for Michigan Bell, first as a telephone operator, and eventually as a sales rep for corporate long distance service. The idea was that the Catholic Church formed these worker bees and instilled in them a sense that the institution's mission was more important than the happiness of the individual; and it was honorable and virtuous to spend one's entire career with a single employer, pursuing that mission.
When I was a student at Loyola in the early 1980s, it was said that the FBI and CIA recruited on campus, presumably for some of the same reasons that Charles Morris described in his book. To be sure, no spy agencies ever asked to interview me; I was emphatically not their material. I was a bearded free spirit who partied too much and placed academics 4th or 5th on my priority list.
In my parish, there still are some parishioners, of my parents' age, who are cut from my parents' cloth. In some ways, they are a square-jawed and grim lot, although they are capable of geniality and even joy. But most of the Catholics I know, of my generation and younger generation, are different. Perhaps those of you who take the time to plow through my homily texts would agree that "loyalty" and "suffering" are not the cardinal virtues I am likely to preach.
What do you think? Have Catholics changed over the course of your lifetimes?