The rumors are flying from across the pond that Pope Benedict XVI is about to issue directives giving permission for priests to offer Mass in Latin without obtaining the nod from their bishops.

Fine with me, for I’m a bit weary of hearing complaints about Bishop Y, who will give permission, and Bishop M, who will not. If a priest is able to offer the Mass in Latin with dignity and sufficient meaningful expression of the text to inspire the laity, be my guest.

My concern is not with the language, but with the elitism that too often impregnates the Latin camp, with ministers more concerned about their buttoned-down cassocks from neck to hems that skim the ankles, white shirts, French cuffs, and fine cuff links.

The color photo on p.1 of the July 7th issue of the Chicago Tribune, above the fold, mind you, illustrates my case. The priest, in a heavily brocaded chasuble and stole, is giving Holy Communion on the tongue to a kneeling woman at the railing, with a lovely black mantilla on her head, and not an altar girl in sight. With such heavy emphasis on externals, such as clothing, gender and rubrics, might we not be in danger of eventually becoming High Church and Low Church Catholics?

The problem becomes serious to the point of deep scandal when a clergyman’s way of life, far from Gospel values, was held up as a prime example of Catholicism at its best, as with the canonization Saint Josemaria Balaquer, the founder of Opus Dei, on October 6, 2002.

Teaching religion to young people has always been a highlight of my life, but I must admit I’m relieved not to be doing so now. What in the world would I say if youngsters should ask me to tell the story of the so-called saint?

Before this charade goes on any longer, someone in the Vatican should quietly but firmly delete Josemaria from the saints’ roster. Any Church guilty of canonizing him needs to be humble enough to “uncanonize” him. Jesus was pretty clear about spreading scandal among His little ones. Better to eat humble pie in Vatican Square than to perpetrate this stigma on the Mystical Body of Christ ad infinitum.

The thing is, I don’t think the powers-that-be in the Vatican understand that Catholics read books, magazines, newspapers. They sit around on a summer’s night and discuss politics, secular and Church, and sometimes they feel alienated from their Church leaders.

Take, for example, the now-deceased Peter Jennings, who, in 2002, presented a documentary on the Legionaires of Christ’s founder, Rev. Marciel Maciel Degollado, who had been accused of sexually abusing nine men when they were young seminarians.

There was Maciel, garbed in beautiful, costly vestments, at the main altar in St. Peter’s, con-celebrating the Mass with Pope John Paul II!

No doubt, the honor bestowed upon Maciel was to cover up the scandal, but it simply took it to the nth degree in the eyes of educated Catholics, who were well aware of the situation, too wise to be scandalized, perhaps, but not too wise to avoid a deep sense of sadness and apprehension about the future.

You would have noticed in the photo referred to in the Chicago Tribune, the absence of women, tall and short. That’s bad enough. Much worse, was the effort by the liturgical team to excise passages of Scripture that would present women as strong, intelligent, holy and wise enough to lead soldiers in battle, and compassionate enough to care for the most vulnerable among them.

“Why, you might ask, should we be concerned with this?” Because we are to love one another. It’s as simple as that. And as difficult.

Some years back, I attended a Call to Action week in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and after a lecture, a tired, but confident Bishop Raymond Lucker, offered to answer questions.

One woman rose to speak: “Bishop, countless women like me have volunteered in the Church our entire lives. Now, we find that our children are not going to Mass, our grandchildren are not being baptized. Our hearts are broken, Bishop. Do you think the other bishops understand what we are going through?”

Lucker said he understood the woman’s sorrow, and said many other bishops do, as well, though not all.

Recently, a young mother from Chicago, one from New Mexico, and a third from Milwaukee, said they can no longer attend Mass because of the Church’s obvious discrimination against women.

They say this isn’t a question only of their being barred from ordination; it goes much deeper. It is a question of their feeling unloved, unaccepted, barely tolerated by the institutional Church, made clear, among other means, by the use of exclusive language, not only in the liturgy, but in the Catechism, as well.

Too frequently, we are seeing highly educated women we desperately need to shepherd our people, seeking ordination in the Anglican and Lutheran churches. Good women are they – prayerful, scholarly, compassionate, qualified to serve, but not with us.

Some will ask our good women: “Why don’t you leave? What keeps you here?”

The reply goes something like this: “This is our Church. When we come to Mass, we bring decades of Masses with us, and wondrous memories of dedicated priests, religious, and laity, our true saints, families, friends, the human mix offered each morning at the table of the Lord. We’re not about to allow those who look upon us as of no account to drive us from the Christ and one another. “But we cannot speak for the younger generation, who have less of their lives invested, and will be less likely to open their checkbooks month after month.”

It is not the language on the tongue, but the language in the heart that makes the Mass a prayer shared with the celebrant and laity alike, allowing all to proclaim with Dorothy Day, “...and we are not alone anymore.” Amen. Amen.

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