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Catholic News Herald

Serving Christ and Connecting Catholics in Western North Carolina

valentaThanks to the hard work of diplomats, politicians, and the Catholic Church, the relationship between the United States and Cuba has recently warmed up and the two countries established diplomatic relations for the first time in 54 years. After the long decades of Communist rule, Cuba may now be on the path to democratization and the relationship between the Church and state in this country is already showing signs of détente with the first new Catholic church being built since 1959 and a papal visit being scheduled for next month.

However, we know from historical experience that the renewal of Catholic faith in post-Communist societies does not come automatically with democratization and that it is usually much easier to repair destroyed buildings than to rebuild people's faith and trust in the Church.

The experience of post-Communist Eastern Europe shows this painfully well. Although in some countries previously ruled by a Communist government (such as Poland and Croatia) the Catholic Church is doing extremely well, these countries are the exception, not the rule. Most countries affected by Communism rank among the most atheistic societies in the world. Among the world's 10 least religious countries with even just occasional church attendance below 15 percent (according to Gallup re-search), more than half are in post-Communist Europe, including Estonia, Latvia, the Czech Republic, Hungary and Slovenia. Estonia and the Czech Republic rank as the world's most atheistic countries, where the percentages of people, who report they believe in God, is only 18 and 16 percent respectively (Eurobarometer Poll, 2010).

These statistics hold even after two decades of Church renewal efforts and multiple papal visits in many of these countries. Communism can destroy faith and penetrate society like no other totalitarian regime. Gradually religious symbols, holidays and celebrations are replaced with Communist ones, the school system is completely run by the government, and children are indoctrinated in atheism. History is reinterpreted and rewritten in such a way that the Catholic Church is portrayed as villainous, and any kind of spirituality is seen in a negative light.

By the time one or more generations have passed, people not only get disconnected from their spiritual heritage, but they also lack the most basic religious education.

Most countries in Eastern Europe have been free from Communism and under some form of democratic government for more than 20 years. There are no longer police agents inside and at the entrance of church buildings to check the IDs of anyone who would dare to kneel down in prayer in defiance of the official ideology. Bibles, religious articles and prayer cards are no longer banned from print and distribution. Public playing of Christian songs as well as celebrations of Easter and Christmas are no longer suppressed by the state, and priests are allowed to talk to children and young people without the threat of being permanently removed from ministry. However, the path towards Christianity is hard to find for societies that have experienced decades of Communist and atheist propaganda – where many people, especially the young, are not aware of the basic tenets of the Gospel, and where churches have been transformed into museums. People in this situation need active help to find their way back to Christianity. There is a great need for missionaries who would, through good works and example, help restore the faith of the peoples who once used to be the pillars of Christian Europe.

The case of Cuba shares many similar characteristics. A country that used to be more than 90 percent Catholic has been systematically de-christianized since the Communist revolution of 1959. Initially, Christian believers were not admitted into the Communist party, necessary for any career advancement. In the early 1990s the government relaxed that rule, admitting some Christians into the party and adjusting its constitution to prohibit religious discrimination, but the practice of one's faith remained discouraged.

Despite the fact that the country was already visited by St. John Paul II in 1998 and Pope Benedict XVI in 2012, Cuba today remains the least religious country in all of Latin America, with the lowest number of priests as a percentage of the population. Even though this country enjoys more religious freedom than other Communist countries, such as Vietnam or China, less than 6 percent of Cubans attend Mass regularly (according to the Church's own statistics).

Most of post-Communist Europe is still in great need of evangelization. Moreover, with the easing of the relations between the U.S. and Cuba, there is a now opening a new opportunity to help out a country, which was also devastated by this repressive regime, and which is the closest to our shores.

 

Dr. Kamila Valenta is a member of St. Gabriel Church in Charlotte and a part-time professor at the University of North Carolina-Charlotte, where she teaches ethnic conflict.

gallagher fredIn my professional life I have written on grief and the grieving process. A few months ago my younger brother lost his wife tragically. I see his grief circulating through him daily and I am amazed at his fortitude and his faith in the face of such a devastating turn of events. Of course, for all of us death is an eminent reality and thinking about our own demise can be burdensome. But perhaps the reality with the greater ongoing effect upon us is the death of others, especially those we love. Death is hard to live with. Grief is a cross.

I'm convinced there is a Catholic way of grieving, however, that extracts from our faith a different set of tools. It goes beyond "coping." It has to do with our connection to the universal Church in real and sensate terms. Today, it seems, either you are a believer and the spiritual world looms large or you are a non-believer and the physical is all there is. Only in Catholicism do I see a grand blend of the material at the service of the spiritual.

For Catholics it's a great big universal family deal. We see heaven and earth on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and in the parade of saints in the portraiture art of the centuries and in our churches and our sacraments and in the sensibilities thrust upon us as children.

For us, the Communion of Saints is a paramount notion infused in us early in childhood. As a kid, every time I got in real trouble (and that was often), I wound up talking to my Uncle Fred. He was my mother's brother and was on his deathbed as I was being born. My mother spoke often of him and I longed to know him. So at some point the conversations began, usually when I was in trouble and was afraid to talk to anybody else. Nobody had yet told me about the Communion of Saints, but somehow I knew this praying/talking/connection was what we did.

Now, years later, I have untold numbers of these relationships and I actually do feel the communion of those on earth and those in heaven and those working out their purgation in whatever way that is happening. I am connected to those not here in a very real way, and the spiritual borderlines between where I am and where Uncle Fred is are not as distinguishable as one might think.

I had a high school friend who was a popular guy, an "A" student and one of the best athletes I've ever known. In many ways he peaked during his senior year of high school. His was a tough, sad life. But we were boys together and I can see him scooting across a football field eluding tacklers right and left, as if his feet were wheels. I can feel his presence in the humility that never left him, as we tossed layups on a blacktop and spoke to each other in the coded language of boyhood even after his prowess waned and his body failed.

Our connection is Catholic and my grief is defined by it. We can touch each others' hearts just as my brother and his wife touch their hearts at the end of his day, with his journal in hand and the tears still fresh.

Bishop Emeritus William Curlin, one of my favorite people on this side of heaven, visited my brother's wife on her deathbed. He visited with my brother, too. The bishop told him that every time my brother attended Mass his wife was there with him in a very special way with all the angels and saints. That fact has brought much solace to my brother.

The emphasis on an unending family connection and our great, storied Catholic customs of remembrance and ritual truly do give us a leg up when we are grieving because the dead come alive in the subtle and moving tributaries of our spirits. The pain is deep and powerful, but so is the connection real and effecting. It's like we are given the opportunity to experience our loss in a manner consistent with the depth of our feeling and in a manner consistent with our ongoing connection to a loved one.

And the last very "Catholic" aspect of my grief that harkens back to that family connectivity is the undeniable fact of divine mercy in my life. My Catholic sensibility is such that, even in the depths of sorrow or doubt or anger or any of the myriad forms of sin, I know I am His. I know I belong to my Savior in a tangible way, taught to me by my parents, by the statues and stained glass of my church, by the actual absorption of the Real Presence throughout my life, by the ongoing trumpet call to attend to the poor and the hurting, by the feel of holy water and beads on my fingers, in the sweet aroma of incense rising to heaven, in the intonation of the words of the Consecration and in the syllables of prayer – and yes, in the simple but sacred words of a kid to his deceased uncle.

If we take everything we know about grief and throw into the mix an internalization of the notion of the Communion of Saints and an intuitive grasp of divine mercy, we have something very different in these confusing days – something most comforting and very Catholic.

 

Fred Gallagher is an author, book editor and former addictions counselor. He and his wife Kim are members of St. Patrick Cathedral in Charlotte.