Coloring outside the lines with “radical inclusiveness”

I love my church. St. Joseph’s is a large, suburban parish in Jacksonville, Fla. It’s warm and welcoming, and has been my home for nearly 32 years. Over the past several years, the church has become more “liturgically correct” by paying greater attention to the small details of the Mass. Being part of an ancient rite is “comfortable.” I like it.

Doing things the “correct” way, though, isn’t always the “right” way. Sometimes, as Jesus did, it’s necessary to color outside the lines.

St. Lucy’s Church in Syracuse, N.Y., colors outside the lines.

St. Lucy’s Church is a focal
point for the Near West Side
neighborhood of Syracuse, NY.

I attend St. Lucy’s whenever I visit my hometown. The pastor, Fr. Jim Mathews, was the associate pastor at my home parish when I was in high school. His words and actions helped me begin to see the real meaning and beauty of the Church.

In many ways, St. Lucy’s is the reverse image of St. Joe’s. St. Lucy’s is in a poor, inner city neighborhood. A week before my latest visit, two people had been shot – one killed – in a gang-related gun battle with police. A poster on a utility pole urged drug abusers to not leave their dirty needles on the sidewalks.

St. Lucy’s is in the center of the neighborhood. It fits perfectly. The church is missing one of its two steeples – demolished in 1998 by a violent storm that also devastated other sections of the century-old Gothic structure. A banner draping the front entrance proclaims “Sinners Welcome.” It has a food bank, women’s clothing store, and feeds the homeless in the winter. St. Lucy’s embraces the community much like an old, one-armed soldier hugs his grandchildren.

The “Homeless Jesus” statue, installed in front of
St. Lucy’s Church in May 2016, reflects the church’s
mission to its neighborhood.

During a recent visit, my wife, Helen, and I see on the front sidewalk a new, three-foot bronze-plated statue of a cloaked, hooded beggar. Its hand is outstretched; its palm wounded. Homeless Jesus. Then on the steps of the church, we see a five-foot tall woman in a shabby sweatshirt. Her hand is timidly open; her eyes distant. Homeless parishioner. “Thank you,” she says. “God bless you.”

Later, during the Mass, I notice we are sharing a pew.

In many parishes, this might be an anomaly. Not at St. Lucy’s, where each Mass draws a cross-section of faithful. There are families who have followed Fr. Jim from his previous postings in the suburbs. There are handicapped people – physically, emotionally, mentally. A few past and present city leaders. People who grew up in the neighborhood and moved away before it turned, but still return on Sundays. Successful business owners. Retirees. And the poor – people in a struggling neighborhood trying to survive one day at a time.

Fr. Jim Mathews prefers to celebrate Mass in the center
of the sanctuary of St. Lucy’s Church.

The sanctuary is traditional – soaring ceilings, beautiful stained glass windows, an ornate altar. But the enhancements reveal this church is not traditional. A banner reads, “The Holy Spirit is loose and she is wild.” Between the stained glass windows of saints and angels are photos of modern-day saints and angels of social justice – Mother Teresa, Dorothy Day, Cesar Chavez, Rosa Parks, hometown peace activists Frs. Daniel and Phillip Berrigan. The altar itself is covered with plants; Mass is celebrated around a simple, wooden altar in the center of the church. There is no presider’s chair. Fr. Jim and other celebrants sit with the congregation.  

In his homily, Fr. Jim noted that Jesus ministered to the poor, people at the margins of society. “Radical inclusiveness,” he called it. Who would Jesus include today, Fr. Jim asked. Muslims? “Yes!” the congregation responded. The prostitutes downtown? “Yes!” The neighborhood drug dealers? “Yes!”  

The message is clear, and well within Catholic doctrine – the CEOs and the homeless are equal.

Fr. Jim Mathews presents the First Holy Communion
class to St. Lucy’s parish during Mass, May 2015.

Fr. Jim’s radical inclusiveness is – well, radical to traditional Catholics. Several women wear t-shirts reading “Ordain Women,” which Fr. Jim advocates. In place of a homily by a priest, he allows laypeople to deliver “reflections” – usually captivating, insightful and spiritually challenging. The Rite of Peace, usually a quick handshake or hug between adjacent worshippers, is transformed into a roving, raucous, joyous, 10 to 15-minute celebration. He invites non-Catholics to receive communion.

At this particular Mass, Fr. Jim said the Holy Trinity should actually be the “Holy Quartet.”

“Who’s the fourth?” he asked?

“Us!” replied the congregation.

Fr. Jim calls it “empowerment.” Society has told the dispossessed that they don’t matter. But in this sanctuary they matter dearly. They matter to their fellow parishioners. To Fr. Jim. And especially to Jesus. It is a powerful affirmation of their inherent value as human beings. Yes, empowering.

This approach has attracted some Catholics who were ready to leave the Church. But it has also drawn intense criticism from traditional Catholics. One gets the sense that Syracuse’s conservative bishop turns a blind eye to St. Lucy’s because any discipline would cause too much of an uproar in both the civic and Catholic communities. St. Lucy’s is an indispensable neighborhood resource, and Fr. Jim himself is a driving force behind with city’s Near West Side Initiative, a public-private partnership attempting to revitalize the area.    

His community activism has earned Fr. Jim recognition from social justice organizations. But his primary focus remains making Jesus a reality in the lives of his parishioners. His success is evident during the highest point of the Mass. During the Preparation for Communion prayer, the celebrant elevates the Body and Blood. At St. Lucy’s, though, it is not Fr. Jim who does this.

On this day, Fr. Jim surprised me by handing me the beautiful crystal wineglass. He then passed to someone else the ciborium containing the Eucharist. As I elevated the cup, I sensed worshippers crowding behind me with arms outstretched.

“Behold the Lamb of God,” Fr. Jim intoned. “Behold him who takes away the

sin of the world. Blessed are those who are called to the supper of the Lamb.”

I hardly ever look at the body or blood at any point in the Mass. My sense of unworthiness doesn’t allow it. Yet, there I stood in absolute awe, holding high the cup, gazing at the precious blood of the Savior of the Universe. I couldn’t breathe, much less voice the response with the rest of the congregation.

            “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof,” the congregation

answered. “Only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the rest of the congregation. They were at the center of the church, kneeling in a tight circle around the Eucharist, heads bowed in humility and worship. I have never witnessed such a powerful display of pure adoration.

Some Catholics who have given up on Mass say it’s because they “don’t get anything out of it.” What they fail to realize is that, at its root, the purpose of the Mass is to give – to give homage to God. St. Lucy’s – led by a priest who colors outside the lines – gets that.  

I love going to St. Lucy’s. It’s warm and welcoming, and is my home away from home. Mass there is not “liturgically correct,” instead paying greater attention to larger message of Jesus’ ministry. Being part of this unconventional love fest is not “comfortable.” But I like it. A lot.