Holier Than Thou: John J. McNeill’s Contribution to Theology and Ministry
By Mary Elizabeth Hunt, from John McNeill’s book, Sex as God Intended with Festschrift Essays Celebrating the Life and Work of John McNeill.
I am honored to join my friend and colleague John McNeill on this historic occasion when the Pacific School of Religion and the Graduate Theological Union receive a spiritual and intellectual treasure more precious than gold. It is always a pleasure to be with John and his life partner, Charlie Chiarelli, because they embody the best of what John writes.
As a GTU alum, I am proud that our institution, which, thanks to the Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry, with the creative leadership of Mary Ann Tolbert and Bernard Schlager, is in the forefront of a new theological sub-specialty. I congratulate you on this accomplishment and encourage you to continue ad multos annos, as John McNeill’s beloved Jesuits would have it.
I am pleased to join Jeannine Gramick, whose ministry has been effective enough to have her silenced, and Jim Mitulski, whose ministry I have admired for many years. It is great to have “a good Irish Catholic boy” like Jim Donahue with us. Jim and I go back to our graduate school years here on Holy Hill. His presence as a representative of the wider theological community is proof of what I will outline, namely, that John McNeill has had an enormous impact on theology and ministry, indeed on GLBTQ theo-politics, within and beyond Catholicism.
I have entitled my remarks: “Holier Than Thou: John J. McNeill’s Contribution to Theology and Ministry,” because I think it is important to contextualize and claim John’s work as part of the contemporary Catholic scene. I do this both for purposes of scholarly rigor, because that is where John’s work is rooted, and for purposes of redemption, that it might help to undo some of the virulent “homohatred” and duplicity for which the Catholic Church is responsible.
Today’s event is a delicious irony in light of John’s history with the institutional, or what Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza has so helpfully called the “kyriarchal,” Catholic Church. He was silenced by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith shortly after the publication of The Church and the Homosexual in the late 1970s, and forbidden from speaking in the public arena on these matters, though he continued his private psychotherapy work.
In 1988, he was ordered by Cardinal Ratzinger to cease all ministry with the GLBTQ community, an order he chose not to obey. As a result, the Jesuits caved in to Vatican pressure to expel him from the Society of Jesus.
I predict that, long after most of us are dead, scholars will come to this archive to read John’s side of the story. They will discover what we already know, that John is “more Catholic than thou” and that he was correct when he claimed that being gay and Catholic were not mutually exclusive. They will rehabilitate his reputation and probably name a Jesuit university after him (perhaps University of San Francisco will become John McNeill University!). I see no reason to wait, as the data are now or soon to be catalogued, accessible, and online. Happily, we can begin the process today.
My theory is that the Jesuit order was so full of gay men that they realized John could not comply with the Vatican’s directive to cease ministry with gays except by leaving the Society. Simply by celebrating mass with his brothers he would be in violation! But I will leave that speculation for another day and note simply, as John would, that the Holy Spirit always has the final word. In this case, indeed she did.
The Roman silencing of John McNeill by unlawful decree resulted in profound intellectual and spiritual sounds: the completion of John’s trilogy (The Church and the Homosexual, Taking a Chance on God and Freedom, Glorious Freedom); a fruitful ministry as a therapist that led many people from guilt and shame to ease and pride about their sexuality; hundreds of lectures and workshops around the world; more than two decades of retreats at Kirkridge, a conference center in Bangor, Pennsylvania, where every year a remarkable community gathers to be “Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Christian”; generous nurture of the Catholic lesbian and gay group Dignity after co-founding the New York City chapter; citation in virtually every subsequent book in the field as the Catholic pioneer; honors and awards from secular as well as religious groups; not to mention being named Grand Marshal of the New York City Gay Rights Parade (1987); all distilled with spiritual maturity in his autobiography, With Both Feet Firmly Planted in Midair. Because of John’s work, many people began to realize that being Catholic and queer was not a contradiction in terms, but a joyous reality.
In light of John’s remarkably productive life, I am tempted to ask Cardinal Ratzinger if he might silence me just a little! But indeed, the irony gives way to deep regret when I imagine how much more of an impact John McNeill might have had if the Catholic Church had instead lifted up his brilliant intellectual and spiritual insights. Imagine if the Jesuits had been courageous enough to stand up to Rome and affirm John’s prophetic claim that just as psychologists learned that homosexuality per se is not pathological, theologians have no choice in conscience but to reconceptualize our approaches as well. The work could have begun earlier and been woven into catechesis and documents as one day it will be when the Catholic Church admits its errors on homosexuality as with Galileo on science. Thanks to John, we began the work, and continue it through the steady theological production on these questions that this Center was founded to promote. How fortunate we are to have John’s original materials at hand.
Happily, the Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry is engaged in inter-religious and international work. But let me highlight how John’s work is Catholic as an example of how one’s tradition shapes one’s contribution to the whole. The Catholic community claims to be unique in that it is “one, holy, catholic and apostolic.” These attributes have led to ecumenical stalemates, but I think in the case of John McNeill they form the most appropriate framework for assessing his work because they encompass the fullness of his project.
Dr. McNeill’s approach is “one” insofar as he intends and achieves, in my judgment, an intellectual and spiritual integrity. John’s life was not a straight line to sainthood; indeed, some would say there was little straight about it! Rather, his good Upstate New York Irish values (which I share) and his experience as a prisoner of war resulted in a Jesuit who strove for honesty, who knew suffering up close.
Mark Jordan, in his marvelous book, The Silence of Sodom, describes Catholic ecclesial culture as so fraught with lies and deceptions that I can see how John McNeill must have been very confused by what he saw up close and personal as a priest. I understand why he ultimately chose to reject membership that conferred clerical privilege in favor of a deeper “oneness.” His own integrity and that of the Gospel on which the whole religion was allegedly based trumped his desire to belong to the Society of Jesus. Sad. Nonetheless, the Jesuits’ loss was the whole church’s gain as he extended his ministry to the Metropolitan Community Church, and, indeed, to all who seek him.
On to holiness. Frankly, I have always felt slightly uncom-fortable around people who are said to be holy, because the word is so vexed and the reality so powerful. But there is a “holiness” to John McNeill that I trust. Throughout John’s writing, and more so in his being, I always sense a deep connection with something most of us only hope to glimpse. I admire his reliance on the Eucharist and prayer, habits he shared with his sister, a nun, who prayed daily for GLBTQ people in her cloister until her death. For me, the most telling mark of holiness is John’s amazing love for the Church despite unjust treatment by its officials. Likewise, his enduring love for the Jesuits despite their collective inability to be brothers is transparent. This kind of holiness impresses me.
“Catholic” takes on new meaning in light of John McNeill’s work. It is not simply the axiomatic “small c” equals “universal” approach. Rather, catholic, thanks to John McNeill, now means concerned with the whole truth, with the whole world, with the full meaning. Contrast this with the myopic world of imprimaturs, nihil obstats and pedophilia cover-ups. This is why John McNeill is respected in the wider gay community as a gay Catholic priest because he is one, despite it all. I take John’s approach and consider myself Catholic, thanks, and urge others to do the same. Another small irony: Rather than being judged as heretics, I predict the many GLBTQ Catholics who seek to change the kyriarchal profile on this matter will one day be seen as apologists.
The “apostolic” nature of his work is his firm conviction that theology is done in service of people, not people in service of theology as those who traffic in mandatums would have it. Rather, John’s writing, from his study of Maurice Blondel to his most popular articles, is always geared to the needs of people who struggle to be faithful.
And his pastoral ministry, much of it private and unsung, is that of a steady Irish priest who knows human failings and rejoices in human diversity. His writings provide other pastoral ministers with the tools to do the same. This is no small contribution.
These four dimensions of John McNeill’s work—one, holy, catholic, and apostolic—leave the Catholic Church as a whole in his debt. They also account for his enormous popularity, I might say iconic status, among GLBTQ Catholics and our friends. But his impact goes well beyond his roots to persons of diverse faith perspectives who seek to hold together their sexuality with their faith. If a Roman Catholic priest can do it and be open and proud about it, why not a devout Muslim, a Southern Presbyterian, or an Orthodox Jew? As our collective movement matures, his example becomes more obvious.
John McNeill has had the good sense not to presume to speak for women. I would not want to overstate the case and call him a feminist. But his experiences of being treated as a second class citizen in his own church dovetail with those of his feminist sisters who seek equality and dignity in the same circles. Among us he is loved as an ally and welcomed as a brother. Surely his notion that one could be gay and Catholic spilled over to those of us who are lesbian and Catholic. We remain in his debt as we work out the implications for ourselves, delighted to have his accompaniment though our paths may sometimes go in slightly different directions. We know that he is listening to women, like his dear sister, and praying for change.
John and I disagreed once quite publicly at a Kirkridge conference on the matter of death. I had delivered myself of a long-winded oration stressing a feminist approach to death, suggesting that it was not so much an individual matter but a common one. Following Rosemary Radford Ruether, I affirmed that we will all be part of the great matrix, the compost if you will, from which new life will spring. John was my respondent. He fairly bounded to the podium to protest in a classically Catholic priestly manner, stressing individual immortality. He assured the audience that when he dies he is confident he will run into the arms of his loving Father who will call him “Little Jackie McNeill” for all eternity. As you can imagine, the contrast between our views was vivid! Happily, neither of us knows yet who was right, and I pray we won’t find out for many years to come. Moreover, I suspect in hindsight that we both may be surprised. That is the fun of theology done with trusted colleagues.
That John and I, two Irish Catholics from Upstate New York, can share so unselfconsciously the insights of our theological imaginations, disagree at points, and still welcome one another at the table of blessing is what matters. This is what it means to be “more Catholic than thou.” Thanks to John McNeill, it is possible and I am grateful. I only hope the model spreads to the world’s billion Catholics that we in turn might learn to live peacefully with far more profound differences among our neighbors.
Mary E. Hunt, Ph.D., is a feminist theologian, co-founder and co-director of the Women’s Alliance for Theology, Ethics and Ritual (WATER) in Silver Spring, MD. A Roman Catholic active in the women-church movement, she lectures and writes on theology and ethics with particular attention to liberation issues. She is author of Fierce Tenderness: A Feminist Theology of Friendship (Crossroad, 1991); editor of A Guide for Women in Religion: Making Your Way from A to Z (Palgrave, 2004) and co-editor, with Patricia Beattie Jung and Radhika Balakrishnan, of Good Sex: Feminist Perspectives from the World’s Religions (Rutgers U Press, 2001).