Posted on 03/19/2006 12:38:04 PM PST by Coleus
Carlos Martín's spiritual life takes him across the New Jersey state line to a place not typically associated with religious fervor: Manhattan.
Hadley Allen makes a similar journey. So does Zain Abdullah.
The three northern New Jersey residents don't know each other and don't share the same faith.
But their search for a transcendent, intellectually challenging worship experience led them in the same direction: out of New Jersey.
Manhattan, with its diverse, demanding and frenetic cultural life, is where they found what they were looking for: congregations that were welcoming, engaging and bold. "I checked out a lot of Catholic churches in Essex County," said Martín, of Montclair. "Nothing was really speaking to my heart, and certainly not my intellect." These spiritual seekers reflect the religious reality of the 21st century, when tradition and geography no longer dictate where believers worship. Free to avoid congregations that cater mainly to families or that are resistant to change, the New Jersey residents simply hop in their cars or catch trains to cross the Hudson River. Martín discovered the Church of St. Francis Xavier, a Chelsea parish where the pews are packed with gay and straight people, the homilies are biblical and topical, and the Eucharist is open to all.
"St. Francis comes the closest to Christ's inclusive vision than anywhere else I've been," said Martín, who is gay.
Abdullah's journey takes him to a storefront mosque nestled among trendy restaurants, shops and loft apartments in TriBeCa. It's at the al-Farah mosque that an urbane cleric named Feisal Abdul Rauf preaches a moderate, contemplative brand of Islam. "He's an intellectual and a mystic with a remarkable ability to meld the two nicely," said Abdullah, of Newark.
Allen followed her muse to an Upper West Side synagogue, where the Sabbath services are suffused with a world-music edge that's both haunting and joyful. At Congregation B'nai Jeshurun, she said, members show their faith through a range of actions, from poring over sacred texts, to engaging in liberal political causes to dancing spontaneously at services.
"I was one minute into my first service, and I knew it was for me," Allen said. "My search was over."
While New Jersey clergy might argue that they, too, provide compelling worship experiences, Martín and the others say their New York congregations took pains to welcome seekers and provided a creative environment that nurtured their faith. That could be a lesson for congregations struggling in the religious marketplace of the 21st century. "The congregations that are successful really stand for something," said James Nieman, a theology professor at the Hartford Seminary in Connecticut. "It may not be just one thing. But it's not vague. People can say, 'Oh, at that congregation, they do this.' "
It doesn't take long to figure out that this isn't your parents' church. The parish has no Rosary Society. But it does have a Catholic Lesbians group. The worship hall, though traditional, with its granite columns, frescoes and Tiffany windows, lacks the special chair for the priest celebrating Mass. And the parishioners seem so diverse in age and sexual orientation that it's hard to say whether any group is predominant.
"We're proud that everybody is welcome here," said the Rev. Ned Coughlin, 61, the pastor. "What they want is a place to pray and to feel welcome in God's house, and that's what we provide." The Jesuit-run church, founded in 1847, has long been a haven for alienated Catholics. Coughlin said the 2,200-member congregation includes homosexuals, divorced people and recovering addicts.
The church's ethos is evident in the way Coughlin celebrates the Mass. Rather than preach from on high, he stays with the crowd, even strolling down an aisle to greet parishioners. He spoke in poetic language recently about Lent -- when Catholics fast or abstain from some pleasures. "It's not intended to be a burden," Coughlin said. "Let it be the discipline of lovers falling in love, so we may find ourselves forever wedded to the God who claims us as his own." Martín said he had stopped going to Mass at the age of 17. Now, the 37-year-old legal translator serves on the parish council, overseeing a congregation that he could never imagine while growing up in New Jersey. "There are so many different types of marginalized people that call St. Francis their spiritual home," he said.
One parishioner is a nun from New Jersey. Sister Jo-Ann Jackowski, who works in Hoboken, said she visited the parish more than a decade ago and was hooked. "I cried the whole way through the Mass," Jackowski said. "There was this palpable sense of joy."
Al-Farah Mosque
It has been called a "refugee mosque." But that's not because members fled other countries. "People come here as refugees from other mosques," said Abdul Rauf, the imam and a North Bergen resident. "They are fleeing not so much because they agree or disagree, but because they want greater emphasis on spirit." Abdul Rauf, a devotee of the mystical Sufi brand of Islam, draws Muslims from long distances with his Friday sermons -- quietly reflective meditations on man's relationship with God. "Think of yourselves as authors of your own biographies," he said recently to a crowd of mostly young Muslims wearing leather jackets, jeans and business suits. "And on the day of judgment, Allah will hand it to you and say, 'This is your book.' " New Jersey Muslims say Abdul Rauf brings a focus that they can't always find in their home state.
"What he does is help Muslims navigate the world in a way that still allows them to be spiritual," said Abdullah, the Newark man, who also is an assistant professor of religion at Temple University. "Some imams have a difficult time trying to give the community a sense of how to be Muslim in the real world. "It can come off as isolationist, even though that may not be their intent." Abdul Rauf brings a universal perspective. One Friday last month, he lamented how some Muslims care only about their own religious sites and icons. He cited the violent demonstrations by Muslims upset about Danish cartoons that disparaged the prophet Muhammad. He also cited the destruction of Buddhist statutes in Afghanistan by the Taliban. He made no bones about how Muslims should respond. "The time has come ... for us as Muslims, to show that we are not parochial," he said. "The message of our faith is to protect not only the holy sites of Islam but the holy sites of every religion."
The sea of white prayer shawls in the crowd suggested a resolutely traditional synagogue. Yet beneath the tallit was a wildly diverse congregation: bunches of single people, graying ex-hippies, elderly couples. And though they sang and chanted from the standard Conservative prayer book, the melodies and arrangements were anything but standard. Instead, they reflected a blend of styles -- Hasidic, Middle Eastern and Latin -- that's constantly being refined and reinvented by the synagogue's musicians. "We have an edge," Rabbi Marcelo Bronstein said in an interview. "We mix things that usually don't mix together." That "edge" has fueled one of the biggest synagogue success stories in American Judaism.
In the early 1980s, B'nai Jeshurun was in decline, its membership aging and shrinking. But under new leadership, the congregation began redefining itself, blending Jewish tradition with exotic music, ecstatic worship and liberal politics. The congregation now has nearly 1,800 families. Hadley Allen, who travels from Hoboken, was shopping for a congregation when she first sat in on a service. She was intrigued by the way everyone was singing and how the rabbis and cantor led without it turning into a performance. But it was more than the worship. There was also the way the rabbis drew wisdom from Scripture that spoke to the human condition. Allen said she still recalls one sermon in which the rabbi dwelled on how people should relate to the elderly.
"He said that it's our integrity that's being challenged and tested every time we try to relate to an elderly person," Allen said. "And it was one of the most magnificent things I ever heard." The congregation, though unaffiliated with any of the major Jewish movements, identifies itself as Conservative and conducts its services almost entirely in Hebrew. But congregants come from a range of backgrounds and are at various levels of observance of Jewish law. Nearly 400 people study at the synagogue during the week in adult education classes, Bronstein said.
"I've seen people become more observant," Allen said. "Nobody is there to point a finger and say you have to. The feeling here is if it helps you with your relationship with God, then do it." For one New Jersey member, that meant moving closer to the synagogue. Marie Peterson said she moved from Teaneck to the city earlier this year. "I found this incredible spiritual community, and I wanted to be closer," she said.
This priest is promoting Sacrilege; one can not receive the sacraments when living in a state of mortal sin and not being in a state of grace at the time of receiving Holy Communion.
Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons
12. Christians who are homosexual are called, as all of us are, to a chaste life. As they dedicate their lives to understanding the nature of God's personal call to them, they will be able to celebrate the Sacrament of Penance more faithfully and receive the Lord's grace so freely offered there in order to convert their lives more fully to his Way.
14. With this in mind, this Congregation wishes to ask the Bishops to be especially cautious of any programmes which may seek to pressure the Church to change her teaching, even while claiming not to do so.
15. No authentic pastoral programme will include organizations in which homosexual persons associate with each other without clearly stating that homosexual activity is immoral. A truly pastoral approach will appreciate the need for homosexual persons to avoid the near occasions of sin.
Egan is asleep at the wheel.
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It seems as though he wasn't looking for a CATHOLIC church at all. He was looking for a 'faith community' that has the trappings of a Catholic church, but with none of the rules.
THis is not unique to any religion. If you find yourself wondering what the problem with it may be, we need to talk.
I wonder whether Rev. Ned Coughlin has a few skeletons of young boys in his closet.
not any more than some protestant ministers who did the same thing.
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