From Slave to Priest: The Inspirational Story of Father Augustine Tolton
Sr. Caroline Hemesath
Fr. Augustine Tolton was the first acknowledged black priest in the United States. (James and Patrick Healy were ordained in 1854 and 1864 respectively; they were one-quarter black, and known during their lives as Irish, which their father was.) He was born in Missouri but went to school in Quincy, IL, and served as a priest both there and in Chicago, so he is a favorite son of Illinois. I won't repeat the whole story of his life here—you'll just have to read the book.
Two things in particular struck me as I read the book: one joyful, one sorrowful. The joyful part was seeing how Augustine grew in holiness through his persistence in pursuing his vocation against all obstacles, a reminder to me of what a great and undeserved gift the priesthood is for all of us who share in that life. The sad part was that so many of the obstacles he faced were utterly unnecessary—not just the persistent refusal to admit him to seminary (he was finally admitted to a seminary in Rome intended for training missionary priests), but the persistent obstacles thrown in his way when he was sent back to serve in the United States (much to his surprise; he had expected to be sent on African missions).
He was a magnificent priest, someone whose ministry was effective not just for black Catholics but for whites as well—which, sadly, lead to apparent jealousy and rivalry on the part of pastors of white parishes who were losing parishioners to his parish. (I fully realize the difficulty of discerning motives in a much different culture over a century later.) He also had to face a constant pressure from non-Catholic groups who would invite children from his to the activities of their own faith communities, drawing them away from their Catholic faith.
When he was transferred to Chicago, he faced many of the same problems there: rivalries with other parishes, temptations among his parishioners to leave the Catholic faith, and so on, to which was added the burden of poor health. He died in 1897 at the age of 43 during a heat wave. He is buried in Quincy, IL; I hope some day to pay a visit to his grave there.
I can only wonder what might have been if "Good Father Gus," as he was familiarly known, had been given much more support and encouragement than he actually received. Perhaps he could have done much more. Perhaps his persistance against the obstacles is what made him great in the first place.
The cause for his canonization was officially opened on Feb. 24 of this year. I could not help but think while reading the book that it was the story of a saint. I pray his cause proceeds rapidly and well.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Spirituality the Dominican way
The New Wine of Dominican Spirituality: A Drink Called Happiness, by Paul Murray, OP.
(I ran across this book in the gift shop of a Trappist monastery; God’s sense of humor is astonishing.)
What intrigued me most about this book when I first saw it was the idea of a distinctly Dominican spirituality. I thought there had to be such a thing, but I couldn’t find anything about it.
My metaphysics teacher in seminary once told my class that we were a bunch of Dominicans and didn’t know it. I told him after class that I couldn’t speak for everyone else, but that I was well aware of my own Dominican tendencies. I’ve often said that if I’d had the vocation to community life, the Dominicans would have been the first place I looked.
Much of the spiritual writing of the last few centuries has come from the Jesuits, who have done much to popularize and promote spirituality for everyone, not just for those in religious life. For this, the Church undoubtedly owes them a debt of great thanks. That’s not just lip service—there may be no group that has done more to help bring holiness to the world than the Jesuits of the 19th and early 20th centuries. And yet the methods and ideas that dominate many books on prayer and spirituality have never worked all that well for me.
I found this sentence on page 9 of the book: “When, over the years, Dominicans have found themselves confronted with detailed methods and techniques of meditation, and with long lists of what to do in meditation and what not to do, their reaction has almost always been the same: they instinctively feel that something has gone wrong.” I do not know that the author is claiming that something has gone wrong universally—I certainly don’t—and yet I find the point well taken.
So what goes in the place of those methods and techniques? Most of the rest of the book works its way around that question without quite ever answering it. It seems to have something to do with study, and in particular study as a way to know God better and therefore to proclaim Him better (preaching being the primary charism of the Dominicans, who are officially known as the Order of Preachers).
I can’t give the book an unqualified recommendation, even for those of us who need another way to pray. Although it mentions frequently the need for meditation and contemplation, I’m not sure that the author does not downplay them a little too much. And while I found nothing unorthodox in the book, there are places that I read with a little wariness.
That having been said, I’m still glad that I bought the book (and read it). The page 9 sentence alone might have been worth the price, but I also found a fair amount of food for thought and prayer throughout the book.
Caveat lector, but if you’re in search of an approach to spirituality that’s different from what’s commonly presented yet still based solidly in centuries of practice within the Church, this might be the book you need to get you pointed in the right direction.
(I ran across this book in the gift shop of a Trappist monastery; God’s sense of humor is astonishing.)
What intrigued me most about this book when I first saw it was the idea of a distinctly Dominican spirituality. I thought there had to be such a thing, but I couldn’t find anything about it.
My metaphysics teacher in seminary once told my class that we were a bunch of Dominicans and didn’t know it. I told him after class that I couldn’t speak for everyone else, but that I was well aware of my own Dominican tendencies. I’ve often said that if I’d had the vocation to community life, the Dominicans would have been the first place I looked.
Much of the spiritual writing of the last few centuries has come from the Jesuits, who have done much to popularize and promote spirituality for everyone, not just for those in religious life. For this, the Church undoubtedly owes them a debt of great thanks. That’s not just lip service—there may be no group that has done more to help bring holiness to the world than the Jesuits of the 19th and early 20th centuries. And yet the methods and ideas that dominate many books on prayer and spirituality have never worked all that well for me.
I found this sentence on page 9 of the book: “When, over the years, Dominicans have found themselves confronted with detailed methods and techniques of meditation, and with long lists of what to do in meditation and what not to do, their reaction has almost always been the same: they instinctively feel that something has gone wrong.” I do not know that the author is claiming that something has gone wrong universally—I certainly don’t—and yet I find the point well taken.
So what goes in the place of those methods and techniques? Most of the rest of the book works its way around that question without quite ever answering it. It seems to have something to do with study, and in particular study as a way to know God better and therefore to proclaim Him better (preaching being the primary charism of the Dominicans, who are officially known as the Order of Preachers).
I can’t give the book an unqualified recommendation, even for those of us who need another way to pray. Although it mentions frequently the need for meditation and contemplation, I’m not sure that the author does not downplay them a little too much. And while I found nothing unorthodox in the book, there are places that I read with a little wariness.
That having been said, I’m still glad that I bought the book (and read it). The page 9 sentence alone might have been worth the price, but I also found a fair amount of food for thought and prayer throughout the book.
Caveat lector, but if you’re in search of an approach to spirituality that’s different from what’s commonly presented yet still based solidly in centuries of practice within the Church, this might be the book you need to get you pointed in the right direction.
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