To say it was a difficult assignment is an understatement. I interviewed a dozen survivors—all of whom were at varying stages of the healing journey. Some could talk about it openly; for others, the pain was still too close to the surface. I left for home depleted, angry, but hopeful.

That hope was in vain. Exactly 16 years later, the editors are devoting extensive coverage to the sex-abuse crisis yet again—in response to the 2018 Pennsylvania grand jury report documenting 301 priests and religious who abused more than 1,000 minors. Boston was only the beginning.

In this issue you’ll find Janice Lane Palko’s interview with a Pennsylvania priest whose anger will surely resonate. Author Sarah Babbs was not abused by a priest, but the pain she writes of is all too real. Managing Editor Daniel Imwalle interviews a man who endured clergy abuse but whose faith remains unblemished. And Susan Hines-Brigger editorializes on Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI’s April letter on the crisis.

We hope this issue provides some hope. We hope it’s not in vain this time.

The former pope’s letter detracts from any progress the Church has made.

This past April, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI returned to the public eye in a spectacular fashion. In response to the February meeting of the world’s bishops at the Vatican to discuss the clergy sex-abuse crisis, the former pope “compiled some notes by which I might contribute one or two remarks to assist in this difficult hour.” Those notes took the form of a 6,000-word essay, in which the pope emeritus offered his take on the current crisis plaguing the Church and what factors may have caused it. Among those factors, he believes, were the sexual revolution of the 1960s and the effects it had on priestly formation, the changes brought on by Vatican II, and an overall collapse of moral authority.

The letter presents a lot of speculation and theological issues, but it contains very little that will bring any sense of comfort or understanding to those who have been harmed.

Placing the Blame

Regarding the sexual revolution, he says: “In the 1960s, an egregious event occurred, on a scale unprecedented in history. It could be said that in the 20 years from 1960 to 1980, the previously normative standards regarding sexuality collapsed entirely, and a new normalcy arose.”

He goes on to insinuate that the clothing of the time contributed to this revolution as well as his belief that “part of the physiognomy of the Revolution of ’68 was that pedophilia was then also diagnosed as allowed and appropriate.” “Allowed and appropriate”? What does that even mean?

According to the 2011 study by the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, “The majority of priests with allegations of abuse were ordained between 1950 and 1979 (68 percent). Priests ordained prior to 1950 accounted for 21.3 percent of the allegations, and priests ordained after 1979 accounted for 10.7 percent of allegations.”

The former pope says a collapse of moral theology that occurred at the same time—perhaps a reference to Vatican II—”rendered the Church defenseless against these changes in society.”

He also makes reference to the issue of homosexuality, which often comes up in relation to the crisis. “In various seminaries, homosexual cliques were established, which acted more or less openly and significantly changed the climate in the seminaries,” he wrote. If he is trying to draw a parallel between the two, the John Jay study again debunks the corollary.

The study found “that there is no causative relationship between either celibacy or homosexuality and the sexual victimization of children in the Church. So, blaming the clergy abuse crisis in the Catholic Church on gay men or celibacy is unfounded.”

Loss of Focus

At one point in his letter, Pope Benedict recalls meeting with a young woman who was abused when she was an altar server. This woman, he says, “told me that the chaplain, her superior as an altar server, always introduced the sexual abuse he was committing against her with the words: ‘This is my body, which will be given up for you.'”

A survivor’s story would have been a perfect opportunity to express righteous anger and sadness over what has taken place in the Church. While he did acknowledge “the horrific distress of her abuse,” the retired pope failed to take it any further. His apparent takeaway from the encounter: “We must do all we can to protect the gift of the Holy Eucharist from abuse.”

Go back and read that last line again—”We must do all we can to protect the gift of the Holy Eucharist from abuse.” What about the young woman? Shouldn’t the Church be worrying about protecting her from abuse?

Throughout the course of the lengthy letter, Pope Benedict certainly offers a wide range of what he believes are the causes for the situation the Church is facing. What he does not offer, however, is remorse. Not once does the word apologize appear among the 6,000 words of the letter. The word wrong appears only once, and not in any sense of the Church’s culpability for its role in the crisis.

Given the fact that the crisis took place partly under his watch, I would expect a more conciliatory tone to his letter. Unfortunately, the letter seems to do what the Church has done repeatedly during this crisis, and that is to shift blame and find ways to explain away the evil that took place.

In giving his reasoning for publishing the letter, Pope Benedict noted that, “Since I myself had served in a position of responsibility as shepherd of the Church at the time of the public outbreak of the crisis, and during the run-up to it, I had to ask myself—even though, as emeritus, I am no longer directly responsible—what I could contribute to a new beginning.”

This letter was not the contribution the Church needed. If we have made any progress, this letter is definitely a step backward.

I wasn’t abused, but I was betrayed. Now is the time for voices to rise into a chorus of solidarity and rebuilding.

I received my first Eucharist from the hands of a sexual abuser—and this has shaken my faith. When I was a child, in the years after my mother’s death, I found comfort in my local parish community, including our pastor, Father Martin Boylan. Since he was our pastor for most of my childhood, my family got to know him quite well. His housekeeper was my grandmother’s close friend, and when it came time for me to choose a Confirmation sponsor, I chose her.

Father Boylan was kind to me and to my family. It was a tumultuous time. At age 7, I was navigating the death of my mother; my grandparents lost their only daughter at 32. I had such fond memories of him that, when planning my wedding, my fianc é and I asked him to officiate for us, which he happily did.

To my shock and horror, a couple of years ago, I learned that Father Boylan had been removed from active ministry for “personal reasons.” Having been around long enough to know what “personal reasons” usually meant, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it of him, whose presence was a hallmark of spiritually significant moments in my young Catholic life.

All that changed with the release of the Pennsylvania grand jury report in August 2018. The backdrop of this story is the Diocese of Scranton, Pennsylvania, and many names on that list were painfully familiar to me. One in particular—Martin Boylan—especially. It gutted me to read descriptions of the things that had been done to children and teens, and the crimes that had been covered up. I was pained to see the name of the man whose face will always be present when I remember my wedding day.

‘It Happened Everywhere’

A credible accusation of sexual abuse of a minor was made by someone from the parish Father Boylan was assigned to before ours. He had been removed from active ministry in 2014 as the person—now an adult—had pressed charges. A small amount of digging uncovered that the charges were dropped last year because the man changed his mind and would no longer testify. Father Boylan remains a priest barred from active ministry.

As you may know from reading it yourselves, the grand jury report begins: “We, the members of this grand jury, need you to hear this. We know some of you have heard it before. There have been other reports about child sex abuse within the Catholic Church. But never on this scale. For many of us, those earlier stories happened someplace else, someplace away. Now we know the truth: It happened everywhere.”

Sadly, this was the case for me. I had just graduated from high school in 2002 when the Boston sex-abuse scandal broke. I was rightly horrified but also grateful that it hadn’t happened in my hometown—that no priest I knew would ever hurt a child. Or so I thought. However, for most of the past 30 years, investigations into the global Church have revealed patterns of abuse consistent with Pennsylvania on nearly every continent. This is not merely an American Catholic problem. This is a Catholic problem.

I am part of the problem as well. When I first became aware of the widespread abuse in Boston, I did not stop what I was doing long enough to pay attention, to call for change, to use my voice. I didn’t notice until it happened close to home, tainting the places that were spiritually significant to me. I finally woke up because this report features the place where I grew up and learned the contours of Catholicism.

The sense of betrayal runs deep. I was not abused, but I was betrayed. Men who said they stood for God, who were charged with teaching the faith, with being privy to our vulnerabilities, struggles, moments of joy, sorrow, and spirit tainted those moments forever with their poison. I will never be able to think of my first experience of the Eucharist or repeating my marriage vows without a fleeting thought of the man—in persona Christi—who enjoyed the privilege of witnessing those moments with filthy hands. I deserved better. We all, the body of Christ, deserved so much better than this.

Yet, despite its personal nature, this betrayal isn’t unique to me or to people from Pennsylvania. I’m not naïve enough to think this was a problem isolated to Boston, Ireland, Australia, Chile, Pennsylvania, and whichever community is next laid bare. Every state in the United States could produce a similar report. And I believe many more will: What we have seen is only the beginning. As the prophet Amos says so eloquently in 5:24: “Let justice surge like waters, and righteousness like an unfailing stream.”

However, in the face of what so obviously is a call to serious repentance and change within the Church, what we, the lay faithful, have heard are the same empty platitudes and meaningless gestures as in every other case. No one associated with the Church hierarchy has spoken loudly enough of repentance, of reform, of tearing down and rebuilding unjust and rotting structures that prop up these abusers and their crimes. These crimes cry out to heaven for recompense.

Called to Holiness

A pair of verses from the Old Testament began to repeat over and over in my mind during moments of prayer. As is usual in my dialogue with the Spirit, no answers were forthcoming—only an abiding sense of presence and these two passages: “Come, let us rebuild” (Neh 2:17), and “I will lead her into the wilderness” (Hos 2:16). I scribbled both down and tacked them to my bulletin board.

I knew when I hung these up that the words were given to me by God, and I needed to keep seeing and thinking about them. With the passage of time, I understood why. These are days of reckoning for the Church, and the Spirit is calling us to assist in the work of tearing down, brick by brick, the evil that has infected the body of Christ. Like St. Francis, we are being called to rebuild Christ’s Church.

I knew these were messages from the Spirit. I’d been looking at those passages for a month, wondering what I was tearing down and which wilderness I was being led to. The Church today is the wilderness. Laypeople, good priests, sisters, and brothers who mourn and cry out for justice: We are in the wilderness. We, the faithful, have been lied to and abandoned. While women and families staggered under the heavy burdens of Church teachings on sexuality with little compassion or support from the pulpit, a good number of the men promulgating those teachings were assaulting children and teens.

We have been treated as simple-minded inferiors, incapable of grasping the complexities of faith and the spiritual life. Instead of genuine communion and compassion, those charged with being our shepherds have disregarded the well-being of our children, our families, and our souls.

It may seem hopeless, and I think in many ways the current Church hierarchy is. In patriarchal structures such as these, abuses of power come as no surprise. Of course, I know many wonderful priests, deacons, and religious who give of themselves unfailingly and would rather die than ever hurt or allow a child to be hurt.

Yet, these men and women are often at the bottom of the power structure. This must change. Every single Catholic, through the grace of Baptism and Confirmation, is called to holiness and to act as part of the priesthood of all believers. Every single one of us is called by God. No one is exempt.

Writing the Vision

We are in the wilderness today, but the Spirit has equipped us for such a time as this. Everything must change, and we are the ones who will shape the narrative. We bind the wounds of the broken, bring the good news to the forgotten, and suffer with the suffering. We share the sacramentality of creation with all. We boldly speak the truth to power, using our voices for the voiceless and our privilege for the marginalized.

We write the vision and keep on writing it. We preach, we teach, and we offer whatever amount of water we have to put out this unholy fire. We embrace our identity as beloved children of God. We know that our kingdom is the justice and flourishing of every living thing. The challenges are great, but so is the God who calls us to go into the wilderness to rebuild the Church.

In the aftermath of the Pennsylvania grand jury report on clergy sex abuse, this priest calls for personal holiness, repentance, and a solid foundation in Jesus Christ.

In August 2018, a Pennsylvania grand jury released a report on clerical sexual abuse in six Catholic dioceses in the state. The report identified more than 1,000 victims of 300 accused priests and the effort by Church authorities to ignore or conceal those allegations. The dioceses investigated were Allentown, Erie, Greensburg, Harrisburg, Pittsburgh, and Scranton. (The dioceses of Altoona-Johnstown and Philadelphia had previously posted on the Internet the names of priests who had been credibly accused.)

Father Stephan A. Isaac, 31, a priest in the Allentown Diocese, was horrified when he read the report. “My initial reaction to the findings was sheer outrage at the heinous evils and crimes that were committed against innocent, vulnerable children and teenagers—outrage at the fact that the priesthood of Jesus Christ was abused so satanically in order to manipulate children and viciously violate their intrinsic dignity,” he says. “I remember literally getting physically sick reading the details of the sexual abuse and the subsequent cover-ups. I couldn’t stop thinking about the victims/survivors and their families and all of the pain and suffering they’ve had to endure over the years because of these horrific crimes.”

A Vocation Spanning East to West

Ordained in 2016, Father Isaac is assistant pastor of St. Ignatius Loyola Parish and chaplain of Berks Catholic High School, both in Reading, Pennsylvania. Of Lebanese descent, he was baptized and confirmed in the Maronite Catholic Church but received the sacraments of Reconciliation and Eucharist in the Roman Catholic Church. “I was blessed to be born and raised a Catholic in a devout Catholic family where the faith was extremely important to my parents. I honestly don’t know where I’d be right now in my life without my Catholic faith.”

Though he thought about the priesthood as early as seventh grade, he says: “It wasn’t until about my sophomore year in college at American University that I started to think about and discern the priesthood again. . . . The deeper I delved into the Catholic faith, the more I loved it.” By the time he graduated from college in 2010, he knew he wanted to enter the seminary.

He credits his Lebanese heritage for his inherent zest for life. “I love being Lebanese, and I take great pride in my ethnic heritage. Our Lebanese culture is centered on God and family. And the Lebanese love the gift of life. I definitely think being Lebanese has shaped my personality and my love for life and all the adventures that life brings,” says Father Isaac.

He says he feels blessed to be a Maronite Catholic who is ordained in the Roman Catholic Church. “My vocation encompasses both East and West, and so, as a priest, I feel that my priesthood is enriched by both the Eastern and Western traditions of the Church. In his papal encyclical ‘Ut Unum Sint,’ Pope John Paul II famously remarked that ‘the Church must breathe with her two lungs!’ And so, in my priesthood, you could say that I literally breathe with both lungs of the Church, and I think that only enriches my priestly service to the people of God.”

A Continuing Crisis in the Church

At this difficult time in Church history, Father Isaac seems to have taken a deep breath with both of those lungs and called on his faith and Lebanese love for life to rise to the challenges the Church is facing today.

“The sexual abuse of children by clergy and their subsequent cover-ups are disgusting and repulsive evils that have absolutely no place in Christ’s Church, and we cannot condemn these evils enough. I can’t see how any human being with a functioning moral conscience could read the Pennsylvania grand jury report and not react with sheer outrage and horror in the face of such evil and barbaric crimes committed by men who were supposed to embody Christ himself,” says Father Isaac, who knew two priests from his childhood listed in the report for the Allentown Diocese. “I felt so hurt and betrayed by those who committed such horrific crimes and those who actively covered them up.”

Unfortunately, while predator priests have victimized thousands, their deeds have also tarnished good priests. “I would say that the grand jury report has made being a priest more difficult for all priests,” he says, but observes that “Jesus was punished and vilified for the sins and crimes of others—sins and crimes that he never committed. Therefore, why should his priests not also share in his suffering in this regard? I couldn’t care less if people look at me with a judgmental hatred or condemnation. I’m more concerned about the victims/survivors and their families and the justice and healing that they deserve.”

Most of the Catholics he has interacted with since the release of the grand jury report have had a similar reaction. Some have suggested that the Church should abolish priestly celibacy. Father Isaac feels that blaming celibacy is “falsely attributing the evil of child sexual abuse to the beautiful discipline that is nothing but an expression of love for Christ and his Church.” He and his brother priests at St. Ignatius have received an outpouring of love and support from parishioners: “They know us, and they know that we strive to love and serve them with every fiber of our being. They also know . . . that the overwhelming majority of priests are good and holy men who honestly and sincerely do their best to love and serve the people of God.

“I’ve always believed in a very fundamental principle: Contrast provides clarity. And the contrast between a good, holy priest and the evil criminals listed in the Pennsylvania grand jury report is stark. And when people see that contrast and encounter a good, holy priest, they will hopefully know that such evil criminals who’ve abused children are an extreme minority who in no way represent the priesthood of our Lord Jesus Christ,” he says.

The scandal has not changed how Father Isaac carries out his ministry, but it has deepened his desire for holiness. “I’ve always strived to carry out my priestly ministry with great prudence. If I have to meet alone with someone for the sake of privacy and confidentiality, I try to make sure that one of us is plainly visible to any onlookers and bystanders,” he says. “If anything, the entire scandal has motivated me to be the best priest I can be with the help of God’s grace. The scandal has deepened and intensified my hatred for sin and evil, which we all need if we’re truly going to allow Christ to transform our lives and sanctify us.”

Keeping the Faith

In addition to the many practical measures to prevent sexual abuse and ensure transparency and accountability within the Church, Father Isaac believes there are two indispensable remedies for combating this evil: “Personal holiness and repentance are and always have been the two antidotes to all of the sin, evil, scandal, and corruption in the Church’s history. All practical reforms and renewal within the Church must begin with personal holiness and repentance.”

He also believes that Catholics must build their faith on the solid foundation of Jesus Christ: “We must root our entire Catholic faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in the mission and identity of his Catholic Church, not in any one pope, bishop, priest, deacon, or layperson. Christ is our eternal hope and salvation, and so he will carry us through this dark period of the Church’s history, and by his grace the Church will be purified of this disgusting filth and renewed in his love and mercy.” In addition, he says there is no sin, scandal, or crime that could destroy “the eternal, unchanging, and saving truths of our Catholic faith. . . . I absolutely refuse to let a bunch of criminals, child molesters, rapists, and their enablers destroy my Catholic faith and rip me away from Christ and his Church.”

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Last August, in response to the grand jury’s report, Allentown Bishop Alfred Schlert suggested that all priests observe Thursdays as a day of penance and fasting in reparation for the evils committed against the body of Christ in the form of clergy sexual abuse. Father Isaac explains that the bishop chose Thursdays “because it is on Holy Thursday that we celebrate the institution of the priesthood by Christ himself. Prayer, fasting, and penance are also a most appropriate response to this entire scandal, and that is something all Catholics can do to not only grow in faith, hope, and love, but to also make reparation for the barbaric crimes of clergy sexual abuse. Such spiritual practices can and should be offered up for the Christ-centered healing of the victims/survivors and their families.”

A Need for Renewal and Transformation

Father Isaac believes that the Church needs an authentic renewal in Christ. “First and foremost, every single one of us as Catholics needs to allow the Lord Jesus to transform our lives and make us saints. Throughout her nearly 2,000-year history, whenever the Church was in great need of reform and renewal, God raised up saints—holy men and women—to help purify and strengthen his Church.”

Second, Father Isaac says, “We need to take prudent, practical measures to strengthen transparency and accountability within the Church so that there can be no abuses of power and cover-ups of sexual abuse and misconduct. Catholics in the pews need to hold us clergy accountable, and that most especially includes bishops. Nobody is above the law, especially God’s divine law.” He hopes the Church will “adopt practical, effective measures to hold bishops and other high-ranking prelates accountable to make sure that sexual abuse and misconduct are prevented and dealt with decisively.

“Thankfully, since 2002, the Church has taken strong measures of reform to ensure that our children are safe and that any sexual abuse of minors is reported immediately to law enforcement. At least in the Diocese of Allentown, Pennsylvania, the Church is going above and beyond the requirements of state law—as we should—to ensure the safety and protection of all of our children. All clergy, staff, and volunteers in the Diocese of Allentown undergo serious training to be able to identify and report suspected child abuse. The Church must continue down the path of practical reform that began in 2002 to make sure these evils never happen again.”

Finally, he says, “Clergy, especially bishops and priests, must listen to the people in the pews, accompany them on the path to holiness and healing, and empower them to be an integral part of the solution and the ongoing reform and renewal within the Church. The bishops should step up and lead in this regard. Hiding in chanceries and rectories behind lawyers and carefully crafted press releases and talking points is not going to help the Church to heal and move forward effectively.

“We must regain credibility and lost trust among our own people and those outside the Church,” he continues. “We must discuss the scandal openly and honestly with our people; listen to their concerns, ideas, feedback, and morally justified anger; and empower them to be a part of the solution. Open and honest dialogue and collaboration with our people must be at the core of the Church’s healing and ongoing renewal.”

Time for Bold Action

Father Isaac insists that the clerical sexual abuse scandal is a call to action for all Catholics. “Now is not the time to cower in fear and be ashamed to be Catholic. Now is precisely the time to boldly live our Catholic faith in all of its truth, goodness, and beauty, in all of its splendor, so that the world may know what it truly means to be a Catholic,” he says.

“Let’s show people by our own holiness and love what it means to be Catholic and what the Catholic Church really is.”

In this month of celebration, it’s difficult to believe that Anthony ever left the city of his birth. He surely can be found there now.

Santo Antoninho: Little St. Anthony is the pet name of the great St. Anthony in Portugal. Rightly so!

When Anthony was little, Lisbon was home to him. He belongs to Portugal in his birth, in his education, in his entry into religious life and in his introduction to the Franciscans. Every now and then, the Portuguese reassert their claim on the man many assume to be Italian and connect with Padua.

In a small museum adjacent to the church now standing on the legendary site of Anthony’s birth can be found many, many images—artworks and ashtrays, long-ago treasures and 800th-anniversary mugs. Among the eclectic treasures are commemorative china plates with an attitude. Roughly translated, the motto inscribed on one plate reads, “Whoever says Anthony is of Padua has never been a good citizen of Portugal. Our little saint is of Lisbon! This should settle it once and for all!”

St. Anthony Messenger traveled to Lisbon and Coimbra, the two Portuguese cities where Anthony lived, to gain a sense of the saint’s origins and how they may have shaped him. In both cities, there is abundant evidence that St. Anthony lives on in popular culture and prayer.

City toward the Sea

St. Anthony was baptized Fernando Bulhom in Lisbon’s (Lisboa to its residents) cathedral around 1195. The nation into which he was born had been unified only 50 years earlier and was still defending its borders from the Moors of North Africa, who had occupied the Iberian peninsula for 450 years. Coimbra was Portugal’s capital at the time of Fernando’s birth.

Much of the Lisbon the young Fernando knew was demolished in the Great Earthquake—followed by a fire which was followed by a tidal wave—on November 1, 1755. Yet it is still possible to gain a sense of the city where Antoninho was born. The city perches on steep hills overlooking the Tagus (Tejo) River, the largest river on the Iberian peninsula, flowing from Spain into the Atlantic.

Fernando surely looked up from the home he shared with his parents (about whom we know too little) to the Castle of St. George (Castelo de São Jorge). This castle was wrested from the Moors to become the residence of the earliest Portuguese royalty. As a boy, he probably walked up to the castle to gain perspective on the Tagus River and on his own neighborhood, the Alfama. The high Moorish parapets, reconstructed in the 20th century, command a magnificent view.

In Fernando’s day, the Alfama was Lisbon’s oldest and most prestigious neighborhood. Its streets are still the narrow, twisting labyrinth they were when the saint was a youth. Today, it is fashionably run-down but open for tourists. Last fall, the garlands, streamers and pennants hung in June to honor Anthony still hung—faded yet cheerful. Antoninho is Lisbon’s first son all year round.

In open-air patios or deeper in tiny taverns and neighborhood restaurants, it is easy to taste the cuisine Anthony may have eaten: fish, to be certain, especially dried, salted cod (bacalhau). You could order cod with eggs, as I did, or codcakes, cod with potatoes and onions—or the specialty of the house, which would be cod.

I was assured that each little tavern has its own distinctive way to prepare cod, nowadays caught off the Grand Banks or in Greenland’s Davis Straits by Portuguese fishermen, then dried and salted for the journey home. On such expeditions, the crew has plenty of time—and incentive—to experiment with 101 ways to rehydrate and prepare the fish.

Young Fernando may have enjoyed his mother’s special recipe—and later missed it, as any international traveler longs for his native cuisine. I like to think so.

Tour books compare the Alfama to the Casbah (as in “Come with me to the…”). In other words, it’s a mysterious maze where tourists often find themselves back where they were just moments ago.

Looking for Traces

Three key places in the life of the man we call Anthony of Padua are in this maze: his birthplace, the cathedral where he was baptized (and where he attended the cathedral school) and the monastery which he entered to become an Augustinian canon. None of these is the original structure, but at least the last two are in the same location as in Fernando’s youth.

Pope John Paul II has visited and prayed at the site where Fernando Bulhom was born, a little niche beneath a church built in Anthony’s honor (Santo António à Sé). The stone walls of that tiny undercroft bear hundreds of written endearments and thanksgivings to the saint, a kind of holy graffiti in a host of languages. The present church, built in 1812, was financed by alms collected by the children of Lisbon.

In the church itself, votive after votive is lit beneath a painting of St. Anthony, while petitions and thanksgivings are tucked into the picture’s frame. Floral offerings are added in generous bouquets to a pail in front of this image as well.

The cathedral (Sé) of Lisbon is just a block away from Anthony’s home. In fact, one can see its twin towers from the courtyard of Santo António. It looks like a defensive fortress. The baptismal font, said to be the original, is in an alcove to the left inside the main entrance. Today this alcove is lined with the distinctive blue tiles (azulejos) peculiar to Portugal. These depict the story of Anthony preaching to the fish. The cathedral itself is new, though legend says that a cross recessed into the stone of a stairway to the right of the entrance was drawn there by the finger of Fernando.

St. Vincent’s Outside the Walls (São Vicente de Fora) is a considerable distance from these first two churches. It is to this site (though not to the current white limestone, Italianate buildings) that Fernando came around 1210 to become a Canon of St. Augustine. St. Vincent is one of Lisbon’s two patron saints (the other being Anthony, of course). The city’s coat of arms includes the waves of the sea, a ship and two ravens to honor this early patron and protector.

Relics reputed to be those of the Spanish Vincent were brought to Lisbon by boat in 1173. Two ravens, reminiscent of the raven which defended his martyred body from scavengers, accompanied the boat which carried the relics to the monastery. Local lore says that descendants of those ravens lived in the towers of St. Vincent’s for centuries afterward, though none remain today.

How could young Fernando not have been influenced and inspired by the stories of Lisbon’s patron? Vincent was a preacher who inspired and a martyr who suffered torments beyond human capacity to bear. It may have been then and there that the young religious resolved to be both preacher and martyr himself. It may have been as he prayed near the relics of this hero that he determined to seek a more austere and secluded life in the city of Coimbra, about 100 miles north of Lisbon.

Seeking Silence in Coimbra

Coimbra is also on a river, but it was not the water that drew Anthony. The city was Portugal’s capital (1139-1290) when Fernando Bulhom petitioned to move to the principal house of the Portuguese Augustinians located there. It was here at the Convent of Santa Cruz that Fernando’s hunger for learning was cultivated by a well-stocked library and good teachers.

This move to Coimbra around 1212 is evidence that Fernando, like the Portuguese seafarers of a later era, was also an explorer—a spiritual discoverer. He had discovered that he hungered for knowledge and required silence to mull over this knowledge in prayer and contemplation. It was this that he sought in Coimbra.

The old town of Coimbra still exists, its steep and narrow streets tangled much like Lisbon’s Alfama, crowded together with monuments from the era of Antonio Salazar, Portugal’s longtime dictator (1932-1968) and former teacher of economics at the University of Coimbra. Fernando Bulhom may not have learned any economics in Coimbra, but he read widely in theology, natural history, anatomy and etymology. He studied, among others, Augustine and Aristotle, Jerome and Cicero, Pliny and Bernard of Clairvaux.

Today’s Santa Cruz holds remnants of the monastery Fernando once knew. Though the library shelves are empty and the choir unoccupied by praying monks, the staircase may well have known his footsteps. The enclosed garden mixes Portugal’s famous Manueline architectural style with earlier, simpler arches under which the searching student may have stood—wondering where his search might lead.

Santa Cruz holds the tombs of Portugal’s first two kings, Afonso I and Sancho I. Don Pedro, brother and rival to Afonso II, gave Santa Cruz the relics that inspired Fernando to make a radical change in his life: the remains of the first Franciscan martyrs—Berard, Peter, Adjutus, Accursius and Otto. These friars had been martyred in Morocco in January of 1220.

To their leader, Francis of Assisi, this was good news: friars who lived the gospel as fully as Jesus had preached it, laying down even their lives. To Fernando, the arrival of these martyrs’ bones was a challenge to his religious life. Should he remain a Canon of St. Augustine—or should he leave the safety of the cloister to become a martyr, like these newfound heroes?

On a nearby hillside, other Franciscans lived at a little church dedicated to St. Anthony of Egypt. These friars came to Coimbra seeking alms and knocked on the door at Santa Cruz when Fernando was the porter. It seemed a summons to him, and he answered—with his life. He decided to become a Franciscan and, he hoped, a martyr.

He took the name Anthony, after the church where he first lived as a Franciscan. By year’s end, he was gone from Portugal. He would never return during his lifetime.

Celebrating Its Saint

To say that Anthony left Portugal behind minimizes his ancestry. The man who became known to many as Anthony of Padua was Portuguese. He was a spiritual seaman, seeking new lands of the soul, just as other Portuguese explorers ventured into unknown waters. He traveled first to Morocco, where illness prevented his missionary expedition, though his heart embraced the Moors—with whom he wanted to share the good news of Jesus.

He had the broad worldview of a discoverer—and became a fearless missionary traveling through northern Italy and southern France on foot. His compass was the Word of God.

That Anthony is well-known in his native land and is formally known there as St. Anthony of Lisbon. Tourists eager to hear fado, the emotion-laden, dramatic music particular to Portugal, are likely to find an image of Anthony right behind the fadista (singer) and instrumentalists. Fado came long after Anthony, but its major theme is nostalgia and longing—for what is lost and for what has never been gained. Anthony fits right into this scene.

Festivals abound in June. June 12, the eve of the saint’s feast, is marked by a costume parade on the broad expanse of the Avenida da Liberdade (Liberty Avenue). Lisbon’s neighborhoods compete against one another, with the Alfama quarter gaining the victory last year. Along the parade route, bonfires are built and everybody cooks. Grilled sardines with sangria are popular.

On the feast itself, June 13, many couples marry. Traditionally, the town hall sponsors the weddings of poor couples, providing a reception for them. Last June 13, 2,000 of these so-called brides of St. Anthony were wed at the town hall.

Multicolored paper lanterns, streamers, pennants and banners are hung throughout the Alfama and along the parade route. Pots of basil are displayed on every balcony and often given as gifts, together with little verses invoking St. Anthony—or, more recently, love and affection for the recipient!

Children beg coins for candles to honor Anthony. In earlier times, they used the coins to buy fireworks! In the St. Anthony Museum, examples of elaborate thrones or altars to Anthony are part of the display. This tradition, reminiscent of May altars in miniature, continues today, with dried flowers, plastic and paper flowers, tiny vases and candles all pressed into use.

For All Times and All Places

This saint called Antoninho is woven into the daily life of even secular citizens of Lisbon and other Portuguese cities. As my Portuguese guide and interpreter, Maria Teresa Ferreira, expressed it, “To eat and drink in honor of Antoninho is to celebrate human things in his honor. Anthony is present in marriages, in children asking for a coin. Anthony is always with us, not only when we pray. He is outside in the streets as well.”

The visitors’ brochure at St. Anthony Museum says, “St. Anthony is considered to be the protector of souls in purgatory, propitiator of happy marriages, defender of animals, witch-doctor, defender of lost property, and many other miraculous configurations of popular imagination.”

In 1888, Portugal’s most famous poet was born in Lisbon on the feast of St. Anthony and named Fernando António Pessoa. By no stretch could anyone call the poet a Christian believer, yet his well-loved work occasionally evokes the attitude of his patron saint: “It is not I whom I depict. I am the canvas, a hidden hand/Colors somebody on me./I placed my soul within the bond of losing it,/And my beginning flowered as an End.”

On the canvas that is Lisbon, Anthony is colored large. Azulejo images of Anthony adorn even modest thresholds in the Alfama. Of him, the Portuguese poet’s words ring true: “[God] Who blessed you made you Portuguese.” And Portugal, having established its proud claim, celebrates St. Anthony’s feast once more on June 13.

“O come, let us sing to the Lord;
let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!”
(Psalm 95:1).

I pray these words deep in the bush of Subukia, Kenya. The music of my spirit is accompanied by a rooster’s solo, backed by a predawn chorus of unfamiliar insects and animals. In the kitchen, young Brother Florentine, a native Tanzanian, prepares a breakfast of coffee, tea, hot milk, bananas and eggs. The whistling teakettle and jostling of dishes accompany the sentiments of this lovely psalm.

I am visiting one of my Franciscan brothers, Father Max Langenderfer, who ministers with the friars of the Kenyan province. No matter where I am, I begin each day with Psalm 95. It is the only psalm I can pray completely from memory. I don’t always feel like making a joyful noise, but this psalm reminds me that God holds the depths of the earth—and of my spirit—in his hand. I begin most days in a less exotic setting than Africa. But these words remind me—wherever I am—that the Lord is “a great King above all gods” (verse 3), infinitely greater than the false gods that may tempt me: ego, discouragement, perfectionism, anxiety over the past and fear of the future. 

Keeping the Heart Soft 

The main reason I begin my day with Psalm 95 is its challenge: “O that today you would listen to his voice!” (verse 7). God will speak, if only I do not harden my heart. I implore God that my heart will stay soft and that I won’t be “stubborn”—as one translation renders the expression “hardened heart.” I beg God to let me miss no opportunities to hear him speak. 

The truth of the Incarnation convinces me that God shows his face and speaks in all human encounters. But in my preoccupation, moodiness or hardness of heart, I can miss the splendor of such moments. 

Dose of Divine Anger?

I used to be troubled by the strong words that end Psalm 95. God suddenly speaks in the first person, and his words are not happy. The divine anger seems almost out of control: “For 40 years I loathed that generation….in my anger I swore…” (verses 10 and 11). 

Is this God’s just wrath threatening? Might it not rather be an incredibly vulnerable lament? Is it possibly a loving parent’s fear that we, his children, will never come to know his peace? I can easily get lost in the pain of failure and forget the gracious ways God works. That so upsets God, who wants only my happiness. Think of this lasting 40 years (see verse 10) and you sense God’s misery! 

Scholar and Bible translator Eugene Peterson captures this well in his rendering of Psalm 95’s conclusion. After lamenting how his people just didn’t get it during their time in the desert, he translates, “Exasperated, I [God] exploded, ‘They’ll never get where they’re headed, never be able to sit down and rest.’” 

My African journey had its challenges: missed flight, lost luggage, jet lag, difficulty sleeping. But the Lord has serenaded my restless heart with singing and dancing at a secondary-school Mass in Nairobi, in the serene yet spirited worship of the native peoples in the outstation churches and in the warm, gracious hospitality from everyone I met. 

A gentle voice breaks through my prayerful imagining. Brother Florentine calls me to breakfast. “O that today you would listen to his voice”: God has already begun speaking. 

Understanding Psalm 95

Psalm 95 begins with praise of God as king and creator of the universe (verses 4-5; notice “hand” at the beginning of verse 4 and the end of verse 5: “He’s got the whole world in his hands”) and as maker and shepherd of Israel (verses 6-7a).

A prophet-like challenge follows (verses 7b-11): If we are God’s people/sheep, then we should obey God’s word. Let the experience of Israel’s ancestors at Massah and Meribah (Exodus 17:1-7) be a warning. We praise God for what God has done, but recognize that this involves a challenge for us as well.

Next Month: Psalm 127