Occasionally I google myself. When I google my full name and place where I live, Roderick J McRae Phoenix, a blurb comes up warning people that I am a false priest. This hurts. It uses a half truth that I am not a priest for a certain diocese, Manchester N.H., but does not mention that I was ordained for a religious order and that I am in good standing with the church. A lot of this is the result of my refusal to go along with some of the expectations for clergy these days.
I have challenged bishops and my religious superiors when I knew that following their lead would be wrong. I have never felt any guilt because of my actions.
Despite all of this, I love my church because I know that there is hope still alive in her bosom. I see this in my weekly healing prayer group at a Roman Catholic Church. Most of the group are traditional Catholics who have a faith to be envied. They have put aside their concerns for the scandalous headlines and have concentrated all their spiritual energies on prayerful intercession for others. We study books by Fr. Henri Nouwen and Fr. Thomas Keating. These are men who help make up the hope that I cling to. We share, sometimes tearfully, our frustrations and disappointments. We laugh when the spirit of compassionate forgiveness fills us with the hope and the joy of belonging. I love this church which has relegated me to a life on the fringe. This seemingly unfair treatment is mitigated somewhat when I read Matthew 5 11-12: "Blessed are you when men cast insults at you, and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely, on account of ME. Rejoice and be glad , for your reward in heaven is great, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you."
But it still hurts.
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