The Black Priests I Know

              Since my retirement, I have been living with a group of retired priests, all of them White, at the old seminary. The classrooms, dorms, study halls and refectories of the place have been reincarnated as an archdiocesan center, so the facility is now filled with many Diocesan Offices and Agencies, as well as many daily and overnight visitors who are renting its meeting places.  Since the retired priests live here all the time, we get to see each other’s family and friends who drop in to visit. I was surprised the first time one of my fellow retirees asked me “How come you know so many Black priests?”  The second and third time, however, I found myself bristling. I think it was because no one ever asked me why I had so many White people coming in to visit me, but just took those visits as normal. I probably am reading into things, or overreacting, but I was picking up a tinge of prejudice in the question.

              By the way, the term “Black” in this context means African not “African-American” or “American Black”. The Black priests are all “foreigners” who come from six different countries in Africa.  Three have returned home to Ghana, Uganda and Nigeria, and about a half a dozen, all Nigerians, are working here in the states, usually in hospital or parish ministry.  And I put “foreigners” is in quotation marks, because they stay foreigners in everyone’s minds even if they become citizens. Often it is because of accent and language use that they are tagged with that label.

               I answered my fellow retiree's question with a shrug: “It is one of the blessings God has given me”. My words cut short any more discussion, which was fine with me, because who drops by to see me is nobody else’s business.  However, there is really a second question, unspoken, behind the first, which I do want to try to answer.  It is “Why are they coming here to visit you”?  That is my topic.

The Black priests I know stop by to visit because we are friends, not Black friends as opposed to White friends, but just human-being friends. I have just made an outrageous assertion which, I believe, should astound you. Why? I believe most friendships in my experience are really utilitarian relationships of codependent persons. It works this way: I pretend I like you for yourself, while in truth I like you for me, for what I can get out of you. You return the favor by engaging in the same collusion with me. Thus we secretly agree to not be upfront by acknowledging how we are using one another, and we make believe that mutual respect and regard is the basis of our relationship. But the “friendship” ends if the usefulness ends, or if one of the persons wakes up to the self deception involved, tries to raise the relationship to another level, and the other partner refuses. What happens, you ask, if both parties agree to go beyond the utilitarian mode they are operating in? Something wonderful: they go beyond codependence to interdependence. The process involves a lot of humility, honesty, and openness, but it actually does happen. Some (not enough!) married couples I know are best friends, some single people too, including celibate priests, believe it or not! I have to admit however, that in normal life, codependent relationships are the norm and interdependence is the exception.

Another outrageous assertion: the Black priests are often better friends and brothers to me than many White priests I have known a lot longer.  Although I know the Black priests a shorter time, we connect on a deeper level. Why is that? It is a question I have asked myself, a question I began asking in 1985 when I first began to know different priests from Africa. Why am I friendly with and more of a brother to, these priests from Africa, than many of the American priests I know?

My hunch is that in America we priests tend to be Lone Rangers, at least here in the Northeast. This may be a result of our training, our life-style, the declining numbers of the clergy, shifts in morale,    problems of busyness in ministry, and so on. But it is not a complete explanation.  I think a more precise answer involves the way we North Americans understand both friendship and Church.  Friendship takes time to form, just as Church takes time to build, because both at base are relationships. We usually find time to do what we consider important, and in this country   forming friendships and building church are not high on our list of priorities.  I believe our culture denigrates “Friendship” and “Church” to the arbitrary category of “Personal Likes and Dislikes”, and thus classifies them both as undeserving of serious attention. After all, a “personal” like or dislike (such as religion or a particular human being) is just a matter of taste. Also, what we call friends in America are often no more than acquaintances.  And what we call Church can be no more than a grouping of acquaintances, a bunch of people we are more or less comfortable being under the same roof with, so long as they don’t intrude into our private space by daring to sit in our pew. 

The priests I know from Africa, (and also, by the way, the ones who come from India), are usually more open to friendship than my North American confreres.  They experience the priesthood as a real brotherhood and not a snooty Old Boys Clerical Club.  This may be a matter of Culture, meaning their particular African culture versus our North American.  My African brothers also have a deeper understanding of Church than we North Americans do. They come from a connection that is organic and not one seen as a social construct.

 I suppose social scientists could prove or disprove these two working assumptions of mine regarding Friendship and Church. All I can say is that my theory is based on concrete experience. In any case, this openness to Friendship and Church is what I like most about the Black priests I have encountered.  Both on a natural level, (and therefore supernatural), I think we are able to meet each other without the pretensions illusions, and yes, prejudicial class consciousness that are so much a part of life in America.

 Another thing I like about these men is their courage. I have thought about that word, “courage” and can find none better to describe what I see in them. I am not talking about natural courage alone, because that is often mixed with foolhardiness, ignorance, stupidity, and/or desperation.  My African brothers have as much of that natural courage as we all do. To acknowledge that is no compliment.  What I admire in them, however, is a courage born of faith.  Perhaps it would be better to call this courage a happy fortitude, or strength of heart.

 It takes only natural courage to come to this country because of all the advantages and enticements of the American Dream, but it requires strength of heart to come in spite of the many attractions. Strength of heart presupposes the maturity to face the pros and cons of coming to America, and the steadfastness of spirit to deal with all the cultural conflicts that await them, including racism.

Racial prejudice is one of our cultural conflicts, but it deserves particular mention because it is such a pervasive reality. Most African priests who come to America have experienced racial prejudice at home or in their travels. Yet the American experience is different. Why? Here as elsewhere  prejudice can hide behind and combine itself with many more disguises, such as liberal condescension, preferential treatment, sophisticated jargon, anti-Catholic sentiment,   anticlerical attitudes, radical feminism, and sexual orientation. Such mixtures make it impossible to separate the strand of racism from whatever else it is married to at the moment.  Even when the African priests recognize prejudice over here, they are in no position to confront or deal with it.  “It’s in the water”, a friend of mine says, meaning it is so basic, so much a part of the culture, that we absorb it all the time without realizing it. Prejudice is in the water we drink and the air we breathe because we are raised with an innate sense of superiority as a result of being born White Americans. (Of course we neglect to realize that we had no input as to our skin color and nationality.)

 Our American bias does not usually express itself in anything so crass as  dirty looks or hate stares, but clothes itself in a mantle of personal  superiority for the simple fact of being not-Black.  Black is perceived as the basest of colors.  Any other hue is preferable, be it yellow, tan, or a light shade of brown.  Brown black, the normal Black color, is bad, but not as bad as Blue black, the darkest color of all. In spite of good manners, political correctness of expression and conduct, which we tolerant White Americans display, the blip of our bias will sooner or later flash on the Black radar screen.

 “Cada persona es un mundo,” a Mexican friend once told me. It was a wonderful way of saying that each person is sui generis, and a Mystery. Because each person is unique, and we can never fully know anyone, so writing a few lines about each one of the Black priests as separate individuals would serve no purpose. So, instead, I am going to focus on the one Black priest whom I have more contact with than the others. He was fortunate to find employment in a nearby hospital, while all the others live and work at greater distance. I hope that by portraying him with some accuracy I can give an idea of the qualities and characters of all the others. His real first name is straight from the Old Testament, so here I will call him Elisha. There are very real differences among all the Black priests, but Elisha is a great example of what they all have in common.  What he personifies in himself is true of the others as well, to various degrees.

What stands out to me about Elisha is his meekness. He personifies meekness to the nth degree. If you saw the musical Chicago, try to remember the song and dance routine called The Cellophane Man. Elisha really is the man nobody sees, and nobody notices. He does nothing to call attention to himself. This surprised me when I first got to know him, because the other priests, (especially the Igbo  from Nigeria), were often loud and assertive. Not that they weren’t humble, they were.  But they were humble more as a requirement of working in a strange country. More than one of them said to me, “Even when we are right, over here we are wrong, just for opening our mouths.”  They are saying quite a “mouthful” with that statement. As outsiders they have no way to address an injustice, or work the system against itself or manipulate it to their advantage. They are at its mercy. It doesn’t matter if there is a work-related problem in the Pastoral Department at the hospital, or in the kitchen at the parish rectory, the Black priests have no adequate recourse. Their only hope is to keep their mouths shut, their head down, and keep going.  This requires a great deal of self control.  Elisha however, doesn’t have to restrain himself.  His meekness is simply part of his personality. The others are humble because they are smart enough to be careful in a new environment, whereas Elisha would be meek even if he were home in Nigeria. 

 His humility is sometimes a problem. An example from around 2004: a couple of us were prepping Elisha for a job interview.  It was a real effort, (heroic, on our part) to get him to look us in the face while talking to us. He was so used to looking down, avoiding other persons’ eyes, that  it never occurred to him that he would need  to be more assertive, more in your face  in order to make a good impression at a job interview.  But he was humble enough to listen to us, make himself do what we told him, and he got the job!  

Another strange fact:  Elisha’s meekness is also the source of his boldness.  I presume that sounds as weird to you to hear as it does for me to say it, (or in this case write it).  My experiences with him over ten years have made me see that Elisha’s meekness is what fuels requests for help.

Many of us human beings, no matter what our nationality or culture, would be tempted to suffer in silence than admit our needs and wants by asking for help. We see this suffering in silence as a virtue, when it can be a vice.  Our stubborn desire to be independent deprives us of the care and support others would be happy to offer us. It also puts us in the unwitting position of trying to get others to satisfy the desires and needs we are unwilling to articulate. We end up playing manipulative games in order to meet needs we refuse to admit are there. Elisha doesn’t do that. He doesn’t confuse needs with wants, doesn’t manipulate or play games. With humble awareness of his personal limitations he forthrightly asks for the help he needs. He doesn’t play the victim, doesn’t get obsequious, or fawning or flattering.  He just states his need and asks for help. If you say no, he moves on with no hard feelings. If you say yes, he is grateful and receptive. He doesn’t mind receiving, doesn’t mind asking, and he doesn’t hold it against you that you are in a position to help him.  He will also go out of his way for you if you ever need him or give him the chance to be of assistance.

Here is a more recent example of his meekness, a case that irritated me: Elisha took his car to a garage for repairs.  The next day he got a ride back to the garage to pick up his car at the time he had been told it would be ready.  But it wasn’t.   He spent the rest of the morning and afternoon sitting there!  I find that so incredible.  Why didn’t he call somebody and ask for a ride?  Even if all his friends were busy or working, one of us could have found a free moment to go get him.   I know I am unfairly judging him by how I would have acted.  I would have gone crazy with frustration if I had to sit there the whole afternoon and wait until closing to get a ride. I suppose in Elisha’s case, it may have been simply a matter of long practiced self-discipline. Whatever it was, it is a quality I do not have. I do know that to Elisha it was no big deal, just another part of living and breathing. His lack of transportation was not a big enough deal to move him to bother someone else.

  I used to think that what I saw as his meekness was an inferiority complex, but it is not. Elisha does not think that he has nothing much to offer. He is just not a self-starter. But he is fun to be with. He as a great deal to offer in terms of charm, wit, practical wisdom, humor,  book learning and common sense, as well as pastoral experience. The challenge is to get him to share it.  Share it he does, if someone takes the initiative and speaks to him first. But if you wait for Elisha to take the initiative, you will be waiting a long time. Spontaneity, opening his mouth and expressing himself, or letting you in on what is going on inside him, well, that is just not going to happen.  

Another example of this meekness of his (and also his strength of heart) is the reason why he came to the United States.  It is very simple. He would have died if he had stayed home.  He had serious health problems, and no money. In Nigeria, I am told,  serious illness plus no money equals death as sure as one plus one makes two. If you are a poor man, you die.  End of the story.  You as a “Westerner” reading this may think I have just stated an obvious, foregone conclusion. But  most Africans would know better. In fact most Africans would probably find my statement naïve in the extreme.  Why? One reason is that they do not measure wealth and poverty in terms of money alone as we do in this culture, but in terms of what has been harvested from the previous season, and, more importantly, in terms of human relations. A man is rich because he is a member of a family a clan, a tribe, a people, and not because he has a big bank account. A man is poor in the extreme if he is an outcast, cut off from and rejected by the people he belongs to. Then he really is as good as dead! Another important factor which escapes our Western consciousness: traditional medicine in many African countries is both very effective and equally inexpensive. Therefore, in the case of seventy or eighty percent of all illnesses, Western medicine is not called for.  Elisha, sad to say, had exhausted the traditional remedies which had helped him all his life, and was left with no answers.

Fortunately, his bishop had told him he could come here and work for whatever time he had left, and fortunately that turned out to be quite a lot, since he got medical care as part of the salary benefits which go with his job. Coming here added years to his life. But he did not come out of a desire to have a career, enjoy the freedom America offers, make a lot of money, etc.  He came because, very simply, he had to find someplace to go if he was going to have any chance of staying alive.  

Why is that so unusual?  Isn’t that the same situation with many desperate immigrants?  No.  Elisha wasn’t interested in staying alive only for his own sake.  He also wanted to stay alive because he had responsibilities. Back home his life was not about him; he was living for others. His death would have meant that these others would have no means of support. He owed it to them to stay alive so he could fulfill his promise to his mother to take care of them. As a youngster he promised his mom he would take care of his brother, one single person. But it was a promise he made for life. Today his brother is married and has two sons. So caring for his brother means sending money back home for his brother and sister in law, as well as paying the university tuition for his nephews. Elisha lives frugally so he can keep his loved ones alive.  True, his standard of living has improved somewhat, but much of all he earns gets sent back to Africa.

This is typical of all the other priests as well.  They love life, but they do not live for themselves. One of them has had a well dug for his village; a second stocked a local clinic with equipment and medical supplies; a third bought books, supplies and uniforms for the kids in his village school, and of course, is sending money to keep his mom and dad alive with food and medicine. I could continue with examples from the lives of the other African priests, but you get the idea.  I admire them because they live for more than themselves, for their families, their church, and their people.  They do it automatically, naturally, without giving it a second thought. And if their care for a person or project ends, they do not say, “Now I have paid my debt, leave me be.” They quietly move on to the next person or project that demands their attention, because the needs never end.

  If there is anything the African priests are not, it is rugged individualists. But I think it is their solidarity with one another that enables them to stand alone. Perhaps the best way to understand them is to say that, in general, Africans start off with a communal perspective, while we Americans start off with an individualistic point of view. They see everything in terms of the group, even themselves. Friendship is a group thing to them, not only a matter of one on one. Of course, they have particular friends they are closer to than others, but their closer friendships are open to welcome others into relationship. They enjoy   being together. It is a cause for celebration, on however small or large a scale. In America, most of us see the group as an extension of the individual. To us, the group is little more than many individuals together, an aggregate of individuals collected into a sum total.

 With the Africans, the group is basic. In fact, the individual is a manifestation of the group, an expression of the group, so he is never by himself even when he is the only person in the room. He always carries the group in his heart.  Why do they see this way? Because it is the way things are. The group is basic.  It should be a truism to say that the family group is the basic unit of society, and that the individual is an extension of the family. Yet more and more, the common attitude in America is that the family is a bunch of individuals, or a collection of separate persons. The family is not even considered as an extension as of those individuals, because unity between them is seen as accidental and superficial.

 The same attitude, unfortunately, holds true with Church. I think most Africans build their concept of Church upon the interconnectedness of the family of man, which is a perfect fit. We Americans, well, I am not sure what we build our concept of Church on.  I think it may be accurate to say Americans experience Church as a bunch of individuals who share the same taste in creedal and moral preferences. It is a kind of religious association to attend to spiritual needs. You can shop for church as you shop for any other product that you have a taste for.  It is not something you are blessed with and stuck with at the same time like your family of origin.

 We Americans probably have work to acquire a sense of community, whereas the Africans have to struggle to acquire a sense of individuality. Their sense of the family, the group, the people, is what they start out with. Why do I think this is so important? Because I think it is the one characteristic that enables them to connect with one another and with anyone else, on a human level and therefore on the spiritual level as well.  Our spiritual bond doesn’t sit on top of our humanity but flows through our humanity and vivifies it.

This human level of connection is my concluding reason for my friendship with African priests, and calls for more explanation.

At first, I was surprised and put off by their constant use of titles. They were always calling me “Father” and addressing one another that way too.  I am used to calling fellow priests by their first name. As I understand it, in their culture what a title connotes depends a great deal on the country you are in.  Usually, the priest is seen by everybody as a special person, and may be put on pedestal by the rest of society. But in Nigeria, for example, the male still enjoys more power and prestige than the female. Although things are changing, there a man is more important than a woman, and a priest is more important than a nun or religious sister. So many connotations go into the title, “Father” in that country, both positive and negative. In general, in most places “Father” is a sign of respect given to an older man, not just to an ordained priest, and the same is true of the term “Mother”. When I introduce any Black friends to my ninety six year old mother, they all call her “mum” or “momma” or “mother.”  They also address my mother’s brother and sister-in-law by the titles Uncle and Aunt. They have a respect for the elderly that is genuine, and genuinely lacking over here in our culture!

   So when I called them by their first names and tried to get them to do this with me, I explained that we Americans are somewhat democratic in our relationships, and the term “Father “ while a sign of respect is often an empty formality and a way of distancing ourselves from one another or standing on class status.  If there was anything Christ emphasized with his disciples, it was how they were to be humble brothers. After a time most of them, especially all the younger ones, were able to call me my first name, but a couple of the older generation, Elisha included, were not. It was a result of their training I suppose.  But I did get them to use my first name after the title “Father”, which I see as a partial victory. I think “brothering” one another is how Christ wants us to “father”.  They agreed, I think, because they are naturally brothers to each other on a human level, and saw that common humanity as the foundation on which relationships with all their differences and distinctions were built.  If we can’t connect as human beings, how can we connect as children of God?

Let me finish this article with a mea culpa.  I plead guilty to the fault of exaggeration and oversimplification. I am sure there are individualistic African priests, men who are self centered, egotistical, selfish, indulgent, grasping, and greedy.  Every person who leaves the womb has the same flawed human nature that the rest of us are born with. It has something (everything!) to do with original sin.  However, I do not think I am idealizing or romanticizing very good and decent qualities of Black priests out of all proportion.  They suffer from the same defects and weaknesses that afflict priests the world over.  Are there not men  in Africa who leave the priesthood, who forsake their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, who lead double lives,  or who stay in ministry for the money, or because they find it easier to stay in than to go and earn a living by the sweat of their brow?  Of course.  I am sure there are priests from Africa who are not the men of God they should be. Let me also affirm there are plenty of good and great American priests, men of prayer and dedication, men who live for Christ and His Church.  All Black priests are not perfect saints, and all American priests are not self-centered functionaries. All I want to affirm, and affirm gratefully, is that to date, the Black priests it has been my good fortune to know exemplify the brotherhood that is Christ’s priesthood at its best.