I promise to move off of the topic of Rainbow Sash soon, but this article published yesterday by a certain Michael Bayly of the Catholic (sic) Pastoral Commitee on Sexual Minorities caught my attention. Mr. Bayly was among the Rainbow Sashers who sashayed up to Communion at the Cathedral of St. Paul on Pentecost. I know Mr. Bayly from a previous attempt at dialogue with him (see my next post). Anyway, here is my favorite section (emphasis mine):

When communion time came, Fr. Skluzacek reiterated the archbishop’s request that those wearing the Rainbow Sash remove them before receiving communion “as a sign of reverence for the Lord and a desire for unity.” I found myself wondering how wearing a multi-colored sash could possibly threaten either the Lord or Christian unity. The denying of communion as a way of protesting and punishing those you disagree with seemed much more disrespectful and divisive.

Fr. Skluzacek continued his pre-communion warning—noting that if anyone did attempt to receive communion wearing the sash, they would not receive the Eucharistic host but just a blessing. No one around me made a move to remove their sash.

When it was my turn to approach Skluzacek, I did so and received his blessing. I then looked him in the eyes and said, “I realize the situation you’re in, and I forgive you.” I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was simply following orders. Perhaps if it was up to him he would give communion to all of us. Perhaps he lacked the courage to follow his conscience and defy such orders.

Interestingly, I think everyone wearing the sash made some comment to the Eucharistic minister they approached to receive communion. My friend Mary, for instance, took the hands raised in blessing of one minister and said, “Shame on you!” Later she told me how appalled she was that they would consider their blessing a substitute for what they were denying. “It was so incredibly pompous!” she said.

In retrospect, it was quite amazing: Over a hundred people speaking from that holiest of places—their conscience—and making their feelings and beliefs known to the hierarchy at the most sacred time of the mass. How appropriate for Pentecost! And how unprecedented! Have the members of the church hierarchy ever before experienced such a loving yet firm challenge? Who could have foretold that the banning of communion to Rainbow Sash wearers would initiate such an outpouring of the spirit! Such confounding paradox, the Bible contends, is often a sign of the presence and action of God.

Such thoughts, however, were to come to me later. For the moment, I found myself returning to my seat having been denied communion – at least by a priest. For as it turned out, I was to receive communion that morning.

Back in our pew, Eduard gently touched my arm. Turning, I saw that he was reverently holding half a host in his hand. He broke it and gave a portion of it to me. I, in turn, broke my piece and gave half to my friend Kathleen.

Later I discovered that someone without a sash had shared the host they had received with Eduard—who was wearing a sash. What this person (and apparently other non-sash wearers) did seems to me to be what communion is all about. I found this loving and sharing action very inspiring and hopeful. It would be something Jesus would do—and did do through the actions of these people. Here were “ordinary Catholics” taking to heart Christ’s call to be a “priestly people.”

It's a classic illustration of the Shame Game that dissenters love to play. "The Church is being divisive and pompous!" The typical pot calling the kettle black. The dissenters have nothing to stand on but accusations, and it's always interesting how their judgments often seem more well suited to fall upon their own heads.

The most remarkable words, in some way, are Mr. Bayly's words to the priest: "I forgive you." Don't you just love it when someone comes up to you to forgive you for something you did that wasn't wrong?! Isn't it a great moment when an act of charity and magnanimity becomes instead a tool of manipulation and accusation? I had a Director of Religious Education do as much to me, about ten years ago, when I called her on the carpet for inviting an adult education speaker to my parish to speak about "Refounding the Church." We ended up having a sit-down meeting: the pastor, the DRE, and a friend of mine. There was this manufactured civility and piety in the words and tone of the DRE that was truly astonishing.

I'm also fascinated by the self-deception that actually views this kind of protest as virtuous and, indeed, holy. And by what I can only call "the ecclesiology of the belly button:" Me and my navel are the Church, and we commune with one another and all of the like-minded members of our Club. Forget the apostolic teaching, the martyrs who died for it, the communion of saints, etc. etc. - and most of all, forget God. Conscience is no longer the voice of God echoing in the human heart... it becomes the voice of human appetite projected onto God as onto a ventriloquist doll.