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Open Letter to Father Calhoun:

I don't know if I'd ever have the courage to say any of this to you in person. Thankfully, I have this at my disposal, a tool which I've not only found useful, but effective in getting a message across to people. Apparently more people read this site than I originally suspected.

I was brought up to have the utmost respect for the clergy. You don't make jokes with the priest, you don't talk back to the priest, you don't turn your back on the priest. Stuff like that. For a very long time, it's served me quite well. I can't say I've known any priests as well as I've come to know you, though. I was too young when Fr. Murray left to have been able to make any appreciable connection. And Fr. O'Connor had the ability to be aloof. I'm sure he didn't mean to, but it was something I felt, as a child.

And then Fr. Maguire was taken from the parish after only three short years. He absolutely turned the parish around - revived the CCD program, restored attendance figures, and saved our church from the potential of a 'red-light' classification, a distinction of which I'm sure I need not clarify. Granted, Fr. Maguire was one for the more ritualistic aspects of the church, and thus didn't condone much loitering and idle chatter after the Mass ended. "The Mass has ended" meant "we're done; now go home."

But I will admit to getting to know you a great deal better than any of your predecessors with whom I was familiar. You've dined at my house on a number of occasions, and you're always willing to talk to us about whatever we wish, be it the dogs, the weather, or the church. And I thank you for that, and for your friendship. Don't think I haven't noticed that every time somebody you know comes up for the Eucharist, you address them by name.

But like I said, I have the utmost respect for anybody willing to take on the vows of the priesthood, and it's caused a lack of honesty on my part with you. On at least the most recent occasion that you visited my house, likely between Christmas and New Year's last year, I deliberately made myself scarce. I've disagreed with your stance on the church closing issue for quite some time now, but I wouldn't disrespect you or the office you hold by making this a grand point of mine.

"'The time has come', the Walrus said, 'to talk of other things.'" I played that strategy for a long time. Rather than being up-front and honest about what I thought about the position you were taking, I bit my tongue and instead conversed with you over other topics, if and when we ever spoke.

However, with this forum, I no longer will hide behind that shield. There are things I want to say, and right now, I'm going to say them in the way I best know how, through my fingers, rather than my tongue.

What will you do if and when this is all overturned? That would absolutely be a slap in the face to all you've tried to accomplish since your re-assignment. I will admit, I refused to consider the possibility last May that we would be listed to close. I didn't want to cross that bridge until we got to it, and even then, I didn't want to cross it at all. But now that bridge is crossed and burned. We can never go back to the way it was last April.

I have great faith that my church, my home church, will be open to see another Easter, another fifty Easters, another one hundred Easters. What will you say when this comes to fruition? 'Gee, folks, I wanted you all to go with me to St. George, but now that we don't have to, c'mon back!' I don't think it's going to fly that easily. We've been jerked around one too many times, and whiplash has begun to set in.

How will you bring back the flock you've tried so hard to move? As my journalism teacher would say, 'the toothpaste is out of the tube.' It's become painfully clear that even when you feel the Archdiocese is completely in the wrong, you're willing to bite the bullet and take what they give you. And while, for some, this is a respectable trait, I wish you hadn't taken that position. No, I'm not asking you to fall on your sword, like Fr. Fitzgerald and Fr. Bowers have. But even in private, when there is no threat to your job security, you've expressed a hope that we'd all just give up our Crusade and follow down the road.

But what I am doing is just that, a Crusade. In stark contrast to your homily today, I have never been sad about the situation I'm in. I have been in denial; I have been indignant; and yes, I have even, at one point, come to an acceptance of the fact. But that was short-lived, and now, I am defiant. Perhaps I am one of a small group of those who were never convinced it was over. The small group who never became 'saddened' by it. That morning, I shed nary a tear nor a sigh for my church, but the wounds inflicted upon me began to fester. And, as a dog which has been scarred in a fight, I come back stronger than I did before.

I can picture your response to this letter: 'I'm sorry you feel that way.' But I have no doubts for you to assuage, nor fears for you to calm. What I have is my wrath, and I will not let that be put aside so simply.

I do not write this as an act of disrespect. I write this as an explanation for my behavior over the past six months. I write this so that you may know that I cannot, out of my respect for your position, just allow this to happen. That respect is part of what drives me. You might feel that you cannot speak out quite publicly about your disapproval, so I am taking that burden upon myself. My grievances with you come from your attempts to stop me.

And I pray that you begin work on the speech of rededication for this parish, for I remain ever-faithful that you will need that in two weeks.

God Bless,

Adam