Catholics in Belgium Start Parishes of Their Own, by Doreen Carvajal, New York Times, November 16, 2010

Catholics in Belgium Start Parishes of Their Own

By Doreen Carvajal
New York Times
November 16, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/17/world/europe/17iht-belgium.html?_r=1

At Don Bosco in Buizingen, Willy Delsaert led worshipers in prayer. Among them were his wife, Lena, right, and Hilde Veys.

Willy Delsaert is a retired railroad employee with dyslexia who practiced intensively before facing the suburban Don Bosco Catholic parish to perform the Sunday Mass rituals he grew up with.

“Who takes this bread and eats,” he murmured, cracking a communion wafer with his wife at his side, “declares a desire for a new world.”

With those words, Mr. Delsaert, 60, and his fellow parishioners are discreetly pioneering a grass-roots movement that defies centuries of Roman Catholic Church doctrine by worshiping and sharing communion without a priest.

Don Bosco is one of about a dozen alternative Catholic churches that have sprouted and grown in the last two years in Dutch-speaking regions of Belgium and the Netherlands. They are an uneasy reaction to a combination of forces: a shortage of priests, the closing of churches, dissatisfaction with Vatican appointments of conservative bishops and, most recently, dismay over cover-ups of sexual abuse by priests.

The churches are called ecclesias, the word derived from the Greek verb for “calling together.” Five were started last year in the Netherlands by Catholics who broke away from their existing parishes, and more are being planned, said Franck Ploum, who helped start an ecclesia in January in Breda, the Netherlands, and is organizing a network conference for the groups in the two countries.

At this sturdy brick church southwest of Brussels, men and women are trained as “conductors.” They preside over Masses and the landmarks of life: weddings and baptisms, funerals and last rites. Church members took charge more than a year ago when their pastor retired without a successor. In Belgium, about two-thirds of clergymen are over 55, and one-third older then 65.

“We are resisting a little bit like Gandhi,” said Johan Veys, a married former priest who performs baptisms and recruits newcomers for other tasks at Don Bosco. “Our intention is not to criticize, but to live correctly. We press onward quietly without a lot of noise. It’s important to have a community where people feel at home and can find peace and inspiration.”

Yet they appear to be on a collision course with the Vatican and the Catholic Church in Belgium. The Belgian church has been staggering from a sexual abuse scandal with 475 victims, and the resignation of the bishop of Bruges, Roger Vangheluwe, who last April admitted to years of molesting a boy who turned out to be his nephew.

In the view of Rome, only ordained priests can celebrate Mass or preside over most sacraments like baptisms and marriage. “If there are persons or groups that do not observe these norms, the competent bishops — who know what really happens — have to see how to intervene and explain what is in order and out of order if someone belongs to the Catholic Church,” the Rev. Federico Lombardi, director of the Vatican press office, said.

The primate of Belgium, Archbishop Andre-Joseph Leonard of Mechelen-Brussels, has already raised objections to the alternative services, calling them “unacceptable practices.” But he declined to respond to questions, maintaining a pledge to keep silent until December. He was engulfed in controversy this month after he criticized prosecution of elderly priests for pedophile acts as “vengeance” and described AIDS as a “sort of inherent justice” for promiscuous homosexual acts.

For some Catholics in the ecclesia movement and academics at the Catholic University of Louvain, Archbishop Leonard is emblematic of a remote church disconnected from a flock that yearns for more relevant rituals and active participation.

“Something is beginning to crack,” said the Rev. Gabriel Ringlet, a priest and former vice rector at the Catholic University of Louvain, which is considering dropping the “Catholic” from its name. “I think the Belgian Catholic Church is starting to feel something exceptional for the first time in 40 years. A lot of Catholics are waking up and speaking out.”

In Bruges, the city at the center of the church’s pedophilia scandal, an alternative Catholic group called De Lier tackles the church scandals in its weekly services. De Lier — The Lyre in Dutch — holds weekly services in a school chapel with a rotation of two men, two women and a priest. In recent services, church members read fragments from a Belgian church commission report that examined the plight of victims of child sex abuse. They expressed shame about a church that hushed reports of sexual abuse and used lawyerly language to avoid apology.

They have also simplified and personalized rituals, emphasizing the importance of community. Typically, they gather around a table with ceramic cups for wine and a round loaf of bread, and members are asked to recount a story of their joy and grief from the week before.

“We are looking for ways to live faith in a modern way,” said Karel Ceule, a Lier member. “If you look at the crisis today with Archbishop Leonard, he is a symbol of an old, conservative church. In Flanders, this doesn’t work anymore. We have reached a stage of history where we don’t accept that the priest has to be the go-between. We want to take charge of baptisms and communion.”

Some of the bishops in the Netherlands and Belgium have been quietly gathering information about the alternative churches, meeting with some of their members. Peter Rossel, a spokesman for Jozef De Kesel, the new bishop of Bruges, said the prelate was aware of the groups, but would not visit them anytime soon. “Now he has other priorities. He has many problems with the whole issue of sexual abuse,” Mr. Rossel said.

In the meantime, members of these groups say they make no secret of what they are doing, especially if changes come about because of the lack of priests. “If you ask the diocese officially about this, they say you may not do it,” said Bart Vanvolsem, a member of Don Bosco. “They say if there is no priest, there is no Mass. But Christ is here.”

In the early stages at Don Bosco, some people complained that services took too long. Others were distracted by the intimacy of gathering around a long wooden table. Some members didn’t want to lead a service. “I am still too traditional to do it myself,” Barbara Birkholzer-Klein said. “What is happening here is totally natural, but I can’t do this yet.”

Mr. Delsaert had no such qualms. He donned a rainbow sash — the church’s symbol of a worship leader — and carried his notes. “It’s the second time,” he said. “For me, it’s very intense. Reading is very difficult for me because I have dyslexia.”

Almost 150 people gathered around him for a service organized by teenage members who picked a theme of peace and music from John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

Mr. Delsaert delivered a homespun sermon that drew on his years as a railroad worker, urging parishioners to wage peace by talking to people in their daily lives. By bidding hello to a daily commuter, Mr. Delsaert said, “the man opened up to talk about train delays.”

“He seemed much happier,” Mr. Delsaert said.

During services, teenage members surrounded the table while a parish statement was read aloud: “We regret the pain caused by priests and those responsible in the church. We regret the damages to the victims, to the community and our church.”

Then a young girl lighted a rainbow-colored candle in the center of the table. She watched the flame flicker in memory of the 475 Belgian victims of sexual abuse.