By Ed Langlois
Catholic Sentinel [Portland OR]
April 13, 2006
http://www.sentinel.org/articles/2006-15/14609.html
He's a kind man, an extrovert with a penchant for baseball, the kind of guy you'd want as an uncle. Right now, he has one of the hardest jobs in Oregon.
Portland Archbishop John Vlazny, 69, arrived in the state in 1997 and had what he calls a two-year honeymoon. Then from out of the past came sexual abuse allegations against Oregon priests, sometimes-jaded news coverage, bankruptcy and possibly years of hearings.
"In the beginning, I was looking at it as a distraction from the more important work of the church," the archbishop says. "But a pastor has to deal with what is there in the lives of the people."
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He feels bad for the church, bad for priests, bad for victims and sometimes even bad for himself. He worries about the archdiocese's uncertain footing.
But the situation, he says, has served as a wake-up call for the church. Now, there will be more protection for children and less complacency about Catholicism's future.
He has instinctively wanted to reach out to those who have been abused. He wants to apologize and further healing. But he has been frustrated that some lawyers have blocked his access to victims, while victims at the same time are angry at him for not doing enough.
He became spiritual leader of western Oregon Catholics having previously served as a bishop in Minnesota and a pastor in Chicago.
It did not take long for him to find out that the experience of Catholicism is different here. Just months before his installation as bishop, Oregonians affirmed their choice to make physician-assisted suicide legal. The practice is still almost unthinkable in the Catholic culture of the Midwest.
"The voice of the Church is not so important here," Archbishop Vlazny says.
Because of that, he says, Catholic laity in Oregon must clearly take on the evangelizing mission of the church, offering Gospel values and living them at home, in the workplace, in the marketplace.
The enthusiasm around developing lay ministry signals perhaps the greatest potential of the archdiocese, he says.
He marvels at how, just when the archdiocese had been forced to cut back on staff, a group of laity stepped forward to develop a youth spirituality and retreat center, one of the key needs of the local church.
The laity's future work could be hard because churches are misunderstood in Oregon, he contends.
"The purpose of the church is not to make the world Catholic but to bring the Gospel into the world," he says. "We can contribute to make this a more just and loving society."
He thinks modern culture would do well to engage the Catholic notion of stewardship — that all we possess is a gift to be shared. Added to that is Catholicism's assertion against Oregon-style rugged individualism. Many Oregonians say they believe in God and Christ, but don't need a faith community.
"God calls us to walk together in solidarity with other people," the archbishop says. "Belief is not just about me and God. God calls us to be relational people."
To Catholics, he has lately given the message that a person's link to the church must be Christ, not the priest, the choir or some other piece of the institution. At rites this spring, he warned hundreds planning to join the church that priests, choir directors and other humans may flub and that abiding by Jesus is the way to weather the storm.
The going has at times been tough for the archbishop, but he still delights in meeting the many salt-of-the-earth Catholics. Even though some call on him to complain, the people keep his spirits up. So do most priests, who have formed a strong fraternal community around him.
He says he feels young, but points to the evidence of his age — trifocals, crowns on his teeth, stents in his arteries.
"I'm the bionic bishop," he jokes with a group of admiring visitors who have traveled two hours for a brief meeting.
He makes sure to pray and exercise, adopting a practice of the late Pope John Paul — no appointments until 10 a.m. He walks and jogs regularly, praying the rosary along the way.
"But you can't make taking care of yourself the 11th commandment," he says.
Baseball has been an abiding pleasure in his life. He pays close attention to the White Sox and is able to cite statistics by memory.
When he was a kid in Chicago, his uncle operated the elevator at the hotel favored by the American League teams that came to town. That meant plenty of tickets for the Vlazny clan.
He recalls listening to the Sox on the radio with his father into the night. More often than not, he hit the sack dejected over yet another loss. It was a long haul for Chicago's south-siders.
So the 2005 World Series tasted very good. On the wall next to the archbishop's desk is a photo of the victorious White Sox in their celebration pile.
"Winning tasted good," he says. "We liked it. Who likes to lose?"
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