Last summer, I was invited to Portugal to speak at World Youth Day and at a Jesuit gathering called Magis, designed for students from Jesuit colleges and universities. Before I departed for Lisbon, my Jesuit host, Sam, asked if I might like to visit Fátima, the famous Marian shrine. I was elated.
I had been to Lourdes several times, but never to Fátima, despite having read several books on the Marian apparitions there, having prayed to Our Lady of Fátima often and even having seen the recent film of the same name. Sam said that he could arrange for someone to drive me from Lisbon, where I would be staying, to Fátima.
“I don’t want to take anyone out of their way,” I said. “Driving seven hours or however long it takes.”
“Jim,” said Sam, laughing, “nothing is seven hours away in Portugal!” Fátima, it turned out, was only a 90-minute drive away. He told me the names of the couple who would drive me, but since this was over the phone and I was focused on the logistical details of travel, the names didn’t register.
A few weeks later, I was sitting in a chapel, waiting for Mass to begin at St. John de Brito College, the Jesuit high school in Lisbon where the Magis activities were centered. Sam came in and said, “Here are your escorts.”
Lost in the emphasis on priests blessing same-sex couples was how much same-sex couples have blessed the church. They have certainly blessed me.
They were (to my surprise) two men, João and Lourenço, whose faces were wreathed in smiles.
After Mass, we piled into their small blue car and took off for Fátima. Both João and Lourenço, who were engaged to be civilly married the next month, had read some of my books in Portuguese and were bursting with questions. (Both speak perfect English.) João is a sign-language interpreter for Deaf pilgrims at the shrine, and so gave me a précis of what we would see; Lourenço is a leader in a Christian life community in Lisbon and told me about the church in Portugal. Both are committed to their church and their faith. We talked nonstop for the whole drive through the beautiful countryside.
The visit was tremendously moving. We visited all the important sites: the Chapel of the Apparitions, where the Virgin Mary appeared to Jacinta, Francisco and Lúcia in 1917; the great basilica where the visionaries are buried; and, thanks to my hosts’ perfect knowledge of the environs, the homes of the visionaries and the other apparition sites. At one point, we prayed together beneath the great oak tree over which Mary had appeared.
At lunch, we a lively conversation over a tosta mista, a kind of Portuguese ham-and-cheese sandwich. Because of my devotion to Our Lady of Fátima, their company, their knowledge and their faith, it was, I told them as I left the car that night, one of the most enjoyable days of my life.
A few weeks ago, the Vatican issued guidelines for priests to bless same-sex couples, under certain conditions. The declaration, “Fiducia Supplicans,” was issued by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Vatican office responsible for overseeing the church’s theological positions. Much of the public’s focus afterwards was not only on the newness of the practice and the varied reactions around the globe (with some bishops and bishops conferences rejecting the declaration and others welcoming it), but also on the guidelines for the blessings: no liturgical vestments, no formal rites, and overall, nothing resembling a marriage.
Last month, I was honored when I was asked to offer a blessing for two men I’ve known for some time: Jason, a Catholic theologian, and his husband Damian, a floral designer. Although it was a quick, informal blessing in the living room of my Jesuit community, I found it surprisingly moving.
Afterwards, I realized how much Jason and Damian had blessed me through their friendship. For one thing, Jason has been a knowledgeable sounding board for me about LGBTQ matters over the past few years. It reminded me that lost in the emphasis on priests blessing same-sex couples was how much same-sex couples have blessed the church. They have certainly blessed me.
João and Lourenço, and Jason and Damian, are just two of many same-sex couples who have blessed my life. Mark and Kraig, who have been together 25 years, are another. Mark, whom I met while we were working in Kenya in the 1990s, works at a Jesuit university, and Kraig is a medical technician. My friends Karen and Rose, two longtime and active parishioners at a nearby Jesuit parish, are another wonderful couple. Karen and I worked together for many years at America magazine. Louise, a massage therapist (who, even though she is not Catholic, always supports my work and reads all my books), and her wife Liza, a college professor, are another. They’ve been together for “36 wonderful years,” as Louise recently told me.
Kurt, a former Jesuit, and his husband Carlos are raising a child, who is now four years old. Craig, a Catholic high school teacher, is married to J, a composer whose arrangements are sung in the church I regularly attend for Sunday Mass. Mike and Matt, one a journalist and the other an emergency-room physician, are two of the most faithful Catholics I know.
And since Outreach began a few years ago, I’ve met many other same-sex couples. Mark and Yuval produced a documentary called “Wonderfully Made,” about LGBTQ Catholics. And my friends Brian and Alex have both become good friends and even hosted a fundraiser for Outreach at their home.
I’m not sure where to begin to share what these friends have meant to me and, again, how much they have blessed me. Instead let me tell you about just one more couple: my friends Carlos and Jim.
Carlos and Jim met about 40 years ago, when they were both working in finance in New York City in the 1980s. After several years of working at a high-paying position, Carlos, a native of Colombia, decided that he wanted more from life, and so he left his job to become a hospital chaplain at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.
Carlos’s faith animated his whole life. In addition to his ministry as a hospital chaplain, he served at a local Jesuit parish as a Eucharistic minister and a lector. He also had a thriving practice as a trained spiritual director. (For a time, I was Carlos’s director, so I came to know him well.) I’m not sure how much more “active” a person could be in parish life.
Over the years, I’ve met dozens of same-sex couples, many of them Catholics who have persevered in their faith even as the church has felt like an unwelcome place for them.
Several years ago, Carlos developed cancer in his salivary gland. Jim cared for Carlos through the initial diagnosis, through countless visits to physicians, through radiation and chemotherapy, through surgery and through the long recovery periods after each of these difficult treatments.
As Carlos’s health deteriorated, Jim asked if I might be able to arrange a trip for Carlos to Lourdes, the Catholic shrine in France. A few emails to some friends at the Order of Malta, the religious order that helps take the sick and their companions on pilgrimages to Lourdes, meant that Carlos would be able to go.
Jim generously suggested that Carlos’s sister, who is also a devout Catholic, should go with him. So, the two traveled there together. But unbeknownst to Carlos, Jim had planned to surprise him, and so he arranged to fly there on his own. One day at the hotel, Jim arrived and, afterwards, the two prayed together and received a blessing for healing from a visiting cardinal.
Carlos died not long after that. Even though his Memorial Mass, which I celebrated, was delayed a year because of Covid, the church was packed. Everyone in the parish seemed to love Carlos and Jim. And why would we not? They had shared so much of their love with all of us.
Over the years, I’ve met dozens of same-sex couples, many of them Catholics who have persevered in their faith even as the church has felt like an unwelcome place for them. “Fiducia Supplicans” is, for them, a wonderful blessing. But as the church ponders the new practice of blessing same-sex couples, let’s not forget how much they have blessed us, and the church. They have certainly blessed me.
