Not Doing as the Romans Do

By Nadya Labi/Rochester

The congregants of Corpus Christi are praying on borrowed time. Displaced from their Roman Catholic parish, 550 of them have assembled at the Downtown United Presbyterian Church in Rochester, N.Y. They sit upright in the shiny pews, unused to the immaculate splendor of the organ that frames the altar. But all the strangeness of the loaned space is quickly forgotten in a rustle of excitement. "Oh yeah, she's starting," whispers a parishioner as a sandy-haired woman wearing an alb and cropped green stole stands before the altar.

It is a stolen moment of authority for Mary Ramerman, one of many that she has shared with the rebels of Corpus Christi as they stand up to Rome. After joining the church in 1983, the 43-year-old mother of three ministered to her flock, preaching on a weekly basis, hearing confession and presiding at Mass. And though she neither granted absolution nor consecrated Communion, five years ago, the congregation recognized her leadership by vesting her with an alb and a half-stole. It was a gift that unleashed a host of hidden enemies.

Stoles have a very particular meaning in Roman Catholicism: they signify ordination. But Ramerman is a woman and, according to church doctrine, cannot be ordained. It did not help that she stood next to the priest during Mass, read the preface to the Eucharistic prayer and raised the chalice of wine at the end of the prayer--activities that are the purview of the ordained. For years the Vatican peppered the Bishop of Rochester with complaints about Corpus Christi and probably made its feelings clear during his official visit to Rome this year. The message: Such heresies must not be tolerated. "We in our diocese have a strong commitment to women's participation, but all recognize that's to be done within norms established in our church," says Bishop Matthew Clark. "Unilaterally to go beyond them is not healthy or good."

Clark asked Ramerman to modulate her role during Mass, in part by desisting from "priestly gestures" and by removing her stole. She refused and was dismissed on Oct. 15. But she is unrepentant. Says she: "The Vatican holds women back when it sends the message that we're not good enough to approach the altar, not good enough to read the Gospel, not good enough to be a priest."

Defiance is a Corpus Christi tradition. The month before, the Bishop removed the church's maverick priest, Father Jim Callan, who had pushed his parish beyond Catholic extremes. In 1974, during his very first homily as a priest, he called for the ordination of women. He also welcomed all to partake of Communion (with no baptism and no belief required). In 1993 he began blessing gay unions. He characterizes many of the Vatican's policies as "sinful and discriminatory."

Of course, the Holy See zealously protects the integrity of Catholic sacraments--whether they involve marriage between a man and woman, or the Eucharist. It maintains that the gender of a priest is not accidental but essential. Christ was male, he appointed male apostles, so the minister who absolves sins and personifies Christ in celebrating Mass must be male. "I declare," wrote Pope John Paul II in 1994, "that the Church has no authority whatsoever to confer priestly ordination on women."

That pronouncement hasn't kept women away from the altar. In the U.S. they read from Scripture, lead general prayers and distribute Communion. Pragmatism has been a persuasive agent for change. With the ranks of priests severely diminished, some women in so-called priestless parishes conduct Communion services on their own, refraining from the Eucharistic prayer and consecration. "Some of these women are well intentioned, but the bulk of them are power-hungry witches," says a Vatican functionary. "They have no concern for the church and for souls."

Despite such hostility, Ramerman hopes that "God will part the Red Sea so that I can do what I love to do." But in the meantime she's not waiting for divine intervention. At United Presbyterian she has formed an impromptu priesthood of her own: about 100 worshippers are wearing stoles. One is shot through with glitter, another with gold lame stars. They are all purple, the color, confides a congregant, of the Resurrection. (Actually, purple symbolizes penitence, an unintended irony.) Garbed in forbidden raiment, the parishioners rock to the lyric, "You allowed us to come together one more time." It is this communion that sustains Marian Moschetti, a lapsed Catholic who rediscovered her faith five years ago. "I saw the true spirit of Christ embodied in this community," she says. "Corpus Christi isn't a building. It isn't bricks and mortar. I will stay with this church."

--With reporting by Greg Burke/Rome

With reporting by GREG BURKE/ROME