For these things do I weep,
My eyes flow with tears.
—Lamentations 1: 16aMourning.
We mourn many things, if we are honest with ourselves. We mourn the loss of life. We mourn the loss of ideals, of opportunities, and of safety. We mourn the loss of faith in someone we trusted without question. We mourn the loss of fidelity to relationships of many types, often violently taken from us by people who abuse power.
Sometimes mourning comes with rage at loss. Sometimes mourning provides an opportunity to celebrate the blessing of having known someone whose life was a testament to sheer goodness. Sad tears are then filled with utter gratitude and joy.
In the space of twenty-four hours, two very different losses confronted the editors of this journal as the issue was moving into the production stage. By the time readers have this volume of Horizons in their hands or before their eyes on their computers, the news of the credible accusations of sexual abuse against Jean Vanier, founder of the L'Arche communities, will be old news. At this moment of writing, however, the news is barely two days old and the church again suffers all the losses that attend cases of sexual abuse. All of us have choices to make in the face of continuing revelations of sexual abuse within the church and its faith-inspired institutions. Horizons offered a response within the context of the note from the editor in issue 46, no. 1 (June 2019). Each time a new accusation arises, one appropriate response from a people of ritual, the wounded body of Christ, would seem to be mourning. First and foremost, we mourn for the pain of the women abused by Vanier, and we mourn all their losses and suffering that are known to them alone. We also mourn the harm done to the wider community, who suffers yet again the sting of betrayal from a leader whom we thought was offering a glimpse of the authentic praxis of a follower of Christ.
This issue of Horizons includes an article by Brent Little, “A Charity of Mutuality and Hospitality: L'Arche's Witness to Catholic Theology.” The article went through the traditional peer-review process. No one involved in bringing the article to publication (author, editorial team, reviewers) could have known the news that would break when the article was already in production with the publisher. Little, amid his own grief over the Vanier news, immediately contacted the editors and asked if he could add an explanatory note to the beginning of his article. Of course, we agreed, and we ask you to read Little's note before you start the article. In our mourning, we are all reminded again of our failures to treat every person with the reverence required by the belief that we are all created in the image of God.
The second loss is the death of a dear, dear friend to many in our theological community. Though not unexpected, the passing of the Rev. Dr. Gerard Sloyan leaves a gaping hole in many hearts. Our mourning, though, encompasses a celebration of an extraordinary human being. It would take many volumes to preserve the memories of all the people Father Sloyan mentored and befriended in so many ways. A priest for 75 of his 100 years, his contributions are well known. To name but a few: he was a founder of the College Theology Society and a champion of Horizons; he taught at Temple University and the Catholic University of America, among others; served as president of both the CTS and the Catholic Theological Society of America; and penned hundreds of articles and dozens of books across a wide spectrum of theological subjects. He worked for creative and engaged teaching and wanted liturgy to be a living celebration of the paschal mystery that nourished the faithful.
When I joined Horizons as assistant editor, we used to send all of our copyedited manuscripts to Father Sloyan in hardcopy by US mail. He read every article and provided final edits, writing on the manuscript pages in longhand, and mailing them back to the office. Invariably, his return edits included wry observations and ironic comments on the articles that benefitted from his eagle eyes.
Ecumenism and interreligious dialogue were very important to Father Sloyan. As president-elect of the Catholic Theological Society of America, he organized a convention with the title “Ecumenism, Interreligious Relations, and Cultural Diversity” and included keynote addresses on aspects of this theme from Virgilio Elizondo, Margaret O'Gara, G. John Renard, and the Swiss theologian specializing in Jewish-Christian relations, Clemens Thoma. Several years before the Second Vatican Council was announced, Sloyan assisted Father John M. Oesterreicher with the work of the Institute of Judaeo-Christian Studies at Seton Hall. Personally, he was extremely supportive of my own work in Jewish-Christian studies and told me at a 2012 Georgetown University conference commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of the start of Vatican II that Catholic theology still had a long way to go before it adequately confronted its legacy of anti-Jewish theology.
At some point along the way, Father Sloyan and I discovered a personal connection. He lived for his first seven years in New Rochelle, New York, where I have lived for twenty years. He learned to serve mass at the Church of the Holy Family, the parish in which I raised my own family. During the parish's centennial year, Father Sloyan along with fellow CTS past-president and fellow former parishioner William P. Loewe accepted my invitation to return to the parish as part of the ongoing anniversary celebrations. These two friends provided parishioners with a memorable afternoon of theological education, with a good dose of reminiscing about “the old days” at Holy Family.
As we know, mourning the loss of a beloved entails the sharing of stories, passing on the good news of the one who has died. I conclude with a memory from the fiftieth convention of the College Theology Society. CTS met at the Catholic University of America and the convention liturgy was celebrated in the lower crypt of the basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Sprightly, upbeat, and energetic, and sporting wide, bright red suspenders, Father Sloyan regaled those of us gathered in the sacristy before mass with humorous anecdotes on many topics as we prepared for mass. He was to preside, and as the time for mass neared anyone not involved in the processional returned to the church to take our seats. Thus, it came as a surprise when Father Sloyan began the liturgy with the announcement that he had just learned the news of the death of former president Ronald Reagan. His words at that moment were typically apt, sensitive, and pastorally and liturgically appropriate.
The mass continued; it was the solemnity of the most Holy Trinity. Father Sloyan's homily reflecting on the Trinity was a tour de force of preaching. Anchored in the Scripture, he guided us in mere moments through centuries of doctrinal development, making some of the most difficult theological concepts yield effortlessly into clarity. The importance of the Trinitarian mystery, however, was consistently illustrated with contemporary stories, and, if memory serves, these poignant stories were borrowed from his sister's career as a nurse. A rapt congregation learned anew that the faith, that trinitarian love, has real consequences in the here and now. I do not know if anyone saw it coming and I do not quite remember how he managed to quote song writer Don McLean's “American Pie” so seamlessly and meaningfully, but the last words of the sermon were, “And the three men I admired most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast, the day the music died.” Father Sloyan is sorely missed, but we know we can find him in the dynamic heart of trinitarian love.
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With this issue, terms of some members of the editorial board have ended. I thank Professors Marianne Moyaert, Nancy Dallavalle, Colby Dickinson, David Hunter, Christopher Pramuk, and Julie Hanlon Rubio for their good advice and their work as reviewers. I welcome Professors Rosemary Carbine, Jame Schaefer, Derek Hatch, Aristotle Papanikolaou, Timothy Matovina, Joris Geldhof, and David Cloutier to the editorial board. As always, I thank our authors for sharing their scholarship with our readers, and I thank all of the members of the Horizons editorial team for their inspiring creativity, diligent work, and unwavering commitment to excellent scholarship.
