The Priest Who Made Every Sunday A Pink Sunday

Today’s reflection is from guest contributor Rob McDowell, who is Assistant Professor of Geology at Georgia State University. A native of Pittsburgh, PA, Rob leads retreats on Laudato Si’and Creation Spirituality at Ignatius House Jesuit Retreat Center in Atlanta.

Today’s liturgical readings for the 4th Sunday of Lent can be found here. 

In the Catholic Church, the Fourth Sunday in Lent is called “Laetare” Sunday, from the Latin word for “Rejoice.” Some people like to call it Pink Sunday, since on it clergy commonly wear pink vestments, instead of the traditional Lenten purple. The Gospel for this Pink Sunday (John 9:1-45) is about a blind man having his sight restored by Jesus on the Sabbath. In the context of New Testament times, a blind man, whose malady was thought to be an indication that he is a cursed sinner, is loved and welcomed by Jesus, yet everyone else is unable to rejoice at the man’s restoration.

Recent events in Atlanta show how this story could have gone. On February 5th, Msgr. Henry Gracz, pastor of city’s Shrine of the Immaculate Conception for 22 years, died from metastatic kidney cancer. Henry had lovingly told the parish about his diagnosis in a letter a week earlier, stating that he had…maybe…120 days left, but God had a different timeline.

“The Shrine,” of which I am a member, is a vibrant parish. Eleven o’clock Mass is filled with people of all ages. It wasn’t always so. In the 1980s, then-pastor John Adamski began hosting weekly dinners for AIDS patients. Dinner guests began to join the older, straight folks from the shrinking parish, and the straight parishioners started helping at the dinners. Some parishioners complained about this ministry to the Archbishop, who responded by joining the dinners. Eventually, Father John moved on and Father Henry took over.

The Shrine continued to grow and became known as “the gay Catholic church”—even though it is mostly straight! It has long hosted a booth at the Atlanta Pride Festival, which Henry himself staffed last year. We march in the Pride Parade wearing our Shrine Pride t-shirts. New Ways Ministry’s Sister Jeannine Gramick and Francis DeBernardo have spoken at the Shrine on several occasions. Fortunate and Faithful Families, a support group for the families of LGBTQ people, took root at the Shrine. Many LGBTQ Catholics have returned to the Church they had been expelled from by joining the Shrine’s community. All this attracted attention from a notorious, far-right Catholic group, Church Militant, who called the Shrine, “heavily pro-homosexual,” and Henry “unapologetically pro-homosexual.” They got both right!

The Shrine also has a robust food ministry; a night shelter co-hosted with Central Presbyterian Church; and a foot care ministry for the homeless. A Black Lives Matter protest march led by the Archbishop of Atlanta naturally started at the Shrine. When LGBTQ champion Fr. James Martin, S.J. came to Atlanta, he spoke at the Shrine and was greeted by protestors outside. If Pope Francis wants our parishes to be field hospitals, the Shrine is what he had in mind. If he wants his priests to smell like their flock, Henry Gracz was whom he had in mind.

Father Henry made Marty Haugen’s “All Are Welcome” the Shrine’s unofficial anthem. One verse starts:

“Let us build a house where prophets speak
And words are strong and true
Where all God’s children dare to seek
To dream God’s reign anew.”

How different the Shrine and this hymn’s message are from the Gospel for Laetare Sunday where disbelief, indignation, and buck-passing frustrates rejoicing. The Pharisees are righteously offended and unconvinced, while the townspeople are dismissive or confused. Not even the parents of the blind man rejoice at his restoration. Instead, they nervously deflect the inquisitional Pharisees’ questions with a cautious “Ask him yourself.” The story ends with the healed man worshiping Jesus, while the Pharisees, once again, are being chastised by Our Lord. It’s an odd choice for “Rejoice” Sunday. 

This story has familiar echoes to those of us LGBTQ+ Catholics who have been healed by men like Father John and Father Henry. We weren’t blind, but we were shunned and hurt by the church and families we loved. We were called sinners and worse. Like the blind man, our parents were blamed for our sexual non-conformity. When Henry embodied the radical welcoming and healing acted out by Jesus, and filled an entire church with it, so many were healed of their hurt. Meanwhile, often friends and family echoed the Pharisees questions from today’s gospel with questions like, “How can you be gay and Catholic?” Sometimes they sent Father Henry angry letters, or screamed at us in the Pride Parade, or never came back after they saw just how radically welcoming the Shrine is.

Henry’s funeral was a celebration straight from the heart of God. It started with a rousing chorus of “All Are Welcome.” There were floods of tears, belly laughs, deep sighs, long hugs, old friends, and beautiful music. The billowing clouds of incense from the antique brass censer which was handed to Henry’s close friend, Cardinal Wilton Gregory, the presider at the Mass, by a transgender altar server. All were welcome. Through our tears we were all keenly aware of that message, deeply grateful for feeling happy and safe in church. We felt like we were in the Reign of God for a bit. That’s what rejoicing feels like.

So, I wish you a joyful Pink Sunday, hoping that you have, or will find, a church home that allows you to rejoice in your beautiful LGBTQ+ self. Then you can rejoice as we do at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, where we gather and pray  in the house we built “where prophets speak words that are strong and true.” Requiem in pace, dearest Henry, and thank you for making almost every Sunday a Pink Sunday.

To read the National Catholic Reporter’s memorial of Msgr. Gracz, click here.

Atlanta’s Shrine of the Immaculate Conception is part of New Ways Ministry list of LGBTQ-friendly parishes and faith communities. To view the list or find a parish near you, click here. 

—Rob McDowell, March 10, 2024