A GROUP OF PILGRIMS from the Diocese of Orange joined the Catholic Mobilizing Network for three powerful days in Alabama back in 2024, traveling to Selma, Montgomery and Birmingham. The group visited some of the central sites of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s.
The following is adapted from a Homily by Fr. Gregory Walgenbach for the XXI Sunday in Ordinary Time, August 25, 2024 (Joshua 24:1–2a, 15–17, 18b; Ps 34:2–3, 16–17, 18–19, 20–21 (9a); Eph 5:21–32; John 6:60–69).
Our pilgrimage to Alabama to visit some of the central sites of the Civil Rights Movement was an incredible, disturbing and inspiring time of learning and reflection. We witnessed great courage in the testimonies from those whom many of us had never heard of, but who marched and fought alongside other “foot soldiers” (because they did so much walking) for justice and peace. Then there were those you might have heard of: Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth.
See, rather than life, many people in the country had chosen to follow the unjust gods of white supremacy, the almighty dollar, greed, economic exploitation, a civilization of exclusion, exploitation and death.
Death came in the form of lynching, bombings, cruelty, support and even eagerness for violence against Blacks and other People of Color. This violence defended greed and economic exploitation in supporting massive industries that relied on forms of slave labor, then convict leasing (a form of slavery defended in the 13th Amendment to the Constitution). Now it’s contemporary forms of prison labor, immigrant detention and migrant worker exploitation. Our struggles are connected.
One sign at the Legacy Museum read: “No Negroes. No dogs. No Mexicans.”
All of this resulted in, and in turn perpetuated, a system of white supremacy, a caste system by which wealthy whites — as well as poor whites and those who allied with them — dominated Blacks and others deemed to be less than human, unintelligent, inferior creatures. They groups were therefore subject to all kinds of humiliation, segregation, subjugation and killing.
And this brings us to the key Gospel passage for this Eucharistic Revival that concludes the Bread of Life Discourse in John Chapter 6. After the eschatological sign of the feeding of the 5,000 and Jesus’ teaching that the bread which He gives for the life of the world is His flesh and that we must eat of His flesh and drink of His blood to live, many are not convinced.
They are not convinced for at least two reasons.
First, we must see the clear reference to the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, which is a stumbling block. We must see that this Bread of Life discourse concludes with this passage, which immediately makes clear the following of His words about eating His flesh and drinking His blood.
Second, and not unrelated, we must understand the reference to Jesus as the Word which became flesh and dwelt among us, the incarnation and atonement, the birth, death and life of the Son of Man and Holy One of God. Jesus is the revelation of God who must be received by faith such that we are given life and sustained for our journey by God’s food and drink.
But what does all this have to do with the Civil Rights Movement in the United States?
We believe that the Eucharist is not only the Table of the Lord but the Altar of sacrifice, the food we need to live and the true offering which makes us one. Christ makes us one and is in Himself the divine human unity by which the world is created, redeemed and fulfilled. Sin and all the powers of death stand in the way of our reception and participation of that unity in Christ. Christ, in whose sacrificial death we participate in every Eucharist, was Himself a victim of lynching. Uniquely worse than the evil of slavery perpetuated throughout history and throughout the world was chattel slavery.
As it developed in the United States, chattel slavery involved millions of Africans being brought over on slave ships in unbearable conditions that caused large numbers to die. This then developed into a permanent, hereditary status centrally tied to race.
After slavery was abolished, convict leasing took its place. Millions were arbitrarily imprisoned and used for their labor under the 13th Amendment once again.
Other forms of domination were instituted like poll taxes, which had the express intention of keeping Blacks from voting.
Literacy tests were also enforced in which, in addition to the kinds of questions you might find on a citizenship test today, folks would be asked how many jelly beans are in a jar or how many bubbles are in a bar of soap.
Later, through the war on drugs, the U.S. perpetrated the mass incarceration of Black men that has been labeled the “New Jim Crow.” Statistics show that one in three Black boys can expect to be sentenced to prison. Compare that to one in six Latino boys and one in 17 white boys. We can look at similar discrepancies in maternal health, in nutrition and food, in jobs — on and on. All this is why the U.S. bishops have called racism a life issue and a sin that we must take with the utmost seriousness.
It is something we must work to overcome. These injustices also reject and even perversely imitate the one atoning sacrifice of Jesus for the world. They teach us to become comfortable in seeking peace and unity by sacrificing others. Instead, on the cross Jesus reveals the scandal of our scapegoating, violence, sin and death. He comes all the way down in solidarity with the crucified peoples of the world.
The Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth, whose family suffered multiple bombings and beatings, was asked by his daughter if he was going to be killed. He paused and replied, “No, darling. You can’t kill hope.”
The Eucharistic solidarity to which we are called requires sustained attention to the suffering of others. Yet it also requires sustained attention to our own suffering and how we sometimes cause harm to others when supporting unjust systems of oppression.
How can we gaze upon and receive our Crucified and Risen Lord in the Eucharist yet refuse the cries of those discarded and hidden away in our prisons? How can we turn our backs on our migrant sisters and brothers, fail to offer hospitality, services, healthcare, food and other support for women and children in need? How can we refuse to be the kind of people who take care of one another, including through social systems of support, when we find ourselves in particularly vulnerable moments, unhoused, pregnant, terminally ill or seeking asylum, leaving only death as an ultimate solution?
Jesus refuses to leave any of us behind and would not be turned around from His love for each of us — His love, His life, His flesh, He has given for the life of the world.
At the Eucharistic table there is foretaste and a sign of God’s life-giving food for all. The sacred mysteries we celebrate unite us in the truth of our common humanity. Sanitation workers marched with signs that said, “I am a man.” At Mass we proclaim: Behold the man. Behold the Lamb. We cannot highlight the Civil Rights Movement without mentioning its central focus on nonviolence, particularly through the influence of Bayard Rustin, Dr. King, Jim Lawson, John Lewis and many others. We have amazing witnesses, both ancient and recent, who have gone before us in this spiritual battle.
Nonviolence is essential and is why, for example, the early Church fathers did not interpret the book of Joshua as a license for war, genocide or colonialism. Rather, they saw it as a call to the battle against sin, a call to arm ourselves with the weapons of love, forgiveness and just mercy.
Today you and I are called, even compelled, to repent from racism and all forms of injustice. We must respond to the needs of our brothers and sisters in distress. We are called to be salt and light in a world where too many broken systems function as intended to inflict harm, reject public good, divide communities, exploit workers and extract wealth into the hands of a few.
It’s going to take people of courage who leave our comfort zones, our prejudices, our ideological blind spots aside to keep our eyes on the prize: the just mercy of the Lamb who shares himself with us so that we can do the same for one another.
KATIE’S TESTIMONIAL
Katie Kalvoda, a parishioner at St. Timothy’s Catholic Church in Laguna Niguel, is the Finance chair and treasurer for the Sisters of St Joseph Healthcare Foundation and Secretary for Mission Hospital Foundation who attended our Pilgrimage to Alabama.
I was amazed by how emotional I became and how close I felt to the Civil Rights Movement and those who fought for their God-given right to be seen and heard. I often think what I might have done if I lived in that era. Would I have been a foot soldier, or would I be just a passive observer? In big and small moments, whether historians will be documenting our actions or not, we each bear a responsibility to carry the cross. I find it to be a privilege to do so for you when you are unloved and feel discarded and I hope that you will carry the cross for me when I am victimized and harmed. Because you see, harm is not just physical harm. There is harm inflicted when people speak ill of a community. There is harm when you exclude people from society. There is harm when you turn away your fellow neighbor from school, healthcare and housing.
It is therefore imperative that we ask ourselves, are we foot soldiers for Christ or are we just a passive observer, a Catholic in name only? Every day and every moment require us Catholics to be a foot soldier and answer, “here I am, Lord. It is I, Lord. I have heard You calling in the night. I will go, Lord. If You lead me. I will hold Your People in my arms.”
MIGUEL’S TESTIMONIAL
Dr. Miguel Gallardo, a parishioner of Santiago de Compostela Catholic Church in Lake Forest, is a professor of Psychology and program director of Aliento, The Center for Latinx Communities at Pepperdine University.
In Pope Francis’ book, “Let Us Dream,” he states, “To recover the dignity of the people we need to go to the margins of our societies to meet all those who live there.” Humility is the first word that comes to mind when I reflect on our Alabama trip. I was reminded that the more we think we know, the more we realize how much we do not. I was also reminded of my own privilege as an educated light-skinned Mexican American and the ability I have to keep a safe distance, if I choose to, from the issues facing so many Black, Indigenous and other People of Color (BIPOC). I was left wondering how we can embrace our own uniqueness without dehumanizing others?
After our trip, I was left with a sense of hope and longing those other Catholic members of our community who may be keeping themselves a safe distance from the oppression of “the other,” will begin to move closer to the issues facing many in our communities, to the “isms” of the world – racism, sexism, classism, to name a few. Our trip reminded me that while we have made much progress, the dehumanization of those in the margins remains as present today as it was during the Civil Rights movements. Unfortunately, sometimes this dehumanization comes from Christian communities. We have to be honest about who we are and we will come to know God. I remain impacted, hopeful, and committed to being one of those “foot soldiers” in and for our Church.
FRED’S TESTIMONIAL
Fred LaPuzza, a parishioner of St. Joachim in Costa Mesa, is director of the Office of Restorative Justice for the Diocese of Orange.
I spent half of my life growing up in a large Midwestern city. The surrounding rural areas especially, at least in my experience, are similar to the racial bias and oppression of the south. I had no desire to ever visit the south. But what I experienced on this pilgrimage opened my heart in a way I can only begin to describe. It evoked many emotions (sadness, grief, shame, compassion, love, anger, hope) shared by others in our group as well. The utter courage, perseverance and determination of the freedom survivors who shared their personal stories with us, in addition to their generous hospitality, was a profound incarnational experience that will continue to transform me for the rest of my life. We visited a number of memorial sites where I read many powerful quotes referring to the experience of those who spoke them at the time, but one that stood out the most and I take back with me is, “It is not the words of our enemies we must fear, but the silence of our friends” – Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (Matt. 5-11)
LOURDES’ TESTIMONIAL
Lourdes Leon, a parishioner of St. Paul the Apostle in the Diocese of San Bernardino and serves as the Mission Office program coordinator for the Diocese of Orange.
This pilgrimage to Alabama, in partnership with the Catholic Mobilizing Network and the Diocese of Orange, was a transformative experience that has forever changed me. It stirred emotions much deeper than I anticipated—grief, compassion, shame, anger and hope.
Meeting civil rights foot soldiers in Selma, which some are now in their 90s, was a definite highlight for me, their stories are a true inspiration, a beacon of light for us today and a great reminder that we cannot remain silent or unchanged when we are in connection to one another. This journey was not just one of faith but of reckoning with racial injustices that still echo today, many of which I had never fully understood and was not taught in academic settings. Visiting the Legacy Sites, the Legacy Museum, the National Memorial for Peace and Justice and Freedom Monument Sculpture Park are a must to experience for everyone, there are not words to describe it, an experience that moves you deeply. Bryan Stevenson, creator of the Legacy sites says, “We all have a responsibility to create a just society… we cannot recover from our history of racial injustice until we confront it.” We must continue sharing stories of racial injustice and continue to be a part of the ripple effect of change in our communities today. Sr. Thea Bowman challenges me through her words: “If you are a Christian, your job is to spread the truth of the gospel everywhere…and stand with the people who are being crucified.” I am forever changed.