I don't hate the 1970's, I came into my own during that period. I graduated from high school in 1971, worked in the real world, i.e. Dairy Queen and Macy's, bought a car, discerned going into the seminary, and became an adult Catholic and a transitional deacon by the end of 1979. What is there not to love about the 1970's?
Not everything about 1970's Catholicism was bad, but what was bad and there was a lot of it, can't ever be described as good.
I found a kindred spirit in an article from Commonweal Magazine that touts the glories of the Catholicism of the 1970's. Who can argue with this? My astute comments in "red" within the original text.
That '70s Church
What It Got Right
Unpacking some
boxes after a recent move from South Bend, Indiana, to Chestnut Hill,
Massachusetts, I came across my confirmation stole, which I made in the
spring of 1978. The members of my class were told to personalize our
stoles to reflect our unique faith journeys. (Why in the name of God were confirmadi given stoles, homemade or not and what difference did it make in their actual day to day lives having made the stole and worn it during their confirmation?) Then completing my first
year of Latin, I wrote the word Credo on one panel with Elmer’s
Glue in the best cursive I could muster, and then covered the glue with
a layer of deep blue glitter. On the other panel, I traced a simple
cross, using the same technique. (This was not a theological statement: a
crucifix was beyond my severely limited artistic abilities.) To make a
border for my stole, I attached the cornflower trim that my late,
beloved grandmother had used in sewing my First Communion dress eight
years earlier. That dress was Marian blue. The girls in my First
Communion class were discouraged from wearing traditional white lace
dresses and veils, because they were expensive and impractical. We were
all very disappointed at the time. Now, I am grateful. My grandmother’s
handmade blue dress with its cornflower trim is a tangible sign of the
communion of saints.
I do not remember much about the confirmation ceremony
itself. I am pretty sure we sang “On Eagle’s Wings.” Don’t judge—it was
the ’70s! I also remember feeling a mixture of accomplishment, relief,
and release. We had just completed a demanding two-year program,
fulfilling requirements that included weekly classes, multiple service
projects, and periodic weekend retreats. Being confirmed meant that we
were finally adult Catholics.(I was confirmed in 1962 in the 4th Grade (the year of the Cuban Missal Crisis) in a pre-Vatican II Confirmation Liturgy within the context of Benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament. All we had to do was to memorize the catechism parts on Confirmation, nothing else. Sacraments are gifts not something we earn. The author of this article points out indirectly the flaw of the 1970's preparation for Confirmation and ongoing today. We have to prove our worth by jumping through hoops rather than simply coming to Mass, knowing our prayers and understanding that faith and good works walk hand in hand and not just in order to get confirmed.) We continued to go to Mass. But for most
of us, that was the end of any formal instruction in the faith. Like
other adult Catholics, we learned to juggle secular and sacred
responsibilities. As time went on, the former began to crowd out the
latter. My generation’s connection with the church became more and more
attenuated. For many people I know, the connection was finally broken by
the revelations about the sexual abuse of minors by priests and the way
bishops covered up those crimes. (I was taught as a child that there have always been corrupt popes, bishops and priests, not to mention lay people, and that my Catholicism wasn't to be based upon the sanctity of anyone except God's holiness and that my faith would be tested by God in a variety of life's circumstances and I needed to be prepared for these tests, some of which would be carried out by Satan!)
So, I belong to what many Catholics now dismiss as one
of the church’s lost, post–Vatican II generations. Catholic prelates and
internet pundits regularly scorn the fifteen years following the Second
Vatican Council as the “silly season,” the era in which catechesis was
evacuated of all substantive content in favor of supposedly trivial
activities such as sharing, caring, and constructing felt banners. The
catechesis of the 1970s became a cautionary tale, the model of what not to do in passing on the faith.
For many years, I was sympathetic to that analysis. But I
am increasingly uneasy with the wholesale dismissal of the catechetical
programs of my youth. First, the stock caricature of the period is
unfair.
The programs had far more content then they are given credit
for. Second, the criticism only reinforces polarization within the
church. Scapegoating 1970s religious-education programs fosters the
illusion that the church’s problems can be fixed by going backward, by
inoculating children with something like the simple question-and-answer
method and content of the Baltimore Catechism. But the root problem
facing the church, then and now, is not catechesis. The root problem is
that Catholics didn’t have—and still don’t have—a way of dealing
constructively with the substantial and irreversible changes in both the
church and the culture. Those changes began before the council and only
accelerated in its immediate aftermath. They show no sign of abating
today, much less of being reversed. Among those developments were the
suburbanization of the Catholic population, the astonishing affluence
and high levels of education among post–World War II Catholics, the
powerful shift away from Catholic defensiveness and toward ecumenical
and interreligious cooperation, and the unprecedented rates of Catholics
marrying outside the fold. (The attempt here is to mislead. Yes, Catholics and many others are better educated today, but not in the Faith. 1950's Catholics knew their faith better than today's. Catholics today are better educated in the secular realm and their particular professions. But as far as the faith is concerned, it is superficial. They don't know even the basics which the Baltimore Catechism gives. Denigrating the BC and saying using it is going backwards is hogwash. Sometimes when we take the wrong road forward we have to make a u-turn to get back on the right road.)
How did religious instruction try to deal with these changes? My parochial elementary school used the very popular Life, Love, Joy
series published by Silver Burdett and written by Carl Pfeifer and
Janaan Manternach. My own textbooks have long gone to their eternal
reward. But my mother, who taught sixth-grade CCD for many years, held
on to her old teacher’s handbook, which I recently perused. The content
is surprisingly rich. The series proclaims itself to be “grounded in the
traditional teaching and practices of the Catholic Church, while
respecting recent developments in the theological and social sciences.”
Among the theological developments it reflects is the emphasis on
Scripture called for by Vatican II. The theme of sixth-grade religious
education was “Growth in the Spirit,” which is explored in units titled:
“Abraham and the Mystery of Faith,” “Moses and the Mystery of Freedom,”
“David and the Mystery of Service,” and “Jeremiah and the Mystery of
Hope.”
The series took care to emphasize that these mysteries were
deepened and revealed in Christ Jesus, and passed on in their fullest
form in the Catholic tradition. A final unit in the book reinforces the
Christocentric understanding of the themes by reflecting on the meaning
of major Catholic holy days.
Judging by this text, the content of the series was both
rich and deep. So what was the problem?
Some Catholics have claimed
that students were not sufficiently drilled with objective, impersonal,
timeless propositions and rules. It is true that the emphasis in my
program was on fostering personal and conscientious appropriation of a
Catholic worldview, rather than on inculcating a set of prefabricated
questions and answers. As I recently learned, the reason for this new
approach was historical. Catholics were appalled by the carnage of the
Second World War and the unimaginable evil of the Holocaust, and they
were horrified by the possibility of a nuclear confrontation with the
Soviet Union. Questions about the moral presumptions of the modern
state, including the United States, had to be asked. Catechism-trained
Catholics had participated in the Nazi horrors, often with blind
obedience to authority. The goal of post–Vatican II Catholic catechesis
was not to foster obedience, but instead to cultivate responsible men
and women who were shaped by the Catholic Christian vision, sensitive to
our debt to the Jewish people, and independent enough to stand up to
injustice, even if sanctioned by church or state. (This paragraph only tells part of the story, but what isn't told is that this is a very individualistic approach to the Faith based upon the 1970's Pepsi Generation, the ME GENERATION. It is what I do and to hell with authority and obedience. This infected religious life where nuns in particular went and found their own ministries and were no longer assigned by their superiors who relinquished their authority. There is nothing good about this approach and what has come about in the Church both in the religious and laity is a decline not a new springtime!)
So the pedagogical strategy of Life, Love, Joy made
sense in itself. It was overcome, however, by a wave of superseding
events. My overwhelming impression of the church in which I grew up was
instability. In first grade, the nuns at my parochial school wore long
habits; in second grade, they wore short habits; and in third grade,
they wore no habits. When I was a fourth-grader, the parochial school
closed, and I went to public school from then on. First Communion was
originally administered in first grade, and then it was administered in
second grade. First confession was held before First Communion, then it
was after First Communion, and then it was off on its own, in fifth
grade. Parish music and décor changed radically with each pastor. The
votive candles mysteriously disappeared one day and the tabernacle
seemed to be on walkabout in the front of the church.
The culture was changing rapidly as well. Women were
joining—and remaining in—the workforce in great numbers. Marriages were
breaking up. Even the country seemed to be breaking up, as the battles
over Vietnam were succeeded by the scandals of Watergate, which
dominated television and newspapers.
My generation was not lost because of religious
miseducation. It was lost because of the changes in the culture. No CCD
program, no matter how rich and nuanced, could overcome the challenges
created by the simultaneous breakdown and reconfiguration of the
institutional Catholic world and the American social world.
Many influential prelates and lay Catholics now say that
it is better to create a bulwark against the chaos, by presenting
Catholic teaching and moral rules in a classical, timeless manner. The
new Catechism seems to encourage just that. It abstracts doctrinal
propositions not only from the context in which they were formulated,
but also from the documents in which they were promulgated. This
obscures the various levels of authority attributed to the various
doctrines. It presents Catholic belief in the manner of a tax code.
I don’t think this will work. More important, if the
vast numbers of young Catholics who continue to leave the church is any
indication, it is not working. In fact, the glaring disjunction between
an ahistorical presentation of Catholic teaching and the rapid pace of
ecclesial and social change is likely to prompt even more skepticism and
cynicism. I think that in the long run, the only solution is to teach
young people how to think and pray within the context of a tradition
that is not exempt from historical development and change.
The Roman Catholic tradition does not need to be afraid
of history; its central claim is that God became a man who fully
experienced the contingencies of life in a certain time and place. The
relationship between eternity and history has always been porous. In
order to articulate eternal aspects of relationships within the Godhead,
for example, early Christian theologians drew upon concepts deeply tied
to particular times, places, and philosophical schools. We are not God.
We cannot escape the historically conditioned aspects of our tradition.
Guided by the Holy Spirit, our community can come to a deeper
understanding of the mysteries of our faith as it moves through time.
God willing, it can even correct its mistakes—such as its acceptance of
slavery and its absolute prohibition of lending money at interest.
Growing up Catholic in the 1970s gave me the sense that
the church was unstable, even fickle. It also, however, gave me some
wonderful role models for trusting in God’s fidelity in tumultuous
times. Our CCD teachers were young wives and mothers who had grown up
with the Baltimore Catechism. (This hits the nail on the head and explains why there are so many "nones" and nominal Catholics today. They simply don't take the Church seriously. She lost credibility through banal and silly changes, beginning first with the liturgy and then the complete loss of Catholic culture in favor of secular inculturation.)
Unlike their own children, most of them
had gone to parochial schools. No one had taken the time to explain to
them the continuities between the pre–Vatican II era and the
post–Vatican II era. They had to figure it out for themselves. And they
did figure it out, because handing on their faith to their children was
important to them. They were not nostalgic about their own religious
education, because they had an intuitive sense of its limitations. At
times uncomfortable about the scope and nature of the change, they put
their trust in God’s providence.