I spoke of the Resurrection and of the rebirth of this church. I said that sometimes change brought grief and sadness, and I saw the tears in James’s eyes.
I said, “I’ve found that the greatest growth comes in times of change. And through this church, we are changing the way we think about God’s love. He’s here for all of us. All of us.”
As the choir sang “Agnus Dei,” I anticipated the Communion I was soon to receive from my dear James. I’d never felt as close to God and, at the same time, to another human being as I did then.
I offered Communion to the hundreds of people who had gathered in our church that day. Some of them were friends, and others were people who had come to Millbrook just for this celebration and to see a Catholic woman priest.
I said and repeated to each supplicant, “The body of Christ.”
“Amen.”
“The blood of Christ.”
“Amen.”
I gave the Prayer after Communion, speaking to the blessings of the Lord, and then I dismissed the congregation—who, against all reason but to my great, blushing delight, broke into applause.
I opened my mind to God, and I felt that special channel between us with an overlapping vision of the kind I had experienced before. I was both inside this old and beloved church, and I was with Him in an open field of pure light.
I thought, Thank you, God, for this beautiful, blessed day.
The light formed a sphere like the one that had enclosed me in Jerusalem. Now it surrounded me and James and Gilly and the entire congregation.
I had spoken to the congregation in a general way about changes that we might never see coming. I knew that what was happening now was profound. The blessings of this day, my first Mass, the hundreds of expectant faces, the love of God and my love for Him, the light encompassing every one of us—I knew that I had to keep these memories alive for as long as I lived.
Whatever came next.
Chapter 103
THAT NIGHT, James and I watched Cardinal Cooney on the eleven o’clock news condemning my “ordination.” After he took shots at me, James, and our dear friend Bishop Reedy, he warned “true Catholics” not to be led astray.
The cardinal got so much airtime, we could switch from station to station and see him going after the “destructive” JMJ movement on every one of them. His latest spin was to call JMJ “Aubreyism,” an affront to the Vatican.
In the weeks after my ordination, Cardinal Cooney defrocked Bishop Reedy and formed alliances with the archdioceses in other cities. He stirred up the Church’s donor base with a fund-raising campaign, and I thought that it was only a matter of time before the pope weighed in with his own condemnation.
The cardinal was clearly unnerved by what we were doing, and his reaction scared me.
He said it again and again: The Church had been very clear about the role of women. Jesus chose twelve men to be his apostles. Stand back, womankind. Don’t even think of stepping up to the altar. Don’t even think about it.
James and I were mentioned in all of the cardinal’s diatribes. Sometimes, the inflammatory image in the corner of the screen was of me, Aubrey’s wife. Aubreyism’s fake woman priest.
But as the weeks became months, it seemed that the cardinal’s smear campaign had backfired. As appealing and omnipresent as he was personally, more renegade “Catholic” churches had come into being. Existing churches were transformed into JMJ churches. New churches were opened in people’s homes, and by Gilly’s fourth birthday, the movement had spread to South America and Europe.
The press continued to be fascinated by us, and Gilly had her own fans. A sparkly redhead, Gilly Aubrey was verbal and quite funny. And she could really ham it up when a camera was pointed at her.
Which was not good.
I remember a pushy reporter in a cute sundress and heels chasing Gilly up the walkway to the church, demanding,“Gilly, come and talk to me.”
I got between my child and the reporter, and when I had the reporter’s complete attention, I signaled to the others in the media van, and the three or four paparazzi I could see across the street, and waved them into the church.
When they had all assembled, I said, “Everyone, I understand why you’re here, but Gilly is just a little girl. We need an agreement, all of you and me. I will be available right here every weekday at ten to answer your questions, but my daughter is off-limits. Seem fair?”
I gave the reporters my email address and invited them to church on Sunday. I started my weekday press meetings the next day, Monday, and they were actually good for all concerned. The reporters became normal people when we could talk one-on-one. And I got to know them: Jason Beans from the Globe, Arthur Glass from the World Press, Antonia Shoumatoff from the Millbrook Independent, and well-known reporters from cable and network news.