Bishop Williams: In his own words

In the weeks before his installation as auxiliary bishop of the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis, Bishop-elect Joseph Williams, 47, sat down with The Catholic Spirit at the Cathedral of St. Paul for a wide-ranging interview that included key points in his ministry as a pastor; reflections on his priestly ordination in 2002, as the Boston Globe’s reporting revealed clergy sexual abuse in the Church; celebrating his 20th jubilee as a priest this year; and his growing sense of being called as a bishop since receiving the papal nuncio’s Nov. 22 telephone call with the news. This interview is edited for length and clarity.

Q) You will celebrate your 20th jubilee this year. What does that milestone mean to you?

A) Oh boy. Gratitude to God. Anybody, of course, who makes a lifelong promise, whether it’s a married person or a priest, knows that to reach that point is a gift of God’s mercy. It’s a milestone of mercy, because you see how fragile the human condition is. How possible it is to go off the rails in so many different ways. And you realize, boy, how God has been guiding and protecting, and apart from the stumbles, the gift of perseverance in a promise is so important.

Q) You were coordinator of the archdiocese’s Outreach for Persons with Disabilities from 2003 to 2005.

A) That’s correct. This is something I got from (the late Carmelite) Father William O’Neill, longtime professor at the University of St. Thomas. He had started this ministry outside the auspices of the archdiocese. I have a brother, Mark, with special needs. And he knew that and invited me to kind of assist him in his chaplaincy. The yearly Mass with (the late) Archbishop (Harry) Flynn was the highlight, and also a yearly retreat at Totino-Grace Retreat Center (in Fridley). So, in seminary, I would volunteer to assist him on those events.

Q) As coordinator, what was your role?

A) Basically, things centered on those two events, a yearly retreat at Totino-Grace and the yearly Mass at The St. Paul Seminary with Archbishop Flynn.

Q) Your brother, Mark, how old is he? And what is his disability?

A) He just turned 43. Cerebral palsy with mental retardation. He probably functions emotionally as an 8- or 9-year-old, I would say, but remarkably mature in the faith, in his spirituality, his devotion to the Eucharist and confession. And what’s amazing for me to see is how much he’s grown spiritually, even in the last five years. There’s been a real progress during the pandemic, when he couldn’t go to Mass every day. We’d bring him Communion, and he would break down in tears when he would receive it. So, it reminded us, maybe, of how we should be as we receive our Lord.

Q) That’s amazing. What was it like growing up with Mark, near to each other in age?

A) It was so normal for us. My parents really pushed for him to be as mainstreamed as he could be. … He’s got a great sense of humor. He loves to tease and to be teased. My dad might be the best with him on that. Mark, I guess, he taught me how to be compassionate with people who have disabilities. The compassion that comes from that, also the courage, when I see someone who’s carrying a heavy cross and will always carry that cross. To see the perseverance, the courage, the joy and the humor in spite of that, certainly encourages me with my own setbacks, my own weaknesses, to say, no, let’s keep moving on. Let’s be joyful in the embrace of the cross.

Q) You were ordained in May 2002. That’s just months after the Boston Globe exposed the clergy sex abuse crisis. What do you remember about being ordained at that time, and being a newly ordained priest as the Church grappled with this?

A) It was painful for all of us. I have to say my classmate and friend, Father Dan Griffith (now pastor of Our Lady of Lourdes in Minneapolis whose roles include liaison for the archdiocese in restorative justice, a healing ministry instituted in the archdiocese to assist the victims of clergy sexual abuse), his sensitivity to that, helped me to be more sensitive to just how dramatic it is to be ordained in that environment, and with that kind of firestorm that was happening. And I remember he was here (Cathedral of St. Paul in St. Paul). This was his teaching parish, and I remember him preaching as a deacon. I think it was a Sunday. It must have been Lent, and the call, “Lazarus come out,” and this sense that the Church has to come out of the darkness, to bring things to the light, to be more transparent. I was very touched by that. I was also touched by how sensitive to the fact, how painful it was for him, to be giving his life to Christ, to the Church, at a time when so much inglorious stuff, or shade, was put upon it. But I had a deep call in my heart of “the light shines in the darkness,” as St. John says.

Q) Have you ministered in any way to clergy sexual abuse victim-survivors, as a pastor?

A) I would say sexual abuse in general in the Latino community is sadly more prevalent than we’d like to acknowledge. And so, there’s a lot of cases. I have to say, there was one time I thought that someone from Latin America had told me about sexual abuse by a clergy, but it wasn’t by a clergy person. It was by a lay volunteer of a church that had hurt this person. It was a church volunteer, but that had significantly eroded his confidence in the Church in Latin America.

Q) I know Bishop Cozzens (auxiliary bishop of the archdiocese until his Dec. 6 installation as bishop of Crookston) has been active in ministry with victim-survivors personally as well as publicly. How do you expect as a bishop to accompany victim-survivors as the Church continues to heal?

A) Bishop Cozzens was amazing. His sense of accompaniment, one on one in particular with victims of abuse who had come to him for spiritual direction, is inspiring to me. Archbishop (Bernard) Hebda is known for that personal accompaniment as well. That is inspiring. I have to say, I’m also inspired again by my classmate, Father Daniel Griffith. … He became part of what he prophesied here at the Cathedral — “Lazarus, come out” — for the Church to come out of the cave, if you will, of the tomb, the darkness of the tomb. Father Griffith is on the forefront nationally of a restorative justice movement where, God willing, victims and even perpetrators and others affected by what happened can be together in dialogue, in prayer, in listening, in loving and, God willing, in healing.

As a bishop, (Father Griffith) has invited me to a national event already, which I’ve accepted, where I can go through the restorative justice (process) and help me to listen more, to be in touch with people who are hurting, of the Church that has been hurt, that continues to hurt, but also be an instrument in that healing.

Q) What is your impression of where the local Church is now in terms of healing and ensuring children are safe?

A) Let’s start with the victims. I think they still deserve more. And that’s why I’m excited about the work Father Giffith is doing. We’ve taken care of some institutional things, some corporate things, with this or that resolution. Again, it’s only a first step. I think it is a beginning. But it’s a great beginning. And in spite of just being a beginning, I think we’re leading the nation in some of the work we’re doing for safe environment.

Q) You were first made a pastor at two clustered rural parishes, St. Mary in New Trier and St. Mathias in Hampton. How did your experience of ministry in that rural area shape you?

A) When I arrived there, I remember seeing an image in the rectory with a quote from Emerson, “Adopt the pace of nature.” I felt that was somehow an invitation, and I think it certainly captures one of the principal graces I received during those three beautiful years in ‘’God’s country.’’ Rural life — and farm life in particular — has a way of slowing you down. You can cultivate the fields and sow the seeds, but you cannot rush the harvest. The plant grows slowly, of its own power. Jesus used that image for the Kingdom of God, and I think it holds valuable lessons for the priest. There is much work to do, but we must step away and be patient as the Lord does his work. I was reminded of this each summer morning as I made my ‘’rounds’’ — fresh brewed coffee in hand — to my flower garden and the neighboring corn fields to see the slow, but sure growth of the previous day. The pace of nature!

What created an almost immediate rapport with the people of Hampton and New Trier was the fact that my paternal grandfather was a farmer. I could see his goodness, hard work and humble faith in them. Sense of humor, too. I once told the people of New Trier they had good marriages but bad knees (referring to the great number of 50th wedding anniversaries as well as anointings for knee replacements that I celebrated in those three years). To which a woman responded, “It’s because we spend so much time (on our knees) praying for our marriages, Father.” I got a kick out of that. Anyway, I will never forget the people of St Mary’s and St. Mathias. That was my first pastorate, as you noted, and they taught me how to be a spiritual father — showing great patience all the while.

Q) When you became pastor of St. Stephen in Minneapolis in 2008, the parish was in a tough spot. It was known for its robust outreach to the homeless, but it also had a reputation for liturgical abuses. Some in the parish left shortly before you arrived to form a schismatic community. You took the parish in a different direction. Can you tell us more about the situation at that time and how you dealt with it?

A) I’ve tried not to overcommunicate on that particular situation because I entered the St. Stephen conversation at a very late stage. A public rupture with the local Church had already occurred, as you alluded to, and I discovered a significant amount of pain and anger even in those who remained. I also discovered, however, a talented and compassionate group of people who, in the language that Pope Francis has made commonplace today, were finding ways to serve those “on the peripheries.” That had been the case since the late ’60s when Interstate 35W cut a path right through St. Stephen, decimating the parish population and drastically changing the demographic reality, almost overnight. The leadership of St. Stephen tried to meet the moment not just with outreach to the homeless but also to the Native (American) community and to people with disabilities. To this day, I believe those works of mercy came from the heart of Jesus. Unfortunately, it seems to me that some of the authentic charisms of the community became wedded to ideologies that were increasingly incompatible with Catholic faith and worship.

The archdiocese felt obliged to intervene at a certain point, especially concerning the celebration of the Sunday Eucharist. That spurred a great commotion. When I arrived, I had hoped the example of someone like a Dorothy Day could lead us to a higher synthesis between radical compassion in the city and a received liturgy. Those two things were not mutually exclusive in her heart, as we know. But through many dialogues, home visits and café conversations I discovered that they were indeed mutually exclusive in the hearts of many of those who were still worshipping at St. Stephen. At the end of the day, it became one of those things that, as much as I can give them, it was not going to be enough. It is sad that it had gotten to that point.

Q) Is it true that there was no one at a Christmas Mass that first year?

A) That was our Bethlehem Christmas, 2008, at Christmas Eve. That usually packs the pews, of course. At most parishes, that’s the big ticket.

Q) And there was nobody.

A) Well, the great line came from (Deacon) Luis Rubi. He was my deacon at that point. He was assigned, I think, in August of 2008, or September. So, he looks out five minutes to 8 p.m., our vigil Mass, and he says, “Father, would you like me to be the assembly or the deacon?” Eventually, our parish administrator was playing the piano.

It really was like a Nativity scene. Just enough figures. The shepherds, the Magi, the drummer boy. That’s all that there was for that first Christmas Mass.

Q) Kind of a symbol for how low things became, how difficult?

A) But the poverty was there in Bethlehem on the first Christmas. So that might be the most moving Christmas celebration I’ve ever been a part of to this day. The sense that this was probably what it was like. There wasn’t fanfare. There wasn’t beauty. It was cold.

Q) Please describe the St. Stephen community now and how it rebounded.

A) We did evangelization in the neighborhood. Two fundamental words were guiding us at that point. One was the story of St. Francis, “Francis, rebuild my church, for as you can see, it is in ruins.” And, of course, he looked around. I think he was in the San Damiano Chapel. He starts rebuilding with his bare hands until he realizes, no, this is a call to rebuild the mystical body of Christ, the universal Church, with a deep spiritual renewal.

So, we had that prophetic word. But even more fundamental were the words of Christ. He said, “the harvest is abundant, but the laborers are few.” And we felt that, even in those first six months. We saw that there are people in the neighborhood waiting to be invited, waiting to be replanted, maybe transplanted in the soil of America, that had come from other countries, or that were just neighbors who wanted to be a part of a rebuilding.

Q) How has the situation at St. Stephen shaped your ministry?

A) I guess the confidence in the paschal mystery. I think that’s maybe the biggest part of it. You have to realize you can’t just win people by your charm or charisma or energy. Or, “I think I can do it by listening to the ‘nth’ degree.” There comes a moment when you have to meet the cross together. You have to die together for something. You can’t have a rebirth that’s fabricated or that’s a human product. You really do have to trust that, OK, it actually takes more courage to go this way, to make this difficult decision. But to make it with love and with courage that we’re going right into the heart of the paschal mystery, and that paschal mystery is going to bring about deep renewal.

Q) What has been on your heart as you prepare to be ordained?

A) First of all, the sense of calling is so palpable, from how you receive the call from the nuncio. As Bishop Cozzens says, it’s the one call from our Lord that actually comes through the telephone. And you get a sense of that from the language that’s used. “The Holy Father has appointed you as auxiliary bishop.” It’s a completed act that has been done. And it was his choice. And so that sense of being called was palpable from the beginning. (And) being encouraged by Archbishop Hebda, but also even in my prayer.

Nobody would think that going into an urban setting, being a missionary amongst the poor, amongst the immigrant person, is the way to become a bishop. And then we get Pope Francis. That’s the big surprise, I think, is that the Lord lifted up a Pope Francis.

I think Pope Francis is looking for those who have the smell of the sheep. He’s lifting up ordinary pastors, Bishop Donald DeGrood (a priest of the archdiocese serving as bishop of Sioux Falls), who have simply been diligent shepherds of God’s people and fishers of men and women.