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| Jim Forest/Photo Credit:Orthodoxy in Dialogue |
In 1968, while Jim working as Vietnam Program Coordinator of the Fellowship of Reconciliation, Jim, and thirteen others, mainly Catholic clergy, broke into nine Milwaukee draft boards, removing and burning some of the files in a nearby park while holding a prayer service. Most members of the “Milwaukee Fourteen” served thirteen months in prison for their action.
In the late sixties and mid-seventies, Jim also worked with the Fellowship of Reconciliation, first as Vietnam Program coordinator and later as editor of Fellowship magazine. From 1977 through 1988, he was Secretary General of the International Fellowship of Reconciliation, work which brought him to the Netherlands. He received the Peacemaker Award from Notre Dame University’s Institute for International Peace Studies and the St. Marcellus Award from the Catholic Peace Fellowship.
In 1961 you joined the Catholic Worker in New York City. Of that time, you have said, “I was excited to find a way of life shaped by the Works of Mercy.” Could you expand a bit on that?
I’d been in the Navy, in Washington, DC, working as a meteorologist. It was exciting work and I really enjoyed the people I was working with. I had read Dorothy Day’s autobiography, THE LONG LONELINESS and knew that my future as a Christian, would have to be bound to the works of mercy. I’ve never had any regrets about that.
I became a Christian when I was ten years old. Some friends invited me to church. (My mother was an atheist, but she went to church on Christmas and Easter). I was baptized as an Episcopalian. I saw the film The Nun’s Story, with Audrey Hepburn, and was impressed by her portrayal of a life of prayer and service. I went to Mass the following morning and read and prayed my way into Catholicism.
During an interview with Fr. Thomas Rosica (of Salt & Light Media in April, 2018) he asked what had sustained you through all the decades of your peace and social justice work. You answered: “The Eucharist. I’d starve to death without it… The Eucharist is a sacrament of communion.” Could you elaborate?
The sermons and hymn singing [in church] didn’t appeal to me. It was too much like a classroom. But the Eucharist appealed to me. It was like I entered a magnetic field I’d never experienced before. Through the Eucharist, we encounter each other. The love of God and our neighbor.
During the same interview with Fr. Rosica, you said that “I’d like to live long enough to see women ordained to the priesthood.” Why would this be an important milestone in Catholic Church history?
I was more surprised than anyone at my response. I’m a conservative Christian. But women have been given the short end of the stick. Their role in pastoral care should be increased.
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| Jim Forest/Photo Credit:Church of Scotland |
Both my parents were communists. I grew up in a home where ideology was important. I attempted to read the works of Lenin and Marx but it was a dead-end street. Ideological people tend to see things one-dimensionally. They need to take other factors in mind. Thomas Merton once gave a retreat with a theme of ‘opening your eyes.’ Authenticity is a call to open our eyes and look around us. We need to open our eyes to how fear closes them.
Another Catholic sacrament you mentioned in this interview was Confession. You recounted that Dorothy Day talked about its importance and began her autobiography, THE LONG LONELINESS, by writing about it. In your own experience, why is Confession so important?
It’s a very intimate sacrament. You open yourself us to speak your struggles to someone else. Confession can help you on the road ahead. It can un-paralyze us from guilt. Through Confession you are breaking links to the chain of fear. And you’re uprooting sin. It’s freeing.
With Fr. Dan Berrigan, you co-founded the Catholic Peace Fellowship in 1964. You noted that he “lived a very conscious and deeply structured spiritual life.” How so?
During the Vietnam War, Dan, Tom Cornell and I began to meet regularly [in a room Dan had at the time]. Dan initiated these meetings with the Eucharist. Eventually, Dan was told [by his superiors] not to say Mass outside of church. But Dan got around this by taking some wine out of a cupboard, going downstairs and getting some bread, bringing it back upstairs, blessing it and saying: ‘The Lord make of this [bread and wine] what He will.’
[Jim went on to mention that Dan was always aware of the spiritual significance of whatever he was doing.]
In an interview with Cassidy Hall (May, 2018) you tell her, “I’m an undergraduate at Dorothy Day University. I don’t expect I’ll ever graduate.” Looking back at your time spent living and working at the Catholic Worker, would you share a few of the life lessons you learned there?
The importance of having a rule of prayer. When you start the day with prayer – the Our Father, or even just the Sign of the Cross – it’s going to be a different day. Never end the day without thinking of a few things you’re grateful for.
When Cassidy asked you about your book THE ROOT OF WAR IS FEAR, you told her, “Peacemaking begins with seeing. Seeing what is going on around us. What we see and what we fail to see defines who we are and how we live our lives.” How has this been found true in your own life? Why is it important to go through life with our eyes wide open?
I came into the [Catholic] Church before Vatican II. I was taught about the ‘custody of the eyes,’ and to not look at certain things [to remain chaste.] But I think this also means to try to look at certain things that aren’t right. Look at any form of suffering. To become more responsible [for doing something about it].
You described to Cassidy an incident, when you were twelve years old, when your Mom took you into New York City to the Museum of Modern Art to see a photographic exhibit titled “The Family of Man [Humanity].” Your response was very moving. Reflecting back on this experience, you said, “Seeing is communion. The quieter you look, the more you see.” Can you go a bit deeper with that thought?
It’s important to get away from the noise and static [distraction] in your mind. Jane Brox’s book SILENCE is a good book to read on this subject.
You described to Cassidy the typical life-cycle of an activist. You protest, things don’t get immediately better, so you can become emotionally down, feeling as if the act of protesting was a waste of time. Then you said, “The truth is, it does make a difference. The iceberg is so big.” This seemed to coincide with Thomas Merton’s encouragement to you. “Shape your life on the truth. Live it as courageously as you can,” but don’t count on quick solutions. Is there anything else you’d like to say to peacemakers of the present day?
I protested the Vietnam War. That involved eleven years of protesting! I think back on how many people burned out. I wrote a letter to Thomas Merton about this. I began to wonder, am I wasting my life? I was overcome with a sense of powerlessness. Only the Cross and the Resurrection can keep you going. It’s like building a cathedral. You contribute [your piece] to it, but you won’t see the finish.
In an article in Maryknoll Magazine (January, 2017) you wrote about Merton saying that the root of war is fear. You went on to say that “When fear takes over, it tends to rob us of creativity, resourcefulness and freedom… Many fears are manufactured or hugely inflated by those who find the creation of a climate of dread useful and profitable. Fear of refugees, fear of Muslims, fear of terrorists, fear of minorities, fear of the poor, fear of criminals, fear of the police, even fear of our neighbors.” Your life seems to indicate that the antidote to fear is a stronger, deeper spiritual life. Is that the case?
You shape your life around the works of mercy. You ask the question, ‘What am I doing with the rest of my life?’ and then align yourself with the works of mercy. Opportunities will then present themselves as you become aware of them. It’s a never-ending education that includes imagination, gratitude and responding.
Is there anything else you’d like to mention?
I can’t imagine doing it [works of mercy] without a spiritual life. To live life with [some sort of] positive energy force. I refer to it as God.
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