Last fall, I told you the story of Father Andrea Santoro, an Italian missionary in Turkey, assassinated while praying in his church in 2006. Father Santoro was an example of someone who “counted the cost” by going to a dangerous country full of anti-Christianity to care for a small Catholic community and witness to Christ.

          This summer, I caught up with a friend who is also a priest serving in Turkey. Today, their church in modern and fashionable central Istanbul is filled with Turks seeking the prayers and counsel of the holy men (priests). Their Christian Initiation classes are filled with people who have recognized that neither the secular world nor the rapid re-Islamification Turkey is undergoing, offer an authentic path to human fulfillment.

          And yet, it is dangerous. The Church in Turkey, in the eyes of the government, does not exist. They can own no property and open no bank accounts. Everything has to be in the name of private individuals. I visited Turkey in 2015 and stayed at that same parish. It’s a huge Venetian neo-gothic church built in the early 20^th century, when the Italian community in Istanbul numbered over 40,000. There is an eerie feeling about it today as a relic of a past that is not so long ago but feels very distant, a large Catholic church sticking out amidst the bustle of one of the world’s biggest cities, stuck in a conflict between secularism and Islam, while the Franciscan friars carry out an incredible but quiet work of evangelization.

          Around the world, there are Catholics who live their faith amidst great violence and persecution, for whom just going to Mass on Sundays is an act of faith in God’s protection – not from an extremely remote and theoretic threat, but from the imminent and very possible militia or government oppression. I have been blessed to travel many places in the world, including places where heavily armed security is a normal part of life – at the bank, the store, and even private homes. But even in those places (aside from obvious exceptions like Papal Masses at the Vatican), I have never seen heavily armed security at a church, even in those places where it would be most justified.

          Next Sunday, we will welcome Father John Eze to give our annual mission appeal. Father Eze has served for 15 years in our diocese, but is from Nigeria, where since the year two thousand, Islamist insurgents have killed over 60,000 Christians – a silent genocide. I asked him this week what the attitude of Nigerian Catholics is in a country in which the danger is so real and present, and yet over ninety per cent of Catholics attend Mass every Sunday. “In my country, Father,” he told me, “this is something we talk about all the time. We have talked about using checkpoints, armed guards, and other solutions. But our people tell us: ‘Unless the Lord watches over the city, in vain does the watchman keep vigil.’ People prefer to trust in the Lord.”

          “Which of you wishing to construct a tower does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion?” Catholics in Nigeria have likewise counted the cost as they weigh the competing goods of being welcoming and trusting in God on the one hand, and physical security on the other. How we weigh those goods and how we interpret those goods will be different in every culture. Some people see an armed security guard and feel safer. Others see the same thing and feel less safe because of the implication that it must be a dangerous place to be.

          We can be both welcoming and secure at the same time. But how we balance these two goods will look differently in different settings. When a Mass is primarily attended by children, a different kind of caution is in order – but the same dynamic is still in play, and the good of not training our children to live in fear is also a real concern. When students walk a significant distance from their school to their church regularly, different resources are necessary to keep them safe. And when parishes operate on significantly different scales, they will weigh these goods differently as the complexity of their situations changes.

          We’ve been engaged in an exciting project these past few months called “Living Faithfully at Our Lady,” in which we are discerning not big changes to make, but what we ought to do more of, what should be our highest priorities. We’ve been making one of the most purposeful and broad efforts to listen to our parishioners that I’ve ever heard of a Catholic parish making, individually interviewing over 50 parishioners representative of the parish’s demographics, conducting focus groups, and a parish survey (which I really hope you’ll complete before it closes tomorrow!). The biggest trend I’ve seen in what people love about this parish is its size. This really is the perfect size for a parish – big enough that we have resources to do things well, and small enough to feel like a family.

          So, when we think about the approach we ought to take to balancing goods like welcoming and security, we need to do that in a way that reflects our identity. How we do that as a “small” parish will look different than a “big” parish. Further, our Lord encourages us to count the cost. When we make hasty, emotion-driven decisions, they often aren’t the best solutions.

          “For the deliberations of mortals are timid, and unsure are our plans. …  And scarce do we guess the things on earth, and what is within our grasp we find with difficulty.” As we think about important and difficult issues like our security, and especially the security of our children, are we listening to God? Are we responding to violence with prudence and charity, or are we fighting force with force in a way that builds up fear? Are we addressing the root problems, like mental health resources and access to weapons?

          “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” Our Lord uses dramatic language here to make a point. Even the greatest human goods are relative to a higher good. We must be willing to surrender everything to Him, even our own lives. Usually, this means the daily carrying of the Crosses of minor inconveniences and aches and pains. But sometimes it is a bigger Cross, and a bigger surrendering of one’s own life.

          We might not come to the same conclusions as Catholics in Turkey and Nigeria about how to “count the cost” of our security, but we need to remember just how good we have it, and we must be animated by the same faith and trust in the Lord.

The Rev. Royce V. Gregerson

Parish Church of Our Lady of Good Hope, Fort Wayne

XXIII Sunday through the Year, A.D. MMXXV