[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 2]
[Senate]
[Pages 2855-2857]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                      CARDINAL THEODORE McCARRICK

 Mr. LEAHY. Mr. President, at the end of last year, Marcelle 
and I attended an event at Georgetown University where Cardinal 
Theodore McCarrick was awarded an honorary degree.
  Everyone present at this ceremony was captured by the remarks that 
the archbishop gave in accepting the degree. He artfully wove us 
through three ``stories'' to demonstrate the importance of a Catholic 
university in the Jesuit tradition.
  So that all of my colleagues have an opportunity to review the 
remarks of Cardinal McCarrick, and because of the admiration I have for 
him, I ask that his acceptance speech at the award of his honorary 
degree from Georgetown University be printed in the Record.
  The material follows:

  Remarks by Theodore Cardinal McCarrick, D.D., Ph.D., Archbishop of 
   Washington, on the Occasion of His Receiving an Honorary Degree, 
                Georgetown University, December 1, 2004

       As Father Brian [McDermott] was reading those wonderful 
     words and as the president repeated them, I thought of the 
     wonderful Jewish expression, ``From your mouth to God's 
     ears.'' I just hope the Lord doesn't get mad that you said 
     all those nice things about me. Dr. President, Dr. Villani, 
     Chairman of the Board, members of the board, Your Excellency, 
     The Apostolic Nuncio [Archbishop Gabriel Montalvo] and my 
     brother bishops, my--I guess I should say my Georgetown 
     family now--and I say that with great joy.
       I want to begin by telling you sincerely how honored I am 
     in receiving this degree from Georgetown. I've long regarded 
     this institution as one of the finest educational 
     institutions in the United States. During my four years in 
     Washington, I've always felt part of it in a very special 
     way. To receive its degree now is a very special joy for me, 
     and I want you all to know how much I do appreciate it.
       I have tremendous respect for your president, Dr. DeGioia. 
     I was privileged to be present at his inauguration, and to 
     prophesy at that time that he would lead this institution to 
     greater heights of excellence and to a continuing growth in 
     the realization of its mission as a Catholic university in 
     the Jesuit tradition. My prophecy is coming true every day.
       My respect for the Society of Jesus goes back to my early 
     years of high school when I admired the Jesuits so much that 
     I found myself going to two of their high schools, not at the 
     same time, but one after the other until I finally got it 
     right and received my diploma. My own education in high 
     school and college has been much enhanced by the excellence 
     of the ratio studiorum and by its challenges. It has been an 
     education for which I am so very grateful, and through which 
     I have been so very blessed. As a matter of fact, since the 
     rector of Georgetown is

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     my personal theologian, I'm still learning from the Society 
     and appreciating that wisdom and insight so very much.
       My relationship to Georgetown, as I began to intermit a 
     moment ago, is not of a visitor in a Catholic institution. 
     The local bishop is always part of any enterprise which is 
     related to the Church. A university such as ours is clearly 
     one of the great boasts and glories of our Catholic community 
     here in Washington. I have been here many times during the 
     last four years. I've enjoyed that privilege. I've been here 
     for academic celebrations, for lectures, for interfaith 
     moments of prayer, at times of national crisis, for meetings 
     with students, and often for Mass in your chapels. In the 
     beginning, I was happy to be welcomed by all of you at the 
     University. Now I no longer see myself just as a welcomed 
     visitor, but as part of the family. It is therefore always a 
     joy when I hear someone say instead of ``Welcome to the 
     University,'' ``It's nice to have you back.''
       Georgetown University, in its stated mission, sees itself 
     truly and essentially as a Catholic institution in the Jesuit 
     tradition. That fact opens its life to many wonderful 
     challenges and many great opportunities. It is a place where 
     Catholic scholars may freely exercise a faithful witness to 
     what the Church teaches. It is a place where non-Catholic 
     scholars and professors, who add so much to the life of this 
     institution, can pursue their own fields of study with the 
     assurance that truth is the master here, and that its pursuit 
     is always welcome. Their understanding of the mission of this 
     institution adds so much to society's understanding of what 
     Georgetown is all about. I pray that those who are not 
     Catholic, both in the faculty and the student body, will 
     always find inspiration an example from the Catholics who 
     teach here, both cleric and lay, as well as a deeper 
     understanding of what we're all about, and what our mission 
     is--not just in the Church but in society and in the world at 
     large.
       The preparation of Catholic leaders for the future of our 
     nation is a noble role. The preparation of those who are not 
     Catholic in their own burgeoning opportunity to play roles of 
     leadership in our country, has an equal importance because it 
     enables the leaders of tomorrow to learn about us, about the 
     Church, and to appreciate our own Catholic mission in this 
     complex society. This has always been one of the great roles 
     of the Society of Jesus, and I pray it will continue always 
     to be so here at Georgetown. May those of the immediate 
     family always be challenged to holiness, and those of the 
     wider family allowed to see what our life in the Lord and in 
     His church is all about. In the religious life of the 
     students and faculty at Georgetown, may there always be this 
     quest for holiness since this has to be the role within any 
     Catholic institution. The example of the Jesuits, according 
     to the rule of the great Ignatius, must always be a 
     challenge, not just to holiness of life, but to priests in 
     religious vocations both for the Society and for the Diocesan 
     in priesthood, and for religious life as well. I always 
     rejoice in a special way to find graduates of Georgetown 
     hearing the Lord's call to service in priestly and religious 
     ministry. This, too, is a measure of our Catholic life and of 
     our deep Jesuit tradition.
       I want to speak briefly tonight about the global importance 
     or the international aspect of a Catholic university in the 
     Jesuit tradition. Basically, there are three points I want to 
     make. First is that the mark of every great university is 
     caring. The mark of every great Catholic university is 
     wonder. The mark of every great Catholic university in the 
     Jesuit tradition is adventure.
       The first, caring, demands that there be a background of 
     authentic humanism in the very nature and mission of every 
     university, a sense of caring. A great university such as 
     Georgetown is called to manifest this in a world that tends 
     so much to be mechanistic and ideological. Secondly, the role 
     of a Catholic university demands a sense of wonder, of 
     mystery, and appreciation that everything in this world is 
     not able to be subjected to positivistic criteria. We believe 
     that there is a reality beyond the mere material that calls 
     for recognition of the spiritual, the wonderful. And finally, 
     the Jesuit tradition of this institution calls for it to be 
     adventurous, innovative, inventive in the deepest sense. I 
     believe the young people of today would say with great 
     solemnity, the ability to think outside the box.
       I would like briefly to develop these three points by three 
     stories. They are stories which have made a difference in my 
     life. They are perhaps three stories that have been my 
     instruction in where I am today. The first, the one which we 
     can call the humanistic, the caring, takes place in Africa, 
     and challenges us to understand the deep relationship which 
     each of us has with every other human being on the planet, 
     reminding us that we are all brothers and sisters in God's 
     one human family. The second which takes place in Asia, and 
     which is the only one that I relate second hand, is a story 
     that reminds us of the need for wonder in every Catholic 
     life. And finally, the story of an extraordinary Catholic 
     educator, who is a Jesuit, a story from Eastern Europe, will 
     bring us out of the box. Let me tell you these three stories.
       Years ago when I was a young bishop, I was sent on a 
     mission to the Sudan for Catholic Relief Services. I tell 
     this story because I think it is a big moment in my own life 
     and has made a change. I see in my growth what may affect the 
     university and its life. I was fascinated by the Sudan. I had 
     never been in that part of Africa. I met priests. I met 
     bishops. I met Muslim leaders. I met the poor. One day, one 
     of the priests said, ``If you have half a day, we'll go 
     across the Nile and go beyond Umderman.'' (Umderman, if you 
     used to go to the old movies is where Kitchener had that 
     great battle and Lord Gordon was killed.) So I said, 
     ``Sure.'' We went across the Nile, which itself is a great 
     experience, got to the other side and said, ``What are we 
     going to see?'' He said, ``No, we're not going to stop 
     here.'' We went about 25 more miles west into the desert. 
     There, after the city of Umderman had long since passed, we 
     saw a huge city of tents. We went in to see some of the 
     families, and translated, I heard several things.
       We're all members of God's one human family, but I never 
     saw it more clearly than there. These were the people, 
     probably some from Dafur, but this is 20 years ago, who when 
     the drought came and there was no water, could not do any 
     farming, could not take care of their flock. So they gathered 
     up their families and went toward the river, the Nile, where 
     water will always be. Now they couldn't get to the Nile. They 
     had to stop 25 miles away because they were not allowed to go 
     there. They would have overwhelmed, so the government said, 
     the facilities. And so they stayed there, and every day they 
     paid some entrepreneurs who drove little trucks to the Nile, 
     filled them up with water, and then came back. Of course, 
     they didn't come back for free. And gradually, these people 
     paid all the money that they had with them until it was gone. 
     And after the money was gone, they began to sell their 
     furniture. And after their furniture was gone, they began to 
     sell their animals. And after their animals were gone, they 
     began to sell their children.
       Listening to the families, for whom the sacrifice of an 
     older child had to be made so that younger children could 
     survive, it is a story that is engrained in my heart because 
     I think that it showed me that all life has to have caring in 
     it. All life has to have a sense of who we are as God's 
     people. A university has to have that, any university, 
     because if we are training people without understanding that 
     we are all related, that we're all one family, then we are 
     training them for a world that does not exist. That's the 
     first lesson. A university must be involved in caring and in 
     showing people how to care. I think Georgetown is.
       The second story happened in East Timor. I had gone to East 
     Timor for some other reason, and it was maybe three months 
     after the elections, and two months or one month after the 
     whole country had been in a state of terrible turmoil, and 
     those who did not want East Timor to be free began to kill 
     all the leaders. Anyone who taught in school, anyone who had 
     a good job, anyone who had any kind of an education was a 
     target for these militias.
       The Catholic Church had been very important to these 
     people. Eighty-five percent of the people had been Catholic, 
     surprisingly, in one of these small islands of Indonesia. A 
     great bishop, Bishop Belo, who won the Nobel Prize, was 
     guarding the flock and taking care of them all. One day I 
     went to visit him. I went to visit him in the charred ruins 
     of his house, and then they told me the story.
       About a week before, there had been marauding bands, always 
     armed and always dangerous and violent. The people began to 
     become afraid. The bishop's house was a place with a large 
     lawn. The people came into the lawn trying to seek protection 
     from him who was a leader and from being together. Maybe 
     1,000 people were gathered there in the lawn, and the bishop 
     came out and began to talk to them. While they were there, 
     suddenly a band of militia came in with their guns, pushing 
     the people aside, pushing the bishop aside. We heard all 
     kinds of different things that may have been said, but 
     ultimately they lit a fire and threw it in the bishop's 
     house. The bishop went to try to save it, but he was held 
     back. The people were awed, and scared, and afraid to do 
     anything. While the bishop was watching the destruction of 
     his house, and while the people in desperate fear were just 
     standing around, a young man came out of the crowd. It was 
     dark except for the flames. He went to the bishop, tried to 
     move him away from the flames. A soldier came up, pushed the 
     young man away, and stuck his gun in the bishop's back, and 
     got ready to pull the trigger. There was a hush, and almost a 
     scream at the same time among the people. The young man came 
     back and gently pushed the bishop forward and stood behind 
     him, between the gun and the bishop and did not move. The man 
     with the gun didn't know what to do, and there was silence. 
     Where did this fellow come from, this young man? Nobody knew 
     him. But somehow he found courage that nobody else had. 
     Somehow he found an ability to, in a world full of violence 
     and anger, he found a sense of wonder and mystery. The man 
     with the gun became embarrassed because he didn't know what 
     to do. So, he hit the young man, pulled his gun back, and

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     walked back to the soldiers. The moment was enough to break 
     the tension, so the militia left. The bishop turned around to 
     thank the young man. He wasn't there anymore. He had 
     disappeared into the crowd.
       I thought, there is a sense of wonder and mystery in your 
     life when people find courage to do things that one would 
     never expect, when people find the ability to stand up for 
     something that they believe, even if it threatens their life 
     or everything they have. A Catholic university has to prepare 
     people for that. A Catholic university has to somehow enhance 
     in every human being that sense of wonder, that sense of 
     mystery, that sense that you can do what you never thought 
     you could do. You can rise above yourself, and your spirit 
     can be enflamed, and enhanced by the needs that you see in 
     your brothers. A university that is truly Catholic, has to 
     pass that lesson along. I think Georgetown does.
       The third and last story is a different kind of story. It's 
     a story of a Jesuit; an extraordinary Jesuit. In Slovakia, at 
     the time of the communist persecution, only a certain number 
     of priests were allowed to be ordained. To ordain outside 
     that number, the bishop would be thrown into prison and the 
     priest as well. There was a young Jesuit who had commissioned 
     to be a priest called Jan Chryzostom Korec. Korec was 
     ordained at maybe 26 years-old, and began to serve as a 
     priest. The Jesuit provincial of Slovakia who was living in 
     disguise and living underground as so many were, came to see 
     him one day. He said, ``Father Korec, Bishop Hnilica--who was 
     an underground bishop--has permission to consecrate you a 
     bishop. And we feel that you should accept.'' Well, this is a 
     man now 27 years old, but unless somebody accepted this 
     burden, the Church could disappear. So ultimately he said, 
     ``Yes, I will do whatever you think is right.'' So, in the 
     kitchen of a friend the next night, he was consecrated a 
     bishop. Then he once again disappeared and continued to work 
     as a priest.
       About six months later, the provincial came to him again 
     and said, ``Korec, we have a man now who is ready to be 
     ordained a priest, a man of the Society. Will you ordain 
     him?'' He said, ``Okay.'' and he ordained the young man in a 
     park at twilight. Unfortunately, the young man was not as 
     careful as he should have been, and the authorities found out 
     that he was a priest. They brought him in and they began to 
     put him under all kinds of tortures and difficulties. 
     Finally, he said, ``I was ordained a priest quietly, 
     secretly.'' And they said, ``Who did it?'' After more 
     torture, he said, ``Korec.'' So they went and called Korec 
     in, and they said, ``Are you a bishop?'' Without going into 
     any kind of Jesuitical subtleties, he said, ``Me, a bishop, 
     that's the silliest thing I've ever heard!'' He kept saying 
     that and they let him go. He didn't look like a bishop. Well, 
     six months later, the provincial came back and he said, ``We 
     have another man. Will you ordain him?'' Korec ordained him 
     in somebody's living room. And this man, too, unfortunately, 
     after some months was caught, brought in, tortured, revealed 
     Korec, and so then they had him. They sent him away to prison 
     in solitary confinement. He was there 18 years. And then 
     finally in the Prague spring, they allowed him to come out 
     and to work. They gave him a job working in a chemical 
     factory, unpacking chemical things and spillage: a very 
     dangerous job. He did it quietly. Now he no longer had the 
     right to be a priest, so they gave him these other jobs. He's 
     an interesting man, and gradually people looked for him. 
     Gradually, he began quietly to be a priest again. They 
     weren't sure of him, so the lamp in his one-room bedroom 
     apartment was wired. They listened to all of his 
     conversations.
       He has wonderful stories to tell about playing the radio so 
     loud that the neighbors complained, but at least he could 
     have conversations then. Gradually, he began to do things 
     that no one else has been able to do. When the iron curtain 
     fell, he was acknowledged as a bishop. He went down to see 
     the Holy Father. The Holy Father told him that he was to be 
     given given the Diocese of Nitra, which is the diocese of St. 
     Methodius, of the great Sts. Cyril and Methodisum, one of 
     those great wonderful sees.
       About two years after that I was in Slovakia and I was 
     talking to one of the vice-presidents of the Slovak 
     parliament who was a Catholic. We were talking about those 
     tough days of the communist regime. And I said, ``How did you 
     ever get your education?'' He said, ``I went to the 
     university.'' I said, ``Which one?'' He said, ``I went to 
     Korec University.'' I said, ``What do you mean?'' He said, 
     ``Every Saturday when we had off--because they had to work on 
     Sunday. Every Saturday which was our day off, we'd pack some 
     salami and some beer and go up into the hills and Father 
     Korec would come. All day long, we would sit, and he would 
     teach us about the Church, about Catholic Social Thought, 
     about philosophy, about theology.'' And this man said to me, 
     ``I know more about these things than if I had gone to the 
     university for four years because we never missed a Saturday. 
     Dozens of us would go. He would write on pieces of paper what 
     we had to know, and he would make 50 copies all in his own 
     handwriting.'' I've seen them.
       To be adventurous. To be inventive. Not to let the world 
     make it impossible for you to grow, and live, and enjoy. 
     Always to listen to that other voice that says you can do it: 
     find a way. I think that's the mark of a Jesuit tradition, 
     and I think we find it here at Georgetown.
       I've kept you too long with these stories of mine, but I 
     feel that a story, like a picture, is worth a thousand words. 
     These stories, as I said at the beginning, have moved me, 
     maybe hopefully a little further in my understanding of what 
     education is. Maybe it will give us all an understanding of 
     what I mean when I say a great Catholic university in the 
     Jesuit tradition has to be.
       Every university should teach its students and its faculty 
     and administration that we live in a world of brothers and 
     sisters, not as strangers and enemies, but that we all share 
     a common dignity, and that all lives are precious, everyone's 
     life. Secondly, to be truly Catholic, we must be open to 
     wonder, to mystery, the mysteries of our faith, the mysteries 
     of love, the mysteries even of science which will always be 
     searching for greater clarity. As Catholics, we must never be 
     afraid of mystery, of that wonder that causes us to do things 
     we never thought we could do. Our faith is built on mystery, 
     and to be truly wise, and truly educated, we must be men and 
     women who accept wonder as an essential element of our 
     existence. And finally, in the story of Cardinal Korec (who 
     ultimately became a cardinal), we are challenged to see what 
     a university can also be when circumstances and the 
     challenges of the world around us call us all to find in 
     different ways the great things that are essential for our 
     lives and vital for our growth and wisdom. I find these 
     things here at Georgetown. I pray that they always will be 
     here. I pray, too, that these elements of deep human concern 
     of wonder and adventure, may be even more developed, more 
     understood and embraced, under great leadership with great 
     men and women in a brilliant future which will always be part 
     mystery and even always part out of the box. Thank you very 
     much.

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