Finding a way home: as many as 20 million U.S. Catholics no longer practice their faith. The Paulists and others are finding ways to invite them back

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No matter what word is used to describe them, the population of prodigal sons and daughters--those baptized but away from the Catholic church--is huge. Of the nation's 65 million U.S. Catholics, an estimated 20 million do not practice their religion or are unassociated with a faith community. They comprise "the second largest denomination in the country," according to Paulist Fr. John Hurley, executive director of the National Pastoral Life Center in New York.

Lapsed, disaffected, inactive, estranged, separated, alienated, marginal or fallen away--each label-conveys a situation in need of reconciliation.

Most parishes pray occasionally for these lost sheep and then like water let them fall through their hands. Others dismiss them as "H20 Catholics"--holidays, two only, Christmas and Easter, and offer them glares in lieu of smiles or handshakes when they occupy regular parishioners' pews.

Hurley, who has headed the Paulist Office of Reconciliation in Washington and directed the Secretariat for Evangelization at the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, said many separated Catholics parted ways over a particular church teaching or an instance of hurt from a priest, nun or church representative. "My dad was in the hospital and no priest brought him last rites" is something Hurley has heard olden. Others felt the church's doors were closed to them because they got divorced, had an abortion, practiced birth control or were gay.

What's common to all who have strayed is "no one missed them when they left," said the priest, who refers to these millions not as lapsed or inactive Catholics, but as "brothers and sisters who no longer come to the table." That number has swelled in the wake of the sex abuse crisis.

Hurley said he doubts that the "Come Home for Christmas" efforts that many parishes sponsor are enough to get the inactive back. "We need to be there for them all year round."

Parishioners, pastors and parish staff have to find creative ways to bring evangelization and reconciliation together and make it the church's "No. 1 priority," Hurley said.

Safe landing

Among the best known outreach ministry is Landings, founded in 1989 in Seattle by the late Paulist Fr. Jac Campbell, who recalled British World War II pilots as they returned from combat missions and sought a secure place to land. If they got shot at, they left and looked for a safer landing strip.

"So too for returning Catholics--if they feel the parish they visit is a 'safe place,' they will investigate returning; if it's unwelcoming, they will leave," said Joan Horn, national coordinator of Landings, based in College Station, Texas.

Landings is as much a process for active Catholics as it is for the returning, she told NCR. It is laity empowering laity and bonding with fellow Christians, she said. Such community-building helps returnees reintegrate into parish life.

The ministry operates in over 85 U.S. dioceses, five Canadian sees and seven in England. Horn estimates close to a million active and returning Catholics have participated.

The ministry relies on "nonjudgmental, compassionate listening," said Michael Kondrat, a Landings coordinator in Manhattan, N.Y. It also has a lot to do with the Holy Spirit, he said. How else could he explain why he asked a cab driver to stop as he was passing St. Paul, the Paulists' mother church in New York on Christmas Eve 1999?

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Kondrat, a theatrical technician, was returning to his home in Queens after working on an event in the area. "It was a down time in my life and I was not looking forward to spending Christmas alone," said Kondrat, who drifted from the church after college. "I rationalized religion wasn't relevant to my life, yet I felt a hole in my spiritual heart."

When Kondrat entered St. Paul, he found a prominent poster that asked: "Have you been away from church? Would you like to explore returning?." He copied the phone number. Within two months he was attending St. Paul's Lenten Landings.

Kondrat's experience was not unlike that of thousands of others who long to come home. Some feel guilty, shy or ashamed about their time away; others fear rejection by churchgoers or think their sins are a roadblock to returning. "All come with questions," Kondrat said, noting that when he finished the eight-week session, he had even more questions than when it began--and still some doubts.

The job of the Landings team is to establish trust and help returnees heal the wounds they feel were caused by the church or its personnel. "It's not to steer them toward confession or put pressure on them to return," Kondrat said, although such steps are encouraged if the person is ready.

Each welcomer and each returnee discloses his or her faith story, whether it be a tale of struggling and staying, of drifting or of bolting. That's why a group of six to 10 is ideal, Kondrat said. "It's intimate, but not all eyes are on you."