People’s History: Jim Mize
“I kept that candy in my mouth for 30 minutes because I knew I couldn’t swallow it, because that would be a sin. … Another time I was at a friend’s house and they were eating meat and it was a Friday. I knew I couldn’t eat that meat because I would go to hell.”
Jim was raised in the pre-Vatican II Catholic Church. It wasn’t until his early years of college that he would meet the Spirit of the Second Vatican Council.
“And that was an incredible moment because then wait a minute — if I was going to go to hell yesterday by eating meat and today I don’t go to hell by eating meat… what is the disconnect there? And that's when I first started realizing a number of things. It was a liberating moment but it was also a confusing moment because it also told me though, that there was something not quite right about what I was believing in.”
As Jim reflects on the abruptness of Vatican II, I am struck by two major themes: the enormous weight of change that would impact each individual of the church, and hope that relationships would become about presence rather than punishment.
It is one thing to think of the Second Vatican Council as a historical event and another to understand it as a living legacy. Not only was there a laundry-list of reforms such as Mass in local languages, ecumenical encouragement, priests facing the congregation, and chapel design: it was, and still is, a call for the people of God to re-imagine their own day-to-day practices.
Jim acknowledges that these changes create both liberation and confusion. So you won't go to hell for eating meat on Friday? Great... but then, what is a sin? And why? How does one accept an overhaul of their beliefs, especially when the stakes are as high as eternal damnation? Jim is one individual in an entire generation tasked with embodying divine revelation, making it a daily, concrete reality.
I share this reflection in August of 2020. We are amidst a global pandemic, national uprisings against centuries of racial injustice, and the cusp of an ecological crisis. Day-to-day life is turbulent to say the least. In the past few months we have encountered unthinkable changes at a moment's notice. While every ounce of this is unprecedented, I see a parallel in Jim’s experience of being among the faithful during Vatican II — simultaneously confused and liberated.
As it turns out, co-creating new forms of community, re-imagining safety, and trusting the Spirit to transform the status quo is a little terrifying. Confronting punitive abuse of power, only to find its roots deep in the Papacy is not reassuring. It is painful and jarring, yet deeply necessary for our journey toward the Kin-dom. I understand that it is natural, in these moments of upheaval, to cling to what we have inherited and protect certainty over doubt at all costs. But I also know that for me, this defense mechanism comes from a place of fear and scarcity. I heard once in a theology class that “to be certain is to create an idol.” Upholding the status quo for the sake of our own comfort is an act of harm and dishonest to the Gospel.
Yet amidst this uncertainty is possibility. Jim and all of our elders who have faithfully trusted in the Spirit of Vatican II demonstrate another direction. And today, folks all around us are radically choosing another route. We too are dedicating ourselves to communities of abundance. It is work. It is packing over 100 boxes of produce on Saturday mornings for mutual aid, marching arm in arm with neighbors during a global pandemic, and hosting living room liturgies over Zoom. It is a practice wholly dependent on presence, healing, and co-creation. It is experimental, and uncertain, and again, necessary.
“How could this be so profoundly evil the one minute, and then so profoundly okay the very next? That opened me up to many things… [Vatican II] was the beginning of a major transformation in me personally, and I think what a lot of us thought about what was going on in the Church… The biggest thing of Vatican II is that we were open to everybody — all are welcome.”
Despite ample opportunity to doubt, Jim trusted a Spirit of abundance. He lives his faith today as one who welcomes, unconditionally. Jim’s journey, from a young boy fearing hell to an elder inspired to welcome all, gives me hope. Jim’s presence among the people of God strengthens my resolve to be open — to learn and unlearn, co-create with those around me, and to trust the presence of an abundant Spirit.
