Father William Bausch is 96 years old.
I have known him for 5 months.
That means I have a lot of catching up to do.
I first became aware of him several years ago when we were moving my mother at the senior community where she lived into assisted living. As we were cleaning out her apartment she asked me to donate an art book she had to the facility's library. While I was walking there I noted a piece of paper sticking out: "In honor of Father Bausch, one of the kindness people I know." I asked the librarian about it. Turned out he was a retired priest who lived there, did services and gave lectures. Interesting, and I assumed that was the end of the story.
A year later when my mother died we were planning a small service. I recalled the note, and asked if Father Bausch was still around. He was, and I reached out. I knew I liked him when I got his voicemail: "You have reached the House of Bausch. The House is in. Bausch is not." When we connected I explained that my mother had passed, and though we were Jewish, wondered if he might be willing to officiate at a graveside service. He offered his condolences, recalling that when he gave lectures that my mom attended, and mentioned something about Jewish traditions, she always gave him a thumbs up. He continued: "Son, before we were religious, we were just people. I would be honored."
After the funeral we kept in touch: I sent him this column, he sent me some of his writings (turns out he had written more than 40 books). At one point I was going to be in the area, so I reached out and asked if he would be interested in having dinner. And so we began a conversation.
Of course I asked about his history. One of six children, he was a depression baby. His father was a baker with a great reputation as a decent man: "He was the Atticus Finch of New Brunswick. He never sold anything over a day old, and took all his leftovers to the Salvation Army at a time when Catholics weren't supposed to deal with other religions."
He got thrown out of high school and eventually enrolled in a seminary in Baltimore. Classes were few and poorly taught, and he was bored. But he discovered a huge library on the top floor of the building, and started reading, averaging a book a week. "In effect, we were learning nothing in class, which was good, because I didn't have to unlearn anything. And a negative turned into a positive."
He was ordained in 1955, and one of his early postings was as Chaplin to a lay movement within the church. One of their rules was that he couldn't talk until the meetings ended. "I was never so humiliated and humbled in my life. I was forced to be silent, and to listen, really listen, to their stories of how, day after day, they struggled to be good Christians." As he listened, a revelation came over him: "I began to realize what a privileged, innocent life I led. I knew I had found my priesthood's core: that they, the laity, would teach me, not the other way around."
From that day on he let the people of his parishes lead him, and became a staunch opponent of clericalism, which he describes as priests acting as "the father who knows all." He wrote about it in a magazine: "I just found that intolerable, and I was unwise enough to write about it, and they had a major fit over that view. They wanted to throw me out. I got called on the carpet so much that I wore the carpet out. But they made a compromise and sent me to the farthest parish until I couldn't go any further."
Luckily, it was a progressive parish which embraced his views. He kept writing, and discovered an audience that appreciated his approach. Of course, not all did: one website posted an article "How To Destroy Priesthood with the Help of Father William Bausch." But he kept preaching, kept sharing, kept letting his parishioners tell him how they wanted to be led. And he kept it up until he retired as an emeritus priest, and until recently, led services, lectures and storytelling in his retirement community for people of all faiths.
Sadly, serious health issues are slowing him down, not to mention just being 96. Yet he still wants to talk and share and listen and learn. It's selfish, I know , but as we get older we so infrequently get the chance to make a new acquaintance who has so much history and so much to offer. So if he's willing, the conversation will continue, and dinner is on me.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford is still trying to understand faith. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.
