The new priest took charge of St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church more than a year ago. Week after week, parishioners said, George Kuforiji changed their church in ways they didn’t think he ever could.
They talked to him, wrote letters to the Archdiocese of Portland about their frustrations, resisted change and protested during Mass.
But after a while, some couldn’t take it anymore. They left the Southeast Portland church for other parishes or their own spiritual groups. Others said they would stay to the bitter end.
The parish where some had prayed for decades was slipping away.
St. Francis is one of the oldest churches in Portland. It has long been known as a bastion of progressive Catholic faith.
Parishioners have marched in the Portland Pride parade, fed and given shelter to people experiencing homelessness and worked to make the traditionally patriarchal institution more inclusive of women. For several years, a banner hung above the church steps that read “Immigrants & refugees welcome.
Now, the banner is missing. Vestments and one of several treasured photographs of the homeless community that had lined the walls of their parish had been piled in a trailer headed for the dump.
Many felt the new priest aimed to better align St. Francis with the archdiocese, who some feel is out of step with Catholics in Portland.
A discord exists between Catholics and church leaders across the country. Bishops pushing for more uniformity among parishes, including Portland’s Archbishop Alexander Sample, were appointed by a different, more conservative pope than the one currently sitting at the Vatican.
An archdiocese spokesman turned down multiple requests to interview Sample or Kuforiji. He only agreed to answer one of multiple questions about St. Francis.
The Roman Catholic Church is rooted in tradition and hierarchy. Jerry Harp, chair of St. Francis’ pastoral council, is struggling to understand how he relates to this structure of authority. It was this hierarchy that was roiling his parish.
Harp considers himself a devout Catholic. He starts every morning with mediation and prayer and prays the Hail Mary at least once a day. He tries to attend Mass every Sunday. When he was in his 20s, he said he wanted to follow every rule he could. Now he questions how those rules bring him closer to God.
"Some would say 'Well you have to relate to the authority structure by following them to the letter,'" Harp said. "Well how do you know that? It's perfectly legitimate for other people to have other answers."
Long-time parishioners knew the answer. They didn’t like being told how to worship.
This was their church.
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Some remaining St. Francis parishioners grew up between its pews. One graduated from grade school there in 1956 and served as an altar boy. One married couple fell in love in the church music group playing the flute and singing together.
Others stumbled in later in life. One moved to Portland after serving in the Vietnam War and found the parish in the phonebook. Another left the Catholic church entirely when she was 17 but returned when she was 62, coming to St. Francis after someone recommended it to her.
The parish was the first church on the east side, with the first Mass on Christmas 1876. A schoolhouse was built in 1886 that later became known as St. Francis Academy.
Tom Hogan, 76, is one of only three parishioners who attended the church’s grade school.
When he was a kid, Hogan recalls that St. Francis was a neighborhood parish. He said most people who attended lived nearby. But as the east side became industrialized, people moved out.
After the Second Vatican Council convened in the mid-1960s, church leaders reconsidered traditional church practices and thrust the Catholic Church into the modern world with their changes. It emphasized the role of priests to help parishioners connect with God.
Don Durand, pastor at St. Francis at that time, helped usher in those changes, Hogan said. He and parishioners created progressive liturgy, embraced folk music during services and emphasized a social justice mission.
That social justice work manifested in the soup kitchen at St. Francis. Started in 1979, the kitchen was run by the Catholic Worker Movement, but by the mid-1990s the parish had taken it over.
Now called the St. Francis Dining Hall, the facility is key to the parish’s mission to provide food and other services to people who are homeless.
Carla Couperthwaite poses in front of her car Sunday outside St. Francis Dining Hall on Southeast 11th Avenue. Couperthwaite said helping out at the dining hall for the past two years has helped her get back a sense of self-worth and dignity.Peter Talbot | The Oregonian/OregonLive
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Valerie Chapman served as St. Francis’ pastoral administrator since 1993, leading the congregation alongside several priests over the years. Some parishioners said seeing a woman in such a role is what first attracted them to the parish.
Chapman retired in 2017. Monsignor Charles Lienert came out of retirement to take over as administrator, but only for a year. When his assignment was over, George Kuforiji was assigned to St. Francis by the archdiocese and took over July 2018.
Parishioners said the changes he made were almost immediate.
For years, St. Francis used inclusive language in its scripture readings. With references to God, for instance, they avoided using “he,” “lord” or “king” and instead used simply “God” or “creator.”
Kuforiji switched readings to traditional scripture, no longer allowing the new wording.
St. Francis outlined their values in a community commitment that parishioners would read after the Nicene or Apostles’ Creed. Kuforiji replaced the pamphlet and cut out the community commitment.
Parishioners brought their own copies and still said the words.
The parish’s handwoven altar cloth was a gift from a village in Guatemala the parish had helped. Parishioners showed up to Mass one Sunday last summer to find that Kuforiji replaced it with a plain white cloth.
Parishioners also had cherished vestments worn by the priest — some they’d made by hand. When two parishioners found the vestments, along with banners and other valued items in a trailer headed for the dump, tensions boiled over.
Melody Ghormley picks through a trailer filled with vestments, banners and other items from the church June 28. Ghormley and another parishioner discovered the items in the trailer the day before.Photo courtesy of Albert Alter
Dianna Shaffer and Melody Ghormley went to St. Francis June 27 to prepare for a parish clean-up scheduled for the next day. When Shaffer arrived, she saw Ghormley talking with Kuforiji and Deacon Kevin Welch in the sanctuary.
Shaffer and Ghormley noticed the vestments were missing, along with the large “Immigrants & refugees welcome” banner. Black and white photographs of homeless people served by the church were stripped from the walls. Both said Kuforiji told them he didn’t know what happened.
Sacred objects still usable but no longer needed can be given to the archdiocese, other parishes or missions, according to the Portland Archdiocesan Liturgical Handbook. Sacred objects no longer usable can be disposed of through traditional burning or burial.
Albert Alter, a parishioner at St. Francis since 1975, said he went to the church that day and talked with the maintenance man who would be hauling the trailer where the vestments and banners were found. He said the man told him the trailer would be hauled to the dump Sunday.
Alter, Shaffer, Ghormley and several other parishioners spent six hours the next day going through the trailer and the church.
Now, Alter said, the banners and vestments are in his private storage unit.
Parishioners found cherished vestments worn by the priest and banners used by St. Francis parish in a trailer headed for the dump. Photo courtesy of Albert Alter
At a parish meeting July 7, parishioners said Kuforiji told them he was sorry the vestments were put in the trailer and that they should have been boxed up. David Renshaw, the archdiocese spokesman, said in an email that items were placed in a box for parishioners to sort through, but the box was mistakenly put in the dump pile. He said he did not how and apologized for the “oversight.”
But parishioners had been pushed too far.
“I don’t know anyone that would come to a parish and go to the vestment closet and take all the vestments, still on hangers, and throw them into a trailer without somebody of authority having instructed them to do so,” Alter said. "Trying to destroy the parish is really what I’m thinking is happening.
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June 30 was a Sunday, and Mass was scheduled for 9:30 a.m. But before hymns could be sung, prayers could be said or the bread and wine consecrated, parishioners protested.
Days earlier, they’d found cherished items in a trailer headed for the dump. Now, 16 mostly gray-haired parishioners stood on the church steps facing Southeast 12th Avenue. Most were dressed all in white and held the large black and white photographs that had been stripped from the walls of the church.
Videos taken by parishioners that morning show them holding signs and singing as they walked through the front doors. Some wore T-shirts during Mass that read “Jesus resisted the Pharisees” on the front. The back of the shirt read “Question authority.”
Parishioners stand in front of St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church before Mass June 30. During Mass, they protested.Photo courtesy of Cory Cachola
During the prayers of the faithful, a time for community prayer, parishioners prayed for what happened to the vestments, yelling from the pews.
Kuforiji stood at the pulpit with his arms outstretched, silent.
In the pews, one woman stood with her face buried in her hands. Another said the protesters should respect the church they were standing in. She walked off. A few others followed her out.
At the end of Mass, Karen Mathew, former music director at St. Francis, took the pulpit to lead the congregation in song. The song began, and Kuforiji walked away.
On one side of the aisle, parishioners shook maracas, hit tambourines and clapped their hands. They sang loud. On the other, parishioners were quiet.
After the song, Melinda Pittman, a parishioner who has been at St. Francis for 30 years, took the pulpit. She said she had walked out to talk with Kuforiji when the song began.
“I said that for the last year we have been wanting real dialogue,” Pittman said. “I said we are being abused. We are being abused in the Catholic church by this priest and by this archbishop.”
“Boo,” a man yelled from behind the pews. “This is a holy priest.
“You don’t belong here,” parishioners yelled back.
Kuforiji was near the back of the church. There, another long-time parishioner, Rebecca Boell, confronted him.
“How can you be a priest?” she said. “I’ve been here over 15 years. You’ve been here a year.”
“Do you have reverence for God?” Kuforiji asked her.
Parishioners say they’ve shown it is the authority of the church they do not revere. They resist authority and find God in their resistance.
***
Some St. Francis parishioners used the word “abuse” to describe what’s happened. Others just felt sad. Infuriated. Heartbroken. Someone came into their community and started picking it apart.
They had conflicts with the archdiocese in the past, but the community had stayed strong.
Now people were leaving because the things that kept them coming back to Mass were being taken away. They were being told the things they cherished weren’t good enough for God.
Jan Rose, who has knowledge of the church’s finances, said some parishioners have even stopped giving money to St. Francis, knowing a percentage will be sent back to the archdiocese. Instead, they donate directly to the dining hall.
One of the main complaints of St. Francis parishioners is that Kuforiji has not involved them in most decisions. His changes have been unilateral and in line with the archdiocese.
Priests putting themselves at the center of the church is an idea that predates the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. But the attitude is increasingly popular among newer priests, said Patricia Killen, who until her recent retirement was a professor of religious studies from Gonzaga University.
The Catholic church is diverse, Killen said, adding that you can find parishes like St. Francis as well as parishes that celebrate Mass in Latin. She said that nationwide, liturgy has been more varied since Vatican II.
“But a significant number of its institutional leadership really are pushing to try and make things more uniform,” Killen said.
Two popes among those elected after the Second Vatican Council leading up to Pope Francis’ installment, John Paul II and Benedict XVI, had sensibilities tied closer to pre-Vatican II liturgy, Killen said
“A lot of the priests now being assigned to parishes refer to themselves as John Paul II priests,” she said.
Kuforiji may fall in that group. Before coming to St. Francis in 2018, Kuforiji served at the Holy Trinity Catholic Church of Bandon on the Southern Oregon Coast for nearly three years, according to The World newspaper of Coos Bay. He was ordained in June 2015.
Rebecca Boell, a long-time St. Francis parishioner, holds a sign July 22 while protesting outside Archbishop Alexander Sample's office on East Burnside Street. Boell and five other women were there to advocate for allowing women to be ordained as priests.Peter Talbot | The Oregonian/OregonLive
He is fairly active on Facebook, often sharing Catholic memes and articles from Catholic news outlets such as Catholic News Agency and LifeSiteNews, which the Associated Press has described as “ultraconservative.”
One meme he shared in October 2018 showed a black and white photo of men kneeling in the mud in front of a priest.
“Back in the day in Slovakia when the priest would walk by with the Eucharist through town, people would drop instantly to the ground,” text under the photo reads. “Be it mud, water, snow, thorns, whatever they would drop in reverence and awe.”
One article he shared praised Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò for condemning homosexuality as the root cause of Catholic sexual abuse.
“It is no exaggeration to say that homosexuality has become a plague in the clergy,” the article quotes Viganò. “It can only be eradicated with spiritual weapons.”
Archbishop Sample doesn’t share articles from ultraconservative news sites on Facebook, but through pastoral letters and columns in the Portland-based Catholic Sentinel, he has advocated for more traditional liturgy.
Sample was installed in 2013 as Archbishop in Portland. An Oregonian/OregonLive article at the time described him as a rising star in the Catholic church hierarchy.
A few months before Kuforiji was assigned to St. Francis, Sample made two changes to the liturgical handbook. One change instructed parishioners to kneel after the Agnus Dei during the consecration.
St. Francis parishioners continued to stand. Standing, one parishioner explained, is raising your heart to God.
There is a growing tension between Catholic parishioners and the hierarchy of the church across the United States. A more progressive Pope Francis may sit at the Vatican, but Killen said he has hesitated to flex his papal power, allowing conservative U.S. bishops like Portland’s to maintain traditional liturgy.
The majority of U.S. Catholics believe the institutional church should change its position on issues including allowing priests to marry (62%) and women to be priests (59%), according to a 2015 Pew Research Center study. But fewer believe the church will allow priests to marry (46%) or allow women to be ordained as priests (41%) by 2050.
For many St. Francis parishioners, their faith wasn’t about the rules or rituals. That wasn’t what fed them.
They came back for the community and joy they found each Sunday.
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Cory Cachola said he still considers himself a core parishioner of St. Francis. He had been going there for more than 8 years. His daughter was baptized a few months before Kuforiji arrived. But now he and his family go to St. Andrew Catholic Church in Northeast Portland.
He’s among many parishioners who’ve left for more progressive parishes.
As St. Francis used to be, St. Andrew and St. Philip Neri are among Portland churches known for their progressive and welcoming nature.
Frustrated St. Francis parishioners are worried these other parishes could also feel the squeeze of Portland’s Catholic hierarchy.
The "Immigrants & refugees welcome" banner hangs above the steps of St. Francis church. Parishioners came to the church June 27 and found the banner was missing.Photo courtesy of Cory Cachola
Frank Mathew, a long-time parishioner, said he wanted to speak publicly about St. Francis because he wants other parishes to know they may face the same fate.
“I don't want the public narrative to become 'Oh that was a really wild outlier parish that was unique and not like anyone else who is Catholic,’” Mathew said.
He and others who stay at St. Francis have said they keep coming for the community. Albert Alter said he stays because it’s his parish and he needs to be there to be able to say he disagrees with the changes.
“I don't leave a bad movie, I don't leave a bad play,” Alter said. “I stay to the bitter end."
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Mass is quieter now.
In the days before the Aug. 4 Mass, every member of the choir quit. This day, when the Mass began, one woman sang and played piano while a man sang and played an upright bass.
And they play before a much smaller group. Parishioners estimate about 50 fewer people typically attend Mass on Sundays – about half of what it was a year ago.
On this day, it was 24.
Still, parishioners hope to bring in mediators to help them discuss the changes at St. Francis with church leaders. Hogan said he also plans to send a letter to the Vatican reporting what he feels is spiritual turmoil.
Just last week, Catholic Charities announced the nonprofit will temporarily take over the St. Francis Dining Hall. One parish leader said it may be good to have the help. But he and others also worry about losing the dining hall’s “radical and inclusive hospitality.”
To many, it feels like another loss for the church community.
Despite such losses, parishioners have continued to resist. They sang songs they had used for decades and passed out instruments for people to play in the pews. They said their community commitment after the Nicene Creed, creating a discord of voices between them and the newcomers. They stood when told to kneel.
At this Sunday Mass, however, there was practically no one left to resist.
New faces were scattered across the church. Tom Hogan said many were either recruited or from the neighborhood.
The music was subdued, reverent. People held songbooks and sang. They didn’t clap. No one shook maracas or hit tambourines.
After the Nicene Creed, no one said the community commitment.
As Kuforiji began to consecrate the bread and wine, kneeling cushions creaked as worshippers pulled them down from the pews.
They knelt.
Tom Hogan and five others stood.
-- Peter Talbot
503-221-5772; @petejtalbot
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Updated: This story has been updated to reflect a correction to the wording on the T-shirt that some parishioners wore with the motto “Jesus resisted the Pharisees.”