Conversations: Fr. Timothy Danaher & Cathy Kaufman
Fr. Timothy Danaher, O.P. is a Dominican friar and the chaplain of Aquinas House at Dartmouth. His academic background is in American Literature and Theology. He was ordained in 2018 and, in addition to church settings, has served in hospital and Hispanic ministries.
Originally from Long Island, Cathy Kaufman is a librarian in the Philadelphia area, and a devoted wife and mother. Married for over 30 years, Cathy has a deep appreciation for her Jewish heritage.
Discussing their respective experiences with marriage and the priesthood, Cathy and Fr. Timothy explore the power, gift, and burden of covenantal vows, and the ways our commitments shape us.
TD: Here are my first thoughts on commitment covenant vows. I think every child dreams of making this kind of commitment, especially marriage. But I also don’t think anybody really knows what they’re getting into. Is that true?
CK: Well, it’s funny that you say that because I remember I was talking to a therapist or something, and we were coming to the conclusion—and the longer I live and stay married, the more I believe this—that commitment is just another form of love. It becomes the more important form because it has staying power; when you’re really committed, it keeps you in it.
TD: But I also love that it’s there from the beginning. I mean, nobody wants to date from the start without commitment. What you’re wondering, is—are we going to commit?
CK: Yeah, but no one has any idea what that means, until it becomes a very long thing.
TD: Right. So, when does it become long? You’re a wife and a mother—does it happen right away? Is it years down the line?
CK: I think there’s different levels. You’re always reevaluating. I mean, you can break your commitment anytime. And so could I. But it’s how committed are you to the commitment.
TD: Yeah. I remember when I was in the third grade, and I noticed that some of my classmates’ parents were divorced. And instead of having compassion on that kind of difficulty, as a child that scares you. You’re like, I hope that doesn’t happen to me. One time my parents were fighting some, and then they went to bed, and I couldn’t fall asleep so I knocked on their door. I woke my mom up, and I said, with childlike simplicity, “Mom, I’m afraid that you and Dad are going to get a divorce.” And she said some of the most comforting words of my whole life. She said, “That will never happen. We don’t believe in divorce—don’t worry.” I know now that my parents, like any couple, went through much more difficult chapters later. And I think they, like anyone, questioned their commitment, because that’s human. But still, I do think at the core there is a belief involved between, “do I believe deep down this is the best—to stay committed? Or, am I reevaluating, where that becomes actually stronger?”
I also know that when you make a covenant, a commitment, it’s a real kind of binding—it’s more than just dating. It’s more than a job. It’s not without consequences.
CK: Yeah, I mean, so far, my husband and I have both chosen to stay really committed to the relationship and the marriage, even though it’s very hard sometimes. But I don’t know what your parents meant by that: “We don’t believe in divorce.” There are some people who are really, really unhappy, and to think that there’s no option other than to stay in that commitment is not necessarily the best thing.
TD: I think they meant for them. I have a friend who was going through this real horror of a divorce. From a spiritual standpoint, it’s like his earthly dream was falling apart. But he said, I just want my family to get to heaven. And it wasn’t some throwaway comment.
CK: But did he think he was going to be judged? And they wouldn’t go?
TD: No, I just think he realized that as their earthly happiness at that moment was crumbling, he still wanted for his wife, and for his kids’ happiness—which is beautiful. I’m not saying that divorce and breaking a covenant, changing a commitment, can’t provide relief for some people, or that sometimes the situation is bad, and you have to separate. But I also know that when you make a covenant, a commitment, it’s a real kind of binding—it’s more than just dating. It’s more than a job. It’s not without consequences.
I know a guy who was separated from his daughter and his wife for a while, living in a different city. And crazy enough, he was coming out of church and got hit by a truck. In the ambulance they were asking him, “Sir, where’s your home?” And he started to break down weeping—not because he got hit by a truck, but because all he could think of was his wife and his child. Even though they’d been severed for a long time, he still felt, deep down in his heart, that was his home. And he couldn’t go back.
So, I don’t mean you can’t change the situation, but there is something very binding in a covenant like marriage or a covenant like mine, as a priest, that is serious stuff; that we can’t just easily change. I’m in my commitment, because deep down I do love it. I love the life I live, committed to God and prayer and people as a priest. But there’s probably half of me that stays committed because of a proper fear that I don’t think my life would be easier if I were to break the covenant, because it’s a deep tie. Do you feel that it’s a real binding? Did you feel that when you got married?
CK: The marriage—the ketubah—is a contract, literally, when you’re Jewish. You have a religious document that is separate from a civil document. If you translate it, the ketubah says that if you get divorced, you’ll have so many sheep, so many this. Marriage was a financial arrangement through nobility, and then even among villagers, and that’s why there were dowries and all of that. I don’t know when it got conflated with romance.
TD: I think across the board—Judaism included, but also in other cultures—it was more of a contract between families. Is there a sense of among your extended family that you’re joining families with another? Or has it become pretty thoroughly Americanized?
CK: Well, you are. I think the Jewish belief—and this doesn’t match with the ketubah—is that you’ve been missing half of your soul. And that’s why they have this Hebrew word besharet—your intended, your fated person—and when you get married, the two halves of your soul are now whole. That’s a really powerful image.
But when it came to affection—there’s something about human nature that rises to the occasion.
TD: It seems to me that there’s a contract, family side. But in some ways there’s always been some romance to two people pairing up. To me that’s human nature, that it’s impossible to live that close and have no emotions, although maybe not as sentimentalized as America these days.
CK: It depends who you talk to. There’s so many denominations in Judaism. I’m very assimilated, but all of my husband’s family are modern Orthodox Jews. One nephew is Haredi. He lives in East Jerusalem. His kids are raised speaking Yiddish. They go to very insular schools; they’re not allowed to really talk to other people. The other day when my sister-in-law was visiting they said, “oh, mommy said that God planted dinosaur bones; there was no world before the biblical time.” And when he met his wife, it was basically arranged. It’s not arranged in that you’re a stranger when you meet, but you have maybe three dates to decide, Is there chemistry? Can you see this happening? Then you get engaged. And I don’t know how in love you are by then, and you just hope for the best.
TD: A priest of ours was a missionary for the longest time in Pakistan. He was in Karachi, and he served both Christian and Muslim populations. It was all arranged marriages still—this was in the ‘60s and ‘70s. And he said that most people in an arranged marriage—something we think is so taboo in the Western culture—do develop affection. That’s not the hardship. The hardship is when there’s unequal intelligence; especially when the woman, who had very little place in that society, was more intelligent than her husband. That was really tough, in a quiet way, over a lifetime. But when it came to affection—there’s something about human nature that rises to the occasion.
From the Christian lens, I don’t have a detailed knowledge of history, but I do know that there was a little more emphasis in the past that priesthood was this greater pure calling, and they questioned whether the intimacy of marriage was sinful. In the 20th and 21st centuries it’s been more balanced, talking about the complementary beauty of each. It’s a beautiful thing to commit your life to a spouse; it’s a beautiful thing for me. I made a promise to God that that would be my companionship. But it’s also strangely God and people, because, just like people have obligations to their spouse, their children, there are a lot of obligations for me around the clock. The priesthood’s not just a job, it’s your whole life. There’s something in those obligations, I found, that helped me mature. Every time I have mass, I pray a prayer that says, “it is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation.” I’m doing these holy things, because it’s my duty, and my salvation, and it’s making me holy. Nobody would emphasize that, usually. “Oh, we’re so in love with duty and obligation.” You have to wake up with your children in the middle of the night. What was the phrase you said? As a parent, you don’t sleep for 18 years, and then you spend the rest of your life worrying. Is that still true?
CK: I think with any commitment, you have to put in the work and the time, and that’s devotion. My husband and I have been devoted to the commitment; that’s why we’re still together. Sometimes it’s easier. And sometimes it’s harder.
TD: Let me ask you this, too. This is another thing with priesthood but I see this in marriage when you talk about devotion. Some of that, for me, is all a matter of free time. When we’re single, you have all the time to go around as you wish. But even our schedules are more bound by the other person.
CK: Right. You’re not free to do anything. You have to be considerate and respectful. But then there’s rewards. There’s sacrifice and then there’s reward. One of my recurring nightmares—other than that I don’t know my locker combination—is that somehow I didn’t get married, I didn’t get to have kids. And it is a very bad nightmare. Even though I haven’t slept and I won’t be worry free until I’m dead. The thought of missing that is a devastating nightmare.
You negotiate in marriage; I don’t know if you can negotiate with God.
TD: That’s also proof to me that the human heart, no matter who you are, is made for commitment. It’s made for covenant. Covenants still involve contracts, whether it’s legal or religious. It may not involve sheep, but it still involves finances and etc. I love “koinonia,” which is the Greek word for community. But koine just means common things—this isn’t our china, this is just our normal plates. You ask me what how my day’s doing? It’s just a normal day. That word “common” is raised up in saying it’s all about community. Marriage is a community, and then your extended family is a community and your society is a community. You can have these high notions of family and marriage, but “community” basically just means we share the same normal things. We use the same streets in our society; in a marriage we share the same front door and table and bed. It’s about deciding how are you going to spend every day of your life, or as I said in my vows, promising to God in the Dominican Order: Until death.
CK: When it comes to marriage, the most important thing is: who do you have that covenant with? You have it with God. I don’t think God’s breaking any promises. So, it’s on you. But when you’re married, you have to have the same view of what that promise means.
TD: Should you talk about that? Because way back in the day it was more in writing. But in the 21st century, you have to talk one-on-one to figure out, “what’s in this person’s mind?”
CK: I think the more you’re married, the more you realize what you got yourself into. Life gets harder. When you’re a young married couple, if you’re really lucky, life is good—you both have jobs, you bop around, you go out to dinner, you go to the movies. Your parents are relatively young. It’s simple. And then suddenly, you might be juggling a job and children, and a job and children and your husband’s job. And then your parents need caring, and then who knows what comes up with your kids. Just like you might have tests of faith, I think that people in marriage have tests: can we pull this off with all these challenges? I had one son with really bad asthma. He was in the hospital several times, and when H1 N1 came around he was intubated. The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia saved his life, but for a moment there you think you’re going to lose your kid. That’s a test. So, in the beginning you can’t know what you’re getting into—it’s a promise of intent. But whether you pull it off—you have to see how the tests go.
TD: The irony is people think, oh, priests live alone. As a priest, you are called to be alone more with God, but then God is strange and he throws you into helping his people. I always tell people I have a front row seat for humanity. It’s the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I’m glad of that. Life is a lot more interesting than I gave it credit for in terms of people’s drama, their loyalty, their creativity. I get surprised all the time, by everything from accompanying families in the ER through teenage suicide—I never imagined I would ever, through following God, wind up there. And yet, I’ve also gotten a call on a Wednesday, before a Saturday wedding, where the couple themselves say, “hey, it just came to mind that we wanted to take you out to dinner and just check in and have time together.” I mean, who am I to be two or three days out from this wedding and they want to spend the whole evening with me? And then you get welcomed into their family, suddenly you’re golfing with their uncles. How did this happen? It’s heavy to deal with human beings. Especially when it’s this mix of casual and intense. But I also realized I have to learn to love that. It’s like moving from drinking juice and milk and water as a kid, and then you move to soda, then you move to beer, and then then you move to whiskey or something. I feel like life keeps making you want to move up, and you learn to deal with life rather than have your own little set of plans. And I’m happy that my vows have thrown me into the midst of life and its realities, rather than just my own little plan. And I really do like it. I stay with this because it’s crazy, but it’s great. I mean, you got to kind of deep down like it, right?
CK: I knew I was meant to be a monogamous, committed person, that’s who I am. But I don’t know how hard I thought about the vows I was making. People don’t want to go through this thing called life alone, and that was probably more in my mind than the promises I was making, to tell you the truth. And then you’re constantly reevaluating the pluses and minuses and staying in.
TD: There’s the notion that circumcision made Abraham God’s people; there’s a special sense of family with God. My understanding of covenant in biblical theology is that most people would make covenants, technically speaking, between two human parties. So for God to do that with a human being was alarming because it indicated that God was going to make someone his family. I think that’s the beauty of all the foundations of Western religion: that God is interested in us. God isn’t just aloof. But just like going into marriage is a contract with some romance, and then you suddenly discover conflict, these religious contracts are going to battle in the chambers of our hearts. Religion, even healthy religion, is this love-hate of: I’m so thankful to God, but I also have all kinds of problems. And you read the Psalms. I love the Psalms—they’re dripping with honey, and then in the next one, David’s yelling at God, “where are you?” I’ve never seen somebody with a spirituality that’s a total land of milk and honey. But I don’t mean it’s a conflict that needs to be fixed. It’s also very biblical that in both marriage and in our relationship with God, it’s like, “I can’t imagine living without this. But it’s also not easy.”
CK: Well, you know, contracts require negotiations. You negotiate in marriage; I don’t know if you can negotiate with God.
As a priest, I’m more surrounded by and involved in intimate conversations of marriage than I ever would be as a married man.
TD: I think the whole human race has been constantly negotiating with God. And sometimes God responds, and sometimes God doesn’t seem to. But we negotiate.
CK: Yeah. I mean, for me, personally, marriage wasn’t religious, per se, between God and me. It’s a more of a promise I’d love to believe in. But I’m not sure I do.
TD: Well, even the Christian view of marriage is that Christ took something that was a natural agreement, and made it something more. So actually, I would be in 100% agreement that saying, “Yeah, marriage is a natural agreement of human beings, in between families.” Christians have then spiritualized it, but I think you’re true to your deepest roots in saying it’s more of a decision.
CK: And not a single decision. It’s a decision you keep making. I’m sure you keep recommitting yourself either deeper or different, and marriage is the same way. It’s just a series of recommitting. You experience it at one dimension, then it becomes something else and you recommit to that thing.
TD: Now, let me let me ask you this, too. As a priest, I’m constantly working with engaged or married couples for counseling. So, I’m not married, but I’m more surrounded by and involved in intimate conversations of marriage than I ever would be as a married man. People used to ask Pope John Paul II why he wrote a book called Love and Responsibility on human marriage and sexuality when, as a priest, he wouldn’t know anything about it. He said that he probably knew more about it than anybody who was married because he’d get fifty married people all trying to talk to him about things—and he said that in the introduction. But he observes that in Christian circles couples want to share their spirituality, and to grow and develop together. Is it a part of your experience of Judaism that you’re thinking about your husband’s relationship with God and you’re trying to get that to be harmonious, or is it more just kind of each person before God?
CK: It’s not that. Neither of us were raised particularly religiously, but we felt—as many Jews say—really, really, proud of the people, the culture, the teachings of the Torah. I’m not religious per se, but I’m proud of all of that, that we inherited.
TD: But as much as you can tell, even in orthodox circles, is there that mutuality between spouses?
CK: Yes. It’s built in, and that’s easier for them. It’s easier for them to believe, and my husband and I are kind of struggling with that. But our kids have benefited from the fact that all their first cousins are religious, and we share all those holidays. And I would say that we’re alike in that we both are and are not spiritual. We’ll say, I believe more in God when I go to the zoo, because how could this be random? Human beings don’t impress me that much. But you see a giraffe, and you wonder, how the heck did that happen? So that’s religious. For me. But when we have holidays, I like to ask questions. I like to dig into tradition and the reason for things and that gives me meaning. I don’t really like being in a formal religious setting, but what gives my son comfort is the repetition of those prayers, and knowing that people are saying the same ones all over the world, and have been for 5000 years. I don’t like saying the words; they’re not doing that for me. But when I delve into the why, that really has meaning for me. I’m kind of the butt of a lot of jokes, because I bring that into every family holiday. When I had my 60th birthday, one of the twins made fun of me, asking, “What does birthday mean? How far back does birthday go?” And I’m very proud of that. But I’m not connected in the sense of a person who believes.
Commitments aren’t easy. That’s why they’re so important.
TD: So, your son feels comfort in religion, because it’s done all around the world. Does it help a married couple to look around at all the married couples going through it? I think it helps priests to look at other priests, and talk with priests, and visit with priests, and relate. It rejuvenates you to go back to your own commitment. It’s never just in isolation.
CK: It depends how. My friends and I have all been married over 30 years. So, women, yes, women go “blah blah blah my husband,” and you feel comforted that they’re suffering too.
But the truth is, when it comes to marriage, it’s a little different. You can find comfort in what a priest is going through, and I can commiserate with friends. But you really don’t know. My most intimate friends might know, but men don’t talk that way in general. Maybe my kids will, but in our generation marriage is a private thing. You can say, “Oh, they seem so happy.” But you just have no idea.
TD: So you’re saying that you have that support among wives, but husbands it’s not really happening?
CK: I don’t think so. This next generation, my kids who are in their late 20s and early 30s, though, I think they’re a whole different ballgame, much to their credit, and they’ll have a different experience. I don’t think there’s as much male and female, there’s just people and relationships and connections, and I don’t think they’re differentiating their behaviors according to gender. But my generation, I think, definitely does. I could wait in line at a supermarket with a woman and know more about her than I do about my husband after like, 30 years of friendship. Women just… share more.
TD: Talking, words, are the ways we actually make vows. I’ve always said that people don’t fall in love at first sight; you can be attractive, but you actually fall in love by talking. And you actually stay in love by talking, because if you can’t talk to somebody, it’s over.
CK: It’s hard work, right? Commitments aren’t easy. That’s why they’re so important. You don’t make them lightly. If they were easy, anyone could do it.