It was a Friday evening in early January and our family was talking as I cooked supper. Earlier we had heard about the appointment of the new bishop for our diocese (Jackson, Miss.), and we were discussing the good reports about him that had come to us through the grapevine. Our bishop, William Houck, had recently retired.

“Daddy, do you think he’ll be as good as Bishop Houck?” asked Christopher (age 10). “Impossible!” said my husband, Danny. “Bishop Houck is the BEST!” chimed in Magdalena (age six).

I smiled to myself and remembered another day in that kitchen a few years before, when I was the pastoral coordinator for Glenmary’s new Mississippi mission in Tippah County. It had been a bad week, and I was frustrated and angry.

As I vigorously scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, I complained to God about the travails of starting a Catholic church in this Bible Belt culture which tends toward misunderstanding of Catholicism at best, and downright hostility at worst.

My “at-worst week” began when I read a notice in the Baptist Association newsletter urging county Baptists to support their work among Hispanics because “most of the Hispanics are not Christians.”

Then came a decision by the raised-Catholic, born-again and now fervently anti-Catholic son of one of our church members not to let his children attend our church anymore with their grandparents during their weekend visits.

To cap off the week, that morning our piano tuner, whom I knew to be a member of a fundamentalist church, suddenly asked intensely, “Why do Catholics call their priests ‘father’ when the Bible says not to call anyone ‘father’?”

By the time the tuner left, I had the Bible Belt blues. I set to floor-washing and grumbling to God. In the background I had Mississippi Public Radio turned on low. And suddenly, as if the voice of God were speaking to me directly (it really felt like this), there came a familiar voice over the airwaves: Bishop Houck.

I turned up the radio. He was talking about the newest papal declaration on evolution—calmly, patiently and astutely explaining Catholic understanding and belief to Mississippi listeners.

He sounded so reasonable. So true. So, well, Catholic. My tears turned to weeping from relief and gratitude, as I thought/prayed, “He understands! My bishop understands! I am not alone. Thank you, God!” This wasn’t the first time that I had felt Bishop Houck’s understanding and encouragement for those of us working “in the mission field.”

I remember being impressed by his down-to-earth demeanor when he popped in for an impromptu visit to our home. He was nonplussed by the mud all over his shoes from our yard and graciously accepted my humble offer of tuna sandwiches and potato chips for lunch.

After he had blessed our rather run-down storefront church building, he somewhat furtively thrust into my hand a substantial wad of bills, to be used, he said, however our mission most needed it.

Bishop Houck understands how to be a Catholic in a fundamentalist Protestant world, and he has offered his Mississippi flock so much wisdom in navigating those tricky waters. In his concern to establish a Catholic presence in every county, Bishop Houck has also been open to creative partnerships between priests and lay leaders to jump-start new Catholic missions. Had he not been so open, there would not be a Catholic church in Tippah County today.

Thank you, Bishop Houck. Thank you, God.