This story of '60s Catholic social justice still has power decades later

Even though it was my first time doing something like this, I knew it would be a fruitful experience no matter what happened. I had a chance to learn about Catholics who altered the course of U.S. history. I was up for the challenge of convincing audience members that a 54-year-old play and its central concept — defy Caesar in the name of Christ — remained relevant.

What I didn't expect was how profound the experience would be for my Catholicism.

Research began with a visit to the Young Research Library at my alma mater, UCLA, where Center Theatre Group's archives are located. In a stately, quiet room, I went through two boxes that contained hundreds of letters, memos, clippings and photos related to "The Trial of the Catonsville Nine."

There were character bios of each protagonist (example: Mische was "burly, quickwitted, voluble, with a blond mustache and a luminous, demonic smile") that I immediately had an intern share with all the actors before their first rehearsal.

I also came across angry letters from Catholics and non-Catholics alike calling Berrigan's work blasphemous, along with profiles from Time magazine, The New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and dozens of smaller publications.

I quickly learned that "The Trial of the Catonsville Nine" was the talk of the town, because it was a reflection of art imitating life. The lesson was actually a bit too much on the nose: The day I went to Young Research Library, a pro-Palestinian encampment set up in front of nearby Powell Library, where the papers of "The Trial of the Catonsville Nine" director Gordon Davidson were housed. Because of the violence that befell the encampment — a group of opponents attacked it on May 1, and hundreds of law enforcement agents cleared the tent city the following night — I was never able to return to UCLA.

That was the power of the play and its protagonists then and now, I told the modern-day cast when I finally met them.

But public actions weren't the Nine's main motivation. I explained how the Nine had pledged their lives to helping out the less fortunate in the name of the Catholic Church and the United States by joining religious orders — Maryknoll, the Josephites, the Jesuits — but turned on church institutions when their silence on or support for American imperialism proved too much. I urged the cast to channel that sense of betrayal that liberal Catholics had with American bishops and cardinals in the wake of the 1962-65 Second Vatican Council.

I also read them a Los Angeles Times review from the first iteration of the play, a 1970 production at the Mark Taper Auditorium as part of a Center Theatre Group initiative for new plays. The review ridiculed the characters as "those self-satisfied little child martyrs that Sister Mary used to love to tell the third grade about on rainy afternoons," and the cast for "bearing that suffering liberal look."

The Nine never considered themselves pious, I reminded the new cast. They were imperfect, just like the rest of us.

It was amazing to see the actors inhabit their role, and humbling to have them and director Michael John Garcés — who cast the production blind, which meant it was multicultural and had three women play the roles of men — use my notes to better their performances.

Hearing them slowly go through the script, I felt the Spirit in the room. It motivated others as well to share their own Catholic lives. One cast member told me how her uncle was a Jesuit who served in Uganda, but only until joining the "Catonsville Nine" production did she realize how important his work was. Someone else brought her Communion rosary to proudly show me, then admitted she didn't go to Mass much anymore.

Neither did I, I responded. But here, right now, was our own Communion.

The finished production was staged at the Mark Taper Auditorium in downtown LA before a sold-out crowd, a day after the anniversary of the Nine's holy inferno. There were cheers and boos and gasps, and a standing applause from the audience at the end. After a 10-minute break, it was my turn to talk.

I told the crowd about the excitement and challenges of being a Catholic progressive in the 1960s, and the controversy over the play's 1971 run at the Taper. I made a joke about the nearby Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, lorded over by Archbishop José Gomez, who has never met with members of the Los Angeles branch of the Catholic Worker despite their repeated requests for one.

My remarks got laughs, but when I mentioned former LA Cardinal James Francis McIntyre — who openly clashed with Chicano Catholics and infamously went after progressive nuns — not only did I hear jeers, but bona fide hisses.

Now it was my turn to laugh. What a smart crowd, I remarked!

After I finished, I found the probable source of the raspberries: members of the Immaculate Heart Community, the offshoot of the Immaculate Heart Sisters who famously left the order after clashing with McIntyre over their attempts to modernize. They thanked me for my speech, and I was introduced to Lenore Dowling, one of the stars of the 2021 documentary "Rebel Hearts," which tells the stories of the Immaculate Heart Sisters-McIntyre war.

I hope that the audience was as moved by the witness of the Catonsville Nine as I was. Serving as dramaturg and learning about the Nine reminded me that the Catholic Church is imperfect, but I should never abandon it. As the Berrigan brothers were fond of saying, she may be a sinner, but she is our mother.

And I was also reminded of the power of the stage. A few years ago, the play "Heroes of the Fourth Turning" earned praise for its depiction of conservative Catholics debating Trump's America. Who is up for writing a progressive version of that?

I know a rookie dramaturg who can help.