By Richard McBrien
Sep 20, 2010
Cardinal Marc Ouellet, previously archbishop of Quebec and primate of Canada, was recently appointed the new head of the Vatican’s Congregation for Bishops. On July 30 he became the Vatican official who makes the final recommendation to the pope regarding appointments to or within the Catholic hierarchy.
Ouellet has been described as a close friend of Pope Benedict XVI -- a friendship which at least one Canadian commentator regards as an asset for the job.
According to a recent article in Canada’s National Post [3], Jesuit Fr. Jacques Monet, a church historian based in Toronto, believes that the longstanding relationship between the cardinal and the pope will not compromise Ouellet’s independence and influence. Monet says Ouellet will not just be a “yes man.”
But that has not been the case with regard to another high-ranking Vatican official, Cardinal William Levada -- the pope’s successor as head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF). The pope selected him for the post because they had established a close relationship while Levada worked at the CDF several years earlier.
No Vatican observer would claim that Levada is someone of independent influence in the Roman Curia or that he occasionally finds himself saying “no” to the pope.
What sort of perspective will Ouellet bring to the Congregation of Bishops? Will he mark out a new course for episcopal appointments or are we likely to see a continuation of the pattern already laid down by Pope John Paul II and now Benedict XVI?
In my judgment it will be “No” to the second question, and “Yes” to the third.
When commenting on the greatest crisis to confront the Catholic Church since the Reformation of the 16th century, Ouellet seemed to blame the scandal of sexual abuse in the priesthood on the weakening of moral standards in society -- a common explanation given by those who are reluctant to address the internal problems of the church, including obligatory clerical celibacy, the role of women, and the declining quality of pastoral leadership.
Oullet’s rightist views manifested themselves most dramatically, however, in his comments on the Second Vatican Council. In his interview with Charles Lewis of the National Post in mid-August, he expressed the belief that many Catholics interpreted the teachings of Vatican II in far too liberal a fashion and in the process disconnected those teachings from the core of Catholic faith.
That liberal misinterpretation of the council, Ouellet said, led to priests abandoning celibacy, a drop in proper religious education, and a general infusion of leftist politics -- all against the true intentions of Vatican II.
“After the council,” he pointed out, “the sense of mission was replaced by the idea of dialogue. That we should dialogue with other faiths and not attempt to bring them the Gospels, to convert. Since then, relativism has been developing more broadly.”
Ouellet is a long-time editor of and contributor to the theological journal Communio, which was established by conservative theologians to serve as a counter-weight to the interna-tional theological journal Concilium, founded and edited by some of the leading theologians at Vatican II
That list included Karl Rahner, Yves Congar, and even Joseph Ratzinger -- now Pope Benedict XVI -- who contributed an important article on the doctrinal authority of national episcopal conferences for the first issue of the journal.
Ouellet, however, looks upon Hans Urs von Balthasar, not Karl Rahner, as the leading Catholic theologian of the 20th century.
In the area of liturgy he has expressed a devotional preference for eucharistic adoration and a return to the use of Gregorian chant.
Charles Lewis pointed out in his brief profile of Ouellet that the cardinal had been severely criticized by some in Canada for saying that abortion is morally wrong even in the case of rape.
In an attempt to heal the wounds opened by his remarks (but without retracting them), he held a joint press conference with Archbishop Terrence Prendergast of the Ottawa archdiocese calling upon those on both sides of the issue to work together toward reducing the number of abortions.
Ouellet’s effort at healing wounds in that case is to be applauded. Whether such a sense of moderation will also extend to his role in the appointment of bishops remains to be seen.
© 2010 Richard P. McBrien. All rights reserved. Fr. McBrien is the Crowley-O’Brien Professor of Theology at the University of Notre Dame.
* * *
Monday, September 20, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Newman: the 'sense' and 'consent' of the faithful
By Robert McClory, September 16, 2010
There is stark irony in the words Pope Benedict XVI chose when he announced last February his plan to visit England this year and there pronounce John Henry Newman as among the “blessed,” just one step from canonization as a saint. He cited Newman as an example for all the world of opposition to dissent. “In a social milieu that encourages the expression of a variety of opinions on every question that arises,” said the pope, “it is important to recognize dissent for what it is and not to mistake it for a mature contribution to a balanced and wide-ranging debate.”
If Newman’s remains had not decomposed -- as Vatican investigators discovered when they attempted to dig up his coffin in 2008 seeking evidence of his sanctity -- he would have been spinning in his grave. For Newman was as singular a voice for responsible dissent and the rights of the laity as the Roman Catholic church has ever seen. He paid dearly for his convictions and was very nearly silenced or worse when he became embroiled in 1859 in a controversy over the development of doctrine.
The idea of development was not popular at the time, especially among the hierarchy. So Newman, using history to make his point, wrote about the Arian heresy of the 4th century. Twenty-five years before, he had produced a massive, scholarly history of the Arians and how they failed, despite a 50-year, emperor-supported campaign to impose as church doctrine the belief that Christ was not divine; rather, he was a most elevated, godlike being, but creature nevertheless. Now in a lengthy, pointed article, titled “On Consulting the Faithful on Matters of Doctrine,” Newman argued that the Arian position, shared by the overwhelming majority of the bishops and endorsed by at least one pope, did not become Catholic doctrine because a great mass of the laity along with a handful of priests and bishops resisted. Despite beatings, seizures of property and in some cases martyrdom, they refused, they dissented. They clung to the doctrine of the Council of Nicea, which, they were assured, had been discredited. Only at the First Council of Constantinople was the Arian position repudiated.
Belief in Christ’s divinity was maintained during the greater part of the 4th century, wrote Newman, “not by the unswerving firmness of the Holy See, Councils or Bishops, but … by the consensus fidelium [consent of the faithful]. On the one hand, I say, there was a temporary suspense of the functions of the Ecclesia docens [the teaching church]. The body of the Bishops failed in their confession of the faith. … There were untrustworthy Councils, unfaithful Bishops; there was weakness, fear of consequences, misguidance, delusion, hallucination, endless, hopeless, extending itself into nearly every corner of the Catholic church.”
To explain how such a thing happened (and could happen again), Newman relied on his own, well developed ideas about the “sense” and the “consent” of the faithful. Church teaching, he argued cannot be a top-down enterprise, a one-way street. It must be the result of a conspiratio, literally a breathing together of the faithful and the bishops. It is the first responsibility of the episcopacy and papacy, he said, to listen carefully before teaching doctrine.
And to what must they listen? Said Newman, “I think I am right in saying that the tradition of the Apostles, committed to the whole Church … manifests itself variously at various times: sometimes by the mouth of the episcopacy, sometimes by the doctors, sometimes by the people, sometimes by liturgies … customs, disputes, movements, and all those other phenomena which are comprised under the name of history. It follows that none of these channels of tradition may be treated with disrespect.” This is not to undercut the teaching authority of the bishops, insisted Newman; they must wade through all these sources. And, he added, of all the sources, “I am accustomed to lay stress on the consensus fidelium.”
Newman strove for most of his life as a Roman Catholic to open the minds of English Catholics, lay and clerical. In this he had scant success, living for most of his remaining years under a cloud of suspicion. At one point, he was labeled “the most dangerous man in England.” Then in Newman’s final days Pope Pius IX died and his successor, Leo XIII, removed the cloud by naming Newman a cardinal. It was at the Second Vatican Council that Newman found a larger measure of vindication. Theologians by then had embraced and expanded on his ideas of doctrinal development and the importance of consulting the faithful. The fingerprints of Newman can be found on many council documents, most notably the Dogmatic Constitution of the Church. Pope Paul VI went so far as to say Vatican II was “Newman’s council.”
The beatification of John Henry Newman now seems more a scandal than cause for celebration as those who are determined to rewrite Vatican II seek to enlist Newman in their misrepresentation. He will not join the movement.
[Robert McClory is the author of Faithful Dissenters: Men and Women Who Loved and Changed the Church.]
National Catholic Reporter
There is stark irony in the words Pope Benedict XVI chose when he announced last February his plan to visit England this year and there pronounce John Henry Newman as among the “blessed,” just one step from canonization as a saint. He cited Newman as an example for all the world of opposition to dissent. “In a social milieu that encourages the expression of a variety of opinions on every question that arises,” said the pope, “it is important to recognize dissent for what it is and not to mistake it for a mature contribution to a balanced and wide-ranging debate.”
If Newman’s remains had not decomposed -- as Vatican investigators discovered when they attempted to dig up his coffin in 2008 seeking evidence of his sanctity -- he would have been spinning in his grave. For Newman was as singular a voice for responsible dissent and the rights of the laity as the Roman Catholic church has ever seen. He paid dearly for his convictions and was very nearly silenced or worse when he became embroiled in 1859 in a controversy over the development of doctrine.
The idea of development was not popular at the time, especially among the hierarchy. So Newman, using history to make his point, wrote about the Arian heresy of the 4th century. Twenty-five years before, he had produced a massive, scholarly history of the Arians and how they failed, despite a 50-year, emperor-supported campaign to impose as church doctrine the belief that Christ was not divine; rather, he was a most elevated, godlike being, but creature nevertheless. Now in a lengthy, pointed article, titled “On Consulting the Faithful on Matters of Doctrine,” Newman argued that the Arian position, shared by the overwhelming majority of the bishops and endorsed by at least one pope, did not become Catholic doctrine because a great mass of the laity along with a handful of priests and bishops resisted. Despite beatings, seizures of property and in some cases martyrdom, they refused, they dissented. They clung to the doctrine of the Council of Nicea, which, they were assured, had been discredited. Only at the First Council of Constantinople was the Arian position repudiated.
Belief in Christ’s divinity was maintained during the greater part of the 4th century, wrote Newman, “not by the unswerving firmness of the Holy See, Councils or Bishops, but … by the consensus fidelium [consent of the faithful]. On the one hand, I say, there was a temporary suspense of the functions of the Ecclesia docens [the teaching church]. The body of the Bishops failed in their confession of the faith. … There were untrustworthy Councils, unfaithful Bishops; there was weakness, fear of consequences, misguidance, delusion, hallucination, endless, hopeless, extending itself into nearly every corner of the Catholic church.”
To explain how such a thing happened (and could happen again), Newman relied on his own, well developed ideas about the “sense” and the “consent” of the faithful. Church teaching, he argued cannot be a top-down enterprise, a one-way street. It must be the result of a conspiratio, literally a breathing together of the faithful and the bishops. It is the first responsibility of the episcopacy and papacy, he said, to listen carefully before teaching doctrine.
And to what must they listen? Said Newman, “I think I am right in saying that the tradition of the Apostles, committed to the whole Church … manifests itself variously at various times: sometimes by the mouth of the episcopacy, sometimes by the doctors, sometimes by the people, sometimes by liturgies … customs, disputes, movements, and all those other phenomena which are comprised under the name of history. It follows that none of these channels of tradition may be treated with disrespect.” This is not to undercut the teaching authority of the bishops, insisted Newman; they must wade through all these sources. And, he added, of all the sources, “I am accustomed to lay stress on the consensus fidelium.”
Newman strove for most of his life as a Roman Catholic to open the minds of English Catholics, lay and clerical. In this he had scant success, living for most of his remaining years under a cloud of suspicion. At one point, he was labeled “the most dangerous man in England.” Then in Newman’s final days Pope Pius IX died and his successor, Leo XIII, removed the cloud by naming Newman a cardinal. It was at the Second Vatican Council that Newman found a larger measure of vindication. Theologians by then had embraced and expanded on his ideas of doctrinal development and the importance of consulting the faithful. The fingerprints of Newman can be found on many council documents, most notably the Dogmatic Constitution of the Church. Pope Paul VI went so far as to say Vatican II was “Newman’s council.”
The beatification of John Henry Newman now seems more a scandal than cause for celebration as those who are determined to rewrite Vatican II seek to enlist Newman in their misrepresentation. He will not join the movement.
[Robert McClory is the author of Faithful Dissenters: Men and Women Who Loved and Changed the Church.]
National Catholic Reporter
thank you, Bishop Harpigny!!
By Diogenes | September 15, 2010
Is a bishop above the law?
In the United States, a Catholic priest who is credibly accused of sexual abuse is immediately suspended. He is not allowed to wear clerical garb. If the evidence is clear and damning, he may be permanently dismissed from priestly ministry. He may even be reduced to the lay state-"defrocked," as the newspapers put it-and the Church has nothing more to do with him.
When a bishop is credibly accused of sexual abuse, on the other hand, he is allowed to retire quietly. He retains his title and perquisites. He is treated with respect by his successors; he may even join them in public ceremonies.
Why do bishops escape canonical punishment?
Vatican officials explain that there is no effective provision in canon law for disciplinary action against a bishop. The Pope can request his resignation, but ecclesiastical courts are not set up to take further action against a bishop.
Well, if that is true (and I'll defer to canon lawyers on that question), canon law needs to be changed-as indeed the canon law applicable to the US was changed in response to the sex-abuse crisis.
Bishop Guy Harpigny of Tournai, Belgium, has made this argument regarding the case of his disgraced colleague, Bishop Roger Vangheluwe. Yes, Vangheluwe has resigned. But Bishop Harpigny wants more. Laicization? Why not? An ecclesiastical trial? Yes. "But any signal would be a good one."
Any signal, indeed. Even if a canonical trial is impossible, the faithful can still hope and pray that a few bold bishops will speak out to denounce the colleagues who have dragged our Church into scandal. For most of a decade, American Catholics have waited for a bishop-just one bishop!-to say something like this:
I am appalled by the example of Bishop X. He has betrayed us and harmed the Church. He is no longer welcome at meetings of our episcopal conference. He has stained the honor of the episcopate, and is no longer worthy to bear the title of bishop. I shall pray for his conversion, his welfare, and his salvation. But I can no longer consider him a colleague.
In the US, we're still waiting. But now we hear something very much like that statement, coming from Belgium, where the outrage is still fresh.
Thank you, Bishop Harpigny. Your signal came through, loud and clear.
Is a bishop above the law?
In the United States, a Catholic priest who is credibly accused of sexual abuse is immediately suspended. He is not allowed to wear clerical garb. If the evidence is clear and damning, he may be permanently dismissed from priestly ministry. He may even be reduced to the lay state-"defrocked," as the newspapers put it-and the Church has nothing more to do with him.
When a bishop is credibly accused of sexual abuse, on the other hand, he is allowed to retire quietly. He retains his title and perquisites. He is treated with respect by his successors; he may even join them in public ceremonies.
Why do bishops escape canonical punishment?
Vatican officials explain that there is no effective provision in canon law for disciplinary action against a bishop. The Pope can request his resignation, but ecclesiastical courts are not set up to take further action against a bishop.
Well, if that is true (and I'll defer to canon lawyers on that question), canon law needs to be changed-as indeed the canon law applicable to the US was changed in response to the sex-abuse crisis.
Bishop Guy Harpigny of Tournai, Belgium, has made this argument regarding the case of his disgraced colleague, Bishop Roger Vangheluwe. Yes, Vangheluwe has resigned. But Bishop Harpigny wants more. Laicization? Why not? An ecclesiastical trial? Yes. "But any signal would be a good one."
Any signal, indeed. Even if a canonical trial is impossible, the faithful can still hope and pray that a few bold bishops will speak out to denounce the colleagues who have dragged our Church into scandal. For most of a decade, American Catholics have waited for a bishop-just one bishop!-to say something like this:
I am appalled by the example of Bishop X. He has betrayed us and harmed the Church. He is no longer welcome at meetings of our episcopal conference. He has stained the honor of the episcopate, and is no longer worthy to bear the title of bishop. I shall pray for his conversion, his welfare, and his salvation. But I can no longer consider him a colleague.
In the US, we're still waiting. But now we hear something very much like that statement, coming from Belgium, where the outrage is still fresh.
Thank you, Bishop Harpigny. Your signal came through, loud and clear.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Kathy Kelly: Banning Slaughter
[Kathy Kelly is a recipient of the Pax Christi Maine Oscar Romero Award
September 13, 2010 by CommonDreams.org
In the early 1970’s, I spent two summers slinging pork loins in a Chicago meat-packing factory. Rose Packing Company paid a handful of college students $2.25 an hour to process pork. Donning combat boots, yellow rubber aprons, goggles, hairnets and floor length white smocks that didn’t stay white very long, we’d arrive on the factory floor. Surrounded by deafening machinery, we’d step over small pools of blood and waste, adjusting ourselves to the rancid odors, as we headed to our posts. I’d step onto a milk crate in front of a huge bin full of thawing pork loins. Then, swinging a big, steel T-hook, I’d stab a large pork loin, pull it out of the pile, and plop it on a conveyor belt carrying meat into the pickle juice machine. Sometimes a roar from a foreman would indicate a switch to processing Canadian pork butts, which involved swiftly shoving metal chips behind rectangular cuts of meat. On occasion, I’d be assigned to a machine that squirted meat waste meat into a plastic tubing, part of the process for making hot dogs. I soon became a vegetarian.
But, up until some months ago, if anyone had ever said to me, “Kathy Kelly, you slaughtered animals,” I’m sure I would have denied it, and maybe even felt a bit indignant. Recently, I realized that in fact I did participate in animal slaughter. It’s similar, isn’t it, to widely held perceptions here in the United States about our responsibility for killing people in Afghanistan, in Pakistan, in Iraq and other areas where the U.S. routinely kills civilians.
The actual killing seems distant, almost unnoticeable, and we grow so accustomed to our remote roles that we hardly notice the rising antagonism caused by U.S. aerial attacks, using remotely piloted drones. The drones fire missiles and drop bombs that incinerate people in the targeted area, many of them civilians whose only “crime” is to be living with their family.
Villagers in Afghanistan and Pakistan have little voice in the court of U.S. public opinion and no voice whatsoever in U.S. courts of law. Aiming to raise concern over U.S. usage of drones for targeted killings, 14 of us have been preparing for a trial here in Las Vegas, where we are charged under Nevada state law with having trespassed at Creech Air Force Base, in nearby Indian Springs, Nevada.
The charges stem from an April, 2009 action when several dozen people held vigils at the main gate to Creech AFB for ten days. One of our banners said, “Ground the Drones, Lest Ye Reap the Whirlwind.” Franciscan priest Jerry Zawada’s sign said: “The drones don’t hear the groans of the people on the ground, --and neither do we.” Jerry carried that sign onto the base on April 9, 2009 when 14 of us attempted to deliver several letters to the base commander, Colonel Chambliss. Nevada state authorities charged us with trespass. We believed that international law, which clearly prohibits targeted assassinations, obliged us to prevent drone strikes. “It is incumbent on pilots, whether remote or not, to ensure that a commander’s assessment of the legality of a proposed strike is borne out by visual confirmation,” writes Philip Alston, the UN Special Rapporteur on extrajudicial, summary or arbitrary executions, “and that the target is in fact lawful, and that the requirements of necessity, proportionality, and discrimination are met.”
The United States isn’t at war with Pakistan. U.S. leaders repeatedly stress that Pakistan is our ally. Nevertheless, U.S. operated drones are used for targeted killing in North and South Waziristan. “Targeted killing is the most coercive tactic employed in the war on terrorism,” according to the Harvard Journal. “Unlike detention or interrogation, it is not designed to capture the terrorist, monitor his or her actions, or extract information; simply put, it is designed to eliminate the terrorist.”
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Catholic church is in crisis, but it is still able to influence and inspire
The pope's visit to Britain will prompt some noisy protests, but despite that opposition he deserves to be heard
Madeleine Bunting
The Guardian, Monday 6 September 2010
A wise priest advised me a long time ago never to go near the engine room – the Vatican. Keep well away, he warned. I've always followed his advice. This priest was a man of immense humanity – warm-hearted, gentle, humble and radical in his interpretation of the Catholic faith.
But he has long since died so I have no one to advise me what you do when all the papal panoply of pomp and authority comes to visit, as it will do next week. As someone who took the decision six months ago to withdraw from the Catholicism I was brought up with, I'm bracing myself for an uncomfortable few days. I suspect it will be rather like those excruciating moments when a rather loud elderly relative turns up at the wedding.
Given the sluggish response on ticket sales for the papal events, perhaps there are plenty inside the Catholic church as well as outside who are similarly unconvinced that they want to spend too much time with this German theologian. He may be intellectually brilliant, but he has been remarkably clumsy – and that is putting it charitably – in handling a raft of issues, from the sex abuse scandals, women's ordination, through to relations with Anglicanism and Islam.
That has re-energised the anti-Catholicism that has long been an unpleasant undercurrent in British culture; Guy Fawkes and bonfire night are remnants of the deep distrust and hostility with which Catholics have been regarded. But in recent years, this old tradition has gathered new purpose – one can presume the visit will prompt some noisy protests, at least that is what we have been promised by a range of critics from Peter Tatchell to Richard Dawkins.
Many of the accusations levelled at the Catholic church have substance. This is a church in crisis in the developed world. Outside its huge growth areas in Africa and Asia, it has been badly damaged by the scandal of priests sexually abusing children. In a new poll commissioned by the Catholic weekly the Tablet, more than half (55%) of Catholics thought the sex abuse issue had been badly handled; only 11% were satisfied by the response.
The sex abuse scandals are deeply shocking to Catholics because they strike at the core of the institution's structure: the authority of the priesthood and the deference of the laity. It was not that the incidence of child abusers was higher among the priesthood, but that priests had far more opportunity to reach vulnerable children, and the church's preoccupation with avoiding scandal ensured they were not punished. The wider problem for Catholicism is that the sex abuse scandal over the last decade and a half has coincided with a broader social phenomenon – the end of deference. A model of institutional authority is imploding. The majority of Catholics under 50 no longer expect priests, or even a pope, to give them moral instruction. Teachings on contraception, remarriage and homosexuality are simply ignored.
Timothy Radcliffe, former head of the Dominican order, says the model of what the church is and how it operates is not working any more. He traces the difficulties back to the Counter-Reformation; from the maelstrom of Reformation Europe, a militant Catholicism emerged with a great emphasis on obedience and conformity. It is this model of church that is now struggling. "It's creaking and groaning at the moment," he says.
Congregations are simply voting with their feet; mass attendance in England and Wales in 1991 was 1.3 million, a drop of 40% since 1963, and by 2004 it had fallen to 960,000. Catholic weddings fell by 25% in the 10 years up to 2007, twice the national rate of decline. The number of priests fell by a quarter in 20 years (1985-2005), and the rate of decline is expected to accelerate, given their demographic profile. This last is hugely significant – no one really knows what happens to a church whose rituals and structure are premised on plenty of priests when the supply dries up.
My generation grew up in the rosy afterglow of Vatican Council II, when an extraordinary new energy and optimism had been unleashed in the Church. Latin had finally been abandoned, women gave up wearing the black lace mantilla to church, a new generation of enthusiastic priests arrived in parishes. As one wise old monk told me recently, Rome was abuzz with ideas and debate. In 1969, he remembered, a cardinal stood up in front of his peers and issued a rallying cry for the church to reform itself, identifying its three perennial problems as legalism, clericalism and triumphalism.
It was a brave and accurate analysis then, but what followed in the next decades was the closing down of debate in response to a terrible fear of fragmentation. Successive popes, including the current incumbent, put the unity of the institution above all other priorities. The hatches were battened down. All the debates that have torn the Anglican communion apart in recent years have gone underground in the Catholic church: it's a moot point which is the most effective way for a religious institution to deal with challenge. Both carry a punishingly high cost in terms of authority, credibility and, most important, the affection and loyalty that sustains an institution's life.
It's easy to criticise Catholicism – and plenty do so. But I have no inclination to join that chorus of contempt, even if I have lost faith in the institution. Deeply flawed it may be, but it is an extraordinary institution that has communicated a set of ideals over two millenniums. I have met dozens of remarkable people who ground their great compassion in its traditions and rituals. I have seen and heard people describe how it has made meaning of their frustrations and tragedies, helping shape the story of their lives. We live in a time when such things are little understood but sorely missed.
The Catholic church has always struggled to live up to its idealism, but its own failures don't compromise its conviction in their truth: the unique worth of each human being, divinely created. It has always balanced the subversive radicalism of this belief with its own quest for power and authority; at different times in different places, one wins out over the other. A global institution a billion strong will always be riddled with paradox and contradictions.
While it has failed on many fronts to engage with social change – the position of women or a reappraisal of its attitudes to sexuality – in other areas it has been strikingly successful. The papacy has been a powerful critic of the arms trade, war, global inequality. Above all, the church has mounted a powerful intellectual critique of capitalism for more than a century, challenging its inequality and instrumentalisation of human beings as a means to achieve profit. Curiously, this tradition is feeding into British politics more directly than ever before – both the Red Tory Philip Blond and Labour's favourite new speechwriter Maurice Glasman acknowledge its influence.
So the Catholic church may be down, but it's not out. It still has the capacity to influence and inspire. Its current predicament provokes huge questions about how religious faith is being transformed by modernity – its institutions stretched to breaking point. While the pope
Madeleine Bunting
The Guardian, Monday 6 September 2010
A wise priest advised me a long time ago never to go near the engine room – the Vatican. Keep well away, he warned. I've always followed his advice. This priest was a man of immense humanity – warm-hearted, gentle, humble and radical in his interpretation of the Catholic faith.
But he has long since died so I have no one to advise me what you do when all the papal panoply of pomp and authority comes to visit, as it will do next week. As someone who took the decision six months ago to withdraw from the Catholicism I was brought up with, I'm bracing myself for an uncomfortable few days. I suspect it will be rather like those excruciating moments when a rather loud elderly relative turns up at the wedding.
Given the sluggish response on ticket sales for the papal events, perhaps there are plenty inside the Catholic church as well as outside who are similarly unconvinced that they want to spend too much time with this German theologian. He may be intellectually brilliant, but he has been remarkably clumsy – and that is putting it charitably – in handling a raft of issues, from the sex abuse scandals, women's ordination, through to relations with Anglicanism and Islam.
That has re-energised the anti-Catholicism that has long been an unpleasant undercurrent in British culture; Guy Fawkes and bonfire night are remnants of the deep distrust and hostility with which Catholics have been regarded. But in recent years, this old tradition has gathered new purpose – one can presume the visit will prompt some noisy protests, at least that is what we have been promised by a range of critics from Peter Tatchell to Richard Dawkins.
Many of the accusations levelled at the Catholic church have substance. This is a church in crisis in the developed world. Outside its huge growth areas in Africa and Asia, it has been badly damaged by the scandal of priests sexually abusing children. In a new poll commissioned by the Catholic weekly the Tablet, more than half (55%) of Catholics thought the sex abuse issue had been badly handled; only 11% were satisfied by the response.
The sex abuse scandals are deeply shocking to Catholics because they strike at the core of the institution's structure: the authority of the priesthood and the deference of the laity. It was not that the incidence of child abusers was higher among the priesthood, but that priests had far more opportunity to reach vulnerable children, and the church's preoccupation with avoiding scandal ensured they were not punished. The wider problem for Catholicism is that the sex abuse scandal over the last decade and a half has coincided with a broader social phenomenon – the end of deference. A model of institutional authority is imploding. The majority of Catholics under 50 no longer expect priests, or even a pope, to give them moral instruction. Teachings on contraception, remarriage and homosexuality are simply ignored.
Timothy Radcliffe, former head of the Dominican order, says the model of what the church is and how it operates is not working any more. He traces the difficulties back to the Counter-Reformation; from the maelstrom of Reformation Europe, a militant Catholicism emerged with a great emphasis on obedience and conformity. It is this model of church that is now struggling. "It's creaking and groaning at the moment," he says.
Congregations are simply voting with their feet; mass attendance in England and Wales in 1991 was 1.3 million, a drop of 40% since 1963, and by 2004 it had fallen to 960,000. Catholic weddings fell by 25% in the 10 years up to 2007, twice the national rate of decline. The number of priests fell by a quarter in 20 years (1985-2005), and the rate of decline is expected to accelerate, given their demographic profile. This last is hugely significant – no one really knows what happens to a church whose rituals and structure are premised on plenty of priests when the supply dries up.
My generation grew up in the rosy afterglow of Vatican Council II, when an extraordinary new energy and optimism had been unleashed in the Church. Latin had finally been abandoned, women gave up wearing the black lace mantilla to church, a new generation of enthusiastic priests arrived in parishes. As one wise old monk told me recently, Rome was abuzz with ideas and debate. In 1969, he remembered, a cardinal stood up in front of his peers and issued a rallying cry for the church to reform itself, identifying its three perennial problems as legalism, clericalism and triumphalism.
It was a brave and accurate analysis then, but what followed in the next decades was the closing down of debate in response to a terrible fear of fragmentation. Successive popes, including the current incumbent, put the unity of the institution above all other priorities. The hatches were battened down. All the debates that have torn the Anglican communion apart in recent years have gone underground in the Catholic church: it's a moot point which is the most effective way for a religious institution to deal with challenge. Both carry a punishingly high cost in terms of authority, credibility and, most important, the affection and loyalty that sustains an institution's life.
It's easy to criticise Catholicism – and plenty do so. But I have no inclination to join that chorus of contempt, even if I have lost faith in the institution. Deeply flawed it may be, but it is an extraordinary institution that has communicated a set of ideals over two millenniums. I have met dozens of remarkable people who ground their great compassion in its traditions and rituals. I have seen and heard people describe how it has made meaning of their frustrations and tragedies, helping shape the story of their lives. We live in a time when such things are little understood but sorely missed.
The Catholic church has always struggled to live up to its idealism, but its own failures don't compromise its conviction in their truth: the unique worth of each human being, divinely created. It has always balanced the subversive radicalism of this belief with its own quest for power and authority; at different times in different places, one wins out over the other. A global institution a billion strong will always be riddled with paradox and contradictions.
While it has failed on many fronts to engage with social change – the position of women or a reappraisal of its attitudes to sexuality – in other areas it has been strikingly successful. The papacy has been a powerful critic of the arms trade, war, global inequality. Above all, the church has mounted a powerful intellectual critique of capitalism for more than a century, challenging its inequality and instrumentalisation of human beings as a means to achieve profit. Curiously, this tradition is feeding into British politics more directly than ever before – both the Red Tory Philip Blond and Labour's favourite new speechwriter Maurice Glasman acknowledge its influence.
So the Catholic church may be down, but it's not out. It still has the capacity to influence and inspire. Its current predicament provokes huge questions about how religious faith is being transformed by modernity – its institutions stretched to breaking point. While the pope
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