A publication of Sacred Heart University. All opinions are solely those of the authors.

Remembering Fr. Gustavo Gutierrez, O.P., Pilgrim of Hope

The existence of poverty represents a sundering both of solidarity among persons and also of communion with God. Poverty is an expression ... of a negation of love. It is therefore incompatible with the coming of the Kingdom of God, a Kingdom of love and justice. Poverty is an evil, a scandalous condition ... To eliminate it is to bring closer the moment of seeing God face to face, in union with other persons.
—Father Gustavo Gutierrez

In 2024, Pope Francis issued the bull of indiction “Spes non confundit,” proclaiming 2025 the Jubilee Year of Hope and encouraging all people to cultivate hope as a “constant companion” in their daily interactions and so become, literally and figuratively, “pilgrims of hope.” The bull urges people to be optimistic yet realistic about the world, to strive for patience and to demonstrate compassion, to transform the “signs of the times” into signs of hope and to forge “a social covenant to support and foster hope, one that is inclusive and not ideological.” Not surprisingly, Pope Francis casts that covenant in the rhetorical turn of Matthew 25: where there is war, we must endeavor to create peace; where there are prisoners, we should strive for forgiveness and restoration; where there are immigrants or refugees, we should offer welcome with open hearts; and where there is poverty, we should endeavor to ameliorate economic inequities in modern society.

The Pope’s message brought to mind Fr. Gustavo Gutierrez, O.P., who died in October 2024. Fr. Gutierrez was indeed a “pilgrim of hope.” While it has been a facile distraction for some to denounce Gutierrez’s call for liberation of the poor and his impassioned witness to the moral hypocrisy of the Church (and many privileged Catholics) with the claim of theological censure, thus avoid his critique altogether. However, Pope Francis and several contemporary Catholic theologians do agree that his work was profoundly grounded in the teachings of Jesus Christ and concordant with Catholic doctrine. Gutierrez understood that to be poor was to suffer an accretion of humiliations and injustices: to be poor, as he wrote, “... means to die of hunger, to be illiterate, to be exploited by others, not to know that you are being exploited, not to know that you are a person.” He consistently reminded the Church about the inviolability of the dignity of every person, and how poverty is a moral offense against that dignity. He struggled to appraise honestly the history of the Church with regard to the poor (notably since the rise of modern capitalism in the West) and to call for a spiritual and moral renewal within the Church and among the privileged faithful. Sadly, the call is still relevant: according to the most current (2023) study by the World Bank, nearly half (47%) of the world’s population lives on less than $50 a week and of that group, about 8% live on less than $14 a week. The populations enduring the direst poverty are concentrated mostly in sub-Saharan Africa and Latin America, regions of the fastest growing and largest Catholic populations worldwide.

Gutierrez persisted in hope. He anticipated that the global Church would remember itself as a living entity that must have a consequential presence in the actual lives of people, not just in its vaulted edifices but in homeless shelters and forsaken farms and border crossings and migrant refuges. He was mindful of the social risk of speaking truth to power, but also of his moral obligation. Many leaders of the Church seem too interested in remaining close to the dark halls of a brutal secular power, and a majority of Catholics (56%), with their vote in November, have stepped away from the teaching of universal human dignity and compassion for the poor. The teachings of Gutierrez remain a rebuke to such rampant hypocrisy. It is imperative for the Church to readjust its perspective and see Christ, as St. Teresa of Calcutta wrote, in the face of every person, especially the poor, the ailing and the stateless. Or, as Gutierrez explained,

Our encounter with the Lord occurs in our encounter with others, especially in the encounter with those whose human features have been disfigured by oppression, despoliation, and alienation and who have “no beauty, no majesty” but are the things “from which men turn away their eyes” (Isa. 53:2-3)

To look upon the anguish of modern society and to face it actively, sustained by faith, hope and great love, is to encounter the Lord. So we are called during these troubled times.


June-Ann Greeley is a medievalist and professor of Catholic studies, theology and religious studies at Sacred Heart University.


Kasper’s Suggestion

Back around 1979, I had occasion to visit a Jesuit colleague of mine, the late John Macken, who was doing doctoral studies in Tubingen under Walter Kasper. John invited me to accompany him to a lecture his Doctorvater Kasper was giving. It happened that at the time there was a good deal of controversy at Tubingen owing to the Vatican withdrawing Hans Kung’s license to teach Catholic theology. Before the lecture began, one of the large group of students took over the podium and demanded that Kasper address the issue around Kung. Feelings were running high in the auditorium. Kasper calmly refused, and over half the students walked out in protest.

But then, in the middle of his lecture, Kasper did indeed address, at least obliquely, the burning issue of the day. He noted, in a throwaway comment, that for a long time the Roman authorities had been trying to woo German theological professors to come to Rome to teach in the Roman Catholic universities and serve in various Vatican departments, but that the take up had been poor. Kasper speculated the reason to be the superior conditions of remuneration and standard of living in German universities at the time. It was all said very calmly and matter of factly, but the implications were pointed.

I thought of that later when Kasper himself went to Rome to serve as prefect of the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity. In the meantime, he had a distinguished career as a theological professor, was ordained bishop in 1989 and appointed a cardinal in 2001. I met him personally in Dublin in 1989 when I spoke at a conference organized by the Irish Theological Association at which he was a keynote speaker. He was affable, moderate and yet not afraid to take a position. He subsequently locked theological horns with Joseph Ratzinger on a number of occasions (most notably in a learned discussion on the priorities of the local and the universal in ecclesiology), promoted the view that divorced and remarried Catholics should be eligible to receive communion (a position Pope Francis came some way to meet in Amoris Laetitia) and has been critical of the synodal pathway in the German Church.

Against this background, I found his recent suggestion on the issue of the female diaconate intriguing. He is reported as saying that in his opinion the ordination of women as deacons is theologically possible and pastorally meaningful. “There are good reasons that make it theologically possible and pastorally sensible to open the permanent diaconate to women … each local church would be free to decide whether to make use of this possibility or not.”

There are two aspects of this opinion that are intriguing. First, Kasper makes it clear that he had struggled with the answer to this question for some time (he is now in his 90s). He notes the historical evidence, not just of female diaconate, but also of development, in what we now call the Sacrament of Orders, in response to pastoral needs. He makes it clear that he is speaking of the permanent diaconate, not diaconate as a transitional stage to priestly ordination. But all this begs the question: why not, then, priestly ordination? Certainly, as Phyllis Zagano of this parish has noted, within the “unicity of orders” framework, the argument that women cannot be ordained deacons because they cannot be ordained priests can easily be turned around—“since women can be ordained as deacons … women can be ordained as priests.” Surely the historical evidence shows that the whole structure of orders developed primarily in response to pastoral needs, so that, as Karl Rahner argued in response to Inter Insigniores, the burden of proof now lies with those (the official Magisterium) who insist that the Church has no authority to ordain women? Are we not in danger of prioritizing ressourcement over aggiornamento in an historical positivism which, against Congar and historical evidence, would argue that only that which has occurred in the past is permissible in the future?

The second aspect is even more intriguing. It is clear post-Synod that while the question of female diaconate has been left open, there is nothing like a consensus around it yet in the universal Church. In this context is it imaginable that, as Kasper suggests, this might be something left to each local Church, while allowing of course some powers of veto to Rome in order to ensure ongoing communion? Perhaps providentially this is the kind of vista opened up by a study document entitled “The Bishop of Rome,” which has fed into the synodal study group on the Petrine ministry. This document, a summary of ecumenical dialogues and responses to the invitation of John Paul II in Ut Unum Sint to reimagine the Petrine ministry as a service of love and unity, time and again recommends consideration of strengthening the authority (including doctrinal authority) of local and regional synods/councils/episcopal conferences. Might it be conceivable that in non-dogmatic matters the Catholic Church might become more open to a local/regional reading of the “signs of the times,” that it would be unwise and indeed unjust to impose on regions of a quite different moral and cultural sensibility?


Gerry O’Hanlon is an Irish Jesuit theologian and author.


Women: Protagonists in a Synodal Church

Many Catholic women followed the October 2023 and 2024 sessions of the Synodal Assembly For a Synodal Church with a sense of hope and anticipation. When, following an extensive global consultation, the document for the continental stage, “Enlarge the Space of your Tent” devoted more space to women’s experience than to any other issue, they began—after a long exile—to feel seen and heard. That report recorded the “urgent and critical” necessity of rethinking women’s participation at every level of ecclesial life. Women, who constitute “the majority of the practicing … and active members of the church” and were “most committed to the synodal process” consistently experience themselves as misunderstood and their contributions as not valued. While they share a “common baptismal dignity” with all other members of the church, lay and religious women in every cultural context find few spaces to “make their voices heard” as they are systematically “excluded from decision-making processes.”

Three principal issues emerged and were proposed as means to foster a substantial increase in women’s participation in ecclesial life: “the active role of women in the governing structures of the Church bodies, the possibility for women with adequate training to preach in parish settings and a female diaconate.” The media and many North American groups have focused so much on the last of these considerations—the ordination of women to the diaconate—that important progress in other areas risks being neglected or lost from view.

The Synthesis Report of the first session of the assembly devoted an entire section of reflections and proposals to “Women in the Life and Mission of the Church,” affirming the equality of their baptismal dignity and co-responsibility. It urged that women be considered not “as an issue or a problem,” but rather as “protagonists, without subordination, exclusion and competition.” Further, it commended an increase in opportunities for the participation of women in processes of decision-making and for greater responsibility in pastoral ministry. It advocated for just working conditions and a fair wage, greater access to theological studies and an increase in the presence of women in centers of theological education, seminary formation and canonical tribunals.

While in some cultures women are just beginning to overcome these barriers, they are unlikely to strike North American women as revolutionary. Since the Second Vatican Council, women on this continent have enjoyed access to theological studies. They serve on parish and diocesan councils, shoulder a large share of pastoral ministry, work as catechists, formators, spiritual directors, canon lawyers, diocesan chancellors, professors of theology and more.

The first generations of women to step into these new roles following the Second Vatican Council discovered a new consciousness of their baptismal identity as perhaps the greatest source of their liberation. Yet to this day, few receive material support from their local communities as they pursue their education and training for ministry. Often, they navigate the path of vocational discernment and formation in the absence of structures or processes of accompaniment. As the synodal consultation revealed, their positions remain highly precarious, not meaningfully integrated into diocesan structures. Too often taken for granted, their contributions are not valued and at times are perceived as a direct threat to clerical power. A synodal conversion is needed if we are to overcome the competitive dynamic that inhibits the full witness of women and men in communion. Such a conversion might also pave the way toward a welcoming of women’s gifts in a fully restored permanent diaconate—a question that remains open, as the final document affirms.

The second session focused on the structural dimensions of synodality, the how, asking what needs to change in the structures and practices of the church at every level for a more synodal and participative culture to take root. The question of women’s participation was not relegated entirely to a study group. Each time the final document reflects on the participation and co-responsibility of the baptized faithful in any aspect of ecclesial life, it envisions women and men collaborating and witnessing together.

A much-neglected area of progress relates to the inclusion of women’s stories in the prayer and teaching of the church, in addition to the use of inclusive language. The final document asks, “that more attention be given to the language and images used in preaching, teaching, catechesis and the drafting of official Church documents, giving more space to the contributions of female saints, theologians and mystics.” While this plea might seem a small thing and has yet to be met by concrete action, it is no small achievement. After decades of counterproductive debate on the correct approach to the translation and adaptation of liturgical texts, or the need to include a wider selection of biblical stories that reflect women’s experience, an inclusive approach is now proposed as an obligatory path for every local church, for translations into every language and for the acts of the universal church. Such a commitment must be seen as the fruition of the painstaking effort of women scholars who have sought to retrieve the forgotten voices of women in the scriptures and the broad tradition of the church.

In recent weeks Pope Francis has continued to follow the trajectory sketched out by the Synod on Synodality by naming competent women to positions of leadership within the Roman Curia and to the Council of the Synod. There is still a long road ahead before the vision of the synod takes flesh in the local churches. Without women as full protagonists, there can be no synodal renewal.


Catherine E. Clifford, is a professor at Saint Paul University, Ontario.


The Catholic Abuse Crisis Is So Over

It was probably inevitable that American Catholics would eventually move on from the clergy sexual abuse crisis. But I’m still surprised that when they did, it wasn’t a matter of “scandal fatigue” as much as a conscious decision that sex abuse really wasn’t that big of a deal after all. That’s effectively what happened when a clear majority of Catholic voters—and nearly six in 10 white Catholic voters—went for serial sex pest Donald Trump over Kamala Harris in the presidential election last November. Catholic enthusiasm for Trump makes the Catholic cohort Trump’s most reliable religious voting bloc after white evangelicals and, given the strategic importance of the Catholic vote in swing states, Catholic votes made Trump the next president. The outcome of the presidential balloting also made sexual predation a feature of the nation’s preferred leadership model rather than a disqualification.

How is it that Catholics who professed to being so scarred by the church’s betrayal in covering for abusive clerics that they stopped going to Mass suddenly found themselves ready and willing to flock to the voting booth to pull the lever for someone like Donald Trump? How is it that they could be fine with the incoming president picking men like Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. and Matt Gaetz and Pete Hegseth and Elon Musk as top officials and advisers despite the slurry of appalling allegations of sexual misconduct and infidelities, cover-ups and even sex trafficking?

American Catholics who had been furious over the church’s clergy abuse crisis suddenly had no problem supporting a president and nominees for top education and law enforcement positions who would be barred from ever working in a Catholic school or parish. Nor were these Catholic voters too concerned about opening the church up to the kind of jabs they would have once decried as intolerable Catholic baiting: “GOP to quietly move Matt Gaetz to a new parish,” as one social media commenter quipped when Gaetz was finally forced to withdraw as Trump’s nominee for attorney general.

Gibsonscreenshot

No pushback was possible, and none was forthcoming. To denounce the alleged abusers would have hurt Team Trump. Perhaps this outcome was also foreseeable. Catholics who had for decades seen the church primarily as another useful front in the culture wars naturally saw the abuse scandal as another useful weapon against their foes. The victims were secondary. In 2002, at the height of the abuse crisis, the conservative law professor and future ambassador to the Holy See, Mary Ann Glendon, criticized church reform efforts sparked by the scandal and famously declared that “awarding the Pulitzer Prize to the Boston Globe would be like giving the Nobel Peace Prize to Osama bin Laden.” 

In her recent memoir, Glendon did not attempt to revise or even moderate her opinion but instead doubled down on her criticism of the media for its “misleading” coverage and defended John Paul II as the one whose guidance the church should have followed—despite the damning evidence that has continued to emerge of the late pope’s terrible failures to address the abuses. Similarly, conservative culture warriors like the Catholic League’s Bill Donohue have continued to frame the abuse crisis as the fault of gay priests who he regularly defamed as equivalent to pedophiles. Donohue recently went so far as to tar the National Catholic Reporter as “ideologically responsible for the clergy sexual abuse scandal.” That redefines chutzpah given that NCR more than any other outlet was responsible for breaking the clergy abuse scandal.

Last summer, when the Vatican expelled leaders of an elite conservative Peruvian religious community following allegations of physical and sexual abuse, cult-like behavior and “sadism and violence,” among other things, American friends and allies of the disgraced leaders of the society rushed to their defense. “The problem with the Vatican’s latest intervention is the odor of excess, canonical looseness, ecclesial payback, personal vendetta and ideological resentment that clings to it,” Francis X. Maier, a friend and admirer of many of the accused, wrote in one of several articles defending the SCV in the journal First Things.

That First Things hosted such attacks against victims and defenses of abusers is especially resonant given that the journal’s late founder and editor, Richard John Neuhaus, used those same pages to categorically defend Father Marcial Maciel Degollado, founder of the Legionaries of Christ, and one of the most depraved clerical abusers who benefited from decades of studious incuriosity during the papacy of John Paul II. 

The saga of former cardinal Theodore McCarrick is another case in point. In June 2018, Pope Francis removed McCarrick, by then 88 and long retired, from ministry and eventually laicized him following credible accusations of child abuse. But conservatives suddenly found in the McCarrick case a chance to appear as crusaders against abuse by trying to hang the McCarrick case on Francis and on any bishop seen as allied with the pope’s reformist vision for the church. This propagandizing required a prodigious amount of historical rewriting and bottomless credulity, but the partisans would not be deterred. The latest iteration of this dynamic occurred when Francis this month named San Diego’s Cardinal Robert McElroy to Washington. Conservative critics mobilized, bending space and time so as to make McElroy—separated by decades and an entire continent from McCarrick—somehow responsible for the former cardinal’s predatory career. It would be absurd if it weren’t so awful, and ironic.

The consistent through line of the Catholic abuse crisis has always been that the bishops were the bad guys and that lay Catholics would be the ones with the sense of justice and moral outrage to set things right. That narrative doesn’t hold any longer. Combatting sexual abuse was supposed to be a unifying commitment in a polarized church, and an issue that Catholics would be remembered for. The presidential vote and other developments show instead that the sexual abuse scandal was for all too many Catholics just another tool to advance an agenda—diminishing real abuse to protect their allies and generating imagined scenarios to hurt their foes.

It feels like we are back where we started.


David Gibson is a journalist and author and director of the Center on Religion and Culture at Fordham University. 


Traditions and Tourist Attractions

The December 8 reopening ceremonies of Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris following a whirlwind restoration in the wake of the 2019 fire that nearly felled the famed Gothic edifice drew worldwide attention. Along with St. Peter’s Basilica, it stands as one of the most recognized and revered church structures in the world, as evinced by the outpouring of memories on social media channels during the fire. The rededication also notably took place during the Advent season (more specifically on the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, a feast of Mary to whom the Cathedral is dedicated), when Catholics prepare to celebrate Christmas, the second most significant feast of the liturgical year and one celebrated lavishly both in churches and in households.

For many, Notre-Dame and Christmas both represent celebrations of traditions built up throughout the ages. Indeed, many may combine the two by giving or receiving the Notre-Dame LEGO set released earlier this year. Yet, in both cases, what appear to be perennial traditions represent a kind of pastiche reflecting centuries of accretions and deletions. Both have been in continuous, if uneven, development for centuries.

The restoration of Notre-Dame notably does not return it to its original medieval condition—if that could even be described or recovered with complete accuracy at this juncture—but rather to a 19th-century renovation (famous for the large spire that collapsed during the fire) carried out by Eugéne Viollet-Le-Duc in the wake of Victor Hugo’s celebrated novel Notre-Dame de Paris. Notre-Dame had famously experienced some tribulations in the previous centuries, including a stint as the Temple of Reason (and then the Supreme Being). Viollet-le-Duc’s Notre-Dame restoration was joined in monumental, tourist-attraction Paris by the street plan of Baron Haussmann, designed in part to eliminate spaces for the revolutionary demonstrations that had animated the city since 1789. Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre was built for similar political purposes. The new restoration raises Viollet-le-Duc’s renovation—enshrined by the rise of photography and tourism shortly after its completion—to a kind of canonical status. This was certainly the safest approach, and better than some possible alternatives, but raises questions about the vitality of Notre-Dame as the cathedral of a living, changing Catholic community.

Pope Francis notably declined the invitation to Notre-Dame’s restoration, choosing instead to take a trip to Corsica (a location with whose denizens the French have a fraught history) in part to emphasize the suffering of migrants who come ashore there in their crossing of the Mediterranean from North Africa. This approach does not reject the value of structures such as Notre-Dame but places them in the context of a faith whose core beliefs speak to the dignity of the human person and community.

Like Notre-Dame, our celebrations of Christmas have historical layers that sometimes go unnoticed. In the English-speaking world, Christmas celebrations famously went into abeyance for several hundred years following the Reformation; Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol and higher-church Anglican liturgical developments helped to revive the holiday. Seemingly perennial traditions such as the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King’s College in Cambridge are just over a century old. Santa Claus, beloved giver of gifts to children, merges the real-life Saint Nicholas, Coca-Cola merchandising and various European traditions concerning gift-giving figures. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of this, but it is a helpful prophylactic to nostalgia to understand how our traditions are always in flux even as they might appear unchanging.

It is a common but facile argument to claim that because a tradition is constructed or a pastiche that this takes away from its meaning. We see this every Christmas when skeptics point out the relationship of its celebration to the Winter Solstice and the nature of Matthew and Luke’s infancy narratives as texts (and their deep inconsistencies with one another). Yet the true meaning of Christmas, to paraphrase many a TV special, stands or falls on the deeper reality the celebration signifies—the Incarnation of God as human in Jesus Christ—and on its connection to the Paschal Mystery (it is no coincidence that Christmas and Easter have historically had many overlapping musical and other motifs). Like any tenet of the faith, this is worth questioning and considering in its own right, but is stronger and more serious than mere “Christmas magic.”

Not far from its more famous namesake, on the outskirts of Paris sits the less famous church of Notre-Dame du Raincy. This church, built in 1922 as a monument to World War I, is built of concrete with large walls of glass. Its brightly lit interior evokes almost four decades in advance the “opening of the windows” that John XXIII hoped for from Vatican II. It anticipates buildings such as St. Joseph’s Cathedral in Hartford, which takes a similar approach in less “pure” form. Yet its stark interior might evoke fascist architecture for some, and its steeply raised altar reinforces clericalism in the liturgy. Even the best modern designs and updates to the tradition are still waystations on a pilgrimage.

Tradition, then, is not a tourist attraction meant to be packaged and admired, but an evolving reality respondent to the signs of the times and the needs of the community. We can celebrate its past glories while being clear-eyed about the need for reform and renewal. Pope Francis has attempted to do this by focusing the church on synodality, but his reforms—especially on crucial issues like women’s roles in the church—have stopped short of even some seemingly modest reforms such as a female diaconate. In the U.S., snazzily packaged (literally) versions of the tradition—up to and including the documents of Vatican II—by outfits such as Word on Fire have attempted something parallel to what I would argue the French government has achieved: a Catholicism safe to consume for contemporary Americans.

This Christmas, as we reflect on our traditions and indeed celebrate Notre-Dame’s survival and restoration, we might well attend to the words of the prophet Malachi that make up my favorite aria in another Christmas tradition (though its totality is arguably more appropriate for Eastertide), Handel’s Messiah: “But who may abide the day of His coming, and who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner’s fire.”


Daniel A. Rober is a systematic theologian and Catholic studies professor at Sacred Heart University.


From the Other Side of the Border

The Feast of the Nativity, we know, is a story beginning with a journey: the beleaguered family searching fruitlessly for safety and shelter. It includes a questionable border crossing: was the Holy Family free to enter Egypt? Every Christmas cycle calls us, as Christians, to search for ourselves in that journey of Divine Incarnation, where we see humanity in its essence—in short, humanity in need—embodied in the Christ child. For people of faith, Christmas isn’t meant to be marking a historical event, but it is the journey of discovering God with us, in us and for us. Yet our place in the journey of the Holy Family this year, in North America, seems neglected (or perhaps distorted).

The U.S. enters this Christmas having chosen—with the support of a majority of Catholics—a political path that promises drastic reduction of immigration and deportation of millions already in the country. The targeting of “the other,” “the foreigner” is sadly a perennial human vice. Canada has caught this anti-immigrant trend as well. On both sides of the border, arguments create a scapegoat for our social ills: inflation, job/housing shortages, homelessness, the list goes on. We say immigrants are “sneaking in illegally” and destroying the lifestyle we believe is our (God-given) right. Few seem willing to critique our institutions and economic priorities in order to recognize and address social inequalities that exist regardless of immigration. It is easier to blame the newcomer, the refugee, for our current problems.

When we, as Catholics, jump on the anti-immigration bandwagon, we are abandoning the Christmas journey, choosing the comfort of the inn that turned away the poor couple, exhausted, homeless, about to give birth to their first child. Once we are ensconced in the “inside” with others guarding their privilege and security, we conveniently forget that overwhelmingly in the U.S. and Canada, Catholics are an immigrant people. Historically, except for our Canadian provinces of Québec and New Brunswick, Catholics have lived as a minority within the various jurisdictions—wanderers seeking shelter, wanting to belong.

How disappointing it is when “wanting to belong” results in forgetting how we came here (who we subjugated), who we are following and who we could be. The recent election reinforces the extent to which Catholics in Canada and the U.S. have become “just like everyone.” Forgetting where we came from—an immigrant people, searching for a better life—we close our hearts to the cry of the world’s poor and the laments of those whom we displaced. Regardless of which side of the border we call home, we accept as “reasonable” the anti-immigration rhetoric that immigration (legal or not) threatens our “scarce” resources in economically challenging times (although we live in two of the wealthiest countries in the world). We prioritize our fear over our compassion. We, who are called to be in the world but not of it, set aside our prophetic call in favor of standing in unison with the men of this world.

Thankfully, Church leaders have spoken out. In response to the election of Donald Trump, the president of the U.S. bishops’ conference, Archbishop Broglio, reminded us that the United States must show concern for “those outside our borders and [be] eager to offer assistance to all.” Echoing this sentiment, Cardinal Cupich said, “We must never tire of living our tradition of service to the needy, of welcoming the stranger, of respecting the dignity of human life, care of the planet and outreach to all those living at society’s margins.” Catholic bishops have spoken out against the dehumanization of immigrants and advocated for the need to strengthen our Catholic commitment to the Church’s social teachings. But their words are not enough: you and I must stop our acquiescence to the anti-immigrant, anti-refugee blame game!

As Christians, we cannot give up our vocation of witnessing the Gospel in exchange for stability, comfort and acceptance by the mainstream. Rather, we must remember that at the core, our faith is the faith of a wandering people who journeyed through the desert, lost, but with hope of a future home. We want to find true comfort and solace in following Christ, our Lord, born homeless, whose parents then had to flee with him to a foreign land. Our faith compels us to be a people of welcome and compassion. Borders are not the answer to that critical question: “And who is my neighbor?”  In Luke (10:37), even the lawyer recognized that “neighbor” was not defined by law, but by mercy.

Merry Christmas! Christ is Born!


Myroslaw Tataryn is professor emeritus at St. Jerome’s University, Canada, and a Ukrainian Greco-Catholic priest.


New Cardinals, an Aging Pope and the Upcoming Conclave

Pope Francis turns 88 on December 17th. Depending on how one keeps score, that will make him something like the fifth or sixth oldest man ever to occupy the Chair of Peter. According to legend, Pope Saint Agatho holds the all-time record. A Benedictine hermit from Sicily, he was supposedly 104 years old (some say perhaps even 107) when he died in the late 7th century as Bishop of Rome. Nonetheless, Agatho, who was called the Wonderworker, had a short reign. He did not even become a cardinal until he was 99 years old. And he was already 101 when elected pope.

More than fourteen centuries later, another 99-year-old will finally become a cardinal of the Holy Roman Church. He’s Archbishop Angelo Acerbi, a retired papal nuncio who is among 21 men who will receive the red hat from Francis during a December 7th consistory in St. Peter's Basilica. No one seriously expects that the same fate awaits Acerbi as that of the ancient St. Agatho, though stranger things have happened—some would say even in this current pontificate! But more than doing strange things, Francis has deliberately been disruptive, putting forth new challenges and instituting reforms of various magnitudes at many different levels throughout the Church. He's done this to rouse a tired institution that is helplessly watching its center of gravity dramatically shift away from Europe towards Africa and Asia. He's done this to shake the Church from its complacency and self-preservation, its tendency to wallow in self-absorption.

This year's Advent consistory, the tenth of the Francis pontificate, is the Jesuit pope's latest "shock to the system." Among the 20 new cardinals who are under the age of 80, and thus still able to participate in a conclave, are men with a wide variety of talents and experience. Seventeen are still under the age of 70, thirteen of them are 65 or younger, and seven have not yet reached their 60th birthday. These younger members—like Frank Leo, 53, the archbishop of Toronto; Baldassare Reina, 54, vicar of Rome; and Roberto Repole, 57, archbishop of Turin—will likely become increasingly influential in the Church's life over the coming decades. The pope certainly expects them to be major actors in ensuring that his ambitious project of synodality takes root throughout the Church. Francis has also chosen impressive, more senior men to be members of the College of Cardinals. Keep an eye, especially, on two Divine Word Missionaries. The first is Tarcisio Kikuchi, 66, who is archbishop of Tokyo and president of Caritas Internationalis. The second is Ladislav (László) Német, 68, a polyglot Hungarian who is archbishop of Belgrade (Serbia). But perhaps the most interesting in this otherwise “younger” group is 79-year-old Timothy Radcliffe, the English Dominican and former head of the worldwide Order of Preachers. A scripture scholar and popular author and speaker, he was the chief spiritual director and preacher at the past two Synod assemblies. Those gatherings focused on ways to make synodality an essential component of the Church’s life, witness and decision-making. By making Radcliffe a cardinal, the Jesuit pope has ensured that the Dominican theologian’s voice will be heard during (or at least in the closed-door meeting before) the next conclave to elect his successor as Bishop of Rome.

And when might that happen? No one—except, perhaps, Francis himself—can say for sure. The first-ever pope to come from the Society of Jesus and the New World is still extremely busy. But it cannot be denied that he is increasingly showing signs of slowing down. He has good days and, more and more, days that are not so good. He is sometimes short of breath and his voice is audibly weaker, which is only normal. Still, he is determined to soldier on, some say stubbornly so. Before he marks his 88th birthday, he will not only have held the cardinal-making consistory, but he will also make a day trip to the neighboring French island of Corsica (roughly a one-hour flight from Rome). The fact that he’s decided to go there instead of to Paris for the inauguration of the newly restored Notre Dame Cathedral has angered many in France and dismayed some more classical-minded Catholics from around the world. Their discontent over the “papal snub,” as many have called it, demonstrates that they still have failed to understand what Francis holds as top priority—people (especially those on the existential and spiritual margins), rather than church buildings and artifacts (especially those ornate ones bankrolled for cultural or political reasons).

After blowing out the 88 candles on his birthday cake, the Argentine pope will officially open the Church’s latest Holy Year on Christmas Eve at the Vatican. A few months later—on March 13, specifically—he will mark the 12th anniversary of his election as Bishop of Rome. That number is especially significant for the Jesuits, whose superiors (with the exception of the Father General in Rome) usually serve terms of six years. Thus, it will be the equivalent of two such terms for Francis, who, in this span of time, has never returned to his “former diocese” (as he likes to call it) in Buenos Aires or to his native Argentina. For the last several years, he’s occasionally mentioned that he’d like to visit his South American homeland again, “maybe next year.” But “next year” has never come. Perhaps, in the coming months? There has been no serious talk of such a visit, but the pope of surprises could easily decide to make one at the drop of a hat. One trip abroad seems all but certain—a visit to Turkey to celebrate with the ecumenical patriarch of Constantinople the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. Patriarch Bartholomew has said that is likely to take place in May. And then after that?

Again, the question arises: could Francis retire? If he were to do so, it would make papal resignations normal, rather than something that occurs once every six or eight centuries. It would also further demythologize the Roman papacy and give the cardinals greater confidence to choose a younger man for pope with the understanding that he would not cling to office until death. But if Francis dies before relinquishing the papacy, Benedict XVI’s resignation in 2013 will remain an exception rather than the “institution” that Francis himself has said it should be seen as. It's interesting to note that the last Roman Pontiff to resign voluntarily was not Celestine V in 1294, but Gregory XII in 1415. During a time of rival popes, he stepped down in order to end the Western Schism. Next July 4th marks the 610th anniversary of Gregory's resignation. Incidentally, he was 88 years old.


Robert Mickens has been a “Roman observer” of the papacy, Vatican and the Catholic Church since moving to Italy in 1986. He is currently on sabbatical.


What Should a Synodal Church Look Like?

Pope Francis is clearly of the opinion that synodality is the future of the church. But here’s the problem we need to address in the United States: while the rest of the world, especially Asia, Africa and Latin America, is working hard to implement synodality, even at the level of bishops’ conferences, here at home it seems to have little or no purchase. Estimates vary but it appears that no more than about 1% (yes, that would be “one” percent) of American Catholics have had any direct involvement with the synodal process, and very few at all followed up the 2023 Synod’s parting request that we all digest their preliminary findings in synodal gatherings. In my home diocese, I am assured, only one parish (mine, as a matter of fact) took seriously the request to gather in dialogue and debate.

Why are American Catholics, historically pro-papal, ignoring Francis’s insistence that we practice synodality? One explanation is the deplorable level of leadership on the topic from bishops and pastors, probably because it doesn’t suit their understanding of authority. A second is the well-documented passivity of major segments of the 47% of Catholics who attend mass at least once a month (the other 53% are Christmas and Easter Catholics, if that). And a third is the suspicion of the Francis papacy, once again led by an episcopate that is so hung up on the pro-life issue that it provided zero leadership in the pre-election period over the last few months on other serious issues, especially on immigration and climate change. Perhaps even they will finally have to respond to the expected amoral excesses of the incoming administration. But don’t count on it.

But the major drag on the possibility of converting our parishes into hotbeds of synodality is the American disease of excessive individualism, which is a cultural rather than an ideological phenomenon. Democrats are as likely to be guilty of this as Republicans, churchgoers as nones. Individualism belongs in the past, you know. The problems that beset our world today are so gigantic that only concerted communal discernment and action have a hope of solving any of them. What can you or I do as an individual to address gun control, arms sales, drug abuse or climate change?

This brings us to the question of what a synodal parish needs to look like, and the clues to this are to be found in the final document issued by the 2024 Synod on Synodality, a document so pleasing to Pope Francis that he declined to write the customary papal response. No need, the document says it all.

The first clue to answering this question is to look at the photographs of the gatherings of the Synod on Synodality in October 2023 and 2024. At any table you can see cardinals, bishops and young lay Catholics sitting together and given equal time to speak of how the Spirit is moving them. Maybe not everyone had equal power in the church, and certainly not everyone had equal knowledge of the tradition, but everyone’s contribution was treated with equal dignity. The phrase that summarizes this in the final document is “a differentiated co-responsibility of all for mission.” Pope Francis saw these assemblies not only as discussing synodality but also, and perhaps more importantly, modeling it for the global church.

We need to expect our bishops to practice and model synodality. Synodality is also expected of the clergy, which is a more challenging call for them. They are locked in a career structure with top-down accountability as the norm and obedience to that kind of authority is the path—perhaps the only path—to what is unfortunately called “advancement.” Synodality is also expected of the laity. In their case, it is not only a matter of being open to conversations among lay Christians, but also requires the courage to insist on remaking structures of the church in a more synodal way, so that, as the final document clearly states, we are all called to mission, and we are all accountable – even bishops. As section 99 of the final document so eloquently puts it, “While accountability to one’s superiors has been practiced over the centuries, the dimension of authority’s being accountable to the community is in need of restoration.” So, look out bishops: the people of God expect moral leadership that is timely, courageous and most definitely not “single issue.”

The last word is mission, which is where a synodal church can have a prophetic function in the wider world. God knows we need less polarization and more compassion. As Francis has said so well, the traditional image of Christ is one knocking on the door of our hearts, wanting to be welcomed in. No longer! Christ is already with us. Now he is knocking on the door of the church, begging to be let OUT! Synodality leads to mission, and the mission is simply to spread the love of God in the world, to carry Christ out into the world. And that’s a job for all of us.


Paul Lakeland is emeritus professor of Catholic Studies at Fairfield University.


Hold on to Joy

For one brief, shining moment, we allowed ourselves to talk about joy.

Those of us living north of the 49th parallel are always heavily invested in American politics, and likely never more so than in the election just passed.

When Kamala Harris and Tim Walz emerged as the Democratic ticket, we were initially surprised—and then delighted—to hear people use words like joy and joyful in describing Harris’s laugh and Coach Walz’s corny dad jokes. Suddenly, joy became a topic people were discussing in the public arena, and it was a refreshing change. Joy is something we welcome, but in a tired, troubled world it is not something we allow ourselves to value or take seriously as a political topic.  

Of course, the economy is critically important and, as the leader of the free world, the United States needs to be concerned with world events and other weighty issues. But the right to be happy—to laugh and to smile—should never be discounted, even though we rarely talk about it as an issue of any importance.

That doesn’t mean the type of laughter heard and smiles seen at the Al Smith dinner but a healthy appreciation for the simple, positive pleasures of life, and the happiness that comes from building connections and community.

Ultimately, joy was not enough to carry the day for the Democratic ticket. Still, I hope the issue doesn’t fade away but remains a serious goal to underpin healthy societies in these dark times.

Recently, I took part in a panel of women discussing the Synod on Synodality, and one of the themes that emerged was that this synod revealed a new way of being Church in a manner that means there is no turning back.

I hope it will be the same with the recognition of joy, and especially so for Catholics. Our faith is rooted in the ultimate joy and so we shouldn’t be afraid to seek it—or offer it to others. We have a responsibility to work against the rising tide of negativity and selfishness we are witnessing take hold around the world.

Joy can be found in gestures as basic as the simple kindness of smiling at a stranger or offering a seat on the bus to someone who is obviously exhausted after a long day at work. It is egalitarian in our ability to engage.

But joy can also flow from government policy, whether in helping migrants find safe haven or offering quality healthcare to an impoverished single mother in spite of her lack of funds or any number of supports that improve lives. Working across the aisle for the sake of the common good should bring joy, as should civil, respectful conversations.

It feels as if we are a long way away from attaining this, and I am in no way downplaying the complexity involved in issues of maintaining a social safety net.

Something, however, must change. We emerged from the pandemic warier, angrier and more fearful of the world. Not exactly a healthy way to live, and no way for people who proclaim the gospel to approach the world.

As Pope Francis has reminded us so often, joy matters. The gospel is a story of joy, and we are called to reflect that. In a cynical world, it is easy to discount the importance of happiness, but from happiness flow health and creativity and innovation, all building blocks of a successful society.

As Canada awaits a federal election call at some point in the next year, I can only hope that joy becomes an issue for us, too. We need it!

In the meantime, as our border braces for a flood of migrants fleeing the new reality in the U.S., I pray that our government can continue to find reasonable ways to be able to answer the timeless questions the disciples asked Jesus: “When was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food…and when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you?”

May the scales fall from the eyes of those who cannot see what matters and may those of us who will no doubt be dismissed as Pollyannas continue to seek the presence of joy and share it as widely as possible.

After all, happiness is not a government policy but a basic human right.


Catherine Mulroney is a communications officer at the University of St. Michael's College in the University of Toronto.


Synodality and the Election

The past month, I have been swamped writing about two major events, the election and the synod. In many ways, these events were distinct. The election was a national event that, like all elections, involved endless negative advertising and drawing distinctions between the parties and the candidates. The synod was a global event aimed at fostering much-needed conversations across a range of demographic and ideological divisions. And not just any conversation, but one whose real objective was to listen attentively to the always soft whisper of the Holy Spirit!

The synod is now complete and the election results are in. If the Church is to play any constructive role in American society, our first task must be to make synodality an intrinsic quality of ecclesial decision-making and missionary activity. We must find ways to reach across the divides within the church, to build solidarity among the members of the Body of Christ and to remind ourselves that our common baptism has conferred on all of us a far deeper and greater affinity than any other point of division.

This will not be easy. People now go parish shopping. Catholics tune in to Catholic media that reinforces their prior attitudes and ideologies. Children learn at an early age that they are consumers of what they want to hear, their earphones bringing them information from within whatever silo they find comforting. Broadcasting is a thing of the past; narrowcasting is the coin of the realm in the world of media.

Overcoming such hurdles will require leadership, starting with the bishops. I have seen dioceses that embrace synodality and the effect that embrace has on both people and pastors. I have also seen dioceses that paid lip service to synodality. Only if the bishop takes the lead and requires pastors and others in ecclesial roles to embrace synodality will it be a success. Now is the time for everyone to get on board as the synodal process moves from the global to the local, national and continental levels.

Then, and only then, can the Church bring to the ambient culture the balm of the Gospel. Then, and only then, can the Church help our polarized society learn how to talk to one another again.

The most important statement about Catholic social teaching to come from the Second Vatican Council is not found in the three texts most closely associated with our social magisterium: Gaudium et Spes, Dignitatis Humanae and Nostra Aetate. No, the most vital statement is found in Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. There we read that the Church is “in Christ like a sacrament or as a sign and instrument both of a very close-knit union with God and of the unity of the whole human race.” If we Catholics remain at each other’s throats, we cannot be a sign and sacrament of unity. Or charity for that matter.

The nation and the Church are both at a fork in the road. Powerful interests thrive on division and the status quo. Deeply held attitudes are not lightly set aside, even for a greater good. Half the country was thrilled with the election result and a little less than half is despondent. There is no easy roadmap that will help us overcome polarization in our society. But if the Church follows the lead Pope Francis has charted and pursues a synodal path in which the unity of the whole is always more important than any particular agenda, we might, just might, provide a real service and witness to the nation. That may be just a prayer, but it is a fine prayer.


Michael Sean Winters is a journalist and writer for the National Catholic Reporter.