Double, Double, Toil and Trouble…Or?

The fallout from, and the difficult reception of, Fiducia Supplicans has led some to further question the synodal project of Francis. While at the start of the process futile attempts were made to claim that consultation of the faithful did not have any implications for church teaching, now it is becoming increasingly apparent that the fears of traditionalists and the hopes of progressives have some basis in reality. Inevitably, and properly, the emerging voice of the sensus fidei fidelium is bound to impact teaching.

But at what cost? This is where the incantations of Macbeth’s chorus of witches with their prophecies of doom may resonate with even some moderate protagonists. Is the turmoil worth it? Is it wise to risk conflict and division? Might it not be better to retreat to calmer waters and carry on as before, with a tolerable amount of cognitive dissonance in the Body of the Church?

From the evidence of the Synod Synthesis Report it would seem that the commitment to openness remains, always within the process of discernment, which respects God’s time in the making of decisions. So, in several parts of this Synthesis Report, the participants in the synod recommend a deeper intellectual engagement with theology and the human and natural sciences, questioning in particular whether current anthropological categories operative within the Church are adequate to fully understand the various contested issues under discussion. These contested issues, as we all know, are mostly to do with sexuality and gender, and the two Irish Episcopal representatives at the synod (Bishops Brendan Leahy and Alan McGuckian) noted in their post-synodal report that one of the fruits of the synod was “…a call for shared discernment on controversial doctrinal, pastoral and ethical issues to be developed, in the light of the Word of God, Church teaching, theological reflection and an appreciation of the synodal experience.” The recent announcement of the formation of study groups to explore this theological reflection is faithful to the synodal commitment.

The early church did not seek to stifle discussion on the issue of what to do with Gentile converts, an issue that had all the potential to tear the community apart. Neither did third- and fourth-century Christians shirk the conflict involved in teasing out the Christological and Trinitarian issues that arose, and which, inter alia, occasioned the exiling of Athanasius of Alexandria not just once, but five times, from Alexandria. We have seen from the child abuse scandal what silence and repression lead to. The blind spots and dissonances in our ecclesial culture, that “bias of common sense,” which Bernard Lonergan speaks about, is best tackled precisely by the synodal tool of parrhesia, complemented by patient and generous listening (hypomene), and enriched by theological engagement. This is what the method of “conversation in the Spirit” has successfully promoted, with the observation from the synod that it needs to involve a better integration of the intellectual with the emotional.

This more positive interpretation of the synodal fallout is more in line with a recent report about the engagement of Pope Francis and his Council of Cardinals with the project of “demasculinizing the church,” referred to by Callie Tabor in her delightfully pungent piece on this blog entitled “Feminine Genius and the Smell of Drains.” Francis and his council have been meeting women, including theologians, to get a better understanding of what is at stake. In particular, they have been engaging with a book written by three Italian theologians (Linda Pocher, Lucia Vantini and Luca Castiglioni—the latter male, the two former female) entitled Making the Church Less Masculine? A critical evaluation of the ‘principles’ of Hans Urs Von Balthasar.

In his own preface to this book, Francis notes the importance of “…Hans Urs von Balthasar’s reflection on the Marian and Petrine principles in the Church, a reflection that has inspired the magisterium of recent pontificates in the effort to understand and value the different ecclesial presence of men and women.” The interesting point here is that the authors, Vantini in particular, offer a critical interpretation of these principles, which, in truth, have already often been criticised in the wider global theological community. It is the synodal process that allows this process of critical engagement to move from the academy to all levels, including the highest, and lays the ground for ecclesial decisions that are the fruit of good faith discernment.

Much of this may be summed up by a vintage quote from Francis in the same preface: “By really listening to women, we men listen to someone who sees reality from a different perspective and so we are led to revise our plans and priorities. Sometimes, we are bewildered. Sometimes what we hear is so new and different from our way of thinking and seeing that it seems absurd, and we feel intimidated. But this bewilderment is healthy; it makes us grow.”  Whatever one thinks of the mind-set behind these words, they certainly do not indicate that the white flag is being raised and a retreat sounded!

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

Synodal Conversion in a Lenten Season

The season of Lent is a journey toward Easter, the high point of the liturgical year, when those who have been on a pilgrimage of conversion to faith are initiated into Christian life through the sacrament of baptism. In baptism, we commit ourselves to following in Christ’s path of self-giving love, the path of costly discipleship that we call the paschal mystery. All the baptized renew that commitment each year in the Easter liturgy. Through baptism we have been incorporated into Christ and into his ecclesial body, the Church—that deeply flawed community of fellow disciples.

A renewed understanding of the dignity and co-responsibility of all the baptized faithful was at the heart of the Second Vatican Council’s teaching on the Church. The council acknowledged in its Dogmatic Constitution on the Church and the Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity a series of responsibilities and rights that belong to all the baptized faithful. Among these is the responsibility to offer counsel in matters that pertain to the good of the Church “through the organs erected by the church for this purpose.” Pastors, according to Lumen gentium, are to welcome the “prudent advice” of competent lay persons, knowing it can help them to arrive at better decisions in both “spiritual and temporal matters.”

In many regions, the synodal structures and practices envisioned by the council have yet to be enacted in a manner that truly honors the co-responsibility of all the baptized. As a result, few lay persons have really grasped that it is they who “make the church present and active” in the world. They remain unconvinced of the basic equality of all that flows from the dignity of baptism. Many continue to labor under the false impression that ordained ministers alone bear the church’s mission, and lay persons remain little more than passive and obedient objects of their ministrations. That vision, wrought by the cultural forces of a distant age, continues to blind us to the essential character of the church and of its servant task. The gifts of all, flowing from the same Spirit, are needed if the church is to witness to the love of God in a broken world.

This Lenten season, falling as it does between two assemblies of the international Synod, is an opportunity for Catholics everywhere to intensify the spiritual disciplines and practices that open our hearts to a “synodal conversion.” The aim of the Synod on Synodality has been to re-awaken a deeper consciousness in all the baptized of their co-responsibility for the life and mission of the church. To accomplish this, Catholics around the world have begun a long apprenticeship to relearn the habits of “walking together.” During this intercession, every local church has been asked, “How can we enhance the differentiated co-responsibility in mission of all the People of God?” In short, “How can we become a ‘synodal church in mission?’” in the words of the Synthesis Report from the 2023 Synodal Assembly. No one needs to wait for the conclusion of the international synodal process to begin implementing the practices necessary to develop a more synodal culture in the local churches.

Now is the time to commit ourselves, both personally and as communities, to listen deeply with the heart to one another and to the voices of those who have been marginalized or neglected by our communities. Genuine listening requires the humility to know that I am not in full possession of the truth, that I can always learn and grow. Such listening demands a willingness to listen respectfully to those with whom I disagree or find disagreeable. It implies a readiness to be changed by what I hear, perhaps discovering the ways that my works, my actions or omissions may have caused pain to others. Learning the habits of active listening must be matched by the courage to speak boldly, to speak the truth in love. It demands that we fast from harsh words and rash judgments.

Church unity is not the absence of public dissent or disagreement. As the difficult reception of Fiducia Supplicans signifies, open conversation concerning subjects that are not perceived uniformly is difficult. What appears on the face of it as Christ-like hospitality on one continent is a dangerous proposition in the 67 countries where same-sex relationships continue to be criminalized. The asceticism required for a genuine synodal conversion requires honesty and humility to avoid offering definitive pronouncements where consensus eludes us. True synodal conversion requires the resolve to stay in the conversation, even in the face of incomprehension, so that together we might discern the call to enter the radical love of Christ. Conversion is not our doing, but the fruit of the Spirit at work among us.

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

The Church of “The Betrothed”

It was one of those instances of serendipity that can happen to those of us blessed to live in New York City: at a screening last year for a documentary about the travels of Pope Francis I was introduced to Michael Moore, the latest translator of the great Alessandro Manzoni novel, The Betrothed. Moore is a lovely and unassuming man, but I was starstruck when I realized who he was. The nineteenth-century novel, titled I Promessi Sposi in Italian, was one of those grand epics that I had time to savor as a much younger man, before smartphones reduced my attention span to the length of, at most, three Tik-Toks. In fact, returning to long-form fiction was a vow I made during the pandemic for a host of reasons—saving my brain, and maybe my soul.

I have been doing pretty well in renewing my reading habit, and my encounter with Moore was a reminder that I had wanted to re-visit The Betrothed ever since his translation was published to high praise in 2022. The Betrothed, an overlooked masterpiece, was also enjoying a renaissance because Manzoni’s story is set in the Duchy of Milan around 1630 when an outbreak of the plague ravaged the region—much as the COVID virus was coursing across North America and beyond. The descriptions of widespread death and suffering four centuries ago resonated with our experience, and the passages about the denialism and disinformation that were as contagious as the disease itself could have spilled from the latest social media feed.

It was a novel for our moment, but truth be told the book was on my list because it’s also a favorite of Pope Francis, who in his first interview after his election said he read the book three times as a child and could recite the opening lines from memory. In fact, he said that he was reading it again now that he was pope. Papal biographer Austen Ivereigh believes that Francis drew his image of the church as “a field hospital” from the descriptions of the lazaretto where Capuchin priests would care for the sick and dying. And during the pandemic, Francis frequently referred to the novel as a source of consolation and hope. He advised engaged couples to read it, with good reason: the plot concerns the trials of Renzo and Lucia, who persevere through long separations as their plans to marry are thwarted by an evil baron, Don Rodrigo, who wants the saintly Lucia for himself.

“Manzoni gave me so much,” Francis has said. The funny thing is that in re-reading a novel from one’s youth you find even more, or different, things. I have certainly changed over the years, and so has the world—and the church. So, it’s natural that themes and characters that I might have overlooked or not grasped sufficiently before stuck out this time around.

Here are two that I’d highlight: clerics and converts.

This is a profoundly Catholic novel in setting and themes, and the virtues and vices of Catholicism are exemplified by the clergy characters. (The female religious, the Nun of Monza, is a column of her own.) There is Renzo and Lucia’s parish priest, Don Abbondio, a cowardly and dissembling pastor who refuses to marry the young couple out of fear of Don Rodrigo, the action that launches the novel’s main plot. Don Abbondio is contrasted with the heroic Capuchin, Fra Cristoforo, who stands up to Don Rodrigo and endures all manner of suffering to help Renzo and Lucia. Then there is the saintly and savvy archbishop of Milan, Cardinal Federigo Borromeo, in real life a truly remarkable figure and cousin of Saint Charles Borromeo, a previous Milan archbishop.

Borromeo comes from nobility and uses all he has to help the poor and build up the city. He is stingy on his own behalf and generous with all others. Borromeo scandalized church officials by embracing the “dirty and disgusting” peasantry with tenderness, and he angered clergy by insisting they renounce their privileges and accompany their flock. “A holy archbishop like him should be more protective of his priests, treat them like the apple of his eye,” fumes Don Abbondio after one encounter with the cardinal.

In a pivotal scene, a lengthy encounter between the two clerics, Borromeo upbraids Don Abbondio for his incomprehensible cowardice toward Renzo and Lucia while the self-pitying Don Abbondio grumbles that Borromeo is making his life so hard while welcoming repentant sinners with open arms. It’s a passage that perfectly tracks the friction between Francis and the comfortable churchmen who the pope insists ought to renounce their perks and live out the Christ-like vocation they were called to. “The people of God need their pastors to be self-sacrificing, like the Capuchins, who stayed close,” Francis told Ivereigh when asked about The Betrothed. “You shouldn’t be Don Abbondio,” the pontiff has repeatedly warned.

In the end, despite the cardinal’s exhortations and Don Abbondio’s emergence unscathed from all peril, the priest never really changes. Yet that persistence contrasts with the novel’s other great theme of conversion: there is Fra Cristoforo, an arrogant young gentleman who kills a man during a street brawl and in profound remorse flees to a Capuchin monastery and becomes the saintliest of priests; and of course, The Nameless One, l'Innominato, the fearsome warlord whose troubled conscience after a life of brutal criminality leads to a clamorous conversion.

It’s the kind of genuine transformation that Francis wants of Catholics—not the “religious switching” from one denomination to another that we like better, but a change of heart and life that are, as always, the most convincing form of evangelization.

The world of today is so much like the world four centuries ago that Manzoni described and the world two centuries ago that he inhabited. And the church of The Betrothed is much like our own, as well. Take it and read.

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

The Luminosity of Gray

Since mid-November, it seems that our part of North America has been overwhelmingly cloudy. The sun’s appearance has become an astronomical oddity. Grayness seems to permeate our moods as well as our landscape. Yet, not all gray needs to be as depressing as the weather. The gray of life invites us into a deeper appreciation of lived experience, a fuller understanding of what it means to be human.

Gray is not fog. Gray is an admission that there really are few clear black-and-whites in human experience. We spend most of our lives in the complicated area between brilliance and darkness. It is that human experience, yours and mine, that we as Church need to address. A few weeks ago in this series, Paul Lakeland remarked on Francis’ November 1 motu proprio in which he called on theology to “be a fundamentally contextual theology, capable of reading and interpreting the Gospel in the conditions in which men and women daily live.” The first blog of the new year from Catherine Mulroney spoke of the Vatican’s more pastoral approach allowing for “keeping ashes reverently at home,” thus acknowledging a reality already being practiced by many faithful Catholics. The pastoral approach of Fiducia supplicans is a preeminent example of this “contextual” approach, calling upon bishops and pastors to bring the grace of the Gospel to all, thus inviting spiritual growth in a pastorally positive context. It does not provide a recipe; rather, it provides a fundamental stance in the grayness of life: the offer of blessing. It is pastoral; it is Christ-like; it lives the Gospel.

Just over 58 years after the promulgation of Gaudium et spes, which opened with a clear statement that the Church’s mission is to bring “the radiance of the Gospel message” (92) to the world in which humanity exists, it is mystifying that somehow this approach is regarded by many as “new” or even “revolutionary.” The Church has a concrete mission in which theology, doctrine, etc. are tools for the fulfillment of that mission. Yet, somehow in the first years of this papacy, Francis’ declarations were heard as simply “pastoral” not theological. More recently his “pastoral” approach is regarded somehow as less valuable than “clear doctrine.” Have we forgotten that all doctrine, all theology, all witness must be pastoral? As Church, we are called to communicate one simple message: Christ’s victory over sin and death in the Resurrection! All truths flow from this Truth—all actions should. We should bring the joy and blessings of the Gospel to those who may not yet have experienced that Truth, not because we are the proprietors of the Truth, but because we, as they, struggle to live that Truth. In solidarity we accompany them on their journey. That assistance cannot be in the abstract if it is to address the real needs of human persons. Perhaps that is the key to understanding our current dilemma as disciples of Christ: do we give priority to bringing the Gospel to the specific circumstances of those to whom it needs to be addressed, or do we prioritize an absolutization of certain principles?

History, I suggest, teaches us that the Spirit has consistently led the Church to find ever more effective ways to live the Gospel Truth: strict monotheism or a Trinitarian God, circumcision or no circumcision, Latin or the vernacular, no cremation or the blessing of ashes, no talking to non-Catholics or an ecumenical commissioning of bishops and many more examples. However, in each circumstance the challenge has been immense, the fears real, the call to trust the Holy Spirit clear. The past is not to be repeated, rather it gives us the courage to hold firm to the Spirit’s guidance in the Body of Christ and know that gray most certainly has the luminescence of the Gospel that shines everywhere and for everyone so that the Good News is alive for the poor, the captive, the blind and the oppressed (Lk. 1:18).

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