On Catholic Social Media and Lost Causes

As I look ahead to beginning work on another theology degree in the fall, St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, frequently comes to mind.

I am returning to school to try, in my own small way, to help shift the tenor of conversation on social media when it comes to all things Catholic. Too much of Catholic social media is a wasteland of misinformation and pitched battles between left and right, with the concept of loving one’s neighbor lost in the fray.

As Pope Francis notes in Towards Full Presence: A Pastoral Reflection on Engagement with Social Media, although we are called to be loving neighbors to each other, some of the approaches people take on various social platforms cause “pitfalls” on the “digital highway.”

While social media can be a useful tool for sharing parish information or for the Vatican to disseminate encyclicals, too many people revel in the opportunity to voice anonymously the most loathsome—and often incorrect—views not only of Church life but also Church doctrine. The things they’d be too sheepish to say at a parish council meeting find new and fiery life behind a trite account name and a profile picture of the Sacred Heart.

Would-be canon lawyers engage in arcane debates, willfully leading the gullible into thinking, for example, that receiving communion in the hand is frowned on by the Church, or that the Latin Mass is the only acceptable rite, always twisting interpretations to uphold otherwise untenable positions. Pictures are taken on the sly of mass attendees to be posted later with arch comments about dress and demeanor, with all that’s missing a caption reading, “I thank you, Lord, that I am not like this man, who wore shorts to mass.”

A priest in my diocese alarms me with what he posts. He identifies himself as a priest and uses his full name and location, I suspect because he feels his ordained status wields more clout. He takes to X (formerly Twitter) daily to rail on everything from his belief that COVID czar Dr. Anthony Fauci should be arrested to the very existence of gay and trans people, all tied up with a love of gun culture and corporal punishment. He saves particular scorn for Church hierarchy. A recent, ironic tweet talked about the decline in respect for bishops, and then labeled them “sodophile eco-witch Globalist prelates.” Quite the descriptor. I’ve known this man since we were teenagers. Always a loner—and sometimes mocked for his ultra-orthodox views—he now enjoys a seemingly unlimited audience for his terrifying take on life, all with his own priestly imprimatur.

This kind of chatter takes up far too much room in the social media world. Therefore, Catholics relying on various platforms to stay abreast of Church-related news should be forgiven if they know more about the sensational—the biting priest story, for example—than being able to speak to the content of Laudate Deum, the fall 2023 follow-up to Laudato Si’.

My response to this unpleasantness, this ugly side of Church life, is to return to school. Before writing my thesis, I’ll take as many courses—the psychology of faith, for example—to help illuminate the behaviors that upset me. I cannot sit back and criticize others or offer suggestions without ensuring I have at least some background on the topics I am addressing.

It is the spirit of the Synod on Synodality that helped me make this decision. Should you think I have an inflated sense of my own importance, I remain mindful that I am a woman engaging with an inherently patriarchal institution. But from everything I’ve read on the synod, it is a process that values the thoughts of the individual and sees the worth of conversation. Civilized discourse for an uncivilized world.

The synod has restored my faith in the Church respecting—and listening to—the sensus fidelium. While I have done a great deal of volunteering in variety capacities, I cannot recall ever having been asked my opinion on anything Church-related other than how much to charge for the annual spaghetti supper.

Today, I see offering my thoughts not just as an opportunity but, in fact, almost a responsibility, a vocation or calling. I have to do my small part to help heal a wounded Church. I hope that focused time engaged with others to think theologically about issues will help.

I want to help raise the level of the discussion so that we can listen respectfully, whether it’s to the story of the millions on the margins or the struggles and loneliness hidden behind rectory doors. We need to stop the insults and open our ears and our hearts to the possibility that there may be something to what the other says. Sometimes, the ugliest comments are actually a cry for help.

As I prepare for language exams and comb through course catalogues, I am making a conscious decision to cling to St. Jude’s other label—patron saint of desperate situations. I’d like to think modern Catholic discourse is often flawed but not irrevocably broken. I’ll be spending the next two years thinking of root causes, as well of as fixes.

 The situation is indeed desperate. But Jude is also a saint invoked when seeking healing and comfort. I suspect he’ll be hearing from me a great deal.

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