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Entries from July 2024

“Catholicism” for Our Time

The great French Jesuit Henri de Lubac (1896-1991) is a theologian whose writings I have dipped into with the episodic passion of the autodidact and the prowling eye of the journalist on the hunt for the mot juste to toss into an article with ostentatious ease. The rigor and depth of the academic? Not me. Which explains why I had never read de Lubac’s foundational first book, Catholicisme, now translated as Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man. Its length seemed to reflect the breadth of its topic, and the footnotes alone! Where to start?

But in chatting with a Jesuit friend about the state of the Church in these days of polarization and schism he recommended de Lubac’s Catholicism as a form of spiritual reading. It was a work, he said, to digest in small bites, for inspiration more than research. I heeded his advice, at least initially. The problem is that I found Catholicism so engaging and relevant that I ploughed through it. I failed the marshmallow test (again) yet found both solace and knowledge so apt for an age that could use de Lubac’s unitary vision more than ever.

The volume is an ambitious work of ressourcement that relies on patristic and early medieval writings to elucidate the fundamentals of the Church’s nature that have been obscured over time, especially by a constrained notion of “tradition.” Despite the sweep of such an undertaking de Lubac regularly delivers epigrammatic insights that frame the central themes and fix themselves in the mind.

The one that stood out for this first-time reader is also the book’s most consistent and powerfully argued theme, namely the effort to “bring out the singular unitive power of Catholic Christianity and its capacity to transcend all human divisions,” as Avery Dulles wrote in his appreciation of de Lubac at his confrere’s death in 1991. The Church, de Lubac writes near the end of Catholicism, “is the very opposite of a ‘closed society’” and “the very opposite of the harsh exclusiveness which characterizes the sectarian spirit … The Church is at home everywhere, and everyone should be able to feel himself at home in the Church.” 

At the heart of this vision is a Christian humanism, one that echoes the famous line of the second-century B.C. Roman playwright Terence: Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto. Or, as de Lubac adapts it, “Nothing authentically human, whatever its origin, can be alien to [the Church].” That will find a later echo, thanks to de Lubac, in the documents of the Second Vatican Council. Such an orientation means engaging with people rather than abstractions—all people, believers or atheists. “Catholicism is essentially social,” he declares at the outset. “It is social in the deepest sense of the word: not merely in its applications in the field of natural institutions but first and foremost in itself, in the heart of its mystery, in the essence of its dogma.”

Undergirding this essence is a generosity of spirit which is the gift of the Holy Spirit: issue anathemas all you want, Catholics. Even if you score points against your foe or find vindication in a passage of canon law or a paragraph in the catechism, if you lack charity, you are already guilty of a much graver sin. “Charity is the unity of the Church,” Hugh of Saint Victor says in one citation. “Whether we call it charity or unity it is all the same, because unity is charity and charity is unity.” In de Lubac’s gloss: “The charity that depreciates unity is never authentic, there is only a seeming unity where charity does not reign.”

In other words, the excuse that, “I’m doing this mean thing to you out of Christian love because you broke a rule” doesn’t hold up. For de Lubac, “the poison of dissension is as baneful as that of false doctrine.” And he blames the overemphasis on “ecclesiastical authority”—what today we just call clericalism—for undermining the spirit of unity by turning Catholicism into “a system of limitations.”

De Lubac’s work is so “Catholic” that he can inspire popes as diverse as Benedict XVI and Francis. But he can also be cherry-picked to support a range of views, and conservatives have often done so with great relish and some justification. That’s because de Lubac was so dismayed by many trends in the aftermath of the council that in 1972 he helped found, along with Joseph Ratzinger, the conservative-tilting journal Communio. Ratzinger, in the prime of his career as the Vatican’s chief doctrinal enforcer, in 1988 also wrote a brief foreword to Catholicism.

In that foreword, the cardinal pays moving tribute to the formative influence de Lubac’s book had on his own theology. But in a sign of how much Ratzinger—or the times, or both—had shifted, he said that the “social dimension” of the faith that de Lubac stressed and that was so important in earlier decades had been “simplified and flattened” and that the dangers today were a “merely sociological” view of faith rather than the “narrow-minded individualistic Christianity” that originally concerned de Lubac. It was a left-handed compliment from a rightward-leaning churchman, and not out of character for Ratzinger, who was always anxious to rationalize his own evolution.

But if Ratzinger was correct, or if he was just using the foreword to talk about what he wanted to talk about, it seems clear that the Church and the world today are so divided and atomized that de Lubac’s focus on the universal over the tribal, the social over the individual, is needed more than ever. Perhaps that is why this work from the late 1930s—a few years before de Lubac would find himself in the French underground working against fascism—seems so fresh to me. It presents Christianity as it was to the classical world, and ought to be now, “a radiant novelty in the midst of a world grown old in its divisions.”


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


Dare We Hope?

A bitter wind has been blowing for a while now: the rise of polarizing populist politics; an apparent turn to the far right in Europe; war in Ukraine, Gaza and Sudan; Western societies more fixated on their economic challenges than admitting their privilege in a world where social and economic disparities persistently widen. Perhaps for those on the margins little has changed, but for someone who experienced the optimism of the 60s and the hope generated by idealistic, albeit imperfect political movements, this time is bereft of hope. Even the optimism of the early years of Pope Francis has become clouded by unceasing voices of dissent and condemnation.

Many do see encouraging signs in the synodal process: a process that attempts to refocus the Church’s attention on listening rather than instructing, attentive to the Spirit’s voice, rather than assuming a hierarchical monopoly on that voice. But that process calls all of us to do more than listen; it calls us to a change of heart. This transformation must begin within the Church before it can extend into the world. It begins with rejecting simplistic binaries: conservative/liberal; doctrinaire/progressive. While not an easy task, it is entirely critical if we are to re-root ourselves in the Paschal Mystery. “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” (Lk 24:32). Entering this experience not only unites us but, more importantly, transfigures us into the Body of Christ. Luke’s narrative teaches us always to listen to the Scriptures anew—to listen for the Spirit. Also, note what happened before the “listening” and before the breaking of the bread: the apostles said to Jesus, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over” (Lk 24: 29). Transformation cannot happen without a sincere invitation. Our renewal can’t be imposed by force or decree but through our conscious desire to hear, to learn, to feel “our hearts burning within us” by inviting the stranger to stay with us for the night—a stranger from whom I can and must learn. The synodal process cannot be the unique venue for honest discussions “in the Spirit” if we don’t individually and collectively as Church first strive for that renewal in the Spirit.

Here we can see the conundrum of the universal Church, which is simultaneously local. The synodal process cannot succeed if it relates only to the universal level of the Church. It demands ongoing transformation at every level of the Church. In other words, from the grassroots (family, not diocesan), through parishes and dioceses, ongoing renewal must be what we seek as followers of Christ. We need to let go of that very Catholic notion that solutions are demanded of, or implemented by, those in power. Undisputedly, the patriarchal hierarchy has a great deal to address and correct. However, the Spirit calls each of us to be responsible for the living out of the Gospel in our world. We do not require permission to claim our baptismal responsibility—to transfigure our Church.

Sadly, “the Vatican” and the musings of Vaticanologists still garner too much attention and too often every papal utterance is believed to be infallible. Renewal and true synodality begin with each one of us responding to the call to discipleship: discipleship rooted, not in political processes, nor in the intrigues and machinations of realpolitik, but in the clear demands of the Gospel, a discipleship that recognizes and addresses the very real challenges of the here and now. How do we live in solidarity with the marginalized? How do we witness to the unchurched the joy and hope that Christ brings to the world? How do I witness Christ to those around me? Am I able to let the powerless claim the power that my race or gender gives me? The answers are varied because our human situations are multiform. We cannot fear this diversity. We cannot mandate a uniformity that arises from our fear of “the other” rather than an appreciation of the multiplicity of divine creation. We are called to humbly wonder at the magnificence of the divine revealed and become agents of the divine in all we are and do. The hope we see is not a hope that “God will fix things.” Rather it is a hope that I may fulfill my responsibility as a follower of Christ, it is the hope that I truly may be the image and likeness of God: a human fully alive!


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


Women in the Church: Spare Me This Platitudinous Waffle

The Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith is going to produce a document on the role of women in the Church, which we are told is a new initiative to respond to longstanding demands by women to have a greater say in the Church’s life. I suppose we’re meant to take this as compensation for the fact that, in violation of all we were told about the synodal process, the Instrumentum Laboris for this year’s synod excludes discussion of ordaining women to the diaconate.

The Synthesis Report of the 2023 Synod implied that there would be some discussion of women deacons in the 2024 gathering. Acknowledging that “different positions have been expressed regarding women’s access to the diaconal ministry,” it proposed that:

Theological and pastoral research on the access of women to the diaconate should be continued, benefiting from consideration of the results of the commissions specially established by the Holy Father, and from the theological, historical and exegetical research already undertaken. If possible, the results of this research should be presented to the next Session of the Assembly [italics added].

There have already been two commissions on women deacons, and neither of their reports have been made public. According to the 2024 Instrumentum Laboris:

While some local Churches call for women to be admitted to the diaconal ministry, others reiterate their opposition. On this issue, which will not be the subject of the work of the Second Session [italics added], it is good that theological reflection should continue, on an appropriate timescale and in the appropriate ways.

And so, the process goes on—delays, deferrals, further reflections, unpublished reports—while the platitudinous waffle about women’s charisms and gifts drones on year after year.

It is hardly surprising that there is no universal consensus on the question of women deacons, but that cannot be the prerequisite for every doctrinal development and change in the Church. The African Church is sometimes cited as a source of resistance and possible alienation if women were ordained, but what is true of the hierarchy is not always true of the people. Some African bishops are mired in patriarchal cultures and values, but others have been vocal in their support for African women’s struggles against patriarchy. My work with African women theologians has led me to believe that the Church in some parts of sub-Saharan Africa offers many more opportunities for women’s leadership and participation than its western counterparts. The Orthodox Church has just ordained the first woman to the diaconate in modern times. She is a Zimbabwean woman called Angelic Molen, and the ordination took place in Harare with the approval and support of the Alexandrian Synod and other church leaders (known as patriarchs in the Orthodox Church). This calls into question attempts to justify resistance to female ordination by referring to the African Church.

In 2022, the international network Catholic Women Speak commissioned a survey into attitudes of women in the worldwide Church for submission to the Synod. The survey, which was led by Tracy McEwan and Kathleen McPhillips of the University of Newcastle in Australia, was distributed in eight languages and attracted more than 17,000 responses from 104 countries. While it cannot claim to be representative of all Catholic women, it provides a significant insight into Catholic women’s faith, their hopes and fears, joys and struggles, in many different cultural contexts. Responses to some issues reflected cultural differences, but the vast majority of respondents overall saw a need for change in the Church. As more and more women become educated and assertive with regard to our rights, responsibilities and opportunities in secular institutions and cultures, it becomes less and less tolerable for the Catholic hierarchy to infantilize us with patronising platitudes and romantic stereotypes. If we would not tolerate this kind of attitude in our homes and places of work, why should we tolerate it in the Church where we are supposed to experience our greatest dignity as co-equals and disciples made in the image of God?

Some years ago, I was shocked when an older woman told me that she despaired of change, and by despairing she was able to continue to practice her faith. I am beginning to understand what she meant. I cannot walk away from the Catholic faith with all that it means in the Church’s sacraments and liturgies, in the works of genius it has inspired in music, art and architecture, in the intellectual integrity of its best theological traditions, in its ministry to the poorest of the poor throughout history. But I no longer have the slightest interest in the chunterings of a celibate male hierarchy when it comes to women. In the nearly 40 years since I was received into the Church, I have seen little if any substantial change in the role of women or in clerical attitudes towards us. I am no longer interested in the Vatican and its Synods, commissions and reports. Maybe that is a kind of despair, but it allows me to keep my sanity as well as my faith.


Tina Beattie is a Professor Emerita of Catholic Studies at the University of Roehampton, London.