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!

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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.

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

The Elderly Pope’s Final Push?

July and August used to be downtime at the Vatican. That changed in 2013 after Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Buenos Aires was elected Bishop of Rome. The Argentine Jesuit, now best known as Pope Francis, immediately broke the custom set by his predecessors and did not take a summer holiday. That meant that no one else in the Roman Curia was allowed to slacken the pace, either. The big papal mass on June 29, Rome’s patronal feast of Saints Peter and Paul, used to be the final act of the Vatican’s “pastoral/legislative year.” Then the popes (at least John Paul II and Benedict XVI) would usually go to the Italian Alps for a couple of weeks and, afterwards, transfer to the Castel Gandolfo papal summer residence in the hills southeast of the Eternal City until late August or early September before going back to work full time. Francis, on the other hand, has never taken a vacation. Instead, he’s traveled and has continued to work. 

This year will be no different. Although there are no big papal liturgies officially on the schedule for July and August, the 87-year-old Jesuit pope will hold an ordinary public consistory on July 1 with the Church’s cardinals residing in Rome in order to vote on several candidates he has approved to be declared saints. This is usually a pro forma meeting without any great publicity or fanfare. However, the pope’s aides announced this one well in advance. It might be a good idea to keep an eye on it, since it was during such a ceremony on February 11, 2013, that Benedict XVI surprised the world and renounced the papacy. Don’t expect Francis to do that (at least not yet), but he could use this consistory to announce some other major decision for the life of the Church. In any case, the next several months at the Vatican (or on the road) will likely bring some surprises. This period will feature an uptick of activity for the elderly pope, including the longest foreign journey of his pontificate (a September 2-13 visit to Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, East Timor and Singapore), a critical month-long synod session, the opening of Holy Year 2025 and—many observers believe—yet one more consistory to create new cardinals.

The Pope Francis era is in its final stage. Given his penchant for keeping people on their toes, shaking things up and issuing (with greater regularity) conflicting and even contradictory messages, it would not be wise to wager on when this pontificate will finally be concluded. But Vatican watchers are already trying to draw up a balance sheet of Francis’ tenure as Supreme Pontiff. He certainly has brought to the fore a lot of thorny issues—the role of women in the Church and Catholic teaching on human sexuality, to name just two. Open discussion about these and a number of other items, such as obligatory priestly celibacy, were off-limits in the previous two pontificates. The fact that they are debated openly, even inside the Vatican, is extremely healthy. And very disruptive. The question many reform-minded Catholics are asking is whether Francis has been able to really change anything regarding such topics. And they rightly wonder if this season of openness will be closed down with the next pope. These are serious and worrying questions.

Francis has not actually changed any key Church structures. His long, piece-by-piece “restructuring” of the Roman Curia was not a restructuring at all. He merely opened up some of the top jobs to lay people (including women), while leaving the organizational layout almost exactly as it has been since the late 16th century when Sixtus V devised it. The Jesuit pope, right from the very beginning, said he believes the most important reform concerns mentality or attitude, not structures. Eleven years on, has he succeeded in changing the mentality in the Church? It depends on who one is talking about.

It could be argued that he made a very serious tactical mistake from the very outset of his pontificate by alienating the Church’s primary workforce—the ordained sacramental ministers. This includes those clerics who work in the Vatican. It’s hard to be good in a bad system, but there are still some very fine presbyters and bishops in the Roman Curia (and lay people in its communications sector, by the way) who were initially energized by Francis’ election. But the pope, because of his questionable “bedside manner” of publicly criticizing and even humiliating people who work for him, has demoralized and angered those who might have otherwise pushed and promoted his agenda for reform and renewal. The pope’s constant swipes at the Church’s more conservative (younger) priests and his snide remarks about “airport bishops” might play well to anti-clericalists (count me among them!) but they do not garner support from the men whom he (and we) most need to sustain our sacramental life. That is just a fact. Many of us believe that one of the most serious problems facing the Church and its future is the crop of younger priests and many of the bishops appointed in the last two pontificates. Francis has done nothing to win them to his side. On the contrary, he has baited them.

This pontificate has been dynamic and has given much hope (perhaps, at times, false hope) to many everyday Catholics around the world, and even to others who are not full members of our Church or part of the broader Christian community. Francis has been a breath of fresh air for us. But he also faces (and has even stoked) opposition, only some of which is public and openly demonstrative. How much silent opposition lurks beneath the surface? This includes the hidden and growing discomfort many of the Church’s cardinals have with his sometimes erratic governing style. In the end, it is they who will eventually elect his successor. It would probably not be wise to place a bet on the man they will choose.

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Robert Mickens has been living in Rome since 1986 and reporting on the Vatican and the papacy for nearly 35 years. He recently finished 10 years as English-language editor of La Croix International and is currently on sabbatical for Hungarian language studies.

Celebrating Juneteenth: Learn from Black Catholics on the Road to Sainthood

Celebrating Juneteenth as Catholics it is difficult to imagine any better way than to reflect on the lives of the six American Black Catholics, four women and two men, who are somewhere on the road to official sainthood. Three of them were born into slavery, and all of them had some association with its history, so to remember them on the occasion of the federal holiday to commemorate the end of slavery is really a no-brainer. The litany could go something like this:

Servant of God, Mother Mary Lange, pray for us,
Venerable Henriette DeLille, pray for us,
Venerable Augustus Tolton, pray for us,
Servant of God Sister Thea Bowman, pray for us,
Venerable Pierre Toussaint, pray for us,
Servant of God, Julia Greeley, pray for us.

It surely is important for a still preponderantly white American Catholic Church to pay attention to these notable Black Catholics, and to ask them to pray for us, not so much because they are Black as because they are Catholics. Their importance lies in the ways in which their individual lives speak to our church today. None of them had an easy life. All of them were heroic. Each in turn has a lot to teach us about how to conduct ourselves today as what Pope Francis calls us, “missionary disciples.” They are not “them.” They are “us.”

My own favorite is the humblest of them all, Julia Greeley, who was a freed slave who converted to Catholicism. She lived mostly in and around Denver, working for white families and using her own limited resources to aid those poorer than herself, towing around a wagon filled with food, clothing and even firewood, and doing it at night-time to save embarrassing the recipients of her help. Her life and work have deep ecclesial significance, mostly because they strongly suggest that holiness has no essential connection to the spectacular. Like St. Alphonsus Rodriguez before her, the Jesuit who spent his entire working life as a doorkeeper, Julia Greeley testifies to the spiritual importance of the everyday.

Each of the remaining five in their different ways alert us to the close connection between heroic sanctity and the ordinary and, because they were Black, the extraordinary hurdles that each of them had to negotiate. Augustus Tolton, a former slave, became the first Black American Catholic priest. When one of his teachers recognized the young man’s possible priestly calling, however, no American seminary would admit him. Instead, he studied in Rome, returning to work in the Midwest for a few short years before his early death in 1897, where he was such a fine preacher that his small Black congregation’s numbers were soon swelled by white Catholics looking for a good homily. You can only guess how the local clergy reacted to that!

And then there was Henriette DeLille, great granddaughter of a slave, who could not gain admission to a religious community, so she used her family’s funds to establish the Sisters of the Presentation in 1842 and was their Mother Superior until her death 20 years later. Their most important work for our church today was surely that they taught slaves—a forbidden and hence dangerous commitment. And how about Pierre Toussaint, a slave from Haiti who bought his freedom in New York through years of work as a hairdresser and is the only layperson buried in the crypt of St. Patrick’s Cathedral? He was a huge philanthropist, considered by many to be effectively the founder of Catholic charities, builder of New York’s first orphanage and the first school for Black children. Or Mother Mary Lange, who 30 years before the proclamation of emancipation, founded the Oblate Sisters of Providence in Baltimore and a school for Black children. Her order, then and now, has a special concern for the marginalized members of society.

Last but not least, there is the only one of the six whose life was lived out in the modern world, Sister Thea Bowman, whose name is attached to residence halls at both Sacred Heart University and Fairfield University. A childhood convert to Catholicism, she went on to become an extraordinary force in American Catholic life as a teacher, scholar, writer, public speaker and outspoken critic of racism in society and the Church. She would laugh, I am sure, to be told that she is best known for a YouTube video in which her personal magnetism is demonstrated when, wheelchair-bound and dying of cancer, she got the entire U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops to stand and sing We Shall Overcome!

Brave, humble, countercultural, outspoken, deeply wounded and entirely faithful to the Catholic Church, these women and men point a way forward for the American church. Each in their own way is a model of countercultural fortitude, and each is accessible to all of today’s American Catholics, Black and white, of whatever political persuasion. You set your sights on God, you look around you at your fallen world, you roll up your sleeves and you just do what has to be done. In our age, marked by hatreds of all sorts, they remind us of the power of simple human goodness. Their holiness shames every instance of white privilege. And most, if not all, of our American Catholic community have never heard of them. Shame on us!

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

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.

A Culture of Grievance

Ours is a polarized nation and Church. Left versus right, red state versus blue, traditionalist versus Vatican II Catholics. There seems to be one commonality that crosses the usual lines: Ours is a culture of grievance.

The grievances on the right can be plainly seen. Just tune in to an evening of Fox News or watch Bishop Robert Barron interview one of his many rightwing interlocutors such as Jordan Peterson. These grievances interest me less than those on the left.

Consider the responses to Dignitas Infinita, the Vatican’s statement on human dignity, specifically the section on gender and sexuality. Most of the responses from the theological community were filled with a sense of grievance: How dare the pope sign off on a document that did not cohere with the latest theories about gender and sexuality!

Some invoked “the science.” The United Kingdom’s National Health Service recently published an extensive study of gender identity services for children and young people known as the Cass Report that concludes that the scientific evidence for the effectiveness of some medical treatments is not conclusive. Dr. Hilary Cass who led the study wrote: “While a considerable amount of research has been published in this field, systematic evidence reviews demonstrated the poor quality of the published studies, meaning there is not a reliable evidence base upon which to make clinical decisions, or for children and their families to make informed choices.” The report recommended a ban on prescribing puberty blockers to adolescents unless they are part of a clinical trial.

The most curious thing about most of the responses to Dignitas Infinita from the theological community, however, was not what they contained, but what they lacked: theology. There were many who invoked the experiences of transgender persons. As I wrote at the time in NCR, “Experience matters, but in the making of theology, experience can never be the only thing that matters. We have canonical Scriptures. We have a theological tradition. We have an authoritative magisterium. More importantly, there is not a human alive who has not at least once made a choice that seemed obvious at the moment given his or her lived experience, but the decision turned out to be a disaster.” 

The same attitude of grievance and umbrage followed upon reports that Pope Francis has used a vulgar slur when discussing gay seminarians in a meeting with Italian bishops. At America magazine, theologian Fr. Bryan Massingale published a long complaint. There was no real engagement with the possibility that a subculture of campiness in a seminary could be problematic. Again, what was missing from the essay was much in the way of theology.

The highlighting of pastoral theology alongside other theological disciplines is one of the hallmarks of this papacy. Where are the symposia and academic conferences on the obvious tensions between pastoral theology and doctrinal teaching? Where are the studies on the relationship between the ethical visions Catholic hold and their ecclesial visions? I would venture to say that in the U.S., one of the principal impediments to a shared ecclesial vision, without which the Catholic Church cannot hold together, is our dogged insistence that our particular ethical visions are what is most important. That may work for other denominations, but it doesn’t work for the Catholic Church.

Even more importantly, where are theologians focusing on forging a Catholic culture in which grace and gratitude take priority over grievance and umbrage?

I was speaking with an employee at a diocesan chancery about their Vicar General and why he was so successful. “There are a lot of reasons, but most of all, he is a happy priest,” the staffer told me.

His comment put me in mind of a recent academic conference. I was not in attendance, but the story was related to me by three people who did. After one of the presentations, one theologian said she found it necessary to spend several classes at the beginning of each semester helping the students work through their anger at the Church. The presenter replied, “I find my students respond well to the fact that I am a happy Catholic.”

That Vicar General and that presenter are the exception, but we need them to become the rule. Here is the remedy for the divisions, and much else, that afflict the Church. The key problem for the Catholic Church is not the divide between the left and the right, but the failure of both to build a culture of grace and gratitude.

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

A Tale of Two Churches

The incendiary right-wing remarks offered at the 2024 commencement ceremony of Benedictine College by NFL Kansas Chief’s kicker, Harrison Butker, served as a stark reminder of the deeply entrenched polarization in the Catholic Church.

The commencement speech contained a strong endorsement of the Latin Mass and a sharp criticism of bishops and priests who, according to the star athlete, did not do enough to defend the Catholic faith from secular corruption. The speech omitted Vatican II teachings on the multicultural and global dimensions of faith, the importance of engaging with culture if we are to respond to the signs of the times and the calls to social justice. In fact, the speech did not have a single mention of the poor and marginalized—with whom Jesus spent the majority of his time on Earth.

Among the many topics the speech covered, the ones that drew the most media attention were—unsurprisingly—the comments on gender and sexual orientation. Butker condemned the “demonic lies” told to women that their vocation can be lived out in pursuit of a professional career. Instead, he emphasized the roles of “homemaker,” “wife” and “mother” as the most important vocations women can pursue. He also took a quick stab at LGBTQ+ persons by criticizing pride month (evoking enthusiasm from the audience) and even inserted a Taylor Swift reference—leaving both progressive Catholics and Swifties enraged.

As I listened to his vision for Catholicism, I did not recognize the post-Vatican II Church I grew up with. In fact, for a moment I thought I was watching a scene from a certain popular dystopian fictional series on Hulu (based on a book by Margaret Atwood).

And then came the thunderous applause from the audience after the speech and I was reminded that perhaps my vision of the Vatican II Church is the fictional one.

Among many things, polarization in our Church on matters of gender and sexual orientation has been fueled by what I consider to be duplicitous activities from Vatican officials, including the Holy Father. For example, over the past year, there have been two documents addressing LGBTQ+ issues, which have somehow simultaneously created more openness to LGBTQ+ inclusion while solidifying their place in the Church as second-class members.

Fiducia Supplicans, published at the end of 2023, allows priests to bless persons in same-sex unions who together approach them for a benediction. However, these blessings are conceptualized as non-sacramental and as a desire for people in same-sex unions to live a better life despite their limitations. It discursively crafts an adverse reality for same-sex couples whereby the love they share and, I argue, the grace that flows from their union is pathologized.

Dignitas Infinita, published in 2024, synthesizes the Church’s beautiful teachings on human dignity as applicable to all persons—including LGBTQ+ people. However, the document then proceeds to craft and condemn the boogieman of “gender ideology” (which appears to be a thin veil for transgender identity). Interestingly, in a private correspondence with Sr. Jeaninne Gramick, Pope Francis appears to clarify that gender ideology does not apply to “transexuals,” leaving further questions about what the document is actually referring to, but nonetheless offering fodder for right-wing Catholics to further oppress transgender persons.

In what is perhaps to me the most offensive incident, during a closed meeting with Italian bishops, news outlets reported that Pope Francis used a homophobic slur to refer to same-sex sexual activity among seminarians. Furthermore, he asked Italian bishops to bar gay persons from entering the seminaries; which—though congruent with an earlier document he endorsed banning men with deep seated homosexual tendencies from the priesthood—is a direct contradiction to his most famous response of “who am I to judge?” that supported gay men’s vocation to be priests if they search the Lord with all their heart. In an ambiguous apology where the Vatican expressed regret for any offense, Pope Francis reiterated that the Church is for everyone.

Unfortunately, such welcome appears to me as a superficial sense of unity based on kind gestures toward the oppressed while, conceptually, we continue to think less of them and thereby perpetuate their oppression. More importantly, the result of this duplicity is a polarized Church. There are indeed two Churches—both born out of the selectivity with which Catholics embrace parts of a duplicitous message.

What is needed going forward is an attitude of humility. Catholic leaders must embrace reality: matters of sexuality remain a mystery to our Church, and we have to be careful with the messages we send. Real unity can best be fostered when we commit to joint communal discernment that stems from genuine curiosity, not when we pretend that we have all the answers.

As I have written before (here and here), my hope for the future of the Church rests in synodality, which I believe represents a new ecclesiology whereby mutual listening—especially to the marginalized such as LGBTQ+ persons—will yield new insights about our faith and our nature that can guide the Church forward together. For such a vision to take place, Catholic leaders, especially Pope Francis, need to listen to their own advice and recommit to genuine discernment in unity. 

In the meantime, I lament that both the Vatican and Mr. Butker have missed important opportunities to meaningfully unite our Church as of late.

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Ish Ruiz is the assistant professor of Latinx & queer decolonial theology at Pacific School of Religion. 

The Tyranny of Usefulness and Social Poetry

In the Catholic intellectual tradition seminars at Sacred Heart, students read a small section of John Henry Newman’s The Idea of a University on the uses of knowledge. Students inevitably struggle with the excerpt, not only because of Newman’s Victorian prose, but also because the Lockean vision of education that he critiques is so often the vision that they have been raised with. When we arrive at Newman’s quotation of Locke, we read it aloud to hear the scorn lacing the philosopher’s words as he disparages the teaching of Latin to a young man bound for a trade and recounts the terrible fate that might befall the student who learns verse-making:

“I know not what reason a father can have to wish his son a poet, who does not desire him to bid defiance to all other callings and business; which is not yet the worst of the case; for, if he proves a successful rhymer, and gets once the reputation of a wit, I desire it to be considered, what company and places he is likely to spend his time in, nay, and estate too; for it is very seldom seen that any one discovers mines of gold or silver in Parnassus.”

What living is there to be earned as a poet? Locke asks, insisting that it is far better to learn the practical skills of a trade. The “use” of education in this vision is primarily economic—the preparation of individuals to participate in the labor force and contribute to a growth in capital.

Nearing two centuries on from Newman’s book, this economic understanding of what is “useful” has become all-pervasive. As my colleague Brian Stiltner described in his final column for this blog, higher education is no exception, often operating in vocabularies and logics taken more from corporate boardrooms than from classrooms. Recently, I listened to a lecture from the economist Ha-Joon Chang, who put it succinctly, “In a capitalist society, especially the kind of market-oriented one that we are living in now … everything has to justify its existence in terms of money—so, literary festivals, teaching about ancient languages in universities, preservation of our cultural heritage.”

Usefulness, in this economic sense, has become a tyrannical interpretative framework, impressing itself upon us all. Even as I aim to invite students into Newman’s perspective, that there might be a “use” to poetry and to education beyond this economic one, I feel the weight of the Lockean scorn echoing through our society: Who would want their child to be a poet?

And yet, Pope Francis has claimed that the role of the university is just that—to form “social poets.”  This phrase is one that Francis first introduced in his address to the World Meeting of Popular Movements, an initiative begun under his papacy that gathers grassroots organizations from across the globe to creatively address the needs of land, labor and lodging. In his 2021 address, he explained that he chose this phrase because “poetry means creativity, and you create hope.” By refusing to conform to the tyranny of economic usefulness and its “throwaway” logic, these grassroots organizations creatively work towards a world where all have access to housing and dignified work and where the land is cared for as integral to the community of creation rather than treated as a resource to be exploited. Out of communities that appear “useless” to the gaze of the market, these poets craft practices of hope.

By expanding this role of the social poet to universities, Francis invites those of us in higher education to understand our work as the formation of individual and collective creativity towards the “poetry” of a new society—one not governed solely by economic profit. He calls for the mission of the university to be the training of social poets who “upon learning the grammar and vocabulary of humanity, have a spark, a brilliance that allows them to imagine the unknown.” The grammar of humanity must go beyond market-driven usefulness to uncover the intrinsic value in human reflection, artistry and community. As Francis stated earlier this year in an address to the International Federation of Catholic Universities, education must “awaken and cherish in each person the desire to ‘be’.” Being, not earning, is the basis of worth.

In the same talk on economics and democracy, Chang (speaking to a British audience), describes how the need to justify all things through the market leads to a reduction in meaning, such as arguing for the British monarchy on the basis that it brings in tourist revenue. Whether one is a monarchist or a not, Chang points out that this is a “demeaning, ridiculous” way to argue for an institution as foundational to society. With this example, he invites us to look at the tyranny of market usefulness from the outside, if only momentarily, in order to see that we might interpret the world otherwise.

The brilliance of poetry, I would submit, lies in the ability to see things at a “slant,” to borrow a term from Emily Dickinson. Forming our students as social poets means forming them to be able to see the world from a new angle. From this perspective, they might reimagine what it means for something to be useful—and indeed, ask whether that category is sufficient to the dignity and wonder of creation. If, as Francis encourages us to, Catholic universities are able to live this mission, we will not only be continuing a legacy of education extending far beyond Newman into the past, but also moving into the future with creativity and hope.

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Callie Tabor is a lecturer in the Department of Catholic Studies at Sacred Heart University.

The Challenge of Race and Place for Local Synodality

At the heart of the Church’s ongoing synodal reform lies Vatican II’s theology of the sense of the faithful. This conciliar teaching locates the Church’s capacity to identify and know the Gospel truth in the entire people of God. For this reason, synodal reform at the local level (diocesan level) has primarily involved broadening lay participation through listening sessions, communal discernment and online surveys.

Yet, only focusing on this type of reform overlooks the movement required to overcome the challenges of race and place for synodality in the U.S. For example, in the segregated city of St. Louis, the archdiocese (my local church) took a more centralized approach to its one and only listening session with racial minorities. Rather than holding this single listening session in Black St. Louis north of the segregating line (known by locals as “the Delmar Divide”), the diocese held this listening session in midtown – an area that boasts a burgeoning cornucopia of restaurants, access to expensive, organic grocers and two Catholic institutions of higher education.

Although the synthesis report demonstrates that the listening session involved authentic sharing, surfaced real challenges and was by many measures a genuine experience of synodality, the diocese’s approach required the periphery of the local church to move toward the center instead of the center moving toward the periphery. This approach discouraged participation of those at the racial margins wary of diocesan intentions and in the end, only 25 out of approximately 477,000 non-white Catholics participated in this diocesan-wide listening session. At the same time, the preference for a non-peripheral place prevented diocesan leaders entrusted with discerning insights from this listening session from sharing in the racially unfamiliar lifeworld of St. Louis’ periphery. Indeed, there is a difference between listening to Black Catholics in a white space and listening to Black Catholics in their space.

Although one can certainly scrutinize the mechanics of event planning to find reasons for low participation, a more fundamental, theological problem lies in this centralized approach to synodality itself. Indeed, Pope Francis has repeatedly urged those who are ecclesially centered as pastoral leaders to move to the peripheries: “Pastors must have the smell of the sheep… Go down among your faithful, even into the margins of your dioceses and into all those ‘peripheries of existence.’” This is not simply a metaphorical mandate, but a missionary demand to move to unfamiliar spaces of the periphery. There, we can find the “smell of the sheep” that is the sense of the faithful. As Pope Francis puts it in Let Us Dream: “You have to go to the edges of existence if you want to see the world as it is. I’ve always thought that the world looks clearer from the periphery.” In other words, we cannot make for the margins in the abstract, but rather we must go close and touch the marginalized as Jesus did.

Like most local churches, race and place are not small obstacles to synodality for the Archdiocese of St. Louis. I have found that many white residents disordered by the sin of racism—Catholics included—are hesitant to make the 20-minute drive from the suburb to the city. Yet, what if we actually lived the preferential option for the poor as the Church itself teaches? What if we as a Church understood Pope Francis’ exhortation to go to the periphery with the literality that he intends? What if we left the 99 sheep for the one as Jesus did? Doing this in the abstract is easy; doing this concretely—especially in the context of race—is hard.

So let me ask again in concrete terms. What if we as a Church centered the margins by locating our listening sessions among the marginalized in the places that are the margins? As a synodal Church, we should have a multitude of listening sessions, but if we can only have one, why not hold that at the racial periphery north of the Delmar Divide? When holding listening sessions about parish and school closures, what if we primarily (but not exclusively) held these in the racial peripheries north of Delmar? Why not ask those who are racially centered to drive the 20 minutes to the margins? Why not use listening sessions and communal discernment to begin a process of racial conversion through which the racially centered can begin to see the world through the eyes of the racially marginalized? Why not enable those unfamiliar with the racialized peripheries to hear the faith, witness and challenges of Black Catholics in the place that gives their witness context—the place that is the racialized periphery?

Indeed, synodality is a “journey together” and requires widespread consultation and increased lay participation. Yet, the end of synodality is not consultation or even decentralization but rather attentiveness to the Spirit corporately at work through the sense of the faithful.

Consequently, local synodality requires missionary movement that can overcome the movement of race and place. If the church of St. Louis’ approach to synodality typifies the approach taken by other local churches in the U.S., this indicates how much further local churches need to go to become truly synodal. Only when those of us who are ecclesially and socially centered move north of Delmar can we “hear the Spirit of God speaking to [us] from the margins."

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Deepan Rajaratnam is a doctoral candidate in Christian theology at Saint Louis University.

Catechesis and Superheroes for the Digital Age

Rebuilding the Church of the future is in the hands of the young. As a religious sister and pediatrician, I am deeply concerned about the physical, emotional and spiritual consequences of pandemic-related trauma, secularization, economic instability and global violence for children and youth. These realities have compromised their ability to build a post-pandemic Church of inclusion, justice and mercy.

In December 2021, the Pontifical Academy for Life recognized the impact of the COVID pandemic on the lives of children and adolescents as “a parallel pandemic” to the infection itself. It exacerbated the longstanding lack of accessible, affordable health care for all, inadequate mental health and protective services, and crucially important preventive care. It revealed systemic issues of poverty, racism, sexism, exploitation and social marginalization with higher illness and death rates among the most socially disadvantaged.

Public health advisories to “shelter in place” at home assumed one had a home and that it was safe. The stark reality is that one hundred million homeless families had been displaced by war, poverty, persecution and natural disasters. The isolation of children with stressed parents confined to small spaces as well as school closures increased physical and sexual abuse.

The pandemic produced an explosion of research in developmental traumatology on the psychiatric and psychobiological effects of overwhelming stress during the crucial periods of growth and development for infants and children. Adolescence is a period of rapid development of the brain’s socio-affective circuitry that drives a need for affirmation and high sensitivity to internet bullying and phishing.

The Synod recognizes that our first formation in faith takes place in the family. Parents hand down beliefs and form their children as moral agents. They are “first responders” to the trauma of profound disruption of the family, faith and cultural rituals necessary for children’s sense of identity and security. Historically, children heard cultural and religious stories that helped them cope with difficulties and presented models of good and bad behavior.

Tragically, quarantine increased the time young people spend on addictive social media, which bombards them with very different models and stories. Exposure to interactive screen media begins for many North American children before the age of two. By adolescence, they are fully immersed as it steals time from sleep, exercise and in-person activities. In a pathological paradox, constant virtual interactions have unmasked deep loneliness and a loss of meaning and hope.

The shift from oral tradition to screen began in the late 1800s when motion pictures provided graphic images of real heroic soldiers sacrificing their lives. By the 1930s, Walt Disney’s tamed fairy tales from the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson established a new secular genre with good and evil characters clearly identified. Television brought screens into the home.

I had a new insight into the magnitude of the challenge of faith formation in post-Christendom one evening during Easter week. As I channel-surfed my television, the only program about Easter was on the “religion channel.” Strangely, there was massive hype about a rerun of the visually amazing initial Harry Potter film from the book series written between 1997 and 2007. As of 2023, it became the best-selling book series in history, selling over 600 million copies. Published in 85 languages, the total franchise is estimated at $25 billion! It presents coming of age and fantasy issues in dark themes of prejudice, corruption, madness and fearful death. How can faith formation compete? The Synod concluded, “The synodal culture needs to become more intergenerational, with spaces for young people to speak freely for themselves, within their families, and with their peers and pastors, including through digital channels.”

At every mass Catholics hear “the greatest story ever told,” which reveals the depth of God’s love for us in the Paschal Mystery and stories from salvation history. Today, these are among many competing, contradictory, fast-paced, interactive stories offered to youth.

The challenges are clear:

Renew inclusive, accessible Scriptural language and restore the importance of the proclamation of the Word.

Resuscitate personal encounters in the Eucharist, as a welcoming community of friends sharing a meal and giving thanks for a real incarnational presence.

Acknowledge and address the trauma of divisive polarization of beliefs and practices on the young.

Find new ways to educate youth in discernment of the perils and possibilities of the digital age, now compounded by AI, especially about the ways in which they can be manipulated.

Commit to being credible witnesses and “walk the talk” of our teaching.

Address the key ecclesial, moral and anthropological questions of our time raised in the Synod.

Recognize youth violence around the world as a cry for help: build on the courage and selflessness youth showed during pandemic as aid to isolated and vulnerable persons and on their concern for the environment.

Promote resilience to the inevitable traumas of life in prayerful, generous communities.

Rebuilding the Church of the future requires the formation of a new generation of superheroes, rooted in the hope of the incarnation and resurrection and powered by the Holy Spirit. “Make it so.”

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Sister Nuala Kenny, emerita professor at Dalhousie University, Halifax, N.S., is a pediatrician and physician ethicist.