The Church Gets On My Nerves

I’ve had a number of conversations with Catholics who are upset with one thing or another about the Church. My usual response is to congratulate them. I’ve come to believe that if a Catholic is never troubled by what the Church says or is doing, then he or she doesn’t take the Church seriously enough.

The Church’s witness to the Gospel is bound to be a challenge to our pride, greed, envy, lust, and more. The Church’s failure to live up to the Gospel is bound to be unsettling and put our faith to the test.

The revered priest and spiritual writer Romano Guardini noted in his book The Church of the Lord  that “everything in the Church is so full of the human  elements: commonplace, ordinary, even wicked human elements.”

Social activist and convert to Catholicism Dorothy Day was fond of saying, “The Church is the cross on which Christ is always crucified” --a quote she attributed to Guardini.

Both of them recognized that "the Church as lived” is not a perfect society, the same idea which prompted Pope Benedict XVI to acknowledge that the Church has a “disfigured face.”

Catholics confess that they believe in “one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church” but experience on a daily basis a Church divided and sinful.

They are told “Even in the liturgy the church does not wish to impose a rigid uniformity in matters which do not affect the faith or well-being of the entire community” (Sacrosanctum concilium, 37) and yet an awkward English translation of the Roman Missal is imposed for the sake of uniformity.

Catholics are invited to give their observations for a synod about the challenges facing family life in today’s world, and yet the questions posed for their consideration (“What analytical tools are currently being used in these times of anthropological and cultural change?” or “How do Christian families bear witness, for succeeding generations, to the development and growth of a life of sentiment?”) are more abstruse than the challenges they are supposed to probe.

Parishioners are subject to the ideologies of their pastors concerning the physical arrangements of their parish church. One pastor persuades (convinces?) the congregation that the tabernacle should not be in the sanctuary (behind the altar), but the next pastor insists there are good reasons to restore the tabernacle to that very position.

Catholics are encouraged to pray for “more vocations,” which generally means the hope that more young, unmarried men will come forward for ordination to the priesthood, when in fact they believe there would be plenty of priests if the discipline of celibacy were made optional. Parishioners see family men in their own parish who could easily and with dignity preside at the Eucharist.

They hear about Church leaders who complain that the Church has been “feminized,” and at the same time see  these same prelates dressed and parading about in satin and lace and fur.

Ecclesia reformans et reformanda  is a time-honored principle which acknowledges that the Church is always in need of reform, a work in process. Each generation of believers must translate that observation into the Church of its own time—a difficult and painful process.

The New Testament bears to witness to many quarrels and disputes: conflicts among Jesus’ apostles, disagreements about how Gentiles should be received into the community, squabbles among Christians in the Churches of Galatia and Corinth and Thessalonica. 

In some ways it is the human element of the Church that is harder to accept than the divine. Our frustration that things are not the way they should be makes us question whether God is really present after all. And yet the Incarnation is where we meet the deep, puzzling mystery of the human and divine met in the one person of Jesus Christ, who chose not to shy away from but to enter into the brokenness of the human condition. God’s patience and providence continue to surprise.

When he was asked about the newly formulated Constitution for the United States, Benjamin Franklin replied, “I consent, sir, to this constitution, because I expect no better, and because I am not sure that it is not the best.” He did have some misgivings, but he proposed its acceptance. I sometimes wonder if Jesus feels the same about his Church. If he accepts it in its brokenness, who am I to reject it?

I can pray for its growth, work for its betterment, but to abandon what Jesus purchased at so great a price is hardly thinkable. It may not be what he had in mind, but he has not given up on it and neither should we.

"The Church Is Sick" (Hans Kung)

Even if you don’t accept everything he says, you have to admit that Hans Kung makes a strong case for his diagnosis that the Church is sick. You may not agree that it has “a debilitating and potentially terminal illness,” but you will have a hard time disproving his contention that “the Catholic Church is in its deepest crisis of confidence since the Reformation.” Pope Benedict  XVI said the Church has a disfigured face.

His book Can We Save the Catholic Church? (William Collins, 2013) spells out Kung's diagnosis, points to “the Roman system” as the major cause of the Church’s illness, and offers a prescription for recovery. The accumulation of power and prestige in Rome led to what Kung calls "the Roman system."

Kung is 86 years old. He served as a peritus (expert theological adviser) at the Second Vatican Council, lost his license to teach as a Roman Catholic theologian in 1979 when he publicly rejected the doctrine of papal infallibility, and has continued to criticize the “Roman system” as the major flaw in the Church’s mission to represent Christ.

After more than 50 years of study, experience and pleading, Kung says he has published his diagnosis “only to fulfill my duty in conscience to offer this service (possibly my last) to my Church, a Church which I have endeavored to serve all my life.” Can We Save The Catholic Church? may well be his final effort to spell out what he sees wrong with the Church and once again urge its members to seek reform.

In this book he reviews Church history, summarizing here the “critical, historical account of twenty centuries of Christianity” which he published in 1994 under the title Christentum: Wesen und Geschichte (published as Christianity: Essence, History and Future in 2004 by Continuum).

Reviewing various historical and defining moments in the Church’s history, Kung keeps asking whether the Church faithfully reflects the original Christian message “which to all intents and purposes is Jesus Christ himself” (57). 

He decries the Inquisition of the past, but insists that it is still operative today even if in a less physically violent form. He notes the name change, from “Holy Office (of the Inquisition)” to the “Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith” (CDF), but explains that it “now practices more subtle forms of psychological torture, and its proceedings continue to be secret, which is one of the reasons why the Vatican was not permitted to join the 1950 European Convention on Human Rights, which demands certain minimal human rights” (290).

Kung, of course, has himself been subject to investigation by the CDF because of his book questioning papal infallibility. Just six years after the close of Vatican II Kung was writing in Infallible? An Enquiry (Collins, 1971) that “the Council put forward a magnificent programme for a renewed Church of the future” (15), but “the people of God are being deprived of the fruits of the Council” (22).

In his Disputed Truth – Memoirs II (Continuum, 2007), Kung explained why he refused to go to the “colloquium” to which the CDF had called him, describing its style as "hierarchical and heartless” (266), adding, “I will in no way submit to an inquisitional procedure disguised as a ‘colloquium’ in which in the end there is no other possibility for me of safeguarding my rights (something that is granted even criminals in civilized states) than ultimately to subscribe to the Roman dictate if I don’t want to fall victim to Roman sanctions” (268).

In effect Kung argues that the CDF will not discuss but only condemn what it deems contrary to Church doctrine. Kung believes that theologians need to be given an ear, an opportunity to explore, to seek the truth. He believes that over the centuries Rome has shown itself capable of learning, and he hopes that someday the organ of the inquisition will become an organ of  proclamation of the faith. “The protection of the faith is better served today not through the exclusive persecution of errors but through the positive promotion of Christian doctrine” (266).

Inquisitorial practice, however, is only one of Kung’s criticisms. Among other ailments of the Church are: 1) the Roman monopoly of power and truth; 2) juridicism and clericalism; 3) hostility to sexuality plus general misogyny; 4) theological vindication of the use of force and war; 5) great financial power; 6) refusal to reform. All these ailments are contrary to the Gospel and the health of the Church. 

Failure to acknowledge the problems and refusal to speak up exacerbates the illness. Denial is not a redeeming or curative factor.

Kung goes on to list therapies for restoring the Church’s health; among them are 1) exercise of  pastoral leadership by office-holders, not a ruling dominium (often a dictatorship) but rather a ministerium (healing service); 2) reform dictated by the testimony of the Gospel not by canon law; 3) a papacy which maintains community with the Church (an idea that seems part of Pope Francis’ style of ministry); 4) development of a Curia in accord with Gospel values; 5) appointments based on competence rather than cronyism; 6) openness in and restructuring of Vatican finances (another concern of Pope Francis); 7) allowing priests and bishops to marry; 8) opening Church offices to women; 9) inclusion of  laity and clergy in election of bishops.

Kung concludes his diagnosis, therapy and prognoses of an ailing Church with these remarks: “I have once again --this time at a very advanced stage of life--  set forth in summary fashion my vision of a Church which could fulfill the hope of millions of Christians and non-Christians alike. It is a vision based on my experience over decades of careful study, and my experience of struggling and of suffering for it. It is a vision of how the Church could not only be saved and survive but also flourish once again” (331).

Offering his prognosis Kung said, “I hope very much that this book will assist the English-speaking world in supporting Pope Francis’s reforms by offering a precise historic and systematic analysis and viable, practical proposals for reform” (xii)…Doubtless, Pope Francis will awaken powerful hostility, above all in the powerhouse of the Roman Curia –opposition which is difficult to withstand. Those in power in the Vatican are not likely to abandon the power that has been accumulated since the Middle Ages” (337).

“Can we save the Catholic Church?” Kung asks, and then provides a positive answer, “…sooner or later, we will once again become what Christ founded us to be” (338).

Women Deacons?

The Association of United States Catholic Priests (AUSCP) will likely entertain at its June meeting in Seattle a proposal supporting the ordination of women as deacons.

Obstacles to ordaining women as deacons include Canon Law 1024: "Sacram ordinationem valide recipit solus vir baptizatus," which is usually translated, "A baptized male alone receives sacred ordination validly."

Catholic doctrine maintains that the diaconate is conferred by a sacramental act called "ordination," i.e., the sacrament of Holy Orders (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1554). Canon 1024, therefore, precludes the ordination of women.

This current legislation is not irreformable. It can change, and likely will change when Church leaders accept the ordination of women as deacons as an idea and exigency whose time has come.

Misunderstanding may be an another obstacle. Many think that legislation allowing the ordination of women to the diaconate necessarily opens the door to ordination of women as priests.

Pope John Paul II effectively closed the door on ordination of women as priests when he declared in 1994 that the Church does not have the authority to ordain women as priests. His perception seems to be based on the New Testament evidence that Jesus did not choose women to be among the Twelve.

Accepting this papal clarification, however, does not rule out ordination of women as deacons.

 In 2009 Pope Benedict the XVI added a paragraph to Canon 1009: "Those who are constituted in the order of the episcopate or the presbyterate receive the mission and capacity to act in the person of Christ the Head, whereas deacons are empowered to serve the People of God in the ministries of the liturgy, the word and charity" (cf. Motu proprio "Omnium in Mentem,"  October 20, 2009).

Thus ordination to the diaconate does not, according to Church law, imply eligibility to ordination to the presbyterate. Phyllis Zagano, the preeminent scholar on the history of deaconesses in the early Church, notes that ordination of a man as a permanent deacon is a separate vocation and by no means implies he is a candidate for priestly ordination. Pope Benedict's decision to clarify Canon 1009 further supports the ontological  differences between the orders of diaconate and presbyterate.

Perhaps a bigger obstacle to ordaining women as deacons is fear. The fear may stem from concern about control of ordained women (who oversees women deacons and their ministries) or simply apprehension about something "new" in the Church's structure (though in fact deaconesses are not new).

Both the New Testament (cf. Romans 16:1 where Paul sends greetings to "Phoebe our sister who is a minister, i.e., diakonos, of the church at Cenchreae") and early Church writings give evidence that women deacons were present in the first centuries of the Church's history (cf. Constitution of the Holy Apostles, 8, 19-20, with its ritual for ordaining women as deacons).

When the proposal for restoring the permanent diaconate surfaced at the Second Vatican Council, two of the  reasons for its restoration are applicable to the ordination of women as deacons: 1) to counter the priest shortage, and 2) to strengthen with sacramental grace those already performing diaconal service. Karl Rahner reflects that same argumentation in his Theological Investigations, 10.11.

Resourcement (a return to the sources) was a guiding principle for the aggiornamento of  Vatican II.  The biblical movement, the liturgical movement, and the patristic movement which influenced the Fathers of the Council and the formation of the Council's sixteen documents also support the possibility of ordaining women as deacons.

The door to women deacons is not closed. It is, at the very least, slightly ajar. It would take only a nod from the pope to allow entry to the many women of the Church, religious and lay, who already shoulder the burdens of service and serve as liturgical ministers.

Rahner noted that Vatican II did not insist on any one set of tasks for the restored diaconate, and further suggested that it is not essential that today's form should have existed in the past.

Having studied the issue for years, Zagano concluded, "The ordained ministry of service by women is necessary to the Church, that is, to both the People of God and the Hierarchy."

There is a certain irony for those oppose women deacons: the only person in the New Testament who is specifically described as "diakonos" is "Phoebe our sister."

When the Means Overshadow the End

The Church is and always will be in need of reform. Its divine origin and the ongoing guidance of the Spirit do not rule out the frailty and fallibility of the human element. From the Council of Jerusalem (when Paul insisted that Gentile converts need not be circumcised in order to be saved) through the twenty-one ecumenical councils and countless synods, the Church throughout its history has wrestled with the need to reassess and reform.

The late French theologian and cardinal of the Church Yves Congar wrote years before the Second Vatican Council that every institution (the Church included) faces the danger of turning means into ends.

"The organization and the means," Congar wrote in True and False Reform in the Church, "can become the chief obstacle to the realization of the authentic end. This is why, as De Man says, it is desirable to maintain the same psychological flexibility in the application of the means as in the pursuit of the end" (Liturgical Press, p. 136).

Congar pointed to the Church in the 16th century as an instance of its allowing the means to overshadow the end. Martin Luther re-awakened the Church to the need for re-assessment and reform. 

As historian John O'Malley, SJ, explains in Trent: What Happened at the Council, one part of Luther's challenge was a cry for reform of various ecclesiastical offices and religious practices. "His grievances," O'Malley writes, "were for the most part directed against the popes and the papal Curia, commonly considered the root of the evils" (p. 13).

Although Pope Paul III focused on the other part of Luther's challenge, especially, his insistence on faith alone not works as the means to salvation, the schism might have been avoided had Church leaders addressed the many non-dogma issues that Luther decried.

Congar recalled the analysis made by Luther's contemporary Desiderius Erasmus who "put his finger on the real problem of Catholicism in his time almost everywhere: the pastoral had been overshadowed or effaced by the feudal, the Gospel spirit by the excrescences of flamboyant piety,  faith by religion, and religion by practices" (Congar, ibid., p. 139).

Perhaps one minor instance of mistaking means for ends in our day is the growing concern about clerical dress. Vatican  II's Presbyterorum Ordinis (the decree on priests) described priests as "instructors of the people in the faith."  And then offered the reminder that "very little good will be achieved by ceremonies, however beautiful, or societies, however flourishing, if they are not directed towards training people to reach Christian maturity" (#6).

An article in a  recent issue of National Catholic Reporter  questioned whether the return to sashes, biretta (three-cornered hats), large crosses, amices, maniples and special gloves and shoes is consistent with the direction set by Jesus himself who criticized the religious leaders of his day for wearing long fringes and broad phylacteries (cf Mt 23:5).

If the reform of the liturgy was to effect "a noble simplicity" (Sacosanctum Concilium, 34), a corollary to that principle would apply to liturgical dress as well. Can the cappa magna (a glorified cope worn in procession though not in liturgy) or elaborate trains, or lacy surplices or fur-lined hats, be consistent with "noble simplicity?" Are any of them what Jesus had in mind?

In the NCR article the author, Dominican priest and professor Thomas O'Meara, quoted Henry David Thoreau: "Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes."

Are these garments helpful means to the end of reflecting and spreading the Gospel?

And church clothing is only one area of concern in re-prioritizing the means and ends of today's Church.

In his analysis of church reform, Congar cautioned, "We should not imagine that the ancient forms of the church are out-of-date simply because they come from the past...I want to clarify the distinction and the connection between what is permanently valuable and what by its nature can become obsolete" (True and False Reform, pp 152-53).

There are many aspects and elements of Church life that can and perhaps need to be changed so that its end may be more effectively promoted.

And what is true of the Church's life is also true of my own. Sometimes I must let go of things in order to grow into the person I am to be. I am and always will be in need of reform.

Analysis of the Church is far easier than analysis of one's self. 

Status Quo 40+ Years Later

I just read something Swiss theologian and priest Hans Kung wrote more than forty years ago. It struck me that it could have been written yesterday.

In what he titled "A Candid Foreword" to his book Unfehlbar? (published in 1970, just five years after the closing of the Second Vatican Council), Kung was critical of the Church's failure to implement the changes inspired by the Council.

He observed, "Not withstanding the inevitability of change, the Pope, the Curia and many bishops continue to behave in a largely pre-conciliar fashion; little seems to have been learnt from the Council."

Describing Pope Paul VI as "a man of integrity, who suffers under his load of responsibility," Kung nonetheless faulted him for  rejecting the proposal of many Council fathers to freely elect the presidents of its commissions, for forbidding Council to discuss the birth-control issue or the question of priestly celibacy, and for the nota explicativa which  without Council approval presumed to interpret the principle of episcopal collegiality.

When Kung, in 1964, published his concern about these decisions, he was called to account for his assessment by Cardinal Ottaviani, prefect of the  Vatican's Holy Office. Kung noted that this interview "took place in an atmosphere of mutual respect."

Following the Council's closing in December of 1965, Kung believed that the "Council put forward a magnificent programme for a renewed Church of the future." He praised the various reforms in the Curia, the reformed Mass liturgy and the use of the vernacular in liturgy, and the reform of the seminaries.

"Nothing of all this was perfect," he admitted, "but it was all basically good and hopeful."

And then in a short time there occurred what Kung called a relapse into pre-conciliar absolutism, juridicism, and centralism. He saw this return to past thinking as consistent with a saying often heard at the time of the Council: "Councils come to an end, popes pass away, but the Roman Curia goes on."

When the Curia was enlarged rather than cut back, Kung noted that in the face of Roman rigidity "many bishops and bishops' conferences behaved irresolutely, hesitantly, and passively. Instead of boldly and immediately setting about putting the Council's decisions into practice in the various countries, a policy of wait-and-see was adopted."

Kung acknowledged that several positive steps had been taken: the Index was abolished,  synods of bishops had been held, the excommunication of the Patriarch of Constantinople was rescinded, but theologians were still subject to inquisitional proceedings, the bishops' recommendations had little impact, and Rome maintained its privileges and prerogatives over the Eastern churches.

The Petrine ministry, Kung wrote, "makes sense, and every Catholic accepts it. But the Pope exists for the Church, and not the Church for the Pope. His primacy is not the primacy of sovereignty, but the primacy of service."

Kung said that the post-conciliar Church was experiencing a fresh crisis "provoked by Roman intransigence" and asked whether it is "not better to speak out plainly and openly and in good time, before more priests give up the ministry, more candidates for orders go away, and more people noisily or quietly turn their backs on the Church."

"Reform and renewal," Kung proposed,  "is our watchword. But let this also be said. Just as we have no time for reaction in the Church, so do we have none for revolution, that is, the violent overthrow of the Church's government and values."

The changes which Kung advocated are to be achieved, he said, by changes of personnel and structures. "We must not give up the struggle for renewal and reform, but neither must we give up dialogue and hope for mutual understanding."

Kung made a plea for acceptance of free expression of opinion as a basic human right "that cannot be denied even to a Catholic theologian in the ecclesial community when he is striving after the truth of the Church's proclamation."

Kung's observations could have been written yesterday, but they are found in the foreword to his Infallible? An Enquiry (Collins, St. James Place, London, 1971).