#471: Ending Clericalism, Our “Original Sin”

  [Pope Francis’ letter on the Sex Abuse crisis

 has received praise and criticism. 

But one idea deserves deep reflection by all of us.]

The recent outbreak of the sex abuse crisis (Pennsylvania, Australia, Cardinal McCarrick, etc.) prove that any notion that this nightmare was over was just wishful thinking.

Pope Francis’ letter expressed remorse for the church’s failures and empathy for the victims. He clearly is appalled by both the depravity of individual clergy and the equally scandalous (if not worse) cover-up by bishops.

But critics argue we need real change, not just talk. Surface reforms won’t do. We must identify and uproot the underlying causes. This crisis is about failed leadership and governance. We know “This is no way to run the Church,” and we need a different way.

So we must first understand why it runs the way it does.

I think Pope Francis offers the best answer: “To say "no" to abuse is to say an emphatic "no" to all forms of clericalism.” I could not agree more—but to end clericalism we must understand what it is, where it came from, and why it is so dangerous.

Hierarchy vs. Clericalism. People may think the problem is the church’s top-down structure. I would argue, instead, that the problem is not the structure but the culture than drives it.

The Catholic Church’s hierarchy is hardly unique. Over centuries, the church’s hierarchy provided the model for most major organizations in Western culture. Even democratic institutions, like the US government, are heavily hierarchical. The President may be elected, but the entire executive branch is a complex ranking of appointed superiors and subordinates. Hierarchy permeates contemporary society--it has become the dominant way to organize any large institution. The Church is simply the world’s largest and oldest hierarchy--it is, in a word, the mother of all hierarchies.

Lord Acton, referring to Pius IX’s papacy, warned “power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” But not all hierarchies are corrupt, because they place checks on power.

The American military is hierarchical, but its Commander-in-Chief is a civilian. The executive branch is a hierarchy, but it is checked by the legislative and the judiciary. Corporate hierarchies may be checked by forces either within the organization (unions, directors, shareholders) or outside it (e.g., regulatory agencies, legislation).

The common denominator in all these: while hierarchies place people in positions of authority, those people remain accountable to someone else for the way they use their authority. Accountability is what keeps those in authority honest, by ensuring that, if authority is abused, there will be consequences for the abuser.

What sets Catholic governance apart is not its hierarchical structure, but the absence of accountability.

We should ask:  Why is there no accountability?

Because, while the basic structure of Catholic hierarchy has remained relatively intact for centuries, an evolving Inner Culture was permanently altering the roles of both clergy and lay people. This inner culture, Clericalism, is the “original sin” that has made our present crisis inevitable. The Culture of Clericalism has prevented the accountability we needed to keep hierarchy honest.

In its broadest sense, Clericalism evolved in two dimensions: (1) The clergy became a privileged class, and (2) Lay people became totally dependent. In a word, clergy became the Church’s parents, and laity its children.

 A Privileged Clergy. Over centuries, the top-down hierarchical structure was accompanied by privileges not available to laity. Pastors began functioning as proprietors entitled to income and even to property, as though the parish belonged to them. Priests eventually acquired titles, uniforms, incomes, land, exemptions from ordinary public duties (from jury duty to paying traffic fines), rights and even “special graces” denied to lay people.

The cumulative effect was a caste system: the priesthood became an entitled, elite club, which tended to operate by its own (often secret) rules, invisible to outside view and immune to outside accountability. The Church’s inner culture developed a chronic double standard--one for clergy, and the other for laity.

Modern reforms leading up to Vatican II (1962-1965) stripped away many privileges, but the double standard itself remained. The long history of clergy being above accountability to anyone “below” them continued—and so did the history of the clericalism’s gravest abuse: the abuse of power.

Authority without accountability becomes dangerous. Once I am in a position of authority, I may be tempted to make it my shield. Instead of using authority to serve the Church, I abuse it, controlling whoever challenges my will, demanding obedience and loyalty. People simply follow my orders. So my human weaknesses are hidden. My arrogance goes unchallenged, my dishonesty goes unchecked, my misdeeds go undiscovered. I remain a flawed human being, but authority covers up my flaws like a bullet-proof vest, so I begin to seem invulnerable, morally superior to ordinary humans, hardly human at all. The notion that I stand in Jesus’ place cements my super-human status.

It takes rare moral strength to resist such temptation consistently. Among US Catholic immigrants, the priesthood represented the only privileged state available to most Catholics. The priesthood became such a powerful vehicle of personal advancement—the “Cadillac among professions,” once diocesan vocations director called it—that many priests retired wealthy, with legacies and seashore estates. And all priests faced the diabolical temptation to wield their authority to acquire virtual moral immunity. Too many men succumbed to that temptation. Pretending to be angels, they fell.

And a dependent laity. The deep cultural roots of clericalism have a lay side as well. At the same time that priestly privileges were mounting (from the 4th century on), the Roman Empire was crumbling. Schools closed, civil government yielded to Church control. Eventually the laity were nearly all illiterate and powerless, and it naturally became common to regard lay people as helpless children. (James Carroll has termed this the “infantalization” of Catholicism).

Monasteries, cathedral schools, and even universities in this period were open only to those seeking ordination. The parish priest was thus the only literate member of most parishes. Holy Orders took the place of Baptism as the prime sacrament of vocation, and the priest became the central figure in church life. He was shepherd to his flock, “father” to his family, making the parent-child relationship the controlling metaphor for all clergy-lay relations. The Church’s parents could do as they liked, and the children—the laity—were kept “innocent” by being kept ignorant.

Modern life, of course, eventually rendered this metaphor obsolete. By late 20^th century, American Catholics were as educated, independent, capable and sophisticated as clergy. Yet this obsolete parent-child relationship persisted—and it persisted despite official Church teachings against it, teachings that called for its end.

Vatican II proclaimed the need for a holy, mature, adult laity. In 1985, the US bishops spoke of the laity’s “Call to Adulthood” in the church. Yet many priests still defined clergy-lay relations by the same old cynical rhyme: “We hatch, match, and dispatch; they pray, pay, and obey.” Meanwhile most laity accepted a passive role; those asserting themselves often met resistance, anger, rejection. At best, relations progressed from “parent-child” to “parent-adolescent”—rebellious hostility vs. threatened defensiveness.

Why, despite such calls for a new relationship, has the parent-child model persisted?

My answer: many clergy have clung to the obsolete model precisely to protect their privileged state. An empowered laity raises the threat of accountability—and many clergy, horrified to think of answering to their own people, cling to their role as the Church’s parents, wielding their authority like a personal shield. So, in the present crisis, Church officials opposed laws requiring clergy to report abuse, rationalizing their elitist arrogance with a perverse logic that erupted naturally from the inner culture of clericalism like lava oozing from split rock:

“We clergy (the parents) know clergy sex abuse exists. But the laity (the children) could never handle discovering this, it would destroy their child-like faith, and that would be a scandal. It is our duty to protect them from this truth, so we must take any measure to hide it from them.”

In short, the Church’s culture of clericalism has perverted its hierarchical structure, keeping clergy immune from accountability—and that immunity has now led to disaster on two levels: the sexual abuse by priests, and gross abuse of power by bishops.

What can be done about it? The short answer is: we must institutionalize accountability. And since the hierarchy itself is not about to disappear, the question becomes: how to institutionalize accountability within hierarchy?

Replacing Clericalism.  One thing is clear: operating without accountability is no longer an option. Henceforth the secular society—media, courts, legislatures—will police the Church if the Church cannot police itself. But any solution within the Church will require broad support. Clergy and laity must act to replace clericalism with a new way of running the Church. 1000 Catholics have already petitioned all US bishops to resign as a collective symbol of their willingness to act.

Structural change will be needed: We need effective ways of ensuring that everyone in authority answers to someone else. One priest has already proposed a “Council for Clergy Accountability” with lay, religious, and clergy members.

But structural changes will not be enough. For years police, DAs, and courts possessed the structures to hold the Church accountable, but failed to employ them out of deference—that is, because of clericalism.

Bad leaders can pervert the best structures, but good leaders can improve even bad structures. That means getting leaders whose character, training, support systems, and operating culture make them effective at empowering others instead of controlling them.

This means a variety of cultural reforms: in seminary formation, in the professionalism of clergy and lay leaders, in the Church’s work environment. It also means serious formation that empowers lay people to take on their new responsibility to keep clergy accountable.

Calling out priests for acting privileged was once unthinkable. NOW it is essential, and that means lay people must step up to the plate and do the calling out.

This happens in very mundane ways. Example: a parish council is supposed to be an advisory body. But too often pastors ask council members for individual opinions, rather than asking the council body for its advice. That requires decision-making: do we advise this or that? And if the council decides by consensus, with the pastor present, that can check his authority by giving everyone a veto. This is how accountability can work on the local level.

I’ve worked with pastors whose councils use consensus, and with dozens of other local initiatives that already show us better ways of running the church together: A pastor who invites his staff to evaluate his performance; clergy who consult parishioners to develop priorities for the future; youth ministers, religious education directors and worship coordinators who consult volunteers to keep them involved and invested—all are part of the solution. They model authentic authority, accountable leadership, and transparent operations.

Such “best practices” have already transformed Church leadership in some places, and they need to be more widely appreciated and nurtured. 

These initiatives remind us that Vatican II offered an alternative to Clericalism in the form of Conciliarism—the ancient (but underused!) church culture that brings people together for consultation “as much as possible” at all levels whenever decisions are needed or action is to be taken.

Vatican II was itself an example of conciliarism in action. Many effective parish staffs and parish councils I consult with model conciliarism. But too many priests and bishops still give lip service to conciliarism, resisting efforts to expand it while clutching all control behind the scenes.

But lip service for conciliarism is no longer acceptable. If Vatican II is the work of the Spirit, then its intentions are the Will of God—and God’s Will must be done.

Acting to end clericalism is doing God’s work.

© Bernard F. Swain PhD 2018

#470: A Glorious Tradition but a Flawed Vessel

  [After a lengthy book-writing hiatus, I’m returning to my reflections amid turbulent events.]

After 46 years in church work I may be facing involuntary retirement. This impels me to view both current events and my own career path in a new light. 

I was recently dismissed from a parish position because--while no doubt “passionate,” and without question “competent,” and certainly “everybody likes you”--I impressed some parishioners as “someone from another era.” Of course, as someone pushing 70 working with RCIA candidates in their 20s and 30s, and with volunteers who are either students or parents of school age kids, I am from another era because I’m from another generation.  And for some, this was a problem. 

Part of that problem, I was told, was that I “hinged” my formation work on Vatican Council II (1962-1965): its history, its program, especially its impact over the last 50 plus years.

I find myself reacting on two levels: my personal situation and the wider situation of the institutional church.

My dismissal came after individuals complained to the pastor about my approach.  They never spoke to me about their concerns, nor did he suggest they talk directly with me to see if I could adjust my approach to their satisfaction. Nor did the pastor himself raise their concerns with me.  Instead I was simply blindsided with dismissal as a fait acompli.

Sadly, in hindsight I am not surprised.  This is how the organization called Catholic Church functions all too often.  Instead of raising the bar and operating by a higher standard than secular organizations--more honest, more transparent, more professional--parishes often operate as little fiefdoms where whim can dictate policy and where a focus on piety trumps real life ethics.

When I noted that troubled parishioners never brought their concerns to me, I was told “People are often that way.” When I suggested that pastors often neglect their moral responsibility as employers, I was told “care for souls is always the pastor's first obligation.” This made me wonder: how does enabling the immature, even dishonest behavior of others--by doing their back door bidding--care for their souls?  How is this promoting virtue within them?

Instead, the outcome suggests that, as a traditional Catholic with progressive leanings working in a self-professed “conservative” parish, I ran afoul of folks who, at best, were too fragile in their convictions to tolerate the gap between their views and mine--and at worst think my views are a “bad fit” for a Catholic parish. 

I confess this fits a pattern I’ve observed over the course of my career: when progressive and conservative Catholics interact, it is generally the conservatives who tend to regard the others as unfit for Catholic life.  I’ve never quite figured out why both sides cannot establish this common ground: the Catholic Church is big enough for both of us.

The chief irony of this experience is that a key part of my role--conducting the parish’s RCIA program--aimed at welcoming new members into this institution.  Their final evaluations indicate they found my overview of Catholic tradition enlightening, helpful, and motivating.  For many, my efforts convinced them they were making the right choice.  For me, there is no contradiction between saying (1) they are embracing a rich, marvelous, and holy tradition by (2) becoming members of a flawed vessel, an organization that often fails its members.  The institutional church often fails to walk its own talk--as new revelations of priestly sex abuse horrors attest--and these new members will need to make their peace with that, as I have.

The RCIA itself, of course, is one of those hundreds of aspects of Catholic life that would not exist today except for the historic event we call Vatican II.  To me, it’s both puzzling and problematic that anyone has trouble with the idea of making Vatican II’s impact a “hinge” for introducing people to 21^st century Catholicism.  And this raises the wider issue of the Church’s current situation.

We know that millions of baptized Catholics are dropping away from active participation in the Church.  The numbers have reached crisis proportions, especially among English speaking Catholics.  Only the arrival of Latino, Brazilian, and Asian Catholics (and their high birthrates) keep the U.S. Catholic population from shrinking.

The current trend to counter this is to emphasize parishes as missionary communities of discipleship and evangelization. 

I think this stress on mission, evangelization, and discipleship is wonderful--I have been working on just those things since I was 23 years old.  I still recall one volunteer leader who wished me farewell when I left my first parish job in 1973: “God bless, Bernie.  I wish you lots of converts!  Conversion to a more intentional, active faith has been at the heart of all my work from the start, and especially since 2002. My RCIA work is but the latest example.

But these goals should not mistake detours for the right path. One popular text on parish evangelizing, for example, warns that in ten years the current trends of declining membership “will make the post-Vatican II era look good.” And a priest remarked to me “The church is at a very different place now than it was in the 1960's through the 90's, for good, I trust.” These comments reveal an outlook that is both misleading and even dangerous.

Who says the post-Vatican II era was not good?  I was a child before Vatican II, a high school student during Vatican II. I’ve lived my entire adult Catholic life in the wake of the Council.  My own judgment is that, warts and all, the period following Vatican II has been a providential blessing for both the Church and the world.  Others are free to judge otherwise--but tossing off that judgment as a casual assumption of fact betrays a blind prejudice that implies that those who liked the “post-Vatican II era” are a “bad fit” for today’s Church because they represent “another era”!

And: Who says the post-Vatican II era is over?  There’s a lot of evidence to suggest otherwise. 

First, the debate about the nature, purpose, and impact of Vatican II still continues among scholars, bishops, and even rank and file.  Indeed, after 50+ years there is no consensus interpretation of the Council on any of those levels.

Second, ecumenical councils are rare-- only 21 in 21 centuries--and the major ones have long-lasting impact.  Catholic still recite the creed produced by the fourth century Council of Nicaea, and for 400 years they celebrated Mass as it was reshaped by the 16^th century Council of Trent.  My own reading of Vatican II – and I am not alone–is that this Council’s work could not possibly be completed in a single lifetime, or even two.  The “vast undertaking” of implementing it, which John XXIII predicted in 1963, continues to be a work in progress.  Does anyone really think, for example, that congregational participation at mass –say, the singing--has reached a level the Council intended? 

Third, don’t take my word for it. Pope Francis himself has declared the Council’s work unfinished:

Vatican II, inspired by Pope Paul VI and John, decided to look to the future with a modern spirit and to be open to modern culture. The Council Fathers knew that being open to modern culture meant religious ecumenism and dialogue with non-believers. But afterwards very little was done in that direction. I have the humility and ambition to want to do something.

The post-Vatican II era is only “over” if we abandon its work.

I’m also troubled if people assume that a focus on mission, evangelization, and discipleship has emerged after the post-Vatican II era ended--as if this is a new development.  In fact, to paraphrase GK Chesterton, it’s not that those things were not tried before, but rather that they were tried and found hard --and then often dropped.  And that dropping is precisely part of the unfinished business of the Council. So pretending that evangelization is not a product of Vatican II is just denying history.

After all, it was Vatican II that made a “universal call to holiness,” and called all Catholics “a priestly people.” It was Vatican II that said all baptized members, by virtue of their baptism, are “called and gifted” to carry the church’s mission and “make all men [sic] disciples.”

I first heard a Jesuit priest preach about sharing my “personal relationship with Jesus” in 1965!

It was the Vatican’s 1971 General Catechetical Directory that called adult formation “the primary form of religious education.”

And it was the Council’s second pope, Paul VI, who published Evangelii nuntiandi in 1975 to urge Catholics to evangelize at all levels.  (My own archdiocese of Boston, for example, undertook a “Two-year Cycle of Pastoral Planning for Evangelization” as early as 1977.)

It was the next four popes, following Vatican II’s lead, who urged those efforts to continue.  These ideas are not recent appearances in the Church. They were there all along, waiting to be retrieved.

The danger of such “another era” talk lies in distorting the work of Vatican II--either by pretending it is all done, or that its effects were not good, or both.  The “new” stress on mission, discipleship, and evangelism comes to be treated either as disconnected from the last 50 years or somehow connected to the period before that--the period up until 1960, when “cultural Catholics” who clung to a rules-centered Catholicism filled the churches and swelled the sacramental numbers.  Thus the emphasis on “the new evangelization” can succumb to an a-historical nostalgia for a golden age that never existed.

Yes, I’m a boomer--and my generation’s performance as “Vatican II kids” often fell short. The previous generation of church leaders did not guide us much, since no one really prepared them to be Vatican II’s “change agents.” Thus the heroic vision of John XXIII and the piloting genius of Paul VI sometimes failed to take root on the parish level, leaving unfinished work. 

But if we believe (as I do) that the Spirit of Jesus guides councils, we cannot simply pretend that the Council’s program is not worth our continued efforts.  We cannot simply “move on” to something “new” and shiny or “go back” to something ancient and venerable.  We must embrace our tradition and acknowledge that the last five popes dedicated their papacies to a historic renewal still vital in the face of current challenges.

Remember how Pope Francis himself dedicated himself to making Vatican II a “hinge” of his own papacy. His final comment is good advice for us all:

But afterwards very little was done in that direction. I have the humility and ambition to want to do something.

We must be humble too.

We must be ambitious too.

We must also “want to do something”

After all, if our goal is to evangelize, that means not only sharing our faith with others, but inviting them to join an institution that is worth belonging to.

© Bernard F. Swain PhD 2018