EXCERPT:
As much as I like and recommend John Allen, Jr.’s new book The Future Church: How Ten Trends Are Revolutionizing The Catholic Church, I have a serious problem with one section—and it’s taken me a few weeks to figure out what it is.
Among the trends Allen analyzes is the rise of what he calls "evangelical Catholicism," and his analysis includes the impact of this rise on "liberal Catholicism."...
Reading and reflecting on Allen's account, I've had three distinct reactions.
The first is that I instantly recognize both "camps." …
My second reaction is that I belong to neither camp -- and I know many Catholics who keep me in good company...
All this leads to my third reaction: something is missing from Allen's analysis...As early as 1987, in a Miami Herald op-ed piece marking John-Paul II’s second US visit, I described a third “camp” of Catholics—Catholics who reject both the evangelicals and the liberals. We think evangelicals who “build a fence around the faith” are repeating the failed “quarantine” strategy of Vatican I, which was already rejected at Vatican II and replaced by the Council’s “inoculation” strategy of engagement with the modern world. We see liberals as preoccupied with internal matters, when engaging the modern world was Vatican II’s priority.
To us, it seems both those camps have lost faith with the long-term effectiveness of Vatican II: one camp fears engagement has gone too far, the other feels reform has not gone far enough. My trouble with Allen’s two-camp account was that it leaves out the very people who remain convinced of the Council’s continued relevance.
I suspect the key to my trouble lies in Allen’s focus on the idea of "trends."...The fact is there is a movement deeper than trends. Catholicism, so ancient and vast, mostly tends to move in history much like the slow, barely noticeable but inexorable pace of the ancient vast tectonic plates drifting beneath in the earth's surface. But just like those plates, Catholicism occasionally (even without warning) suddenly shifts, causing abrupt changes in faith’s landscape. Such "Churchquakes" give way to pressures that have built for centuries, and their aftershocks last centuries as well.
Vatican II was just such a seismic spasm, as both John XXII and Paul VI acknowledged by calling it Catholicism's "Second Pentecost." If Pentecost marked the Church’s birth, they dubbed Vatican II its rebirth.
Clearly Allen's focus is deeper than headlines--but his frame of reference is the 21st century, and especially its first half. The book is a futurist exercise, full of predictions that get too risky if projected too far out in time. So Allen's real focus lies between the headlines that skim today’s surface currents, on the one hand, and the centuries-long dynamics that give global (and Catholic) history its deep structure--a structure characterized, not by trends, but by the alternation between glacially-slow drifting and sudden, seismic shifting.
If I am right, the seismic shift of Vatican II lies too deep for Allen's analysis...
Showing posts with label John Allen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Allen. Show all posts
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
#291: A Look In The Mirror
EXCERPT: John Allen, Jr.’s new book The Future Church: How Ten Trends Are Revolutionizing The Catholic Church offers a journalist's wide-ranging analysis of current global tendencies and their impact on 21st century Catholicism. Much of it reflects realities I have witnessed or heard about or even predicted. But reading the chapter on “Trend Five: Expanding Lay Roles” felt like looking into a mirror image, or even a self-portrait.
Allen begins by describing "the spirit of lay activism stirring in today's church" with anecdotes about two women engaged in lay organizations, and notes "no one in officialdom drew up the plans...and their founders didn't ask anyone's permission.” This reflects my own decision to pursue theological studies: arriving at Harvard Divinity School in 1970, I assumed I would be a lone Catholic alien in a historically Protestant school. It turned out we Catholics were the largest group of students there (this remained true into the 21st century) -- and no one knew why. The school had not recruited Catholics, and our Bishops had not sent us. We just started showing up. Our best guess: what was “stirring” was the Holy Spirit.
Allen notes that "lay empowerment" was too often seen to mean laity holding church positions rather than taking their baptismal vocation into the world. But he now sees that trend cutting the other way:
The growth market for lay leadership won't be reformers seeking to alter official structures and teachings, but rather activists willing to take those things for granted, at least for the time being, in order to get on with the business of saving souls and changing the world.
For me, this reflects my own ambition to mobilize laity for activism, not primarily for reform. That was the common thread as I moved from working as a religious education director to running the Lay Ministry Training Institute, to acting as newspaper editor, to entering private practice in church consulting. Although I generally focused on parish life, and although I personally favored reforms in some church teachings and practices such as celibacy and women's ordination, my professional aim was always making parishes more effective in their mission to the world -- parish as change-agent.
Allen claims the future will emphasize what he calls “Pentecostal Catholicism”:
The growing sector of what one might call Pentecostal Catholics means that an increasing number of laity see themselves as commissioned to act as teachers, evangelists, and activists on the basis of charismatic inspiration rather than formal ecclesiastical authorization.
This has certainly been true for me. While I never joined the Catholic Charismatic movement itself (as my parents did), I had to build my own ministry outside of "formal ecclesiastical authorization.” I have been free-lancing now for nearly twenty years, and routinely tell my parish-based clients: "I do not represent any church officials, and I have no authority here except what you give me. I work for you."
When Allen warns that "the more successful a Catholic initiative becomes, the more hierarchy frets about its independence," my alarm bells go off. These days I mildly tell people, "I have two reputations," glossing over troubled waters: getting fired by two pastors and one bishop; being blackballed by diocesan officials; learning that Bernard Law (whom I had never even met) was questioning both pastors and bishops about my loyalty and orthodoxy; twice being summonsed to the Vicar General’s office, at Bernard Law’s behest, for velvet-gloved threats: ("We would hate to have to tell pastors they could not hire you!").
In my twenties, thirties, and forties, such hierarchical "fretting" took its toll on me and my family (not to mention my income), but by now -- especially following Bernard Law’s fall from grace -- I see my battle scars as badges of honor.
There are still days, amid these tough Catholic times, when I wonder what I've accomplished in nearly 40 years of lay activism. But as I look in Allen's mirror, the self I see reflected in it makes this much crystal clear: these years have been lived on a frontier that no past generation of Catholic laity before us ever approached -- and it is, moreover, a frontier we laity continue to open up toward that “Future Church.”
Allen begins by describing "the spirit of lay activism stirring in today's church" with anecdotes about two women engaged in lay organizations, and notes "no one in officialdom drew up the plans...and their founders didn't ask anyone's permission.” This reflects my own decision to pursue theological studies: arriving at Harvard Divinity School in 1970, I assumed I would be a lone Catholic alien in a historically Protestant school. It turned out we Catholics were the largest group of students there (this remained true into the 21st century) -- and no one knew why. The school had not recruited Catholics, and our Bishops had not sent us. We just started showing up. Our best guess: what was “stirring” was the Holy Spirit.
Allen notes that "lay empowerment" was too often seen to mean laity holding church positions rather than taking their baptismal vocation into the world. But he now sees that trend cutting the other way:
The growth market for lay leadership won't be reformers seeking to alter official structures and teachings, but rather activists willing to take those things for granted, at least for the time being, in order to get on with the business of saving souls and changing the world.
For me, this reflects my own ambition to mobilize laity for activism, not primarily for reform. That was the common thread as I moved from working as a religious education director to running the Lay Ministry Training Institute, to acting as newspaper editor, to entering private practice in church consulting. Although I generally focused on parish life, and although I personally favored reforms in some church teachings and practices such as celibacy and women's ordination, my professional aim was always making parishes more effective in their mission to the world -- parish as change-agent.
Allen claims the future will emphasize what he calls “Pentecostal Catholicism”:
The growing sector of what one might call Pentecostal Catholics means that an increasing number of laity see themselves as commissioned to act as teachers, evangelists, and activists on the basis of charismatic inspiration rather than formal ecclesiastical authorization.
This has certainly been true for me. While I never joined the Catholic Charismatic movement itself (as my parents did), I had to build my own ministry outside of "formal ecclesiastical authorization.” I have been free-lancing now for nearly twenty years, and routinely tell my parish-based clients: "I do not represent any church officials, and I have no authority here except what you give me. I work for you."
When Allen warns that "the more successful a Catholic initiative becomes, the more hierarchy frets about its independence," my alarm bells go off. These days I mildly tell people, "I have two reputations," glossing over troubled waters: getting fired by two pastors and one bishop; being blackballed by diocesan officials; learning that Bernard Law (whom I had never even met) was questioning both pastors and bishops about my loyalty and orthodoxy; twice being summonsed to the Vicar General’s office, at Bernard Law’s behest, for velvet-gloved threats: ("We would hate to have to tell pastors they could not hire you!").
In my twenties, thirties, and forties, such hierarchical "fretting" took its toll on me and my family (not to mention my income), but by now -- especially following Bernard Law’s fall from grace -- I see my battle scars as badges of honor.
There are still days, amid these tough Catholic times, when I wonder what I've accomplished in nearly 40 years of lay activism. But as I look in Allen's mirror, the self I see reflected in it makes this much crystal clear: these years have been lived on a frontier that no past generation of Catholic laity before us ever approached -- and it is, moreover, a frontier we laity continue to open up toward that “Future Church.”
Monday, April 12, 2010
#289: Will The Real Bad Guys Please Stand Up?
EXCERPT: Benedict, both as a Bishop and as Vatican official, has personified the kind of official plagued with a good heart but bad vision. Men like him (and they were all men) had the best intentions to protect the Body of Christ from harm – but their horrifying myopia has cost us all dearly. To put it simply: they went after the wrong “bad guys.”
This sad story offers lots of villains: the child-rapists themselves; their enablers and protectors; commentators attacking the media for investigating criminal behavior; commentators aiming to exploit scandal simply to harm the church; church officials who avoided facing the scandal for fear of harming the church.
But from 1981 on, Joseph Ratzinger earned the moniker “God’s Rottweiler” for his aggressive vigilance against a wholly different target: priests whose writing, speaking, and thinking seemed at odds with official Church teaching. Jason Berry sums up that history like this:
As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, he was decisive in running the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, which is housed in a 17th-century palazzo where Galileo the astronomer was convicted of heresy. On issues ranging from the Vatican prohibition of birth control devices to Liberation Theology of Latin America, the C.D.F. used anonymous investigators to critique the works of suspect scholars. In closed tribunals, Ratzinger and his assistants interrogated those out of step with doctrine, punishing some by excommunication or orders to keep silent for periods of time. Catholic liberals were aghast as Ratzinger clashed with some of the church's leading thinkers. The Swiss theologian, Father Hans Küng, famously called him "The Grand Inquisitor," after Dostoevsky's religious persecutor in "The Brothers Karamazov."
Ratzinger was perfectly cast for the role, since he had battled such “dissidents” as both theologian and bishop throughout the 1970s even before coming to the Vatican. Indeed, he was a hero to all who, like him, felt that allowing such dissent to continue would do irreparable harm to the Church.
But while vigilant defenders of the faith of like Ratzinger and his supporters crusaded against a few dozen maverick thinkers, thousands of priests worldwide continued to rape children and youth even after their crimes were discovered. Their bishops recycled them, protected them from discovery, and fought all attempts to bring their crimes (or even official documentation of their crimes) to light.
The appalling truth is that Ratzinger and all like-minded bishops, clergy, and laity committed a horrible blunder. They poured all their energies into suppressing the threat from “dissenters,” blind to the much greater threat of child abuse.
These men were obsessed with enforcing orthodoxy (correct teaching) but blind to the importance of enforcing orthopraxy (correct practice). The system they protected enshrined secrecy and non-accountability, and made a thriving breeding ground for the very “filth” Ratzinger himself later decried. How sadly ironic: that someone so alert to the least deviation from official thinking had no clue about deviant behavior.
The Church could well have used his vigilance aimed at the real threat—but the blinders have fallen from his eyes too late. He must now resort to apologizing to victims, because no one ever protected them. Perhaps Benedict’s reputation will survive – but to tell the truth, his belief (shared by many others) that liberal theologians were the greatest threat to the Body of Christ has turned out to be tragically bad judgment.
This sad story offers lots of villains: the child-rapists themselves; their enablers and protectors; commentators attacking the media for investigating criminal behavior; commentators aiming to exploit scandal simply to harm the church; church officials who avoided facing the scandal for fear of harming the church.
But from 1981 on, Joseph Ratzinger earned the moniker “God’s Rottweiler” for his aggressive vigilance against a wholly different target: priests whose writing, speaking, and thinking seemed at odds with official Church teaching. Jason Berry sums up that history like this:
As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, he was decisive in running the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, which is housed in a 17th-century palazzo where Galileo the astronomer was convicted of heresy. On issues ranging from the Vatican prohibition of birth control devices to Liberation Theology of Latin America, the C.D.F. used anonymous investigators to critique the works of suspect scholars. In closed tribunals, Ratzinger and his assistants interrogated those out of step with doctrine, punishing some by excommunication or orders to keep silent for periods of time. Catholic liberals were aghast as Ratzinger clashed with some of the church's leading thinkers. The Swiss theologian, Father Hans Küng, famously called him "The Grand Inquisitor," after Dostoevsky's religious persecutor in "The Brothers Karamazov."
Ratzinger was perfectly cast for the role, since he had battled such “dissidents” as both theologian and bishop throughout the 1970s even before coming to the Vatican. Indeed, he was a hero to all who, like him, felt that allowing such dissent to continue would do irreparable harm to the Church.
But while vigilant defenders of the faith of like Ratzinger and his supporters crusaded against a few dozen maverick thinkers, thousands of priests worldwide continued to rape children and youth even after their crimes were discovered. Their bishops recycled them, protected them from discovery, and fought all attempts to bring their crimes (or even official documentation of their crimes) to light.
The appalling truth is that Ratzinger and all like-minded bishops, clergy, and laity committed a horrible blunder. They poured all their energies into suppressing the threat from “dissenters,” blind to the much greater threat of child abuse.
These men were obsessed with enforcing orthodoxy (correct teaching) but blind to the importance of enforcing orthopraxy (correct practice). The system they protected enshrined secrecy and non-accountability, and made a thriving breeding ground for the very “filth” Ratzinger himself later decried. How sadly ironic: that someone so alert to the least deviation from official thinking had no clue about deviant behavior.
The Church could well have used his vigilance aimed at the real threat—but the blinders have fallen from his eyes too late. He must now resort to apologizing to victims, because no one ever protected them. Perhaps Benedict’s reputation will survive – but to tell the truth, his belief (shared by many others) that liberal theologians were the greatest threat to the Body of Christ has turned out to be tragically bad judgment.
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