On the one hand. . . . .
Catholics today really don’t want very much.
They understand that the reign of God is within and, at least from time to
time, their understanding is confirmed by the experience of God in their very
lives. These minor epiphanies may not move
them to tears but, often enough, to a profound conviction that love’s mercy
heals our wounds and the divine presence dwells silently in our midst. In these
moments they no longer believe—they know. They have been touched by the
mystery and healing inherent in the
sacraments, in the ecstasy and routine of everyday living, and even in the
conflicted values and rank injustices of their troubled world. For this they
give thanks, over and over again.
The Catholicism they love is the story of
love and healing made flesh in Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. It
is the story of a God who stoops low to embrace both beggars and bishops, both
sinners and saints. Most Catholics not only attest to their faith in God but
they modestly whisper that they have felt this embrace—especially in the
assembly of the faithful gathered for Eucharist.
This is why Catholics remain Catholic and why
countless seekers still try to finagle an invitation to the Catholic party. “We
are so blessed,” as the saying goes. Catholics know, most of the time, they are
so very blessed.
No, we don’t want very much. But what we
Catholics do want is nevertheless important. We want honest dialogue about our
wounded church. We want a more open and accountable church, with far less
secrecy. We want a serious review of the systems and structures that no longer
serve the pastoral needs and mission of the church. We want real collaboration
between clergy and laity, a collaboration that respects the Spirit-given
talents of the people of God.
Most Catholics, I suspect, know it is not
easy being a bishop— perhaps especially in a
post-conciliar period like our own. Holding
the church in a state of “holy communion” grounded in the Holy Spirit is an
awesome responsibility. Many of us can’t imagine the heavy burdens of the
episcopacy. My guess is that Catholics believe their bishops and church leaders
love the church and want what is best for the church.
Still, we sorely want our church leaders to
be honest, courageous, inspiring, and humble. There are many bishops who
reflect these virtues and characteristics, but recent experience tells us there
are some who appear not to do so.
We want leaders who will treat us as thinking
adults. We want leaders who understand they are meant to tell us the story of
freedom in Christ Jesus. We want leaders who so live the Gospel that the very
witness of their lives is the ground of their authority. Bishops will
strengthen their authority, not diminish it, if they but listen. Laity are
asked to listen with respect and openness to the teachings of their ordained
leaders. Most try to do so. But they believe listening goes both ways.
Catholics want pastors and bishops who listen to their experiences of trying to
live as Christ has taught. Listen, they ask, to the stories of parents and
young believers. Listen to the stories of the divorced and separated, listen to
the stories of gays and lesbians, listen to the stories of pastors, and listen
to the stories of women. They are stories of faith and grace. They are stories
of wounds and triumphs. When a bishop somehow conveys that the laity’s stories
of faith— their experiences of living the Gospel—aren’t very important, he
gives the impression that what he says as God’s chosen leader is all that
really matters.
Readers of Confronting Power and Sex in
the Catholic Church will find in the pages ahead the story of faith,
fidelity, and ministry of a bishop striving to be honest. I suspect Bishop
Geoffrey Robinson speaks for countless bishops and pastors today who see the
need for renewal and reform. I believe he speaks for a multitude of Catholics
who look for leaders who will help heal the wounds of their church.
There is more than a note of urgency in this
passionate book. Geoffrey Robinson writes as a man whose very integrity is at
stake. Perhaps it is. I had the feeling he had to write this book, come
what may. And, in the words of the writer and poet, Kathleen Norris, he write
about what matters to us most, words will take us places we don’t want to go.
You begin to see that you will have to say things you don’t want to say, that
may even be dangerous to say, but are absolutely necessary.” So listen to this
man who has listened first. You will not find any of the denials, half-truths,
and lecturing we encounter in some of today’s church leaders. A major virtue of
this book is its refreshing honesty. Honest truth telling—the redundancy is
excusable, even necessary in today’s church—we know is dangerous. The Latin
proverb, veritas odium parit (truth begets hatred) remains a sober
warning to honest men and women who write and speak from the center.
You will find that Geoffrey Robinson’s
courage under girds the honesty in this book. I have little doubt but that he fully
understood the controversy and criticism that would follow as he picked up his
pen. What keeps a number of churchmen from speaking forthrightly about the need
for renewal and reform today is their sense of loyalty to the pope and to the
teaching office of the church that sometimes may override their own conscience.
Speaking honestly to authority, we know, is challenging in any society. Another
reason, more subtle perhaps, is the desire to be held in favor—to secure,
perhaps even at the cost of an individual’s integrity, the approval of one’s
clerical peers and superiors. On one level, of course, we all want to be held
in favor. The problem lies in wanting to be held in favor at all costs—to
remain silent when one should speak, to not see when one should see. It took
authentic moral courage and a fearless commitment to integrity to
venture onto the waters navigated in Confronting
Power and Sex in the Catholic Church.
Good stories always inspire, and Robinson’s
story of his fidelity to the Gospel, his church, and his conscience, does not
fail here. He looks to the church’s history sensitive to both the workings of
the Spirit and the sad lessons to be learned—lessons of deception, infidelity,
and the abuse of power. He looks to the future with a vision that is
theologically well-grounded and eminently practical. In doing so, Robinson
takes an honest and loving look at a church in dire need of inspiring
leaders—and becomes in the process an inspiring leader himself.
Thomas Merton, arguably the most influential
Catholic writer of the twentieth century, once observed, “In humility is
perfect freedom.” Catholics may not want much, but they do want bishops who are
humble. Church leaders who are not themselves humble, unfailingly exercise
power as control. Our best theologians, however, remind us that church leaders
are meant to be tenders of liberation—announcing the paradoxical freedom of
God’s people in faithful discipleship to Jesus the Christ and the wisdom of the
Cross.
We have models of humble church leaders.
Catholics love them the way they loved Pope John XXIII, Archbishop Oscar
Romero, and Dom Helder Camara, to mention but a few. They love them because
they model the very authority and power of Christ. They love them because they
are honest, courageous, inspiring, and humble. They love them because they are
real.
We find in this book another such church
leader who has the humility to insist on his “right to be wrong,” who listens
to the cry of the people, and who calls for the reform of church structures and
systems that fail to serve the pastoral needs and mission of the church.
On the other hand ...
Catholics today are weary and discouraged.
They are weary of the stark and deepening divide separating so-called Vatican
II Catholics from Vatican I Catholics. They are weary of the meanness and
self-righteousness that marks much of their exchanges. They are discouraged by
those church leaders and others who want to “reform the reforms” of the Second
Vatican Council. They are tired of those churchmen who refuse to take laity
seriously, especially the extraordinary gifts of Catholic women.
Catholics are weary and discouraged, but they
are also angry. They are angry with those members of the clergy who have used
their pastoral roles and status to sexually exploit
children, teenagers, and vulnerable adults. They are angry with those bishops
and their assistants who have placed the welfare of the institutional church
ahead of the welfare of the church as the communion of God’s people—and in
doing so have denied, minimized, deflected, and outright lied. Most of all,
they are angry to the point of outrage that the sexual abuse of their children
has too often been unwittingly abetted by administrative decisions designed to
avoid scandal and to protect the dignity and authority of the ordained. And in
recent years some have grown cynical as report after
report accuses too many pastors of
embezzlement, fraud, and theft of their hard-earned contributions.
For Catholics who are weary and discouraged, Confronting
Power and Sex in the Catholic Church is a tall glass of fresh water. For
Catholics who are disillusioned or cynical, this book is an oasis of hope. For
angry, outraged Catholics, its balanced critique is a hospice for ailing church
systems and structures in need of reform. Like a good pastor, Geoffrey Robinson
has listened to the faithful.
Like a good clinician, after a succinct yet
helpful review of the patient’s history, he has diagnosed what it is that ails
the church. And like a good doctor of souls and a wise, mature leader, he has
offered clergy and laity a prescription for structural reform that will lead to
a healthier, holier church. He deserves our ear.
Donald Cozzens
John Carroll University