We must reform how bishops are elected (and why I would never make one)

Archbishop Diarmuid Martin will soon be coming to the end of his time as Archbishop of Dublin, and already speculation has started as to his successor. But there are several other dioceses in Ireland that have been waiting for months and even years for new bishops, and several bishops who have been obliged to minister deep into retirement age. It’s not easy for them, or their priests and people.

Perhaps the Nuncio and his Vatican colleagues are taking their time, giving thought to a radical reorganisation and reduction of the number of dioceses in Ireland. (They could easily be cut by 12 or 14). Or perhaps they have a problem finding suitable candidates. A man is invited to the nunciature to be offered a diocese, but he politely declines, or makes his intentions known even before that.

It’s understandable why good men would be reluctant to become a bishop in Ireland today. He’d be destined for a life of dealing with crisis.

The pool of potential bishops is made smaller by the reduction in the number of eligible candidates. There are not many fit and able priests between the ages of 45 and 60.

And then, of course, the criteria a candidate must fulfil to be considered for a bishopric reduces the pool even more. You have to be sound on Church teaching, a defender and supporter of the party line, with a patron or two in Rome (though, hopefully, this may have eased a little under Francis, who prefers shepherds to culture warriors). It’s why I, or anyone like me, will never be made a bishop. (I always wanted the See of Cashel in order to be patron of the GAA and get the best seats at matches!)

It’s clear that something is wrong with the method for choosing bishops. It’s clear that it needs to be reformed. It’s clear that much wider consultation needs to take place, and it must involve all interested parties in the diocese.

Imagine if we were to go back to the manner of selection that was the norm in the early church.

Each diocese would nominate its own bishop. The bishop would be chosen after wide consultation among priests and people in a manner that was open and transparent. The bishop would be elected at a synod attended by priests and people from throughout the diocese. The pope, who would be obliged to accept the candidate unless there was clear evidence of his incompetence and/or unorthodoxy, would then ratify the new bishop formally.

Imagine if each bishop came from within his own diocese. He (or, hopefully before long, she) would not be a ‘blow-in’ from another diocese or be from a religious order or congregation but would be one of the clergy of that diocese. From the local church, of the local church, called by his own people into leadership, he would have an intimate knowledge of his flock and their needs, and they would have knowledge of him. Only in exceptional circumstances, such as the danger of political interference in the selection process or major disunity in the diocese, would a non-native be appointed.

Imagine if each bishop remained in his diocese for the duration of his episcopal ministry. Chosen by the priests and people as their shepherd, it would be unthinkable that he would transfer elsewhere, or use his appointment as a stepping-stone for promotion to a larger or more significant diocese. In keeping with the understanding of the early church, his relationship with his diocese would be seen as being like a marriage relationship, and so to break that bond would be akin to divorcing the community he was ordained to serve.

When you compare how things were done in the past with how bishops are appointed today, it is clear that there have been significant changes from the practice and understanding of the early church.
The method of selecting bishops today is secretive. Some consultation is done but only with a select few whose recommendations do not have to be accepted. How the consultation is done and what questions are asked is never revealed. The local church gets very little say in the selection of its leader. The first engagement most people and priests of the diocese have with the process is when their new bishop is presented to them.

Nor is every bishop from the diocese he has been chosen to lead. In fact, many bishops are from another diocese. When you are an ‘outsider,’ it inevitably takes time to settle in, to get to know priests and people, to understand the issues and challenges the diocese faces. It also weakens the sense of the shepherd as one of the local presbyterate who is called into leadership by his own flock.

And, of course, there is the long-established practice of transferring – or promoting – bishops. There is no guarantee that a bishop, once ordained, will always in the same diocese. Quite a bit of moving around takes place, which leads to the danger of careerism and undermines the image of bishop as being wedded to his diocese.

Given the challenges it faces, the Irish church requires good bishops, people with the smell of the sheep. In order to reclaim the understanding of bishop as one who is called by his local ecclesial community to be its leader and shepherd, maybe it’s time to look closely at how bishops are chosen and to return to our ancient practice.

And, while we’re at it, let’s get rid of the medieval titles and robes and headgear. These are anachronisms from the past, but today only invite ridicule especially from younger people. The bishop’s authority will be seen by what he says and does, not by what he wears.

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People who make me ashamed to be a Christian

I am no saint and am full of faults and prejudices of my own but there are some kinds of Christians I find embarrassing and who give Christianity a bad name. Among them are:

Christians who support a man who gleefully puts kids in cages at the Mexico border.

Christians who (quietly) support the burning down of hotels designated as reception centres for refugees.

Christians who use the cloak of clericalism to nakedly climb the hierarchical ladder.

Christians who refuse to receive holy communion from a person of colour.

Christians who use their position of trust to use and abuse the weak and vulnerable and those who cover up for them.

Christians who greedily exploit and denude the environment, or treat it with reckless abandonment.

Christians who blame those who are gay for sexual abuse in the church.

Christians who want nothing to do with Christians of other denominations.

Christians who disown a family member simply because he/she is gay (even though God created everyone in God’s own image and likeness).

Christians who send gay teens to special camps to undergo so-called ‘conversion therapy.’

Christians who advocate erecting walls and barriers between nations and peoples rather than building bridges.

Christians who, in the face of overwhelming scientific evidence, continue to deny the reality of man-made climate change.

Christians who are repulsed by transgender people, even though they have no idea about the life-long pain and trauma transgender people go through.

Christians who agitate about some pro-life issues while studiously ignoring others.

Christians who confidentially tell you that they just hate having all those foreigners around. (Who knows what diseases they might have?)

Christians who vociferously attack the current pope while tolerating no criticism of his immediate predecessors.

Christians who anonymously report or delate other Christians to those in authority for not being, in their view, sufficiently orthodox.

When Christianity is not about love, then it is about nothing.

True love, which always speaks the truth, is the only antidote to the lies and fake news of today

Love is an overused word today. We find it everywhere from graffiti-laden locker room walls to the heart emojis in anonymous internet chat rooms. It sells everything from underwear to Ferraris. It is confused with every kind of feeling and state and emotion. I’ve been thinking of the casual way I misuse the word love:

I love chips

I love a nice lie-in on a Saturday morning

I love Liverpool FC

I love preaching

I love salt

I love a good game of hurling

I love a book that captures my imagination

I love relaxing on Cape Clear island in the summer

I love Munster rugby

I love history and politics

I’m sure all of us can come up with our own list of ways we misuse the word love.

But what is the true meaning of love? For those who are Christian, if we want to know what true love is, we need only look at God. God is love, St John tells us. God not only loves, God is love. And God showed us what true love is like by sharing it, by shaping us like himself, with an inbuilt capacity for loving. By sending his only Son among us to show us how to live.

The nature of true love is spelled out for us in St Paul’s famous ode to love that is read at so many weddings: “Love is patient, love is kind. Love is not envious, boastful, rude, and arrogant. Love does not insist on its own way, is not irritable or resentful, love takes joy not in wrong-doing but only in the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

That is the definition of true love.

True love does not change with the times. It can be cheapened by misuse and overuse but its essence never changes. Love is not infatuation or lust or obsession. It is not servile submission or putting up with. It is not grasping or abusive or domineering. It is not a one-night stand or a casual fling with someone whose name you forget the next day. True love overcomes, forgives, endures, sacrifices, empathises. It never gives up on anyone. It sees the good in everyone. Love, true love, is our best nature because it is God at work in us.

True love is never selfish, never all about me. When you love it’s not all about you anymore, you empty yourself for the one you love. You die to yourself for the one you love. Think of the give and take in a marriage or a committed relationship. Think of the parents of a handicapped child who spend themselves for that child every single day. Or the one who cares for an elderly parent. Patience, sacrifice, devotion, willingness to be there for someone always – that’s love.

True love speaks the truth. Or, as St Paul puts it, love delights in the truth. It always speaks the truth, no matter how difficult or dangerous that might be. Love speaks uncomfortable truths, whatever the cost. We can think of politicians, presidents and others throughout history, and especially today in this era of fake news, for whom that concept is alien.

Andrei Sakharov was a brilliant scientist who helped develop the Soviet Union’s nuclear programme. The Communist authorities honoured him for his achievements. But then he began to speak out in favour of social justice and human rights and against the bomb. So he was stripped of his honours and sent into internal exile in the city of Gorky, where he could contact no one. He was punished severely for telling the truth, as so many of his country men and women were. But he did not back down and he was vindicated in the end. Love speaks the truth no matter what the cost.

Love risks everything. It pays any price; lays everything on the line. Think of Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish Franciscan who willingly gave his life in Auschwitz for a man he did not know. 

True love risks everything.

The Bee Gees were onto something when they asked: How deep is your love?

The evil of clericalism

 

A post from two years ago has proven to be by far the most popular on this blog.  It’s about a topic Pope Francis constantly talks about. Unfortunately, the problem remains as intractable as ever. The clericalists and careerists in the church are still in the ascendency. We can only hope and pray that the sin of clericalism will finally be extirpated from our church, once and for all.

There is less lace on display in the Vatican these days and a greater emphasis on simplicity and service, but old attitudes die hard, and the cancer of clericalism is still very much alive throughout the Catholic Church.

Most clerics I know are not consciously part of this culture. They may be clerics but they are not clerical. They are uncomfortable with being placed on pedestals, do their best to listen to what lay people have to say, and are not into power games. They want only to serve God and God’s people.

But that clericalism is deeply rooted in our church cannot be denied. Clericalism has nothing to do with wearing the Roman collar or with conforming to a dress code, though that is part of it. Rather, it is a state of mind, a mentality that is strictly hierarchical and authoritarian. It is to belong to, and to see oneself as belonging to, an exclusive club – male, hierarchical, and celibate – that is closed and secretive, part of a system of privilege, deference and power.

It is a culture that is far removed from the New Testament model of how the disciples related to each other and to the Lord.

In the clerical culture, the instinct is to protect the interests and reputation of the club at all costs, even at times at the cost of Justice and truth. This has been a major factor in the failure of church leaders down the decades to address the scandal of clerical sexual abuse. The reputation of the institution came before the needs of victims. Men who saw themselves as faithful to the church – indeed, precisely because they saw themselves as being loyal to the church – made decisions that further harmed people who had already been harmed by the church.

The culture of clericalism is damaging in many other ways, too.

Clericalism attests to the notion of the laity as the People of God. But this is merely lip service. The lay point of view isn’t taken seriously. Members of the clerical caste, those on the upper rungs of the hierarchical ladder, are the ones who have a monopoly on wisdom and of access to the Holy Spirit.

Clericalism is big into status and privilege. It loves titles and rank and lace and pedestals. Woe betide the unfortunate who does not afford the clericalist his proper title, or give him the humble respect which he thinks is his right.

Clericalism thrives on power and is sustained by it. It is a strong believer in accountability – but only upwards, not downwards. Decisions and decision-making happen at the top. Lay people and ordinary clergy do not have to be consulted – and seldom are.

Clericalism has no time for dialogue and debate. It regards those who talk about renewal in the church as dangerous, and as having a liberal agenda. (Many of them would put Pope Francis within this ‘liberal’ bracket too). But it doesn’t regard those with a conservative vision of the church as having any agenda. They are merely orthodox.

Clericalism talks about service, but it loves ambition, and encourages careerism. To get ahead in the clerical world means being careful to say the right things, to cultivate the right friendships, and to toe the party line on issues of sexual morality and the role of women.

Clericalism adores secrecy and needs it. How appointments are made, how clergy are transferred, how complaints are dealt with, the reasons why decisions are arrived at, are seldom explained. They don’t have to be. Power and control are better exercised in a culture of secrecy.

Clerical is a cancer at the heart of the church. Thank God, it is something Pope Francis is conscious of and wants to drive out. But he faces a daunting, and probably losing, battle. Francis has only a few years left. The Curia will bide their time.

Six men who’ve inspired me

We honoured them last night, six men who have devoted lifetimes of service to the Irish Redemptorists. It is an annual ritual – whether we are gathered on retreat or on chapter, as we have been this week, we take one night out to remember and celebrate our jubilarians, those who have significant anniversaries this year. Two of those present were celebrating 60 years as Redemptorist priests; one was celebrating 50 years of priesthood, another 40 years of profession as a Redemptorist, while the two younger ones were marking 25 years since they made their first vows. In age they range from the mid-eighties to the late forties; a couple are frail now, dependant on walking sticks to get around but all six remain full of life and vigour.

After the celebratory Mass and dinner, brief speeches were made, little tributes to each of these men, who have served God in many parts of the world. The older among them joined the Redemptorists in the peak period for religious life and the church in Ireland. Churches and seminaries were full; new missions were opening up abroad almost every year. Times were good. The younger among them joined at a time when scandals were beginning to shame the church at home and abroad and religious life was no longer a popular choice for men or women to make. And yet they chose to join and to remain even in the face of scandal and disappointment and the questions about our future viability as a religious congregation in Ireland.

And during those years – 60 and 50 and 40 and 25 – these six have ministered with distinction. That is why, in a world full of celebrities and reality TV stars, they are amongst my top heroes. They have dedicated their lives completely to the service of others; they have sacrificed their ambitions and independence in order to be at the disposal of the poor of Africa and of the Philippines and of Brazil and Ireland; they have taught and preached and listened and washed feet. They have gone places they would not have normally chosen to go. They have been good and faithful servants. And I admire their selflessness and their love and witness. Confreres like these six men keep me going when I’m feeling low. They remind me of what religious life is all about. Their love of God helps me to deepen mine.

My 30 years as a priest have brought no little disappointment

When Archbishop Desmond Connell ordained me to the priesthood on October 2nd, 1988, it seemed a good time to be a priest in Ireland. Fresh-faced and enthusiastic, I had high hopes. I was delighted to become part of a team conducting parish missions, as Irish Redemptorists had done for more than a century.

I loved going from parish to parish, preaching to full churches, visiting homes and schools, meeting clergy. Though I was aware of the increasing impact of secularisation, and the sharp decline in vocations, I presumed church and priesthood would remain largely the same into the future.

I had no idea of the tumult that lay ahead.

When measured against the vast expanse of history, 30 years is an insignificant amount of time. But when measured in terms of the story of the Catholic Church in Ireland, the past 30 years have been hugely significant indeed.

In 1988 Catholics of all ages still attended church in large numbers and confession remained important. In 1988 the church’s moral authority still stood strong, and preaching retained punch. The Irish church remained clerical and confident, as it had been since before independence.

Hard though it is to believe, back then few knew the word “paedophile”. In all my seminary years I had never encountered that word, which is linked so solidly today with the Catholic Church.

Running torment

The abuse scandals are the great running torment of my priesthood, a scar every priest carries. I am distressed by what has happened, by the layers of abuse still being exposed, by the indifference and cover-up of those in authority. I feel sorry for myself that I have to carry the can for the sins of others. It’s not what I signed up for 30 years ago.

In 1988 I seldom wore a clerical collar. Today I never wear one. I feel embarrassed to be identified as representing a clerical caste that permitted abuse, and am angry at church authority and the abusers – for the incalculable damage done to victims and their families as well as to Catholics everywhere.

Starting out, I never dreamed I would fall foul of Rome. But in May 2011, I was shocked to discover I had been secretly investigated by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith at the Vatican.

They sought my removal as editor of Reality magazine because of its stance on women, sexuality and authority in the church. My future had been discussed at the highest levels for months without anyone telling me about it. Sentence was imposed before I knew I was on trial. I was horrified that this was how the church treated someone after a lifetime in its service.

Blocking equality

I remain disgusted at the injustice perpetrated on Catholic women, who are denied equal rights, and at a mandatory celibacy rule that diminishes many clerics. It says so much about Rome that while clergy who advocated women’s ordination were summarily silenced or sacked, bishops who engaged in or facilitated abuse were not.

Today, I bristle at the church’s hurtful language about the LGBTI community and am ashamed that a particular theology of the body has been used to make people feel unwelcome and excluded.

I dream of a restructured church that recognises the radical equality of all the baptised, that respects the sensus fidelium, repudiates the evil of clericalism, and replaces lace with grace, as Pope Francis tries to do.

A church that doesn’t insist it has all the answers to complicated moral and ethical questions but that engages with the world of science and biology so as to better respond to the signs of the times.

Though much has changed since 1988, not everything is bleak. What keeps me going is the wonderful witness of so many people who stick with the church despite all that has happened, the enthusiasm of so many lay co-workers and volunteers of every age and the selfless dedication of so many clergy and religious despite falling numbers and sapping morale.

It takes a brave person to be a card-carrying Catholic in Ireland today.

In 1988, I started priesthood with high hopes. Those 30 years have brought much fulfilment and satisfaction, yes, but also no little frustration and disappointment.

(Published in The Irish Times, October 2, 2018)

 

 

 

 

 

Non Redemptorist colleagues help us to find a way forward

New life has invigorated our assembly this morning as almost thirty non Redemptorist colleagues and coworkers join us for the day. These women and men of all ages have travelled from north, south, east and west to take part in our discussions about the current and future shape of the Redemptorists in Ireland.

Their presence is a welcome and necessary boost. While we Redemptorists are required to be here, they have volunteered to join us today. While we are card carrying members of the clerical church, they are ordinary Catholics who remain committed to their faith despite all the difficulties of recent years. While we do our best to soldier on with hope, they remain full of enthusiasm and commitment. They still believe in us and in the church, even when we might be doubting ourselves and our future in Europe.

The presence of so many women and men offers a glimpse of the church at its best – of people working together to build the kingdom of God without any distinctions of rank or gender, people united by a common baptism and a shared vision. It offers a glimpse of a non clerical, inclusive church, of ordinary, fragile people doing their best and wanting to do their best.

Half way though our chapter, we needed this injection of hope and zeal and energy. Their enthusiasm will help us to see a way forward for the next four years.