Reading Francis

I’m glad I’m not a Catholic bishop in the US.

In the Gospels, Jesus saves his harshest words for religious leaders that lead their followers astray. I think especially of Matthew 18, where, after saying that his followers should humble themselves like a little child, he says, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea” (18:6). Beyond that passage, you see him lambasting rabbis, scribes, and other leaders throughout the Gospel for misleading their flocks. He shows mercy to pretty much everyone but these guys who misuse the power of their religious perch to lead people farther from God, rather than closer.

In the “Pope Trump” brouhaha (kerfuffle? hullabaloo?) I have been far more interested in what US bishops say or don’t say than anyone else, including the President. Honestly, this strikes me as one of those millstone moments for those who claim the teaching authority of the Church, and I think that as a cadre, they have put themselves in a difficult position.

On the one hand, I don’t see how you can take great offense at a world leader tweeting out a mockup of himself in pope gear if you haven’t already taken far greater offense at policies that deny the human dignity of refugees and migrants, that gut programs which provide essential help to the poor with whom we are called to be in solidarity, that profess a denial of our shared responsibility to care for creation. If you haven’t been willing to speak prophetically against the policy actions that harm the least among us (whom Jesus calls us to serve), it seems pretty petty to get worked up over a tweet.

On the other hand, as a teacher and former of consciences, laughing this issue off as a bad joke sends a message to the faithful about what Christians should and shouldn’t do. Shrugging this off indicates that it’s acceptable to react to grief and loss with mocking, that it’s OK to lead with pride, ego and arrogance rather than compassion, that it’s not problematic to think of yourself first and seize every opportunity for self-aggrandizement, regardless of whether it’s appropriate. This all seems like the opposite of what Jesus outlines for his followers in the first few verses of Matthew 18 (not to mention every other significant teaching about the life of faith). If your job is to teach your flock what the Christian life is about, don’t you have to tell your followers that, if you want to follow Jesus, you should seek the lowest place instead of the highest one? 

For the most part, US bishops seem to have avoided saying much, with a few exceptions. I appreciate that it’s difficult to know when to be prophetic and confront those who are not living Gospel values, and when to be pastoral, offering kindness and mercy to someone off the path in hopes of maintaining a relationship that might lead to later conversion. Unfortunately, it sometimes seems like bishops take a third path, neither prophetic nor pastoral but political, seeking to preserve the institutional church by “making nice” with those in power. Given the early Church’s regular experience of martyrdom, that seems like an ill-considered choice in the light of the Gospel. 

Ultimately, though, it’s not me that bishops have to answer to; it’s Jesus, the guy talking about millstones in Matthew 18. I’m just glad I’m not in their role or robes.