By Phil Lawler
My friend and colleague Jeff Mirus cautions us that we should not rush into judgment of our Church leaders; we should not leap to a premature conclusion that they are bowing to civil authorities by restricting pastoral ministry during the current epidemic. He is right, of course, and I recognize in myself a strong tendency toward rash judgment: a tendency that I need to control.
Nevertheless I cannot escape the conclusion that devout Catholics have good reason to suspect that in this crisis, their pastors have been more worried about the political ramifications of their actions than the pastoral fallout. I say this for three reasons:
- Quite often, the restrictions announced by Church leaders have exactly matched, point by point, the regulations issued by civil authorities. In Rome, the police closed down access to St. Peter’s Square (which is within their jurisdiction), and then a few hours later the Vatican announced the closing of St. Peter’s basilica (which is under Vatican control). Was that a coincidence? The same pattern was evident all around the world: Church leaders closed churches as soon as public officials imposed emergency rules. Only rarely did Catholic leaders resist the imposition of civil orders on religious activities.
- As a general rule, the bishops who have been most anxious to restrict access to the sacraments—and the lay Catholics most anxious to defend those restrictions—have come from the Church’s liberal wing. On paper that correlation makes no sense. One might expect older and sicklier Catholics to favor stronger public-health measures, while the young and reckless chafed under restrictions. But if my observations are accurate, it has been mostly orthodox Catholics who have pleaded for greater access to the sacraments, while progressives have argued that reopening churches would be unwise.
- The remarkable deference to civil authority during this epidemic follows a pattern that has become all too common in recent years. Our Church leaders have carefully avoided public controversy, even at the expense of ecclesiastical discipline. Take, for instance, the manifest unwillingness of American bishops to bar pro-abortion politicians from Communion.
For the past forty years liberal Catholics have told us that the pro-life cause is not sufficient reason to deny anyone the Eucharist. Yet for the past forty days we have been told that the pro-life cause is sufficient reason to deny the Eucharist to everyone. Go figure.
We could not keep the churches open, we were told, because the Catholic Church is a pro-life church, and we must never do anything that would jeopardize the lives of those who come to worship with us. That logic is sound, as far as it goes. But it doesn’t go far enough.
The Catholic Church is not in the business of saving lives, but the business of saving souls. So during an epidemic, while civic leaders rightly have the physical health of the people uppermost in their minds, Church leaders should be more mindful of their people’s spiritual welfare. As important as it is to worry about the health of parishioners, pastors should never do anything to jeopardize the souls of those who worship with us.
Only rarely do the demands of physical health come into conflict with the demands of spiritual welfare. But such a conflict has arisen in these past several weeks. Different pastors have resolved that conflict in different ways, and I am not going to question their judgements. But far too many pastors, rather than making their own decisions, deferred entirely to secular authorities. And that is a choice that I question.
In an excellent column for Catholic World Report, Douglas Farrow observed that some earnest Catholics are reluctant to reopen churches:
They make their appeal to the fifth commandment, “Thou shalt not kill.” And to what Jesus identified as the second Great Commandment, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” These they have merged into a justification for the new COVID commandment: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor by staying well away from him, lest thou pass on a virus that might kill him.” And the COVID commandment, they point out, also remains in force.
While readily conceding the need for prudence in attending to health concerns, Farrow adds that a sense of balance and proportion is necessary, because “it won’t do to protect people from a deadly virus only to hand them over to poverty, famine, tyranny, war, or death by neglect.” Yet even that is not his primary concern. The greater danger, Farrow argue, lies in the willingness of Church officials to accept government-imposed restrictions—even extreme restrictions—without demanding that the government understand the Church’s priorities.
My worry is that by their compliance they are endorsing, or will be seen to be endorsing, not the gospel of the kingdom but the gospel of the state; that they are making the priorities of the state their own, rather than the priorities of Jesus.
In an article posted the same day by Le Figaro, Cardinal Robert Sarah makes a similar point, expressing concern that Church leaders, in their desire to be “good citizens,” have too often lost sight of their more important mission. Yes, the Church works for the good of society at large, and offers her guidance on temporal affairs, as befits (in the words of Pope Paul VI) an “expert on humanity.” “But little by little Christians have come to forget the reason for that expertise,” the cardinal remarks.
The Catholic Church can offer advice to civic leaders, in pursuit of the common good, because the Church knows what mankind needs to find true and lasting happiness. But civic leaders cannot return the favor; they cannot offer the same sort of guidance to the Church, because the secular world does not comprehend the Church’s mission of salvation. The Church understands the world; the world does not understand the Church.