by Msgr. Charles Pope

Every year at about this time we read St. Augustine's sermon "On Pastors" in the Office of Readings of the Liturgy of the Hours. As you know, priests are required to read the Divine Office daily; St. Augustine's sermon extends over the better part of two weeks. It amounts to a stern warning for priests who too easily live off the sheep instead of shepherding them rightly.

There are tender moments in the sermon as well. At one point, commenting on a passage from Ezekiel rebuking bad shepherds (You have consumed the milk of the sheep and clothed yourself in their wool (Ez 34:3)), Augustine turns to the lay people present and says,

Clothing can well be taken to mean honor, since it covers nakedness. For every man without exception is weak. And who is any man placed over you except someone just like yourself? Your pastor is in the flesh; he eats, sleeps, and awakens; he was born and is going to die. In himself he is, when you think of it, simply a man. But it is true that you make him something more by giving him honor; it is as if you were covering what is weak.

Consider the nature of clothing that the Apostle Paul received from God's good people. He said, "You have received me like an angel of God …." Indeed, great honor was shown to him.

St. Augustine then turns back to the priests with an admonition.

But did [Paul] then spare sinners because of that honor, perhaps out of fear that it would be refused and that he would receive less praise when he gave blame? Had he done so, he would be among those shepherds who feed themselves and not the sheep. He would then say to himself: "What has this to do with me? Let everyone do what he will; my sustenance is safe, and my honor too. I have enough milk and wool, so let each one do as he likes." … In recalling how they treated him, the Apostle does not want to appear forgetful of the honor they did him. Therefore, he gives testimony that they received him like an angel of God … Yet he still comes to the sheep that is ill, to the one that is diseased, to cut the wound and not to spare the diseased part. He says: "Have I then become your enemy by preaching the truth?" He took from the milk of the sheep, as I mentioned a short time ago, and he was clothed with their wool, but he did not neglect his sheep. He did not seek what was his but what was Christ's.

Pray for priests.

We live in times when many priests have been trained or led to think that the goal of our ministry is to affirm people and make them feel welcome. There is a place for affirmation and welcoming, but the goal of our ministry is the salvation of souls. At times, this requires that we say and do difficult things, things that anger people and cause us to be ridiculed and denounced by many in the surrounding culture. As St. Augustine says, though, the treatment of wounds requires not just the oil that soothes, but also the wine that stings as it debrides and decontaminates.

What would one think of a doctor who spent most of his time making sure that his waiting room was pleasant and the examination rooms cheerful, but expended little effort studying disease and doing what was necessary to bring his patients back to good health? Proper medical care often requires strong medicines and painful surgeries. Further, doctors must often share difficult information with patients and/or give strong admonitions that lifestyle changes must be made. Pleasant examination rooms and a good bedside manner are all well and good, but providing medical care is the primary objective. A doctor who does not speak the truth to his patients because he wants to keep them happy is guilty of malpractice; he has maximized the minimum and minimized the maximum.

It is no less the case with priests who avoid conflict or difficulty in order to preserve their honor. They have allowed a lesser thing to eclipse a greater thing. Pleasantries and affirmation too easily overshadow the truth, which is what sets us free even if it is sometimes strong medicine.

As St. Augustine mercifully reminds, priests are human. No one likes conflict; all other things being equal, avoiding unnecessary conflict is a good thing. Avoiding conflict at the expense of the truth, though, is a false peace, a temporary peace. The darkness, baseness, and ferocity of our times testifies against the idea of "going along to get along." A false peace cannot endure. Our silence and the false tolerance of relativism is, in the end, tyranny.

The concern about silent pulpits on the key moral issues of our day is too widespread to be discredited as a minority view. Despite our human weakness, we who are priests must summon the courage to speak and teach more clearly and consistently than is currently evident. True shepherds can do no less.

I am reminded of a text by St. Basil, which I believe serves as a fitting postscript to my own poorer reflections on this topic:

Men in authority are afraid to speak, for those who have reached power by human interest are the slaves of those to whom they owe their advancement. And now the very vindication of orthodoxy is looked upon in some quarters as an opportunity for mutual attack; and men conceal their private ill-will and pretend that their hostility is all for the sake of the truth. All the while unbelievers laugh; men of weak faith are shaken; faith is uncertain; souls are drenched in ignorance, because adulterators of the Word imitate the truth.

by Scott Hahn, Ph.D.

Readings:

Malachi 1:14-2:2, 8-10
Psalm 131:1-3
1 Thessalonians 2:7-9, 13
Matthew 23:1-12

Though they were Moses' successors, the Pharisees and scribes exalted themselves and made their mastery of the law a badge of social privilege. Worse, they lorded the law over the people (see Matthew 20:25). Like the priests Malachi condemns in today's First Reading, they caused many to falter and be closed off from God.

In a word, Israel's leaders failed to be good spiritual fathers of God's people. Moses was a humble father figure, preaching the law but also practicing it - interceding and begging God's mercy and forgiveness of the people's sins (see Exodus 32:9-14; Psalm 90).

And Jesus reminds us today that all fatherhood - in the family or in the people of God - comes from the our Father in heaven (see Ephesians 3:15).

He doesn't mean we're to literally call no man "father." He himself referred to Israel's founding fathers (see John 7:42); the Apostles taught about natural fatherhood (see Hebrews 12:7-11) and described themselves as spiritual fathers (see 1 Corinthians 4:14-16)

The fatherhood of the Apostles and their successors, the Church's priests and bishops, is a spiritual paternity given to raise us as God's children. Our fathers give us new life in Baptism, and feed us the spiritual milk of the Gospel and the Eucharist (see 1 Peter 2:2-3). That's why Paul, in today's Epistle, can also compare himself to a nursing mother.

God's fatherhood likewise transcends all human notions of fatherhood and motherhood. Perhaps that's why the Psalm chosen for today includes one of the rare biblical images of God's maternal care (see Isaiah 66:13).

by Rev. Jerry J. Pokorsky

[Editor's Note:

The laity in the church is always concerned when the priests and bishops actively participates in the political process. Does that take their attention away from taking care of the sheep that is entrusted to them as mandated by Jesus Christ? This article, that deals with issues in the Catholic Church, may give us something to think about.]

The calling of the Twelve in the Gospel should lead us to ponder the priorities of every priest and bishop. After the Ascension of Jesus and Descent of the Holy Spirit, the newly ordained bishops were called to proclaim Jesus the Redeemer, to celebrate the Sacraments in memory of Him, and to govern their respective churches.

Every priest, bishop, and pope would henceforth be "priest, prophet, and king," in imitation of Christ, holding these offices in order of priority. A priest offers and administers the Sacraments on behalf of the people. As a prophet, a priest proclaims the Word of God and exercises his legitimate teaching authority. As a king, a priest governs the Church with Christ as the foundation, according to his lawful jurisdiction.

Today, however, there seems to be an inversion of these priorities, resulting in significant distortions: The sequence is not priest, prophet, and king with the accent on service, but king, prophet, and priest with the accent on ecclesial authority, Christ being largely absent.

The long history of papal triumphalism in the name of Christ came to a symbolic end with Paul VI's retirement of the papal tiara (now on display at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington D.C.). Papal leadership in defense of Christendom also symbolically ended with Pope Paul's return of the Turkish battle flag captured by Christians at Lepanto.

The papal foray into world affairs in the name of Christ made a comeback in St. Pope John Paul's confrontation with Communism. Christ was always at the forefront, however, from JPII's reference to the Church's "living stones" as Poland's foundation, to his fearless confrontation with the Communist Sandinistas, cross in hand, as he celebrated Mass in Nicaragua.

Under the current pontificate, that bold Christian triumphalism has given way to a kind of stealth secular triumphalism – with calls for dialogue, open immigration, and environmentalism – rarely an invocation of Jesus.

During his recent "Address to Authorities, La Moneda Palace" in Chile, Pope Francis complimented the Chileans on their beautiful country and advances in democracy. He urged them to avoid consumerism and to address environmental problems. But the Holy Father continued a pattern he established in America during his speeches to civil authorities. He carefully avoided mentioning "Jesus," "Lord," and "God." As a result and perhaps by intention, he appeared primarily as a visiting head of state, with a mostly secular policy agenda.

As a body, the American bishops have followed the Holy Father in pushing the boundaries of their prophetic and kingly charisms into the secular arena. The distinctions between magisterial Catholic principles and prudential judgments are, at times, clear. Dealing with abortion laws, for example, or Nazi practices having to do with the extermination of Jews are clear-cut cases.

At other times, careful distinctions need to be made – for example, whether it is morally acceptable for Catholic politicians to support incrementally better (but not perfect) legislation with hopes to reduce the number of abortions. But the USCCB's support for specific immigration policies – where there can very well be reasonable disagreements – is clearly a bridge too far.

The bishops simply lack jurisdiction in such matters. Formulating a just immigration policy, like the application of just war principles, rightly belongs to the laity according to Vatican II ("Decree on the Apostolate of Laity"). Hence, the Catholic faithful need not look upon the opinions of the USCCB as magisterial and binding, but as the opinions of fellow citizens.

By claiming more than their proper authority, the bishops are unwittingly ushering in a new form of ecclesial egalitarianism, in which episcopal statements will have no more weight than a position paper of a Washington think tank.

The trickle-down effect on priests has been corrosive. Over the decades, it has become almost irresistible for ordinary priests to engage in various forms of political posturing, effectively encroaching on the rights of the faithful. But even apart from politics, this attitude encourages the mistaken assumption that the homily (part of the priest's prophetic office) is central to the Mass. It is not. (Although it would be a great service to the faithful for all priests to take homily preparation more seriously.)

The greatest service of a priest is the reverent celebration and administration of the Sacraments, with the distribution and reception of Holy Communion as the perfect culmination of the priestly ministry. The homily flows from Jesus and the Scriptures and should be taken seriously on those grounds alone.

When I was a young man and not yet ordained, I assisted at several private Masses celebrated by an elderly priest suffering with dementia. He was truly reverent, revealing a lifetime's habitual devotion. His homilies were always religious and occasionally very amusing. One day he solemnly "excommunicated" the archbishop and "installed" the pastor as the replacement. The pastor offered no objection.

Despite dementia, that priest demonstrated the correct priorities. In imitation of Christ, he was first a priest, then a prophet, and finally a king. He may have lost the ability to be prophet and king, but his priesthood remained intact. And he distributed Holy Communion for the sanctification of those present.

There are countless faithful Catholics, I suspect, who would prefer this priest and his dementia to politically activist – and liturgically destructive – pastors.

When the beloved Pope Benedict resigned, his friend Cardinal Francis Arinze sorrowfully remarked that the resignation would "help many to get more mature in our faith . . . help all of us to be deeper in our faith, to be also, let us say, less sentimental." He added, "Our faith is not on the pope, it is on Christ who is the foundation of the church."

About The Author:

Father Jerry J. Pokorsky is a priest of the Diocese of Arlington. He is pastor of St. Catherine of Siena parish in Great Falls, Virginia.

by Msgr. Charles Pope

In the second chapter of the Letter to the Galatians, St. Paul recounts his personal history and describes his authority. St. Paul's story is interesting for three reasons.

It can help to correct notions that some have that St. Paul's ascended to the office of apostle (bishop) overly quickly, and affirm that he was not a "lone ranger apostle." St. Paul was a man who was formed in the community of the Church for some length of time, and did not go on mission until he was sent.

It spells out Paul's relationship to authority within the Church.

It shows an important aspect of being under authority and the prevailing need for fraternal correction within hierarchical structures.

Let's take a look at each of these matters in turn.

1. On Paul's conversion, formation, and ascent to the office of apostle (bishop).

Many have oversimplified notions of Paul's conversion and subsequent missionary activity. Many who have not carefully studied the texts of Acts, Galatians, and other references, assume that Paul went right to work as a missionary following his conversion. But this was not the case.

Near the time of his conversion, Paul was described as "a young man" (neanias). Sometime after the death of Stephen, St. Paul had his conversion, encountering the risen Christ on the road to Damascus. Immediately following that encounter, he was blinded for three days and eventually healed by a Christian named Ananias, who also baptized him (Acts 9:9-19).

At that point, Paul went into the Desert of Arabia (Gal 1:17). Why he went and for how long is not known. It is likely that he went there to reflect and possibly to be further formed in the Christian faith to which he had come so suddenly and unexpectedly. Was he there for several years as some scholars propose or just a brief time as others do? It is not possible to say with certainty, but it would seem that some amount of time would be necessary to pray, reflect, and experience formation in the Christian way, possibly with other Christians. A period of at least a year and perhaps as many as three years would seem reasonable. We can only speculate.

Paul then returned to Damascus, joining the Christian community there for a period of almost three years (Gal 1:18). While in Damascus, Paul took to debating in the synagogues. He was so effective in demonstrating that Jesus was the hoped-for Messiah, that some of the Jews there conspired to kill him.

St. Paul then fled Damascus and went to Jerusalem (Acts 9:20-25). He states that he went there to confer with Cephas (Peter) (Gal 1:18). Paul seems to imply that he thought it was time to confer with Peter because he had begun to teach and was gaining followers. Later, Paul would describe the purpose of another visit to Peter and the other leaders: to present the Gospel that I preach to the Gentiles … so that I might not be running, or have run in vain (Gal 2:2). While there on this first visit, Paul stayed for 15 days, also meeting James.

After this consultation, he went home to Tarsus for a period of about three years. What he did during this time is unknown.

Barnabas then arrived and asked Paul to come to Antioch to help him to evangelize there (Acts 11:25-26). He stayed there for about a year.

Paul made another brief visit to Jerusalem to deliver a collection for the poor.

Upon his return to Antioch, Paul (Saul) was ordained as a bishop. The leaders of the Church at Antioch were praying and received instruction from the Holy Spirit to Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them (Acts 13:3). Thus, the leaders of the Church in Antioch laid hands on Barnabas and Saul and send them forth on their mission. This is Pauls' ordination and the source of his status as apostle (bishop).

Notice, however, that this sending forth happens years after Paul's conversion. Depending on how long we assume he spent in the desert, we are talking about 7-10 years during which Paul lived in community with other members of the Church and conferred with Peter. He was not a self-appointed missionary and his conversion required completion before the Church sent him forth. Paul only undertook this going forth after being sent.

2. On Paul's submission to authority

We can see, therefore, that Paul was not a lone ranger. He did submit what he taught, first to Peter and later to other apostles and leaders (Acts 11 and 15). He states that to preach something other than what the Church proposes would be to run "in vain" (Gal 2:2).

Here was a man who was formed by the community of the Church and who submitted his teachings to scrutiny by lawful authority.

Here was man who went forth on his missions only after he was ordained and sent.

He appointed other leaders. As they went through the towns and villages on their missionary journeys, Paul and Barnabas also established authority in each church community they founded by appointing presbyters in each town (Acts 14:23).

Upon completion of their first missionary journey, they reported back to the leaders at Antioch who had sent them (Acts 14:27) and later to the apostles in Jerusalem (Acts 15). Hence, we have an accountability structure in the early Church and a line of authority. Paul was no independent operator. He was not a self-appointed or self-ordained leader. He both respected authority and established it in the churches he instituted. He also made it clear to the Galatians and others that he had authority and that he expected them to respect it.

3. On true respect for authority.

It is clear that Paul respected the authority of Peter; he conferred with him early on and later set forth the Gospel that Peter had preached. However, there is also this description of Paul offering fraternal correction to Peter:

When Peter came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he was clearly in the wrong. Before certain men came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But when they arrived, he began to draw back and separate himself from the Gentiles because he was afraid of those who belonged to the circumcision group. The other Jews joined him in his hypocrisy, so that by their hypocrisy even Barnabas was led astray. When I saw that they were not acting in line with the truth of the gospel, I said to Peter in front of them all, "You are a Jew, yet you live like a Gentile and not like a Jew. How is it, then, that you force Gentiles to follow Jewish customs? (Gal 2:11-14)

There is something refreshing about this understanding of authority. Having authority does not mean that one is above reproof. Too many people shy away from speaking honestly to those in authority. There is an old saying about bishops: "When a man becomes a bishop he will never again have a bad meal and he will never again hear the truth." Too many of us flatter those in positions of authority. In so doing, we tend to isolate them. They do not have all the information and feedback they need in order to make good decisions. And then when they make questionable decisions, we criticize them. Of course we seldom do this to their faces, instead speaking ill of them behind their backs while remaining largely silent or flattering to their faces. Thus the cycle continues and everyone suffers.

But here Paul stands, face to face (κατὰ πρόσωπον αὐτῷ ἀντέστην) with Peter, and accuses him of a moral fault. Peter had taught rightly of the equality of the Gentiles, but drew back from keeping company with them. As Catholics, we teach of the infallibility of the Pope, but we do not teach that he is impeccable (sinless). Even those who teach rightly (as Peter did) sometimes struggle to fully live the truth they preach.

Accountability in the Church demands that we learn to speak the truth to one another in love, even if the one to whom we must speak has authority. People are often hesitant to speak frankly to their pastors. Bishops are very often isolated in this way; even their priests often refrain from discussion issues frankly. In my archdiocese, I know that Archbishop Wuerl is very serious about consultation and he enjoys a vigorous airing of issues with the priest council and other consultative bodies.

Clearly, correction and/or frank discussion should be done charitably, but it should be done. Paul is a little bolder here than I would be, but he also lived in a different culture than I do. As we can see from the Gospels and other writings, Jesus and the apostles really "mixed it up" with others. The ancient Jewish setting was famous for frank and vigorous discussion of issues, debate that often included a lot of hyperbole. Our own culture prefers a gentler approach. Perhaps the modern rule is best stated this way: "Clarity with charity."

Clarity

We show far greater respect for authority figures by speaking clearly and directly than through false flattery, inappropriate silence, or sinfully speaking scornfully behind their backs.

Charity

The need for clarity does not exclude an accompanying need for charity and proper respect for office and age. Sadly, I have found that those who wish to correct priests and bishops today often go to the other extreme: using bold, disrespectful, and even insulting language, name calling, and impugning their motives. Not only is this unnecessary, it is ineffective, especially in our culture today.

St. Paul demonstrates a sort of refreshing honesty with Peter: acknowledging his authority while respecting him enough to speak to him directly and clearly, to his face and not behind his back.

This video is a brief summary of St. Paul's life. Most scholars don't agree with the concluding remark (that Paul made it out of Roman prison and then went to Spain), but there are two traditions in this regard.

https://youtu.be/gCcYRCPC3bA

by Fr. Mark

I wait for my priests.
I long to see them enter my sanctuary
and approach the tabernacle of my abiding presence.

I wait for them
in the Sacrament that I left for their sakes
as the expression of my Divine Friendship for my priests,
as their consolation in loneliness,
their strength in weakness,
their sweetness in life’s bitterness.

When my priests seek my company
I am moved to show them the compassionate love of my Heart.

When they draw near to me
it is because I have already drawn near to them,
set my gaze upon them,
given them my Heart’s love of predilection,
and claimed them for myself
and for my Bride, the Church.

If they come in search of my Eucharistic Face,
it is because the light of my Face
has already illumined their darkness.

Some see the light of my Face
and walk in its radiance.
Others see it and turn away,
choosing darkness over my light.

Even among my priests
there are those who forsake the light of my Face
for the demon-infested darkness
that will lead to their destruction.

How I grieve over those of my priests who turn from me.
How I grieve over those of my priests
who pretend not to have seen my light
nor to have recognized my Face.

These, like Peter in his weakness,
deny having known me.
Still, I wait for them to turn to me.

My Face is, at every moment, turned towards them.
I will give them light to return to me.
I wait for them in the Sacrament of my Love.

From In Sinu Iesu, The Journal of A Priest