The role of the diocesan curia and the mission of the Church

Note: The following essay is adapted from an Address to the Curia of the Diocese of Charleston delivered on April 25, 2024.

If we take our time-machine back fifty years ago—or maybe only forty—I suspect the diocesan machinery probably consisted of the Bishop, a vicar general and chancellor (both of whom were, in all likelihood pastors as well), and a lay secretary. A look-around now presents a very different picture, about which more in a bit.

For those of you who are laity, it is important to recall the Church’s understanding of the lay vocation. The great convert and thinker of the nineteenth century, St. John Henry Cardinal Newman, once was asked by his bishop what he considered the vocation of the laity to be. In an uncharacteristically laconic response, he quipped, “The Church would look foolish without them!”

A more fulsome response to the question was forthcoming in several documents of the Second Vatican Council, most notably, Lumen Gentium (Dogmatic Constitution on the Church). Gaudium et Spes (Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World), and Apostolicam Actuositatem (Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity). That theology of the laity was developed to an extraordinary degree in the apostolic exhortation of Pope John Paul II in Christifideles Laici.

The consistent teaching is that the focus of the laity is ad extra, not ad intra, that is to say that the normal living out of the lay vocation is in the world, not within the Church. In point of fact, John Paul frequently decried what he termed the “clericalization of the laity” (n. 23), with a concomitant “laicization of the clergy.” I note this important point because it is essential for lay ecclesial workers to understand that their situation is absolutely unique. There is little so detrimental to the mission of the Church as “wanna-be clerics,” surpassed only by priests who are “wanna-be” bishops!

With that caveat issued, we can move forward in considering how clergy and laity can and should collaborate in their respective diocesan offices to advance the Kingdom of God. Right up front, let’s say it loud and clear: The role of the diocesan curia is to serve, not to dominate. Unfortunately, that fundamental principle is noted more often in the breach, than in the observance. Getting that right ensures getting everything else right; getting that wrong is a formula for disaster.

So, let’s address some specific issues.

The less bureaucracy, the better

First, I want to encourage you to avoid some bureaucratic minefields. I already hinted at that topic. There is a strong temptation in any organization toward the multiplication of offices and employees, in imitation of the governmental model. When the bishops’ conference of the nation determined that they needed to move into a more expansive facility to accommodate their burgeoning departments, a conversation ensued as to an appropriate site. Then-Bishop Sean O’Malley stood up and in good Franciscan fashion suggested: “Buy a brownstone in the Georgetown section of DC. Whatever offices don’t fit into that building, toss into the Potomac.” Needless to say, his advice was not heeded, and we have a Catholic version of the Taj Mahal instead.

Long years of participation and observation in ecclesial administration have convinced me that we schedule endless meetings and form useless committees to convince ourselves that something is happening. In the 1980s, when I served as the PR man for the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights, I brought onto my staff an elderly Sister, who was being farmed out to her Community’s retirement home unnecessarily (simply because she could no longer teach a full day). Sister Rose Louise was a delightful and engaged person, who eagerly looked forward to her one-to four “job” every day. One Monday, she came into my office rather sheepishly and whispered, “Father, I won’t be able to come to work this Friday.” Feigning horror at the thought of her absence, I asked, “Do you have a doctor’s appointment, Sister?” “No.” “Well, then what?” “You’ll get angry if I tell you.” “I could never get angry at you, Sister.” “We have a mandatory Community meeting.” “Those damnable Community meetings,” I blurted out. “See, I knew you would get angry.”

She continued: “Father, I have been a Religious for more than sixty years. For the first fifty years, we never had any meetings, but we all knew who we were, where we were supposed to be, and what we should be doing. For the past ten years, we haven’t stopped having meetings—and no one knows who she is, where she should be, or what she should be doing.”

At one high school, I inherited a weekly faculty meeting at 3 p.m. on Fridays. Talk about insanity. More insane, however, was that those events could drag on for an hour or more—because of teachers who took great joy in hearing themselves bloviate. Within a month, I moved the meeting to Mondays at 7:30 a.m.; the homeroom bell sounded at 7:50. Literally, saved by the bell! As you can tell by now, I hate meetings; in fact, I would sooner have four wisdom teeth removed with no novocaine than attend a useless meeting. A purposeful meeting, yes, but they are rather rare, in my experience. Ditto for committees, especially for committees that we have orchestrated to get them to conclude what we wanted them to conclude from the very beginning. Cardinal Newman, in his Apologia, declares: “Living movements do not come of committees.”

Piggy-backing on that matter, I would caution against adopting a secular modus operandi. There was a priest in a major archdiocese, who had spent his entire priestly life in the Tower of Power: vice-chancellor, chancellor, director of pastoral planning, priest personnel director; he simply switched roles every few years—just like in the old Soviet Politburo. Priests used to joke that if you passed the Chancery Office at 2 a.m. and the light was on on the top floor, it was Jim working on his flow charts and feasibility studies. The tale went on, in rather biting clerical sarcasm, to say that if it could be categorically proven on Sunday that God did not exist, Jim would still open the Chancery on Monday. Sad but true. Even sadder, he went on to become an archbishop!

In a similar vein, a parish business manager called me up after a diocesan meeting of all such individuals. The man was scandalized by the whole event. Aside from the opening prayer, he said, the name of God or Jesus Christ was not spoken once in six hours. That’s what happens when we get absorbed into the muck of “institutional maintenance.” In many Protestant churches, it was popular to post a plaque in the pulpit facing the preacher, bearing an echo of the plea of the Greeks to Philip: “We want to see Jesus.” I think most of the clergy and laity you serve would make the same request.

Assisting pastors

Secondly, assist pastors; don’t thwart them. Many pastors feel caught in a vise between chancery bureaucrats and parishioners with “stole envy.” It’s the principal reason why, in many dioceses, many priests refuse pastorates. To be sure, there are priests who go off the reservation and who need to be brought back to reality. However, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do that, and operating from a hermeneutic of suspicion about the priest is not the right way.

I once worked for a bishop who had an interesting way of handling parishioner complaints about a priest. He would send a copy of the complaint to the priest in question and ask him to help draft a response to the accusation. If the charge was baseless, the priest could indicate why; if there was merit, so be it. The bishop went a step farther: In his reply to the parishioner, he visibly copied the priest, so that the parishioner knew that the priest knew who his accuser was. That method went a long way to discouraging disgruntled, nasty missives; it also boosted clergy morale.

Along with that procedure in place, foster priestly leadership. Regrettably, that is not done in seminaries, where future priests are trained to be sheep, rather than shepherds. Discourage all nonsense like “leading from behind,” whatever that’s supposed to mean. Never allow priests to hide behind higher-ups. An example of what I mean: A new bishop arrived in a diocese. In one of his first meetings with his priests, he made it clear that he would never assign a man to a parish that he didn’t want—on the principle that such an arrangement is ultimately counter-productive. By the end of January, every priest had received a questionnaire seeking his desires: Do you want to remain in your present assignment? Do you wish to move? If so, where? In a true spirit of consultation, the Bishop and/or the personnel board had contacted every priest who had expressed any preference. By Holy Week, the assignments were set for July 1 and announced at the Chrism Mass. On Easter Monday morning, the Bishop’s inbox was flooded with emails of parishioners bemoaning the transfer of their favorite priests, especially since—their priests told them—they would never want to leave the Paradise of their parish. That irked the Ordinary so much that he posted a front-page article in the next issue of the diocesan paper, making clear to the lay faithful that no priest was moved who had not directly requested a move; in other words, if your priest told you otherwise, he’s a liar.

Strong stuff, however, that kind of immature, adolescent behavior should never be countenanced but it comes from a formation process that encourages “pleasing” others, rather than leading others. Let priests know that you will support them in their decisions (presuming they are the right decisions) but will never cover for their weakness.

Gently educate priests to develop leadership skills by having recourse to some of the salient insights of our dear Cardinal Newman (after taking some of them to heart for yourselves as well). Here’s a sample:

1. Calculation never made a hero. (Development of Doctrine, chapter 7/2.3 [Supremacy of Faith])

2. It is plain every great change is effected by the few, not by the many; by the resolute, undaunted, zealous few. (P.S. I 287 [24.4.1831])

3. Doubtless, much may be undone by the many, but nothing is done except by those who are specially trained for action. (P.S. I 288 [24.4.1831])

4. A few highly-endowed men will rescue the world for centuries to come. (U.S. 97 [22.1.1832])

5. [The Church] fights and she suffers, in proportion as she plays her part well; and if she is without suffering, it is because she is slumbering. Her doctrines and precepts never can be palatable to the world; and if the world does not persecute, it is because she does not preach. (P.S. V 237 [3.3.1839])

The need for many good men

Thirdly, make a place for men in the Church. I continue to be amazed at the cry for giving women a role in the Church. As a matter of fact, for the past half-century, we have seen nothing but the near-total feminization of both Church and society. Take a look around the average parish: liturgical roles, staff positions, committee memberships are almost exclusively filled by women, leading one young priest to remark, somewhat snarkily at the end of a Sunday Mass a few years ago that, being the only male in the sanctuary, he gained new insight into Elizabeth’s greeting to Our Lady: “Blessed art thou among women!” Some might accuse me of “sexism” for saying this, but I do believe it is true: Men easily cede roles to others; they need to be coaxed (even coerced!) into taking on responsibility. Be a catalyst for that at the diocesan level.

And, above all, promote fatherhood. It is all too well documented that we are in the midst of a genuine crisis in both masculinity and fatherhood, the former leading to the latter. We need more than an annual men’s day of prayer and spirituality. There needs to be a concerted effort to help men develop a healthy self-image, precisely as men, which will then redound to their being good fathers. All the data reveal that having an effective and loving father has an inestimable effect on the future welfare of both sons and daughters. Also, perhaps counter-intuitively, we have discovered that a child’s life of faith is more influenced by the father’s adherence to the Faith, than by that of the mother. This scenario also has implications for the priesthood: It is almost impossible for a man to be a good father, if he has not had a positive experience of sonship under a loving father.

The whole sexual revolution got everything turned upside down as we were told that for women to be fulfilled, they had to look and act like men—and for men to shed any alleged “toxic” masculinity, they had to imbibe femininity. On the other hand, John Paul II taught us about the truth and brilliance of sexual complementarity. Assist in bringing the pendulum back to the center.

Collaboration and communication

Fourthly, endeavor to work collaboratively, in a cross-departmental fashion. Turf wars cause quagmires. Communicate with one another; share potential documents and programs, seeking input from one another. Hardly anything today is insular. One of the reasons for so many Vatican disasters in the past decade is the lack of broad consultation across dicasteries and across theological perspectives. St. John Paul was the consultant extraordinaire; every one of his documents passed through dozens of hands and beneath hundreds of eyes. Consultation never hurt anyone and, a big plus about it, it brings about a broad sense of ownership of the final product.

Related to this is the need to ask this fundamental question: Is what I am proposing or doing “mission-driven”? That is, how does this program advance the mission of the Church? Every penny we spend should be scrutinized under the microscope of “mission-drivenness.” I would also suggest gauging possible actions on their potential effectiveness on at least one of these three areas: promotion of Sunday Mass attendance; advancement of Catholic schools; or support for the family. If it’s not doing any of those three, I would question what it is doing.

Stewardship and Providence

Last but not least, while being careful and wise stewards of the Church’s resources, always leave a place at the table for Divine Providence. Responsible stewardship, of course, but remember: We are not running a bank or a real estate agency. I never tire of saying that if the current demand for feasibility studies were in place in late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century America, Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton, Mother Katherine Drexel, Bishop John Neumann, and Mother Frances Xavier Cabrini (urged on in her work by Pope Leo XIII and St. John Baptist Scalabrini!) would not have been able to open a single school, hospital or orphanage.

Although I am a rather hard-nosed, calculating administrator, I must say that the schools I have either opened or re-opened were declared hopeless cases by those who worshiped at the altar of financial expediency. I am happy to say that all those institutions have not only survived but are actually thriving. To a cleric skeptical of one of Mother Cabrini’s so-called “schemes,” she replied: “Don’t worry, Father. If I were to think too much about procuring the means, the Lord would withhold his graces.”

Or, one of many anecdotes attached to the energizer bunny, Mother Angelica: She was asked by a reporter how she had been able to establish the largest religious network in the world. “Faith,” came her swift riposte.

“Ah, I don’t have faith.” “That’s why you don’t have a network,” responded the spunky nun.

I am firmly convinced that our problem in the Church today is not finances but faith. If that were not so, please explain to me how near-penniless immigrants built the institutions that the most affluent population in the history of the Church cannot maintain? No, it is not money that is lacking, but faith. Where faith-filled teaching, preaching and worship exist, collection baskets overflow.

Thank you for your kind attention. I am sure I have upset at least some of you with at least one or more of my musings. Truth be told, I would be disappointed in myself if that were not the case. The Anglican bishop N.T. Wright is reputed to have said, “Wherever St. Paul went, there was a riot. Wherever I go, they serve tea.” I will not feel slighted if no one serves tea after this discourse!

Thank you especially for your work. Keep your eye on the ball or, as the Epistle to the Hebrews puts it: “Keep your gaze fixed on Jesus” (12:2). My Uncle Mike was a semi-professional figure-skater, performing for crowds at Rockefeller Center at Christmastime in New York. I once asked him how he was able to do all those intricate pirouettes and land gracefully in exactly the same spot. “It’s simple,” he said. “You have to pick some spot on the horizon and make sure that every time you turn, you see that same still-point.” That’s what it means to be “mission-driven,” “keeping our gaze fixed on Jesus.”

Finally, I would like to recommend for your daily reflection—Cardinal Newman’s meditation on one’s place in the inscrutable plan of God:

God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission—I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. Somehow, I am necessary for His purposes, as necessary in my place as an Archangel in his—if, indeed, I fail, He can raise another, as He could make the stones children of Abraham. Yet I have a part in this great work; I am a link in a chain, a bond of connexion between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work; I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep His commandments and serve Him in my calling.

Therefore, I will trust Him. Whatever, wherever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. My sickness, or perplexity, or sorrow may be necessary causes of some great end, which is quite beyond us. He does nothing in vain; He may prolong my life; He may shorten it; He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends, He may throw me among strangers, He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide the future from me—still He knows what He is about.

And he concludes with this rousing plea to the Almighty:

O Adonai, O Ruler of Israel, Thou that guidest Joseph like a flock, O Emmanuel, O Sapientia, I give myself to Thee. I trust Thee wholly. Thou art wiser than I—more loving to me than I myself. Deign to fulfil Thy high purposes in me whatever they be—work in and through me. I am born to serve Thee, to be Thine, to be Thy instrument. Let me be Thy blind instrument. I ask not to see—I ask not to know—I ask simply to be used.

Can we get an “Amen” to that?