There is an interesting discussion going on over at Inside Catholic between Deal Hudson and Archdiocese of Denver Director of Communications Francis Maier about whether or not Catholics may (or should) publicly criticize bishops. Consider that along with Russell Shaw’s article on secrecy in the Church, and you have yourself an interesting day, as well as useful evidence against the caricatures of “conservative” Catholics being compliant, silent sheep.
I have thoughts, which I’ll just toss up here as bullet points.

• I think it is most important that discussions like this take place on the level of cold, hard reality, with clear and honest acknowledgments of how the epsicopacy and attendant structures actually work in 2008, as well as attention to real issues and real examples of decisions and behavior that might be subject to criticism. Abstractions and generalities will not do. Yes, charity and the call to evangelize should be at the heart of any discourse, but it’s really important to parse that out in specific terms.

So, the question of canon law is worth grappling over, I suppose, but it only really takes on flesh when we give and work from real examples. Which, thanks to even just the past ten or twenty years, are plentiful.

• Perhaps it would help the discussion to clarify what is meant by “criticism.” BIshops, like the leader of any large group, tend to exist in a sort of bubble -it is inevitable, in a sense. The permeability of that bubble is totally dependent on how determined a particular bishop is to see things in his diocese as they really are, and not filtured through the gatekeepers of the chancery staff and clergy.

 

• So the bubble exists, but it is not correct to say that because of the bubble, bishops are shielded from criticism. I’m sure any bishop in the country would be happy to take you into his office and show you his inbox, filled with letters, most of them critical, usually with half criticizing one aspect of his decision making, and the other half criticizing him on the same decision, from the exact opposite position.  Any pastor or even pastoral minister could probably do the same. What is true is that most of the time, no matter what you do, someone’s got something to say about. The most “conservative” bishop in the world probably has a file of letters accusing him of heterodoxy and the most “liberal” has his own file filled with notes scolding for his lack of inclusivity. Maier makes this point very well in his piece.

 

• But perhaps it is not quite accurate to call these “criticisms.” Sometimes they are, but more often they are better described as “complaints.” I think it is rare for pastors to actually receive informed, substantive, charitable criticism. To see my point, consider how priest’s homilies are received. It could be the most dreadful homily ever delivered and still, the people would stream past him after Mass murmuring, “Lovely homily, Father. Thank you.” And then at some point during the week, one or two letters might arrive at the rectory, usually anonymously, complaining about some minor point in that same homily. Yes, that’s helpful. What is missing is a situation in which anyone – a fellow priest, deacon, an informed and able parishioner – sits down and is asked to honestly hash things out, give feedback and help the homilist improve.

 

• Why is this? Partly because it’s not invited, usually, and partly because no one has time, and partly because it is very difficult for laity to take that kind of stance with Father. And the source of that last sensibility? Sometimes it’s old-fashioned pedestal-raising, but I also think that sometimes at work is what I’ve discussed before – an subtle infantilization of clergy that produces the sentiment that “Poor Father. He’s doing his best. Let’s not burden him with any negativity.”

 

• My point is that there are lots of complaints directed at pastors (including bishops),  and in fact, I’d guess that many pastors and bishops feel as if they are spending their days dealing with nothing but complaints from groups or individuals with competing interests.  It’s a real burden and a cross. But that’s not what’s at issue, here. What is at issue is the opportunity for engaged, charitable discussion that might include questions about or criticism of decisions and policies.

 

• Now. Moving on. Hudson makes the distinction between the administrative aspect of a bishop’s job and the role, inherent to his office, of safeguarding faith and morals. He ends up saying that both are fair game, within the bounds of charity, and I agree. I’ll take a slightly different angle, though.

 

• The answer lies in the title to this post. Again, we are back in real life, not on paper here. The reality is that it is very easy for any religious figure of any tradition anywhere to cloak any decision under the mantle of the authority of his office.  We saw time and time again in accounts of episcopal enabling of the clerical sexual abuse cover-up of bishops and others dismissing complaints and quieting the complainers with implications, if not outright assertions, that to question the bishop’s authority in this matter was to question his apostolic office.

Even aside from dishonorable intentions, it is a difficult line to draw, I think we can all acknowledge. A bishop and his staff make decisions about how liturgy may or may not happen in his diocese. A bishop certainly has authority in this realm, a certain amount of discretionary power in certain aspects of liturgical life in light of his diocese’s local situation. But how much? And if a bishop is, say, allowing practices that are expressly forbidden by Rome or ignoring the clear intentions coming from Rome, which is it? Is that purely administrative or is it in that area of safeguarding faith, about which we supposedly have nothing to say?

• Yet another aspect to the issue of fungible authority is the whole matter of a diocesan staff and even the sources of a bishop’s own words. Of course, we can’t be the minimalist and say that only thing to be regarded as “authoritative” from a bishop is that which comes purely out of his own head.  That’s just not the way it works. No bishop – no pope – writes all of his own stuff, including encyclicals, one of the most authoritative pronouncements a pope can make. I heard Cardinal Egan on the radio the other day singing the praises of the theologian (I don’t remember who) who wrote some of Pius XII’s most important encyclicals. So yes, there is a big tent of authority that encompasses what a bishop approves as emanating from his own office.

But again, in reality  – what this means is that a “bishop’s” decisions on, say, liturgy or the shape of catechesis in his diocese, might well be on the very edges of that tent, and could be better said coming from the section of the tent that the bishop knows about, is vaguely familiar with, and perhaps designed a long time ago, but now really belongs to those in charge of the Office of Worship or the Office of Catechetical Formation. A bishop issues a pastoral letter – on evangelization or liturgy or immigration. If we are going to parse out what can be criticized or not in terms of the relation of these words to the bishop’s apostolic office…what difference does it make that we are talking, perhaps, about a document that was written by a committee, then finally approved by the bishop? Or a USCCB pastoral letter from the,er, glory days of the 80’s – on women, the economy and so on. Can we so easily make that distinction, then?
Need we take a stance of respectful, awestruck silence before their decisions, always and everywhere? Even if the bishop has signed off on them?
By extension, take the USCCB. A manmade organization that could disappear tomorrow, leaving the Catholic Church in the United States completely unscathed and individual bishops with a lot more time to actually pastor their flocks.  Where does that fall on the criticize/do not critize chart?

•  I think, in the end, the discussion might be more comfortably phrased another way. That is – rather than saying, is it permissible to criticize bishops, how about…is it permissible to question bishops?

Is it permissible to ask bishops questions about apparent discrepancies between the clear mandate of liturgical documents and what happens in their dioceses, in their own cathedrals, even during liturgies they themselves celebrate?
Is it permissible to ask bishops about the quality and content of catechetical programs?
Is it permissible to ask bishops about the utility of various diocesan-funded programs?
I really do think that if we phrase the issue in those terms – of asking questions rather than hurling criticisms, we are in a more fruitful area. Speaking of “criticism” is too one-sided and negatively weighted. Speaking of “questions” assumes good will on everyone’s part.
As I type this, though, nightmares immediately start up. I start seeing “planning processes” and “listening sessions” and “town hall meetings.” Not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about an atmosphere in which laity, clergy and religious of a diocese – understand that their own issue is not the only issue. They understand that they do not know the whole picture.  An atmosphere in which a bishop and his staff are honest, open, accountable and realistic. In which problems are honestly addressed, as are differences and there’s none of this falsely optomistic “all is well” nonsense.  An honesty which admits that we can all get wrapped up in our own agendas, decide that those agendas must be the will of God, when actually they’re anything but, and be willing to be called on it – all of us, lay and clerical. An atmosphere in which Christ is at the center – the Christ who spoke of sacrificial love, of truth, and, somewhere in there, a few words about lording it over others. Or not.

 In short, we all have to be willing to admit our own limited vision and our own weaknesses as parts of this Body. Two stories.
A couple of years ago, I went to a special Wednesday-during-Lent Mass, celebrated by a priest from another parish. As I recall, he wore some ridiculous tie-dyed vestment, engaged in various uncalled-for ad-libbing during Mass and during his homily, he did something – I can’t remember exactly what – that involved pulling out two members of the congregation to do something – look in each other’s eyes or something stupid.
I was one of them. Yeah.
So afterwards, on the way home, I was talking to my daughter about this and struggling, as we often have to do, with how to talk about something so ridiculous without diminishing her respect for the clergy. In short, how not to turn her into a cynic. And so, while I was talking, it came to me to say, “Well, no, I really didn’t like what he did. And some of those things he did – you’re right, he wasn’t supposed to do them. But you know what? I’ve got a call to live and be a certain way as a Christian, and there’s no way that I can say of myself that I do a perfect job. He stumbled, I stumble. ”
Then, a long, long time ago, when I was writing columns for the Florida Catholic, I tossed off a piece about homilies, saying (it makes me cringe to think about it) that I’d heard maybe 3 good homilies in the past five years.
A little while later, the parish DRE told me that the pastor had made a reference to that column, saying, “Well, I think I’ve had 3 good congregations in the past five years.”
Ouch.
Moral of the story: Eye, meet beam. Get used to each other. We’re in it for the long haul.