Go Rebuild My House : Franciscans and the Church Today [1 ed.] 9781576592854, 9781576591949

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Franciscans and Creation: What Is Our Responsibility?

NUMBER 4

CFIT/ESC-OFM SERIES — NUMBER 4 COMMISSION ON THE FRANCISCAN INTELLECTUAL TRADITION

Over the centuries in “word and deed,” Franciscan scholars and practitioners have demonstrated a clear and faithful understanding of what it means to live as followers of Christ in a defined “ecclesia.” Francis of Assisi was eminently clear about his attitude toward the Church, understood both as community and as institution.

— Ilia Delio, OSF, adapted from the Preface

In 2001, the English Speaking Conference of the Order of Friars Minor (ESC), in collaboration with Franciscan theological schools of the English-speaking world, committed itself to promoting the renewal of Franciscan theological and intellectual formation among the members of the Franciscan fam-

Franciscans & the Church Today

Today, as in Francis’s time, moral failures and overt incompetence in the Church create credibility gaps between the people and those entrusted with authority. Is there a Franciscan way of approaching this pain and brokenness? What lies beneath Francis’s fidelity to the Church and its authorities? How can Christians today look with compassion on this suffering body and hear, as Francis heard, a voice directing us to “rebuild my church”? In this volume of essays we hear a word of hope as the authors reflect with us on these very same questions for our times.

CFIT/ESC-OFM

Washington Theological Union

ily. This promotion has a twofold purpose: to help members understand the beauty and wealth of the Franciscan intellectual tradition and to extend to the whole Franciscan family and to society the intellectual heritage of the Franciscan School so that it can support effective evangelization. This series of publications aims to carry forward this purpose. It is hoped that, with hope, joy, and enthusiasm,

ENGLISH SPEAKING CONFERENCE

OF THE

“Go Rebuild My House” Franciscans and the Church Today WASHINGTON THEOLOGICAL UNION S YMPOSIUM P APERS 2004

Franciscans can once again look at their intellectual history, make it part of their lives, and prepare to become better proclaimers of the Word to the world.

English Speaking Conference of the Order of Friars Minor Franciscan Institute Publications St. Bonaventure University St. Bonaventure, NY 14778 (716) 375-2105 Fax: (716) 375-2156 franinst.sbu.edu

Pages: 100 $14.00 US

Ed. Elise Saggau, OSF

— Finian McGinn, OFM, President, ESC-OFM, adapted from the Introduction to The Franciscan Intellectual Tradition Project (Pulaski, WI: ESC-OFM, 2001), 1-2.

ORDER OF FRIARS MINOR

EDITOR: ELISE SAGGAU, OSF

“Go Rebuild My House” Franciscans and the Church Today Washington Theological Union Symposium Papers 2004

“Go Rebuild My House” Franciscans and the Church Today Washington Theological Union Symposium Papers 2004 Edited by

Elise Saggau, O.S.F. The Franciscan Institute St. Bonaventure University St. Bonaventure, New York 2004

©The Franciscan Institute St. Bonaventure University St. Bonaventure, NY 14778 2004

CFIT/ESC-OFM SERIES NUMBER 4 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the publisher. The articles in this book were originally presented at a symposium sponsored by the Franciscan Center at Washington Theological Union, Washington, DC, May 28-30, 2004. This publication is the fourth in a series of documents resulting from the work of the Commission on the Franciscan Intellectual Tradition of the English-speaking Conference of the Order of Friars Minor. (CFIT/ESC-OFM)

Cover design: Jennifer L. Davis ISBN: 1-57659-1948

Library of Congress Control Number 2004111202

Printed and bound in the United States of America BookMasters, Inc. Mansfield, Ohio

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface Ilia Delio, O.S.F.

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Chapter One Building Church in a Time of Uncertainty Doris Gottemoeller, R.S.M.

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Chapter Two The Church and Its Charisms: A Franciscan Perspective John Burkhard, O.F.M. Conv.

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Chapter Three Franciscan Reform of the Church C. Colt Anderson, Ph.D.

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Chapter Four A Church Evangelical, Catholic and Reformed Vincent Cushing, O.F.M.

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Chapter Five Forming Pastoral Ministers in a Fragmented Church Katarina Schuth, O.S.F.

About the Authors

79 97

PREFACE The words “Go rebuild my house; as you see, it is all being destroyed” echo a familiar refrain to the disciples of Francis of Assisi.1 Thomas of Celano tells us that when Francis first heard this command he was “more than a little stunned, trembling, and stuttering like a man out of his senses.” Unsure of the meaning of this strange request, Francis set out to repair the broken down church of San Damiano stone by stone. Only afterwards did he come to realize that God had called him to restore and revitalize the Body of Christ, the Church. According to Franciscan scholar Thaddée Matura, “Francis had grasped the theological essence of the Church, the fact that it is rooted in the Trinity and is the people of God, even including its institutional structures. . . .[H]e still believed with all his heart in a Church that has within it the Son of God and His Gospel, the guarantee of ‘the true faith and penance.’”2 Although Francis did not bequeath to us any formal “Franciscan ecclesiology,” he had the basic conviction that the Church is the heart of the Gospel and salvation. Based upon this foundation, the Franciscan tradition’s contribution to the Church is a vital one. The student of history knows that the Church in every age has undergone crises and divisions because it is a living Body that struggles with the tension between divine revelation and human sinfulness. In Francis’s time, the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) was convened in an effort to consolidate the hierarchy and defend orthodoxy amidst various strains of corruption and a range of heretical movements (among other things). In our own time, the Second Vatican Council opened the doors to renewal and historical awareness of the cultures and societies in which we live. It called us to walk forward in history as the pilgrim people of God. The present climate in the Church, however, seems to chill the hearts of the faithful as scandal, division, clericalism and other dissensions continue to wound the Body of Christ. We are experiencing a certain level of retrenchment and thus what we might call ecclesiological dis-ease. Although there are various levels of dissatisfaction with the Church today, as followers of Francis we share in the call to go and rebuild the house of God. It is with this call in mind that scholars working in the area of ecclesiology gathered at the Washington Theological Union in May 2004 to address this challenge. They pose such questions as:

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Ilia Delio, O.S.F. • • •

What is the role of Franciscans in relation to the Church? What part has the tradition played in reform? How have Franciscans handled conflicts in the Church?

The papers contained in this volume offer a rich source for understanding the various ecclesiological aspects of the tradition and suggest ways we may contribute to the life of the Church. The first paper, by Doris Gottemoeller, examines the task of ecclesial renewal and calls us to participate in renewal through personal study and informed ecclesial participation. She reminds us that the early Church grew precisely because the disciples actively participated in the life of the Church through constant discernment. John Burkhard provides a comprehensive development of the theme of charism, which he identifies as concrete grace, pointing out the importance of diversity of charisms in the post-Vatican II Church. The Franciscan charism in particular, he claims, must remain faithful to Francis’s love of poverty and the dignity of life, as well as engage in creative theological reflection if it is to play a vital role in the life of the Church. The next two papers look more specifically at the Franciscan tradition with regard to reform and conflict. Colt Anderson’s insight into the role of Franciscans and Church reform is provocative. With a view to the concrete work of reform, Anderson claims that fear of God and penitential piety forged Francis into one of great reformers of his age. The Franciscans were so successful at reform, he claims, they were sought after by the hierarchy in an effort to rid the Church of corruption. He questions how reform is being pursued today and what role Franciscans are called to play in a Church that seems to be falling into ruin once more. Vincent Cushing also presents a challenging examination of the Franciscan path of reform. Highlighting the contribution of Francis and the early followers to Church reform, Cushing identifies the movement as “evangelical, catholic and reformed” in nature–free enough in the Spirit to preach the Gospel among the laity, yet obedient to the Church despite prevailing corruption and heresies. He then looks at the present Church and declares that “we are in the midst of a crisis” because we have lost sight of our call to be evangelical and catholic–with a small “c”–in the universal sense. He calls us to “draw on the appropriate insights from our tradition to respond to the challenges facing us today.” Finally, Katarina Schuth, speaking from a wealth of research on and experience in seminary education, asks how we form sound pastoral ministers in a fragmented Church. She analyzes the complexity of the

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problem through the web of cultural, ideological and theological diversity that characterizes the present Church. We must, she indicates, move from fragmentation to integration in order to “think the world together.” She highlights attitudes and values from the tradition that may help in this regard–acceptance of change, appreciation of diversity, reconciliation, compassion and prayer. She calls us to a reflective stance and a reconciling presence as we seek to move beyond differences toward unity and peace. Throughout these papers we see the rich heritage of the Franciscan tradition and the important role it has played historically in the life of the Church. Yet we are also aware of the critical ecclesial moment in which we find ourselves. We need to move from complacency to responsible Christian action, including prayer, reflection and discernment. The early Franciscans lived the Gospel amidst divisions and institutional challenges and awakened a spirit of reform that was life-giving. As Franciscans today, how do we respond to the present crises in the Church? Or maybe we should ask, how are we participating in the task of ecclesial renewal? If we are truly members of Christ’s Body, these questions demand an answer from us that is more than lip service. They require a personal response, one that begins, as Anderson notes, with personal conversion. Francis was aware that the Church was not first an institution but a living body, the Body of Christ, clothed in the garment of humanity. He reminds us, therefore, that we Christians are the Church even though we are flawed, fragile and sinful. It is lovely to read about Francis and the leper. It is a challenge, however, when the leper is one of us. To contribute actively to the health and well-being of the Church is integral to the Franciscan charism. If we are unsure how we may participate in the task of renewal, we may begin by kissing the hand of the leper and living the Gospel of peace. Ilia Delio, O.S.F. Director of the Franciscan Center Washington Theological Union August, 2004 Endnotes 1 Thomas of Celano, The Remembrance of the Desire of a Soul 6:10, in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, vol. II, The Founder, ed. Regis J. Armstrong, J. A. Wayne Hellmann, and William B. Short, O.F.M. (New York: New City Press, 2000), 249. 2 Thaddée Matura, O.F.M., Francis of Assisi: The Message in His Writings, trans. Paul Barrett, O.F.M. Cap. (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2004), 105106. In 1997 edition, see page 111.

CHAPTER ONE

BUILDING CHURCH IN A TIME OF UNCERTAINTY Doris Gottemoeller, R.S.M. The title chosen for these remarks characterizes the present moment in the Church as one of impasse. We wonder: Is the way forward one of enhanced central authority and discipline? Or of a freer and more participative adaptation to the diverse cultures and needs of the postmodern world? Would the Church’s message be clearer and more luminous if our leaders insisted on stricter requirements for liturgical participation? Or would the ordination of women and married men bring about the desired renewal? Should the Church insist on doctrinal orthodoxy from those in public office, or should we allow officeholders to discern the common good from an array of possible choices? The Church today is frequently polarized by opposing views of how to preserve and promote the faith in situations that are unparalleled in their complexity, scale and potential for good or evil. We long for light and clarity and consensus about how to go forward. In preparing these reflections, I chose to be guided by three principles. First, we want to avoid another dreary recitation of the disappointments, scandals and organizational dysfunction and malfeasance of recent years. It is true that we need to study the errors of the past in order to avoid repeating them, but that will not be our task today. As a matter of fact, if we extend our reflections back through 2000 years, the mistakes–and lessons–of the past are so many and varied that it would be a monumental task to review them all: simony, sale of indulgences, the violence of the Crusades and cruelties of the Inquisition, anti-Semitism, political intrigue, clerical concubinage, pedophilia, etc. Sadly, our recent failures look pretty uninspired compared to some of the excesses of the past. The Church’s representatives have failed again and again. At the same time, respect for truth would require that we enumerate the good, the heroic, the soul-stirring actions of the men and women who have written the history of the faith through their lives of fidelity and generosity. This too is part of our inheritance. Second, we want to avoid a retreat into an abstract and spiritualized description of the Church’s nature and mission under the light of

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eternity. However satisfying it might be to a certain type of theologian, it would be poor fare for the faithful in the pews today. It is true that we are the inheritors of a rich tradition of intellectual reflection on the faith, preserved in theological libraries. Contributing to this reflection is the task of every generation, as the perennial truths are articulated in the light of new circumstances and insights. But it is not the task of this essay, except that insofar as we voice our sensus fidelium, we are preparing the way for the work of professional theologians. Third, we want to identify some positive proposals for engagement in the task of ecclesial renewal, proposals that are accessible to every member of the Church. It is natural to want to advise the bishops how to improve their performance, but it is more challenging to identify what each of us can do whatever his or her present role in the Church. In suggesting that the proposals need to be positive, I am reminded of the distinction between optimism and hope. The British theologian, Nicholas Lash, describes optimism as “often little more than a stoically courageous whistling against despair.”1 We choose to believe that our parishes, our Church institutions, or our religious congregations will survive, even thrive, because the alternative is unacceptable. But in the last analysis, more than optimism is needed. What is needed is the virtue of Christian hope, what Lash describes as “the lifelong discipline of learning to see in the dark.” Further: “To hope in God is to know that God’s creation has, in God’s love, its future; it is not to know what form the future will take.” What we do see, and what we celebrate in this Pentecost time, is that the Spirit of the risen Christ is with us, assuring that the gifts of discernment and courage will be ours for the asking.

Commitments for Personal Action The following suggestions for personal action constitute a lifelong program, not a quick fix. They rest on a mature faith, not on immature longings. Let me propose four commitments that will build up the community of Church for the future. (For those who are counting, there were three principles and now there are four commitments; I promise there won’t be five conclusions!) The first imperative for Church members today is to re-commit to a life of personal study, reflection and prayer. This may seem too obvious to need saying, but it reinforces the truth that it is easier to criticize mediocre parish preaching than it is to take responsibility for one’s personal faith development. There is a beautiful line from a letter of

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Catherine McAuley, the founder of the Sisters of Mercy, that illustrates what I mean. She is writing to Sister Mary de Sales White, in December 1840, nine years after the founding of the community and a year before her own death. The community had known many hardships: public misunderstanding, clerical opposition, disputes with tradesmen, the illness and death of many members, the struggle to meet the unending needs of the poor with finite resources. Catherine had exhausted herself with her travels to all the convents in order to guide the young community. Still she writes to her friend: “We have one solid comfort amidst this little tripping about, our hearts can always be in the same place, centered in God, for whom alone we go forward or stay back.”2 “Hearts centered in God”–this is the vocation of every Christian, the source of our communion with one another and the goal of our ministry. What is begun in baptism needs to be nourished throughout life by prayer, study and good works if we are to attain the maturity to which the sons and daughters of God are called. We live in a high-speed age. Unless we consistently pause to center ourselves, we risk falling prey to every spiritual fad and becoming, in the word of St. Paul, “castaways” in the journey of life. In suggesting that prayer needs to be accompanied by study, I am suggesting that we need to take time to nourish ourselves with the wisdom of others, with Sacred Scripture and with a sampling of the theological, pastoral and spiritual literature that is so abundant today. Fortunately we live in a time where there are dozens of excellent periodicals and journals, as well as hundreds of good books dealing with religious themes, published annually. At least some of the time we need to substitute the price of a pair of movie tickets for a new book and the cost of a dinner out for a subscription. Creating “sabbath time” in which to read and reflect, rather than watch TV, will complete the effort. Still another suggestion is to occasionally read something out of one’s usual comfort zone in order to appreciate the great diversity of theological and spiritual insight that enriches the Church. The quest for a deepening spirituality is realized most especially in the celebration of the Eucharist. The sociologist Robert Bellah asserts that the fundamental practice that tells us who we are as Christians is worship.3 When we all gather to partake of the same Eucharistic banquet, we are drawn into an embodied world of relationships and connections, a world of human solidarity. Furthermore, he suggests, this solidarity is an antidote to the radical individualism so characteristic of modern society. Every Eucharistic celebration is an opportunity to model

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hospitality and inclusive love. There is a temptation today to shop around for liturgies that are congenial with one’s own likes. There is a certain legitimacy to this, but at the same time we want to be open to the beautiful diversity of race and ethnicity, education, personal gifts, economic circumstances, theological tendencies and spiritual preferences that differentiate worshippers from one another. When we detect that differences have become barriers to communio, we must seek reconciliation and the restoration of harmony. The second imperative is to develop a discipline of ecclesial participation rooted in the Church’s nature. Most commentators on the present scene call for enhanced participation in decision-making in the Church, but without a lot of clarity, it seems to me, on the “what” and the “how” of it. The “why” of participation flows from the universal call to holiness rooted in baptism and the concomitant responsibility for the Church’s mission articulated by the Second Vatican Council. In the words of the Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity, the laity “share in the priestly, prophetic, and royal office of Christ and therefore have their own role to play in the mission of the whole People of God in the Church and in the world” (#2). How does this lofty ideal translate into concrete actions and specific responsibilities within the Church? There are many facets of church life that constitute the “what” of participation. Decisions have to be made about the management of its tangible resources (funds, personnel, buildings, programs, etc.), about the provision of a range of pastoral and liturgical services and about the articulation and safeguarding of its teaching. Elements along this continuum cannot be considered in isolation. For example, doctrinal understandings shape pastoral practices, and pastoral priorities influence the use of resources. Thus it is not feasible to assign neat, mutually exclusive roles in participation to clergy, bishops, or laity, nor to consider parish, diocesan and universal Church life in isolation from one another. How should participation be qualified by office or expertise? The discipline called for is one of making the necessary distinctions and of respecting the necessary competencies for each type of decision. There is a further discipline involved in the “how” of participation. Some years ago the Catholic Common Ground Initiative articulated principles of dialogue that bear repeating here (somewhat abbreviated): •

We should recognize that no single group or viewpoint in the Church has a complete monopoly on the truth. While the bishops united

Building Church in a Time of Uncertainty

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•

• •

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with the Pope have been specially endowed by God with the power to preserve the true faith, they too exercise their office by taking counsel with one another and with the experience of the whole Church, past and present. We should test all proposals for their pastoral realism and potential impact on living individuals as well as for their theological truth. We should presume that those with whom we differ are acting in good faith. They deserve civility, charity and a good faith effort to understand their concerns. We should not substitute labels, abstractions, or blanketing terms–“radical feminism,” “the hierarchy,” “the Vatican”–for living, complicated realities. We should put the best possible construction on differing positions, addressing their strongest points rather than seizing upon the most vulnerable aspects in order to discredit them. We should be cautious in ascribing motives. We should not impugn another’s love of the Church and loyalty to it. We should bring the Church to engage the realities of contemporary culture, not by simple defiance or by naïve acquiescence, but acknowledging both our culture’s valid achievements and real dangers.

Some of these principles for participation and dialogue are similar to those used in business and government negotiations, but here they are cast in the light of the Church’s identity. The personal discipline needed to live out of them is an exercise of deepening communion, the graced relationship that binds all members of the Body together as one. The third imperative for Catholics today is to express their convictions in the marketplace of work, politics and popular culture. The 1989 apostolic exhortation, On the Vocation and Mission of the Lay Faithful in the Church and in the World,4 emphasizes the responsibility of the laity to leaven society with the message of the Gospel. Called and Gifted for the Third Millennium, a 1995 pastoral statement of the United States bishops, speaks of the fourfold call of the laity to holiness, to community, to mission and ministry, and to Christian maturity. For the Gospel message to transform the world, it has to be lived and spoken in believable and attractive ways in multiple venues. I am reminded of a passage from Pope John XXIII’s Opening Speech to the Council, where he said, with respect to the errors of the modern world:

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Doris Gottemoeller, R.S.M. [The Church] prefers to make use of the medicine of mercy rather than that of severity. She considers that she meets the needs of the present day by demonstrating the validity of her teaching rather than by condemnations.

These words might have been addressed to our present day bishops who feel compelled to deny the Eucharist to public figures. The Church’s teachings would be much more convincing if demonstrated by a Catholic community that never had recourse to abortion, that was united in its opposition to capital punishment, that consistently promoted care for the poor, the imprisoned, the undocumented immigrant, the addict, the jobless, the last and the least among us. The “medicine of mercy” for today’s world would consist of fidelity to the Church’s pastoral, social, moral and doctrinal teachings. There is a growing movement in society to promote spirituality in the workplace, demonstrated by hundreds of books and websites with titles such as A Spiritual Audit of Corporate America: A Hard Look at Spirituality, Religion, and Values in the Workplace5 and Awakening Corporate Soul: Four Paths to Unleash the Power of People at Work.6 Much of this is superficial, an amalgam of general management techniques, traditional religious practices, evangelical pleadings and New Age ideas. At the same time, the popularity of these offerings indicates the desire many have for their work to contribute to a larger purpose than profit and for their workplaces to be places of significant engagement in life’s deeper meaning. Our Catholic social teaching celebrates the significance of work as a means to human fulfillment and the promotion of the common good. Sharing one’s convictions about these truths in the workplace is a concrete way to extend the Church’s message without special preaching. One place in which our bishops have given consistent and public leadership is in their call to political responsibility. The work of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) Department of Social Development and World Peace is something that should make every Catholic proud. I had the privilege of serving for some years as an advisor on the International Policy Committee, and I was consistently amazed at the outreach of the committee, its interest in regional conflicts in places like the Sudan, the Congo, Haiti, Colombia, the Balkans, East Timor and the Middle East, its commitment to alleviate the scourge of AIDS, tuberculosis and malaria in the Third World, its efforts to eliminate landmines, to lessen the burden of external debt on

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poor countries, to assist refugees and to combat the spread of nuclear arms. The bishops’ domestic agenda is similarly comprehensive: health and education, child welfare, the disabled, labor relations, immigration, agriculture–the list goes on. Their work involves more than making statements: they maintain active relationships with their counterparts throughout the world and they are a persistent voice on Capital Hill and in many state legislatures. The statement by the USCCB Administrative Committee, Faithful Citizenship: A Catholic Call to Political Responsibility, is an invitation to all of us to embrace the Church’s social teachings and to exercise personal responsibility. The final imperative is to avoid the temptation to nostalgia and the fear of restorationism. Nostalgia is selective memory, a yearning to recover some “golden age” which never, in fact, existed. We “remember” when every family gathered nightly for the rosary, every parochial classroom was staffed by an exemplary nun who was a gifted teacher, every pastor looked and acted like Bing Crosby or Spencer Tracy and every parish church was crowded for novenas, benediction and stations of the cross. Theologian Paul Lakeland identifies nostalgia as one of the reactions to postmodernism.7 We yearn to replace the uncertainties of the present with the remembered certitudes of an earlier, simpler time. Those who give way to nostalgia have forgotten that Pope John XXIII called the Church to renewal in order to counter the “prophets of gloom” who saw “nothing but prevarication and ruin” in the modern world, to speak the perennial truths in light of “the new conditions and new forms of life introduced into the modern world” and to heal the divisions among Christians.8 In their recent study of the priesthood, Dean Hoge and Jacqueline Wenger describe how priests in the 1950s were bored and dissatisfied with their lack of activity and responsibility.9 And now they are complaining about overwork and excessive responsibility–a classic case of being careful what you wish for! However we remember pre-Conciliar times, this is the time given to us, these are the resources we have and God’s grace is no less available than at any other time or place. A related but different problem is the fear of restorationism. The word “renewal” and its cognates, such as “re-founding,” “rekindling,” “recapturing” and “renovation,” all suggest a vital contact with something that has gone before, a return to the original source of some inspiration in order to make it fresh in the present. The renewal inaugurated by the Council drew much of its energy from the advances in biblical

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and patristic studies in the first half of the last century. These rich resources were recovered for new generations of believers. Scholars such as Yves Congar, O.P., produced massive historical studies that documented the role of tradition in the safeguarding and development of doctrine over the course of the Church’s life. In his groundbreaking book Tradition and Traditions Congar distinguished between the Spiritguided process of Tradition (singular) and the countless individual traditions (plural) that constitute its expressions.10 Both Tradition and traditions are essential to the Church’s identity. In the years after the Council we discarded many traditions–practices that were deemed outmoded or not in keeping with the new insights. As time passed, some of these changes might have had unintended consequences, but it was difficult to question them. Even to suggest that some past practice–e.g., some liturgical or ascetical practice– might have value in the present was to leave oneself open to the charge of being “restorationist.” The fear of being labeled may prevent someone from suggesting the retrieval of a past practice–not necessarily with the same theological understanding that undergirded it in the past, but with a renewed meaning. I make this observation in light of the fact that some of the young people who are accused of promoting pre-Vatican practices do not personally even remember that era. They are not interested in fighting their parents’ battles. Instead, they yearn for a better understanding of the Tradition. Even if they are naïve or conservative, they deserve a hearing. Similarly, the 150,000 new converts that joined the Church in the United States this past Easter are not burdened by any bias for or against past practices. So I suggest that it is as ill-considered to reject automatically an earlier practice as it is to adopt it automatically simply because it is old.

Closing Reflection To sum up, I’d like to relate these four imperatives to the experience of the early Church in Jerusalem. In this past Easter season we heard daily readings from the Acts of the Apostles describing the lives of the first generation of Christians. These disciples translated Christ’s message into concrete practices that can guide us today. As we follow the story, we see them “devote themselves to the teaching of the apostles and to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread and to prayer” (2:42). Here is the attentiveness to sound teaching, the rootedness in prayer and the celebration of the Eucharist that must still be our hallmark today.

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The account in Acts also describes the early Christians participating in decision-making of varied kinds and in varied ways. When it came to the choice of a replacement for Judas, they drew lots to choose Matthias–a dependence on the Spirit’s guidance that is still instructive (1:26). We are not told how they chose the first deacons, only that the community selected them at the instigation of the Twelve (6:5). And the decision about whether or not they were still bound by the Mosaic Law is described in terms of a Council of the Elders, in which certain leaders had an authoritative role (15:6-11). Different practices for different situations. But throughout, “the community of believers was of one heart and one mind” (5:32). Beginning with the Pentecost event, the message went out to all the world: “to Parthians, Medes and Elamites, inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the districts of Libya near Cyrene, as well as travelers from Rome” (2:9). It went out to people in all walks of life: the rich and the poor, the “leaders, elders, and scribes” (4:5), textile merchants (16:14), tentmakers (18:3), silversmiths (19:23), court officials (8:26), the sick and the lame. In the words of Peter and John before the Sanhedrin, “It is impossible for us not to speak about what we have seen and heard” (4:20). Would that we all demonstrated the same passion to speak the word today! We might think that the first generation of Christians would be exempt from dealing with the past. But what else was the Council of Jerusalem but an attempt to discern what of the old was still valid for the present? The answer was a nuanced one, neither rejecting nor accepting all traditions, but discerning what contributed to living the teaching of Jesus. Further, the speeches recorded in Acts, such as that of Stephen before his death (Chap. 7), trace the story of salvation history, showing how what went before was a preparation for the saving work of Christ and for our appropriation of his message. This, then, is a model for our time, as we struggle to create our future with appreciation for our past. Our present moment is one of uncertainty as we listen to conflicting voices urging the way forward. We yearn for leaders, we search for clarity. In God’s time those gifts will be given. Meanwhile, we can face the future with hope if we keep our hearts centered in Christ, participate in the Church’s life with civility and mutual respect and proclaim the Gospel unceasingly in a world that longs for truth and healing.

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Endnotes 1 Nicholas Lash, The Beginning and the End of “Religion” (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 256. 2 Sister Mary Ignatia Neumann, R.S.M., ed., Letters of Catherine McAuley, 1827-1841 (Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1969), 273. 3 “Religion and the Shape of National Culture,” America (31 July 1999): 9-14. 4 Origins, 18:35 (February 9, 1989): 561- 95. 5 Ian I. Mitroff and Elizabeth A. Denton (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers, 1999). 6 Eric Klein and John B. Izzo (Canada: Fairwinds Press, 1998). 7 Paul Lakeland, Postmodernity: Christian Identity in a Fragmented Age (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress Press, 1997), 16-17. 8 Pope John XXIII, Opening Speech to the Council (October 11, 1962). Cf. Internet: Pope John XXIII. 9 Dean R. Hoge and Jacqueline E. Wenger, Evolving Visions of the Priesthood: Changes from Vatican II to the Turn of the New Century (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 30. 10 Yves Congar, O.P., Tradition and Traditions (New York: Macmillan, 1967), 307.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CHURCH AND ITS CHARISMS: A FRANCISCAN PERSPECTIVE John J. Burkhard, O.F.M. Conv. The understanding of Vatican II on charisms and its application in the postconciliar Church would surely have to be reckoned among the most touted of the Council’s teachings. Today’s Catholics speak unhesitatingly about “charisms.” The meaning of Vatican II’s teaching is simply presumed. Each one has his or her “charism” in the Church, and so each is called to a specific task, e.g., leadership, service, education, justice ministry, catechetics, research and writing, theology, ecumenical activity, etc. Religious communities or religious orders have their own “charisms” and these distinguish them from all others. Certain offices or states of life in the Church, too, have their own “charism”–the priestly as distinct from the lay “charism” or the married as distinct from the celibate “charism.” Where did these applications come from? Can they be found in the Bible? In church history perhaps? In the documents of Vatican II? In postconciliar theological reflection? And how are these meanings related to one another? I propose to develop the theme of charisms and the Church in five sections. The first will examine the biblical usage of the term and its importance in the New Testament. A second section will examine modifications of the term in the course of history up to its rediscovery by the Second Vatican Council. Third, the essay will consider the meaning of the term at the Second Vatican Council. Fourth, we will follow the postconciliar development of the term charism as it was extended to include the gift of the spirituality of a religious institute. Finally, there will be an attempt to relate the results of the study to the Franciscan experience of the Church. But before we begin our journey, it might be well to refer to a bird’s-eye view of the subject. Norbert Baumert, a German Jesuit, provides a helpful summary when he writes: To this day, exegetes tend to read more into Paul’s concept of a charism than is actually there, while systematic and dogmatic theologians start with questions of fact but are scarcely aware that their statements, too, go far beyond Paul’s claims. Imagining that they are building on Paul’s own teaching, they also do not observe the decision of Vatican II [which taught that

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John Burkhard, O.F.M. Conv. charisms are the means the Spirit uses to equip believers with gifts other than the sacraments, the graces of office, or the Christian virtues]. As a result, confusion about the term abounds. The unquestioned consensus is that charism is an endowment or ability most frequently given to someone by the Spirit. This is why many commentators speak of its character as a service for the building up of the Church. While some point to its miraculous aspect (R. Bultmann, J. Gewiess, K. Rahner), most others understand “ecclesiastical office” to be part of the notion. In recent decades, the idea has been growing that “every Christian” has his or her charism (the idea of the universality of charisms) and that charism is undeniably a constitutive principle of the Church. But if one begins with a semantic study of the word, it becomes clear that charism points to something concrete and means a “gift.” Nevertheless, even these latter scholars can hardly avoid the attraction to speak of charism as something specialized or as a “semitechnical term” (K. S. Hemphill), at least in a few passages.1

“Charism” in the New Testament The use of the term “charism” in the Old Testament and in the profane literature of antiquity is so insignificant that it need not detain us. There are only three sources of its use in the New Testament–Paul, the Pastoral epistles, and First Peter. Among these three sources, Paul is surely the most important. Paul employs the term charisma fourteen times, and all of these are found in only three of the seven genuinely Pauline epistles, First and Second Corinthians and Romans.2 However, it appears that Paul did not originate the term to designate a spiritual gift. This honor must go to the Corinthian Christians themselves, who appear to have used the term as an everyday slogan. Its origins, then, are to be found in colloquial speech and not in technical theological language. Paul picks up the term from the Corinthians and gives it a specific direction that serves his own theology. Only in this second sense is the term Paul’s and as such does it play an important role in Pauline theology. What, then, did the Corinthians intend to say by speaking of a charisma? I propose to divide the instances of Paul’s use of the word charisma into two groups. In a number of passages, a charism is simply a gift from God to an individual or to God’s people. Thus, Paul points to the faith of the Corinthians and characterizes it as a gift or charisma given by God to equip them as they “wait for the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ

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[who] will keep you firm to the end, irreproachable on the day of our Lord Jesus [i.e., the parousia]” (1Cor. 1:7). The word charisma seems to be used as a concrete expression of the “grace” or charis Paul has just referred to in verse 4: “I give thanks to my God always on your account for the grace (epi te chariti) of God bestowed on you in Christ Jesus.” The tendency of the translators to render the word “grace” as “spiritual gift” is misleading.3 This modern translation tends to prepare the reader for its later, more specific meaning in the epistle. Instead, I would insist on three aspects of the text when it is read in its own context: charisma is simply the gift of faith, and therefore universal in terms of all the Corinthians who believe in Christ; it is a concrete expression of God’s gift of grace or charis; and the context is an eschatological one, i.e., it envisions faith in terms of a yet fuller coming-to-be with the Lord’s parousia. Among the issues the Corinthians addressed to Paul are questions about marital status (see 1Cor. 7:1-16). In the “eschatological time” Christians now inhabit, should they marry, remain married, or prefer celibacy? In First Corinthians 7:7, Paul speaks of his celibacy as a “gift from God” (charisma ek theou) but then so too is the gift of marrying: “Each has a particular gift from God, one of one kind (i.e., celibacy) and one of another (i.e., the married state).” Here charisma is correctly translated as “gift” in the sense of a “concrete grace.” The word “charism” in this context has no special connotation. Quite simply, God calls one person to marriage and another to remain celibate. Neither call is higher. Moreover, the particular response is not seen in terms of its building up the Church but in terms of the salvation of the individual believer. In Second Corinthians 1:11, too, Paul uses the term in its general sense, referring here to a “gift”4 Paul has received by reason of the prayers of the Corinthians. The context points us in the direction of an act of deliverance of Paul by God, who “rescued us from such great danger of death, and who will continue to rescue us” (v. 10). Paul understands the “gift” (charisma) as obtained by prayer and granted to Paul as an expression of God’s wonderful “grace” or, in the Hebrew, God’s “hesed.” In the epistle to the Romans, Paul refers a number of times to charisma in the general sense I have been discussing. This is the case for Romans 6:23 in conjunction with 5:15-16. Both passages are found in the context of the universality of sin and thus our need for God’s redemption. We humans come under the sign and the influence of human “transgression” (paraptoma) and “sin” (hamartia) introduced by Adam. Here the “gift” is closely connected with “grace.” As Paul says:

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“But the gift (charisma) is not like the transgression. For if by one person’s transgression the many died, how much more did the grace (charis) of God and the gracious gift (dorea) of the one person Jesus Christ overflow for the many. And the gift (dorema) is not like the result of the one person’s sinning.” Throughout the passage, Paul speaks of the gift by employing the word charisma together with the Greek cognate words dorea and dorema. At the end of the section, too, he returns to his use of charisma to speak of this same “gift” of grace. In Romans 9-11, Paul discusses the painful situation of Israel’s not believing in Jesus as its Messiah and Lord. The issue perplexes Paul because he recognizes that Yahweh always remains faithful to the promises of the covenant. How is it possible then to reconcile Yahweh’s fidelity with a rejection of Jesus Christ by many of his contemporary Jews? Paul does not deny the culpability of those who refuse to believe in Jesus, but neither does he argue that their culpability is final. He holds out another promise–in this situation, an eschatological promise–that Israel will in the end believe in Jesus as the one sent by Yahweh. In this context of the dialectic of belief/lack of belief, Paul speaks of the “gifts” deriving from the covenant. In Romans 11:29 he refers to them as charismata, or as we might say, God’s gracious “gifts” connected with the covenant. What about Paul’s use of charisma in Romans 1:11? Does this passage conform to the usage we saw characteristic of Romans 5, 6 and 11 just examined? The passage poses special problems of interpretation. First, the word charisma is used in an absolute sense, that is, no complement is given by which we might know the content of the gift. Second, the gift is characterized as a charisma pneumatikon or “spiritual gift.” What does the phrase mean here? Third, the context does not include references to other “gifts” or dorea. Finally, the charisma is intended for the “strengthening” of the Romans. Thus, it seems to include one of the characteristics of the contemporary understanding of a charism, that is, a spiritual gift that builds up the community. Nevertheless, N. Baumert, A. Vanhoye and E. Nardoni opt for the non-technical meaning of gift over “charism.”5 Here is what Nardoni writes: “In Rom 1:11, the Apostle expresses his longing to see the Christians of Rome to share with them some personal gift (charisma), which he qualifies as ‘spiritual.’ His purpose is that of strengthening them. Paul probably has in mind a prophetic exhortation.”6 Exegetes draw the conclusion from all this that in many instances Paul uses the word charisma in a non-technical way, as a synonym for a

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“gift”–something we receive from God as undeserved and unmerited. What then of the passages where Paul seems to employ the term in a technical sense? Do these passages of a technical usage hold up to further scrutiny? Scholars are divided on this issue. For many years immediately following the Council, the common opinion was that Paul did indeed employ the term charisma in a technical way to indicate a special gift distributed by God to individuals for the building up of the community of believers. In these instances, the gift-from-God or charisma had a specific purpose, namely, to build up the Church. Though an individual believer received the gift, it was not for the Christian’s personal sanctification so much as for the good of the community. In these instances, then, it made sense to “translate” the Greek by simply using the transliterated form of the word, i.e., to speak of a “charism.” In recent years, however, the thesis has been called into question. There is really no passage in the New Testament where charisma cannot be translated simply by the English word “gift.” In other words, there is no technical Pauline teaching about what contemporary, post-Vatican II Christians today would call “charisms.” The same would hold true for the authors of First Timothy 4:14 and Second Timothy 1:6-7 and of First Peter 4:10-11. But doesn’t this position undermine the teaching of Vatican II about the importance of the Holy Spirit distributing charisms in the Church? Isn’t it safer for us to hold on to the “older” position that Paul uses the word in a specialized sense, at least in several passages in his letters to the Corinthians and to the Romans? We now turn our attention to the second group of passages where Paul purportedly uses the term “charism” in a technical sense and on whose interpretation scholars are divided. The passages are the classical ones from First Corinthians 12 and Romans 12. When we consider First Corinthians 12, the first thing we need to note is the place of “charism” in the whole letter. It is found in a section that deals with practical issues experienced by Christians when they gather for worship.7 Three problems are discussed: what kind of hair style women should wear at the liturgical assembly (11:3-16), the celebration of the Lord’s supper (11:17-34) and God’s gifts (chapters 1214). The third issue receives the most extensive treatment, and chapter 12, therefore, needs to be read in the context of the whole section. This is often not observed by theologians, and ecclesiologists in particular, who frequently treat chapter 12 in isolation as a separate treatise on “charisms.” In fact, chapters 12 to 14 examine several interrelated issues: God’s gifts to Christians, how these gifts are experienced, their

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relationship to faith, hope and charity, and the role of the Spirit in all of this. The section begins with the announcement, literally translated: “Now in regard to pneumatic matters.” Paul discusses two series of phenomena: general phenomena such as pneumatika, charismata, diakoniai, and energemata, and very specific phenomena Paul calls phaneroseis in Greek, such as prophecy, speaking in tongues (glossolalia) and interpreting this speech, giving wisdom instruction, physical healings, helping those in material need and so forth. Among the first series, we note that one of the phenomena studied is called charismata. What are they in this context? First, let us listen to the opening section: Now in regard to spiritual gifts (pneumatika), brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be unaware. . . .There are different kinds of gifts8 (charismata) but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service (diakoniai) but the same Lord; there are different workings (energemata) but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. To each individual the manifestation (phanerosis) of the Spirit is given for some benefit. To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom; to another the expression of knowledge according to the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another gifts (charismata) of healing by the one Spirit; to another mighty deeds (energemata); to another prophecy; to another discernment of spirits; to another varieties of tongues; to another interpretation of tongues. But one and the same Spirit produces all of these, distributing them individually to each person as he wishes (vv. 1, 4-11). Next, Paul develops the analogy of the human body to the Church (vv. 12-31). What is true with respect to the human body is a metaphor also for the Church. Just as every body part has its rightful place in the whole body, so too in the Church, every member exercises a role proper to him or her. The diversity of functions in the Church does not threaten ecclesial unity, just as the diversity of bodily functions does not threaten the organic unity of the human body. There should be no competitiveness and no invidious comparisons, but instead each member should fulfill his or her function. Without the body’s multiplicity there can be no organic whole; so too in the Church, without the diversity of functions and roles, there can be no ecclesial body. In this section, Paul mentions the charismata again toward the end. In verses 28 and 30 he speaks of “gifts of healings” along with other Church officers (“first, apostles;

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second, prophets; third, teachers”) and other activities, but he only refers to the healings as charismata. Finally, he gives the following injunction: “Strive eagerly for the greatest gifts (charismata)” (v. 31). And what are these “greatest gifts” or charismata? Paul singles out one–love (agape). The whole of chapter 13, then, is dedicated to a hymnic treatment of love, its qualities but also its superiority to prophecy (propheteia), glossolalia (glossai), and knowledge (gnosis). He concludes by locating love with the other “gifts”: “So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love” (v. 13). Then Paul returns to his admonition in 12:31 about the “greatest gifts.” He writes: “Pursue love, but strive eagerly for the gifts (charismata).” In chapter 14, Paul concentrates on what evidently was a central problem in Corinth in connection with the diversity of gifts and tasks, namely, the relationship between prophecy, speaking in tongues and the interpretation of tongues. It is important to remember that in this chapter Paul does not speak about the other activities he mentioned earlier, e.g., healings, material generosity and so forth, but only about prophecy, glossolalia and the gift of interpreting tongues. In this connection, Paul speaks repeatedly about these actions in terms of their effect. Do they “build up (oikodome) the Church,” as prophecy does, or do they “build up the individual,” as uninterpreted glossolalia does?9 Paul points out that the true value of speaking in tongues is its power to attract converts to the community. He writes: “Tongues are a sign not for those who believe but for unbelievers,” and he buttresses his teaching with a quotation from Isaiah 28:11-12. Paul concludes his treatment of the three issues handled in chapters 12-14 with rules for governing prophecy and speaking in tongues when the community assembles for worship. In the assembly, everything must be done in an orderly way. Glossolalia is not excluded, but when it is engaged in, it must be done in a way that avoids confusion and that respects the priority of the gift (charisma) of prophecy. Paul concludes the section with this admonition: “Strive eagerly to prophesy, and do not forbid speaking in tongues, but everything must be done properly and in order” (39-40). After this overview of chapters 12-14, what can be said about Paul’s teaching on charisms? First, the term “charism” in this section is no more specialized a theological term than in Paul’s other uses. It still means simply an undeserved, unmerited, free “gift” from God. Second, the charisms under consideration in these chapters are specifically those of prophesying and speaking in tongues. No generalized teaching about charisms is to

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be found in the passage. Paul is addressing specific pastoral problems of how order can be assured in Corinth when Christians assemble. Third, God’s spirit is an important subtext. The charismatic activities under discussion are seen as expressions of God as Spirit. The repetition of the phrase “the same Spirit” (to auto pneuma) in 12:4-11 and the references in 12:1 and again in 14:1 to “pneumatic phenomena”–literally Spiritinspired or Spirit-directed phenomena–make this clear. This is how Norbert Baumert summarizes his study of First Corinthians 12. He writes: With these considerations in mind, the technical meaning [of charisma] in Paul’s letters disappears as an argument for its origin. . . .If Paul’s use of charisma has a special accent, then that can only be because he has added a stronger theological sense of these gifts from God as “grace-filled.” . . . Earlier, we maintained that the term charisma was derived from colloquial language among the Corinthians. If that is the case, then Paul borrowed the term from his source and employed it in this sense at least in his early preaching. . . .What in the course of history eventually became the fully developed understanding of “the concept of charism” is the result of a long-term process of maturation, one involving centuries of experience and reflection. This concept is very subtle and complex. It cannot be explained as a Pauline neologism or as a conscious reworking of the term by Paul, all the more since in the later epistle to the Romans Paul uses it again (six times, and even in Rom 12:6), but in its “nontechnical” meaning.10 The history of the development of the full concept of charism seems to begin in the later books of the New Testament itself. Though I disagree with Baumert’s interpretation on one point, I am still indebted to him insofar as the later New Testament uses, though different from Paul’s, are still more modest in their claims than has generally been held to be the case. We are dealing with only two passages, one is deutero-Pauline and the second belongs to First Peter. In First Timothy 4:14, the author writes: “Do not neglect the gift (charisma) you have, which was conferred on you through the prophetic word with the imposition of hands of the presbyterate.” When read in context, the meaning of the “gift” mentioned includes more than the undeserved and free gift of God that we observed in standard Pauline usage. Overtones of ecclesial office are starting to emerge. I admit that these overtones are still rather modest, but they are there.11 I do not take

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the rite of the presbyters imposing their hands on Timothy to be the later rite of ordination in its full meaning, but it is surely a rite of some kind. From the verse quoted, there appears to be an act of collaboration by the community’s prophets and its presbyters. In my mind, the act is at most a prototype of installation or maybe of strengthening a church official in his office. The Church did not have to take this specific direction as it moved into the future, but in many places in fact it did so. The inchoate practice of the imposition of hands was gradually accepted in the growing Christian Church. That the “gift” referred to in verse 14 has some official overtones comes to further expression in verse 16, where we read: “Attend to yourself and to your teaching, persevere in both tasks, for by doing so you will save both yourself and those who listen to you.” Here, too, what will become characteristic of the classic notion of charism receives initial formulation: the recipient of a charism builds up the community by his actions, here specifically, by his teaching activity. Finally, what is to be said of First Peter 4:10-11? Here is the text: “As one who has received a gift (charisma), use it to serve one another as good stewards of God’s varied grace. Whoever preaches, let it be with the words of God; whoever serves, let it be with the strength that God supplies, so that in all things God may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” The simple meaning of “undeserved free gift of God” makes full sense in the context. The activities referred to are not ecclesiastical offices but actions that the faithful are engaged in by reason of the gift of their faith. The future understanding of charism is not to be found in the passage. However, its reference to using the gift in service of one another will exercise a powerful influence on the more restricted notion of charism that will emerge in the course of the Church’s history. It is now time to consider the development of the term in history.

Development of “Charism” in the History of the Church up to Vatican II In four meticulous studies of the use of the word “charism” by theologians in the course of the last two millennia, Norbert Baumert has shown how its meaning has grown over the centuries.12 What are the results of his valuable studies? Baumert has shown how the basic biblical meaning of “gift of grace” has changed little over the years. True, little by little it acquired other connotations, but it never attained the full con-

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temporary meaning familiar to us in the postconciliar period until very recently. It is, of course, not possible in the short study I propose, to cover this material in detail. A few summary points will have to suffice. The situations were somewhat different in the Eastern and the Western churches. In the East, theologians remained familiar with Greek and continued to write in it. The term charisma was not a strange word and new ideas could be associated with it without changing its basic meaning. Thus, over many centuries, the word charisma/charismata was enriched by new insights. The Alexandrian layman, and later presbyter, Origen (ca. 185-ca. 254) emphasizes the relationship of the “gift” and the Spirit. Charisms render their subjects fit to receive the Spirit. Also, Origen often relates charisms to the many virtues God bestows on believers, especially the virtues of wisdom and knowledge. The idea that a charism equips a person for an activity that is an effect of grace is beginning to emerge with Origen. The next major Eastern thinker to influence the meaning of charism is St. John Chrysostom (347-407). Like Origen, Chrysostom still regards the theological virtues of love and faith to be charisms. But he shows a growing interest in more spectacular or extraordinary charisms– healings, prophecy and glossolalia–and in certain states of life in the Church–episcopacy, priesthood and monastic life–which are also gifts or charisms of God. This opening will eventually lead to the downplaying of the ordinary gifts, but that result is still a long way off in the future. A contemporary of Chrysostom, Theodore of Mopsuestia (350-427), mentions the difference between what he calls the “pneumatic gifts,” which include prophecy, and the other gifts, which include the virtues, but without really introducing a strict distinction between them. A generation later, Theodoret of Cyrrhus (393-466) moves closer to taking this step. The time is the heyday of monasticism and Theodoret sees the monastic life as the contemporary expression of the charisms of the period of the apostles. Finally, the last Father of the Eastern church, St. John Damascene (675-749), like his Greek-speaking predecessors, understands charisms in terms of God’s manifold gifts–of grace, of virtues, of states in life, of pneumatic phenomena and so forth. But already with John the future dimensions of charism as a gift that is given for others and not primarily for the recipient, as well as the dimension of a charism as that which equips a believer for specific activities, is becoming more pronounced. In the West, the situation was different because the word charisma

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had hardly survived. The Old Latin Bible (the Vetus Latina) and the Vulgate of St. Jerome had favored translating charisma into Latin as gratia or donum/donatio/donativa. Only in the Latin text of First Corinthians 12:31 (“Strive for the greatest charismata”) had the Greek word been retained. Thus, to a Latin-speaking Christian, charisma smacked of the peculiar and the unfamiliar. As early as Tertullian (160-220), the “gifts” indicated in First Corinthians 12 are seen to include the gifts of the Spirit indicated in Isaiah 11:2: “The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord, and his delight shall be the fear of the Lord.” The result is that early on in the West charism was seen more in its relation to its subject, that is, the one who has been graced or gifted and that person’s activity. The fact of being the recipient of grace still stands in the foreground, but the graced subject receives more attention than in the East. Another difference from the East’s usage is that Tertullian distinguishes the Church’s “ministries” from the charismata. Charisms are one thing, official ministries another. This tendency to distinguish and then to exalt official ministry will also become a typical hallmark in the Latin Church. Finally, Western authors tended to wrestle more with the question as to whether the “love” mentioned by St. Paul in First Corinthians 12:31 and 13:13 also pertained to the charismata or whether it was a superior gift apart from the charismata. The Latin Middle Ages knew little of a teaching–biblical or otherwise–about charisms in the Church. In his theology of grace, St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) developed his distinction between grace bestowed by God for the justification of the sinner (gratia gratum faciens) and graces bestowed by God for the benefit of others (gratia gratis data), but he never discusses the distinction in terms of gratia gratis data constituting a species of charismata. In Thomas’s mind, “charisms” still meant the many gifts, but especially the miraculous gifts of prophecy, healing, tongues and so forth, given to believers by God. In concluding his treatment on Aquinas, Baumert writes as follows: “The loanword charisma always had for Thomas, to the extent that he even used it, the meaning of ‘gift’ (donum) and communicated nothing about a dimension of [God] endowing [a person for specific actions].”13 Only centuries later, as we will see, did theologians marry Thomas’s theory of gratia gratis data with the biblical, but still largely strange word, charisma. In the West, Baumert points to William Estius (1542-1613) as the first biblical expositor to impute a fuller meaning of charisma/ charis-

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mata to Paul, to the author of the Pastorals and to the author of First Peter. In his posthumously published commentary on Paul’s epistles and the seven catholic epistles, Estius launched the modern effort to fill in the meaning of the strange Greek loanword charisma. He did so by narrowing down the meaning to Paul’s use in First Corinthians 12 and Romans 12. The extraordinary, spectacular and miraculous manifestations of prophecy, healing, speaking in tongues and interpreting them became the very material of a charism. Charisms, then, are rare and are to be associated with the early apostolic Church, not with Christians in the here and now. The early Church might have been in need of charismatic blessings, but today’s Church is characterized more by its permanent institutions. The institutionalized Church has little or no need of charismatic activity, since it is amply equipped with offices and ministries that assure its growth and vitality. What a different view of the Church in the early 1600s from that of the preceeding sixteen centuries! This fateful narrowing down of perspective initiated by Estius was yet to reap all its harmful effects, however. The two main elements were now in place for developing the modern idea of charism: its miraculous character and therefore its rarity and Aquinas’s doctrine regarding grace as gratia gratis data, ordered to the other. Understood as charism, neither can be found in this form in either Paul or in Thomas Aquinas. Another misrepresentation of Pauline teaching was Estius’s explanation of why love or charity cannot be a “charism” because it is a virtue. This separation of charisms from virtues, especially from the theological virtues, would also produce baneful effects. All Christians by their very calling are destined for the gifts of the theological virtues, but only certain classes of Christians are destined for the more spectacular, and even heroic, charisms. Members of the hierarchy and members of religious institutes are called to charismatic existence, but not the ordinary faithful. By the middle to late nineteenth century, the word “charism” begins to appear more frequently as a theological technical term. More and more commentators use it, until by the time of Rudolf Sohm (18411917), the noted German Lutheran canonist, it is ripe for his own particular use. With his thesis that the early Church owed its existence directly to the word of God and not to the human response of believers constituting the Church as a voluntary association, Sohm launched the contemporary discussion.14 His thesis emphasized the “charisms” of the Holy Spirit in establishing, building and directing the Church. Ecclesiastical organization, though necessary, is a secondary element, and

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the Church as charismatically constituted remains independent of any human form of governance. Sohm’s thesis unleashed a storm of controversy and a host of positions and counter-positions. Roman Catholic authors, of course, rushed to the defense of the hierarchical leadership of the Church as primary, but so too did other churches that were influenced by the episcopal structures of the pre-Reformation Church. In the vast array of positions, many insisted on the spectacular character of charisms and that they were characteristic of early Christianity but were no longer essential to the Church’s continued existence. Occasionally there were charismatic renewals in the Church, but these were quickly integrated into the Church’s hierarchical structure. Others argued that the highly developed hierarchical structures characteristic of the Catholic Church were aberrations of the original will of Christ for the Church, which was that the Church always remain charismatically directed by the Spirit. Signs of the early emergence of a highly structured hierarchical Church were called “early Catholicism,” and they could even be found in the Scriptures. Baumert argues that the late nineteenth and early twentieth-century discussions of charism were really an incorrect reading of the Scriptures, largely attributable to Estius’s misleading exegesis. The Scriptures and the early Fathers of East and West make no distinction between non-institutional and institutionalized charisms. Both are charisms and both are elements of the early Church. It is a misunderstanding of Paul and the New Testament to characterize charisms as direct gifts of the Spirit for the building up of the Church over against offices of leadership in the Church as essentially non-charismatic. According to Paul, some charisms are elements of the Church’s institutional life while others, equally deserving of the name “charism,” are not directly concerned with the Church’s life, structure, or belief system. Some New Testament charisms are virtues, some pertain to the order of creation, some to extraordinary phenomena such as prophecy or glossolalia, while still others refer to the somewhat stable offices of apostleship, teaching and leading. By insisting on the separation of the charismatic from the institutional, the modern discussion of charisms caused immense disagreement among Christians. Quite simply, according to Baumert, the modern discussion got off on the wrong foot. What was the picture of charisms after the heated debates of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries? Not a single one of the characteristics stressed during the controversy corresponds to the biblical teaching regarding charisms! What, then, were the features

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that exegetes and theologians stressed? Ten elements in particular should be noted: (1) Charisms are gifts of the Holy Spirit; the Father and the Son are not mentioned in connection with charisms. (2) Charisms are extraordinary, spectacular, miraculous phenomena and not part of the everyday actions of believers. (3) Charisms are given in event-like circumstances that stress their unpredictability. (4) Charisms are given by the Spirit to individual believers exclusively to build up the Church, the body of Christ. (5) Though they are given to build up the Church, charisms in themselves have no institutional element. (6) Charisms are ways in which the Spirit endows or communicates abilities to Christians for specific actions. (7) Charisms are distinct from the Christian virtues and are superadded to them. (8) Charisms are distinct from the sacraments of the Church. (9) Charisms are distinct from a Christian’s choice of state of life, i.e., celibacy, marriage, religious life. (10) Charisms are distinct from a Christian’s being called to an office in the Church, e.g., bishop or presbyter. While some of these elements can be seen to come to expression in the first nineteen hundred years of the Church’s existence, they are never separated from the general biblical vision of charisms or take on a life of their own. A separation happens only in modernity! This state of affairs needs to be kept in mind when we turn to the official mention of charisms in the papal magisterium in the modern period. I am referring to the encyclical Mystici corporis Christi of Pope Pius XII in 1943. Apart from a few positive comments and several, mainly exegetical, studies by scholars in the first half of the twentieth century, the common opinion of theologians in this period was that charisms pertained to the early Church and that the hierarchical Church of the post-apostolic period was more than adequate for future generations.15 Mystici corporis Christi would change the direction of the discussion of charisms. Let us briefly examine the encyclical. Charisms are mentioned five times in the encyclical. The first citation of “charisms” is meant to oppose the position that the Church consists only of its hierarchical elements (ecclesiae corporis structuram solis hierarchiae gradibus absolve ac definiri) (§ 17).16 The pope immediately adds that, although some are of the opposite, and equally erroneous, opinion that the Church consists only of its charismatic elements (unice ex charismaticis constare), the truth is to be found in the teaching that the Church consists of both. However, Pius then goes on to stress that the ordained members still hold the first and principal place in the Church (primaria eos ac principalia membra exsistere). What is also noteworthy in

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this context is the understanding of what these charismatic elements are. Immediately after defending the necessity of the charismatic, the Pope speaks of them as donis prodigialibus. The English translation renders the phrase as “miraculous powers.” The translation is certainly faulty–“marvelous gifts” comes much closer to the meaning.17 It should be noted that Mystici corporis Christi seems to regard charisms as “gifts” like the New Testament and the long theological tradition of the Church and not as special endowments of individuals or as miraculous powers possessed by some Christians. Finally, the papal teaching, though somewhat polemical in the context of its time, is quite correct in seeing the Church as composed of hierarchical and charismatic elements–always both together. The remaining four uses of the word group “charismatic-charisms” in the encyclical all have to do with divine “gifts” as well. In each instance, charisms are listed together with God’s “graces” and/or God’s “gifts.” God bestows graces, gifts and charisms. The word “charism” is always left untranslated in the Latin text. We pick up its meaning from its context, namely, God’s generous bestowing of blessings on the Church. In each of the instances, these charisms are associated with a different source. In the first, the gifts and charisms find their summit in Christ (§48) and are communicated by him as Head (§77). In the second, it is the Holy Spirit who is the source of graces, gifts and charisms (Spiritus est, qui ceu fons gratiarum, donorum, ac charismatum omnium, perpetuo et intime Ecclesiam replet et in ea operatur) (§63). In the third, it is the Church as Mother who brings forth martyrs, virgins and confessors “because of the inexhaustible fecundity of the heavenly gifts and charisms she has been endowed with” (§66). In sum, Pius XII’s statements are brief, almost suggestive, but highly auspicious for two reasons–(1) charisms are understood in terms of God’s gifts, and (2) the Pope insists on the necessity of the charismatic dimension for a complete understanding of the Church. In the period following the Second World War, more positive studies of charisms by theologians began to appear. Foremost among them was the 1957 article by Karl Rahner, “The Charismatic Element in the Church.”18 On the eve of Vatican II, charisms were once again a lively topic among theologians. Because of papal teaching, because of open discussion among Catholic and Protestant scholars about the relative importance of charismatic and institutional elements in the Church, and because of growing acceptance among Catholic theologians of the value and purpose of charisms, it was inevitable that the Council would include some

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reference to them. What was not expected was the central role that would be accorded charisms in the ecclesiology of Vatican II. For decades already, the papal magisterium had been encouraging a more positive evaluation of the place of the laity in the Church. There were many threats to the Church that accounted for this: the emergence of state atheism in Communist Soviet Russia; the challenge of anti-Christian totalitarian regimes in Italy, Germany and elsewhere, as well as the threat of the alliance of these totalitarian states with imperial Japan; and the continued weakening of the Church’s influence in anticlerical Christian states like France, Mexico, Italy and elsewhere. The popes were of the opinion that if the laity could be engaged in missionary activity in their societies, the Church could better perform its mission and regain its religious, moral and social influence. To do this it was necessary to instill in the laity a sense of their dignity and their calling. At the same time, the hierarchy desired to retain its dominant position by engaging the laity as helpers and co-workers, not as leaders themselves. These were largely the aims of the movement called “Catholic Action.”19 The heyday of its influence extended from the 1920s to the 1950s. Though Catholic Action was not disinherited at Vatican II, the movement was largely overtaken by even more positive teachings of the Council regarding the Christian faithful as the People of God. In this effort, the teaching of the Council on charisms was to play a major role.

The Teaching of Vatican II on Charisms The documents of Vatican II use the word group “charismatic-charisms” fourteen times. Some of these passages are quotations of Paul or quotations of other Vatican II documents. We will restrict ourselves to those passages that are necessary for understanding the Council’s teaching. It is important to note at the outset that Vatican II never defines what it means by a charism. It prefers to draw on the teaching of the New Testament, on the teaching of Pius XII and on theological opinion that was then current. The most important passages can be found in the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. In article 4, the document harkens back to a concern uttered by Pius XII, that the Church consists of hierarchical and charismatic gifts ([Spiritus] diversis donis hierarchicis et charismaticis instruit et dirigit). Since the discussion in the late nineteenth century of whether the Church is primarily charismatic or hierarchical-institutional, the papal magisterium was concerned with vindicating the hierarchical dimension, while also asserting the existence of charismatic gifts in the

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Church. The Council thus remains within the parameters laid out by Pius XII, but without defining the relationship between these two types of gifts. Article 7 goes a bit further in doing this. There we read that “the charismatics” mentioned in First Corinthians 14 are subject to the apostles, since apostleship is itself a gift and a grace of the Spirit (Inter quae dona praestat gratia apostolorum, quorum auctoritati ipse Spiritus etiam charismaticos subdit). Thus, article 7 shows greater interest in establishing the proper order between the two gifts of the Spirit: the hierarchy has preeminence over the charismatic gifts. This might be papal teaching and the then common theological opinion, but it begs the question of the nature of charism in Paul’s mind and of the relationship between charismatic gifts and gifts of hierarchical ministry and leadership. If Baumert is correct, the hierarchical-institutional is itself a charism in Paul’s understanding. Hierarchy and charism are not two separate orders of gifts of the Spirit, but two different manifestations of the one order of the Church’s Spirit. The controversy initiated in the late nineteenth century continues to exercise its restrictive and myopic perspectives. Some of the bishops at Vatican II rose to challenge the distinction as unfounded, but their view did not prevail over hierarchical concerns. The situation is better in article 12–a passage often cited as the locus classicus of the Council’s teaching on charisms. It is much more positive in its assertions than articles 4 and 7 and appears to introduce some new elements into the discussion. Let us read the appropriate passage in full: Moreover, the same holy Spirit not only sanctifies and guides the people of God by means of the sacraments and the ministries and adorns it with virtues, he also apportions his gifts “to each individually as he wills” (1 Cor 12, 11), and among the faithful of every rank he distributes special graces (gratias speciales) by which he renders them fit and ready to undertake the various tasks which help the renewal and building up of the church, according to the word: “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1 Cor 12, 7). These charismatic gifts (charismata), whether they be very outstanding or simpler and more widely diffused, are to be accepted with thanksgiving and consolation, since they are primarily suited to and useful for the needs of the church. Extraordinary gifts should not, however, be sought rashly nor should the fruits of the apostolic works be presumptuously expected from them.

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John Burkhard, O.F.M. Conv. The judgment about their genuineness and their ordered use belongs to those who preside over the church, to whom it belongs especially not to extinguish the Spirit but to test everything and hold fast to what is good (see 1 Th 5, 12 and 19-21).20

First, we note the broad sweep of God’s salvific actions: it includes the sacraments, ministries (probably official ecclesiastical ministries are intended) and virtues–but also “special graces” that are subsequently called “charisms.” Vatican II remains within the theological framework that charisms are ultimately graces granted by the Holy Spirit, but to which it adds that these “special graces” can take place outside the official ministry of the Church and outside the reception of the sacraments. The passage contains no hint of competition among the sources by which the Spirit graces the Church, but points instead to the lavish generosity of the Spirit in making divine grace so available in such a variety of ways. The Spirit has many channels for achieving human sanctification. Second, the Council prefers what it calls “simpler gifts,” but it still does not define them. In context, they seem to be all the means and circumstances of life that can be called ordinary, routine, daily and average. Again, the Spirit is free to use any and all situations to effect human salvation. Third, the Council seems to restrict charisms to what builds up the Church. This effect appears to be primary. But is it always the case? Do charisms ever affect the individual believer primarily, without directly working toward the effect of building up the Church?21 The Council avoids the question. This understanding also affects how the bishops are admonished to deal with charisms. On the one hand, they are to encourage Christians to accept them, and on the other, the bishops are to order these charisms among themselves. Again, the option to view charisms as directly ecclesial phenomena has moved the bishops to stress their episcopal role in judging charisms and imposing order on them in the Church.22 They do not seem to entertain the question of their responsibility in the face of charisms that are at best indirectly ordered to the Church’s life. In a word, article 12 greatly advances the Church’s understanding and embrace of charisms, while withholding judgment on other important issues. The Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity adds an interesting idea to what was developed in the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. In article 3, in addition to pointing to the charisms enjoyed by the laity as building up the Church, the document says: “Through receiving these

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charisms . . . everyone of the faithful has the right and duty to exercise them in the Church and in the world for the good of humanity and for the building up of the church.”23 The perspective here is much broader, since it includes actions done for the world also. In fact, the Catechism of the Catholic Church reflects this idea in its admirably flexible definition of a charism. In paragraph 799 we read: “Whether extraordinary or simple and humble, charisms are graces of the Holy Spirit which directly or indirectly benefit the Church, ordered as they are to her building up, to the good of men [and women], and to the needs of the world.”24 The ambit of activity, then, is broader than activity within the Church or activity that directly affects the Church. This is an important insight, and I am delighted to note that the Catechism has incorporated it into its teaching. In the Decree on the Missionary Activity of the Church, the bishops also adverted to missionary activity as a particular expression of what a charism is. Religious institutes and the faithful who cooperate with these institutes in their missionary efforts to spread the gospel are singled out as examples of charismatic activity that helps build up the Church. Also, the Decree on the Ministry and Life of Priests speaks of their preaching as a “charism” (art. 4), while the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation quotes Irenaeus of Lyons with reference to the episcopal charism of teaching with a sense of sure knowledge: “through the preaching of those who, on succeeding to the office of bishop, receive the sure charism of truth” (art. 8).25 Finally, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church refers to infallibility as a charism. The pertinent passage reads: The Roman Pontiff, head of the college of bishops, by virtue of his office, enjoys this infallibility when, as supreme shepherd and teacher of all Christ’s faithful . . . he proclaims in a definitive act a doctrine on faith and morals. . . .For then the Roman pontiff is not delivering a judgment as a private person, but as the supreme teacher of the universal church, in whom the church’s own charism of infallibility individually exists, he expounds or defends a doctrine of the catholic faith. The infallibility promised the Church exists also in the body of bishops when, along with the successor of Peter, it exercises the supreme teaching office (art. 25). In its definition of papal infallibility, Vatican I had not referred to it as a charism, but Vatican II does. In the light of this example of a charism

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clearly associated with a hierarchical office, the question needs to be asked again about the consistency of Vatican II’s distinction of God’s special graces into “hierarchical” and “charismatic” gifts. Charisms, too, are found at the very heart of Church office.26 What are the implications of this teaching? Does it really make sense any longer to contrast the hierarchical-institutional element with the free and spontaneous charismatic element of the Church?27 And does the repeated refrain of the Council that the bishops and priests must test, judge and order the charisms of the faithful into the whole body imply a true division or only a real difference of responsibilities in the Church? At bottom, isn’t the unity of the Church more fundamental than hierarchical office, even though the hierarchy exists to work for this unity? And are not the rights and proper activities of lay believers in the Church, important and essential as they are, subservient to the mission of the Church as a whole?

Postconciliar Reflection on Charisms Many of you have probably noticed that I have not said anything yet about the charism of religious life. Isn’t it a truism today to speak about our Franciscan charism, by which we do not mean only my charism as a Franciscan religious but our charism as a distinct religious institute? What did Vatican II say about religious life and charisms? The answer to this question is both disappointing and filled with possibility. It is disappointing because the Council never used the word group “charismatic-charism” when speaking of religious life or of particular religious institutes. But the situation is filled with possibility because the continued development of the theology of charisms in the postconciliar period has been fruitful. Religious life in the Church continues to make its contribution to the ongoing process of deepening the reception of Vatican II. The terms used by the Council that roughly correspond to what religious today mean by the charism of religious life are found in the Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life.28 That document speaks about the “particular character and function” (peculiarem indolem ac munus) of the community as well as the “genius and directives of its founder, its authentic traditions, the whole heritage, indeed, of the religious body” (art. 2). The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church referred to religious life as a “divine gift” (donum divinum)–an expression we saw was characteristic of the biblical understanding of a charism–but terminologically that is as far as the Council goes. Many commentators maintain that it is the functional equivalent of a charism, and thus we

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are quite free to speak of the Council’s treatment of religious life as a charism for the Church and for the individual member of the institute. But the first to actually call religious life a charism was Pope Paul VI. In his Apostolic Exhortation on the Renewal of Religious Life–Evangelica testificatio–the pope did not hesitate to speak to religious of “the charisms of your founders who were raised up by God within his church” (art. 11). He then went on to remark: “In reality, the charism of the religious life . . . is the fruit of the Holy Spirit” (art. 11). Subsequent Vatican documents took up the terminological innovation introduced by the pope. A few examples include the following. In 1978 the Vatican Congregation for Religious and Secular Institutes published its “Directives for Mutual Relations between Bishops and Religious in the Church.” Mutuae relationes, as the document is commonly called, provided the most extensive exposition to date on the nature of religious life as a charism. Allow me to quote it at some length: The “charism of the Founders” (ET 11) appears as “an experience of the Spirit” transmitted to their followers to be lived by them, to be preserved, deepened and constantly developed in harmony with the Body of Christ continually in a process of growth. “It is for this reason that the distinctive character of the various religious institutes is preserved and fostered by the Church” (LG 44; CD 33, 35). The “distinctive character” also involves a particular style of sanctification and apostolate, which creates a definite tradition so that its objective elements can be easily recognized (art. 11). Every authentic charism brings an element of real originality in the spiritual life of the Church along with fresh initiatives for action. These may appear unseasonable to many, and even cause difficulties, because it is not always easy to recognize at once that they originate from the Spirit. The true marks of an authentic charism in any institute demand, both in the Founder and his [or her] followers, a constant reexamination of their fidelity to the Lord, docility to his Spirit, prudent weighing of circumstances and careful reading of the signs of the times, the will to be integrated in the Church, awareness of obedience to the hierarchy, boldness in initiatives, perseverance in the gift of self, humility in the face of adversity. In a genuine charism there is always a mixture of new creativity and interior suffering. The historical fact of the connection between charism and cross, apart from other factors which may

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Pope John Paul II also, in his Apostolic Exhortation on the Consecrated Life, the document that resulted from the conclusions of the Ninth Ordinary Synod of Bishops, offered a number of pertinent reflections on religious life as a charism in the Church and the particular charism of individual religious institutes. He wrote: [T]here is the need for fidelity to the founding charism and subsequent spiritual heritage of each institute. It is precisely in this fidelity to the inspiration of the founders and foundresses, an inspiration which is itself a gift of the Holy Spirit, that the essential elements of the consecrated life can be more readily discerned and more fervently put into practice (§ 36).30 The pope then goes on to point out the Trinitarian orientation of every charism, inasmuch as it leads to the Father, the Son and the Spirit. There can be little doubt in the light of the many statements after Vatican II that its teaching regarding charisms has been extended and developed to include religious institutes as well as individuals.31 What are the implications of this continuing development of the doctrine of charisms?

Conclusions for the Franciscan Experience of the Church I do not intend in this concluding section to develop the full content of the Franciscan charism. My goal is much more modest. Nor is what follows an outline of what an ecclesiology inspired by the Franciscan charism might look like.32 Instead, given the important role of charisms in the post-Vatican II Church, what difference should this fact make regarding how Franciscans today live out their Catholic ecclesial identity? I offer five points for contemporary Franciscans to reflect on. First, I don’t think it is possible for us today to live authentically in the Church without admitting the evident weaknesses of the Church in all its members. We are called to a moment of courageous challenge to our diocesan and Franciscan leaders. As we have seen, a charism is often a response to the signs of the times as they are read by a Christian under the direction of the Spirit. The very public scandals in the United States of America and elsewhere attest to the fact that the Church is a church of sinners. We should not be shocked by this fact, but we do need to call others to submit to the painful process of conversion, as

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well as be called to conversion ourselves. Francis never denied his personal sinfulness. He also never papered over the evils of his day in the Church and in society or the dissension in the emerging brotherhood, but he did not allow these evils to go unchallenged. It takes courage to challenge blindness to the system’s faults and to grave failings on the part of Church leaders, while being fully conscious of one’s own silence, one’s refusal to face the facts and one’s own sins. Such courage to challenge the Church to seek divine forgiveness and better fulfill its mission will only disintegrate into negative and polarizing criticism, however, when it is not exercised in the hope that the Spirit is in fact calling us all out of our darkness, frailty and sinfulness. Second, Franciscans need to accept joyfully the charisms that have been the Spirit’s gifts to the Church both during the Second Vatican Council and as part of the ongoing postconciliar process of aggiornamento. There is much criticism today about changes the Council introduced. I do not deny that we can make many more improvements and do things better. Nevertheless, we must joyfully support and implement the hardfought decisions of the bishops at the Council. I am thinking in particular of the areas of the renewal of the liturgy and the sacraments and of the commitment to ecumenism. These areas remain sensitive but there can really be no turning back to older clerically dominated liturgies. We can no longer be insensitive toward our brothers and sisters in Christ, toward their genuine faith, worship and often heroic struggles to remain faithful in post-Christian circumstances, and toward their profound love and knowledge of God’s Word in Scripture. This moment calls for generosity in the ecumenical movement and not for compounding obstacles to further ecclesial communion. On this second point, joy must be our characteristic response. Third, we need to develop a wide heart to welcome all God’s charisms. The human tendency to regard other’s gifts and abilities as threats to our own is deeply unchristian and unfranciscan. In Christ’s body, which is the Church, it is solidarity that is important. Another’s gain is also my gain. Another’s gift benefits me as well. Working out of a sense of solidarity, the spirit of collaboration must flourish. We are called to work not only with members of other religious communities but with others in the Franciscan family, with other provinces, with our brothers and sisters in the vast variety and richness of their jurisdictions, with our lay brothers and sisters in the Secular Franciscan Order, and with all our lay brothers and sisters in the Church. We should rejoice when one is flourishing, and we should be ready to assist when

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another is experiencing the pains of reduced numbers and internal problems. Solidarity is the virtue that has emerged in response to the cauldron of the wars, genocides and human suffering of the twentieth century. Fourth, we are called to remain faithful to Francis’s love of poverty by our own love of and commitment to improving the lot of the poor in the world. The Church’s call to espouse the option for the poor demands our generous response. The poor are first and foremost those who are literally without the basic needs of life or are permanently living on the edge materially. Our response to the justice of their cries for life’s basic necessities and for human dignity is the indispensable minimum of our embracing the option for the poor. But it should not stop there. We are also called to respond to all whose lives are characterized by addictions, prejudices, illiteracy, lack of self-esteem, loneliness and the host of conditions that oppress people’s spirits. Here, too, Franciscans are called to solidarity–with the poor and the broken. Finally, in a world that is increasingly insensitive to the value and dignity of life itself, we are called to speak out in defense of life. This brings up a wide range of issues that must be engaged as a whole and not in piecemeal fashion. It means defending life along its whole continuum; and this means defending the sanctity of life not only at its beginning and at its final stage before natural death, but throughout the course of a person’s life. I am thinking about the issues of war and capital punishment. To many of our fellow Catholics, these issues are purely political ones, and the effort to convince them of the religious dimensions of these issues will be a demanding challenge. But the cheapening and coarsening of life we have experienced in recent years, e.g., Bosnia, Kosovo, Israel and the Palestinian Authority, Rwanda, Chechnya, Sudan, Iraq, to mention only the most egregious instances, not to mention the slaughter that takes place on our city streets almost daily, calls for a response on our part. The issues of abortion and euthanasia are urgent moral, religious and social matters, but militarism, unjust punitive measures for criminals and vengeance are also evils. How will we challenge our fellow Catholics and our neighbors to defend a total ethic of life? Again, only a deep sense of human solidarity and of God’s love and mercy toward all God’s creatures will measure up to the challenge. The Second Vatican Council chose to retrieve the rich scriptural and post-biblical tradition regarding charisms. We have moved away from a position of seeing charisms as rare and spectacular to seeing them as the normal way in which the Holy Spirit continually blesses and im-

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parts the divine life to human life in all its dimensions. The process of the Church’s reception of the conciliar teaching is still an urgent one. The process of the development of the theological idea of charisms as concrete graces is also urgent. Franciscans need to have the courage to be engaged in promoting reception of conciliar teaching, advocating on behalf of fellow human beings and engaging in creative theological reflection that supports the development of this empowering doctrine of our faith.

Appendix I: Scriptural References Pauline Passages (14) 1 Corinthians 1:7; 7:7; 12:4, 9, 28, 30, 31 2 Corinthians 1:11 Romans 1:11; 5:15-16; 6:23: 11:29; 12:6 Deutero-Pauline Passages (2) 1 Timothy 4:14 2 Timothy 1:6 Other Passage (1) 1 Peter 4:10-11

Appendix II: Vocabulary Greek

Latin

English

charis

gratia

grace

charisma (sing.) charismata (pl.)

donum (sing.) dona (pl.)

gift/charism/ charisms

dorea and dorema

donum

gift spiritual gift

charisma pneumatikon gratia gratum faciens

justifying grace

gratia gratis data

grace given for others

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Endnotes 1 Norbert Baumert, “Das Fremdwort ‘Charisma’ in der westlichen Theologie,” Theologie und Philosophie 65 (1990): 395-415, at 415. 2 See 1Cor. 1:7; 7:7; 12:4, 9, 28, 30, 31; 2Cor. 1:11; Rom. 1:11; 5:15-16; 6:23; 11:29; 12:6. 3 See the translations in The Jerusalem Bible (1966); The New American Bible (1971); The New Oxford Annotated Bible with Apocrypha, Revised Standard Version (1965, 1977); The New International Version (1973); and The Catholic Study Bible (1990). The translations in The New English Bible (1970) and The New Jerusalem Bible (1985) render charisma as “gift,” without adding the word “spiritual.” 4 Here the modern translations avoid the problematic “spiritual gift” and instead speak of a “gift” or “blessing.” Another possible translation might be “favor.” 5 Norbert Baumert, “Charisma und Amt bei Paulus,” in L’Apôtre Paul: personalité, style et conception du ministère (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1986), 203-28; Albert Vanhoye, “The Biblical Question of ‘Charisms’ After Vatican II,” in Vatican II: Assessment and Perspectives Twenty-Five Years After (1962-1987), Vol. 1, ed. René Latourelle (New York: Paulist, 1988), 438-68; and Enrique Nardoni, “The Concept of Charism in Paul,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55 (1993): 68-80. 6 Nardoni, “The Concept of Charism in Paul,” 70. 7 See the outline of First Corinthians presented in The Catholic Study Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990) [The New Testament], 252-53, and the one suggested by Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “The First Letter to the Corinthians,” in The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, ed. R. E. Murphy, J. A. Fitzmyer and R. E. Murphy (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1990), 798-815, at 799 [chap. 49:10]. 8 The translation of The New American Bible says “spiritual gifts” here, as it does in verse 31 also. Several scholars argue for the adequacy of “gifts” as a translation. To call these charismata “spiritual gifts” or “gifts of the Spirit” already decides on a meaning that has yet to be proved. 9 See vv. 3-5, 12, 17 and 26. 10 Baumert, “Charisma und Amt bei Paulus,” 221-22. For the discussion of the appropriate passage in Romans 12, see Baumert, “Charisma und Amt bei Paulus,” 216-18, and E. Nardoni, “The Concept of Charism in Paul,” 71. 11 I do not take this to clearly be the case in the other deutero-Pauline passage, 2 Tim. 1:6. The reference to “charism” and the imposition of hands by Paul is more easily explained in the context of Timothy’s baptism. Here, then, charisma seems to refer to Timothy’s gift of faith and so should be translated by the English word “gift” expressing the gift of God’s grace. On these passages, see Luke Timothy Johnson, The First and Second Letters to Timothy: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, The Anchor Bible 35A (New York: Doubleday, 2001), 249-58 and 345, 353-54, who sees a reference to Timothy’s receiving charismatic power: “The emphasis, furthermore, is not on some ecclesiastical office, but precisely on spiritual–charismatic, if you will–power” (p. 354; the author’s emphasis). 12 N. Baumert, “Zur Semantik von charisma bei den frühen Vätern,” Theologie und Philosophie 63 (1988): 60-78; “Zur Begriffsgeschichte von charisma im griechischen Sprachraum,” Theologie und Philosophie 65 (1990): 79-100; ”Das Fremdwort ‘Charisma’ in der westlichen Theologie,” Theologie und Philosophie 65 (1990): 395-415; and “‘Charisma’– Versuch einer Sprachregelung,” Theologie und Philosophie 66 (1991): 21-48. 13 Baumert, “Das Fremdwort ‘Charisma’ in der westlichen Theologie,” 403. Baumert judges harshly those modern commentators on Aquinas who discover the modern, dogmatically fleshed-out theory of charisms as already contained in Thomas’s writings, and he singles out Hans Urs von Balthasar as one transgressor. 14 See Enrique Nardoni, “Charism in the Early Church since Rudolf Sohm: An Ecumenical Challenge,” Theological Studies 53 (1992): 646-62 and Yves Congar, “R. Sohmnous interroge encore,” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 57 (1973): 263-94.

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15 See Patrick Mullins, “The Theology of Charisms: Vatican II and the New Catechism,” Milltown Studies, No. 33 (Spring 1994): 123-62, at 127-30 [“The Gradual Recovery of the Charismatic Dimension in Modern Catholic Ecclesiology”]. 16 Acta Apostolicae Sedis, 35 (1943), pages 200, 215, 223, 225 and 230. The text of the encyclical has no headings or divisions and the paragraphs are not numbered. Of the English translations I have consulted, both have different systems of numbering the paragraphs. I am following the one contained in Four Great Encyclicals of Pope Pius XII (New York: Paulist Press, 1961). 17 And yet the translation also shows how the word charismaticus was generally understood at the time. It had to do with things prodigious or miraculous or spectacular. As we saw, this conforms with the second characteristic of charisms we noted above. 18 K. Rahner, The Dynamic Element in the Church, Quaestiones Disputatae, No. 12, trans. W. J. O’Hara (New York: Herder and Herder, 1964), 42-83. See also Rahner’s later writings, especially “Observations on the Factor of the Charismatic in the Church,” Theological Investigations, vol. 12, trans. David Bourke (New York: Seabury, 1974), 81-97 and “Experience of the Holy Spirit,” Theological Investigations, vol. 18, trans. Edward Quinn (New York: Crossroad, 1983), 189-210. 19 See Dennis J. Geaney, “Catholic Action,” in The New Dictionary of Catholic Spirituality, ed. Michael Downey (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1993), 127-28 and “Catholic Action,” in New Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. 3, (2nd ed.), ed. Berard Marthaler (Detroit: Gale, 2003), 275-78 [=New Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 3, 1967 edition, pp. 262-63]. 20 Norman P. Tanner, ed., Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Vol. 2 (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 858. 21 Article 50 speaks about the Church’s growth in holiness as the communion of saints. The bishops consider the example of the apostles, martyrs, virgins, confessors and members of religious institutes in the course of history, viewing their actions as exemplifications of “divine charismata recommended to the pious devotion and imitation of the faithful.” 22 In the Decree on the Ministry and Life of Priests, presbyters too are admonished to “test the spirits to see whether they are of God, to discern with a sense of faith the manifold charisms, both exalted and ordinary, that the laity have, acknowledge them gladly and foster them with care” (art. 9). I have altered the translation by retaining “charisms” for the Latin phrase charismata laicorum multiformia. 23 I have altered the translation somewhat by retaining the Latin charismata, where Norman P. Tanner has translated it “gifts of grace.” 24 Catechism of the Catholic Church (2nd ed.) (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1997), 212. Another helpful definition is given by Michael A. Fahey, who writes: “A charism might be defined as such: A gift or ability conveyed to an individual within the Christian community enabling the person to fulfill a specific service, either over a long period of time or in a relatively short period of time.” Systematic Theology: Roman Catholic Perspectives, Vol. 2, ed. Francis Schüssler Fiorenza and John P. Galvin (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 39. 25 See Irenaeus of Lyons, Adversus Haereses IV, 26, 2. See the article by Jerome D. Quinn, “‘Charisma veritatis certum’: Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses 4, 26, 2,” Theological Studies 39 (1978): 520-25. 26 In his commentary on article 25 of the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Patrick Mullins writes: “The exercise of infallibility by either the pope or the body of bishops seems to be regarded by Vatican II as a charismatic rather than an hierarchical gift.” “The Theology of Charisms: Vatican II and the New Catechism,” 123-62, at 139. 27 I concur with the judgment of Albert Vanhoye when he writes: “It is certainly possible to distinguish institutional and charismatic aspects within the church, but it is not possible to separate completely these different aspects, still less to pretend that they are incompatible. . . .It is inevitable that in the church there are often signs of tension between the institutional aspects, which are more or less fixed, and the charismatic impulses, which

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are to a greater or lesser degree authentic. Yet it is a question of a tension necessary to the life of the church.” “Charism,” in Dictionary of Fundamental Theology, ed. René Latourelle and Rino Fisichella (New York: Crossroad, 1995), 103-108, at 106-107. 28 It is fascinating that English-speaking translators have not yet settled on a single title for the decree that goes by the name Decretum de accommodata renovatione vitae religiosae in Latin, or Perfectae caritatis according to the custom of referring to conciliar documents by their opening words. It has been translated “Decree on the Sensitive Renewal of Religious Life” (Norman P. Tanner edition), “Decree on the Up-to-Date Renewal of Religious Life” (Austin Flannery edition) and “Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life” (Walter M. Abbott edition). 29 Austin Flannery, Vatican Council II: More Postconciliar Documents (Northport, NY: Costello Publishing Co., 1982), 217-18. The “Lineamenta” for the Ninth Ordinary Synod of Bishops also contains pertinent information on the charism of religious communities. See §15, “The Charism of the Consecrated Life” and §§16-17, “Historic Dimension of Foundational Charisms,” in Origins 22/26 (December 10, 1992): 439-40. 30 See Origins 25/42 (April 4, 1996): 693. 31 See Elizabeth McDonough, “Charisms and Religious Life,” Review for Religious 52 (1993): 646-59 and Jean M. R. Tillard, There Are Charisms and Charisms: The Religious Life, trans. Olga Prendergast (Brussels: Lumen Vitae, 1977). 32 See my treatment of Franciscan ecclesiology, “Being a Person in the Church: Contemporary Ecclesiology and the Franciscan Theological Tradition,” in In Solitude and Dialogue: Contemporary Franciscans Theologize, ed. Anthony M. Carrozzo (St. Bonaventure, NY: The Franciscan Institute, 2000), 125-53, especially at 139-43 (“The Church as a Community of Charisms”).

CHAPTER THREE

FRANCISCAN REFORM OF THE CHURCH C. Colt Anderson, Ph.D. The call that St. Francis heard from the crucifix at San Damiano sets the pattern for Franciscan reform. He began his movement with the symbolic act of rebuilding one, crumbling, poor church. The call was not to build a new church, but to repair the old and neglected one. While it is true that Francis and his followers began to have an effect on the entire Church, their method of reform was to work at the local level. The Order, following in the footsteps of Francis, set out a reform strategy that sought to rebuild manually the Catholic Church. Building work requires attention to detail. Stones have to be individually placed so they fit together, care must be taken to leave support beams in place, adjustments have to be made and the construction worker must make the repairs consistent with the rest of the building. It is difficult, dangerous and dirty work. Whereas architects are recognized for their designs, construction workers are rarely appreciated for their efforts and expertise. For the laborer, most of the satisfaction comes from an internal appreciation of a job well done. Restoration work is always focused on the particulars, and Franciscan reform was always grounded in the immediate. The primary tools employed by Francis were the fear of God and penitential piety. These tools were central to building up the Franciscan virtue of humility. Francis understood that love is born from humility, but he also found the power of humility. While it may seem strange to our sensibilities, Francis found liberation for himself and others in the fear of God.1 How is it liberating to fear God? When we fear God, we are freed from the anxieties and fears that make us susceptible to manipulation by people. The fear of the Lord bears fruit in humility. As humility strips us of our pretensions, it also empowers us to see through the pretensions of others. Finally, the fear of God gives rise to the power of piety. Piety, at its root, denotes the relationship between parents and their offspring. Because of piety parents sacrifice their needs in order to provide for and to protect their offspring. It is a gift that leads to heroic

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action, which seeks to save and not to destroy. The spiritual manifestation of piety is mercy. Parents console their children when they are crying, they nurture children who are sick, they teach them how to survive and they play children’s games to amuse them. Piety is the force that helps parents enter into littleness though love and mercy. This emphasis on piety is truly something that distinguished the Franciscan reform tradition from both its predecessors and its contemporaries. The genius of Francis’s understanding of reform was his realization that God uses the people we despise to save us. He took this principle, which he saw demonstrated in the life of Christ, and extended it into a way of life. Like Christ, Francis would become despicable in order to save others. By embracing poverty, ridicule and the leprous, he learned how to love and to save the greedy, the proud, and the impure clergy. One of the most creative aspects of Francis’s reform principle is that what it means to become despised and who it is that is seen as despicable are open to development in individual, communal, cultural and historical dimensions. Francis sought to save people through humble service. His reform method was the same whether he was serving a leper, a brother, a sister, a priest, a bishop, or a pope. I will concentrate on how he worked to save the clergy in the thirteenth century.2 By giving up all of his claims to recognition and respect, he was free to see the brokenness of the priests and bishops without feeling revulsion or malice. When clergymen lashed out against him, he responded with love and forgiveness. The saint knew the only way to overcome fear and anxiety was by love. At the same time, he also believed pious love involves correction. Francis and his followers provided correction to the clergy by shaming them into conversion. He also came to understand how the effort to serve those who are most despicable, the unconverted bishops, opened up the means of salvation to himself and his followers. In this essay, I shall explore how Francis’s reform methods shaped the Franciscan sense of mission before 1274 and how these methods could be applied to reforming the Church in our own time. To do so, I will briefly explain how Francis’s method compares with those of his predecessors. Since it is difficult if not impossible to talk about Francis’s sense of identity and mission without considering the community he formed, I will also see how this reform agenda was preserved in the early lives of the saint.3 Then we will see how these ideas were given shape in the theology of St. Bonaventure. Finally, I will briefly outline the need for recovering this Franciscan reform model.

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Francis created a new synthesis concerning the reform of the Church from existing traditions, the canons of the Fourth Lateran and popular piety. Most of his examples of reform came from one of two schools of thought, which can be typified by the theology of Gregory the Great on the one hand and by St. Peter Damian on the other.4 Gregory and Peter laid the theoretical foundations that allowed the Franciscan reform movement to take root, but their ideas were deeply influenced by the positions of power they held in the Church. Whereas their methods of reform included juridical and legislative components, Francis’s methods relied almost exclusively on persuasion.

The Reform Theology of Gregory the Great Gregory the Great’s idea of reform centered upon persuasion, though he did use his papal authority to address ecclesial abuses. To justify his reform initiatives, he formulated an apologetic of humility rooted in the fear of God. This apologetic of humility had three important features that can be found in the early Franciscan reform movement: it recognized the imperfection in the Church, it called the reformer to admit his or her personal failures and it justified the authority of the humble person to correct the clergy. Since God, in Ezekiel 3:17-21, commands Christians to warn people when they are running headlong into sinful behavior, the fear of God compels the reformer to speak out. Gregory’s reform rhetoric oscillates between medical analogies and legal categories. Why did Gregory focus on persuasion instead of using his jurisdictional powers? In most cases, he had little if any ability to compel dioceses to reform their behavior. At that point in history, papal jurisdiction was limited to the suburbican sees around Rome. The problems with the episcopacy were quite severe, including acts of torture, simony, embezzlement and even murder. The lower clergy were involved in scandalous behaviors such as rape, usury, simony, violence, sodomy, neglect of duties and so forth.5 Gregory responded to these problems by using his juridical powers and by creating new institutions, such as the defensores, who served as papal agents with formal corporate status and rights in order to handle breaches in ecclesiastical discipline.6 In addition to establishing institutions to correct moral abuses, Gregory crafted the classic critique of clericalism. In brief, Gregory tied all ecclesiastical privileges and rights to service. He believed that God granted hierarchical offices only for the service of the Church’s mission to save souls. A prelate who forgets the connection between his privi-

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leges and duties becomes a rebel to his office.7 How do you identify the rebels? Gregory said people should ask themselves whether the bishop exhibits purity of heart by his ascetic form of life, whether the bishop prefers the love of the Church to the love of Christ and whether the bishop acts like a servant or a lord.8 All bishops and priests should avoid the trap of seeing the power of their rank in themselves; instead, Gregory said they should focus on the equality of their nature with those under their care. Bishops should find their joy in helping people, not in ruling over them.9 If a bishop is too concerned with rank, Gregory said he would become conceited and would believe the praise of his subordinates rather than inwardly judge himself. He warned that such bishops come to despise their people.10 Because of ecclesiastical power, Gregory argued that a bishop who becomes conceited assumes he has more wisdom than those without power. Even though Gregory believed subordinates in the ecclesiastical hierarchy could legitimately correct superiors, he had deep reservations about advocating such a course of action. He was concerned because he knew that reformers who lack discernment fall into the same errors as the people they want to change. Like ecclesiastical leaders, those who hold lesser positions in the Church also make their progress through humility. Just as the authority of the bishops is based on humility, which is visibly manifested in service, the authority of the rest of the Church rests upon the same foundation.11 For Gregory, it is the humble Christian who has the authority to correct bishops. This may seem odd because the opponents to reform generally charge reformers with a lack of humility. Gregory was aware of this and justified how the humble have a right to correct ecclesiastical superiors. Gregory gave the examples of Moses warning Pharaoh, Nathan accusing David, Peter defying the priests, and others to illustrate that being humble does not mean being silent and passive. The willingness to criticize superiors emerges out of true humility, which grows out of the fear of God.12 The danger for reformers, according to Gregory, is they often allow their just criticisms to plunge them into pride.13 Like the false bishop who locates his ecclesial rights in his person, the false reformer grounds authority in self-righteousness. Gregory advised people to refrain from striking their leaders with the sword of public disparagement and denunciation, but he recognized there are times when good Christians simply cannot refrain from speaking out against some excessively wicked act by a priest, bishop, or pope.14 The model for such behavior

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is David, who after correcting Saul, had to reflect on himself and mourn for his own sins. “For holy people do not speak freely out of pride, nor are they submissive out of fear,” Gregory explained, “but whenever justice lifts them up to speak freely, remembering their own weakness preserves them in humility.”15 In many ways, Francis’s methods were consonant with Gregory’s understanding of reform. Francis operated out of penitential piety and grounded his reform initiatives in humility, both of which arise from the fear of God. He demonstrated his purity of heart through his ascetic expertise, his wholehearted preference for the love of Christ to the praise of the Church and his commitment to the life of an abject slave. When Innocent III encountered Francis, he probably recognized how the Franciscan form of life was consonant with Gregory’s theology. Gregory’s theology was experiencing a renewal in the Parisian schools in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. Innocent III, who studied with Parisian masters, incorporated much of Gregory’s theology into the pastoral care reforms at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215.16 It is easy to imagine how Gregory’s axiom that God uses the people we despise to save us may have influenced the pope’s reception of Francis. Even Innocent’s purported desire for the Franciscans to accept corporate rights and privileges reflects the Gregorian understanding of reform. What was novel about Francis was his desire to participate in the care of souls without any rights and privileges. Though Francis’s Order was given certain privileges by the popes in his lifetime, he made it clear through his writings and his example that the brothers should not be asserting “rights” against the wishes of the diocesan clergy. Of course, the desire to claim privileges was quite seductive to the early Franciscan community because it was the normal way reforming orders operated including the Cistercians, Augustinian Canons and Dominicans.

Peter Damian: The Doctor of Reform The second stream of reform thought in the medieval Church shifted emphasis away from personal reform to institutional reform. The wellspring for institutional reform was the theology of St. Peter Damian. Peter built upon Gregory’s model, but he was more concerned with ecclesiastical law and discipline. His interest in discipline extended from the individual believer to the Church as a whole. The primary problems he faced were simony and clerical sexual activity, which were both forbidden by canon law; however, because canon law lacked unifor-

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mity and contained innumerable examples of dispensations, the bishops were able to rule their dioceses as they personally saw fit.17 The source of this problem was simony, which understandably led the bishops to see their appointments as property. Because the bishops tended to treat the Church as their property, many of them were not doing a very good job of maintaining ecclesiastical discipline. The lack of discipline frequently led to a variety of forms of sexual abuse by the clergy. The most common problem was clerical concubinage or clerical marriage. Peter Damian described concubinage as a form of spiritual incest. By using incest as an analogy for these relationships, he was indicating the imbalance of power inherent in clerical concubinage. Since concubines had no property rights or civil standing, these women were totally at the mercy of their clerical patrons.18 Peter claimed the bishops were fostering the growth of sexual abuse in the Church. Assuming that an erotic cleric is more afraid to be despised by people than to be judged by God, he concluded such men would do anything to avoid losing their clerical status. When an erotic cleric knows he will not lose his rank and standing, Peter explained, he will continue with his daringly illicit acts. The bishops who had refused to depose clerics guilty of spiritual incest, he concluded, were providing these men with opportunities to prey on the people under their authority.19 Why were the bishops behaving this way? Peter suggested that they were motivated by a shortage of men who were able to celebrate divine services, which he identified as perverse thinking. He argued that it was better to leave the ecclesiastical office empty than to install the wrong person into it.20 A more significant fact behind their behavior was the bishops’ claims that they were totally unaccountable to anyone except God. This position was supported by a forged collection of canon law popular with the clergy, the Pseudo-Isidorian Decretals.21 Peter devoted himself to opposing the idea that the bishops are unaccountable to the laity and the religious. In 1058, Peter wrote a letter to his secretary Ariprandus asserting that no spiritual institution could survive without correction. He argued that St. Peter’s willingness to accept correction from St. Paul, who certainly held a lower hierarchical place than St. Peter in the minds of medieval Christians, was a model for all human institutions. Lifting up St. Paul’s example for imitation, he showed his medieval contemporaries that sometimes it is appropriate to publicly reprove superiors. While this idea was not new, Peter went further and set out to refute the scrip-

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tural arguments the clergy cited against ever publicly speaking out against superiors.22 A primary text that discouraged open criticism of superiors was drawn from St. Paul’s advice to Timothy.23 St. Paul categorically states: “Never be harsh with an elder [presbyter], but speak to him as a father” (1 Tim. 5:1).24 Peter Damian asked how Paul could ignore his own advice when, in the presence of everyone, he rebuked St. Peter, who had the right to govern the whole Church? His answer was that St. Paul could do so in the service of obedience because St. Peter had fallen away from maintaining the “orthodox” position of the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15:10-11. Peter Damian claimed that by publicly denouncing St. Peter, St. Paul assisted the “first pope” to recover the resolve he needed.25 Peter Damian justified harshly and publicly correcting superiors as a form of obedience to scripture and tradition. He argued that by defending the Gospel and the decisions of the Jerusalem Council, St. Paul was being obedient. When the clergy fail to live up to the universal standards of scripture and tradition, Peter Damian believed God allows the laity to strip the clergy of their possessions and of their privileges, which are not in any way inherent in their offices.26 Further, he argued, the laity could legitimately depose the clergy when they fail to fulfill their offices, which was also in step with the papal policy throughout most of Peter’s career.27 There are parallels between Francis’s ideas and those of Peter Damian. Both supported a strong papacy as the primary agent of ecclesial reform. They also shared a common vision of the importance of obedience. Like Peter, Francis believed the laity had an important role in reforming the Church. The primary difference between them is their methods. Peter’s approach was to implement universal institutional and legal reforms. As a result, he was concerned with questions of the law’s enforcement. Peter Damian’s theology, building on Gregory the Great’s foundation, seeks to persuade people to use their coercive or juridical powers to reform the clergy. Francis took a different path. If Peter Damian’s approach is reminiscent of Christ’s encounter with the moneychangers or St. Paul’s relationship with St. Peter, then Francis’s method reminds us of the cross or of St. Stephen’s relationship with Saul.

Francis’s Breakthrough Francis sought to reform the Church by means of holding total renunciation and total engagement in a state of dynamic tension. Renuncia-

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tion had long been a monastic ideal guiding the Church’s medieval reformers. Those who renounced the world and gave up their possessions were seen as having achieved the purity of heart necessary to discern the signs of the times. Once the contemplative went up the mountain and encountered God, taking on a monastic profession, he or she could descend to hand down the laws. The renunciation cleared away the passions associated with private property and worldly status, but it also functioned as a sign of authority to legislate and to sit in judgment.28 Francis reflects some of these ideas in his desire to seek periods of solitude; but his renunciation took place in the world, in the towns, in the plazas, in the marketplaces. His model was Christ, who profoundly emptied himself in an act of perfect engagement. Poverty and penance had long been recognized forms of renunciation associated with monastic withdrawal from the world. The idea that private property resulted from original sin had been transmitted through works such as John Cassian’s Conferences and Gratian’s Decretis.29 Possessions and privileges were at best seen as forms of divine chastisement and at worst as the sinful rebellion of those who claim as their own what God granted to all. Corporate property and privileges, by way of contrast, were accepted as a necessary means for fulfilling the Church’s pilgrimage to perfection. Without denying the necessity of the institutional, the corporate and the legal aspects of the Church, Francis perceived that it is impossible to overcome the human obsession with status and wealth through accumulating property and privileges. Paradoxically, the more Francis and the early brothers sought to totally eschew property and privileges, the more the popes sought to give them privileges. Why were the popes so supportive of the Franciscans? One answer is they saw the Order of Friars Minor as a powerful tool for their reform initiatives.30 The Church was extremely corrupt in the thirteenth century, so much so, that Innocent III believed there was a real danger of its collapse before the Cathars and the Waldensians. The Cathars were anarchic dualists from Eastern Europe who followed a simple form of life and pointed to the incredible corruption of the diocesan clergy. Their simplicity and honesty were very attractive to many people who had good reason to be disenchanted with the Church. The Waldensians, unlike the Cathars, were Christians. In 1179, at the Third Lateran Council, Pope Alexander III had approved their vow of voluntary poverty and given them the right to preach with the permission of the local bishop. The Waldensians dutifully obtained this

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permission from the bishop of Lyons and engaged in vernacular preaching, much of which was probably aimed at combating the Cathar heresy. However, the bishop of Lyons died and his successor forbade them to preach. The Waldensians responded by declaring every Christian has a right to preach.31 Eventually they denied the importance of the sacraments. In response, the bishops at the Fourth Lateran Council reinforced the canons against lay people or regulars preaching doctrinal sermons. Of course, the Waldensians were not the only group the bishops persecuted as they jealously guarded their preaching privileges. In turn the Franciscans, Dominicans and Beguines came under attack as well. When the bishops persecuted the Friars Minor, Francis instructed his brothers and sisters to recall: “Our friends, therefore, are all those who unjustly inflict upon us distress and anguish, shame and injury, sorrow and punishment, martyrdom and death” (ER 22:3).32 These are the people, he explained, who bring the gift of eternal life (ER 22:4). By refusing to appeal to rights and privileges, Francis avoided the temptation to which the Waldensians had succumbed and firmly rejected the path of conflict and opposition for the Order. Since many of the bishops were trying to protect their rights and privileges, Francis understood that claiming privileges would heighten the bishops’ fears. They were fearful of many things: of the emperors and of the nobility, of the Waldensians and of the Cathars, of scandal and of social change. While the Fourth Lateran Council reflected a renewed interest in pastoral care, it also strengthened the bishops’ control over their dioceses. Both of these initiatives were aspects of Pope Innocent III’s strategy to combat heresy. One manifestation of this strategy was the creation of the inquisition, which tied together coercive and pastoral concerns. As the Church reached a point where it needed the help of lay movements like the Waldensians, Franciscans and Beguines in order to combat heresy and to evangelize, the clergy reacted with fear and lashed out against the very people who were trying to assist them. Francis, understanding that the only way to overcome fear is through love, wrote: “The Gospel teaches us not to dispute, nor strike, nor resist evil–all of which the Rule, before it received the papal seal, especially expressed; but now it includes everything in precise and general words” (3Frg 24). He repeatedly insisted that his spiritual progeny should follow Christ’s teaching and example to love their enemies and to do good to those who harm them.33 Rather than struggle with bishops over rights, he advised his brothers to flee to another diocese where their ministry would be received (Test 25-26).

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Instead of appealing for rights and privileges, which the people following Gregory the Great’s strategies expected, Francis framed his understanding of reform in terms of penance. He and his friars would assume the behavior and appearance of penitents, calling people to fear God and encouraging them to embrace the sacraments. By doing so, they assumed the lowest position in society. After all, who is more despicable than the penitent, especially when he or she reminds others of the fear of God? The result and perhaps the intention was to give the Order a stealthy quality, allowing the Friars Minor to fly under the episcopal radar screen until they were too well established and too close to be ignored. In practical terms the Franciscans diffused opposition by calling people to receive the sacraments, demonstrating they were not rebels. The popes and many of the bishops realized that attacking the Friars Minor would have been a counterproductive strategy. Whereas the diocesan clergy had little credibility with the people, the Franciscans visibly supported the significance of the sacraments regardless of the quality of the clergy. Certainly Francis was not blind to the low quality of the priests and bishops when he gave this admonition in 1220 to the Brothers and Sisters of Penance: We must also frequently visit churches and venerate and revere the clergy, not so much for themselves, if they are sinners, but because of their office and administration of the most holy Body and Blood of Christ which they sacrifice on the altar, receive, and administer to others. And let all of us know for certain that no one can be saved except through the holy words and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ which the clergy pronounce, proclaim, and minister (2LtF 33-35). Why would Francis have had to make such an exhortation? It seems that some of the brothers and sisters had begun to hold the clergy in contempt. He was so concerned about this attitude that, in the Earlier Rule, he commanded his friars “to consider all clerics and religious” as their masters in everything that pertains to the salvation of souls (ER 19:3). Of course, Francis extended this principle beyond the clergy when he warned: “We must never desire to be above others, but, instead, we must be servants and subject ‘to every human institution for God’s sake’” (2LtF 47).34 If the friars had privileges and power like other human institutions, then they would need to protect them. Francis discerned that the desire to protect possessions, whether they are physical properties or legal

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rights, is the source of endless disputes and quarrels. Because it impedes Christian charity, anger was something Francis wanted his followers to avoid absolutely. He gave his friars this principle: Nothing should displease a servant of God except sin. And no matter how another person may sin, if a servant of God becomes disturbed and angry because of this and not because of charity, he is storing up guilt for himself. The servant of God who does not become angry or disturbed at anyone lives correctly without anything of his own (Adm 11:1-3).35 He forbade the friars from reviling anyone, from gossip, from detraction, from judging and from condemning. In the Later Rule, he made it clear that the brothers may not disregard the will of a bishop who was opposed to their preaching in his diocese (LR 9:1). At this point, you might be asking yourself: “Within these parameters, how could the early Franciscans have hoped to achieve meaningful reform?” Many of the bishops were simoniacal, lax with disciplining their clergy and involved in scandalous behavior from concubinage to embezzlement. Nonetheless, Francis wrote in his Testament: “And I desire to respect, love and honor them and all others as my lords. And I do not want to consider any sin in them because I discern the Son of God in them and they are my lords” (Test 6). His vision of reform fell so far out of the norms of the thirteenth century that Hugh of Digne called Francis’s desire to defer to all ecclesiastical persons “marvelous” (3Frag 28). In fact, there was something radically subversive about Francis’s desires and actions towards the clergy. By desiring to give the bishops the respect they did not deserve, Francis was imitating the way Christ desires to give to sinners the grace they do not deserve. He saw himself as taking on the pastoral care of the bishops and their clergy. After all, Christ had said that whatever we do to the least of these, we do unto him. Who holds a lower place in the Church than a corrupt cleric? Francis wanted to reach out to sinners in the way that Christ does. According to the apologetics of humility, the one who serves demonstrates his or her Christian authority. Rather than enter into contests over words, Francis set out to reform the Church through example. By giving these men the respect they did not deserve, he helped the bishops move to a sense of compunction or remorse over their sins. Francis had tapped into one of the most common principles of medieval educational theory, namely, that people learn primarily through

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imitation. The Franciscans would reform the Church through their attempts to provide living examples of Christian life. By maintaining unity through their love of one another and by their service, he hoped the three orders of Franciscans would become a prophetic entity drawing people to reform their lives. Francis’s writings, therefore, are able to provide us only with hints and intimations concerning his reform method. He primarily preached through prophetic and symbolic acts, which are recorded in the legends and lives of the saint. Of course, these lives also reflect the concerns of the early Franciscan community as it struggled to adapt to its changing mission. The lives and legends represent the community’s memory of how the saint wanted them to behave in the house of the living God. Given the mission of cura animarum, which required the clericalization of the Friars Minor, the community made repeated efforts to recall the meaning of being lesser. There was an immediate tension between Francis’s desire to empty himself and his brothers of all privileges and the rights inherent in the priestly office. While there are a host of historical questions associated with these texts, my concern is to highlight how the community came to understand their reform mission in light of their memory and devotion to Francis. The early lives reveal that the friars had not forgotten Francis’s key principle–we are saved by those we despise–and its corollary–we must be willing to be despised if we wish to save others.

Kissing the Leper Francis began his reform career by kissing a leper. The leper was everything that horrified him. He feared the leper would infect him with his disfiguring disease. In order to despise himself completely, Francis embraced what he despised. When he kissed that leper, he kissed Christ; but he also came to terms with his own brokenness.36 After he had learned how to embrace the leper, he came to learn the even more distasteful perfection of embracing the unreformed bishops and priests. This should not surprise us since the legends tell us Francis had to ascend to gospel perfection in stages. After this period of time with the lepers, Francis was ready to hear Christ’s call from the crucifix at San Damiano: “Francis, go and repair my house which, as you can see, is all being destroyed” (LMj 2:1). Not fully understanding the command as a mission to rebuild the whole Church, he began working concretely to restore one ruined church. As he did so, people thought he was mad, insulted him, threw rocks at his

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head and generally despised him. His patient endurance led to the astonishment of many and to the conversion of his first disciples. The conversion story of Bernard and Peter provided the first example of how the friars should reform the clergy. The Legend of the Three Companions describes the scene this way: As we have said, while Lord Bernard was giving away all his possessions to the poor, blessed Francis was at his side assisting him, glorifying and praising the Lord in his heart, in awe at the astounding work of the Lord. A priest named Sylvester, from whom blessed Francis had purchased stones for the repair of the church of San Damiano, came. Seeing so much money being given away on the man of God’s advice, he was consumed by a burning passion of greed, and said to him: “Francis, you did not completely pay me for the stones you bought from me.” The scorner of greed, hearing him complaining unjustly, approached Lord Bernard, and putting his hand into his cloak where the money was, in great fervor of spirit, filled it with a handful of coins, and gave it to the disgruntled priest. He filled his hand with money a second time, and said to him: “Do you now have full payment, Lord Priest?” “I have it completely, brother,” he replied. Overjoyed, he returned home with his money (L3C 9:30). It is easy to imagine the revulsion a Franciscan in the 1240s would have felt for this greedy priest. By the 1240s, the friars were already beginning to find themselves in financial disputes with greedy clerics over burials and wills and other such matters. This story is designed to show the brothers how to respond to and how to reform such men. Rather than denounce the priest Sylvester, Francis very deliberately gave him two undeserved handfuls of coins for his stones. The act itself was a form of correction. Francis gave Sylvester even more than he expected. The story goes on to show that after his initial joy Sylvester was inspired by God to reflect on what Francis had done and concludes: “Am I not a miserable man? Old as I am, don’t I still covet and desire the things of this world? And this young man despises and scorns them all for the love of God” (L3C 9:31). The following day, Sylvester has a divinely inspired dream convincing him that Francis was the servant of God. According to the Legend, Sylvester learned the fear of God, took up a life of penance and eventually joined the Order where he made a glorious ending (L3C 9:31).

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The story illustrates that you cannot overcome greed by haggling over money. Sylvester is cured of his sin on two levels. Visibly Francis gives him more money than he deserves, sating the desire of his greed; and invisibly God gives him the grace he needs but has not earned. The authors of The Legend of the Three Companions were showing the community that Franciscan reform recognizes the role of grace in true conversion of life. Francis imitates God’s way of healing humanity and his acts become sacramental moments through the presence of God’s grace. This story also functioned to reinforce the friars’ humility. Sylvester, the despicable and greedy priest, made a glorious end. Later, Francis explained the friars’ mission this way: “For we have been called to this: to heal the wounded, bind up the broken, and recall the erring. In fact, many who seem to us to be members of the devil will yet be disciples of Christ” (L3C 14:58). If the Friars Minor were to follow Francis’s method, then they would not reform as judges, but as good physicians, ”knowing how to be sick with the sick and afflicted with the afflicted” (L3C 14:59). This mission extends to all of those suffering from sin, including the clergy and the bishops. In order to fulfill this mission, the friars had to be careful not to presume that they could decide who was, in fact, a member of Christ’s body. The Assisi Compilation explores the relationship between the Franciscans and the reform of the clergy more explicitly. In this work Francis says: We have been sent to help clerics for the salvation of souls so that we may make up for whatever is lacking in them. Each shall receive a reward, not on account of authority, but because of the work done. Know then, brothers, that the profit or good of souls is what pleases God the most, and this is more easily obtained through peace with the clergy than fighting with them. If they should stand in the way of the people’s salvation, revenge is for God, and he will repay them in due time. . . .If you are children of peace, you will win over both clergy and people for the Lord, and the Lord will judge that more acceptable than only winning over the people, while scandalizing the clergy. Cover up their failings, make up for their many defects, and when you have done this, be even more humble (AC 19). Apparently, the brothers had lost their focus on calling people to penance and had begun to expose the faults of the diocesan clergy. The language here reflects a period after the clericalization of the Order and

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is framed in terms of the pastoral care decrees of the Fourth Lateran Council, but it is absolutely consistent with the writings of Francis we examined earlier. Of course, the logic of this position rests upon a notion of the fear of God as well. Franciscan reform is absolutely nonsensical to those who do not possess the fear of God. It is the fear of God, the recognition that God is just and that we are not, which moves the sinner to seek reconciliation. Grateful for the gift of salvation, the sinner learns to be gracious with others. Fear of God also allows people to let go of their anger and desire for vengeance. In this sense, the fear of God is a mercy for those who have suffered real oppression or evil. Filled with this gift, the only pious or appropriate response to sinners, even clerical sinners, is to feel pity for them. Those who possess the fear of God understand that if anyone stands to be pitied, it is the sinful bishop. This does not mean that such a bishop should not be punished, but it means the Franciscan goal is always to save the sinner regardless of rank. The brothers had a great deal of difficulty accepting this idea. Speaking for the community concerns in the 1240s and 1250s, the brothers in the Assisi Compilation protested to Francis that they needed a privilege to preach because the bishops were impeding the salvation of souls. Francis reportedly responded: You, Lesser Brothers, you do not know the will of God, and will not allow me to convert the whole world as God wills. For I want to convert the prelates first by humility and reverence. Then, when they see your holy life and your reverence for them, they will ask you to preach and to convert the people. These will attract the people to you far better than the privileges you want, which would lead you to pride (AC 20). The only privilege Francis wanted, according to the story, was not to have any privilege from any human being; instead he wanted to show reverence to all, and, by obedience to the Rule, to convert everyone more by his example than his word. Francis believed that living a holy life was the most effective means to warn sinners of their wickedness. While Francis clearly believed that order and discipline were necessary, he resigned from the duties of minister general to show the attitude he wanted his followers to take toward coercive power. The Assisi Compilation reflects the concerns of the community over the tension between correction and punishment within the Order. After discussing how the growth of the Order made it

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necessary to punish the brothers who were less than committed, Francis explained why he resigned from his ministerial position: “My office, that is, a prelacy over the brothers, is spiritual, because I must overcome vices and correct them. Therefore, if I cannot correct them by preaching and example, I do not want to become an executioner who beats and scourges, like a power of this world” (AC 106). The friars had become powerful. This power stimulated controversy between the brothers and the diocesan clergy. Worse still the brothers began to fight among themselves over observance of the Rule, which gave their enemies ammunition against the Order. The lack of consistent discipline and the growing impatience of the brothers with each other and with the work of reform threatened to unravel the fabric of the Franciscan mission. Many of the brothers were weary of living in the tension of being despised and yet working to save the truly despicable and ungrateful clergy.

Bonaventure and the Wisdom of Brother Ass Recognizing the growing tensions within the Order, Bonaventure sought to reestablish the relationship between reform and spirituality. He did so by identifying the mission of the Order with piety. Piety is a rich and multivalent word, which suited Bonaventure’s purposes well. On one level, Bonaventure identified piety as the natural law, because it can be seen throughout the natural world in the relationship between animals and their offspring.37 On another level, piety denotes appropriateness and proportionality. The first question for a reformer is whether an action or strategy is fitting or proportional or pious.38 Since analogy and proportionality find their meaning in a central term, Bonaventure endeavored to point the brothers to Jesus Christ as their measure. So in addition to being the natural law, piety is also a central component of the law of grace. Bonaventure challenged his brothers to consider what the appropriate response is to a God who emptied himself out of heaven for the sake of mercy.39 Spiritual piety, the appropriate response to the Incarnation, is to show mercy to others.40 Mercy is part charity and part patience according to Bonaventure. He asked the brothers this question: “Where is piety today?”41 Describing the situation in 1268, he answered: “Today, everything is cruelty, because we are not able to be sated from vindictiveness; today the rule is impatience and anger.”42 To those who wished to excuse themselves by claiming they lacked the gift of piety, he explained that this gift of the Holy Spirit comes about through exercise in the Church, and Holy

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Mother Church demands piety of her children. Bonaventure insisted that the friars had to choose to be steadfastly merciful, that is, patient and loving. However, patience is not the same thing as passivity for Bonaventure. Patience is the virtue reformers need to persevere in the ongoing or continual work of reform. Patience is an active form of imitating Jesus Christ and his life-giving vision of hope.43 Many of the brothers had grown bitter as they worked to implement the pastoral reforms of the Fourth Lateran Council in the face of continual opposition from the diocesan clergy. Bonaventure’s response was to teach the brothers some Church history. He showed them that there have always been struggles within the Church to remain faithful to the Gospel. His first example was the controversy over dietary laws in the Acts of the Apostles. In fact, he identified this event as the original sin of the Church. According to Bonaventure, the original sin of the Church is legalism.44 Since property, privilege and status were not understood as natural or inherent rights in the Middle Ages, legalism was a category that could include sins from simony to vindictiveness. Bonaventure’s analysis of the sin of the Church distills much of Francis’s vision into a scholastic concentrate of Gospel insight. If legalism is the fundamental and original sin of the Church, then it cannot be overcome by canon law, by the assumption of ecclesiastical privileges, or by the coercion of secular authorities. Instead, Bonaventure believed reformers should model their behavior on Christ. Reforming the Church should be aimed at bringing the Church as a whole closer to Christ’s example of humble patience and obedience. Franciscan reform is not based on the power to compel, but on the power to convert. Bonaventure saw Franciscan reform as a type of persuasion arising from powerful words and deeds. Unlike the early Franciscans, Bonaventure was addressing an Order that had been given the ministry of doctrinal preaching in the Church. As an Order involved in preaching and theological speculation, the friars had to consider how they should use their preaching office to correct people who are headed into sin. Bonaventure follows Francis’s idea that the best way to correct others is by living a life of holiness, but he also had to help the friars apply Franciscan principles to their preaching. In his “Second Encyclical Letter,” Bonaventure addressed the issue of friars who were publicly denouncing the bishops. Citing 1 Peter 2:18, he argued that the brothers should show respect to all the bishops, “not only to the kind and the gentle but also those who are harsh.”45 He

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instructed the provincial ministers to forbid such preaching by the brothers (i.e., denouncing bishops) because it is prohibited by both divine and canon law. It was also strictly forbidden by Francis. Since God forbids people to revile the deaf and put stumbling blocks before the blind, Bonaventure reasoned it must be improper to accuse and denounce bishops who were spiritually blind and deaf.46 The question remained as to how the friars could employ their preaching to acall the bishops to repentance. Bonaventure tapped into the categories of doctrinal preaching to answer this question. He gave the brothers many examples of how to admonish and exhort the clergy without presenting accusations or denunciations. One strategy was to use humor to diffuse conflict. An example of Bonaventure using humor about episcopal ignorance can be found in his Collations on the Gifts of the Holy Spirit. First, Bonaventure told a joke about a bishop who was asked by the king of England what the significance was of the two horns on his miter. The bishop responded well, according to Bonaventure, that they signified the two testaments, which every bishop should know. When the bishop was asked what the two pendants hanging behind him signified, he answered that they represented the ignorance of both “because we know neither this nor that and throw all behind our backs.”47 In this response, Bonaventure deadpanned, the bishop spoke badly.48 While he was using humor, we must recognize he was not identifying any specific bishop with a particular charge. Bonaventure, in a typically Franciscan manner, leaves it up to the Holy Spirit to bring the implicit correction home. Having delighted his audience with some humor, Bonaventure proceeded to explain the seriousness of clerical ignorance. Because the ecclesiastical hierarchy is founded on scripture, God gives a sentence to those who do not know it: “Since you have rejected knowledge, I shall reject you from my priesthood” (Hosea 4:6).49 He then explained how those who hold office without this knowledge are repellant to both their office and the dignity of the Church. Bonaventure could use such strong language because it was typical of the Parisian schools and the theology of Gregory the Great. So his admonition was presented in language and in a tradition the clergy had already notionally accepted. While it was improper for the friars to judge bishops and priests, Bonaventure held that piety demanded that the friars remind them of their responsibilities to the one who is their judge. This can be accomplished without making any accusations or charges, which would most

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likely plunge the offending cleric deeper into the sin of legalism as he defended himself. By modeling penance and an appropriate sense of the fear of God, the friars could help the clergy come to accuse themselves. Bonaventure did not expect, however, that the clergy would be appreciative of this ministry. What the brothers needed as they faced persecution from the diocesan clergy was the wisdom of Brother Ass. Bonaventure said the ass serves as a symbol for Christ because it bears heavy burdens and it bears its burden better the more it is beaten. If the friars truly want to become like Christ, they must learn to embrace tribulation. Like Christ, the brothers must be willing to overturn the corruption of the moneychangers; but the friars must also be willing to imitate Christ who showed himself to the authorities when they came for him in the garden. To be a reformer like Christ means to be prepared to bear the cross of tribulations.50 This cross of reform should be a source of joy for the Franciscan. Bonaventure explained how bearing tribulations for Christ is a sign of receiving a heavenly reward in terms of the Lord’s promise: “Blessed are you when men reproach you, and persecute you, and bear false witness against you for my sake. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great” (Mt. 5:11).51 Of course, the brothers also needed some sense of a more immediate benefit in order to persevere. Bonaventure explained that the only way to be like Francis and to achieve contemplation was through hardships.52 Suffering the rebukes of the people you are trying to help is a necessary result of following Christ, and it is a special gift that helps one contemplate the mind of Christ. True zeal requires patience in suffering and the extension of mercy to the opponents of reform. Paradoxically, embracing the Church’s imperfection becomes the source of the reformer’s spiritual growth.53 For Bonaventure, reforming the Church is also about reforming the soul. The two go hand in hand. Since the work of reform is ongoing and the pursuit of holiness has an open-ended horizon, Bonaventure urged the brothers to accept that the reform of the Church will not be complete prior to the final judgment. He tried to teach them that they needed an imperfect Church to struggle with in order to find their own salvation. Every day the friars had to commit to carrying their crosses. Bonaventure believed the Franciscan sense of humility, of recognizing that when they had done everything they were still worthless servants, would keep the friars from falling into extreme positions.

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Franciscan Reform Today If Franciscan reform is pious reform, then we might ask: “Where is piety today?” Shortly after Bonaventure’s death, the brothers broke their unity. In some respects, they also moved away from the original vision of reform. The Spirituals began to act in a way that was more consistent with Peter Damian’s coercive reform methods. Increasingly, the Conventuals also began to drift into a juridical position reflecting Gregory the Great’s principles. This had been the strategy employed by Dominican theologians like Thomas Aquinas, who argued that a subject could publicly reprove a superior when the faith was in danger of scandal.54 Increasingly Franciscans discussed among themselves legal issues about observance of the Rule and, with the magisterial hierarchy, they argued the legality of their rights and privileges.55 Later reform movements led by figures like Jean Gerson, John Colet, Gasparo Contarini and others represent variations on the methods of Gregory the Great or Peter Damian. Even subsequent lay movements like the Devotio Moderna or the Lollards frequently concentrated on the rhetoric of rights and duties or employed coercive methods. After Trent, ecclesial reform essentially became a taboo subject in the Catholic Church. As a result, reform urges were directed toward social issues rather than at the clergy. In the service of the poor and the illiterate, the marginalized and the oppressed, and sick and dying, the Franciscan community preserved the idea that we are saved by those we despise. Nonetheless, it was a Dominican who recovered a notion of reform that sounds more like Francis than Dominic. In 1950, Yves Congar wrote a treatise defending the idea that the Church must always be open to reform. Catholic reform is particularly marked by what he called the correction of morals, but he was indicating the spiritual tradition of correcting through the fear of God, piety, knowledge, discernment and the other gifts. Congar described Catholic reform as born out of love, as respectful, as seeking to build up rather than to overthrow, as faithful to the tradition and as marked by an evangelism of the heart and an apostolic form of life. Both the Dominican and the Franciscan reform movements, according to Congar, represent movements that returned to the sources of the faith as their inspiration.56 Actually, the ressourcement movement shared at least one significant similarity with the early Franciscan movement, namely, its efforts to renew the life of the Church aimed at recovering theological and spiritual insight rather than crafting canon law or imposing discipline. Its

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desire to understand the nature of pastoral care bore fruit in the reforms of Vatican II. Not long after the council, however, many members of the Church became tired of the work of reform. Much of the discussion came to be framed in terms of legal or political categories. Instead of actually imitating the ressourcement theologians and returning to scripture and tradition, contemporary theologians divide themselves into partisan lines as devotees of Balthasar or Rahner or reduce theology to political categories such as liberal and conservative. Of course, people are simply imitating their leaders. If the leaders are ideologues, then the people will be as well. If the bishops are impatient, lax, imprudent and impious, then the priests are likely to respond in kind to their bishops. This principle can be extended throughout the ranks of the Church if the medieval assumption is true that we learn through imitation. When people no longer recognize sin as sin, because they see it unapologetically manifested in their shepherds and communities, then they have no reason to seek forgiveness. If people do not see a need to be forgiven, they never come to a sense of gratitude. Instead, they feel they are entitled to the good things they have received, which erodes their sense of mercy and their ability to extend themselves in love. The recent and ongoing scandal over the role of the bishops in sacrificing our communities’ children to aberrant priests for the purpose of avoiding scandal is just one symptom of a crisis in spirituality. So far the bishops have responded to the scandal by defending themselves. They point to the ways they followed canon law, psychology and civil law.57 They assure us the Dallas Charter and the establishment of institutions like the National Lay Board are evidence the problem has been solved. Yet they do not seem to accept that they have sinned in the most egregious manner because they have sinned against the very law of nature, piety. Their actions run absolutely contrary to the fundamental desire of parents to protect their children, the clear teachings of scripture and our inherited theological and spiritual tradition. Faced with an opportunity to truly model the meaning of penance, the bishops have chosen instead to accept responsibility only in a way that would be approved by their lawyers. An apology is not quite the same thing as penance. How many of the bishops guilty of these crimes against nature have publicly resigned as an act of penance? How many bishops are publicly calling the offenders to such an act of penance? Perhaps they are afraid resigning would show they are weak or can be pressured. Maybe they believe fraternal correction would be perceived

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as disunity. While we can sympathize with their fears, all of these considerations are based on the fear of adversity instead of the fear of God. Sensing that the bishops respond to the fear of adversity, reformers in the Church are using the fear of punishment to push the bishops into accepting accountability and change in Church oversight. Many groups are actively seeking to address this situation through civil law and by refusing to give their money to the bishops. Others are seeking to have the Code of Canon Law reformed so that it will include more disciplinary measures. These steps are necessary, but who is making the effort to reassure the diocesan clergy as they face the tremendous task of restoring the Church’s credibility? Who is actively embracing the bishops? The members of the magisterial hierarchy are increasingly feeling threatened, but can we really expect them to respond positively to fear alone? The medieval Franciscans understood that true conversion cannot come to fruition if it is rooted in the shallow soil of the fear of adversity. Even conversion rooted in the good soil of the fear of God will wither away without receiving the light of hope and being watered by the consolation of love. The friars were trained to see how the spiritual medicine of correction must be compounded with the sweetness of delight so the sinner can accept his or her medicine. If members of the clergy have fallen into the sin of legalism, piety demands we should strive to save them. The laity and the religious have also fallen into various forms of legalism as well. The sin is manifested in the continual combat over liturgical rubrics, moral codes, architecture and over the rights of lay ministers. The situation is strikingly similar to the environment the early Brothers and Sisters of Penance encountered. Like our medieval predecessors, we are working in the wake of a pastoral reform council, which has demanded much more of both the clergy and the laity. Though our council was largely framed in spiritual categories such as the call to holiness, asceticism and the mystery of the Church, the spiritual dimensions of the council have been neglected. The most important role I can see for the Franciscan communities in the Church today is to teach people about spirituality in general and about penitential piety in particular. Certainly this was the Order’s initial mission. The mission to call people to an awareness of their broken sinfulness and to the hope of being healed is the best antidote for what Ilia Delio has diagnosed as the fragmentation of identity through the widespread indifference of postmodern culture.58 People in our culture, including our clergy, need to be reminded of what is at stake in terms of

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how they live and relate to others. Delio argued that our society’s skill at creating “need” for consumer goods erodes our humanity by wearing away our commitment to God and to one another.59 It seems to me that the need to avoid condemnation or punishment from God could be at least as compelling as the need to avoid bad breath and body odor. To be more positive, is not the need for salvation greater than the need for a trip to Disneyland? There are a number of reasons why we no longer speak about judgment or salvation. First, most of us have been unable to affirm the goodness of the world while maintaining the need for conversion and a life of penance. Francis gives us an example of how these two aspects of faith hold together.60 He found joy in penance resulting from the liberation from sin and from the tyranny of the self. Second, we have moved away from such words because we are afraid of being despised. Finally, we are uncomfortable with language about either salvation or punishment as a result of the unhealthy ways it has been used to manipulate people. It has been so misused that the only way to recover its content is by the example of people whose lives model virtues and holy gifts in concrete deeds and actions. We need men and women who imitate Christ, who carry other people’s sins, who give people the gifts they do not deserve, who are not afraid to be despised. We need men and women who are humble enough to help our clergy renew their sense of mission and fidelity to the Gospel. We require people who can effectively admonish and exhort us to love one another, to create an environment of peace and to embrace reconciliation. Such a mission definitely requires the wisdom of Brother Ass, who patiently bears tribulations and setbacks as he carries his burden; but it also offers the promise of really entering into the contemplation of the mind of Christ. Reformers who have these qualities will, with the grace of the Holy Spirit, lead others to a sense of compunction and conversion in their lives. It is now our turn to answer the call from the crucifix of San Damiano, to take up the task of reform and to restore this old, crumbling Church stone by stone. Endnotes 1

The classic source on the fear of God is John Cassian, Conferences, 11.7-13. There is a progression that takes place in the fear of God moving through three stages: the fear of punishment, the fear of lost reward and the fear of love. Cassian described the highest form of fear as a mixture of respect and affection, which a child has for a loving parent, a brother for a sister, a friend for a friend and a husband and a wife for each other. To reach this goal people have to move through the earlier stages of the fear of God, so all three

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forms are important at different points in people’s lives. A recent translation is John Cassian: The Conferences, trans. Boniface Ramsey, OP, Ancient Christian Writers, vol. 57 (New York: Newman Press, 1997). 2 My concentration on reform of the magisterial hierarchy is starting from the third model of the Church presented in Lumen Gentium, which understands the Church as magisterial hierarchy. While I believe there are serious flaws with this way of understanding the Church, it seems to be the dominant model in ecclesiastical circles today. Of course, accepting this vision of the Church logically entails that the ongoing reform of the Church is an ongoing reform of the magisterial hierarchy. 3 Ilia Delio, “Franciscan Theology, Identity, and Community,” in Franciscan Identity and Postmodern Culture: Washington Theological Union Symposium Papers 2002 (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2003), 16. 4 The material on Gregory the Great and on Peter Damian is drawn from a book I am writing on the great Catholic reformers. The book is scheduled to be released by Paulist Press in the last quarter of 2005. 5 Jeffrey Richards, Consul of God: The Life and Times of Gregory the Great (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1980), 114-117. Richards develops a full account of these issues and others in his biography. 6 Richards, 93. 7 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care, 2.8. The critical edition is Règle pastorale / Grégoire le Grand, ed. Floribert Rommel, trans. Charles Morel (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1992). The English translation is Pastoral Care, trans. Henry Davis (New York: Newman, 1950). 8 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care, 2.2-8. 9 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care, 2.6. 10 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care, 2.6. 11 See Conrad Leyser, “Expertise and Authority in Gregory the Great: The Social Function of Peritia,” in Gregory the Great: A Symposium, ed. John C. Cavadini (Notre Dame and London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995), 38-61. 12 Gregory the Great, Moralia in Job, 7.35.53-54. The critical edition for the Moralia is S. Gregorii Magni Opera: Moralia in Job Libri I-X, ed. Marci Adriaen, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina 143 (Belgium: Turnhout, 1979). There is an English translation that is more than a little archaic in style: Morals in the Book of Job by St. Gregory the Great (Oxford and London: Parker & Rivington, 1844-50). 13 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care, 3.4. 14 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care, 3.4. 15 Gregory the Great, Moralia, 7.35.53. 16 For more about intellectual life in Paris, see John W. Baldwin, Masters, Princes, and Merchants: The Social Views of Peter the Chanter and His Circle, 2 vols. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1970). 17 Though canon law was seen as having absolute authority, the diversity of laws had led people to assume it was impossible to observe them. Abbot Siegfried of Gorze wrote in 1043: “It is sure and undoubtedly true that the authority of the canons is the law of God.” The quote is from Colin Morris, The Papal Monarchy: The Western Church from 10501250 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), 30-31. Heinrich Fichtenau points out that the general attitude in the tenth and early part of the eleventh centuries was that it was impossible to follow all the details of canon law in Living in the Tenth Century: Mentalities and Social Orders, trans. Patrick J. Geary (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1991), 118. 18 Both Roman law and Germanic custom favored personal property for women and in many places it was customary for a wife to have control over her dowry and inheritance. For more information on social structures see Fichtenau, 107-110. 19 Peter Damian, Letter 31.9. These letters are available in the series Peter Damian: Letters, vol. 1-6, trans. Owen J. Blum, The Fathers of the Church: Medieval Continuation (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1989). I have largely followed Blum’s

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translation except for places where inclusive language issues arise. The numbering of the letters in the translation follows the critical edition Die Briefe des Petrus Damiani, ed. Kurt Reindel, Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Die Briefe der deutschen Kaiserzeit, vol. 1-4, (1983). The critical edition will be cited as MGH. I will provide the pages and the volume of the critical edition in addition to the English translation when I provide the Latin in the notes. 20 Peter Damian, Letters, 31.13-14. 21 Owen J. Blum, St. Peter Damian: His Teaching on the Spiritual Life (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1947), 173. Jean Leclerq has also noted the very active and collaborative role of the laity in Peter’s reform theology in Saint Pierre Damien: Ermite et Homme d’Église (Rome, 1960), 111-117. There are, however, some scholars who have argued that Peter Damian was hostile to the laity and to reform. See Michel Grandjean in Laïcs dans l’Église: Regards de Pierre Damien, Anselme de Cantorbéry, Yves de Chartres (Paris: Beauchesne, 1994), 50-51; Phyllis Jestice, “Peter Damian Against the Reformers,” in The Joy of Learning and the Love of God: Studies in Honor of Jean Leclerq, ed. E. Rozanne Elder (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1995), 67-94. 22 Peter Damian, Letters, 54.12-16. 23 In the Middle Ages, Paul was unequivocally seen as the author of this letter. At any rate the text is part of the canonical scriptures and holds authority, so Peter had to contend with it whether Paul wrote 1 Timothy or not. 24 Peter Damian, Letters, 54.13. 25 Peter Damian, Letters, 54.14-16. 26 See Peter Damian, Letters, 61.9. 27 For more information see Bernhard Schimmelpfennig, The Papacy, trans. James Sievert (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), 130-150; see also R. I. Moore, The Origins of European Dissent (London: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1985; repr., Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), 46-81. 28 See Leyser, 38-61. 29 John Cassian, Conferences 1.4; Gratian, Decretis, 8.1. Some of Gratian’s material has been translated into English in Gratian: The Treatise on Laws with The Ordinary Gloss, trans. Augustine Thompson and James Gordley (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1993), 24. Gratian cites Augustine, Tractatus in Evangelium Ioannis, 6.25-26 as one of his sources. 30 See Dominic Monti, “Introduction,” in The Works of Bonaventure: Writings Concerning the Franciscan Order, vol. 5 (St. Bonaventure, NY: The Franciscan Institute, 1994), 15. This introduction provides one of the best overviews of early Franciscan history both in terms of readability and its helpful notes for further reading. 31 For more introductory information on this movement, see Euan Cameron, “The Waldenses,” in The Medieval Theologians: An Introduction to Theology in the Medieval Period, ed. G. R. Evans (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 2001), 269-286. 32 All of my citations of early Franciscan sources are drawn from Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, vols. 1-2, ed. Regis J. Armstrong, J. A. Wayne Hellmann and William J. Short (New York: New City Press, 1999, 2000). These volumes provide an excellent bibliography for critical editions and secondary sources. 33 See 2LtF 38; ER 22:1-2; Adm 9:1-4, 14:4; and PrOF 8. 34 I have changed the translation of this passage slightly. The translation in the New City Press edition translates creaturae as creature, but the word can also mean institution. Since Francis was citing 1 Peter 2:13, I think the context demands the word be translated as institution. 35 See also ER 11:3-4: “Let them not quarrel among themselves or with others, but strive to respond humbly, saying: ‘I am a useless servant.’ Let them not become angry because whoever is angry with his brother is liable to judgment. . . .” 36 Writing about the unpopularity in the Franciscan community today of Francis’s desire to subvert the self, Jane Kopas has argued that the deepest currents in Franciscan formation still lead to a subversion of self. She explains that his ideas were not practical;

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but then again, there is nothing practical about grace either. See Jane Kopas “A Franciscan Interpretation of Person,” in Franciscan Identity and Postmodern Culture (St. Bonaventure, New York: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2003), 67-71. 37 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 21.6. The critical edition is Collationes in Hexäemeron in S. Bonaventurae opera theologica selecta, vol. 5 (Quaracchi: Collegio S. Bonaventura, 1934-64). The English translation is Collations on the Six Days, trans. Jose de Vinck, vol. 5, The Works of Bonaventure (Paterson, NJ: St. Anthony Guild Press, 1970). 38 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 9.24. 39 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 23.24. 40 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 23.24. 41 Bonaventure, On the Seven Gifts, 3.9. The critical edition is in Doctoris Seraphici S. Bonaventure opera omnia, vol. 5 (Quaracchi: Collegium S. Bonaventurae, 1891). Much of this material on the gift of piety is abbreviated from my book, A Call To Piety: St. Bonaventure’s Collations on the Six Days (Quincy, Illinois: Franciscan Press, 2002), 39-50. 42 Bonaventure, On the Seven Gifts, 3.9. 43 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 18.27. 44 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 16.21-25. 45 Bonaventure, “Second Encyclical Letter,” in The Works of Bonaventure: Writings Concerning the Franciscan Order, 228. 46 Bonaventure, “Second Encyclical Letter,” 227. 47 Bonaventure, Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, 4.17. 48 Bonaventure, Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, 4.17. 49 Bonaventure, Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, 4.18. 50 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 23.26. 51 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 23.26. 52 Bonaventure, Collations on the Six Days, 22.23 53 For a detailed discussion of this theme see Anderson, 155-188. 54 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, 2.2.33.4. reply to objection 2. 55 I must note that this problem took longer to manifest itself among the Clares and many of the fourteenth-century Beguines. This is probably due to the fact that women were shut out of the clerical ranks and had little opportunity to claim coercive or juridical power. Their minoritas was so culturally established that they faced different temptations than the brothers. This can also be seen in the activities of the women related to the Dominican Order like St. Catherine of Siena, who did not appeal to power or privilege in her reform efforts. 56 Yves Congar, Vraie et Fausse Réforme dans l’Église (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1950), 19-59. 57 See Archbishop Daniel Pilarczyk, “What Were the Bishops Thinking?” Origins 33 (April 1, 2004): 733-736. 58 Delio, 27. 59 Delio, 29. 60 John Burkhard, “Defining Gospel Life in Postmodern Culture,” in Franciscan Identity and Postmodern Culture, 42.

CHAPTER FOUR

A CHURCH EVANGELICAL, CATHOLIC AND REFORMED Vincent Cushing, O.F.M. Introduction A passage in a recent book on the mendicant movement reads as follows: When the fathers assembled . . . for the opening of the Council, . . . the task placed before them . . . was the reformation of the universal Church. It was his awareness of a crisis that had prompted him [the Pope] to summon the Council. The problems that beset the Church . . . were . . . the outcome of economic and social changes in western Europe that had been gaining momentum for more than a hundred years. The expansion of urban communities producing a society that was more affluent and more mobile than before, the emergence of a more educated laity critical of clerical privilege and clerical failings, the spread of heresy, and the rise of an international scholastic community following a common curriculum of secular studies, all presented the Church with a challenge that it was poorly equipped to meet.1 The passage above was written about the Fourth Council of the Lateran, which took place in 1215. It sets a larger stage for the place and role of the Franciscan movement within the history of the Western Church. It also suggests a way into our reflections by depicting the Franciscan movement as an evangelical movement within the larger horizon of the Church. It thus provides a rationale for reform and renewal of the Church in light of massive social and cultural changes. After all, the thirteenth century was a transitional time that witnessed the decline of feudalism and the emergence of urban life, a life built on an economy that supported a new aristocracy and a burgeoning merchant class. At the same time, a struggle for power characterized this society with commune warring against commune, clergy frequently pitted against laity, a world where war was honorable, a time of unrest

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and tumult, all within an enduring struggle for power and the exaltation of the male myth. This is startlingly similar to our own times.

The Franciscan Experience and Ecclesiology The Franciscan experience describes a wide, multi-faceted but implicit ecclesiology. True, there are numerous Franciscan ecclesiologists, but there is not a “Franciscan school of ecclesiology” in the sense of a Rahnerian ecclesiology or an ecclesiology of Yves Congar. If one looks at the long history of the Franciscan movement, now close to eight centuries long, there are a host of issues and efforts that have an ecclesiological dimension, such as the struggle about poverty and its impact on the development of papal infallibility, or the approach to Islam and Judaism implicit in the efforts of a John Capistrano, or the thoughts of a William of Ockham in regard to the papacy, not to ignore the contributions of Bonaventure to a Trinitarian theology of communion with its ecclesial dimensions. While no systematic ecclesiology exists within the Franciscan experience, the Franciscan movement has ecclesiological “moments,” and Franciscan scholars stretching from the early Franciscan movement to the major contributions of scholars today clearly can be cited. For our purposes I will confine my remarks to Francis and to what I see as key foundational themes in the early Franciscan movement, and this to serve as a backdrop for considerations on conflict in the Church. I propose to reflect on what I term elements of the Franciscan meta-narrative in regard to Church and to do so in light of the current historical stance of the Church. I examine key elements of the Franciscan tradition that of their nature have a bearing on the subject of Church, even though they are not systematically formulated into a Franciscan ecclesiology as such. Thaddée Matura, O.F.M., in a well-crafted article, treats the writings of Francis as a vehicle that carries Francis’s thinking on the Church.2 The myth that Francis’s free spirit was crushed by the official Church is just not supported by the evidence. In that romanticized take on history, Francis is the first Protestant, whose wings are effectively clipped by pope and curia. That the Franciscan movement of the thirteenth century was used by the Church for its own ends and that the Franciscans used the Church for their own ends has a foundation in history. Francis, however, clearly remained a faithful son of the Church despite the corruption and politics that he notes in passing in his writings.

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Francis’s writings about Church are neither many nor lengthy, but they do reflect an attitude of respect, reverence, even love for the Church as the living source that provides the experience of Christ for Francis and his co-disciples. According to Matura, the principal texts fall into three categories: • • •

those that give a vision of the Christian life, prayers that speak of the mystery of God and of Christ, writings for specific occasions or persons. 3

These texts show clearly that Francis derived great spiritual nourishment from his life in the Church. This neither denies nor ignores his great natural mysticism nor the spontaneous movements of grace, which Francis always understood as deeply connected to his experience of Christ in and through the Church. Certainly, we cannot expect Francis to write beyond the historical context of his time–and his time was one when the Church was both severely impacted by systemic corruption and laxity, by the gathering force of the high Middle Ages and by an historically conditioned understanding which saw that world as contained and carried within the world of the Church and nobility. At the same time it was a period when the Church was struggling to cope with a ponderously clerical feudal order. There was no sense of the role of laity in the Church and structural decay infected Church offices. Matura cites one of the more engaging approaches to Church in Francis’s Salutation of the Virgin, in which Francis refers to Mary as “Virgin made Church” (SalBV 1). What is so interesting about this is that Francis sees Mary very much as an icon of Church, that first blessed creature who responded so well to the grace of God in her life. In such manner Francis presages an insight that Vatican II made popular, viz., that Mary was the first and exemplary Christian. Francis does not depict Mary as quasi-divine, but rather images her as superbly responsive to grace. By implication then, the living Church will be peopled with those human beings who have responded to God’s grace in the very depth of their lives. This both affirms the range of God’s gracious love and depicts the Church in terms of mystical union with God. This does not purport to be a neat theological definition of the Church, but it does describe the Church under the marks of holiness and grace, beyond and deeper than canonical categories or ecclesiastical structures. After saluting Mary as elect and consecrated–implying of course that we too are elect and consecrated–Francis describes her as palace, taber-

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nacle, home and robe–all metaphors for a place of gracious refuge and grace-filled, caring love. These, too, when applied to Mary as Church, betoken an understanding of Church that describes its receptive and nourishing role in the life of the Christian faithful. It sees the Church as a font of nourishment for the human spirit and reaches far beyond static categories or clerical office. A second engaging aspect of Francis’s writings on the Church addresses the functions of the Church. The Church will be the place wherein we will experience conversion and be enabled to turn ourselves fully to Christ under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Both early Franciscan rules take for granted that the Franciscan movement will remain rooted in the Church. The Church will also be the place where we will experience Christ in Word and sacrament. It will be the place that nourishes our discipleship and its ministry will be an invitation to the faithful to deeper discipleship and life as followers of the poor and suffering Jesus. Hence, there is in Francis’s writings a profound sense of Church built on his religious experience and a very positive attitude towards the Church despite its failings and ineffective structures. We also see in Francis’s writings a concern to balance church authority with the charism of the Spirit, evidenced graphically when he asserted that no one but the Holy Spirit inspired him to write his rule. It nevertheless seems legitimate to characterize the early years of the Franciscan movement as a “Church reform movement.” By that I mean the initial religious experience of Francis was related to the Church precisely under the moral imperative to revitalize the Church. In the dictum “Rebuild my Church,” we see that, although Francis initially misunderstood the import of his religious experience, he later came to an understanding of its larger ecclesial thrust. The related dream of Innocent III bespoke the need for reform in the Church. Typical of the time, however, reform was cast in personal, evangelical terms, looking to individual conversion of the faithful by enthusiastic evangelical preaching. The Franciscan call was to be engaged in the rebuilding, reform, renewal and revitalization of the Church of that time. There is much in Francis that highlights his intuitive religious genius to understand the Church and his ability to address it in terms, practices and ways understandable culturally for that time. We saw this in a previous symposium that examined the popular, vernacular preaching of the early Franciscans to the emerging artisan and merchant class of the developing cities.4 The friars’ ability to speak to the people in language understandable to them and in a style culturally resonant with

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their way of life effected an energetic rebuilding of the local church. The Franciscan movement was popular. It employed songs and poetry, celebrated the gift of natural beauty as in the Canticle of the Creatures, and accented the human, both in Christ and in the people of the Church. This approach would resonate in the artistic breakthrough of the Renaissance. The early Franciscan movement was initially a “lay” movement within the Church. Its style of preaching was simple and penitential. It was not the highly skilled scholastic preaching of that other great mendicant order, the Order of Preachers. Simply put, it was lay people talking to lay people about the meaning of the Gospel, with credibility assured by the simplicity and poverty of life of the lay preachers, exemplified in Francis. Early on in the Franciscan movement, however, a factor emerged that clouded, perhaps even diluted, the original Franciscan charism–the clericalizing of the Order. (This issue is welltreated by the American Franciscan, Lawrence Landini, in his work on the clericalizing of the Franciscan Order.5) As Landini points out, the inevitable result for the Franciscan movement was a much closer alignment of the Franciscans with the structures of the established Church. When ministry is clerical, it is necessarily under the control of the hierarchical Church–not something initially characteristic of the early Franciscan movement. Are there underlying principles of continuity characteristic of the enduring legacy of the Franciscan charism? I believe the Franciscan movement was evangelical, catholic and reformed. This is seen in key elements in the Franciscan experience, elements of light and shadow that merit consideration in discussing a Church in conflict. 1.

2.

3.

4.

The Franciscan movement was a part, indeed a large and important part, of a much-needed, overall reform movement in the Church as it entered the High Middle Ages. At its inception, the Franciscan movement was a lay, pietistic and evangelical movement within the Church. It was neither an intellectual movement nor a schismatic movement, but a popular movement. The Franciscan movement initially prized egalitarianism among all its members. This gradually faded with the clericalization of the First Order. In its ability to develop vernacular, popular preaching and to tap into the devotional needs of ordinary people, the early

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5.

6.

Franciscan movement was able to respond pastorally to the passage from a feudal to a mercantile society. It related to its world by an appreciation of the ecology of creation joined with an intuitive, practical approach to pastoral ministry, exemplified in such activities as the Mons Pietatis, Stations of the Cross, Franciscan Rosary, popular pilgrimages, etc. The Franciscan movement was inspired by a deep embrace of a radical evangelical poverty in life and in ministry. This proved to be a difficult ideal, however, as the movement and the First Order grew and became clerical. The struggle continues to this day. The Franciscan movement gradually evolved into a threefold group: •

• • 7.

8.

9.

a mixed lay and clerical congregation of religious men, and hence a group with strong relationships to the Pope and Curia, exemplified by its reliance on and appeal to papal decrees in disputes about poverty; a vibrant contemplative branch of religious women through the dogged efforts of St. Clare; a strong lay component of women and men (religious and secular).

The Franciscan movement stands in a charismatic zone within the Church, and it has remained allied with the Church as institution, although there were occasional significant departures from that alignment through actions deemed heretical or schismatic. In this sense the Franciscan movement was and is Catholic. The Franciscan movement initially sought a pacific relationship with Islam. However, its later relations with both Islam and Judaism reflected the political and bellicose tensions and cultural and religious biases of western Christianity. The Franciscan movement was and to some extent remains evangelical and missionary, even as the content of those terms has changed in the last forty years or so.

I suggest that these elements constitute a heritage and tradition of the Franciscan movement, exemplified in Francis and formative of the early members. I summarize these as evangelical, catholic and reformed. While they cannot be systematically arranged, nor indeed is it desirable to do so, they nevertheless offer guidance and pathways for an

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understanding of Church that has echoes and reverberations in the Church today. What one cannot do, however, is draw a direct remedial line between the Franciscan movement in its pristine expression and the conflicts of the Church today. An issue of methodology arises in appealing to the Church of Francis’s time and naively trying to apply his genius to the Church of today. The issue is, rather, to assess today’s situation carefully and then look at it against the horizon of the Franciscan charism and see if this offers aid. Theology is second-level reflection, and we are describing first-level, pastoral and cultural issues. Addressing conflict in the Church involves a more complex procedure calling for cultural and environmental analysis in conversation with other disciplines. This must be completed by the gradual sorting out of salient issues, followed by selecting key areas for address and the formulation of a pastoral plan. Then we need to engage in the hard work of drafting policy informed by sound teaching, historical understanding and theological reflection. Finally, we need to test responses pastorally and evaluate results.

The Church and Conflict Let us begin with the ecclesial family of which we are members. For working purposes let us accept a “confessional” description of Church as the Roman Catholic Church, fully realizing that a comprehensive understanding of Church is rightly applicable to all the baptized–Protestant, Evangelical, Anglican/Episcopal and Orthodox. We will further limit the notion of Church to the part that describes itself as Roman and western and lives out its Christian discipleship in North America. The contemporary institutional Church at the beginning of the twenty-first century has returned to being somewhat defensive and polemical. It tends to be yet again triumphal and occasionally acts as if the reforms and insights of Vatican II no longer carry any purchase. This is particularly evident in Church structures of governance, ministry and working approaches to other Christian churches of the west. I question whether the Church has developed the capacity to be fully engaged in evangelical and missionary ministry within our contemporary world. I do not ascribe this historical and cultural return to the past to ill will or malice, but rather to the Church’s limited ability to see itself within a rapidly changing and globalized world. This does not deny, however, that genuine harm is done by our inability to see and by the structural paralysis that hampers clear movement forward. Our

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Church, like others, shows a distinct preference for remaining within the domestic comforts of its sheltered institutions, seeking assurance in past formulas. It sees reform as a moral challenge for individuals–to become a society of people who live good lives–and not as a structural or mission challenge.6 My thesis is that we are in the midst of a crisis in the Church. What we need to address is larger than conflict. Furthermore, I believe the crisis to be structural, cultural and, to some extent, theological. I do not believe it is a crisis about the content of our faith, although it does have a demoralizing impact on the faithful and lower clergy. Let me adduce key elements to substantiate the opinion that I offer. I propose: 1.

2.

Vatican II is perhaps best understood as a “transitional council,” marking the end of the medieval Church and offering initial theological directions for a new understanding of the Church. It did not, however, provide the elements needed to build that Church. With thanks to Dr. Hermann Pottmeyer, I see four basic theological openings that Vatican II established:7 a.

An opening toward equal participation for all when it described the Church first as the People of God. In the Church all are equal prior to any distinction of office. This brought about a communion ecclesiology, thereby repositioning the role of authority in the Church. As a result the neuralgic manner of making decisions and the processes for decisionmaking are of serious concern. This shows up especially in tensions about disciplinary teaching and the authority of the pope and bishops in teaching. b. An opening that calls on the Church to engage the history of its time when it describes the Church as the sacrament of the Kingdom of God. This has introduced multiple issues about peace, justice, freedom and political involvement locally and internationally. It has also raised up the entire issue of lay Christians participating in the politics of the local situation and their relationship to Church authorities. One only needs to look at the current news to see the import of this change. In addition, it has also lifted the gaze of some in the Church from prolonged, domestic navel gazing to a scripturally-based approach to Gospel values in-

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volved in addressing larger issues of human freedom and international justice. It has also raised up issues of justice within the Church, a source of both heat and light, exemplified by the issue of women in the Church. c. An opening to other Christian confessions and to world religions. This is a stance the Church officially embraces, but it is quite unsure of its steps as it begins the dance. Yet both the arena of classical ecumenism and that of a wider ecumenism hold blazingly new possibilities. However, the Church seems hesitant in its participation. Parenthetically, I ask how the Holy Spirit works within the Christian community itself. Who of the early Jewish disciples of Christ could have imagined the revolution of introducing us gentiles into the one, true faith of Judaism? d. An opening that has called for collegial, episcopal participation in the service and governance of the Church universal. This has been met with the counterfeit of rubber-stamp episcopal synods and resulted in disaffection, indeed outright suspicion, in regard to governance. Additional comments on these four directions: •

•

The official Church seems to have lost its bearings in dealing with these four basic theological directions. In fact, there is an active campaign to thwart or disable these directions, as exemplified in the Synod of 1985 that partly kidnapped the Council in a spate of unfortunate Vatican documents, thereby sowing confusion within the Church. We need a new ecclesial architecture. Imagine that we have staked out the one hundred and seven acres of Vatican City and placed one of these four directions at each of the four corners of the territory. Each is a pillar on which we expect a new Church to be built. They surround and encompass the old and beautiful basilica of St. Peter’s. True, it is ancient and beautiful, but termites seem to have gotten into its foundations and here and there dry rot has taken hold. As a result we must take the best of its heritage and erect a new structure to address our world. We cannot depend on the desiccated structure of the old. True, we admit there is beauty and value within it; there is the Pieta and the Bernini columns and the great Confessio of St.

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•

•

•

Peter; and yes, we cherish the alabaster window of the Holy Spirit and we love the chair of Peter in the nave. But, truth be told, our Church is assuming stances that render it dysfunctional in relation to the local church and, at times, it is damaging the pastoral ministry of the local church. We also acknowledge, however, that these are only pillars, and we need an overarching roof, and we need to reset our foundations on the footprint of the Ecclesia Catholica. We have not yet gotten seriously to the business of designing and building the new Church. In fact, we have spent forty years trying to polish up, prop up, build up the old structure, and now we suspect that our efforts did not work. Hence it is both a time for building and a time for re-appropriating the best of the Tradition that we call Catholic. In a time of transition, the task is up to us and to others who serve as full time ministers in the Church. At the deepest level, these issues keep the pastoral mission of the Church from being effectively carried out. For example, in the Catholic Church in America, disputes on family planning were an earthquake, which we still have not worked through. Official tentativeness and an overly cautious approach to relations with other Christian groups, exemplified by our lack of action in ecumenism with Protestantism, introduce genuine pastoral stress and demonstrate little institutional advance in over forty years. Our sacramental discipline is inexplicably narrow in regard to Baptism and Eucharistic sharing with other Christians. In consequence, our Church is increasingly hesitant and confused, shadowed by lack of public accountability and unable to communicate effectively. While theology of the Church is best done locally, our “operating theology” of the Church tends to be universalist, Roman and overly preoccupied with central teaching authority. The first step in fashioning effective pastoral ministry is not to pick up a book of theology, nor even to pick up the Holy Scriptures. We certainly do not turn first to pronouncements from Rome. Rather, a sound pastoral theology begins with the culture, time, society and pastoral situation in which the local church lives. Critical studies and conversation with other disciplines are necessary for the Church to correlate its developing theology with pastoral practice. Then and only then does the local church draw

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•

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on the Christian tradition in Scripture, church teaching and systematic theology. The local church designs how best to respond with pastoral depth to the setting in which it ministers. It discerns what path it should take in bringing the Gospel to its world. This process is necessarily dialectic and carried on in a spirit of informed trust, respect and dialogue. It also preserves a sense of the Church as missionary and evangelizing. This is not to deny a special role for a central teaching authority, but to acknowledge that local cultures vary and differ ethnically and geographically. The Church is rendered sterile and ahistorical when it uncritically exercises universal authority in ways that diminish the Spirit-based role of the local church within a specific culture. Related to this issue of central organization and administration is the future role of papal ministry. Even though the current Holy Father called for a broad rethinking of the papacy in the 1995 encyclical Ut Unum Sint and even though extensive theological study has now been given to that important ministry by a cross section of respected Catholic and Protestant authors, the factual operation of this office and ministry is mired in a rigid, somewhat triumphal and curial administration that effectively negates in practice what is being called for in theological discussions. The presumption that the Church can continue to function as it did in the pre-Vatican II Church makes papal ministry dysfunctional. When the Church is out of touch culturally, it ultimately reduces the proper role of the papal office. The Roman Catholic Church in the west and particularly in North America is now beset with so static a structure in its practice of ordination that it no longer supports adequate pastoral ministry. It is time to reopen the study of ordaining women and married men and to re-license married men who were formerly priests in situations where such a thing is feasible. Action is needed. Over sixteen percent of United States parishes are now without ordained personnel, and the replacement rate of priests is such that only thirty-five replace one hundred. These numbers are telling a story.

Do these situations constitute a crisis? The answer may depend on where you are when you ask the question. If you are in a particular pastoral position or geographic location it may indeed be possible for a

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time to step around these issues, and your judgment may be that these are of limited impact on the experience of the local church. If, however, you look at the Church structurally or are engaged in ongoing dialogue with the Church in its official life, these aforementioned observations amount to crisis. Seeing the current situation facing our world and Church from a Franciscan perspective, I look for a Church that is evangelical, catholic and reformed. These three adjectives, shamelessly borrowed from a Protestant ecumenical venture, best reflect what I loosely term a Franciscan ecclesiology. It has long puzzled me that we western Catholics insist on describing our Church as a hierarchical society, focusing energy on the inner governing structure of the Church and its ordained ministry. Although it is historically understandable in that we are emerging from a late medieval, counter-Reformation view of the Church, I do not think it best describes our Church. To focus on the Church as a hierarchical society is like describing the mission of a school–to educate students–in terms of the role of the board of governors and certified faculty. The Church’s primary mission is to evangelize and serve the world in which we live through the lives of faithful disciples. That is how the Church redeems the world. I suggest the Catholic Church should become strongly evangelical. This can be achieved by an increased understanding of itself in the light of the role of Jesus and what the Church in Scripture was about. I do not call for this in a fundamentalist way, but rather under the controlling narrative laid out for the People of God in the great scriptural narratives of the Old and New Testament. Jesus was a vigorous Jewish prophet who proposed a reinterpretation of Judaism, which was rejected by the religious leaders of his day. As a prophet, he proposed reform from within Judaism and was perceived as a force subversive of the established order. His ringing affirmation of the end of Jewish exile, his focus on the gift of the Spirit given in history, his forgiveness of sin and the proclamation of the end of the reign of evil–all embraced in the teaching of the Kingdom of God–heralded a new era. This meant the beginning of a new time, brought a new understanding of human history and expanded God’s call to all who chose to follow the New Way or who followed the Spirit in good conscience. The released Spirit of God now broods over our world and from it new life flows. The focus is on today and tomorrow–the present and the future–not on a fascination with the past, beautiful as it might be.

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I look for a Church that is catholic. In simple terms I want to retrieve and make active a true theology of the local church and diocese. The local church is not a branch of a Roman corporation, nor is the local bishop a district manager. The relationship of the local church with the papal office is aptly described as an adult daughter or son with one’s parent, a relationship in which love, respect and independence are part of the normal discourse. In this way the Church can address its culture in dialogue and in respect to all parties that function in that society. Lastly I look for the reform of the Church, indeed for a refounding of the Church that takes seriously what has happened in our world and Church. If you reflect on the two previous criteria–evangelical and catholic–you see that from these reform flows naturally. This entails: •

• • • •

• • •

a Church whose mission is the salvation of the world and the formation of Christian people into living disciples of the Lord Jesus, suggesting an approach beyond Church-going and beyond a type of “tribal Catholicism”; a Church whose central message is Jesus and the Kingdom of God that Jesus preached; a Church ever-engaged, both locally and universally, in discerning where the Spirit is leading it; a Church that is participatory in ministry and policy formulation; a Church that is ecumenical in regard to other Christian churches, reconciling membership and ministry while respecting or negotiating ancient confessional values and denominational structures; a Church that is in dialogue, based on charity and scholarship, with other religions, but especially Judaism and Islam; a Church that is deeply collegial and takes seriously decisions that affect the whole Church or regional churches; a Church that focuses on laity and equips them for service to the world and understands ministry as service of the community of Christ and the building up of the disciples.

I conclude by suggesting that these three characteristics–evangelical, catholic and reformed–describe a way of living out our Franciscan tradition as we serve the Church. Our past, while immensely rich and historically informative, cannot adequately address today’s missionary and evangelical issues. We need to translate our tradition in ways that

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respond to the needs of the contemporary Church. As a family we need to draw on the appropriate insights from our tradition to respond to the challenges facing us today. Only then can we develop both a viable service to the Church and be faithful to our charism in a way that is appropriate for our times. Endnotes 1

C. H. Lawrence, The Friars: The Impact of the Early Mendicant Movement on Western Society (London and New York: Longman, 1994), 218. 2 Thaddée. Matura, O.F.M., “The Church in the Writings of St. Francis,” Greyfriars Review, 12.1, (1998):15-33. 3 The texts are these: Admonition 26; Later Admonition and Exhortation 33-35; The Earlier Rule, Prologue:1-3, 19:1-3, 20:1-2, 23:7; The Later Rule 1:23; 12:3-4; Testament of Siena 5; Salutation of the Blessed Virgin Mary 1. 4 Daniel R. Lesnick, “The Franciscan ‘Sermo Humilis’: A Practical Guide to a Spirituality of Imagination and Action,” in Preaching in Medieval Florence: The Social World of Franciscan and Dominican Spirituality (Athens, GA: The University of Georgia Press, 1989), 134-71. 5 Lawrence Landini, The Causes of the Clericalization of the Order of Friars Minor 12091260 in the Light of Early Franciscan Sources (Rome: Facultas Pontificia Universitas Gregoriana, 1968). 6 Let me be clear that I am specifically not calling for an uncritical acceptance of the contemporary world with its seductive values, siren murmurs and chilling impersonality. I am asserting, however, that church governance cannot possibly engage the diverse complexities of this world or assume the role of a local church. I believe the Church, both pastorally and in its teaching role, interprets Christian discipleship without critical vigor or in the theology of a past age. I am further asserting that key structures of governance, ministry and pastoral care need to be changed within the boundaries of a truly Catholic tradition in order to carry out pastoral ministry effectively and to present, in occasional official teachings, approaches to Christian discipleship that are neither out of touch with the times nor lacking in critical vigor. I further claim that key church structures such as collegial governance, restrictions in ministry and specific areas of pastoral care (for example, intercommunion with other Christians and “ecumenical” marriages) both can be and need to be changed. This can be done in ways that are faithful to sound Catholic tradition and effective in fostering the pastoral mission of the Church. For a Church to engage the culture in which it lives, it must necessarily be a local church. Normally, it is not possible for a church to speak credibly to this complex world from one central organizational base. 7 Hermann Pottmeyer, Towards a Papacy in Communion: Perspectives from Vatican Council I and II (New York: Crossroad, 1998).

CHAPTER FIVE

FORMING PASTORAL MINISTERS IN A FRAGMENTED CHURCH Katarina Schuth, O.S.F.

Introduction The theme of this conference, “‘Go Rebuild My House’: Franciscans and the Church Today,” revisits one of the best-known quotes associated with St. Francis of Assisi; its directive is an acutely felt need in the Church today. The concerns range from a rapidly increasing number of Catholics, whose enormous diversity places great strains on parishes and other ministries, to a declining number of priests who are variously prepared to work in these new circumstances, a drastically reduced number of sisters, most of whom are in their last decade of active ministry, and an evolving place for lay ministers who are struggling to be accepted in their pioneering roles. An essential requirement for looking after this “rebuilding of the house” is the formation of pastoral ministers who will be leaders equipped to bring a vision of unity to situations pierced and wounded by fragmentation. This paper addresses some of the preliminary steps on the way to achieving the goal of making available to the Church ordained and lay ecclesial ministers capable of providing leadership in these demanding times. To begin with, I will articulate a brief description as I see it of the present context into which new Church leaders are entering pastoral service. Second, I will describe the students who are now preparing for ministry and compare them to their older counterparts, as well as identify the types of formation programs available to them. Finally, I will consider how to make progress on the journey from fragmentation to integration, recalling briefly the circumstances of early Franciscans and their various ways of coping with division. I will conclude by suggesting three positive steps each of us can take toward bringing about a Church that will be life-giving for a long time to come.

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PART I A View of Church as the New Millennium Commences In dramatic ways, the situation of the Church in the first decade of the twenty-first century is unlike any we have ever known. It is marked by enormous growth and optimism as well as by serious tensions and discord. Let us consider this situation in a five-step progression, beginning with an understanding of some of the elements of the present situation in the Church and ending with an iteration of implications for ministry and how to meet emerging and urgent pastoral needs. At each step I will identify the relevant task for theological educators as they prepare responsive ministers. A. The Church finds itself in circumstances defined by religious pluralism and multiculturalism. The universality of the Church is becoming unmistakable as African, Asian and Latin American leaders take their rightful place alongside the traditional hegemony of church leaders from Europe and North America. The movement of vast numbers of immigrants and refugees complicates this evolution by placing diverse peoples in close proximity where they must live and work and worship together. A global communications network further connects people and ideas that in previous centuries would have remained comfortably within their own framework. These developments result in a significant challenge to the understanding and identity of “local church.” A further consequence of the movements and linkages is the necessity for priests and lay ecclesial ministers to contend with cultural differences. In their response we find extreme disparity, ranging from engagement with the diversity to separation from the “other.” On the one side are those seeking new ways of interacting and connecting. They believe that if the Church fails to incorporate all people, it will become irrelevant. Their perception is that embracing diversity will create unity. On the other side are those who long for the single face of Catholicism that allows for no variation in patterns of worship and community, no serious consideration of cultural preferences and practices and no consideration of the uniqueness of the local church. They tend to believe that uniformity will create unity. The task is to educate ministerial leaders who are willing to accept the reality of diversity without destroying essential unity. A constructive starting point is to teach the rich history of the Church in its multiple settings, showing how local cultures have

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enriched rather than diminished the Church. Implied in this scenario is an approach to theological studies that incorporates recognition of the cultural variations within the Church and the particular pastoral requirements that arise from it. How Francis would have relished this challenge! Murray Bodo, in Francis: The Journey and the Dream,1 recounts how Francis widened the space of his tent by traveling to see the Sultan. He approached him with courage and humility and thus moved the Sultan’s heart with “his own peaceful inner cavern,” as Bodo describes it. In the end Francis gained his life and freedom from the Sultan–if not the Sultan’s conversion–by accepting a culture and religion that was far from his own experience. B. Religious pluralism and multiculturalism seem inevitably to lead to ideological and theological diversity often accompanied by an attitude of intolerance toward others. Ideological differences arise from a variety of sources including family and religious backgrounds, personality and character, and places of origin and ethnicity. Theological diversity is affected by these factors as well as by liturgical preferences and spiritual experiences, and above all, by differences in the interpretation and place of the Second Vatican Council. On one side are those who tend to see the Council as mere history, whose time has come and gone. Never mind that they regularly invoke the Council of Trent after nearly five hundred years, but are ready to dismiss Vatican II before even fifty years have passed. On the other side are those who see the hope yet to come from probing and pondering and mining more deeply all that the Council represented. The controversy and tension stemming from differing positions often lead to intolerance expressed in namecalling, shunning and rejecting persons with the opposite viewpoint. Parker Palmer, in The Courage to Teach, talks about why we have such a hard time with basic decent human interaction when we encounter difference. He says we distort things all the time . . . because we are trained neither to voice both sides of an issue nor to listen with both ears. The problem goes deeper than the bad habit of competitive conversation some of us have: tell me your thesis and I will find any way, fair or foul, to argue the other side! It is rooted in the fact that we look at the world through analytical lenses. We see everything as this or that, plus or minus, on or off, black or white; and we fragment reality into an endless series of either-ors. In a phrase, we think the world apart.2

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He continues by pointing out that “either-or thinking has also given us a fragmented sense of reality that destroys the wholeness and wonder of life.”3 Our whole educational system has pointed us in the direction of separation and discord rather than cohesion and harmony, so patterns of thinking have not been established that would assist those who, in their ministry, will need to work hard to satisfy the multiple demands of diverse parishioners, while maintaining a sense of communion. The task is to prepare ministers, who, in the philosophy of Palmer, have the ability to “think the world together.” The formation needed to succeed in this complex task is considerable, including an in-depth understanding of the essence of the Catholic tradition and of the cultural variation found within the tradition. The breadth of who we are as Church rules out a narrow fundamentalism that has been so destructive to every religion in the world. This stance narrows the wideness of God’s mercy and love and offers a path so limited and incomplete that few could traverse it, even if they wished to do so. The destructive violence sometimes wrought by so stingy a view of faith and of God permeates and poisons our troubled Church and world, a problem corrected only by study, patience and prayer. C. Beyond religious and racial/ethnic diversity, added layers of heterogeneity come into play around educational, age, economic, and gender differences in church membership, further complicating ministerial goals. All of these factors affect the way church teaching is understood, how liturgy is practiced and how prayer is experienced. When new pastors, associates and lay ministers enter a parish setting, they discover the uniqueness of its history and character, of its longtime members and new ones. Some parishes include an “old core” of established parishioners being challenged by new groups with diverse spiritual interests, while others have more stable membership. Whether the differences are based on age or education, ethnicity or gender, all people have a desire to have their pastoral needs met. The task in formation is to teach students how to understand the contexts in which they will be serving and to practice the art of social analysis so that they can respond to the perceived and real needs of a diverse congregation. This undertaking requires communication skills as well as the talent for asking the right questions of the right people. After appropriate information is collected, a knowledgeable, objective and representative group must come together to analyze the findings.

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Taking into account the resources available, priorities must be set among many possible ministerial directions. Above all, virtues like humility and patience are essential since personal preferences have to be set aside in favor of the common good, and one’s own wisdom may not be judged as such by others. Communicating the rationale for choices is a delicate step in the process that takes time and diplomacy if all those involved are to feel included and integral to the process. D. Arising from the vast array of church members are acute ministerial needs that require competent response. Given the immense number of Roman Catholics in the United States, it is understandable that the ministries needed to serve them will be numerous and varied. Evangelization and catechesis, designed for everyone from young children to older adults, is indispensable. Issues related to family life, care of the poor, social justice, war and peace, touch every parish. Suffering abounds as illness, loss of loved ones, stress and diminishment touch so many lives. Those who are afflicted–all of us in some way or another–hunger for comfort and compassion, for a listening heart, a kindly word. The task then is to equip individuals both spiritually and intellectually so that they can not only preach and teach, but also heal and sanctify. Intellectual formation is certainly important as the Church attempts to provide understanding of God’s saving presence among us through the sacraments and Church teaching; but without a caring heart, all the correct doctrine imaginable will fall on deaf ears. E. Adequate response to ministerial needs requires ongoing development of church structures, adaptation of the roles of lay ministers and priests and willingness on the part of all to collaborate. Throughout the first six or seven decades of the twentieth century, parishes in this country generally enjoyed the presence of as many priests as were needed. Pastors had the final word on most matters. Women religious taught in schools, while lay women and men served mostly as volunteers. Roles were clearly defined and the term “collaboration” was not part of parish vocabulary. This structure with stable personnel was widespread and long lasting. When the turbulence of the 1970s began to unfold, it is no wonder major problems erupted. First, the number of sisters declined rapidly and schools closed or were staffed by lay teachers. Soon the number of priests declined and fewer parishes were supplied with associates. Shortly after that many pastors became responsible for increasingly complex church structures, such as serving mul-

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tiple parishes or mega-parishes. These adjustments were enormous for many pastors who had to shift their role from providing direct pastoral care to functioning as collaborative organizational leaders and administrators with staffs comprised mainly of lay ecclesial ministers. Given those changes, a critical task is to teach lay students and seminarians the meaning and value of working toward more suitable structures and modes of interaction. Until recently they would not even have had the experience of a parish with the structures and personnel required today. Ministry now demands extensive collaboration, including skills in leading groups, running meetings, managing and delegating, and resolving conflicts. Beyond these more complex pastoral responsibilities, priests face diminishment in their numbers, divisions in presbyterates based especially on age and formational backgrounds, and the fluidity and polarization of the post-Vatican II Church.4 Other factors complicating the situation include the consequences of clergy sexual abuse, an increasing number of international priests, multiculturalism and social shifts among parishioners, realignments of church resources and the new evangelization agenda. These and other realities of twenty-first century church life make the task of providing high-quality formation all the more urgent.

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PART II Evolving Profiles of Pastoral Ministers and Their Formation The title assigned to this presentation suggests that the Church is becoming aware of itself in a new state–that of growing fragmentation. The factors contributing to this situation as described above are amplified when we consider the differences between current ministers serving the Church and future ministers who are in formation programs preparing to work side-by-side with them. Further, since the 1970s other noteworthy developments are evident in all forms of ecclesial ministry in the United States. Consider the following dramatic shifts in personnel: TABLE 1: ECCLESIAL MINISTERS: 1975 to 2003 Ministry

1975

2003

Lay teachers in Catholic elementary and high schools

104, 827 (61% of teaching force)

161,775 (94% of teaching force)

Paid lay parish ministers

Numbers so small as not recorded in statistical reports

More than 30,000 (35% increase in last five years)

Priests

58,909

44,487 (decrease of 14,422)

Religious Sisters/ Brothers

143,850

80,266 (decrease of 63,584)

Permanent Deacons

898

14,106

More lay teachers and fewer religious are teaching in Catholic elementary and high schools; the number of paid lay parish ministers, so small as not to be recorded in 1975, is now more than 30,000; the number of priests has declined by 14,422 and the number of sisters and brothers plummeted by 63,584. Permanent deacons were first ordained in the United States in 1969 and now 14,106 of them work in parishes in most dioceses.5 These changes create an entirely new scenario accompanied by fundamental questions and decisions for everyone working in church ministry.

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A. Demographic Profile of Seminarians and Lay Ecclesial Ministers. Understanding who are our current seminarians and lay ministry students is no small task.6 One view of seminarians as a group, and of the newly ordained, is that they are all extremely conservative and reactionary. My research suggests a more complex reality. Each seminarian has a unique profile, based extensively on family and religious background, previous experiences with the Church and educational opportunities. Yet some generalizations hold. The median age of seminarians is in the mid-thirties, many from the United States are from relatively traditional Catholic backgrounds and a growing number come from other countries. In 2003-2004, for example, some 744 seminarians, nearly a quarter of the 2,677, were from eighty-four countries other than the United States; eighty-five percent of them intend to stay here after ordination. For lay ecclesial ministry students, their median age is in the late forties, most were born and raised in the United States in rather progressive parishes, where many of them are currently ministering while they complete their studies. Lay women comprise the largest group by far (sixty-three percent), lay men make up thirty-three percent, women religious three percent and religious brothers one percent. The CARA report for 2003-20047 shows a total of 25,964 students studying for a variety of ecclesial ministries in approximately three hundred different programs of two years or more duration. In 1986, some 10,500 students were enrolled, and in 1996 the number was 20,281. Of interest is specific demographic information about the race/ ethnicity and age of seminarians and lay students preparing for ministry:8 TABLE 2: RACE/ETHNICITY 2003-2004 Race/Ethnicity

Seminarians (in theological schools)

Lay Ecclesial Ministry Students (all programs)

White Anglo

66 %

71 %

Hispanic/Latino/a

14 %

22 %

Asian

12 %

2%

Black

5%

3%

Other

3%

2%

100 %

100%

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TABLE 3: AGE 2003-2004 Age

Seminarians (in theological schools)

Lay Ecclesial Ministry Students (all programs)

< 30

42 %

9%

30-39

38 %

17 %

40-49

13 %

32 %

> 50

7%

42 %

100 %

100 %

The diversity represented by these data suggests that parishes will face enormous challenges when some of these newly ordained priests and lay ministers begin working together. B. Implications of Evolving Ministerial Profiles. These shifts indicate vast disarticulation and less direct control of a large number of lay people taking the places of priests and religious, while the Catholic population continues to grow not only in numbers but also in diversity. A second dimension of change occurs between those currently ministering and those gradually taking their places in serving the Church. Experienced ministers–whether lay, priests or religious–are generally Anglo, American-born and old enough to have known the Church before, during and after the Second Vatican Council. They have lived through five pontificates and have seen the Church through many phases of development. Some chaos, uncertainty and division about the direction of the Church touched their lives, and most of them accepted the giveand-take of the modifications with grace and surrender. Individuals entering ministry these days are not from the same backgrounds and have not shared the same experiences with their predecessors or even with each other. Most seminarians have lived their entire adult lives under one pontificate and have seen the Church move quite dramatically toward efforts at hierarchical control and uniformity of practice. Finally, students in formation (seminarians and lay candidates for ministry) are not only different from those whose places they will take, but also from each other. Most obvious is the fact that all seminarians are men and two-thirds of lay students are women. The racial/ethnic composition of students is growing more similar, but very few lay students are coming from other countries while a fourth of seminarians

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are foreign-born. Dramatic differences in age add to the disparity, with seminarians on average about fifteen years younger than their lay counterparts. Consequently, the two groups have experienced the Church in radically different ways, especially since older lay students have lived through more transformation and variety. One can imagine that without great effort or miraculous intervention, even more fragmentation will be inevitable in the future. C. Formation Programs for Ministerial Service. Can anything be done to ensure a unified approach to ministry that will bring together rather than fragment both those who minister and those who receive the Church’s ministry? Programs are available in venues including seminaries and schools of theology, both freestanding and university-related, as well as diocesan-sponsored programs. The preparation offered at these institutions is as diverse as the parishes and other ministries they are expecting to engage. Lay ministry programs are located in more than three hundred different settings in all but one of the United States and in the District of Columbia. Certificate programs offered by dioceses generally provide the basic education needed for entry-level positions, while graduate degrees enable recipients to enter into professional ministry at an educational level comparable to pastors. For those planning to spend a lifetime working for the Church, a graduate degree is indispensable. As the number and variety of positions expand and as the educational level of the Catholic population in general increases, parishes and other institutions will require more comprehensive preparation. Seminarians attend one of forty-four seminaries or schools of theology in the United States and two in Europe. Of these, one-third focus almost exclusively on education for seminarians, while two-thirds indicate that their mission is to prepare candidates for priesthood as well as lay students for other ministries. Several, whose academic and pastoral programs are offered in a university setting, provide human and spiritual formation for seminarians at separate institutions, as do religious order schools, but most provide a comprehensive program that includes all four aspects of formation. One of the most debated questions arising from this pattern is: What type of theologate is most effective in preparing men for priesthood, one that is for seminarians only or one that enrolls both lay students and seminarians? Those who support the former position believe that it is best to have all formation directed toward priesthood and all resources reserved exclusively for priestly formation programs. Their con-

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tention is that priestly identity is shaped most effectively in relative separation from other students. Those who support a mixed student body believe that the best formation environment will approximate future ministerial settings and be open to lay perspectives on Church issues, as well as make maximum use of facilities and personnel, especially of faculty who are more and more difficult to recruit. Research is lacking that would answer definitely the question of which format produces better priests; nonetheless opinions on both sides are strongly held. The significant differences between the two models add another reason for fragmentation in the Church, since the type of preparation in each setting is somewhat different in emphasis, with the experience of collaboration being a major dividing point. Using Pastores dabo vobis and the Program of Priestly Formation as guides, most seminaries have devised extensive programs of human and spiritual formation for seminarians. Human formation focuses on psychological and emotional development and serves as the foundation for spiritual formation, which is directed more toward relationship with God and the Christian community. Only in the past ten years or so have the schools that enroll considerable numbers of lay students given serious thought to their human and spiritual formation, along with the resources to support these efforts. An evolving task of formation departments is to find the set of experiences and classes appropriate to lay students. To date some guidance has come from the National Association of Lay Ministers and from the Bishops’ Conference, but definitive guidelines are yet to be developed. Some elements of formation are transferable from seminarian preparation, but many others are unique to lay ecclesial ministers. Most seminaries and schools of theology have made significant adjustments in their programs in recent years to respond to the emerging church context. Pastoral field education contrasts dramatically with that of twenty to twenty-five years ago, when a brief diaconal internship of teaching and limited pastoral work was considered sufficient for pastoral formation. Students now, both seminarians and lay students, participate in extensive pastoral contact over much of their time in studies, including more involvement with multicultural parishes. Courses and programs focusing on Latino, Asian and African perspectives are also more common than in the past, but much more exposure is still needed. A third change that has taken on new urgency is more intensive formation for celibacy for seminarians. All of these changes advance the quality of programs, but they are not evenly developed in all schools, so continued evaluation is important.

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Katarina Schuth, O.S.F. PART III From Fragmentation to Integration

Although the topic assigned for this presentation is necessarily broad, the Franciscan perspective on ministry is one this audience holds dear, so we return to some of St. Francis’s own writings and to others about him and his early followers. Of particular concern is how those who have gone before us dealt with fragmentation and disagreements, surely a lively part of our ancestry. William Short’s book, The Franciscans, is of special value on this topic. In a section entitled “The History of Division,” he names three changes that caused fragmentation in the early decades of the Order: change of place, change of status and change of style.9 The earliest followers of Francis lived outside of towns, working as lowly servants, ministering in hospitals for lepers, growing vegetables for themselves and the poor among them. They preached through their work and through their humility–using words when necessary. Their lives were contemplative and utterly simple. Before long they became known for their gentle presence and loving service and so they were invited into the cities and towns, a change of place. People came to them for counsel and soon they were given churches where they would provide ecclesial ministrations. Ecclesiastical duties rather than manual labor predominated–saying Mass, preaching, hearing confessions–mostly the work of priests. For this they received offerings rather than needing to beg–a change of status. The movement from lay to clerical positions necessitated time for study. Franciscan presence in the universities gave them more prominence and required different living arrangements. Permanent friaries and fixed communities resulted in a change of style. From contemplative to parochial ministry, from country to city, from begging to receiving gifts for service–these new directions became the source of disagreements and disunity in the new Order. Change creates conflict. The divisions occurred because information about Francis varied between founding members and later generations, because interpretations of the writings of Francis differed and because of occasional unfortunate interventions by popes and bishops. Attempts at reform were sometimes received with intolerance, beatings, imprisonment and even violent death–so radical were some reformers who wanted to return to the literal interpretation of Francis’s words. A few leaders–popes

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and ministers general–responded with courage, with an effort to reach mutual understanding and bring together factions through the triumph of charity. Information, interpretation, intervention and lack of communication were sources of dissension. Somehow, somewhere, some Franciscans broke through the divides and became the bridge builders and reconcilers. Francis lived in a time when the Church suffered from abuses and divisions, categories familiar to our own times. At first he misunderstood what God had in mind for him when he was asked to “rebuild my Church,” just as today we experience similar misunderstanding, confusion and uncertainty as we seek to repair the brokenness of the Church. What can we do to help reverse the fragmentation and move toward integration? This paper suggests that preparing pastoral ministers with certain attitudes and values, certain appreciation for diversity, and respect for all persons would go far. All well and good, but the very specific ministry of forming pastoral leaders is not the path most of us follow. Yet we all can contribute immensely to moving the Church from fragmentation to integration, from quarreling to peace, from intolerance to acceptance. Three quite Franciscan responses apply not only to the formation of new ministers but to all of us as well: first, to refocus our energies on the essential rather than the peripheral, that is, on the suffering of our world rather than church politics; second, to be a reconciling presence to all we meet; and, third, to recollect ourselves through pondering the Gospel and praying that we have the courage to live it. A. Recognize, acknowledge and respond to the immense suffering in our world, Church, nation, communities and families. Consider the world so troubled by violence and the threat of war and so many other urgent human situations that need attention. We ask, “Where are the peacemakers who have the genius and the capacity to de-escalate rising nationalism and to bring together alienated nations?” Consider our states and local governments on the verge of economic disaster and plagued by misplaced priorities. We ask, “Who is paying attention to those without voice, to the poor and the homeless? Who has the desire to look out for the common good rather than for individual gain?” Consider the Church whose moral authority has been eroded by clerical sexual abuse, ill-conceived directives and failure to address compellingly issues of enormous gravity. We ask, “How can the Gospel message of forgiveness be spoken with force in the midst of the present crisis so as to restore confidence in the Church? Who will be invited to

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join in the struggle of renewing our faith?” Consider our families and communities so deeply affected by what is happening in the world around us. We ask, “What is needed to maintain balance and stability in the midst of widespread turbulence so that we might enliven faith and enkindle hope?” Simply being cognizant of these concerns and keeping them in the spotlight provides an enormous agenda for every Franciscan and all the helpers we can gather. Working to solve them will take generations, but we turn to the crucified Christ, so dear to Francis, and pray for the compassion we need to continue on the path. B. Commit ourselves to become reconciling presences in every circumstance of our lives. In whatever ways we might want to describe what ails us these days, the temptation, it seems, is to feel that problems are so overwhelming and so beyond our reach that any one person is powerless to effect change. This is not necessarily so. Think for a moment of the many communities of which we are a part–nation and state, worship and work, religious house and family. If we were to cultivate a spirit of reconciliation–bringing into agreement or harmony those people and things that are estranged–it would go a long way in creating decency and peace in these troubled times. In 1996, Cardinal Joseph Bernardin’s Catholic Common Ground Initiative was established to reduce the polarization and acrimony that he found in the Church. He called for a renewed spirit of civility, dialogue and generosity to heal the divisions, and he suggested some simple approaches and processes to move us in the direction of reconciliation, such as being inclusive, respectful, slow to judge, and quick to forgive, among others. As we examine our own modus operandi, we might explore how well we follow these principles and also what blocks us from concern about others. It might be ambition and envy, or a perpetual desire to make the winning point over our opposition, or laziness and self-indulgence, or more likely busyness and over-extension. Too often we find ourselves engaged in multi-tasking when uni-tasking would be a more appropriate way to conduct ourselves. With a little patience we can do better by taking the time to dialogue rather than debate. We can do this by: • •

contributing our best ideas to be improved upon rather than defending the indefensible with the hope of wearying our opponents; being willing to evaluate ourselves rather than criticize others;

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trying to see all sides of an issue rather than two sides–our own and the wrong one; and listening to each other to understand and build agreement rather than listening to find flaws and reasons to disagree.

As basic as these ideas may seem, they are not easy to put into practice. Living this stance calls for magnanimity, a certain generosity of spirit. If we can discipline ourselves to think beyond ourselves, the payoff is great for us personally and for the company we keep and the world we share. I remember an occasion when I was speaking to a group about some of these ideas and one gentleman stood up to disagree quite disagreeably with me. Having just talked about being a reconciling person, I dared not respond to him in kind, so while he ranted and raved, I prayed–silently–to the Holy Spirit. Realizing that no precise argument would be persuasive, when he finally took a breath, I said something like “I respect your right to your views and I’m glad you had the courage to voice them.” He retorted in his booming voice, “Well, all right then,” and promptly sat down, but somehow I knew this was not the end of the discussion. As soon as the questions were finished and the group adjourned for coffee, this man raced to the front of the room, still enraged. He continued with his diatribe, to which I knew there was no adequate answer. Finally, I simply put my hand on his arm and said, “God must love you very much.” He was puzzled and said, “Why are you saying that? No one has ever said that to me before.” (Not too hard to understand why, I thought.) But I responded, “I know by what you said that you obviously care a great deal about the Church and you want the best for it.” Then I asked, “Do you remember last Sunday’s Gospel? The one where Jesus comes to the apostles after the Resurrection? They are all gathered, fearful, in the upper room. He appears to them and says, ‘Peace be with you. Peace be with you!’ That is my wish for you, too.” The man was flabbergasted and began to cry. He confessed that he had moved five times in the past two years because he didn’t like the parish he was in; his wife was getting very disgusted having to move a family of seven again and again. I suggested that he might try just to pray when he went to church and not to set every pastor right about how to say Mass. He talked calmly for a bit and then said he couldn’t wait to get home to tell his wife about what had happened. I don’t know the ultimate outcome for this man, but such moments remind us that beyond any power

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of our own, the grace of God works powerfully in others to transform their lives. The words of Jesus brought this afflicted man a degree of comfort. Granted, most of our opponents don’t go away that easily, but this difficult exchange ended somewhat peacefully by simply listening to and respecting this person. To be able to respond with kindness and compassion while maintaining our integrity takes wisdom and courage. We can find the will to be the reconciling person in all the circumstances of our life by imitating Francis in his constant awareness of Christ present, bringing inner and outer peace. C. Seek conversion of heart by collecting ourselves through pondering, praying and preparing to act in Christ’s name. Finally, it is essential for us to be in touch with the mystery of God in our lives, becoming increasingly aware of God’s active presence. If we look beneath the surface, we encounter God as loving and challenging us, inspiring and empowering us. Though we may be able to do a lot of things for God, the Church and the world, if we are out of touch with the mystery–if our faith and our life are separated–our existence is shallow, our actions empty. By deepening our faith, paying attention to the pattern of God’s movement, we can become true reconcilers. In his book, The Holy Longing, Ronald Rolheiser, O.M.I., speaks about the necessity of pondering if we are to sustain our faith. He says that “to ponder is less a question of intellectually contemplating something as it is of patiently holding it inside one’s soul, complete with all the tension that brings. Thus when Mary stands under the cross of Jesus and watches him die . . . she is carrying a great tension that she is helpless to resolve and must simply live with.”10 She “kept these things in her heart and pondered them.” We are called upon to do the same kind of pondering that Mary did. If we are willing to ponder and wait before we speak a sharp or unjustly critical word, before we judge community members unfairly and alienate them, before we depart from a gathering in anger, we can bring reconciliation. By following such a path, we can bring into harmony those around us who are estranged. In words attributed to St. Francis, we might “Start by doing what is necessary, then what is possible, and suddenly we will be doing the impossible.” As impossible as it may seem that any one of us can make a difference in our fractured world, imagine if each person here today–let’s say fifty of us–performed one reconciling act every day. What a different world we would know! In one year we would

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have nearly twenty-thousand acts of reconciliation; and if all our community members joined us, there would soon be a million circumstances where healing is imparted. Each of us will be returning to or moving into situations where we can contribute in small and large ways to unity and peace. As we make this move beyond ourselves to the world awaiting our reconciling presence, we might consider the implications of living out our faith. Vincent Hovley, SJ, in his article, “A Rock to Build On,” says: “We search for the healing and peace that comes from knowing how deeply God acts in our lives. Without that peace . . . we find it hard to be present to anything but our anxious concerns.”11 At issue is whether we are willing to make a covenant of our lives in order • • •

to find a heart to face our future without fear and with great trust, to surrender our spirit into God’s hands; to find a heart to call down the flow of God’s holiness and to plunge ourselves into it, to passover into it; to find a heart to pledge ourselves as bread and wine poured out for others–this is Christ again making his covenant, his passover, in us.12

All the tensions arising from political and economic concerns, from religious and personal worries, require of us a reflective stance that leads to a calming, reconciling presence as we incorporate into our thoughts and actions the hopes and longings of others. I invite each of us to be among those who renew the face of the earth one step at a time. As we receive anew the gift of the Holy Spirit, may we, like our Brother Francis and Sister Clare, be reconciling messengers of peace to all we meet. We extend that invitation to all those eager young women and men who are willing to give their lives in service. In the Gospel, Jesus was moved at the sight of the crowds and implored us to pray for laborers for his harvest. The answer to our prayers has come in unanticipated abundance in many ways, but none to be taken for granted.

Endnotes 1 Murray Bodo, O.F.M., Francis: The Journey and the Dream (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 1988), 62-65. 2 Parker J. Palmer, The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers, 1998), 62.

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Palmer, 62. Described in detail in an article by Cletus Kiley, “Human Development and the Ongoing Formation of Priests,” Origins (March 22, 2001): 644-47. 5 Data are from The Official Catholic Directory, 1975 and 2003. 6 For a detailed description of seminarians, see Katarina Schuth, Seminaries, Theologates, and the Future of Church Ministry (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999). 7 Data are from Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate [CARA], “Catholic Ministry Formation Enrollments: Statistical Overview for 2003-2004” (March 2004). 8 Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate. 9 William Short, O.F.M., The Franciscans (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier Books, 1992), 31-45. 10 Ronald Rolheiser, The Holy Longing: The Search for Christian Spirituality (New York: Random House Inc., 1999), 220. 11 Vincent Hovley, “A Rock to Build On,” Review for Religious (Sept./Oct. 1994): 176. 12 Hovley, 176. 4

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AUTHORS C. Colt Anderson, Ph.D., is Associate Professor in the Department of Church History at the University of St. Mary of the Lake/Mundelein Seminary in the Archdiocese of Chicago. A specialist in the methods and rhetoric employed by the Catholic reformers in the Middle Ages and Reformation periods, he has recently published A Call to Piety: St. Bonaventure’s Collation on the Six Days. In addition to articles on Church history and Catholic identity in the South, he has just completed a book for Liturgical Training Publications entitled Christian Eloquence: A History of Doctrinal Preaching from Augustine to Trent. John Burkhard, O.F.M. Conv., is Associate Professor of Systematic Theology at Washington Theological Union, where he has taught since 1991. He formerly served as professor, Dean and President at St. Anthony-on Hudson Seminary in Rensselaer, New York. He specializes in ecclesiology, Christology, the ordained ministry and eschatology. His book, Apostolicity Then and Now: An Ecumenical Church in a Postmodern World, has just been published by Liturgical Press. Vincent Cushing, O.F.M., is a member of Holy Name Province. From 1975 to 1999, he served as president of Washington Theological Union and was recently honored as President Emeritus by the Union’s Board of Trustees. He has completed terms on the board of the National Catholic Education Association Executive Committee, on the Formation Committee of the Conference of Major Superiors of Men, as well as on the Steering Committee of the Bishops’ Committee on Priestly Formation. In addition, he has been a member of the Executive Committee of the Association of Theological Schools and served as its president from 1982 to 1984. Ilia Delio, O.S.F., a member of the Franciscan Servants, completed her doctoral studies in theology at Fordham University. She is presently at Washington Theological Union, Washington, DC, serving as Associate Professor of Ecclesial History and Franciscan Studies and as Director of the Franciscan Center. She is author of Crucified Love: Bonaventure’s Mysticism of the Crucified Christ (Quincy: Franciscan Press, 1998), Simply Bonaventure: An Introduction to His Life, Thought, and Writings (New York:

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New City Press, 2001) and A Franciscan View of Creation: Learning to Live in a Sacramental World, Vol. 2, The Franciscan Heritage Series (CFIT-ESCOFM) (St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2003). Currently, there are also two books in preparation for publication at St. Anthony Messenger Press. Doris Gottemoeller, R.S.M., is a member of the Religious Sisters of Mercy. She serves as the Senior Vice President for Mission and Values Integration with Catholic Healthcare Partners, a multi-state, cosponsored healthcare system. Her leadership experience in religious life includes serving as the first president of the Sisters of Mercy of the Americas, as president of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, as an auditor at the Synod on Consecrated Life in Rome in 1994 and as one of the three United States delegates to the International Union of Superiors General. Katarina Schuth, O.S.F., has been a member of the Sisters of St. Francis, Rochester, Minnesota, since 1960. She currently holds the Endowed Chair for the Social Scientific Study of Religion at the Saint Paul Seminary School of Divinity, University of St. Thomas, St. Paul, Minnesota, where she is a faculty member and researcher. Her work primarily focuses on Catholic theological education and the relationship between the Church and American culture.