The scourge of clericalism – is synodality failing?
The Catholic Church is hardly agog with expectation as the next phase in Pope Francis’ programme of synodal reform approaches. The forthcoming “Synod on Synodality” in Rome this October, the second session of two, was initially conceived as a decisive moment of change. This now seems improbable, and instead the likely outcomes of the session appear to be unexciting: worthy but dull, bureaucratic rather than revolutionary.
Some key bones of contention have been deliberately reserved to other forums, from which they may never emerge. The faithful in the pews will in all likelihood notice little change. When their new bishop or their next parish priest is to be appointed, or when their parish is merged with another due to the shortage of priests, or even when a different version of the Bible is proposed for the readings at Mass, will they now be part of the decision-making process? It seems unlikely. Will they acquire the right to be consulted in such matters? Ditto …
Perhaps expectations for synodality were always over-ambitious. The synodal process is partly a response to the dreadful revelation of the extent of the abuse of children by members of the clergy, and to the even more scandalous failure of those in charge to recognise the suffering of victims and survivors and to take appropriate action. Both the behaviour of the abusers, and of those in authority over them, are widely attributed to a phenomenon called “clericalism”. As Pope Francis himself declared: “To say ‘No’ to abuse is to say an emphatic ‘No’ to all forms of clericalism.”
Clericalism has never been precisely defined, but it can be seen in the imbalance in the relationship between priests and laypeople, which ought to be one of mutual respect. One of the most obvious symptoms of clericalism is the marginalisation of women, including their exclusion from the making of decisions that directly affect them. They are the mothers of the children and vulnerable people who have been abused. There are many doctrinal teachings in Catholicism in which they have a primary stake, from birth control and abortion to whether women can be ordained to the priesthood. The link between such issues and the persistence of clericalism has never been admitted, let alone explored. What would a Catholic Church free from the scourge of clericalism look like? Would its leadership still be all-male? If so, could there be any explanation of this other than sheer misogyny? How can a male-only leadership better understand the issues sometimes described as “women’s issues”? Other marginalised groups could ask similar questions; as could laypeople in general. Why is marriage a bar to priesthood? Is a false understanding of the nature of episcopacy the root of clericalism? How can it be reformed so it is no longer so?
These issues were debated in the Second Vatican Council, and the Church has hardly moved ahead in its thinking since. If clericalism is in part about a male closed shop at the top of the Church, and the synodal process was meant to break that open at last, it has to be admitted that so far it has failed. And it does not seem to be about to succeed any time soon.
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