Clericalism — visible and invisible

The horrors we read about in the McCarrick Report and the UK’s Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse Report – both of which appeared by coincidence almost simultaneously – will continue to send shockwaves through the Catholic Church for decades to come. 

Even Catholics who have defended the Church’s good name during the last three decades of scandals have found these indictments to be the last straw. Moreover, the failure of leaders to fall on their swords has led to gasps of incredulity. 

One cannot fall back on the defense of "I am following orders" if that means, in actual fact, that one is denying moral responsibility. 

Yet that is what is happening and often Catholics are left wondering: why do they not see that if they have been so found wanting, they must cease to claim any sort of leadership.  

We need the equivalent of "dishonorable discharge"

It is not that they – be they priests, bishops, cardinals or even a pope – should resign and leave the limelight, but they should see that their continued appearance as anything other than failures should be manifest. 

In effect, we need the equivalent of the military sentence of "dishonorable discharge". 

The actors concerned must be seen to be no longer senior figures in the Church. They must not even be seen in their clerical uniform lest they bring dishonor on that uniform, which is in turn dishonor on the ministry of the Church, and in turn the integrity of the Gospel’s proclamation.

But many Catholics are not simply shocked at the affront given by those who appear not to recognize their own responsibility. They are also bewildered that men who are supposedly dedicated to the Gospel cannot see that their behavior is undermining the credibility of the whole Church.

How, they ask, is it that these men – from the retired pope down to diocesan officials – think they still are somehow witnesses to Jesus?

Clericalism as a fundamental disordering 

The simple answer is clericalism – as is clear from both of the reports.  

Clericalism: the notion that their solidarity as clerics is greater than their solidarity with the whole of the baptized People of God. 

They imagine their duties to support one another is greater than their duty to support those who are the victims of criminal violence. They see loyalty and esprit de corps (given a pious sugar coating as "the fraternity of the priesthood") as more important than personal responsibility for doing the truth in charity.

But surely clericalism is on the wane, right? Clericalism does affect everything, surely? And – for many clerics – it seems to be a charge that sweeps them along and for which they, just ordinary parish priests, cannot be blamed! 

Unfortunately, as both reports show – the report on England far more explicitly than that carried out by the Vatican – clericalism is pervasive and perverting. But it is often hiding in plain sight!

Seeing clericalism close to you 

Here is a photograph of a church – it could be any small parish church. It is a small older building that was updated to implement the needs to reform the liturgy that were identified in the mid-twentieth century by the Second Vatican Council (1962-65). 

Moreover, unlike in so many places where this renewal was only half-hearted, minimally implemented, or just botched, this is a very good example of seeking to do what the Council asked. 

At a glance, we can see that the table of the Eucharist is distinctly made to look like a table and there is room for people to move around it as befits a table. As an object it is free from clutter: it is the table – the table of the Lord – that is significant, and this is not distracted by other images, decorations, or signs attached to it. 

Second, there is a permanent place for reading the scriptures. The table of the word has an intrinsic and clear place in the liturgy. The two tables – of word and sacrament – are clearly the focus for the gathering. 

This is helped by the fact that the place for the reserved sacrament has been moved to the side wall. It still has a place of honor, can be the focus of private prayer outside of the liturgy by anyone visiting the church, but it is not in such a central position that it is distracting attention during the actual celebration of the Eucharist. 

Anyone with a tick-box list for items that should be included in any renewal would give this layout almost full marks. Indeed, a great many churches could learn a great deal from it.  It is because it is such a good example that it is also a warning about clericalism.

Now focus on the picture’s foreground. What do you see? 

Barriers

This church pre-supposes that the liturgy is made up of two groups separated by a set of rails. On one side is the holy space – "the sanctuary" – and on the other the ordinary. On one side is the sacred person and on the other those who are "merely" the people.  

One is, quite literally cut off from the other. One is the part of the man who offers the Eucharist, the other is for those who take part by attending. 

Fundamental to this view is division – the Church is a binary reality rather than a unity. While the old binaries of a special language and a minimal vision have been removed, the underlying attitude of separation is alive and well.

Now look at this photograph taken from the back of that church.

It is clear that there are two groups: the clergy and the people. They are as different as any two groups can be in a building. 

Think of a hospital. There are special places for the doctors and nurses only, and places where they interact with the patients. 

Think of a school. There is there is students’ areas and the teachers’ room where no student enters. 

Think of a bank where there are also grilles and barriers between the bank employees and the customers. 

On those gates in the photograph, they might as well hang a sign that says, "STAFF ONLY".

As long as we live and worship in a Church that thinks in these secular terms of the staff and the customers, the first loyalty of those who see their place as beyond those rails will be towards one another. 

They will think of themselves as men apart – and justify this with high-sounding theological words – rather than as fellow disciples with every other baptized sister and brother on our common pilgrimage of faith.

But my church does not have rails anymore!

Few churches now have actual rails, but just look at this: 

When this church is full of people for a celebration of the Eucharist, I wonder if someone sitting in the fifth pew down feels that they are as much a celebrant as the man sitting in the big chair behind the table?  

And, more importantly, does that man in the special chair think that the person is the tenth pew is a celebrant? As long as we have to ask that question, we will have clericalism – and its problems.

We will not fix clericalism with architecture. But architecture may maintain and reinforce the attitudes we claim – listening to Pope Francis – we are abandoning. 

And, certainly, architecture can provide a means for making the problems visible.

Thomas O'Loughlin is a priest of the Catholic Diocese of Arundel and Brighton and professor of historical theology at the University of Nottingham (UK). His latest book is Eating Together, Becoming One: Taking Up Pope Francis's Call to Theologians (Liturgical Press, 2019).