Can the Saints help change the modern Church?
Last week, I attended Mass for the umpteenth time in my life. I’ve always loved going to church, aside from my own spiritual beliefs, I’ve always drawn incredible comfort from the routine, singing the same songs which echoed in my childhood, breathing the fragrant air, uttering the familiar prayers and indeed, being among a community. Its one of the few times in modern life that you can be perfectly still. Silencing the noise which so often blasts in our lives and making time for soulful silence. It’s a beautiful thing.
Here’s the kicker; though I’m a devout Roman Catholic, I’m also gay. A lot of people might think this is a total contradiction, but honestly, it has never seemed so to me. And while ‘the church’ as a concept has a known stance against homosexuality, at parish level I’ve only ever known warmth, welcome and a shared desire to commune with God.
Until last week.
I’ve recently moved back home to Wales, and that has meant finding a new parish (or more accurately, returning to my old stomping ground). There, a parishioner made it quite plain that not only did they find my ‘lifestyle’ contradictory to the teachings of the church, but that they were quite sure I was going to hell, unless I ‘decide’ to change my ways. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience.
In fairness, I don’t hold any anger toward the person who said this to me. Yes, it was upsetting, but there was nothing they were saying which was untrue from a strictly doctrinal perspective. Though the church has adopted a noticeably more welcoming stance towards LGBTQ+ people in recent years (with both Pope Francis and Leo claiming ‘todos, todos’ or that everyone should be welcome in church, and indeed, same-sex couples can now request a blessing) the doctrine remains unchanged. It was unnecessary for the parishioner to single me out in the way that they did, but their homophobia was a symptom of the wider issue of intolerance within traditionalist Christian circles.
This intolerance sometimes seems to be growing. One glance at social media, and you can easily find Catholic influencers not only attacking LGBTQ+ but also promoting traditional gender roles, intensely criticising other faiths and Christian denominations, endorsing hardline political movements and promoting a sharp division between ‘them’ and ‘us.’ Not only are these movements intensely worldly, usually based on cultural and political preferences, rather than spiritual growth, they are also often based on terrible understandings of theology.
The most common misconception that is spread within these circles is that ‘church teaching is inviolable.’ Words to this effect are parroted constantly, it was quoted at me when the parishioner made their disapproval of me known, it is circulated widely online. The idea that everything the church teaches now has always been and will always be. Teaching is clear, obvious, universally accepted and eternal.
Except this is palpably untrue.
Church teaching has always shifted and adapted. Even perceived cornerstones of Catholicism often have surprisingly late dates of formalisation. Transubstantiation, the belief that the bread and wine transforms into the body and blood of Christ was not officially codified by the Church until the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215. This is not to say the belief was invented then, but that for the fist 1200 years of church history, it was possible to be Catholic and to reject what is now the absolute heart of Catholic theological teaching. The Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary was not church dogma until much later, being officially proclaimed in 1854 while the Assumption of Mary was not formalised until 1950. I don’t write this to undermine or challenge these dogmas, but simply to make the point; church teaching changes.
And it should change. Afterall, what is a church, except a community of believers? Yes, Catholics believe in the Apostolic Succession, that our church leaders descend from a spiritual line harking back to St Peter, but that succession is simply a formal way to demonstrate that we are part of a community of believers stretching back to Christ. We learn from each other, not only in our churches today, but from those who came before us. Every generation has faced new challenges, and the church has adapted to answer, encourage and support its adherents. We are fortunate to be inheriting not only our faith from our forebears, but all the richness of inherited wisdom which has come to us with it. If the church had never changed, our faith would be much poorer.
In the Catholic tradition (and in this instance, I mean the broader sense of Catholic, including Anglicans and Orthodox denominations) we also recognise the Saints. If the church is a body of accumulated wisdom, then the Saints are its accumulators. Their lives, teachings, sufferings, triumphs all help us to understand our faith. Importantly, they remind us that the Holy Spirit is constantly at work, in every human being and across every generation. Though evil constantly threatens our societies, there are always good, holy people called to be lights in the darkness. They are instruments of change, and it is often through their guidance that the church changes for the better.
There are thousands of examples we could explore, from St Francis establishing his order of poverty while Pope Innocent III presided over one of the most powerful, wealthy papacies in history. Or St Hilda of Whitby who presided over the Whitby Synod and proved pivotal in ensuring England joined the Roman Catholic church, as opposed to the earlier form of Celtic Christianity. But what is a common factor in the lives of many Saints is the resistance, and at times the hostility, they face within the church itself. And it is this, often ignored, aspect of the Saints which is so powerful a lesson for us today.
St Catherine of Siena, for example, in addition to her profound text, ‘The Diologue of Divine Providence,’ was also credited for ensuring the Pope returned to Rome after a long period of schism in which a Pope also resided at Avignon, France. Gaining a reputation for holiness and charity in her own lifetime, she was also interviewed by the Dominican authorities in 1374 to ensure she was not preaching heresy. Criticisms of her included that she sought to create her own power within the church, that she was a fanatic, and that her mysticism was inspired by the demonic, rather than God. These criticisms often came from prominent figures within the church hierarchy, including a priest and theologian called Lazzarino de Pisa, who sought to defame and refute her.
St Teresa of Avila is another powerful example. A mystic who penned a number of spiritual works, including her immortal ‘Interior Castle’ she also reformed the Carmelite order and produced a profound volume of prayers, directives and contemplations which are still used today by Catholics and non-Catholics alike in their attempts to deepen their spiritual practices.
Yet the opposition to Teresa was intense. In 1576 she was forced into a voluntary retirement by her own General Chapter (the governing body of her order) who also forbade the foundation of her reformed style Carmelite religious houses. Between 1575 and 1580, she was subject to investigation by the Spanish Inquisition, who feared her mysticism and her growing influence. She overcame these obstacles, and there are few within the church who would claim that her contribution to Catholicism has not been incredible. Both Teresa of Avila and Catherine of Siena were the first women to be made Doctors of the Church in 1970, cementing their reputation as heroines of the Roman Catholic faith. Yet both of them, in their lifetime, faced intense opposition by church authorities.
Another, blunter example of the internal opposition Saints often face can be found in St Joan of Arc. Immortalised as a French national symbol, Joan of Arc was a peasant girl, who claimed to have visions of St Michael, and occasionally also of St Margaret of Antioch and St Catherine of Alexandria. Famously, she was given command of the French army when the nation was close to collapse, and led them to victory, helping to bring the Hundred Years War to an end. Her demise is well known, Joan of Arc was captured by the Burgundians, handed over to the English and she was burnt at the stake in 1431 aged just 19.
Except she was not killed simply by the English. St Joan of Arc was burnt as a heretic, and it was the church authorities, albeit English ones, who condemned her. Her visions were claimed to have been demonic, and in particular, Joan refused to submit to church authority, claiming that she would be judged by God alone.
We have to be careful to remember that these were English church authorities. Her trial was not a fair one, she was kept in horrific conditions, she was not given proper counsel, nor even told fully what charges she was facing. She was also showed torture instruments to try and force her into accepting the authority of the court. But it is equally important to remember that Joan could have been treated as a political prisoner. The decision was to try her on religious grounds, and while the clergy may have been English, they were non-the-less Catholic clergy who colluded with the secular powers to lead to her death. Joan was a devoutly Catholic peasant, who had been gifted profound visions, yet whose own church authorities refused to acknowledge them. She was canonized in 1920, thus the church which had colluded in the death of Joan of Arc, now venerates her as a Saint.
The lesson here is explicit. In Catherine of Siena, Teresa of Avila and Joan of Arc we see three extraordinary women, called by God to shape the world around them. In all three Saints we see people who faced condemnation, criticism and accusations of heresy by church authorities. Yet in all three examples, they were right. They refused to be silenced, and it was the church who changed, listened and responded. As Catholics today, we are all so much richer as a result.
So let us, perhaps, hope that in our own time the Holy Spirit calls upon people to shake us in the church. Far from being a static, unchanging monolith, it is a living, breathing institution, formed by the wisdom of the ages and the goodness of the people who are part of it. Change happens. Perhaps slowly, almost inevitably with intense resistance, but always for the better.
As St Julian of Norwich wrote after her 1373 vision, “All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.”
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