Should We Leave The Church?

Should we leave the Church?

It’s a question many people have been asking themselves following the past month’s scandalous revelations of sexual abuse and coverup, and a question we all must ask ourselves. Even if we answer in the negative, we must be able to give an answer to the follow-up question that will be asked us by family, friends, co-workers, and our own consciences: “Why not?”

Many of us are disgusted by the sexual abuse described in the Pennsylvania Grand Jury Report and alleged of a former cardinal of the Church.

So we should be.

Many of us are heartbroken at the wounds that have been inflicted on thousands of victims.

So we should be.

Many of us are angry and feel betrayed at the cover up and perpetuation of this abuse by leaders within the Church.

So we should be.

Some are leaving the Church on account of all this.

So, should we?

It’s as serious a question as we will ever ask ourselves, as the ramifications are eternal, for us as well as for those whose actions lead us to leave or stay. I can neither answer the question for any of you nor pass judgment on any who feel compelled to answer it in the affirmative.

What I can do is answer it for myself, and to do so I must borrow my response from St. Peter in the Gospel we will hear at next Sunday’s Mass. In that Gospel we will hear the conclusion of Our Lord’s teaching on the necessity of consuming His Flesh and Blood to have eternal life within us.

  As a result of this,

  many of his disciples returned to their former way of life

  and no longer accompanied him.

  Jesus then said to the Twelve, “Do you also want to leave?”

  Simon Peter answered him, “Master, to whom shall we go?

  You have the words of eternal life.

  We have come to believe

  and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

“Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Were I to leave the Church, I would be leaving a corrupt Church for a corrupt Humanity. I would be leaping out of a leaky ship into the very shark infested waters into which it was sinking.

No, I choose to stay in the ship and help fix the leak.

Because, the truth is, humanity within the Church and humanity outside of it is cut from the same strange cloth. Every person with a heart beating in their breast is capable of ascending the heights of sanctity or falling into the depths of depravity. If this past year hasn’t shown this to us, I don’t know what will.

No position or title guarantees sanctity, so we should always be wary of placing anyone on a pedestal, and yet more wary of what we are liable to excuse or ignore to keep someone perched unworthily atop of one.

Conversely, no life of depravity is beyond the reach of God’s grace, so we must never despair of any brother or sister who seems distant from Our Lord - especially those who want nothing to do with the Church because of what her ministers have done.

The heights of sanctity and depths of depravity, with every human heart found somewhere in between the two.

It is providential, I believe, that the report of these abuses came just a day before we celebrated the Assumption of Our Blessed Mother into Heaven, because as we stared at the vile underbelly of the Church - which is shamefully no better than the vile underbelly of humanity itself - we desperately needed a glimpse of the Church’s glorious crown.

We needed to know that the ugliness of the Church seen in these scandals doesn't compare to the beauty of the Church in Our Lady and the Saints. We needed to know the incomprehensibly broad spectrum that makes up the Church - with a bottom as sinfully low as all the rest of humanity, but with a top that reaches into Heaven itself.

So I find myself between these two - the unspeakably shameful sinfulness of my brothers and the glorious sinlessness of my mother - and I cling with my broken self to this broken Church.

Why?

Because there are good priests to balance the bad ones? No.

Because there are faithful bishops to counteract the wicked ones? No.

I didn’t become a member of this Church because of a good priest or a good bishop and I will not cease being one because of bad priests or bad bishops. The Church is more than priests and bishops.

I cling to this Church because here, in the midst of all the sin, I find the only remedy for sin: Jesus Christ.

Here and only here do I encounter both physically and spiritually the God who descended not into a neat humanity that had its act together, but a humanity that was, is, and ever shall be in desperate need of His salvation.

Here and only here do I physically receive Him into my sinful self as the medicine it most desperately needs.

To be honest, if I found a perfect Church, I wouldn’t be admitted. I wouldn’t make the cut. Or if I did, I would soon be found out as the one unacceptable sinner in the bunch and be asked to leave.

I’d venture to guess that’s the same for all of us in this church today. So what do we do?

Excuse the sins of these priests and bishops because we’re all sinners after all? Absolutely not.

What we do is choose. Which side of the Church do we emulate: the vile underbelly or the glorious crown? Do we take up the call to ascend the heights of sanctity or just stand off to the side and decry the depths of depravity we have witnessed without doing anything ourselves to counteract it?

Because, sadly, this is not the first great scandal the Church has seen. Since that first bishop to betray Our Lord did so with a kiss, each generation has seen its own Judases.

And the only thing that has ever brought true healing and renewal to a sick Church in the wake of every scandal has been those willing to become saints - to cling to the Christ their fellow Christians betrayed, to let the light of sanctity dispel the darkness of depravity, to restore to the world the wounded witness of what the Church is meant to be.

Because, let’s face it: the Church’s witness to the world right is not only wounded but shattered. And how many hearts that long for Christ will never encounter Him because of it?

Will we allow that to happen? To have the deplorable actions of some within the Church be the only image the world has of it?

Or will we take up the call to be the true face of the Church? The one that shelters the weak rather than prey upon them; the one that heals rather than wounds; the one that lets the Lord use it for good rather than use the Lord as a cloak for evil.

While we make that choice in our hearts, I would like to address any of you who have ever suffered the trauma of abuse at the hands of anyone in your lives.

I won’t pretend to know the depths of what you have been through and what you are going through, so I won’t expect you to heal on any sort of neat timetable. I won’t tell you what to do, how to do it, or when to do it. But I do want to make clear that your healing and your safety are more important than any reputation - Church leader’s, family member’s, teacher’s, coach’s, anyone’s. Please don’t let concern for someone’s pedestal keep you from seeking whatever help, healing, and justice you need.

For any of you who will be trusted with a disclosure of abuse, I beg you - do not let pedestals and concern for reputation make you immediately disbelieve or dismiss. Truth is more important than reputation, every time.

For all of us, where do we go from here? The only place it makes sense to go when we are angry, confused, and saddened by what our brothers have done: we run into our mother’s arms.

We jump in Mary’s lap and we tell her what our brothers have done, how angry we are about it, how truth be told, we don’t even know how to feel right now.

And we allow her to put her arms around us, to rock us back and forth, and say as only a mother can, “It’ll be alright. What happened was awful; you’re right to be angry and saddened, but I’ve got you in my arms, and I tell you, it’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. I’ve got you.”

So together we turn to the mother who holds us:

Dearest mother, We are confused, saddened, and angry at the awful things that have been done by our brothers, by members and representatives of our own family, the Church.

We come to you in this state, needing a mother's love and consolation.

Help us to cling to Christ above all else, to go directly to Him in His flesh and blood and let Him make us saints.

We offer to you all victims of abuse, that you may console them and heal them as only you know how.

We pray for all abusers, that you may lead them to repent of their sin, do penance, and convert back to Christ.

We pray for our Church, that she may heal from these wounds inflicted by some of her ministers and continue to be the place where fallen humanity may encounter Christ, its savior.

We come before you, dear mother, and pray to you:

Hail Mary, full of grace…

[This was my homily for the 20th Sunday of Ordinary Time (B), preached on August 18 and 19, 2018]