Nothing to Hide: Secrecy, Communication and Communion in the Catholic Church

NOTHING TO HIDE

NOTHING TO HIDE

Secrecy, Communication, and Communion

in the Catholic Church

By Russell Shaw

IGNATIUS PRESS    SAN FRANCISCO

Cover art: © iStockPhoto

Cover design by John Herreid

© 2008 by Ignatius Press, San Francisco

All rights reserved

ISBN 978-1-58617-218-3

Library of Congress Control Number 2007928876

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Introduction

The Very Worst Scandal of Our Times

Monstrous Doctrines and Prodigious Errors

Media Matters

All in the Family?

A Case for Openness

The Church with Nothing to Hide

Endnotes

INTRODUCTION

The consequence is clear: we cannot communicate with the Lord if we do not communicate with one another.

—Pope Benedict XVI

Let us begin with The Da Vinci Code. The book and the 2006 movie were based on the premise that the Catholic Church engaged in a huge deception about Christ from the very start. Their commercial success made it clear that many people either were willing to suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the grotesque tale they told or else believed it.

The New York Times quoted one moviegoer: The Catholic Church has hidden a lot of things—proof about the actual life of Jesus, about who wrote the Bible. All these people—the famous Luke, Mark and John—how did they know so much about Jesus’ life? If there was a Bible, who created it and how many times has it been changed? The newspaper identified the speaker as a twenty-five-year-old associate director of a Bronx senior center—a Catholic who, it said, was baptized and confirmed in the church, went to Sunday school for six years, and still attends Mass twice a month.¹

The results of the cover-up of clergy sex abuse are visible in reactions like this. So are results of many other abuses of secrecy. The Da Vinci phenomenon capitalized on mistrust of the Church, and while much of that mistrust is unfair, that does not make it any less real. Even though some people seize on the Church’s alleged failures of candor to excuse their own dishonesties, in other cases mistrust is a reaction to real offenses against openness and honesty, past and present. There is an enormous amount of work to do to repair the damage to the Church’s credibility. And make no mistake—credibility is crucial to the Church’s success or failure in preaching the gospel.

Hence this book.

When I told an eminent theologian I was writing a book about the abuse of secrecy in the Catholic Church and its cousins—lying, stonewalling, happy talk, failure to consult, and the rest—and would appreciate having his advice on sources to consult, he told me to read canon law. I haven’t thought much about secrecy, but it’s a canonical question, he explained.

So I read canon law. I found canons dealing with secret records and archives, the seal of the confessional, and the secrecy of the ecclesiastical courts called tribunals that handle marriage cases. All this was interesting, but it was not what I was looking for, and it is not what this book is about.

Nothing to Hide is not concerned with legitimate secrecy of the kind required to protect confidential records and people’s reputations. It is concerned with the stifling, deadening misuse of secrecy that does immense injury to communion and community in the Church.

And, despite what my friend the theologian said, that kind of secrecy is a theological problem as well as a practical one. Specifically, it is a problem rooted in ecclesiology, the theology of the Church. The questions it raises boil down to these: What kind of church do we want our Church to be, open or closed? What kind of church should it be? And how much secrecy is compatible with having such a church?

A kind of inverted logic often enters into the discussion of these questions. The Church is a communion, not a political democracy, it is said; therefore openness and accountability do not count for too much in the Church. But the argument should go just the other way around: the Church is a communion, not a political democracy; therefore openness and accountability are even more important in the Church than they are in a democracy.

In a paper delivered some twenty years ago to a conference for the continuing education of priests, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger—now Pope Benedict XVI—had this to say about the reality of ecclesial communion:

Fellowship in the body of Christ and in receiving the Body of Christ means fellowship with one another. This of its very nature includes mutual acceptance, giving and receiving on both sides, and readiness to share one’s goods. . . . In this sense, the social question is given quite a central place in the theological heart of the concept of communion.²

Among the goods to be shared, one might add, it is appropriate and necessary to include, along with materials goods, the goods of truthfulness and honesty.

This is a beautiful vision of the Church. In its own small way, the present book seeks to make a modest contribution to realizing it in the concrete circumstances of the present day, by helping to end the culture of secrecy, first in American Catholicism and then, one hopes, beyond it as well, and replacing that destructive culture with an open, accountable community of faith.

Nothing to Hide is organized as follows.

Chapter 1 is an introduction to the nature and dimensions of the problem as it now exists.

Chapter 2 offers a brief historical overview, focusing especially on the First Vatican Council (1869-1870) and the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965).

Chapter 3 examines the abuse of secrecy in the Church’s media relations, with particular attention to the ups and downs in the practice of the Catholic bishops’ conference of the United States since Vatican Council II.

Chapter 4 discusses issues of internal communication in contemporary Catholicism.

Chapter 5 presents some preliminary reflections relevant to the development of a theology of openness in the Church.

Chapter 6 makes concrete suggestions concerning steps to take in order to foster openness, accountability, and shared responsibility in Catholic life.

The book contains many anecdotes, and there is a reason for that. In speaking about the abuse of secrecy in the Church, I have often encountered denial—the refusal to see, much less admit, that there is much of a problem here. People in positions of authority are particularly likely to react that way. So it is necessary to show in concrete terms that the problem does exist and that it is serious. Anecdotes are a way of doing that. Some of the incidents recorded here are small, even trivial, and some plainly are not. All of them are drawn from real life. Taken together, large or small, they add up to a disturbing picture.

Someone who read a draft of this book complained that I was attributing moral fault to people in leadership positions in the Church. That is a bad misreading of what the book says. The problem examined here—the abuse of secrecy—is a systemic one with a long history. People take it for granted as part of the way we have grown accustomed to doing business. It is not a moral fault, but it is a serious mistake that does the entire Church much harm.

With only a few exceptions, I am speaking in this book about American Catholicism. The Vatican and the Church in other countries have their own histories, their own customs and cultures, and it is not any business of mine to diagnose and prescribe concerning what I understand either imperfectly or not at all. American Catholicism is a different story. I have been an American Catholic all my life, and, based on personal and professional experience, I think I am qualified to speak about the Church’s culture of secrecy and the faults and flaws in her structures and practice of communication as I have experienced them.

I encourage others to do the same and in this way make their contribution to the fellowship in the body of Christ of which Pope Benedict speaks.

Several people have offered helpful suggestions in the writing of this book. In a special way I wish to acknowledge the many very useful insights and ideas I received from Dr. Germain Grisez, which have greatly strengthened the book in a number of places and especially in the development of its argument for openness. Needless to say, its weaknesses are my responsibility, not his.

Chapter One

THE VERY WORST SCANDAL OF OUR TIMES

It was the kind of letter every writer likes to get—serious, thoughtful, mellowed by the wisdom of experience.

I had published a magazine article about the growing overuse of secrecy by the bishops of the United States when they gather for their general meetings. In reply, an elderly bishop, nearing retirement at the time, wrote to share his own long experience on this matter and what it had taught him. This, in part, is what he said:

As a priest formed in the cauldron of the Second Vatican Council, I don’t have any reluctance to proclaim truth, even in circumstances that seem difficult. More scandals come from attempting to control access to truth than ever came from honesty and openness.

   The very worst scandal of our times in the Church has been the sexual predations of some priests. The attempt to keep such matters secret on grounds of protecting reputations through the years simply allowed the evil to fester and grow. And when the dam of secrecy finally broke—as it always will—the whole Church suffered for its lack of candor.

   When [measures to ensure secrecy] are employed because the matter is of such moment that it cannot be entrusted to the plebs, that decision seems to contradict not only the conciliar documents on the right to know, [but] it also calls into question the overall role of the lay people to participate in the Church’s decisions. (personal communication)

This letter seemed to me then, and seems to me now, an honorable contribution to discussion of a problem seldom recognized and, at least until recently, seldom discussed: the abuse of secrecy in the Catholic Church. I wish more bishops, pastors, religious superiors, administrators of religious institutions, and ordinary Catholics were as open and honest about it as my friend the bishop was. My hope here is to advance this discussion because I care about the Church and want to help her.

Abuse of secrecy is a systemic, structural, and ecclesiological problem, grounded at least in part in an imperfect understanding of the Church herself. It has many sources, including those that operate to produce abuses of secrecy in nonchurch settings, such as government, corporate life, and the military. But because the problem under examination here is secrecy in a church, it also arises from and is inseparably linked to a special factor peculiar to churches. Its name is clericalism.

The abuse of secrecy occurs in many areas of Catholic life: finances, the appointment of bishops and pastors, Church governance, and much else. It has a deadening, alienating effect wherever it is present. But the link between clericalism and secrecy can most easily be illustrated in the case of the clergy sex abuse scandal. I have written about clericalism before, and in some circles (mainly clerical ones), I have a reputation of being a bit of a fanatic on the subject. At the risk of reinforcing that impression, let me explain what I mean.

Secrecy and the Clerical Culture

Clericalism in the Church, I once wrote, is something like the pattern in the wallpaper: it’s been there so long you don’t see it any more.¹ But visible or not, clericalism and the clericalist culture were at the heart of the sex abuse scandal.

By clericalism I mean an elitist mindset, together with structures and patterns of behavior corresponding to it, that takes it for granted that clerics—in the Catholic context, mainly bishops and priests—are intrinsically superior to the other members of the Church and deserve automatic deference. Passivity and dependency are the laity’s lot. By no means is clericalism confined to clerics themselves. The clericalist mindset is widely shared by Catholic lay people.

Clericalism did not cause sex abuse, nor did sex abuse cause clericalism. But the connection is very real. Sex abuse in a clericalist social setting naturally takes on a clericalist coloration, making it difficult to keep the two things separate and distinct. To put it simply, the attitudes and behavior patterns tied to clerical elitism time and again came into play when priests were found by their superiors to have engaged in abuse. These attitudes and patterns of behavior made what already was a tragedy for some individuals into a calamity for the entire Church. There is no other way of credibly explaining the actions of bishops known to be decent, intelligent, conscientious men who nevertheless hushed up the shameful crimes of wayward priests and repeatedly transferred some of them to new parish assignments without so much as putting the parishioners on notice.

As we know now, of course, some bishops were themselves wayward men. Moreover, bishops consistently received astonishingly bad