Spot Check: How Many of Archbishop Lori’s Pastoral Letters Have You Read?
16th Sunday of the Year
There’s a guy I think a lot about. I don’t really know anything about him. But I figure he lived somewhere between the 5th and the 15th century, somewhere between the British Isles and the Ural Mountains. All I do know about this Medieval European guy is that he lives in small village in the countryside, where he tends a farm and attends to his family. I also know he is a faithful Catholic—the only religion he knows—and attends Mass every Sunday at the simple parish church in his village. Thanks to his pastor, he knows the basics of his faith—enough to keep him on the path to salvation—but nothing more. This guy knows that there is a pope, who lives in a far-off place called Rome; and he also knows that there is a bishop, who lives in a city, not quite as far-off as Rome, but still far enough away to be out of sight and out of mind.
I think a lot about this guy because while he knows about the pope and the bishop, he hasn’t read their letters or sermons; he hasn’t seen their television interviews; he doesn’t follow the blogs that pick apart their pastoral leadership; in fact, this guy probably doesn’t even know their names.
For this guy—and to be clear this guy represents a very large portion of the world’s population for many, many generations—the Church started and stopped at the front door of his parish. He knew that there were other Catholics in other villages with other parishes who learned from other priests; and perhaps he understood that parishes are organized into dioceses, and dioceses are managed by bishops, and bishops are appointed and governed by the pope, the bishop of Rome. But if he grasped any of that intellectually, it didn’t mean anything at the level of experience. His faith was simply the faith he could see in front of him, lived with and through the people he could see around him.
I think a lot about this guy because he grasped something we all too easily lose sight of. We live in an unprecedented time in the Church’s history, when the lines of locality have been blurred beyond recognition; and often enough, even when they are recognized, they are just as easily ignored when they do not suit one’s preference. But while the Church is universal, and she is the same always and in every place, the Church is also local; and what I want to emphasize is that we only have access to the universal Church by way of the local Church. To put it another way, the Church is not simply reducible to our parish that we can see in front of us; but it is only through our parish that we enter into and participate in the great mystery that is the Mystical Body of Christ that extends across time and space.
The imagery of Israel being like lost sheep in need of a shepherd is dotted across the Old Testament. We find the prophet Micaiah in the second book of Kings saying: “I see all Israel scattered on the mountains, like sheep without a shepherd, and the Lord saying, ‘These have no master!’” (22:17). Then comes Jeremiah’s prophecy in today’s first reading that the Lord himself will pasture his sheep and appoint shepherds to guard them, “so that they need no longer fear and tremble; and none shall be missing.” Jesus obviously is the fulfillment of this promise, as the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep; but Jesus also holds good on his promise to appoint other shepherds, in addition to and as extensions of himself. The Church’s hierarchical structure—that there is a pope, and the pope manages the bishops, and the bishops manage the dioceses, and the dioceses are organized into parishes, and the parishes are led by pastors—is the visible, tangible expression of God’s fidelity to his word that he would shepherd his people in peace.
What I think previous generations grasped better than we do is not that this hierarchy exits but that it is vertical, not horizontal. You see, the simple village farmer understood that he was a member of the Catholic Church because he belonged to his parish and none other. Even if only implicitly, he believed he maintained a connection with Christ through his pastor, and through his pastor to his bishop, and through his bishop to the pope, with the pope being the vicar of Christ on earth. His understanding of the Church was vertical. Meanwhile, for various reasons, our perception of the Church is far more horizontal—its verticality in our time has been flattened. So, while we do not doubt the authority of the pope or of bishops or of pastors, if we find that we do not like what the bishop or pastor in our direct line has to say or what he does, then we jump to that parish over there. Or we start following that bishop on social media. Or we pit the teaching of this pope against that of a former.
Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with listening to others beyond our pastor or bishop or current pope. Certainly, no one person has all the answers to how we should live the Christian life; and there are, without a doubt, good pastors and good bishops all around; and the past popes, especially those of recent memory, were excellent intellectually, spiritually, and pastorally. I only want us to pay attention to two things: (1) our disposition toward our pastor/bishop/pope; (2) how much we read and listen to what they have to say verses any others. (And I want to be clear: this homily is one I’d preach in any parish today. Father Brian did not pay me off to come in here to convince you to submit to him!).
First, what’s going on inside me when I hear the names of those appointed shepherds who stand in the vertical line between me and Jesus? Does something within me start to curdle? Or am I open to what the Lord Jesus might be trying to say to me through them and their ministry? This is not a call for blind obedience. There is nothing wrong with thinking critically and even challenging our shepherds after careful consideration. But do I find charity in my heart toward them? This is good question for us to spend some time with.
Second—and let me be on the nose—take stock: how many books are on my shelf are by Bishop Barron and how many of Archbishop Lori’s pastoral letters do I have on hand? How much money have I given to Word on Fire and how does that compare with what I’ve given to the Archdiocese of Baltimore? How much time do I give during the week listening to Catholic podcasts and YouTube videos versus how much time do I think about what I heard in the homily at Mass in my parish on Sunday? Again: I deeply admire Bishop Barron and I am a full-on subscriber to his mission, which is bearing great fruit in the Church. But I must stop to ask myself: Do I give the attention I ought to my local church, to my own Archbishop (who I also deeply admire), and to the needs that are present around me?
These are questions for our reflection—yours and mine. I want to close with what I’d call the inverse-wedding homily. At weddings, I always end up talking about how marriage is a sacrament of Christ’s love for the Church; so married love is supposed to image or mirror divine love. But the analogy is a two-way street. If married couples are supposed to love each other in good times and in bad, in sickness and health, for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, then the love Christ has for the Church and the love Church must have for Christ must be equally committed. It is not always easy to love the Church. It is not always easy to love those who represent and who shepherd the Church. But as Saint Paul teaches us today: “In Christ Jesus you who were once far off have become near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace, he who made both one and broke down the dividing wall of enmity, through his flesh…. He came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near, for through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.” Establishing the Church, with its shepherds, is what Jesus has done to bring us through the Spirit to the Father. So let us be docile and follow what our Good Shepherd has done and allow him, through the means he has established, to lead us to eternal life.
For your convenience, Archbishop Lori’s pastoral letters and reflections are archived here.
Homily preached July 20, 2024 at St. Ignatius, Ijamsville.