This week’s topic is brought to us by the archbishop of Toulouse, France, who has just promoted a convicted rapist to archdiocesan chancellor. One of the best things I ever did was follow a bunch of normal-person priests on social media, so that when bishops pull despicable stunts like this, I can immediately see the horrified reactions from decent guys who love Jesus and just want to serve their parishes.
It’s consoling.
I want to look at this topic in three parts.
#1 There are certain clergy who just don’t care.
You would think that pastoral ministry is a “caring profession” but just like medicine, social work, or education, your local or diocesan staff may include a few genuinely callous souls.
There are the lovable jerks who mean well but just can’t quite manage to be nice; there are indifferent clergy and staff who don’t set out to do evil but frankly don’t care if they happen to hurt someone; and there are genuine psychopaths.
For another example of indifference, the same archbishop is the one who outlawed cassocks for seminarians.
==> It’s not about being liberal or conservative, this is an example of a cleric just not caring that a given benign form of pious dress, and one with long historic usage, has meaning and importance to a group of the faithful. (My latest chapel veil rant was prompted by another example of that — I don’t take well to fashion police.)
I have no opinion on whether the archbishop of Toulouse is a psychopath, but we can say with 100% certainty that if it’s 2025 and you promote a person who has served time in prison for raping a minor to a prominent position of authority, you clearly just don’t care that this decision of yours will be heart-breaking to the faithful and scandalous to the entire world.
This guy is not alone.
You, a regular Catholic (or person of another religion, evil is non-partisan) minding your own business just trying to be a normal person of faith, may have encountered a clergy member or other person in authority who just doesn’t care.
Maybe it was about something very serious, like sexual abuse.
Maybe it was some kind of everyday discrimination, like denying access to church activities for those with disabilities, foot-dragging over communion for people with allergies or celiac disease, or guilt-trips and nagging rather than patience and compassion for members of the shadow parish.
Maybe you were given impossible requirements for accessing the sacraments like the mom I heard from who wasn’t allowed to bring her baby to baptism class, but wasn’t allowed to attend the class before the baby was born, either.
Maybe someone in leadership at your church is just rude and dismissive and never seems to want to help, and makes you feel like you’re the crazy one for wanting basic things that should be normal in church life.
What you need to know is: This happens.
It’s not your imagination.
Maybe you are indeed the hyper-sensitive fragile flower with unrealistic expectations, but also maybe not.
#2 You don’t deserve to be treated this way.
You can tell an honest goofball or an overworked staff member because when they realize they’ve done something hurtful, they express sorrow for the situation.
Maybe they apologize because they actually did something wrong (accidentally or otherwise); maybe they just commiserate that they wish they could help you with your thing, but they are stretched too thin, lack the capacity, aren’t sure where to begin, or wish they had known sooner.
Sometimes of course someone will jerk you around by putting you on the insult-apology merry-go-round, but that’s less common. (Still, be aware it’s a thing and if you recognize a persistent pattern, back away and exit quietly but definitively. These are nasty people.)
More often, when people just don’t care, they will act like you’re the one who’s at fault. Obviously you don’t love Jesus if you can’t figure out how to make it to the class.
Don’t want a convicted rapist as chancellor? You must not be “merciful.”
Wish you could physically get in the doors of your church building but the ramped entrance is kept locked? Well, we can’t do everything for everybody, it’s not all about you.*
Mean people always have excuses for why they shouldn’t have to take responsibility for their mean actions.
They will try to convince you that totally normal things that you should desire to experience at church are somehow unreasonable. They will try to convince you that because other people go through much worse, the thing that is hurting you just doesn’t matter.
Don’t let yourself get brainwashed by the lies.
Surround yourself with normal, healthy voices of other faithful Catholics who can see and agree that mean, stupid, or reckless behavior isn’t normal or acceptable, no matter how highly-placed the person committing the offense.
#3 Your wounds are real.
When people stab you in the gut, it hurts and it leaves scars.
Deacon Tom McDonald has a great piece up on the pain of losing a child, and in it he writes about how our suffering, and I think this true of much smaller wounds, leaves an indelible mark:
What remains is a scar they will carry for the rest of their lives and beyond this world, because that scar is a remnant of love, and it must remain, not as an open and bleeding wound, but as a mark on the soul. When Jesus displayed his resurrected body to the apostles, the scars of his wounds remained. He wasn’t still bleeding. But he also was not who he had been. He had changed.
Our clergy are supposed to be people we go to for help, for healing, for consolation. When instead we are treated callously, it wounds. We go to Jesus in the presence of His mystical body, the Church, seeking to love and be loved . . . and don’t get the love.
Just as neglectful, indifferent, or abusive parents leave painful wounds on their physical children, neglectful, indifferent, or abusive clergy leave painful wounds on their spiritual children.
Sometimes the wounds are big, such as for that teenager who was raped by his priest. Sometimes the wounds are small — little spiritual slaps in the face or kicks in the shins that are easy enough to walk away from, but nonetheless leave you changed.
And the thing to know is that God can and will glorify these scars. That doesn’t mean the thrust of the spear doesn’t tear you open, but it means that you can allow that gaping hole, through the grace of God, to bleed out compassion and mercy.
Someday maybe someone will put their hand into that wound of yours, and see that you made it through despite the agony, and it will help them hold onto their struggling faith.
It’s an evil thing that happened, but we can snatch it back from the evil one and turn it into something with saving power.
Artwork: The Apostle Thomas probing the wounds of Jesus, Caravaggio, Public Domain.
*Actually, yes, Jesus does want you, personally, coming to Him, and receiving the sacraments from Him, even if you can’t do stairs. Or get through the crowd.
It’s not enough that “most” people receive the sacraments and are actively incorporated into the Body of Christ. The Lord came to call every single one of us, and if your parish doesn’t have the mission of reaching everyone in its territory, even the inconvenient people, your parish is doing it wrong.
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