“They like our money,” the canonist said. (As
well they should; the bishops’ conferences of the United States and Germany
are, according to official figures, the two largest contributors to the
Vatican’s annual budget). “And they like our personnel. We’re good managers,
we get things done.”
“That,” he concluded, “is about it.”
|As it does every year, the
North American College, home to U.S. seminarians in Rome, marked Dec. 8,
the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, with a Mass and a luncheon. It’s
a special day for the college, because it was Dec. 8, 1859, that twelve
seminarians formed its first class.
(Those 12 guys entered
the original NAC on the Via dell’Umilita, around the corner from the Trevi
Fountain. Today’s 200-plus seminarians live in a larger facility on the
Janiculum Hill. I can see the tower of its chapel from my office window.
Former rector Timothy Dolan, now an auxiliary bishop in St. Louis, once
told me that Pope Pius XII asked his best friend, Cardinal Francis Spellman
of New York, to erect the complex in part as a way of putting Romans to
work in the post-war years).
I was happy to be among
the guests on Dec. 8, because it’s a good chance to connect with fellow
Americans in Rome, and also because the NAC knows how to lay out a good
spread. (A gaggle of seminarians is assigned the happy task of bringing
around as many additional helpings as you might require, and I managed
to keep a couple of them on their toes).
I received a door prize
of sorts from the new U.S. ambassador to the Holy See, Jim Nicholson, in
the form of a lapel pin featuring crossed Vatican and American flags. Wearing
it around, I found myself ruminating on the odd love/hate relationship
between the Vatican and the American Catholic church.
Last week I interviewed
some of Rome’s leading canon lawyers for a story about a new process for
handling, among other things, accusations against priests for sexual abuse
of minors. One of those canonists is an American who has spent years dealing
with the Vatican’s ecclesiastical courts. We began talking about how America
is perceived in the curia.
“They like our money,”
the canonist said. (As well they should; the bishops’ conferences of the
United States and Germany are, according to official figures, the two largest
contributors to the Vatican’s annual budget). “And they like our personnel.
We’re good managers, we get things done.”
“That,” he concluded,
“is about it.”
By which he meant
that while curial types appreciate the resources of the American church,
many also harbor a deep antipathy. They see American culture as rooted
in Calvinist individualism, with, consequently, an under-developed concept
of community and of the church.
Reflecting this view,
Cardinal Francis George of Chicago recently said that immigrants to the
United States from Catholic nations of Latin America have a difficult time
adjusting to the “cultural Calvinism” they find north of the border.
Many of us who work with
the curia have encountered this perception.
Case in point: Most nights
I leave work around 7:00 pm, and I usually catch a bus for home that stops
by the Vatican. There an under-secretary from a curial congregation, a
kindly little Italian monsignore, often gets on, and he and I have
become conversation partners. He’s usually the one to start things, and
it’s almost always the same thread: How can I justify the awful behavior
of U.S. Catholics?
The first time we met,
he wanted to know why U.S. Catholics felt they could pick and choose among
the teachings of the church. I objected that this is hardly an American
phenomenon, pointing inter alia to a new Datamedia poll showing
that 74.7 percent of Italians believe divorced and remarried Catholics
should be able to receive the sacraments without an annulment. The same
poll showed a majority of Italian Catholics say that in their parishes,
such people receive the sacraments regardless of church rules.
My under-secretary friend,
who has been to the United States all of three times, granted that such
tendencies exist everywhere, but insisted the situation is “much worse”
I then tried arguing
that individualism has not prevented us from developing much more vital
parish communities in the post-conciliar years than most places in Europe,
again to little avail.
A few nights ago, our
paths crossed again as my wife and I were leaving the Paul VI audience
hall after a papal concert. This time the monsignore wanted to talk
about Ex Corde Ecclesiae, the 1990 papal document on Catholic higher
education that requires theologians to get a clean bill of health from
How is it possible, he
wanted to know, that American Catholics could put up a fuss about this
document? Don’t they realize that the faithful have a right to have church
teaching presented accurately?
After pointing out that
there is a strong conservative wing of the American church that defended
Corde, I tried to explain why other Catholics were bothered by it.
I pointed to the psychological impact of the McCarthy era in American politics,
how anything that smacks of loyalty oaths and blacklisting doesn’t go over
well. I added that case law on church/state relations also plays a role,
since the level of ecclesiastical oversight of American Catholic universities
could affect, among other things, their eligibility for some kinds of funding.
My conversation partner
wasn’t buying it. He insisted that the reaction against Ex Corde
is a rebellious assertion of individual freedom against the collective
good of the church.
The problem is not that
this guy is all wrong, but that he sees only one side of a complex picture.
By themselves, I suppose,
his attitudes aren’t all that important. As one long-time Vatican friend
of mine puts the point, “In every office there are five guys who get things
done and about twenty who lick stamps.” The man I share the bus with almost
certainly falls into the second category.
Yet his prejudices do
reflect, I believe, a widely held curial view, a way of seeing the American
church that reaches as far back as Leo XIII and the crackdown on “Americanism”
in the late 19th century. There’s something very European about
it, a combination of awe and resentment about the United States.
Which, in a roundabout
way, brings us back to the NAC. The establishment of national colleges
in Rome in the middle of the 19th century was part of the centralizing
strategy of Pope Pius IX, designed to anchor the future leaders of local
churches more closely to Rome by making sure they imbibed its spirit during
their formative years.
I bump into guys from
the NAC often, as my office is just down the hill, and I can see Pius IX’s
philosophy at work. In a handful of extreme cases, the seminarians can
be “more Roman than the Romans,” projecting an unctuous piety, defending
every papal utterance, and mimicking the worst, most clubby aspects of
A Roman professor friend
of mine loves to tell the story of an embassy party he attended with some
of the best-known professors from the city’s pontifical universities, along
with a smattering of bishops. A group of seminarians from the NAC had been
invited. The profs and bishops, feeling no need to prove themselves, showed
up in casual dress. The NACsters, however, arrived in freshly pressed clerical
suits, Roman collars and French cuffs, and stood out like sore thumbs.
Wry smiles filled the room.
Yet this sort of thing
is really not representative, despite what some media coverage of the new
breed of conservative seminarians may suggest. Most of the guys at the
NAC, in my experience, are well meaning, competent young men preparing
to serve American parishes and dioceses as best they can.
It’s true, of course,
that the people at the NAC are aware of how Americans are viewed in Rome,
and it’s natural that they (at times unconsciously) seek to send reassuring
signals by wearing the right clothes and saying the right things.
Yet I found myself praying
Dec. 8 that the NAC will also foster an appreciation for the individualism
about which the curia sometimes frets. The church needs the diversity it
generates. Every now and then, the church needs cantankerous folk who buck
up against the system, who challenge it, and who keep it vital.
Rome, in other words,
needs our prophets as much as our profits.
* * *
An update and an invitation.
I recently made a comparison
in this column between a Vatican conference I attended on family and sexuality
issues, and a hearing of the European Parliament where I had been invited
to chair a session on the same topics. I suggested, on the basis of these
experiences, that a gulf separates the Catholic church from international
bodies such as the UN and the EU. Rather tongue in cheek, I proposed that
perhaps Colombian Cardinal Alfonso Lopez Trujillo, who runs the Pontifical
Council on the Family, and Parliamentarian Lousewies van der Laan, a Dutch
liberal and Vatican critic, should sit down for coffee to try to find common
I was surprised by this
prompt response from van der Laan:
“I would like to consider
the part you write, about Lopez Trujillo and me trying to find common ground
over a cup of coffee, as an invitation. Because of your understanding of
both sides of the line, you would be the ideal moderator who could prevent
us from drifting off on our own prejudices about each other, and help make
it a real dialogue. As a journalist you have a good excuse for setting
up a conversation like this.”
It’s creditable openness,
in my opinion, and certainly the prospect of an encounter between two such
intelligent, rhetorically gifted individuals with strong views on important
issues gets my journalistic juices flowing. As it happens, I have to be
in the Council for the Family on other business this week, and I intend
to sound Lopez Trujillo out on the idea.
Watch this space for
The e-mail address for John L. Allen Jr. is
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