THE IRON TIME OF DOUBT

Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm. Jeremias

There's one question that perplexes thoughtful men and women of faith: Why do Catholics continue to support certain traditional clergy in the face of so much damning evidence? Many laymen, indeed, have left their chapels in disgust, but there remains a stubborn minority who ignore the shocking behavior and keep on enabling these clerics.

Attributing such irrational persistence to ignorance or to brainwashing or to social class rings hollow. For one thing, it doesn't account for the allegiance of the morally well-grounded, who assist at traditional chapels while shamefacedly acknowledging the manifold shortcomings of their priests. People who otherwise would condemn cultism in other confessions never tire of repeating the meme that Catholics in the Sede Vacante must submit to these poorly formed opportunists in all matters.

One explanation comes from a highly unexpected source, a new book titled Religion for Atheists. The Swiss-born author, Alain de Botton, argues poignantly and sympathetically that religion, especially Catholicism, fosters a deep sense of community through its rules, rituals, doctrines, and liturgy, which give men and women both supernatural values and a common purpose and direction. Most significantly, genuine religious communities help hold "our fractious and fragile societies together." Despite his avowed secularism, de Botton is captivated by the transformative power of a religious community to heal the loneliness and alienation troubling modern man.

But what does all this have to do with the problems we experience with many traditional clergy?

In a word, under "traditional Catholicism," self-seeking clerics have a pre-packaged, stellar model for success, so no excess of talent and ability is necessary. All they have to do is to decorate the setting, utter more or less the words people want to hear, mount the externals people more or less want to see, and wait for the money to come rolling in. If they've got a gift of gab, a sense of theater, and enough reference books, they can produce something that will almost pass, at first glance, for a harmonious and humanizing faith community.

The difficulty is that in many cases the image is inauthentic. The empty welcoming postures, the overproduced ceremonies, the holier-than-thou and saccharine words don't quite satisfy, because self-interested advancement and control, not unselfish surrender in service to the faithful, motivate so many of these priests and prelates. True, it's not always easy to put your finger on what's wrong. Often we have to rely on our inner sense that something's fishy. One example, will illustrate our point.

De Botton contends that, as a result of modern society's "worship of professional success," our only access to a community depends on what we do for a living. If we have the right kind of job title, we are welcomed; if not, we are rejected. However, in the Church, where we put aside worldly values, "[i]t no longer matters who is the bond dealer and who is the cleaner." Inasmuch as job status isn't important to the Church, she invites us to "surrender our attachment to it." Happiness, we learn, is found in the Church's embracing community, which could care less about the trappings of earthly achievement.

Whatever dispensation de Botton belongs to, certainly most traditional Catholics would agree with his analysis. Yet, when we scrutinize the behavior of so many traditional priests and bishops, we find an altogether different ethos. At community dinners, clergy sit segregated at special tables reserved for them, where they are waited on and sometimes served better fare. A few take expensive vacations at high-end resort properties and return with travelogues of the lavish treatment they received. In sermons, you often hear little asides made about grand meals and deferential service for a bishop. In newsletters and bulletins, there are frequent references to the priest's or prelate's personality, achievements, and the impression he makes upon the little people he meets. Then there's always a good word -- and special privileges -- for the big contributors. In sum, what you get in a many a traddie chapel is a careerist's paradise, with its constant reminder that they have status and you don't.

Perhaps in the Sede Vacante we can't expect mere men to behave well. With no hierarchy, there is no locus of control to keep an error-prone man from pursuing material advantages and earthly prestige at the expense of his brother and sister. For some stout souls, the answer is to cross these hungry status-seekers off and stay home alone. For others, however, the need for some form of Catholic community and the sacraments urges them to remain with such clergy notwithstanding the nagging doubts and the absence of longed-for consolation.

If you are among the latter, you have an option. You don't simply have to take it. You can start by taking back your chapels. You are not powerless or without resources. You hold the pursestrings, and you can demand that your clergy clean up their act. But you must act together -- as a community -- if you want the peace you've been searching for.

When at last the Restoration gives us a sovereign Roman pontiff, Catholicism can return to a monarchy, but in the Sede Vacante, we must have a democracy to protect us from men grievously ailing from the effects of original sin.