Death Or Rebirth in the New Decade

by Benedict J. Groeschel, C.F.R.

Last summer, in a public lecture, I mentioned—quietly but pointedly—that the little religious community to which I belong has been granted the status of a diocesan religious order by Cardinal John O'Connor, with the necessary approval from the Vatican's Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life. I described how we had grown from 8 to 50 friars in 12 years, and were expecting a dozen postulants in the fall of 1999.

Perhaps I also made the mistake of mentioning that I am the only old man in the group; the mean age is about 32, and would drop to 28 if I managed to drop dead.

These remarks were reportedly seen by one woman in my audience, herself a religious, as triumphalistic. I hope they were not. But I wanted to make a very pointed demonstration of the fact that religious life does not have to die in the English-speaking world.

Within the next decade, many religious orders will face extinction. These include many communities, which have done outstanding work, and even now have large numbers of aging and dedicated religious—who feel deeply disheartened. One elderly religious told me that she felt her community was lost in the forest of absurdity, denial, and silly ideas.

This trend grieves me, as it grieves thousands of others who were educated by armies of dedicated religious in the recent past. As a "sisters' boy" (11 of my first 12 years of schooling were with the sisters), I experienced the faith and generosity of a number of remarkable women of talent, dedication, and charity. Yes, I did know some grouchy sisters, and a couple who really did seem unhappy. But the large majority were great Christians and real disciples. Now all of these communities, which taught me face extinction.

Men's communities are not doing much better. But they have been somewhat stabilized by the factor of the priesthood. The pastoral responsibilities carried out by communities of priests at least give the impression that the community is continuing its work. But is it doing so as a religious order? Ten years ago, in my book Reform of Renewal (Ignatius Press), I attempted to analyze the causes of this unfortunate trend; I feel that I should do so again, because all of my most dire predictions have come true.

I want to make this analysis with a very clear message in mind: There is a way out of this disaster. Every conscientious religious—sister, brother, or priest —can now take some practical steps, try to rescue what is left, and start over again.

There is a special reason for doing this sort of analysis at this time. At last all of the nonsense has died down; now one can be heard. It is obvious to any reasonably observant person that the large-scale renewal efforts attempted by most religious communities were a fatal mistake. It will take a lot more humility than brains to admit this; you don't have to be a genius to see what is going on, but you may have to be humble to admit it. Those who still think that we have been on the road to the renewal and revitalization of religious life since 1965, and that a Golden Age is just over the hill, are just plain stupid. In fact, I have not heard that silly song for a number of years now.

Let's face it: Religious life has been wiped out. I will not bother to give the long list of pre-morbid symptoms. If you cannot see this problem, please do read this article.

Causes

I shall be bold enough to make a list of the causes .If you do not like my list, make a list of your own. But do make a list.

First, there are the general causes that have undermined religion in the Western world: a loss of religious conviction related to worldliness, consumerism, and the desire for personal ease are just the first at the top of the long list of destructive influences. Worldliness has damaged the family, and the whole fabric of society, making personal convenience the supreme value. This has led to the legalization of infanticide, and probably will soon lead to the acceptance of killing the elderly and seriously handicapped.

Second, in the large Christian churches there has been an erosion of commitment caused by skepticism, relativism, and even materialism—that is, the not very subtle denial of the supernatural and transcendent. Many of the flashiest theologians have undermined both the priesthood and the whole idea of religious consecration. They ignore completely any search for inner life with God, which is the very purpose of the religious life. Naturalistic and mundane values have been accepted as indicating the path to happiness and peace.

The damaging effects of this kind of silly optimism are diametrically opposed to Gospel teachings, and are only now being recognized as such. Every aspect of Catholic life has been weakened by an excessively anthropocentric and anti-spiritual point of view. The result has not gone so far as to lead to a complete loss of faith, perhaps, but there has been a broad acceptance of little faith. In fact, little faith has become the norm. Any anthropological study of religious life in the world religions, wherever they flourish, will make it clear that a serious commitment to belief in transcendent principles is essential to the existence of religious life. You will look in vain for a Unitarian monk or a nun of the Ethical Culture Society. These two groups are at least honest enough to admit their rejection of the obligation to believe in a transcendent God.

The third cause of decline in religious life has been the uncritical acceptance of 20th century psychological theory. Admittedly, religious life had become oppressive by the 1950s. There were unhealthy strains of something similar to Jansenism, and a reinforced obsessive-compulsive behavior, along with all the good things that were happening at that time. Pope Pius XII on several occasions had called for an adaptation of religious life to contemporary experience and to the current needs of the Christian faithful. He was almost completely ignored.

When change came, it was born in an atmosphere of frustration, and was a large-scale reaction to neurotic repression. The spectacle that resulted is embarrassing to recall. I suspect that all of us who went through these times made big mistakes; I certainly did. Unfortunately, popular psychology was accepted as the equivalent of, and even replacement for. Sacred Tradition. Karl Rogers, Carl Jung, and even Sigmund Freud replaced Sts. Benedict, Dominic, Francis, and Teresa, and even the more recent founders like Elizabeth Seton and Catherine McCalley. By now, all of these psychological gods of the 1950s and 1960s have fallen. They made their contributions—which were usually overblown —and now (to use a Biblical analogy) they are gone "like grass in the field."

Inadequate Theories, Uncritical Acceptance

People often ask me how I survived as a psychologist. It was not difficult. By God's grace alone, I had a grasp of the philosophy of science. I came to treat psychological theory like snow, and the truths of faith like solid rock. I fitted the snow around the rock. I accepted and rejected theories. I held on to revealed truths. And I was blessed to work with the poor, who often have a better grasp on reality. Otherwise I would not be a priest or religious today.

Parenthetically, here it may be helpful to recall that Catholics as a rule do not know how to deal with scientific theory. We inevitably elevate theories into articles of faith. Properly understood, a theory is a temporary explanation for a phenomenon. It may be rejected at any time for another; a new theory is assumed to be a better explanation.

Unfortunately, religious orders are very vulnerable to the uncritical acceptance of theories—to seeing them as eternal truths, as it were. This makes religious communities—even of fairly intelligent people—vulnerable to very dumb decisions. Get a group of people working together, with no effective method by which saner voices can make themselves heard, and the stupid will become institutionalized. Very bright religious will not consider critical evaluations against the presently accepted theories. This is because of a false understanding of religious obedience, and also from the somewhat bizarre assumption that what a religious community decided to do is true and good, simply because the community decided to do it or said a few prayers before they did it. No doubt the Scribes and Pharisees went home that Friday afternoon feeling that they had done the right thing in getting rid of a religious rabble-rouser.

When one considers this phenomenon among religious people, the analogy of lemmings running together toward the sea is an uncomfortable one, but not totally uncalled for. The loss of any real identity and the totally obscured purposes of the institutions that call themselves Catholic universities and colleges is uncomfortable to behold. This is especially true when one considers the unjust violation of the will and desires of the institutions' benefactors. A comparison with the pompous worldliness displayed by the Roman Curia on the eve of the Protestant Reformation is by no means completely off the mark.

In a rather silly way, religious up until 40 years ago pretended to be perfect, or at least thought that they might be perfect. This silly notion has been transformed into the goal of being relevant and perfectly self-fulfilled. Any voice suggesting some critical evaluation of this trend was ignored or shouted down.

Decline In Religious Life

Religious life in any major world religion is based on the ideals of the observance of poverty, chastity, and obedience. These are lofty ideals, and are never perfectly achieved. Often, at times of decline, they are sadly neglected. The specific causes for the decline of religious life are directly related to the neglect of the three vows, and are only indirectly related to the decline of Western culture.

It may be a surprise to learn that I believe that the initial and foundational mistake that was made was the rejection of poverty. As so often happened in the past, religious orders become too rich, with too much real estate and too much money in the bank. In fact, to refer to what was being observed by most religious in the 1970s, as poverty is simply ludicrous. There was common life, to some degree—the sharing of things, and the need to ask permission. But the notion that these communities were living poverty was a pure illusion. Many of the buildings erected for religious orders in the decades after the Second World War were far from poor or even ascetical (although for the most part they were quite ugly). But then religious discipline was relaxed, and fortunes were spent on secular clothing, glitzy furniture, flashy cars, gifts galore, and other disedifying things. Whatever this was, it was not in any sense poverty.

The erosion of the ideal of chastity was the logical result of an uncritical acceptance of the Freudian theory of pansexualism and regression—the notion, in absolute contradiction to the Scriptures, that one could only achieve mental health by sexual expression and even by amorous relationships. This notion was accepted with hardly a nod toward the stern teaching of our Lord in the Sermon on the Mount. A biblical scholar could always be found who doubted whether Jesus ever said or taught that chastity is an ideal for anyone.

Incredibly, in a nightmare of moral confusion, homosexual behavior was tolerated and at times even encouraged. Religious communities that had enjoyed sterling reputations because of the work done by generations of dedicated members were now besmirched and humiliated when reports of sexual misbehavior spread outside the community.

Human nature will always have difficulty with an ideal calling for complete sexual abstinence. Good people, placed under stress, will sometimes fall. But when the ideal becomes a lie, then there is disorder. In this case, the disorder means loss of the very purpose of religious life and the end of seeking for God and personal love of Christ. A simple and common biblical text would have answered questions about sexual morality with beautiful simplicity. Even if one accepted some of these popular theories, one could still have recalled: "Blessed are they who walk in accordance with the law of the Lord." And unblessed are they who do not.

The loss of religious obedience is perhaps less obvious. People need to work to stay alive. So what looks like religious obedience may simply be the acceptance of employment. Perhaps the worst abuse of obedience is not its absence, but the arbitrary and unkind treatment of the many older religious who are subject to isolation, and required to participate in New Age rituals, which offend them deeply. I have a file full of letters sent to me by older religious whose human rights are constantly being violated in this area.

This in brief is the sad story. Religious life always comes back to life. But it only comes back when people are willing to accept the reforming power of the Holy Spirit. There is every indication that now is the time to begin the reform. Young people in their 20s and 30s are desperately looking for religious institutes that are reforming; they want to join. The majority of religious also want this reform, but few are willing to take serious risks and pay the price that is required. However, the work of reform is a constant requirement of the Gospel; it is an obligation of conscience. Each one of us must answer for this obligation when we stand before our Maker and Redeemer. We have, unfortunately, forgotten the Last Judgment, or put it so far out of our minds that our lives show no attempt to walk along the straight way or to enter by the narrow gate. We might recall that this injunction comes directly from the words of Christ.

What Is To Be Done?

The question of what we should now do is a frightening one. One's salvation may depend upon the honesty of the answer. There are the following possibilities to consider.

1) We might begin a serious reform, and a return to authentic religious observance and apostolate within our own communities. But there will be great resistance from those who only perform the minimum in religious life, with no real spiritual life at all, and perhaps little or no faith. They will fight reform by every means possible. And they will be unscrupulous, because they have lost all moral sense. They have become habitual liars without saying a word—simply by pretending to be religious when in fact they are not. There are not many of these people, but most religious know who they are, and pretend these people are on their own way to God. I repeat that such people will oppose reform by every means: honest and dishonest.

2) Then there are the passive, dependent souls, who have found a cleft in the rocks and do not want to be disturbed. Usually their spiritual life is a boring round of duties, often done with a spirit of resentment, and by this time in Church history there is no fire left in them at all.

3) Next there are those who are more or less aware of the crisis, but years without hope of change have left them defeated. They often pay the price for not having spoken up earlier. Some of them realize that they are somewhat to blame for the crisis themselves, but they do not know what to do.

4) Then there are those who live on hope. They rejoice at the grace shown by the young vocations, but they feel guilty that these young people are being disappointed or even scandalized. These are usually the only people who openly push for reform within the community, but they are ignored at chapters. They must speak up now; they must not be intimidated into silence; they must take on responsibility when it is offered to them. Responsibilities are now reluctantly being given to these people, because there is nobody else left to take them. Many religious orders have finally reached the point where they have no choice but to give responsibilities to those members who are dissatisfied with what has gone on for the last 20 years or more. This represents the only way that is likely to bring religious orders back to life.

In the orders of men there is greater hope for reform, because most of those who were really opposed to genuine religious life have now quit. This is especially true in the clerical orders, because the type of person who did not want to serve the faithful is now gone. Many men's communities now resemble a burned-out ship, marooned on a beach. It is time to cut a new mast from the forest, improvise a sail, and see if it is possible to get the ship afloat before it rots on the shore.

The situation is more complex in the orders of women. Feminism and New Age nonsense absorb a lot of energy. Many women religious, however, retain a certain family loyalty to the identity and memory of their institutions, long after the spirituality and apostolate have actually disappeared. I would like to believe that there are enough women committed and strong enough to restore observance, bring back religious garb of some unworldly and recognizable kind, and begin a common evangelization together with a common life. This will take brave, tough people, who are not afraid of the possibility of failure or complete rejection. But being an old "sisters' boy," I still hope that such women can be found, and that women's religious life on a large scale can begin over again.

A New Institute?

Finally there is the possibility of beginning a new institute.

Many religious think of this possibility, but they do not have the resources—spiritually or materially. In particular, they may not find the support of a diocesan bishop, which is an essential key to success. Or they may not have people with the leadership ability that is necessary to start a new community. But it is at least an option worth considering.

New religious institutes of all kinds are flourishing in central Europe, and they are beginning in the English-speaking world. They have been founded by one or more religious, usually with the goal of preserving the charism of their own original institutes.

This is what we eight Franciscan Friars of the Renewal sought to do. We tried to remain canonically attached to our original community, but were unable to do so. However, we have committed ourselves to maintaining the vision of the original founders, and even of being familiar with and responsive to the history of the Capuchin reform during the past 400 years.

There is the other experience of starting a religious institute that is basically new. Some of these new communities in Europe include both religious and consecrated lay people, married and unmarried, as in the community of the Beatitudes. Other new communities follow the traditional model of religious life but have a new charism, which requires a new founder, properly so called. The common denominator among the individuals involved in these new ventures is that they are serious about reform. In an article in America magazine (February 28, 1998), Albert DiIanni, SM, describes the annual meeting of the Fellowship of Emerging Religious Communities. He was pleasantly surprised by the vitality and the adherence to traditional principles that he found manifest among all these new ventures—which now number well over 100 in the United States alone.

To rescue a word that has become hackneyed, these new communities have a high degree of "authenticity." When you encounter a new emerging community, do not expect it to be made up of saints. But do expect to encounter people who are committed to the Gospel—people who are on fire with a quiet love for God; people who are really concerned about poverty, chastity, and obedience; people who are dedicated to love and service of their neighbors, especially the poor. And these communities get vocations.

New communities have all the same problems as the old ones, but they can, and often do, have a kind of enthusiastic commitment, which has not been seen in the older communities for several decades. If the community is not attracting vocations, it is time to examine the reality of the community as it exists—not as its documents legislate, and still less as its vocational material describes it. There may be a theoretical commitment to poverty, but no real experience of it. The prayer life or apostolate of the community may be pro forma, with no willingness to take chances and make sacrifices.

Taking Chances

Members of religious institutes love to be safe, like the man who buried his talent in the earth. I have even seen this in the new communities: a fear of being "phony" often makes them dull, and they become quite ossified in a very short time. In some cases there has been so much pretense, and so much theoretical discussion of the vows, that in a sort of reaction the communities become formalistic, and in doing so they discourage the very vocations they have sought to attract by virtue of their effort to gain greater authenticity.

Part of the answer to this problem lies in a genuinely sacrificial apostolate—in giving until it hurts, not just giving until it feels good. That most thriving of all new communities, the Missionaries of Charity, have done so well because they are dedicated to the poor. This requires sacrifice.

There are other eminently worthy apostolates, such as the desperate need for authentic Catholic education. But one has to be careful; you can get very comfortable in the school world—especially on weekends or during the summers. The goal of St. Paul is ultimately the safest way to go: "I will most gladly spend myself and be spent for your souls" (1 Cor 12:15).

The key word in all of this discussion is "truth." Like all real founders, St. Francis loved to be what he said he was. In his plain-spoken way, he used to say, "I was never a robber of alms." Are we robbers of alms? Are we trying to be what we say we are?

In an extremely pertinent observation, St. Augustine tells us that he saw the splendor of God's presence within him before his conversion, but he turned away in fear of losing what he enjoyed. And then the Lord left him. Why did God leave him? It was because God would not share himself with a lie. A meditation on that observation of St. Augustine might do a great deal to encourage new communities, and also to point out the way for old established communities.

The way to escape from the pre-moribund lethargy, the comatose situation, which seems to grip so many religious communities today is for every committed member to go on a silent retreat, and prayerfully examine the degree of honesty that they have in their commitment to the ideals of the founder or founders. Once they have confronted this, they must ask the Holy Spirit to lead them in taking the next step toward community reform.

Preferably, this should be done without plans. Plans have been the curse of religious communities for the past generation. Most of them have come to nothing. Today, what we need is to be led.

Mother Teresa founded the Missionaries of Charity on a silent retreat, while she still belonged to another community. We are not Mother Teresa, but we must do the same thing. In our one-to-one encounter with God, in silence and honesty, we must ask to be led toward the understanding of what we can do to bring a community back to life.

If we are not able to do this, then we must ask the equally difficult question: How can we lead an honest Christian life in the midst of something that has become, unfortunately, a lie?

Father Benedict J. Groeschel, CFR, is the author of Reform of Renewal. His community, the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal, is dedicated entirely to the care of the very poor and homeless, and to evangelical preaching. The community has grown from 8 to 50 men, with 12 new postulants arriving in the fall of 1999.

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