Why I won’t take a job at the Vatican

By Phil Lawler ( bio - articles - email ) | Feb 19, 2021

If the Vatican offers me a job, I’m not going to take it.

To be honest, no one in Rome has been clamoring for my services. And I don’t think I’d be terribly comfortable around the Vatican these days anyway. But the die was cast when I saw that the Vatican is requiring all employees to take a Covid vaccine. Employees who refuse the vaccine could lose their jobs, the Vatican statement warned. Well, since I’m going to refuse the vaccine, let’s all save ourselves some time and trouble.

Today the Vatican issued a new statement, to “clarify” the earlier decree. No one will be fired for declining the vaccine, the update assured us; no one would be punished for conscientious objection. But for those interacting with the public, “alternative work solutions” would be found. In other words you would be removed from your job. Given new responsibilities, perhaps, raking leaves in some isolated corner of the Vatican Gardens. The “clarification” fails to clarify, but if I read it aright, while a recalcitrant employee would not be fired, he would lose his job.

The original Vatican statement said that vaccination would be mandatory (save for those with health exemptions) because it is “the responsible choice.” I disagree. If others choose to take the vaccine, I do not object. If doctors recommend it, I respect their advice. But the Vatican city-state does not (or at least should not) dispense medical recommendations. And I see many reasons why a Vatican employee might decline the injection.

• We don’t know how well the vaccines work. None of the vaccines guarantee immunity against Covid. Some tests have indicated that the odds of testing positive for Covid plummet among those who take the vaccine. But those odds never reach zero; some people who take the vaccine are later infected.
• We don’t know how long immunity will last. Insofar as the vaccines protect against infection, that protection may wear off—or may not work for a new variant of the coronavirus. Flu vaccines provide only limited protection; these vaccines very likely have the same limitations.
• We don’t know whether someone who is immunized can still pass along the virus. Even if you are safe from infection, you may still convey it. So if your reason for vaccination is to keep others safe, you may not achieve that goal.
• Many people experience side effects after vaccination, and sometimes those side effects are serious—even fatal. True, only a tiny minority of cases involve such serious side effects. But then, only a small minority of Covid cases require hospitalization. (Yes, I acknowledge that the rate of serious disease from Covid far outstrips the rate of serious side effects. But no one is deliberately injecting himself with the coronavirus.)
• The long-term effects of the vaccines are unknown. These vaccines have been rushed to market with emergency approval, without the years of study that are ordinarily required. Will there be any adverse consequences, years down the road? We are in uncharted waters.
• The vaccines were developed from, and/or tested on, tissues derived from the cells of aborted babies. Catholic moralists have wrestled with the question of whether, since the abortions occurred long ago, accepting the vaccines is “remote material cooperation” that could be justified in an urgent case—which the Covid epidemic is presumed to be. The Vatican has concluded that vaccination is morally acceptable, in fact commendable; the US bishops’ conference has reached the same decision. But as the head of the US bishops’ pro-life committee has observed, Catholics are not morally obligated to accept the vaccine. Some people may choose to make a moral statement by refusing the vaccine, even though they might be able to justify taking it. I am one of those people.
• The rush to vaccinate is driven by an inordinate fear of disease. Legitimate public-health precautions are certainly justified during an epidemic. But panic is unworthy of mature Christians. During troubled times the Catholic Church should be a beacon of hope, helping nervous people to keep their fears in perspective. Our faith does not protect us against Covid infection. But if the problem is not just Covid infection but the more insidious Covid-fueled desperation, then—as I argue in my forthcoming book, Contagious Faith—faith is a stronger antidote than any vaccine.