The Conciliar Tradition of the American Hierarchy
Twenty-five years ago this month, Pope John Paul II made his first pastoral visit to the United States, and met his brother bishops of this country in Chicago. In his address to them, the former university professor used a style that was pedagogically both innovative and effective: he quoted from an array of documents and pastoral letters which the American bishops collectively had issued on spiritual, moral, and pastoral matters, affirmed their teaching, challenged them to continue and strengthen it, and, in the process, shrewdly gave a papal benediction to the genius of the American hierarchy to work collegially, collaboratively, and in concert. It was as if the Successor of St. Peter was nodding in agreement with the observation of James Hennessy that "the bishops of the Catholic Church in the United States have perhaps the proudest conciliar tradition in the Church universal."
My purpose this evening is to look at the history of this tradition, and I begin with two caveats. First, in no way do I mean to imply that other national hierarchies lack such a collegial tradition. Prelates in France, Poland, and Spain, just to name a few, for instance, had been meeting in canonically approbated assemblies long before the Ark and the Dove brought proto-Catholics to Maryland in 1634. While our legacy of national episcopal collegiality might be particularly consistent, effective, and exemplary, it is in no way unique.
Second, I admit that the word "conciliarism" is loaded. In applauding the distinguished heritage of American hierarchical "conciliarism," I do not mean what Brian Tierney defined as a "catchword for theories asserting that a council is superior to a pope," an idea which reached its peak at the Council of Constance in 1418, reappeared in the Febronian and Gallican movements, and was, no surprise to anyone, soundly condemned as heretical by Pontiffs beginning with Pius II (1458-1464), and by both Vatican councils. No — I use "conciliarism" not to mean a theological movement, but a style of ecclesiastical polity where bishops find it helpful and effective to exercise their apostolic munus in concert, collectively, collaboratively, as a group, and not only as individual diocesan bishops.
This conciliar tradition antedates even the establishment of the diocese of Baltimore, our premier see, in 1791. In that period of ecclesiastical limbo, the 1780s, before we even had a bishop, when nobody really knew who was in charge, Father John Carroll invited his brother former Jesuits — former since the Society of Jesus had been suppressed in 1773 — to three organizational meetings at Whitemarsh, Maryland in 1783, 1786, and 1789. These were collaborative assemblies of the two-dozen or so clergy which discussed such matters as property, education, priestly formation, and eventually, the need for a bishop and a diocese. Thus, the tradition of collaborative deliberations is an early one in our history.
As his biographer, Annabelle Melville, observed, John Carroll was an amazingly talented, pragmatic, perceptive, and reluctant leader. What qualified him to assume a role of leadership in the post-revolutionary nascent Church was not only his name, belonging as he did to the most prominent, influential, wealthy, and impeccably patriotic Catholic family in the new country, not only his innate organizational abilities, but also his gritty pragmatism: he realized that the developing situation in the former thirteen colonies called for a Catholic Church with some homegrown characteristics, a Church which needed some distance from Europe, a Church that simply had to "get its act together" if it were to survive and prosper. As Brother Thomas Spalding noted, John Carroll was a quintessential American, who believed that a common purpose and plan, hooked to some organization, could provide the structure necessary to deal with most problems.
Thus, very soon after his consecration as our first bishop in 1790, John Carroll again summoned his clergy, this time not to a voluntary organizational assembly, but to a canonical diocesan synod at St. Peter pro-Cathedral in Baltimore, from November 7-10, 1791. The twenty-two priests there spoke of the dangers of mixed-marriages, the Easter duty, the disposition of parish funds, priestly vocations, and the religious education of children, themes, you will note, which would, mutatis mutandi, find their way on agendas of canonical meetings all the way up to the one planned for next month.
As you know, in 1808, Pius VII made Baltimore an archdiocese, with suffragans in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Bardstown, Kentucky. Three of the four new bishops were consecrated by Archbishop Carroll in the Fall of 1810, and there followed two weeks of meetings in what was an unofficial provincial council. Among the resolutions were those discouraging dancing and theater-going, and, more seriously, a request to the Holy See that future episcopal nominations be made by the U. S. hierarchy, not by European prelates. Chagrin with the way the Apostolic See appoints bishops would characterize most sessions of bishops' meetings, probably all the way up till the one scheduled for next month, although now such criticisms are usually only expressed at coffee breaks or in executive session. Finally, they decided to hold the first official provincial council in 1812.
Well . . . "the best laid plans." We know what happened in 1812. No chance of a council in Baltimore while the British were bombing the city! Carroll died in 1815; Leonard Neale followed for two years of dying until 1817. Ambrose Marichal, the third archbishop of Baltimore, felt a provincial council unnecessary, so the eventual impetus for a council fell to another man, one of the most colorful prelates we have ever had, John England, a priest of Cork, Ireland, appointed first bishop of Charleston in 1820, who can legitimately be called the real father of our conciliar tradition.
According to Peter Guilday, his biographer, John England urged his brother bishops to hold regular councils for three reasons: one, as did John Carroll, he felt the pastoral challenges of the Church in America demanded such regular, formal meetings; two, he felt councils would be good PR. American culture considered the Catholic Church backward, secretive, undemocratic, and foreign-controlled. What further way to show Americans that such perceptions were silly, reasoned Bishop England, than by regular meetings, with such American niceties as resolutions, voting, and open debate, demonstrating that American Catholics were creative, confident, and able to care for themselves. A third reason why John England felt a provincial council was necessary because he considered the Archbishop of Baltimore a failure, who needed a fire lit under him to get off his cathedra. John England would go through the next twenty-two years of his life impatient with what he considered the lackluster performances of the archbishops of the premier see, convinced that the occupant of that throne should be dynamic, articulate and conciliar — in a word, himself.
The stubborn Marechal died in 1828, smiling that England had not gotten his council. His successor, James Whitfield, had no objections at all to a council, and immediately summoned the First Provincial Council of Baltimore for October, 1829. Now, I'm not going into detail on all the councils, but let me spend at least a couple of minutes on this first one. After a preparatory meeting in the archbishop's house, thirteen private, thirteen public, and three solemn sessions were held in Baltimore's Cathedral October 3-18, 1829. Six bishops and one apostolic administrator attended; three bishops were absent due to health, distance, or travel in Europe. A lawyer, the Mark Chopko of the day, Roger Brooke Taney, the future chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, attended as legal counsel. Thirty-eight decrees were promulgated and sent to Rome for approval. The bishops sent as well a letter of felicitation to Pope Pius VIII and a letter of thanks to European mission societies.
Let me mention a few of the decrees of this first provincial council so you can get an idea of the topics:
- Trusteeism: correction to and warning about the popular belief among some American Catholic laity that they had the right to hire and fire their pastors;
- Biblical translations approved (Douay);
- Liturgical texts approved (The Roman Ritual);
- Clerical discipline, especially dress, behavior, residence, and pay, promulgated;
- The need for a catechism discussed.
The council fathers sent two pastoral letters, one to the clergy and one to the laity.
All the decrees were sent to Rome, to be approved in 1830.
This more or less set the praxis for all the following councils. The bishops were unanimous in their agreement that this first provincial council was fruitful — it had enhanced their cohesion as bishops, supplied consistency in ecclesiastical discipline, and sealed bonds with Rome. They were all excited about having one every three years . . . except for, guess who? . . . the Archbishop of Baltimore, who had to come to resent England's prominence. It was only after John England, Joseph Rosati of St. Louis, and Francis P. Kenrick of Philadelphia complained to Rome about Whitfield's sluggishness that the Congregation Propaganda Fide, that dicastery of the Holy See responsible for the Church in mission countries, under which we would come until 1908, ordered him to call one, that the reluctant Whitfield convened the Second Provincial Council of Baltimore, a year later than planned, in October 1833: diocesan boundaries, candidates for the episcopacy, the laws of fast and abstinence were all discussed, decrees promulgated, pastoral letters composed to the clergy and to the laity, acta sent to Rome . . . you get the picture.
Four years later, the new Archbishop of Baltimore, Samuel Eccleston, who would preside over all the remaining provincial councils, summoned the Third Provincial Council in 1837, which, among other things, issued an interesting pastoral letter dealing with the rising anti-Catholicism of the day. Unusually bold, the letter firmly condemned outbursts of anti-Catholicism, and demanded equal rights and protection of the law for Catholic citizens.
The Fourth Provincial Council of 1840 (the last John England would attend) considered topics for the first time which would later consume our episcopal ancestors, namely, the anti-Catholic nature of public schools, Catholic membership in secret societies, the danger of mixed marriages, and clerical scandal caused by drink, money, and sex.
The Fifth Provincial Council took place in 1843; the sixth one, in 1846.
Now, the Seventh Provincial Council of Baltimore, 1849, should actually have been our first Plenary Council, because in 1846 Oregon City had become an archdiocese, and St. Louis a metropolitan see the next year. The Archbishop of Oregon City and his suffragans did not attend; Peter Richard Kenrick, second bishop and first Archbishop of St. Louis, with uncharacteristic graciousness and humility, allowed Archbishop Eccleston of Baltimore to preside, but the council was not plenary in nature. The fathers expressed allegiance to Pius IX, then a refugee in Gaeta from the forces of the Risorgimento temporarily occupying Rome, and unsuccessfully asked the Apostolic See to grant the Archbishop of Baltimore the title of primate.
Our First Plenary Council of Baltimore will take place from May 9-20, 1852, with the new Archbishop of Baltimore, Francis Patrick Kenrick, as apostolic delegate. Six archbishops and twenty-seven bishops were in attendance, and they promulgated twenty-five decrees, one of the first being to extend the decrees of the seven provincial councils to all American dioceses. Catholic parochial schools were now urged, and guidelines for the organization of chancery offices were given.
The Congregation Propaganda Fide approved all the decrees of the council a year later. Interestingly, in a private letter to Archbishop Francis P. Kenrick, the prefect of the congregation warned that American bishops should quit asking for exceptions to universal Church law lest the U. S. Church take on the appearance of an independent national Church.
At the conclusion of the Civil War, the American bishops expressed the desire for a Second Plenary Council, and this would take place in 1866. In announcing it, the man appointed apostolic delegate, the Archbishop of Baltimore, Martin John Spalding, gave as the motive, "that, at the close of the national crisis, which had acted as a dissolvent on all sectarian ecclesiastical institutions, the Catholic Church might present to the country and the world a striking proof of a strong bond of unity . . . "
The Holy See, in approving the agenda, asked that the following topics be considered: pastoral care for the freed slaves, the method of nominating bishops, the problems of priests unattached to any diocese or religious order, the necessity of seminaries, feasts, fast days, and holy days of obligation, and the proposal for the erection of new dioceses.
Seven archbishops, 38 bishops, three abbots, and 120 theologians participated, and President Andrew Johnson attended the final session. (Whether or not he received Holy Communion is not known!)
The next, and last council, was not to occur until 1884, the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore. It was the Holy See that summoned the archbishops of the country in 1883 to Rome to plan the assembly, where curial officials observed that, since the country's first and only cardinal, the Archbishop of New York, John McCloskey, was too frail to chair the sessions, an Italian archbishop would have to be sent as legate. The American metropolitans were less than enthusiastic about the idea, and persuaded Propaganda Fide to appoint the Archbishop of Baltimore, James Gibbons, to preside.
Seventy-two bishops attended the month-long November session. Among the decisions of the council were that priests were given a voice in the choice of their bishops through diocesan consultors; parochial schools were mandated; a committee was set-up to establish a Catholic University; and another to prepare what would become known as the Baltimore Catechism. Matters of pastoral urgency such as care for the immigrant, temperance, secret societies, and ethnic tensions were discussed.
So, seventy-five years had passed since the First Provincial Council and the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore, ten in all. The jury of history would consider them quite successful. Keep in mind that provincial councils and diocesan synods would follow each of the three plenary councils. The results and benefits of this system were clear:
- A cohesion had developed among American bishops, who got used to a collegial structure and a unity in governance;
- Consistent discipline and stable Church life was established, a goal of our hierarchy since John Carroll;
- Bonds with Rome were strengthened, as the Holy See actually summoned the meetings, suggested agenda, and approved the decrees. Contrary to the popular perception, Rome encouraged, even demanded, the American conciliar tradition;
- American society was impressed by the initiative and organization of the hierarchy and its openness to democratic style;
- Pastoral problems were identified and confronted;
- New dioceses had the benefit of established praxis and an inherited wisdom because of conciliar precedent.
- The bishops of the United States were viewed, internally and externally, as a national hierarchy, not in terms of regions or ethnicity.
With the conclusion of the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore in 1884, a new pattern of conciliar style would develop, and remain in effect until World War I, namely, an annual Fall meeting of all the archbishops of the country. While the councils of Baltimore had certainly worked well, they were, by their very nature, extraordinary, only to be summoned by Rome, and rather cumbersome in preparation and execution. Thus did the bishops of the country consider it wise for the metropolitans of the country to meet annually. These yearly meetings were to build on the assemblies that each province would have before, and, if necessary, after each meeting of the archbishops.
Annual meetings of the archbishops were thought necessary because, again, the American bishops found collegial efforts fruitful and wanted more of them. This was also the time when thorny pastoral problems were arising, most of which historians group under the rubric of "accommodation," including such humdingers as whether or not Catholics could join secret societies, the imperative of parochial schools, the temperance movement, the Knights of Labor, ethnic tension, the question of an apostolic delegate, and, towards the end of the century, the whole question of what has been called "Americanism." With the likes of colorful characters such as John Ireland, the Archbishop of St. Paul, Michael Corrigan, the Archbishop of New York, and the agile James Gibbons, Cardinal Archbishop of Baltimore, and the hierarchy of the country divided into what historians have called the "Americanizers" vs. the conservatives, these meetings of archbishops were, at least from 1885-1900, unfailingly interesting, and demonstrate that a "proud conciliar tradition" does not necessarily mean that bishops always get along.
Before considering the dramatic transition in the style of American hierarchical collegiality that will occur in 1917, I want to offer a few observations on the conciliar tradition up until the First World War, when things would change.
It is accurate to say that the overwhelming concern of the American bishops until 1917 was the internal, pastoral matters of the Church. They did not see themselves as prophetic voices challenging society or culture, and were certainly scrupulous about ever giving the impression of "meddling" in national or political affairs. More or less, up until the First World War, the bishops viewed their national role as the one defined by John Carroll: to provide structure, organization, cohesion, and discipline to internal Catholic life in America. They saw themselves as pastors dealing with ad intra issues: marriage and family, religious education, training and uprightness of the clergy, the question of new dioceses and the nomination of occupants for those sees, the proper celebration of the sacraments, and warning their flocks of dangers to the faith posed by this unique new American setting, especially rampant immorality, mixed-marriages, alcohol, religious indifference, and avarice.
This style of conciliarism made sense, when you think about it. For one, the bishops daily were welcoming thousands of immigrants to the country, and pastoral care for them was crucial. They had enough problems within the Church to occupy their time. Two, they did have to start, in many cases, ex nihilo, and it is no wonder their time, talent, and treasure, was expended on "brick-and-mortar" issues. Thank God they did concentrate on such things as establishing parishes, promoting vocations, schools, hospitals, orphanages, and orders of religious women, establishing new dioceses, and assuring financial stability, instead of concentrating on social issues. They apparently had listened to St. Bernard who had urged pastors to be "reservoirs before channels." We can be glad they did.
Another reason why they "kept to themselves" as it were, was because of the ever-present danger of anti-Catholicism in American life. Long before Arthur Schlesinger, Sr., the bishops of the nineteenth century knew that this animus was "the deepest bias in American culture." They did not want to draw attention to themselves, and were forever sensitive to the charge that the Catholic Church would try to overthrow the first amendment and "establish" the Catholic Church in the United States.
Probably the most dramatic example of their hoarseness in confronting ad extra issues, either because of their preoccupation with internal problems, or because of their timidity in a climate suspicious of the Church, was the issue of slavery. Remember that the national hierarchy met in 1852, for its first plenary council. As Peter Guilday, the historian of the Baltimore councils observed:
To the outsider, there was an added interest. Between 1844 and 1852, the Protestant Churches were splitting up into denominational and territorial divisions. The Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian churches were losing their unity over the abolition problem — a unity never since recaptured; and, with every social and religious institution in the nation straining and breaking under the dead weight of the slavery agitation, it was inevitable that to thousands of well-meaning men and women in the land, the question would arise: What action would the Catholic Church take in this crisis?
None. That was the action the council fathers took. Guilday tried to make the best of it when he noted that the American bishops were as split as anyone else on the issue, and that what they felt was most needed was calm, peace, and, ergo, silence. "By their silence our prelates divorced this burning issue from Church affairs and gave to the deliberations of the council that unity of Catholic outlook which was basic in the legislation that was passed." Whether this silence was an act of prudence, as Guilday proposes, or one of cowardice, is still being debated, but is certainly an example of the extreme reluctance of the 19th American hierarchy to pronounce on political affairs.
A second observation I need to make about the collegial style of American bishops is that it was not always hunky-dory. Some bishops, such as the irascible Peter Kenrick of St. Louis, hated it. Then again, he was such an episcopal autocrat that he detested any chipping-away at his authority, leading him to oppose not only the American conciliar strain but the definition of papal infallibility at Vatican I. With the arrival of the twentieth century, other bishops would begin to buck the trend of national collegiality, particularly bishops with powerful Roman allies, like William Henry Cardinal O'Connell of Boston. Yes, conciliarism worked famously among American bishops, but that does not mean everybody was always aboard, nor that some did not resent what they viewed as an unwelcome intrusion into the traditional view that Church authority meant pastor, bishops, and pope, with no meddlesome national structure in between.
The American conciliar tradition would be dramatically expanded with World War I, and the main protagonist was the Paulist editor of the Catholic World, John Burke, who had long argued for a national outlook and sense of unity among the country's Catholics. Douglas Slawson, the historian of the formative years of the bishops' conference, points out that the hierarchy was eager to show its enthusiastic support for the war effort. With the approval of the unofficial primate, Cardinal Gibbons, the Paulist invited Catholic leaders to Washington in August, 1917, to discuss Catholic support of the war, and the turnout was impressive. The conclusion of this meeting was that a National Catholic War Council (NCWC) was formed, which was approved by and placed under the direction of the nation's archbishops at their November, 1917 meeting. Its duties: to promote Catholic participation in the war, through chaplains, literature, and care for the morale of the troops, and — listen to this — to represent and lobby for Catholic interests in the nation's capitol. It would be the second duty that would prevail.
Because, within a year, the war was over. The NCWC had worked well, had won applause from national leaders, and had a ton of money from its share in the United War Work Campaign. Burke insisted that the acclaimed reviews of the NCWC had shown the necessity and value of a permanent organization to represent national Catholic interests for the bishops. The entire hierarchy gathered at The Catholic University of America in February 1919, for a delayed celebration of the golden jubilee of Cardinal Gibbons' episcopal consecration, and heard the legate of Pope Benedict XV, Archbishop Bonaventura Cerretti, challenge the bishops to be especially attentive to issues of education and social justice in the post-war years. That's all the avid counciliarists such as Joseph Schrembs of Toledo and Peter Muldoon of Rockford needed to hear, and they floated two proposals: an annual meeting of all the bishops every Fall in Washington, and a permanent administrative body in the national capital to promote Catholic interests on behalf of the hierarchy. Over the protests of Cardinal O'Connell of Boston and Sebastian Messmer of Milwaukee, the bishops approved the foundation of the National Catholic Welfare Council in September, 1919, and Pope Benedict signaled his placet.
This new NCWC institutionalized the American conciliar tradition, giving it a permanent, well-oiled bureaucracy, and called for a yearly meeting of the entire episcopate. John Burke was appointed general secretary, and five departments came into being: education, social action, laity, press, and missions.
Just how muscular the spirit of conciliarism had become would be clear two years later. Cardinal O'Connell, joined by Charles McDonald of Brooklyn, protested to the Holy See that the new NCWC smacked of Gallicanism, and encroached upon the independence of the diocesan bishop. Rome, especially Cardinal Rafael Merry del Val, O'Connell's old friend, gave them a favorable hearing, and the Consistorial Congregation (the predecessor of today's Congregation for Bishops) suddenly suppressed the NCWC!
This would trigger what Elizabeth McKeown has termed "the most forceful protest to Rome in American Catholic history," in two documents sent to the Pope, the Petition, simply asking the new pontiff, Pius XI, to reverse the suppression, and the Report, documenting the activities of the NCWC since its inception in 1917. The officers of the NCWC — Edward Hanna of San Francisco, Peter Muldoon of Rockford, Austin Dowling of St. Paul, and Joseph Schrembs of Toledo — argued that a national structure of bishops was crucial and that, if the suppression of the council stood, the credibility of the bishops would suffer, the Holy See would look autocratic, vindicating what the Protestants and Masons had been saying all along, and national Catholic unity would be ruptured. "Not to be nationally organized in Washington is to be without power in public life," the bishops cautioned Rome, reminding the Holy Father that America was now a world power, and that the bishops needed a voice in the capital.
The conciliarists won: Rome cancelled the suppression, although Cardinal Gaetano de Lai noted that he feared the power of such a large episcopate, with a lot of money, and a permanent bureaucracy. To save face, Rome did insist that the word "council" be changed to "conference" — so we now have the National Catholic Welfare Conference — that participation was only voluntary, and that the acta of the meetings would not have the force of law.
It is this structure that more or less functions to this day as the vehicle of the collegial tradition of the American hierarchy. Francis Hurley will later observe that the NCWC was a resounding success as structured collegiality, that it was the natural fulfillment of the vision of the episcopal collaboration dreamed of by John Carroll and John England, that it was vindicated at Vatican II, and that it serves as the model for other national hierarchies.
Suffice it to say that, with the NCWC, the bishops of the United States lost their shyness and began to look ad extra. If anyone had any doubts as to what direction the new structure would take, those were settled on Lincoln's Birthday, 1919, with the publication of what was called the Bishops Program of Social Reconstruction, produced by the Social Action Department of the brand new NCWC, chaired by the moral theologian and social activist, Monsignor John A. Ryan, who would later serve as unofficial chaplain to the New Deal. The Bishops' Program, as Joseph McShane, S.J. reminds us, placed the bishops clearly on the side of Progressives in such matters as housing, minimum wage, social security, welfare, and unions. Apparently, the bishops were no longer hesitant to take controversial positions, and, unlike 1852, silence on political issues was no longer considered virtuous.
The bishops found their voice, expressed through the NCWC, in other areas as well. They spoke often and firmly in defense of the persecuted Church in Mexico, warned of dangerous excesses in Germany and Italy in the 1930s, and, after the Second World War, consistently condemned communism. They engaged in a vigorous campaign to overthrow the overtly bigoted Oregon School Law, joined with the Knights of Columbus in opposing the KKK in the 1920s, and took on Paul Blanchard after World War II. In issues of public morality, they could be counted upon regularly to warn against divorce, birth control, and lewdness in movies — the latter concern leading directly to their creation of the effective Legion of Decency. Their progressive social action agenda reached a crescendo in the New Deal years, when, again led by Monsignor Ryan, they spoke on behalf of unions, government action of relief and reform, and even backed the NRA. Their "Labor Schools" and "Schools of Social Action" became legendary for the training of lay activists, and, through their Rural Life Bureau, the needs of the farmer were not forgotten.
It is not that the ad intra concerns were ignored — the revision of the Baltimore Catechism and the sponsorship of the confraternity version of the Bible come to mind — but the bishops seemed to discover and relish the fact that people took them seriously and looked to them to have something to say on major issues of the day. Their annual meetings became more and more reports of what the different departments and committees of the NCWC had done in their name since the last general meeting.
Not that their new public pastoring should surprise us. The days of organizing the Church for basic survival were behind; massive immigration slowed in 1924; Catholics were the largest single religion, with a candidate for president in 1928, and a winner in 1960; Catholics controlled most unions and big city political machines, and were a force to be reckoned with nationally. Franklin D. Roosevelt, as noted in George O. Flynn's two volumes about FDR and Catholics, made them an essential part of a political coalition that still has clout today. As Charles Morris has termed it, Catholics were a "state within a state."
With the Second Vatican Council came a more international respect for the American Conciliar tradition. Gerald Fogarty refers to the debate between Cardinals Frings and Ottaviani, and the public differences of four American cardinals, all about the extent of authority the episcopal conference of a nation should have, (Francis McIntyre and Francis Spellman, opposed any strengthening of national conferences, and Joseph Ritter and Albert Meyer were in favor), as pivotal in bringing a new schema, "On the Pastoral Office of Bishops" to the council floor. Christus Dominus, the decree of the council on bishops, would specifically mandate that every country would have an Episcopal conference (#38). Although the American model was not specifically mentioned as a model for what the council had in mind, the chatter over espresso at breaks was that the bishops of the United States, in the NCWC, had the paradigm for such conciliar governance.
About all the American prelates had to do after the council was change the name of their conference structure and, under the leadership of Paul Hallinan of Atlanta and John Dearden of Detroit, the NCWC morphed into a dual organization: the National Conference of Catholic Bishops (NCCB), which was the aggregate of all the bishops in the country, assisted by a permanent bureaucracy in Washington, the United States Catholic Conference (USCC). The NCCB/USCC came into force in 1966, with a general secretary, Joseph Bernardine.
For the next twenty years, the NCCB/USCC would sponsor two annual meetings a year of the entire hierarchy, with the Fall one always in Washington DC, and the Spring one in different cities. It is fair to say that these two decades were the heyday of American conciliarism, with the actions of the national conference considered normative for the dioceses of the country, and with the conference almost completely eclipsing the agenda of individual bishops. Developments — already in embryonic form in the NCWC days — now became institutionalized. For one, the conference became enthusiastic about ad extra concerns, seeing itself as a "prophetic voice" in American society, especially on domestic and international issues of social justice. War and peace, the economy, nuclear weapons, unemployment, labor issues, the environment, Central America, Africa — all became topics of frequent statements and instructions by the conference. The two most controversial and prominent pastoral letters were those on War and Peace (1983) and the Economy (1986).
Two, the bureaucracy and budget of the NCCB/USCCB mushroomed, such that before long plans had to be made to construct a facility near the campus of The Catholic University of America, five time the size of the more compact offices on Massachusetts Avenue nearer downtown, which opened in 1990, by which time it was already too small.
Three, the conference became the accepted and preferred way of working with the Holy See. As in the past, the Vatican expressed much satisfaction with the conference and the conciliar style of the hierarchy, and trusted the NCCB/USCCB on matters of liturgy, ecumenism, catechetics, marriage and family, and for recommendations for episcopal nominations and diocesan boundaries. The Holy See did not see the conference as an "upstart," but as a rather good example of what the council had in mind in mandating national episcopal conferences. The NCCB/USCC was seen as the proper and preferred engine of implementing the spirit and the letter of Vatican II, and individual diocesan bishops were expected to follow the conference's lead. Not that many seemed to object . . . the conference rather enjoyed the overwhelming support of its members, who were more than content to let staff and conference experts take the lead on significant endeavors. These were heady days of American episcopal conciliarism, leading to the frequent observation that our bishops felt any problem in Church or the world could be solved by the establishment of a committee, the issuance of a statement, and the decision to have a national second collection.
But the post-Vatican II honeymoon began to change by 1990, a date too near for an historian to comment prudently. Suffice it to say that some prominent voices in American Catholic life began to wonder if the conference had "gotten out of hand" and needed to be "reigned in." Criticisms aimed at bureaucratic structures in general, and which had been leveled at both the NCWC and the NCCB/USCCB previously — that, for instance, it was "staff-driven," that bishops were mere spectators, that the two-meetings a year were more like political conventions than pastoral-spiritual meetings, that a "clique" of bishops, all, the critics would contend, to the left of center theologically and bolstered by a staff even more to their left, dominated, that it wanted a seemingly endless supply of money, and that it seemed more concerned with a political rather than a spiritual agenda — began to be heard, although other bishops and Catholic leaders quickly rose to the defense of the conference, pointing out that these accusations were exaggerated.
What was clear is that the terrain had changed. For one, the demographics of the American Catholic population had shifted, with strong Catholic support of Ronald Reagan showing that Catholics in America had become more affluent, more politically conservative, and less enthusiastic about the more classical conference stance supporting New Deal & Great Society platforms. In the mind of some bishops, their own aggressive promotion of "lay leadership" in the years subsequent to Vatican II had "created a Frankenstein," as a new generation of lay Catholics — led by people such as Michael Novak, William Simon, George Weigel, Mary Ann Glendon, Russell Shaw, and Ralph McInerny — were hardly timid about serving as a "loyal opposition" to the conference's bent.
Two, the towering figure of the bishop of Rome overshadowed the bishops of every country, our own included. If one wanted to find out where the Church stood on a given issue, one hardly had to consult the bishops' conference, since the Pope himself made the evening news more often than national prelates. This was a pontiff with a very public vision, ubiquitous in his travels, indefatigable in meeting with his brother-bishops, non-stop in issuing his own pastoral letters and statements, who relished the conciliarism of world synods and extraordinary regional assemblies. He himself would summon the archbishops of the United States to Rome to deliberate on the threats to life inherent in American culture. It was almost as if he had "stolen the thunder" from the conciliarists in America, as he was doing for the Church universal what John England had earlier done for the Church of the United States. It was all the conference could do just to keep up with him.
Three, there was a theological shift. Newer bishops — so called "John Paul II bishops" — were more exuberant about the "new evangelization" than the Panama Canal. While fully and enthusiastically committed to Vatican II, they longed for a return to ad intra issues, as they worried about a loss of Catholic identity, a moral laxity among their people, and a catechetical illiteracy. They seemed more like John Carroll than John Ireland, as they worried about the pointed threats American society posed to faithful Catholics, especially in the realms of marriage and family, chastity, and the threats to human life. And they seemed less willing to take their cues from the conference structure, comfortable as they were as bishops in their own local Churches.
It looked as if the Apostolic See shared some of this unease about mega-conferences when, in 1998, Pope John Paul II issued Apostolos Suos. a motu proprio "On the Theological and Juridical Nature of Episcopal Conferences." While affirming the necessity and theological validity of bishops' conferences, the pontiff also stated that "the growing extent of their activities has raised some questions of a theological and pastoral nature, especially with regard to their relationship to the individual diocesan bishops." (#6). It is an exaggeration to say that this document was a "red light" to the American conciliar tradition, but it certainly was a yellow one, with its warning about "excessive bureaucracy," and its firm reminder about a bishops' independent authority in his own diocese. As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger noted, "Episcopal conferences do not constitute per se a doctrinal instance which is binding and superior to the authority of each bishop who comprises them." Even those who downplayed the document's importance had to admit that it was at least a "corrective:" and that the heyday of American episcopal conciliarism had perhaps passed.
What is clear, though, is that the vast majority of American bishops still trust the conciliar spirit and style that has characterized their polity since John Carroll. Even bishops who may be critical of the current conference structure much prefer to be part of it and work through it to bring about the reforms they feel may be necessary. What some interpreted as an "anti-conference" initiative — the call by 108 bishops in 2002 to consider the summoning of a fourth plenary council in the United States — showed by its very nature a dependence upon and trust of the conciliar tradition of the American hierarchy, and apparently is moving toward a consensus that the conference itself can "clean its own house" and lead the reform and renewal necessitated by the current crisis in American Catholic life. And, while the sex abuse scandal certainly generated abundant broadsides at the conference, even critics had to admit "thank God we had it. What would we have done without it."
In the end, what might temper the clout and scope of the USCCB (the newest name, United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, given in 2001 when the former two-tiered structure of the NCCB and the USCCB was terminated) will be financial constraints. With "bankruptcy" now a word reluctantly on the lips of not a few bishops, and with every diocese feeling the burden of bills caused by the abuse scandal, the conference structure certainly cannot expand, and will most probably have to be trimmed.
Bishops also seem to sense that a return to the John Carroll & John England style might be called for. Remember, those two patriarchs knew that it was essential to build the Catholic Church in the United States. Bishops today ask if it is not now necessary to rebuild the Church, through reform and renewal. They wonder if we need to start internally, and concentrate on pastoral issues such as widespread catechetical illiteracy, the collapse of marriage and family life, the restoration of a "culture of life," genuine liturgical renewal, a return to the sacrament of penance, a national crusade to obey the third commandment, and the promotion of authentic renewal in the lives of our priests and religious (as strongly suggested by the National Review Board's Report, which we cannot ignore). Bishops today seem to prefer to do this prayerfully, patiently, without the constant glare of lights from the cameras. This relatively new bishop found it moving last June in Denver to be with his 250 brother-bishops on his knees for an hour before the Eucharist, and in line with his episcopal brethren for the sacrament of penance.
What is clear is that the conciliar tradition of the American hierarchy is here to stay. Two recent valuable documents from the Holy See — Pastores Gregis, the Post-Synod Apostolic Exhortation of Pope John Paul II, and the Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops from the Congregation for Bishops — while refining and clarifying the role of national episcopal conferences, vigorously affirm their value and necessity. The prelates of this country feel they need the conciliar style, they enjoy it, and it can be transformed to serve their purposes. All have ideas as to how it can be better exercised, and the very nature of the collaborative style common to our national ecclesiastical polity since the 1780s will guarantee that current criticism is heeded. From Whitemarsh, Maryland, to Washington D.C., is a long way, but the style and issues are amazingly the same.
Most Reverend Timothy M. Dolan
Archbishop of Milwaukee
October 25, 2004
This item 8962 digitally provided courtesy of CatholicCulture.org
