Back to the future: Christian unity & the papacy.

Gregory I (pope from 590-604), in a letter to the patriarch of Alexandria, addresses him as his "brother in rank," refuses to be considered "universal pope," and rejects any titles that might "inflate vanity and offend charity." Gregory VII (1073-85), in the text known as Dictatus papae, affirms that "only the Roman pontiff can be called universal, use the imperial standards, and allow princes to kiss his feet." At the conclusion of Vatican I (1869-70), when the Greek Catholic patriarch of Antioch, Gregory II Youssef, advanced to kiss the feet of Pius IX, the pope pushed his foot on the patriarch's neck and called him, in substance, a "stubborn mule." During the debates in the council the patriarch had protested that the proposed definitions of papal infallibility were not conformed to tradition - thus provoking the famous response of Pius IX: "I am the tradition!"

In his 1995 encyclical Ut unum sint, John Paul II states that he wishes to heed "the request made of me to find a way of exercising the primacy which, while in no way renouncing what is essential to its mission, is none the less open to a new situation." He acknowledges that "for a variety of reasons and against the will of all concerned, what should have been a service sometimes manifested itself in a very different light. I insistently pray the Holy Spirit to shine his light upon us, enlightening all the pastors and theologians of our churches so that we may seek - together, of course - the forms in which this ministry may accomplish a service of love recognized by all concerned."

Let me suggest that those "forms" are already known to us, for they were practiced for much of Christianity's first thousand years. Indeed, the three instances cited in my opening paragraph can be seen to represent three manners of exercising the primacy. "For a whole millennium Christians were united in a brotherly fraternal communion of faith and sacramental life. If disagreements in belief and discipline arose among them, the Roman See acted by common consent as moderator" (Ut unum sint).

It is an undisputed fact that, after the destruction of Jerusalem in A.D. 70, the church of Rome inherited the role of "mother church." Even before the close of the first century, Ignatius of Antioch wrote to the "church in Rome which presides in love." The relationship between Rome and the rest of the Christian world in the first millennium was not always idyllic nor tension-free, but Rome was considered, at least implicitly, as the instrument and sign of ecclesial unity. In the ecumenical councils, the interventions of the bishop of Rome were given special consideration, the arbitration of Rome was sought and respected. However, Rome did not preside "infallibly," at least not in the sense that popes were incapable of error. For example, the Sixth Ecumenical Council (Constantinople III, 68081) condemned, with the approbation of then Pope Agathon, certain of the Christological positions of Pope Honorius (625-38) as well as those of the late patriarch of Constantinople.

Obviously, the emergence of the papacy as a temporal power brought about a radical change in the way Rome conceived of and exercised its primacy. However justified this assumption of temporal power might be as a "suppliance" in an epoch of chaos and division in the Western world and as a guarantee of the political independence of the papacy, it could not but affect the idea Rome had of its spiritual role. In his famous bull Unam sanctam (1302), Boniface VIII affirms the absolute temporal power of the pope, his right to judge all other temporal powers and not to be judged by any other. The pope is not just the vicar of Christ; he is his substitute. The bull concludes: "We affirm, declare, and decree that it is absolutely necessary to submit to the Roman pontiff in order to be saved."

The Reformation signaled the decline of the papacy's temporal power, culminating in the humiliation of Plus VI by Napoleon and the plebiscite of 1870, in which the people of Rome, by an overwhelming majority, voted for their incorporation into the new secular Kingdom of Italy. As if to compensate for the loss of political power, the popes of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries began to accentuate their spiritual authority. Following Vatican I and its declaration of papal infallibility, Civilta Cattolica, the review of the Roman Jesuits, serenely declared that "when the pope meditates, it is God who is thinking in him." Don Bosco could affirm, in a text which received the imprimatur, that "Jesus put the pope on the same level as God."

By focusing its ecclesiology on fraternal communion, Vatican II (1962-65) has provided the elements necessary for returning the Christian church to its most venerable traditions. The mystery of the church is realized in the communion of the people of God, a people who has found mercy: "As Christ realized the redemption in poverty and persecution, so is the church called to follow this same road to communicate the fruits of salvation to mankind," the council wrote in its Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. "The ministries in the church are at the service of the people of God that all might rejoice in their true Christian dignity and freely attain salvation."

More than thirty years have elapsed since Vatican II, but the consequences of this teaching have yet to permeate the church. It is no easy task to reverse the drift toward papal authoritarianism built up in the course of a millennium. While all sorts of historical, political, and social reasons can be advanced to explain how, as John Paul noted, "what should have been a service sometimes manifested itself in a very different light," there has been a concomitant effort, unconscious perhaps, to justify these deviations by exaggerating certain elements of ecclesiology. In the measure in which the papacy assumed temporal power, it began to see its mission as manifesting the kingship of the triumphant Christ and itself as a sacrament of this kingship. Pushed too far, such a monarchical vision of ecclesial authority has threatened to place the papacy beyond the reach of history itself and individual popes outside the human condition.

Nor has such a mentality been limited to the papacy: it is manifested in the Roman curia in the measure in which it claims to represent a directly inspired papal authority, in the episcopacy insofar as it presumes to possess the truth independently of the faithful. To be sure, the ordained receive a grace of special assistance of the Holy Spirit, but this does not exempt them from the human effort of listening, learning, and searching; if anything, the grace of the sacrament obliges the ordained to search the will of God with more diligence and discretion.

Gregory the Great appropriated the magnificent title of "servant of the servants of God." Paul VI was fond of using the same title, and certain of his acts manifested how seriously he took it. John Paul II desires that the papal primacy be at the service of church unity. For this to come about it is crucial that the primacy, all primacy, become a service rather than a prerogative, privilege, or power. It is true that "the church is not a democracy," that it has a divinely instituted hierarchical structure. But it is also true that the church is essentially a communion of persons in the Trinitarian life and that this communion cannot be imposed from without. It must surge from within, in freedom and love and in the Holy Spirit. The role of the hierarchy is to provoke, nurture, and promote this communion. Communion cannot be realized without a "reception," a seeking out of the "sensus fidelium."

Communion also implies a unity in diversity very different from the uniformity that too often has been exacted in the past. Lip service is given to the respect due to local churches and customs but, in practice, Rome continues to impose its views (for example, in the current impasse over juridical control of American Catholic universities). Yet there is a growing recognition that, in the apostolic tradition, the local church fully manifests the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church; that it is not just a "part" of the universal church but the plentitude of that church in a given place and assembled around its bishop.

There is no easy answer to the question of how to reunite the Christian churches under the papacy. Still, there seems to be a growing consensus that a starting point would be to return to the situation that existed before the Great Schism of 1054. Ut unum sint invokes the church of the first millennium and the role of the Roman See as moderator, by common accord, in cases of disagreement. A return to such simplicity is not inconceivable. It would require, however, rethinking and recasting a thousand years of historical baggage. For one thing, it would mean recognizing that all the councils since the rupture between East and West were not truly ecumenical, but simple synods of the Western church, and thus not universally binding. Paul VI opened the door to such a possibility when, in the solemn commemoration of the seven-hundredth anniversary of the Council of Lyon, recognized by Rome as the fourteenth of the ecumenical councils, he constantly referred to it as the sixth general synod of the Western church. Reunification would require a purification of habits and memories, a shift from a juridical conception of papal authority to a "sacramental" understanding of the papacy as an efficacious sign of church unity recognized and empowered by a common accord.

The sacramental dimension of the primacy cannot be imposed; its authority must be founded on the authority of the truth and not, as has been the case in the past, on the truth of its authority. This is exactly the note that John Paul II hits in Ut unum sint when he asks all the pastors and theologians of our churches to seek together with him the forms in which the ministry of Peter may accomplish a service of love recognized by all. There is here a confidence that the truth, humbly and prayerfully sought by all concerned, will eventually manifest and impose itself.

Such a willingness to recognize the works of the Holy Spirit in the separated churches and to learn and be enriched by them is already a powerful work of unification. It is Peter affirming his brethren and not lording it over them. It would not be contrary to the essential mission of the primacy, for instance, to recognize the jurisdictional autonomy of the Eastern churches and the originality of their traditions. The bishop of Rome would continue to be the patriarch of the West, exercising immediate jurisdiction according to Western customs and only intervening outside of this jurisdiction as a moderator when there are "disagreements in belief and discipline." Perhaps a similar rapport could be established with the Reformed churches, whereby their structures, traditions, and charisms would be respected while enriching them with the graces of communion with the universal church.

Of course, an unwillingness to pursue seriously the possibility of unity is not the failure of Rome alone. Far from it. It is no secret that there has been a resurgence of conservatism and parochialism in many of the Christian churches. But whatever might be the difficulties, it is asked of the Christian churches to tend towards an ideal of unity. This ideal may seem utopian, but that should not deter us.

Very

Psalm 4

Look at this! A circle dance Around a bonfire That won't stop, They swear, Until rain falls. If dance can make rain fall, Tears might make rain. If they could see What fools they are, Their wheatfields might Be watered, and wine flow. But no. I sleep. You bring the clouds.

Just Below

Psalm 8

Although we cannot say your name Aloud, both earth and sky Hang moving pictures of your present, Giving children speech and strength To quiet even angry strangers. When I look at the sky, the night sky Moonlit, starred with patterns That go past me, I wonder What we are, that you take notice? Or our children, who can sing Songs we've forgotten? We stand Just below angels, who see glory, Honor as we do those fields, trees, Mountains, chasms, rivers, oceans You have given us sway over: Grazing herds and feral stalkers, Creatures of the house and barnyard, Songbirds, shore birds, fish, whatever Swims or sails through the deep. Yet all these goods spread out Before us, for generations, Do not begin to sound one syllable Of what the whole earth knows Best left unsaid.

Laurance Wieder

Jerry Ryan writes from Chelsea, Massachusetts.