The news from Rome: what's wrong with church governance.

John Paul II has served more than twenty-five years as pope. Although he has a debilitating disease, medical progress may prolong his life for years. Pius IX (1792-1878), in a century with far fewer medical resources, reigned thirty-one years; it is possible that this pope will reign as long. Nonetheless, there is a sense that the future is waiting, for better or worse, and it is bearing down on us.

At the same time, this has become a time of waiting and of silence in the church. In fact, silence seems to be the primary form of discipline demanded now by ecclesiastical authority. A pontificate with so long a duration leads to a certain sense of alienation, which is not often fully expressed because the bishops and the faithful are tacitly asked to--and are willing to--remain silent. In the buses of Rome, passengers are warned non parlate al conducente (don't talk to the driver). Many Catholics, bishops as well as laypeople and clergy, are asked to do the same: "Don't talk to the driver."

For example, few bishops believe that the actual implementation of Humanae vitae is widespread, yet no one will take the risk of raising the issue of contraception. It is too dangerous, and even futile. Besides, if you remain silent on the subject, you may enjoy a certain degree of freedom. If you observe the discipline of silence, nobody is likely to bother you because you are not openly challenging ecclesiastical authority.

This is not a solution, but a problem. And when problems become so serious that silence is no longer possible, the fragility of the church is revealed shockingly and unexpectedly. The clergy sexual-abuse scandal in the United States was a tragic case in point. Everyone had a different explanation of who and what were responsible for such a disaster, yet no one was prepared to face the challenge openly. Even now, we lack a clear understanding of the issues. And despite the "noise" in the media, the church remains largely "silent" about the problem.

The Roman Catholic Church is a large and diverse body, and it would be unusual to have a common diagnosis of the hows and whys of such a difficult issue as clerical sexual abuse. After all, only those who engage in frequent dialogue are able to analyze a situation and arrive at a diagnosis. Language and terminology need time to be harmonized in order to ensure that we are talking about the same conditions and problems; this happens only through patient discussion. Even so, one of the unwritten understandings of Roman Catholicism is that discussing such matters dishonors mother church. As a result, American Catholics are divided between those convinced that a too-liberal Catholicism opened the door to perpetrators, and those who think that the failure to reconsider optional celibacy lies at the heart of the scandal. Among European Catholics, public opinion is divided between those who think that the fault lies with the adversarial nature of the U.S. legal system, and those who question the selection and appointment of bishops who appeared unable to tell the difference between sin and a crime.

In these circumstances, we habitually, but incorrectly, tend to describe the position of Catholics--both lay and episcopal--as conservative or progressive, left or right, the implicit assumption being that when it comes to choosing the next pope, the papal conclave will divide along similar lines, thus marking the direction the church will follow for the future. On the contrary, these "political" distinctions hardly capture the reality of the church. The next conclave will include a variety of perspectives. How could it be otherwise in a church that experiences actual tensions between authority and freedom, truth and pluralism, uniformity and multiculturalism, identity and otherness?

These are clearly some of the issues that beset Catholics living in a media-dominated society, and they will have an impact on the next conclave. Now add to this the fact that an ailing pope plays the leader's role before the media, creating even more ambiguities. In such a world, the media's representatives have an unprecedented responsibility.

In a future conclave, the media will play a very powerful role, possibly exercising real sway in the papal election, comparable to the power of the old "Catholic crowns" in ages past. Members of the media may have an even greater responsibility because they may influence what are seen as the core issues. After all, this is Rome, with all its gossip and rumors, but also the home of the real body of Catholicism, with all its instruments of service, learning, tradition, and inspiration.

It must be said that some structures of Roman Catholicism no longer appear to be functioning properly; they are "out of service." The primary one is the Roman curia, founded in 1588 to rule the universal church of its day. It has been "reformed" several times: by Pius X, juridically through the 1917 Code of Canon Law; by Pius XII who refused to appoint a secretary of state for thirteen of the nineteen years of his pontificate, and to appoint any new cardinals for five years. The curia was challenged by John XXIII with the announcement of the Second Vatican Council. It was reformed once more by Paul VI in 1968, and again by John Paul II in 1988. John Paul II himself decided to bypass his curia and its intermediate administrative bodies by ruling the church through his personal charisma and globe-spanning travels. He invested his ecumenical efforts as bishop of Rome, but he did not treat the institutional dysfunctions of the Roman curia as a serious issue (consequently, if some of its officials want to create a case for Mel Gibson's movie, they can). This institutional weakness does not require an authoritarian restoration, but points out the need for authority and harmony. Furthermore, there is something wrong when the Catholic Church seems to need several popes: one pope to rule the curia, one to govern the Vatican and the Diocese of Rome, one for traveling, another for politics, and a pope for reading and writing. It is clear that the Vatican's inner circle of officials and the Catholic faithful in general need to focus on this dysfunctional system of ecclesiastical governance.

Part of the church-governance problem is that there is no counterbalance to the Roman curia, and this is related to the weakness of the episcopal synod. It is well known that during Vatican II, many bishops were persuaded that a permanent synod, drawing the pope and the college of bishops into communion, was a proper expression of collegiality and the solution to the problem resulting from curial dominance. Paul VI, who reserved to himself the shaping of such an institution, decided for a merely consultative synod. Optimists hoped this was just a first step. To everyone's disappointment, the episcopal synod has remained as it was created: a forum where issues are permitted to be discussed, but never decided.

Even beyond the synod, bureaucratic frustration is now the normal experience of the bishops. They have genuine conflicts and dilemmas facing them, hard choices, which they are powerless to address and resolve. There are conflicts between the traditional parish structures and the new lay movements, between the monarchic structures of Rome and the consensual processes of episcopal conferences, between a theology of the local church and a theology of the universal church, between the care of priests and the bishops' administrative tasks. Appointed by Rome through veiled practices of consultation, bishops are in an untenable position. They are limited in their authority by the omnipresence of Rome (and its demands for obedience), and by lack of control over the difficult tasks they face--often alone.

While the issues of church governance require careful observation and action, there are other matters of crucial importance to the church that have been on the "waiting list" since the beginning of the twentieth century. The greatest unsolved problem is the lack of visible eucharistic unity among Christian believers. The twentieth century started with the hope that to be "one" was a duty for the followers of Jesus. During the ensuing decades, the seemingly impossible occurred: theological issues were addressed, institutional clarifications were reached, common declarations were signed, assemblies were held, different Christian representatives were invited to attend Vatican II. Only one point remained impossible to resolve: sharing the same Eucharist.

This goal was almost reached: Patriarch Athenagoras and Paul VI were very close to a common celebration of the Eucharist in 1969-70, but they were prevented from accomplishing this step by warnings from the Holy Office. Then the Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission I determined the means and times for a full communion between Anglicans and Roman Catholics; again the effort was wasted for doubtful reasons. And then, the agreement on justification between Rome and the Lutheran Church remained without any liturgical consequence for the bishops. And while ordinary Catholics and non-Catholics in Europe are ready to share the Eucharist when and where this may be "needed," church leaders remain paralyzed.

A second item on the waiting list concerns the priesthood, which did not even appear on the main agenda of Vatican II. In contrast, the priest was at the core of the Tridentine reform. Measures adopted by the Council of Trent set the priest apart from ordinary Catholics; he was to be cultivated, rewarded with social prestige, and perhaps to become a bishop, or even the pope--a king among his people. A male leader in a male-oriented society, powerful and merciful, nurtured by the model of the saints, the priest was a sixteenth-century response to a developing "modern" society, the ordinary minister of the Eucharist in the local church.

The twentieth century has declared this idea and practice of the clergy outdated. Society is too different, the needs of the church have changed, and the regime of clerical prestige is gone. The decline in the number of ordinations (which began many years before Vatican II) was accompanied by a diminution in the focus of the priestly task. Presiding at the Eucharist is no longer the mark of his calling; rather it is one task among many others. The mix of a multitasking job, sacred authority, and celibacy is not especially attractive, and consequently few candidates are presenting themselves for ordination. At the same time, the widespread ministry of women within the church grows. The theological barrier to providing proper recognition to the ministry of women (which exists in a sizable proportion in the Catholic Church) demonstrates that the understanding of the relationship among ministry, ordination, and gender remains confused, and therefore paralyzed. Who can say if a resolution to the contradictions now found in the priesthood will come with new models, or if we must simply await the conditions that supported the old celibate Tridentine model to be restored by chance or by grace?

A third issue concerns the status of human experience in understanding or reconsidering church teaching and practice. Modernity offers a variety of situations and experiences which are far from a traditional Catholic way of thinking. Many forms of otherness--diversity in religion, in sexual orientation, in moral codes, in lifestyle--are a challenge for a church that is unable to repress them and feels a deep unwillingness to simply condemn them.

In his life, Jesus welcomed each and every human experience--as far as possible--with mercy and forgiveness: this now seems a utopian possibility or even a "myth" for actual church life. The challenge is not to simply be tolerant in order to comply with "modern" sensibility, but to be a living experience of divine mercy, as Jesus was. This is the challenge of a new "universalism" of grace, which is far from being addressed today in the church.

It may be disturbing to watch the increasing focus in the media on the issue of papal succession, mixing gossip, misinformation, and speculation along with real information. But the real point is that it is easier for the media to reflect the poor image of the church while overlooking its many complexities; they see the church's future from the top, rather than from its life "on the ground."

The media's power has two aspects. On the one hand, the media convey the gossip and rumors that abound in Rome preceding a conclave: useless or even false, these "data" will play a role in testing candidates, groups, and diplomats. On the other hand, the media are the main vehicle for informing Rome about the state of a far-flung church and of the world. They present to the Catholic center a picture of the church as it exists in a multitude of places, cultures, and situations.

Consider the possible consequences of this double role. If the media confine themselves to the courtyard gossip and rumors of Rome, they paint an inaccurate picture, shaped on the one side by the official statements of the Vatican press office and on the other by the rumor and gossip of those excluded from the inner circles of the Vatican. It is not simply fairness that is at stake here, but the church itself. For if the picture given by the media is only of an institution absorbed in a conflict between conservative and progressive cardinals, the media will have missed a good part of the reality--and the church will have, too. Of course, there are conservative and progressive cardinals, but that's only one dimension of the complexity of the actual church. And this hard-to-articulate complexity is the core of the issue the next conclave must address.

Alberto Melloni is professor of history at the University of Modena-Reggio E. He is a member of the board of Concilium and the John XXIII Foundation for Religious Studies in Bologna, and also an author of the five-volume History of Vatican II.