A Response to the Spirit of Governance

I have the honor of responding to Bishop Boyea’s magnificent reflection on the “spirit of governance.” I love the focus specifically on the “spirit” of governance. Using that phrase drawn from the prayer of episcopal ordination, Bishop Boyea is able to emphasize that the munus regendi, the office of pastoral rule or governance, is not an isolated feature that can be separated out from everything else the bishop does, including the practical matters that he mentions.

As he emphasizes, echoing Lumen Gentium, this governing spirit “clearly . . . is the same governing spirit given to Jesus Christ [by the Father] . . . which he then handed on to the Apostles” (cf. LG §§18-19). Everything the Apostles did—teaching, laying on hands, evangelizing, planting churches, regulating worship—was accomplished in the one governing spirit which, as Bishop Boyea also emphasizes, was that of the Good Shepherd, willing to lay down his life for the sheep. It is the pastoral charity of Jesus Christ, in which the Apostles were chosen and formed, that integrates the episcopal ministry and makes it one integrated ministry. What Presbyterorum Ordinis says of priests applies a fortiori to bishops, that is, “by adopting the role of the Good Shepherd they will find in the practice of pastoral charity itself the bond of priestly perfection which will harmonize their lives and activity” (PO §14).[1]

This means that there is really no such thing as the “merely practical” in the life of the bishop. While it is possible conceptually to separate “management” from “governance” theologically understood, materially it is not possible. Rather, all management must be coherently integrated by the “spirit of governance” into which a bishop is ordained.

Now I am not saying that bishops should not learn good management practices. After all, Lumen Gentium teaches that “the one mediator . . . established and constantly sustains here on earth his holy Church . . . as a visible structure,” that is, as an empirical grouping of human beings structured in some ways familiar from visible structures, such as for-profit or not-for-profit organizations, which range from the prosaic, such as Amtrak, to the inspiring, such as some NGOs. But Pope Francis reminded us that the Church is not an NGO (and a fortiori not Amtrak). And that is because, as Lumen Gentium further explains,

The society equipped with hierarchical structures and the Mystical Body of Christ, the visible society and the spiritual community, the earthly church and the church endowed with heavenly riches, are not to be thought of as two realities. On the contrary, they form one complex reality comprising a human and a divine element. For this reason the Church is compared, in no mean analogy, to the mystery of the Incarnate Word.

The text continues, in a way especially relevant for our topic,

As the assumed nature, inseparably united to him, serves the divine Word as a living instrument of salvation, so, in somewhat similar fashion, does the social structure of the Church serve the Spirit of Christ who vivifies it, in the building up of the body (see Eph 4:16) (LG §8).

This means that the management practices of a bishop ought to be familiar to any good student of standard economies of efficiency, HR policy, of thrift and investment. But also that these can never be allowed to take on a life of their own with the same ultimate motivations, however implicit, of any secular corporate body. That would be like separating the human nature of Jesus from himself as divine Word, as though his humanity were a thing he controlled and managed solely according to secular standards and was not, as it is, actually himself, who elected, “although in the form of God, to empty himself, taking on the form of a servant” (Phil 2:5-7). And, in that form of a servant, he “gives himself” to us, loving us “to the end” (see Gal 2:20; Jn 13:1), that is, to the last drop of precious blood. Perhaps, one could think, he should have managed himself better, and not been, well, so “foolish,” as St. Paul exclaims (see 1 Cor 1:20-25).

The very Spirit which animated Christ in his earthly life and impelled him to this divine foolishness, is the same Spirit that Bishop Boyea identified as the “spirit of governance.” This may mean that at times, a management decision will look “foolish” or even, to use a more precise translation of the Vulgate’s Latin “stultus,” downright stupid. But if, as Bishop Boyea also reminded us, in the person of the sacramentally ordained bishop Christ the Good Shepherd is made present, then it would be surprising if a bishop’s managerial culture did not in some cases choose to express the “foolishness” of the Good Shepherd. One can imagine situations where a decision that would make sense at Amtrak because of its efficiency, might actually violate the Spirit of the pastoral charity of the Good Shepherd in which a bishop is to govern.

Further, as Lumen Gentium also reminds us (§3), the Church is born from that last drop of Christ’s blood, flowing, as it did, with water, from the pierced side of Christ hanging dead on the Cross, symbolizing the birth of the Church as Christ’s Spouse, born from his ultimate act of Bridegroomly love (LG §7). Now good bridegrooms and husbands do not think of their wives, with whom they are one flesh, as essentially something to manage, but rather as a divinely given “helpmate” with whom, in a mutual self-gift, to beget children. Bishop Boyea also reminded us that the duly ordained Bishop makes present in the midst of the Church the Bridegroom. Bishop Boyea cited 1 Timothy’s (3:2) advice that the bishop should be the husband of one wife who manages his household ably—and so is a good manager, absolutely. But in Paul’s view, the heavenly Bridegroom did not “manage” his Spouse, but gave himself up for her (Eph 5:25). And if the bishop’s person is the sacramental presence of the Bridegroom in the midst of his Spouse, he must ultimately manage, since manage he must, as Paul did, as first and foremost an expression of the Bridegroom’s sacrifice. Good Church management must be able to be seen as an expression of the love of the heavenly Bridegroom for his own flesh, the Church.

Of course, I am keenly aware that bad business practices on the part of bishops and their delegates work against this love. But since this is an article on governance and not simply on management, it is important that the truths pertinent to governance, divinely revealed, be something to which every bishop continually returns. I know I am not saying anything you do not know from previous theology, but it is ironically the theologian’s job to keep talking about things we already know, for these things are the unutterably beautiful mysteries of the faith, and by constant contemplation of them their beauty shines out more and more and engraves itself more and more on our hearts. It is the theologian’s job, hopefully not too tiresome, to help everyone, him or herself included, to “seek” more and more “understanding” of what we already know, so that its beauty might inflame our hearts with the love of Jesus Christ and his Church more and more and infuse our practicality with that love.

To that end, let me recall how Bishop Boyea’s presentation reflects how carefully Lumen Gentium integrates the munus regendi, the duty of ruling or governing, with the other two gifts or duties of the office of bishop, namely that of teaching and sanctifying. In Lumen Gentium they are inextricably linked (in the person of Christ the Head, whom they make present, §21), and that means that the “spirit of governance,” as theologically conceived, must be at work in all of the management of the liturgical ministries and teaching ministries in the Church.

And, although it is often said that Vatican II was not a doctrinal conference but a pastoral one, this is a caricature, and it is nowhere more distorting than when it comes to the theology of Orders. Aidan Nichols famously claimed that “By the time the Second Vatican Council opened, the development of Catholic theology, ratified by some important acts of the papal magisterium, had made possible, for the first time in the Church’s history, a full doctrinal account of the sacrament of Order,”[2] something actually accomplished at the Council. And one of its most signal accomplishments was to settle an issue that not even Trent had settled, a question disputed since the fourth century, namely, whether the munus regendi, the duty of ruling or governance, was essentially a delegation of the Pope, or on the other hand, whether it was intrinsic to the sacrament of Holy Orders and thus conferred with episcopal consecration. Lumen Gentium (§20) settles this in favor of the latter: “[This] sacred synod teaches that the bishops have by divine institution taken the place of the apostles as pastors of the Church in such wise that whoever hears them hears Christ and whoever rejects them rejects Christ and him who sent Christ (see Luke 10:16),”[3] to which it is added: “Episcopal consecration confers, together with the office of sanctifying, the offices also of teaching and ruling.” Although these can only be “exercised in hierarchical communion with the head and members of the [episcopal] college” (§21), all three munera are given by Christ in the sacrament of Holy Orders in the third, fullest degree. Not to continually go back and contemplate these texts and their implications risks a kind of amnesia, and, as I have stated in print elsewhere, some documentation of the recent Synod seems to ignore these texts.

However that may be, Lumen Gentium insists that all three offices are given together, as a triplex single gift, not as three separable gifts:

Tradition, which is expressed especially in the liturgical rites . . . of both the eastern and western Church, makes it abundantly clear that, through the imposition of hands and the words of consecration, . . . a sacred character is impressed in such a way that bishops, eminently and visibly, take the place of Christ himself, teacher, shepherd and priest, and act in his person (LG §21).

Again, the three munera, inseparable in Christ, are thus equally inseparable in those sacramentally configured to him by episcopal ordination: “the bishops, therefore, with priests and deacons as helpers, took on the ministry to the community, presiding in God’s place over the flock of which they are the pastors, as teachers of doctrine, priests for sacred worship and ministers of government” (§20).

There is no way, then, to separate, for example, the teaching duty from the duty and the spirit of governance: “Among the more important duties of bishops, that of preaching the Gospel, has pride of place,” and as part of this duty, the text says that bishops “ward off whatever errors threaten their flock (see 2 Tim 4:14),” while “the faithful . . . should concur with their bishop’s judgment, made in the name of Christ, in matters of faith and morals” (LG §25). Obviously such judgment, authoritatively rendered, constitutes an act of ruling, of the munus regendi. The bishop’s responsibility as authoritative teacher requires him to manage the ministry of the Word in all forms and structures of Catholic education and catechesis. The management of these diocesan ministries must be an authentic expression, ultimately, of the Word made flesh himself, the Bridegroom, the Good Shepherd, acting through the bishop. Such management, the more faithfully it is rendered, is an invitation to contemplate ever more deeply the mystery of the Church, at once in history, and at once transcending it (see CCC §675).

The same is true for the munus sanctificandi. This is evident to anyone who has even glanced at Catholic news regarding regulation of the liturgy where it has become controversial. “The bishop,” Lumen Gentium says, “invested with the fullness of the sacrament of Orders, is the steward of the grace of the supreme priesthood, above all in the Eucharist, which he himself offers, or ensures that it is offered, and by which the Church continues to live and grow” (§26). “Every lawful celebration of the Eucharist is regulated,” that is, governed, “by the bishop.” So much is common knowledge, but what I want to emphasize is how Lumen Gentium presents the munus regendi and the munus sanctificandi as fully interpenetrating. Management of divine worship, involving decisions as seemingly small as the administration of policy as to where the tabernacle should be located in a new Church building, and as large as which older church buildings should be restored and maintained and which should not, or whether a priest’s faculties for liturgical celebration should be revoked, all are shot through with the “spirit of governance” theologically understood. Bishops, the text says, “govern by their counsels, persuasion, and example,” and, it continues, “also by the authority and sacred power which they exercise exclusively for the spiritual development of their flock in truth”—the teaching duty—“and holiness”—the duty of sanctification (§27). The spirit of governance is a seamless, integrating spirit, which applies even to what we could call the personal, pastoral management style of a bishop, even in advance of, but also including, any kind of regulatory management stemming from the duties of sanctification and teaching.

One could wonder—is this really all that different from, let’s say, the way that an ordinary corporation, maybe especially a not-for-profit, might have a mission statement and tries to ensure that all decisions reflect the mission statement? Well, let us think about it. In the case of a corporation and its mission statement, the mission statement expresses an ideal, and the CEO is charged with managing in such a way that the corporation embodies that ideal.

There is similarity here, for the Church is, as we have mentioned, a visible and human society. But, as we have also mentioned, that is only one dimension of the Church. The “mission statement” of the Church is actually a Person, himself Word, himself, as Word, fully expressed in the Incarnate “foolishness” or “stupidity” of the Incarnation, Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus. The Church is a continuation of the Incarnation and its foolishness, the folly of the Cross. She is the continuing self-expression of Christ as his flesh, his Spouse and his People. He is personally present as Bridegroom, Shepherd, and Head in the Apostles’ successors, the bishops. They are thus charged with an impossible task, that is, governing a project which in its essence is “foolishness,” being conformed to it themselves and making it present in their teaching, sanctifying and ruling.

That means that their management has to be, at every moment, an invitation, often counterintuitive to the perspective of smart and intelligent standard management principles, to consider a mystery, the mystery of Christ Crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles. But—remember the other part of the Scripture—to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God (1 Cor 1:23-24). Which is more than I can say for Amtrak.

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