Leadership in a Time of Apocalypse

This is not THE Apocalypse, of course, in which case human leadership wouldn't matter any more anyway.  But it is certainly AN apocalypse, and so human leadership really does matter very much right now. On Sunday, I watched New York's Governor Andrew Cuomo's briefing on the current crisis. It really frightened me to hear how bad the situation is and how much worse it will likely get. But I was also edified and inspired to see my home-state governor showing such much needed leadership at this time. He is not alone of course, the governors of California and Washington have certainly been showing exemplary leadership, as I am sure have others who have received less attention. 

Some, however, have not met the challenge of leadership so well. The president seems to want to compare this crisis to a war, but then he fails to act as a wartime leader. (The most obvious recent example is his refusal to utilize the powers provided to the president by the 1950 Defense Production Act to mobilize industry to meet our national needs.) Someone who purports to be such an admirer of Britain's World War II Prime Minister Winston Churchill would do well to follow the example of Churchill and of his American ally President Franklin Roosevelt in how they mobilized their entire societies to meet a deadly threat.

After Lincoln, FDR (photo) was perhaps the greatest American president, having demonstrated genuinely effective leadership in confronting the two great crises of the first half of the 20th-century - the Depression and World War II. Perhaps most importantly as a leader, he was able to persuade the American people to collective action, something that he could do because he was able to persuade people to trust him and have confidence in his leadership. Think back to his first "Fireside Chat" and how he got people who had been withdrawing money from the banks to be willing to deposit money in those same banks once again!

Leadership like that displayed by FDR has two critical components, which remain perennially relevant. The first is competent action that actually responds to real and immediate needs. Of course, no one - not FDR or any other leader - can do it all on his or her own. Indeed, thinking that one is omnicompetent (or trying to pretend to be) is actually counter-productive and a failure of leadership. What a competent leader does is recognize the competence and expertise of others and utilize them to implement public policy. Hence the importance of "deep state" governmental institutions, e.g,,  institutions like the National Security Council's Global Health Security Office, that was dismantled by the Trump White House.

But there is a second component to leadership that may matter more than competence, and that is empathy.  People have to believe that their leaders understand their situation and their needs and that they care. Hence the famous anecdote from FDR's funeral procession in 1945 when a reporter, encountering a particularly distraught man watching the funeral procession, asked him if he knew the President personally. "No, I did not know President Roosevelt, but he knew me," replied the man. That, of course, was what was critical to FDR's leadership. He could connect with citizens because he somehow understood and appreciated where people were at and conveyed that he cared. 

And therein lies our present problem when an administration displays a shocking lack of competence and the person at the top seems so notoriously lacking in empathy.

Shutdown Questions

The other day, I was pointed to an article on the conservative website First Things, entitled "Questioning the Shutdown -https://www.firstthings.com/webexclusives/2020/03/questioning-the-shutdown. 

There is certainly some validity to the author's concerns, but I also find them problematic in more ways than one.
The author's concern seems to be that the present precautionary procedures against the COVID-19 pandemic - this "extraordinary shutdown" - will, especially if they are prolonged, likely have harmful consequences and do lasting damage to our institutions, and in a special way our religious institutions.

There is obviously some truth to that observation. In fact, many people from various perspectives have expressed concern about what long-term damage society will suffer from this experience. The immediate point at issue, however, is how we prudently evaluate the necessity of measures that might well in the long-term contribute to those consequences - and then what longer-term institutional reforms may help to undo some of that damage. I have no doubt that this crisis will take a terrible toll on all of our institutions. The challenge will be how we respond and what resources - cultural, social, political, and religious - we will still have with which to respond.

The author is especially harsh in his evaluation of the response of the Churches. "Cancelling services and closing churches," he claims, "underlines the irrelevance of institutional Christianity in our technocratic age." To me, that seems like a very strange statement. Institutional Christianity may indeed be increasingly "irrelevant" to many Americans, but why should the Churches' concern for public health make Christianity any more "irrelevant" to them than it already is? Other institutions have closed, institutions which many secular Americans may already consider much more relevant than religion - for example, schools, businesses, and (this society's most particularly pernicious substitute for religion) sports. Their closing hardly underlines their "irrelevance." Moreover, I can hardly think of anything more likely to contribute to religion's "irrelevance" right now than for Churches to oppose - or not to cooperate with - necessary public health measures, prioritizing a politicized theory of religious liberty over the common good, including the health and safety of their own congregations. 

Of course, the Church's mission transcends public health and safety. With several simple but remarkably powerful gestures (for example, his pilgrimage walk in an empty Rome to San Marcello al Corso last week and his repeated invitations to moments of prayer) Pope Francis has highlighted that the Church's mission is, above all, a spiritual one - and also one which can still be exercised while supporting (and certainly not undermining) the common good of human society. The Church is a unique society with a supernatural end, which transcends the legitimate natural ends of civil society, but she is not an automatic obstacle to civil society's legitimate natural ends.

But perhaps the issue is not so much the Church's mission versus the common good of human society, but competing notions of what is in fact the good of society - or of the individual (for those "conservatives" who, echoing Margaret Thatcher, argue that there is no such a thing as society). The author, for example, seems to have no hesitation accepting guidance from, of all places, The Wall Street Journal, which is worried about "a drastic decline in GDP." 

One would think that concerns about public health and safety are at least as legitimate for Churches and religious people to care a lot about in this transitory life as is "a drastic decline in GDP." Indeed, down through the centuries in this vale of tears, the Church has canonized for their heroic sanctity men and women who have devoted themselves to caring for others' physical health and well being, often founding religious communities with that as their mission. I can't recall anyone who has been canonized for caring about the GDP.

And surely one of the main reasons for religion's increasing "irrelevance" today has been precisely the alliance of elements of American religion with capitalism and its dire social consequences - so many of which are increasingly on display in the precarious situation in which so many now find themselves as a consequence of this pandemic. 

Some temporary "social distancing" may be a prudent response to the threat of contagion.  The long-term social isolation of so many on the margins of our society has been a moral calamity.

Distanced But Not Divided

Today is Laetare Sunday, which gets its name from the opening words of today’s Introit,  “Rejoice, Jerusalem, and all who love her. Be joyful, all who were in mourning; exult and be satisfied at her consoling breast.” In most years, we mark this mid-lent moment with bright rose vestments, flowers on the altar, and the playing of the organ – external signs that our Lenten pilgrimage is half-over and that we are already half-way to Easter. 

But this has been a Lent unlike any that any of us have ever experienced. All public Masses have been cancelled in much of the world - radical but necessary precautions as the world responds to the global threat of the COVID-19 coronavirus pandemic. This is a sacrifice which we are being called upon to make to reduce the spread of infection, because that is what it means to be a society and to care about the common good. In time, we will have a better sense of what can prudently be done, but for now I encourage everyone to pay attention to and follow faithfully the current public health guidelines and minimize being in public places and in groups of any significant size. This is especially important for those of us who are older or who may have an already existing medical condition.

With that in mind, I welcome all who are joining one another in spirit for Mass this Sunday. We may be separated by circumstances, but we are not divided. 

HOMILY

The Gospel according to John portrays Jesus performing a series of miracles, which John calls “signs.” The specific “sign” in today’s Gospel [John 9:1-41] is a truly monumental miracle, for, as the formerly blind man himself testifies, it was unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. And, just as the blind man receives physical sight, he is also gradually given increasing insight into who Jesus is, culminating in his profession of faith, “I do believe, Lord.” He receives his physical sight through a series of steps in which Jesus spits on the ground, makes a kind of clay which he smears on the man’s eyes, and tells him to wash in the Pool of Siloam. The man goes, washes, and returns able to see.  Meanwhile, he gains increasing insight into who Jesus is - a growth in faith which exactly parallels the unbelief of Jesus’ adversaries, who can certainly see but are spiritually blind - obstinately so. Physically the Pharisees could see, but spiritually they would not see, because they already knew with absolute certitude that Jesus was not from God. Unlike the disability of the man blind from birth, theirs was a willful choice not to see.

It’s easy to appreciate why the Church chose this Gospel account to express what happens when one turns one’s life around and obeys Jesus’ command to go and wash in the waters of baptism. What happens is a wonderfully new and bright outlook on life.  At the same time, it is also an enormous challenge. Embracing belief in Christ opens one to a new life of faith and worship, but also potentially puts one at odds with the darkness that still seems to dominate the world, challenging us to reject our own blind spots and to respond anew to Jesus’ invitation to live in the light.

Meanwhile, easily overlooked in this wonderful story is a sidebar at the beginning when the disciples speculated about the cause of the man’s blindness. In that pre-scientific age, the disciples wondered whether someone’s sin was to blame – an opinion Jesus explicitly rejected.

We, of course, with the insights of modern science, know the natural causes of disease; but, as our present predicament demonstrates, we may feel just as confused and helpless as our ancestors as we are confronted by a new and dangerous disease. Indeed, because we have expectations that they did not have about our ability to control the natural world and to organize our lives as we wish, we may be even more unsettled than they were, when sickness strikes so unexpectedly as this pandemic has done, suddenly forcing us to stop whatever else we thought we would be doing.

Questions like “why?” are important, of course; but much more important are questions like “what do we do now?” Just as the no-longer-blind man asked Jesus for direction, we too need to ask what we can do in response to this unexpected challenge. Now obviously doctors and healthcare workers and policymakers have particular responsibilities and things they need to do. But, for all of us, there are two things, I think, that we are especially challenged to do.

The first, of course, is to pray. Because we are in danger does not mean God has completely abandoned us, and because we cannot at Mass does not mean we  should abandon the new life God has called us to. I don’t know if you saw the pictures of Pope Francis’ pilgrimage last Sunday through the empty streets of Rome, visiting shrines connected with experiences of God’s presence and healing action in past plagues. I found those photos profoundly moving.

The second thing that we are all being challenged to do flows from the first. Just as God does not abandon us, and we must not abandon our relationship with God, so too we must not abandon our relationships with one another. The more we are required to distance ourselves physically from one another, the more we must NOT distance ourselves spiritually. If ever there was a time to reach out to one another by telephone or Facebook or whatever, it is now – especially when so many of our brothers and sisters are alone and may need our help to meet ordinary needs and to allay extraordinary fears. So that even in this terribly frightening time, the works of God may continue to be made visible in our world.

Homily for the 4th Sunday of Lent, March 22, 2020.

Photo: Saint Michael's Chapel, Paulist Fathers' Residence, Knoxville TN.

After Truth

After Truth: Disinformation and the Cost of Fake News is an HBO documentary that aired this past Thursday evening, executive produced by CNN's Brian Stelter (Relliable Sources). As its title says, it is an account of the (mostly right wing) disinformation and fake news that has been one of the most destructive features of this present era in American political life. In the process it introduces us to various  characters and horrifying events -  like the famous "Pizzagate" absurdity that convinced a gunman to drive from North Carolina to a Washington, D.C., restaurant to thwart what was being falsely presented in right wing media as a front for a Democratic-run pedophilia ring. (The resilience of the staff and customers at Comet Ping Pong may be one of the very few bright spots in this very sad story.)

One of the most revealing conversations in the documentary is with a political operative whose attitude toward the consequences is "so what" and who cites "philosophers on all sides" to the effect that there is no truth. 

But one of the prerequisites for any functioning society is social solidarity, rooted in a reasonable level of trust and a commitment to truth. The assault on science and expertise by one political party in recent decades and our loss of a common culture rooted in shared information and a common understanding of reality have helped bring our country to its presently deeply divided state and has weakened our ability to respond in a unified way in time of national crisis - as is so obviously evident in our present predicament.

Spiritual Communion

Our Bishop has asked that our churches be kept open, with the Blessed Sacrament exposed, for at least some time during the day to allow for private prayer by individuals who wish to visit the church, even while maintaining "social distance." 

Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament (nowadays increasingly called "Adoration") used to be rare and is probably more frequent now than at any other time in the Church's long history. Perhaps it runs the risk of becoming too frequent, too routine. That said, the practice does have a historical association with times of crisis. Thus the famous "Forty Hours' Devotion" originated as a penitential prayer for peace. So it seems especially appropriate right now.

Saint John Vianney (1786-1859) famously said, "no wall can shut us out from the good God." And so it appears that the widespread suspension of public Masses around the world seems to be breathing new life into a once common Catholic practice that I thought had practically disappeared and assumed had been forgotten, that of "Spiritual Communion." 

Back in the 1950s when I was in grade school, apart from priests (who, of course, celebrated Mass daily) and religious sisters and brothers and a few especially devout "daily communicants," most Catholics typically received Holy Communion only a few times a year - or, if members of a parish Society, on their Society's monthly Communion Sunday.  By then, Pope Saint Pius X's early 20th-century encouragement of "frequent Communion" had become sufficiently popularized that Catholic school kids of my era were socialized to go to Communion on most, if not all, Sundays - something that had definitely not, however, caught on yet among most "adults." There were also certain occasions - funerals, for example - when absolutely no one at all, other than the celebrating priest, went to Communion.

Meanwhile the faithful who did not receive Communion at Mass were widely encouraged to make what was commonly called a "Spiritual Communion," by reciting a prayer - such as the following one by Saint Alphonsus Liguori (1696-1787) which was printed in my Saint Joseph Daily Missal: 

"My Jesus, I believe that You are in the Blessed Sacrament. I love You above all things, and I long for You in my soul. Since I cannot now receive You sacramentally, come at least spiritually into my heart. As though You have already come, I embrace You and unite myself entirely to You; never permit me to be separated from You."

Just as, when Pope Francis walked alone through the empty streets of Rome last Sunday, the whole Church was in some sense present with him, so too, when we, while separated physically, seek "spiritual communion," the whole Church is in a real sense present with us, as we are with the Church.

P.S. Today is the 10th anniversary of my first post on this blog. So much has happened in the world and in my life these past 10 years, and I have certainly enjoyed using this vehicle to comment on much of it. For a while, I was wondering whether this anniversary might be the right moment for me to end it. But, as I said, I really enjoy writing this, and the fact is that I would miss it if I quit. (I also appreciate the occasional feedback I get from this or that reader) And now, of course, the COVID-19 coronavirus calamity has, if anything, made all these online interactions seem even that much more worthwhile. So, for the foreseeable future at least, it seems City Father will continue!