Under the Fir Tree

Was I too harsh? That’s the question I'm asking after that last piece . And it’s the right question. If we’re going to talk about judgment in the Church, we should begin by judging our own words. So let me say this clearly: I still believe the basic point—that a parish can be “open” and yet, in a deeper sense, dead. But I also think the way I said it can be heard as simpler and cleaner than reality ever is, especially for the men who actually have to govern entire dioceses, not just paragraphs. Let's name a few things. Parish : a local family of believers gathered around Word and Sacrament. Administration : the hard work of keeping that family housed, fed, and ordered. Fidelity : not perfection, but real obedience to Christ in faith and morals. My earlier piece pushed one side: fidelity first, buildings second. That’s right as far as it goes. But if we stop there, we can grow careless about the other side: the sheer tangle of responsibilities that land on a bishop’s desk. Think...

It’s a strange scandal of our time that a parish is more likely to be closed when the roof leaks than when the faith does. We count heads, we count envelopes, we count square footage, and we imagine we’re being very practical. Like sober stewards tightening belts. But the one thing we rarely count is what actually makes a parish a parish: those who kneel to adore, who confess their sins, who consent to be judged by God and not by whatever slogans pass for morality this quarter. A church can be poor, tiny, hidden behind a gas station—and still be a battlefield where grace and sin wrestle in the dark. What we have now, far too often, are buildings full of people who don’t even admit there’s a war. So yes, there are times when the Church not only could, but probably should, close a parish not because it’s dying, but because it’s already dead and doesn’t know it. Not for money, not for numbers, but because the lamp on that altar has become a stage light for another religion. Think of the o...