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What exactly is a church? Is it a person, a place or a thing — all, some or none of these? When Jesus “called out” Peter before the other Apostles as recorded in Matthew 16:18 (“And so I say to you, you are Peter and upon this rock I will build my church”), he was certainly making a strong statement about stability. And permanence. His declaration that nothing on this earth or even the netherworld will prevail against it (cf. Mt 16:19) is very reassuring, especially in these times of change that we face throughout our Diocese, walking together on our pilgrimage, “Remade for Mission.”

Reports have circulated — dreaded by many parishioners, anticipated by speculators on the value of our realty — that many churches in our Diocese will be closing. Regardless of how one may feel about these prospects, it seems inevitable. Nobody knows how many. I have no list. Any decisions will not be “top down” but through a deliberative, synodal process involving the parishes themselves in considering options and consequences. 

No one agrees on all “synodal” means but the essential components of a synodal process seem to include the centrality of prayer. Prayer is less about words than it is about listening, our best spiritual guides tell us. We all know the advice of St. Francis. Since “synod” means “assembly,” it must include a coming together of people open to listening to God — and how the Holy Spirit may be speaking to us through one another. 

“Reality imposes itself upon us,” my metaphysics professor used to say. There is no sugarcoating of the nuts and bolts of our current crisis. We have no choice but to confront it boldly and with trust that Jesus is as close to us today as he was with his disciples when he founded his church. What exactly is that church? Is it any different now than it was when he founded it? 

In one sense, yes. We have two thousand years of Christian history since the apostolic era and the faith has grown to include, by some estimates, about 2.6 to 2.7 billion worldwide, which amounts to 32-33 percent of the global population. Although it is tempting to point to many works of art — including our magnificent cathedrals and treasured church edifices that were bequeathed to us by generations of faithful ancestors — our real vitality lies in our people, and the faith that inspires us.

The word Jesus used to describe the “church” he was founding on Peter, in collaboration with the Apostles, was ekklesia — in Greek, “called out” to an “assembly” or “gathering.” Would it surprise you to hear that this was not only a New Testament concept? In his address to the Sanhedrin, Stephen calls the people of Israel “the assembly (ekklesia) in the wilderness” (Acts 7:28). Mostly, however, the term is used to describe the people who comprise the New Testament church. It is always God’s people, however, who are being called out.

The very word “church” then in its original sense suggests something disruptive, that rouses us out of our comfort zones. It is not focused on making us feel secure or “established,” but rather an invitation, initiated by God, that wants us to make a difference in the world. Jesus anticipates that his “church” — God’s people in the world — will encounter hardships and even conflict. He is setting us up, with Peter, preparing us for spiritual warfare. 

During his public ministry, Jesus did at times call his Apostles to “come away” with him, to embrace the special communion with him among believers. The moving apart from the world, even a retreat to quiet spaces, is always primarily a separation from sin (1 Peter 1:16). We are called to be different from the world in order to make that difference in the world. How we will face the real crisis of excessive and unsustainable land and church structures must be a witness to the world (and one another) of how we Catholics are able to come together, face the challenge of some burdensome temporalities, and strengthen our unity around those foundational principles that really matter. One might even say that we need an “ecological conversion,” a way of focusing more on the common good of our ecclesial communion than the monuments and safe spaces we have erected over the decades, even some of our beautiful church buildings.

Sometimes we want to hold onto the blossoms of spring that are so gorgeous while they last. Have you ever seen lilies that are browning at the edges, no longer as fresh as they were on Easter Sunday when they were placed around the altar? “Dead flowers do not give glory to God,” I remember hearing from a wise sacristan who used to keep the church of my youth in tiptop shape. Neither do half-empty churches!

I mentioned earlier “those foundational principles that really matter.” What are they? Well, there is a song that we sing sometimes, “The Church’s One Foundation is Jesus Christ our Lord.” According to its author, Louis Benson, its lyrics are an attempt to make what we confess in “The Apostle’s Creed” — which affirms belief in “the holy Catholic Church” and “the communion of saints” — less academic and more meaningful to the average worshipper with its devotional spirit.

I do not know if any song can completely capture the spirit of our faith. I do know — I think we all do — that actions speak louder than words. The way we come together, pray together, and decide together how to face up to our present challenges will say much more about who we are. The world looks toward us to be signs of unity, peace and dedication to the Truth at the center of our faith, more than any laurels from the past that we might be resting on. Who we really are as a holy and courageous people “called out” and “set apart,” or a band of sanctimonious couch potatoes will, in due time, become clear. What will our choice be? Our comforts or the Cross?

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