In the discussions, one question is invariably put to me, and it amounts to this: If you were going to be at the upcoming Synod assembly, what would be your Number 1 ask?

The question is an obvious one: many of those interested in the Synod belong to groups who are calling for renewal within the Church, and very many of them are still seeking to bring the vision of Vatican Council II (1962-65) to fruition through specific changes and reforms.

But if the question is obvious, that does not mean that answer is.

You, me, and every other Catholic could draw up a wish list of "changes we would like to see", but would such a list appropriate?

Come to think of it, even Pope Francis could draw up such a list.

I'm sure that abolishing clericalism, finding new ways of standing up for the poor and for the creation, and some way to repair the hurt and damage caused by sexual abuse by clergy would be on it - but that list too might be a short-circuiting of the very basis of a Synod assembly.

Synod assemblies are supposed to be places of listening

At the heart of the notion of synodality is that people from different places, coming together bring different views, perspectives and insights.

Each has to be listened to, taken into account, and valued.

Traditionally, this has meant bishops listening to bishops - and, clearly, this is one of the problems when synodality is to become a characteristic of the Church.

There need to be many other perspectives than those of celibate, older men who all have a common profession with a highly defined esprit de corps.

A start has been made with having some others of the baptised being at the Synod assemblies and allowing them to vote, but if this next assembly is to usher in synodality to the Catholic Church, this is just the tip of an iceberg.

Only when a genuine culture of listening is in place, can one start to think about various wish lists for change.

But why is listening so important?

Because the opposite of listening is a top-down approach where all knowledge, guidance, and wisdom is held by a group of leaders, or even just one man, and this is then dispensed to everyone else.

The vision of the Catholic Church put forward by Pius IX (who was pope from 1846-78) and his successors - a model that is still very much in place - is the antithesis of a synodal Church.

The older model was one of a two-tier Church of teachers (the ecclesia docens) and obedient listeners (the ecclesia discens).

The synodal Church assumes that all speak and all listen.

They do this in terms of their common dignity as human beings created in God's likeness, in terms of their common baptism that makes them members of the Christ, and in terms of their common task as disciples moving along the Way.

We do not yet know how to do this - the consultation processes have been very patchy and clunky - but we have made a start.

Only one thing seems certain: the period from October 2023 to October 2024 is going to be a steep learning curve, it is going to be painful, but it will be a time of real growth.

Also, let us be realistic, it will meet stiff resistance not just from Roman Curia officials who have a personal interest in the status quo, but from those looking for simple, black/white answers to complex questions, and from those who use religion - and a certain type of Catholicism in particular, as one more front for their social and economic agenda.

Alas, authoritarianism survives because it is convenient for so many!

The key questions: where are we now and where should we be going?

So what are they listening for?

It is not a case that they are listening out for some voice from heaven or that there is a secret key that could unlock some wondrous source of wisdom.

There have been many times in Christian history when groups have claimed that they had just such a treasure with all the answers.

Some claim that they have it in a sacred book such as the scriptures, or in replicating yesterday and claiming that is "tradition", or in an individual such as the pope, or even some private revelation (e.g. "the secret message" of Fatima).

But synodal listening is far more mundane and requires much more thinking, prayer, and discerning.

The focus is on where are we, as the People of God, now?

What are the demands of discipleship that we face in our time and culture, and what is the best way to face these challenges.

Moreover, we are a people on the move: we are called to walk and act as disciples, not simply sign up to an abstract list of beliefs. Hence, a second question, where should we be going?

How should we be witnessing to God's love manifest in his Anointed One?

What should we be doing that we are not doing?

Answering these questions will throw up a whole raft of changes that we have to make if we are to move forward: that is the wish list.

And once we know where we should be going, if the Synod does not act on these, it will fail.

One does not listen just to get information. One also listens to see what has to be done now.

Then one prays for the courage to make the changes in the face of those who oppose change.

The true wish list can only emerge from the listening.

What would you say?

If presenting a "wish list" is not the first step for a Synod, that does not mean that there is not something I would like to say to the assembly were I there.

Synod assemblies have often failed to really solve problems they've decided to tackler for this reason: facing the need to change would mean acknowledging that the Church had made mistakes in the past.

In 1415, at the Council of Constance, the Church did not face up to the questions posed to it by Jan Hus (c.1369-6 July 1415) - instead they condemned him and handed him to the civil power who murdered him by burning at the stake.

If that council had admitted that certain errors had crept into the liturgy and remedied them, the festering problems that lead to the Reformation - and the division of the Western Church - might have been avoided.

It was only in the 1950s that scholars looked again at Hus's writings and realized that he was not guilty of the heresies of which he was accused, and for which is was murdered.

Alas, many places in the Catholic Church still have not responded to problems pointed out by Hus - despite Vatican II addressing them.

But Vatican II did not admit that there was a defective tradition due to mistakes; so by not admitting that any mistake had ever been made, many bishops' conferences did not realise that the changes were actually important and not just "window dressing".

At the Council of Trent (1545-63), the fear that if they admitted Martin Luther might have made many correct challenges to the Church meant that rather than learning from his criticism, and that of others, they swung to the other extreme.

So fearful were they that if they admitted that Luther was right on anything, they rejected even the obvious reforms.

The effect was that the indefensible was, in many cases, made the norm.

Moreover, this policy served to embed division and warfare over religion into the heart of European society.

We are still paying the cost.

Again, many of these were put right by Vatican II - but again, no one "put their hands up" and said, "we got it wrong".

The myth that the Church is perfect, that it does not make mistakes, and that "everything it has ever said is consistent with everything else" won the day!

Then at Vatican Council II a somewhat similar situation arose.

The bishops privately knew that mistakes had to be corrected, but once more, they made changes without explaining that they proposed these as remedies.

The result was the conundrum of saying: the new way is better, but there is nothing wrong with the old way!

The result has been people scratching their heads as to why the changes were made; while others engage in culture wars within the Catholic Church.

It would have been much better to come clean and say: we have made massive mistakes, explain the mistakes, and then show how we are trying to put things right. Lest it look like a pope was finding fault with an earlier pope, we were presented with confusing messages that pretended that the earlier pope had "really meant" to say the exact opposite!

One could multiply examples - but the point is that we are not perfect, but we have the Spirit constantly calling us to improve.

It would be better, simpler, and more honest to face our problems and say: we have blundered!

Listening and admitting mistakes is part of conversion

Few today take the triumphalistic tone of the early twentieth century: we have all just as it should be in the Holy Church - and so we do not need to change.

But we still have many in authority in the Church who, almost unknown to themselves, slip into the position that they can only countenance changes where these do not contradict what has been long defended.

To these brothers and sisters in baptism, the idea of a chronic mistake is unthinkable - but a reality check shows that they do occur.

To move out of this mindset of "we cannot have been wrong" requires humility, facing up to unpalatable realities, and trust in the Spirit.

Moreover, it goes against the grain in that the familiar always seems so secure, the new and unfamiliar is frightening, and, lest we forget the basics, religion is naturally a conservative force within society - and so it acts as a break on change and as a locus of reaction to change.

So what would I say: Believe that the Holy Spirit leads us into all truth (Jn 14:17) and that we will only be the complete witness to the Christ at the end of time. Meanwhile, we must be engaged in a continual work of renewing and purifying.

In this process of conversion to the gospel, the best start is to admit and name the mistakes that have been made - even if this means taking some of the shine off sainted figures in the past. Then ask the Lord for the courage to begin afresh in new ways.

This is a message we have long preached to individuals in their following of the Way, but one we need to learn also as communities and within the Catholic Church as a whole.

• Thomas O'Loughlin is a presbyter of the Catholic Diocese of Arundel and Brighton and professor-emeritus of historical theology at the University of Nottingham (UK). His latest book is Discipleship and Society in the Early Churches.
• First published in La-Croix International. Republished with permission.
• His latest book is "Shaping the Assembly: How Our Buildings form us in Worship".

The type of ground prompts introspection: which parts of me are rocky, shallow, or overrun with thorns?

However, suddenly, I find myself at the centre of the narrative.

I recommend reading verses 1-9, as they shift the focus towards the Sower, a figure I find particularly compelling.

The Sower also fascinated the Dutch Post-Impressionist painter Vincent Van Gogh (1853 - 1890).

Throughout Van Gogh's career, he created over 30 artworks centred on this theme, and one that stands out for me is "The Sower at Sunset."

Van Gogh completed this painting in 1888 during his stay in Arles, Provence. This was a period marked by his intense and tumultuous friendship with French artist Paul Gauguin, which unfolded in the Yellow House, a setting that also features in Van Gogh's paintings.

"The Sower at Sunset" depicts a figure in a field, scattering seeds.

The action of sowing strikes me as "indiscriminate."

I envision the rhythmic motion of the hand and arm, moving from the seed bag to the ground, scattering seeds with a sense of freedom and abandonment.

What a contrast, the ripe corn behind the Sower and the Sower who sows the cultivated land with a broad arm gesture.

The Sower does not walk among the fertility of what has been sown and grown.

Instead, he treads upon the cultivated soil, the realm of potentiality.

The Sower and the ploughed land share the same colour.

This leaves me with a question for reflection.

Where might I find my God more?

Is my God in the anticipation of what is to come, represented by the ploughed field, or in the fruition of what has been symbolised by the fertile field of corn?

• Gerard Whiteford SM is a retreat facilitator and spiritual companion for 35 years.

Parishes are being combined, the ordained ministers being spread more thinly around communities, and the access to gathering for Eucharistic activity is being curtailed.

The process is sometimes given an elegant name derived from analogies with businesses that are "down-sizing", but this does not hide the reality that this is driven by two key factors: fewer and ageing presbyters.

Moreover, there is little prospect that this situation—even with the addition of presbyters from Africa and India (a practice that is itself a form of colonial exploitation)—will change any time soon.

In answer to this, we need to reflect on the basics of ministry and not merely imagine that what has been the paradigm of ministry in the Catholic Church since the early seventeenth century is either set in stone or in any way ideal.

Rather than being an ideal, it was instead a pragmatic response to the Reformation which, in terms of the Council of Trent's vision of "the priesthood" (sacerdotium), was perceived as an officer-led rebellion that was to be prevented from recurring.

Liturgical ministry

Every religion, and every Christian denomination, has spiritual leaders, and these take the primary roles at its rituals. Moreover, ritual requires expertise, and the amount of expertise required is usually a direct function of the length of the group's remembered tradition.

But there is a binary model at work here: a sole minister or small ministry group that acts, leads and preaches/speaks/teaches on one side and, opposite them, a much larger group that attends/listens/and receives ministry.

We see this model in a nutshell in the statement "the clergy administer the sacraments".

This is a valuable and widely appreciated model because it fits well beside other expert service providers in society (e.g. medics providing healthcare to the rest of the community, or accountants providing financial services), and so full-time "ministers of religion" are aligned by society, and often by themselves, with those other experts.

Because society needs a "chaplaincy" service, we have a justification for the clergy and their liturgical ministry within society.

Discipleship as community service

In stark contrast to such highly structured notions of ministry or priesthoods, Jesus was not a Levite; his ministry barely engaged with the formal religious expert systems, and when those structures are recalled (e.g. Lk 10 31 and 32; Jn 4:21), they are the objects of criticism or presented as transient.

Moreover, while Jesus was presented as appointing messengers/preachers (apostles), there is no suggestion that these were thought of as ritual experts.

Leaders emerged in the various early Churches with a variety of names: e.g. "elders" [presbuteroi] or "overseers-and-servants" [episkopoi kai diakonoi]. The latter was possibly a double name for a single person, which we would later divide into two ranks: "bishop" and "deacon".

But it took generations (until the later second century; we now know that Ignatius of Antioch wrote after AD 150 at the earliest) for those patterns to be harmonized between communities, and then systematized into authority structures.

There is no suggestion in the first-century documents that leadership at the two key community events, baptisms and Eucharistic celebrations, was restricted in any way to or was the preserve of those who were community leaders, much less a specially authorized group.

The link between (a) leadership of the community and (b) presidency at the Eucharistic meal (a linkage that would drive much later thinking on ministry and even today is a major source of Christian division) would not be forged until the third century, and only later again would "the history of its institution" by Jesus be constructed.

The Church within society

It has long been an illusion of the various Christian denominations that a study of history—particularly the first couple of centuries and the texts from those times that they held to belong to the New Testament Canon—could provide a blueprint for ministry (e.g. "the three-fold structure of order": bishop, presbyter, deacon).

Neither can it offer a conclusive answer to issues relating to ministry that have arisen in later situations (such as, at the time of the Reformation, what "power" can be seen to come from the Christ to the priest, or whether a woman can preside at the Eucharist today).

This is an illusory quest. Not only does it fall victim to the anachronism inherent in all appeals to a perfect original moment, a much imagined period in the past when all was revealed (at least in nuce).

But it also assumes that ministry as it later developed was not itself the outcome of multiple, often conflicting, forces in particular societies, as well as adaptations by Christians to well-known inherited religious structures (e.g. orienting worship in churches because pagan temples were so aligned).

So, for example, the clerical system, within which was/is located liturgical ministry, for much of Christian history-related originally to the political needs of the Church as a public body within the Roman Empire.

Given that there was no "original" plan for liturgical ministry in the Church and, as a result of centuries of disputes, there are many conflicting views about what constitutes someone within ministry, so it is quite impossible—except within the mythic spaces of particular denominations—to produce a systematic "original plan" for liturgical ministry.

However, given that ministry occurs and is needed, one can set out some criteria that can help individuals and communities to develop a pragmatic theology of liturgical ministry.

Criteria for ministry

Every specific ministry is a particular variation of the ministry of all the baptized, and in baptism there is a radical equality: "there is neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither slave nor free; there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Gal 3:28).

This radical equality is a characteristic of the new creation brought about in Christ.

Therefore, any subsequent distinctions such that particular ministries are not potentially open to every baptized person are tantamount to a defective theology of baptism by which all ministry is brought into being.

So, by making further demands for "signs" of particular divine election (e.g. being able to speak in tongues or handle snakes) as indications of suitability for ministry fly in the face of the incarnational dispensation seen in baptism.

Likewise, regulations that restrict ministry to particular states of life (e.g. demanding celibacy as a condition for the presbyterate) have to be seen as an undue concern with the status of certain ministries.

They imply that baptism is merely some basic entry requirement for "Christianity" rather than that which creates the new person who can minister, and in that new creation no such distinctions exist.

Similarly, the notion that women, as such, can be excluded from ministry on the basis of some pragmatic historical appeal (e.g. "Jesus did not ordain women!"—assuming such a pre-critical view of "history" has any value), fails to take account of the fundamental role of baptism in all Christian existence and action.

We must also respect the awareness that all action and ministry by Christians is Christ-ian in nature.

Christians form a people: a priestly people. We all too often, and too easily, lose sight of the fact that Christians must think of their liturgy in a way that is radically opposed to that commonly found in other religions of a "religious service" due to God or the gods.

In that paradigm, the divine is the opposite of the world in which we live and to which something is owed, presented or transferred, and this constitutes a mode of contact with the divine realm, which might constitute a debt of loyalty/praise/petition or appeasement.

Making this connection, whether by an individual or a group, assumes a technical knowledge and some sacred skill—usually the work of a special priesthood—such that the divine recognizes that the action performed is the appropriate sacred deed.

The priesthood holds the sacred key not permitted to the mere worshippers!

Christians, contrariwise, conceive their worship on the basis that their servant is with them in a community.

Therefore, where two or three are gathered in the name of Jesus, he is with them (Mt 18:20).And so their actions together—such as celebrating a meal—take place in the presence of the Father, because the Christ present among them, is always their High Priest.

This theological vision has important implications for individual Christians who find themselves performing specific acts, ministries, within the Church. Within Christianity, the ministry is that of the whole community.

Language and priestly ministry

It is also worth remembering that language plays us false in understanding "priestly ministry" in particular.

The Old Testament cohen (which we usually render by the word "priest") performed special tasks on behalf of the rest of Israel (see Leviticus and Numbers).

This was rendered in the Septuagint by the word hiereus—a word commonly used for pagan temple officials—and then, later, into Latin by sacerdos, which was a generic word covering all the various special temple "priesthoods" such as flamenes and pontifices.

The early Christians did not use these words for their leaders. Hiereus and sacerdos belonged to Jesus alone in the heavenly temple. Christian leaders were designated by their relation to the community: as the one who oversaw, led, or served it.

Later, the hiereus/sacerdos language was absorbed and became the basis of Christians' perceptions of their presbyters. Our word "priest" is etymologically from the word "presbyter", but conceptually it relates to the sacerdotal functions.

Once this had occurred, it had to be asked what made them different and what special religious quality they had that others did not possess.

The answer came with the notion of a power "to consecrate", and then this power (itself the subject of rhetorical inflation) became the basis of "ontological difference" between them and "ordinary Christians" or whose ministry is "praying, paying, and obeying".

After more than a millennium and a half of these confusions in Christianity, both East and West, it is very hard for many who see themselves as "ministers" in a Church—especially those with elaborate sacerdotal liturgies—to break free of this baggage.

Tradition can be like a great oil-tanker turning at sea: it takes a long time to overcome inertia, and for the ship to answer the helm!

Where do we start?

In every community, there are those who have the skills that have brought that group together and given it an identity. The task is to recognize these actual ministers and to facilitate them to make that ministry more effective and fruitful.

Some will have the gifts of evangelizing and welcoming, others the skills of leading the prayer and offering the thanksgiving sacrifice of praise, others the gifts of teaching, others of reconciling, others for the mission of each community to the building up of the kingdom of justice and peace, and some will have management skills.

None is greater and none is less!

In every discussion of ministry we need to have the advice of Paul to the Church in Corinth around 58 CE echoing in our heads as he presents ministry as the working out of the presence of the Spirit in the assembly:

Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.

To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.

To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another, gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another, various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues.

All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit (1 Cor 12:4-13).

If these statements were to reverberate through our discussions today we might need to talk less about "closing churches" and "combining parishes" and could then move on to the more fruitful task of discovering the wealth of vocations that are all around us.

But there is only one [merely logical] certainty: the future will not be like the past. And when the present seeks to recede into its past, it is untrue to its own moment.

• Thomas O'Loughlin is a presbyter of the Catholic Diocese of Arundel and Brighton and professor-emeritus of historical theology at the University of Nottingham (UK). His latest book is Discipleship and Society in the Early Churches.

These people are setting out on an open-ended quest, on their own or with trusted friends, to find meaning.

More than a third have changed their religion of record in search of what they could not find in their faith of origin.

Others are finding their way to humanist communities where they study, reflect and find fellowship in modes not dissimilar to those of churches, synagogues, mosques and temples.

The failure in organised religion is not a failure of faith, however, but of institutions.

It results from a growing mismatch between the needs of modern people and the religious organizations intended to serve them.

Now, even as those institutions falter, new centres of spirituality and community are attracting those who have fallen away from their houses of worship.

These movements are based not on established doctrines, clergy hierarchies or grandiose buildings but on new formulations of belief, identity, belonging and leadership.

They are often organized by marginalized people who have been left out of old structures of faith and who dare to ask big questions and demand more from their spiritual communities.

Having long been underserved, they choose not to hide in the shadows but instead create brilliant new forms of religious community.

A century ago, clergy like us — two rabbis serving Reform Jewish communities in the heart of a major urban centre — were in many ways indispensable.

The leaders of the American Jewish community led an effort to build synagogues, community centres and day schools.

We convened major organizations, centralizing information and power to help waves of mostly Eastern European immigrants acculturate to life.

Today, as we document in our forthcoming book, "Awakenings: American Jewish Transformations in Identity, Leadership, and Belonging," the roles we inhabit belong to that bygone era.

Jews no longer need such spaces to mediate between the American and Jewish parts of their identities.

Rather than finding new purposes to unite American Jews, organizations like ours have become purposes unto themselves, draining resources and enthusiasm from individuals who remain remarkably proud of their identities.

Our communities may buck the trends of decline because of our remarkable lay leaders, because of an enduring sense of purpose and because of the very spiritual and social infrastructure our forebears built.

But our synagogues will not emerge from this awakening unchanged.

The decline of these legacy institutions doesn't portend a death spiral of assimilation for American Judaism, so much as an overdue reckoning with our community's changing needs.

No longer a marginalized community of immigrants, we have not only acculturated ourselves but are slowly coming to embrace a surprising number of converts, as well as people inspired by Jewish ideas and rituals who have no intention to become permanent members of the community.

After grieving the pain of change, we will come to see the bounty of a Jewish awakening that reshapes our people's largest diaspora community.

As we shared our book's hypothesis with colleagues from other traditions, we came to realize that the awakening is not confined to the Jewish community.

White evangelical Christian communities are (in the words of one pastor) "in free fall," while many mainline Protestant churches are emptying.

Catholics, whose growth can be attributed in many areas to immigration, are hoping to sustain homegrown flocks by seeking new leadership roles for women.

Black churches continue to thrive but search for avenues to share their wisdom and inspiration with people of other faiths and skin colours.

Many American Muslims feel deeply connected to faith, meanwhile, but are "unmosqued" for lack of access to communities that empower women as equals or embrace LGBTQ people.

Hindus search for American expressions of a faith that grew out of South Asia.

Seekers who dabble in multiple traditions befuddle many clergy but are coalescing in increasingly holistic communities of practice.

The future resides with lay leaders and houses of worship that support innovation, focus on empowerment rather than power, and seed (or become) their own successor organizations.

It resides with people absent from our biggest pulpits because of gender, country of origin, mother tongue or skin colour. The future resides in clarity of purpose that can unite people and bring them together in hope, not in fear of damnation, judgment or social ostracism. It resides in organizations that bring people together for a reason but keeps them thereby fostering a sense of communal belonging.

As we have witnessed before in history, out of the remnants of religion a bright awakening rises.

• Joshua Stanton is rabbi of East End Temple in Manhattan and a senior fellow at CLAL-The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership.
• Benjamin Spratt is senior rabbi at Congregation Rodeph Sholom in Manhattan.
• First published by RNS. Republished with permission.

He phrases it in various ways, but the message is the same.

"Keep us from becoming a 'museum Church,' beautiful but mute, with much past and little future," he said recently as he opened the synodal process.

The pope has put this finger on a crucial point: if a living body is only fit for a museum, then it is of no further value for the living.

But this absolute need not to become a museum can easily be misunderstood and people imaging that the Church does not need a museum of its own.

Anyone familiar with museums knows that they are more than storehouses for antiquated bits of kits.

A museum also tells a group's stories — those of which it is proud and, more importantly, those of which it is not proud; those which, in the pursuit of a better future, it must not forget.

We all can remember the nice bits — and in any case, people will make films about them — but museums are organized memorial structures that stop us forgetting our blunders.

They tell us part of the story of how we got to where we are now, and they can help tell us why we are in the mess we are in.

A museum versus a gallery

For most people, museums are a [very small] part of a summer holiday. If you are in Florence - you must see the Uffizi. If you are in Washington, DC., then the Smithsonian is also a must.

If you go to Paris and do not visit the Louvre, don't tell your friends. They may think you are not sufficiently cultured.

Or if visit and really enjoy it, you may decide not to tell your friends lest they think you are too "high-brow".

The funny thing is that we all have strong feelings about these places because we either think them really wonderful or downright boring.

Waiting to be searched on the way into the National Gallery in London recently I heard a wonderful exchange between a mother and her son. They were obviously visitors to London and were "doing all the "must-see" places.

The little boy tugged backwards on his mother's sleeve and exclaimed: "Mummy! I'm bored! I do not want to go into another museum!"

Displaying great works of genius

The mother, without a moment's hesitation, replied, "That's OK, this is a gallery, not a museum!"

We often confuse galleries and museums, but they do two distinct (if often overlapping tasks).

The gallery's first function is to display those artefacts which we consider the great works of genius. In this process, there may be explanation, background, and notices that give context and history.

But the primary aim is that we should look, appreciate, and enjoy. If we look at any wondrous work of art, we want to just savor it, let it sink in, and encounter it.

If someone turns it into a lecture or a history lesson, something is somehow taken from it.

Yes, the person who knows the background may have a more nuanced appreciation, but they should get the background somewhere else than in the moment of seeing it in the gallery.

Meeting and touching the past

The museum is a different experience: here history is told through the objects. The object becomes the focus and vehicle of explanation that has a very different dynamic to the history lessor or the book.

Here we meet the past, and through the object touch the past in a new way. This is why some modern museums actually have objects they want visitors to touch and encounter in this very immediate, sensitive way.

Take, for example, a set of rusty iron slave chains — such as can be found in most countries where slavery was an accepted part of life, and which can even be found by archaeologists across the area of the Roman Empire.

Such items would have no place in a gallery but are a most important exhibit in a museum.

In the museum, they bring the reality of slavery close to us — and the surrounding information, "the story", is all-important.

Now, these mute objects recall what our ancestors — perhaps less than two centuries ago in the case of parts of the United States - were willing to do to sister or brother humans.

These are not the nice wonders we want to see. This is the reality that warns us that we have erred.

The accompanying narrative that would distract in the gallery, here becomes the communication that brings us into contact with the truth.

Back in London, I do not know whether that answer satisfied the little boy because I was called just then to go through the scanner, but his mother had given him a very good answer.

Our museum as Roman Catholics

So what exhibits should we put in our museum?

The item has to be outdated

It has to be part of our story.

And, perhaps, we should remember it because it can be a warning from history.

Pope Francis has warned on many occasions over the past seven years of the danger of the Church being like a museum, full of lovely stuff that's without any real currency.

He phrases it in various ways, but the message is the same.

"Keep us from becoming a 'museum Church,' beautiful but mute, with much past and little future," he said recently as he opened the synodal process.

The pope has put this finger on a crucial point: if a living body is only fit for a museum, then it is of no further value for the living.

But this absolute need not to become a museum can easily be misunderstood and people imaging that the Church does not need a museum of its own.

Anyone familiar with museums knows that they are more than storehouses for antiquated bits of kits.

A museum also tells a group's stories — those of which it is proud and, more importantly, those of which it is not proud; those which, in the pursuit of a better future, it must not forget.

We all can remember the nice bits — and in any case, people will make films about them — but museums are organized memorial structures that stop us forgetting our blunders.

They tell us part of the story of how we got to where we are now, and they can help tell us why we are in the mess we are in.

A museum versus a gallery

For most people, museums are a [very small] part of a summer holiday. If you are in Florence - you must see the Uffizi. If you are in Washington, DC., then the Smithsonian is also a must.

If you go to Paris and do not visit the Louvre, don't tell your friends. They may think you are not sufficiently cultured.

Or if visit and really enjoy it, you may decide not to tell your friends lest they think you are too "high-brow".

The funny thing is that we all have strong feelings about these places because we either think them really wonderful or downright boring.

Waiting to be searched on the way into the National Gallery in London recently I heard a wonderful exchange between a mother and her son. They were obviously visitors to London and were "doing all the "must-see" places.

The little boy tugged backwards on his mother's sleeve and exclaimed: "Mummy! I'm bored! I do not want to go into another museum!"

Displaying great works of genius

The mother, without a moment's hesitation, replied, "That's OK, this is a gallery, not a museum!"

We often confuse galleries and museums, but they do two distinct (if often overlapping tasks).

The gallery's first function is to display those artefacts which we consider the great works of genius. In this process, there may be explanation, background, and notices that give context and history.

But the primary aim is that we should look, appreciate, and enjoy. If we look at any wondrous work of art, we want to just savor it, let it sink in, and encounter it.

If someone turns it into a lecture or a history lesson, something is somehow taken from it.

Yes, the person who knows the background may have a more nuanced appreciation, but they should get the background somewhere else than in the moment of seeing it in the gallery.

Meeting and touching the past

The museum is a different experience: here history is told through the objects. The object becomes the focus and vehicle of explanation that has a very different dynamic to the history lessor or the book.

Here we meet the past, and through the object touch the past in a new way. This is why some modern museums actually have objects they want visitors to touch and encounter in this very immediate, sensitive way.

Take, for example, a set of rusty iron slave chains — such as can be found in most countries where slavery was an accepted part of life, and which can even be found by archaeologists across the area of the Roman Empire.

Such items would have no place in a gallery but are a most important exhibit in a museum.

In the museum, they bring the reality of slavery close to us — and the surrounding information, "the story", is all-important.

Now, these mute objects recall what our ancestors — perhaps less than two centuries ago in the case of parts of the United States - were willing to do to sister or brother humans.

These are not the nice wonders we want to see. This is the reality that warns us that we have erred.

The accompanying narrative that would distract in the gallery, here becomes the communication that brings us into contact with the truth.

Back in London, I do not know whether that answer satisfied the little boy because I was called just then to go through the scanner, but his mother had given him a very good answer.

Our museum as Roman Catholics

So what exhibits should we put in our museum?

The item has to be outdated

It has to be part of our story.

And, perhaps, we should remember it because it can be a warning from history.

What else?

A museum with just one exhibit would hardly attract visitors.

What other antiquated bits of the Church need to be placed in this new museum?

• Thomas O'Loughlin is a presbyter of the Catholic Diocese of Arundel and Brighton and professor-emeritus of historical theology at the University of Nottingham (UK). His latest book is Eating Together, Becoming One: Taking Up Pope Francis's Call to Theologians (Liturgical Press, 2019).

The award-winning author's new book is about the Church in a post-COVID world.

In "The Pandemic and the People of God", internationally renowned theologian and anthropologist and New Zealand-born priest, Gerald Arbuckle SM, weaves together insights from life, anthropology and theology in his analysis of the Church's role in responding to the pandemic.

Arbuckle told CathNews that while writing the book, at times he felt overwhelmed by the devastating human costs of the pandemic, especially among society's most vulnerable peoples.

"I became intensely aware of the traumatising consequences on individuals and families resulting from the massive escalation of local and global poverty and inequalities.

"Vaccines alone will never solve these human problems," he said.

Arbuckle says no single crisis since the Second World War has left so many people in so many nations traumatised, overwhelmed by grief and stunned by the chaotic cultural and economic consequences of the Covid-19.

Globally an untold number of people have died, many without funerals or memorials to honour them.

Arbuckle says that while there is a yearning for the ‘normality' of the pre-covid-19 era. It cannot be.

He begins his new book with a concise summary of the COVID pandemic's diverse social, political and economic impact on people and communities.

He moves on to craft an anthropological model of the global crisis and its consequences for the Church and for ministry and then clarifies the Gospel's pastoral responses that must guide the way forward for societies and the Church.

It is Arbuckle's view that when big spectacular cultural, political and economic events happen, such as the pandemic, the political, social and economic reverberations take years, even generations, to play out, and they rotate in unpredictable directions.

As his book highlights, an experience of such traumatic severity leaves cultural, physical and mental marks which are indelible.

Even in crisis, Arbuckle is of the view that the world, its people, individually and collectively still need to make choices.

He identifies these choices as choosing whether to let the world further drift into global divisions and conflict - or deciding to find ways to co-operate in reestablishing our institutions on moral values of justice and compassion, no matter how difficult it looks.

Arbuckle is steeped in a lifetime experience of lived faith and reflects on the role of the People of God, whom he says can lead by building social relations based on moral values.

"We need, in church and society, to be steered by a narrative, not of individualism, of solidarity, respect for human dignity and participation - all the values inherent in the Good Samaritan parable.

"Together, in solidarity, we can creatively manage the enduring chaos, if we wish," he says.

With theological reflections and prompts at the end of each chapter, the book offers students, clergy and pastoral ministers a way to understand and to implement pastoral responses to help heal the pandemic's effects.

Walter Brueggemann, author, A Gospel of Hope says: "The best book I have read on the pandemic.

"After an unflinching diagnosis, the book is a summons to radical, active, transformative hope among those who have the wits and the courage to ‘refound' viable community.

"It is framed according to Catholic Social Teaching, but has a deep appeal for those of us outside that particular frame of reference.

"In Arbuckle's knowing hands the pandemic becomes a venue for radical restorative hope."

Source

• The Pandemic and the People of God is available from Orbis Books
• Image: Marist Fathers New Zealand

The problem appears in the Acts of the Apostles: "Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food" (6:1).

The problem was not table service. There are different aspects of the dilemma in other parts of Acts and in Paul's epistles, and even retroactively introduced into the Gospels.

The problem was, "What do we do with these Greek-speakers?" Christianity was originally a Jewish sect. What were these Hellenists doing in the community?

The challenge the Greek-speakers presented was not one of grammar, syntax or an alphabet. Greek was the common tongue of the Roman Empire.

So, the presence of Greek speakers meant that the larger world was infiltrating the Christian community, and the Church had to respond to that larger world.

One way might be exclusion. The people who enraged Paul by insisting upon circumcision and other Biblical laws for non-Jews joining the Church took this path. To be a Christian, one must give up Greek-ness.

We can see Paul's reaction to this in his letter to the Galatians where he bad-mouths Peter for kowtowing to the circumcisionists and wishes a gruesome fate on them: "I wish those who unsettle you would castrate themselves!" (2:11-14; 5:12).

Apart from the surgery, Paul's position became the norm for the Church. The New Testament is written in Greek.

The Church went beyond merely accepting the language of the wider world. It adapted its ministry and life. Trusting in the guidance of the Holy Spirit, Christians created a totally new ministry that evolved into the deaconate.

Those early Christians realized that in order to proclaim the Good News to the whole world, they had to change. And they did, confident that the Spirit would be with them, giving them understanding and guidance. Rather than hold to the past, they invented a future.

Of course, the appearance of Greek-speaking widows was not the last time a new social, cultural and political reality challenged the Church to a radical change.

Perhaps the biggest after the widows was sparked by the beginnings of globalization.

Through the 15th-century journeys of Portuguese mariners around Africa and into Asia, and the realization of two whole continents across the Atlantic Ocean, the Church was forced to face theological challenges.

What is the eternal fate of people who have absolutely no way of hearing the Gospel?

Into this questioning there came a new technology that brought upheaval and new forms for the Church: the printing press.

With that new technology, a whole new culture was born. Literacy became common.

The exploration and exchange of ideas became general. Scripture that had been closed to all who could not read an ancient tongue now became common knowledge to anyone able to read their own language.

Scripture, books and pamphlets enabled people to become latter-day Greek widows. The part of the Church that embraced the new reality came to be called Protestant.

Catholicism took the technology, but rejected the reality it caused, fostered and epitomized.

Latin remained the language of liturgy, and theology and control of the Church remained the province of a caste increasingly out of touch with a world where the exchange of ideas, even if they threatened hallowed forms, was seen as the way to truth.

So, while the world moved toward the Enlightenment with its even-today developing ideas of human dignity, equality and science, that new reality was met with the Index of Forbidden Books that Catholics were not to read, last "updated" in 1948.

It was only in the mid-20th century that the Catholic part of the Church seriously approached the already centuries-old social and religious world in which it was supposedly proclaiming the Gospel.

But, circumcisionists remain. A current example is the question of whether or not the early Church ordained women to deaconal service. Only if the Church did so in the first-century might we do so in the 21st.

In other words, if ancient Christians confidently sought out new ways to embody ministry, only then may modern Christians use their results.

However, are answers to situations two millennia ago valid for situations today?

We face a new reality, a reality in which, for example, women are increasingly taking an equal place in society with men.

It is a globalized reality where communication has moved out of the "Gutenberg Galaxy" of print. Science and too much Church teaching seem to be in parallel universes that never interact. The only unchanging truth today is change.

We live in the presence of the same Holy Spirit who gave those ancient Christians the confidence to imagine new things.

The lesson to take from our forebears is not how they responded to new incursions by the world, but that they did so creatively, confident that the Holy Spirit would be with them.

We should imitate their daring, not their answers.

• William Grimm is a missioner and presbyter in Tokyo and is the publisher of the Union of Catholic Asian News (UCA News). The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official editorial position of UCA News.
• Republished with permission.

Without trust, people refuse to cooperate and instead engage in struggles over power because they fear what will happen if their opponents have it.

Today, we see this in the highly charged partisan character of American politics and in the Catholic Church, where the hierarchy has lost credibility.

A lack of trust provides fertile ground for conspiracy theories from both the left and right.

When I attended Catholic grammar school in the 1950s, our history books were filled with positive stories about America and the Catholic Church.

For the most part, the books fostered a love and respect for political and religious leaders and institutions.

The church was the source of all truth and goodness; America was the home of the brave and the free.

Where there were bad spots — and we all know there were more than a few — they were presented as all in the past and as the actions of individuals, not systemic problems. Little attention was given to the Inquisition and intolerance in the church or slavery and racism in American society. Homophobia and sexism were not words in our vocabulary although they existed all around us.

Rather, the focus was on the triumphant expansion of the Catholic Church. American Catholics were winning their place in American society. America had defeated fascism and was in a Cold War with demonic communism. The culture fostered self-sacrifice and commitment to religious ideals and patriotism.

For my generation, political cynicism began with the Vietnam conflict, during which thousands bravely gave their lives in a war that should have never been waged. We were constantly lied to about why we were there, what was happening and what would happen if we left. I believed those lies almost to the bitter end.

We also saw great leaders assassinated while others proved to be fatally flawed by ambition and lust.

For the church, the turning point was the 1968 papal encyclical "Humanae Vitae," which forbade the use of contraceptives. Suddenly, the all-wise church showed itself to be wrong in the minds of almost all Catholic couples. No one believed that God would punish couples who used contraceptives — or, for that matter, teenagers who masturbated — with the same punishment as Hitler: hellfire for all eternity.

These experiences made us suspicious of political and religious leaders, but perhaps not suspicious enough. When the George W. Bush administration said that there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, we allowed ourselves to be fooled again.

Meanwhile, the Vatican was doubling down on its waning authority by persecuting theologians who challenged church teaching and by appointing unthinking loyalists as bishops. When the sex abuse disaster hit, it destroyed for most Catholics what was left of the hierarchy's credibility. Pope Francis has helped a bit, but even he at times has stumbled.

Politically, things have only gotten worse. President Trump has been so fast and loose with the facts that progressives will not believe anything he says, even if it is against a bad regime like Iran. Worse yet, our allies have lost trust in him. Many Democrats promise one-size-fits-all solutions to complex problems without honestly saying how they will be paid for.

Restoring trust is not easy.

The U.S. bishops thought that an apology and removing bad priests from ministry would solve the problem. Sorry. Not that easy. A husband who cheats on his wife will not fix things with a simple apology. He will have to apologize in word and deed for the rest of his life.

Recently bishops have been shown to have covered up or not fully explained their failures to deal with sex abuse in the past. Total transparency can also help because cover-ups always make matters worse. Even the suspicion of a cover-up makes trust impossible.

I am not suggesting that we return to the naivete of the 1950s. But neither can we remain in opposing camps that simply lob insults at the other side. Dialogue is essential. Listening is essential to dialogue. Unless we understand the perspective of others, we cannot find common ground for action.

The Catholic Church has a special responsibility and opportunity for bridging the partisan divide in America because as a church we are almost evenly divided between Republican and Democrats.

The church must not be seen as endorsing parties or candidates. Denying Communion, for instance, to politicians who take positions opposed by the bishops does not help. Rather, parishes must bring together Catholic Republicans and Democrats to have dialogue and work for the common good.

I would love to see bishops invite Catholic politicians of both parties to a series of off-the-record dinners where they could share their hopes and dreams as well as search for common ground.

St. Ignatius Loyola, the Jesuit who lived in the time of the Inquisition, taught in his "Spiritual Exercises" that good Christians should be "more ready to put a good interpretation on another's statement than to condemn it as false."

Too often, we put the most negative interpretation on a person's statements and presume bad will if we see them as an opponent. Like any family, we have to learn how to search for consensus but, if necessary, disagree amicably.

Unless we build bridges and trust, neither the church nor America has much of a future.

• Thomas Reece SJ is is a senior analyst at Religion News Service, and a former columnist at National Catholic Reporter, and a former editor-in-chief of the weekly Catholic magazine America.

His point was that everything changes rapidly, and no one knows the future. So why plan beyond what you do not know for certain?

In looking far into the future, he believed leaders wasted too much time on fruitless thinking in which attainable goals are never achieved.

He had a point.

Much time, brain energy, printed paper and blogosphere megabytes have been wasted on fruitless plans for an uncertain future. Despite the downsides of wasted time and premature predictions, I believe the best leaders risk being wrong for the sake of a better understanding of where we might end up; that's part of what makes a leader.

Leaders move followers toward something - goals off in the distance and in the future. Allow me to risk being doubly wrong - sharing with you not only 10 church trends for the next 10 years, but ones that may be unexpected to some. I believe these trends are critical for leaders to know as they lead their churches to advance God's kingdom in the coming decade.

The identified trends are:

1. The heterogeneous church explodes
2. Church attendance continues to decline
3. The conservative drift draws more
4. Deep teaching gets more popular
5. Boomer ministries boom
6. Ministries to families grow
7. Staff positions evolve
8. The importance of the church building is renewed
9. Charismatic leadership becomes less prevalent
10. Growth in video-venues slows down

Continue reading 10 unexpected church trends to surface by 2020

Image: Church Leaders

And if the man who coined the phrase "the medium is the message" were alive today, there isn't much that would surprise him — not the Internet, or Google, or Twitter, or WikiLeaks, or even the phone-hacking scandal now transfixing much of the U.K.

In broad outline, if not in precise detail, he predicted all of these and more.

"Rereading him, I still get new insights," says Robert Logan, a former colleague of the Canadian media guru some now call The First Seer of Cyberspace. "The man was a total genius. If he came back today, on his 100th anniversary, he would say, 'Yeah, that's about what I expected - and people haven't learned a thing."

Possibly, they never will.

Or maybe the heightened popular interest and critical attention being accorded McLuhan during this, the centenary of his birth, may yet help us fumble toward a clearer understanding of the parlous digital world that he anticipated and whose name he coined — the global village.

"McLuhan's value today lies in applying his methods," says Mark Federman, former chief strategist at the McLuhan Centre in Culture and Technology at the University of Toronto. "It's cool that he predicted the future, but what we should do is learn from his methods."

Those methods aren't easy to summarize, much less emulate, and there is considerable disagreement among academics about the meaning of McLuhan's often cryptic or even oxymoronic pronouncements — "the future of the future is the present," for example, or "the effects come first; the causes, later" — but there is no doubt the man's stature and influence are firmly in the ascendant once again, after a long period of decline.

More than anything else, it's the frenetic expansion of the Internet in recent years that has renewed international fascination with the Canadian communications visionary.

Read more of "A century after his birth, Marshall McLuhan is 'still ahead of us'.

Source

• Image: Flickr