Twenty-four years: Could it really be that long? We moved on Pentecost in 2001. I thought I might spot the Holy Spirit descending as we flew. When we arrived on Monday, it was still Pentecost, for in the Netherlands, the day after is also a holiday. As with Christmas, as with Easter. That was the first sign things would be different. The second came on September 11. And so it’s continued. Life abroad has always raised questions about my identity, both as a Catholic and an American.
Pentecost was fitting, symbolic, I thought. I was going to light a fire there. When I’d visited Holland in the past I’d noticed how listless the Church seemed to be. I’ll shake things up. But I got put in my place. I saw that rah-rah Americanism (“Let’s go! All aboard for the beautiful future!”) wasn’t going to cut it. What did I know about Dutch history and the present situation? Truth be told, at that point I wasn’t even so on fire myself. Though I didn’t see it clearly at the time, I later realized that my own faith had become cautious, vague, tentative. Given the mysteriousness of God and the pluriformity of people’s views, it felt safer to leave the concept of “God” open and to focus on loving my neighbor. In The Ratzinger Report, the future pope had called this putting orthopraxis (right practice) before orthodoxy (right worship). Eventually, I’d concede his point: the love of God lays the proper basis for our love of neighbor, and gives us the grace and courage to do it. God needs to run the show.
As I completed a doctorate in practical theology (in Utrecht), I saw that a lot of Dutch Catholics were in a funk similar to my own. Almost all the action was on the horizontal plane: figuring things out, fixing, organizing. What to do about the floundering local church? Conduct a SWOT analysis (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats) and then use management science to develop a strategy and approach to marketing. The less said about God, the better. Meanwhile, in this can-do country, societal infrastructure (a fruit of its Christian past) happily provided the care and the social service that had once been the Church’s forte. Who needed Catholicism?
By the time I started working for a pastoral-resource center for parishes, my notion of mission—my own and the parish’s—was elusive indeed. What were we called to do? What was needed? I went out into the field to ask questions, to take stock. Maybe we could figure it out together. That was instructive for a while, but over time, these parish conversations were left stranded. At the end of our meetings, we found ourselves with a pile of questions and shared experiences, but no answers. We needed input and direction.
Somehow we’d forgotten these are readily available. We have the Bible and the Eucharist, and we can appeal directly to God. You wouldn’t think believers could forget such things, but we truly can. I spend much of my day, even now, ignoring God, much as I wish it were otherwise. I saw it in parishes too. Meetings started without prayer, and prayers themselves were often detached, more a meditation than a direct and intentional engagement with God. Parishioners rarely spoke of Christ or their relationship with him—not among themselves and certainly not to outsiders—and when it came to making plans, they did not ask the Lord for help or guidance. Nothing was asked or expected of God. We’ll handle it ourselves.
I’m exaggerating, of course. I don’t mean to judge or shortchange anyone. But these were (and still are) operative and problematic tendencies in parishes, symptoms of spiritual defeatism. Happily, though, things have changed dramatically in the Netherlands in recent years. I can hardly believe it.
What happened? On a macro level, it appears both the Church and the secular society hit a dead end at the same time. On the societal front, it became ever clearer that science and the government did not have all the answers. Science doesn’t supply the meaning of life, and the government repeatedly grinds to a halt as hyperindividualism heightens the clash of interests. The perceived limits of both domains have only risen as threats to humanity approach from all directions. Authoritarianism? Climate change? Immigration? Pandemics? Technological change? War? You’re welcome, and there’s more where that came from.
At the same time, on the ecclesial front, the bottoming-out of Church practice has proven to be a necessary wake-up call. Only when we truly despair of our own power do we let God in. Inspired to a degree by ecclesial movements emphasizing the importance of a personal relationship with God, and books like Rebuilt, Divine Renovation, and Forming Intentional Disciples, which argue that parish renewal must be God-driven and that evangelization is indeed truly necessary, we’ve turned a corner. So don’t fear the bottoming-out, folks. It may put you on the bedrock you need to build on. In the Dutch Church, we’re now seeing parishes following the Spirit’s lead as they change and grow (using the Alpha Course, Sycamore, and other tools of evangelization and catechesis). They are also learning from one another at national and regional conferences. Young people, suddenly, are showing up in our churches. Some of them have researched Catholicism online and think it’s what they’re looking for. In general, they are longing for meaning, clarity, hope, and community.
Much of the new interest in the Church is, I suspect, fear-driven. Many people are looking for safety and certainty. We need to be clear, as people come, that real safety is found in relationship with God and love of neighbor, not in a retreat from the world or clenching to some rigid notion of “the truth.” In these daunting, rapidly evolving times, a tolerance for ambiguity goes a long way.
As we move forward, I pray parishes will be lively places of fellowship and service. No one is saved alone. We need one another, and no institution is better positioned to promote peace and justice than the Catholic Church. The fire of Pentecost has never gone out. If people today are looking for a safe haven, I believe we have one to offer: in God and within our own communities. The measure of our success will be how well we support the most vulnerable. We also have a remedy for fear. It’s called love (1 John 4:18). I pray this worst of times will draw forth the best from within us.
