The Catholic Church is as divided as it was when Pope Francis began his papacy, yet there is hope

Pope Francis, right, with Cardinal Sean O'Malley of Boston, addresses the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors in Vatican City, April 2022. EPA

For American Catholics, Pope Francis was elected to lead the Roman Catholic Church at a time of crisis for both the institution and the faithful.

The church in the US was reeling from the aftershocks of continuing exposes of widespread sexual abuse by priests as well as the growing rift separating the church’s leadership from significant portions of younger Catholics. Many of the younger members had become disenchanted with – or in some cases, hostile to – the institution that they saw as ossified, out of touch and irrelevant to their lives.

The American Catholic Church had long been an ethnic immigrant church. As millions of immigrants from largely Catholic European countries came to America, they brought their cultures and religion with them. They built churches and schools that served to solidify and advance their communities and preserve their traditions.

Over time, as these communities grew and prospered, their children assimilated into American life, married, and moved to ethnically and religiously diverse suburban neighbourhoods. This had a profound effect on the church. What had been a mosaic of Italian, Irish, Polish and other European Catholic churches eventually melded into the American Catholic Church.

Catholic clergy attend a special mass for Pope Francis in St Patrick’s Cathedral on April 22, in New York City. Getty Images / AFP

The ties that bound them together as a single-faith community remained, but they were less potent than they had been in the old homogeneous ethnic communities from which they had emerged. Intermarriage became more common, as did a loosening of the hold the church had over belief and practice.

Catholics, like most Americans, were transformed by the political, social and cultural upheavals that rocked the US in the 1960s and 1970s. Americans came to be divided over issues of race, the war in Vietnam and the sexual revolution. Some became more liberal, others more conservative.

A poll in the 1950s found that a majority of Americans said they would strongly disapprove of their children marrying someone from a different religion. Fifty years later, that no longer bothered them. But if their children married someone supporting a different political party, that would trouble them, they said.

While the Catholic faithful became divided, the bishops, with a few exceptions, did not. If anything, they became more conservative, finding refuge in an increasingly narrow focus on issues like abortion, birth control, divorce and homosexuality. Some still spoke about war, racism, labour rights and poverty – and they issued declarations on these matters – but it was matters of reproductive rights that trumped all else.

Pope Francis met with victims of priestly abuse to ask for forgiveness

Then came the bomb.

There had long been rumours of various priests abusing youngsters over whom they had authority. But no one was prepared for the shock that would follow when, in 2002, the Archdiocese of Boston released a report detailing the magnitude of the problem. There were hundreds of offending clergy and thousands of victims spanning decades of abuse. It shook the church to its core.

My brother, John Zogby, was commissioned by the US Conference of Catholic Bishops to poll the attitudes of American Catholics towards this scandal. The reactions were predictable: there was anger and disgust.

While the bishops pledged to address the concerns of their followers, it became clear that several of them were more interested in protecting their institution than in rooting out the problem. This only caused more disenchantment. The problem grew as other dioceses and states released equally damning reports.

The drain on the faithful became even more evident. Church attendance and contributions were down. Being “Catholic” came to be seen more as a demographic identifier that distinguished the descendants of the earlier European immigrants from other “religious” groupings than as believers in the church and its teachings.

Almost tone deaf to the crisis they were facing, the bishops doubled down on abortion and other sexual matters – making these litmus tests for the faithful. And they came to see the church’s future in the waves of newer immigrants to the US from Latin America and Africa who appeared to be more traditionally minded.

After many bishops made their preference clear for Republican Party candidates for president in 2008 and 2012, some prominent Catholic politicians representing the Democratic Party wrote a letter to the bishops reminding them that the bishops’ statement on policy concerns included 25 issues. They said: “We agree with you on 24 of these and disagree on one [abortion]. And yet you show preference for candidates who agree with you on just one issue and disagree with you on the other 24.”

It was into this divided church that Pope Francis began his papacy in 2013. His impact was profound, and yet subtle. He never directly challenged the conservative positions on abortion, homosexuality, or women’s role in the church. And yet he had an immediate effect, with gestures that spoke of a kinder, gentler approach to the faithful.

He displayed humility, foregoing ostentatious papal trappings. He washed the feet of prisoners and visited refugees, showing respect and compassion. He met victims of priestly abuse to ask for forgiveness. He also had audiences with gay Catholics to demonstrate acceptance. Tabooed topics became matters to be discussed, and he made clear that those who had been shunned by traditionalists were to be treated with respect.

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His gestures spoke volumes. For many Arab Americans – like in the case of much of the Arab world – four of these stand out. Most will never forget that on his visit to Bethlehem, he stopped his motorcade and walked to Israel’s notorious wall, putting his head to the concrete barrier, praying and saying: “We need bridges, not walls.”

Or how this past Christmas, he prayed in front of the manger scene that featured the baby Jesus laying on a Palestinian keffiyeh. Or how for the past year, he would place a nightly FaceTime call to the Palestinian Christian church in Gaza to speak with the enclave’s suffering people. And finally, his historic and deeply moving meeting with Dr Ahmed Al Tayeb, the Grand Imam of Al Azhar, in the UAE and inter-faith declaration that they co-signed, promoting understanding and mutual respect between Muslims and Catholics.

His gestures outraged conservatives who sought to undermine him at every turn. Because they were gestures, some liberals were left dissatisfied that he didn’t move to change church teachings and practice.

In a real sense, the Catholic Church he has left is as divided as it was when he began his papacy. But the departed pontiff’s legacy is that for more than a decade, he brought hope and compassion, respect and an invitation to dialogue. It may not be enough to save the Catholic Church in America, but if his example is followed, it could light the way forward for its members.