When I was young, I wanted to be a priest or a senator. The two Johns, President John F. Kennedy and Pope John XXIII, had a huge impact on a young Irish Catholic kid. I entered a high school seminary at the age of 14 and spent four years in a college seminary. Along the way, I fell in love with my wife, Linda, which enriched my life in every way and ended the idea of becoming a priest. I ran for the Minnesota House of Representatives at the age of 24 and lost, and that ended the path to become a senator.
Instead, I have been blessed to spend 50 years at the intersection of faith and politics, Catholic social teaching and public life. My vocation was not to the priesthood or public service, but as a layman working to help the church share, apply and act on the principles of Catholic social teaching.
Looking back on those 50 years at the age of 75, I have retired with a heart full of gratitude and a lot of lessons I learned along the way.
I was the oldest of seven children in an Irish Catholic family full of faith, love and occasional crisis. It was a mixed marriage. Both my parents were Minnesota Catholics, but my mother was from St. Paul and my dad from Minneapolis, which is a bigger deal than most people understand. My mother and her family were committed Republicans. My dad and his family were diehard Democrats. One lesson I learned at an early age was that faithful Catholics could express their faith in different ways in public life.
I grew up in South Minneapolis, not far from the sites of the awful killings of Alex Pretti and Renee Good by federal agents, the murder of George Floyd, and the shooting of schoolchildren at Mass at Annunciation Catholic Church. It was a very different time, full of hope, not fear, grief and anger. The examples of care for neighbors and community, and the solidarity we now see in the aftermath of awful violence, are what I experienced as a child.
Over five decades, I worked in the social ministry of the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis and as the secretary of social concerns in the Archdiocese of Washington. For more than 20 years, I was the director of justice and peace efforts of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops. Working for the U.S. bishops, I saw the Gospel at work in our nation and around the world. But my work also sometimes tested my faith.
Over the last 13 years, I founded, led and retired from the Initiative on Catholic Social Thought and Public Life at Georgetown University, which promotes dialogue, convenes leaders and encourages young people to share the principles of Catholic social teaching and advance the common good. I also had the opportunity to teach Georgetown students about Catholic social thought, Pope Francis and public life.
There was some time away from work within the church, serving as director of the White House Conference on Families under President Carter, serving as director of the National Committee on Full Employment under Coretta Scott King, and spending a period as a residential fellow on faith and public life at the Harvard Institute of Politics. But I found that my vocation, my calling, my place was in the social ministry of the Catholic Church.
Institutional Lessons
Over these 50 years, I have learned that this work should begin with our faith, not our politics; with the person of Jesus Christ, not political leaders; with the Eucharist, not rallies; and with principles of Catholic social teaching, not the details of public policy or ideological agendas.
One lesson is that “and” is the most important word in Catholic social teaching. Our faith puts things together that our society and culture pull apart. Human life and dignity. Human rights and responsibilities. Familyand community. Solidarity and subsidiarity. Care for the planet and the poorest people on earth. I have found it more helpful to use “and” rather than “but” in talking about Catholic social mission. For example, saying “protection of human life begins with the unborn child, but it doesn’t end there” sends one message, perhaps one of judgment. Saying “the protection of human life begins with the unborn child, and it doesn’t end there” conveys another message, perhaps that we are in this together. In a church with differing priorities, responsibilities and ministries, we can divide up the work, but we shouldn’t divide the community of believers.
I have also seen that the “Pick a Pope” approach to Catholic social teaching that sometimes haunts our community of faith can be divisive and destructive. We hear: “I am a part of the John Paul II generation…. Benedict was my kind of Pope…. Team Francis… Pope Leo agrees with me, not you.” Each of these popes in his own way has clearly affirmed, strengthened and taught our social doctrine and challenged all of us. Our new American pope, with his Chicago roots and ministry in Peru, chose the name Leo to lift up this social doctrine. His first formal teaching, the apostolic exhortation “Dilexi Te,” calls us to place the poor at the center of our faith, our lives and our society. I hope Pope Leo, with his American ties and experience, can be the pope that brings us together.
Pope Francis, with his simple ways and powerful words, was Catholic social teaching in action. However, some resisted him, suggesting he didn’t “get” the U.S. church, didn’t like the United States, didn’t understand us. In the most recent conclave, the cardinals took less than 24 hours to choose an American pope who speaks our language, knows us and “gets us.” When Pope Leo leads us forward on the demands of Catholic social teaching, maybe the right question is not whether the pope gets us, but whether we get the pope—and whether we are prepared to listen, learn and act in new ways.
Another lesson: Leadership matters. I have learned that good leadership is critical, but bad or failed leadership can be more consequential. Consider how reckless leadership in the White House is damaging our democratic institutions and threatening the common good of our nation. Consider the moral, spiritual and institutional costs of Catholic leaders who failed to confront sexual abuse by members of the clergy. These costs were personal and professional for me. I shared eight lessons I learned when I broke my silence as a survivor in 2018 at a public dialogue held by the Initiative on Catholic Social Thought and Public Life and in America.
I have seen two kinds of ecclesial leadership. If you think we are being overwhelmed by the culture, there is a temptation to hunker down, to just preserve and protect what we have, to judge and condemn. But if you think we have the principles the world needs, you want our leaders to seek to engage and persuade, to listen and learn. My friend the journalist Mark Shields often said, “You can tell the health of an organization by whether they are looking for heretics or converts.”
Limitations of leaders come not just from poor judgment or ideological blinders but also from isolation. Too many leaders live in a bubble, spending most of their time with people who share their views, admire their leadership, and want to preserve their own influence and access. They have assistants and colleagues unwilling or afraid to speak candidly, challenge assumptions or ask hard questions. Every leader needs someone who will say, “You have many good ideas, but this is not one of them.”
It is also important to recognize that money matters. We used to be a church that lived primarily on the small donations of millions of people at Mass. Many major Catholic institutions now greatly depend on large gifts from affluent people. Their generosity is admirable and wonderful for the church, and our Initiative on Catholic Social Thought and Public Life at Georgetown was made possible by the investment of generous people and foundations who believed in our mission. But it also seems that the Sunday collection has often been replaced by a series of endless capital campaigns that require leaders to spend time and seek support from primarily wealthy people. One consequence may be a reluctance to speak or act boldly out of fear of alienating vital donors.
The boards of many of our Catholic universities, charities, ministries, hospitals and media include major donors and powerful people with little or no representation of the families, communities and people these ministries seek to serve. This makes sense in some ways, but it means the governance of our institutions often does not reflect the diversity of our community of faith and that our leaders spend a great deal of time with, and need the approval of, only a small part of our community.
Political Lessons
Catholic leadership in public life is particularly challenging. During my time at the bishops’ conference, I assisted our bishops in outlining both responsibilities and limitations in political life in their “Faithful Citizenship” statements. Drawing on these documents and my own experience, I have learned that the institutional church and its pastors are called to minister in four particular ways.
First, the church should be political, but not partisan. Politics is how our nation chooses policies and priorities that affect the lives and dignity of all of us. The church and its leaders cannot be silent. However, the church cannot be chaplain for any party, cheerleader for any public official or apologist for any administration.
Second, it should be principled but not ideological. The church and its leaders cannot abandon principles on life and dignity; but to advance our principles, they can and should work with those who may not share all our convictions. The church should help build bridges across partisan and ideological differences to advance the common good.
Third, it should be civil, but not silent. Calling people names is not a way to persuade, but silence is sometimes acquiescence in what is wrong. A test of faith and institutional integrity is whether we can challenge those in power and even our allies when they violate Catholic principles.
Finally, we should be engaged, but not used. Relationships with public leaders are essential. But we cannot trade our independence for access. Religious leaders cannot become props in photo ops or window dressing for leaders who don’t take our principles, experience or advice seriously.
On Capitol Hill and in the White House, what we do is often more persuasive than what we believe. We feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, educate the young and welcome the stranger. Our everyday experience and ministries of charity, education and health care provide knowledge, urgency and credibility.
Lifting up “the least of these” (Mt 25) is at the heart of this work. Overcoming poverty was usually a priority for both political parties, though they often differed on how. Those days are gone. President Trump, Vice President Vance and Elon Musk have actually targeted the programs that serve the poorest people in our nation and world, destroying our capacity to help hungry people around the world and cutting nutrition and health care to pay for tax cuts for wealthy people here at home. And most Democrats don’t talk about poverty as a priority.
In the Catholic community, I sometimes sense that much of the left has left—and the right has almost unlimited resources to advance their political, ideological and ecclesial agendas. This has sometimes included resisting the mission and message of Pope Francis and advocating for the policies and tolerating the behavior of President Trump. For those of us trying to live our faith between these factions, it is not easy to find the resources, to create spaces for dialogue, and to challenge ideological and partisan agendas of both left and right that undermine a consistent commitment to human life and dignity.
When the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops was more united, clear about its mission and active in reaching out to national leaders in both parties, it could make a difference. Some examples include the Family and Medical Leave Act, the Partial-Birth Abortion Ban, the refundable Child Tax Credit, renewal of the Voting Rights Act, the Hyde Amendment banning federal funding of abortion, debt relief for developing nations, PEPFAR to fund H.I.V.-AIDS programs in Africa, the International Religious Freedom Act, a halt to the use of land mines, and protecting Medicaid, food stamps and other elements of the safety net.
I wish our national leaders had listened to the bishops’ questions on the morality and wisdom of the Iraq wars. But this is more difficult in an intensely polarized Washington, driven by money, ego and partisan combat, and in a church with its own divisions and credibility challenges.
In recent years, the U.S.C.C.B. has reflected those divisions and has eliminated or dramatically cut back on its communications, anti-poverty and justice efforts. More recently, bishops have united to defend the lives and dignity of immigrants. Perhaps Pope Leo XIV, with his American roots and focus on Catholic social teaching and the poor, can help the conference renew and strengthen its social mission. I hope the Catholic community can unite around defending human dignity whenever it is threatened, especially the dignity of those who are poor and powerless. It is hard to imagine an effective Catholic contribution to U.S. public life without principled, persistent, consistent and courageous leadership from the U.S. Catholic bishops and their conference.
Lessons From the Initiative
When I left the U.S.C.C.B. in 2012, I was proud of the leadership the bishops had shown and the conference’s advocacy on major domestic and international issues. I was also convinced we needed more Catholic contributions to public life: more lay leadership, more dialogue connecting Catholic social teaching and public life, and more diverse voices, especially those of women, younger leaders, and Latino and Black leaders.
In 2013, the president of Georgetown University, Jack DeGioia, invited me to launch the Initiative on Catholic Social Thought and Public Life. It was an untested idea. We had high hopes, but the response far exceeded our expectations. In a dozen years, the Initiative organized over 210 dialogues, reaching nearly half a million people, including almost 50 special gatherings involving 85,000 young leaders and young Latino leaders.
We learned a lot in these efforts. There is a hunger for the moral vocabulary of Catholic social thought, for principles of human life and dignity, solidarity, subsidiarity. a priority for the poor, care for creation, and the common good that offer a moral framework to challenge the bitter partisan and ideological battles that undermine the mission of the church and the health of our nation.
There is a thirst for civil, principled dialogue as an alternative to the angry polarization and tribal politics of the broken status quo.
There is an an openness, especially among young people and Latino leaders, to move beyond the stale arguments and divisive factions that often dominate Catholic and national life. There is a growing exhaustion with the chaos and destruction of these times.
But there is still a fear of questioning or challenging the orthodoxy of one’s own political party or ecclesiastical faction. Some Republicans are afraid to speak candidly about Donald Trump. Some Democrats are unwilling to challenge their party’s litmus tests on abortion. And some Catholics are reluctant to dissent publicly from their ecclesial faction’s agenda or priorities.
Dialogue and conversation are better ways to engage challenging issues than speeches, lectures and PowerPoint presentations. In Initiative dialogues, no one gives a speech⸺not cardinals, professors or even the president of the United States.
Reflecting the diversity of our church and nation is not an option but an obligation. More than half of our dialogue participants have been women. Almost half have been Latino, Black or leaders from other minority communities. Many are young and emerging leaders. This is not political correctness; this is who we are. We have tried to build bridges, cross boundaries and seek common ground at a time of intense polarization.
We have sought to encourage the next generation of leaders with special gatherings for young leaders, especially young Latino Catholics. We have learned the wisdom of Pope Francis’ warning that an institution turned in on itself is not healthy. The Initiative focuses outward, not inward, and on faith and public life, not internal disputes. Young people are less interested in battles over authority or internal processes than in how the Gospel and Catholic social teaching call them to go beyond isolation to make a difference in our hurting world.
A personal lesson—and reasons for hope
On Jan. 1 of this year, I retired from the Initiative and Georgetown with enormous gratitude, deep concern for our church and nation, and abiding hope for the future based on the faith and people who have brought me through these 50 years.
I find hope in the journey of our family, especially the hope and promise that come with 10 grandchildren. I also find hope in the tremendous response to our Initiative at Georgetown, especially our work with young leaders, which will continue and grow under the outstanding leadership of Kim Daniels and the Initiative team.
I draw hope from my personal journey of recovery. My family gave me enduring faith and love, and also a history of alcoholism. It took a long time, too much time, but I finally faced my alcoholism and found a lifegiving path to sobriety over 20 years ago.
The steps of recovery, Catholic faith and Ignatian spirituality have much in common. You acknowledge your dependence on a loving God. You recognize you are not in charge of everything, but you are responsible for your own actions. You face your own weaknesses and failures. You share those failures and make amends. You try to live your life one day at a time, seeking to serve others and do God’s will. And you do all this in community; you are not alone on this journey. These lessons have saved my life. They also offer a path to renewal and recovery for our wounded church and nation.
My hope also comes from my enduring conviction that the principles of Catholic social teaching offer the best path forward and lifegiving alternatives to the anger and dysfunction in our nation and the divisions and drift in our church. This traditional moral framework helps us, in the words of Pope Francis, to share “the Joy of the Gospel” and seek “a better kind of politics.”
I still have hope that our community of faith can unite across differences in a renewed commitment to mission, founded on Jesus, shaped by the Gospel, anchored in the Eucharist and expressed in the principles of Catholic social teaching. I hope and pray we can come together to defend the dignity of all God’s children and carry out Jesus’ mission as expressed in the Gospel of Luke, “to bring good news to the poor, liberty to captives, new sight to the blind, and set the downtrodden free.”
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