Amid the carnage that is emerging from territories controlled by IS, the heroic figures of bishops who remain with their people against all odds are beacons of hope and love.
These bishops, among whom is our own Sylvester Magro, have vowed to remain with their flock come what may. When faced with persistent calls to leave, especially after he was threatened with beheading in his own church, Monsignor Giovanni Martinelli, the Vicar Apostolic of Tripoli and Bishop of Tabuda, declared that leaving Libya was tantamount to the betrayal of his people and he was ready to face martyrdom, even to give his life for his flock.
To be sure, the majority of bishops around the world do not face such extreme scenarios, but in essence, the bishop, like the Good Shepherd, must always be ready to give his life for his flock, not only metaphorically speaking.
We tend to forget this especially when a new bishop is appointed. We reduce his role to that of a CEO, an administrator who must reform structures and cut deficits.
But the bishop is not just another CEO. Expecting him only to declare his programme of governance like a political leader is reducing his mission to checks and balances. Certainly, day-to-day administration is important, since people are also evangelised when the Church is pastorally effective. But that alone is not enough.
It has been nearly a decade since Pope Benedict XVI gave us the insightful explanation of the pallium at the Mass for the beginning of his Petrine Ministry. The pallium is a vestment woven from pure lambswool that is worn around the shoulders by the pope and archbishops. It has been worn since the fourth century and predates the crozier and the mitre as episcopal symbols.
The pallium represents, among other things, the mission of the pastor who, taking inspiration from Christ himself, does not remain indifferent to those of his people living in so many kinds of desert: poverty, abandonment, loneliness, alienation and broken dreams.
In essence, the bishop, like the Good Shepherd, must always be ready to give his life for his flock, not only metaphorically speaking
In the ancient Near East, the pallium was a mantle that adorned kings and other potentates who cynically styled themselves as shepherds of their people, ultimately only to treat them as sheep to be manipulated for their ends. Christianity turned this on its head, transforming the pallium into a symbol of service and self-oblation.
The bishop represents Christ himself, who became a lamb and stood on the side of the downtrodden. The pallium is the symbol of the lost sheep that Christ carries on his shoulders, leading it to a life of hope and abundance.
Until recently, the pallium was traditionally bestowed on newly appointed metropolitan archbishops by the pontiff himself on the Feast of the Apostles Peter and Paul at St Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican, for the pallium also represents the unbreakable bond between the pope and his bishops.
This year, these archbishops, including Monsignor Charles J. Scicluna, will receive this pallium, blessed by Pope Francis, from the hands of the Apostolic Nuncio in their respective dioceses.
Some have decried this decision as another break from tradition but on a deeper level this further underlines the indestructible bond between the bishop and his people.
This decision should have come as no surprise to anyone, since from his very first appearance on the loggia two years ago, Francis has insistently referred to himself as the Bishop of Rome, thus emphasising his immediate attachment to his flock.
The bishop, however, is not only chosen to care for his flock but must cast his nets far and wide to draw in others who, unlike the sheep in the fold, do not feel comfortable in rigid structures.
Most importantly these include those who, for some reason or other, do not feel welcome in the Church or were not made to feel welcome within it. The bishop’s pastoral solicitude must also extend to those who, like fish, cannot be easily organised in structures and are floundering in the salty sea of disappointment.
When later this year the Apostolic Nuncio, representing the pope, places the pallium round the shoulders of Archbishop Scicluna, he will say, among other things: “May this pallium be a spur of fortitude.”
This is precisely the fortitude that sustains the bishops who face countless hardships, even death, in their mission of guarding their flocks. This is the fortitude that makes them fearless when faced with the wolf at the door.
For many bishops the wolf at the door may not be a terrorist wielding a knife, but the constant attacks on the teachings and values of the faith made by an increasingly secularised world that seems to reject the Church’s public role.
Cardinal Francis George, Archbishop Emeritus of Chicago, spoke of this constant battle. He famously said: “I expect to die in bed, my successor will die in prison and his successor will die a martyr in the public square.”
The bishops, battered and bruised, will still be found on the frontlines. Spurred by fortitude, they will pick up the shards, gather their scattered flock and together slowly help rebuild civilisation, as the Church has done so often in human history.
Alessandra Dee Crespo is the chancellor, Regional Tribunal of Second Instance.