Approaching the Synod from 30,000 Feet

This post is the first in Bondings 2.0’s series of theological reflections on LGBTQ+ issues and the Synod on Synodality, which will be published as the General Assembly of the Synod meets at the Vatican this month. For all of Bondings 2.0’s Synod coverage, including reports from Rome, click here.

Today’s post is from Mark Guevarra (he/him). Mark is a doctoral candidate at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California and contributor to Bondings 2.0. He has an interest in how restorative justice practices are necessary on the road to a synodal church, especially in restoring relationships between LGBTQ+ folkx and the Catholic church. His interest is personal, having been fired as a pastoral associate for being in a same-gender relationship. Mark’s faith, shaped by his Filipino-Canadian and gay identity, is something he is passionate about witnessing to, sharing, and nurturing in a world of grace and brokenness.

As I write this, I’m mid-flight en route to Rome. It’s past midnight, the cabin is dark, and everyone around me is fast asleep, though sleep evades me. The synod is in just a few days and my mind’s on it. In truth, my mind’s been on the synod since it started two years go, and more so in the last few months since I decided to go.

My mind’s on the energy of the synod, which my contacts in Rome  have described as palpable. My mind’s on presenting at a conference of church reform advocates, and on all the presenters and participants who hold sacred longings for the church. My mind’s on connecting with my colleagues with Concerned Lay Catholics (Canada) as we are present in Rome.

As I write this, my plane is flying over Iqaluit, a small community in Canada’s Arctic where two summers ago, Pope Francis met with the Inuit people and offered words of reconciliation and healing. My mind’s on them and all the indigenous people in Canada who have survived the residential school system dominantly administered by the Catholic Church. My mind’s on what the synod will mean for them.

To the southeast is Newfoundland which Gemma Hickey calls home. He’s a sexual abuse survivor who in September journeyed to Rome to demand a zero-tolerance policy for clergy abuse. My mind’s on him, all abuse survivors, and what the synod means for them. My mind’s on an old schoolmate, Barb Kozee, and the many women who long for a greater role for women in the church. Earlier this week, she offered a beautiful reflection at a liturgy led by women at the Basilica of St. Praxedes in Rome, where an ancient mosaic depicts a woman in leadership in the church. My mind’s on what the synod will mean for women.

My mind is on Frank DeBernardo and Bob Shine from New Ways Ministry, who are reporting on the ground. My mind is on Fr. James Martin, the other LGBTQ+ supportive delegates, and all the delegates as they enter into a period of discernment. The Holy Spirit is everywhere, but in a unique way, She is in the sacred hearts of the 300+ delegates called to represent our immense church.

Clearly, my mind is on a lot of things, and as if that wasn’t enough, my heart is filled with excitement. I’m excited for a new way of being church that is emerging. The emerging synodal church will listen with empathy, especially to those who’ve disengaged from the church and those on the peripheries. The emerging synodal church will actively reconcile with those it has excluded, harmed, and abused.

The emerging synodal church will humbly look at itself to end clericalism for the sake of the Gospel. The emerging synodal church will build paths of inclusion. The emerging synodal church will walk anew with our Christian siblings from other traditions ready to learn from, and ready to open our doors to them. The emerging synodal church will not be afraid to face hard questions and respond with “Yes, and…” rather than “no,” as Dominican Father Timothy Radcliffe challenged synod delegates on retreat.

All that being said, I also have my doubts. I’ve been raised by queer Catholic elders who bear the scars of having the church doors slammed in their face. I’ve been raised by trailblazing Catholic women priests who know the pain of automatic excommunication and yet minister with radical love. I know the pain of loved ones who’ve had Communion refused to them because they aren’t Catholic.

I know the generational trauma when I hold the hand of my nephew and recognize his Indigenous ancestors who attended the residential school where remains of children were found. I know the hatred of fierce opponents who would cast doubts on the Pope and this entire synod. I know the apathy and resentment of countless people who’ve left the church. I know these things and they awaken doubt.

It seems like our journey in life will inevitably include the travel companions of excitement and doubt. We will always be excited by vistas that reveal how far we’ve come and how much more we have to go. And, we will always have our doubts about whether or not we’ll make it. But pilgrimages are no ordinary journey.

As Pope Francis reminded us days ago in his homily at the opening of the synod, like Jesus, we must keep our gaze upon God who reveals to us the mysteries of the kingdom. Like Jesus, we must bless God “who welcomes those who are weary and oppressed.” For Francis, “this is the primary task of the synod: to refocus our gaze on God, to be a Church that looks mercifully at humanity.” With my eyes fixed on God, perhaps now I can sleep, but alas, I see the dawn outside my window. For now, I’ll close my window and wear my sleeping mask. We’ll see what happens.

—Mark Guevarra (he/him), October 8, 2023