A Resistance Leader

VATICAN II attempted to change the Roman Catholic Church from an insular and defensive purveyor of 19th century religious practices to one with an incarnational theology and a vigorous recognition that the laity are called to be holy and to participate actively in the Church. Archbishop Raymond Hunthausen tried to live this out in his Seattle archdiocese, making changes that empowered both men and women and trying to build a diocese that was indeed “the people of God.”

A record of this important work and its devastating fallout are at the heart of A Still and Quiet Conscience. Hunthausen’s early years growing up in a close and very Catholic family, attending an old-school seminary, serving at Carroll College and as bishop of Helena, Mont., and now living in prayerful retirement, are interesting bookends. However it is a fearsome Vatican investigation into Hunthausen and its ambiguous result that are the center of this well-researched and helpfully indexed book.

I was angered when I read of the duplicity, divisions, and cover-ups within the Catholic Church in the last years of the 20th century. The “irregularities” cited as the reason for the investigation into Hunthausen were practices also found in other (uninvestigated) U.S. dioceses, such as letting people discuss the ordination of women, allowing unleavened bread at Communion, and allowing the gay rights group Dignity to worship on church grounds.

What was the real reason for the investigation? Deeply influenced by Jim Douglass of the Ground Zero Center for Nonviolent Action, which worked against the Trident submarine base near Seattle, Hunthausen became an outspoken critic of nuclear weapons. In 1981, in a courageous presentation, he not only called the faithful to resist paying taxes for nuclear war but became a tax resister himself. The conservatives in the diocese and elsewhere rose up, denouncing Hunthausen.

 Two years later, Archbishop James A. Hickey conducted a Vatican-appointed visitation to evaluate Hunthausen, despite Hunthausen having gone to Rome to meet with Pope John Paull II, Cardinal Ratzinger (the future Pope Benedict XVI), and others to reassure them that he had done no wrong. One of Hickey’s final interviews was with Father Larry Reilly, who had been Hunthausen’s theological adviser. After the tape was off, Reilly laid it on the line: “You’re here because of Ronald Reagan and the archbishop’s position on nuclear disarmament.”

“That’s right, Larry,” replied Hickey.

McCoy’s book confirms in detail what many long suspected—Archbishop Hunthausen was investigated and demeaned not really because of presumed irregularities, but because he dared to go against Pope John Paul II, who was working closely with Reagan to speed the downfall of communism in the pope’s native Poland.

As the Vatican clearly wished, in 1991 Hunthausen retired early. Nowadays, it’s difficult for Seattle Catholics to find evidence of either his Vatican II reforms or even the diocesan records of them, so this book is important documentation.

I found the baroque machinations of the visitation and its far-reaching results fascinating and upsetting. I realized anew that the Catholic Church is still firmly entrenched in a nondemocratic hierarchy, and that the morals and political persuasions of those at the top still control official actions. In the years between Vatican II-convener Pope John XXIII and Pope Francis, Christian progressives felt helpless as two popes and their curias tried to undo the reforms of Vatican II. Now those who rejected the Second Vatican Council documents are wringing their hands over Pope Francis and his criticisms of capitalism.

When will the Catholic Church become the people of God that Raymond Hunthausen envisioned for his diocese? The archbishop’s conscience compelled him to speak out against nuclear arms and to work for inclusion of all. Truly, his mouth proclaimed justice, and this book is a fitting tribute to his quiet courage.