Treasures of the Church
Church poised to challenge societal norms, prompting strong advocacy for marginalized, writes Ranier Fsadni
On Saturday, the new parliament opened under a mist of uncertainty – about the economic model and our quality of life. But, celebrating mass before the secular authorities, Bishop Joseph Galea Curmi preached the homily with all the confidence of a man who knows that, over the next five years, the treasures of the Church will multiply.
It was St Lawrence, in the Roman summer of the year 258, who made that term, “treasures of the Church”, legendary. Under the orders of the Emperor Valerian, all the senior church leaders were beheaded. Lawrence was the only one spared. He was given three days, by the prefect, to give to Caesar that which he claimed was his: the Church’s treasures.
At the appointed time, Lawrence presented the treasures with a flourish: seated carefully were representatives of the poor, the maimed, the infirm, the elderly and – “the crown jewels”, twinkled Lawrence – the widows and virgins (women who preferred independence to the fetters of Roman patriarchal marriage).
None of this was poetic licence. Early Christianity, basing itself on the gospel, held the wretched and the marginal of Roman society as humanity’s indispensable encounter with the divine. For Roman society, dignity – even a newborn’s – depended on social status; for Christianity, dignity came from mere humanity.
Lawrence was serious but he was also making fun of the very edifice of values the prefect stood for. The humour was an intrinsic aspect of the theology, much like God’s laughter in the Old Testament and Christ’s irony in the New.
Nor was Lawrence mouthing pieties. He knew he was signing his death warrant. His lightness of touch, the insouciance before the brutality of state power, came from the hilarity of meaning exactly what you say in front of officials enraged by the insolence of the truth.
Galea Curmi made no explicit reference to either Lawrence or the treasures of the Church. But, in urging parliament to build its work on conscience, accountabilit and respect for every person’s dignity, he was clearly anticipating a legislature where the Church will have to challenge the very edifice of values on which laws are passed.
Whether abundance comes or does not, the treasures of the Church – those weakened and marginalised by our social order – are about to multiply. And, for various reasons, the Church will have good reason to speak up strongly on their behalf.
It is happening already. When the authorities boarded buses, demanded IDs based on racial profiling and dragged four passengers off, a human being was pulled off a seat for the colour of their skin – and the equality ministry said nothing. It was the NGOs and priests on social media who protested.
The news over the next five years is not going to be whether the Church in Malta takes any of these stands. It concerns how it will say it
For the priests, it is not just a matter of scripture. The decline of Maltese vocations might make the Church seem out of touch with society; but, for that same reason, many religious orders are hosting members from the global South – as students and as pastoral workers. The experience will increase the Church’s sensitivity to racism beyond the volunteers in missions abroad, spreading it to parishes.
Then there are the disabled – protected in theory but under-resourced in practice. Church schools are in a special position to know this. Several report the obvious increase of cases of autism from year to year – both in number and in severity. The national services cannot cope. The proper post-secondary opportunities are lacking.
For some people, the horizon just disappears. The Church has abolished limbo; the secular state has not.
As with racism, the Church, in its ensemble, is in the avant-garde – more aware than most about the anguish of families with disabled children. They suffer not just because they struggle; but because they cannot be sure the authorities will treat their children as lovable, not pitiable.
The culture of optimisation finds it difficult to deal with suffering that is resistant to improvement and which, therefore, appears as a pathology that makes life meaningless. The Church, operating with a theological psychology, claims that suffering is itself meaningful – as long as one is not left alone, since our mental clarity depends on the company of others.
So, as this parliament faces some of the dilemmas of an aging society – including the rationality of palliative care and long-term support services for the infirm – expect clashes not just of points of view but of philosophy. The Church will proclaim – as Pope Leo XIV has just done in his encyclical on AI – that it speaks on behalf of an ancient wisdom; it locates intelligence not in processing power but in how friends sit together, their presence meaning more than words can say.
The news over the next five years is not going to be whether the Church in Malta takes any of these stands. It concerns how it will say it.
Will it wring its hands and utter platitudes? Will it pronounce doctrinal formulas? Or will it manage to say it with Lawrence’s panache – with a joy that cannot be intimidated?
Lawrence did not enter legend – admired even by the irreverent citizens of Rome today – because he was brave. We recognise that he was free. Because of this freedom, we believe what he said about the face of grace and disbelieve the mask of power.