The authority that makes you grow

When Sister Pilar took over the direction of an educational project on the outskirts of a large city, she inherited a file full of dust and silences. There were decisions signed without minutes, e-mails that “no record” and a custom that everyone called “obedience” but which, in reality, sounded like fear. The provincial superior gave her a single instruction: “Make the house smell like gospel again.”. He did not ask for heroism; he asked for method.

That is the heart of this article: authority in the Church. It is not a pious entelechy or a mere organizational chart. It is an art and a discipline, with clear purposes and precise limits. And when it forgets its purpose - to edify people and safeguard a charism for the good of the many - it becomes a caricature.

Authority, not dominance

The Gospel is simple and severe: “It is not to be so among you.”. Christian authority is born of service and therefore submits to its own end. The law of the Church, so little given to slogans, formulates it with sober beauty: authority is exercised “in the name of the Church” and is intrinsically limited by the good of the people, the charism it serves and the rights of the faithful. This means that no superior can command what is impossible, unlawful or beyond his competence. It also means that obedience is not blind, because the conscience - well formed - never abdicates.

What is remarkable is that when these ideas are taken seriously, the climate changes. Meetings cease to be rituals and become spaces for discernment. Fraternal correction ceases to be a nuisance and becomes an antidote to self-deception. Authority, then, is good news: someone is watching over everyone, so that each one flourishes and the work does not lose its direction.

The border that protects freedom

If there is a point where the course tends to be twisted, it is in the mixing of jurisdictions. Tradition has zealously guarded the distinction between what belongs to the internal sphere - confession, spiritual direction, intimate dialogue with God - and what belongs to the external sphere - actions, behaviors, government decisions. Respecting this boundary is not a juridical mania: it is the protective barrier of inner freedom.

When a superior or a superior asks about “how prayer is going” to decide on an appointment; when a request is made “manifestation of conscience” to evaluate someone; when he becomes a habitual confessor of those he must send, correct or dismiss, he has opened a crack through which, sooner or later, manipulation enters. There is not always bad faith; many times there is confusion. But the damage is the same: the person ceases to distinguish the voice of God from the voice of government. And the basis of all Christian maturity is broken, without noise.

The sound practice is well known and demanding: separate roles, focus on verifiable facts, document reasons and, when necessary, resort to external mediators. “Don't tell me how you discern.” -said a major superior to his managers; “tell me how you work, how you relate, what results you have achieved with your team. Your conscience is yours; my duty is to govern justly.”.

How a house deteriorates... and how it rises again.

Abuse rarely erupts with stridency. It usually comes disguised as efficiency. It all starts with an exception: “So as not to complicate things, I'll sign.”. Then, a custom: “Minutes are superfluous, we are family.”. Later, a language: “If you love God, you will do this.”. And finally, silence: no one asks, no one explains, everyone obeys. Authority becomes monologue. The government, opaque. Conscience, one more piece in the machinery.

The good news is that reconstruction can also be done with small things. Sister Pilar began at the table: a Council that truly advised. Dossiers circulated in good time, uncomfortable questions asked with respect, vows where the norm required it and a written record of why one thing was decided and not the other. The next step was to restore dignity to each area: those who accompanied spiritually no longer gave their opinion on destinations; those who prepared the budget presented clear accounts; those who evaluated did so with published criteria. No one felt watched; many felt cared for.

Suddenly something beautiful happened: the youngest sisters - the ones who are usually “voting with your feet” when they detect incoherence - began to speak out. And the laity, who in educational works know very well the taste of transparency, understood that this house was not afraid of being looked at. It was not a miracle; it was government.

Three convictions that change the tone of the whole thing

-First: the end does not justify the means. There is no growth of charisma if to achieve it, freedom is crushed or spiritual language is used as a lever of power. Say “for the good of the work” while a right is violated is not apostolic zeal; it is disorder.

-Second: participation is not an ornament. Listening does not always oblige, but it almost always improves. The Church has foreseen councils, consents and consultations by millenary wisdom: no one governs himself. And accountability-acts, reports, budgets, proportionate audits-does not bureaucratize; it purifies.

-Third: charity needs form. A “good spirit” is not enough to avoid abuse. Clear norms are needed, time limits on offices, management of conflicts of interest, protocols for dealing with minors or vulnerable adults, formation of superiors in leadership and in practical canon law. Charity, without form, becomes soft on the strong and hard on the weak.

When there is already a wound

What to do when the damage exists and is not hypothetical? The Christian answer has four stages that should not be confused. First, to listen with protection to the person affected, with support external to the government circuit, because trust is not decreed. Second, to stop the damage with prudent measures -cautionary, if necessary- that will save everyone. Third, to investigate the facts externally, without invading conscience or turning the process into an inquisition. Fourth, to do justice with reparation, which includes correcting, sanctioning if necessary, learning and changing structures so as not to repeat.

Communication is part of this justice. A community that keeps silent about the essential and loses the rumor of the truth rots from within. It is not a matter of exhibitionism; it is a matter of not covering up, of calling things by their name, of humbly assuming that the Gospel is not defended with secrecy.

A language that educates

Words make worlds. Sometimes the pathology of power announces itself in the vocabulary. When “obedience” is confused with unlimited availability; when “discernment” means “guess what the superior wants”; when “trust” means “don't ask questions”, the deformation is already installed. 

It would be good to recover exact words: to obey is to seek God's will together, with an awakened conscience; to discern is to confront reasons and signs, not naked wills; to trust is to be able to ask questions, even to disagree, without fear of reprisals.

A church government that takes these distinctions seriously does not impoverish its spiritual life: it enriches it. Only those who are free can offer themselves. Only he who is listened to learns to listen. Only those who are accountable can look straight ahead.

The elegance of simplicity

At the end of a year, Sister Pilar gave a brief report to her provincial. It was not a catalog of victories. They were five humble observations: that the council was functioning, that the minutes told a coherent story, that the budget was understood, that the spiritual accompaniments were safe from the government and that appointments no longer depended on sympathies. “The house -wrote- it smells like gospel again”.”. Not because there were no problems - there were - but because the way to face them was evangelical.

There are houses where, upon entering, one feels that authority is a burden; and houses where it is perceived as a good. The difference is not in the character of the superiors nor in the natural docility of the people. It is in the combination of a sober theology of power with a clear organizational culture: real participation, separation of powers, proportionate controls, written memory, honest language. It does not demand cover sanctity; it demands sustained will and simple habits.

The Church has not improvised these intuitions. For centuries it has learned - sometimes with tears - that the charism flourishes when there are rules that protect freedom, and withers when authority is privatized. If we need an image not to forget it, let it be that of a well-laid table: documents in sight, time to talk, reasons to be pondered, decisions to be signed with peace, and a final gesture of gratitude for those who have contributed their part. Power, there, ceases to frighten. And obedience, there, becomes a beautiful word again.

In the end, the prevention of abuses of power and conscience is neither a course nor a protocol-although both are helpful. It is a form of community life in which each person can say, without rhetoric, “here I grow”.”. And where those who govern can pray, without self-deception, “here I serve”. When this happens, the institution becomes credible, the charism becomes fruitful and the Gospel silently convinces.