The Rock and the Hard Hearts: On Filial Obedience and the Sickness of Public Rebuke

The digital veins of the Catholic world have been coursing with a familiar poison this week. The initial controversy—an ill-advised award nomination by the Archdiocese of Chicago for a pro-choice politician—was a predictable source of frustration.

In my opinion, and for the sake of prudence, no active politician should ever be given such an award by a diocese; it inevitably invites scandal and division. But that initial, localised storm has been utterly eclipsed by the sacrilegious tempest that followed.

The true scandal is not the award that was never given, but the vicious, public, and deeply un-Catholic reaction to the words of the Holy Father, Pope Leo XIV, when he was asked to comment.

A firestorm of outrage erupted, primarily from those who identify as the most ardent defenders of orthodoxy. On X, on Reddit, in comboxes and forums, the Vicar of Christ was treated not as a spiritual father, but as a political adversary to be fact-checked, a theological lightweight to be corrected, a heretic to be exposed. And in this furious reaction, we see the tragic fruit of a profound spiritual sickness: a failure to understand the very nature of the Papacy and the filial love and obedience we owe to the man who sits on the Chair of Peter.

What the Holy Father Actually Said

Let us be clear about what Pope Leo said. When asked about the Durbin situation, he did what any good pastor would do: he elevated the conversation. He steered it away from the narrow, partisan squabble and toward the universal call of the Gospel. He stated:

"Someone who says I’m against abortion but is in favor of the death penalty is not really pro-life... Someone who says I’m against abortion but I’m in agreement with the inhuman treatment of immigrants in the United States, I don’t know if that’s pro life... So they are very complex issues and I don’t know if anyone has all the truth on them, but I would ask first and foremost that they would have respect for one another and that we search together..."

This is not heresy. This is not modernism. This is the consistent ethic of life, articulated beautifully by the Church for decades. He did not say that abortion is morally equivalent to the death penalty. He said that a Catholic conscience cannot be compartmentalised. We are called to defend the dignity of all human life, from the moment of conception to its natural end. The child in the womb, the inmate on death row, the refugee freezing at the border—all are made in the image of God, and our defense of them must be a seamless garment, not a patchwork of political conveniences.

Yet, for this pastoral call to consistency, the Pope was pilloried. Why? Because for a certain segment of the Church, particularly in the United States, their political identity has superseded their Catholic one. Their staunch support for capital punishment and their hard-line stance on immigration are non-negotiable tenets of their worldview, and when the Pope—the Pope!—challenges that worldview, they choose the world over the Church.

The Unteachable Spirit and the Teaching on Capital Punishment

The most vociferous criticism was aimed at the Pope's linkage of abortion and the death penalty. "How dare he!" they cried, "The death penalty has always been permissible in the Church!"

This reveals either a willful ignorance or a stubborn refusal to be taught by the Magisterium as it lives and breathes in our own time. The Church's understanding of its doctrines develops over time, guided by the Holy Spirit. On the issue of capital punishment, that development has been clear, consistent, and definitive for over thirty years.

It was Saint John Paul II who began the final, decisive push. In his 1995 encyclical, Evangelium Vitae ("The Gospel of Life"), he wrote that the State should not resort to the death penalty...

"...except in cases of absolute necessity: in other words, when it would not be possible otherwise to defend society. Today however, as a result of steady improvements in the organization of the penal system, such cases are very rare, if not practically non-existent." (EV, 56)

This was a monumental shift. He framed the issue not in terms of retribution, but of societal defense, and declared that modern societies almost never meet that high bar.

Pope Benedict XVI continued this trajectory without deviation. Throughout his pontificate, he repeatedly called on governments to end the use of capital punishment, referring to it as a "cruel and inhuman" practice. He saw its abolition as an essential part of building a true "culture of life."

Finally, Pope Francis brought this long development to its dogmatic conclusion. In 2018, he ordered a revision to the Catechism of the Catholic Church. The new text for paragraph 2267 is unambiguous:

"...the Church teaches, in the light of the Gospel, that 'the death penalty is inadmissible because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person', and she works with determination for its abolition worldwide."

This is not a suggestion. This is not a topic for debate. This is the official, universal teaching of the Catholic Church. It is what we believe. When Pope Leo XIV stated that being pro-life is inconsistent with supporting the death penalty, he was not offering a personal opinion. He was reiterating the settled doctrine of the Faith. The outrage directed at him is outrage at the Church's own teaching.

"You Are Peter": The Bedrock of Our Faith

This brings us to the heart of the matter. This is not about politics, but about faith. What does it mean to be a Catholic? At its core, it means to be in communion with the Church that Christ Himself founded. And how did He found it? He turned to a flawed, impetuous fisherman and said:

"And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." (Matthew 16:18)

The Pope, the successor of Peter, is the "rock." He is the visible principle of unity and the guarantor of the Faith. Our relationship with him is not like our relationship with a president or a prime minister. He is our Holy Father. Our love for him, our loyalty to him, and our obedience to him are not optional extras for the pious; they are the very mark of a Catholic heart.

When we disagree, when we are confused, when we are troubled by his words or actions, the Catholic response is prayer, silence, and humble study—not a public broadside. It is to approach him, in our hearts, with the deference of a son to his father. As St. Josemaria Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei and a model of filial love for the Pope, so powerfully stated:

"The teachings of the Popes cannot be disregarded just like that. Nor ought they to allege, as [the Pope’s critics] do with incredible flippancy, that the Pope, when he does not speak ex cathedra, is simply a private theologian subject to error. To say nothing of the tremendous arrogance it supposes to affirm that the Pope makes mistakes, while they do not... I prefer simply to obey the Pope."

This is the path of sanctity. The path of pride is to set oneself up as the arbiter of papal orthodoxy, to decide which encyclicals are binding and which can be ignored, to treat the living Magisterium as a buffet from which one can pick and choose.

I have noticed that many of the loudest and nastiest critics are often converts to the faith. Perhaps they were attracted to the Church's structure and clear moral lines, but they have failed to grasp that the Church is a living body, not a static ideology. It is a family, and at the head of this family is a father, given to us by Christ. To reject the father is to begin the process of leaving the family home.

Cardinal Cupich, in his statement on Durbin’s withdrawal, spoke of the dangerous divisions in the Church and called for a "synodal" path of listening and walking together. He is right. We must "Keep Hope Alive." But this journey is impossible if we do not have a guide. That guide, that rock, that center of our unity, is the Pope.

Let us end this shameful spectacle. Let us fall to our knees and pray for Pope Leo XIV. Let us receive his paternal teaching with humble and open hearts, even when—especially when—it challenges our comfortable political positions. Let us be Catholics, not partisans. Let us be sons and daughters, not critics. For it is only by clinging to the Rock of Peter that we can be assured that the gates of hell will not prevail against us.