The Vatican’s historic Synod on Synodality, which opens its final session this month, started with high hopes. To prepare for the synod, every diocese worldwide was instructed to gather thoughts from Catholics, non-Catholics, and even non-Christians—particularly from people on the margins of society. For the first time in the history of the Synod of Bishops, women, and other non-ordained people were given a voice and a vote.
For a Jesuit-educated, justice-minded Catholic like me, the synod process gave me hope that our church might grapple with bold but popular issues, like LGBTQ+ equality, women’s ordination, and reconsidering church power structures. It promised to be the place to participate in the spirited and inclusive discernment that is my favorite part of the Catholic tradition. But last October, the first session of the synod ended with a less promising approach to the issues that matter to forward-thinking Catholics. Even worse, abortion, of course, was completely omitted — just as it had been from the synod agenda in the first place. The synod report didn’t reflect my reality, and I know I’m not alone in that feeling.
I take Pope Francis at his word that he wants a church of encounter that goes out to the peripheries, listens deeply, and shows humility. But Pope Francis, who earns much praise for his gentle approach to fraught issues, has escalated damaging rhetoric towards women, equating the choice to have an abortion with “hiring a hitman” and calling it “murder.”
In the United States, one in four abortion patients identifies as Catholic, and 98 percent of Catholic women have used contraception other than natural family planning at some point in their lives. Reproductive health decisions affect all of us, and often, these decisions are made in close consultation with her partner or loved ones who support women in their choice. I wish we as a church could talk more openly about just how many Catholic women and families are out there, trying to navigate complex moral and medical decisions and relying on their conscience to do what’s right.
Pope Francis’ shaming rhetoric is enough to silence any rank-and-file Catholic who, like me, might adore Pope Francis except for this one big thing. As the leader of the Catholic Church, his conspicuous failure to meet with women to discuss reproductive health—especially when he has made it a point to encounter people with so many other life paths—speaks volumes. As someone who has lived among Catholics in all phases of my life, I know there are people who have been touched by abortion and contraception among us, laboring in our Catholic parishes, social justice nonprofits, and college campuses. I do not doubt that Pope Francis has met women who are grappling with these issues, and yet they can’t share their full selves with the leader of our church for fear of being met with his least compassionate side.
I spent my early career working with Catholic sisters—the notorious “Nuns on the Bus”—and saw firsthand what good we can do when we accompany the marginalized, listen to the lived experiences of people around us, and then be open to change. Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament Sister Simone Campbell calls it “Holy Curiosity,” but the most important part is that we also have “sacred gossip,” where we go forth to spread the word so that others can learn what we have learned. If only the synod took a page out of the Nuns on the Bus playbook! Including women at the table is not enough if we cannot freely address our deepest truths without fear.
If the synod is meant to listen, be open to change, and prioritize the people who risk being excluded, our leaders need look no further than those who are silenced within the church, and those who have been driven out because of lack of acceptance. The organization I work for, Catholics for Choice, has compiled more than 180 perspectives (and counting) of Catholics who have made complex health care decisions. During the Synod, my colleagues and I will deliver them to the Vatican in English and Spanish, hoping that Pope Francis will hear these testimonies and prayerfully consider them.
We heard from women like Susan, who shared with us, “In my 40s, I had a birth control failure. When my husband and I realized I was pregnant, we actually got excited, thinking we might like another child.” But then they went to the doctor and learned that the fetus was not forming correctly, and the pregnancy was not viable. She and her husband chose abortion due to this and other considerations, including the risk of medical complications and the emotional well-being of her older children should her health continue to worsen.
Rather than receive care from her parish community, she shared with us that her husband “told friends about it, hoping to get emotional support, even though I had warned him adamantly not to. I was judged in the end.I faced interrogating questions from the more indoctrinated pro-life crowd in our parish. I was told that I was wrong to schedule the D&E, that I should have let myself abort naturally.” Susan and her husband are not alone in their experience.
The stories I have heard from faithful Catholics who have had abortions are beautiful, heartbreaking, empowering, and faithful. Ultimately, one thing is clear throughout them all: Too many Catholics receive nothing but deep judgment from their community when following their conscience.
It is worth noting that none of the church’s teachings on this issue—or related ones like IVF or contraception—have been developed, influenced, or articulated by someone with a uterus. In fact, all the Catholic men who developed and continue to enforce this teaching do not have wives or daughters. They simply do not understand the intimate lives of women and families. And yet, their doctrine causes women so much suffering.
The way our church leaders talk about abortion, contraception, and reproductive health issues is hurtful. While I’m not looking for a drastic change in church teaching overnight (I’m a pragmatist, after all), I am looking for our leaders to adopt a little more of that holy curiosity to truly listen rather than perpetuate deep-seated judgment that permeates from the top all the way down to our local parishes.
This is a first-in-my-lifetime opportunity to truly center the marginalized in our church’s decision-making on this issue. It’s not too late for the synod to do so—and I’m not passing up this historic opportunity to have my voice heard.
If the Synod on Synodality has taught me anything, it is that it takes all of us to speak up about our values and how our Catholic faith influences our public life. All Catholics who have abortion stories need to tell their stories freely and honestly if the church is going to grow in our moral understanding of this issue. Our voices may not always be respected in the way we deserve, but it can open the door for others to know they are not alone and compel church leaders to consider nuance.
Image: ©synod.va/Lagarica
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