We had just finished a clergy meeting when a confrere approached me with a bitter smile and said: “Every time they talk to us, it feels like being back in the seminary: always under examination, always children to be corrected.” This feeling is widespread: too often the Church addresses its priests with a tone that carries more of reproach than of trust. The past twelve years in particular have left us breathing this paradox. Leo XIV, however, has completely changed the style: he now chooses to highlight what is positive, and when offering advice he does so in a paternal rather than paternalistic manner.
Yet these days I have found myself wondering: is the paternalistic voice really the only language some people know how to use?
The danger of the “voice from above”
In the age of social media and omnipresent communication, the temptation to appear irreproachable is very strong. Articles and posts portray the writer as immune from error, while judgment of others becomes immediate and without appeal. When this dynamic seeps into ecclesial life, the effects are even more corrosive: the priest becomes an object of constant scrutiny, while those who address him take on the air of a flawless model. And this does not come only from the laity, but also from within the hierarchy itself: bishops and formators often speak to priests from the lofty standpoint of supposed perfection.
And yet the Christian tradition is marked by the opposite awareness. St. Augustine, speaking to his people, once said: “With you I am a Christian, for you I am a bishop” (Serm. 340,1). His stance was precisely what now characterizes Leo XIV. He did not place himself above but beside; he shared the same frailty, the same need for grace. This attitude prevents paternalism: the bishop is not the pedagogue of infant souls, but an elder brother who, though entrusted with responsibility, does not cease to be a man.
Psychology and pastoral care: awareness of one’s own fragility
Contemporary psychology has taught us that the effectiveness of a relationship—whether therapeutic, educational, or pastoral—does not depend on presenting oneself as an infallible master, but on acknowledging and communicating one’s own fallibility. Carl Rogers, founder of the person-centered approach, stressed the value of authenticity: there can be no healing unless the therapist presents himself as he truly is, a vulnerable human being, yet capable of listening and understanding.
Donald Winnicott, in turn, spoke of the “good enough” standard, reminding us that the ideal of perfection is not only unattainable but harmful. A therapist who claims to be impeccable suffocates the other, infantilizes him. Likewise, a priest who receives nothing but reproach internalizes a paralyzing guilt instead of opening to trust.
Psychology shows that awareness of one’s humanity does not weaken authority; it makes it credible. Trust is born precisely from this awareness: those who feel accepted in their fragility are more likely to entrust themselves and to open up.
Between judgment and mercy: the Pharisaic temptation
Look closely, and you will see how the paternalistic tone of certain ecclesial figures toward their priests resembles that of the Pharisees in the Gospels: speaking from a position of moral superiority, unable to recognize their own need for forgiveness. Jesus, instead, overturns the logic: he does not fear to sit with sinners, nor does he place himself as a distant teacher, but as one who “had compassion” (Mt 9:36).
Every time we speak as though we “know everything” to those who “know nothing,” we slip into a moralistic rhetoric that crushes rather than builds up. True spiritual authority comes from witness, not from judgment. The bishop should be able to tell his presbyterate: “Not because I am perfect, but because we walk together toward the same goal.”
The complexity of priestly life
A priest’s life can never be reduced to simplistic categories. It is woven of joys, results, contradictions, fatigue, wounds: loneliness, difficult pastoral relationships, inner conflicts, mistakes, and new beginnings. To treat a priest as an eternal seminarian is to deny the dignity of his experience. It is like addressing a parent as though he were still an adolescent: inadequate at best, offensive at worst.
As Dostoevsky reminds us in his novels, no character is purely good or purely evil: the human being is a mystery, fragile and great at once. Speaking to priests as if they were children to be corrected betrays this complexity.
From pedagogy to dialogue
What is often missing in ecclesial relationships is the capacity for mature dialogue. Top-down corrections and paternalistic admonitions are not enough. What is needed is listening—an ability to start from lived experiences, to recognize wounds, to give space to doubts.
A good therapist never begins a session by listing what the patient must change; instead, he accompanies him in exploring shadows and resources, without judgment. This is what the Church too should embody. Priests do not need to be told endlessly that they are “too attached to lace,” “not pastoral enough,” “too distant from the people,” or “insufficiently docile to their superiors.” What they need is someone who helps them discover that even in their struggles, grace still shines. It is a shift from a pedagogy of duty to a relationship of trust.
And the relationship between superiors and priests cannot be reduced merely to reprimands or corrections. As in the relationship between parents and children, there must be space for gratitude, for authentic dialogue, for the “exchange among equals.” Instead, today it often seems that if the curia forgets you, it is seen as a good sign—at least you are not causing problems. But that is not true fraternity.
A possible path: humility and co-responsibility
How can we imagine a new style of priestly formation? Perhaps in two words: humility and co-responsibility. Humility on the part of those who speak, who must remember that their voice is not that of an impeccable master, but of a brother on the way. Co-responsibility, because the clergy grows only when it feels actively involved, not as passive recipients of sterile, paternalistic exhortations.
The philosopher Paul Ricoeur recalled that identity is built in the tension between promise and failure, fidelity and betrayal. The priest is not exempt from this condition. The Church’s task is not to judge it, but to embrace it and accompany it.
A less judgmental, more human Church
The Church is both mother and teacher. A healthy mother does not infantilize her adult children: she walks with them, supports them, consoles them when they fall, encourages them when weary. If she becomes a judge, the risk is to create frustration and distrust.
Perhaps it is time to learn that lesson handed down by psychology, culture, and Scripture: only those who recognize their own fragility can help others grow. Speaking to priests not as children to be re-educated, but as adult men to be sustained, is not merely a matter of respect—it is the necessary condition for the Gospel to become life lived.
f.D.A. and F.P.
Silere non possum