The word “prophecy” has had an evolving definition for me. As a kid, the word invoked images of Professor Trelawney from the Harry Potter books, someone who read tea leaves and predicts the future.
As a young adult who ran in some charismatic Catholic circles, I understood prophecy as a prayer minister receiving a “prophetic word” from God for themselves or to share with someone else. (I have some serious concerns now about how that has been used to spiritually abuse vulnerable people, but that’s another article for another day).
More recently, when I think of prophecy, I think of the prophets in the Old Testament. These were individuals who saw the injustices and idolatry in their own communities and courageously called out their kings and countrymen. They were often reluctant because they were often persecuted by their own people, God’s people.
The new doctrinal document about human dignity, Dignitas Infinita (which ironically sounds like a Harry Potter spell), spells out this idea (emphasis mine):
“The ancient precepts of Exodus are recalled and applied to the moment in the preaching of the prophets, who represent the critical conscience of Israel. The prophets Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, Micah, and Jeremiah have entire chapters denouncing injustice. Amos bitterly decries the oppression of the poor and his listeners’ failure to recognize any fundamental human dignity in the destitute (cf. Am. 2:6-7; 4:1; 5:11-12). Isaiah pronounces a curse against those who trample on the rights of the poor, denying them all justice: ‘Woe to those who decree iniquitous decrees, and the writers who keep writing oppression, to turn aside the needy from justice’ (Is. 10:1-2)”
Prophets are the conscience of the People of God. In other words, they are the voice calling us “to love and to do what is good and to avoid evil” (CCC 1776).
Over the past few years, I’ve realized that the most prophetic voices—for me personally and for the Church—have been survivors of abuse in Church. I have found that survivors so often speak with a piercing clarity, naming abuse and abusive systems for what they are. This often comes with the real risk of being misunderstood and rejected, if not overtly persecuted, by their faith communities. As Jesus said, “A prophet is not welcome in his hometown” (Luke 4:24).
With that in mind, I want to share a Survivor Story recently published by Awake. Emily Hess speaks with courage and what she says is prophetic. I encourage you to read her entire story (as well as the other Survivor Stories from Awake), but I want to share her conclusion here:
“I've noticed a tendency within certain cultural circles to assume that sexual abuse in the Church is a result of something related to their favorite cultural crusade. I've seen it blamed, for example, on everything from homosexual infiltration to women not being allowed to be priests. I think there's a tendency to place the blame for abuse on "those" people and to feel that one's own group is ‘safe’ from that kind of thing.
Political and cultural division in the Church gives more cover to abusers, because it makes it far easier for abusive priests (or influential lay leaders) to groom a community into seeing them as their ‘knight in shining armor’ and the automatic victim if they're accused of something. We could remove a huge amount of this cover for abuse by being willing to admit the possibility that ‘our’ kind of people are capable of abuse too.
Also, as part of my healing process, I've researched the theological aspects of abuse in the Church. Part of what I've found is that sexual abuse is a sacrilege, a direct offense against God, particularly when it happens in the context of someone seeking sacramental grace. It frustrates me deeply that no one talks about it in that context.”
“We could remove a huge amount of this cover for abuse by being willing to admit the possibility that ‘our’ kind of people are capable of abuse too.”
I encourage you to look at and support all of the work that Awake is doing: https://www.awakecommunity.org