Who Has the Final Say?

Terence Vincent Powderly, January 22, 1849–June 24, 1924

Labor Leader

Source: A Year with American Saints, G. Scott Cady and Christopher L. Webber, Church Publishing, 2006.

When I began reading about Terence Vincent Powderly, the opening sentence caught my attention. The authors wrote about European churches whose members came to America bringing Old World traditions of strong hierarchical authority.

I wondered, What does that have to do with this man? Why is that important to his story?

Then I kept reading.

Powderly was the son of Irish immigrants. He left school at thirteen, worked for the railroad, became a machinist, and eventually joined the Knights of Labor. He became a powerful labor leader and orator and served two terms as mayor of Scranton, Pennsylvania.

But Powderly saw something deeper than wages and working conditions in what was then called “the labor question.” He believed that the problems between labor and management involved relationships—including our relationship with God.

And that brought him into conflict with his church.

In 1884, Powderly traveled through Maine giving lectures on the labor question. Bishop James Augustine Healy of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Portland summoned him to his office.

The bishop asked whether Powderly was Catholic.

Powderly said that he was.

The bishop then told him that he had no right to lecture in Maine without the bishop’s permission. Because Powderly was Catholic and his lectures concerned matters that could touch faith and morals, the bishop believed Powderly was obligated to consult his ecclesiastical superiors.

Powderly saw things differently.

He told the bishop that he was speaking about labor, not teaching religion. He insisted that he was a freeborn American citizen and did not recognize the right of the bishop—or anyone else, regardless of religious or social position—to prevent him from doing what the laws of his country permitted him to do.

Powderly continued his lecture tour without the bishop’s approval.

At first, it is tempting to ask:

Who was right?

But the longer I have sat with this story, the less interested I have become in choosing a winner.

I can understand both men.

The bishop understood himself to have responsibility for what Catholics taught concerning faith and morals within his diocese.

Powderly understood himself to be a Catholic who was also a free American citizen with the right to speak publicly about labor and economics.

Here was Old World authority meeting New World religious and civil freedom.

Here was hierarchy meeting individual liberty.

Here was religion meeting economics.

Here was authority meeting conscience.

Here was control meeting freedom.

And these are not simply issues from 1884.

They are human issues.

We still wrestle with them.

The story reminded me of Paul and Barnabas. They had traveled together proclaiming the Gospel, but they had a sharp disagreement over whether John Mark should accompany them on another journey. Barnabas wanted to take him. Paul did not.

They separated.

Paul went one direction and Barnabas another.

Scripture does not clean up the story for us. It lets the disagreement remain.

This will happen.

Human beings will disagree. Christians will disagree. Churches will disagree. Sometimes those disagreements concern things about which people have deep and sincere convictions.

Christian history demonstrates this rather dramatically.

We have denominations, divisions, institutions, hierarchies, organizations, and magnificent church buildings. Some divisions arose from serious matters of conscience and doctrine. Others involved culture, personalities, money, property, authority, or power. Usually the history is more complicated than saying one side was completely right and the other completely wrong.

That brings me to another question I frequently ask.

When is enough, enough?

I once attended a United Methodist church that built a huge children’s wing. It was an architectural masterpiece. I understand why they built it. They wanted to minister to children and families.

But they also took on enormous debt.

Today that congregation is down to one worship service and is struggling to pay off that debt.

That doesn’t mean building the children’s wing was evil. It doesn’t mean the people who made the decision had bad motives.

But it makes me ask:

When is enough, enough?

I sometimes look at enormous and magnificent church buildings and wonder what some of that money might have accomplished elsewhere.

How many hungry people could have been fed?

How many families could have been helped?

How many people could have been housed?

How many medical bills could have been paid?

How many struggling neighbors could have received assistance?

Then I have to turn the question around.

What does the way I use my own money say about what I value?

It is easy to question someone else’s stewardship.

It is considerably more uncomfortable to examine my own.

And suddenly I find myself back with Terence Powderly and Bishop Healy.

The bishop says, in effect: