2025
A strange little book. Sparse, quiet, nearly ascetic in its prose, but not lacking weight. Brian Moore’s “Catholics” is a meditation on belief, doubt, obedience, and the quiet death of mystery. It reads like a parable, but a parable set not in first century Judean vineyards, but on a fog soaked island off the coast of Ireland, somewhere between the old world and the new one we’re all still trying to get used to.
The premise is the monks of Muck Abbey still celebrate the Latin Mass in defiance of a fictional “Vatican IV,” which has scrubbed away nearly all ritual, mystery, and miracle from Catholicism. The Vatican sends Father Kinsella, a young, polished Jesuit from America, to shut it down. He arrives with briefcase in hand, a man of progress and polite authority. But underneath his modern veneer is a crisis not unlike that of the aging Abbot Thomas, who no longer believes but continues the old rites for the sake of the people.
There’s a temptation, for readers like me, to see this book as a battle cry for tradition. And in one sense, it is. The monks’ resistance to modernization feels noble. It reminds us that there’s a cost to relevance, and that sometimes what the world calls “progress” is just amnesia in new clothes. But Moore isn’t sentimental. He won’t let us off easy. The abbot’s faith is gone. The Mass has become performance. Even the old ways are hollowed out, beautiful, yes, but now filled with doubt.
In reading it, I was surprised by how much it reminded me of my own Catholic upbringing. Not so much the theology, but the atmosphere, the smell of candles, the rhythm of the liturgy, the kneeling and standing and silence. It was less a system of belief and more an identity, something ethnographic more than confessional. And yet, it shaped me. It still does. Let me also say, that this work remains one of my top ten favorite books of all time.
What do you do when obedience to the institution conflicts with what feels true? When the forms remain, but the faith behind them fades? These are live questions, not just for Catholics, but for all of us in the church catholic. The kind of questions that whisper through the walls of seminaries and in executive session meetings, questions we’d often rather ignore. I’ve found myself thinking about this book more and more in the wake of Francis’ death, and the conversations it’s sparked about what the future of the Catholic church will look like- what will remain, what will change, and what might quietly disappear.
Moore’s vision of a demystified church stings because it’s plausible. And his quiet portrayal of loss, the loss of certainty, of mystery, of place, hurts all the more because it happens in silence. No dramatic split. No public protest. Just men continuing on, quietly, unsure what to do next.
My personal Philosophy of Ministry is founded on an idea of reenchanting the church. And there’s a line from the book that lingers: “We have become a church without mystery.” That line ought to haunt us. Especially in an age where spectacle replaces sacrament, and the altar becomes a stage.
I wouldn’t assign “Catholics” for a theology class. But I might for a pastoral reading group. It’s not a systematic treatment, but it is a pastoral one. A literary mirror, held up to the Church in transition. And like all good mirrors, it shows more than we’d like to admit.
I obviously came to this reading with thoughts of the Catholic Church’s future on my mind. But this reading of Moore’s “Catholics” left me with more questions than answers. And maybe that’s the point. With each and every passing day, I find myself thinking less about theological and liturgical debates and more about the slow erosion of belief that can settle into our hearts unnoticed. Sometimes, we carry on with our rituals and routines because they are beautiful, even when our faith wavers. And yet, the grace of God meets us there. Not in our confidence, but in our need.
We minister in an age of crisis: not only of belief, but of imagination. People are hungry for transcendence, for rootedness, for something holy that doesn’t need to sell itself to be believed. This novel reminds me to ask not just “Are we doing things right?” but “Are we helping our people behold mystery?”
May we be the kind of shepherds who refuse to trade mystery for management, who guard the flickering candles of tradition not because they’re old, but because they’ve lit the way home for so many. And may we never forget that Christ still speaks, even when the church is quiet.
2022
This is for sure making my top 10 list of the year, and is for sure my top read of the fall so far.
This Novella is a critique on the dangers of syncretism in the church. This book is poignant, intelligent, and consuming.