Fraternity Across the Lines

By Raymond Perrier – Life as a Catholic priest, let alone a bishop, cannot be easy. Anyone who is head of an organisation — whether a parish, a diocese or a company — knows that it is often very isolating if all the people you spend time with see you as “the boss” and treat you as such.

For clergy, that is exacerbated by the nature of the unusual exalted relationship they have with their community — even if they do not want to feel detached from their parishioners, the people sometimes prefer to keep the priest at a distance. Catholic diocesan priests have to do all this while living on their own, under the grace of celibacy — at least religious priests have a community of confrères, while Orthodox and Protestant (and some Catholic) priests may have spouses and families.

In this context, the importance of “fraternals” should not be underestimated. It might be small groups of Catholic priests in a diocese who get together to share their problems and enjoy some social time. It can also be a group of Christian ministers in a local area from a range of denominations who meet to discuss the issues that they have in common.

By the way, the term “fraternal” can still be used even when, as is often now the case, some of those Protestant clergy might be women. The Latin term fratres can mean both “brothers” or “brothers and sisters”.

The success of such fraternals can vary enormously. As always with such loose associations, they are most effective when people really want to be part of them and are prepared to put in the time and effort. But it’s worth the investment.

We saw that when we were hit by crises like Covid and riots: places where clergy were already used to working together and supporting each other were more effective in responding to the needs of their neighbours.

A problem halved

It is also worth the investment from a personal point of view. We are all, as St Paul reminds us, “earthen vessels” likely to crack or even break. So we do well to find ways of being supported by like-minded people in similar situations — a problem shared is a problem halved.

I recall some years ago having a conversation with an Anglican bishop in a medium-sized rural diocese who was telling me some of his problems. As he did so, I was struck by how familiar his words sounded, and realised that I had heard almost exactly the same from his Catholic counterpart, whom I had met some months before.

The two lived in the same town, were doing almost identical jobs, were dealing with similar problems both within their dioceses and with the outside world, and yet they had never talked in-depth to each other. They had of course, met politely at local civic events but they had not reached out fraternally to embrace the other.

In this case it was not, I sensed, rivalry that held them back but rather the lack of a nudge (which I presumptuously offered). But sometimes, and I think mistakenly, the clergy of different denominations are not interested in collaboration because they are more focused on competition. They see not a brother (or sister) minister but a rival.

Historic encounter

I am reminded of the encounter in 1960 between two very famous names in Church history: Geoffrey Fisher, archbishop of Canterbury and primate of the Anglican Church, and Pope St John XXIII. The planned first meeting was going to be the first between Rome and Canterbury since the Reformation, and inevitably, the delicacies of protocol were proving an obstacle to arranging the meeting. So Archbishop Fisher decided to just go ahead and turn up, almost unannounced, at the papal apartments. It was apparently the charismatic personality of “Good Pope John” that gave him the courage to throw off centuries of prejudice and rivalry.

But he was still anxious as he was driving over. How should he greet the pope? Any other bishop would be expected to kneel and kiss the ring of Peter, but Fisher felt that doing so would not be appropriate. And how would he be addressed when an earlier pope had declared Anglican orders null and void? “Dr Fisher” would be technically correct but, in this circumstance, also a slight to his status as an archbishop.

The story is told that he was still worrying about all this when he was ushered into the pope’s presence. Before he knew it, John XXIII, a bear of a man, had flung his arms around the rather more gaunt Fisher and greeted him as “Brother”! Human spirit, and the movement of the Spirit, had won the day!

Apparently, at this one-hour meeting, the two leaders reflected on Luke 24:13-35 and saw themselves as the two disciples walking side-by-side to Emmaus, with the Risen Lord walking with them. So when the pope asked the archbishop when the Anglicans would “come back”, his reply famously was that now “we must go forward together”.

A similar gesture was shown in 1982, when Rome returned the compliment by visiting Canterbury. Pope St John Paul II walked into Canterbury Cathedral side-by-side with Archbishop Robert Runcie. When they reached the cathedra — the seat of episcopal authority — it was neither the successor of St Augustine of Canterbury nor the successor of Pope Gregory the Great (who had sent Augustine to England) who sat in the chair. Instead, the Book of the Gospels, under whose authority both men served, resided on the cathedra.

Place of honour

In Durban, we borrowed that gesture in 2017 when Cardinal Wilfrid Napier graciously welcomed the head of the Lutheran World Federation. Inside Emmanuel Cathedral, the cardinal and Bishop Munib Younan sat on either side of the cathedra, and again the Book of the Gospels had the place of honour.

Different threads of Christian tradition can combine in unexpected ways in one person. St John Henry Newman went from being a highly esteemed Anglican theologian to a highly esteemed Catholic one, and is honoured by both traditions.

Mgr Frederick Kolbe, the great South African theologian of the first half of the 20th century, grew up as the son of a Congregationalist minister, came under the influence of the Dutch Reformed Church, and eventually converted to Catholicism.

And, as we read in the September 2025 issue of The Southern Cross, the archbishop emeritus of Pretoria, George Daniel, served as an Anglican priest before he “went to Rome”.

In June, we mourned the death of Bishop Dino Gabriel whose journey had taken the opposite direction. He came to South Africa from Italy as a Consolata Missionary. But he later became an Anglican, married and had children. He then felt the call to be an Anglican priest, and in time was elected bishop of Zululand and then bishop of Natal.

I recall watching Bishop Dino celebrate the Eucharist and being struck by the way in which — through his very person — he embodied the vision that all Christians might one day share the same Communion.

In his final months, before he was struck by cancer, Dino was a regular volunteer at the Denis Hurley Centre. The sight of this tall Italian chatting in fluent Zulu to our motley crew of homeless men was deeply moving. In this most humble act of charity, he again showed — through his very person — how we can bring Christ’s presence into the world.

When we focus on what we have in common rather than what divides us, it is amazing how much more we can do. And when our clergy come together from all denominations, they can show that the Body of Christ can be a sign of unity and hope in a world that is full of divisions.