With a membership of a billion people, the Catholic Church cannot help but be a “big tent” church—not that the Church wavers with regards dogma, but that her children adhere to a wide range of opinions, some true, some less so. Catholics argue with each other about all manner of things—a fact the media, left and right, has learned to exploit for their own purposes, for a journalist can always find an interviewee who will say, “Well, I am a Catholic, and I believe XYZ.” And if the interviewee can (mis)quote a theologian, a papal encyclical, or the Catechism, so much the better.

Few topics rouse ire faster than women’s issues. We have Boomer-esque second-wave feminists at one end of the spectrum and pro-patriarchy pundits at the other end. We also have a “third way” camp, mainly comprised of John Paul II devotees, which thinks the first two groups are missing the point. Lastly, we have the large swath of faithful people who are too busy with the actual work of marriage and family (or religious life or apostolate or anything and everything else that constitutes Christian living) to follow the debates closely; though, if asked, they might have practical wisdom to offer.

The range of opinions inside of the Church looks similar to those outside. The difference is that Catholics think these things as Catholics. Sometimes we believe what we do because the Church teaches it; sometimes we apply or twist or make up Church teaching to justify what we believe. Either way, we crave justification from the Church herself.

We also look to the saints. Which brings me to St. Catherine of Siena.

Andrea Vanni, “St. Catherine of Siena” (detail), Basilica of San Domenico, Siena. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

St. Catherine of Siena (1347-1380), mystic and Doctor of Church, was a consecrated woman and lay Dominican who is best known for having convinced Pope Gregory XI to leave Avignon, France and move the papacy back to Rome, where it belonged. Many people, including myself, have held her up as a positive example of what a woman’s vocation could be and a counterexample to the various flatfooted, hamfisted philosophies that plague us. Catherine proves that God is far more creative in His thinking in this matter than some make Him out to be. She, a nobody from fourteenth-century Tuscany, was given the extraordinarily difficult task of admonishing a pope, the Vicar of Christ and her spiritual father. In doing so, she toppled a political regime and changed the course of history. No small feat for a mostly illiterate single woman and cloth dyer’s daughter.

So she’s a hero, a strong and faithful woman who broke the mold in every way. You go, girl. Smash that patriarchy…

…except that she didn’t.

In holding her up as a model of feminine genius, we can easily miss the point—and until now I had missed the point. Yes, Catherine was quite the woman, but we ought not interpret her life and especially her dealings with Gregory XI through a Girl Power paradigm. Why? Because admonishing the sinner is a spiritual work of mercy. And works of mercy demand self-abnegation.

Sacrifice, not power.

Spouses, children, employees, our rightful authorities—having that conversation with them is painful. Think of Queen Esther praying and fasting three days before approaching Xerxes without permission. He could have executed her. Think of Mr. Knightley calling out Emma for her treatment of Miss Bates. He said what justice demanded, assuming she would be lost to him for having done so. In admonishing sinners, we risk their misunderstanding, anger, counter-accusations, and rejection. But we have the conversation anyway because we love them, and because watching them hurt themselves and others is even more painful.

So admonishing the sinner is an act of kenosis—a self-emptying death, picking up the cross and following Christ. Anyone who derives power or pleasure from admonishing the sinner is doing it wrong. Such a person is likely addicted to righteous indignation. Or he is a tyrant. Or both.

Catherine loved Pope Gregory XI and respected the papacy so much that she wanted to see its integrity restored. She certainly would not have thought it her “right” to reprimand any churchman, much less him. Going against societal expectations was one matter; understanding this calling in light of her own humility was another entirely. And Gregory could have easily dismissed her as a cray-cray homegrown mystic and/or excommunicated her. These are high stakes, especially for a faithful daughter of the Church who subsisted on the Eucharist alone. For her to offer him correction would have come at the cost of great interior mortification.

Admonishing the sinner isn’t a power trip, and it isn’t fun. Let’s admire Catherine’s atypical boldness, by all means, and embrace God’s infinitely creative and unique vision for womankind. But let’s also avoid the power pitfall. You go, girl is grossly inadequate to describe Catherine’s saintly heroism.