Scarlet Fever and the Wounding of the Church
When Christian Leadership Forgets That Jesus Christ Cares
There’s a sickness that can infect Christian clergy, and in the Independent Sacramental Movement we have sometimes called it Scarlet Fever. The phrase is a little biting, but it names something real. It refers to the scarlet-colored shirts bishops often wear, but more deeply it points to the fever of ego, title, control, and clerical self-importance that can overtake those entrusted with pastoral care. It’s not limited to bishops, of course. Moderators, abbots, vicars, pastors, superiors, and anyone given spiritual authority can catch the fever. But it is especially dangerous among bishops, because bishops are entrusted not merely with administration, but with the care of souls, the guarding of unity, and the apostolic work of shepherding the flock of Christ. When that work is distorted, the damage can be devastating.
Christian authority is supposed to be cruciform. It’s supposed to look like Jesus, who knelt with a towel and basin, washed the feet of his friends, touched lepers, welcomed sinners, blessed children, fed the hungry, and went looking for the one sheep who wandered. Christian authority is not supposed to look like domination, intimidation, manipulation, or spiritual discard. The bishop is not called to be a little prince. The moderator is not called to be a petty monarch. The pastor is not called to be the owner of the souls entrusted to their care.
And yet, far too often, clergy in positions of oversight behave as though ordination has elevated them above ordinary mercy. They speak of obedience, order, discipline, and unity, but what they often mean is compliance. They claim to defend the Church, but what they are really defending is their own control. They wrap insecurity in vestments. They call ego “authority.” They call personal offense “doctrinal concern.” They call disagreement “disloyalty” or “threatening.” Then, once they have convinced themselves that their own will and the will of God are nearly the same thing, they begin throwing people away. That is where the real destruction begins.
A disagreement arises. A question is asked. A cleric expresses concern. A deacon or priest sees something unhealthy and speaks up. A member of the community asks for clarity and suddenly, the machinery of clerical control begins to move. The person is labeled difficult, unstable, disobedient, divisive, or dangerous. Their years of service are forgotten. Their sacrifices are ignored. Their relationships are severed. Their ministry is dismissed with little explanation and even less compassion. One day they are family; the next day they are treated like a problem to be removed.
That is not shepherding. That is spiritual abandonment, And that kind of callous disregard has no resemblance to the Shepherd’s Heart of Christ.
In many cases, the reason given is thin as paper. Sometimes there is no real reason at all beyond wounded pride. A bishop feels challenged. A moderator feels embarrassed. A superior feels their authority slipping. Rather than sit down like a mature Christian and talk honestly, they reach for the weapons of office. They suspend. They remove. They isolate. They shame. They rewrite history. They gather loyalists around them and call it discernment. They make themselves the injured party while the person they have cast aside is left to bleed.
This kind of mean-spiritedness is especially bitter because it comes wrapped in religious language. It does not merely wound a person socially or professionally. It wounds them spiritually. It teaches them that the Church, which promised sanctuary, may turn on them without warning. It teaches them that holy orders can be used as leverage. It teaches them that the people who preach forgiveness may not practice it when their own ego is touched. It teaches them that clerical fraternity is often conditional, fragile, and easily withdrawn.
And when clergy are treated this way, whole congregations can suffer. A deacon is not just a title. A priest is not just a functionary. A pastor is woven into the lives of people. When a bishop discards clergy carelessly, they are not only injuring that person. They are tearing at the fabric of a community. Parishioners are confused. Trust collapses. Ministries falter. People who were barely holding onto faith may finally walk away. Those who have already been wounded by religion see one more example of why they were right to be afraid. All because someone in authority could not bear to be questioned. All because ego sat on the throne where Christ should have been.
The Independent Sacramental Movement is particularly vulnerable to this sickness because so many of its structures are small, personal, and centered around strong personalities. There are great gifts in that world: freedom, creativity, sacramental intimacy, pastoral flexibility, and room for those who do not fit neatly into larger institutions. But there are also real dangers. Without healthy accountability, a bishop can become a jurisdiction unto themself. Without transparent process, a moderator can confuse personal preference with communal order. Without humility, a small church can become the private kingdom of one wounded ego.
That is why Scarlet Fever is so dangerous. It thrives where there is little accountability and too much fascination with title. It thrives where people are more impressed by apostolic succession than apostolic humility. It thrives where clergy are trained to mimic the outer signs of catholicity without absorbing the inner life of Christ. It thrives where scarlet, purple, rings, pectoral crosses, miters, and honorifics become more important than patience, kindness, truth-telling, reconciliation, and the care of the wounded.
The tragedy is that bishops, at their best, are meant to be signs of unity. They are meant to gather, not scatter. They are meant to guard the flock, not feed on it. They are meant to strengthen the weak, not crush them. They are meant to be icons of the Good Shepherd, not religious managers protecting their brand. The bishop’s authority is not for self-exaltation. It is for service. It is for the Gospel. It is for the people of God.
A bishop who cannot care should not govern.
That may sound blunt, but it needs to be said. Administrative skill is not enough. Theological knowledge is not enough. Valid orders are not enough. A beautiful liturgy is not enough. A bishop without care becomes dangerous, because the office gives their lack of care a wider reach. The damage spreads farther. The wounds cut deeper. The abandonment carries the weight of the Church.
The Gospel gives us a very different model. Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.” The good shepherd knows the sheep, calls them by name, searches for the lost, protects the vulnerable, and lays down his life for the flock. Jesus also warns us about hirelings who run away when danger comes and about false shepherds who burden others without mercy. The prophets are even more severe. Ezekiel condemns shepherds who feed themselves and neglect the flock, who fail to strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strayed, or seek the lost.
That prophetic word is not ancient decoration. It is addressed to every bishop, every priest, every deacon, every moderator, every abbot, every pastor, every Christian leader who has ever been tempted to treat people as disposable.
The Church must recover the difference between authority and authoritarianism. Authority rooted in Christ serves the life of the community. Authoritarianism protects the insecurity of the leader. Authority listens. Authoritarianism silences. Authority corrects for the sake of healing. Authoritarianism punishes for the sake of control. Authority is willing to be accountable. Authoritarianism hides behind office. Authority bears burdens. Authoritarianism transfers burdens onto others. Authority gathers. Authoritarianism scatters.
This distinction matters because some people will always defend cruelty by calling it discipline. They’ll say, “The Church must have order.” Yes, it must. But order without mercy is not the order of Christ. They’ll say, “Clergy must be obedient.” Yes, obedience has its place. But obedience without conscience is not Christian maturity. They’ll say, “Unity must be preserved.” Yes, unity is holy. But unity built on fear is not communion. It is captivity.
There are times when clergy truly must be corrected. There are times when someone must be removed from ministry for serious misconduct, abuse, dishonesty, or harm. Pastoral care does not mean permissiveness. Mercy does not mean chaos. A bishop must sometimes make hard decisions but hard decisions can still be made with honesty, process, proportion, transparency, and compassion. Even when someone must be removed, they should not be dehumanized. Even when boundaries must be drawn, cruelty is not required. Even when trust has been broken, the person remains a soul beloved by God.
Scarlet Fever forgets this. It reduces the person to the problem. It reduces the problem to the leader’s discomfort. Then it reduces the solution to removal. That is not the way of Jesus.
The Christ Catholic witness we have been shaping around the words Jesus Christ Cares stands directly against this sickness. If Jesus cares, then bishops must care. If Christ is the center, then our structures must serve him and not themselves. If the Gospel is the way, then cruelty cannot be our method, fear cannot be our foundation, and exclusion cannot be our first instinct.
This is not a sentimental idea. It is a standard of judgment. A bishop’s first question should not be, “How do I protect my authority?” It should be, “How do I care for the souls involved?” A moderator’s first question should not be, “How do I win this conflict?” It should be, “How do I preserve truth, mercy, and communion if at all possible?” A superior’s first question should not be, “How do I make this person go away?” It should be, “What does Christ require of me toward this person?” If the answer does not look like the Good Shepherd, we should be suspicious.
The Church has too often trained people to mistake coldness for strength. But real strength is not cold. Real strength can sit in a room with pain and not run from it. Real strength can hear criticism without retaliation. Real strength can apologize. Real strength can say, “I may have handled this poorly.” Real strength can make space for lament. Real strength can distinguish between a genuine threat and a wounded person speaking from pain. Real strength can hold authority without needing to crush anyone beneath it.
Mean-spirited clergy are not strong. They are brittle and brittle things break people.
What we need are shepherds with merciful hearts. Shepherds who remember that every cleric under their care is also a human being with wounds, fears, gifts, history, and dignity. Shepherds who understand that disagreement is not always rebellion. Shepherds who know that the purpose of discipline is restoration, not humiliation. Shepherds who are willing to be patient. Shepherds who can bless what they cannot control. Shepherds who can let another person grow differently without treating that growth as betrayal. We need bishops who smell less like scarlet fever and more like sheep.
The cure for Scarlet Fever is not the abolition of episcopal ministry. It is the conversion of episcopal ministry. The Church needs bishops, but it needs bishops shaped by Christ. It needs apostolic leaders whose authority has passed through the basin and towel, the wilderness, the cross, and the empty tomb. It needs moderators and pastors who understand that oversight is not ownership. It needs communities willing to hold leaders accountable not only for doctrinal correctness, but for the fruits of the Spirit.
Are they patient? Are they kind? Are they faithful? Are they gentle? Are they self-controlled? Do they make peace? Do they protect the vulnerable? Do they seek the lost? Do they bind wounds? Do they care? If not, no amount of scarlet will make them shepherds.
The way forward isn’t complicated, though it may be costly. We must recover pastoral humility. We must build structures of real accountability. We must refuse to discard people casually. We must tell the truth without cruelty. We must practice reconciliation where reconciliation is possible. We must create places of sanctuary for clergy and laity wounded by authoritarian religion. We must stop confusing institutional loyalty with faithfulness to Christ. Above all, we must return to Jesus.
Jesus Christ cares. That is not merely comfort for the wounded. It is a command to the shepherds.
Care for the clergy entrusted to you. Care for the deacons and priests who serve with you. Care for the congregations affected by your decisions. Care for the wounded even when they are inconvenient. Care for the ones who disagree. Care for the ones who leave. Care for the ones who return. Care for the ones you must correct. Care for the ones you do not understand. Care does not mean weakness. Care means Christlikeness. And if those of us who function in the role of apostles or bishops cannot embody that care, then we have no business speaking in the name of the Good Shepherd.
The scarlet shirt should not be a warning sign of ego, fear, and control. It should be a reminder of blood, sacrifice, courage, and love. It should remind the bishop that authority in Christ is never for domination. It is for laying down one’s life. The cure for Scarlet Fever is the Shepherd’s Heart and the heart of the Shepherd still beats with mercy.
Jesus cares. Christ is the center. The Gospel is the way.