Like Mary Magdalene, the first witness to the Resurrection, Roman Catholic Women Priests today are proclaiming the Good News—often without institutional recognition, but with deep spiritual authority.
In his insightful article, “How Rome Suppressed Its Own Ruling on Women Priests”
https://www.ucanews.com/news/how-rome-suppressed-its-own-ruling-on-women-priests/112623,
From my perspective as a woman priest and bishop in the Association of Roman Catholic Women Priests, I would say: what Holmes uncovers is not entirely new—but it is profoundly important to name it clearly in this moment of the Church’s unfolding renewal.
The heart of the issue is memory—and whose memory counts.
Holmes points to historical evidence that, for centuries, women exercised significant ministerial leadership in the early Church—especially as deacons, but also in priestly functions. Scholars like Gary Macy and Phyllis Zagano have demonstrated that the meaning of “ordination” itself developed over time. It was not always restricted in the rigid, juridical way it later became.
What Holmes rightly challenges is the narrative that the exclusion of women from ordination is somehow unchanging or divinely fixed. History tells the story.
What happened?
Over time, as the Church aligned more closely with imperial structures and patriarchal culture, leadership became increasingly clericalized, centralized, and male-dominated. The voices, ministries, and even the liturgical roles of women were gradually diminished, reinterpreted, or erased.
This is not simply theological development.
It is also institutional consolidation of power.
And when institutional power feels threatened, history can be selectively remembered.
Holmes names this dynamic with honesty. And that honesty is a gift to the Church.
But here is where I would go one step further.
This is not only about recovering what was lost.
It is about recognizing what the Spirit is doing now.
Across the world, in inclusive Catholic communities, women are already serving as priests—breaking open the Word, presiding at Eucharist, offering pastoral care, and building communities of equals rooted in Gospel love.
We are not waiting for permission to embody what we believe is already true.
Like Mary Magdalene, the first witness to the Resurrection, women today are proclaiming the Good News—often without institutional recognition, but with deep spiritual authority.
And like her, we are sometimes told our witness does not count.
But the Risen Christ still says:
“Go and tell.”
The deeper theological question is this:
Can the Church recognize that the Spirit may be restoring what was once present—and calling us into a fuller realization of Gospel equality?
If Rome suppressed aspects of its own tradition, then the task before us is not shame—but conversion.
A return.
A remembering.
A re-opening.
A Church faithful to Jesus cannot silence the voices he calls.
Jesus did not choose leaders based on gender, status, or ritual purity.
He chose those who were open to love, to justice, to transformation.
And that same Spirit is moving now.
Holmes’ article is part of a growing chorus—scholars, theologians, and lived communities—all pointing toward the same truth:
The exclusion of women from ordained ministry is not inevitable.
It is a choice.
And what has been chosen by the Church,
can be changed by the Church.
Until that day comes, we will continue to live the answer.
At open tables.
In communities of equals.
In the breaking of bread and the sharing of love.
Because the Spirit is not waiting.
And neither are we.
Colm Holmes raises a critical and courageous question—one that many in the Church are now asking with renewed urgency: Did Rome suppress its own tradition on women in ordained ministry?
From my perspective as a woman priest and bishop in the Association of Roman Catholic Women Priests, I would say: what Holmes uncovers is not entirely new—but it is profoundly important to name it clearly in this moment of the Church’s unfolding renewal.
The heart of the issue is memory—and whose memory counts.
Holmes points to historical evidence that, for centuries, women exercised significant ministerial leadership in the early Church—especially as deacons, but also in priestly functions. Scholars like Gary Macy and Phyllis Zagano have demonstrated that the meaning of “ordination” itself developed over time. It was not always restricted in the rigid, juridical way it later became.
What Holmes rightly challenges is the narrative that the exclusion of women from ordination is somehow unchanging or divinely fixed. History tells the story.
What happened?
Over time, as the Church aligned more closely with imperial structures and patriarchal culture, leadership became increasingly clericalized, centralized, and male-dominated. The voices, ministries, and even the liturgical roles of women were gradually diminished, reinterpreted, or erased.
This is not simply theological development.
It is also institutional consolidation of power.
And when institutional power feels threatened, history can be selectively remembered.
Holmes names this dynamic with honesty. And that honesty is a gift to the Church.
But here is where I would go one step further.
This is not only about recovering what was lost.
It is about recognizing what the Spirit is doing now.
Across the world, in inclusive Catholic communities, women are already serving as priests—breaking open the Word, presiding at Eucharist, offering pastoral care, and building communities of equals rooted in Gospel love.
We are not waiting for permission to embody what we believe is already true.
Like Mary Magdalene, the first witness to the Resurrection, women today are proclaiming the Good News—often without institutional recognition, but with deep spiritual authority.
And like her, we are sometimes told our witness does not count.
But the Risen Christ still says:
“Go and tell.”
The deeper theological question is this:
Can the Church recognize that the Spirit may be restoring what was once present—and calling us into a fuller realization of Gospel equality?
If Rome suppressed aspects of its own tradition, then the task before us is not shame—but conversion.
A return.
A remembering.
A re-opening.
A Church faithful to Jesus cannot silence the voices he calls.
Jesus did not choose leaders based on gender, status, or ritual purity.
He chose those who were open to love, to justice, to transformation.
And that same Spirit is moving now.
Holmes’ article is part of a growing chorus—scholars, theologians, and lived communities—all pointing toward the same truth:
The exclusion of women from ordained ministry is not inevitable.
It is a choice.
And what has been chosen by the Church,
can be changed by the Church.
Until that day comes, we will continue to live the answer.
At open tables.
In communities of equals.
In the breaking of bread and the sharing of love.
Because the Spirit is not waiting.
And neither are we.
