As Pope Francis begins his fourth year in office, questions are inevitably raised, as to whether the changes that he has brought to the Catholic Church will last beyond his time in office. For some the questioning is hopeful; for others, it is anxious
For others the question is trivial. The Pope has shown no interest in changing the things that for them matter: clerical celibacy, the exclusion of women from ordained ministry, and church teaching on homosexuality and contraception, for example.
They see the changes he has introduced as largely cosmetic and homiletic, a matter of style not substance.
Whatever of that, most Catholics have experienced the change he has brought as considerable. Through his actions and words he has embodied a church that seeks its centre at the edge by going out to nonbelievers and to Catholics estranged from their church.
He has lived simply, used liturgical symbols to underline compassion to asylum seekers and deployed the bully pulpit to discourage clericalism, careerism and judgmentalism among the clergy. He has put emphasis on welcoming people with divergent views rather than condemning their views. He has invited exchange of views on church discipline, and generally encouraged a more informal church.
These changes go deeper than style. They involve a re-imagining of Catholic faith and life that places at the centre of the church's attention the persons and world to which it reaches out, not institutional needs or the security of the community. That underlies the emphasis on not judging and giving priority to persons in adapting law, language and ritual. This shift comes out of a distinctive imagining of faith.
Some argue that, because he has made no significant changes in governance, Francis' changes will not survive him. His successors and the Roman Curia will be free to restore former expressions of church life. This argument highlights the need to embody vision in institutional structures. But good governance structures alone do not ensure the continuation of vision.
Others are apprehensive about the continuing silent opposition to Francis and his agenda among priests, bishops and Catholic groups. They believe the Pope's critics will see him out, and then try to recall the Church to its former path.
"The greatest threat to Francis' legacy may come from supporters who applaud his language, but fail to embody his words in changes to their personal and congregational life."
Whatever of that, I believe a far more significant threat to Francis' legacy will come from his supporters. That was true of the vision offered by John Paul II and confirmed by Benedict XVI: a disciplined, intellectually rigorous Church, distinguished from the secular world around it by the holiness of life of its members and the firmness of its boundaries.
It was crystallised in such catchwords as the New Evangelisation, the theology of the body, the distinctive priesthood and the primacy of truth.
This orientation and imagining of faith, attractive in its formulation, was undermined by its supporters. While tireless in using the catchwords and appealing to their authority against their Catholic opponents, they failed to embody the powerful vision in an attractive way of life.
They gave the church a prissy face, which together with the squabbling, authoritarianism and scandals of the Curia, and the uncovering of sexual abuse and its cover up, discredited the vision itself.
This suggests the greatest threat to Francis' legacy may come primarily from his supporters who applaud his language of not judging, anti-clericalism, going out to the secular world, adapting liturgical and other forms of discipline to people, respect for the environment, care for refugees and shaping a more just economy, but fail to embody these words in changes to their personal and congregational life.
Whether Francis' imagining of faith endures will depend on the extent to which Catholics' lives change as they put people who are at the margins of church and world at the centre of attention and pastoral strategy, and make of secondary importance the comfort of their own lives and congregations.
For example, Francis has called for Catholic families and religious communities to open their homes to refugees. This expresses his vision that focuses first on the faces of people at the margins and makes irrelevant differences in religion, race and culture.
But to accept his call is difficult because it conflicts with the unquestioning priority most of us give to meeting the needs of those who live in the home or religious community. So whether the acceptance of Francis' vision has moved beyond comfortably radical slogans will be shown by the degree to which this radical hospitality to people in need becomes the default position.
The same test can be put to other elements of Francis' vision. For example, he has insisted that concern for the environment is central to faith. If this concern enters the Catholic imagination, it will be shown in consequential changes to the ways Catholics and their communities travel, eat, consume and invest.
The future of Francis' vision of faith will depend less on what is done in Rome than in what is done in personal lives and in communities. If he receives only applause but not imitation, the catchcries associates with him will eventually be seen to serve a comfortable and self-focused agenda. In time they will yield to other more radical and demanding imaginings of faith and church life.
Andrew Hamilton is consulting editor of Eureka Street.