The year 2018 was a stark and, in many ways, defining one for the Catholic Church. Still slowly recovering from the ongoing revelations of the devastating clerical child sex abuse scandal and its widespread coverup by bishops, another major revelation rocked the Church in the U.S. and across the globe, shaking the faith of millions: the notorious exposé of the crimes of serial rapist and then-Cardinal Theodore McCarrick.

As has been well-documented, McCarrick was a bishop for over four decades under five different pontificates and, during that time, raped and sexually abused numerous boys — some of them underage, many of them seminarians, and some of them even priests — and spiritually and emotionally abused countless more. As if his double life of ersatz public piety and secret diabolical debauchery weren’t bad enough, McCarrick was considered at the time to be the most powerful Catholic bishop in the U.S. and one of the most powerful in the whole world. He rose through the ranks, climbing to the upper echelons of the College of Cardinals while sodomizing children and raping young men who wanted to serve Christ through the priesthood.

Worse still, everyone seemed to know. Many of McCarrick’s brother bishops feigned a sudden sadness upon learning of their once-esteemed colleague’s crimes, but none were genuinely surprised. Bishop Steven Lopes of the Personal Ordinariate of the Chair of St. Peter confirmed this, lambasting his brother bishops for their pretensions to surprise. “I’ll tell you what response I think is not good enough,” he said. “It’s the parade of cardinals and bishops who have rushed to the television cameras clutching their pectoral crosses, saying, ‘I knew nothing.’ … We all knew.” Lopes even recalled that when McCarrick was named archbishop of Newark in 1986, the seminarians, including then-seminarian Lopes, knew what would happen when he would visit the seminary.

Cardinal Seán O’Malley of Boston was alerted of McCarrick’s crimes as early as 2015 but kept silent, despite leading Pope Francis’ sex abuse prevention commission. Clerical sex abuse expert A.W. Richard Sipe wrote to now-Cardinal Robert McElroy of San Diego in 2016, describing McCarrick’s history of rape and abuse. McElroy also remained silent. Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò, former papal nuncio to the U.S., even alleged that Pope Francis himself knew of McCarrick’s crimes and personally chose to lift sanctions Pope Benedict XVI had placed on the predatory prelate.

That means Benedict XVI knew, too. In fact, Pope St. John Paul II was also alerted, and the Vatican’s lackluster 2020 report implicitly and posthumously laid the lion’s share of the blame for the McCarrick coverup at John Paul II’s feet.

The point of glossing these particular historical notes is to say that when the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) convened in Baltimore in 2018, only one bishop out of the 200 or so gathered there looked back at decades upon decades of bishops protecting priests and brother bishops who rape children, women, and men — at the horrific crimes of McCarrick, at the silence that met the revelations from those who should have been their brother’s keeper, at so many flocks left directionless, without any trust in their shepherds — and only one bishop dared to name what evil lay at the root of these maladies. That bishop was Joseph E. Strickland of Tyler, Texas.

“The whole McCarrick reality,” Strickland said, shrugging helplessly. “How did that happen if we really believe that what was going on was wrong?” He pointed out that McCarrick’s transgressions were all homosexual in nature and noted that seminary reports name homosexual activity and its presence in seminaries as a prevalent detriment to the formation of priests — of holy men, of good shepherds. He continued:

The question with the McCarrick situation is: “How did he get promoted, how did all that happen if we really all are of one mind that this is wrong and sinful?” There seems to be questions about that, and I think we have to face that directly. Do we believe the doctrine of the Church or not? There’s a priest [Fr. James Martin] that travels around now, basically saying that he doesn’t — and he seems to be very well promoted in various places.

In fact, many of Strickland’s episcopal brethren then present had promoted Martin and his errant pro-rainbow ideology and still promote him to this day. The soft-spoken Texas bishop continued, “Brothers, I think part of the fraternal correction … is to say, ‘Can that be presented in our dioceses — that same-sex marriage is just fine, and the Church will one day grow to understand that?” He shrugged again. “That’s not what we teach.” (READ MORE from S.A. McCarthy: Countering Fr. Martin’s Madness)

Men are commonly inspired to better themselves by the sight of good and to despair by the sight of evil. Strickland is that rarest of men today, inspired by the sight of evil to be a hero. Where so many bishops saw a PR disaster to be either averted or quickly dealt with, Strickland saw a calling to be the antithesis of McCarrick and his cabal of enablers: a good shepherd. And, so, he began fasting regularly, sleeping less, and praying more, taking as his inspiration the Good Shepherd, Christ, who was eventually crucified.

While McCarrick thought only of himself, Strickland put the love of Christ and the needs of his flock before himself. While McCarrick ambitiously advanced his ecclesial career and sought greater and greater offices, Strickland preferred risking promotions over the souls of his flock. While McCarrick sought out secrecy and hiding places, Strickland became ever bolder in declaring the truth.

Eventually, Strickland’s brave proclamation of Catholic truth led him where Christ’s own did: to the cross. As many know, the Vatican announced on Saturday that Pope Francis removed Strickland from his post as the bishop of the diocese of Tyler. No explicit reason was given, and perhaps none ever will be. Bishop Joe Vásquez of the nearby diocese of Austin will serve as apostolic administrator of Tyler until, presumably, Strickland’s replacement is found. The bishop’s removal follows an apostolic visitation (a sort of semi-disciplinary investigation) to Strickland’s diocese in June and a Vatican meeting in which Pope Francis was advised to pressure Strickland to resign.

In recent years, Strickland has been a vocal (arguably even a leading) critic of many of Pope Francis’ agenda items. He has often called on Pope Francis to offer clarity, particularly regarding his comments on homosexuality and same-sex civil unions. In May, while defending Pope Francis against claims of his not really being the Pope, Strickland said on Twitter, “I believe Pope Francis is the Pope but it is time for me to say that I reject his program of undermining the Deposit of Faith,” referring to the Pope’s persistent ambiguity on moral matters.

An apostolic visitation ensued, purportedly focused on administrative matters. In August, Strickland published a defense of the Catholic Church’s doctrine ahead of the final meeting of the global Synod on Synodality, afraid that the process would result in diluting or distorting the Church’s moral doctrines in an effort to align more with contemporary, worldly standards. When Vatican officials and left-wing prelates pressured him to resign as bishop the following month, Strickland simply responded as a good shepherd ought: “I cannot resign as Bishop of Tyler because that would be me abandoning the flock that I was given charge of by Pope Benedict XVI.” (READ MORE from S.A. McCarthy: The Upcoming Synod on Synodality: A Bishop’s Thoughts)

Strickland was a good shepherd: When wolves like McCarrick and his enablers or James Martin and his spiritually wounding ideology came prowling, Strickland took up his shepherd’s staff to protect his flock; when the Synod offered chasms and cliffs for curious sheep to wander off, like blessings for same-sex unions and female ordinations to the priesthood, Strickland put up guardrails and herded his flock away from the edge. Whatever reason the Vatican eventually provides for removing Strickland as shepherd — if one is ever provided, that is — the true reason is not that Strickland was critical of Pope Francis’ agenda, not that he was a poor administrator, and certainly not that he was a sedevacantist.

Rather, it is because Strickland has (rightly) pointed out in his clear, strong, but gentle way that the Jesuit Pope Francis can make peace with the world not on the world’s terms but only on Christ’s. There’s no point bartering over what forms of homosexuality may be blessed or how vociferously a politician has to promote abortion before being denied access to Holy Communion when Christ’s terms are final and secular popularity contests are not a factor.

Ultimately, Joseph Strickland has been taken from his flock for being a living, breathing, and, sadly, all-too-rare reminder to his fellow shepherds that they are not tending to their flocks well; they’re trying to make peace with wolves.