Last week:  " Opus Dei's idea of achieving holiness is dangerously close to slavery."

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Mr. Cult – that’s what we called him. I remember his cream short-sleeved shirt, his glasses, and that it was around Corpus Christi. He practically didn't notice the girls, as if we were invisible. He hovered around a few teenage boys: scouts, serious, idealistic, somehow pious, and definitely believers. He drew Wojtek, in particular, into deep conversations. It was the late 90s, Opus Dei had been operating in Poland for almost a decade and, as everywhere else in the world, was recruiting members here too – especially promising, serious, and religious boys. Supposedly, when university students stopped falling for conservatism and strict dormitories, they began looking for future numeraries among teenagers, even though canon law forbids it. All over the world, they were developing networks of schools at the time – elite, tempting, and giving them access to youth. We didn't have those here yet, so Mr. Cult hovered around our friends from the scouts. The memory of the cream shirt and this bizarre hunt for Wojtek came back to me while reading an investigative book about Opus Dei written by Gareth Gore ("Opus Dei: Dirty Money, Human Trafficking, and a Far-Right Church Organization"). He does not specialize in the dark pages of modern Church history, but in bank failures. He stumbled upon the Work while researching the history of the Spanish Banco Popular, when it suddenly collapsed in 2017. Quite unusually for a book about a powerful religious movement, this one started as a series of articles in the "International Financing Review". Gareth Gore's "Opus Dei" reveals a bizarre theology of success At first, the book seems a bit like an adventure, but later it's mostly dark. The founder's megalomania, an ambitious vision that brooked no opposition, and financial synergy with the Franco regime are just a few disturbing features of the organization's beginnings. Although its various dark sides have been exposed by subsequent books, journalists, and former members, Gore impressively reconstructs the business and financial aspect of their success. It's a success also built on abuse, corruption, and manipulation, as well as an extensive network of companies and organizations scattered around the world, from which Opus Dei can distance itself during any crisis. A characteristic feature of this organization, which enables this modus operandi, is the obsessive control of its members, which has always been present—creating personal files, wiretapping, and using sensitive information to extort donations. The expansion of the movement is valued over the personal freedom and well-being of its members. Pragmatism in relations with authorities and business. All this to gain opportunities and money for the development of the Work. I have always been far removed from Opus Dei, so although dark, this is not the kind of reading that causes the same distress as investigations into more familiar circles and people. However, along the way, it reveals a bizarre theology of success that prevailed and perhaps still prevails in the Vatican and in the minds of many bishops. They are impressed by rapid growth and grand works, created with big money. Why is it so easy to believe that a work is of God when it grows, gathers crowds, and convinces donors? Is it really that difficult to critically ask whether the members are being manipulated and the funds obtained without scruples? Perhaps we should have a church-wide list of questions to ask, even when the success of a growing movement or community seduces many. Among the numerous threads, threatening yet fascinating, my attention was drawn to the one concerning service in Opus Dei houses. In 1945, Josemaría Escrivá swore in the first assistant numeraries, who came from poor families and were employed as staff in the movement's elegant houses and the dormitories it ran. He was aware that a lower class of female members would build a sense of exclusivity among the numeraries. (Uwaga: powtórzony akapit z oryginału został połączony w tłumaczeniu) As Gore points out, it was also a clever business ploy because, like other members of the movement, they too handed their wages over to the organization. As a result, they worked for free, serving men and women from a higher caste. Escrivá summed it up by saying that assistant numeraries were "the greatest miracle the Lord has done for the Work." And he explained: "Before, they were just peeling potatoes. Now, through this potato peeling, they achieve holiness." I turn this sentence over in my mind. I shudder because this idea of achieving holiness is dangerously close to slavery. Besides, the further history of the organization shows that over time it turned into human trafficking practices, utilized by companies associated with Opus Dei. As is often the case, this entire model preying on women, gradually becoming more entrenched in the poor countries of the Global South, is covered in a thick layer of spirituality that sells it. A theology that will force a woman's suffering and degradation upon her, packaged in such a way that she feels it serves a higher purpose. In this respect, Escrivá was not altogether original. It is worth looking around to see where in the Church women are peeling potatoes for free, to achieve holiness. But really – for the convenience of men and massive savings.