Marco Tosatti
Dear friends and enemies of Stilum Curiae, we present for your attention this interview conducted by Father Joachim Heimerl with Giuseppe Nardi regarding the order he received from the Archbishop of Vienna to stop writing. We hope you enjoy reading and sharing it.
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“I will not remain silent” – Fr. Joachim Heimerl von Heimthal in conversation with Giuseppe Nardi
Personal information
Biographical details
Reverend, before we discuss current events, could you share some information about your personal background with our readers? Who are you, where are you from, and what led you to the priesthood? You come from a noble family, hold a doctorate, and have taught at a university. How have these varied experiences shaped your understanding of the priesthood?
I come from what I would call a “typical” Austrian family, with roots in Vienna and Bohemia. However, I am the only member of my family born in Bavaria, where I now live once again. The family is extensive and belongs to the minor nobility; it was granted its noble title in the 18th century.
The Heimerl family once possessed considerable wealth—including silver mines and vast estates in Hungary and Bohemia—which, naturally, was lost over the course of history. What has survived is the family’s former summer palace near Vienna, which one of my ancestors had renovated in the Baroque style. Of course, it changed hands long ago and now belongs to the State.
What we have retained is our Catholic faith and clear principles; this includes a certain fighting spirit. I believe I inherited this from my ancestors. Among them were military officers and even a minister to the Emperor—a successor to the famous Count Andrássy. As far as I know, Haymerlegasse in Vienna is named after this distant cousin. The family is divided into a baronial branch and a knightly branch. Unlike my German cousins, however, my branch—strictly speaking—lost its noble title due to Austrian laws regarding nobility. My great-grandfather used to say with a twinkle in his eye: “If the Emperor tolerates it, so do we.” Naturally, this is no longer an issue today.
Curiously, my great-great-great-great-grandfather was granted his noble title for his services to the Imperial Court Opera. It seems I have also inherited the Heimerl von Heimthal family’s great love for opera. In my case, this family inclination toward the arts ultimately led me to study German literature and history, culminating in a doctorate on Goethe. I published extensively in this field, but those days are now past. It was clear to me from my youth that I would become a priest, and after many detours, this vocation was finally fulfilled in Vienna, the city of my forebears. My academic career, however, is now a distant memory; today, it seems like an entirely different life.
In conclusion, I can say: God has guided me throughout my life, and I am certain He will continue to do so. I entrust myself to Him and to the intercession of His most holy Mother. Recently, during a serious health crisis, I made a pilgrimage to Altötting with a friend. The Blessed Virgin answered my prayer in a remarkable way. I have had similar experiences on several occasions and am deeply grateful to Divine Providence for this.
Writing as a priestly mission.
Through your publications, you now reach a vast audience well beyond the borders of the German-speaking world. Your texts are published in both Italy and the United States. How did you begin writing? Do you consider your journalistic work a personal passion or part of your priestly mission?
As a scholar of German studies, I had naturally always published—and with some success. However, when I became a priest, I had no intention of writing again, let alone on Church-related topics. I recall a conversation with Cardinal Schönborn in which I told him exactly that and asked him to assign me to the pastoral care of the sick in Vienna. It was my great desire, and I believed it to be my vocation: I wanted to serve other sick people as a sick priest.
But then, as often happens in life, things turned out quite differently. My health deteriorated faster than expected; in fact, after my ordination, I did not even spend a full year in pastoral work, as I was forced to withdraw more and more due to my health. Since then, my role as a priest has been limited to prayer and Holy Mass. I celebrate Mass exclusively “in private” here in my home chapel; doing so any other way is no longer possible, nor can I imagine it otherwise. I celebrated my first Mass in St. Stephen’s Cathedral and felt completely at home there. Yet, I do not feel I am missing anything. Thank God. That makes everything much simpler.
Quite by chance, amidst this isolation, I began writing for *kath.net* and later for other outlets; I particularly enjoyed writing essays on the arts and literature for the feuilleton section of Die Tagespost. My tribute to the great Maria Callas was arguably the best piece I have ever written. Nevertheless, Church-related topics remained the most in demand, especially given the crisis the Church is currently experiencing. Without any effort on my part, I suddenly found myself with a vast readership across many languages, and my writings resonated deeply with many of them. At least, that is the overwhelming feedback I have received.
Writing has become, in a sense, my form of pastoral care and preaching, yet it remains a solitary activity—as anyone who works at a desk knows. I cannot say I put my heart into it, but I do it precisely because I believe that, at this moment, it is what God expects of me.
Conflict with the Ordinary
Your publications eventually led to a conflict with your archbishop. How did the archbishop initially react to your writings? You have only recently taken office; what was the situation like before? According to our information, you were issued an explicit ban on writing. What exactly were you forbidden to write? On what grounds? What consequences were you threatened with should you continue to publish? What does a conversation of this kind look like within the Church? Were your arguments taken seriously? Was the discussion conducted—to use a term very much in vogue today—in a truly “synodal” manner?
I can only speak well of Cardinal Schönborn, who ordained me as a priest, and to whom I owe a great deal. As far as I know, he read all my writings and, even if he didn’t always agree with everything I said, our exchange was always friendly, correct and deeply human, never characterized by an authoritarian attitude. On the contrary, the Cardinal possesses the rare quality of knowing how to express criticism in such an amiable way that it is willingly accepted and one even learns something. I admire him immensely, I had the privilege of being close to him for a long time and I respect him very much. He possesses what is called “nobility of soul”, a rare gift, much more than his title of count. To his generosity I owe the greatest grace of my life, the priesthood.
Archbishop Grünwidl, however, I do not know personally; he wrote me some letters that were not very friendly, but rather authoritative, in a somewhat old-fashioned way. I recently received another rather harsh letter from him, in which he suddenly imposed a “publication ban” on me. Curiously, his way of addressing me oscillated between “Du” and “Sie” (formal), which suggests that he is not entirely sure of himself, and the language reflects this perfectly. He wrote that if I did not comply with the “publication ban”, there would be “sanctions” that could even go as far as “suspension”. Please: in my case, the situation is almost ridiculous: I am retired and no longer carry out any official duties.
By the way, I have never received a salary or anything like that from the Church; I was simply a volunteer pastoral assistant at St. Stephen’s Cathedral, a position I abandoned some time ago. But apparently they want to target me and make an example of me because of my presence in the media. Nobody can stop him. But it’s not something I take seriously or particularly worry about. It says nothing about me, but a lot about the Church today and about Archbishop Grünwidl, who is making himself ridiculous in this way.
I wrote to him that nowadays it is quite common to impose “bans” on those who profess the faith of the Church, while critics of celibacy and heretics remain undisturbed and can express themselves as they see fit. This is the trend of our time, and the bishops willingly follow it. A tragedy. There was never a conversation between me and Grünwidl, nor any substantive discussion. I do not know which of my texts have been criticized and the archbishop, in turn, is not able to demonstrate whether the texts in question were authorized or falsified by me.
In short: the archbishop’s sanction has no solid foundation and would therefore be legally worthless. Nonetheless, he arbitrarily imposes a “publication ban,” as if he had absolute power to do so. This is either a form of overconfidence or, even worse, the typical way a bishop treats one of his priests, as can be observed everywhere, far from any alleged “synodalism” and any good manners. In Munich, such practices have always been common; my brother priests, who have suffered from it for a long time, repeat it to me continuously.
Within this typical phenomenon, I would describe Grünwidl’s behavior towards me as “top-down”; it almost seems to me like a caricature of a bygone era: a “prince-bishop” who issues decrees and decides as he pleases on matters concerning his subordinates. The media facade it maintains, of course, is very different: “synodal” and in some ways “Franciscan”, but it is far too ostentatious and transparent. Such a thing would have been absolutely unthinkable under Cardinal Schönborn. Schönborn’s authenticity was evident, and he is a profoundly modest and noble man, a gentleman of another time.
As regards the “publication ban” imposed by Grünwidl, the whole affair presents an extremely problematic aspect, as it constitutes a clear and blatant violation of fundamental rights. No one has the right to limit freedom of expression, not even an archbishop. Anyone who attempts to do so must be compared to authoritarian systems, from fascism and communism to current conditions in Russia or China. When Grünwidl, like many bishops, likes to campaign for “our democracy” in a media-effective way (as if this were the main task of a bishop!), in this context he is not convincing: anyone who acts against freedom of expression because he probably considers the Church a lawless space in which a bishop can do what he wants, does not have the slightest idea of what democracy is. It is therefore consistent that “publication bans” fall “from the sky” as arbitrary acts and are not part of an orderly process based on the rule of law. There is absolutely no trace of democratic principles or of any kind of “synodal” principle! In short: anyone who restricts fundamental rights is, in principle, disqualified—always and everywhere—and this applies to Archbishop Grünwidl as well. His actions against me condemn him and, at the same time, shed light on the situation at St. Stephen’s Square. Of course, I could say much more about this, but it is not relevant to our topic today.
Obedience and Conscience
At ordination, every priest promises respect and obedience to his bishop. How does he handle this promise in a situation where, for reasons of conscience, he feels convinced he cannot remain silent? Does he find himself in a conflict of conscience between obedience to his bishop and his responsibility toward the truth as he perceives it? Will he continue to write despite the prohibition?
I have been thinking about bidding farewell to my readers for some time. My health is not improving, and for this reason alone, I will certainly have to stop writing sooner or later. Indeed, that is exactly what I told the Archbishop. Anyone who follows my publications will surely have noticed that they have become less frequent. Yet, there are still several topics I would like to explore in greater depth—though, of course, the same applies to every writer. For instance, I have long wished to write a more mystical reflection on Holy Mass, or something on the theme of the “Mediatrix of All Graces.” However, I harbor no illusion that I must publish everything I could. I always hope that others will step forward—especially priests—and I consider myself entirely dispensable.
Goethe once said, “I do not know why I, a fool, write so much,” and deep down, I feel the same way; though I do not wish to compare myself to the Privy Councilor, who is, after all, one of my good “acquaintances.”
The obedience that every priest promises at the moment of ordination is owed solely to Christ and the Church. I have always adhered to this obedience and have served Christ and the Church through my writings to the best of my ability. I have never written anything that contradicts the faith of the Church; on the contrary, through my texts, I have proclaimed the Gospel and upheld the traditional faith—just as I promised to do at my ordination.
The promise of obedience does not supersede other vows of consecration, nor does it limit them in any way. Unfortunately, however, it has become common for many—especially in more traditional circles—to misconstrue obedience as blind obedience. Yet this is a distortion of the true meaning of obedience. Furthermore, obedience is never a sort of “counterpart” to fundamental rights; that would be absurd. A bishop who suppresses freedom of expression today will further curtail fundamental rights tomorrow. Where would we end up if such a thing were possible?! Whenever obedience attempts to violate constitutionally guaranteed individual rights, it becomes sectarian and/or a form of what is commonly termed “spiritual abuse.”
Another example illustrates the situation well: over a year ago, Archbishop Grünwidl asked me to pay the church tax in Germany (!) “out of obedience”—a rather peculiar request, in my view. Although he did not press the issue further (something that will likely change now), this too is highly problematic: conflating a demand for money with obedience is absolutely unacceptable, yet it demonstrates how the Church operates in this country: “Do as you are told!”, “Pay and obey!”, and finally: “Obediently surrender your fundamental rights.” I am sorry, but certainly not with me—and, I hope, not with anyone who possesses even a shred of common sense. Such monstrosities have no place in our era and—thank God—are no longer acceptable to anyone today.
Personal consequences
In the event of an emergency, are you at risk of being subject to canon law measures that could go as far as suspension? Does this prospect worry you? How do you experience this situation on a personal level – as a priest, but also as a person?
I am not the sort of person to give in to fear or yield easily, and I have always admired Blessed Father Rupert Mayer, who used to say: “I will not remain silent!” No priest should stay silent—least of all regarding the abuses within today’s Church, whose authentic magisterial authority has been partially suspended. No, I know I am free from any fear for my personal safety; no one can harm me. I have always lived free from external dependencies, and this, naturally, only provokes further opposition; I have grown accustomed to it over the course of my life.
Since my youth, I have been captivated by the figure of Marie de l’Incarnation in Le Fort’s novella The Last at the Scaffold; before the Revolutionary Tribunal, she declares: “What have we to fear, save displeasing Christ, whom you solemnly acknowledge here as your honor!” She has long been my personal role model, and it is precisely this kind of courage we need today in a Church that—even amidst a revolution—is drifting ever further from what it has always taught and believed. Marco Politi has rightly termed this a “civil war” within the Church, and in this civil war, we must profess our faith just as Marie de l’Incarnation did. That is precisely what I shall do, and I will never abandon this stance; otherwise, I would despise myself. A man who does not remain true to his convictions is a figure of ridicule, and we already have far too many of them in the Church.
The “punishments” now being meted out to orthodox priests are arbitrary; sooner or later, they will surely strike every one of us who remains faithful to the “old” faith—suspension, laicization, excommunication—whether one by one or all at once; no one knows. Yet, underlying these petty “punishments” lies nothing less than a challenge to the sacrament of Holy Orders: one is a priest forever, and not even a pope could alter this, regardless of the “punishment” inflicted upon a priest.
Christ Himself remains faithful to every priest, and every sacrament he administers in His name is therefore valid without exception. This is a source of great consolation and an immeasurable grace. In this context, punitive actions against orthodox priests have become a farce, and I no longer take them seriously. Ultimately, they serve as a badge of honor for those who remain faithful to the Church. My family, however, has already received this honor at the hands of Emperor Charles VI, and I do not intend to disparage it by simply remaining silent. Christ is my judge—no one else.
The Current Evolution of the Church
You are one of the most authoritative critics of the Church’s current evolution. What is your primary concern at the moment? What do you understand by the so-called “synodal Church”? In your view, does this path represent a renewal or, rather, a threat to Catholic identity?
No one really knows what “synodalism” is. It is a dubious fantasy of Pope Francis that, unfortunately, did not die with him. In reality, the Church does not use this term. Moreover, by its very nature, it is not “synodal,” but rather Catholic and apostolic. Anyone who claims otherwise is not Catholic—not even a bishop or a pope.
Behind the code word “synodal” lies nothing but an easily identifiable attempt to introduce Protestant heresies into the Church and present them as “Catholic.” As happens in all revolutions, it has become common practice to indoctrinate people vehemently and harshly with baseless ideologies; woe betide anyone who resists the pressure and refuses to profess loyalty to the ideology of the “synodal church.” Ultimately, Francis and his followers likely copied this method from 20th-century dictators, but certainly not from Jesus Christ. This aligns with the lie of a church that defines itself as “listening”—open to all, where everyone can express themselves freely. The fact that this is untrue is clearly demonstrated by my own case: anyone who—like me—adheres to the traditional Catholic faith is oppressed and silenced. This is “synodality” as understood in the Church today! — Well done, indeed!
In short, the “synodal Church” is the legacy of a disastrous pontificate, and it seems that Leo XIV will bring this disaster to completion—a disaster that bears the enemy’s imprint all too clearly. But I am certain of this: they have made a miscalculation here. The true master of the Church is not the Pope. Most Catholics, however, seem to have forgotten this and are succumbing to a fanatical hyper-papalism—something against which I can only warn, and which has never truly been Catholic.
Tradition and Liturgy
What does the traditional Mass mean to you? In what does its particular spiritual value lie? Is the debate over the liturgy actually the expression of a much deeper conflict regarding the identity of the Church?
I discovered the traditional Mass only while opposing Pope Francis’s document Traditionis Custodes, and I immediately grasped its richness. Of course, the so-called “New Mass” is also valid, but—as we have known at least since the “Ottaviani Intervention”—it suffers from significant shortcomings. The traditional Mass, on the other hand, fully reflects the Catholic faith; it mirrors the essence of the Church in its purest and most sublime form.
Unfortunately, this vision of the Church is no longer the one favored in Rome today. The traditional Mass has thus become a touchstone for orthodoxy and a sign of the rift that has long divided the Church. It is true: the two rites represent completely different visions of the Church and are incompatible in their opposition. This is the fundamental problem facing the Church—one it continues to try to ignore. Sidelining the traditional Mass or labeling it an “extraordinary form” achieves nothing; it is the Mass of the Catholic Church, whereas the Mass of Paul VI can never truly be that, given its flaws.
The Society of Saint Pius X (SSPX).
How do you view the Society of Saint Pius X today? How do you view the episcopal ordinations recently celebrated within the Society of Saint Pius X? Why, in your opinion, has the Holy See been acting so decisively against the Society of Saint Pius X for decades?
I personally know only one priest of the Society of Saint Pius X; otherwise, I have no personal contact with them. Since I celebrate Holy Mass myself, I have only rarely had the opportunity to attend a Mass celebrated by the Society of Saint Pius X. Regarding the episcopal ordinations: I was simply overjoyed to see the new bishops consecrated. I really must say so. Finally, there were relatively young men who fully embrace the faith of the Church and who had not previously drawn attention to themselves—prior to ordination—with statements calling the Catholic faith into question.
However, among the bishops who name Francis or Leo, a certain “fundamental heresy” has become the norm, including a negative stance toward celibacy, and so on. This is truly difficult to bear. The crisis in the Church is now manifesting itself even in the appointment of bishops, and these four bishops finally represented a welcome change. The homily delivered by Monsignor Schreiber the day after his ordination was an expression of deep piety. That really struck me. I was also struck by the attitude with which the Society responded to all the hostile and deeply anti-Christian accusations—including those coming from Rome—with a spirit of deep devotion and unwavering trust in God. I have never before seen such an exemplary attitude within the Church, and I must confess: I myself, unfortunately, do not possess it.
The Roman mechanism of “excommunication,” on the other hand, belongs to the darkest Middle Ages rather than our own era; today, it is no longer acceptable to anyone—a fact that should not have been overlooked, despite the Church’s modernism and accommodating attitude toward the world. The Church has lagged behind the times in the wrong way, and then it is surprised that hardly anyone understands it anymore. Undoubtedly, Rome could have shown greater magnanimity and generosity toward the Society of St. Pius X. It would have been a noble and fitting gesture, worthy of the Pope. But there are too many mediocre people within its ranks—such as Cardinal Fernández or Cardinal Roche—who are avowed enemies of Catholic tradition and possess a very narrow mindset. They desire neither reconciliation with the Society of St. Pius X nor with anyone who shares the traditional faith. On the contrary, they deliberately sought to provoke the very thing they now claim exists: an alleged “schism.” Sooner or later, this was bound to happen—not because the Society of St. Pius X desired it, but solely at the behest of the Roman authorities.
Personally, I reject the term “schism,” as illicit episcopal consecrations do not constitute sufficient grounds for such a claim. Incidentally, the Church maintained this position right up until the pontificate of Pius XII; Bishop Athanasius Schneider recently wrote an excellent essay on this subject. Conversely, the obvious schisms surrounding us today are conveniently ignored—such as the schism among the bishops in Germany. Naturally, vast sums of money flow from there to Rome, and this is undoubtedly one of the main reasons why they prefer to turn a blind eye. Moreover, the Vatican tacitly agrees with the apostasy and heresy of the Germans; in other words, “schism” is not simply “schism,” and this is just one of the many contradictions that have rendered the Church completely lacking in credibility.
Ultimately, Rome’s struggle against the Society of St. Pius X is, of course, merely a “proxy war.” What the Church categorically refuses to tolerate is the traditional Catholic faith, which it would ideally like to relegate to a reservation. In its place, the intention is to establish a new faith and a new Church, dating back to the Second Vatican Council. Everything previously considered Catholic no longer counts. If one looks, for instance, at what Rome demands of those wishing to turn their backs on the Society of Saint Pius X (though I suspect there won’t be many), the situation becomes very clear: the Second Vatican Council has been inflated to the point of becoming a sort of “super-dogma” to which everyone must subscribe, and anyone who refuses is simply cast out. All other councils, however, no longer matter, and what has always been Catholic is simply dismissed on “theological” grounds: people are told there was no rupture following the Council—but rather an alleged “continuity”—yet anyone capable of connecting the dots realizes this is a lie.
One cannot declare today the opposite of what was presented yesterday as revealed truth, and then claim that things have now “developed” differently. Who is foolish enough to believe that? And who can still convince people with such a statement? The fact is that the Church has strayed from its tradition and, consequently, from itself. If this situation continues, sooner or later—by all human logic—it will perish. The Society of Saint Pius X, on the contrary, preserves the Catholic faith, and that is a positive thing.
A personal question: would you go to confession with a priest of the Society of Saint Pius X? Why?
In general, I would advise every Catholic to go to confession frequently, and I do so myself. Ideally, one should go to confession weekly. I am always grateful when I have the opportunity to go to confession, and I take advantage of it as often as possible. Confession, however, is a matter too sacred to be exploited for ecclesiastical-political ends—something that is unfortunately happening right now. Naturally, everyone is free to choose their own confessor—and this applies to confessors from the Society of Saint Pius X as well. Those who wish to go to confession there will do so. No one will be treated condescendingly. I myself have never gone to confession with the Society of Saint Pius X, simply because the occasion never arose.
The claim that confessions administered by the Society of Saint Pius X are invalid is utter nonsense. While it is true that a priest requires the bishop’s permission to hear confessions, this is merely a canonical matter that affects neither the priest’s sacramental authority nor the validity of the confession itself. The authority to validly forgive sins is conferred upon every priest solely through his valid ordination. Were this not the case, a bishop could grant permission to hear confessions even to laypeople, and only in such a scenario would the confessions truly be invalid. A valid confession within the Society of Saint Pius X is possible under any circumstances. Anyone who denies this is ultimately denying the sacramental nature of priestly ordination, as well as that of confession.
Of course, I know the Vatican maintains otherwise, but not even the Pope can determine the validity of the sacraments with the stroke of a pen! That authority belongs to God alone, and we have every right to insist on this point with the Pope.
A look at the future
Despite the current situation, are you already working on other publications or projects? How do you imagine your priestly future? Finally: what would you like to say to Catholics who, in the face of current developments in the Church, feel disoriented?
I have no wishes, and I have no idea what the future holds for me. The sick sometimes view things more calmly or from a higher perspective—something I, too, manage to do quite well at times. Whatever happens, I will continue to celebrate Holy Mass alone—in the presence only of the heavenly court here in the house chapel—and to serve as a priest for those who ask it of me. True, there are very few of them now, but that is not the point. I gave my *Adsum* to God, and He bestowed upon me the indelible seal of the priesthood. And so it shall remain.
I am not the master of my priestly path; that belongs to God alone, and whatever He has in store for me will always be for the best. The question of whether I continue to write is not, in principle, in doubt for me. I owe it to God and to the Church. To quote Father Mayer once more: “I will not remain silent,” and no one shall silence me. However, it is more than likely that my health will force me to stop publishing—and so be it.
I would like to thank all those who appreciate me and my writings. Please remain steadfast in the faith and faithful to the Church, even though it is not always easy these days. Mary, Mediatrix of all graces, will help you if you entrust yourselves to her. I myself have experienced this time and again. To all the sick, I would say—as one of your own: let us bear what is laid upon us to the best of our strength, united with Christ on the Cross. He will never abandon us, and the Blessed Virgin Mary will always be with us.
God bless you +
*** • Variations in the spelling of proper names were common across all social strata well beyond the 19th century; the standardization of surnames and spelling took hold only gradually. The original surname “Heymerle” has been retained to this day in one branch of the family; the surname “Heimerl”—already more frequently used in the 18th century—eventually replaced the original surname in the other branch.
- In 1969, Cardinals Alfredo Ottaviani and Antonio Bacci, supported by a group of theologians, published a critical document regarding the liturgy that had just been introduced by Pope Paul VI. Its full title is Breve esame critico del Novus Ordo Missae(“A Short Critical Study of the Novus Ordo Missae“). In it, they argue that the new order of the Mass presents a series of theological problems, particularly concerning the representation of the Eucharistic sacrifice, the role of the priest, the sacrificial nature of the Eucharist, the emphasis placed on the communion banquet over the sacrificial dimension, and continuity with the traditional Roman liturgy.
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