The O.C. lawyer helping move the U.S. Catholic Church to the right - Los Angeles Times

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Two very different versions of Catholicism played out on a Tuesday in October.

In Rome, Pope Francis presided over an unprecedented synod on modernizing the church, inviting not only clergy, but lay people from around the world to discuss issues such as theordination of women, ministry to gay and transgender people, empowerment of Indigenous communities and the rights of the poor.

In New York, meanwhile, a Catholic millionaire from Orange County led an event that seemed a throwback to the church of the 1950s: Priests in ornate vestments marched down Broadway with a police escort, the Eucharist held aloft under a gilded canopy and accompanied by wafting incense, candle bearers and nuns in habits and waist-length veils.

"We can retake the culture of America," declared Tim Busch, an Irvine lawyer and hotelier who organized the procession as part of a Catholic conference aimed at wealthy businesspeople. The gathering's message, as Busch later summarized it, was that "woke ideology won't last."

Priests participate in a procession down Broadway in New York City organized by Irvine millionaire Tim Busch as part of a Catholic conference in October whose message, according to Busch, was that "woke ideology won't last." (Gregory A. Shemitz) Tim Busch addresses the congregation before Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City in October. (Gregory A. Shemitz)

At the Vatican, a respectful dialogue about reforming the church; in the U.S., a high-profile display of old-school church power.

Among rank-and-file American Catholics, Francis is enormously popular as he enters the second decade of his papacy, with 84% of weekly Massgoers holding a favorable opinion of him. But as he nudges the global church left, an elite group of U.S. conservatives led by Busch is trying to pull the American church right.

From an office a few blocks from John Wayne Airport, Busch, 69, has helped steer this small but powerful faction of Trump-aligned Republicans through a nonprofit he created, the Napa Institute, to rally conservative Catholics. They distrust Francis' approach to LGBTQ+ people and the divorced, and bristle at how he has framed liberal priorities like climate change and economic inequality as "pro-life" issues on the level of abortion.

Nowhere is the chasm clearer than in the metaphors each side chooses. Francis talks of a "field hospital" church venturing into the world "concerned more with those who suffer than with defending its own interest." Busch has described the Napa Institute as building a Catholic fortress in an increasingly godless America where the faithful "hunker down and survive" until secular society self-destructs.

Busch's rise — the progressive National Catholic Reporter calls him "easily among the most influential laymen in the U.S. and Rome" — reflects the diminished power of American bishops from the clergy sex abuse scandals and the particular way Catholics have featured in today's divided politics, especially when it comes to abortion.

Busch and other church conservatives are outraged that fellow Catholics Joe Biden and Nancy Pelosi are full-throated supporters of abortion rights and view them as almost diabolical betrayers of the faith. Busch himself has said both are "masquerading as Catholics" and that the president is "inspired by evil."

President Biden steps off Air Force One in San Francisco last month. Busch has said that, because of his support for abortion rights, Biden is "masquerading" as Catholic and "inspired by evil." (Brendan Smialowski / AFP / Getty Images)

Catholics connected to Busch proved instrumental in Republican rollbacks of abortion access. Donald Trump delegated the vetting of Supreme Court appointees to Leonard Leo, the Federalist Society co-chair who sits on the board of an organization that funds Napa Institute programs and whom Busch has publicly lauded as a daily-Mass-attending Catholic. Two justices recommended by Leo were devout Catholics and the third was raised in the faith. All voted to overturn Roe vs. Wade.

Trump, who is not religious, at times seems to revel in the divisions within the church, telling a New Hampshire rally this year, "How would a Catholic ever vote for Joe Biden?"

Busch has not criticized Francis publicly, but he has used his wealth and connections to elevate the pope's detractors. His institute has bestowed honors and plum speaking slots on clergy who question Francis' fitness and motives.

Tim Busch created the Napa Institute, a small but powerful faction of Trump-aligned Republicans, to rally conservative Catholics. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Busch invited Cardinal Raymond Burke, who has decried "pervasive confusion and error" in Francis' tenure, to deliver a keynote address in 2019, and gave Texas Bishop Joseph Strickland, a vaccine skeptic who blessed a rally of election deniers, an award for "defense of moral truth" in 2020. In November, following years of digs at the pope, the Vatican stripped Burke of his Vatican apartment and salary and booted Strickland from his post.

Though few of the nation's 61 million Roman Catholics know about Busch or the Napa Institute, he and his allies have drawn the attention of the pope, who noted this year the U.S. church's "very strong reactionary attitude."

"Those American groups you talk about, so closed, are isolating themselves. Instead of living by doctrine, by the true doctrine that always develops and bears fruit, they live by ideologies," Francis said in August when asked by a fellow Jesuit about the lack of respect shown to him in certain parts of the U.S.

Francis did not specify the groups undermining him, but Austen Ivereigh, a British journalist who has written two biographies of Francis and collaborated with him on a third book, said the pope has a firm grasp on those he sees as arrayed against him: "He would certainly have thought of institutes like Napa. Absolutely."

Busch declined interview requests. In an emailed response, he wrote that he and his affiliates "universally recognize Pope Francis as the Vicar of Christ, pray for him, and understand the obedience that is owed to the Holy Father, regardless of whatever spirited and respectful dialogue and debate there might be regarding the contours of our faith and morals."

Busch's influence stretches across Catholic America from its largest archdiocese, Los Angeles — he calls Archbishop Jose Gomez "one of my closest advisors" — to South Bend, Ind., where his institute has funded lectures at the University of Notre Dame by conservatives like Justice Clarence Thomas, to Washington, D.C.

Los Angeles Archbishop Jose Gomez is "one of my closest advisors," Busch said. (Associated Press)

The institute has an office in the nation's capital, and Busch is also a key player at Catholic University there. In 2016, his family gave $15 million, the largest donation in university history, to fund what is now known as the Busch School of Business.

Those who know Busch said he is motivated by a sincere and deep faith, and at times it has led him to break from the expected conservative path. In 2017, as the Trump administration began separating migrant families at the southern border, Busch invited Gomez to speak in defense of immigrants to a symposium of Catholic conservatives in D.C.

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"Given … their real loss of credibility as a voice and a force in the culture … there's a huge vacuum," said Roberts, who has criticized the influence of wealthy conservative lay people. "People like Busch are essentially building structures that are alternatives to the U.S. bishops' conference in terms of communications and defining the narrative for Catholics in the wider culture."

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Busch attends Mass every day and spends at least an hour a week praying before the Eucharist, he has said, accomplishments made easier by a fully functioning chapel in a corner of his Irvine office building.

The Queen of Life chapel is outfitted with stained glass, carved wooden pews, the Stations of the Cross and arches recalling a cathedral. A priest from the Orange Diocese celebrates a daily lunchtime Mass.

On the other side of the chapel wall is Busch's law firm and Pacific Hospitality Group, a private company with interests in upscale hotels and resorts. Busch serves as chief executive. The company has at various times operated some of California's most luxurious and best known properties, the Bacara Resort & Spa in Santa Barbara, the Estancia La Jolla Hotel & Spa and the Balboa Bay Club in Newport Beach, among others.

At his hotels, there is no porn available on guest room televisions, but there are rosaries and crucifixes. He has installed prayer chapels in some properties, and at company Christmas parties, he leads some of his firm's 1,700 employees in grace before the meal.

Busch customized the interiors of two Mercedes Sprinter vans as offices so he could work while being chauffeured through traffic, according to associates. The license plate of one based in Irvine reads JOHNPII while the second, in Northern California, is FRANCIS I.

Busch and his wife have lived in the same Laguna Niguel home where they raised their family since the 1980s. (They own a second home at an Indian Wells golf resort.) The house is decorated with Catholic art, including ceiling murals, and has a private chapel.

In his public appearances, Busch comes off as a wholesome, Midwestern baby boomer. He jokes about getting his grandchildren to pay attention during Mass, and revealed during a presentation for Catholic professionals in Arizona that the sins he struggles most with were drinking too much wine and impatience with family and friends.

In 2010, Busch was supposed to be enjoying a family vacation in Hawaii when, he has said, the Holy Spirit moved him to create the Napa Institute: "I picked up my dictaphone and I dictated exactly what the conference would look like."

His vision was for a "Catholic Bohemian Grove," a reference to the secretive annual summer gathering of powerful men in Sonoma, or a church version of the Aspen Institute. At the time, reliably conservative Benedict XVI was pope, but Busch was alarmed by the drift toward secularism in America, even among his Catholic friends.

"They, on a regular basis, don't attend Mass on Sundays," he marveled in 2020, noting that such an unexcused absence constituted a mortal sin. "They don't seem to know the gravity of what they're doing."

The Napa Institute's flagship event is a four-day July conference that attracts about 800 people to Busch's Meritage Resort & Spa in Napa. Tickets run to $2,900, and the crowd of well-heeled and clergy are treated to gourmet meals, wine from Busch's Trinitas Cellars vineyard and cigar receptions. There are also more than 130 Masses, dozens of opportunities for confession, spiritual talks and speeches by conservative theologians and stars of the political right, such as Lindsey Graham, Mike Pence and Bill Barr.

The broad themes are the wisdom of conservative Catholicism, and its corollary, what's wrong with America today. The sources of outrage are sometimes indistinguishable from GOP talking points — from the New York Times' "1619 Project" to hipster socialism to antifa violence.

Black Lives Matter, Busch has told Napa audiences, is "a Marxist organization against the family ... trying to overthrow the United States of America." He has said transgenderism is "complicit with evil," and same-sex marriage is "a lie."

"It's like a Catholic version of Make America Great Again," said Francis biographer John Gehring, who is writing a book about the contemporary American church and has reported from institute events. "The liberals are at the gates, and they are fighting to hold on."

At a meeting of Catholic professionals in Oklahoma two years ago, Busch took jabs at Gov. Gavin Newsom's handling of COVID, attacked the Biden administration — "a time of despair" — and praised Trump as "like Cyrus in the Old Testament," the Persian king who freed the Jews from captivity in Babylon.

Then he swiftly shifted to practical spiritual advice Catholics of any background might use to deepen her faith.

Go to the same priest for confession every time for increased accountability, he told the group. Bring a notebook to Eucharistic adoration so you can record what you hear from God. Ask your guardian angel for help before tough work meetings.

In the next sentence, he made a dizzying pivot back to GOP talking points.

"I realize that storming the Capitol, all this kind of stuff, is in the news today, but there's going to be history books written about Trump and the turning point he created in our democracy," he said.

Supporters say Busch's staunch opposition to abortion is key to his political views. He has boasted about the influence of Leo, "one of the big supporters of the Napa Institute," in overturning Roe, referring to the current court as "the Leo court" and saying last year, "This is why we have the court we have today and the court America deserves."

Francis has condemned abortion repeatedly, but refused to write off those who disagree. He welcomed Biden to the Vatican two years ago and, according to the president, told him he was a "good Catholic" who should continue receiving Communion — a direct rebuke to conservative Americans who said the sacrament should be denied him.

"We forget that to be pro-life is also to help the people completely, not just to defend an idea, not to embrace a political party that is pro-life," said Francis' U.S. representative, Cardinal Christophe Pierre, the apostolic nuncio, in an interview this fall about the "danger" of polarization, adding, "We are not just in favor of a few values."

A value the pope does not share with the GOP is a love of capitalism. When Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope in 2013, he was the first non-European in more than a thousand years and the first Latin American ever to ascend to the papacy. As archbishop of Buenos Aires, he rode the city bus and celebrated Mass in shantytowns, and had a harsh view of unfettered free markets that he was quick to express.

"We also have to say 'thou shall not' to an economy of exclusion and inequality," he wrote in 2013.

He took a particularly dim view of trickle-down economics, a theory dear to the hearts of many American conservatives: "This opinion, which has never been confirmed by the facts, expresses a crude and naive trust in the goodness of those wielding economic power."

Those words must have arrived in Laguna Niguel like daggers to Busch's heart. He had long connected capitalism with his Catholicism, telling a 2007 church group in Rome, "We have a right to have wealth."

In his view, entrepreneurs helped others as they enriched themselves by providing jobs that lifted families out of poverty and gave individuals dignity.

"It's easy to jump to the conclusion that if you have wealth and somebody else needs it, you should give it to them through redistribution," he told a podcaster in 2017. "Really, we are … depriving them of their right to earn a living and to co-create with God."

Busch's economic views seem to have become more pronounced after he struck up a friendship with the billionaire libertarian Charles Koch, a fellow investor in a Palm Desert golf course.

Koch is not Catholic and as a libertarian does not share Busch's concern with abortion and same-sex marriage. With his late brother, David, he funded climate denialism — something Francis has decried — and sought to undercut unions and minimum wage laws, which the church has traditionally supported.

Yet, Busch has said, "I tell him he's more Catholic than most of my Catholic friends."

Koch's political network announced last month that it is supporting Nikki Haley, not Trump, in the GOP primary. Koch's connection with Busch has proved beneficial for Catholic University, with his charitable foundation donating more than $17 million over the years.

In 2017, Busch invited Koch to speak at a conference on "Good Profit" — the title of a book by the billionaire — at Catholic University. Before the billionaire took the stage, a cardinal from the Vatican pointedly outlined church social justice teaching on fair wages, the rights of workers and care for the planet.

"The cry of the Earth and the cry of the poor go hand in hand," Cardinal Peter Turkson told the conference. Taking the stage immediately afterward to introduce Koch, Busch told attendees, "We have to listen to both sides."

"That is a really, really telling remark," said Roberts, the former National Catholic Reporter editor, who was in the audience. "The cardinal is viewed as 'the other side.'"

The ultimate impact of Busch and his allies is not clear. After a decade in power — longer than many had expected — the 87-year-old Francis has named most of the cardinals who will pick his replacement.

Ivereigh, the pope's writing collaborator, said wealthy U.S. conservatives "make literally zero impact" in a global church of more than 1 billion people increasingly centered in Africa, Asia and Latin America.

"Napa Catholicism is just on another planet from where the church is," he said.

But others said American Catholics will notice the rightward tilt of their church if they haven't already. More than 80% of priests ordained after 2020 identify as conservative or orthodox, according to Catholic University research, and the sermons they preach, the counsel they give in the confessional and the ministries they support are likely to reflect their views.

"I don't think we're going to have a real schism, like in the Middle Ages with two popes, but a soft schism may have started already," said Faggioli, the Villanova professor. He predicted Catholics will increasingly "parish shop" to find a church of like-minded people, a recognition, he said, "of incomprehension between different types of Catholics because of the culture wars."

Does that prospect bother Busch?

The quiet meeting with Father James Martin earlier this year suggests at least a curiosity about those with opposing views. Busch didn't respond to questions about what they discussed or the impetus for the meeting. Martin declined to share details, saying of Busch, "He's a friend and plays an important part in the church."

Subsequently, Busch scheduled monthly dinners for people of different political beliefs.

"I don't think it means that he's changing his views on theological or moral matters," said his friend R.R. Reno, the editor of the religious journal First Things. "But, that doesn't stand in the way of having conversations with people and having a pleasant evening."

He said the first meal, in October, was "a failure" because most attendees held views in line with Busch.

On a fall Friday just before noon, about a dozen people gathered for Mass at the chapel in Busch's law firm. Mounted on one side of the altar was a large painting of Francis' predecessor, Pope Benedict. A small photo of the current pope was on a side wall.

Busch, still in New York, was not there. It was easy to see those who were present as part of the modern, diverse church Francis desires: A young Black woman with long braids was the altar server. A white woman in jeans read the Scripture. The priest was an Asian immigrant who arrived in an electric vehicle that he charged during the service.

He mentioned Busch's New York procession briefly, but his homily focused on the main point in the Gospel reading for that day, a call for religious people to practice what they preach: "Beware of the leaven — that is, the hypocrisy — of the Pharisees."