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A "Jesus rocks, Church stinks; 'spiritual' is awesome, religion is rotten!" Lexicon

Below is a rather, um, caustic piece that I wrote in early 2004 in response to the "un-church" rage (what? you missed that rage? you're so uncool!). The "un-church" movement was/is essentially a riff on the old-but-ever-new silly spouting about Jesus being wonderful and relevant, while religion, Church, and wearing ties are oppressive, dull, and anti-"spiritual". Some of this is a bit dated and I would change a few things if I re-wrote it. Still, perhaps of moderate interest.

The Un-Church Phenomenon: Some Observations and a Lexicon | Carl E. Olson

When my final Protestant pastor (a good man and dear friend) saw that I was becoming deadly serious about entering the Catholic Church, he made one last, desperate pitch. "Why don't you found your own church?" he asked. "Wouldn't that be better?"

Um, no. I certainly didn't think so. Still don't. But it is very appealing to many, many people. The result? Some 35,000 or so Christian denominations in the world, a large number of them in North America.

A January 2004 article, "The Un-churches," [no longer online] in the Denver Post, provides a revealing excursion into the world of small groups that are springing up in the Denver area and, more importantly, into the thinking and beliefs of the twenty and thirty year olds who are founding them.

The names of these "churches" offer some clues as to the general approach: The Journey, Pathways, The Next Level, Connected Life Church, The Crossing, New Life Church, Pierced Chapel, and (I'm not making this up) Scum of the Earth Church.

My thought, upon reading this article, is that those who don't know the past are doomed to repeat it. There is much that is good about the intentions of these groups and there is much that is near-sighted and theologically-skewed. Not surprisingly, there is a strong emphasis on the individual, rejection of structure, love for "freedom," and "expression." That's not too original, as anyone who's older than, say, twenty-eight can tell you. On the other hand, there is some talk of connecting with the past and of knowing history. But it seems that this "connecting" takes on rather shallow and pretentious forms: lots of candles, Celtic crosses, and some neo-Gregorian chanting. As though wrapping yourself in the flag of the past makes you wise to the reality of the past.

Just this last week I had a lengthy conversation with Mike, a 22-year old who attends a "Christian Center" (which is Assemblies of God) and who has been "saved for two years and five months" (he mentioned this fact at least four times). We spoke of many things, but the comment that stood out the most was one that I've heard so many times, albeit in slightly different forms: "I'm all about loving Jesus. I'm not into theology or religion." As in: Jesus is good, dogma is bad. Jesus is great, Church is stuffy. Jesus rocks, ritual blows.

God’s Ecumenical Co-Pilot

God’s Ecumenical Co-Pilot | Michael J. Miller | Catholic World Report

Cardinal Kurt Koch has been very busy since being named President of the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity in July 2010.

During a lecture in Rome on December 15, 2011, the President of the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity likened ecumenical dialogue to air travel: the Holy Spirit is the pilot, and you hope and pray that the plane lands safely.

Cardinal Kurt Koch, formerly Bishop of Basel (Switzerland), has been jetting around Europe since his appointment to his present position in the Roman Curia in July 2010. He accompanied the Holy Father during his recent pastoral visit to Germany and at the ecumenical service in Erfurt on September 23 read the Gospel passage containing Christ’s prayer, “That all may be one.” On October 3 in Heiligenkreuz Abbey near Vienna, he lectured on “The Ecumenical Dimension of the New Evangelization of Europe” at the Philosophical-Theological College named after Benedict XVI.

In Assisi later that month he introduced the sign of peace at the conclusion of the Day of Reflection, Dialogue and Prayer for Peace and Justice in the World. From November 12 to 16 he participated in a conference in Minsk (Belarus) on the contribution of Christian ethics to the formation of Europe. Then in Istanbul he personally delivered to the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople the Pope’s traditional greetings to the Orthodox Church on the Feast of St. Andrew, their patron.

In his lecture on December 15, Cardinal Koch put these wide-ranging efforts in a broader perspective. The talk might be described as his end-of-the-year, “State of the Reunion of Christians” message. In it he identified several changes and challenges in the Church’s ecumenical dialogue:

For example in several churches we have a new reflection on their own confessional identity. That can be a great advantage, because one must have a clear identity in order to be in dialogue. It can also happen, though, that a group distances itself somewhat from ecumenism.

A second challenge is that the actual goal of ecumenism is becoming increasingly unclear. We have various concepts of unity, but we have no common goal. And that makes it difficult. After all, we cannot act according to the motto of the [late] Viennese comedian [Helmut] Qualtinger: “Well, I don’t know where I’m going, but that way I get there sooner.” Instead we must seek anew what the real goal is. And the reason why we have no common goal is actually because each church has its own notion of the unity of its church, and therefore it is necessary for us to reflect on what the nature of the Church really is.

The third challenge is presented by the new dialogue partners of the Catholic Church.

Read the entire piece on www.CatholicWorldReport.com...

"Civilization is a spiritual labor, an openness to revelation,...

... a venture of faith, subsisting to a great degree on things no more substantial than myths and visions and prophetic dreams; thus it can be destroyed not only by invading armies or economic collapse, but also by simple disenchantment. ...

There may not be a distinctive American civilization in the fullest sense, but there definitely is a distinctly American Christianity. It is something protean, scattered, fragmentary, and fissile, often either mildly or exorbitantly heretical, and sometimes only vestigially Christian, but it can nevertheless justly be called the American religion—and it is a powerful religion. It is, however, a style of faith remarkably lacking in beautiful material forms or coherent institutional structures, not by accident, but essentially. Its civic inexpressiveness is a consequence not simply of cultural privation, or of frontier simplicity, or of modern utilitarianism, or even of some lingering Puritan reserve towards ecclesial rank and architectural ostentation, but also of a profound and radical resistance to outward forms. It is a religion of the book or of private revelation, of oracular wisdom and foolish rapture, but not one of tradition, hierarchy, or public creeds. Even where it creates intricate institutions of its own, and erects its own large temples, it tends to do so entirely on its own terms: in a void, in a cultural and (ideally) physical desert, at a fantastic remove from all traditional sources of authority, historical “validity,” or good taste (Mormonism is an expression of this tendency at its boldest, most original, and most effervescently vulgar). What America shares with, say, France is the general Western heritage of Christian belief, with all its confessional variations; what it has never had any real part in, however, is Christendom. ...

Now, I know I am describing only a few extreme variants of only one variant of Protestant Christianity in America. I might point out that I am also, however, describing acute forms of a spirituality whose chronic forms can be found liberally distributed throughout America’s religious communities, even in certain circles within American Catholicism, Judaism, mainstream Protestantism, and elsewhere. That, though, is of only passing interest. My central claim is that what one sees with particular clarity in Evangelical piety is a deep spiritual orientation that both informs and expresses the American mythos: that grand narrative, going back to colonial times, of a people that has fled the evils of an Old World sunk in corruption, cast off the burden of an intolerable past, and been “born again” as a new nation, redeemed from the violence and falsehood of the former things.

It is not difficult, of course, to enumerate the weaknesses of a culture shaped by such a spiritual logic. It is a spirituality that, for example, makes very little contribution to the aesthetic surface of American life. This is no small matter. The American religion does almost nothing to create a shared high culture, to enrich the lives of ordinary persons with the loveliness of sacred public spaces, to erect a few durable bulwarks against the cretinous barbarity of late modern popular culture, or to enliven the physical order with intimations of transcendent beauty. With its nearly absolute separation between inward conviction and outward form, it is largely content to surrender the surrounding world to utilitarian austerity. It could not do otherwise, even if the nation’s constitution were not formally so secular. It would not have the imaginative resources. It is a religion of feeling, not of sensibility; it might be able to express itself in great scale, but not as a rule in good taste.

— A few passages from the interesting essay, "Future tense, IV: America & the angels of Sacré-Cœur" (New Criterion, Dec. 2011), by David B. Hart, on the future of religion in America.

Fr. Groeschel's "I Am With You Always" praised as "a richly textured, luxuriantly detailed overview..."

"...  of Christian devotion", by Paul Thigpen in a review in the November 20th edition of Our Sunday Visitor newspaper:

For countless Catholics today, and many non-Catholics as well, seeing the name of Father Benedict J. Groeschel on a book is sufficient reason to buy or at least borrow it, and then to read it carefully. Since the 1970s, the work of this wise priest, preacher, psychologist and spiritual director has enlightened and strengthened the faith of millions.

All the more reason, then, to pay close attention to the newest title that bears his name — especially when the author tells us that it was “more than 10 years in the writing,” a process that proved to be “the most interesting and revealing intellectual adventure” of his life.

The depth of the new work — “I Am With You Always: A Study of the History and Meaning of Personal Devotion to Jesus Christ for Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant Christians” (Ignatius, $37.95) — is reflected in the weight of the volume, with more than 600 pages.

The book is primarily a historical study. Yet its analysis also reveals the author’s theological and psychological training as he examines the historical evidence. He keeps an eye on the intimate connection between prayer and belief (lex orandi, lex credendi), and he considers carefully the interior dynamics of the soul. The result is a richly textured, luxuriantly detailed overview of Christian devotion through the centuries and across traditions. ...

Father Groeschel laments here the impossibility of fully representing, even in a volume this large, “devotion in all its myriad forms or even in every Christian denomination or tradition.” That limitation, inherent in a historical survey of so broad a scope, may at times frustrate readers who search these pages for a particular figure, movement or tradition, only to find that it was not included.

Other readers may find the book’s length intimidating, or the massive accumulation of historical data overwhelming. In that case, the volume is perhaps better approached as a reference work. One profitable strategy would be to read the first two chapters, along with the final one, and then to browse the table of contents or the index to locate historical periods, themes or figures of particular interest.

Nevertheless, those who are willing to invest the time in a careful, complete reading of “I Am With You Always” will be richly rewarded. Whichever roads our personal walk with Christ may take us down, we will find our way more easily and surely in the light of so many who have gone before us.

The full review is available online to OSV subscribers and will also, of course, be in the November 20th print edition.

Read the Introduction to I Am With You Always: A Study of the History and Meaning of Personal Devotion to Jesus Christ for Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant Christians (also available in electronic book format) on Ignatius Insight:

Harold Camping apologizes for errors about end-time predictions; prays for mercy

The Christian Post reports on an October 28th broadcast in which the 90-year-old Camping acknowledges (some of) his errors and prays for God's mercy:

With his speech sounding somewhat slurred and labored, Family Radio Stations Inc. founder and chairman Harold Camping sought to address in a recent message why Christ failed to return on Oct. 21 as the Bible teacher had predicted. Camping confessed, after decades of falsely misleading his followers, that he was wrong and regrets his misdeeds.

In addition to attempting to correct his erroneous teachings on the Rapture and God's day of final judgment on the world, Camping, 90, also confessed, "incidentally," that he was wrong to claim that God had stopped saving people after May 21 – the date which God's so-called "spiritual" judgment had begun.

Here are excerpts from the transcript of Camping's audio address, which can be heard on the Family Radio website:

Why didn't Christ return on Oct. 21? It seems embarrassing for Family Radio. But God was in charge of everything. We came to that conclusion after quite careful study of the Bible. He allowed everything to happen the way it did without correction. He could have stopped everything if He had wanted to. ...

We're ready to cry out and weep before God: 'Oh Lord, you have the truth, we don't have it. You have the truth.' And this is another place where we have to cry out for... There's one thing that we must remember – God is in charge of this whole business, and we are not. What God wants to tell us is His business. When He wants to tell us is His business. In the meanwhile, God is allowing us to continue to cry to Him for mercy – oh my, how we need His mercy – and continue to wait on Him. God has not left us. God is still God. But we have to be very careful that we don't dictate to God what He should do. ...

Incidentally, I have been told that I said back in May that people who did not believe that May 21 should not be the rapture date, probably had not been saved. I should not have said that, and I apologize for that. One thing we know for certain, is that God is merciful, merciful beyond anything that we would ever expect. And so, we can pray constantly, and should be praying constantly: "Oh Lord, we look to Thee for Thine mercy, and we're so thankful that we know that Thou art so merciful."

Amen and amen. "Nothing", wrote Saint Ambrose, "graces the Christian soul so much as mercy."

Previous and related Insight Scoop posts:

• Just a quick reminder that the world will be annihilated tomorrow! (Oct. 20, 2011)
• Rapture, Rinse, Repeat (May 24, 2011)
• Call for Captions for a May 22nd, 2011 Billboard (May 21, 2011)
• The Rapture: A short history and some basic facts (May 20, 2011)
• The Revelatory Quote of the Day... (May 20, 2011)
• A few thoughts about the not-so-rapturous May 21st Harold Camping Trip... (May 19, 2011)

Where Protestantism goes wrong on Biblical inspiration and Church authority

Dr. Francis Beckwith—who was raised Catholic, then became Pentecostal/Evangelical in his teens, then returned to the Catholic Church a few years ago—has penned an essay, "Reformation Day – and What Led Me To Back to Catholicism". It is a pithy and direct reflection, he writes, on one of "the puzzles that led me back to the Church of my youth", specifically, "the relationship between the Church, Tradition, and the canon of Scripture. As a Protestant, I claimed to reject the normative role that Tradition plays in the development of Christian doctrine. But at times I seemed to rely on it":

For example, on the content of the biblical canon – whether the Old Testament includes the deuterocanonical books (or “Apocrypha”), as the Catholic Church holds and Protestantism rejects. I would appeal to the exclusion of these books as canonical by the Jewish Council of Jamnia (A.D. 90-100) as well as doubts about those books raised by St. Jerome, translator of the Latin Vulgate, and a few other Church Fathers.

My reasoning, however, was extra-biblical. For it appealed to an authoritative leadership that has the power to recognize and certify books as canonical that were subsequently recognized as such by certain Fathers embedded in a tradition that, as a Protestant, I thought more authoritative than the tradition that certified what has come to be known as the Catholic canon. This latter tradition, rejected by Protestants, includes St. Augustine as well as the Council of Hippo (A.D. 393), the Third Council of Carthage (A.D. 397), the Fourth Council of Carthage (A.D. 419), and the Council of Florence (A.D. 1441).

His fine essay brought to mind a passage from Monsignor Ronald Knox's little classic, The Belief of Catholics, first published in 1927, which helped me, many years ago, get a better sense of some of the key historical and logical problems found within Protestantism. Here is that passage, from the chapter, "Where Protestantism Goes Wrong":

For three centuries the true issue between the two parties was obscured, owing to the preposterous action of the Protestants in admiring Biblical inspiration. The Bible, it appeared, was common ground between the combatants, the Bible, therefore, was the arena of the struggle; from it the controversialist, like David at the brook, must pick up texts to sling at his adversary. In fact, of course, the Protestant had no conceivable right to base any arguments on the inspiration of the Bible, for the inspiration of the Bible was a doctrine which had been believed, before the Reformation, on the mere authority of the Church; it rested on exactly the same basis as the doctrine of Transubstantiation. Protestantism repudiated Transubstantiation, and in doing so repudiated the authority of the Church; and then, without a shred of logic, calmly went on believing in the inspiration of the Bible, as if nothing had happened! Did they suppose that Biblical inspiration was a self-evident fact, like the axioms of Euclid? Or did they derive it from some words of our Lord? If so, what words? What authority have we, apart from that of the Church, to say that the Epistles of Paul are inspired, and the Epistle of Bamabas is not? It is, perhaps, the most amazing and the most tragic spectacle in the history of thought, the picture of blood flowing, fires blazing, and kingdoms changing hands for a century and a half, all in defence of a vicious circle.

The only logic which succeeded in convincing the Protestants of their fallacy was the logic of facts. So long as nobody except scoffers and atheists challenged the truth of the scriptural narratives, the doctrine of inspiration maintained its curiously inflated credit. Then Christians, nay, even clergymen, began to wonder about Genesis, began to have scruples about the genuineness of 2 Peter. And then quite suddenly, it became apparent that there was no reason why Protestants should not doubt the inspiration of the Bible; it violated no principle of their system. The Evangelicals protested, but theirs was a sentimental rather than a reasoned protest; the Tractarians fulmmated, but it was plain this was mere summer lightning, a reflection from the Seven Hills. Only the condemnation of Colenso stands as monument of the bloodless victory of Modernism. For three centuries the inspired Bible had been a handy stick to beat Catholics with; then it broke in the hand that wielded it, and Protestantism flung it languidly aside.

I do not mean, of course, that modern Protestants do not affirm, and affirm sincerely, their belief in Biblical inspiration of some sort. But if you examine the affirmation, you will find that the whole meaning of the term has changed; it was once a literal inspiration that was acknowledged, now it is only a literary inspiration. If you need tangible proof of this, you have only to consider the amount of literary flattery which is lavished upon certain Biblical authors by modern scholarships; how they belaud the fierce independence of Amos, the profound spiritual insight of St. Paul. It was all one to our great-grandfathers; Amos, for them, was no more of a figure than Habacuc, or Paul than the author of the Apocalypse; what did it matter? It was all inspired.

The consequences of this change in the Protestant attitude towards Scripture did not become apparent at once. In the days of Westcott and Lightfoot, in the days of Salmon, the impression left on the public was that it did not matter much whether the Bible was inspired, because in any case it was true. Westcott said so, and who more likely to know than Westcott? Salmon said so; and he was not the man to commit himself to a rash judgment. The prevailing tone in English scholarship remained conservative, at least so far as the New Testament was concerned; books were still attributed to their traditional authors, their integrity was maintained in defiance of the innovators, legend was not allowed to obtrude itself as a hypothesis. If we kept to Codex Vaticanus we should be all right.

In our time, we are beginning to reap the whirlwind. Even men of moderate opinions will not, to-day, vouch for the authenticity of the Fourth Gospel; will not quote the threefold invocation of Matthew xxviii. 19 as certainly representing the views of the apostolic age; will not attach any importance to the story of our Lord's Ascension. And these things are done in the green tree; what of the dry? If these are the hesitations which Protestantism cultivates, what of those it tolerates? We have seen in our time Oxford--the Oxford that flamed with controversy over the case of Dr. Hampden--vaguely discussing whether anything could be done about a clergyman  who denied the Resurrection.

For more about Knox (himself a former Anglican), The Beliefs of Catholics and some of Knox's other books, visit his Ignatius Insight Author Page:



Related Ignatius Insight Articles:

• Why Catholicism Makes Protestantism Tick: Louis Bouyer on the Reformation | Mark Brumley
• Has The Reformation Ended? | An Interview with Dr. Mark Noll
• Evangelicals and Catholics In Conversation, Part 1 | Interview with Dr. Brad Harper
• Evangelicals and Catholics In Conversation, Part 2 | Interview with Dr. Brad Harper
• Thomas Howard and the Kindly Light | IgnatiusInsight.com
• Objections, Obstacles, Acceptance: An Interview with J. Budziszewski | IgnatiusInsight.com
• Thomas Howard on the Meaning of Tradition | IgnatiusInsight.com
• Surprised by Conversion: The Patterns of Faith | Peter E. Martin
• Reformation 101: Who's Who in the Protestant Reformation | Geoffrey Saint-Clair
• The Tale of Trent: A Council and and Its Legacy | Martha Rasmussen

"No Small Matter”: Fr. Schall on what the Pope said in Germany

“No Small Matter” | On What the Pope Said in Germany | Fr. James V. Schall, S.J. | Ignatius Insight | October 26, 2011

 “No, evil is no small matter. Were we truly to place God at the centre of our lives, it could not be so powerful.”
— Pope Benedict XVI, Former Augustinian Convent, Erfurt, Germany, September 23, 2011 (L’Osservatore Romano, English, September 28, 2011

I.

The homilies and lectures that the Holy Father gave in his third visit to Germany in September are, as we might expect, outstanding. In his recent provocative book, It's Not the End of the World, It's Just the End of You: The Great Extinction of the Nations, David Goldman wrote that “Benedict XVI ranks by my reckoning as the best mind on the planet.” Surely this “reckoning” is right, Who is to compete with him? But what is especially remarkable about Benedict XVI is the ease and care with which he can illuminate overall things in brief discourses.

As an example, I want to comment on the address the Holy Father gave to representatives of the Evangelical Church of Germany. He was in the Augustinian Convent in Erfurt, where Martin Luther was ordained and where he lived from 1505-1511.  Probably better than any of his predecessors, this Pope knows Luther. In general, the Pope stressed what Catholics and Lutherans have in common, not what divided them, the cause of so much strife. We are at a stage in history where we can look at the past much more calmly, but only if we will.

One of Luther’s most powerful concerns, Benedict recalls, is this: “How do I receive the grace of God?” That is a very Augustinian question. Luther was an Augustinian monk; the Pope cites Augustine all the time. Benedict points out, “For Luther theology was no mere academic pursuit, but the struggle for oneself, which in turn was a struggle for and with God.” Since God exists and since He is interested in each of us, we cannot avoid the question of how we receive Him, of what happens when we know Him. We also struggle with ourselves, for we are tempted not to know Him.

Luther’s question, the one that drove him, is also the question that Benedict tells us “never ceases to make a deep impression on me.” The Pope then wonders who is concerned with this question today. Are the local Germans in Erfurt, in the Federal Republic, concerned? Very few. Why? “Most even today, even Christians, set out from the presupposition that God is not fundamentally interested in our sins and virtues.” This same presupposition could not be said of Luther. But is it a valid presupposition? Do we leave it unexamined?

Chesterton on devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary

I do not want to be in a religion in which I am allowed to have a crucifix. I feel the same about the much more controversial question of the honour paid to the Blessed Virgin.  If people do not like that cult, they are quite right not to be Catholics.  But in people who are Catholics, or call themselves Catholics, I want the idea not only liked but loved and loved ardently, and above all proudly proclaimed. I want it to be what the Protestants are perfectly right in calling it; the badge and sign of a Papist.  I want to be allowed to be enthusiastic about the existence of the enthusiasm; not to have my chief enthusiasm coldly tolerated as an eccentricity of myself. And that is why, with all the good will in the world, I cannot feel the crucifix at one end of the town as a substitute for the little Roman Catholic Church at the other.

— From the Autobiography of G.K. Chesterton

The honour given to Mary as the Mother of God is, among a thousand other things, a very perfect example of the truth to which I have recurred more than once:  that even what we may call the Protestant truths were only saved by the Catholic authority. Among these is the very necessary truth of the subordination of Mary to Christ, as being after all the subordination of the creature to the Creator.  Nothing amuses Catholics more than the suggestion, in so much of the old Protestant propaganda, that they are to be freed from the superstition called Mariolatry, like people freed from the burden of daylight.  All the spontaneous spirituality, as distinct from the necessary doctrinal orthodoxy, is on the side of the extension and even excess of this cult. If Catholics had been left to their private judgment, to their personal religious experience, to their sense of the essential spirit of Christ and Christianity, to any of the liberal or latitudinarian tests of truth, they would long ago have exalted our Lady to a height of superhuman supremacy and splendour that might really have imperilled the pure monotheism in the core of the creed. Over whole tracts of popular opinion she might have been a goddess more universal than Isis.  It is the authority of Rome that has prevented such Catholics from indulging in such Mariolatry; the strict definition that distinguished between a perfect woman and a divine Man.

— From The Catholic Church and Conversion, by G.K. Chesterton

Also see, on Ignatius Insight:



"'Martin Luther' is not a popular figure in most Catholic circles." ...

... Understandably so. Most Catholics who think about Luther at all, hold him responsible for the dividing of Christendom and the problem of ongoing Christian disunity. What’s more, the pesky Fundamentalist missionary at the door, who attacks the Catholic Church as the“whore of Babylon”, is seen, rightly or wrongly, as a direct spiritual descendant of the former German Augustinian monk.

But now here comes Pope Benedict XVI, a fellow German, visiting his homeland and speaking to German Evangelical Christians, i.e. Lutherans, as we call them here. The Holy Father seems comfortable talking about Luther with Lutherans, even talking with obvious regard and sympathy for Luther. Shocking?

Not to those who have followed the nuances of Catholic teaching on non-Catholic Christians as it has developed, especially as expressed in the teaching of the Second Vatican Council and in papal teaching since then. Not to those who are dissatisfied with a spiritual cold war among western Christians or who don’t need to refight the battles of the 16^th century in order confidently and placidly to affirm their Catholic faith. And not to those familiar with Benedict XVI, theologian and pastor.

What stands out about Pope Benedict’s comments is how nonchalantly he talks positively about Luther, without betraying the slightest hint of a compromise regarding the fundamental issues dividing Catholics and Protestants. Someone might think, “Well, Pope Benedict knows this is not the 16^th century. He knows that we should not treat Protestants today as if they were the original Protestants who broke with the Catholic Church.”

True enough. But Luther was the original Protestant. Pope Benedict shows how a Catholic can have a certain sympathetic reading of Luther, notwithstanding the same Catholic’s rejection of Luther’s repudiation of the Catholic Church. In this way, a Catholic can see what is most important when it comes to assessing Luther—not denying the problems with him but also not overlooking what Luther got right or demonizing him.

Read Mark Brumley's entire essay, "The Pope, Martin Luther, and Our Time", on the Catholic World Report blog. Along similar lines, see my post, "Benedict, Luther, and the 'unity born of love'".

Benedict, Luther, and the "unity born of love"

Pope Benedict XVI gave a much anticipated address today to representatives of the Protestant EKD (Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland) at the former Augustinian Convent in Erfurt, where Martin Luther spent many years before his break with the Catholic Church. He then gave another address at the same location at an ecumencial prayer service.

Although fairly short, the first address is quintessential Ratzinger/Benedict: personal, thoughful, embracing, and challenging, all at once. And is often the case with Benedict, he did not make his points with stark declarations, but with difficult questions. In fact, an entire paragraph of the address was taken up with a series of interrelated questions:

“How do I receive the grace of God?” The fact that this question was the driving force of his whole life never ceases to make an impression on me. For who is actually concerned about this today – even among Christians? What does the question of God mean in our lives? In our preaching? Most people today, even Christians, set out from the presupposition that God is not fundamentally interested in our sins and virtues. He knows that we are all mere flesh. Insofar as people today believe in an afterlife and a divine judgement at all, nearly everyone presumes for all practical purposes that God is bound to be magnanimous and that ultimately he mercifully overlooks our small failings. But are they really so small, our failings? Is not the world laid waste through the corruption of the great, but also of the small, who think only of their own advantage? Is it not laid waste through the power of drugs, which thrives on the one hand on greed and avarice, and on the other hand on the craving for pleasure of those who become addicted? Is the world not threatened by the growing readiness to use violence, frequently masking itself with claims to religious motivation? Could hunger and poverty so devastate parts of the world if love for God and godly love of neighbour – of his creatures, of men and women – were more alive in us? I could go on. No, evil is no small matter. Were we truly to place God at the centre of our lives, it could not be so powerful. The question: what is God’s position towards me, where do I stand before God? – this burning question of Martin Luther must once more, doubtless in a new form, become our question too. In my view, this is the first summons we should attend to in our encounter with Martin Luther.

By highlighting such essential questions, Benedict points out that authentic ecumenical dialogue (which he clearly and firmly believes must be at the service of unity and not just an exercise in facile conversation) should be rooted in asking the right questions about fundamental truths: the nature of God, the nature of grace and faith, and what it means to be a Christian, especially in a culture that is essentially post-Christian. And this means, of course, focusing on the person of Jesus Christ, without whom unity is both pointless and unobtainable:

Another important point: God, the one God, creator of heaven and earth, is no mere philosophical hypothesis regarding the origins of the universe. This God has a face, and he has spoken to us. He became one of us in the man Jesus Christ – who is both true God and true man. Luther’s thinking, his whole spirituality, was thoroughly Christocentric: “What promotes Christ’s cause” was for Luther the decisive hermeneutical criterion for the exegesis of sacred Scripture. This presupposes, however, that Christ is at the heart of our spirituality and that love for him, living in communion with him, is what guides our life.

Throughout his public life as priest, archbishop, cardinal, and head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Joseph Ratzinger has not shied away from the fact that real and serious divisions exist between Catholics and Protestants (more on that below). But as Pope, as Vicar of Jesus Christ, he is mindful to emphasize the proper priorities for ecumenism and to indicate the way forward, mindful that union will only be possible through the power and grace of the Holy Spirit. Today, for instance, he said that

the first and most important thing for ecumenism is that we keep in view just how much we have in common, not losing sight of it amid the pressure towards secularization – everything that makes us Christian in the first place and continues to be our gift and our task. It was the error of the Reformation period that for the most part we could only see what divided us and we failed to grasp existentially what we have in common in terms of the great deposit of sacred Scripture and the early Christian creeds. The great ecumenical step forward of recent decades is that we have become aware of all this common ground and that we acknowledge it as we pray and sing together, as we make our joint commitment to the Christian ethos in our dealings with the world, as we bear common witness to the God of Jesus Christ in this world as our undying foundation.

And then, in his address given later at the Ecumenical Prayer Service he again focused on the need for common witness to the share belief in the Triune God, giver of Life and author of Love:

Our fundamental unity comes from the fact that we believe in God, the Father Almighty, the maker of heaven and earth.  And that we confess that he is the triune God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  The highest unity is not the solitude of a monad, but rather a unity born of love.  We believe in God – the real God.  We believe that God spoke to us and became one of us.  To bear witness to this living God is our common task at the present time.

Benedict is, I'm confident, very mindful that Christ told Peter, "I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail; and when you have turned again, strengthen your brethren" (Lk 22:32)—and that non-Catholic Christians are indeed brothers, even if separated brothers who are not in perfect and full communion. His words of encouragement are part and parcel of his consistent message, in this trip to Germany and in other such trips to other countries, that choosing life without God is to actually choose death, wittingly or otherwise. So he said today, at the prayer service:

Thomas Howard on the Image and the Mystery of the Cross

From the essay, "The Image of the Cross", taken from the collection, The Night Is Far Spent: A Treasury of Thomas Howard (Ignatius Press, 2007):

At the center of Christian vision and imagery stands a great and enigmatic sign, the sign of the Cross. Like the brass serpent held aloft on a pole by Moses in the desert, the Cross has drawn and fixed the gazes of men ever since it was raised. It is there at the center of Christian vision because it is there at the center of the divine drama celebrated in that vision—the drama unfolded on the stage of our history in the sequence of Annunciation, Nativity, Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension. And, like all these mighty mysteries in this sequence, the Cross defies all our efforts to grasp its full significance, and all our attempts to respond adequately. Shall we approach in sackcloth or in festal garments? Shall we sing songs of penitence or of triumph? Shall we bring ashes or garlands?

The difficulty we mortal men have in the presence of the events that make up the Gospel is that, while the events themselves are straightforward enough for any peasant to understand (the angels appeared to shepherds), the significance of those events exhausts the efforts of the most sublime intellects to grasp them. The plain Gospel story is told, century after century, to peasants, children, and philosophers and calls forth adoration and faith from all alike. The stable, the Upper Room, the garden, the Cross, the tomb, and so forth: these are points in a tale that is plain enough for all of us. But these are also points on the frontier between the seen and the unseen, the historic and the eternal, the contingent and the unconditioned, and hence open out onto vistas where the divine immensities loom in all their terror and splendor.

For this reason, the Cross, which is a clear enough object, attracts the unceasing efforts of man's intellect and imagination and affection to respond in some manner fitting its significance. It is carried in procession with great pomp in Rome and hangs on a string around the neck of an Irish farmer. It glimmers from a plaque next to a child's crib and shines from the pages of Aquinas, Calvin, and Barth. It is hailed in sorrowful chants ("O vos omnes ... videte si est dolor sicut dolor mei") and in hymns of contrition ("When I survey the wondrous Cross") and of triumph ("Onward, Christian soldiers"). There are gold crosses, plastic crosses, wooden crosses, jeweled crosses, and stone crosses. There are huge crosses towering in the Alps and the Andes and tiny crosses on dashboards and shelves. There are crosses on spires and crosses on gravestones. There are Celtic crosses, Crusaders' crosses, crosses of Saint Anne, and Coptic crosses. There is the bare cross, the crucifix, and the Christus Rex (Christ crowned and in royal robes on the Cross). And of course there is no counting the frescoes, mosaics, icons, and oil paintings that have for their subject the crucifixion scene.

What can we say of the Cross—this mystery celebrated, extolled, lauded, adored, and followed for two thousand years? Nothing new, certainly.

For Protestant imagination, the focus has always been not so much on the image of the Cross as on the work on the Cross: the work of atonement wrought by Christ there for us, from which proceed our redemption and the forgiveness of our sins; and the work of the Cross in the heart of the Christian who embraces it, dealing death to the Adam in us with all of his sin, and opening the way to new life. Hence, in this imagination, the Cross is thought about, and spoken about, and preached and written about, but not much depicted. The idea here is that if you externalize and visualize your representations of the Cross, you will get: to looking at the thing you have made and miss the significance behind it. It is a caution that has been alive in the Church from the beginning, and one that will need to be kept alive until we pass from faith to sight in the final triumph.

But whether Christians' meditations on the Cross have been accompanied by any sort of visual representation or not, all Christians have known that this Cross is right at the center for them. The story that they call Good News anticipates and moves straight toward the Cross from the outset; nay, there is shed blood and the promise of bruising some thousands of years before that story itself unfolds. And there is no victorious denouement to the Gospel story (what Professor Tolkien calls the "eucatastrophe"—the good outcome) in Resurrection and Ascension without the Cross first. There is no question of eternal life for us without our going down into crucifixion and burial with Christ, like seeds of wheat planted in the ground before the crop and harvest. There is no putting away of sin by any method other than crucifixion. There is no doing away with the debt piled against us unless it is nailed to the Cross.

Christians see themselves, then, as a people under the sign of the Cross. It is the sign of their salvation; it is their ensign, their banner, their cover, their plea, and their glory. It is an interesting datum in the history of the Church that there has never been defined for Christian orthodoxy one universally satisfactory doctrine as to what happened at the Cross. All creeds and councils agree that at the Cross Christ effected our salvation, and that our debt was, somehow, paid there (paid to whom? God? the Devil?), and that we have forgiveness of sins and eternal life on the basis of that event. But the fullness of the transaction remains a mystery. The words offering, sacrifice, substitution, atonement, example, and victory all crowd around the Cross, but no one can get all the pieces fitted together, any more than they can fit together the pieces in the other events of the Gospel story. We affirm these events and the dogmas that define them; we confess them, we believe them, we bow to them, we preach them, and we sing of them. But we cannot explain them.

This, surely, is at least part of the glory of Christian Faith: it speeds like a light between two poles, the one pole being the plain events in the Gospel story, the other being the great mysteries evinced in the events. For Christians, the very act of contemplating the events and the mysteries is nourishing and gladdening. For two thousand years now, peasants and sages have focused on the few simple events of the Gospel in their meditations; but no one has come near to exhausting it.

Related on Ignatius Insight:

• The Question of Suffering, the Response of the Cross | Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger
• The Cross--For Us | Hans Urs von Balthasar
• The Cross and The Holocaust | Regis Martin
• The Divinity of Christ | Peter Kreeft
• Jesus Is Catholic | Hans Urs von Balthasar
• The Religion of Jesus | Blessed Columba Marmion
• Catholic Spirituality | Thomas Howard

Catholics, Scripture, and Culture. Oh, and Conversion.

Fr. Alexander Lucie-Smith reflects in the Catholic Herald on the dearth of conversations about Scripture and the loss of culture that results from a Scripture-challenged (my term, not his) society:

I had lunch with a young evangelical the other day and we talked about the Bible. This led me to reflect that I do not often have conversations about the Bible, and that interest in the Holy Scriptures as such (as opposed to proof texting, which means picking out quotes that back up your opinion on some controversial subject) seems to be a rare thing these days. This is a great pity, I think, especially in the light of the Second Vatican Council which was supposed to inaugurate a new appreciation of the Scriptures among Catholics.

That Catholics are not as interested in Scripture as they might be could be a reflection on how academics treat the Scriptures. I will never forget (and I fear never get over) the way the Scriptures were taught so badly in the Roman Pontifical University that I attended. The course on the synoptic gospels was good, and we had a lively and interesting teacher, who clearly loved her subject; but the courses on the Old Testament were dismal in the extreme. Before I studied theology, I had read English Literature at university, and in my humble opinion the approach to Scripture could learn a great deal from the study of Eng Lit. In other words, start with the story the Old Testament tells, and spare us the memorable (in all the wrong senses) opening lectures on who the Hittites were.

He goes on to comment on his favorite books of the Bible and the influence of Scripture in British culture and literature. He concludes: "Our current ignorance of the Scriptures represents a terrible loss to our culture. So: next time you sit down to lunch with someone, why not ask them which bit of the Bible they like best? Who knows, you might be in for a pleasant surprise."

It's a most fascinating topic, especially for someone such as myself, who was grew up in a Fundamentalist/Evangelical setting and then entered the Catholic Church in my twenties after a couple of years at an Evangelical Bible college. One of the greatest gifts my parents bestowed on me was a definite and persistent immersion in Scripture and an overt love for the same. At the age of three or four, I (along with several children of the same age) would stand at the front of our small church, before a few dozen folks, and recite verses from the Bible. Sunday School, needless to say, was filled with stories from the Bible, including all of the Big Ones from the Old Testament (Creation, Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Moses and the Exodus, David and Solomon, the Judges, etc.) and the New Testament. I took it for granted and was surprised as I made my way through elementary school that many of my classmates were hazy and indifferent about the famous men, women, and events of the Bible. Didn't everyone read the Bible on a regular basis? No? Really?? (I'm not suggesting that I was sheltered; I'm just noting I didn't understand my upbringing diverged in some ways from that of most other kids. Okay, I was a bit sheltered.)

At the age of nine or ten, I also took a number of correspondence Bible courses from Moody Bible College (Chicago), and I continued to memorize large chunks of the Bible, not only passages from John 3 and Romans 3, but several of the Psalms and sections of the Proverbs. The prophets, in general, were given short shrift, with the exception of Daniel, who was linked, connected, and obsessively intertwined with the Book of Revelation, which itself was always a favorite. Romans, not surprisingly, was a book that garnered much attention; by the time I arrived at Briercrest Bible College, the margins of my Ryrie Study Bible (NAS) indicated that Romans, the Psalms, and the Book of Revelation were fairly regular fare for me. When I was first starting to read, my parents were still using the King James Version; I'm rather thankful such was the case, because I was immersed, for a few years, in the rich language of that translation (setting aside the issue of theological biases, which, frankly, wasn't on my four-year-old radar). This meant that when I began reading this and that by Milton, Jonson, and Shakespeare, I was at least comfortable with tackling it and enjoying it, even if I barely comprehended it.

Pro-lifers become papist: three stories

From a feature article in the August 14, 2011, issue of Our Sunday Visitor newspaper about three pro-life activists who recently entered the Catholic Church:

When Bryan Kemper was getting started in pro-life activism about 20 years ago, he "was kind of paranoid at first" about working with Catholics, he said, having been taught by other Protestants that the Catholic Church was the whore of Babylon. "I was hellbent on saving all the Catholics," he recalled recently. 

Kemper's younger self would likely be shocked to learn that he is part of a recent string of prominent pro-life activists — including Lila Rose, undercover videographer of Planned Parenthood, and former abortion clinic director Abby Johnson — who have decided to enter into full communion with the Catholic Church.

Read the entire article, "Why are prominent pro-lifers swimming the Tiber?", by Kevin Birnbaum.

On "the practical difficulty of arousing any sort of enthusiasm for the worship of nothing in particular"

An Episcopal pastor provides some thoughtful analysis about the attraction and apparent success of American Evangelicalism, especially compared to liberal Protestantism (no, I'm not being sarcastic; it really is thoughtful):

What do Evangelicals have that we (Progressive, Mainliners) don't have—other than larger churches, larger seminaries, bigger attendance on Sunday, more serious engagement with Scripture, and enough passion for their faith to keep David Platt's Radical on the best seller list for 55 weeks running?

We can sniff and comfort ourselves with pride, if we want to do that. But I am sure that was pretty much where the crew of the Titanic lived just before the ice water began to roll in over their feet.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't a size thing. But we can only console ourselves for so long by arguing, "small is beautiful" or "we are too sophisticated to be popular." "Large" may not mean "good," but "small" is not necessarily a synonym for "virtuous" either. Sometimes, small just means "not all that interesting."

The question is also prompted by the tenor and level of engagement that Evangelicalism inspires. To get just a taste of it, read the obituary in last week's New York Times describing the life of John R. W. Stott who died on July 27.

There's another problem with dismissing Evangelicals out of hand: Many of the excuses we tell ourselves are based on a caricature that simply isn't fair or particularly accurate. Evangelicalism has its problems, but the ones it does have rarely receive attention and a lot of the criticisms laid at its doorstep are simply not true. Evangelicals are often bright, well educated, and comfortably middle class. They are not necessarily literalists or inerrantists. And contrary to the old stereotype, they do not hold the monolithic positions on social issues that some suppose.

So, it's time to ask, "What do they have?" Here's what I think explains the popularity of Evangelicalism:

Evangelicals believe something. To name a few things: They believe in God, the Trinity, the humanity and divinity of Jesus Christ, the Resurrection, and the authority of Scripture. These things define reality in a particular way for Evangelicals.

Read the entire essay, "What do Evangelicals have that we don't?", on the SMU site. The author, Rev. Dr. Frederick W. Schmidt, is an Episcopal priest and is director of Spiritual Formation and associate professor of Christian Spirituality at Southern Methodist University, Perkins School of Theology in Dallas, Texas.

The final paragraph from the excerpt above brings to mind a delightfully caustic passage from an essay, "The Dogma Is the Drama", written by the wonderful Anglican author, Dorothy Sayers (1893-1957):

Any stigma,” said a witty tongue, “will do to beat a dogma”; and the flails of ridicule have been brandished with such energy of late on the threshing-floor of controversy that the seed of the Word has become well-nigh lost amid the whirling of the chaff. Christ, in His Divine innocence, said to the Woman of Samaria, “Ye worship what ye know not” — apparently being under the impression that it might be desirable, on the whole, to know what one was worshipping. He thus showed Himself sadly out of touch with the twentieth-century mind, for the cry today is: “Away with the tedious complexities of dogma — let us have the simple spirit of worship; just worship, no matter of what!” The only drawback to this demand for a generalized and undirected worship is the practical difficulty of arousing any sort of enthusiasm for the worship of nothing in particular. ...

We are constantly assured that the churches are empty because preachers insist too much upon doctrine — ‘dull dogma,’ as people call it. The fact is the precise opposite. It is the neglect of dogma that makes for dullness. The Christian faith is the most exciting drama that ever staggered the imagination of man — and the dogma is the drama. . . . This is the dogma we find so dull — this terrifying drama which God is the victim and the hero. If this is dull, then what, in Heaven’s name, is worthy to be called exciting? The people who hanged Christ never, to do them justice, accused Him of being a bore — on the contrary; they thought Him too dynamic to be safe. It has been left for later generations to muffle up that shattering personality and surround Him with an atmosphere of tedium. We have very efficiently pared the claws of the Lion of Judah, certifying Him ‘meek and mild,’ and recommended Him as a fitting household pet for pale curates and pious old ladies. (from The Whimsical Christian: 18 Essays [New York, 1978]).

Compare Schmidt's essay, which is refreshingly reflective and honest, with a recent rant in The Guardian (see my August 8th post about it), also written by an Episcopalian, that was unthinking, bitter, and thoroughly condescending.

Priest cites Church's pro-life beliefs as key to leaving Episcopalianism, becoming Catholic

The Register-Guard, the largest newspaper here in Eugene, Oregon, had a front cover article in this past Sunday's edition about the new parochial vicar at the largest parish in the Eugene/Springfield area:

Two things set Father Bryce McProud apart from most newly ordained Roman Catholic priests: He once tried out for the Metropolitan Opera and placed highly enough to consider it a career option. And he’s married.

The opera part is easy to understand. About 40 years ago, about the same time he was considering a calling to the ministry, he “sang quite a lot,” and apparently very well. “At that point, I had to choose between opera and the church,” McProud said. “I prayed about it a lot and decided to go with the church.”

As for being married, McProud, a longtime minister in the Episcopal church and now parochial vicar at St. Mary Catholic Church in Eugene, received a dispensation from Pope Benedict XVI that allowed him to make the switch and, as an already married priest, to bring his wife along.

Since July 1, after a few weeks of volunteering in local parishes following his ordination on June 4, he has been a full-time member of the St. Mary clergy, celebrating Mass, officiating at funerals and hearing confessions of parishioners in the old brick church at 11th Avenue and Charnelton Street.

He and his wife, Deanna McProud, have been married “almost 41 years,” he said. “We have a son, and we have two wonderful grandchildren.”

The piece is quite good and does a solid job of providing background and context to Fr. McProud's rather unique situation. It also has this:

McProud’s disaffection with Episcopal doctrine started in the early 1990s, “after the church’s general convention voted to become pro-choice on abortion,” he said. “The other major issues were not as important to me.”

He had been ordained into the Episcopal priesthood in 1978 and had served in parishes in Yakima, Wash., and Albany before coming to St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in Eugene in 1985.

By 2004, he realized that he was part of the “Catholic-minded” among Episcopalians — the other two main divisions are liberal-minded and evangelical-minded, he said — and he decided to pursue a dispensation to join the Catholic clergy.

“The decision evolved over a long period,” Deanna McProud said. “We talked a lot about the various churches we had been in during our lives. I always had been drawn to the Catholic Church, so it didn’t seem strange to me.”

Again, the background material provided by reporter Randi Bjornstad is quite helpful for readers unfamiliar with how it is that some Catholic priests in the Latin rite are married. However, the term "Roman Catholic Church" is a bit misleading (although, admittedly, used by many Catholics), as it is not a term ever used by the Catholic Church to describe herself, as Dave Armstrong and Jimmy Akin explain. Far more important, however, is this error:

Um, I think you've forgotten a little detail...

... commonly referred to as "The Catholic Church":

It is easy to see why most people are contemptuous of this amalgam of credulity, sentimentality and narcissism, which in its evangelical Christian form is tied up with myths about the age of the earth and origin of species, sexual taboos and a conservative political agenda. With this as the public face of religion it's not surprising that in the US, as in Europe, Christianity is collapsing.

That is a shame because if it collapses everything essential to it and worthwhile, which is now merely obscure, will become inaccessible. Christian theology, metaphysical doctrines about the existence and nature of God that I believe to be true, will become curiosities, like the teachings of second-string neo-Platonists. Service books will languish in archives, for study by antiquarians. The better churches will be preserved as museums; mediocre ones will be gutted and refurbished as restaurants, condos and office space.

In Europe religious belief is already anomalous: San Vitale is a museum. In the US, Christianity has been absorbed into a syncretic mishmash of self-help programmes and therapies, new age products and scraps of eastern religions. There are cults for every taste and circumstance. Maybe some coherent religious system will surface in the way that Christianity emerged from the soup of cults and mystery religions in the Hellenistic world. Maybe Christianity will re-emerge. Maybe.

That from the conclusion to a short but rather heavy-handed, wild-eyed piece, "Christianity in the US is Collapsing", in today's edition of The Guardian. It sounds far more like a bitter wish than a thoughtful analysis of what and what might be.

Granted, there's no doubt that cases can be made for the poor health of Christian faith in the U.S., but, then, cases require facts, arguments, historical context, and so forth. Not weird and more-than-dubious statements such as this about the relationship between ancient Christianity and the Middle Ages: "Exuberance and wonder gave way to a crabbed obsession with sin and Christians turned inward to fret about the health of their souls." Right. Because, after all, when you read—to pick just one well-known example—Augustine's Confessions, you find nothing at all about sin and salvation and the state of one's soul. (Granted, I've only read the book four times, but I'm fairly certain Augustine mentioned sin and salvation in there somewhere.) Never mind that some guy named Paul of Tarsus, writing a wee bit earlier than Augustine, exhorted the Christians in Philippi to "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling" (Phil. 2:12), and that another man, Simon Peter, known to have lived and travelled with Jesus Christ for a few years, told his readers, "As the outcome of your faith you obtain the salvation of your souls" (1 Pet. 1:9). And so forth.

But Bible verses aren't really the issue here so much as the author's obvious contempt for evangelical Christianity; after all, she indicates no interest at all in Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy (nor can I see any such interest in her other columns). Even though Catholics are minorities among Christians in the U.S., they have a bit more history behind them in the larger, global picture; put another way, the Catholic Church has been declared down and out, dead in the water, and ten feet under many times throughout the past two thousand years (as Chesterton wrote about so well in The Everlasting Man). And while things are hardly perfect in the Catholic Church in the U.S. (and no serious Catholic thinks any such nonsense), they are, I think, notably better than in 1975 or 1989 or even 2003. And, to take it a step further and with an obvious nod to Louis Bouyer, Evangelicalism moves in one of two possible directions: toward the Catholic Church, or away from her. Evangelical groups that move away, especially by ditching essential Christian doctrines and beliefs about morality, surely do collapse and begin to die. Thus, forms of Protestantism in the U.S. that move further away from Catholicism will indeed keep collapsing. Mark Brumley, in writing about Bouyer's book, The Spirit and Forms of Protestantism, summed it up this way:

St. lgnatius of Loyola and the founding of the Society of Jesus

From "The Counter-Reformation: Ignatius and the Jesuits", by Fr. Charles P. Connor, from Defenders of the Faith in Word and Deed:

The Reformation was, to be sure, no isolated event, but a series of movements in several European countries that in varying ways departed from Catholicism. In response to Protestantism and to the problems it sought to address, the Catholic renewal or Counter-Reformation became a reality. One of the magnificent fruits of that renewal was the establishment of the Society of Jesus, founded by the Spanish Basque lgnatius of Loyola.

Loyola is a castle at Azpeltia, located in the Pyrenees Mountains. It was there that Iñigo, as he was then called, was born, in 1491. His background was military, and he fought briefly against the French in Pamplona. A serious battle injury brought him back to his native castle and confined him for weeks. He was a worldly sort and would love to have occupied his hours reading romantic novels. Instead, only two books, on the lives of the saints and the life of Christ, were available. The biographies of the saints began to fascinate him, make him think of the uselessness of his own life up to that point, and provoked the interior question: If such acts of spiritual heroism were possible in the lives of others, why would they not be possible in his?

A hunger for God began to overtake him by degrees, and after a time he resolved to go on pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat. Sometime during the course of that visit he determined that thenceforth he would lead a penitential life and his stay in the nearby small town of Manresal where he experienced solitude and prayer, confirmed his desire all the more. He made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and then studied in Barcelona, Alcala, and, finally, at the University of Paris, where he received the Master of Arts in 1534. Still his fervor did not slacken. At Paris he was to meet companions who were like-minded in spiritual outlook and whose names would become well known in Jesuit annals: Francis Xavier (a Spanish Basque like Ignatius), Favre, Laynez, Salmeron, Rodriguez, Bobadilla. Together they would become "the Company", the first Jesuits, defenders of the faith in heretical times.

On the feast of Our Lady's Assumption, August 15, 1534, these men professed their vows in the chapel of Saint Denis on the hill of Montmartre in Paris. They vowed to work for the glory of God. They agreed that when they finished their studies and became priests, they would go to Jerusalem together, but if they could not go there in a year, they would go to Rome and offer to go anywhere the Pope deemed necessary. Their hopes of going to Palestine would not be realized, but other needs quickly became apparent.

There being no likelihood of their being able soon to go to the Holy Land, it was at length resolved that Ignatius, Favre, and Laynez should go to Rome and offer the services of all to the pope, and they agreed that if anyone asked what their association was they might answer "the Company of Jesus", because they were united to fight against falsehood and vice under the standard of Christ. On his road to Rome, praying at a little chapel at La Storta, Ignatius saw our Lord, shining with an unspeakable light, but loaded with a heavy cross, and he heard the words, Ego vobis Romae propitius ero, "I win be favorable to you at Rome." [6]

Eventually they became a religious order and took formal vows. The members of the Society of Jesus, or Jesuits, truly were men of the Church. The papal bull of institution, promulgated in 1540 during the pontificate of Pope Paul III, stated the Society's purposes. The document "Rules for Thinking with the Church" is also illustrative. It was composed by Ignatius himself as an addition to his Spiritual Exercises. It represents a reply to the Protestant challenge, affirming many long-established practices that were under severe criticism and attack. It is a document "characterized more perhaps by its balance and moderation than one may at first think". [7] Rule Thirteen initially appears anything but moderate:

If we wish to proceed securely in all things, we must hold fast to the following principle: What seems to me white, I will believe black if the hierarchical Church so defines. For I must be convinced that in Christ Our Lord, the bridegroom, and in His spouse the Church, only one Spirit holds sway, which governs and rules for the salvation of souls. For it is by the same Spirit and Lord who gave the Ten Commandments that our Holy Mother Church is ruled and governed. [8]

In addition to absolute loyalty, Ignatius in the Constitutions leaves no doubt that it is to be interpreted as willingness to carry out the wishes of the Holy See:

All that His Holiness will command us for the good of souls, or the propagation of the faith, we are bound to carry out with neither procrastination nor excuse, at once and to the fullest extent of our power, whether he sends us among the Turks, to the New Worlds, to the Lutherans, or any other manner of believers or unbelievers.... This vow may scatter 'us to the distant parts of the world. [9]

The work of the Jesuits in defending the faith must be looked at in the context of the Counter-Reformation. The times called for a spirited defense of faith; it was the time for Catholic renewal; the Church had been weakened from within by the laxity of her own; she had been weakened from without by the strong theological dissent of the various reformers. The Church had to respond adequately, and the Jesuits found themselves part of this response. In all manner of response, however, Ignatius was quite insistent that charity prevail and that the integrity of the Church not suffer because of the misdeeds or poorly contrived statements of those attempting to defend it:

Great care must be taken to show forth orthodox truth in such a way that if any heretics happen to be present they may have an example of charity and Christian moderation. No hard words should be used nor any sort of contempt for their errors be shown. [10]

Read the entire piece on Ignatius Insight. Also see:

• Ignatius of Loyola and Ideas of Catholic Reform | Vince Ryan
• When Jesuit Were Giants | Interview with Father Cornelius Michael Buckley, S.J.
• The Jesuits and the Iroquois | Cornelius Michael Buckley, S.J.
• The Tale of Trent: A Council and and Its Legacy | Martha Rasmussen
• Reformation 101: Who's Who in the Protestant Reformation | Geoffrey Saint-Clair
• Why Catholicism Makes Protestantism Tick | Mark Brumley

Related Ignatius Press Books:

• A Pilgrim's Journey: The Autobiography of St. Ignatius of Loyola
• St. Ignatius of Loyola | James Brodrick, S.J.
• The Jesuit Missionaries to North America | Father François Roustang
• St. Ignatius and the Company of Jesus (Vision Series) | August Derleth

"Breivik": A predator who posed as a protector

Tim Drake has written a good piece for National Catholic Register about how some in the media, led by The New York Times, are working hard to pin the descriptive "Christian" on mass murderer Anders Breivik:

So the New York Times described Norway’s mass murderer with its headline: “Christian Extremist is Charged in Norway.”

Does the fact that Breivik said he was a Christian make him one? Does the fact that he dressed in a police uniform make him a police officer?

We shall know they are Christians, the song tells us, by their love.

Is there anything in Breivik’s actions that suggests love?

A minimal requirement of a Christian is that one be a follower of Christ. Anders Breivik admits that he has no relationship with Christ and that he does not pray. Neither, does it seem, that he participated in any kind of formal, communal Christian worship.

Breivik’s actions display nothing but hatred.

Describing Breivik as a “Christian” is more a sign of the animus of the NY Times than the allegiance of Anders Breivik.

The Times, for instance, could have just as easily used the headline “Norwegian Extremist Charged in Killings.” But that headline doesn’t carry quite the same message does it?

(To be fair to the Times, the newspaper has a history of supporting efforts demanding that posers be allowed to take on titles and offices they don't hodl or cannot hold. For example, a Time's piece published last week valiantly took up the cause, once again, of priestettes:

More than 150 Roman Catholic priests in the United States have signed a statement in support of a fellow cleric who faces dismissal for participating in a ceremony that purported to ordain a woman as a priest, in defiance of church teaching.

The American priests’ action follows closely on the heels of a “Call to Disobedience” issued in Austria last month by more than 300 priests and deacons. They stunned their bishops with a seven-point pledge that includes actively promoting priesthood for women and married men, and reciting a public prayer for “church reform” in every Mass.

And in Australia, the National Council of Priests recently released a ringing defense of the bishop of Toowoomba, who had issued a pastoral letter saying that, facing a severe priest shortage, he would ordain women and married men “if Rome would allow it.” After an investigation, the Vatican forced him to resign.

While these disparate acts hardly amount to a clerical uprising and are unlikely to result in change, church scholars note that for the first time in years, groups of priests in several countries are standing with those who are challenging the church to rethink the all-male celibate priesthood.

Yes, and back in the 300s, church scholars noted that for first time, a large number of priests and bishops were holding to the false teachings of Arius. And we all know how well the Church of Arius is doing today. Slendidly!)

Meanwhile, Ann Coulter notes that the Times insistence on Breivik being Christian is in contrast to how it reported on another murderous shooting spree:

This was a big departure from the Times' conclusion-resisting coverage of the Fort Hood shooting suspect, Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan. Despite reports that Hasan shouted "Allahu Akbar!" as he gunned down his fellow soldiers at a military medical facility in 2009, only one of seven Times articles on Hasan so much as mentioned that he was a Muslim.

Of course, that story ran one year after Hasan's arrest, so by then, I suppose, the cat was out of the bag.

In fact, however, Americans who jumped to conclusions about Hasan were right and New York Times reporters who jumped to conclusions about Breivik were wrong.

True, in one lone entry on Breivik's gaseous 1,500-page manifesto, "2083: A European Declaration of Independence," he calls himself "Christian." But unfortunately he also uses a great number of other words to describe himself, and these other words make clear that he does not mean "Christian" as most Americans understand the term. (Incidentally, he also cites The New York Times more than a half-dozen times.)

Now, it would be ridiculous to insist that individuals calling themselves "Christians" are, by virtue of doing so, free from the ability to murder, steal, etc. Of course not. But for all of the talk over the past few decades of "right-wing" violence and "fundamentalist hatred" and so forth, it's revealing that nearly all politically-motivated acts of murder and violence have been committed by left-wingers (how about the Weather Underground, for starters?) and that lone "spree" killers are usually completely unhinged. And if they do hold to religious beliefs, they are either extremely vague or the sort that Christians would deem "false" or "heretical" (as in the case of Timothy McVeigh, who is routinely mischaracterized as "Christian", as if saying, as he did, that "Science is my religion", is solid proof for being a follower of Christ).

One WaPo columnist, Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite, lectures, "Christians are often reluctant to see these connections between their religion and extreme violence." That's a mighty big claim to make (is she speaking for every single Christian group, denomination, church, in existence?); it's also rather convenient considering that it's one thing for a solitary madman to wrap himself in a particular flag/creed/manifeso and quite another to have religious/social movements directed by a specific theology. The latter, when it comes to Christianity and terrorism, doesn't exist. Tellingly, Thistlethwaite describes as "supremacist" the belief that "Christianity is the 'only' truth..." In other words, if you believe (as I do) that Christianity is the one true religion, you are a potential terrorist. And how many people were killed, say, in the 20th century, by those believing in the uniqueness of Christianity? (Answer: few to none.) And how many were killed by those insisting that religion—especially orthodox Christianity—be surpressed, denounced, and even destroyed? (Answer: tens of millions). For what it's worth.

Finally, I grew up in western Montana as a Fundamentalist (we called ourselves "born-again Christians") and my father is a gunsmith and a gunmaker. Not once did I hear anything about violence or bloodshed being the answer to any problem, with the possible exception of an act of self-defense. We believed that murder is murder—whether in the form of abortion, an act of rage, or a premeditated anti-government shooting spree. Why? Because we took very seriously the Ten Commandments, the Sermon on the Mount, and so forth. And so I was taught, without exception, that the taking of innocent life is an evil in the sight of God. Period. No exceptions.

So it is more than a little frustrating to read that a man who, at most, considered himself culturally "Christian" while rejecting essential Christian beliefs and a basic tenet of Christian morality ("Thou shalt not murder!") is somehow the poster child of right-wing Christian fundamentalism. As Matthew Schmalz rightly notes, "Breivik’s vision is a Christianity without Christ." And Christianity without Christ is, in a word, anti-Christ. It is a Satanic parody of the truth, which always leads to some sort of violence, either physical or spiritual. Breivik was, it seems safe to say, a madman consumed by fear, hatred, and bigotry who, rather than pursuing peace and upholding order, opened the door to destruction and hell and stepped through to the other side.

The Heretical Roots of Fundamentalism

This article originally appeared in the October 1999 issue of This Rock magazine. I had forgotten about it until recently, when I came across a copy of it in my files. Slightly dated in a couple of places, but perhaps of interest.

The Heretical Roots of Fundamentalism | Carl E. Olson

The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that "Belief in the true Incarnation of the Son of God is the distinctive sign of Christian faith: ‘By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit which confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is of God’" (CCC 463, citing 1 John 4:2). Along with the Trinity—which the Incarnation revealed to humanity—the entrance of the Word into time and space is the core fact of Christianity. It is also the stumbling block that has often separated the orthodox from the heterodox, as the Christological battles of the early councils so clearly attest.

Although our separated brethren defend the Incarnation and affirm that Jesus Christ is truly God and truly man, my personal experience debating Fundamentalists indicates that what is apparently held is not always firmly grasped. This becomes clear when examining some of the Fundamentalist attacks made on various Catholic doctrines by looking into the heretical genealogy of the assumptions behind those assaults.

IMAGES

Recently I visited an anti-Catholic site (www.jesus-is-lord.com) whose home page proclaimed in bold letters: "God HATES images. ANY kind of image. . . . It is idolatry to venerate images. We are not even supposed to make them." This sums up the common Fundamentalist attitude towards the use of images to aid the believer in worshiping God. It is linked with a demand for stark simplicity in their meeting places. Fundamentalist services are noteworthy for lengthy sermons and impromptu prayers, led mostly by the pastor, while the congregation sits in an unadorned meeting place. The goal is freedom from distractions in order to focus on the sermon. There is a strong fear of idolatry, similar to the fear behind the Iconoclasm of the eighth and ninth centuries and the stripping of Catholic churches by the Reformers seven hundred years later.

The Catholic position is simple: If Jesus really is true God and true man, and if he has existed physically in this world, then he can be represented in visual arts. The Old Testament decrees against images were made when mankind was just beginning to understand who Yahweh was and how he related to humanity. The "fullness of time" had not yet been realized—humanity had much to learn before God would come as man and dwell among us. But with the Incarnation came big changes. The Catechism explains this beautifully:

"The sacred image, the liturgical icon, principally represents Christ. It cannot represent the invisible and incomprehensible God, but the Incarnation of the Son of God has ushered in a new ‘economy’ of images: Previously God, who has neither a body nor a face, absolutely could not be represented by an image. But now that he has made himself visible in the flesh and has lived with men, I can make an image of what I have seen of God . . . and contemplate the glory of the Lord, his face unveiled. . . . The veneration of sacred images is based on the mystery of the Incarnation of the Word of God. It is not contrary to the first commandment" (CCC 1159, 2141; see 1160).

For Fundamentalists, a visual aid is something placed between man and God, removing us further from a "personal relationship" with the Creator. Ironically, while God became man so we might know how to relate to him in a truly personal way, the Fundamentalist misses this by insisting on knowledge gained only through "spiritual" means, as though the humanity of the God-man has no effect on the entire person. "By avoiding the dangers of magic and idolatry on the one hand," writes Thomas Howard, a former Evangelical, "Evangelicalism runs itself very near the shoals of Manichaeanism on the other—the view, that is, that pits the spiritual against the physical. . . . But by denying to the whole realm of Christian life and practice the principle that it allows in all the other realms of life, namely, the principle of symbolism and ceremony and imagery, it has, despite its loyalty to orthodox doctrine, managed to give a semi-Manichaean hue to the faith" (Evangelical Is Not Enough, 5).

MOTHER OF GOD

The Blessed Virgin is always a prime target for Fundamentalist attacks, especially her title of Theotokos ("Mother of God"). James McCarthy, a former Catholic who now operates a ministry meant to "save" Catholics, writes in The Gospel According to Rome that "the Bible . . . never calls Mary the ‘Mother of God’ for a very simple reason: God has no mother. As someone has rightly said, just as Christ’s human nature had no father, so his divine nature had no mother. This Bible, therefore, rightly calls Mary the ‘mother of Jesus’ (John 2:1; Acts 1:14) but never the ‘Mother of God’" (190–191).

"Tears welled up in my eyes — again — at Mass last Sunday. ..."

... It was not always so. As a former Baptist I used to think the Catholic Mass was a sacrilege and an abomination. How could anyone worship a piece of bread? Really!

However, last Sunday I was overcome with emotion while sitting in an older Catholic church in a relatively poor area of town during a “normal” Sunday Mass. Why? Let me explain.

But first I have to take a step back in time to my delightful childhood.

The door of our Baptist church opened and the early arrivers stepped in with well-worn Bibles1 under their arms and colorful ties snugged up tight around the neck. Children with cute bow ties and frilly dresses were herded in and dropped off at Sunday School. Women adjusted their hats and smiled at all their friends.

It was always the same — enter the church with chattering friendliness accompanied by the organ or piano to set the mood. Everyone takes their place in the padded pews. The pastor steps up to the front and welcomes everyone, especially any visitors. They are asked to fill out the “Visitor Card” in the pews in front of them.

Then we all stand as he opens in a solemn and often wordy prayer.  A number is called out and we all grabbed our hymnal and proved we were real Christians by belting out the song, not just the first verse, but verses 1, 2 and 5.

That is the opening of Steve Ray's piece, "Why I Teared Up Last Sunday", in which Steve reflects on his journey from the Baptist tradition to Catholicism, and the central role that history, liturgy, and the Eucharist played in his conversion. For more about Steve's many projects, including DVDs and books, visit his Ignatius Insight author page.