The Devolution of a Blogspot

All's well that ends well?

All good things must come to an end?

All things reconsidered (via Purgatorio1)?

That's all folks?

How should I express my intentions? With which hackneyed phrase could I best describe my precipitant departure? I am very sorry to say that after due consideration (and running out of time in every possible facet of my life), I shall have to stop contributing new posts to this blogspot. Though the number of my readers can probably be counted on the fingers of my left foot, I feel sad to have to bring it all to an indefinite halt. We'll see what the summer months bring, but I surely will not be able to regularly contribute new posts here prior to August.

I am now at a point where I'm working 65+ hours a week (due to several ongoing lines of work). Additionally, my wife is 4 months pregnant and, for whatever strange reason ;-), she's going to be even more in need of my assistance as the ensuing months go by.

Besides which, my original intention for this blog was as a key tool for use by all my beloved catechists at St. Michael Catholic Church, but I'm afraid it has gone practically unused for such a purpose and has therefore devolved into something personal.

Though no one is likely to shed any tears and "I doubt they'll throw up any roadblocks-not for an old crook like me" (know the film, anyone?), still it seems sad to go. I'll leave up the blogspot in case anything changes in my schedule, though I doubt it will. Also, anyone coming here I hope will follow any and all links on the sidebar. I have thoroughly enjoyed all the blogs listed there, and I will make it a priority to pop into all of them from time to time. No contributions; just subtle viewing. The "Catechesis Corner," though a bad misnomer, nevertheless has some great links to things Catholic.

If you think of me ever, maybe say a quick prayer for the welfare of my family.

Au revoir, everyone! I wish you the best in your theological (and other) explorations!

Incorporating Suffering Into Your Life

"I die daily," St. Paul, 1 Cor. 15:31.

Admittedly, I live in the affluent West. I also come from an Evangelical Christian background, though I now find myself wholly in the Catholic fold. Taken together, these two facts have contributed in my life to a total lack of experience of (non self-inflicted) suffering. Whatever suffering I have had to endure up to now has been the result of my own moral and social insufficiencies. In a word, from a lack of virtue in my own life. For example, I've had to struggle with debt and acquiring too much of it (and all the usual corollaries of this--deficit spending, etc.). I've also struggled with patience, and the lack of this particular virtue goes toward creating all manner of struggles in a life. But, the point about all of these types of suffering is, again, that they are self-inflicted. (BTW, when I use the word virtue, I am specifically employing the Aristotelian-Thomistic framework. If that means something to you, great. If not, don't worry about it. It's probably close to your idea of virtue-whatever that is-anyway.)

Strictly speaking, of course, one's upbringing does come to bear on these discussions, but in terms of culpability one can only fall back on that for so long. At some point, the individual in question takes center stage in terms of responsibility for his own life and can no longer spread blame much beyond his own person. So, in 2 months I will turn 30. Therefore, I think I'm well beyond the finger-pointing stage of life and into the "OK, I guess I've got to get hold of things now. The time for assessing the causal origin of why I don't possess much virtue is over. And the time for beginning to cultivate it within myself is now."

However, beyond simply desiring to inculcate within myself more virtue, the concept of suffering is beginning to be unfolded for me more profoundly from day to day. It is of course sad to think that for me "suffering" is still a 'concept,' rather than a reality of my life. But, I am beginning to progress in this now, I think. Allow me to relate a short bit of history to further unpack this?

Probably, the first theological book that I ever read was Dietrich Bonhoeffer's The Cost of Discipleship way back in 1997. Its impact on me was monumental. One aspect of the book that is so great is his unfolding of the implications of discipleship and especially in the light of the Sermon on the Mount. The basic punchline of the section is that being a disciple of Christ costs 'not less than everything' (T.S. Eliot). The grace God gives is free, but it also costs everything--your very life, in fact. This is the sense which Bonhoeffer makes of later words of Christ in the Gospel of Matthew:

"Then said Jesus unto his disciples, 'If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross (daily), and follow me.  For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.'"  (Matt. 16:24-25)

On my limited understanding of these staunch requirements of being a Christian back in 1997, I naturally interpreted these comments in the light of my overriding Evangelicalism. This led me to commit to a routine of Bible reading (I actually read the Bible in a year through committing to 3-4 chapters a day!) and prayer and to stick them no matter what. Also, of course, in the very concept of "Evangelical" is the act of evangelizing. This is the mortifying aspect of being an Evangelical--that you have to actually talk to people, even total strangers if necessary, about Christ and the Good News he brings. This is where my own understanding of the suffering of a disciple began and also where it pretty much ended.

And then as I began to be rather Catholic in my approach to Christianity and what it is to be a disciple, I think what happened was a building on that foundation of grace and discipleship bequeathed to me by Bonhoeffer. Not only are all those things he speaks of required, but suddenly the reality of being a Christian comes to be much more radical, and yet, perhaps ironically, much more quiet.

This is what I mean by that. I was listening a few months ago to a lecture series by Scott Hahn, the famous recent convert to Catholicism. It was on catechetics and was rather good. But, one thing in particular that stuck with me from that series was his comment on "little mortifications." He noted that it is easy for young people especially (which I was when I read Bonhoeffer's book) to engage in extreme mortifications--fasting for several days straight, engaging in all-night prayer vigils or Eucharistic adoration, etc. But, as one looks at the lives of the saints, and begins to see just what is fully involved in embodying the virtues and the beatitudes in one's own life, a deeper view of mortification ensues: one which, argued Hahn, encompasses "little mortifications" as well as great ones.

The more I reflect on that idea, the more truth I see in it. It is certainly true that we can at times engage in those mortifications writ large (e.g., fasting, prayer vigils, reading 4 chaps of Scripture every day, talking to others about the Gospel), but how often do we couple this with little mortifications? How often do we opt to not do something that brings us great pleasure (e.g., watching a certain TV show, blogging for hours ;-), having that second cup of coffee) for the purpose of engaging in something greater? I am coming to realize that the call to dying daily in inextricably bound up with these little mortifications...and with love.

In the recent film The Fellowship of the Ring, when the elf Arwen has taken Frodo to Rivendell in an effort to protect him from the Ring Raiths and save his life through the magic of her father Elrond, just as she crosses the river that separates the land of Rivendell from the outside Frodo begins to pass fully into the realm of the shadow. She exclaims her grief and says (in effect) "Let what grace that has been given to me pass to him [Frodo]. Let him be spared." How quickly would we say the same thing? And ought we to?

Peter Kreeft gave a tremendous lecture called "How to Win the Culture War". (I highly recommend you give it a listen.) In the lecture, he explored the concept of sainthood as the only thing capable of genuinely fighting evil. Quoting from William Law's Serious Call, Kreeft gives this chilling quote: "If you will look into your own heart in utter honesty, you must admit that there is one and only one reason why you are not, even now, a saint: you do not wholly want to be."

Why do I not bring upon myself more of these little mortifications? Why do I not go for the bigger ones? Why do I not look for (and I know that may sound extreme!) suffering, that others might be spared it? That it might come to me so that someone else may not have to face it. Why do I not look to show charity whenever and wherever I can? Why do I not regularly read and meditate on the Sacred Scriptures? Why do I not daily participate in the Divine Liturgy? All of these questions have the same answer, I fear: I do not wholly want to do any of these things. Partly, I want them all. But, I do not want the suffering that comes with them. I do not want to give up the liberty of doing other things when I bloody well want to, thank you.

My middle son, whose name is Truson, has a severe speech delay. He turned 4 this January and still has a vocabulary of about half a dozen words. So, with some trepidation my wife and I entered him into this public school special-ed program for children like him. He's this little guy getting on the bus everyday (it's quite a hoot to see, really), and he's therefore in a regular elementary school environment with other children all the way up to 11 years of age. That's not to say that he interacts with these older children; just that they are all in the same building. Sometimes I can't help but to think of some wayward bullies getting a hold of him when no one is looking. Doing unthinkable things to him, as he is so vulnerable and could never fight back. Rather than describe the things I imagine (which I'm sure you're grateful I'm sparing you), I only want to share with you what popped into my head almost immediately upon thinking such tragic thoughts. Know what I thought? Let whatever suffering that might come his way pass to me. Of course, every parent would quickly say such a thing--'if it were possible, let me suffer and not this helpless other, especially my own child.' But, this thought occurred to me in a deeper way. Something that perhaps I would ask God for. That I would have as an intention that I could keep ever in my heart whenever I engage in prayer or any religious devotion.

I think I'm starting to get it. I'm starting to more fully understand love, discipleship, suffering and their interrelation.

But truth be told and to my shame, I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready to exemplify in my own life T.S. Eliot's definition of Christianity: "A condition of complete simplicity/Costing not less than/Everything." In other words, I'm not ready to start on the path of the saints. Some of you might say, "Of course you're not. Who is? How many St. Paul's or Mother Teresa's can there be?" That's a fair point. But, in all such reasoning I cannot help believing that the only thing stopping me from fully embracing the 'cost of discipleship,' the price of giving God and others "everything," is, ultimately, me.

This seems like a haunting truth. But, I'm at a place where I want to be haunted by it. I want to understand suffering and its intrinsic connection with love in this life until the day I fully reckon with it. I'm not there yet. But, I think I'm impugned by that fact. "He who has ears to hear, let him hear," anyone?

{Sorry for the long entry. I know you've had to suffer to get through it. ;-) This sort of thing has been burning to get out of me, and I would love any and all feedback. Would love to hear your own thoughts on suffering, love, discipleship as a great cost, etc.}

On the Blurry Line Between Law and Social Norms vis-a-vis the Recent Muslim Outrage at Danish Cartoons

I suppose that those of us who have been keeping up with the news lately (and Lord help us who have done so!) are aware of the big stink created over the cartoons caricaturing the Prophet Mohammed printed in Danish newspapers. Fr. Jim Tucker of Dappled Things has written a very thoughtful reflection on all of this.

He raises several points throughout and I don't want to take the time to comment on each of them. But, one issue in particular that he brings up surrounds the notion of civility. As this is something near and dear to my heart, I thought I'd interact with it. Pointing out our first amendment rights of the press in the US and how these rights do not necessarily have one-to-one correspondence over in Europe, we here in America would be quick to jump on the bandwagon and protest the Muslim protesters who have (unsurprisingly) resorted to violence in some cases of the recent protests. Clearly we would all recognize the distinction between being peaceably intolerant and violently so.

However, I guess the issue concerning civility gets into the severity of certain offenses and just how far the long arms of the law ought to extend. Just as not all sins are created equal, not all offenses are either. I recall the event of some years ago an artist placing at exhibit one of his latest 'pieces' which was comprised of a crucifix in a jar of urine and blood. I'm speaking of Andres Serrano's Piss Christ photographs. Or go to film and musical theater and such offensive pieces as The Last Temptation of Christ or Jesus Christ Superstar imply all manner of sexual and other implications regarding Christ, which would all be deeply offensive to Christians. So much so, even, that one wonders where the lines of free press end and direct infringements of my rights begin.

So, what Fr. Tucker does is point out the distinction to be made in all of these issues between the moral/social realm and the legal realm. Morally speaking of course all these things (including the recent Danish cartoons depicting Mohammed irreverently) are morally amiss. However, whether they are legally so is much less obvious - Fr. Tucker argues that it is likely the case that America's 1st Amendment protection of such things is superior to any attempt at censorship.

But, picking up the discussion where he does not venture, I think that when civility has been all but lost in a given culture, as is certainly true today of the affluent West, turning to the law for protection of things sacred doesn't seem too far-fetched, does it? I understand the argument that wants to advance the notion that ultimately it should be the people who freely (without the intervention of government) do the censoring and keep such unbelievably irreverent, insensitive, and uncivil people at bay. But, the problem is that we don't live in a civil culture. We live in a culture rushing to tolerate everything--even the most intolerant acts. Yes, absolutely, we need, desperately need a return to a more civil past (like the Georgian or Victorian periods) and ultimately only in such a mini-Renaissance will we be able to affect such widespread undermining of those who are extremely uncivil. However, until that day comes (or even if it comes), what are people to do with regard to balancing liberties of speech and press with the protection of things sacred? I'm not so convinced that the issue is easily divisible along legal vs. moral/social lines, for laws are often enacted for social reasons and usually have everything to do with affecting the peace of society. That a society would not deem it necessary to protect its people's most holy and sacred things from profane acts is seen as an advancement in Western civilization? That is unconvincing to me.

We're all wondering what will ultimately curb the desire of the press (or anyone else) to print (or do) something profane or extremely uncivil in matters of religion and it seems to me that we're banking on civility to ultimately win the day and triumph over such individuals. We'd rather not have to resort to further limiting the press and free speech. My question would be one in return. What evidence is there to suggest that civility has enough embodiment in the contemporary world to pull this off? Even amidst the widespread threats of Danish boycott and actual violence seen in the Muslim world over this recent issue, the Danish government is unrelenting in defending its press' rights to engage in such things. If these types of things won't curb the irreligious and affluent West from engaging in such gross displays of incivility, we're to believe that a peaceable protest will?

But, perhaps I'm just too pessimistic...

The New Religious Composition of the U.S. Supreme Court

Anyone find it interesting that with the recent elevations of John Roberts and Samuel Alito to the Supreme Court, the majority of the court is now Catholic, including its Chief Justice? I find that fascinating. Follow the link above to some statistical data in this regard. But, as it is now, fully five of the nine justices on the high court are Catholic (Roberts, Kennedy, Scalia, Thomas, and Alito). About 1/4 of the current U.S. population is Catholic, but the religious representation on the court is ~56%!

Hmm...well, I'm sure we're more concerned about the actual judgments to come out of Roberts and Alito in the ensuing years, rather than their simply being registered as Catholics--after all Anthony Kennedy is a registered Catholic, but his judgments in recent years have had precious little overlap with those of Clarence Thomas and Antonin Scalia in not a few important cases.

The Task of Theology

I wonder what you all think of the following quote. It seems to have some valuable insights on the task facing the theologian and that task's intrinsic difference from what faces the college of bishops.

Theology may be termed, indeed, a ministry carried out in the service of revelation. Theologians have a high calling, and they must acquit themselves with a profound sense of responsibility. They are servants of the divine Word, the Logos, just as much as are the bishops or the pope, though in a different mode.

Theologians consecrate themselves to the meaning of revelation, and this suggests a more intimate relation with revelation than that possessed by the Church hierarchy, who are its guardians more than they are its interpreters. Unfortunately, the Holy Spirit has not been vouchsafed to theologians qua theologians, whereas the Holy Spirit has been vouchsafed to the guardians of revelation, the Church hierarchy. The reason for this is simple. If the deposit of faith has not been successfully guarded, there will be nothing there to interpret. If the deposit of faith has not been successfully interpreted theologically, it will still be there for someone else to interpret in another age.

-Aidan Nichols, O.P., The Shape of Catholic Theology, p.33

On This Feast Day of St. Thomas Aquinas, Chief Among the Doctors of the Church

To the right is an old artistic portrayal known as "The Triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas." The image adorns the cover of a book I'm currently reading by Aidan Nichols, O.P. At the top is Christ and directly beneath him are the four evangelists, St. Paul (with the sword) and Moses. Plato and Aristotle are to his left and right. Popes, cardinals, and other influential individuals after his time are among the crowd beneath him, receiving the "light" from his writings. And, I think that is Averroes lying down beneath him with his own book turned face down. If you can see the beams of light, you'll appreciate the painting all the more. This particular saint's influence over the whole Church after his time cannot be overstated.

As he is remembered, celebrated, sought-out in prayers and intercessions, and (hopefully) read on this day above all other days of the year in which St. Thomas is celebrated, I thought it fitting to add a little entry here on one aspect of his thought often neglected.

There is a particular book on the liturgy that has been recommended to me by a close friend. In this book, entitled Theologia Prima, David Fagerberg explores aspects of the divine liturgy relevant to Catholics. One particularly interesting insight he raises is the fact that the liturgy is chief among all celebrations for a Catholic--it is the common, or "public" prayer of the one Church. This is in one sense, of course, unsurprising to anyone. Most other Christian communions would claim that their own worship services are paramount to them too. Perhaps, drawing from the strength in which Aidan Nichols phrases it (and Cardinal Ratzinger in his Spirit of the Liturgy, as well), one can state the case stronger. Nichols argues that, after the Sacred Scriptures, there is no one thing which more defines a Catholic than the divine liturgy of the mass. I think it instructive to see how, when certain Christian communions have downplayed the significance of the liturgy, the sacraments have either been equally downplayed or have disappeared altogether. But, a little more on this below.

Intimately connected with this idea of liturgy being crucial and most basic as to what a Catholic is and what he is regularly to do while here on Earth, are the sacraments. All of the sacraments are tied up with the liturgy. At times, the sacraments of healing (reconciliation & anointing of the sick) take place with reference to a future-oriented look at the liturgy. That is, in the former (reconciliation) one is placed back in a state of full grace and therefore able to participate fully in the mass, including the reception of the greatest of the sacraments--the Eucharist. The latter (anointing of the sick) is future-oriented with regard to either the heavenly banquet or becoming well again here on Earth, so that the Eucharist can be received again in a normal way (i.e., during the mass). Otherwise, all the other sacraments take place within the divine liturgy, hence showing their intimate connection with it.

So, why all of this on the liturgy and the sacraments on this feast day of St. Thomas Aquinas? One might be surprised to learn that St. Thomas had rather a good bit to say on the sacraments and their connection to the life of the Christian and to salvation, ultimately. And it seems to me that his comments make the most sense when one interprets them in the light of seeing that, for a Catholic, nothing is greater that the Eucharistic celebration in the whole realm of his faith. The Sacred Scriptures are paramount, but as they are qualitatively different from the worship celebration, and in fact the Scriptures are incorporated into the liturgy itself, one cannot pit them against each other. If one thinks in terms of Scriptures and Tradition together comprising the one 'divine wellspring' of the Faith, then the liturgy is seen as the most basic and greatest expression of that Sacred Tradition--more than Councils, Creeds, or Fathers.

I think that for the non-Catholic reader of St. Thomas Aquinas (and at times for the Catholic reader as well) it strikes one as strange for St. Thomas to say, which he does, that 'yes,' the sacraments are necessary for salvation. But, when the sacraments are seen as being part and parcel to the divine liturgy (or in some way intimately oriented toward it, as the sacraments of healing are), it seems to me that one might more easily stomach such a reply of St. Thomas Aquinas. (Also, of course, St. Thomas draws on other facets of the sacraments, in terms of their intrinsic nature, e.g., how they incorporate within themselves the duality intrinsic to man--his soul/body unity corresponds to the sacraments, which are simultaneously physical/spiritual, as well, so as to be oriented toward man's own nature).

Below I supply a link to some of his replies to sacramental questions from the Summa Theologica. I hope you enjoy. And I hope you, in whatever way your Christian tradition allows you to, commemorate and celebrate this great saint and doctor of the universal Western Church.
{Read the entire question, but play close attention to St. Thomas' own answer, which always follows the phrase "I answer that."}

Whether sacraments are necessary for man's salvation?

Feast Days this Week of the Liturgical Year

This is indeed an exciting week for Catholics, generally, but especially for those who attempt to exemplify the "domestic church" in their homes by celebrating along with the worldwide Church the liturgical year. We just received our first encyclical from Pope Benedict XVI.

As well, there are numerous feast days of great saints and doctors of the Church this week.

Tuesday - St. Francis de Sales

Wednesday - The Conversion of St. Paul

Thursday - Sts. Timothy and Titus

Friday - St. Angela Merici

Saturday - St. Thomas Aquinas

I would take some time to comment on the new encyclical, but that would seem a bit hasty. Encyclicals, by their very nature, usually have quite a lot of depth to them in their meaning, implications, and applications, and are not often easily digestible. At this point, it seems best to simply direct my readers to interact with the encyclical on their own and do their own digesting. But, I do hope to post a few little reflections on Sts. Francis de Sales and Thomas Aquinas, as they happen to be a couple of my favorite doctores ecclesiae.

Rousseau Quotes Apropos on This Day of Remembrance

I've been researching Rousseau a bit lately and I came across two comments of his from the opening lines of the Social Contract, the first of which is famous and the other of which I found to be insightful. They are especially appropriate to post this weekend when the memories of millions of unborn and aborted children are brought to our minds. I'll just let the quotes stand on their own. I think they need no help from me.

L'homme est né libre, et partout il est dans les fers.

(Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains.)

La plus ancienne de toutes les sociétés et la seule naturelle est celle de la famille.

(The most ancient of all societies, and the only one that is natural, is the family.)

On the "Culture of Life" as the Nation Remembers the Advent of the Culture of Death - January 22

The "culture of death," as the affluent West is commonly called in Catholic circles, did not necessarily start with the decisions of Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton. But who could deny that these monumental cases bolstered a cultural mentality already oriented more toward death and away from the glories of life? Pope John Paul II did much to counter the cause (worldwide) of a 'culture of death,' but especially pertaining to the affluent West where many deaths are caused, not as a result of famine or disease or some other extreme reason as is the case elsewhere, but simply as a result of "choice," a choice legally and (to an extent) morally legitimized by the two court cases cited above.

On January 22, 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court effectively legalized abortion throughout America, extending the application of abortion "rights" past Roe v. Wade to entail abortion on demand for essentially any reason whatsoever for all nine months of the pregnancy.

Included in the concept of the "health" of the mother, notice the court's language.

[T]he medical judgment may be exercised in the light of all factors -- physical, emotional, psychological, familial, and the woman’s age -- relevant to the well being of the patient. All these factors may relate to health. Doe v. Bolton, 410 U.S. 179, 192 (1973).

So January 22 is another day to live on in infamy in American history. It is a day that gave the culture of death an enormous triumph. Now, by virtue of the loosest of all applications of a "right to privacy," the most vulnerable and innocent among us are routinely killed on a daily basis. The numbers are simply staggering: "46,000,000 unborn children in our country have been killed by abortion," reports the Catholic Archdiocese of Atlanta, GA.

But everyone knows that a culture opposed to celebrating life is all around us. It does not only extend to flippantly decided-upon abortions. It includes the elderly placed into homes when they become too much of a burden on their children - another instance of the apparently unalienable "right to privacy" in America? It also extends to majorly regulating births in families. The culture of life see things like the following: France is apparently supporting its own efforts at curbing the abolition of the family by giving money to mothers for their having a third child. Excuse me? A third child? Having a family of three children is today constitutive of a large family in the affluent West. "Cheaper by the trio," anyone? In the above article, France seems to boast of its birth rate - it is an amazing 1.9/family, but they still can boast of it relative to their neighboring countries in Europe (excepting Ireland). And France is not the only country offering such incentives. How incredible that only a couple of decades ago the world seemed to have overpopulation as a major concern of its own. And now, the concern in Europe is underpopulation - one cannot help but to interpret this fact as a natural consequence of a culture of death.

Before I became Catholic I could never understand the pro-life camp's opposition to taking "baby steps" in their fight against abortion and their general "all or nothing" view. It was only after I came in contact with some of Pope John Paul II's writings (especially Evangelium Vitae) that I came to understand a little better the "all or nothing" Catholic mentality often encountered in the area of abortion. He writes,

While it is true that the taking of life not yet born or in its final stages is sometimes marked by a mistaken sense of altruism and human compassion, it cannot be denied that such a culture of death, taken as a whole, betrays a completely individualistic concept of freedom, which ends up by becoming the freedom of "the strong" against the weak who have no choice but to submit.

Although I surely don't grasp this truth in its entirety, I definitely understand now that there is an approach to life which supports an abortion mentality--and this is a "culture of death." A culture which disdains any type of burdensome life - which only values that life which takes care of itself and is entirely autonomous. So, it is not simply that many (especially Catholic) pro-lifers are anti-abortion; they are, as their name suggests, completely on the side of life with all of its glories and all of its burdens. It's remarkable, if not frightening, to consider for a moment that Our Lord's two greatest qualities, which more than any others exemplified his coming and his work here on Earth - love and self-sacrifice - are in direct opposition to a culture of death. A 'me' culture - a culture sick with its own twisted sense of individualism. A culture which knows much about love of self, and next to nothing of love of others.

I do not write all this to share any deep insights. On this particular issue, I could not even compare with the vastness and profundity which has already been placed before the public in other writings. I simply want to, in solidarity with my Church, bring to my readers' remembrance the infamous events of January 22, 1973, and to further highlight what I take to be the only antidote to such reckless self-love --> a reinvigorating of a "culture of life" and the corresponding virtue of love, which itself gives rise to (and nurtures) all life.

"I Have a Dream"

Upon searching for the title of the famous speech by the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. on Google, I came across a site that I thought many would find beneficial, especially those interested in American history. The text of his speech (along with audio mp3 files of it) can be found here. But actually the whole site of American Rhetoric is great. They have the Top 100 American speeches of all time listed there, and they self-verify the authenticity of the transcripts. They also offer the audio of a great many of the speeches.

Check it out if you have a moment and some interest. And certainly, if you've never read the "I Have a Dream" speech in its entirety, you should do so. I was surprised myself a few years ago when I finally got around to reading the whole speech. It has a much more vitriolic tone in the beginning than I ever would have thought. However, given the time-period in which he originally gave it, it rather seems subtle to me now. Give it a read, or (perhaps even better) a listen! The wisdom and rhetorical devices used by Rev. King have been seldomed matched in American history. In fact, this speech is ranked as American Rhetoric's #1!

The Sacred Responsibility of Teaching by Word and Deed

Recently, I came across a post by an acquaintance of mine through a mutual friend. It's entitled "Growing up Catholic: Misgivings." And I'm afraid the substance of the post is no less forlorn than its title. It was a bit of a sad posting and certainly cause for reflecting on our sacred responsibilities as parents. I want to share some of these reflections below.

This fellow left the Catholic Church after high school. He gives many reasons, which are probably all too common. They have precious little to do with dogma and are so much more grounded in practicality. I cannot help thinking that the reasons he gives for leaving, such as they were, are anything but common for countless others just like him who left the Church once upon a time mostly due to, well, a lack of reasons for staying in it. What a grave situation and ironic too.

Vatican II was held in the early 1960's for several reasons, but a chief one was for the renewal of the Church. But in cases similar to these, we can see just how much She has not yet seen this renewal. So much so that rather than everybody prior to Vatican II not having much of an idea what's going on or why (and attributing that to the Latin mass), now we can all be equally confused in the vernacular languages of our culture!

Hoorah.

Clearly something has been missing or has been just not good enough to produce the sought-after renewal in the Catholic Church. Allow me a moment to reflect on what I take to be one of the reasons why?

Our Lord Jesus Christ taught by both word and deed. He spoke the truth, to be sure, but he equally lived an excellent life overflowing with charity. And an expectation of anyone who calls himself His disciple is this: that the disciple would be like the master in these respects. Both word and deed are required. But, through weakness or whatever else, many Christians will often err on the side of one or the other: of either knowing all the right things or of doing all the right things. We typically reduce what it is to be a Christian to a one-sided account, rather than a healthy balance of both, probably just because it's more work to be balanced. And who wants more work to do? It seems to me that post-Conciliar Catholic parents took it very easy and casual on the "word" portion of the "word and deed." They seemed to think that if one just does all the right things, this will be enough for the children to be just fine. Besides which, who knows how much of the truth they had to fulfill that "word" portion of the requirement for good parenting anyway? Perhaps they were rather confused owing to the crisis that any post-Conciliar time experiences.

But, the grace created by goodness, as everyone has seen, only goes so far. If the further graces afforded by truth-telling are not added, the faith of one generation can almost disappear in the very next one. Amazing! Amazing testimony to the requirement of parents to be like their Divine Master: you raise a child in both word and deed. It is not only about doing all the right things. It is also about knowing them and passing on that knowledge to the future generations.

It's incredible that Pope St. Pius X, in his encyclical Acerbo Nimis (1905) covering the establishment of CCD in all parishes everywhere, specifically ennumerated the reasons for doing so. He writes,

23. V. In the larger cities, and especially where universities, colleges and secondary schools are located, let classes in religion be organized to instruct in the truths of faith and in the practice of Christian life the youths who attend the public schools from which all religious teaching is banned.

But how many of us know these reasons? We think it's for drive-thru sacrament reception. That's why CCD exists. Little does anyone know it's designed to supplement the lack of religious education in the government schools, and which religious education is (further) designed to supplement the teaching supposedly coming from the first evangelizers and catechists of children: their own parents.

Renewal of the Catholic Church in the West (and especially in America) is apparently just as badly needed today as ever it was. May that not continue with our generation. May all Christians everywhere come to embrace the unmistakable connection between word and deed. How could any of us tolerate another generation of Catholics abandoning the Faith, only to find themselves later struggling for any authentic religion, mostly due to our parental irresponsibility? We do well to heed the words or our Lord when He says, "No disciple is above his teacher, no slave above his master," (Matthew 10:24).

From Heretics to Separated Brethren (Part II)

I certainly agree with all mainstream Catholics that there have been 21 Ecumenical Councils and they are all authoritatively on a par with one another, in terms of their universal decrees. But, it is certainly true that up to and including Vatican Council I the use of the anathema was common. One sees it at many times in the history of the Church, especially in Trent and Vatican I. However, Vatican II shows a conspicuous absence of this process, and in fact no one is anathematized in this Council. As well, it clearly has a pastoral focus unknown to the previous 2 Councils.

But how do I view Protestants, through the lense of Trent or Vatican II? My answer would be that I think Vatican II ushered in what many 20th century Catholics had suspected for some time, and in so doing it brought a genuine progression of view. That is, contemporary Protestants may not be anathematized in the same way and with the same ease that Luther et al were. For Luther (a Catholic when he began, and quite a knowledgeable one at that, with a doctorate and professorship before the age of 30), there can be no excuse. He is no victim of anyone but himself, so it's sensible for all the reasons given by the Council of Trent to condemn him as a heretic and anathematize in that situation. However, 400+ years removed from that whole Renaissance environment, a contemporary Protestant could hardly be held to the same standard as Luther.

Moreover, a sharing of the same view of the Trinity, Christology, the same New Testament, and a common sacramental baptism, all of this (and more) taken together lends itself toward a view of Protestant Christians as, in the words of the Decree on Ecumenism, "separated brethren." Here are some words of the Council, in this regard:

22. Whenever the Sacrament of Baptism is duly administered as Our Lord instituted it, and is received with the right dispositions, a person is truly incorporated into the crucified and glorified Christ, and reborn to a sharing of the divine life, as the Apostle says: "You were buried together with Him in Baptism, and in Him also rose again-through faith in the working of God, who raised Him from the dead".(40)
Baptism therefore establishes a sacramental bond of unity which links all who have been reborn by it. But of itself Baptism is only a beginning, an inauguration wholly directed toward the fullness of life in Christ. Baptism, therefore, envisages a complete profession of faith, complete incorporation in the system of salvation such as Christ willed it to be, and finally complete ingrafting in eucharistic communion.

I think Vatican II hasn't mention of heresy and anathemas with reference to Protestants because now they are viewed with compassion; or, perhaps more accurately, with pity. All those who have had the misfortune of being products of an original heretical group are not to be easily condemned anymore than it would be legitimate to readily condemn anyone who has been victimized by anything. The Catholic Church argues that a person is held responsible for what he has been in a position to know. And it just is the case that for most Protestants (myself included) unless someone just places the Catholic/Protestant issue squarely in your face, you simply don't give it the treatment you should, because it doesn't occur to you that you ought to. So many recent converts have attested to this fact (e.g., Scott Hahn, Gerry Matatics, Peter Kreeft, etc.), and it was certainly my experience too. From friends to professors (and especially) to myself, Protestants in my circle of connections were almost wholly unfamiliar with the actual teaching, life, and worship of the Catholic Church, to say nothing of its history. In such a situation, it seems much more reasonable to approach contemporary Protestants in exactly the same way in which Vatican Council II does. And anyway, Lumen Gentium places a knowledge qualifier on the issue of salvation, which gives it a (albeit conservative) inclusivism, so it seems to me. The quote (with my emphasis added) goes like this:

14. Whosoever, therefore, knowing that the Catholic Church was made necessary by Christ, would refuse to enter or to remain in it, could not be saved.

So, I'd have to say I'm both, and this is the way I reconcile the different 'tones,' as it were, of the 2 great Councils. Yes, the original Protestants were condemned and rightly so. For they would have had no excuse for such open and blatant rejection of teachings and practices long held by the Church. But, today the same could hardly be said of contemporary Protestants. It seems to me that the Church views them more like a man might view a wayward nephew who, through no fault of his own but rather due to neglect and poor teaching of his parents, has ended up rejecting all kinds of good things which that man's family had long practiced and held to be true.

{Of course, this is a blogspot treatment of this issue. Much much more could be said and developed, but I'd have to be getting paid before I could do that.}

From Heretics to Separated Brethren: Reconciling the Church's View of Protestants from Trent to Vatican II (Part I)

In this post, I give a preamble to an attempted answer to the question proposed by the title of this post. In the one to follow, I attempt to answer the question more fully. Be on the lookout for it to follow soon.

I have been asked before whether I would desbribe myself as more of a Trentian Catholic or a Vatican II Catholic. Interesting question. As far as I can tell, the two Vatican Councils are simply further progress of dogma of what had previously been believed. If you're wondering what the progress of dogma refers to, note the following illuminating passages from two conciliar documents from Vatican II:

Now what was handed on by the Apostles includes everything which contributes toward the holiness of life and increase in faith of the peoples of God; and so the Church, in her teaching, life and worship, perpetuates and hands on to all generations all that she herself is, all that she believes.

This tradition which comes from the apostles develops in the Church with the help of the Holy Spirit. For there is a growth in the understanding of the realities and the words which have been handed down. This happens through the contemplation and study made by believers, who treasure these things in their hearts, through the intimate understanding of spiritual things they experience, and through the preaching of those who have received through Episcopal succession the sure gift of truth. For, as the centuries succeed one another, the Church constantly moves forward toward the fullness of divine truth until the words of God reach their complete fulfillment in her. (Dei Verbum, 8)

The body of the faithful as a whole, anointed as they are by the Holy One (cf. 1 Jn 2:20, 27), cannot err in matters of belief. Thanks to a supernatural sense of the faith (sensus fidei) which characterizes the People as a whole, it manifests this unerring quality when, ‘from the bishops down to the last member of the laity’, it shows universal agreement in matters of faith and morals. For, by this sense of faith which is aroused and sustained by the Spirit of truth, God’s People accepts not the word of men but the very Word of God (cf. 1 Th 2:13). It clings without fail to the faith once delivered to the saints (cf. Jude 3), penetrates it more deeply by accurate insights, and applies it more thoroughly to life. (Lumen Gentium, 12)

In addition to the above, the opening pages of Trent have rather strong declarations on Sacred Tradition (session 4). So, it is not as if an understanding of the threefold nature of authority (Tradition, Scripture, and Magisterium) was unknown prior to the 16th century. In fact, that would be a wholly false idea and unreflective of the actual history of the Church. However, staying on this idea of the progress of dogma for a moment, just as St. Vincent of Lerins says, it is genuine progress one sees (especially) in the last 3 Councils. There could be no denying or even downplaying the significant progress and unfolding of dogma seen in Trent, Vatican I & II.

But, to my mind this was not a difference in kind, just in extent. This is what I mean. The sheer breadth of the Councils of Trent and Vatican II is so enormous that they nearly equal the length of all the other 19 Ecumenical Councils put together. I have the 2 volume set Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils edited by Norman Tanner, SJ, which anyone reading this post ought to have on his shelves. And the way he arranges the conciliar decrees is to put all 18 Councils from Nicaea to Florence (1450-ish) in volume I and the last three in volume II. Do you see what I mean? The 2 volumes are nearly the same size, even though the first volume contains the decrees of 18 Councils! So, the point I'm trying to make is that in Trent and Vatican II one sees a sheer size in terms of the decrees themselves and the subjects addressed at length in a way unknown to all previous Councils. But, onto the subject proper in the next installment. These comments seem a necessary preamble though.

(Then) Cardinal Ratzinger on East/West unity

On a recent visit to a weblog which is new to me, I stumbled upon this important entry. It contains great news, though one hesitates to be hasty when news as good as this comes along. It has to do with the Traditional Anglican Church (TAC) ostensibly desiring reunion with the Catholic Church.

And in the spirit of the reunion of Christian bodies too long in schism with each other, I thought some of you might find interesting (then) Cardinal Ratzinger's comments on the reunion of Eastern Orthodoxy with Catholicism. I think the principles he lays out in this quote are equally applicable as regards TAC/Catholic reunion. The Catholic Church must be reasonable in her expectations of reunion with schismatic groups, all the while maintaining her earnest desire for Christian unity. Let me know what you think, if you have any thoughts.

As far as the doctrine of the primacy is concerned, Rome must not require more of the East than was formulated and lived during the first millennium. When Patriarch Athenagoras, on the occasion of the visit of the Pope to the Phanar on July 25, 1967, addressed him as 'the successor of Peter, the first in honor among us, the one who has the presidency of love,' we hear from the mouth of this great Church leader the essential content of the first millennium's statement about the primacy - and Rome must demand no more than this. Reunion could take place on this basis: that for its part the East should renounce attacking the western development of the second millennium as heretical, and should accept the Catholic Church as legitimate and orthodox in the form which it has found through this development, while, for its part, the West should acknowledge the Church of the East as orthodox and legitimate in the form which it has maintained. {This quote is found on page 209 of the book Theologische Prinzipienlehre: Bausteine zur Fundamentaltheologie (Principles of Catholic Theology: Building Stones for a Fundamental Theology). The translation from the original German is made by Fr. Francis Sullivan, SJ in his book Magisterium.}

Nietzsche on Martin Luther

I've been having to research Nietzsche a bit lately, and I came across the following quote about Luther, which I thought I'd share and get your thoughts on it (if you have any). In the context of his impugning Christianity and showing utter disdain for the apostles and the New Testament they produced, Nietzsche quickly jumps ahead in history all the way to Luther, and says

Luther's resistance to the mediating saints of the Church (in particular, to 'the Devil's sow, the Pope') was, there is no doubt, at bottom the resistance of a lout frustrated by the good etiquette of the Church, the reverential etiquette of hieratic taste which admits only the more initiated and more silent into the holy of holies and bars it to the louts. Here of all places these louts were to be refused a say once and for all—but Luther, the peasant, wanted things to be completely different, they did not seem sufficiently German to him in this form: he wanted above all to talk directly to his God, to talk to Him for himself, to talk to Him 'without airs and graces'. . . Well, this he did.—The ascetic ideal, as one may surmise, has never been a school of good taste, even less of good manners—it was at best a school of hieratic manners—: this is because its composition includes something which is a mortal enemy of all good manners—lack of moderation, aversion to moderation, it is itself a 'non plus ultra'. {source: Genealogy of Morals, III:22, trans. by Douglas Smith, Oxford, 1997}

What do you think? Insightful? Idiotic? More ramblings of an authentic atheist, albeit a rather clever one?

Christ and the first six General Councils of the Church

The 7th General (or "Ecumenical") Council of the Church, as most people reading my posts already know, dealt strongly with the issue of iconoclasm. The 7th Council is most known for these dealings and subsequent condemnation of the iconoclasts.

But, prior to this Council, the Church had 6 General Councils in all. And it could be truly said that these first few Councils dealt more with Christology (and the Trinity, almost by implication in the Christology) than with any other subject. Given this, a certain Christological view flows forth from the first six Holy and General Councils of the Church. This is a Christology which, it seems, all mainstream Protestant denominations hold-to. In fact, most of them would agree with these first Six Councils and condemn as a heretic anyone who denied the following view of Christ, which springs forth from these Councils.

Christ could be truly said to be the Second Person of the Triune Godhead. He is of the same substance as the Father and Holy Spirit. That is, Christ is one in essence with the Father and the Holy Spirit. There is one Person (hypostasis) of Christ, even though in the Incarnation, the one Person takes on two natures: one divine, one human. He is fully divine in the Incarnation, yet he is fully human in the Incarnation as well. Each of the two natures possessed by the one hypostasis of the Son has a will of its own. That is, Christ has two wills to correspond to the two natures: one divine, one human.

Now, contemporary Evangelical Protestants writings systematic theologies will invariably point, not to the first six Councils which really gave them their "orthodox" view, but to the Bible as support for all of these dogmas concerning Christ. (The last one which condemned Monotholitism, it must be admitted, is the most difficult one for which to find explicit biblical support. That Christ has two wills does not exactly jump off the pages of Scripture, and most honest Protestants will admit this.) But what is interesting to me is that one needs only to consider any historic heretic who was condemned in one of these early Councils (the list in an earlier post will do well: "Novatian expounds in one way, Sabellius in another, Donatus in another, Arius, Eunomius and Macedonius in another, Photinus, Apollinaris, and Priscillian in another, Jovinian, Pelagius and Caelestius in another, and latterly Nestorius in another"). Every single one of them mustered scriptural support for their various rejections of the bare-bones Christology given above. (Modern day "cults" do the same. See JW's or Mormons)

What is more is that when one reads a contemporary Evangelical systematics textbook covering Christology, the writer will appeal to scriptural passages as if that settles the matter in question. What seems to be the problem with this procedure is twofold. First, often the verses cited in support of the Christology coming out of the first 6 Councils do not overwhelm you with their obviousness, in terms of actually being solid and undeniable support for the Christological position staked out by the Protestant. The texts are often cited, however, in such a way as to lead the reader to think that the author believes there to be no reasonable view of the verse in question, outside of the view held by the author. This stretches credulity to say the least. Second, if the Scriptures themselves are the very things giving rise to the "orthodox" views concerning Christ, then why is it that the Scriptures themselves were used as primary supports by all the heretics condemned by these first few Councils. If the Scriptures are so overwhelmingly obvious in these regards, then it seems we are left with an odd view: they give rise to both orthodoxy and heterodoxy. Or it seems we must conclude that the early heretics were either insane or quite stupid, given that they missed the obviousness of the scriptural passages supporting the Conciliar view of Christ. Either option, again, stretches credulity.

It seems to me that a Protestant must be honest and admit that he gets his Christological orthodoxy from the Bible and the Councils. To not admit this seems as disingenuous as if he were to say that his 27 books of the New Testament in his Bible have nothing to do with the canonical pronouncements of the local councils of Hippo and Carthage. Yes, the Bible does support orthodox Christology, but it doesn't do so in such a way as to make one an idiot if he believes, for example, that Christ has only one will to correspond to his singular Personhood (or if he believes in monophysitism or modalism). And if you admit that though the Scriptures are fairly clear, yet not altogether sufficient to give one a full-blown Christology (and we not being altogether infallible interpreters of the fairly clear Scriptures), then you are on your way to a proper view of how orthodoxy comes about: i.e., from the Sacred Scriptures, Sacred Tradition, and the Magisterium (especially in the Ecumenical Councils).

And, of course, it seems to me that a Protestant getting his "orthodox" view of the Trinity and Christ from these Councils raises instantly the issue of the infallibility of the Church. If orthodox means necessarily true in the mind of a Protestant, then what were the decrees of those first six Councils other than infallible? If the Christology you hold is orthodox, and it corresponds exactly with the Christology of the 6 Councils, then it was either luck that the Councils got it right and agreed with you (!). Or, rather that the view you hold is orthodox specifically because the Councils from which you mediately inherit the view were infallible. In which case, the Church must have some charism of general infallibility, irrespective of what one believes of the specific infallibility as regards the pope. But, a post on general infallibility must wait for another day.

The Primacy of Sts. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas

I recall a former professor of mine, who was very fond of both St. Augustine of Hippo and St. Thomas Aquinas, recollecting with some disdain his interactions with Catholicism when conducting his doctoral studies at a Jesuit university. He agreed with J. Pelikan (former Lutheran scholar who later converted to Eastern Orthodoxy) that Roman Catholicism is an "enigma" or "riddle." In the context of my professor's particular comments this had to do with what he experienced prior to, during, and after the Second Vatican Council, with respect to attitudes toward his intellectual hero--St. Thomas Aquinas. He noted that the academic climate prior to the Council was very amenable to St. Thomas Aquinas. In fact, studies centered on St. Thomas seemed to be all the rage in the 1940's, 50's and early 60's. However, with the closing of Vatican II in 1965, it seemed to my professor that St. Thomas was the proverbial 'baby' thrown out with the pre-conciliar 'bathwater.' All of a sudden in 1965, so it seemed to him at the time, St. Thomas was 'out' and phenomenology was 'in.' This contributed, needless to say, to my professor's belief in the enigma or "riddle" of Roman Catholicism.

No doubt, something to this effect did occur. It cannot be denied that interest in St. Thomas Aquinas, to say nothing of St. Augustine, has waned in the post-conciliar years. However, the following stats are truly remarkable to consider, given the widespread misconception that Sts. Augustine and (especially) Thomas Aquinas are 'out' for the contemporary Catholic Church. What follows below is taken from an appendix to a book called The Doctors of the Church by Bernard McGinn. It is particularly instructive to note the sheer numbers of references of the two (to my mind) greatest of the 33 overall doctors of the Church. I will list how often both of them are cited in the two most recent collections of official teachings of the Catholic Church: Vatican II and the official Catechism. Then I will cite the next two most often cited doctors of the Church, and you will see the wide gulf that separates Sts. Augustine and Thomas from all other scholars of the Catholic Church's rich heritage. And I mean, from all others.

Number of citations in Vatican II (1962-65) and the recent (1994, 2000) Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC):

__________________Vatican II__CCC
St. Augustine_____________522___87
St. Thomas Aquinas________ 734 ___61

Pope Gregory the Great______128____6
St. Ambrose______________111____21

After Gregory the Great and Ambrose the numbers only fall dramatically lower in terms of others who are referenced. Look at the enormous disparity that exists between Augustine and Thomas Aquinas on the one hand and (basically) everyone else on the other, both in Vatican II itself and in the Catechism that came as a result of the Council. So, it seems to me that irrespective of whatever certain theologians in Jesuit institutions did subsequent to the Council, the idea that 'the days of Sts. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas are over' is a terrible myth whose time has long passed from relevance. It needs to be moved to its proper place of obscurity within the history of Catholicism--somewhere near other misguided ideas like that Mary is the third person of the Trinity or that the Catholic Church encourages its members to not read the Bible, etc. Wherever it is that these ideas go (maybe limbo, since apparently babies are no longer thought to go there?), this idea surely needs to go there too.

Vatican Council I on the Nature of God

Again, I think all my fellow Thomists out there will be greatly appreciative of the following quote from Vatican Council I, Chapter 1: “On God the creator of all things.” I find it particularly interesting that this understanding of God overlaps will all sorts of individuals who are otherwise theologically at odds with each other on various important issues (e.g., Charnock, Garrigou-Lagrange, and N. Geisler), yet nevertheless remain unified in the common belief on the nature of God. Is this a triumph of Thomism?

The holy, catholic, apostolic and Roman church believes and acknowledges that there is one true and living God, creator and lord of heaven and earth, almighty, eternal, immeasurable [lat. immensum], incomprehensible, infinite in will, understanding and every perfection. Since he is one, singular, completely simple and unchangeable spiritual substance, he must be declared to be in reality and in essence, distinct from the world, supremely happy in himself and from himself, and inexpressibly loftier than anything besides himself which either exists or can be imagined. (source: Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, v. II, Fr. Norman P. Tanner, S.J., ed.)

Vatican Council I on the Existence of God

I thought all my fellow Thomistically-minded Christians would appreciate this dogmatic decree from the First Vatican Council concerning the existence of God. I think there is an enormous amount of overlap between what the Council pronounces and how many Thomists themselves would reason, whether or not they are Catholics. The following is from the opening line of chapter 2 of the Council's decrees:

The same holy mother church holds and teaches that God, the source and end of all things, can be known with certainty from the consideration of created things, by the natural power of human reason [lat. naturali humanae rationis lumine]: ‘ever since the creation of the world, his invisible nature has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made,’ (Rom. 1:20). {source: Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, v. II, Fr. Norman P. Tanner, S.J., ed.}

As Boston College philosophy professor Peter Kreeft (himself a convert to Catholicism) once said, "It is a dogma of faith that the existence of God is not just a dogma of faith."

What will you have, Reformation or Revolution?

A very close friend of mine from my high school days and beyond is in the RCIA process of converting to the Catholic Church. He is to be received into the Church this coming Easter. He has never formally studied philosophy or theology. But, he rhetorically asks an interesting question: If the Reformation happened, why is anyone still protesting? That is, if the Church was indeed reformed, why would anyone remain out of communion with it? This is a fascinating question, it seems to me, which presupposes that the Church indeed underwent a period of reformation in response to the writings and wranglings of Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin.

Many Catholic scholars do attest that at least one good thing that came as a result of the Protestant Reformation and this was the Catholic Reformation. St. Catherine of Sienna and others had called for a massive reformation in the Church much prior to the rise of Martin Luther. But by the time the Church got a pope who was serious about enacting widespread reform in the Catholic Church (which was Pope Paul III, 1534-49), Protestantism was already itself widespread throughout Europe. (Incidentally, there were many religious orders founded during this time, and the most successful was to come from St. Ignatius Loyola-the Jesuits; the order was founded the same year as the election of Pope Paul III.) Paul III appointed a large commission of cardinals and other important individuals to study his proposed agenda for a massive council of the Church and to present a report on abuses in the Church. Pope Paul III apparently anticipated much of what the commission had to report on abuses and recommendations for reform and brought changes to the papal court and Curia prior to the Council, which he would initiate. This would be the monumental Council of Trent (1545-1563). (The Council stretched over many years, but only during short stretches of time did it do most of its work.) Paul III was followed by even more aggressive popes for bringing about reform and continuing the Council until it was brought to completion. Again, this time was additionally brought blessings by such great men as Sts. Peter Canisius and Charles Borromeo. Also famous from this time period and evidence of the reinvigoration of the Church were: Sts. Teresa of Avila, Vincent de Paul, John of the Cross, and Francis de Sales.

But it was St. Pius V (1566-1572) who would bring about some of the most lasting and impressive of the implementations of the Council. He revised the Roman Breviary (1568) and the Roman Missal (1570). And published the last universal catechism of the Catholic Church before the current one: it was known as the Roman Catechism (1566).

As has often been the case in the long history of the Church, reforms had been called for and they have been met. So, it seems that my friend's question is a reasonable one. Why be a non-Catholic Christian in a post-Reformation age? It seems to me that the only way for a non-Catholic Christian to answer this question is to give an anti-Catholic answer. That is, by providing an answer that no Christian would have given prior to the 16th century. For example, the answer given by a Protestant today as to why he persists outside of the Church will be in direct contradistinction to the views expressed by St. Vincent of Lerins in the 2 prior posts. An enormous amount of that which has been dogmatically declared in the 18 Ecumenical Councils and widely believed by all Catholics prior to Martin Luther has fallen from belief and practice among the vast majority of all Protestants. And in this way, the spirit of Protestantism exists in an attitude of anti-(pre-16th century)-Christianity. One who does little other than hearken back to the Bible (or to the Bible and the first six General Councils of the Church) cannot do otherwise than to be anti-Christian in this way. That is to say, much of the teaching of Luther (and especially Zwingli) merely contradicted widely believed and received teachings of the Church, even teaching (e.g., on the Eucharist) which had been settled long before (e.g., in the 4th Lateran Council).

If there was reformation, and there was widespread correction of abuses in the Church, then why persist in disunity with the Church? This question leads me to believe that what was wanted by the original Protestants was not so much Reformation as Revolution. Protestantism is not so much the reforming of that which is ancient as it is the overturning of so much believed by and practiced in the Church prior to the 16th century. When beliefs and practices, which have such ancient and well-established precedent in the Church, are done away with by the Reformers, what could this be but Revolution?

St. Vincent of Lerins and Progress in the One Church

The progress of dogma is a way in which the ancient Catholic Church remains ever new. This other aspect of the faith, described so well by St. Vincent of Lerins ought to be quoted here too and at length. It reveals the Catholic Faith's dual nature as being ever ancient, yet ever new. By having a venue by which further unfolding of truths would come to the faithful over time, the Church can be progressive and yet not simultaneously sacrifice its ancient nature. It is fascinating to note that so prominent a saint as Vincent of Lerins ostensibly saw no contradiction in what seems to be quite a difficulty for Protestants and some Orthodox, as regards the Catholic Church in this respect. That is to say, many outside the Catholic Church have a difficulty understanding how one can hold so strongly to the ancient nature of the Church (as St. Vincent detailed in the previous post) and also believe in a genuine progress of doctrine.

In chapter 23 of the same writing we quoted in the previous post (i.e., the Commonitorium written in 434) St. Vincent gives the following reflections on progress in the Faith.

But some will say perhaps, Shall there, then, be no progress in Christ's Church? Certainly; all possible progress. For what being is there, so envious of men, so full of hatred to God who would seek to forbid it? Yet on condition that it be real progress, not alteration of the faith. For progress requires that the subject be enlarged in itself; alteration, that it be transformed into something else. The intelligence, then, the knowledge, the wisdom, as well of individuals as of all, as well of one man as of the whole Church, ought, in the course of ages and centuries, to increase and make much and vigorous progress; but yet only in its own kind; that is to say, in the same doctrine, in the same sense, and in the same meaning.

The growth of religion in the soul must be analogous to the growth of the body, which, though in process of years it is developed and attains its full size, yet remains still the same.... For example: Our forefathers in the old time sowed wheat in the Church's field. It would be most unmeet and iniquitous of we, their descendants, instead of the genuine truth of corn, should reap the counterfeit error of tares. This should rather be the result, - there should be no discrepancy between the first and the last. From doctrine which was sown as wheat, we should reap, in the increase, doctrine of the same kind - wheat also; so that when in process of time any of the original seed is developed, and now flourishes under cultivation, no change may ensue in the character of the plant. There may supervene shape, form, variation in outward appearance, but the nature of each kind must remain the same. {source: John R. Willis, S.J. The Teachings of the Church Fathers, p. 100}

St. Vincent of Lerins and Staying in the One True Faith

Hans Urs von Balthasar noted in several of his writings the interesting and paradoxical nature of the Church as being ever old, yet ever new. In this way, the Catholic Church occupies a middle ground between those who are far too progressive and those far too traditional. In this spirit, I offer the following comments of St. Vincent of Lerins, who, perhaps ironically, was a chief proponent of two essential aspects of the Church seemingly at odds with each other. These two aspects are excellent examples of how the one Church is simultaneously ever old and ever new. In his Commonitorium, chapter 2, St. Vincent argues first for the aspect of the Church which is ever old.

I have therefore continually given the greatest pains and diligence to enquiring, from the greatest possible number of men outstanding in holiness and in doctrine, how I can secure a kind of fixed and, as it were, general and guiding principle for distinguishing the true Catholic Faith from the degraded falsehoods of heresy. And the answer that I receive is always to this effect; that if I wish, or indeed if any one wishes, to detect the deceits of heretics that arise and to avoid their snares and to keep healthy and sound in a healthy faith, we ought, with the Lord's help, to fortify our faith in a twofold manner, firstly, that is, by the authority of God's Law, then by the tradition of the Catholic Church.

Here, it may be, some one will ask, Since the canon of Scripture is complete, and is in itself abundantly sufficient, what need is there to join to it the interpretation of the Church? The answer is that because of the very depth of Scripture all men do not place one identical interpretation upon it. The statements of the same writer are explained by different men in different ways, so much so that it seems almost possible to extract from it as many opinions as there are men. Novatian expounds in one way, Sabellius in another, Donatus in another, Arius, Eunomius and Macedonius in another, Photinus, Apollinaris, and Priscillian in another, Jovinian, Pelagius and Caelestius in another, and latterly Nestorius in another. Therefore, because of the intricacies of error, which is so multiform, there is great need for the laying down of a rule for the exposition of Prophets and Apostles in accordance with the standard of the interpretation of the Church Catholic.

Now in the Catholic Church itself we take the greatest care to hold THAT WHICH HAS BEEN BELIEVED EVERYWHERE, ALWAYS, AND BY ALL.
That is truly and properly 'Catholic,' as is shown by the very force and meaning of the word, which comprehends everything almost universally. We shall hold to this rule if we follow universality, antiquity, and consent. We shall follow universality if we acknowledge that one Faith to be true which the whole Church throughout the world confesses; antiquity, if we in no wise depart from those interpretations which it is clear that our ancestors and fathers proclaimed; consent, if in antiquity itself we keep following the definitions and opinions of all, or certainly nearly all, bishops and doctors alike.

What then will the Catholic Christian do, if a small part of the Church has cut itself off from the communion of the universal Faith? The answer is sure. He will prefer the healthiness of the whole body to the morbid and corrupt limb.

But what if some novel contagion try to infect the whole Church, and not merely a tiny part of it? Then he will take care to cleave to antiquity, which cannot now be led astray by any deceit of novelty.

What if in antiquity itself two or three men, or it may be a city, or even a whole province be detected in error? Then he will take the greatest care to prefer the decrees of the ancient General Councils, if there are such, to the irresponsible ignorance of a few men. {source: Henry Bettenson, ed. Documents of the Christian Church, 2d ed., pp. 83-4}

A Victorian Christmas

Since Advent is drawing to a close and the joyous time of Christmas is at last upon us, I thought I'd share with you a little tradition, which my wife and I have decided to incorporate into our family this year. I and my spouse are nostalgic, if not envious of all things Victorian and Georgian (or "Romantic" if you prefer). These periods span from roughly late 18th century to (very) early 20th century. Most of our knowledge of these time-periods are of English and American expressions, though we haven't altogether neglected the sometimes willing French expressions of the same movements. My wife and I are ever endeavoring to incorporate into our homes, as much as it is feasible and advisable to do, various traditions and ways of living borne out of these times.

One such tradition, which it seemed good to begin this year, was the inclusion of a Victorian maxim into our Christmas celebration with our three young boys. Linda Lichter, in her excellent book The Benevolence of Manners, recounts the story of a wealthy American businessman who annually abode by a certain maxim by which he gave gifts to his many children. (Victorian families were often large.) He was not constrained by the necessity of finances, mind you, for he was wealthy. He chose to abide by this maxim for much higher reasons than mere financial necessity. The maxim runs like this:

"Something to eat; something to read; something to play with; something they need"

It has long been a struggle for my wife and I to keep a good focus in the Christmas season, especially with our families on both sides all wrapped up, as it were, in the capitalism run-amuck spirit of contemporary American Christmastime. This year, we have an added difficulty of having begun last year, what turned out to be, a rather bad tradition (not that the tradition itself was bad; rather our incorporation of it) of the 12 Days of Christmas, which begin on Christmas Day and end on Epiphany. What we did last year was to have gift-giving spread out over all 12 days, having the children open only one gift each during every day following Christmas Day. We could barely sustain such an endeavor, and it only seemed to lead to an even worse sense of Christmas (especially for our oldest son) - one which amounted to this: "what Christmas really means is that I get gifts for 12 full days instead of just on the big day of December 25th when not only do my parents give me gifts, but so do all my grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc."

So, hopefully this year, in order to more perfectly celebrate the birth of the Christ-child, we are abandoning the gift-giving over the 12 Days idea, and supplanting it with the Victorian maxim. What this maxim has amounted to is that for each of our children, their gifts from us are: one thing in each of the 4 categories. So, our oldest is getting one thing to play with; one book to read; Jelly Belly's (mmm, yum) to eat; and a pair of pajamas as his thing he needs. (His current "water-wading" version of pajama bottoms just isn't cutting it.)

Grandparents imbibed in the tradition of giving all sorts of gifts for Christmas are not going to change in that regard. We understand that perfectly well. But, at the very least in our little family's home on Christmas morning, we are going to abide by the Victorian principle (in a manner of speaking). And we hope it will make for a more peaceful time when we can reflect on the entrance of Christ into the world.

Combined with this, we have placed an emphasis on Christmas being the welcoming into our home of the Christ-child. And as we do not throw him a party and give him gifts from Wal Mart, we instead talk to our oldest son of the types of gifts this unique Son does want to receive, right along the lines of Matthew 25. Our acts of charity and mercy are the things we can give to Him. These are the gifts fit for the King of the Universe.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Part III in a three-part conversion story

I was able to graduate from the Master's program in good conscience knowing that I would not be working over the entire summer after graduation, and this would give me time enough to finish the investigation, at least in the sense of knowing what the outcome would probably be. The first issue, in order of time and importance, with which I dealt strongly was that of authority. It is of course the most primal question that a believer has. Namely, "Where do I go to find out more about this God in whom I have just come to believe?" Unfortunately, in the hullabaloo of most conversions to the Evangelical faith this question, which is so primal and natural, is fairly well glossed over. New Evangelical converts usually just take any authority's word for it (like the authority of the one who leads us to Christ). Or they just figure out on their own rather quickly from the sermons and Bible studies they attend that Christianity is, at its essence, a “Religion of the Book,” as Yves Congar aptly dubbed Protestantism. I came to understand that this was not what any Christian ever believed prior to the Protestant Reformation. And, what is worse, it is an implausible position for a Christian believer to maintain.

Since the time of the apostles, the people of God have always rested in the comfort of "holy mother Church" being an ever present guide and safety, preserving the faithful from errors which naturally arose in the course of history, and keeping the flock in the one Faith "delivered to the saints." For my part I came to agree with St. Thomas Aquinas when he argued that without one Sovereign Pontiff as a visible head of the church on Earth who could have a final say in important matters of dispute (especially when they arise from the Bible itself), there would be no way of maintaining unity, or even of knowing with any level of assurance what the one Faith is to which a Christian is to give assent.

Secondarily, a Religion of the Book has always been a little unattractive to me. Its gross lack of fulfillment in the normal Christian life of a believer has always been a moderate repulsion. And as anyone who has studied the matter would know, the Catholic Church abounds with aids in fulfillment of a religious life lived out well and seriously. I came to believe that the Catholic Church possesses, protects, and promulgates the fullness of theology, philosophy, apologetics, morality, and religious practice. In fact, the only other churches that even approximate the grandeur of the Catholic Church do so by way of just how much they are like the One Church (e.g., Eastern Orthodox, some Anglican, some Lutheran, etc.).

It is important to point out that this amounts to an addition to my religious beliefs as a Christian, not a subtraction. Being a Catholic amounts to disagreeing with the “Reformers” when they denied the authority of the Church and effectively made themselves the final seats of authority. So, going from Evangelicalism to the Catholic Church is not a repudiation of Evangelicalism, except insofar as Evangelical Christianity denies fundamental tenets of the Faith which were well received before they came along. It is the non-Catholic who denies some amount of received truth, not the other way around. This isn't offensive to Evangelical ears, I hope. I only mean to communicate that the various "solas" (sola fide, sola scriptura, etc.) were denials of things already taught and universally believed by the one historic Church. "Faith alone is the truth concerning justification," says Martin Luther et al., "rather than the already received teaching of faith formed by charity." "The Bible alone is our authority," says Luther et al., "rather than the ancient belief of Sacred Tradition and the Bible."

So, becoming Catholic, I can only imagine, felt a little bit like a Jew becoming an Evangelical Christian. Many more important things are added to the core beliefs and practices you already have as a Jew. You don’t repudiate where you were; you fulfill it. So too with me, I haven’t repudiated all the many good things about Evangelicalism. I’ve fulfilled them. I’ve brought them into a world much larger and much greater than themselves.

This was my story as of two years ago. Much of the content of these three installments has been drawn from a letter I sent to former pastors of mine during Advent of 2003. Since that time, of course, my reflections on Catholicism vs. Protestantism have only grown deeper and my insights (I hope) have grown more various. I intend to make much of the content of this website a series of some of the reflections I have had in the interim 2 years between today and originally making the decision to become Catholic.

Part II of a three-part conversion story

As you may or may not know, Southern Evangelical Seminary, located in metro Charlotte, NC, is very unique among graduate schools of theology. In fact, I know of no other like it. Those which even approximate it (e.g., Trinity Divinity School, Talbot School of Theology, etc.) are a far cry from the teaching of SES in many respects. Two ways in which it is unique are the following. SES has a specific and delineated apologetic method (i.e., the classical method), and it has, further, a specific philosophy (i.e., the philosophy of Thomism, after St. Thomas Aquinas).

Clearly, the great Thomistic Evangelical Dr. Norman Geisler was a huge draw for me to consider SES in the first place. But, when I met the other faculty there, I knew it was the place for me. I didn't even apply to become a student at any of its competitors, as I was so impressed with the caliber of SES upon meeting its faculty and seeing the students it was producing. So, off I and my family went to Charlotte, NC in August, 2000, hoping to end with a Master of Divinity, Apologetics degree.

When I went, I was already convinced of the classical apologetic method, which the seminary (and most notably Geisler) employed. I was also, with a few important exceptions here and there, already convinced of the particular Evangelical theology of the Seminary. What took a little time and a few courses for me to swallow it, was the philosophy advocated by the Seminary. Originally, I thought it odd that a seminary would have a specific philosophy that it espoused. I had always thought the nature of philosophy to be too undetermined for it to be wise for a school to have an "official" philosophical position. Also, I had never read, amazingly enough, any of St. Thomas Aquinas' writings while in undergrad, even being a philosophy major at the University of Georgia! So, I was hesitant without any doubt, not wanting to just accept this philosophy on the authority of the SES professors, all of whom were either Thomists or very sympathetic to Thomism. I wanted to be shown it, and to participate in the discovery of this fact on my own-at least to an extent.

Well, despite my hesitance I did become convinced of the philosophy. That is, I became convinced that the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas is the highest expression of philosophy ever espoused and that the level of theological work that his philosophy can do for you, is just amazing and unparalleled. It was interesting though that despite my acceptance of classical apologetics, along with the embracing of the philosophy of Thomism, these things together never naturally brought up the question of the overall theologies of many individuals I read in graduate school, an enormous amount of whom were Catholic. And as regards the historical theologians we looked at, the theologies of Sts. Augustine, Anselm or Thomas Aquinas were always just selectively looked at, and appealed to, when it served the Evangelical purpose of SES.

Then I met an individual who would later become very important in my religious life. One of the things he did as we were becoming friends was to introduce to me the importance of the debate between Catholicism and Protestantism. Every student of SES does naturally at least wonder at the thought of the Catholic Church, as in the plausibility of it being "Christ's Church," as it claims itself to be. Even if such thoughts are fleeting and go as quickly as they come, there are still entertained. Any student of history knows just how very ‘Catholic’ the Western Church was prior to the Protestant Reformation. Additionally, the individuals whose texts we SES students would read in our philosophy courses were nearly all, with very rare exceptions, Catholic authors. So, the situation in the Seminary was this: the apologetic method and the philosophy came from Catholics, not Protestants. These few facts are enough to raise a pertinent question for a student, and it usually runs thus: "Why is it that Catholics could be so right in their apologetics and philosophy, and at the same time get it so wrong in their theology?" Could there really be such a disconnect between philosophy and Christian apologetics on the one hand, and the theology they serve on the other? To say the least, this was an interesting question, (which, incidentally, was actually asked in classes) to which I never really heard a good answer. This plaguing question, along with the friend I had met who was already very interested in the Catholic vs. Protestant issue led naturally to an investigation on my part into the historic debate between the two camps.

Of course, I thought that the training I had received in seminary at the time of inquiry was robust enough (and the Catholics necessarily were wrong enough) to make this a short, though interesting investigation. For better or worse, things did not turn out as I had anticipated. I found that the Catholics I had already read and with whom I had been impressed in general apologetics and philosophy were no less impressive when it came to theology and/or apologetics.

The following is Part I of a three-part conversion story

This story is my own. It is offered because a few individuals have requested it. I hope you find aspects of it interesting.


As a fairly young man, I came to believe in God. Being raised in the South in a family whose roots were quite religious, this would not have been surprising to anyone. It was not until high school, however, that I came to take Christianity seriously and treat it as something worth my time and interest. I first encountered God, the Bible, and prayer in the context of conservative Pentecostalism. I began to read the Bible intensely my senior year of high school and maintained a regular and devout prayer life. Subsequent to graduation, I even attended a large Pentecostal university in Tennessee for my freshman year of college. I further entrenched myself in Evangelicalism’s good characteristics during this time. My prayer life grew deeper. My learning of the Bible grew more thorough.

However, it was certainly a lonesome religious tradition I had entered into – as in, “every man for himself.” We were all doing our best to figure things out, whether these things were God himself or what spiritual gifts amounted to or whether it was OK to drink alcohol and/or listen to “secular” music. Ultimately, of course, as it was every man for himself in the search, so it was for the end of the journey. That is to say, how those questions above (and many others besides) were resolved was dependent on little more than how the individual believer cared to resolve them, with the possible exception of who and what God is.

At this time of the journey along the very ‘flexible’ path of Evangelicalism, there were probably only two instances worth mentioning. And they both involved my marriage to a very spiritually-minded girl of all of 19 years of age. As all good Evangelicals did, we read the Bible with great fervor and intensity. We began reading through the Old Testament and the New simultaneously, trying our hand at a ‘through the Bible in a year’ program, and we did complete it.

One thing that leapt off the pages of Scripture, which, though not surprising theologically, yet still startling in its incessantness, was this overall love of new life and the attributing to God of all new life that comes. Whether the life in question was vegetable, animal, or rational animal (i.e., human) all was seen to equally come from God. And in the case of humans and the conception of babies, there was such constancy of joy among the Hebrew women in God giving them children. After combining this growing understanding with our own theological reflections on the legitimacy of spouses to decide for themselves whether human life was coming or not (i.e., whether birth prevention or “control” was morally licit), my wife and I, in our first year of marriage, gave up the birth control pill she was taking. This was an interesting way of becoming a little Catholic without even knowing it. We adopted a moral and theological position against the usage of birth control. It was simplistic, but it was not irrational.

The second major understanding that jumped off the pages of the Bible lead to a great veneration of Holy Communion. Through reading the Gospel passages of the Lord’s Supper and more especially the writings of St. Paul on this issue (cf. 1 Cor. 11), we came to have enormous amounts of veneration for this…, we hardly knew what. We wouldn’t have called it a sacrament, perhaps just a holy experience. One of the most solemn experiences a Christian could have. I still recall with what singular devotion my wife would go to take the bread or the cup. She would actually kneel down before it in prayer and prostrate herself. This was done in a downtown community fellowship in Athens, GA (a college town), so it was a very laid back worship environment. Still, her devotion to the (not quite) Eucharistic Lord was amazing, even at such a stage of Christian infancy for both of us. I also recall at one time rebuking (!) a fellow member of this congregation for his beginning to merely eat the bread (from which we had had Communion) after the service had ended. I dually informed him that this was forbidden, according to the words of the Apostle Paul himself. We are not to simply sit around snacking on the hosts of the Lord. Again, this was all fascinating stuff: for a young Evangelical couple to come to appreciate these very “Catholic” aspects of Christianity without even knowing it or trying to do so.

But, now it’s time to turn to aspects of frustration we had with Evangelicalism. After we left the fellowship in college, for about the next three to four years (before we regularly began attending mass as observers) we did what many young Evangelicals do – we jumped in and out of churches and in and out of denominations. We would always find ourselves unfulfilled, no matter where we were. It was difficult to put a finger on just what was missing. It might be easier to do so now, but then it was some vague idea (brought to the forefronts of our minds by not-so-vague denominational peculiarities) that things just weren’t as they were meant to be. In the end, before we simply began attending mass at the Cathedral of St. Patrick in Charlotte, NC, we were a part of just about the most opposite extreme of Catholic liturgy. It was a church in Charlotte called Warehouse 242. It met (and worshipped!) over Starbucks coffee, young adults dressed like they were out on a date, and loud rock music coming from the “stage” in what was, literally, an old basketball gymnasium. But, prior to that we had given every mainstream Protestant denomination a serious try or at least had attended a few services at each. Episcopalian was nice, Orthodox was better, and Catholic was home – finally home. Not a home that made you perfectly comfortable necessarily. The mass is hardly comforting to an adult who has no family or background in Catholicism and is a first-time attendee. But, there was definitely a sense that this had a correspondence with what my wife and I had always been after.

But, that’s the end of the story. Before we get there, my time at graduate school must be explored as it was also key to my family’s conversion.

The End and Purpose of this Space

This blogspot is intended to be a place primarily for reflection in the broad areas of theology, apologetics, and philosophy, especially as all three are related to the Catholic Faith. It may also double as a space for catechists of St. Michael Catholic Church in Gainesville, GA to interact with the material here presented. In any case, we will explore aspects and facets of the grand religion that is Catholicism. As a convert from Evangelicalism myself, it is likely that a good bit of time will be spent interacting with material relevant to issues pertaining to the distinctions between Catholicism and non-Catholic Christianity. These will be my primary focuses, at least at the outset.

At the very least, I hope to do two things very well. First, I hope to present material that is interesting and worth others reading. Though I will by no means endeavor to say that my posts will be scholarly, I do hope they will, in the main, be responsible. Second, I will endeavor to conduct all aspects of this blogspot with the highest regard for civility. Civility has come to be extremely important to me in recent years, as morality was to me when I was younger. Civility can be seen as a type of social morality anyway, and I will ever strive to have all conduct on this modest space be within the bounds of civility.

Given this groundwork, let us begin.