Shameless Popery

Ten Things I Learned in My First Year of Seminary

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 22 May 2013 21:26:00 +0000

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind: classes ended, I had three papers and four finals, I went to Clear Creek Monastery for a few days, and four of our men were ordained deacons. As I make the transition from being in seminary to spending the summer at Holy Spirit Catholic Church, I wanted to share ten things that I learned this year:

1. The Liturgy of the Hours is the Prayer of the People of God

The Liturgy of the Hours, also known as the Divine Office, is the prayer of the People of God for two reasons. First, because it is prayed for you. Priests make a public promise to pray these prayers daily for the Church. They’re not meant to replace private prayer, but to supplement it. Second, the laity are invited and encouraged to join in these liturgies, as well as to pray the Hours privately. The Catechism (CCC 1175), citing the Second Vatican Council's Sacrosanctum Concilium, has this to say:

Aert de Gelder, Simeon’s Song of Praise (1710)

The Liturgy of the Hours is intended to become the prayer of the whole People of God. In it Christ himself "continues his priestly work through his Church." His members participate according to their own place in the Church and the circumstances of their lives: priests devoted to the pastoral ministry, because they are called to remain diligent in prayer and the service of the word; religious, by the charism of their consecrated lives; all the faithful as much as possible: "Pastors of souls should see to it that the principal hours, especially Vespers, are celebrated in common in church on Sundays and on the more solemn feasts. The laity, too, are encouraged to recite the divine office, either with the priests, or among themselves, or even individually."

So what is the Divine Office? It is a set of up to seven prayers (called “hours”) punctuating the day, so that we can pray with the Psalmist, “Seven times a day I praise thee for thy righteous ordinances” (Psalm 119:164). Typically, monks and nuns pray all seven, priests pray five, and the laity are encouraged to pray at least two or three (Lauds and Vespers, and hopefully, Office of Readings). Each “hour” consists of a hymn, Psalms (or parts of the Psalms), Scripture reading, and prayer:

Invitatory: This isn't a separate hour of its own. Rather, as DivineOffice.org explains, “The Invitatory is the introduction to the first hour said on the current day, whether it be the Office of Readings or Morning Prayer.” Traditionally, the invitatory Psalm is Psalm 95. Psalm 100, Psalm 67, or Psalm 24 may also be used, but I have never seen this done.

Jan de Bray, David Playing the Harp (1670)

Office of Readings: This is a major hour, and replaces Matins. After the hymn and three Psalms, there are two readings. The first is from Scripture, and the second typically comes from the Church Fathers or a Church Council. The second reading often serves as a commentary on the Scripture reading or the liturgical feast of the day. In all, Office of Readings takes about 15 minutes.
Morning Prayer (Lauds): After the hymn and three Psalms, there is a short Scripture reading (usually only a couple verses long: just enough to give you something to reflect on), a short Responsory Prayer, the Canticle of Zechariah (the Benedictus, Luke 1:68-79), intercessions, the Our Father, and a closing prayer. Lauds also takes about 15 minutes.
Daytime Prayer (Terce, Sext, None): These are minor hours, prayed at mid-morning, midday, and mid-afternoon. They are three short Psalms, a short reading from Scripture, and a closing prayer. Diocesan priests are only required to pray one of these. Monks and nuns will often pray all three. Traditionally, they are prayed at about 9 a.m., noon, and 3 p.m. (the third, sixth, and ninth hours: hence, the names). Each one takes about 5 minutes to pray.
Evening Prayer (Vespers): The structure of Vespers is almost identical to Lauds, except that instead of praying the Canticle of Zechariah, you pray the Canticle of Mary (the Magnificat, Luke 1:46-55). It also takes about 15 minutes.
Night Prayer (Compline): After reflecting on your day, you pray an act of contrition, followed by a hymn, one Psalm, a short Scriptural reading, the Canticle of Simeon (the Nunc Dimittis, Luke 2:29-32), and a closing prayer. Typically, this is followed by a Marian hymn.

2. We All Want to Be Good (And Can't Help It)

St. Thomas Aquinas' moral philosophy is built upon what he calls the notion of the good, that “good is that which all things seek after.” We pursue what we view as good: all of us do this, always.

Think about it: if a thing didn’t seem good in some way, we wouldn’t bother striving for it. To will something is to desire it, and all of our intentional actions are willed. So even when we do something that we know, rationally, is evil, it shows that some part of us is unconvinced: some part of us -- our passions, for example -- views it as a good worth achieving. Evil, by definition, is treating something which isn't good as if it were. This point will turn out to be both the bedrock of Thomas' ethical system, and (as we shall see below) an answer to some of the strongest arguments from modern philosophers.

But this point is also profoundly humanizing, because Aquinas doesn't demonize evildoers. He reminds us that they, like us, are people who love and seek that which they think (on some level) is good.

3. One of Aristotle’s Four Causes reveals the meaning of life.

Why does Michelangelo’s David exist? Who or what caused it? According to the Greek philosopher Aristotle, our answer to that question should delineate four different types of causes: formal, material, efficient, and final. (Obviously, he didn’t address the David directly).

Materially, the cause is the marble. The formal cause is the shape of the statue: it’s David. Together, the form and matter of the statue are what give it its nature (as a marble statue of David). But the form and matter don’t tell the full story. We have to look to the efficient (or agent) cause: primarily, that’s Michelangelo. In a secondary sense, Michelangelo’s tools can also be described as efficient causes.

Let's not even talk about the Royals right now.

But there’s one more cause: the final cause. The final cause is the end, “that for the sake of which” the thing exists. In other words, the final cause is the goal, the motive of the action. Only if you ask why Michelangelo made the David can you fully understand the statues' causes.

Final causality applies to all human activity. Take the example of a batter swinging at the first pitch of a baseball game. What’s his goal in swinging the bat? To hit the ball. But there’s a more final cause: he’s trying to hit the ball so that he can get on base. And he’s trying to do that so that he can score a run, and so on.

When you start to arrange the causes in these sorts of sequences, they begin to converge. So, for example, a batter not swinging at a pitch is the opposite action as the last example. But when you explore why the two batters swing (or don’t), you can see that they are pursuing the same goal: trying to get on base, score runs, win the game, etc. So these opposite actions are done for the same final ends.

If you were to arrange all human activity into these series of causes, you’d see them eventually converge at a single point: one goal which is desired only for its own sake (since if it’s done for the sake of something else, that something else is a further end). Aristotle describes this as perfect happiness, which he says can be achieved fully only in contemplating the Divine for eternity. For a pre-Christian pagan, that’s an incredible insight.

But this method is something we too rarely practice: we act without considering why we’re acting. Why work overtime, or own a car, or go on vacation? Why do anything at all? We need to have our goal in view, or our actions become (literally) pointless.

4. Thomas Aquinas Solved the “Is / Ought” Problem... Five Hundred Years Early

Philosophers like David Hume (1711-1776) and G. E. Moore (1873-1958) have posed what’s called the “is / ought” problem. In a nutshell, it says that prescriptive statements (what we ought to do or not do) can never be deduced from descriptive statements (describing what is).

David Hume

So, for example, pointing out that the Final Solution was genocide is merely descriptive. According to Hume and Moore, this isn’t enough to prove that the Nazis shouldn’t have pursued it, since that's a prescriptive judgment. The most we can say is that they shouldn’t have done it if some subjective condition was true. For example, they shouldn’t have done it if they wanted history to judge them well, or if they wanted to treat the Jews with respect, etc. But all of these conditions are prescriptions (we ought to want to treat the Jews with respect, etc.). So it appears that every moral system requires something to be added to the objective facts. This addition adds an arbitrary, or at least subjective, element, so we can't describe any moral system as objectively true.

This argument appears strong, and it's a dangerous one. If morality is something added to the objective facts, this would seem to show, in Hume's word, that “the distinction of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceived by reason.” Moore went even further, arguing that this showed that “anything whatsoever can be called good.” In this view, the terms “good” and “evil” come to mean nothing more than “agreeable (or disagreeable) to my subjective preferences.”

But it turns out, Aquinas already solved this problem back in the thirteenth century, some five hundred years before Hume posed it.

Aquinas' answer starts with the notion of the good, which I mentioned above (see # 2, above): that “good is that which all things seek after.” From this, he forms what he calls the first precept of natural law, that “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided.” In other words, to describe something as evil is to simultaneously prescribe that it is not to be done. If something is evil, we ought not do it. Why? Because all of us seek the good, and to will something is to treat the object as good (again, see # 2). So we're not adding a subjective condition, since this “condition” always applies to everyone, absolutely.

Fra Bartolomeo, St. Thomas Aquinas (16th c.)

But Aquinas provides a second way of answering the objection, by showing that our final end (see # 3) is God. We are made by and for God. With that end in view, we can evaluate whether something is good or evil. If we know where we're supposed to be going, we can tell how well we're getting there. If we know how someone or something ought to behave, we can say whether they’re doing it well or poorly. We can speak objectively of someone who bowls a 300 as a good bowler, and someone who bowls a 0 as a bad bowler. A clock that tells time is objectively a better clock than one that doesn’t tell time (even if we happen to like the way the broken clock looks).

G. E. M. Anscombe's husband, Peter Geach, made a similar point in a 1956 essay called Good and Evil, in which he definitely answered the is / ought problem (using similar reasons to what we find in Aquinas' writings). In the essay, he showed how philosophers like Moore were conflating attributive and predicative adjectives (the argument is actually much more interesting than it sounds). At one point, answering the argument that good merely meant “agreeable to my subjective preferences,” he writes:

I totally reject this view that good has not a primarily descriptive force. Somebody who did not care two pins about cricket, but fully understood how the game worked (not an impossible supposition), could supply a purely descriptive sense for the phrase good batting wicket regardless of the tastes of the cricket fans. Again if I call a man a good burglar or a good cut-throat I am certainly not commending him myself; one can imagine circumstances in which these descriptions would serve to guide another man's choice (e.g. if a commando leader were choosing burglars and cut-throats for a special job), but such circumstances are rare and cannot give the primary sense of the descriptions. It ought to be clear that calling a thing a good A does not influence choice unless the one who is choosing happens to want an A; and this influence on action is not the logically primary force of the word good.

So if we know how cricket is supposed to be done, we can say whether someone is good at it. Likewise, if we know how human life is supposed to be lived (that is, how God designed it to be lived), we can say whether someone's actions are good or not-good (evil), and even whether the person's life is good or evil.

5. The Pre-Christian Pagans Got Much Further than Post-Christian Pagans Can Ever Hope To

Reading through the Greek writings written a few centuries prior to Christ, it’s amazing how much these thinkers got right. They start off asking the right questions, but generally giving the wrong answers.

Johannes Moreelse, Heraclitus (1630)

They ask where everything comes from, and what being is, but end up coming to conclusions like “everything is fire.” Even that conclusion isn’t as strange as it sounds. Rather, it’s Heraclitus’ attempt to explain why change perpetually exists within the closed system of the universe. His reasoning was that it is the nature of fire to be in a perpetual state of flux, so perhaps the rest of the universe is simply fire in different phase changes. Smart reasoning, very wrong conclusion.

From their midst, a few philosophers emerge – namely, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle – who start giving the right (or nearly-right) answer to one question after another. When the Gospel reaches the Greeks, it finds people who are both intellectually curious, and already convinced of many of the truths of Christianity. It’s little wonder that early Christians like Justin Martyr (100-165) should conclude that the Greek philosophers played the same role for the Gentiles that the prophets played for the Jews: to prepare them for the Gospel. Justin went so far as to say:

We have been taught that Christ is the first-born of God, and we have declared above that He is the Word of whom every race of men were partakers; and those who lived reasonably are Christians, even though they have been thought atheists; as, among the Greeks, Socrates and Heraclitus, and men like them; and among the barbarians, Abraham, and Ananias, and Azarias, and Misael, and Elias, and many others whose actions and names we now decline to recount, because we know it would be tedious.

Of course, all of this is a stark contrast to where post-Christian pagans have gotten. They started by giving the wrong answers to the right questions, and frequently fail to even ask the right questions: to the point of denying the existence of objective truth. The lights of intellectual curiosity appear to be dimming.

This isn’t to say that relativists didn’t exist among the Greeks: they did. Sophists like Patagoras argued that truth was relative, and the Sophistic school treated reason as subservient to rhetorical manipulation. But the Sophists was answered by Socrates and Aristotle, to such an extent that “Sophistic” comes down to us as an insult.

So what gives? The answer seems to be this: Plato and Socrates were one way that God prepared the Gentiles for the Gospel. But the post-Christian pagans have received the full light of the Gospel, and rejected it. There’s nowhere to go from there but down.

6. Changes in Philosophy Impacted Art (and Everything Else)

Raphael, School of Athens (detail) (1509)

One of the major changes between Aristotle and Plato was this: Plato viewed the realest thing as the ideal. That is, he believed in what’s called the Theory of Forms, which goes something like this: various things may possess the same trait (like two numbers possessing “even-ness”). This points to the existence of a transcendent Ideal, or Form (in this case, the Form of Even-ness). Plato, who regarded the material world with great suspicion, viewed this transcendent Ideal as more real than the individual manifestations of it. So the Ideal of Green was truer than all of those things that we call “green.”

Aristotle rejected all of this, holding that the individual substance was the realest thing: a green leaf is more real than the abstract notion of green. The Renaissance painter Raphael captured this well in his massive painting School of Athens, depicting all of the great Greek philosophers of antiquity. At the center of the painting (see the image on the right) are Plato and Aristotle. Plato is pointing upward to his ideal forms: Aristotle counters by pointing forward to the things of the created world.

Why does all of this matter, from a Christian perspective? One reason is art. When Christians were heavily influenced by Platonism, they tended towards iconography, as an attempt to capture the Ideal of Christ. Instead of depicting a single scene from the life of Christ, the Icon would attempt to capture something broader. So, for example, the Christ Pantocrater icon depicts Christ as simultaneously a Merciful and Just Judge (and simultaneously God and Man) by giving Him different expressions on different sides of His Face.

As Western Christian philosophy became increasing Aristotelian, the artistic emphasis shifted as well. Instead of seeking to capture the Ideal or Form of Christ, art focused more on capturing specific events from the Life (or Death) of Christ. Benedict XVI explained all of this in Spirit of the Liturgy:

Platonism sees sensible things as shadows of the eternal archetypes. In the sensible we can and should know the archetypes and rise up through the former to the latter.

Aristotelianism rejects the doctrine of Ideas. The thing, composed of matter and form, exists in its own right. Through abstraction I discern the species to which it belongs. In place of seeing, by which the super-sensible becomes visible in the sensible, comes abstraction. The relationship of the spiritual and the material has changed and with it man's attitude to reality as it appears to him.

For Plato, the category of the beautiful had been definitive. The beautiful and the good, ultimately the beautiful and God, coincide. Through the appearance of the beautiful we are wounded in our innermost being, and that wound grips us and takes us beyond ourselves; it stirs longing into flight and moves us toward the truly Beautiful, to the Good in itself.

Something of this Platonic foundation lives on in the theology of icons, even though the Platonic ideas of the beautiful and of vision have been transformed by the light of Tabor. Moreover, Plato's conception has been profoundly reshaped by the interconnection of creation, Christology, and eschatology, and the material order as such has been given a new dignity and a new value. This kind of Platonism, transformed as it is by the Incarnation, largely disappears from the West after the thirteenth century, so that now the art of painting strives first and foremost to depict events that have taken place.

Thus, it should be no surprise that the shift from iconography to other forms of Christian art runs parallel (both geographically and temporally) to the shift from Platonism to Aristotelianism.

7. Philosophy Means “Love of Wisdom”

“Sophia” is the Greek word for “wisdom,” which is why the early Christians named a church “Hagia Sophia,” or “Holy Wisdom.” “Philo-” is a prefix meaning “love of,” from the same root as words like “Philadelphia” (city of brotherly love). So true philosophy involves loving wisdom: how could it not point you towards God?

8. Science, Philosophy, and Theology Used to be United

As Msgr. Ronald Knox has explained, in the Medieval period, “science, philosophy, and theology are not three disparate branches of learning, but three rungs in a single educational ladder. From the contemplation of nature you rise to pure thought; from pure thought, grace elevates you to the contemplation of the supernatural.”

Nuremberg Chronicle, Thales (1493)

And this view was by no means limited to the Medieval period. The pre-Christian Greeks viewed philosophy similarly: thinkers like Thales treated “philosophy” as including everything from astronomy to mathematics, and Thales used his love of wisdom to do everything from predict eclipses to aiding the Greek army in rerouting a river (by creating a channel to enable the army to pass). And even after the Medievals, we see examples of thinkers firmly committed to doing serious science, serious philosophy, and serious theology, without feeling a need to choose one against the other two.

But between science, philosophy, and theology, there has certainly been a divorce, an often acrimonious one. Unsurprisingly, there is plenty of blame to go around. In his essay on the subject, Knox credibly blames Descartes, for taking philosophy in a radically-critical direction at odds with science or theology; Luther, for viewing man as so totally depraved that science and natural philosophy became irrelevant to theology; and the Deists, for trying to create a philosophical religion that didn't need theology. Others, like Darwin, could easily be added to the list.

The end result, as Knox notes, is that “men of science, as we know, are still fond of playing about with philosophy; but always they are at issue with the philosophers.” And he’s saying all of this decades before books like Hawking and Mlodinow's Grand Design, or the general New Atheist push to argue metaphysics without bothering to study it.

9. We Can Go Much Deeper in Prayer

The Catechism refers to three broad types of prayer: vocal, meditative, and contemplative. But God wills for us to go deeper and deeper in contemplation of Him, but it’s not always clear how to do this. There are several great guides for this, but one in particular that I would recommend is Thomas Dubay’s Fire Within: St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and the Gospel - On Prayer, which explores Carmelite spirituality in an easily-understood way. I would recommend it for almost anyone looking to get more serious about prayer.

10. I am Worse Than I Knew, But Everything is Grace

Perhaps nothing exposes one’s lingering faults quite like seminary. It is a group of Christian men who are serious about sanctity, and have cultivated an attention to detail. Furthermore, we are encouraged to engage in “fraternal correction,” on the theory that iron sharpens iron (Proverbs 27:17), and we have a moral duty to look out for one another. But fortunately, God is there through all of this. Where I succeed, it is due to His grace. Where I fail, He stands ready to pick me up again. No matter how big my failings, faults, and sins, God’s Mercy is always bigger. As St. Thérèse of Lisieux is said to have said, “everything is grace.”

It’s been quite a journey this year, but one that I’ve been humbled and thrilled to take.

1 of the 497

noreply@blogger.com (Dcn. Nathan Haverland) — Wed, 22 May 2013 03:11:00 +0000

The courses are complete. The vestments are ready. The chalice sits waiting for its sacred duty. Six years in the seminary have finally led to this: ordination to the Sacred Priesthood. Since Joe has been fraternally nudging me to post more, I thought I might take a moment and give a glimpse into what it is like for a man on the verge of being ordained a priest.

Nervous

With the end of every school year comes ordination season, and here I am, one of the 497 to be ordained priests in the U.S. this year, waiting for the tsunami of graces and emotions that is scheduled to arrive this Saturday. How did this come to be? Growing up I never imagined that I would be a priest (I was certain I was going to be an astronaut), and surely it was just yesterday that I had made that difficult phone call to the vocation's director to tell him that I was interested in applying for the seminary. Now, with six more years of education under my belt, the Church thinks I am ready to be one of Her priests.

I am naturally a bit nervous about the whole thing. Sure, I have studied the priesthood and even practiced the things a priest does, but I have never actually practiced being a priest per se. I have practice Mass and confession, but I have never actually celebrated them. A few weeks ago I realized the underlying nervousness I had towards the upcoming ordination when I had a startling dream. In my dream I had laid down for a quick nap after my priesthood ordination but then awoke to the frightening realization that I had overslept and missed my first Mass! I was terrified. How could I possibly miss my first Mass? It is a humorous dream in retrospect but my racing heart did not find it funny at the time.

Despite the moments of nervousness, there is a certain level of peace that pervades these last days of preparation. On my canonical retreat I found great consolation in the last words of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew where He says, "Behold, I am with you always" (Mt 28:20). Why should I be nervous when I know with certainty that Jesus Christ will always be with me?

Humbled

In preparing for the big day, I have spent a lot of time in prayer with the Rite of Ordination of Priests. More often than not, I struggle getting past the beginning of the rite where the Bishop asks a designated priest, "Do you know them to be worthy?" Me, worthy of this great sacrament? Surely not. I am a sinner and weak man like all the others, just ask my brother seminarians. Yet, the Church in Her great wisdom does not ask the ordinands (or their brother seminarians for that matter) if they think they are worthy. Instead, speaking through the bishop and the designated priest, the Church testifies that She has found the men worthy to be a priests. How could I be anything but humbled knowing that the Church has found me of all people worthy for the priesthood?

A little while ago I read St. John Chrysostom's classic work On the Priesthood and in it the Golden Tongue repeatedly expresses his astute awareness of the dignity of the priesthood and the frailty of his human nature before the sublime office. At one point he says, "I know my own soul, how feeble and puny it is: I know the magnitude of this ministry, and the great difficulty of the work; for more stormy billows vex the soul of the priest than the gales which disturb the sea" (III.8). The media constantly reminds us that receiving the sacrament of Holy Orders does not prevent a man from committing sin. Yet, despite his own frailty, the priest is given the great privilege of being God's instrument of mercy and grace in people's lives and access to their greatest joys and deepest sorrows. As I approach the altar of God and prepare to receive this gift myself, humility has been a faithful companion.

Excited

Imagine how excited a couple would be to receive the sacrament of Matrimony if marriage preparation lasted for six years instead of six months! That is kind of how I feel. After spending six years talking about the priesthood and studying it, I feel as if the seminary has done its job and I am more than excited to finally leave the seminary and be a priest. I am excited to have my family and friends together that weekend, and I am excited to finally feed Christ's sheep, to be a "co-worker" of the Bishop's in the vineyard, and to have the privilege of ministering the "Sacrament of sacraments" (CCC 1211).

There was a certain joy and excitement in practicing Mass this past year with the understanding that I was not doing it for fun, but that I was doing is so that I might be able to celebrate it in the near future. The experience of practicing Mass reminded me of learning how to fly a plane. You can take thousands of flights. You can watch a pilot fly the plane. You can even notice when a pilot makes a mistake. But that in no way means you are capable of flying a plane. Despite the countless number of times I have gone to Mass, the first few times practicing the celebration of Mass were not pretty. You do not realize the sheer number of times a priest "extends his hands" until it is actually you who are supposed to be the one with your hands extended!

As I enter these last few days, I am reminded of one last quote from St. John Chrysostom which highlights another reason why it is such an honor to be a priest and why I am excited, humbled, and nervous to be one:

"For they who inhabit the earth and make their abode there are entrusted with the administration of things which are in Heaven, and have received an authority which God has not given to angels or archangels" (III.5).

Please pray for me and all 497 of us to be ordained priests this year!

Coming Soon: Our Nuclear Engineer Priest

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Sat, 11 May 2013 19:04:00 +0000

Archbishop Naumann is preparing to ordain four of my brother seminarians to the priesthood at 10:30 a.m. on May 25 at St. Matthew Parish in Topeka. One of them, Deacon Nathan Haverland, was highlighted recently in The Leaven (and The Deacon's Bench) for his unique life story: growing up without religion, he discovered God while studying astrophysics, and entered seminary after getting his master's in nuclear engineering. From the Leaven article:

Deacon (almost Fr.) Nathan Haverland
“I never thought about being a priest while I was growing up,” he said. “I didn’t know what a priest was.”
Both his mother and stepfather had been raised Catholic, but fell away from the faith early, so Deacon Haverland and his older sister didn’t have any religious upbringing. Sunday was just another day of the weekend.
Ah, but God cannot be denied.
French philosopher Blaise Pascal wrote: “There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every person, and it can never be filled by any created thing. It can only be filled by God, made known through Jesus Christ.”
Deacon Haverland was not immune to the pull of that vacuum.
“Everybody has that natural desire to know God, so I think I had that as well,” he said. “I remember asking and thinking questions about stuff like that, but I never had a means to learn.”
His path took a fateful turn when he decided to enroll in a small Catholic college in Atchison — Benedictine.
“They had a nice little physics and astronomy department, which is what I wanted to study,” said Deacon Haverland. “There are only two places in Kansas where you can study physics and astronomy. One was the University of Kansas, and the other was Benedictine.”
[...]
Thanks to great teachers, he said, he began to learn about the Scriptures and Christ. It all made sense. Gradually, his knowledge began to change him. He underwent a slow conversion of mind and heart.
“It was more of a gradual process, more than anything,” he said. “It wasn’t until after my sophomore year that I was having a conversation with someone, and I had to admit I wasn’t Catholic, and I was just kind of sad about it. That was the beginning of me starting to join the church.”
[...]
“I never imagined [growing up] that I’d become a priest. It baffles me as well,” he said. “It is an unusual path to take. I’ve just kind of enjoyed the ride.

Read the whole thing. It’s a great story, and a great reminder of the importance of good Catholic formation. The article mentions his devotion to St. Thérèse of Lisieux, but I wanted to add a story to that: on October 1 of last year, the feast day of St. Thérèse, he defended his thesis on St. Thérèse and the priesthood, while carrying a first-class relic of St. Thérèse in his pocket. That’s devotion.

By the way, Dcn. Haverland has posted here before, although he appears to have decided that preparing for the priesthood is more important than blogging. Congrats to Deacon Haverland, along with the other three men set to be ordained: Deacon Daniel Schmitz, Deacon Quentin Schmitz, and Deacon Larry Bowers. Please join me in offering up some prayers for them as they are configured to Christ in a radical way.

Speaking Out Against the Slave Labor of the Sweatshop System

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Mon, 06 May 2013 20:32:00 +0000

The Rana Plaza building near Dhaka, Bangladesh collapsed recently, killing (at latest count) 657 sweatshop workers, and seriously injuring thousands. Pope Francis responded in a homily, condemning the horrible wages and conditions:

Not paying a just [wage], not providing work, focusing exclusively on the balance books, on financial statements, only looking at making personal profit. That goes against God! [....] A headline that impressed me so much the day of the Bangladesh tragedy, 'Living on 38 euros a month': this was the payment of these people who have died ... And this is called 'slave labor!'

The collapsed Rana Plaza building

Worse than the hours or conditions is the mindset that gave rise to these sweatshop conditions, a mentality that places profits above human lives. That dehumanizing disregard for the value of human life was particularly visible in this disaster, as management ordered workers to risk their lives, even after it became clear that the building was a serious safety hazard:

Several garment workers near the wreckage said a crack appeared Tuesday on the building's seventh floor.

At first, the workers said, managers ordered workers not to report to work on Wednesday.
Later, the factory owners reversed the order, telling workers that the building was safe, said Marjina Begum, who worked on the sixth floor. Many workers were hesitant to show up Wednesday but reported to work because they were afraid of losing their jobs, she said. More than a dozen other workers corroborated her story.

It’s this dehumanization that Pope Francis drew particular attention to, noting that in the modern economic system,

People are less important than the things that give profit to those who have political, social, economic power. What point have we come to? To the point that we are not aware of this dignity of the person; this dignity of labor. But today the figure of St. Joseph, of Jesus, of God who work - this is our model - they teach us the way forward, towards dignity.

Both communism and many forms of capitalism share a reductionist view of man. Instead of treating every human as made in the image and likeness of God, man is viewed simply as “labor” or the “proletariat.” His worth is no longer tied to his innate and God-given human dignity, but to his economic capacity, and he becomes little more than a glorified machine (and in some cases, lower than even machines, since damaged “labor” is easily replaced).

Victims of the Rana Plaza collapse

This point, made well in Josef Pieper’s Leisure: The Basis of Culture, has been aggravated by another trend. Over the last few decades, there has been in a shift in how we (particularly, but not exclusively, Americans) view economic issues. In the past, the two sides of the political spectrum were focused largely on the rights and interests of business owners and “job creators” on one side, and the rights and interests of workers on the other.

These days, I’d argue that there’s been a clear shift: both sides of the political aisle are moving away from workers’ rights, and the legitimate rights of businesses (and business owners), in favor of “consumers’ rights.” We see this shift in a variety of contexts. For example, many of the arguments against conscience clauses and for the HHS Mandate both appear to be based on some variation of this idea: “I’m the customer and I want this, so I should be able to have it, even if you are morally opposed to giving it to me.”

That same unprincipled selfishness seems to be at the root of the problem here, as Western (American and British) clothing companies fueled the demand for this sweatshop:

Among the garment makers in the building were Phantom Apparels, Phantom Tac, Ether Tex, New Wave Style and New Wave Bottoms. Altogether, they produced several million shirts, pants and other garments a year.

The New Wave companies, according to their website, make clothing for major brands including North American retailers The Children's Place and Dress Barn, Britain's Primark, Spain's Mango and Italy's Benetton. Ether Tex said Wal-Mart, the world's biggest retailer, was one of its customers.

Wal-Mart said none of its clothing had been authorized to be made in the facility, but it is investigating whether there was any unauthorized production.

The companies who treat workers in this dehumanizing manner are morally culpable here, but so are we, when we incentivize this behavior by demanding cheap goods over just wages and conditions.

Augustine’s Favorite Apologist Explains the Eucharist

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 22:02:00 +0000

St. Augustine of Hippo

St. Augustine is one of the few Saints that both Catholics and (most) Protestants admire. Without a doubt, he is the most popular Saint among Protestants, and is the most-cited Saint in the Catechism. As such, he’s a good Saint for Catholics to cite to when explaining the faith to Protestants.

But who do you appeal to if you are St. Augustine? That is, during Augustine’s lifetime, who were the Saints that he could cite to, knowing that their authority and orthodoxy were nearly universally respected? Augustine actually answers that question in Against Julian, accusing Julian of going against the “many famous and brilliant holy teachers of the Catholic truth: Irenaeus, Cyprian, Reticius, Olympius, Hilary, Gregory, Basil, Ambrose, John, Innocent, Jerome, and the others.”

Of these eleven Saints, there is one in particular who Augustine cites for his outspoken orthodoxy: St. Hilary of Poitiers, a fourth century Gallic (French) bishop known as “the Hammer of the Arians.” Augustine remarks, “Who does not know that the Gallic bishop Hilary is to be revered as the keenest defender of the Catholic Church against the heretics?”

And while Hilary is certainly less well-known than Augustine, he is revered as a Saint by Catholics and Orthodox, as well as by Lutherans and Anglicans. Given all of this, it would behoove both Protestants and Catholics to listen to what St. Hilary has to say about issues like the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

Hilary not only believes in the physical Real Presence, he treats this fact as completely obvious to any Christian. In doing this, he sounds very much like St. Ignatius of Antioch, who used the Real Presence as proof back in the early 100s. That is, Ignatius didn’t feel a need to prove that the Real Presence was true. Instead, he started from the accepted truth of the Real Presence to prove that the Gnostics were heretics for denying the Incarnation.

We see the same thing here. St. Hilary’s opponents argue that the Father and the Son are only One in will, rather than One in Being. Hilary responds to them by showing, from the accepted fact of the Real Presence, that the union between us and the Son, and therefore between the Son and the Father, goes beyond a mere unity of wills:

St. Hilary of Poitiers
Now I ask those who bring forward a unity of will between Father and Son, whether Christ is in us to-day through verity of nature or through agreement of will. For if in truth the Word has been made flesh and we in very truth receive the Word made flesh as food from the Lord, are we not bound to believe that He abides in us naturally, Who, born as a man, has assumed the nature of our flesh now inseparable from Himself, and has conjoined the nature of His own flesh to the nature of the eternal Godhead in the sacrament by which His flesh is communicated to us? [....]

Now how it is that we are in Him through the sacrament of the flesh and blood bestowed upon us, He Himself testifies, saying, “And the world will no longer see Me, but ye shall see Me; because I live ye shall live also; because I am in My Father, and ye in Me, and I in you” [John 14:19]. If He wished to indicate a mere unity of will, why did He set forth a kind of gradation and sequence in the completion of the unity, unless it were that, since He was in the Father through the nature of Deity, and we on the contrary in Him through His birth in the body, He would have us believe that He is in us through the mystery of the sacraments?

Hilary’s point isn’t to prove that “we in very truth receive the Word made flesh as food from the Lord.” His point is that since this is true, we know that we’re dealing with a union of natures, not just wills. But in the process of making this point about the Trinity, Hilary happens to reveal quite a bit about what the early Church believed about the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. And his point is all the more powerful in that he’s making incredibly Catholic claims about the Eucharist, without feeling much of a need to defend his views:

The Ordination of Saint Hilary (14th c.)
Hence, if indeed Christ has taken to Himself the flesh of our body, and that Man Who was born from Mary was indeed Christ, and we indeed receive in a mystery the flesh of His body—(and for this cause we shall be one, because the Father is in Him and He in us),—how can a unity of will be maintained, seeing that the special property of nature received through the sacrament is the sacrament of a perfect unity?

How should we understand our union with Christ in the Eucharist? Hilary shows us from Scripture:

Let us read what is written, let us understand what we read, and then fulfil the demands of a perfect faith. For as to what we say concerning the reality of Christ’s nature within us, unless we have been taught by Him, our words are foolish and impious. For He says Himself, “My flesh is meat indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He that eateth My flesh and drinketh My blood abideth in Me, and I in him.” [John 6:55-56]

So in the Eucharist, we aren’t just aligned as part of God’s team. We take on the Body of Christ. We become what we consume. If there was any remaining ambiguity about whether or not Hilary understood the Eucharist to be Christ's literal, physical Body and Blood, there can be none after his next comment:

As to the verity of the flesh and blood there is no room left for doubt. For now both from the declaration of the Lord Himself and our own faith, it is verily flesh and verily blood. And these when eaten and drunk, bring it to pass that both we are in Christ and Christ in us. Is not this true? Yet they who affirm that Christ Jesus is not truly God are welcome to find it false. He therefore Himself is in us through the flesh and we in Him, whilst together with Him our own selves are in God.

So Hilary leaves room to deny the Real physical Presence of Christ in the Eucharist … but only if you’re ready “to affirm that Christ Jesus is not truly God.” If, on the other hand, you’re going to believe in Jesus Christ as God Incarnate, the Real Presence is an indispensable part of that faith. It seems that Hilary can’t even imagine someone denying the Eucharist while claiming to worship Jesus Christ. He leaves no room for that position, since “no man shall dwell in Him, save him in whom He dwells Himself, for the only flesh which He has taken to Himself is the flesh of those who have taken His.”

Hilary then returns to showing how the Eucharist gives evidence of the relationship of Christ to the Father:

This is the cause of our life that we have Christ dwelling within our carnal selves through the flesh, and we shall live through Him in the same manner as He lives through the Father. If, then, we live naturally through Him according to the flesh, that is, have partaken of the nature of His flesh, must He not naturally have the Father within Himself according to the Spirit since He Himself lives through the Father?

So that’s it: that’s the Catholic belief in the Eucharist, according to the man who Augustine described as “the keenest defender of the Catholic Church against the heretics.” I’ll leave it to you to decide if Hilary was an idolatrous heretic, or if the Real Presence of Christ’s Flesh and Blood in the Eucharist is true.

The Church, the Bible, and the Trinity of Divine Persons

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 21:20:00 +0000

Did you know that the word “person” comes to us through Catholic philosophy and theology?

Theatrical masks of Comedy and Tragedy, Roman mosaic, (2nd c.).

It’s true, although the word existed before Christianity in a different context. Etymologically, the word “person” originally comes from a Latin word meaning “sounding through” (personare), which referred to actors speaking through a mask in the theater. In other words, the character in the play was a “person.” “Persons,” in the theatrical sense, weren’t just extras, but characters with speaking parts. From this, the word came to denote an individual of rank or dignity (a connotation still preserved in the word “personage”).

Later, this word would be expanded to all humans. As St. Thomas Aquinas explains, since “subsistence in a rational nature is of high dignity, therefore every individual of the rational nature is called a ‘person.’” Put another way, our rational natures make each of us “persons,” in the sense of having been imbued with God-given dignity and nobility. We’re not stage props or even extras in the drama of salvation history. Rather, each and every one of us is an important character (with “speaking parts,” if you will), and in whom the Director is keenly interested.

The word “person” took on all of its modern connotations during the Trinitarian and Christological debates in early Christianity. We needed some way to describe the distinction and relation of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and we needed a way to describe the relationship of the Divine and Human natures in Jesus Christ. But all of this terminology is a theological development that took centuries. Aquinas acknowledged this, explaining why the word “Person” should be applied to God, even though it is not found applied to Him anywhere in Scripture:

Although the word “person“ is not found applied to God in Scripture, either in the Old or New Testament, nevertheless what the word signifies is found to be affirmed of God in many places of Scripture; as that He is the supreme self-subsisting being, and the most perfectly intelligent being. If we could speak of God only in the very terms themselves of Scripture, it would follow that no one could speak about God in any but the original language of the Old or New Testament. The urgency of confuting heretics made it necessary to find new words to express the ancient faith about God. Nor is such a kind of novelty to be shunned; since it is by no means profane, for it does not lead us astray from the sense of Scripture. The Apostle warns us to avoid “profane novelties of words” (1 Timothy 6:20).

As Aquinas notes, we must use non-Biblical language, when the Biblical language is being interpreted heretically (the alternative being to define the Biblical word with itself). So, for example, a lot of Catholic-Protestant debates have important terminological disputes: what St. Paul means by “faith” and “works,” for example. By Aquinas’ logic, it may be helpful to clear up these disputes by using word other than “faith” and “works,” to try to get at what we mean in clear and precise language that hasn’t been clouded by heresy.

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo,
Pope St. Clement Adoring the Trinity (1738)

So why do I bring this up? Because it has important implications for how we understand the relationship of Scripture to the faith. All orthodox Christians accept the doctrine of the Trinity, the idea that there is One God Who is Three Persons. But to accept this requires accepting the ability of the Church to develop doctrine and refine terms, even using non-Biblical language, in order to preserve the Biblical truth.

But this is a concession that quite a few Evangelicals stumble over. I’ve heard more than a few sola Scriptura-believing Protestants argue against Catholic doctrines on the basis that the wording or phrasing isn’t Biblical: some variation of the argument, “Where is the word ‘Purgatory’ in the Bible, anyhow?” But you cannot have it both ways: if “Purgatory” is out for lack of an explicit mention, so are the Three “Persons” of the Trinity.

With that in mind, consider the first two prongs of the US National Evangelical Alliance Statement of Faith:

We believe the Bible to be the inspired, the only infallible, authoritative Word of God.
We believe that there is one God, eternally existent in three persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

I mentioned on Monday how different these confessional statements are from the ancient Creeds, since “unlike every Protestant statement of beliefs that I know of, there are no references to Scripture in the early Creeds.” Both the Apostles’ Creed and the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed follow a basic pattern: they start with the Father, and proceed to the Son, then to the Holy Spirit, then to the Church, and then to any specific doctrines. That order makes sense. The Father sends the Son, who sends the Holy Spirit, who leads the Church, who defines and declares doctrines. It’s top-down, from God to the Church to us. We trust in the Church's doctrines because we trust in the Church; we trust in the Church because we trust in the Triune God.

In contrast, the above Statement of Faith begins with a declaration of faith, not in God, but in Scripture. The authority of Scripture, whose canon and authority cannot be proven but through the Church, is simply accepted as a starting assumption. This statement even goes so far as to describe Scripture, rather than Jesus Christ, as the only “Word of God.” Contrast that claim with John 1:1, 14, Revelation 19:13, Hebrews 11:3, etc.

But the point of the first prong of the Statement of Faith is to cut out a need for the Church: you can get everything you need from the Bible, so the Church needn't be infallible. But this exposes an absurd irony.The first prong undermines the authority of the Church, while the second prong relies upon the authority of the Church, and upon Her ability to develop, define, and refine doctrinal issues. Without that development, definition, and refinement, you can’t get to “there is one God, eternally existent in three persons.” It’s easy for the US National Evangelical Alliance Statement of Faith, but only because the Catholic Church did the work for them.

In describing God as Three Persons, they’re using precise Catholic theological language, just as much as they would be if they called Him Three Hypostases in One Ousia. In trying to cut out the role of the Church (to affirm “the only infallible, authoritative Word of God,” Scripture), they end up cutting out the branch they're sitting on.

For more on the role of doctrinal development within Catholicism, check out this post: Su Doku and the Development of Doctrine.

Six Reasons to Reject "the Perspicuity of Scripture"

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 03:34:00 +0000

Near the root of what divides Protestantism from Catholicism is a question concerning the clarity (or, in technical parlance, the “perspicuity”) of Sacred Scripture. The Catholic view is that Scripture needs interpretation; the typical Protestant view is that Scripture is so clear that there are no ambiguities needing authoritative interpretation by the Church.

Rembrandt, The Baptism of the Eunuch (1626)

As classically articulated, this doctrine holds anyone guided by the Holy Spirit can come to understand everything in the Bible. In fact, Martin Luther argued that if you’re confused on the meaning of some part of the Bible, it’s because of your own sinfulness, since “if many things still remain abstruse to many, this does not arise from obscurity in the Scriptures, but from their own blindness or want of understanding, who do not go the way to see the all-perfect clearness of the truth.” Here’s Luther’s summary of the doctrine:

The clearness of the Scripture is twofold; even as the obscurity is twofold also. The one is external, placed in the ministry of the word; the other internal, placed in the understanding of the heart. If you speak of the internal clearness, no man sees one iota in the Scriptures, but he that hath the Spirit of God. All have a darkened heart; so that, even if they know how to speak of, and set forth, all things in the Scripture, yet, they cannot feel them nor know them: nor do they believe that they are the creatures of God, nor any thing else: according to that of Psalm xiv. 1. “The fool hath said in his heart, God is nothing.” For the Spirit is required to understand the whole of the Scripture and every part of it. If you speak of the external clearness, nothing whatever is left obscure or ambiguous; but all things that are in the Scriptures, are by the Word brought forth into the clearest light, and proclaimed to the whole world.

I think that there are several things worth mentioning in response to this doctrine.

1. The Scriptural Case for this Doctrine is Weak.

None of the passages Luther cites in his defense of this doctrine say anything remotely close to “the Scriptures are all so clear that they don’t need any interpretation.” The closest we get is Luke 24:45, where Christ explains the meanings of the Old Testament to the pair of disciples on the road to Emmaus. And when you think about that example, it’s striking that they’re in need of Old Testament exegesis, even after three years of Christ’s public ministry: that passage could just as easily be used to argue against the perspicuity of Scripture. Which brings me to the second point...

2. The Scriptural Case Against this Doctrine is Stronger.

Scripture itself presents itself as something to be read with the Church, not in lieu of the Church. Perhaps the quickest way of demonstrating this is the interaction between Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch in Acts 8:29-31,

And the Spirit said to Philip, “Go up and join this chariot.” So Philip ran to him, and heard him reading Isaiah the prophet, and asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?” And he said, “How can I, unless some one guides me?” And he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.”

Note well that the Holy Spirit is at work in this Ethiopian man’s life, but not by internally inspiring him with the perspicuous meaning of Scripture. Rather, He sends him a representative of the Church to interpret Scripture for him (Acts 8:35). On his own, the man is humble enough to realize when he doesn’t understand what the passage is talking about.

Or take the question of the status of the Mosaic Law. In Acts 15, Paul and Barnabas engage in “no small dissension and debate” with “the party of the Pharisees” (Acts 15:1-2, 5). That is, from the earliest days of the Church, we see disputes periodically arising between Christians. And how is settled? Does each party pull out their Bible and show why they think they’re right, splitting into two churches when they can’t agree? No. “The apostles and the elders were gathered together to consider this matter” (Acts 15:6) at the Council of Jerusalem. When the Council announces its decision, it declares that its conclusions “seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us” (Acts 15:28).

3. The Early Church Did Not Believe in the Perspicuity of Scripture.

Traditionally (dating back to the earliest days of the Church), the Church’s role has been to declare which doctrines are authentically Christian, and which aren’t. She may point to specific passages supporting this, but She doesn’t always. After all, the earliest Christians didn’t believe in sola Scriptura, so it’s not surprising that the Apostles’ Creed and Nicene Creed look very different from, say, the “statement of beliefs” found in many Protestant denominations.

Guercino, St Jerome in the Wilderness (1650)

For one thing, unlike every Protestant statement of beliefs that I know of, there are no references to Scripture in the early Creeds. For another thing, the Creeds are a statement of faith binding upon the whole Church. In contrast, the Protestant denominations’ statement of beliefs are at most, in the words of the Southern Baptist Convention, a “statement of generally held convictions.” This is the difference between a Church governed by a visible authority, and a denomination governed by hoping everybody interprets a Book the same way.

Similarly, St. Jerome (one of the greatest Scripture scholars in the early Church) talks about his in his Dialogue Against the Luciferians:

We ought to remain in that Church which was founded by the Apostles and continues to this day. If ever you hear of any that are called Christians taking their name not from the Lord Jesus Christ, but from some other, for instance, Marcionites, Valentinians, Men of the mountain or the plain, you may be sure that you have there not the Church of Christ, but the synagogue of Antichrist. For the fact that they took their rise after the foundation of the Church is proof that they are those whose coming the Apostle foretold.

And let them not flatter themselves if they think they have Scripture authority for their assertions, since the devil himself quoted Scripture, and the essence of the Scriptures is not the letter, but the meaning. Otherwise, if we follow the letter, we too can concoct a new dogma and assert that such persons as wear shoes and have two coats must not be received into the Church.

Jerome is by no means the only Church Father to talk about the error of taking Scripture against the Church, but he is one of the clearest on this point.

4. Luther Proves this Doctrine False.

Luther changed his mind on all sorts of doctrines (e.g., Purgatory) after he left the Church. Many of these reversals and changes occur after 1524, when he wrote On the Bondage of the Will, the text in which he advanced the idea of the perspicuity of Scripture.

This seems to show that Luther was wrong ... or by his own argument, that he wasn’t guided by the Holy Spirit, since everything would have been crystal clear to him, if he had been.

5. Protestantism Proves this Doctrine False.

The easiest way to see that Scripture needs an interpretative authority is to look at the anarchy that has invariably resulted where that authority is rejected. If the perspicuity of Scripture were true, we should expect to see one more-or-less unified Protestant church. Everyone of good will, guided by the Holy Spirit and the clarity of Scripture, would be able to come to the same conclusions. But of course, the history of Protestantism has been the expect opposite of this.

Doctrinal anarchy erupted almost immediately after Luther launched his “Reformation.” Within Luther’s own lifetime, Calvin, Zwingli, and a whole litany of other Reformers arose who accepted the principles of Protestantism, while rejecting other key parts of Lutheranism (which, if Luther was right about Scriptural perspicuity, shouldn’t have been possible, if both men were guided by the Holy Spirit). Writing at the close of the 16th century, St. Francis de Sales compared the rapid collapse of the Reformation to the Tower of Babel (Part II, Article III, Chapter IV):

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Tower of Babel (1563)
What contradictions has not Luther's reformation produced! I should never end if I would put them all on this paper. [….]

You have not one same canon of the Scriptures: Luther will not have the Epistle of S. James, which you receive. Calvin holds it to be contrary to the Scripture that there is a head in the Church; the English hold the reverse : the French Huguenots hold that according to the Word of God priests are not less than bishops ; the English have bishops who govern priests, and amongst them two archbishops, one of whom is called primate, a name which Calvin so greatly detests: the Puritans in England hold as an article of faith that it is not lawful to preach, baptize, pray, in the Churches which were formerly Catholic, but they are not so squeamish in these parts. And note my saying that they make it an article of faith, for they suffer both prison and banishment rather than give it up. Is it not well known that at Geneva they consider it a superstition to keep any saint's day? — yet in Switzerland some are kept ; and you keep one of Our Lady. The point is not that some keep them and others do not, for this would be no contradiction in religious belief, but that what you and some of the Swiss observe the others condemn as contrary to the purity of religion.

Are you not aware that one of your greatest ministers teaches that the body of our Lord is as far from the Lord's Supper as heaven is from earth, and are you not likewise aware that this is held to be false by many others ? Has not one of your ministers lately confessed the reality of Christ's body in the Supper, and do not the rest deny it ? Can you deny me that as regards Justification you are as much divided against one another as you are against us : — witness that anonymous controversialist. In a word, each man has his own language, and out of as many Huguenots as I have spoken to I have never found two of the same belief.

St. Francis explained that because the dispute is over the meaning of Scripture, Protestants are incapable of ever resolving these issues, if they refuse to submit to the authority of the Church:

But the worst is, you are not able to come to an agreement: — for where will you find a trusted arbitrator? You have no head upon earth to address yourselves to in your difficulties; you believe that the very Church can err herself and lead others into error: you would not put your soul into such unsafe hands; indeed, you hold her in small account. The Scripture cannot be your arbiter, for it is concerning the Scripture that you are in litigation, some of you being determined to have it understood in one way, some in another. Your discords and your disputes are interminable, unless you give in to the authority of the Church.

That prediction - that the disputes would prove interminable - was made over four hundred years ago. Would anyone today deny his point? Does Protestantism seem any closer to solving these exegetical disputes? Quite the contrary. Protestantism has spent five hundred years slowly imploding into an ever-greater number of warring denominations. We are as far away from having a unified “Protestant church” as we’ve ever been, and the situation is only getting worse, like a universe spiraling towards heat death.

6. This Doctrine Risks Making you a Jerk.

I hesitated to include this one, for fear that it would seem like more of a potshot than an argument, but hear me out. Even ignoring all the disputes Protestantism has with historic Christianity (and with modern Catholicism and Orthodoxy), there are innumerable Protestant denominations feuding with one another over the proper interpretation of Scripture on a whole litany of doctrines. Are we really to believe that all but one of these denominations are arguing in bad faith?

John Calvin and Ulrich Zwingli (1874)

If you really believe that the meaning of Scripture is just obvious to anyone guided by the Holy Spirit, you’re essentially left with three options:

Option A: Your opponent is ignorant, and just needs to be shown the proper Scriptures. Once he sees those, he will convert.
Option B: Your opponent is godless, and that is why he can't understand Scripture.
Option C: Your opponent is a liar, and that is why he pretends he can't understand Scripture.

I would suggest that this is at least one factor in the ugliness of so much inter-Christian dialogue (although by no means the only factor), and the speed in which non-Protestants are accused of acting in bad faith. Again, we need look no further than Luther's own life, to see how toxic this doctrine turns out to be in real life.

The logic is clear enough: if your opponents disagree with you (and in the case of the Protestants holding this position, this includes the entire Church prior to 1500 A.D.), they must be ignorant, godless or liars. Otherwise, they would “see the all-perfect clearness of the truth.” Just look at how Luther treated the Jews once they weren't convinced by his version of the Gospel.

Conclusion

To clarify, there are two things that I’m not saying: (1) I’m not saying that early single passage of Scripture is so cryptic that someone has to spell it out for us; and (2) I’m not saying that the Church’s primary task is to exegete individual Scriptural passages. But what I am saying is that the doctrine of the “perspicuity of Scripture” is contrary to Scripture, Tradition, Protestant history, and is generally a bad idea.

Jesus, Remember Me: The Good Thief and the Eucharist

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 02:19:00 +0000

At the Last Supper, Jesus instituted the Eucharist, and called us to “Do this in remembrance of Me.” Here’s how St. Paul records the account :

For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, “This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

St. Luke provides a similar account in his Gospel (Lk. 22:19-22). From the point of view of many modern Evangelicals, this line is critical, because they think it proves that the Eucharist is merely symbolic: “The Supper is a remembrance of Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice on the cross. It is not the sacrifice itself.” It’s just a “memorial,” a way to remember Someone Who is not around. This view more or less dates back to the radical Swiss Reformer Huldrych Zwingli (1484-1531):

The idea that Christ's "once for all" sacrifice on the cross was repeatedly "re-presented" in the Lord's Supper was rejected by all the major branches of the Reformation. Zwingli’s view is the closest to the modern evangelical view, though upon close inspection, it could be the case that he is somewhat misunderstood. Nevertheless, Zwingli is understood by many as teaching that the supper is a “memorial” to Christ’s death upon the cross. The issue of presence in the Supper is played down (at least in comparison to other reformers). The analogy of a wedding is used. The Lord's Supper is a visible reminder of something accomplished in the past, whether the person is present or not.

There are a few major problems with this interpretation, though. First, if “Do this in remember of Me” really is the critical line for understanding the merely-symbolic nature of the Eucharist, it’s striking that this line isn’t mentioned at all in either Matthew or Mark’s account of the Institution (see Matthew 26:26-29 and Mark 14:22-25). How could both Matthew and Mark (whose Gospels are likely written in between 1 Corinthians and the Gospel of Luke) have failed to include the most important detail?

Nor was it just those two Apostles: from the writings of Ignatius of Antioch, student of the Apostle John, it’s clear that John’s students believed the Eucharist to truly be the Body and Blood of Christ. So the Apostles who were actually at the Last Supper didn’t seem to think “Do this in remembrance of Me” was the most note-worthy part of the Institution.

Anamnēsis: Memorial Sacrifice

The second problem is that this interpretation assumes that the English word “memorial” has all the same connotations of the Greek word that Scripture uses. It doesn’t, particularly not for a Jewish audience. For them, the Greek word used, anamnēsis, had sacrificial connotations, in direct opposition to what the merely-symbolic view claims about the Eucharist.

Hans von Tübingen, Crucifixion (1430)

So, for example, in the Greek version of the Old Testament, the memorial sacrifices described in Leviticus 24:7 and Numbers 10:10 are translated as anamnēsis, and this is the same word used to describe the sin offerings in Hebrews 10:3. But a memorial sacrifice is a very different thing from a “memorial service” done when someone is gone. The Bishop Helmsing Institute has a great post explaining the nuances of the word, including this fascinating entry on ‘Remembrance’ from a Protestant Bible dictionary, Baker's Evangelical Dictionary of Biblical Theology (1996):

Not a few modern liturgists insist that the eucharistic memorial or remembrance is an objective act in and by which the person and event commemorated is made present or brought into the here and the now. So for the early Fathers it is the recalling before the Father of the one and once for all, as well as utterly complete, sacrifice of his Son, Jesus Christ, in order that its power and efficacy will be known and operative within the Eucharist and thus received by those present.

In contrast to this it has been argued that the meaning is “that God may remember me” Jesus asks the disciples to petition the Father to remember Jesus and come to his rescue. Also, it has been suggested that to remember is to proclaim and so in the celebration of the Supper the church proclaims Jesus who died for us. The further suggestion that the remembering is merely to meditate on the past death and future coming of Jesus, the Lord, seems to be inadequate because it does not emphasize that he who is remembered is very much present at the memorial/remembrance.

This last point is the most important, because it shows that the issue here isn’t simply grammatical, but theological: the merely-symbolic view of the Memorial Offering of the Eucharist ultimately treats Christ as if He’s dead and gone, the way we might have a memorial for a deceased friend. But as we are about to see, “remembrance” works very differently when we’re dealing with the living God.

What We Can Learn from the Good Thief on the Cross

To see how Jesus treats “remembrances,” look to His interaction with the Good Thief on the Cross (Luke 23:39-43):

One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingly power.” And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

The good thief prays that Jesus will “remember” him. And Jesus grants the good thief’s prayer, but not by passively recalling that that dying thief was a nice guy. He remembers him by making the thief actually present with Him in Paradise.

Now, the good thief uses a different word for “remember” than Jesus uses at the Last Supper, but this point is theological, not grammatical. It’s an answer to the erroneous idea that treats “the Living God” (Daniel 14:25), the God-Man who makes Himself present in the midst of two or three gathered in His Name (Matthew 18:20), as an absent artifact from the past. The notion that we even could treat Jesus in this way is obviously wrong, and an affront to the immanence of God.

At every Mass, we call upon Jesus Christ: yes, we call Him to mind, but we do much more than that. We invite Him to be physically present, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, at the Mass. And He, being the Living and Incarnate God, does just that.

Kudos to fellow KCK seminarian Dan Morris for the connection between the Good Thief and the Eucharist.

Five Senses in which the Eucharist is the Host

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 22:28:00 +0000

Pope John XXIII elevating the Host

Ever wonder why we refer to the Eucharistic species as “the Host”? The Latin hostia means “sacrifice,” and it is from this definition that the Eucharistic Host takes the name, as a reminder that in the Eucharist, Christ is the Sacrifice for our sins.

But the Latin word hostia comes from hostis, which has a fascinatingly wide range of meanings, from “victim” to “guest,” from “host” to “enemy.” Why this range of opposing (even contradictory) meanings? Because it arose from a word meaning “stranger,” and strangers can either be treated with hostility (as a threat or potential victim), or hospitality. And this complex word neatly captures several dimensions of our relationship with Christ, so it is worth exploring in greater detail.

Leon Kass explains the etymology of the word “host” on page 101 of The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of Our Nature:

The English word host - one who lodges and entertains another in his home – stems from an Old French word (oste, hoste) that means both “host” and “guest,” primarily because it also means “stranger” or “foreigner.” (The original Latin root, hostis, from the Indo-European ghostis, means “stranger” and “enemy”; this meaning lies behind our use of host to mean an armed company of men, presumably hostile to us.)

A similar dual meaning of “host” and “guest” (and also “stranger” and “foreigner”) attaches to the Latin root hospes, source of our words hospital and hospice (originally a “house of hostel [italics added] for the reception and entertainment of pilgrims, travelers, and strangers”), hospitable (originally “affording welcome, entertainment, and generosity to strangers and visitors”; now “disposed to receive or welcome kindly), and hospitality, the practice of welcoming and tending generously to the needs and desires of stranger-guests. Much of the transformation of host from stranger and would be enemy to provider of hospitality is the work of often-elaborate custom. But such custom in fact gives expression to the natural human ability and willingness to recognize natural sameness despite and beneath conventional otherness.

So “Hostia” means, at once, (1) “Victim,” (2) “Host” (in the sense of “one who lodges and entertains another in his home”), (3) “Guest,” (4) “Stranger,” and (5) “Enemy.” In the Eucharist, we can see our relationship with Christ through all five of these lenses.

1. Christ as Victim

First, and most directly, the Eucharistic species is called the Host because Christ is Hostia, Victim. One of the most beautiful Eucharistic hymns, O Salutaris Hostia, literally means “O Saving Victim.” The lyrics to the hymn, in English:

O saving Victim, open wide
the gate of heaven to man below;
our foes press on from every side;
thine aid supply; thy strength bestow.

All praise and thanks to thee ascend
for evermore, blest One in Three;
O grant us life that shall not end
in our true native land with thee.

The Eucharist is the Sacrament of Calvary, and it was there that Christ offered Himself up to the Father as Sacrificial Victim, in Atonement for our sins. This role of Christ-as-Victim is referred to repeatedly in Scripture (see, e.g., 1 Corinthians 5:7; Ephesians 5:2; Hebrews 9:26).

Of course, Jesus is also the High Priest, so He is not the Victim in a helpless way, but in the sense of voluntarily offering up His life (Hebrews 7:27).

2-4. Christ as Our Host, Stranger, and Enemy

Christ is the Host, in the more conventional English usage of “one who lodges and entertains another in his home” in the Eucharist. We must never forget that He invites us to the Eucharistic banquet, and that the Mass is “the Lord’s Supper” (cf. 1 Corinthians 11:20). Ultimately, the Liturgy is not something that we offer to God, but something that He invites us into.

Likewise, the Church is “the House of God” (Hebrews 10:21; cf. 1 Peter 4:17). When you come to the Church, you are a guest in His House, eating His Heavenly Food, which He offers us gratuitously. In doing so, “you are no longer strangers and sojourners, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19).

As noted above, the words for hospitality and hosting seem to arrive from the practice of taking a stranger (and potential enemy) and welcoming him in. Christ is the apex of hospitality in this sense: as Host, He takes us from being hostis, strangers (Eph. 2:19) and even enemies (Romans 5:10) of God, and He transforms us into His guests, going so far as to make us members of His Household.

5. Christ as Our Guest

Christ is also Host in the sense of being our Guest: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). Christ remains the active party : He comes to us. Yet we still have the option to receive Him or not. Whether He enters our lives to Commune with us at the Lord’s Supper depends on whether or not “any one hears [His] voice and opens the door.”

So there is a sense, at Mass, in which are Christ’s guests. But there is another sense in which He becomes our Guest, which is why we pray, right before Communion (in words based off of the centurion's prayer of Matthew 8:8), “Lord, I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed.” Hostis refers to both host and guest, and Christ is both. And much more.

Bonus: Christ as Host in the Heavenly Banquet

In the traditional Jewish wedding ritual, a crucial lens for understanding the relationship between Christ and the Church, the wedding occurred in two phases separated by as much as a year’s worth of time:

First, the bridegroom would marry his bride, which Christ did during His time on Earth, creating the Church, and offering Himself up for Her entirely.
Then, because “bachelor pads” weren’t a thing in ancient Judaism, the man would be permitted as much as a year to go off and prepare a home for his new wife. It’s during this year that the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she would conceive and bear a Son, on the Solemnity of the Annunciation, which we celebrate today. Mary and Joseph are wedded, but not yet living together.

Like the Virgin Mary, this is the same place we find ourselves today. The Bridegroom of the Church, Jesus Christ, has gone before us to Heaven to prepare a place for us, as He promised (John 13:1-3):

Let not your hearts be troubled; believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.

We see this in a beautiful way in the consummation of all things, when He invites His Bride, the Church, to the “wedding feast of the Lamb,” as Revelation 19:6-9 prophesies:

19th century Jewish nissu'in in Eastern Europe.
The nissu'in was the second (and final) stage of the wedding.
Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the sound of many waters and like the sound of mighty thunderpeals, crying,

“Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns.
Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory,
for the marriage of the Lamb has come,
and his Bride has made herself ready;
it was granted her to be clothed with fine linen, bright and pure”—
for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.

And the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb.” And he said to me, “These are true words of God.”

So Christ invites us into His Home, both to dine with Him, and to live with Him forever.

Earlier, I described the earthly Communion with Christ as “the apex of hospitality,” but I should modify that somewhat: the eternal and heavenly Eucharistic Banquet is the truest apex, in a such that it’s not even possible in this lifetime. The closest we can come in this life is in receiving the Blessed Sacrament at Mass.

The Gospel and The Poor: Léon Bloy and Pope Francis

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 17:54:00 +0000

One of the things that has most impressed me about Pope Francis is that he talks about sin, and about the devil as if he actually believes that sin and the devil are real. In his first homily as pope, Pope Francis made this stunning claim:

When one does not profess Jesus Christ - I recall the phrase of Leon Bloy – “Whoever does not pray to God, prays to the devil.” When one does not profess Jesus Christ, one professes the worldliness of the devil.

That’s a bold first impression to make as pope, and it lead me to pick up Léon Bloy’s Pilgrim of the Absolute at the seminary library. It turns out, the quotation Francis selected is characteristic: Bloy doesn’t mince words, and is radical in his commitment to the Gospel, and to the poor (which he would describe as one commitment, not two).

I. Bloy on the Poor (and the Rich)

Bloy doesn’t hold back against anyone who he views as impeding or ignoring the Gospel or the poor. You are never left wondering what he really thinks, either: one chapter of this book is fittingly called “The Hurler of Curses.” Some of his strongest criticisms are against the sweatshops of his day (pp. 181-83):

The sweatshop system! It is hard to believe these infamous words could have been written
Heinrich Hofmann, Christ in Gethsemane (1890)
even in English. Yes, even in English, it is unbelievable. But what sweat? Good Lord! It is impossible, after such a word, not to think of Gethsemane, not to think of Moses who wanted all Egypt to stream with blood in order to prefigure the Death Throes of the Son of God. Did He who took upon himself all imaginable sorrows and all unimagined sorrows then sweat blood after this fashion? The Bloody Sweat as a system! Jesus’s Bloody Sweat intended to be the silent partner of famines and massacres! … It might be thought that men have gone mad from having leaned over the edge of this gulf …

[…]

The Evangelist Saint Luke heard Jesus Christ’s Bloody Sweat falling upon the ground, drop by drop. That noise so slight, unable to awake the sleeping disciples, must have been heard by the most distant constellations and singularly have altered their wanderings. What are we to think of the sound, slighter still and much less listened to, of the countless steps of those poor little ones going to their task of sorrow and wretchedness demanded of them by the damned, but all the same without knowing it and without other knowing it, moving thus towards their elder brother in the Garden of the Agony, who calls them and awaits them within His bloodied arms? Sinite pueros venire ad me. Talium est enim regnum Dei (Suffer the little children to come until me. For such is the kingdom of God).

Poverty, he said, “is nothing less than the Spouse of the Son of God, and when her golden wedding takes place, the barefoot and the starvelings will come running from the ends of the earth, to witness it” (p. 184). In running from poverty, Bloy suggested that the rich were running from the Cross (pp. 175-76):

Those among the rich who are not, in the rigorous sense, damned, can understand poverty, because they are poor themselves, after a fashion; they cannot understand destitution. Capable of giving alms, perhaps, but incapable of stripping themselves bare, they will be moved, to the sound of beautiful music, at Jesus’s sufferings, but His Cross, the reality of His Cross, will horrify them. They want it all out of gold, bathed in light, costly and of little weight; pleasant to see hanging from a woman’s beautiful throat.

What they (or we) don’t want, Bloy argued (p. 176), was the true Cross: “The base and black Cross, in the midst of a desert of fear vast the world; no longer shining as in children’s pictures, but overwhelmed under a dark sky not even brightened by lightning, the terrifying Cross of Dereliction of the Son of God, the Cross of utter Misery and Destitution.”

II. Bloy on Modern Christians

As you might have deduced from the last section, Bloy has strong words for his fellow Christians, who he
grimly suggested are the closest thing that the saved will experience of Hell (p. 216):

The damned in the abyss of their torments have no other refreshment than the spectacle of the devils’ hideous faces. The friends of Jesus see all around them the modern Christians, and thus it is that they are able to picture hell.

Bloy took the life of sanctity very seriously, and it bore great fruit: for example, he was responsible for the conversion of the great French Thomist, Jacques Maritain. And it seems to have been an endless source of frustration for him to see Christians simply drifting along, without taking their own sanctification seriously.

Léon Bloy (1887)

But Bloy’s critical assessments were born out of charity, not ill will: he sincerely loved the people he criticized. And even if he couldn’t understand their often-frivolous lives, he could recall that they were souls beloved by God, and could hope for their salvation. A priest wrote a friendly letter to him that included the line, “I do not have the soul of a saint.” The priest undoubtedly meant this as humility, , but Bloy corrected him, and reminded him that (p. 223), “There is a deceptive form of humility that resembles ingratitude.” Authentic humility recognizes the startling reality that we each do have the souls of Saints (pp. 222-23):

Well, then I answer you with certainty that I have the soul of a saint; that my fearful bourgeois of a landlord, my baker, my butcher, my grocer, all of whom may be horrible scoundrels, have the souls of saints, having all been called, as fully as you and I, as fully as Saint Francis or Saint Paul, to eternal Life, and having all been bought at the same price: You have been bought at a great price. There is no man who is not potentially a saint, and sin or sins, even the blackest, are but accident that in no way alters the substance.

This, I think, is the true point of view. When I go to the café to read petty or stupid newspapers, I look at the customers around me, I see their silly joy, I hear their foolish nonsense or their blasphemies, and I reflect that there I am, among immortal souls unaware of what they are, souls made to adore eternally the Holy Trinity, souls precious as angelic spirits; and sometimes I weep, not out of compassion, but out of love at the thought that all these souls, whatever may be their present blindness and whatever the apparent acts of their bodies, will all the same go invincibly to God who is their necessary end.

All of us, by the grace of God, are capable of being Saints, and if we fall in this endeavor, it is not because we were created with an inferior kind of soul.

III. Bloy on the Priesthood

As critical as Bloy was of the Christians of his day, he was scarcely less critical of the bishops and priests, particularly those he saw as indifferent to the poor, or (worse) as cheerleaders for the lifestyles of the rich. For example, he says that such worldly priests are of less worth than Judas, who at least returned the money (p. 213):

The sum total of fifty worldly priests would not even amount to as much as one Judas, a Judas who returns the money and hangs himself from despair. Frankly, such priests are appalling. Through them it is that the rich are confirmed in their wealth, as ice is solidified by sulphuric acid.

Nor do worldly bishops escape his criticism (p. 219):

Msgr. Bolo belongs to a different school and makes me think of one of our bishops, he too of the fireside brand, who, with his feet up before a good fire and smoking a fat cigar after a copious meal, would merrily belch these truthful words: “To think we are the successors of the Apostles!”

From this, you might expect Bloy to be anti-clerical, but this wasn’t the case at all. Quite the opposite, in fact: he wrote one of the finest defenses of the priesthood that I’ve read, in a (scathingly anti-Protestant) letter he wrote to a mathematician friend (pp. 221-23):

Your letters inform me of nothing, unless it be of the bankruptcy of your reason. So, my dear
friend, you have doubts concerning the Church because there exist priests and faithful who are unworthy, whose true reckoning, moreover, you cannot know. In other words you have doubts about mathematics because you have known one professor – or three hundred and seventy-seven professors – of algebra or trigonometry who were swine. Really, that’s too stupid, permit me to say it to you with love […]

You say you do not know “any priest who could have won your obedience.” Why say that to me of all people, my dear friend? […] I think you cannot have written those words without a little shame. I have known priests who were admirable men, I still know some, and I shall know others who have in mind nothing but the Glory of God, the Salvation of Souls, the Evangelization of the Poor. So low have we fallen that these words have become grotesque; but I am not afraid to write them…

Sentimental objections are of no value. Does or does one not have the duty of obeying God and the Church? The whole question lies there. From this very simple point of view, the priest is nothing more than a supernatural instrument, a generator of the Infinite; and one must be [a fool] to see anything else, for all this takes place and must take place in the Absolute. For over thirty years, I’ve been hearing masses said by priests unknown to me; and I go to confession to others who may, as far as I know, be saints or murderers. Am I then their judge? and what a fool I would be if I proposed to find out their condition! It is enough for me to know that the Church is divine, that she cannot be anything but divine, and that the Sacraments administered by a bad priest are precisely as efficacious as those administered by a saint.

Isn’t it enough to make one weep, my dear friend? I am here among brutes, suffering tortures, and I must write you, you, a Catholic, these rudimentary things which an informed heretic has no right not to know. It’s appalling.

Here is a very simple comment which ought, I think, to make an impression on you, for there is something mathematical about it. The Protestant world surrounding me is beyond dispute ugly, mediocre, as devoid of the absolute as is possible. What is the character peculiar to that world? It is this: the Supernatural is excluded from it: the Supernatural is excluded from Christianity, which amounts to the most illogical and unreasonable idea that can ever have entered a human head. The consequence: contempt for the Priesthood, the cheapening of the priestly function, outside of which the supernatural cannot be made manifest. Without the power to consecrate, to bind and to loose, Christianity vanishes, to give way, in the stables of Luther and Calvin, to an abject rationalism, certainly inferior to atheism. A Catholic priest possesses such an investiture that, if he is unworthy, the sublimity of his State shines forth all the more brightly. Here, for instance, is a criminal priest liable, if you like, to the fullest damnation, and yet who have the power of transubstantiating! … How can you not perceive this infinite Beauty?

So Bloy loved and defended the Church, and the priesthood specifically. This love didn’t require him to be silent in the face of clerical abuses: in fact, it likely motivated him to call clergy (and all Christians) to greater holiness.

How Does Good Friday Work, Exactly?

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 18:40:00 +0000

Today, Christians celebrate Good Friday, recalling the Death of Christ on the Cross for our sins. Virtually all Christians agree that Christ’s Death is an atoning Sacrifice for our sins. But Catholics and Reformed Protestants understand the nature of that Sacrifice very differently. Is Christ’s Sacrifice on the Cross the outpouring of the Father’s wrath upon His innocent Son? Or is it the Son offering up the perfect Sacrifice of Charity? Why do we think that Christ’s Death is capable of atoning for our sins, anyway?

I. Penal Substitution, and Why It Doesn’t Work

The penal substitution view taken by many Protestants (primarily Calvinists) is that on the Cross, God the
Father pours out His hatred and wrath upon Jesus. Here’s how Mars Hill pastor Mark Driscoll explains (and defends) this view of the Atonement:

God’s wrath begins in this life as He simply allows us to live out of our sin nature without stopping us (Rom. 1:18, 24, 26). God’s wrath continues to burn against us, forever (Deut. 32:21-22; John 3:36; Eph. 5:6; Rev. 14:9-11). The place of God’s unending active wrath is hell, which Jesus spoke of more than anyone in the Bible as an eternal place (Matt. 25:46) of painful torment (Matt. 8:11-12), like taking a beating (Luke 12:46-48), getting butchered (Matt. 24:50-51), and burned (Matt. 8:29; 13:49-50; 18:8-9; 25:41; Mark 9:43-48; Luke 16:19-31) by Jesus (Matt. 8:29; Mark 1:24; 5:7; Rev. 14:10). Because God’s angry wrath is just, God is not obligated to lovingly forgive anyone, as is the case with fallen angels who have no possibility of salvation (2 Peter 2:4).

But, because God is loving, merciful, and kind, He has chosen to save some people. Furthermore, salvation is defined as deliverance by God from God and His wrath (Rom. 5:9-10). To both demonstrate His hatred of sin and love for sinners, Jesus averted the wrath of God by dying on the cross as a substitute for sinners.

So sin arouses the Father’s wrath, and He can either justly pour it out on the sinners who deserve it, or “mercifully” pour it out upon Jesus, who is innocent. Let’s consider some of the problems with this view:

Simon Vouet, The Crucifixion (1622)

It means that God isn’t just. Wrath for the wicked is just, but wrath for the innocent is unjust. If a
judge imposed the death penalty on the defendant’s brother, we wouldn’t herald him for his mercy to the defendant. We’d recognize that he was acting unjustly. God’s Mercy cannot act contrary to His Justice, so this view can’t be right.

It means that God isn’t all-good. Imagine an enraged man so furious over some offense that he’s swinging wildly: he doesn’t care who he hits, he just wants to hit somebody. Penal substitution risks reducing God to that sort of madman. Don’t get me wrong: there’s no merit to that “A loving God would never punish the wicked” line. But it’s certainly true that “A loving God would never pour out His wrath upon an innocent victim.” As Bryan Cross put it, “One problem with the Reformed conception is that it would either make the Father guilty of the greatest evil of all time (pouring out the punishment for all sin on an innocent man, knowing that he is innocent), or if Christ were truly guilty and deserved all that punishment, then His suffering would be of no benefit to us.”

It would seem to require Christ to be damned. If the Atonement is about the outpouring out of God’s “unending active wrath” upon His Son, this would seem to require the damnation of Christ. Certainly, that was John Calvin's view:“Nothing had been done if Christ had only endured corporeal death. In order to interpose between us and God’s anger, and satisfy his righteous judgment, it was necessary that he should feel the weight of divine vengeance. […] Hence there is nothing strange in its being said that he descended to hell, seeing he endured the death which is inflicted on the wicked by an angry God.” But the notion that God can go to Hell is incompatible with everything we believe about Hell; the notion that God can damn God is incompatible with the Trinity and the innocence of Christ.
It makes no sense of the Trinity. God’s Triune nature works something like this: the Father gives everything (but His Fatherhood) to the Son, as Lover and Beloved, Begetter and Begotten. This communication of Persons is the Third Person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. Penal substitution introduces a rupture into the Trinity, in which there’s a divorce between the Father and the Son. That sort of rupture isn’t possible, if we properly understand the Trinity as eternal, simple, and unchanging. Cross again: “If God the Father was pouring out His wrath on the Second Person of the Trinity, then God was divided against Himself, God the Father hating His own Word. God could hate the Son only if the Son were another being, that is, if polytheism or Arianism were true. But if God loved the Son, then it must be another person (besides the Son) whom God was hating during Christ’s Passion.” And since the Persons of the Trinity are in complete union, “if the Father has wrath for the Son, then the Son must have no less wrath for Himself.”
It reduces Christianity to human sacrifice. The Aztecs offered up human victims to appease the gods. Abraham was willing to do the same with Isaac, but was stopped by God. Jews and Christians rightly reject this sort of human sacrifice as barbaric, and contrary to the will of the God of Abraham. Penal substitution ultimately reduces Christianity to something akin to human sacrifice: we kill Jesus to appease the Father.
It doesn’t require repentance. A former professor used to say, “You can speed all you want. You just have to be willing to pay the penalty when you get ticketed.” Likewise, in this penal substitution view, we can do whatever we want, knowing that Christ will pay the penalty.

The penal substitution view is all about paying the Father with blood: the emphasis is on the offering of a sacrifice, rather than the turning of hearts. That’s exactly the wrong view, according to several parts of Scripture. For example, Hosea 6:6 says, “I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God, rather than burnt offerings.” And Hebrews 5:5-7 applies this passage to Christ’s relationship to the Father: “Sacrifices and offerings thou hast not desired, but a body hast thou prepared for me; in burnt offerings and sin offerings thou hast taken no pleasure. Then I said, ‘Lo, I have come to do thy will, O God,’ as it is written of me in the roll of the book.” And Christ twice sends His hears to go learn the meaning of “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice” (Matt. 9:13; Matt. 12:17).

Fortunately, there’s another, older view of the Atonement: the Satisfaction theory. This view of the Atonement accounts for all of the Scriptural evidence and the demands of God’s Justice, without falling into of the traps described above.

II. A Better View of the Atonement: Satisfaction

Catholics more or less agree with the Reformed on the first half of the equation. By willingly sinning against God, we merit the “wages of sin,” death (Romans 6:23). We fall short of the glory of God, and God could justly condemn us for our rebellion.

But we disagree with how Christ solves this problem. We view the Incarnation and Passion of Christ as a manifestation of the Father’s love rather than His wrath, as John 3:16 says: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” This view of the Atonement better accounts for the Justice of God, the Goodness of God, and the relationship between Persons of the Trinity. Bryan Cross provides this helpful chart:

How does this work, exactly?

Imagine that your neighbor reckless crashes into your car, damaging or destroying it. In justice, you can demand that your neighbor compensate you, and repair the damage. But perhaps your neighbor can’t do that: he can’t afford to repair the damage that he’s done (just as we can never merit to repair the damage done by sin).

Michaelangelo, Crucifixion (1540)

This creates quite a conundrum. In justice, you can hold this debt against your neighbor forever, but it’ll never get paid. But imagine that a mutual friend comes along on behalf of your neighbor and gives you a newer, nicer car. This satisfies the debt: you don’t need to hold out for your neighbor to pay. And your friend isn’t being punished. You’re not pouring out your wrath on your friend. You’re not furious with him for crashing into your car (which he didn’t do). Instead, he voluntarily offers a gift to you on behalf of your neighbor, reconciling the situation. If anything, such a selfless gesture should draw you closer to your friend: and it should certainly draw your neighbor closer to this selfless friend.

So it is with Christ, the Friend who reconciles us to the Father. As St. Thomas Aquinas explains:

A sacrifice properly so called is something done for that honor which is properly due to God, in order to appease Him: and hence it is that Augustine says (De Civ. Dei x): "A true sacrifice is every good work done in order that we may cling to God in holy fellowship, yet referred to that consummation of happiness wherein we can be truly blessed." But, as is added in the same place, "Christ offered Himself up for us in the Passion": and this voluntary enduring of the Passion was most acceptable to God, as coming from charity. Therefore it is manifest that Christ's Passion was a true sacrifice. Moreover, as Augustine says farther on in the same book, "the primitive sacrifices of the holy Fathers were many and various signs of this true sacrifice, one being prefigured by many, in the same way as a single concept of thought is expressed in many words, in order to commend it without tediousness": and, as Augustine observe, (De Trin. iv), "since there are four things to be noted in every sacrifice--to wit, to whom it is offered, by whom it is offered, what is offered, and for whom it is offered--that the same one true Mediator reconciling us with God through the peace-sacrifice might continue to be one with Him to whom He offered it, might be one with them for whom He offered it, and might Himself be the offerer and what He offered."

Christ offers the perfect Sacrifice to the Father through His total self-sacrifice, and it is critical that it is done out of love. Using charity, rather than wrath, as the lens through which to understand sacrifice is crucial. It explains how we can “continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God” (Heb. 13:15; 1 Macc. 4:56), a concept that wouldn’t make sense if we understood a sacrifice as an object of God’s wrath. This is also how David explains God's desire for sacrifice in Psalm 51:16-17:

For thou hast no delight in sacrifice; were I to give a burnt offering, thou wouldst not be pleased. The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.

So a penal sacrifice intended to satisfy some sort of imagined Divine bloodlust doesn’t please God. Charity and repentance does, and the epitome of charity is Good Friday. In love, Christ reconciles us to the Father. In love, the Father delights in His Son's selflessness on the Cross, and accepts it as a satisfaction of the debt incurred by our sins. This reconciliation is where the word “atonement” comes from. Once we are reconciled, we are “at one” with each other. And that is why Good Friday is so Good.

This view also explains why salvation is offered to men, and not fallen angels, but that is a conversation for another time (in short, our intellects operate in time, theirs do not, and so their choice is permanent, as ours will be at death).

Maundy, Maundy!

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 22:45:00 +0000

Happy Maundy Thursday, everyone!

For those of you who don’t know, Maundy Thursday is the day before Good Friday. The word “Maundy” comes from the word “command,” referring to Christ’s command for His disciples to serve. Because Good Friday is the anniversary of our Lord’s death on the Cross, Maundy Thursday is the anniversary of the Last Supper, and everything associated with it. You may be surprised that so much attention is given to the day before Christ died on the Cross, but I would note that John’s Gospel in particular shares this focus. He begins at Chapter 13, and it stretches onwards to the end of Chapter 17. He gives as much attention (4 chapters) to that one meal as he gives to the Agony in the Garden, Crucifixion, and Resurrection combined. Also, remember that for Jews, the day began at sundown, so the Last Supper was actually the kickoff to the Passion, if you will. So it’s a pretty big deal. For Catholics, today celebrates the introduction of a whole lot of things:

The Eucharist:

Catholics believe that Jesus literally meant what He said at the Last Supper (Matthew 26:26-28):

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and giving it to his disciples said, "Take and eat; this is my body." Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins.

St. Paul seems to have, too, because after recounting Jesus’ words, He says (1 Corinthians 11:26-28),

For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes. Therefore whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily will have to answer for the body and blood of the Lord. A person should examine himself, and so eat the bread and drink the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself.

As an aside, this bit about self-examination, respecting Christ’s Body in the Eucharist, and eating and drinking judgment upon yourself is the source of the controversy over denial of Communion to pro-choice politicians. If St. Paul is right, it seems only charitable to refuse them the Eucharist, if it might lead to their condemnation.

Washing of the Feet: See John 13:3-17. Some churches celebrate this by having the priest wash certain congregants’ feet. If memory serves, our parish priest washed my dad’s feet one time, and my dad looked pretty awkward about having this done in front of the whole congregation. In a broader sense, this represents the need for all of us, but especially those in positions of authority, to care for each other, and to help each other out, even when it’s something we view as beneath us.

Baptism, Confession, the Priesthood (Holy Orders): In John 13:8-10, Jesus and Peter have a fascinating dialogue during the washing of the feet:

"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." "Then, Lord," Simon Peter replied, "not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!" Jesus answered, "A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you."

I love Peter’s response here, because I completely understand where he is coming from. What begins as a literal washing of the feet rises to something much more when Jesus begins to use the imagery of Baptism (Unless I wash you, you have no part with me). What He says in response to Peter must be read should be read in this context: “A person who has had a bath [Baptism] needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean.” Obviously, this isn’t true on the literal level: you can bathe pretty frequently, and still need another bath. In other words, once you are baptized, Original Sin is washed away forever. No matter how badly you sin, you can never undo your Baptism. But you can still sin. And so you still need to go to Jesus for forgiveness of those sins. So Jesus hints at a post-Baptism cleansing, but doesn’t lay it out very clearly there exactly what this looks like. After His Resurrection, He explains this in more detail, in what Catholics call Confession, Penance, or Reconciliation (John 20:21-23).

This washing of the feet is also strongly tied to the sacramental priesthood. In the Old Testament, we hear that (Exodus 30:19-21):

Aaron and his sons shall use it in washing their hands and feet. When they are about to enter the meeting tent, they must wash with water, lest they die. Likewise when they approach the altar in their ministry, to offer an oblation to the LORD, they must wash their hands and feet, lest they die. This shall be a perpetual ordinance for him and his descendants throughout their generations.

A few notes on this. First, it’s restricted to specific Levites, Aaron and his sons, not the whole “kingdom of priests” (Exodus 19:5-6) – in other words, just the ordained priests. Second, it’s tied to being in the presence of God, and offering sacrifice, with the penalty of death.

Now look to what Jesus says in this context. Regarding the Eucharistic sacrifice, He commands of His Disciples, “do this in memory of Me.” (Luke 22:19, 1 Corinthians 11:24). He’s instructing this select group to offer up His Body as a sacrifice to the Father. About the washing of the feet, He says, “I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” (John 13:15). That’s the mandate (mandatum) where we get the maundy in Maundy Thursday from. In some manner, these instructions apply to all of us. We should all partake in the Eucharist in memory of Christ, and we should all serve one another. But in a particular way, this applies to His shepherds. After all, even in non-Catholic ecclesial communities, Communion (in whatever sense that term is understood) is almost exclusively administered by the priest or pastor. There’s a general recognition, even if unrecognized, that there’s a reason Jesus addresses this to His Twelve Disciples, rather than to the crowd generally.

For this reason, the custom is for the pope to write and release an encyclical on Maundy Thursday, directed just at the priests. It generally makes for a pretty good read, if you’re interested in how things work between individual priests and the pope.

The Start of Triduum: Triduum is the three-day period stretching from Thursday night to Easter Sunday. It’s considered the holiest part of the Catholic calendar. If you’re like me, your first thought is… that’s not three days. But it is if you use a Jewish calendar, which is how the New Testament measured the three days Jesus was in the grave. Day One is tonight through Friday night, and is the Last supper and the full Passion (from the Agony in the Garden to Jesus’ condemnation, to the carrying of the Cross, to the Crucifixion, to Jesus dying on the Cross). It’s a really intense 24-hours. Day two is Friday night through Saturday night. I like to use that time to reflect upon what the disciples must have felt: to really experience, for 24 hours out of the year, the mental anguish of a dead God. The sense of betrayal, hurt, and most of all, despair, must have been overwhelming. Day 3 begins, in Catholic tradition, with the Easter Vigil, a beautiful Mass that’s really long. If you’re patient, and want to see Catholicism at its very best, this is the Mass for you. It’s an amazing experience, there’s like eight readings when the full Vigil is said, and converted Catholics are brought into the Church. It’s a really joyful experience. To combine the joy of the Resurrection with the joy of entering into the Church was a really smart idea. Good thinking, early Church! After that, of course, comes Easter morning. You’re allowed to go to Mass both at the Vigil and on Easter morning, and receive Communion both times, but make sure you go when different priests are officiating, because sometimes they repeat their same sermon from the night before.

That’s what’s going on today, folks (as well as a preview of the upcoming few days). We celebrate the birthday of four of the Seven Sacraments (Baptism, Confession, Eucharist, and Holy Orders), as well as prepare for tomorrow’s Big Day.

You can find out more about the long history of Maundy Thursday here. It includes some interesting stuff about how the early Church celebrated it – I especially liked the bit about Augustine. Of course, this is an encyclopedia entry, so if you’re really interested, this may not fully satiate you.

Have a safe and blessed Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter Sunday!

This is a post that I originally wrote on Holy Thursday 2009.

The Supernatural Case for Catholicism

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 22:36:00 +0000

I think that one mistake that we Catholics fall into is attempting to prove the faith without referencing the supernatural. We’ll use Scripture and reason to show the truth of Catholicism (which is great, of course), but we tend to get awkward about using miracles, particularly to non-believers. We’re quick to talk about John 6 or the Five Ways. But many of us are slower to talk about, say, Lourdes, Padre Pio, or the Shroud of Turin.

I understand why we tend to hesitate here: especially, if we’re dealing with an atheist who rejects the possibility of miracles, or a Protestant who rejects the possibility of Marian apparitions, and thinks that miracles are just a thing in the Bible. But I want to suggest why we need miracles in apologetics, what sort of miracles we should point to, and how we should use them.

I. The Need for “Signs and Wonders”

Miracles were one of the ways that the Israelites could determine that a specific message was from God: they’re intended to be a confirmation of the message, and sometimes, confirmation of the messenger. So, for example, Deuteronomy 6:22 says that “the Lord showed signs and wonders, great and grievous, against Egypt and against Pharaoh and all his household, before our eyes,” and it was on the basis of these signs that Israel believed in God (Exodus 14:31).
this reason, miracles are often referred to as “signs” or “signs and wonders” in Scripture. Miracles don’t exist for their own sake; rather, they exist for the sake of the Gospel.

Nor is this only in the Old Testament. Jesus likewise confirmed His Gospel through a series of miracles. This is the primary purpose of the miracles He performs during His public ministry. At one point, Jesus prays to the Father for a miraculous cure, “that they may believe that Thou didst send Me” (John 11:40-42).

In his Pentecost homily, St. Peter describes Jesus as “Jesus of Nazareth, a Man attested to you by God with mighty works and wonders and signs which God did through Him in your midst, as you yourselves know” (Acts 2:22). And Hebrews 2:3-4 says that the Gospel “was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard him, while God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his own will.”

Nor do these miracles stop with Jesus. After His Resurrection, “many wonders and signs were done through the apostles” (Acts 2:43), as they “went forth and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that attended it” (Mark 16:20). St. Paul said that he would “not venture to speak of anything except what Christ has wrought through me to win obedience from the Gentiles, by word and deed, by the power of signs and wonders, by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:18-19).

For that reason, he and Barabas remained in Iconium “for a long time, speaking boldly for the Lord, Who bore witness to the word of His grace, granting signs and wonders to be done by their hands” (Acts 14:3). These signs and wonders were understood to be God’s confirmation of the message, which is why Paul and Barnabas later use these miracles as evidence that the Gospel is to be extended to the Gentiles (Acts 15:12).

II. What Sort of Miracles Are We Looking for?

A critical text in this discussion is John 14:10-12, in which Jesus says to the Apostle Philip,

Masaccio, St. Peter Healing the Sick
with his Shadow (15th c.)

“Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father in me; or else believe me for the sake of the works themselves. Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I go to the Father.

So Christ offers miracles that we might believe in Him, and promises that His followers will do even greater works. So what sort of works are we looking for? Let me offer five major categories, although these are not exhaustive.

1) Baptism and the Eucharist: Perhaps the most frequently mentioned signs used in Scripture are the Exodus miracles. The Israelites were repeatedly reminded that their deliverance was done in a miraculous way as a sign, that they might believe (Exodus 10:2, 12:13, 13:19, Numbers 14:22, Deuteronomy 4:34, 6:22, 7:19, 11:3, 26:8, 29:2-6, 34:11, Joshua 24:17, Psalm 78:43, 135:9, Jeremiah 32:20-21, etc.). One of those deliverance signs was the blood of the Passover lamb, smeared on the doorpost (Exodus 12:13). Another sign was the miraculous bread from Heaven, the Manna (Deut. 8:3, Duet. 29:6). St. Paul recalls these deliverance miracles in 1 Cor. 10:1-4,

I want you to know, brethren, that our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same supernatural food and all drank the same supernatural drink. For they drank from the supernatural Rock which followed them, and the Rock was Christ.

These were signs, not in the sense of being mere symbols, but in the sense of pointing to God. And each of them is surpassed by something greater in the New Testament: the parting of the Red Sea foreshadows Christian Baptism. This Baptism miraculously imparts the Holy Spirit, unlike prior, merely symbolic Baptisms (Acts 19:1-6). And as Paul points out, the New Covenant has spiritual food and drink in the Eucharist (1 Cor. 10:16-17). There have been several Eucharistic miracles in which the Host has turned visibly into Flesh and Blood. But whether it occurs visibly or invisibly, it remains miraculous.

2) The Forgiveness of Sins: Christ ties His ministry of miracles with the forgiveness of sins several times, most directly in Mark 2:1-12 and John 9:1-41. In the case of the forgiveness of sins, as with Baptism and the Eucharist, the miracle occurs invisibly. But the fruits of it are visible.

3) Exorcisms: The first miracle Jesus performs in Mark’s Gospel is an exorcism (Mark 1:21-28), and in Mark 16:17, He explicitly cites exorcisms as one of the signs of His followers. And He shows in Luke 11:14-23 that these exorcisms can only occur “by the finger of God.” He rejects the idea that Satan can cast out demons, since every “kingdom divided against itself is laid waste,” and a house divided cannot stand.

So exorcisms are a critical sign in determining whether the Church is acting for or against Christ. The true Church will do them, and they’re a uniquely helpful sign that someone is operating on behalf of God. So why not point to the fact that Catholic priests perform numerous exorcisms every year throughout the U.S., and around the world? This fact alone debunks the old Protestant theory that the Catholic Church is the Antichrist, since the devil cannot be the one driving out demons.

4) Miraculous Healings: Acts 19:11-12 says that “God did extraordinary miracles by the hands of Paul, so that handkerchiefs or aprons were carried away from his body to the sick, and diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them.” Those items that have touched a Saint are what we today call “relics,” and we continue to use them to perform miraculous healings.

Miraculous healings happen several other ways in the New Testament, and several other ways in the Catholic Church today. For example, the waters of Lourdes have healed numerous people. Or talk to any priest: they can likely recount several healings that they have personally witnessed after the anointing of the sick, following James 5:14-15.

5) The Church Herself: The biggest miracle is one that no one can deny. Under the Old Covenant, the Jews themselves were a miracle. God chose them because they were small and weak. Their continued existence over thousands of years is a demonstration of His Divine Power, and a confirmation that the God of the Jews is the true God. We see this played out throughout Scripture. For example, the Israelites who scouted out the Promised Land returned with accounts of its bounty, but also with a warning (Numbers 13:28-29):

Yet the people who dwell in the land are strong, and the cities are fortified and very large; and besides, we saw the descendants of Anak there. The Amal′ekites dwell in the land of the Negeb; the Hittites, the Jeb′usites, and the Amorites dwell in the hill country; and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and along the Jordan.

Today, where do we see the descendants of Anak, or the Amal′ekites, the Hittites, the Jeb′usites, or the Amorites? They’ve all long since disappeared, yet the Jews remain.

In Matthew 13:31-32, Christ improves upon this miracle, in His promises to His Church, the Kingdom of God. Like the Jewish people, the Church will never be destroyed. But the Church will go from being “the smallest of all seeds” to becoming a great tree. She won't just survive: She'll thrive.

Of course, the Catholic Church has born this out. She has survived for two thousand years, and is the oldest government in the world. Innumerable empires have attempted to suppress Her: they've faded away, while She's continued to grow. Throughout those two millennia, She’s kept an astonishingly consistent set of doctrinal beliefs. Who else can boast this track record?

III. The Use of Miracles

Some people are more disposed than others to the possibility of miracles. For those who are disposed, use them to show that God has confirmed the message of the Catholic Church. For those who aren't, treat the topic the way you would to someone skeptical of the Empty Tomb. Leave it to the skeptic to explain how Lanciano, bilocation, Guadalupe, and the miracle of the sun are hoaxes or forgeries. Personally, I am partial to Msgr. Knox's explanation in The Belief of Catholics:

It belongs to the courtesies of duelling that the challenger should offer his opponent a choice of weapons. In this debate, which here reaches its critical point, it is the Catholic Church which challenges the human intellect. In courtesy, therefore, the reader must be allowed his choice of weapons, if he is prepared to abide by it.

If you are prepared to admit the possibility of miracle, then you will naturally expect that an event so full of importance for the human race as a personal revelation from Almighty God should be accompanied by evidences of his miraculous power. It will be my object in the later part of this chapter to show that the Christian revelation fulfils the conditions so laid down. But if you are determined, from some preconceived prejudice, some strange inhibition of thought, to rule out the possibility of miracle; if you are prepared to dismiss as a fiction any story which involves a miracle, for the reason that it involves a miracle and for no other--then I will do my best to give you satisfaction on your own terms; but you must abide by your own terms. You must consider, in all honesty, whether the life of our Lord does not give you every possible assurance of his Divinity, short of a miracle. I do not say that such assurance would ever satisfy me, but it must satisfy you. It must satisfy you, because it is precisely the kind of assurance you have demanded. You must not say that no revelation would satisfy you unless the guarantee of miracle accompanied it, and then say in the same breath that you will refuse to accept any story of miracle precisely on the ground that it is miraculous. That is as if you were to invite your opponent to stab you with a pistol. If you will not have miracles, then you must be prepared to be satisfied without them.

This puts the burden where it belongs: on the person who dogmatically rejects the possibility of miracles, while refusing to believe in Christianity (or in Catholicism) on anything less than miraculous evidence. Of course, the role for the miraculous should be to supplement the Scriptural and reasonable case for Catholicism, but in the right context, it's got a very important role to play.

A Fascinating Concession By Albert Mohler

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 14:00:00 +0000

Albert Mohler, president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, is apparently startled by how much Evangelicals like Pope Francis, and is trying to scare them away from him by reminding them that we disagree whether justification is by faith, or by faith alone:

Mohler noted that Pope Benedict XVI famously affirmed the doctrine of justification by faith when writing about the apostle Paul, “but he would not add that crucial word ‘alone.’”

“Lacking the word ‘alone,’ that means justification by faith that works in synergistic mechanism with our own righteousness or attempts at righteousness and efforts to gain merit,” Mohler said.

I actually agree with Mohler here, but I think that this argument shows why Martin Luther was wrong on justification. See, the one who added “that crucial word ‘alone’” was Martin Luther, not the Apostle Paul. And Luther even admitted as much.

Okay, let me step back to explain what we’re talking about here. The doctrine of justification by faith alone is the doctrine upon which, according to Luther, the Reformation rose or fell. And the theory was based in large part of his reading of Romans and Galatians, particularly Romans 3:28. In Luther’s German translation, it reads: “For we hold that a man is justified by faith alone apart from works of law.” But Luther added that word “alone,” and even conceded that the word for “alone” isn’t found in the original Greek, or in the Latin that he’s translating from. In his Open Letter on Translating, he wrote:

I know very well that in Romans 3 the word solum is not in the Greek or Latin text — the papists did not have to teach me that. It is fact that the letters s-o-l-a are not there. And these blockheads stare at them like cows at a new gate, while at the same time they do not recognize that it conveys the sense of the text -- if the translation is to be clear and vigorous [klar und gewaltiglich], it belongs there.

Given that “alone” isn’t found in the Greek or Latin version of Romans 3:28, how should Protestants defend Luther’s insertion of the word, particularly when it seems to change the meaning of the one of the most hotly-contested passages in Scripture? Here’s what Luther suggested would be good enough for a Catholic (or in his words, a papist donkey):

But I will return to the subject at hand. If your papist wishes to make a great fuss about the word sola (alone), say this to him: “Dr. Martin Luther will have it so, and he says that a papist and a donkey are the same thing.” Sic volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas [“I will it, I command it, my will is reason enough.”]. For we are not going to be students and disciples of the papists. Rather, we will become their teachers and judges. For once, we also are going to be proud and brag, with these blockheads; and just as Paul brags against his mad raving saints, I will brag against these donkeys of mine! Are they doctors? So am I. Are they scholars? So am I. Are they preachers? So am I. Are they theologians? So am I. Are they debaters? So am I. Are they philosophers? So am I. Are they logicians? So am I. Do they lecture? So do I. Do they write books? So do I.

I will go even further with my boasting: I can expound the psalms and the prophets, and they cannot. I can translate, and they cannot. I can read the Holy Scriptures, and they cannot. I can pray, they cannot. Coming down to their level, I can use their rhetoric and philosophy better than all of them put together. Plus I know that not one of them understands his Aristotle. If any one of them can correctly understand one preface or chapter of Aristotle, I will eat my hat!

Ultimately, Luther’s position was that “justification by faith” implies “justification by faith alone.” But that’s what make Mohler’s argument fascinating, because he flatly denies this. Again, what he said was:

“Lacking the word ‘alone,’ that means justification by faith that works in synergistic mechanism with our own righteousness or attempts at righteousness and efforts to gain merit,” Mohler said.

If he is right, and I think he is, what he has (no doubt inadvertently) established is that St. Paul and Pope Benedict XVI are synergists, unlike Martin Luther. How this helps the Protestant case on justification is beyond me.

Pope Francis, Foot-Washing, and the Cross

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:21:00 +0000

Meister des Hausbuches,
Christ Washing the Feet of the Apostles (1475)

The more I read about our new Holy Father, the happier I am. He seems to combine outspoken orthodoxy with flagrant and outspoken love of the poor and downtrodden. In short, there is plenty for Catholics (and non-Catholics) of all stripes to like. One of the most heartening things that I have read in response to his election came from a reader of John Thavis' blog calling himself “Non-practicing Catholic”:

“This makes me want to go back to Mass ASAP. All I can say is WOW! This is simply stunning, and I think Pope Francis will be good for the Church.”

That reaction gives credence to something that Pope-emeritus Benedict XVI has said,

“Today, for faith to grow, we must lead ourselves and the persons we meet to encounter the saints and to enter into contact with the Beautiful.”

This world is full of people who will ignore rational arguments for the faith, but fall to their knees in the face of authentic sanctity the Beautiful. Beauty and Goodness still seep through in a world that denies Truth. And as Dostoyevsky said (and Solzhenitsyn explained), “Beauty will save the world.” Pope Francis appears to have lived this out in a life of humility and simplicity.

A dispute also arose among them, which of them was to be regarded as the greatest. And he said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves. For which is the greater, one who sits at table, or one who serves? Is it not the one who sits at table? But I am among you as one who serves.

“You are those who have continued with me in my trials; as my Father appointed a kingdom for me, so do I appoint for you that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

“Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you [plural], that he might sift you [plural] like wheat, but I have prayed for you [singular] that your faith may not fail; and when you have turned again, strengthen your brethren.”

- Luke 22:24-32

Pope Francis (then-Cardinal Bergoglio) washing the feet of a young AIDS patient, Holy Thursday, 2001

Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, rose from supper, laid aside his garments, and girded himself with a towel. Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded.

El Greco, Jesus Carrying the Cross (1580)

He came to Simon Peter; and Peter said to him, “Lord, do you wash my feet?” Jesus answered him, “What I am doing you do not know now, but afterward you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no part in me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “He who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but he is clean all over; and you are clean, but not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; that was why he said, “You are not all clean.”

When he had washed their feet, and taken his garments, and resumed his place, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord; and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.

- John 13:3-14

Nor does this charity and care for the downtrodden come at the expense of bold proclamation of the Gospel. In his first homily as pope, Pope Francis called us all to the Cross, and to confession of Jesus Christ:

[W]e can walk as much we want, we can build many things, but if we do not confess Jesus Christ, nothing will avail. We will become a pitiful NGO, but not the Church, the Bride of Christ. [....]

This Gospel continues with a special situation. The same Peter who confessed Jesus Christ, says, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God. I will follow you, but let us not speak of the Cross. This has nothing to do with it.” He says, “I’ll follow you on other ways, that do not include the Cross.” When we walk without the Cross, when we build without the Cross, and when we profess Christ without the Cross, we are not disciples of the Lord. We are worldly, we are bishops, priests, cardinals, Popes, but not disciples of the Lord.

I would like that all of us, after these days of grace, might have the courage - the courage - to walk in the presence of the Lord, with the Cross of the Lord: to build the Church on the Blood of the Lord, which is shed on the Cross, and to profess the one glory, Christ Crucified. In this way, the Church will go forward.

My hope for all of us is that the Holy Spirit, that the prayer of Our Lady, our Mother, might grant us this grace: to walk, to build, to profess Jesus Christ Crucified. So be it.

Viva il Papa!

Where is the Papacy in the Bible?

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 20:20:00 +0000

To celebrate the election of Jorge Mario Bergoglio as Pope Francis, here is a copy of a talk that I gave at lunch today on the Scriptural origins of the papacy:

““Where is THAT in the Bible: The Pope”

Sharing the Catholic faith with non-Catholics, even non-Catholic Christians, can seem overwhelming at times. There are just so many doctrines that non-Catholics want answers about: justification, the Eucharist, the Marian doctrines, intercession of the Saints, Purgatory, the priesthood, etc. It’s easy to get bogged down by a series of rapid-fire questions about a variety of unrelated topics. But fortunately, there’s an easy doctrinal debate to turn to that resolves the others, at least for non-Catholic Christians: the papacy.

Put simply, if the Catholic Church is right about the papacy, everyone should be Catholic. And if the Catholic Church is wrong about the papacy, no one should be Catholic.

So it’s vitally important that we Catholics are able to explain why we believe in the papacy. And if we’re ever going to be able to convince non-Catholic listeners on this topic, we should be able to make our case from Sacred Scripture. This is all the more important now: the abdication of Pope Benedict XVI, and the papal election, have made the papacy a topic of everyday conversation for non-Catholics in a way that rarely happens. Fortunately, as we shall see, the Scriptural case for the papacy is very strong.

Three Errors Obscuring the Question of the Papacy

If the Scriptural case for the papacy is so strong, how do other Christians miss it? I would suggest that there are three reasons.

First, they tend to misunderstand what Scripture means by “the Church.” Martin Luther described the Protestant view of the Church in this way: “Thank God, a seven-year-old child knows what the church is, namely, holy believers and sheep who hear the voice of their Shepherd.” John Calvin adopted a similar view, suggesting that while “the Church” sometimes refers to the visible body containing “a very large mixture of hypocrites, who have nothing of Christ but the name and outward appearance,” it other times refers to “the Church as it really is before God,” an Invisible Church “into which none are admitted but those who by the gift of adoption are sons of God, and by the sanctification of the Spirit true members of Christ.” The visible Church can drift nearer or further from the true, invisible Church, but the two are essentially distinct.

Second, they tend to misunderstand what Catholics believe about the papacy. More specifically, the view of the papacy is often one of an ecclesial dictator in Rome who calls every shot. This straw-man view of the papacy eliminates any roles for Church Councils, Patriarchs, the college of bishops, and essentially any ecclesial structure other than the Holy See. For example, Fr. Viktor Potapov, an Eastern Orthodox priest, has argued that “The history of the Apostolic Council (Acts, Chapter 15) speaks especially clearly against the supremacy of the Apostle Peter. The Antiochian Christians appeal not to the Apostle Peter for the resolution of their perplexity, as should have occurred if we are to believe the Catholic dogma, but to all the apostles and presbyters.” By this logic, the First Vatican Council “speaks especially clearly” against the papacy, because the question of papal infallibility is answered by a Council, rather than by Pope Pius IX.

Finally, most Christians (Protestants, Orthodox, and even Catholics) are simply unaware of the strongest evidence for papal primacy from Scripture. The silver lining here is that this creates a perfect opportunity for Catholic apologetics.

How should we respond to these three errors? To the extent we’re dealing with someone who misunderstands what the Church is, we need to lay out some basic ecclesiology. To the extent we’re dealing with someone who misunderstands what we mean by the papacy, we need to clarify, and not overstate the pope’s role in the life of the Church. There can be a tendency on the part of Catholics to speak as if no issue would ever be resolved without direct papal intervention, and that characterization only feeds a misunderstanding of the papacy. Finally, to the extent we’re dealing with someone who is ignorant of the Scriptural evidence, we should present “the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15).

Catholic Ecclesiology

To understand the papacy, it is necessary to understand at least the basics about the Church. Here are some of the passages that you should familiarize yourself with:

Matthew 16:18. We can get so caught up in the debates about who the “Rock” of Matthew 16:18 is that we can overlook five critical words of Christ: “I will build My Church.”
Matthew 13. This whole chapter is dedicated to Christ’s explanation of the nature of the Church as Kingdom. For example, in Mt. 13:47-50, Christ describes the Kingdom of Heaven as a net containing both good and bad fish, representing “the righteous” and “the evil.” This shows that the Church isn’t simply an invisible collection of the saved.
The Judas passages. Each of the four Gospels points out that Christ’s betrayer was “one of the Twelve” (Matthew 26:14; Mark 14:10; Mark 14:43; Luke 22:3; Luke 22:47; John 6:71). Judas possessed a share of the Apostolic “ministry and apostleship” (Acts 1:25), and Matthew 10:1-4 describes how Christ gave “authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal every disease and every infirmity” to all of the Twelve, including Judas. As Jesus said, “Did I not choose you, the twelve, and one of you is a devil?” (John 6:70). This issue of Judas creates an insurmountable problem for Protestant ecclesiology, since the Apostles possessed the highest office possible within the Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27-28).
Ephesians 5:25-32. St. Paul’s beautiful description of the Church as the Body of Christ and the Bride of Christ.
Acts 9:1-6 and Luke 10:16. Saul was “violently persecuting the church of God” (Galatians 1:13; cf. Acts 9:1) until he is stopped on the road to Damascus by Christ, who says, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” and reveals Himself by saying: “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.” This shows that to attack the Church is to attack Christ. Likewise, Jesus sends out the seventy, saying, “Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me” (Luke 10:16). In this way, the Church is a continuation of the Incarnation of Christ.
John 17:20-23. In His Highly Priestly prayer, Jesus specifically prays for future Christians (to my knowledge, the only time that He does this), and His prayer is “that they may all be one; even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that thou hast sent me” (Jn. 17:21).

These passages provide a foundation to discuss the papacy: they show that (1) Christ established a Church, (2-3) this Church is a visible institution comprising both the saved and some of the damned, (4) this Church is the Body and Bride of Christ, (5) this Church is a continuation of the Incarnation of Christ, and (6) this Church is called to be One, even in the post-Apostolic era.

Pope Peter, from Scripture

What is the role of St. Peter in the Church founded by Christ? I think that the answer to this can be seen through a series of Scriptural passages:

Luke 22:24-32. This is one of the strongest overlooked passages for Petrine primacy. The Apostles argue over who is greatest. Christ says that “the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves” (v. 26). He then confers authority of the Church to the Twelve (v. 29-30), before saying to Peter specifically (v. 31-32): “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”
The “Great Catches of Fish” passages. Remember that Christ compares the Church to a net filled with fish (Mt. 13:47-50). In the first great catch of fish (Luke 5:1-11), Jesus comes upon Peter, Andrew, James, and John. After the first miraculous catch, He singles Peter out of these four, and says to him, “Do not be afraid; henceforth you will be catching men” (Lk. 5:10). The second miraculous catch of fish is after the Resurrection (John 21:1-14). This time, the Apostles’ net is so full that “they were not able to haul it in, for the quantity of fish” (John 21:6). But at Jesus’ command, Peter is able to single-handedly haul the net in, without tearing it (Jn. 21:10-11). Immediately after this, Jesus commissions Peter as shepherd (John 21:15-19).
John 10:1-21 and John 21:15-19. In John 10, Jesus gives two different shepherding images to describe His relationship with the Church. The second of these (Jn. 10:11-21) is quite famous, in which Jesus calls Himself the Good Shepherd. But often overlooked is the description He gives in John 1:1-10, in which He describes Himself as the gate letting in His Shepherd. This gatekeeping function points to His Old Testament promise in Jeremiah 3:15, to give us shepherds after His own heart. And we see Him fulfill this in John 21:15-19, when He commissions Peter to be His shepherd.
Matthew 16:13-19. This is the most famous “papacy passage,” and one of the best. Be prepared to go through the passage slowly: show how Jesus contrasts the three styles of governance (democratic, aristocratic, monarchical) in v. 13-16. Go through the blessing of v. 17-19 slowly, and compare it to the Old Testament: specifically, Genesis 17:3-8 and Isaiah 22:20-24. Many Protestants will claim that the “Rock” is Peter’s faith, so show the numerous personal references Christ has to Peter. And compare it with the other confessions of faith we see. For example, in John 1:49, it’s Nathanael who first confesses Jesus as the Christ, but it’s Simon that Jesus promises to rename Peter (John 1:42). Likewise, Martha’s confession of faith (John 11:27) is almost identical with Peter’s, yet Jesus never promises to build the Church upon her (or her faith).

Finally, some Protestants will argue that Jesus is calling Peter a “little rock” (Petros) in contrast with the “big rock” (petra) that He will build the Church upon. This distinction doesn’t exist in the Aramaic that Jesus gave the blessing in. Again, see John 1:42: Jesus names Simon “Cephas,” not “Petros” – Petros is a translation (and is translated as “Petros” rather than “Petra,” because “Petra” is feminine). Paul refers to Peter as Cephas several times (1 Cor. 15:5, Gal. 1:18, Gal. 2:11, etc.).
Matthew 17:24-27. The only time that Jesus ever uses first-personal plural to refer to Himself and another human is with Peter. And He does so in a way that intentionally limits this “We” to Peter alone.
The Apostolic Lists. Matthew 10:2-4, Mark 3:16-19, Luke 6:13-16, and Acts 1:13 each provide lists of the Twelve. The Synoptic lists each end with Judas (by Acts 1:13, Judas is dead). Judas’ position at the bottom is a place of dishonor. In contrast, all four lists put Peter at the top. These are the only two constants: the ordering of the Ten between Peter and Judas varies by list.
The “Peter and the others” Passages. There are several of these passages, in which the Twelve Apostles are listed as, for example, “Peter and the others” (Acts 5:29) and “the other Apostles and the Lord’s Brothers and Cephas” (1 Cor. 9:5). Acts 2:14 says that Peter stood up “with the Eleven.” This is significant, because there are Twelve Apostles at this point (Acts 1:26), so Luke appears to be distinguishing Peter even from the other Eleven. On Easter morning, the angel at the empty Tomb did the same thing, sending the women to proclaim Jesus’ Resurrection to “His Disciples and Peter” (Mark 16:6-7). And when Peter and John arrive at the Tomb, John waits for Peter to arrive, before entering (John 20:4-6). Finally, the first half of the Book of Acts (prior to Luke departing to accompany Paul, in Acts 16:10) clearly establishes Peter’s leadership in the Church.

Does the Papacy Survive Peter?

Occasionally, non-Catholics will concede that Peter was the leader of the Apostles, but claim that this doesn’t prove the papacy. For example, the Protestant apologist Keith Mathison has argued:

[Catholic apologist Stephen] Ray also observes that Peter was the leader of the twelve. However, since this is not disputed no response is necessary. What neither Ray nor any Roman Catholic has demonstrated is that this text which involves a specific prayer for one specific man in one specific historical circumstance has anything to do with the modern Roman Catholic papacy.

Mathison’s response strains credulity. If the original structure of the Church was one man (besides Christ) leading and supporting the Twelve, who lead and support the rest of the Church, that looks very much like the modern papacy.

To go from the first pope, to the second, to the 266th, we need to see the connection between the papacy and Rome. Two things are helpful here. First, Peter describes himself as in Rome (“Babylon”) in 1 Peter 5:13. Second, the early Church Fathers are explicit about this connection. (Here, we necessarily have to go outside of Scripture, since we’re looking for historical evidence of the post-Apostolic period.)

For example, Pope Clement I, intervened in a dispute within the Corinthian church. Bear in mind that St. Clement is the fourth pope, and that this epistle dates to about the year 96. Clement begins the letter by making it clear that the Corinthians turned to him to resolve their dispute: “Owing, dear brethren, to the sudden and successive calamitous events which have happened to ourselves, we feel that we have been somewhat tardy in turning our attention to the points respecting which you consulted us…”

A few years later, St. Ignatius of Antioch, a disciple of the Apostle John, describes the Roman Church as “presiding in love.” He pens these words on the way to his martyrdom sometime before 110.

The Apostle John’s other famous student is St. Polycarp. Polycarp’s own student was St. Irenaeus of Lyons, who proclaimed Roman and Petrine supremacy, in no uncertain terms, in his Against Heresies, written about 180 A.D.:

Since, however, it would be very tedious, in such a volume as this, to reckon up the successions of all the Churches, we do put to confusion all those who, in whatever manner, whether by an evil self-pleasing, by vainglory, or by blindness and perverse opinion, assemble in unauthorized meetings; [we do this, I say,] by indicating that tradition derived from the apostles, of the very great, the very ancient, and universally known Church founded and organized at Rome by the two most glorious apostles, Peter and Paul; as also [by pointing out] the faith preached to men, which comes down to our time by means of the successions of the bishops. For it is a matter of necessity that every Church should agree with this Church, on account of its preeminent authority, that is, the faithful everywhere, inasmuch as the apostolical tradition has been preserved continuously by those [faithful men] who exist everywhere.

Throughout the first few centuries, we hear various other references to the pope as the successor of Peter, and head of the Church. To take just one more example, St. Optatus of Milevis was a fourth century Church Father from North Africa who was influential on St. Augustine. In Optatus’ book Against the Donatists, he writes:

So we have proved that the Catholic Church is the Church which is spread throughout the world. […] You cannot then deny that you do know that upon Peter first in the City of Rome was bestowed the Episcopal Cathedra, on which sat Peter, the Head of all the Apostles (for which reason he was called Cephas), that, in this one Cathedra, unity should be preserved by all, lest the other Apostles might claim----each for himself----separate Cathedras, so that he who should set up a second Cathedra against the unique Cathedra would already be a schismatic and a sinner.

Both Irenaeus and Optatus provide evidence for their claims by listing every pope from Peter to the present day. In this way, we can see clearly from history that Peter is the first pope, and we can see the unbroken lineage from Peter down to the modern papacy.

Conclusion

If the Catholic case for the papacy stands, several truths follow. First, we should interpret other disputed doctrines (Mary, Purgatory, the filioque, etc.) through the lens of Magisterial teaching. Second, we have a moral obligation to be a part of the Catholic Church. St. Paul appeals to the Corinthians “that all of you agree and that there be no dissensions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment” (1 Corinthians 1:10). If the papacy is the visible head of the true Church, founded by Jesus Christ, we have an obligation to strive for unity with this head. Finally, we are forbidden from schism, from breaking away from the pope. In Galatians 5:20-21, St. Paul lists “selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy” amongst sins of the flesh and warns that “those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.”

The Father’s Two Sons: What the Prodigal Son Tells us About Divine Sonship

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 22:16:00 +0000

In Exodus 32, Moses has gone up on Mount Sinai to talk to God. Almost immediately after he left, the Israelites fall into idolatry, worshiping a golden calf (Ex. 32:1-6). God is displeased, and says to Moses, “Go down; for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves” (Ex. 32:7). Moses responds by pointing the finger back at God: “O Lord, why does thy wrath burn hot against thy people, whom thou hast brought forth out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?” (Ex. 32:11).

Juan Fernández Navarrete, Baptism of Christ (1567)

On one level, this dialogue is almost comical, like two sleep-exhausted parents saying to one another: “your son is crying again, you’d better go take care of him.” But there’s an important message being conveyed. We belong to God, we belong to the Church, and we belong to one another. We are our brothers’ keepers (Gen. 4:9).

The Beauty of Divine Filiation

Sonship is an important theme within the New Testament, both Christ’s and ours. For example, at His Baptism, the Father says of Jesus, “Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased” (Lk. 3:22). And immediately after this, Jesus goes into the desert, where the devil unsuccessfully attacks this filial identity, saying, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread” (Lk. 4:3). As for us, St. Paul writes, in Romans 8:15-17,

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the spirit of sonship. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is the Spirit himself bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.

It’s this sonship, this filial identity, that the devil seeks to undermine through sin. We see this illustrated well in the so-called Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). A more accurate name for this parable is the Parable of the Two Sons, because it’s told in response to the Pharisees, who are represented by the prodigal’s older brother, and who were complaining that Jesus dined with sinners and tax collectors (Luke 15:1-3).

The Father’s Two Sons

The parable is well known, so I won’t summarize it. Instead, I want to focus on the ending of the parable, in which the older brother is so upset that his Father rejoices at the prodigal’s return that he refuses to go into his Father’s House (Lk. 15:28). This action, even in isolation, is a dramatic action of alienation from what should be his family, but the son doesn’t stop there. His Father rushes out to comfort him (Lk. 15:28), just as he had done to his younger brother (Lk. 15:20). The older brother, the rigorist, says to his Father (Lk. 15:29-30),

Lo, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command; yet you never gave me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your living with harlots, you killed for him the fatted calf!

Rembrandt, The Return of the Prodigal Son (1665)

The contrast between the two brothers is stark. The younger brother, even at his worst, always referred to his Father as Father (Lk. 15:12, 17, 18, 21). At his lowest, the prodigal decides to return to the Father, and to say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants” (Lk. 15:18-19). He only makes it halfway through his prepared speech before his Father prepares a welcome home party for him (Lk 15:21-22).

The rigorist, on the other hand, doesn’t address his Father as Father. Instead, this son treats himself as if he’s a hired servant. He says that “these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command,” and it’s on this basis, rather than on the basis of sonship, that he expects the Father to give him nice things. The extreme of the rigorist brother’s alienation can be seen when he describes his brother as “this son of yours.” That phrase is packed with meaning.

It’s an implicit denial of the brotherhood between the two sons, and it’s also an implicit denial of the older son’s sonship. In this way, Christ shows an oft-overlooked truth of Christianity: you can’t have God as Father without Christians as your brothers. Or, as St. Cyprian of Carthage put it, back in the third century, “He can no longer have God for his Father, who has not the Church for his mother.” We want the King without His Kingdom, and Jesus always reminds us that this just isn’t possible. You can’t honor the first great commandment, love of God, while rejecting the second great commandment, love of neighbor (Matthew 22:36-40). Being a child of God means being having the rest of the Church for your brothers and sisters, period.

There are many beautiful scenes in this parable, but one of the best is the Father’s response to his older son (Lk. 15:31-32): “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” He simultaneously reminds his rigorist son both that (a) he’s His son, and (b) the prodigal is his brother. In this way, the Father mends his son’s damaged relationship, both with Himself and with his brother.

And suddenly, the two brothers don’t look so different. Both, by their sins, alienate themselves from their Father’s House. The prodigal does it more dramatically, demanding his Father’s inheritance, and running off “into a far country” (Lk. 15:13), while the rigorist just stays a little outside the House, angrily (Lk. 15:25-28). The low point of the prodigal comes when a man sends the prodigal “into his fields to feed swine” (Lk. 15:15), and so it’s fitting that the “elder son was in the field,” also (Lk. 15:25). Both sons feel themselves reduced from sons to servants by their sins, and in both cases, the Father rushes out to restore them to their proper place as sons.

The Glamour of Evil

Rembrandt, The Prodigal Son in the Brothel (1637)

Both sons also show the sheer ugliness of sin. One brother chooses to indulge the sins of the flesh, the other chooses to indulge self-righteousness. Both are left miserable and alone. Consider, once more, the older son’s reaction to his younger brother’s return. Remember that while the older brother was working (joylessly) for his Father, his son was engaged in what Scripture calls “loose living” (Lk. 15:13). The older brother is scandalized that his brother might go unpunished after all of this behavior, and it’s hard not to read a hint of jealousy in all of this. If this behavior is to go unpunished, perhaps the pharisaic brother would like to do some “loose living” of his own.

This reaction is one that I think a lot of Christians are guilty of: we’ll hear the conversion story of someone who’s lived a life of sex, drugs, partying, and the rest, and some part of us will think, “they got the best of both worlds! They indulged all of those vices, and they’re still going to end up in Heaven!” But here’s what that reaction misses: the younger brother, while engaged in this sinful lifestyle, was miserable (Lk. 15:13-17):

Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took his journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in loose living. And when he had spent everything, a great famine arose in that country, and he began to be in want. So he went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would gladly have fed on the pods that the swine ate; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have bread enough and to spare, but I perish here with hunger!”

The younger brother had be reduced, in a way, to something sub-servile, and long after the veneer of the “glamour of evil” had worn off (which happens almost immediately, “not many days later”), the son is dying alone, in isolation from the Father. That’s what sin really looks like.

It’s a diabolical deception to imagine sin as something that’s lots of fun now, as long as we avoid the eternal consequences. The reality is that the hellishness of sin begins here on Earth. Gluttons, the promiscuous, addicts, thieves, bullies, and the like aren’t just punished hereafter. They’re almost invariably miserable here and now. If we miss this point, we miss something fundamental about sin: it can never satisfy us, because we’re made for God alone, and only He can satisfy us.

Guercino, Return of the Prodigal Son (1619)

We see this in the sinful rigorism of the older brother. Once again, the older brother has less of a flare for the dramatic than his younger brother, but he arrives at the same place. He’s also out in the fields, and he’s also descended into misery. He claims to be upset that he hasn’t been given the opportunity to “make merry with my friends” (Lk. 15:29), but he says this while refusing to go into a merry party. He can even hear the music and dancing (Lk. 15:25), and yet he’d rather mope, clinging to an unsatisfying self-righteousness, envy, and anger. If a merry party is really what his heart desires, the Father has prepared one already in full-swing.

This parable shows us that, just as we belong to God, we belong to one another as brothers and sisters. In that light, the older brother should have rejoiced to see his brother return, just as the Father did. After all, this brother is part of the Father’s legacy, part of the “inheritance” the Father has bestowed upon his sons.

Numbering the Stars with a Fresh Pair of Eyes

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 27 Feb 2013 22:22:00 +0000

The Gospel reading for this past Sunday is one of the more famous passages from the Book of Genesis. God tells Abram (a childless, 75-year-old man) to number the stars. When he can’t, God says, “And so shall your descendants be.” One of the things that makes this scene so captivating is that, for anyone who’s ever stared up at the night sky out in a rural area, it’s easy to imagine what this would have been like for Abram. As one sermon put it:

Abram was standing there looking at what seemed to be an infinity of stars and began to wonder. In a time where a gathering of more than 1000 people would have been hard to imagine, Abram stands with his neck craned up at the stars and tries to imagine that many people. Maybe he even had to lie down on the ground to get a good look. Maybe the sheer number of stars just pushed him down to the ground. Maybe he felt as though the stars might take him away if he didn’t feel something solid beneath him.

There’s only one problem. This encounter between God and Abram almost certainly takes place during the day, which changes everything.

Read the passage again, and pay close attention to the ending. This is Genesis 15:5-12:

Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld,
God's Promise to Abraham (from Bibel in Bildern) (1860)
And he brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” And he believed the Lord; and he reckoned it to him as righteousness.

And he said to him, “I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chalde′ans, to give you this land to possess.” But he said, “O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a she-goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” And he brought him all these, cut them in two, and laid each half over against the other; but he did not cut the birds in two. And when birds of prey came down upon the carcasses, Abram drove them away.

As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell on Abram; and lo, a dread and great darkness fell upon him.

So the “number the stars” encounter apparently happened before the sun set: that is, while it was still daytime. The passage continues from there, with God telling Abram about how his descendants will be sojourners and slaves in a foreign land, but would eventually return to the Promised Land. By Gen. 15:17, “the sun had gone down and it was dark.”

Understanding this passage as daytime radically changes the meaning of the passage:

Numbering the Stars: “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Abram fails to number the stars, not just because there are so many of them, but primarily because he can’t see them. They’re there, but they’re invisible to him, because one star, the sun, radically outshines them all.
Abraham's Faith: “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Galatians 3:6). That’s how St. Paul paraphrases of Genesis 15:6. As Hebrews 11:1 puts it, “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” It takes faith for Abraham to trust that God will give him offspring, when he is childless. But the “things not seen” here doesn’t just include Abraham’s offspring, but the stars. Remember that this is still the very ancient world: notions that the stars were still there during the day had to be taken by faith.

Fra Angelico, Christ in Majesty (1447)

Christ the Sun: Another thing that Abraham wouldn’t have known at the time was that, he actually could see a single star: the sun. This star so dwarfs the others, in terms of its illumination of earth, as to render every other star invisible by comparison. It’s not just the brighter star amongst the cosmos, but the star around which the world turns, and whose heat gives the world life. So it is with Abraham’s offspring. One of them, Jesus Christ, stands out in a radically different way.
The Nature of the Promise: Because we assume that this passage takes place at night, we tend to think that the promise “So shall your descendants be” is a promise of the innumerability of Abraham’s offspring. But St. Paul seems to say that this is a misreading (or at least, an incomplete reading) of the passage.

In Galatians 3:16, Paul writes, “Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his offspring. It does not say, ‘And to offsprings,’ referring to many; but, referring to one, ‘And to your offspring,’ which is Christ.”* If Paul’s point includes the promise of Genesis 15 (and it seems to: Paul referenced it in Gal. 3:6), then we should read the promise of Genesis 15 are being primarily about Christ, the Sun.
The Moon and the Stars: If Christ is the sun, who are the stars? They’re the other offspring of Abraham, referenced (and prophesied) in this passage in a secondary sense. These offspring are the Saints, “those who share the faith of Abraham” (Romans 4:16; John 8:39). And filling out this celestial analogy is the moon, who reflects the sun. In the Church, that would be Mary, whose soul “magnifies the Lord” (Luke 1:46), and who is “clothed with the sun” (Rev. 12:1), and surrounded by twelve stars (Rev 12:1; Mary was surrounded by the Apostles, cf. Acts 1:12-14).

That one seemingly insignificant detail, the time of day, turns out to have radical implications of the meanings of the passage, and it suddenly stands out more clearly as a Christological prophesy (perhaps one of the ones that Jesus alluded to Abraham receiving, in John 8:56).

*St. Paul’s point is obscured a bit by modern English translations, which tend to be squeamish about using the terms “seed” or “seeds” to refer to offspring. For example, the RSV:CE uses “descendants” in Genesis 15:5 and “offspring” and “offsprings” (a made-up word) in Galatians 3:16. But in both Greek and Hebrew, the words would be “seed” or “seeds,” which would make this point appear more clearly.

**Special thanks to Dan Weger and Deacon Raymond Buehler for helping me organize my thoughts on this post.

How to Become Pope

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 15:00:00 +0000

Here’s a viral video on the process of how a man becomes the pope. In the past two days, it has received almost 700,000 views:

After last week’s Q&A on papal resignation, a blogger by the name of C. G. P. Grey wrote me, asking if I’d look over a script he was preparing on the papacy. If you’re not familiar with his work (and I wasn’t), he has created a series of YouTube videos called “Grey Explains,” that strive to inform people on current events and world affairs in an educational and funny manner. For example, here’s a video he made distinguishing the United Kingdom, Great Britain, and England.

Pope Benedict XVI’s Coat of Arms

Since he’s not a Catholic, Grey explained that he wanted to make sure that he got the details correct, and that he wasn’t being inadvertently offensive to Catholics. So I looked the proposed script over, and sent back some comments. His original draft was already well-researched, so I was mostly just adding nuance. He rewrote part of the script, resulting in the video above. On his blog, he also provides the script for the video.

Grey also added “footnote” videos with some additional nuance. At a few points in the main video, you can actually click the bottom right corner, and it’ll open the appropriate “footnote.” The footnote videos further explain that:

“The Catholic Church” is actually 23 different sui juris Churches in communion with the pope;
Only the Latin Church requires priestly celibacy (and even the Latin Church has certain exceptions for priestly celibacy), although all 23 Churches require episcopal celibacy.
While Cardinals are almost always bishops, they don’t have to be.

All in all, I think he did a fantastic job both grasping Catholic nuance, and explaining it to a largely non-Catholic. I hope that his attention to detail will serve as a positive example for others (like reporters) covering the Catholic Church.

Of course, anyone actually ambitiously striving for the papacy, like the main character in this video, would probably not make it very far at all. It’s worth remembering that those who want the papacy don’t get it, and those who get the papacy don’t want it. If nothing else, Benedict’s resignation has hopefully made at least that much clear.

Answering Your Questions About Papal Elections

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Sun, 17 Feb 2013 01:41:00 +0000

On Tuesday, I answered questions about the papal resignation. Today, I want to address the questions you might have about the upcoming papal election. As always, if you have any questions or comments, fire away in the comments below.

Q. Who Can Be Elected Pope?

Any Baptized Catholic male. However, since 1378, only Cardinals have been elected pope.

Q. Who Elects the Pope?

Josef Wagner-Höhenberg, A Meeting of the Cardinals (1864)

A. Since 1059, only members of the College of Cardinals have been allowed to vote in papal elections. These days, there are two additional restrictions:

The right to elect the Roman Pontiff belongs exclusively to the Cardinals of Holy Roman Church, with the exception of those who have reached their eightieth birthday before the day of the Roman Pontiff's death or the day when the Apostolic See becomes vacant. The maximum number of Cardinal electors must not exceed one hundred and twenty. The right of active election by any other ecclesiastical dignitary or the intervention of any lay power of whatsoever grade or order is absolutely excluded.

So only those Cardinals who are under age 80 at the time that the Holy See becomes vacant (which looks looks like it’ll be February 28, 2013). Those Cardinals over eighty may still “take part in the preparatory meetings of the Conclave,” but not in the Conclave itself.

This means, by the way, that the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Cardinal Angelo Sodano (age 85), will not be attending the Conclave. Neither will the vice-dean, Cardinal Roger Etchegaray (age 90). The presiding Cardinal at the Conclave will instead by Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re (age 79), the most senior Cardinal-bishop.

Q. How Many Cardinals Are Eligible to Vote?
Of the 209 living Cardinals, only 117 will be voting in the Conclave. (most of the rest are too old). These 117 Cardinals are known as “Cardinal-electors.”

Q. What’s a Conclave?
The meeting of the Cardinal-electors to elect the next pope. The proceedings are highly confidential, and the Cardinal-electors are sequestered, meaning that they are prohibited from all contact with the outside world (including, of course, reading the newspaper, watching television, or listening to the radio). During this time, the Cardinal-electors will stay in the Domus Sanctae Marthae. The Domus Sanctae Marthae is said to be fairly simple, but the conditions for Cardinal-electors used to be much worse:

The Domus Sanctae Marthae (foreground)
Prior to the Apostolic Constitution Universi Dominici Gregis — promulgated on February 22, 1996 that changed the rules governing papal conclaves — participants were forced to sleep in the Apostolic Palace on rented cots, usually borrowed from seminaries in Rome. After participants were sealed under lock and key in the Apostolic Palace, the electors would live in makeshift rooms built throughout the palace, including within hallways and offices. The rooms, assigned to each Cardinal by lot, would often be constructed by nothing more than a sheet hanging on a rope. Sturdier walls would not be available because of the cost and because they would damage the Palace walls. In addition to the rented cots, each room would be equipped with a Crucifix and kneeler, a desk and one or two chairs. The Cardinals would have to share common bathrooms, often with ten Cardinals assigned to each. The situation would especially be difficult as a significant portion of Cardinals tend to be elderly.

Pope John Paul II, after himself participating in two Conclaves, decided to make the process more comfortable and less strenuous on the elderly Cardinals and commissioned the construction of Domus Sanctæ Marthæ.

The most extreme case that I know of came in the 13th century. At the time of Pope Clement IV, the Cardinals were divided. There were an equal number of French and Italian Cardinals, at a time when France was invading Italy at the time. The Cardinals deliberated nearly three years, from November 1268 to September 1, 1271, before settling on a papal legate, Tebaldo Visconti (who was not a Cardinal).

To “encourage” the deadlocked Cardinals to decide on a candidate, they local magistrates locked the Cardinal-electors into the Papal Palace of Viterbo (Palazzo dei Papi di Viterbo). They then removed the roof to the building, and reduced the Cardinal-electors’ to a diet of bread and water (even after this, it still took more than a year to make a decision).

Q. Where does these Rules Come From?

Pope Gregory X

After Visconti (see above) became Pope Gregory X, he promptly set out to reform the process of papal elections, creating the modern Conclave. That said, each pope can establish or modify the rules governing papal conclaves. John Paul II established the current system in 1996, in the Apostolic Constitution Universi Dominici Gregis. There has been only one modification since then, related to the majority needed for voting (see the next question for details).

Q. How Large of a Majority is Required?
Two-thirds, rounding up if the number of Cardinal-electors isn’t divisible by three. In this case, there are 117 Cardinal-electors, meaning that the next pope will have been chosen by at least 79 of the Cardinal-electors.

[In 1996, John Paul II modified this general rule slightly: after 30 or 31 ballots, the Cardinal-electors could (by simple majority) change the majority required for the election, provided that it remained at least a simple majority. In 2007, Benedict XVI changed the rule back, the only change to the Conclave process since 1996.]

Q. When Will the Conclave Begin?

February 28, 2013 is the day that Pope Benedict is scheduled to resign. The Cardinals will then wait fifteen days (until March 15) to begin the Conclave: that date can be pushed back until as late as March 20, for serious reasons.

Generally, this period of time is spent handling things like a papal funeral: and it’s tactful to give time to send off the deceased pope before replacing him. But in this case, since Benedict XVI isn’t dead, there is talk of changing the timetable. Barring a change to the rules, however, March 15 is the earliest day that the Conclave can begin.

Q. What Happens Between Now and Then?

Either way, it isn’t as if the Cardinals will be spending early March simply twiddling their thumbs. A number of the Cardinal-electors have important day jobs. For example, Cardinal Dolan is (amongst other things) Archbishop of New York and president of the USCCB. That creates a duty “to make necessary arrangements, before the beginning of the election, for the handling of all non-deferrable official or personal business.” So it’s unlikely that they’ll be spending early March simply twiddling their thumbs.

Additionally, during early March, the entire College of Cardinals (including those over eighty) will assemble for what’s called a General Congregation. Typically, these General Congregations decide on the logistics of the deceased pope’s funeral. Since Benedict isn’t dead, they’ll just do the other parts:

Pope Benedict’s
Fisherman’s Ring

Ensuring the destruction of Benedict’s “Fisherman's Ring” (his official papal ring), and the lead seal that he uses for Apostolic Letters;
Handling various administrative issues during the sede vacante (vacant See), like approving the expenses of running Vatican City;
Preparing for the Conclave (assigning rooms, setting the schedule for voting, etc.);
Selecting “two ecclesiastics known for their sound doctrine, wisdom and moral authority the task of presenting to the Cardinals two well-prepared meditations on the problems facing the Church at the time and on the need for careful discernment in choosing the new Pope.”

This last task lets the entire College of Cardinals get a sense (or express a sense) of the most pressing problems facing the Church. Hopefully, this will help the Cardinal-electors in the prayerful deliberation to come.

There are also Particular Congregations created to handle specific jobs. The logistics of organizing the papal election, and ensuring its secrecy, can be a bit daunting, like “sweeping” the Vatican Apostolic Palace, to ensure that no one has bugged it with audio or visual devices in order to record the secret proceedings.

Q. What Happens During the Conclave Itself?

Michelangelo, The Last Judgment (1541)

Between March 15-20, the Conclave itself will begin. The Cardinals stay in the Domus Sanctae Marthae, and deliberate and vote in the Sistine Chapel, and provisions are made to ensure that no one speaks to them en route. This is also the reason for Michelangelo’s Last Judgment behind the altar of the Sistine Chapel: to remind the voting Cardinals of the eternal consequences of their actions.

On the first day, each Cardinal swears an oath of secrecy. Once they have finished, the Master of Papal Liturgical Celebrations gives the order “Extra omnes,” which means that everyone else has to leave. The Master of Papal Liturgical Celebrations stays behind with the Cardinal-electors, and a priest (previously chosen by the General Congregation), who preaches to the Cardinal-electors the second meditation, “concerning the grave duty incumbent on them and thus on the need to act with right intention for the good of the Universal Church.”

They then proceed to voting. Depending on the schedule set by the General Congregation, voting begins on either the first or the second day. If it is on the first day, they vote only once (in the afternoon). After the first day, voting occurs four times a day: twice during the morning session, and twice during the evening session. If the Cardinals have not decided on anyone after three days, they take a break (of up to one day) to pray and informally deliberate. They then vote up to seven more times. If they still haven’t elected a pope, they take another break, “for prayer, discussion and an exhortation given by the senior Cardinal in the Order of Priests.” Then, it’s back to voting again.

Q. How does the Voting work?

Previously, there were three permissible forms of voting:

Election by compromise: the Cardinal-electors, if they wanted, could unanimously designate select a group of nine-to-fifteen Cardinals, who would then make the choice for the whole Conclave. This method of voting, which was how the deadlocked Cardinals finally selected Pope Gregory X, was last used in 1316, and is no longer permitted.
Election by acclamation: the Cardinal-electors shouted out the name of their preferred candidate. This was last used in 1621, and is also no longer permitted.
Election by scrutiny: the Cardinal-electors vote by secret ballot. This is the only permitted method presently, and has been the method used for centuries. These votes are then counted by three randomly-selected Cardinals (called “Scrutatorum,” or “Scrutineers”), while three others gather the ballots of any sick members (“Infirmarii”), and three others ensure that the Scrutineers are doing their jobs properly (“Recognitorum,” or “Revisers”).

If I am not mistaken, new Scrutineers, Infirmarii, and Revisers are selected for each session, meaning that the same group of Cardinals doesn’t oversee more than two votes.

In the current method, each Cardinal-elector writes the name of the man he believes should be the next pope on his ballot, disguising his handwriting. He then folds the ballot. If he is able-bodied, he then proceeds to the altar, and swears, “I call as my witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected” before depositing the ballot in the box. If a Cardinal is in the Sistine chapel, but too weak to process to the altar, one of the Scrutineers will come to him. After this, the three Infirmarii take ballots and an empty ballot box to the Domus Sanctae Marthae for any bed-ridden Cardinal-electors.

Newly-elected Pope Pius XI giving the Apostolic Blessing
Urbi et Orbi from the balcony of the Vatican Basilica.

Once all of the ballots are collected, the ballot box is shaken, and ballots are counted. If no one has two-thirds, the ballots are burnt along with damp straw. The black smoke signals to the people awaiting outside that we don’t yet have a pope. If someone does garner a two-thirds vote, they then ask him to become pope:

The Cardinal Dean, or the Cardinal who is first in order and seniority, in the name of the whole College of electors, then asks the consent of the one elected in the following words: Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff? And, as soon as he has received the consent, he asks him: By what name do you wish to be called? Then the Master of Papal Liturgical Celebrations, acting as notary and having as witnesses two Masters of Ceremonies, who are to be summoned at that moment, draws up a document certifying acceptance by the new Pope and the name taken by him.

The pope-elect is free to decline, but generally, Cardinals unwilling to become pope announce this if there’s any risk of their being elected. If the man accepts, we have our next pope! At this point, in the pope-elect isn’t yet a Bishop, he’s immediately ordained. If he is already a bishop, his acceptance becomes the pope instantaneously upon his consent. The Cardinals then “approach the newly-elected Pope in the prescribed manner, in order to make an act of homage and obedience,” and the Conclave ends “immediately after the new Supreme Pontiff assents to his election, unless he should determine otherwise.”

The Cardinals then make an act of Thanksgiving to God, and the Cardinal Proto-Deacon, Jean-Louis Tauran, announces to the public, assembled in St. Peter's Square, “Habemus Papam!” (“We have a Pope!”). The new pope then comes out and imparts the Apostolic Blessing Urbi et Orbi from the balcony of the Vatican Basilica.

Answering Your Questions About Papal Resignation

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 05:31:00 +0000

Pope Benedict’s announcement yesterday that he is resigning has taken the world by surprise. In response, I’ve already heard a number of questions, and it seemed wise to create a basic Q&A to clarify any confusion you might have about papal resignation.

Q: Can the Pope Resign?

A: The first reaction several people expressed to Benedict’s resignation was “I didn't know the pope could do that!” At least one person has told me that Benedict was supposed to have consulted with the College of Cardinals first. No doubt, Benedict’s resignation comes as a shock, but canon law actually contemplates the possibility of a papal resignation, and it doesn't require consulting anyone:

Can. 332 §2. If it happens that the Roman Pontiff resigns his office, it is required for validity that the resignation is made freely and properly manifested but not that it is accepted by anyone.

Obviously, this canon exists for a reason. If that wasn’t enough, there have been a handful of popes throughout history who have resigned: Benedict IX, Gregory VI, St. Celestine V, and Gregory XII.

Q: Why is Benedict Resigning?
A: Unfortunately, the Internet was almost immediately abuzz with baseless scandal-mongering. For example, one of the first questions I was asked was, “Is this to ensure that we don't find that Benedict was involved in abuse cover-ups?”

Regarding the sex-abuse scandal specifically, it’s worth remembering that then-Cardinal Ratzinger was one of the strongest forces for good within the Church on this issue. And Phil Lawler, whose book analyzing the sex abuse scandal is the best that I've seen yet, has been clear on Benedict's positive role here.

More generally, I know that scandal-mongering on all sides will view as proof of (insert pet cause or rumor), as scandal-mongers often do. But there's no evidence for any of it. Instead, the facts are pretty clear:

Pope Benedict, at age 85, is the fourth oldest pope, at least out of the last seven hundred years. By way of comparison, Pope John Paul II died at age 84.
Although he was expected to have a short reign (being 78 when he was elected), Benedict has already served a longer-than-average pontificate. The average pontificate lasts about 7.2 years. Benedict will have served 7.86 years.
That Benedict's health has been declining is no secret. Back in October 2011, Benedict began using a rolling platform in processing down the aisle of St. Peter's Basilica. At the time, CWN noted that “at the age of 84 he has slowed noticeably.” That was well over a year ago.
The modern papacy isn't what it used to be. There was a time when a pope never needed to leave Italy (or even Vatican City). But both Paul VI and John Paul II were globe-trotting popes, accessible to the Catholic faithful all over the world. This aspect of the modern papacy requires a certain physical stamina no longer possible for Pope Benedict, whose doctor has forbidden him from transatlantic travel, presumably including events like the 2013 World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Benedict has long argued that the modern papacy may call for the resignation of an infirm and dying pope. For example, a few years back, Benedict told Peter Seewald: “If a Pope clearly realises that he is no longer physically, psychologically and spiritually capable of handling the duties of his office, then he has a right and, under some circumstances, also an obligation, to resign.” Seewald included this interview in his 2010 book Light of the World. Maybe we should have paid more attention, in hindsight.
Certainly, Benedict's resignation sounds very much like his statement to Seewald, remarking that “in today's world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me.”

The clear picture emerges is of a pope who has believed (for years) that the modern state of the papacy may call for a pope to resign, should his health deteriorate beyond a certain point. Apparently, he now considers himself to fit this description.

Pope Gregory XII, the last pope to resign.

Q: When was the Last Time that a Pope Resigned?
A: One reason Benedict's announcement is such a surprise is that the last papal resignation was in 1415. put another way, the last time a pope resigned, Protestantism didn't exist, and the New World hasn't been discovered.

Q: What will we call Pope Benedict After he resigns?
A: Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger. [Update: I may have spoken too soon on this one. While this was the initial report, there’s now talk about “Bishop of Rome, emeritus,” and keeping “Your Holiness” as an honorific. That may not be settled until the next papacy.] He will remain a Cardinal, and a member of the College of Bishops... just as any other Bishop-emeritus remains a bishop.

Q: Where will Ratzinger Go?
A: First, to the Papal residence in Castel Gandolfo. Then, once renovations are complete, he will move into a cloistered convent located within Vatican City. This is according to Fr. Lombardi, Vatican Spokesman (h/t Commonweal).

Q: Will Cardinal Ratzinger Vote for the Next Pope?
A: Not according to Fr. Lombardi. Benedict will take no part in the conclave at all.

Speaking of the conclave, I'll do another Q&A soon on the upcoming papal election, so feel free to add any questions you have (about the resignation or election) in the comments below.

And, of course, have a blessed Lent!

Update: I have finalized the Q&A on the papal conclave.

The Church's Prayer for the Next Pope

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 14:56:00 +0000

If you're looking for something to pray in the weeks to come, here's the Collect for the Election of a Pope or a Bishop from the Roman Missal:

"O God, eternal shepherd, who govern your flock with unfailing care, grant in your boundless fatherly love a pastor for your Church who will please you by his holiness and to us show watchful care. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."

We will be praying it daily here at the seminary, until a new pope is elected. It would make for a good private devotional, as well, particularly for those shaken by the announcement of Benedict's resignation.

Pope Benedict XVI to Resign

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 11:35:00 +0000

Our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, has announced that he will step down on February 28th due to his failing health:

"Dear Brothers,

I have convoked you to this Consistory, not only for the three canonizations, but also to communicate to you a decision of great importance for the life of the Church. After having repeatedly examined my conscience before God, I have come to the certainty that my strengths, due to an advanced age, are no longer suited to an adequate exercise of the Petrine ministry. I am well aware that this ministry, due to its essential spiritual nature, must be carried out not only with words and deeds, but no less with prayer and suffering. However, in today's world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me. For this reason, and well aware of the seriousness of this act, with full freedom I declare that I renounce the ministry of Bishop of Rome, Successor of Saint Peter, entrusted to me by the Cardinals on 19 April 2005, in such a way, that as from 28 February 2013, at 20:00 hours, the See of Rome, the See of Saint Peter, will be vacant and a Conclave to elect the new Supreme Pontiff will have to be convoked by those whose competence it is.

"Dear Brothers, I thank you most sincerely for all the love and work with which you have supported me in my ministry and I ask pardon for all my defects. And now, let us entrust the Holy Church to the care of Our Supreme Pastor, Our Lord Jesus Christ, and implore his holy Mother Mary, so that she may assist the Cardinal Fathers with her maternal solicitude, in electing a new Supreme Pontiff. With regard to myself, I wish to also devotedly serve the Holy Church of God in the future through a life dedicated to prayer."

This will make him the fifth pope in history to resign the papacy. I am sure that there is much more that shall be said about this news in the days and weeks to come.

Your Heart and Soul are Made for God: Why Settle for Less?

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 22:13:00 +0000

St. Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life, which I have been reading lately, arose out of correspondence he had with a woman who was looking for help in living out the life of a Christian amidst the secular world. If anything, the book has become only more valuable since then, as secular culture is more hostile to Christianity today than it was in the 16th century.

In Book V, Chapter 10, he describes in beautiful, almost poetic terms, the soul’s search for happiness in sin, and in God. I suspect that anyone who has ever searched for lasting happiness apart from God will be able to relate with his description of the insufficiency of that happiness. But Francis’ tone isn’t one of condemning sinners, but of calling them to more -- calling them, in fact, to Jesus Christ:

Simon Vouet, Heavenly Charity (c. 1640)
your soul is possessed of a noble will,
capable of loving God,
irresistibly drawn to that love;

your heart is full of generous enthusiasm,
and can no more find rest in any earthly creation,
or in aught [anything] save God,
than the bee can find honey on a dunghill,
or in aught save flowers.

Let your mind boldly review
the wild earthly pleasures
which once filled your heart,
and see whether they did not abound
in uneasiness and doubts,
in painful thoughts and uncomfortable cares,
amid which your troubled heart was miserable.

When the heart of man seeks the creature,
it goes to work eagerly,
expecting to satisfy its cravings;
but directly it obtains what it sought,
it finds a blank,
and dissatisfied,
begins to seek anew;

for God will not suffer our hearts to find any rest,
like the dove going forth from Noah's ark,
until it returns to God, whence it came.

Surely this is a most striking natural beauty in our heart; why should we constrain it against its will to seek creature love?

St. Augustine describes this same reality, at the beginning of his autobiography, The Confessions, when he prays, “You move us to delight in praising You; for You have formed us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in You.”

Philippe de Champaigne, Saint Augustine (c. 1650)

And note what Francis and Augustine have in common. Both of them are acknowledging that, all too often, we turn from God in pursuit of some fleeting pleasure that leaves us unsatisfied. But rather than condemning our hearts for their foolishness, these great Saints view this as a sign of the value of our hearts. As Francis says above, our dissatisfaction in anything short of God isn’t a punishment, but “a most striking natural beauty in our heart.” And he wrote this as a reminder of “how noble and excellent a thing your soul is.”

In fact, it’s precisely because our hearts and souls are so valuable that we know two things: (1) that there will be competition for them, from unworthy suitors [sin, and the pleasures of the world]; and (2) that the only suitor worthy of our heart and soul is their Maker, our God. St. Francis’ advice is to remind your soul of its worth:

“You are capable of realising a longing after God, why should you trifle with anything lower? you can live for eternity, why should you stop short in time? One of the sorrows of the prodigal son was, that, when he might have been living in plenty at his father's table, he had brought himself to share the swine's husks. My soul, you are made for God, woe be to you if you stop short in anything short of Him!” Lift up your soul with thoughts such as these, convince it that it is eternal, and worthy of eternity; fill it with courage in this pursuit.

Indeed, why would we ever content ourselves with anything less than God? To do so would be to settle for less than our own God-given worth.

How to Establish a Pro-Life Framework

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Heschmeyer) — Fri, 01 Feb 2013 23:48:00 +0000

There’s a faulty notion that the abortion issue is inherently religious: that one must be a Christian (or at least possess particular subjective beliefs about when life begins) in order to be against abortion. In fact, the pro-life view is founded squarely on modern science.

I wrote about this a couple weeks ago, regarding the scientific consensus that life begins at conception. One of the responses to that post was that the question of when life begins “is only HALF of the abortion debate.” This is certainly true. So let’s lay out both halves of the argument against abortion.

I. The Pro-Life Framework

An AAA-1, or “Modus Barbara” Syllogism,
of which this is one.

Properly understood, the pro-life argument can be reduced to a simple syllogism:

Major premise (moral / ethical): It is immoral, and should be illegal, to intentionally kill an innocent human being.
Minor Premise (scientific): An innocent human being is formed at conception / fertilization. This being is distinct from either the mother or the father. In other words, conception creates a new member of the species Homo Sapiens.*
Conclusion: Abortion is immoral, and should be illegal.

*Now, there may be other moments at which a unique human being is (or could also be) created, whether at the moment of twinning or in an artificial environment. But the fact that human beings might be formed at moments besides conception doesn’t rebut the claim that “a human being is formed at conception / fertilization.”

II. Where is the Debate?

One advantage to this framework is that you need not be a Christian, or even religious, to hold to these two views, anymore than one needs to be religious to think that murder is always and everywhere wrong.

As I pointed out in the earlier post, there is no legitimate debate over the minor premise. We can say, objectively, that a unique human life begins at conception. In virtually every case, people who claim to be attacking the minor premise (debating when human life begins) are really debating the major premise (whether they think it’s wrong to kill a human being prior to a certain point in human development).

Even the arguments about sentience aren’t really attacking the minor premise. They’re attacking the major premise by redefining what we mean by “human life.” So the only question remaining in the abortion debate is whether it's ever moral to intentionally kill human beings.

It’s true that this doesn’t end the debate, but it does clarify it. It clarifies that the defenders of abortion aren’t confused over the science (or at least, shouldn’t be). Rather, they’re defending the rather astonishingly claims that not all human lives are worthy of moral or legal protection. At this point, the pro-life side just needs to show that murder is always and everywhere wrong.

III. Scientific Terminology and Euphemism

I think that is particularly important to use terms which are both clear and objective, as I have found that the defenders of abortion run from both clarity and objectivity in terminology. In this way, the defenders of abortion are behaving like the defenders of any other atrocity: by perverting language to obscure the reality of what they’re defending. George Orwell, author of Animal Farm and 1984, railed against this tendency in his 1946 essay Politics and the English Language:

George Orwell
In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. [….]

The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism. A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity.

What Orwell describes is precisely what we’ve seen in the debate over abortion, particularly regarding the use of medical jargon and technical scientific terminology, in place of clear English. Let me use a grisly example. A particular abortion procedure involves delivering a child partway, but in the breech position, so that his feet come out first. The abortionist stops the child from being fully delivered by slitting open the back of his skull, and using a suction catheter to suck out his brains, killing him, and crushing his skull.

This mode of execution is called, by pro-lifers, “partial-birth abortion,” a term which is both accurate and clear. But those defending this horrendous practice have hidden themselves behind a wall of euphemisms, referring to it by obscure medical terms like “intact dilation and evacuation,” “dilation and extraction (D&X, or DNX),” and “intrauterine cranial decompression,” terms which no ordinary person understands. Like defending the “elimination of unreliable elements,” it’s easy to justify “intrauterine cranial decompression,” until you realize that what they mean by “cranial decompression” is “sucking out a baby’s brain mid-birth.”

That’s one reason why I think using terms like “human being” (or even “human organism”) is helpful. Undeniably, a unique human organism exists from conception. This is a purely scientific question, and it is worth putting this point forward in a scientific way. After all, someone using terms like “fetus” or “embryo” can hardly fault you for using technical terminology. We can know whether or not a particular subject is a member of the species Homo Sapiens, objectively and scientifically.

And here, you’ll find defenders of abortion (ironically) running away from objective scientific terminology. Instead of “human organism,” they’ll use terms which are either less descriptive (like “clump of cells,” which could refer to either a human organism or any other organic matter), or meaningless. That is, one typical tactic is to redefine words like “person” to mean whatever one wants it to mean. That’s not an exaggeration: defenders of abortion will say what “personhood” means to them. I am reminded of a scene from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass:

'When I use a word,' Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.'
'The question is,' said Alice, 'whether you can make words mean so many different things.'

So be on the watch for attempts to retreat into “sheer cloudy vagueness,” to turn the discussion from whether abortion kills a human being, to when a human being is really a “person.” If you find yourself debating someone who insists on making up their own definitions to words like “person,” you might at least call them to have the intellectual integrity to at least make up their own words to describe the realities they are defining. If nothing else, it shows the utter absurdity of redefining terms arbitrarily.