One of the great gifts of the Catholic tradition is that our communion in the Body of Christ is not cut off by death: in short, the communion of saints, of which the official canon is most likely the tip of the iceberg. We can seek spiritual companions from among this great cloud of witnesses for all kinds of reasons, and there are a few I’ve been calling on frequently amid so much troubling news. Especially as I keep hearing of crowds of people, God’s beloved all, fleeing danger in Central America and the Middle East, crossing literal deserts on their own present-day via crucis, a pair of exemplars that keep impressing themselves on my mind are Oscar Romero, killed in El Salvador in 1980, and Christian de Chergé, killed in Algeria in 1996 – two shepherds who bore witness unto death to the Good Shepherd. And on today’s feast of the exaltation, or triumph, of the cross, their witness illuminates the meaning of such a victory.
Both men are widely and deservedly acclaimed as martyrs, though admittedly the definition of a martyr is not without controversy. John Allen makes a strong case in the introduction to his book The Global War on Christians (by the way, if you read any book on Christian persecution, make it that one) that “it’s not enough to consider what was in the mind of the person pulling the trigger – we also have to ponder what was in the heart of the believer getting shot.” A case can also be made for the classic criterion of odium fidei in the hatred provoked by the faith these two pastors preached in word and deed, whether or not that was an explicitly professed motive on the part of their killers.
Both of them foresaw their own deaths, not in a crystal-ball kind of way but as a very real risk of continuing the ministry they were called to. And both united their deaths to that of Christ by preemptively forgiving their killers, de Chergé doing so with a direct allusion to the dying words of Christ, and Romero ultimately being killed at the very altar of Christ’s sacrifice. Reading the words by which they foreshadowed their own final moments, in the knowledge of the fruit they bore, leaves no doubt in my own mind that these are the words of saints.
But, as LeVar Burton would say, you don’t have to take my word for it. Read more…
Today is the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, a feast that stands near the head of the Franciscan calendar. According to his biographers it was on or shortly after this feast in 1224 that St. Francis received the gift of the stigmata while praying on Mount La Verna, about 60 miles north of Assisi. I hope to write something about this feast, but for today let me leave you with this quote from Thomas of Celano and this image by El Greco. A most blessed and happy feast day to everyone!
I am troubled by all violence.
I said this once to an Iraqi priest I had come to know and admire, and it provoked a look – almost with a start – of something resonating to the core. I mention this not to suggest in any way that I can presume to speak for him or anyone living through the Iraqi Church’s present trial, but because, to the contrary, it encapsulates my own inability to speak to a situation like that much at all – and why I feel the need to say something anyway, even if it’s only to acknowledge how little I can say.
The actions of the Islamic State, and the ideology that drives them, horrify and confound me. I am at an utter loss as to how anyone can spread so much death and destruction so systematically and genuinely believe that they are doing the will of God, or how anyone could even want to serve a God who would be pleased by all this.
It wrenches me to think of anyone equating rabid violence with the service of God. And wrenching too is the equation of added violence with mercy. This latter idea came to me by way of a former co-blogger who I believe is one of the most genuinely nonviolent people I have encountered anywhere – certainly in the infamous blogosphere – and more so than me, I suspect, in practice. So I believe him when he says he came to that conclusion reluctantly. And my own vastly clearer convictions about what the answer isn’t than any idea of what it is, short of some miraculous metanoia, leave me paralyzed.
Writing over at NCR Online, Fr. Thomas Reese, SJ discusses the recent vacancy at the Congregation for Divine Worship and offers his thoughts on the issues that the new prefect (as yet unnamed) should set before the congregation. After lamenting that Pope Francis does not appear to be a proponent of liturgical reform (though he notes approvingly that the Pope is no fan of the Extraordinary Form of the mass), he argues that
The greatest challenge facing the new prefect is to develop a new way of managing liturgical change in the church….The Vatican response was to stop all change, crack down on experimentation, and force reluctant bishops to provide the Tridentine Mass to anyone who wanted it long after the vernacular language had firmly taken hold….A more intelligent and pastoral approach to liturgical change would include three things: centers for liturgical research and development, market testing, and enculturation.
All of these ideas focus on the idea that liturgies should develop and evolve at a more local level: that bishops’ conferences and indeed individual bishops should devote resources to studying the liturgy and proposing ways for it to evolve. His ideas about market testing are off-putting in their formulation (I cringe to think of the mass as a “product”) but he is correct that liturgy should not simply be created and imposed from on high. Liturgy needs to develop organically, and this means that new ideas and new formulations need to be shared with the laity to see how they respond. I am not a scholar of liturgical development, but my sense from what I have read is that this is how liturgies developed prior to Trent: bishops and religious orders had ideas and tried them. If they met with a positive response they were kept (and sometimes spread, as Gregorian chant was exported from the Frankish Churches to Rome); other ideas withered away or were actively opposed and were dropped. Something of this pattern can be seen in the post-Trent period with the development, spread and decline of various devotions.
Fr. Reese then goes on to lay out a smorgasbord of ideas for the new Prefect to explore using this model: revisit the English translation of the Roman Missal (including the idea of reviving the original 1998 ICEL translation), revisit moving the sign of peace to elsewhere in the mass (something he has written on extensively), explore adding new Eucharistic prayers and prefaces, the latter of which would be tied closely to the readings in the lectionary for the mass. I must confess that none of these really seem that pressing. For better or worse we now have the new Roman Missal, and (despite my multiple concerns—see here, here, here and here) I do not think anything is to be gained from revisiting this question. Continuing to discuss moving the sign of peace seems jejune. I am intrigued by the idea of having prefaces that match the lectionary—I have always liked a lot of the prefaces for particular feasts—but again it is not clear that this is a central issue facing us.
Truthfully, I don’t think I would have bothered to blog about this short article, except that Fr. Reese’s penultimate paragraph and a perceptive comment in the commboxes really struck me. Fr. Reese wrote
Despite my hope that the new prefect would take up such an agenda, we need to recognize that even if we had perfect liturgical texts and ceremonies in the Sacramentary, liturgy lives or dies at the local parish. What the people want is good music, good preaching, and a sense of belonging, which cannot be prepackaged in Rome. Parishes that are welcoming and have good music and good preaching see their pews filled. We cannot blame Rome for everything that is wrong in the liturgy.
This really resonated with me, especially his comment about “a sense of belonging.” In the earlier part of my life, due to education and career, my wife and I moved a fair bit. We were blessed twice by finding parishes where we quickly felt we belonged, and part of our struggle in Connecticut was that it took a long time gain this sense of really being part of the community, as opposed to a long term visitor. Much of our sense of community came from the liturgy, whether it was from the spirit that arose in the close confines of mass said in the school cafeteria (because the Church building was destroyed by an earthquake) or from the sense of joining when our pastor at a parish in Indiana allowed us to have our second son baptized at mass—not his regular practice but one which made my whole family part of the parish.
As I have indicated in other posts (cf. my thoughts on vocations) I strongly believe that our faith needs to be lived out in all its dimensions at the local, parish level. It would seem to me that if we are going to have a true, ongoing liturgical reform, we need to discuss what is needed to revive liturgies at the parish level. Part of the problem with liturgies is a function of the vocations crisis—decreasing numbers of aging, over-worked priests is not going to create quality liturgy—and so must be addressed elsewhere. And fixing the problem is not simply a matter of rooting out abusive practices from the odd corners in which they exist. (I am hereby adding a corollary to Godwin’s Law: in any discussion of Catholic liturgy, the first person to mention clown masses automatically loses the argument.) Rather, we need to ask ourselves: does our liturgy build up community: both in and among those present, but also with the broader Church and as a springboard to bring the Gospel to the whole world (and not just to the narrow bits that are “just like us.”)
One perceptive comment in the commboxes to Fr. Reese’s article really struck me, because I think the writer put his finger directly these concerns: Shaun G. Lynch wrote
It seems to crop up in the news with regularity: “Teacher fired from St. X Catholic school because….” It could be because the teacher is openly gay, or has entered into a gay marriage, or had in vitro fertilization, or is an unmarried mother, or (in a particularly depressing case) was the victim of domestic violence. There is an inevitable backlash in the media, and very often students and their parents rally in support of the fired teacher. Irrespective of anything else, the Church comes off looking quite bad.
We have discussed this a few times in posts: see, for instance, here and here. Reviewing the commentary it is clear that there are some serious conflicting views at stake here and that there is a need to elucidate the moral principles involved. A couple of months ago, there was an article in America Magazine that attempted to do exactly that: The Ethics of Exit by Daniel J. Daly, an associate professor and chair of the theology department at Saint Anselm College, New Hampshire. I recommend reading the whole article, but I want to quote a few of his key points here.
During his recent visit to South Korea, Pope Francis touched upon many familiar themes in his talks and homilies. One in particular that he returned to was his desire that the Catholic Church be “a poor church for the poor,” a vision he first expressed in the days immediately following his election. It should not be surprising that he had strong words on this subject for the Korean bishops, and that what he had to say made them feel uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, in fact, that when they posted a transcript of his address, they omitted part of his address. As reported by NCR, they left out the following: Read more…
So the rest of the story, which consists of the whole mystical life of Jesus in the souls of saints, remains a matter of our faith… The Holy Spirit no longer writes gospels, except in our hearts; saintly souls are the pages, suffering and action the ink. The Holy Spirit is writing a living gospel with the pen of action, which we will only be able to read on the day of glory when, fresh from the presses of life, it will be published.
In cooperation with the Holy Spirit today, what am I going to write? What are you going to write? I pray that each of us takes the pen of our lives firmly in hand adds a worthy page to the gospels.