What Do I Want to Be?

“What do you want to want to be, anyway?"
"I don't know; I guess what I want to be is a good Catholic."
 "What you should say"--he told me--"what you should say is that you want to be a saint.”
 ― Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain

What do I want to be?  

Hmmm.  There are a lot of things I'd like to be.  And if I were to list all of them, the list would probably take up a couple pages. And in those pages of  numbered lines, I'm not sure where "to be a Saint" would end up.  Number 123?  249?  Honestly, I'm not even sure it would place at all.  

Oh, not because I don't want to be a Saint.  Of course, I do.  I want to be a Saint because God has called me to be one.  It's life's most worthwhile goal.  It's why we were created.  

So, of course I want to be a Saint.  I just don't believe it would place on my list because I don't think I would think about it.  It simply wouldn't come to my mind as quickly as "to be a good father," or "to be a good husband."  

And that brings me to another question--the biggest question.  If it wouldn't naturally and easily come to my mind--if being a Saint doesn't top (or even place) on my list of "what I want to be"--am I all that safe in assuming I'll become one? 

How many baseball players end up playing in the majors without putting that dream on their list?  How many doctors become doctors without placing that career on their list?  How many teachers become teachers, pastors become pastors without first setting their sites on that achievement, that goal, that path?   I would wager the numbers are pretty low.

Now, if every single career or goal in life is attained only with work, vision, sacrifice and drive, why do I find it so easy to assume I'm going to slip backwards into Sainthood while able to keep my eyes focused elsewhere?  Is Sainthood easier to achieve than a degree in medicine?  Am I presuming God will let me slide by because I'm a good guy?  Or am I simply lazy?  Spiritually lazy and lacking in ambition and energy and drive?  

I don't know the answers (for I assume it's not just one of those things, but rather a combination) to that question.  All I know is that when I look at my list of "what I want to be", being a Saint isn't there.  Not right now.  Not if I'm honest.  And that's frightening.  It's time to rewrite the list.  And, more important, it's time to start living accordingly.

The Pope Says Most Will Be Saved? Not So Fast: A Response to Father Robert Barron

Dr. Ralph Martin, Professor of Systematic Theology at Sacred Heart Seminary in Detroit, has a new book entitled "Will Many Be Saved?" Admittedly, I haven't read the book, though it's on my Christmas list (my wife has imposed a rule about buying things when we're this close to Christmas.  The rule is:  we don't.) 

At any rate, even without having read the book, I've still read enough to be able to summarize Dr. Martin's argument.  He believes that the growing belief in the Church that many (if not nearly all) will be saved is a misreading of the Vatican II document, Lumen Gentium (particularly paragraph 16).  

But Martin's book isn't the point of this post.  What I want to focus on here is a particular review or response to the book by the well-known Father Robert Barron. 

Father Barron, in an article entitled "How Many Are Saved?" praised Martin's book as "important", but, in the end, found himself in disagreement with Martin's conclusion.  Here's Father Barron's summary in his own words:

So who has it right in regard to this absolutely crucial question? Even as I deeply appreciate Martin’s scholarship . . . I found his central argument undermined by one of his own footnotes. In a note buried on page 284 of his text, Martin cites some “remarks” of Pope Benedict XVI that have contributed, in his judgment, to confusion on the point in question. He is referring to observations in sections 45-47 of the Pope’s 2007 encyclical "Spe Salvi," which can be summarized as follows: There are a relative handful of truly wicked people in whom the love of God and neighbor has been totally extinguished through sin, and there are a relative handful of people whose lives are utterly pure, completely given over to the demands of love. Those latter few will proceed, upon death, directly to heaven, and those former few will, upon death, enter the state that the Church calls Hell. But the Pope concludes that “the great majority of people” who, though sinners, still retain a fundamental ordering to God, can and will be brought to heaven after the necessary purification of Purgatory. Martin knows that the Pope stands athwart the position that he has taken throughout his study, for he says casually enough, “The argument of this book would suggest a need for clarification.”

Obviously, there is no easy answer to the question of who or how many will be saved, but one of the most theologically accomplished popes in history, writing at a very high level of authority, has declared that we oughtn't to hold that Hell is densely populated . . . .  It seems to me that Pope Benedict’s position – affirming the reality of Hell but seriously questioning whether that the vast majority of human beings end up there – is the most tenable and actually the most evangelically promising.  

So, to summarize:  Father Barron's reading of Spe Salvi leads him to conclude that Pope Benedict XVI believes that the majority of people are saved, though after a time of purgation.  From the document, he concludes that Benedict is "seriously questioning whether that [sic] the vast majority of human beings end up there." However, is that a correct reading of the document in question?  Is the Pope really saying that the majority of mankind will be purified in purgatory and made fit for heaven?  Is that what Spe Salvi is actually proposing?

With copies of the document readily available online, I opened a copy and read it, focusing specifically on the paragraph in question (46).  And as much as I respect Father Barron (and as much as I'm unsuited to step into the "theological ring" with him) I can't help but think, after reading the document closely myself, that Father Barron has perhaps read too much into the text.  

Here are Benedict's words from paragraph 46 with my comments in bold:

For the great majority of people—we may suppose—there remains in the depths of their being an ultimate interior openness to truth, to love, to God.  In the concrete choices of life, however, it is covered over by ever new compromises with evil—much filth covers purity, but the thirst for purity remains and it still constantly re-emerges from all that is base and remains present in the soul. What happens to such individuals when they appear before the Judge? Will all the impurity they have amassed through life suddenly cease to matter? What else might occur?

After differentiating in the preceding paragraph between those who are thoroughly evil and those who are utterly pure when they die, Pope Benedict talks about the rest of humanity--the great majority of people.  He points out that this vast majority have at least some sort of interior openness to truth, love and God.  However, if you read the remainder of his comments in context, he's not declaring that this "great majority" all go to heaven.  He's just saying that the great majority of people are not thoroughly and completely opposed to God, truth and love. 

Benedict goes on to say that for this great majority of people, even though they're open, to some extent to things that are holy, their choices in life are covered over by compromises with evil. Certainly, the thirst for purity can remain and still can re-emerge from all that is base, but it also can sink back under the filth again.

Basically, all he's saying here is that these people aren't the utterly vile that were spoken of earlier.  The spark of human goodness is still alive, though perhaps dim.  This is the bulk of mankind:  mired in sin, but not completely rejecting the God, truth and love.  But then he asks an important question: what happens when they appear before the Judge?  Does all that sin cease to matter?  Are they welcomed into heaven regardless of their lives?  Let's see what he says:

Saint Paul, in his First Letter to the Corinthians, gives us an idea of the differing impact of God's judgement according to each person's particular circumstances. He . . . begins by saying that Christian life is built upon a common foundation: Jesus Christ. This foundation endures. If we have stood firm on this foundation and built our life upon it, we know that it cannot be taken away from us even in death.

Here's where Benedict makes an important distinction by mentioning the "Christian life".  He then references 1 Corinthians 3:12-15 to make the point that it truly is the Christian life he is speaking--a life built upon the foundation of Christ.  And the good news, he points out, is that this foundation (Christ) endures.  IF we have stood on this foundation, have built upon it, we know it (the foundation) cannot be taken away from us even in death.  IF we start with Christ as our foundation, we have a firm hope for our salvation.  

But what if we don't start with Christ as a foundation?  What if we ignore Christ completely?  What if we build on a foundation OTHER than Christ?  What if we're really good people, but never really cared to dig into that "Jesus" thing?  Pope Benedict doesn't address this aspect of the discussion.  He's only talking about those who build on Christ--not those who didn't.  That's important...

Then Paul continues: “Now if any one builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw—each man's work will become manifest; for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. If the work which any man has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward [Heaven].  If any man's work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire” [Purgatory] (1 Cor 3:12-15). In this text, it is in any case evident that our salvation can take different forms, that some of what is built may be burned down, that in order to be saved we personally have to pass through “fire” so as to become fully open to receiving God and able to take our place at the table of the eternal marriage-feast.

Here's the passage that ties everything together.  He fully draws out the meaning of Paul's writing in 1 Corinthians 3:12-15 and points out that when we build on the foundation of Christ, we're building on a firm foundation.  If that which we build is composed of gold and silver and precious stones, the fire will test it, it won't be burned up, and we'll be ushered into heaven.  If that which we build is hay, wood or straw however, it will be burned up, BUT we will be saved as through fire.

And why will we be saved?  Because we built on the foundation of Christ--the foundation which endures.  We built improperly or poorly on the foundation of Christ--and for that there is a time of cleansing and ordering of our hearts toward God--but the most important fact (in the end) is that we did build on Christ.  That causes us to have a firm hope in salvation in the end, even though we may have to suffer the purifying fire.  Again, if we didn't build upon Christ, this text offers us nothing, neither good nor bad--the Pope's focus here is upon those who live the Christian life, not those who reject it or don't know of it.  

In reading through the paragraph carefully, it's clear that while Pope Benedict does not come out and say "many will be damned" or anything of that nature, neither does he claim that, (as has been suggested) "the great majority will be saved."   The point of the encyclical is not to talk about the numbers of the damned, so it's no surprise he doesn't dwell on that topic.  However, to claim that his statements somehow represent support for the notion that most will eventually be saved, is simply not being true to the text.  He's not really addressing the eternal fate of non-Christians at all.  He's talking about those who build on the foundation of Christ.  And he suggests that IF we do that, we have a reasonable hope of salvation.  Oh, that salvation may come with a stop off in purgatory, but if we build upon the foundation of Christ we won't be abandoned. 

And even if you're still not convinced Pope Benedict is suggesting what I see, I believe at the very least, we can agree with Dr. Martin that the remarks certainly could stand for some clarification.  They are definitely not as clear as Father Barron suggests in favor of the salvation of "most".

Which brings us back to the question at hand:  will most be saved?  Or will more be lost?  My brain isn't suited to answer that.  I'd love to believe that most are saved--after all, God is Love and God is God and can therefore accomplish whatever He wants, right? 

Yet, as much as I'd like to believe all that, I can't shake Christ's own words about the narrow road and the few whot will find it.  I can't shake all of Christ's warnings of Hell.  I can't shake the fact that His last words to the Apostles were "go, make disciples, baptize and teach everyone to follow all that I've commanded" (Matthew 28:16-20).  If most will end up being saved, why the warnings?  Why the commands?  Why the sense of urgency?  

No, as much as I wish and pray that Hell would be/is largely empty, I can't believe it is.  Perhaps I'm wrong. Hopefully, I'm wrong.  But the words of Christ are clear:  Hell is real and it's a very real possibility for all of us.  It has to be both of those things or His warnings are a waste of His breath and time.  

And because it's real, we need to examine our souls, our consciences, on a daily basis.  We need to uncover hidden sin and we need to get to confession.  We need to repent, follow Christ, and spread the word:  

Hell is real.
Souls go there.
Christ is the answer!

The Way is Shut

“The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Some days I think I know where I'm going:  the path before me seems to unfold almost miraculously and I explain to myself that I'd be a fool not to see the hand of God in all the twists and turns and coincidences that are too coincidental to be coincidences.  Some days it seems that the heavens open up and God drops a neon arrow in my path that says, very clearly, "This way, please."

And then there are days like today, nights like tonight.  Days when I cannot see the path no matter how I squint; nights when I'm not even sure I'm in the remote vicinity of a path but fear that I've instead wandered off into the briars and the tangles.  Nights when I stumble blindly on, hands outstretched, only to bump into the cold steel of a chained gate.

Let me back up:  for two years I've seen the way before me open up in miraculous ways and I've come to believe that God is leading me to the Catholic Church.  This makes many of my non-Catholic friends roll their eyes, huff a little, and probably click off this blog and navigate to something that makes them less angry or frustrated.  Yet, while I know this personal journey of mine has been publicized (by me) far too loudly and far too often, it's only because it's hard to constrain the joy and excitement and terror I feel as I watch God's hand move in my life.  

This moving is more clear to me than anything else I've ever experienced.  It's not quantifiable, provable, or even visible.  Instead, it's everything a journey of faith should be:  terrifying, dangerous, seemingly insane, full of promise.  In fact, I feel like a miniature, much less epic, version of Abraham.  It's almost as if I've heard this booming voice saying "get up and go to this crazy land of incense and genuflections and statues and 1 million other weird and unusual things."  (To be clear--and in the interest of full disclosure--I've heard no such voice:  it's just a leading that I can't explain any other way.)

And, moving on, I'm trying to be obedient to that leading, but it's not easy:  The Catholic World, after all, is profoundly different from anything this American Protestant has ever experienced.  And yet, over time, as I've come to better understand the weird things, the unusual things, the seemingly unexplainable things, I've begun to find something I never thought I'd find:  true faith and, even more importantly, a a deeper, more personal relationship with Christ than I've ever experienced.

God has clearly been a part of this journey.  His fingerprints are all over it.

But, there's a problem--a problem that clouds everything and brings me back to the darker beginning to this entry:  my wife is neither so inclined, nor so excited, nor so happy.  Her Catholic journey, in fact, seems destined to be much, much shorter than mine.  Whereas I've been drawn to the Catholic Church, she's drawn back to our previous life of Protestantism.  We are both heading in opposite directions and neither one sees how it's possible to reverse our path and go the other's way.

And that's tough to deal with because I know that my journey--as exciting as it is for me--is breaking her heart.  She doesn't want to come with me and yet, neither does she want our family to attend different churches.

Which brings me to the next big complication:  our kids.  All five of them.  What will we do with them?  Do we let them decide on their own? (Many folks on both sides say that's the right thing to do--but I will not simply turn two 11 year-olds, an 8 year-old, a 7 year-old and a 4 year-old loose in the world of theology, suggesting that they "choose for themselves."  That day will come.  But now, I, as a parent, must train.  Yes, it's politically incorrect, yes, it's old school...but you will not change my mind.  It's my responsibility as a father.) 

So, I can let them choose on their own (which I can't do--not at this age), or we could raise them in both churches and confuse them beyond words.

For me, that's not an option either, because I don't just "like" Catholicism better than Protestantism.  It's not about music or styles of worship or the cool little donuts they serve after Mass.  I'm moving toward Catholicism simply because I believe it's the Truth. (And I know this makes my Protestant friends family members angry, but it really shouldn't.  To hopefully defuse any anger, let me ask a question:  why do you remain Protestant?  Why don't you go to the Catholic Church instead from time to time?  The most basic answer is because you don't believe it to be true.  You think, instead, that Protestantism is true and so you stay there.  I on the other hand, believe Catholicism to be True and must go there.  So don't be angry when I say I think Catholicism is true.  I'd be a fool to pursue something this disruptive to my life if I didn't fully believe it to be the truth.)

Anyway, I want to raise my kids Catholic because I believe it's the Truth.   My wife, on the other hand, has different ideas.  Hence the confusion.  Hence the clouded path.  Hence the darkness.  

As a couple, we are at a loss.  We're not angry with each other, we're not dueling.  We're getting along as well as we ever have.  But there's a sadness and a confusion that hangs over everything.

What do I do?  As a father, do I lead even where my family doesn't want to go?  Or do  I step back and let them lead?  Or, do we just "agree to disagree" and each go our own separate ways in regards to our faiths?  And how does that play out for the kids, for us?

The good news is that as dark as this all is . . . it's God's plan.  And when we follow the path to its natural end, we'll be thankful for the journey.  The suffering along the way has value and, when we arrive at journey's end, we'll rejoice in the land He's brought us to. 

But that's somewhere down the road.  First, we've got to get there.  And that means walking.  And right now, we're not sure where to put the next foot. For right now, we're lost.  Tonight we're looking for a path.  We're looking for a way.  The Way. 

But it's shut. 

Fishers of Men

Pray for vocations.

Problems with Sola Scriptura

"Sola Scriptura (Scripture Alone) is the doctrine that the Bible contains all knowledge necessary for salvation and holiness.  Sola Scriptura demands that only those doctrines to be admitted or confessed are doctrines found directly within or indirectly by using valid logical deduction or valid deductive reasoning from scripture."

This is one of the foundational principles of the reformation and yet, it cannot possibly be God's plan for Christianity.

Here's why:

• The first book of the New Testament is 1st Thessalonians and was written around AD 52.   The resurrection occurred around AD 33 or so, meaning that the first Christians had not even a single writing from the New Testament upon which to base their faith for the first 15 - 20 years.

• The last books of the New Testament to be written were penned between AD 95-110.  So, again, before early Christians could go to the Bible to find the doctrines necessary for salvation, they had to wait almost 70 or so years after Jesus died just to have the texts (that, again, contained everything they needed to know for salvation) written.

• The first recorded list of proposed books for the New Testament came about in AD 130-140.  Marcion of Sinope, rejecting entirely the "God of the Old Testament" and the Jewish Scriptures, proposed a list of books that he regarded as fully authoritative.  His list included 10 Pauline epistles and the Gospel of Luke (devoid of any reference to Old Testament Scriptures).  It's interesting that if Sola Scripture were truly the foundational doctrine the reformers suggested, why did it take so long before someone actually proposed a list of books?  If this was truly what believers needed as a true guide--the only guide--then why did even a faulty, scant version of this list take so long to create?

• The complete Canon of Scripture wasn't compiled until almost AD 400.  While there were many lists of "the books of the New Testament" these lists (as we just demonstrated) were often incomplete or, in some cases, included extra works that were later considered "apocryphal" (the Gospel of Thomas, for example).  At any rate, the complete list of New Testament books that we possess today wasn't agreed upon by the entire Church until roughly AD 400, meaning that for nearly 370 years, Christians were unable to know that what they were studying was something that could even by rights be called Scripture. 

• Once the canon was compiled, the production of Bibles was still time-consuming and costly.  It's estimated that the production of a single Bible in the early years of Christianity up until the invention of the printing press could cost anywhere from 1-3 years' wages.  For one Bible.  If Sola Scriptura and the possession of a Bible by every believer was God's plan, why did God wait so long to inspire the printing press?  Why would God create a system for knowing Him--Sola Scriptura--that couldn't be fully implemented until the invention of the printing press?

• Even after the printing press, not everybody could read.  The internet has made available--at our fingertips--books written in all kinds of languages.  Hungarian for example.  I purchased a Hungarian Bible a few years ago for a friend.  When it was delivered, I discovered upon opening it, that I couldn't read it.  The mere availability of the book in Hungarian did not--obviously--instill within me the ability to read Hungarian.  Likewise, illiterate people with a book, even if that book is a Bible, still can't read it.  The words still look like gibberish and scratchings.  So, for Sola Scriptura to make any sense as a foundational principle for knowing God, we would need, not just the printing press and readily available Bibles, but also the ability to read (and understand) the written word.  Even today, we don't have a universal ability to read and comprehend.  So, once again, God's system--if it is His, which begins to seem more and more doubtful--is flawed.

Now, it could be argued that Sola Scriptura doesn't so much mean that we need to, each one of us, possess a Bible of our own.  Rather, it could mean that we simply look to the Bible as the source for every doctrine we believe in.  If the doctrine's not there, (explicitly or deducible by "valid" logic), then we shouldn't believe it.  

Unfortunately, there are a number of problems with this reasoning as well:

• Who determines what's "valid logic" and what's not?  I know this sounds silly and we're all tempted to say "clearly, valid logic is 'X' and clearly 'Y' is not valid."  But if it were really that easy, then there would be no disagreements in the world, right?  Look at politics.  Two sides can look at the same issue and see "valid" logic in opposite determinations.  Religion is another topic that necessarily produces wide-ranging opinions and conclusions.  Often, what's valid logic to one party is invalid to another.  Which brings us back to the question:  who determines what's a valid teaching and what's not?  Is it the majority?  What if the majority changes over time?  Does the truth then change with it?  Clearly, that can't be the case.  Yet, if every believer has the right and authority and duty to examine the scriptures using "valid" logic, we're going to end up with a wide-range of opinions as to what the Truth really is.

• Who determines what's explicitly taught?  OK, so maybe extrapolating the teachings of the Bible that aren't clearly taught is complicated as we saw above.  But what about those things explicitly taught?  Surely, those are clear and beyond question?  Not really.  Look at baptism as just one example.  Some groups believe that baptism is clearly taught in scripture as necessary for salvation.  Other groups believe that baptism is a "sign and seal" of a Christian's new commitment to Christ.  Basically, it's a good thing to do, but not necessary.  Still other groups believe that baptism by water is not even necessary as a "sign and seal"--instead, we are baptized by the Spirit.  To take it still further, ask a wide range of Christians who the Bible teaches should be baptized and you'll receive an equally wide range of answers.  Some will say infants.  Others will say only believers who've repented.  Ask again about the method and you'll hear immersion, sprinkling, no water necessary and so on.  And after all of these answers, it will be argued that the Bible is explicitly clear.

• Where does the Bible say such a thing?  No matter how we scour the Bible, we're never going to find a command in the Bible that says that the Bible (or scripture) alone should be used to determine all of the doctrine we believe as Christians.  Basically, the Bible doesn't proclaim the doctrine of the Bible alone.  This is a problem because how can we adopt the doctrine of "the Bible alone" if the Bible doesn't teach us to adopt the doctrine of "the Bible alone".  The Bible says that scripture is important and necessary, but it doesn't say that scripture is all we need.  Instead, we read in 1 Timothy 3:15:  "But if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house of God, which is the Church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth."  (Notice, the Bible says that the pillar and foundation of the truth is the Church of the living God, not scripture).

Basically, much more could be said, but it doesn't take long to see that "the Bible alone" just doesn't work in practice.  Now, being raised to believe that the Bible alone is all we needed, I know how horrible it sounds to hear someone say that we can't go by the Bible alone.  But that's not what's intended.  No disrespect is meant to the position and role of Scripture.  However, it's important to put Scripture in the place and let it play the role that God intended.  To give it a lesser place is wrong.  But to elevate it beyond it's place is also wrong--and equally likely to result in mistaken doctrine.

Some Things Don't Change: John Adams Describes a Catholic Mass

It's funny how some things just don't change.  For example, here's a quote from John Adams of Founding Fathers fame.  It's taken from a letter he wrote to his wife, Abigail after he attended a Mass at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Philadelphia with George Washington on October 9, 1774:

This afternoon, led by Curiosity and good Company I strolled away to Mother Church, or rather Grandmother Church, I mean the Romish Chapel.  Heard a good, short, moral Essay upon the Duty of Parents to their Children, founded in justice and Charity, to take care of their Interests temporal and spiritual.  This afternoon's entertainment was to me most awful and affecting.  The poor wretches fingering their beads, chanting Latin, not a word of which they understood, their Pater Nosters and Ave Marias.  Their holy water--their crossing themselves perpetually--their bowing to the name of Jesus wherever they hear it--their bowings, and kneelings, and genuflections before the altar.  The dress of the priest was rich with lace--his pulpit was velvet and gold.  The altar piece was very rich--little images and crucifixes about--wax candles lighted up.  But how shall I describe the picture of our Saviour in a frame of marble over the altar, at full length, upon the cross in the agonies, and the blood dropping and streaming from his wounds.

The music consisting of an organ, and a Choir of singers, went all the afternoon, excepting sermon Time, and the Assembly chanted--most sweetly and exquisitely.  Here is everything which can lay hold of the eye, ear, and imagination.  Everything which can charm and bewitch the simple and the ignorant.  I wonder how Luther ever broke the spell.

So, the things that don't change?

First, the Mass.  The Mass doesn't change.  Here we have an eye witness account of a Mass from 1774.  And every single detail is what we'd see at Mass today, excepting (possibly) some of the Latin.  The crucifixes are still there.  So are the candles.  And the gold and the marble.  The altar is still front and center and the images of Christ are just as bloody.  The beads are still there, the "Pater Nosters" (The Our Fathers) and the "Ave Marias" (The Hail Mary's) are still quietly mumbled by reverent (and not always so reverent) worshippers.  Holy water, the sign of the cross, the bowing and the genuflections . . . all still there.   The Mass hasn't changed.

The second thing that hasn't changed since the letter was written?  A latent distrust, dislike, disapproval, misunderstanding and overall prejudice against all things Catholic.  Adam's mood and attitude was typical of the Colonists at that time period.  And sadly, it's quite representative of the attitudes today.  

Now, don't get me wrong:  I'm a big John Adam's fan and don't fault him (necessarily) for maintaining and espousing the attitude of the day.  I understand that the colonies at that point in time were decidedly unfriendly to the Catholic faith and he was, as are we all, a product of his times.  

Still, I wonder that he didn't realize his inability to declare, after attending just this one Mass, that the people chanting and praying in Latin understood "not a word"?  I wonder at the intellectual elitism by which he reduced people with different thoughts and traditions than him to "poor wretches" who are easily charmed and bewitched--the "simple and the ignorant".   I wonder at his inability to put words to the sight of the Savior doing the work of saving.  He sees Jesus "in the agonies", not cleaned up with flowing hair and winning smile after the resurrection, and he simply says "how shall I describe [Him]?"

All in all, Adam's words reflect an anti-Catholicism that's all too common:  complaints that are lodged based largely upon misunderstandings, hasty judgments, and a sense of superiority--both religious and intellectual.  And yet, it's difficult to read his letter without picking up on some threads of thought that suggest that while he is disposed to hate the Mass . . . he still finds parts of it intriguing, compelling, "bewitching".  He writes of a beauty in the chant that's "sweet" and "exquisite".

He writes that everything about the Mass appeals to every part of who we are as people:  "Here is everything which can lay hold of the eye, ear, and imagination."   And he's right:  In the Mass, our eyes take in the beauty and majesty, the cross, and the One on the cross.  Our ears soak up the chants, the bells and the high language and we're aware that we are not just "anywhere"--we are in a Holy and otherworldy place.  Our sense of smell picks up on the incense.  Our sense of touch is brought into worship when we dip our fingers in holy water and cross ourselves, remembering our baptism, the Trinity, and the miracle of forgiven sins.  And finally, at the pinnacle of the Mass, we taste and eat the Body and Blood of the Lord in Holy Communion.  

All of these sights and sounds, smells and bells, work together to stir our imagination and conjure the deep thoughts of our souls.  Adam's doesn't embrace it fully--in fact, he basically tries to poke at it gently from a very long ways away--but he still sees that it's there:  a draw, a beauty.

I found the same things in my journey to the Catholic Church.  I began two years ago with the sentiment Adams seems to convey in the letter:  I pitied Catholics for their empty, shallow and self-reliant faith.  I despised the beads, the holy water, the vestments, the gold, the marble.  I saw all of these as fetters holding them back from true faith.  But still, alongside the dislike--the dislike I knew I should feel--I found something else beginning to grow:  a growing appreciation of the reverence.  Of the Altar.  Of the Crucifixes.  Of the Genuflecting and the bowing and the silence.  Of the Holy Water and the candles and even, finally, an appreciation of the beads and the statues and the icons.

I slowly began to see and learn that not one of these items or practices is without symbolic meaning--deep, ancient and rich.  And when I dug beyond appearances and past prejudices and actually explored that meaning, I found--where I least expected to find Him--Christ.

We genuflect, because Christ is truly, physically here, at every Mass.  We cross ourselves with Holy Water and pause because we're recalling our baptism and the washing of our sins.  The altar is where the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ is re-presented. The crucifix reminds us of the Price--the Price God was willing to pay (and did pay) to redeem the entire world.  And above all, before all, at the center of all, is Our Lord in the Eucharist, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.  The same as He was 230+ years ago when Adams strolled into a Catholic Church with George Washington.  And the same as He was roughly 2000 years ago when spoke to His apostles on the night before His passion and said "This is my body..."  

Thank God some things never change....

The Curse of Broadmindedness

I was just starting to gather my thoughts together regarding whether or not all Christian faiths are just as good as the next one when I stumbled upon this article by Archbishop Fulton Sheen.  He addresses what I was wondering so much better than I could that I'm just going to link to his article rather than write something...for now.

It starts like this...

“The Catholic Church is intolerant.” That simple thought, like a yellow-fever sign, is supposed to be the one solid reason which should frighten away any one who might be contemplating knocking at the portals of the Church for entrance, or for a crumb of the Bread of Life. When proof for this statement is asked, it is retorted that the Church is intolerant because of its self-complacency and smug satisfaction as the unique interpreter of the thoughts of Christ. Its narrow-mindedness is supposed to be revealed in its unwillingness to cooperate effectively with other Christian bodies that are working for the union of churches. Within the last ten years, two great world conferences on religion have been held, in which every great religion except the Catholic participated. The Catholic Church was invited to attend and discuss the two important subjects of doctrine and ministry, but she refused the invitation..."

Read the rest here (it's long, but worth it.) 

 For those who don't want to read a long article, here are some of the "Money Quotes":

Tolerance applies only to persons, but never to principles. Intolerance applies only to principles, but never to persons. We must be tolerant to persons because they are human; we must be intolerant about principles because they are divine. We must be tolerant to the erring, because ignorance may have led them astray; but we must be intolerant to the error, because Truth is not our making, but God’s. 

The man, in our country, who can make up his mind and hold to certain truths with all the fervor of his soul, is called narrow-minded, whereas the man who cannot make up his mind is called broadminded. And now this false broadmindedness or tolerance of truth and error has carried many minds so far that they say one religion is just as good as another, or that because one contradicts another, therefore, there is no such thing as religion. This is just like concluding that because, in the days of Columbus, some said the world was round and others said it was flat, therefore, there is no world at all. 

Such indifference to the oneness of truth is at the root of all the assumptions so current in present-day thinking that religion is an open question, like the tariff, whereas science is a closed question, like the multiplication table. It is behind that strange kind of broadmindedness which teaches that any one may tell us about God, though it would never admit that any one but a scientist should tell us about an atom.

It has created the general impression that any individual opinion about religion is right, and it has disposed modern minds to accept its religion dished up in the form of articles entitled: “My Idea of Religion,” written by any nondescript from a Hollywood movie star to the chief cook of the Ritz-Carlton.

This kind of broadmindedness which sacrifices principles to whims, dissolves entities into environment, and reduces truth to opinion, is an unmistakable sign of the decay of the logical faculty.

A bridge builder must be intolerant about the foundations of his bridge; the gardener must be intolerant about weeds in his gardens; the property owner must be intolerant about his claims to property; the soldier must be intolerant about his country, as against that of the enemy, and he who is broadminded on the battlefield is a coward and a traitor. The doc¬tor must be intolerant about disease in his patients, and the professor must be intolerant about error in his pupils. So, too, the Church, founded on the Intolerance of Divinity, must be equally intolerant about the truths commissioned to her. There are to be no one-fisted battles, no half-drawn swords, no divided loves, no equalizing Christ and Buddha in a broad sweep of sophomoric tolerance or broad-mindedness, for as Our Blessed Lord has put it: “He that is not with Me is against Me.”

Free Will?

Recently I had a discussion about God and the problem of evil.  The discussion, as these discussions typically go, eventually came around the concept of free will:  free will is the reason there is evil in the world.  

If you've never encountered the argument before, I'll sum it up briefly:  God gave us free will because (according to the common line) He wants to be authentically loved.  And since no creature who is forced to love can really be said to honestly love, God gave us the ability to choose our own paths.  Because of this, we can either choose God or we can choose evil.  God cannot, by the very nature of the way He created the universe (with free will), interfere in our decisions because that would take away our freedom.  He may influence our decisions with gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) leading, but he does not and will not push us out of the driver's seat and grab the wheel.

That's one of the arguments meant to explain the problem of evil.  And while it addresses the problem and provides a possible answer, I'd like to propose that the reason for free will (God wanting to be loved) is incomplete.  Yes, God wants to be authentically loved, so He gave us free will, but there's more to it.  In fact, that might be the lesser reason.  

The larger reason for free will is found in God's own nature.  God's nature is, amongst other things, perfect, flawless and infinite Love.  As the Bible states:  God is Love.  And love--true love--must allow freedom.  Were God to pre-program us, we would be nothing but puppets in His hands.  Lumps of living flesh:  able to think, but not able to think freely.  Our thoughts would be scripted, crippled. Our words, our days, our years all would be pre-planned, pre-ordained, and unchangeable.  

In short, we would be toys.  Complex, and beautifully created, yes, but still only toys. 

If we had been created with the capacity to think rationally, but without the freedom to choose our own path (good or evil), God would not be a loving creator.  Instead, He'd be nothing but an exaggerated and perfected (in all the diabolical qualities) Dictator.  (After all, Dictators want nothing more than to control thoughts and actions.  God, being God, would be able to effortlessly accomplish with utter perfection what our commonplace dictators only dream:  complete, scripted, perfect control over the actions of His subjects.)

And no matter how much you may like the idea of a "Benevolent" dictator, there's no reasonable way we could ever affix the quality of "love" to His actions.  He would simply be using us for His amusement.  Our lives with all their struggles and all their pain and all their joy would simply be a game God was watching or playing.  

He'd be the Grand Manipulator, the All-Powerful Author, Our Benevolent Dictator.  But He wouldn't be the lover of our souls.  For love--to be true love--requires the gift of freedom.

***UPDATE***

QUESTION/COMMENT 1:  What if God had decided against creating man, would he then be  incapable of being truly loving without us; does he need us to be that  or to do that?  If so, doesn't that suggest that God is not as  all-powerful as we thought?

If God decided not to create us or, had created us instead as  non-rational animals, then He can choose to impart no freedom of will  and still keep His infinite and perfectly loving nature untarnished.

However, if He created not us, but another type of being that was,  nevertheless, rational, then that being NEEDS to be free to use that  rationality for God to continue to be TRULY loving.  For one reason:  to give a gift and absolutely limit it's use, is not loving. 

Secondly, to create a being capable of rational thought, but to  manually prevent that being from reaching any undesirable conclusions  (even for that being's good) necessarily removes the concept of "True  Love" from the equation.

If I could control my kids' thoughts as God undoubtedly is capable of  doing, I could ensure absolutely the fact that they never do anything  wrong, that they never make any mistakes, that they never suffer any  sorrow or pain.  However, if I were capable of that and actually did  it, few (if any) of us would label my actions as the actions of a  loving father no matter how vehemently I argued that true love was my  motivation. Even if I could only semi-adequately accomplish something  like this through hypnosis, nowhere would my actions be thought of as  healthy, loving and imitable.

God isn't a father like that.  Our rationality and God's loving nature  makes it necessary that He give us free will.

QUESTION/COMMENT 2:  On a side note, is the love we feel for our pets not true? What level  of depth is necessary for truly satisfying love? Is the standard the  same for everyone? Can puny creatures such as ourselves, ever measure  up and satisfy God's need for love? Or is the fact that He doesn't  need much from us in the way of love a function of his greatness?  Again, does God need our love?

God needs nothing from us at all.  He made us from nothing for our own  benefit, not His.  It took Him no effort and enhanced His being not  the slightest.  So no, He doesn't need our love.  He wants our love  because loving Him is good for us.  It's concern for us that drives  this, not concern for Himself.

If Jesus Knew, Then Why? A Question on the Real Presence in the Eucharist

Here's a question I've been wondering about.  But before I ask it, let's lay out some Scriptural facts.

FACT 1:  Jesus knew the thoughts and hearts of the people He interacted with while He was on earth.  (Mark 2:6-9; Luke 9:47; Luke 24:38; Matthew 9:4, Matthew 12:25, Luke 6:8, Luke 11:7) 

FACT 2:  Jesus knew the future while He was on earth.  (John 13:11, Matthew 17:27, Matthew 26:34, Luke 22:10-12, John 6:64, Mark 13:1-2)

FACT 3:  Jesus spoke the words given to Him by God the Father.  (John 14:10, John 14:24, John 14:31)

FACT 4:  God the Father knows the future.  (Isaiah 46:9-12, Psalm 139:1-6, Hebrews 4:12-13, Isaiah 42:9)

OK, with these facts established, let's get to the question:  IF Jesus knew the hearts and thoughts of His hearers and IF Jesus knew the future and IF Jesus only spoke the words given Him by the Father, then why would Jesus allow all of Christianity to misunderstand His teaching regarding the Eucharist for over 1500 years?

When we look at early historical documents, it is clear that the early Church all the way up until the Reformation believed that Christ was really teaching in John 6 that Christians needed to eat His body and drink His blood in the Eucharist.  

So that brings us back to the question:  IF Jesus knew how the Church would interpret His teachings, why did He let them interpret these teachings so incorrectly for so many years? 

As far as I can see, there are only a few possible answers to this question:

ANSWER 1:  The early Church DID NOT misinterpret the teachings, but instead held to a view on communion and the Eucharist much like the views held by modern-day non-Catholics.  Therefore, Jesus taught and the Church interpreted as God intended.  The current Catholic view was later adopted by the "Romanized" Catholic Church.

The first potential answer is the "Catholics changed the teaching of the Church later" answer.  Unfortunately, this answer doesn't truly deal with the historical record.  Even a cursory glance into Church history will reveal that the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist was a standard belief of the Church from the very beginning. 

"Consider how contrary to the mind of God are the heterodox in regard to the grace of God which has come to us. They have no regard for charity, none for the widow, the orphan, the oppressed, none for the man in prison, the hungry or the thirsty. They abstain from the Eucharist and from prayer, because they do not admit that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, the flesh which suffered for our sins and which the Father, in His graciousness, raised from the dead."  (St. Ignatius, Letter to the Smyrneans, paragraph 6, 80-110 AD)

 Notice, St. Ignatius says the Eucharist is the flesh "which suffered for our sins and which the Father...raised from the dead."  If the Eucharistic presence of Christ's flesh is symbolic to St. Ignatius, then so was the suffering and resurrection of Christ.

Here's another quote, from St. Justin Martyr as he describes "Church" to the Romans:

"We call this food Eucharist, and no one else is permitted to partake of it, except one who believes our teaching to be true and who has been washed in the washing which is for the remission of sins and for regeneration [i.e., has received baptism] and is thereby living as Christ enjoined. For not as common bread nor common drink do we receive these; but since Jesus Christ our Savior was made incarnate by the word of God and had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so too, as we have been taught, the food which has been made into the Eucharist by the Eucharistic prayer set down by him, and by the change of which our blood and flesh is nurtured, is both the flesh and the blood of that incarnated Jesus" (St. Justin Martyr, First Apology, 66 [AD151]).

There are many quotes to choose from, but here's one last one:

 "If the Lord were from other than the Father, how could he rightly take bread, which is of the same creation as our own, and confess it to be his body and affirm that the mixture in the cup is his blood?" (St. Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 4:33-32 [AD189]).

Notice here that St. Ireneaus isn't debating the Real Presence in the Eucharist.  Instead, he's using it as a proof that Jesus is God.  The basic gist of his argument is this:  if Jesus wasn't of the same substance of the Father, how could he take bread and turn it into his body?  He starts with an obvious assumption that must have been an accepted belief everywhere--the body and blood of the Lord are truly present in the Eucharist--and he uses it to further develop a deeper understanding of Christ.

Now, it could be argued that I'm cherry-picking quotes--that the early Church really didn't believe in the Real Presence except in a few unusual writings of a few unusual writers.  Well, we don't have the time to go through the entire written record of the Early Church Fathers.  But we can appeal to as unbiased a source as I can think of:  the renowned Protestant historian, J.N.D. Kelly.  Kelly explains, in his book entitled Early Christian Doctrines:  "Eucharistic teaching, it should be understood at the outset, was in general unquestioningly realist, i.e., the consecrated bread and wine were taken to be, and were treated and designated as, the Savior’s body and blood" (p. 440).

So, even a renowned Protestant historian (who has nothing to gain and much to lose by admitting the early Church clung to starkly Catholic beliefs regarding the Eucharist) readily admits that the witness of history is clear:  the early Church believed in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

Thus, our question still stands:  Why would Jesus give us a teaching which He knew would be misunderstood by so many Christians for so long?

ANSWER 2:  The second potential answer to this dilemma is to argue that God simply allowed the Christians to be wrong in the same way that He allows the Jehovah's Witnesses (for example) to interpret the Scriptures their way and come up with false ideas.  After all, there is no limit to the number of groups who have interpreted scripture on their own to come up with contrary ideas.  God doesn't stop all of these either.  In regards to the Real Presence in the Eucharist, He simply gave a teaching and the early Church screwed it up until Martin Luther and the other Reformers set it right.  Sad for all those early Christians, but "thems the breaks".

The problem with this answer is that indeed, much of Scripture can be interpreted to mean many different things and God is, by no means, responsible for our bending and twisting scripture to fit our doctrines.  However, with the doctrine of the Real Presence in the Eucharist, that's not really the case.  

The reason is this:  All we have to go on Biblically regarding the Real Presence are very clear passages in which Jesus says "I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever."  So, he starts by saying He's the living bread.  Sounds symbolic.  But then he follows it up immediately, in the same verse, with:  "the bread I will give is my flesh for the life of the world"  (John 6:51).

Think about that verse for a second:  "the bread I will give is my flesh for the life of the world."  So the bread we must eat is what?  Is the flesh given for the life of the world.  Was his flesh symbolically given?  No.  Then how can we shift gears, break the analogy given by the Son of God, and say "the bread, the flesh, must be symbolic." 

We fall into the desire to make the passage symbolic because we, along with the early listeners of this discourse, don't understand.  We respond (as they did) with incredulity:  "You can't really mean we need to eat your body and drink your blood, right?  You've gotta be speaking symbolically, right?" (John John 6:52, paraphrased).  

To which Jesus says (and goes on to repeat himself 4 times):  "unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you" (John 6:53).  He even changes the Greek word from one which was the normal word for dining or eating, to one that was much more coarse and meant to "gnaw or to chew."  He says that this idea is a salvation issue--we must eat His flesh if we are to have life in us--and He lets people (followers) leave him (presumably forever) over this concept.  All He had to say was, "Wait!  I'm being symbolic!  Don't you get it?  It's just bread, but it represents my body."  Had He just said those simple words, the disciples (for disciples they were--see John 6:66) would never have left Him.

If Jesus had gone on to explain that He was speaking symbolically, then Catholics could be faulted for ignoring the clear words of Jesus and clinging to the metaphor instead.  However, He didn't say He was being symbolic.  In fact, He seemed to go out of His way to let everyone know He meant what He said.  And so, we have Jesus in Scripture giving us every inclination that He meant this literally.  If Catholics interpret this literally--as He implied it was meant--and they are wrong, are they to blame?  No.  The teacher is to blame.

Think about it this way:  if a teacher presents students with a lesson in class and uses heavy symbolism to make a point, and, when the students react and say the teacher can't be serious, only goes on to reiterate (over and over) that yes, indeed he is serious . . . well, are the students to blame for eventually taking him at his word?  Any responsible teacher, realizing the students had mistaken his intentions and the lesson, would have put the brakes on and made the symbolism clear. Any teacher who would stubbornly cling to symbolic language even when it was clear that the students didn't understand, has no right to feel angry or disappointed when those same students accept the teaching as true.

It's the same situation here:  with Jesus' teaching regarding the Eucharist, there is no interpretation of Christ's words needed to arrive at the Catholic concept that we must eat his flesh and drink his blood in the Eucharist.  If Catholics have taken Jesus at His word, they are not to blame if they are mistaken:  Jesus would be to blame for failing to clarify his teaching, especially since He (knowing the future and the hearts of men) would know that His stubborn refusal to admit to His followers He was being symbolic caused all of early Christianity to believe Him literally.

Finally, that brings us to Answer 3...

ANSWER 3:  He said it this way and let the early Church and all of the Church believe it in this manner because He truly meant it in this manner.  There was no other way to convey what He meant other than to simply say it as He did.  There was no clarification to make, so He gave none.  He said what He meant and meant what He said and He said it knowing that the Church, His Church, would understand exactly what He meant.

Of all the possible answers to the question posed at the beginning, the only one that makes sense logically and Scripturally is answer 3.  Jesus didn't mislead the Church.  He didn't give us a teaching that He knew we would misinterpret.  He knew the Church would get it right because He is God.  He knows our hearts, our thoughts and our futures.  Nothing surprises Him.  And so, when He spoke in John 6 about eating His flesh and drinking His blood and when He instituted the Lord's Supper with "This is my body", He knew how His people would interpret His words. 

BOOK REVIEW: Radio Replies, Vols I, II and III

For something different, I'd like to highlight what have to be three of the best books I've ever read--at least in regards to providing answers about the Catholic Faith.  The 3 Volume Set titled simpy Radio Replies by Father's Leslie Rumble and Charles Carty (Copyright 1942) tackle hard-hitting questions about the Catholic Faith.

The books are well-indexed and can be read cover to cover, browsed, or used as research tools to discover quick insights into Catholic thought on anything--and I mean ANYTHING.  The index in Volume 3 includes, for example, The Perpetual Virginity of Mary, Protestant Bibles, Marriage and Divorce, The Existence of God, Hell, Egyptian Mythology, The Problem of Evil, The Fall of the Angels and hundreds of other topics.

The questions were gathered by Fathers Rumble and Carty for use on their radio show and were submitted by Catholics, Protestants, Athiests and everybody in between.  There are very few softball questions and no cheap answers.  Logic, reasoning, faith and tradition are woven seamlessly into every answer.  It's not always easy to accept the good Fathers' answers without getting a little frustrated, a little angry (especially if you're on the non-Catholic side of the fence), but while the answers are clear-cut and offer no apologies, neither are they condescending, cutting or cruel.  They're grown-up answers for grown-up seekers who are able to absorb a few theological blows without breaking into tears and running for cover.

Excerpt from Radio Replies, Volume 3:

511:   We Protestants believe that each man should read the Bible for himself and accept the truth he discovers in its pages.

That is an unsound principle.  Many men fail to understand the true meaning of the Bible, and still more read wrong meanings into it.  Thus St. Peter says that there are many things in Scripture hard to be understood which the unlearned and unstable wrest to their own destruction.  The very fruits of such private interpretation should be sufficient proof that God could never have intended such a method.  For men have made the Bible support the most opposite doctrines and have established hundreds of distinct and irreconcilable sects, each claiming to represent the true religion of Christ.  God could never have intended a principle which would lead to such chaos.

927:  Surely the doctrine of hell is hard to believe even by Catholics.

It is no more difficult than any other revealed mystery of the Christian religion.  If a man can believe in the Trinity, the Divinity of Christ, or the Blessed Sacrament, he can just as easily believe in hell.  He has exactly the same motive for doing so, the authority of God for its existence.  Hell is as much a mystery of faith as any other revealed mystery.  We have to believe in it as God knows it to be, not as we imagine it to be.  As we can state simply that there are three Persons in one God without fully comprehending the complete significance of the doctrine, so we know that there is a possible final and eternal wreckage called hell.  But the nature of hell, and its reconciliation with all the attributes of God, are beyond our comprehension.  That however, does not justify us in denying the knowledge and veracity of Christ.  Our faith in Him compels us to believe in hell; and our belief in hell inspires us with a dread of sin.  You will notice that I say our faith in Christ compels us to believe in hell.  We look, not at the thing we are asked to believe but at the knowledge and veracity of the Christ who tells us to believe it.  The only really valid argument against hell would be to prove that Christ did not teach it, or that He did not know what He was talking about, or that He deliberately lied.  That our limited minds find difficulty in comprehending hell is no argument against it.  We expect that, in the presence of a mystery of faith.

The books are currently out of print, but can be picked up on Ebay and they're well worth the $45 or so you'll have to pay.  If you're interested in understanding true Catholicism and not the mush you may think is Catholicism, these are incredibly valuable resources.

UPDATE:  9/16/12:
I've just discovered that these books are available on Kindle and Nook...for $.99.  That is truly an amazing deal--less than 1 dollar for all three volumes in one, easy-to-read, electronic edition.  It's an absolute must-have.  You can find them under the Radio Replies title or by searching for author Leslie Rumble.  

Par for the Course

Question:  So you think the Catholic Church is right on EVERYTHING it teaches?  I don't know how you can say that--it sounds very "cultish" to me.

 

The above was said to me a couple of weeks ago by a friend who stood there with wide eyes and a slight upward turn at the corners of his open mouth.  He was literally astounded that I was willing to "go out on a limb" and claim that the Catholic Church is correct in all of her official teachings--that, in fact, she cannot err.  To him, such a claim was so preposterous that it could only be made by the brainwashed member of some insidious cult.

His stance on this issue is really quite interesting and is worth breaking down and analyzing because it exposes a very bizarre logic at work.

When you look closely, you see that my claim that the Catholic Faith is 100% correct in it's teaching and doctrine--that it is, in matters of faith and morals, infallible--necessarily, in his opinion makes that same faith faulty, suspect and on par with the groups who indoctrinate their followers, live in compounds, and encourage the emptying of bank accounts into the "Leader's" coffers. 

However, if I'd have claimed the Catholic Faith to be subject to error, that I had no idea how "right" they were on any given subject and that they had no more authority than anybody else, then, by his standards, the Catholic Faith would NOT have been nearly as suspect, faulty or "cultish".  It would simply have been "normal."

The very fact that I claim that it's right, necessarily means, in his opinion, that it's wrong.   However, if I'd claim that it was wrong on certain things--perhaps many--that would have freed my friend's conscience enough that he could, without guilt, conclude that it may be OK afterall.   

That's unusual reasoning to say the least, but I understand where it comes from.  Many in the Protestant world are completely unfamiliar with the concept of 100% accuracy in faith and morals.  We (I say "we" as I haven't officially left this world, yet) would rather cling to a notion of "fundamentals"--those basic or core beliefs that all faiths must hold in order to be deemed truly "Christian".  Get these things "right" and you're OK--and all the other stuff is just extra.  It's fluff.  To claim 100% accuracy in teachings is, however, as my friend said, bordering on brainwashed.

And yet, is it really impossible to believe that the Church of God could be infallible?  Now, I'm not dealing with the arguments or questions of whether the Catholic Church is the one Church of God.  I'm not dealing with the question of whether the Catholic Church is in fact infallible.  Those are topics for another post.  What I'm asking here is simply this:  is it impossible--against reason--that the Church of God could be infallible in its Doctrine and Morals?  

I think almost all Christians believe in some concept of infallibility in Christian teachings--we just don't often think of it in those terms.  For example, were the disciples infallible in their teachings?  Not in their actions (as St. Peter demonstrates), but in their teachings--the doctrines they passed on--were they infallible?  Or could they make mistakes?  Could the letters they wrote, which later became the Bible, and the early sermons they preached have been interspersed with error or did the Holy Spirit protect the teaching?

If not--if the Holy Spirit did not ensure their teachings and protect them from error--then how do we know what in the Bible is true and what isn't?  If that's the case, then we can't know anything.  At best, we can hope.  Or believe.  But assurance is out the window.

However, if the Holy Spirit did protect and ensured the accuracy of the teaching, then what was His reason for doing so?  Was it to merely preserve the early believers from being presented a false faith?  Was it only the first generation He was concerned with?  Or is God concerned with all believers through all ages?

If God is not concerned with the spiritual development of all believers through all ages, then we're out of luck in ways we cannot even comprehend.  If God only cared about the spiritual development of first generation or second generation Christians, then He's really no better than a deadbeat dad who spiritually sired a large family and then casually walked away to leave them to fend for themselves.  In short, if God doesn't care about our spiritual development, what hope do we have?

On the other hand, if He is concerned with the spiritual development of all believers through all ages--and all Christians (except maybe the Unitarians) will argue that He is not just concerned, but actively and critically concerned--then isn't it at least possible that He would do something (if He could) to ensure that the faith is handed on accurately and 100% free from error through all those generations?  (After all, what teacher would elect not to deliver lessons that were 100% free from error if it were in her power to do so?)

Now, I think we can all agree that if He can't accomplish that--if it isn't in His power to ensure that the faith is taught accurately and free from error through all generations--then He isn't God and we can quit thinking about all of this because it's a waste of time.

But if He is God as we believe, then nothing is outside of His power and He therefore certainly could preserve His Church through all the ages and ensure that the faith she teaches, from the beginning to the end, from Day One to Day the Last, is the true and infallible, unadulterated faith.

So after all of that, we're left with this:  if God is who He says He is and if He truly is concerned about the  spiritual well-being of all His children, earnestly desiring their salvation, is it really unbelievable that He would take active steps to guarantee the faith?  He died to save us.  Protecting the faith from error would require significantly less effort. 

Again, I'm not arguing right now that the Catholic Church is that Church that Christ established and I'm not arguing that she is infallible (I believe both suppositions, but am not arguing them now).  I'm simply arguing that the notion of infallibility shouldn't surprise Christians.  It shouldn't shock us.  It shouldn't evoke laughter, ridicule or condescension from us.  From the world, yes.  But not from Christians.

If we react to the notion of infallibility in a Church and argue that it's impossible or that anyone who believes such a thing is "drinking the kool-aid", then it's only because we've forgotten the Founder of our Faith.  We've forgotten Christianity wasn't founded by a man or a group of men.  The Christian religion was founded by Jesus Christ.  And Jesus Christ is God.

When we remember that then suddenly Infallibility and Protection from Error and Guarantees and All Truth aren't strange expressions, exceptions to the rule or lofty ideals never to be realized.  When we look to God as the Originator, perfection is just par for the course.

A Far Green Country Under a Swift Sunrise

As [my wife] and I struggled and talked and prayed all through that autumn of 1984, the tug-of-war inside of me was between "Am I mad?" and "Show me, dear Christ, Thy spouse so bright and clear."  Could I introduce this fissure into our very household?  How could I possibly head for a Table other than the one at which my dear lady made her communion from week to week, and at which I had brought up my children, and, indeed, at which I myself had worshipped for twenty-five years?

--Thomas Howard, Lead, Kindly Light (p. 64-65 )

So writes Thomas Howard, an Anglican convert to Catholicism, about his journey to Rome.  And I find myself echoing his thoughts, though certainly not his prose, as I weigh the same decision and mull the same looming consequences:  what will happen to my children if I pull up stakes and head for that strange and ancient country?  What about my wife?  

My dream was always to be a father and to live in a comfortable little house and close enough to a small Baptist or Reformed church that we could walk there on crisp, sunny Sunday mornings.  That's what I pictured, what I wanted.  And that's what I have:  a thriving church filled with kind, friendly and real people.  

My children are happy there.  My wife is happy there.  And I was happy there until a couple of years ago when I found myself suddenly face to face with the authentic Catholic Church. (I say "authentic" because as Archbishop Fulton Sheen once accurately wrote "There are not a hundred people in America who hate the Catholic Church. There are millions of people who hate what they wrongly believe to be the Catholic Church — which is, of course, quite a different thing.")

That certainly summed up my experience.  I had always pitied the Catholic Church and the poor Catholics with their mumbled Hail Mary's, their rote prayers, and dry, dead faith.   I knew from vast amounts of experience (which I gained by listening to various preachers talk about Catholics) that Catholic Churches were places of despair where the misinformed throng was taught to "earn their way to heaven", to "bow in worship to Mary" and to completely ignore the saving work of Jesus, replacing the "real" Christ with a sissy who was bossed around by his mother.  (I remember an ex-Catholic in one of the churches I attended explaining that the "Catholic Jesus" he'd been raised to believe in was a "namby-pamby Jesus."  And that he was glad to finally have found the "real Jesus" here.)

So, when I looked into the claims of the Catholic Church--mostly just to disprove them with my tremendous Biblical knowledge (of which I was humbly proud)--I began my search with no fear at all of being converted.  In fact, I began my study with no fear at all that it would even develop into something that could accurately be described as a "study".  I figured it would be an afternoon (maybe two) of reading and then I figured I'd step in with my great wisdom, derail the Catholic arguments easily and handily, and be back home in time for dinner.

But it didn't go that way.  Instead of finding the Catholic Church I'd always heard about, I found something all together different.  Something ancient and yet vibrant.  Something tied indelibly to history and yet current and, to use a sadly overused and twisted word, relevant.  To put it simply:  I found Christ.  And not the "namby-pamby" Christ that my ex-Catholic friend had warned me about.  I found a blood-and-bones Jesus who loved and suffered and died and rose.  In short, I found the same Jesus I'd always known about--and yet I found him in what seemed the most unlikely of all places.

Still, this didn't completely sway me.  I remember thinking that this was good news (I have a number of Catholic friends and it was a great surprise and comfort to discover that they may indeed be "saved" after all and that I needn't worry about them as much as I had been) but I still believed them to have a faith full of errors and misguided devotions.  

However, that initially startling discovery of Christ in the Catholic Church did lead me to dig a little deeper:  after all, there was no fear of my conversion to Catholicism, so I might as well try to understand their strange ways a little better.

And so I've done for the last 2 1/2 years or so.  I've read books by Protestant converts, countless conversion stories and basic introductions to the faith.  When those made more sense than I thought possible, I looked to Protestant sources to refute this belief system and get me back on track.  However, instead of finding reasoned arguments against Catholicism, what I found was sad, angry and vitriolic.  Even with my limited study, I was able to see that many of the arguments presented by "ex-Catholics who left the Church when they found Jesus" were simply not based in fact or in a firm understanding of their previous Catholic faith.  In some cases, I found what I can only believe were lies (supposed ex-Catholic priests with a poorer understanding of the Eucharistic mysteries than I myself had after reading just a few books or researching for more than 10 minutes on the internet).

Neither confirmed nor comforted by my Protestant compatriots, I went back to Catholic sources to see what they had to say about themselves.  I picked up the Catechism, dipped into the writings of various Saints and looked into the documents written by the early Church Fathers.  After that, it was time to tackle Conciliar documents and encyclicals.  All of these were rooted in Scripture and the writers, rather than having a disdain for the Word of God (as I'd been taught) actually held the Bible in high regard.

By the end of all this--or actually, part way through--I discovered that something had shifted in my thinking:  instead of reading to disprove their doctrines, I was reading to understand them better.  At some point in the journey, I'd come to the very remarkable (in my opinion) point that whenever a Catholic Doctrine or Teaching seemed bizarre and unnatural and pagan and unholy, it's very likely that I simply didn't understand it. (Afterall, when I read the love for Christ that is apparent in the writings of the Church's Saints and Doctors, who am I to so quickly and easily conclude (with my immeasurable storehouse of Biblical Knowledge) that I had succeeded where they had failed?  That Saint Thomas Aquinas, or Saint Augustine, or Saint Louis de Montfort failed to discern true Christianity whereas I, Daniel Hansen of Zeeland, Michigan, was able to grasp the fruit the giants couldn't reach?  To make that claim is a failure to think critically and honestly on my part.  Or at the very least, it gives evidence of a tremendous over-confidence in my own cognitive abilities.  For someone with my limited experience and knowledge to dispel out of hand, without more than a few moment's thought, the entire canon of St. Thomas is, to put it mildly, arrogance in the extreme).

At any rate, I found that I was no longer reading to refute, but reading for clarity, for understanding.  Before long, the strange phrases, "our Blessed Lord" the "precious body and blood" and many others felt comfortable and, more importantly, Right on my tongue.  The holy water, the icons, the statues, the rosaries, the beads, the Saints, the feasts, the liturgy, the confessional . . . all not only made sense to me but actually have become essential to the full expression of my faith.

I found myself not just looking at them with the eyes of wonder one might have at a museum filled with strange and unusual artifacts, but with real and sincere (and aching) longing.  The Catholic faith of the ages came to life before my eyes and lit a fire in my chest.  Yes, part of it's a yearning for the past--for the ancient cathedrals filled with stained-glass and symbolism and hymns that must be chewed before they can be absorbed--but that's not all.  It's also a longing for sublime and serious and weighty liturgy and for worship that is not based on a thumping beat but which is instead grounded in the once-and-for-all sacrifice of Christ "made present" in the Eucharist.  And yet, even that is not the sole reason for my longing for communion with Rome.  I feel, in a remarkable and undeniable way, that Christ is calling me.  To disobey for the sake of convenience is not an option.  I want to be obedient above all.  

And that brings me back to the quote we started with at the beginning of this ramble.  Thomas Howard was in this same place and was wondering the same things and dealing with many of the same issues.  His wife wasn't ready for the journey.  How would their relationship fare when the most important part of their lives--their faith--was something they didn't share?  And what about the children?  What would become of them? 

I find myself asking those same questions.  My wife and I have argued and discussed this long into the morning on many occasions.  My children are aware of the Struggle, the Quest (or, as it's more often called:  Dad's Catholic "Thing") and often ask, on any given Sunday, whether we're going to "Dad's" church or "Mom's"?  

I don't know, right now, what the outcome of all this will be.  And though I'm hesitant to even use this analogy because I've learned over the last couple years that I'm no "Father of Faith", neither did Abraham know the outcome of his journey up the mountain with Isaac.  He only knew God had called him to go and to be willing to give up all that made sense and abandon that to Him.  

That's what I will struggle to do in the next year as I plan to enter the Catholic Church next Easter.  And yet, like Abraham (who I'm convinced had more than just an inkling that God would "come through in the end") I'm convinced that He'll work things out to our benefit. 

Right now, the journey is dark and lonely--for all of us.  My children are floundering between faiths, my wife feels alone and I feel the weight of monumental decision-making and the fear of the Second-Guessers, the "What-if-Your-Wrongs" and my own worries that my journey is internally and personally driven.  And yet, I believe that, at the end of this, God will bring us back together--here on earth, mind you and not just in the world beyond--and I am confident that rather than being dark and dreary and frightening and empty, that place He will bring us to will instead be thriving and beautiful and unmistakably, undeniably Right--or, as J.R.R. Tolkien put it in The Lord of the Rings:  we'll see "the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and . . . rolled back, and [we'll behold] white shores and beyond . . . a far green country under a swift sunrise.”