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.”