On Mercy and the Synod

An Interview with Fr. Marcel Guarnizo

October 30, 2014

Fr. Marcel Guarnizo
(Photo: M. R. Stafanik/CNA)

Q. Prior to the Synod, you had some concerns over the direction of the debate. How did the Relatio address those concerns, and/or confirm them? 

A. I think to understand the nature of these concerns (which are shared by many), a few things need to be established regarding the nature of the synod itself. A synod is a gathering of bishops from around the world who meet to, "… foster a closer unity between the Roman Pontiff and the bishops, to assist the roman Pontiff with their counsel in safeguarding and increasing faith and morals and in preserving and strengthening ecclesiastical discipline…" (Canon 342.) The current synod on the family is not an ecumenical council. It is not a Church council - a Vatican III - or any such thing. A proper understanding of the synod’s authority should put what is taking place in its proper perspective. A synod cannot overturn ecumenical councils or remake the Church’s definition of dogma. 

Second, as a Catholic I believe firmly that the office of Peter cannot teach error. When Peter, as universal shepherd of the Church, speaks regarding faith and morals, his pronouncements are unerring throughout the universal Church regarding matters of belief. Defined doctrine cannot be changed by any human power, so I have no concerns in this regard. 

The charism of infallibility though, is only a negative protection of the office of Peter as universal shepherd of the Church. What I mean by this is that God has promised to prevent, or impede, Peter from teaching error or heresy as doctrine for belief of the Catholic Church. Infallibility does not, however, guarantee that the Pope will further the promotion of truth and faith. It also does not insure that he will not err or fail to communicate effectively and forcefully the truth of the Gospel in homilies, interviews, and the like. 

I think the present concerns are due to weeks and weeks of Cardinal Kasper's prominent role in the synod and his multiple reiterations of proposals which seem, upon review, not just theologically unsound but philosophically and logically contradictory. The concern of which you speak, has been shared by many bishops and cardinals around the world. This has been openly stated by many in attendance at the synod and was evidenced by the book and articles authored by Cardinal Burke, Brandmuller, Carfarra, De Paolis, Pell and others as a response to the proposals of Cardinal Kasper and Kasper's co-thinkers. Cardinal Gerhard Muller (Prefect of the Congregation for the Faith), had made his own negative views of Cardinal Kasper's proposal known as well. I agree with their concerns and am grateful for their articulation and studious elucidation of the facts surrounding the question of marriage and other doctrinal issues. 

I think there is legitimate concern that, regardless of the doctrinal facts, speculative theories on the doctrine of marriage, homosexual unions, cohabitation, and other fractious issues, cause tremendous confusion and even scandal among the faithful, Catholic and non-Catholic. In practice, ambiguous and imprecise statements send a signal that these doctrinal matters are perhaps no longer relevant in our day and age. 

If discussions of these "hot button" issues are not treated with great care, the signal can be sent that fundamental doctrinal teaching of the Church may be irrelevant, or up to the subjective judgment of each priest or bishop in pastoral practice. Clearly, there is political and media pressure seeking impossible doctrinal change and we should be careful not to give the illusion that any change is possible or forthcoming. 

The Relatio must cause astonishment and concern. Even the main relator, Cardinal Peter Erdo, openly stated that some of the most controversial paragraphs had been inserted in the final draft and he was clearly not about to defend them or even explain them. Instead he called publicly on Archbishop Bruno Forte, the author of the controversial statements, to assume responsibility for his own words. 

To see Cardinal Erdo's concern and the objections voiced by bishops from Africa, Poland, and elsewhere on the synod floor must cause concern. If one of the goals of a synod as stated in the Code of Canon Law is the, "… preserving and strengthening of ecclesial discipline…" but openly there seems to be a faction proposing to change not preserve, and weaken not strengthen, the discipline of the Church, then I believe there is cause for concern. If this is so, some of the goals of the synod, seem to me are not being met. It also seems to me, that Cardinal Kasper's proposals have not served as a vehicle to foster unity among the bishops and cardinals. 

This I do not mind, as unity in the Church can only come as a communion (common union) vis à vis the true and correct doctrine of the Church. Unanimity in accepting to support the proposals of Cardinal Kasper and others would be very preoccupying, indeed. 

The doctrinal issues at hand do not, in my view, require heroic powers of discernment. But the Relatio, I think, lacked rigor, precision, and operational definition of terms. Given the circumstances of today and the need for clarity, it was not helpful in this regard. My impression is that, in many paragraphs, it was not grounded on a solid, philosophical, biblical, or theological ecclesial foundation. The international reaction to it, was telling of the final result. Given the partiality of the document, to release it to predictable public clamor was bound to increase pressure for doctrinal change, augment confusion, and frankly promote scandal among many. If the actual statements of all the bishops speaking about these matters are not accessible what is the point of releasing such draft documents? 

Q. Do you see the effort in the Relatio as strictly pastoral, or does it raise doctrinal issues? 

A. There is no such thing as "strictly pastoral." Pastoral practice cannot contradict Church doctrine. Pastoral practice depends on doctrinal teaching. Practice follows necessarily from theory. 

Pastoral practice exists to teach, to implement in practice Divine revelation as mediated and defined by the Magisterium of the Church. It is not within the jurisdiction of pastoral practice to decide what is true in the deposit of faith. Pastoral practice necessarily takes its guiding principles from the dogmatic teaching of the Church, not the other way around. Pastoral "theology" is the praxis which depends necessarily on the dogmatic teaching of the Church. To think that pastoral practice, rules or even guides dogmatic theology is a mistake. 

Theoretical science and its principles, in this case given by the Divine person, are in no way subject for their truth and certitude upon pastoral concerns. If Divine doctrine could be settled by votes, popular opinion, or the opinion of a few theologians, such doctrine would be anything but of Divine origin. God's word and its teaching by the Church is immutable - not because some are not with the times but rather because God cannot change and His Divine Word for the salvation of mankind is - unlike man’s testimony - immutable. It is immutable because it is true. 

Theology requires much intellectual humility. God cannot deceive or be deceived. God is not the consultant from whom we seek opinions to determine what is true and good. He is Truth and Goodness itself. 

Pastoral practice cannot determine or grant the promise of truth. Truth of a Divine origin has been true before there were any pastoral agents in the Church. These new "pastoral theologians," need to be reminded of their function. Judging revelation is not one of them. 

The granting of communion to the divorced and remarried without a previous annulment is evidently a doctrinal issue in the Catholic Church. To claim that this is a disciplinary issue and does not touch doctrine is at best an error in thought by the proponents of such a theory. The merciful obligation to deny communion to individuals in situations which are objectively gravely sinful in the teaching of the Church is a solemn duty. Simply put, to attempt a second marriage while still validly married is taught by Our Lord and the Church to be adultery. Sexual relations in such invalid marriages are also grave matter and clearly forbidden by the Sixth Commandment, ergo those who engage in them cannot receive communion. Communion is denied in practice by the Church, as an act of mercy. 

The commandments are commandments, not suggestions or proposals. From a philosophical point of view, to change pastoral practice and grant communion and maintain the condition of such communicants to be objectively disordered, would be a logical contradiction which cannot be exercised at a practical level. Both cannot be maintained simultaneously. 

Furthermore, to grant communion touches the doctrinal teaching of the Church in matters regarding grace, the sacrament of confession and the authority of the Magisterium of the Church. Cardinal Kasper has proposed a mysterious "penitential path," which somehow would conclude with confession and absolution. But this is also a logical contradiction. Of what would these divorced and remarried individuals be absolved? If they are being absolved for attempting a marriage outside of the Church or for illicit sexual relations outside of marriage, how is it that it would be sinful for that one confession concluding the penitential path and then, they could go back to commit and persevere in the same actions which a priest has just absolved and recognized as sinful? How were such actions determined to be sinful once and the same exact actions thereafter are perfectly fine? It makes no sense. No priest in a confessional could solve these illogical and irrational dilemmas. Are they to absolve them once and then say that the same actions are fine? If they are morally sound after the confession why weren’t they acceptable the day of the confession at the end of the penitential path? No theology is needed to see the problems. A previous science, namely logic and philosophy, disqualifies these proposals as contrary to reason. 

Finally, all priests are held to serve and protect their faithful from spiritual damage. To "do no harm," is the most basic and fundamental ethical principle of human action. The Church teaches with St. Paul, who taught that, "For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself. That is why many among you are ill and infirm and a considerable number are dying." (1 Cor. 11: 29-30). 

It is of no benefit to the communicant who is objectively in a condition of serious sin to receive communion. Since we have a moral obligation to endeavor for the good of souls, we must not give to people what de facto will do damage to them. It is in my view, positively unmerciful to give communion knowingly to such individuals. We hold to the doctrine of the proper reception of communion and counsel souls not to receive if they are not in a state of grace, for many reasons. The fact that mercy obliges us to do this is one of them. There should be no shame, fear, or discomfort in this; we cannot give what would harm another person. 

Communion without conversion is an impossible proposition, morally and theologically. Our Lord taught the conditions for discipleship, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow Me." (Matthew 16:24). This is the order required by wisdom and true discipleship. We must first deny ourselves that which God forbids. This will not be easy, but with God’s grace we must carry our cross and then and only then, does He invite us to follow Him. Cardinal Kasper's proposal, supported by others as well, is in my view, the antithesis of the Divine requirement. If Communion without conversion were possible, Our Lord would have perhaps stated: "Do not deny yourselves, do not pick up your cross, just follow me." 

It seems to me, that it is a grave oversight to forget that the sacrament of Confession is the visible and effective sign, instituted by the Divine person as an endless fountain of mercy for humanity. Confession is the sacrament of mercy. Mercy as a virtue cannot exist outside of that which is true and it cannot exist without the proper observance of justice. It is unjust and unmerciful and a bad error to propose or imagine human solutions that offer guarantees which may depart in doctrine or practice from Divine teaching. 

The Relatio's review and proposals on all other issues, including that of cohabitation and homosexual unions, compounds all these problems. But, in my view, there is little complexity to the proposals being offered. They all follow, from the same erroneous start, to multiply the dangers for the souls of the faithful. If the teaching of Our Lord and the Sixth Commandment is to hold any relevance, all types of sexual unions outside of marriage (between one man and one woman), fall under the same logical and doctrinal judgment. Sexual relations outside of marriage being forbidden by the Sixth Commandment also would forbid adultery, homosexual relations, the sexual relations of those who cohabitate and are not married. All of these are simply a different specie or kind of the same sin forbidden by the Sixth Commandment, namely fornication. None of these can be advised without contradicting the Sixth Commandment. There is really in my view, very little complexity to the proposals being deliberated. 

Q. The paragraphs on homosexuality seem to be gaining the most attention in American media. Do you see these as the most troubling and/or remarkable? 

A. It seems the analysis and focus on trying to accommodate these relations  are futile efforts within the context of Catholic doctrine. I do agree that a pastoral plan is needed, given the extraordinary changes in our culture and the public lobbying by a small but vociferous group of people. Most men and women with homosexual tendencies are grateful to have a father and a mother, and do not want to destroy marriage or change any Church doctrine. 

The missing pastoral plan to which mercy obliges us, is to minister to men and women with homosexual tendencies for, as of now, they have been like "sheep without shepherds." The pastoral plan needed would be for every diocese in the world to open up a ministry to counsel and lend a merciful ear to those with such non-normative tendencies, who wish to speak about them. To celebrate and congratulate people "coming out," cloaks a great deal of moral irresponsibility. There is real suffering in many of these cases, about which we should feel great mercy. 

Sufficient for those who at present want to make such relations normative, would be to ask them to enter into dialogue with men and women with homosexual tendencies. If they did this, they would discover the immense number of our brothers and sisters who have suffered sexual abuse, family dysfunction, and other psychological and physical harms. 

Many of the people with homosexual tendencies in fact are seeking someone to talk to. They are not ministered properly if some shepherds continue to pretend there is no issue at hand. Many young people who have been sexually abused, have developed homosexual tendencies but they cannot easily find a responsible adult to speak to about their situation. If institutionally we close our doors, exclude them from our ministry by pretending there is no issue, we ignore our duty in mercy to be available to all people regardless of their situation. The real pastoral plan is not, through theological acrobatics, seeking to ignore the presence of non-normative sexual tendencies and therefore refuse to seek solutions. This position of the Church, may be a sign of contradiction in our day and age but nonetheless, mercy obliges us not to tell falsehoods, scientifically, morally or theologically. The Church has been very clear on this matter. What is needed in my view is not accommodation but a realization of suffering and pain which requires the mercy of our ministry. 

Furthermore, there are great questions of justice which are owed to children. Namely, the right of every child to be nurtured by a father and a mother in a family, and the social, psychological, cultural, and moral benefits such an arrangement affords them. 

Q. The Relatio is a work in progress, and already some participants have called for changes to walk back some of the language released. Do you expect that the second draft on Saturday will address those concerns? 

A. It all depends apparently, on who deals with the final redaction of the document.  Certainly a great number of bishops and cardinals oppose Cardinal Kasper’s proposal as being inconsistent with logic, sound philosophy, morals, Church law, and Catholic theology. But the response should be thoughtful. And I do think the counter arguments to Cardinal Kasper & company, have been thoughtful, steeped in Catholic tradition and theology, and consistent with the aim of theology, pastoral practice, and the discipline of the Church, namely the felicity and happiness of man. A respect for human dignity requires clarity and precision when conveying the doctrine of salvation. 

Q. How does the "law of graduality" as mentioned in the relatio impact the teaching on the indissolubility of marriage? Does this tend to give license to those who want access to the Eucharist regardless of the status of their communion with Church teachings, and why? 

A. The law of graduality in my view does not apply to marriage. One is either married or not. A determination by the Church may be needed to discover and assess the fact. The process of annulment exists to determine this, if a marriage is called into question. But one cannot be partially married, somewhat married, married but not fully. There is no possible graduality here. To make an analogy to ecclesial communion by different ecclesial communities or particular churches in this regard a false analogy. The Church can be in communion on some points with other ecclesial communities and not in communion on other points, that is, the degree of unity may vary. Sacramental communion, communion of faith, and hierarchical communion are all needed to be in full communion with the Catholic Church. Therefore, different degrees of communion are possible. 

In the case of marriage the determination is singular and unique. A couple married or not, period. There is no such thing as married in some respects and not married in other respects. If it were possible to have degrees of marriage, it would be to propose yet another logical contradiction, that one could be married and not married at one and the same time. It is analogous to a mother being pregnant. She is either pregnant or she is not, she cannot be somewhat pregnant or gradually pregnant. Seeking some status to accommodate other "unions," is in my view, again, a futile exercise. Sacraments affect the grace they signify upon completion of the sacrament, after the rite of baptism you are baptized. Before baptism, you are not. If there is a valid, sacrament the reality of the sacrament takes effect immediately. 

The commandments and the law of God are also not subject to graduality. It is not possible to believe that the prohibition against fornication applies as a prohibition gradually to different people. If not, someone could therefore be licitly fornicating for some months, others for some years as the commandment applies differently to each person. Who could with certainty of truth imply that for some couples the prohibition of the commandment does not apply yet? This is to empty revelation of its clear meaning. It matters little if they cannot change doctrine; the effect in practice is to make the teaching of Christ and the Church vacuous, in practice. Again, all this is impossible from a philosophical, theological, and ethical perspective. 

Q. There has been a lot of talk about mercy before and during the synod, what is your view on mercy as the justification for these new pastoral approaches? 

A. It seems to me at the heart of the matter lies yet another problem that has been afflicting the opinions of more than one bishop at the synod. This problem is the lack of and great need in the age of postmodernity for proper operational definitions of terms. There seems to be in our day and age a great deal of confusion about the meanings of all sorts of things, family, unions, gender, homosexual tendencies, doctrine vs. discipline, dogma vs. pastoral practice, and much more. Mercy as a virtue is most necessary in the Church, but it unfortunately does not escape the deconstruction of postmodern thinking in our times. Mercy denotes, as St. Thomas Aquinas teaches, "...a kind of sorrow" (Summa Theologica II-IIae, Q.30, a.1-a.4) – sorrow for the plight of another. The origin of this sorrow is originated necessarily from the recognition of a privation of a good in the person for which one feels "… a kind of sorrow." This privation of a good could be physical, moral, spiritual, or for any other reason. Therefore, to properly understand mercy as a virtue one must first recognize the inadequacy, defect, lack of a perfection or goodness in the person one feels sorrow for. This implies, of course, recognition of the privation of good in all the cases being addressed at the synod – divorced and remarried (without a previous annulment), those cohabitating outside of marriage, homosexual "unions," and the rest. Mercy is impossible even as a feeling without the recognition of the objective deficiency present, for it is in the recognition of the deficiency that mercy as a feeling originates. 

But more is needed to actually attain mercy as a virtue. A feeling is not a virtue. We all have feelings, many beyond rational control. But a feeling of sorrow for someone’s plight is far from constituting the virtue of mercy. Thomas distinguishes between "a feeling of sorrow," which is not more than a movement of the sensitive appetite, a passion and mercy which is the virtue. The feeling by itself does not constitute the virtue of mercy. For mercy to exist as a virtue, (which I take is what really is of value), mercy must be "…a movement of the intellective appetite…" This movement, for mercy to be an actual virtue, must be ruled, "…in accordance with reason and in accordance with this movement regulated by reason, the movement of the lower appetite (the feeling of sorrow), may be regulated." 

The "feeling of sorrow," is not mercy. It must be regulated to be a virtue by adherence through right reason to the good and to that which is true. It seems to me much of what we have today is feeling sorry that someone cannot receive communion. But to assert that this feeling is a manifestation of the virtue of mercy is just simply a bad theoretical error. 

Furthermore, to determine the defect in a relationship for which one "feels sorry," requires a judgment. Therefore to oppose a judgment of the mind to mercy is to be speaking of emotive mercy (irrational feeling), vs. the virtue of mercy which requires reason and judgment. Much of what today is being called mercy is nothing more than a feeling by which no serious judgments, let alone pastoral practice or doctrinal determinations, can be made. 

Finally as Thomas teaches, quoting St. Augustine, the virtue of mercy exists as, "… this movement of the mind (i.e. not feeling) obeys reason, when mercy is vouchsafed in such a way that justice is safeguarded, whether we give to the needy or forgive the repentant." (De Civ. Dei ix. 5). 

Pseudo mercy or emotive mercy - just feeling sorry for someone - is what sustains flawed arguments in cases such as euthanasia, "mercy killing." Indeed one may have "a feeling of sorrow," for the plight of an older person who is suffering. But this is not a virtue it is just a sentiment. To propose putting them to death to alleviate their suffering is a departure from reason and does not secure the obligations of justice to the sick and disabled. This is not the virtue of mercy. Equally to destroy the unborn, for reasons of mercy” - they have Down syndrome, they will suffer, they are not wanted - is irrational and unjust. 

I think much of the debate has been between those who think mercy is an irrational feeling, emotive mercy against those who are upholding the real virtue of mercy, which requires, reason, a judgment of the mind, the recognition of the lack of good in a situation and the absolute need for securing through right thinking the ends of justice, truth, and goodness. 

(Source) 

The Epistle of Pope St. Clement to the Corinthians

Pope St. Clement

Rome, A.D. 97. The spiritual presence of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, who were martyred a mere 30 years prior, is still very much palpable in the Eternal City. Numerous from among the faithful possess a living memory of the words and deeds of those great and holy men. Further afield, the Holy Apostle John, though exiled and very near the end of his life, is still actively spreading the Faith through his writings. Emperor Domitian, who had initiated a brutal persecution of the Church, claiming the lives of many faithful, including that of Pope St. Anacletus, was assassinated in his palace some months ago. His successor, Nerva, shows decidedly more restraint towards the Christians, and a brief period of calm has ensued. Pope St. Clement, the third successor to the Chair of St. Peter, uses this respite as an opportunity to turn his attention from the waning fires of Rome to more distant communities under his pastoral care, such as that at Corinth, where schism appears imminent.

It is this very city of Corinth which the Holy Apostle Paul had admonished in several letters regarding apparent divisions among the faithful, who were fond of saying, "I am of Paul; and I am of Apollo; and I am of Cephas [i.e. Peter]" (1 Corinthians 1:12). Despite the wise council of the Holy Apostle, it seemed that the situation had continued to deteriorate, and that it now required the judgment of the Supreme Pontiff. Pope St. Clement's Epistle to the Corinthians was the result.

The Epistle was so well received by the Corinthians, and was so successful in resolving the difficulties, that it was held by the community to be second in importance only to Sacred Scripture, and was taken up into the regular Sunday readings - a practice which is attested as having continued for at least the next 70 years.

Even a casual reading of the Epistle demonstrates that it has lost nothing of its clarity, its zeal for souls, its authentic pastoral care. A more careful reading in light of current events in the Church, however, reveals that it has also retained all of its appositeness. The words of St. Clement could just as easily have been written for our own generation:

Every kind of honour and happiness was bestowed upon you, and then was fulfilled that which is written, "My beloved did eat and drink, and was enlarged and became fat, and kicked." Hence flowed emulation and envy, strife and sedition, persecution and disorder, war and captivity. So the worthless rose up against the honoured, those of no reputation against such as were renowned, the foolish against the wise, the young against those advanced in years. For this reason righteousness and peace are now far departed from you, inasmuch as every one abandons the fear of God, and is become blind in His faith, neither walks in the ordinances of His appointment, nor acts a part becoming of a Christian, but walks after his own wicked lusts, resuming the practice of an unrighteous and ungodly envy, by which death itself entered into the world.

I warmly recommend, gentle reader, that you make a note of this Epistle, and pray that you may soon find the time to read and meditate upon the wise council it contains.

Full Text: Epistle of Pope St. Clement to the Corinthians

In Festo Omnium Sanctorum

Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, qui nos omnium Sanctorum tuorum merita sub una tribuiste celebritate venerari: quaesumus; ut desideratam nobis tuae propitiationis abundantiam, multiplicatis intercessoribus largiaris.

Almighty, everlasting God, Who hast granted us to venerate in one solemnity the merits of all Thy Saints, we beseech Thee, that as our intercessors are multiplied, Thou wouldst bestow upon us the desired abundance of Thy mercy.

The Fact of Death

by

Archbishop Alban Goodier, S.J.

Catacombes de Paris
(Photo: munichphoto)

If there are many platitudes written in the effort to explain life, there are many more written about death; indeed it would seem that there is nothing that can be written about it but must in the end be resolved into one or two obvious remarks. There is nothing new to be said; we are no wiser now on this point than was the first man who had to face it; when the last man comes to die he will know no more about it than ourselves. Philosophers have analyzed it, and have ended where they have begun. Poets have attempted to sing of it, and they have sung nothing more striking than that "Death once dead, there's no more dying then"; surely an obvious truism enough. Spiritual writers and preachers have discussed it more, perhaps, than they have discussed any other subject; yet, however impressive they may have been, all they have had to say has been summed up in some such statement as, that death is certain, that the time and manner of death are uncertain, that a man only dies once, that death is the end of this life and of all that is in it, and so forth. It is true that we can cover these dry bones with fancies of our own. We can guess at death and imagine what it will be like. We can do the very opposite, and leave it solemnly alone. Still the platitudes remain, severely cold and bony, neither to be hidden beneath the trappings of a silken dress, nor to be kept out of the way in a cupboard.

And this is precisely the crux of the whole matter; these platitudes will not be silenced. At other obvious remarks we may yawn in weariness, or we may laugh them out of countenance. If we laugh at these, the grinning skull does not blush for shame; its hollow sockets do not show any indignation, the rows of teeth grin none the less; if we yawn, the bones do but rattle and awake us. To be irritated with them, to question their truth, is mere foolishness; from the fact of death we have not even the escape that we had from the fact of God or the fact of sin. We cannot deny that we shall die, that we shall one day cease to count upon this earth, and all the rest. Even when we shrug our shoulders and pretend to have no care or fear of the spectre, we dread all the time that the cold, clammy finger-bones may at any moment be about our neck, perhaps all the sooner because we have turned our back upon it. We may defy it, and say that death is nothing to be feared, that it is nothing but an everlasting sleep; it does but echo, and they are ears of a wise man that catch the words: "To sleep, perchance to dream." We may declare that death brings only dissolution; it answers: "What of the soul?" We may say we will be men, and will be content to take our chance; it asks, are we sure whether this is manliness or cowardice, it hints that this refusal to face the fact may itself be our condemnation. We may mount our horse and ride away, galloping in a wild career that we may forget it; we turn our head and find that it has got up behind us, biding its time until we choose to give it our attention, or until it can claim us for its own.

So whichever way we turn, whatever we may say or do, we are haunted by the endless platitude. "Everything," we read in a daily paper this morning, "can be escaped except death." There was not much news in that, yet more than one reader will have dwelt upon it. The certainty is there, and everyone must face it. The only question is: How may it best be faced? Not many ways are possible. There is the way of despair; the acknowledgment that death is the one great curse and evil in this world, and on every account and by every means to be avoided and deferred. Along such a road, death is indeed a weird spectre; the lives of those who go along that road are indeed haunted lives, very nightmares in which the poor dreamer flies on without ceasing, knowing that in the end he must be overtaken. Of this we need say nothing; common as it is, it is not the attitude of a man but of a craven. Then there is the way of ignoring. We hate unpleasant facts; if we cannot escape them we ignore them; any fallacy suffices to justify our leaving them alone. Whatever may be in store, men tell themselves, at all events here and now life spreads out before them. Death may be tomorrow, today we are alive; let us then eat and drink today, tomorrow shall look to itself. So it is assumed that death will always be tomorrow, not today, and life is lived on that assumption. When at last tomorrow becomes today, it is accepted as an accident which has taken us unawares. Or, again, there is the attitude of bravado. We can face it, and defy it, and fight it, and be beaten by it, assume that we have met it like men and soldiers, and trust that this will atone for all the rest. This, too, is very bitter; it is close akin to despair.

But there is another attitude. There is the attitude that has been taken up by man from the beginning - the attitude which the world itself accepts as alone consistent with the present life. Man in his heart does not think he is made to be annihilated; to come to the belief that he is, even to the profession of it, whatever he may really believe, demands a forcing of intellect and will that Nature itself can scarcely stand. The very fear that haunts a man when he ignores the solemn fact is alone telling evidence against him. He knows that death is the end, but he also thinks it is a beginning. He knows that the present life is good, but he also feels sure that if he dies aright that which follows will be better. If he dies aright - that is the whole matter. Whether he believes or whether he affects the opposite, he knows it is vital that the verdict should be found in his favour. He will insist that he has lived up to his lights, he will have us reckon only the good done; he has a fellow-feeling for those who are already dead, and hopes that if he treats them with condoning, so he will be treated in his turn. So he says So-and-so was a good man, take him altogether; or, at all events, that he served his country well; or that he was a good friend; or that he prospered and helped others to prosper; and for the rest it is better left alone. We do not blame him. De mortuis nil nisi bonum - "of the dead let us only speak well" - is a good proverb. But it has reference to this side of the grave alone. On the other side, there must be the whole thing or nothing - and there is not nothing.

Then why not face the facts as they are? Whatever men may see about me or may say, whatever outward show I may make, that will remain, and may indeed suffice, on this side of the door. But it is not what appears, it is what I am that will pass through - the good in me, the bad, and the indifferent. And when I accept this and make it a factor in my life, at once it alters my perspective. It alters my ideas of right and wrong. It alters my observance of the same. The fact of life-in-death acts at once as a stimulus and a warning, where nothing else will avail. Indeed, if it were not for the fear of the life beyond, the life on this side would soon bring about its own corruption. And if that is so, or even if it is a half-truth, then death, and the thought of death, cannot be the spectre that men make it. Dark as are the wings of the angel of death, they are yet tipped with gold, lit from the sun that shines beyond, which for the moment he hides from us. And to look death in the face is worth while; it is the only manliness. Not as the ancient pagan, who would drink his hemlock or open his vein at command, and calmly, stoically, await the issue; not even as the modern pagan who can boast, but with a strange metallic ring in his laughter, that he will "go to his death like a soldier," as to a doom he cannot avoid; but as those who have kept their eyes toward the light, and have so found joy in their sacrifice.

"It is appointed unto men once to die," and He who has appointed it can do only good; He alone can raise the dead to life. And here at last we have come to a statement about death which is not an obvious platitude. He who has made the dry bones can also make the dry bones live. He can clothe them again with sinews and flesh and skin, can breathe into them the spirit, and make them "stand upon their feet, an exceeding great army." He can, and He has done it. St. Paul was no dreamer, yet he saw and understood that which for him turned death into life and life to death. For him this life was living death; death was the beginning of life. "Who will deliver me from the body of this death?" he cries; and he adds elsewhere : "I desire to be dissolved and to be." He desired to be dissolved, not that he might end but that he might begin; not that he might rest, but that he might labour; not that he might look back on what he had done, but that he might look forward. No wonder he could cry in triumph: "Death, where is thy victory? Death, where is thy sting?" For death had been swallowed up in his conquest: Absorpta est mors in victoria. And the same is true of very many. We have all watched them striding down the plane of time, laughing as they went, enjoying this life as only those can enjoy it who have no misgivings about the next. We have seen them nearing the goal, with their eyes fixed on the light beyond; when the time has come they have been ready, and we have felt that indeed they were men.

Of every one, young and old alike, death makes either a friend or an enemy. To his enemy he is an abiding terror, to his friend he is a friend indeed; warning in danger, in trial encouraging with strong hope, reconciling in misfortune, stirring when action is called for, stimulating to every sacrifice.

In Festo Domini Nostri Jesu Christi Regis

Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, qui in dilecto Filio tuo, universorum Rege, omnia instaurare voluisti: Concede propitius, ut cunctae familiae Gentium, peccati vulnere disgregatae, eius suavissimo subdantur imperio.

Almighty, everlasting God, who hast willed to restore all things in Thy beloved Son, the King of the universe, mercifully grant that all the nations of mankind who are torn asunder by the wounds of sin, may submit to His most sweet rule.

Catholic Dissidents: A Case of Stalking the Bride

It's no secret that the Catholic Faith is divisive. It was Our Lord Himself who said, "Do not think that I came to send peace upon earth: I came not to send peace, but the sword" (St. Matthew 10:34). History is littered with people who took exception to some part of the teaching of Our Lord and His Church, set themselves against it, and were eventually broken upon the rock that is the Catholic Faith. We traditionally referred to such people with terms which, though accurately describing their situation, have been largely dropped from our vocabulary due to their "judgmental" tone: schismatic, heretic, apostate. Today, we often refer to such people with something far more innocuous-sounding: dissident. Despite the change in labels, however, the thing in question remains the same: disagreement with and/or rejection of some part of the Catholic Faith.

In times past, the Church was careful to expel from its body any members which did not accept the Catholic Faith whole and entire. This was commanded by the Apostle Paul:

But now I have written to you, not to keep company, if any man that is named a brother, be a fornicator, or covetous, or a server of idols, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner: with such a one, not so much as to eat. For what have I to do to judge them that are without? Do not you judge them that are within? For them that are without, God will judge. Put away the evil one from among yourselves. (1 Corinthians 5:11-13)

That this teaching was stressed repeatedly by countless Fathers, Doctors, Saints and Popes is so commonly known as to need no citation. Surprisingly, however, precisely this well-known teaching has fallen into disfavor today. Instead of expelling dissidents from amongst our midst, we are called to enter into "dialogue" with them, to "walk" with them, to "meet them where they are". Indeed, St. Paul would not have fared well in today's ecumenical climate.

The dissidents themselves have picked up on this change in approach. No longer do they fear censure or reproach for their now open dissent. Not only are they permitted to remain in the Church despite their rejection of one or more teachings of her magisterium, but they are allowed to propagate their dissenting ideas, teach them in Catholic institutions, and publish them in Catholic publishing houses. If anyone raises an objection that such things are inappropriate for the Bride of Christ, they are scorned as "judgmental", "narrow", "pharisaical". "Division," we are told, " is diabolical." It would seem that Christ's sword has, as a matter of principle, been replaced with the sending of peace upon earth.

Nonetheless, the question is often asked: Why don't Catholic dissidents leave the Church? Mark, gentle reader, this is not the same as saying they should leave the Church. Rather it is to inquire as to why it is that, given the fact that they openly and often fiercely disagree with the official teachings of the Catholic Church - teachings which are definitive and not liable to change - they choose to remain in her - if only nominally - instead of joining some other community which shares their beliefs and/or approves of their behavior? 

To answer this question, we must learn to see things from the dissident Catholic's perspective. Virtually all Catholic dissidents base their choice to remain in the Church upon a dichotomy they see as existing between the "institutional Church", sometimes also referred to as the "hierarchical Church", and the "People of God" as the "true Church" of Christ. This dichotomy was described well by the dissident Catholic priest Fr. Geoffrey Farrow, now a full-time "gay rights" activist: 

As far as the Catholic Church is concerned, if you think of the Catholic Church as the hierarchy then, there is very little reason to remain a Catholic. On the other hand, if you see the Church as the People of God, a living community of faith, then there are many reasons for hope. Catholics in the pews disagree sharply with their bishops on a host of social issues and tend to be far more progressive than their protestant counterparts. Eventually, the bishops will get it, or will die off and be replaced by bishops who do get it.

That, in a nutshell, is why dissenting Catholics do not leave: they are convinced that they are the "true Church". The visible hierarchy is, in short, an impostor Bride.

If you're still having problems understanding the dissident view, perhaps the following case study will help to clarify things:

In the Spring of 1988, a 36 year-old woman was arrested at Lincoln Tunnel in New Jersey for failing to pay the $3 toll fee. She was driving a $45,000 Porsche that she said belonged to her husband, talk show host David Letterman. The police ran the license plates and found that the car did, in fact, belong to David Letterman. The woman behind the wheel, however, was not David Letterman's wife. She was his stalker. 

Margaret Mary Ray wasn't simply lying when she claimed to be Letterman's wife; she actually believed she was Letterman's wife. She had not confused her identity with Letterman's actual wife, whom he had divorced several years prior. She, Margaret Mary Ray, was Letterman's one and only wife. Ray was so convinced that she was happily married to Letterman that she even claimed him as the father of her three-year-old son. No amount of direct confrontation with the truth - she went on to be arrested for trespassing on Letterman's property on eight different occasions - was able to dissuade Ray. In her mind, they were married, they were in love, and they belonged together.

The case of Margaret Mary Ray is one of the more famous examples of the increasingly common phenomenon known as stalking, i.e. unreciprocated obsessive attention which often includes monitoring, intimidation and/or harassment. Unlike Margaret Mary Ray, most stalkers do not suffer from hallucinations or severe delusions. It is common, however, for stalkers to display other forms of mental illness, such as depression, substance abuse and various personality disorders. While commonly exhibiting above average intelligence, stalkers often suffer from low self-esteem combined with erotomania and mild to severe paranoia. In rare cases, stalking can be accompanied by grave psychological disorder and can lead to tragedy - something which has inspired numerous films, such as the 1987 psychological thriller Fatal Attraction.

Some might object to the analogy, but it does serve to shed some light on the situation of dissenting Catholics when they pit themselves in the role of the "People of God" against the "institutional Church": it is a case of the "true Bride" versus the "impostor". In the view of dissident Catholics, the Bridegroom, Our Lord, is actually joined to the prophetic "People of God"; the "institutional Church", for which the dissidents have nothing but contempt, has simply taken advantage of some technicality to assert her nearly 2,000 year-long control over the helpless Bridegroom. If she could only be exposed as the impostor she is, or - if necessary - be eliminated from the equation, the two lovers could be finally united, to live happily ever after....

And so the dissenting Catholics set about to monitor the Church, placing her every move under scrutiny, noting with great pleasure the failings of her loyal members; to intimidate her by putting political, financial and media pressure upon her; to harass her by spreading lies about her past and making veiled threats on her continued existence; and all the while telling everyone that they are the "true" faithful, the "true" lovers of Christ - some even going so far as to dress up for the role.

In short, they stalk the Bride.

Sanctity and Temptation

by

Archbishop Alban Goodier, S.J.

St. Joseph
Patron of Workers

It is a strange thing how little we Catholics, who make so much of devotion to the Saints, really understand of the secret of sanctity. We read the lives of Saints, and we are filled with reverence and admiration. We see their statues in our churches, and we honour them as we might honour some great man who is otherwise no concern of ours. We look at their figures in our stained-glass windows, and we are induced to fancy them to have been different creatures altogether from ourselves; not men and women of living flesh and blood as we are, but some kind of privileged being, some kind of angel in human form, sent on earth to win our esteem, it may be, but scarcely one of ourselves, scarcely near enough to us to be seriously taken as our friends. And yet, when we come to understand them better, how very like our own we find their lives to have been! The same kind of trials and temptations, the same sense of failure and shortcoming, the same unceasing disappointments. They, too, knew all the weakness of human nature; and they knew it as much from their own experience of themselves as from what they saw around them. "You do not the things that you would," says St. Paul, writing a word of pity and encouragement to his children in Galatia; but of himself he says no less spontaneously: "I do not that good which I will; but the evil which I hate, that I do." Again, in another place he says, bearing witness to the sense of his great weakness: "I see another law in my members, fighting against the law of my mind, and captivating me in the law of sin that is in my members. Unhappy man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?"

What a tale do all these words tell us of a man who, with all his chosen sanctity, had first-hand knowledge of temptation! And the same may be said of all the Saints. All of them who have left any record of their lives in writing tell us how they realized their own great weakness, and how they feared for themselves in the face of their temptations. "Life spends itself in sorrowing, but, indeed, there is no amendment." So writes the great St. Augustine, a man who in his early life had drunk deep of the cup of sin, who had found it so hard to recover, and who to the end of his days felt the consequences of his early misdeeds press hard upon him. Every morning of his life we are told that the great St. Philip Neri, that most happy because innocent of Saints, added this to his daily prayer: "Have a care of me, Lord, or I shall certainly betray Thee today." St. Teresa, who stands so high because of her intimate union with God in prayer, yet confesses that for seventeen years she was so beset with every temptation that she could scarcely hope to be able to persevere. St. Alphonsus Liguori, who has written about sin and its nature as has no other doctor in the Church, was to the end of his days so overcome with scruples and temptations as to be almost persuaded that God had foredoomed him to hell.

No, in this at least the Saints were more like ourselves than we imagine, more like ourselves than the written lives sometimes let us see. For the written lives tend to dwell on the golden harvest; they do not always tell us either of the seed-ground or of its tilling. There is no royal road to Heaven, not even for the innocent Saints of God. "Man's life on earth is a warfare," says Holy Scripture; it does not say that the Saints are excepted. Everyone, whether Saint or sinner, whether innocent or guilty, whether priest, or religious, or layman, has his particular battle to fight, his particular temptation to conquer, and in that fight, in that conquest, lies precisely the secret of his sanctity. Men and women have worked miracles before today, and in the end have been found wanting. Men and women have been raised to great heights of contemplation and prayer, and at the last have failed. Men and women have apparently lived lives and died deaths of peace and security, and yet the Just Judge has been compelled to pronounce on them the sentence: "Amen, I say to you, I know you not." But no man and no woman yet has fought on against crushing trial and temptation, and has failed to win a crown of glory; has stood up and gone onward in spite of past misdeeds, and has not been received into the company of the Saints. This it is that makes the basis of sanctity, this never giving in, this constant resisting, this refusing to accept the dead level of one's own failures ; the rest is the structure that is built upon it.

So very human a thing is sanctity, so very ordinary; when the apostle addresses his disciples as those "called to be Saints," he makes no selection, he does not seem to think that he is asking something quite extraordinary. It does not demand special notice; it does not require that a man should live any other life than that which he is living. In every rank of life, under every condition, true sanctity has been and yet can be found. St. Onesimus was a slave; St. Genevieve was a simple shepherdess; St. Isidore was a country farmer; Marie Lataste was a servant-girl, St. Benedict Joseph Labre was a common tramp. And yet we tell ourselves that this can mean nothing for us. In theory it may be very well; in practice it is not possible. We must earn our daily bread, we must endure our circumstances; we are crushed beneath temptations that are inconsistent with sanctity. My own household is against it - a wild and reckless son or brother, a careless, irreligious father or mother, a systematic persecution that is roused to madness by the very shadow of a holy deed. St. Stanislaus was the most innocent of Saints, yet for years he lived with, and was in everything subject to, a restless, selfish brother, who would kick the poor child to the ground, and trample him beneath his feet, because he would not join in his nightly revelry. Is our lot worse than that? St. Elizabeth was a great Saint, though she was turned out of house and home by her brother-in-law to starve with her children in the street, while he sat drinking in his palace. Is it worse for us than that? And if we speak of our temptations, which one of us will dare to say that we have one particle of the trials, interior and exterior, that some of the Saints have been compelled to endure? Nay, more than that; to go no farther than our own immediate surroundings, if we had but the sight of the Angels, perhaps if we had but the knowledge of some confessor, if we could but see the battles, far greater than our own, which many close about us are fighting, and fighting with success, though they may not know it, we should be shamed into silence when we would complain, and into greater bravery in action.

"Why cannot I do what these and those have done!" This is a question that has turned two sinners into two of the greatest Saints in the Church. Before St. Augustine and St. Ignatius of Loyola put it to themselves, no one would have suspected they were the material of which Saints are made; and even if they were, no one would have thought that they would have paid the price. What it cost the first we know, at least in part, for he has told us himself, and his story is of the kind that is understood by every human heart. What it cost the second we do not know; but if any master "knew what was in man" he did, and he learnt it from his experience of himself. Indeed, that is the value of it all. The more difficult our particular trial, the greater our particular temptation, so much the more shall we know when our turn comes for action, so much the deeper shall we see into the hearts and lives of others. We have, most of us, courage for other things that are hard; if we would only have a little courage for this! If, when temptation is pressing most upon us, we would only not turn cowards and give up! If we would only keep always in mind the words of St. Paul: "God is faithful, Who will not suffer you to be tempted beyond that which you can endure, but with the trial will also give the means to overcome it." It is just the little more that we want; it is just because we fail to give the little more, to hold out a very little longer, that all the rest comes to grief. It is just that little more that makes the difference between ourselves and the Saints; that little more of spiritual character, not less of trouble and temptation.