(Christian) Witness by (Sartorial) Osmosis

Last week I was graced with a visit from some very close friends, two of which are my "Priscilla and Aquila" of New Testament fame because they are my co-workers in the Gospel (cf Rom 16:3-4).  Among the things we did was take a cruise on the Rideau Canal, walk around Parliament, and peregrinated to both the Oratoire St-Joseph in Montreal and Ste Anne de Beaupre in Quebec City.  And, of course, St-Hubert!

In keeping with the simplicity and poverty that Pope Francis has asked of the Church, and in obedience to the Congregation for the Clergy's Directory on the Ministry and Life of Priests, n. 66, I often wear my cassock, and I certainly did when my friends were in town.  While it was cumbersome in certain situations, and sweltering on other days, it provided a surprising number of 'evangelical moments' in our encounters with other people.

I should also say, by way of a prefatory note, that in my early years of formation in Yonkers, New York, at the House of Studies for Deaf Seminarians founded by the late, magnificent John Cardinal O'Connor, our superior stressed the importance of visuals in the Deaf culture, and the visibility of clerical or religious habit was important for people who, on account of their being unable to hear, rely more on sight than anything else.  So my formation had its beginnings in the ecclesiastical culture of O'Connor's New York and the early days of Deaf ministry in Upper East Manhattan.

Back to my story.

One evening, as my guests and I were walking through downtown Ottawa, a gentleman saw me and asked, "Are you a Catholic priest?"  After responding affirmatively he said, "Can I ask you a question?"  "That's what I'm here for," I thought, and told him, "Yes, of course."

He then expressed his consternation over the world's chaos, with the pandemic, riots across the United States, and so on, and then asked me, "Is the world coming to an end?"

I explained to him that while the world will come to an end some day, dogmatically speaking, a number of things have yet to happen, and I pointed out a few of these.  But then I went on to say, "Whether the world ends tonight or in a thousand years, you could have an untimely death.  So in any case, remember this:  STAY IN GRACE!"  He got the point:  "You're right, I could die at the snap of the finger, so stay in God's grace!  Got it!"  My priestly watchword of Acts 20:24 served us well.

World, 0; Jesus, 1.

On another day, we took lunch in Little Italy and, after paying, a lady who was sharing a meal with her husband came up to me and said, "Father, today is our 30th wedding anniversary.  Can you give us a blessing?"  She said that it was difficult to access a priest with the lockdown in force, so I was happy to pray over them and to impart a priestly blessing.  When we were leaving, my "Priscilla" told me how this lady gushed and rejoiced on account of receiving an unexpected grace.

World, 0.  Jesus, 2.

One last example.  After stolling in the old part of Quebec City, we took dinner at a delightful crêperie  not too far from cathedral-basilica of Notre-Dame de Québec where Bishop François de Laval awaits the resurrection on the Last Day.  As we were eating, two gentlemen approached me, seeing my cassock, one of whom belong to the First Nations, and proceeded to tell me about his experience at the residential schools which the Canadian government compelled the Catholic Church to open and operate.

"They treated me with love and respect," he kept saying over and over again.  Clearly, the other diners and bystanders could overhear this Canadian whose race and culture predates the arrival of the missionaries and explorers--telling an experience that doesn't quite fit the CBC narrative machine.

World & CBC, 0.  Jesus. 3.

In each of these encounters, I never said my name; I was beside the point.  Rather, these people saw not only a Catholic priest, but someone who (is supposed to, at least) could impart a word on behalf of our Lord Jesus Christ.  The obvious cassock (I find clerical business suits too "professional" for what is, in fact, Pentecostal business) signalled an availability on my part to impart a word of grace to people who were asking for one, to say nothing of the many shared laughter with restaurant servers assigned to our table.  Had I worn simply a tee-shirt and shorts, I would have been left unbothered by strangers, but, as a priest, it's my job to be bothered.

Had I not worn this obvious sign of priestly consecration, one might be still wondering about the End, a couple might have had their anniversary come and go without the Church to share in their joy, and a First Nations man would not have had the chance to say "thank you" for his positive experience at a residential school--to say nothing of the many restaurant servers who very much enjoyed our group's humour and levity.

That's not to say that I don't wear street clothes; when I go to the bank or pick up a Guinness, my cassock would be unseemly.  And I certainly didn't wear it while kayaking on Dow's Lake!  But the rest of the time, to me anyway, not wearing a visible sign of my consecration is--again, for me--an act of selfishness, because seekers have a right to speak to a cleric about the Gospel, and because the Gospel must be uninterruptedly available to all people.  Because they aren't always ready, I must be.

After all, the "New Evangelisation" needs to be more than just conversational ornamentation.

If you've been keeping up with this blog, you know that the Church's missionary lethargy is my major hang-up.  In my conversations with other believers, I have heard them express their genuine puzzlement:  "If we are to be missionaries, where would we go?"

On the other side of the church doors, clearly, and looking the part of a priest of Jesus Christ.

Why All This Fuss Over The Passion of St John The Forerunner?

 

Very few saints--in fact, exactly two--get both a nativity feast and a death-day feast, namely St Mary the Virgin and St John the Forerunner.  And only one saint's death-day gets to be called a "Passion," namely the aforementioned St John on 29 August.

Why all this fuss over the Baptiser?

The secret, it seems to me, is in the name given to him by the Lord Jesus:  "Friend of the Bridegroom" (Jn 3:29).  We read in the Fourth Gospel--

John [the Forerunner and Baptizer] answered, "No one can receive anything except what is given him from heaven.  You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before Him.  He who has the bride is the bridegroom; the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom's voice; therefore this joy of mine is now full" (Jn 3:27-29).

 The Jewish custom of the "friend of the bridegroom" is analogous to our modern "best man," except the Jewish "friend of the bridegroom" has a more specific role to play, as John pointed out to his (temporary) disciples:  To announce the arrival of the bridegroom to the wedding party.

As the last of the Old Testament prophets (Lk 16:16), John stood at the end of a long line of those who proclaimed God's purpose in wedding the children of Israel to himself.  Finally at the advent of Jesus Christ, Godhead is wedded to Manhood in the Incarnate Word (cf Jn 1:14), in Whom the the entire human family is invited to be sharers in divinity (2 Pt 1:14).  Those familiar with the Latin language cannot miss the deeply nuptial meaning of Jesus' last words, "It is finished!" (Jn 19:30), which the old Romans heard as consummatum est!--because the Lord consummated his nuptial love for Israel upon the Cross (cf Rom 5:8).  In the Apocalypse, we have a mirror of this when the majestic, enthroned Christ will declare "It is finished!  Consummatum est!" (Apoc 21:6), and afterwards His Bride--the Church--is displayed in her full splendour (Apoc 21:9f).

That being said, our question becomes more insistent:  What was the prophetic quality of St John the Forerunner's Passion?  What did his martyrdom highlight about his role as "Friend of the Bridegroom" and Jesus' role as "The Bridegroom" of the Church, of the renewed Israel?  On the flip side of our question is this:  What did unlawful union of Herod Antipas with his sister-in-law Salome have to say about the message of "The Friend of the Bridegroom"?

Setting aside the historical details of Salome's previous marriage with Philip the Tetrarch and Herod Antipas' previous marriage with Phasaelis, John simply points to the unlawful character of the union and its obscuring of the very purposes of marriage, that is, the perpetual and permanent exchange of love between a husband and a wife.  As the political leaders of the Judean province and puppets of pagan Rome, as well as religious leaders of a sort (his father, Herod the Great, initiated the rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple, still unfinished in Jesus' day), their union had in fact tarnished the mirror intended to reflect God's nuptial love for Israel.

By calling Herod Antipas and Salome to account, John was shining a light not only on the divine purpose of marriage but also on his role in heralding the advent of God's eschatological nuptial love finally realised in Jesus Christ.  In criticising the king and Philip's wife, John was criticizing their obscuring of Jesus' mission.  The evangelists say that Herod Antipas enjoyed listening to John preach even as he was imprisoned, suggesting that a change in heart was possible for the adulterous king, but Salome succeeded stilling his tongue by severing his head (Mt 14:8; Mk 6:19).

The friend of the bridegroom usually fulfilled his purpose when he announced the arrival of the soon-to-be husband to the Jewish wedding party.  John, on the other hand, fulfilled his purpose completely when his life was ended, as that was when Jesus began a new stage in His public ministry (Mt 14:13; Mk  6:30-31), thus beginning the final year of His earthly life.

When John began, however, he identified himself by the prophecy of Isaiah, 

The voice of one crying in the wilderness: / Prepare the way of the Lord, / make His paths straight.  / Every valley shall be filled, / and every mountain and hill shall be brought low, / and the crooked shall be made straight, / and the rough ways shall be made smooth;  / and all flesh shall see the salvation of God! (Lk 3:4-6; cf Is 40:3-5 LXX)

It would be too facile to say that he merely pointed out the long-expected Jesus; it would facile, too, to say that he preached repentance to the hearts waiting to receive Him.  As "The Friend of the Bridegroom," St John the Forerunner insistently preached upon a bridal love for Jesus, a love that is committed, exclusive, and permanent.

Thus the Christian sacrament of marriage likewise serves to mirror the nuptial love of Jesus the Bridegroom for the Church His Bride in the exclusive, stable, and perpetual love between a wife and her husband (cf Eph 5:31f).

John, therefore, pointed to the concubinage of Herod Antipas and Salome as the mirror of unfaithful discipleship, like Gomer's unfaithfulness to Hosea.  But--

...in that day, says the Lord, you will call me, "My husband," and no longer will you call me, "My Baal."  For I will remove the names of the Baals from her mouth, and they shall be mentioned by name no more.  And I will make for you a covenant on that day with the beasts of the field, the birds fo the air, and the creeping things of the ground; and I will abolish the bow, the sword, and war from the land; and I will make you lie down in safety.  And I will espouse you for ever; I will espouse you in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy.  I will espouse you in faithfulness; and you shall know the Lord (Hosea 2:16-20).

The question put before us by John's martyrdom, therefore, is this:  Will we be the world's concubines, picking up "spiritually transmitted diseases," or will we devote our hearts exclusively to Jesus the Bridegroom?

 

The Road to the Sacraments is Paved With Right Intentions

 

Responding to my previous entry, a reader of this blog rightly asked--

Now I understand the importance of using the proper words, but I am wondering why the principle of right intention cannot apply to a situation like this? I mean, how many times do words of the eucharistic prayer get fumbled unintentionally...  Does that invalidate a Mass?

My interlocutor is correct:  "[H]ow many times do words of the [E]ucharistic prayer get fumbled intentionally..."?  At the back of his mind, I'm sure, he is thinking of the Apostolic Constitution of Pope Paul V, de Defectibus, where the saint decreed:

If the priest were to shorten or change the form of the consecration of the Body and the Blood, so that in the change of wording the words did not mean the same thing, he would not be achieving a valid Sacrament.  If, on the other hand, he were to add or take away anything which did not change the meaning, the Sacrament would be valid, but he would be committing a grave sin.

This principle serves as a helpful analogy towards resolving my interlocutor's important question, because the sacramental intention serves as the third element in the 'triangulation' of conditions requisite for a valid sacrament:  form (or, the "sacramental word"), matter, as well as intention.  Pope Pius V points to a correct sacramental intention as a kind of 'fail-safe' in the event that the Words of Institution had words added or subtracted "which did not change the meaning" as effecting a valid sacrament.  In fact, he elaborates in the event of a genuine mistake in repeating the verba testamenti:

If the celebrant does not remember having said the usual words in the Consecration, he should not for that reason be worried.  If, however, he is sure that he omitted something necessary to the Sacrament, that is, the form of the Consecration or a part of it, he is to repeat the formula and continue from there. If he thinks it is very likely that he omitted something essential, he is to repeat the formula conditionally, though the condition need not be expressed. But if what he omitted is not necessary to the Sacrament, he is not to repeat anything; he should simply continue the Mass.

Four scenarios are laid down:  (1) If the celebrant cannot remember whether the verba testamenti was said, he oughta, like, chillax!  Or (2) if the celebrant is certain that something necessary was omitted, relax, repeat, and carry on.  Unless (3) the celebrant thinks that something indeed was omitted, he ought to repeat the Words conditionally.  Finally (4) if something nonessential was omitted (say, the "enim"), move on, bro.

If anything, Pope Pius V does not want us to wrapped around the axle about accidental mistakes in the sacramental celebration, as the first stipulation makes very clear:  "If the celebrant does not remember having said the usual words in the Consecration, he should not for that reason be worried," presumably because ill-remembering something likely means that the celebrant did not intend to do otherwise than what the Church intends, and such intentionality serves as a fail-safe to ensure validity.

Transposing the same principle to sacramental Baptism, If I were to  absent-mindedly say "We baptise you..." while I meant to say "I baptise you..." then a valid baptism would likely have taken place.  On the other hand, sacramental intention cannot be used as in lieu of prescribed sacramental words, principally because the sacramental words enshrines sacramental intentionality; in fact, St Thomas Aquinas explains that the sacramental words serves as a signification which dovetails the word with the sacraments repeated over sacramental matter (S.th., 3a, q. 64, art. 8).  Hence the Sacred Congregation explained in its accompanying "Doctrinal Note" to the Responsum:

In this light must be understood the Tridentine injunction concerning the necessity of the minister to at least have the intention to do that which the Church does.  The intention therefore cannot remain only at the interior level, with the risk of subjective distractions, but must be expressed in the exterior action constituted by the use of the matter and form of the Sacrament.  Such an action cannot but manifest the communion between that which the minister accomplishes in the celebration of each individual sacrament with that which the Church enacts in communion with the action of Christ himself:  It is therefore fundamental that the sacramental action may not be achieved in its own name, but in the person of Christ who acts in his Church, and in the name of the Church.

That being said, the 'triangulation' of sacramental word, matter, and intention must work as 'three out of three' and not, say, two or even one out of three:  Referencing matter, the intention is exteriorised by the sacramental word.  Mistakes in the recitation do not necessarily invalidate the sacramental confection in every case, but this does not thereby warrant changing the sacramental word, because this would make the word and intention desynchronous with each other, in which case the very purpose of words would be defeated (cf B. Lonergan, Verbum:  Word and Idea in Aquinas [Toronto:  University of Toronto Press, 1997]).

Therefore, meaning the sense of the words, "We baptise you..." with its concomitant sense of assuming the body of the Church (rather than Christ) serves as Capital Grace thus disrupts the sacramental intention, since the "I" of the correct formula has Christ as Head of the Church and as Capital Grace and as the Actant of the sacramental celebration has been replaced with erroneous theology.  If, on the other hand, I'm celebrating a baptism and my mind wanders for a bit to Fr Hood's unfortunate story, and for that I accidentally say "We baptise you..." while meaning to say "I baptise you" and meaning to express the Church's faith in Christ and not the Church as the invisible Presider of the celebration, then the sacrament is likely to be valid.  That, I think, is the scenario that my interlocutor has in mind, in which case he is correct.

And thus the exception, they say, proves the rule.

Sacramentizing Rightly

When I read the letter of the Archbishop of Detroit regarding Fr Matthew Hood's invalid baptism and subsequently invalid Confirmation, invalid Confessions (dozens, surely), invalid Diaconate ordination and, ultimately, invalid Presbyteral ordination, I was especially struck by the pastoral swiftness and pastoral vigilance His Grace took to address the situation.  This was the +Allen Vigneron I got to know while he was bishop of Oakland--I've had the pleasure to serve as his MC twice and to have interactions with him regarding the Deaf Catholic ministry in the East Bay--doctrinally sound, pastorally vigilant, and conscientiously evangelical.

In the larger scheme of things, it was surprising--yet very, very refreshing--to see Archbishop Vigneron name names:  Not only of Father Matthew Hood, but also of Deacon Mark Springer.  Not even the Council of Trent named Luther and Calvin for the errors they peddled; naming Hood and Springer serves to show how severe the situation was, which lead me to my subsequent, yet happy, surprise:  An obvious demonstration of concern for salvation over face-saving that's become the modus operandi of many Christian leaders.

Here at the conventual priory where I live, there is a longtime friend of mine who is also a longtime liturgist--not the sort that opines and puts on the "Father Martin Show" and calls it Mass, but who celebrates both in the Latin and Byzantine Rites, has studied under no less than Dom Mark Daniel Kirby OSB, holds an M.A. in liturgy from The Liturgical Institute at Mundelein Seminary, and a D.Min. in the same from Oxford University through the Graduate Theological Foundation.  Father Martin is old enough to remember the silly season after the sublime Council, and often talks shop about the clumsy implementation not only Sacrosanctum concilium but also Perfectae caritatis.  He was not the least bit surprised at the ministerial malfeasance of Deacon Springer, because of the sort of formation that was dished out at the time.  In effect, Father Martin said, Give him a break!

Especially, quoth I, if he is a product of "Iron John."

Luis Cardinal Ladaria's dicastery is much to be commended for publishing its Responsum, more so if they had a good sense that this would cause a disruption in the lives of the faithful.  And disrupted it did--medicinally.

Thin doctrine has given way to an overemphasis on emotivism as if "Salvation of souls" has been replaced with the "assuaging of feelings" and the Church of Christ metamorphosed into the Church of Nice.  Sure, "We baptise you..." sounds warm and fuzzy, but it's got as much doctrinal content as Nutella has vitamins, though equal amounts of sugar.

The Dogmatic Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy clearly teaches that "By His power [Christ] is present in the sacraments, so that when a man baptizes it is really Christ Himself who baptizes" (S.c., 7).  St Paul speaks of Christ as the Head of the Church (cf Eph 1:22-23), whereas Christians are His Body.  It is not the Church who baptises, but the Church's Head, namely Christ; nor does the Church confirm, but the Church's Head, again the Anointed One.

"From His fullness we have all received, grace upon grace" (Jn 1:16).  The doctrine of the "Capital Grace" of Christ means that, as the Anointed One, the Holy Spirit overflows from Christ to Christians, from the Head to the Body, as from the 'Anointer' to the 'anointees'; St Thomas Aquinas often points to the anointing of Aaron flowing from his head to his body in Psalm 133 [132]:2 as a type of Christ's Capital Grace.  That is how grace is conferred upon us:  From Christ to us, and not--I repeat, not--from us to each other.  "We baptise you..." undercuts the doctrine of Jesus' Anointing; it's not only lazy Sacramentology and bad Christology, it's even worse Pneumatology.

If it's anything, it's pop psychology.

Yet if my research on the Anointing of Jesus has taught me anything, the Holy Spirit is everyone's favourite Person of the Trinity to ignore.

In my earlier research on the sacramental validity of a signed, inaudible consecration, I discovered Aquinas' more nuanced understanding of "the sacramental word" (which most of us know as "form" or "formula"):

As Augustine says (Tract. lxxx super Joan.), the word operates in the sacraments "not because it is spoken," i.e. not by the outward sound of the voice, "but because it is believed" in accordance with the sense of the words which is held by faith. And this sense is indeed the same for all, though the same words as to their sound be not used by all. Consequently no matter in what language this sense is expressed, the sacrament is complete (S.th., 3a, q. 60, art. 7, ad 1).

Critics of the Responsum (or, as Cardinal Mueller delightfully calls them, "theological ignoramuses") accuse the Holy See of holding to a "magical" sense of the sacramental economy.  Not so, says Aquinas appropriating Augustine, because it's not the utterance that carries power, but the sense of the words which is held by faith.  "We baptise you..." is theologically meaningless and therefore impotent, whereas "I baptise you..." is powerful as it lends voice to Christ who gives to the new believer a share of His own Anointing and highlights the doctrine of Christ's own priesthood.  All of the Church's "sacramental words" are efficacious not because they are merely miraculous, but because they are proclamatory of what Christ's disciples believe.

(While I'm at it, have a look over at my friend Brett Graham Fawcett's blog on those supposedly Pharisaical Vatican officials.  And, if we're honest, the charge of Pharisaism is the last resort of one who's run out of points to score.)

Changing the words of the Sacred Liturgy--the Olympic sport of clericalism--is not only disrespectful of what's been handed down to us (as if we are within rights to change what we don't own but only entrusted with) and disobedient to authority (as if the promise we made to our bishops at ordination can be taken lightly), it is also narcissistic because it dismisses Christ who performs the liturgical action and replaces Him with "We," to Feuerbach's delight.

There is something to be said, too, about the assuaging of feelings that replaces salvation of souls now in vogue, but I'll save that for another day.

In any case:  Go easy on Deacon Springer, as he is, through no fault of his own, the victim of formators who engaged in eisegesis instead of exegesis of the Council documents.  Father Hood is to be praised for stirring the pot, as it were, because the flood of invalid sacraments has given rise to not only torrential inconvenience, but also a fresh rain of catecheitcal opportunities.  And, to his great credit, Archbishop Vigneron has broken rank and restored the rational soul to its rightful place of mastery over the sensitive soul by putting believing in charge of feeling.

Let us rejoice in Christ for what He has done for us, not because we fancy ourselves to be Him.

Abdicating Apostolicity?

Despite having been published by the Pontifical Academy for Life, their recent document Humana communitas in the Age of Pandemic:  Untimely Meditations on Life's Rebirth bears little or no magisterial weight; it does not bear the signature of the dicasterial prefect, let alone of the Vicar of Christ.  More than that, the theologically problematic tone of the entire document, especially in light of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, likely disqualifies it of any possible 'note of certitude' it may carry.

It will not be my intention to critique the document; the fact that it does not even once mention God or Christ speaks for itself.  Professor Stefano Fontana, consultant for the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace and director of the Cardinal Van Thuân Observatory on the Social Doctrine of the Church, has written an introductory assessment of the document, and the interested reader is invited to review his comments.

Two things, in particular, stand out about this document:  First, the complete setting-aside of what Vatican II has described as "scrutinising the signs of the times":

To carry out such a task, the Church has always had the duty of scrutinizing the signs of the times and of interpreting them in the light of the Gospel.  Thus, in language intelligible to each generation, she can respond to the perennial questions which men ask about this present life and the life to come, and about the relationship of the one to the other.  We must therefore recognize and understand the world in which we live, its explanations, its longings, and its often dramatic characteristics (Pastoral Constitution on the Church, Gaudium et spes, n. 4).

Second, and closely related to the above, is a dereliction of the Church's apostolic, evangelical mandate imposed upon us by none less than the Lord Jesus.

I will only be brief regarding the first point:  Clearly, nowhere does the document seek to explore the problem of Covid-19 and make an attempt at "interpreting them in the light of the Gospel."  Several months ago, Dr Mary Healy published an article with the provocative title, Is the Coronavirus Pandemic a Judgment from God?--exploring, in her competence as a Biblical theologian (S.T.D., Pontifical Gregorian Univeristy, 2000) and as professor of Scripture at Sacred Heart Major Seminary, the question of God's permissive providence which sees fit to discipline and chastise his children.  If you haven't read it, do.

Of course, the idea of God medicinal chastising is passé--despite the fact that St Thomas Aquinas treats of it in his Super ad Hebraeos, C.12, L.2, 673-682 and elsewhere in his theological syntheses--yet I have not come across any articles or monographs that effectively refutes the idea of medicinal chastisement on the part of God; nor have I seen any studies trying to interpret the pandemic in the light of God's permissive providence (besides Dr Healy's).  While I have my own thoughts about whether our current situation is one of God administering loving discipline, the fact that there is little, if any, discussion of this in the document seems to me a direct sidestepping of the recent Council's reiteration of the Church's "duty of scrutinizing the signs of the times" and a pronounced lack of courage in even countenancing the question.  And for those who do not think it a question sufficient to trouble oneself with--such as the authors of Humana communitas--do not the lay faithful at least deserve to have their questions acknowledged?  This strikes me, therefore, as an especially callous display of clericalism, so rightly decried by Pope Francis.

The very subtitle--Untimely Meditations on Life's Rebirth--with the adjectival "Untimely"--calls into question the very existence of "Providence" in the minds of the authors.  A philosophy in which man devises his own meaning cannot, by any mental gymnastics, be Christian.

My second question, I think, is the more urgent one:  The aforementioned document strikes me as an especially egregious dereliction of the Church's missionary mandate; the following remark by the spokesman of the Academy for Life is particularly disingenuous:  "I do not know, at this point, whether philological ‘accounting’ work on how many times a few key words recur in a text is useful.”  The "philological" paucity of "Jesus" or "Gospel" completely misses the point if even the substance of it is missing.  What's more, it fails to see the problem of suffering as a summons to conversion, as the late Pope John Paul II's Salvifici doloris laboured to make clear:

This is an extremely important aspect of suffering. It is profoundly rooted in the entire Revelation of the Old and above all the New Covenant. Suffering must serve for conversion, that is, for the rebuilding of goodness in the subject, who can recognize the divine mercy in this call to repentance. The purpose of penance is to overcome evil, which under different forms lies dormant in man. Its purpose is also to strengthen goodness both in man himself and in his relationships with others and especially with God (n. 12).

Perhaps, more accessibly, are these words from the great Anglican layman, Prof C. S. Lewis, in his book The Problem of Pain:

But pain insists upon being attended to.  God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world...No doubt pain as God's megaphone is a terrible instrument; it may lead to final and unrepented rebellion. But it gives the only opportunity the bad man can have for amendment. it removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of the rebel soul.

The Academy's spokesperson indicated that the document was designed to "reach the widest possible audience."  That's splendid.  So why not use this "widest possible audience" to advance the cause of Christ?

Throughout the Acts of the Apostles, the Holy Spirit is the principal animator of the Church's mission to evangelise; Acts 1:8 is paradigmatic of exactly this.  During His Farewell Discourse, the Lord made it clear that "the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you" (Jn 14:26).  One must ask whether the Holy Spirit was not invoked but resisted on account of the document's complete sidestepping of Jesus' teachings, to say nothing of Matthew 10:32.

 

Perhaps even more disingenuous is the invocation of St John XXIII's words, "it is not the Gospel that changes, it is we who understand it better and better," to justify exactly what's lacking in the document, because, again, not even the substance of the Gospel is discernible.  Indeed, the invitation to examine one's ethics which spurred the pandemic is laudatory, but it was left to Pelagian devices.  And, as St Thomas makes so clear in his treatise on "the New Law," the grace of the Holy Spirit is at the heart of the Gospel, we end up discovering something rather contrary to it in the document.

So I reiterate my question:  Why did not this document see the pandemic as an evangelical moment?  Has the Church's missionary mandate metamorphosed into one of social action only and of a merely this-worldly Kingdom of God?  Do we not have lives of supernatural virtue to live, and do we not have eternity to look towards?  In a world searching for answers, and in a world where--note well!--politics, not religion, obfuscates pharmaceutical research towards a medicinal resolution, and in a human community looking for transcendent answers, the Pontifical Academy for Life saw fit to abdicate the Church's apostolic duty to "...preach the word, be urgent in season and out of season, convince, rebuke, and exhort, be unfailing in patience and in teaching" (2 Tim 4:2).

Only now can I really appreciate His Holiness' project of Curial reform.  More than that, given the dicastery's choice to ignore the founder's pastoral programme at the start of his pontificate, Redemptor hominis--and the current Pontiff's Evangelii gaudium--strongly indicates that Humana communitas in the Age of Pandemic can be set aside as a case study in how not to 'do' and 'be' missionary disciples.

In conclusion, I submit that the tired and overused words of Chesterton has now taken on a new meaning:

The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting.  It has been found difficult; and left untried.