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Cardinal McElroy and the God of Surprises
Manage episode 459917825 series 3546964
Контент предоставлен The Catholic Thing. Весь контент подкастов, включая эпизоды, графику и описания подкастов, загружается и предоставляется непосредственно компанией The Catholic Thing или ее партнером по платформе подкастов. Если вы считаете, что кто-то использует вашу работу, защищенную авторским правом, без вашего разрешения, вы можете выполнить процедуру, описанную здесь https://ru.player.fm/legal.
By Robert Royal.
But first a note: Be sure to tune in tomorrow - Thursday, January 9th at 8 PM Eastern - to EWTN for a new episode of the Papal Posse on 'The World Over.' TCT Editor-in-Chief Robert Royal and contributor Fr. Gerald E. Murray will join host Raymond Arroyo to discuss the appointment of Cardinal Robert McElroy to head the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C., the appointment of the first woman to head a Vatican dicastery, and other issues in the global Church. Check your local listings for the channel in your area. Shows are usually available shortly after first airing on the EWTN YouTube channel.
Now for today's column...
I don't make any great claim to virtue, but one vice that I've (mostly) avoided is the itch to predict the future. Especially around the New Year, when people - even Catholics - despite warnings from Scripture and Jesus Himself ("sufficient to the day"), often offer themselves as prophets, sometimes even something closer to soothsayers. Not only do we make predictions for the next twelve months, lament or exult over what we think is coming, but we recommend new books or diets or exercise programs or spiritual practices. As if human life is - or should be - a rationally manageable, wholly predictable thing.
Life's a pilgrimage. An adventure. And often, under God, deeply and happily unpredictable.
Item: Practitioners of the dismal science, which is to say economists, often hedge their bets by saying such and such will happen to the economy "all things remaining equal." Which of course, they never are.
Item: Lately, "The Science" does things like predict that even small amounts of alcohol may give you cancer in some far-off future, unless a meta-analysis this year or the next questions those findings and may even recommend a drink or two.
Uncertainties are a good thing because otherwise we would be even more addicted to our own horizons, to very small, all-too-human goals. God has bigger plans. For all of us. And these uncertainties are among the many sly avenues he uses ("subtle is the Lord") to wake us up to greater vistas.
In the ancient and medieval worlds, the unpredictable nature of the world was properly recognized, even personified as Dame Fortuna. A fickle lady, but one entrusted by God with the crucial task of changing things around, beyond human ken, so that no person or group or nation can go long without realizing they're not in control, which is to say, not God. Though the human race being what it is, it's a lesson that we forget or fail to learn over and over.
Which brings me, as you may have been waiting for, to the Vatican's appointment this week of San Diego's Cardinal Robert McElroy as cardinal archbishop of Washington D.C. There are rumors that previous occupants of that post - including Cardinals Wuerl and Gregory along with the papal nuncio to the United States and several figures in Rome - opposed that appointment.
Except for the very exceptional Theodore McCarrick, the archbishop of Washington has usually been expected to be a calming figure, someone who can manage the Church in a city where Democrats and Republicans, liberals, conservatives, leftists, libertarians, and even further-out political oddities all exist both inside and outside the Church. For the most part, they've succeeded in that task.
McElroy's appointment is an oddity. He is a native of California, has spent almost all of his priestly life there (none in Washington), and has no great claim to being the best - or even a good - choice for the new post, other than he's long been a progressive social justice advocate. And, in some readings, "in line" with Pope Francis.
If one were given to speculation, it might be thought that Pope Francis was persuaded to appoint him as a counterweight to the return of Donald Trump. McElroy has been a vocal opponent of deportations. And as an intelligent man (degrees from Stanford and Harvard) he's a more articulate spokesman for that and other progressive positions than any othe...
…
continue reading
But first a note: Be sure to tune in tomorrow - Thursday, January 9th at 8 PM Eastern - to EWTN for a new episode of the Papal Posse on 'The World Over.' TCT Editor-in-Chief Robert Royal and contributor Fr. Gerald E. Murray will join host Raymond Arroyo to discuss the appointment of Cardinal Robert McElroy to head the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C., the appointment of the first woman to head a Vatican dicastery, and other issues in the global Church. Check your local listings for the channel in your area. Shows are usually available shortly after first airing on the EWTN YouTube channel.
Now for today's column...
I don't make any great claim to virtue, but one vice that I've (mostly) avoided is the itch to predict the future. Especially around the New Year, when people - even Catholics - despite warnings from Scripture and Jesus Himself ("sufficient to the day"), often offer themselves as prophets, sometimes even something closer to soothsayers. Not only do we make predictions for the next twelve months, lament or exult over what we think is coming, but we recommend new books or diets or exercise programs or spiritual practices. As if human life is - or should be - a rationally manageable, wholly predictable thing.
Life's a pilgrimage. An adventure. And often, under God, deeply and happily unpredictable.
Item: Practitioners of the dismal science, which is to say economists, often hedge their bets by saying such and such will happen to the economy "all things remaining equal." Which of course, they never are.
Item: Lately, "The Science" does things like predict that even small amounts of alcohol may give you cancer in some far-off future, unless a meta-analysis this year or the next questions those findings and may even recommend a drink or two.
Uncertainties are a good thing because otherwise we would be even more addicted to our own horizons, to very small, all-too-human goals. God has bigger plans. For all of us. And these uncertainties are among the many sly avenues he uses ("subtle is the Lord") to wake us up to greater vistas.
In the ancient and medieval worlds, the unpredictable nature of the world was properly recognized, even personified as Dame Fortuna. A fickle lady, but one entrusted by God with the crucial task of changing things around, beyond human ken, so that no person or group or nation can go long without realizing they're not in control, which is to say, not God. Though the human race being what it is, it's a lesson that we forget or fail to learn over and over.
Which brings me, as you may have been waiting for, to the Vatican's appointment this week of San Diego's Cardinal Robert McElroy as cardinal archbishop of Washington D.C. There are rumors that previous occupants of that post - including Cardinals Wuerl and Gregory along with the papal nuncio to the United States and several figures in Rome - opposed that appointment.
Except for the very exceptional Theodore McCarrick, the archbishop of Washington has usually been expected to be a calming figure, someone who can manage the Church in a city where Democrats and Republicans, liberals, conservatives, leftists, libertarians, and even further-out political oddities all exist both inside and outside the Church. For the most part, they've succeeded in that task.
McElroy's appointment is an oddity. He is a native of California, has spent almost all of his priestly life there (none in Washington), and has no great claim to being the best - or even a good - choice for the new post, other than he's long been a progressive social justice advocate. And, in some readings, "in line" with Pope Francis.
If one were given to speculation, it might be thought that Pope Francis was persuaded to appoint him as a counterweight to the return of Donald Trump. McElroy has been a vocal opponent of deportations. And as an intelligent man (degrees from Stanford and Harvard) he's a more articulate spokesman for that and other progressive positions than any othe...
67 эпизодов
Manage episode 459917825 series 3546964
Контент предоставлен The Catholic Thing. Весь контент подкастов, включая эпизоды, графику и описания подкастов, загружается и предоставляется непосредственно компанией The Catholic Thing или ее партнером по платформе подкастов. Если вы считаете, что кто-то использует вашу работу, защищенную авторским правом, без вашего разрешения, вы можете выполнить процедуру, описанную здесь https://ru.player.fm/legal.
By Robert Royal.
But first a note: Be sure to tune in tomorrow - Thursday, January 9th at 8 PM Eastern - to EWTN for a new episode of the Papal Posse on 'The World Over.' TCT Editor-in-Chief Robert Royal and contributor Fr. Gerald E. Murray will join host Raymond Arroyo to discuss the appointment of Cardinal Robert McElroy to head the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C., the appointment of the first woman to head a Vatican dicastery, and other issues in the global Church. Check your local listings for the channel in your area. Shows are usually available shortly after first airing on the EWTN YouTube channel.
Now for today's column...
I don't make any great claim to virtue, but one vice that I've (mostly) avoided is the itch to predict the future. Especially around the New Year, when people - even Catholics - despite warnings from Scripture and Jesus Himself ("sufficient to the day"), often offer themselves as prophets, sometimes even something closer to soothsayers. Not only do we make predictions for the next twelve months, lament or exult over what we think is coming, but we recommend new books or diets or exercise programs or spiritual practices. As if human life is - or should be - a rationally manageable, wholly predictable thing.
Life's a pilgrimage. An adventure. And often, under God, deeply and happily unpredictable.
Item: Practitioners of the dismal science, which is to say economists, often hedge their bets by saying such and such will happen to the economy "all things remaining equal." Which of course, they never are.
Item: Lately, "The Science" does things like predict that even small amounts of alcohol may give you cancer in some far-off future, unless a meta-analysis this year or the next questions those findings and may even recommend a drink or two.
Uncertainties are a good thing because otherwise we would be even more addicted to our own horizons, to very small, all-too-human goals. God has bigger plans. For all of us. And these uncertainties are among the many sly avenues he uses ("subtle is the Lord") to wake us up to greater vistas.
In the ancient and medieval worlds, the unpredictable nature of the world was properly recognized, even personified as Dame Fortuna. A fickle lady, but one entrusted by God with the crucial task of changing things around, beyond human ken, so that no person or group or nation can go long without realizing they're not in control, which is to say, not God. Though the human race being what it is, it's a lesson that we forget or fail to learn over and over.
Which brings me, as you may have been waiting for, to the Vatican's appointment this week of San Diego's Cardinal Robert McElroy as cardinal archbishop of Washington D.C. There are rumors that previous occupants of that post - including Cardinals Wuerl and Gregory along with the papal nuncio to the United States and several figures in Rome - opposed that appointment.
Except for the very exceptional Theodore McCarrick, the archbishop of Washington has usually been expected to be a calming figure, someone who can manage the Church in a city where Democrats and Republicans, liberals, conservatives, leftists, libertarians, and even further-out political oddities all exist both inside and outside the Church. For the most part, they've succeeded in that task.
McElroy's appointment is an oddity. He is a native of California, has spent almost all of his priestly life there (none in Washington), and has no great claim to being the best - or even a good - choice for the new post, other than he's long been a progressive social justice advocate. And, in some readings, "in line" with Pope Francis.
If one were given to speculation, it might be thought that Pope Francis was persuaded to appoint him as a counterweight to the return of Donald Trump. McElroy has been a vocal opponent of deportations. And as an intelligent man (degrees from Stanford and Harvard) he's a more articulate spokesman for that and other progressive positions than any othe...
…
continue reading
But first a note: Be sure to tune in tomorrow - Thursday, January 9th at 8 PM Eastern - to EWTN for a new episode of the Papal Posse on 'The World Over.' TCT Editor-in-Chief Robert Royal and contributor Fr. Gerald E. Murray will join host Raymond Arroyo to discuss the appointment of Cardinal Robert McElroy to head the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C., the appointment of the first woman to head a Vatican dicastery, and other issues in the global Church. Check your local listings for the channel in your area. Shows are usually available shortly after first airing on the EWTN YouTube channel.
Now for today's column...
I don't make any great claim to virtue, but one vice that I've (mostly) avoided is the itch to predict the future. Especially around the New Year, when people - even Catholics - despite warnings from Scripture and Jesus Himself ("sufficient to the day"), often offer themselves as prophets, sometimes even something closer to soothsayers. Not only do we make predictions for the next twelve months, lament or exult over what we think is coming, but we recommend new books or diets or exercise programs or spiritual practices. As if human life is - or should be - a rationally manageable, wholly predictable thing.
Life's a pilgrimage. An adventure. And often, under God, deeply and happily unpredictable.
Item: Practitioners of the dismal science, which is to say economists, often hedge their bets by saying such and such will happen to the economy "all things remaining equal." Which of course, they never are.
Item: Lately, "The Science" does things like predict that even small amounts of alcohol may give you cancer in some far-off future, unless a meta-analysis this year or the next questions those findings and may even recommend a drink or two.
Uncertainties are a good thing because otherwise we would be even more addicted to our own horizons, to very small, all-too-human goals. God has bigger plans. For all of us. And these uncertainties are among the many sly avenues he uses ("subtle is the Lord") to wake us up to greater vistas.
In the ancient and medieval worlds, the unpredictable nature of the world was properly recognized, even personified as Dame Fortuna. A fickle lady, but one entrusted by God with the crucial task of changing things around, beyond human ken, so that no person or group or nation can go long without realizing they're not in control, which is to say, not God. Though the human race being what it is, it's a lesson that we forget or fail to learn over and over.
Which brings me, as you may have been waiting for, to the Vatican's appointment this week of San Diego's Cardinal Robert McElroy as cardinal archbishop of Washington D.C. There are rumors that previous occupants of that post - including Cardinals Wuerl and Gregory along with the papal nuncio to the United States and several figures in Rome - opposed that appointment.
Except for the very exceptional Theodore McCarrick, the archbishop of Washington has usually been expected to be a calming figure, someone who can manage the Church in a city where Democrats and Republicans, liberals, conservatives, leftists, libertarians, and even further-out political oddities all exist both inside and outside the Church. For the most part, they've succeeded in that task.
McElroy's appointment is an oddity. He is a native of California, has spent almost all of his priestly life there (none in Washington), and has no great claim to being the best - or even a good - choice for the new post, other than he's long been a progressive social justice advocate. And, in some readings, "in line" with Pope Francis.
If one were given to speculation, it might be thought that Pope Francis was persuaded to appoint him as a counterweight to the return of Donald Trump. McElroy has been a vocal opponent of deportations. And as an intelligent man (degrees from Stanford and Harvard) he's a more articulate spokesman for that and other progressive positions than any othe...
67 эпизодов
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×By David Warren. According to the Pew Research Center, and several other samplers of public opinion, the extended decline of Christian belief, and especially of the "traditionalist" kind, has come to a stop. These are polls, and they display what people think on a question, at the moment when asked. There is not, and cannot be, any predictive value in this; and I don't think even the present can be predicted by polling, or the past. Only shallow impressions may be had. But the impressions are themselves significant for public attitudes. People, I have noticed, act quite differently when they think they are in a small minority, or in an overwhelming majority. This may inspire humility, in some transactions, and arrogance in others; or, depending upon unique psychologies, the opposite may occur. But response "in the main" is usually predictable. The statistics, so far as I follow them, are not dramatic, except in one respect: that the collapse of the Christian religion in the West (where polls are conducted) has stopped, or slowed, for the last several years. In the absence of an obvious explanatory event, my own guess is that people, or at least a small proportion, have got bored with living meaningless lives. The same thing happens with war, which at first seems exciting and full of possibilities. But after a while, perhaps some years, the people grow pacifist again. An increasing likelihood of death or discomfort also tends to reduce the popularity of military campaigns. But as in the analogy, the change tends to be gradual. Societies don't "turn on a dime," and even socialist planners must use torture and coercion to make the people change more promptly. And if force isn't used continuously, the most ardent revolutions and revolutionaries fade. The Church makes all the difference, on the religious side. That is where the priestly equivalent of revolutionaries perform. That is where their efforts continue to be impressive, or they impressively tail off. This, I insist, is a universal property, exhibited throughout Church history and in many elsewheres. Sleepy leaders put congregations to sleep: but as minor recent indications confirm, the people cannot sleep forever. They may wake, under some terrible, un-Christian bang, and then will need time to go back to sleep again. Or they may, improbably, begin to remember how human life is meant to be dealt with, in the Christian dispensation - and perhaps that is happening, now. America has taken the lead in improbability, for two-and-a-half centuries now. The proof of this is that there are still Christians here, publicly admitting their beliefs, whereas that sort of thing seems to have died in Europe. (I fear that I am not exaggerating.) Although fluoride is going out, revival seems to be still in the water here, as one noticed during Mr. Trump's speech to Congress this week. There was genuine enthusiasm, for something, and that something seems to be friendly to Christian, even to Catholic, belief. But can this belief outlast the political enthusiasm, on which it seems to be riding? This is rather like saying, will the war remain popular? For Christian belief necessarily resembles war, although not the conventional kind waged with spears and missiles. To double back on my metaphors, one needs good officers to keep a frontline moving, and good discipline that fine officers have instilled. They are the masters of morale, who can sometimes do the impossible, and rouse a nearly-defeated army into making a stand. History is replete with examples. But without such officers, the rank and file will not merely lack direction, but fall into chaos and disorder. They will quickly lose their reason to fight, when faced with the threat of an actual enemy, and will, individually, cut and run. Lent, which remains an annual affair, I like to compare to NATO exercises. They are not warfare, and fewer soldiers get killed than would happen if live ammunition were flying both ways. But they are a n...…
by Stephen P. White I distinctly recall the first time I heard someone suggest in earnest that Donald Trump might make a good president. It was the late summer of 2015 and I was having my hair cut. The woman cutting my hair said she hoped Trump would win the following year's election because she liked his stance on immigration. I thought this was amusing for two reasons. First, like almost everyone else inside the Capital Beltway back then, I thought Trump's nascent candidacy wasn't really serious. Second, the woman standing behind me with the scissors extolling the virtues of Trump's hard line on immigration spoke with a thick foreign accent. Like every other woman cutting hair in that strip mall barber shop, she was an immigrant. Still conscious of the scissors, I gently suggested there was some irony in this. Not at all, she said! She had immigrated legally some decades ago. She was proud of her adopted country and grateful for the opportunities it afforded her and her family. And she made it abundantly clear that massive illegal immigration was simply unfair to Americans, particularly to people (like her) who had "followed the rules." Donald Trump promised to put a stop to that, and that's why she thought he'd make a good president. Simple. I confess that I did not leave that barber shop thinking Donald Trump would make a good president, or even that he would ever be president. But I did leave with a lasting reminder that those who oppose mass immigration, or lament its consequences, are not all motivated by selfishness, any more than those who favor mass immigration are always driven by altruism. And it was the first of many hints of just how broad Trump's coalition of the dissatisfied might be. The wave of populism that has been reshaping American politics (indeed the politics of many Western democracies) over the last decade has many causes and mass immigration is near the top of the list. More generally, there is profound dissatisfaction with the way political and economic "elites" - or, if you prefer, the "establishment" the "uniparty," the "professional-managerial class," etc. - have handled the reigns these last few decades. Exacerbating the dissatisfaction, and thereby fueling populist sentiment, is the condescension with which the expression of that dissatisfaction has been met by the same "ruling class" on whose watch everyone has become so dissatisfied. Express objections to the status quo and one's cultural "betters" will deign to inform you that such objections stem from economic ignorance, racism, xenophobia, and unchristian attitudes in general. Unfortunately, it has sometimes been representatives of the Church doing the scolding. Now, blaming "elites" or "the establishment" or the "ruling class" is almost always an oversimplification (and one with not a small whiff of Marx about it). But my goal here is neither to justify populism nor to bury it. Rather, the point is to highlight that, whatever one thinks of Populism as a cure to what ails us, the underlying maladies that have given rise to it are real, pressing, and not going anywhere. In this regard, the challenges of our brave, new, globalized, world, are not entirely dissimilar to the crises of the 19th century, which moved Leo XIII to write Rerum novarum. In some ways the challenges of today - particularly the consequences and implications of our technology - are very different from those of 1891. But like today's, the crisis to which Leo XIII was responding was not merely an economic crisis, but a rapid reshaping of economic, political, and social life all at once. Leo's unsparing criticism of the economic liberalism of his day was paired with a pointed critique of socialist alternatives, then being promoted as a just response to the "worker question," but which had not yet taken form as a political state. Socialism was a false response to a true crisis. It was, as Pope John Paul II would later write, "The [socialist] remedy would prove worse than...…
by Robert Royal. The Cloud of Unknowing is probably the most popular mystical treatise in English, a sort of bestseller when it was written in the thirteen hundreds (when England was still Catholic), often republished over centuries, and a favorite of recent, highly discerning figures like C.S. Lewis. It's also unique (in my estimation) in that its author (an unknown monk) discourages people from taking up his book: "nor allow another to do so, unless you really believe that he is a person deeply committed to following Christ perfectly." So as Lent begins today, if you're finding your prayers and spiritual practices in need of a fresh injection of life, here's a great place to start - with the author's own caution. I often hear these days that Lent is not about "giving something up." I'm no one's idea of a spiritual guide, but absent other considerations it's clear that this is a half-truth. The Christian life is about giving up many things - not as an end in itself, as if created goods are bad - but in order to make room, as it were, for greater goods and a different order in body, mind, and spirit. There are many resources in the tradition to guide us through both concrete penances and deeper practices. I myself have been benefitting from working through the Cloud because it's simple and profound. And teaches a kind of spiritual fasting, which is something we don't often remember in our material fasts. In contemplation, says the author, you place yourself between two "clouds." A cloud of forgetting: you lay aside everything that ordinarily occupies your mind, all the daily tasks, worries, responsibilities, interests. Everything. You can return to them at the proper time. But when you're moving closer to God, you just leave all that behind during prayer. This is easier said than done. If you try, even for a few seconds, you'll find that your mind is buzzing with all sorts of thoughts, many perhaps perfectly innocent, even necessary the rest of the time - "only human." But to detach yourself from them or let them pass by without focusing on them takes considerable practice. One of the useful techniques is just to give up and ask God to do it for you. That works. Sometimes. The other "cloud" is the cloud of unknowing with regard to God Himself. We cannot fully know God with our limited human intelligence. He is more than we can grasp. But one way we can approach Him is not through knowledge, which can even be a hindrance in a sense (more on this below), but through love. This, too, is easier said than done. Try it and you'll see that you always want to be talking to yourself or to Him when what you more often need is to draw closer by the only way we ultimately can: by remaining silent, letting Him come to you, which means waiting for grace. Cardinal Sarah's The Power of Silence presents this process with great spiritual depth and beauty. Dante talks about this at the beginning of Paradiso: To soar beyond the human cannot be described in words. Let the example be enough to one for whom grace holds this experience in store. Paradiso, I, 70-72) Lots of people seeking deeper spiritual lives in the desiccated culture of the West (a shallowness and dryness that have entered the Church as well) turn to Eastern religions, pre-Christian paganisms, ayahuasca retreats, Pachamamas of various traditions, and worse. But there's a whole Catholic mystical tradition, from the Church Fathers, through Augustine and Dionysius, Aquinas and Bonaventure, and more modern figures. Jason Baxter's An Introduction to Christian Mysticism is a good history. But the point of it all is practice. The Cloud explains the importance of three ways of preparing yourself: reading, thinking, and prayer. A spiritual guide may help with these, because they need to be fitted to specific persons. Some people may be moved to contemplation, for example, through Bible reading - with proper helps. Others may be motivated reading the lives of saints. Still others may nee...…
By Randall Smith. On Ash Wednesday, a cross is drawn on our foreheads with ashes and we hear the words God said to Adam and Eve after the Fall: "From dust you have come and to dust you shall return." With their sin, they brought death into the world. And that "death" was not merely the end of this human life. Adam and Eve were always meant for a more profound union and communion with God after their earthly life. What they brought was the darkness of death as the negation of life. Sin brings with it alienation from God, from others, and from ourselves. When we sin, we fail to become the just, loving, generous persons we set out to be. And in death, it seems as though this dissolution of the self and our alienation from God and others has reached its natural culmination. With its destruction now complete, sin's grasp on us seems to have won its final victory. Man's days are like those of grass; like a flower of the field he blooms; The wind sweeps over him and he is gone, and his place knows him no more. (Psalm 105) And Psalm 90 teaches us "to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." I am not pious or saintly enough to take comfort in any of this, but I suppose it is unrealistic to expect reality to be comforting. Aeschylus undoubtedly spoke truly when he wrote: "Wisdom comes through suffering" - and often only through suffering. This dark lesson of Lent came early for me this year upon hearing of the death of my beloved mentor, David Solomon, decades-long professor of philosophy at the University of Notre Dame and founder of the de Nicola Center for Ethics and Culture. For years, the joke was that a Baptist from Baylor was the staunchest defender of the Catholic character of the university, and when administrators wanted to show prospective donors that Notre Dame was still "Catholic," they would send them over to Solomon's Center, the place where philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre had found a home in the later years of his academic career. There have been several encomia to David. Good descriptions of his life and legacy can be found here, and here, but the best tribute was undoubtedly the one written by his long-time friend and colleague, Fr. Bill Miscamble. There will no doubt be others forthcoming in the days and years ahead. David Solomon, though a Baptist for most of his life, was finally received into the Catholic Church last year, several months before his death. Though a Baptist, he was known far and wide in Catholic circles. The annual Center for Ethics and Culture Conference at Notre Dame has for years been one of the most important and most enjoyable Catholic conferences in the country. For decades, David sponsored a conference on Catholic biomedical ethics. And in the summers, he would direct a week-long educational retreat, the Vita Institute, to train future pro-life leaders. David Solomon was, in short, one of the most important driving forces in Catholic intellectual and moral life during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. His passing is a great sorrow and a great loss to his family, friends, and the Church. Like the death of his great friend Ralph McInerny, David's passing leaves a hole that simply cannot be filled. One can only devotedly carry on the work they began - the work they so dutifully inherited from their forebears and so nobly carried on themselves. There is no way of summing up the significance of a life, especially one as significant as David Solomon's. But perhaps three brief lessons are in order. The first is simply how much of a difference one man can make. This is something worth remembering in a world that seems so often to be spinning totally beyond our control. A second lesson comes from a story David would tell after he became Catholic. He directed and taught in Notre Dame's London Program for a time, and he would pass a lovely, little Catholic church on his way home each day. He would often stop in and pray and thus seeds were planted that would bear...…
By John M. Grondelski. A recent issue of The Atlantic carried Kristen Brown's report, "The Coming Democratic Baby Bust," which argues that the first Trump Administration was marked by a sharp fall in births in Democratic locales. Brad Wilcox from the Institute of Family Studies (IFS) and the University of Virginia has also just brought out a study speaking of a "Trump bump," offering statistics that during Trump One, Republican counties had higher than expected fertility, Democratic ones lower: "In the past 12 years, the geographic relationship between voting Republican and having more babies has grown by 85 percent." That news, however, comes with this warning: those kids aren't necessarily always being born into stable families. Put plainly, the nexus between wedlock and birthing is also weak in GOP circles. If a picture is worth a thousand words, perhaps the most compelling one these days is a 40-year-old vice president toting around his three little children. That is in marked contrast to the previous administration, whose head was pushing 80 and whose party is largely made up of people of the same age and post-menopausal women. And note I spoke of Vance's three kids: the last time we remember kids - plural - that young on the White House lawn were Caroline and John-John. The Atlantic article and IFS data tally with anecdotal reports we've heard in recent years. There's been no dearth of people, including celebrities like Miley Cyrus, announcing they were foregoing reproduction "for the planet." Donald Trump's reelection brought Korea's 4B movement (no dating, no marrying, no having sex, no babies with men) to America's shores, no lack of TikTokers promising four years of celibacy and chastity (probably with as little follow-through as threats to "leave the country," to say nothing of what they mean by such terms). Of course, it's not just about Trump but also the works and pomps of the Republican agenda. Its most consequential result was the Dobbs decision, undoing the abortion-on-demand-through-birth license of Roe v. Wade. Democrats made "abortion rights" the centerpiece of their 2024 campaign. It was the one thing Kamala Harris managed to be somewhat clear about. As a campaign issue, abortion-on-demand didn't yield the votes it was supposed to. But that doesn't mean it was devoid of consequences. Arguably, it left behind an even more corrosive effect: no small number of women of childbearing age are convinced that having a baby in the 21st century is an inherently risky, even life-threatening undertaking absent the guarantee of abortion-on-demand throughout pregnancy. Michigan State Representative Laurie Pohutsky (D-Wayne) took to social media to announce her response to the prospect of having a baby under Trump II: sterilization. This narrative, stoked by Democratic politicians looking to undermine Dobbs, is an egregious example of disinformation. Not misinformation. Disinformation: no reasonable person can believe that having a baby today in America is akin to having one in fifth-century Asia. But what should be of most concern about all this is an even bigger phenomenon, one that I would call the "politicization of procreation." The Left constantly invokes Pierre Eliot Trudeau's call back in the 1960s to "get the government out of the nation's bedrooms." But the Left's tendency to see everything through the lens of politics has, in practice, kept the government in bedrooms. It's a latter-day addition to Thomas Mann's adage that "everything is politics." Sure, the progressives speak of the "ethic of choice" - "regardless of one's views, we should agree that politicians should not decide." That, of course, has always been a red herring: every time politicians or anyone else make choices, they make moral judgments. The problem is not that moral judgments occur; it's that its critics don't like certain judgments. The politicization of procreation brings the government into the bedroom in a different way: by turning ...…
by Dominic V. Cassella. As a Byzantine Catholic, I can always tell if someone has little exposure to the Eastern Christian tradition because of two things. One, when they visit a Byzantine Church, they will genuflect when entering the pew - while many Eastern Catholics will make a bow with the sign of the cross. And two, they will kneel during the consecration and after receiving the Eucharist. Now, while I never thought twice about kneeling in a Roman Church or genuflecting before sliding into the pew, watching Roman Catholics kneel at a Byzantine Church used to irk me: "I kneel at your Church, why don't you stand at mine?" And while I recognize kneeling as an act of piety, I think it is worth explaining precisely why Byzantine Catholics do not kneel on Sunday, in case anyone reading this may find themselves there. (I'll leave Cardinal Cupich's controversial order that Chicago Catholics should not kneel at altar rails to receive Communion - based on notions of traffic flow - which is quite a different subject for another day.) To do this, we have to go back 1700 years to the Council of Nicaea - the anniversary of which we celebrate this year. At the Council, the Fathers of the Church mainly deliberated and debated Christology, resulting in the condemnation of Arianism. However, they also laid out various canons concerning liturgical practice and calendrical systems. Many people today might not know that at the Council of Nicaea, the Church declared in Canon 20 that there should be no kneeling on the Lord's Day or during the Pentecost season. Several questions arise when we consider this Canon: Why on earth would the First Holy Ecumenical Council of the Church think it important to forbid kneeling on Sundays and during the season of Pentecost? Did not Benedict XVI in The Spirit of the Liturgy remind us of the story of an old Abbot who saw the Devil, black and ugly as he was, with no knees? Isn't the inability to kneel the very essence of the diabolical? (Philippians 2:10) In On the Holy Spirit (27.66), Basil the Great explains this practice and gives the reason, which explains why, to this day, Eastern Catholics do not kneel on Sunday. Writing just a few decades after the Council of Nicaea, Basil tells us that: We all stand for prayer on Sunday, but not everyone knows why. We stand for prayer on the day of the Resurrection to remind ourselves of the graces we have been given: not only because we have been raised with Christ and are obliged to seek the things that are above, but also because Sunday seems to be an image of the age to come. . . .It is, therefore, necessary for the Church to teach her newborn children to stand for prayer on this day [Sunday], so that they will always be reminded of eternal life, and not neglect preparations for their journey. Basil tells us that the early Church (and still the Eastern Christians today) stood on Sundays when they prayed so that they were not neglectful of the journey. In saying this, we learn that standing on Sunday echoes God's command to the Israelites in Egypt, who were told to eat the Passover with "your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it in haste. It is the LORD's Passover." (Exodus 12:11) The passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is the new Passover. He is the Lamb of God. (John 1:29) When they partook of the Eucharistic celebration of this new Passover on Sunday, like the Israelites in Egypt, the early Christians remained standing because they understood themselves as the pilgrim Church. The word pilgrim comes from the Latin per, which means "beyond," and agri, which means "country or land;" literally, a pilgrim is someone who is "beyond or outside of their country." When we are baptized into Christ and put on Christ, our Kingdom and homeland is not of this world. (John 18:36) Instead, by becoming Christians, we are made citizens of a new nation, the City of God. As citizens of God's Kingdom, we are essent...…
By Auguste Meyrat. In any discussion about the foundational cities of Western civilization, most scholars would name Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome. Jerusalem was the birthplace of the great monotheistic religions that defined the West's spirituality, morality, and civic culture. Athens was the origin of the West's intellectual and artistic traditions. And besides being the exemplar of law, governance, and secular virtue, Rome was also the home of the Catholic Church, which repurposed many of these human pursuits to foster God's Kingdom on earth. There are some scholars, however, who would like to add Alexandria, Egypt to this list. Not only is it a city that has endured for millennia, but it has arguably played a large role in forming and inspiring Western Civilization throughout the ages. One writer trying to make this case is the British-Alexandrian historian Islam Issa. His latest book Alexandria: the City that Changed the World ardently tries to prove that Alexandria "is neglected in comparison to other centres of antiquity" despite being "a megalopolis without which Judaism, Christianity, and Islam would be unrecognisable." In support of this thesis, he gives a comprehensive history of the city, starting from its founding by Alexander the Great in 331 BC up to the current day. As Issa (somewhat tediously) lists each and every famous monument (like the Great Library or Lighthouse of Pharos), scholar (like Euclid and Origen), and political leader (the Ptolemies, Cleopatras, Julius Caesar, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Muhammad Ali), it's fair to declare that Alexandria is undoubtedly a great city with a rich history. Located next to the Nile and the Mediterranean near the intersection of Europe, Asia, and Africa, nearly everything and everyone at one point or another made its way through Alexandria. For all this, however, Issa's history ironically reveals why Alexandria was only a great city and not an iconic and foundational one. At no point in its history does the city ever become more than the sum of its parts. Unlike Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome, Alexandria has always been a house divided. Since its founding, the city has seen one protracted struggle after another: Greeks against Egyptians, Western Christianity against Eastern Christianity, Christians against Muslims, Abbasids against Mamluks, Europeans against Ottomans, and Westernized Liberalism against Socialist Nationalism. Of course, this is no accident since the city was founded on cosmopolitanism, always catering to different cultures and demographics. This meant it remained ideologically and philosophically diverse, never committing to any particular worldview or tradition. In effect, this left the city without a soul or much of an identity beyond being an overgrown melting pot. Contrary to Issa's subtitle, "The City that Changed the World," Alexandria was continually changed by the world, not vice versa. Every political and cultural movement, along with every plague, war, or personal vice, would cycle through Alexandria, leaving its mark on the city. Far more than its dazzling monuments and famous individuals, Issa inadvertently illustrates how Alexandria was characterized by its mob violence, tyrannical (and sometimes incestuous) rulers, civil wars, and booming sex trafficking. Reflecting today's common belief that multiculturalism is an unalloyed good, Issa relentlessly spins these darker consequences into positive developments. In his view, these are not the obvious signs of division, degeneracy, and corruption, but of tolerance and progress. For Issa, the real villains are the non-Muslim outsiders who cast judgment and try to change Alexandria. He'll spend several pages on Christians persecuting the Alexandrian female philosopher Hypatia, yet remain utterly mum about the periodic massacres of Christians during the centuries of Muslim occupation. And for good measure, he includes extensive details about the British writer E.M. Forster having a homosexual affair w...…
by Francis X. Maier This is a column about Betty and Les Ruppersberger. To the eye, they look like any other ordinary married couple. And in a way, they are like other ordinary couples. Keep them in your memory because I'll come back to them in a moment. But first, consider the following. One of the most vivid chapters in Scripture is Genesis 18. In the course of its thirty-three verses, God hears of the wickedness in Sodom and Gomorrah - the biblical "cities of the plain." He comes down to investigate for himself in the guise of three travelers. On the way, he appears to Abraham at the Oaks of Mamre, resting at Abraham's tent and promising his wife Sarah a son despite her advanced age. Then, as Genesis notes: [The] men turned from there and went toward Sodom; but Abraham still stood before the Lord. Then Abraham drew near and said, "Will you indeed destroy the righteous with the wicked? Suppose there are fifty righteous in the city; will you then destroy the place and not spare it for the fifty righteous who are in it? Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked. . . . Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" And the Lord said, "If I find at Sodom fifty righteous in the city, I will spare the whole place for their sake." Abraham, though a creature (in his own words) of mere "dust and ashes," is nonetheless an accomplished wheedler. He presses his appeal to God's justice. He begs God to spare Sodom if only forty, or even thirty, or even only ten righteous persons can be found in the city. And moved by this, God gives His word. Alas, the rest of the story is a matter of unhappy record. God's forbearance has a limit to the abuse it will take. Sodom lacks even ten righteous souls. Lot and his family, Abraham's kin, are warned to flee the city. As Sodom is destroyed, Lot's wife looks back. She instantly becomes a pillar of salt. So how does any of this relate to ordinary Betty and Les? At the start of his career, Les - Doctor Les (he specialized in obstetrics and gynecology) - was asked if he'd be willing to do abortions. He said no. Les was a Catholic, of the nominal sort, but he'd been adopted as an infant himself, so abortion was the one ugly procedure he wouldn't do. On the other hand, he was happy to offer contraceptives and sterilizations. He did that for many years. He rose rapidly in his profession. He earned an enviable reputation as a leader. He made a very comfortable living. And he carried a commensurate level of stress, along with the chronic anger it produced. The results were predictable. In 1991, he survived a stroke. He tracks the beginning of the change in his life from that point. Les returned to the Church and the sacraments. He also continued to provide sterilizations and contraceptives as part of his medical practice. It wasn't until 1999, after a retreat, a direct challenge from a priest acquaintance, and the encouragement and support of Betty, that Les told his medical partners - partners in the practice Les himself had cofounded - that he would no longer prescribe contraceptives or do sterilizations. They immediately cut his income by a third. Betty and Les sold their house and moved to a smaller place. And they did more - much more in life - with less. They've been married fifty-four years. Betty (as Les would be the first to say) has been key to everything they've done. Together they've taught natural family planning, marriage prep, RCIA, given scores of chastity talks, produced a radio program, and been vigorous in prolife causes. Les is a past president of the Catholic Medical Association (CMA), and served on the CMA board for thirteen years. He currently serves as the medical director for three crisis pregnancy centers that saved 426 babies from abortion last year and some 4,000 others over a 15-year history. In 2019, Pope Francis named Betty and Les as a pontifical dame and knight in the Order of St. Gregory the Great, an exceptional honor by the Holy See, ...…
by Michael Pakaluk It happens almost without fail that when I try to insert an old-style USB plug into a socket for it, I get it the wrong way. Moreover, when I say to myself, "I am probably inserting it the wrong way once again. Therefore, this time I will reverse what I intended to do," and then flip it, I invariably discover that I did have it the right way, and that in trying to correct myself I made it wrong again. But how can this be? Can the universe really be so designed, that I am meant to encounter a contradiction every time I try to plug in an old-style USB? Is the contradiction so strongly woven into reality that - like the angel of death in the old tale - when you've thought you've avoided it, it has captured you, nonetheless? I've often been tempted to write a column on this contradiction. In the past, I dismissed the idea, because it seemed silly. But then yesterday a friend wrote to complain, out of the blue and unprompted: "Every time I'm tempted to play Lotto I recall how often, when I plug a USB cord into one of those adapters, I plug it in wrong." Maybe it's not just me. In any case, I want to say that there is a broad class of similar phenomena, where the world seems designed to annoy us with contradictions. The word "annoyance" is itself telling. It comes from the word for hateful, "odious." Something an-oying, presents something hateful to us, an-odious. If the world is designed to be annoying, then it is designed to be hated - which seems profoundly correct from a Christian point of view. Surely a good God would design a world that pricks us with small hateful things. Hence the answer to the puzzle of why there are spiders, mosquitoes, cockroaches, gnats, and flies. We try to minimize annoyances, yet we cannot remove them. Entire institutions are dedicated to removing them. We call them "resorts." Resorts can succeed in producing an annoyance-free life for a few days, perhaps (even if the USB problem perdures). But we know resorts are unreal. A wise traveler expects a resort to fail. He will take it in stride if he sees a dust bunny in a corner, or if the lobby coffee isn't hot, or the leaf blower in the morning is too loud. In war, ordinary annoyances grow in size to become almost overwhelming, as if the world rises up in protest against the war - the mud, the rats, the maggots, the stench. Mosquitoes are naturally occurring annoyances. But we bring them upon ourselves, if we leave around lots of standing water, so that they become part natural, part artificial. Then there are annoyances which specifically bedevil our devices and machines. That these are a distinct class is shown by our invention of a distinct word for them, "gremlins" - a word which did not exist before the 1920s. Its popularity today is traceable back to its use by U.S. servicemen in World War II. We cannot escape the effects of original sin with our machines. Gremlins will inevitably get into the best-designed and manufactured jeeps, tanks, and airplanes. Likewise, it is an unalterable rule that microphones will malfunction in public events. Perfectly good projectors fail more than they work. Phone buttons fail when they are most necessary. . . all because of gremlins. Perhaps we should distinguish a "spoiling" from an annoyance. The rule that any material object that you love inordinately will be damaged the very first day that you own it is a rule of spoiling. The rule that you will need to fight feelings of regret and recrimination everyday thereafter is a rule of annoyance. Annoyances seem gender-specific. Men are annoyed by such things as that it is impossible to pick up a collar stay. We lose at least one sock in every wash. The charcoal runs out only when we are confident that we have plenty. Plastic wrap inevitably splits and starts building up exponentially on a small portion of the roll. Hairs grow from the side of our ears at the rate of 2 inches per night. These are annoying things, and they are transient. The annoyan...…
by Daniel B. Gallagher. I'm a Luddite, but I can't turn a blind eye to how deeply technology has affected my teaching. On the one hand, it's hard to imagine a greater gift to the humanities than the Internet. Not only can you pull up classical texts in readable transcriptions, you can instantly access high-resolution images of those texts in manuscript form. Pop into the Latin Library for a text-only version of the Aeneid, or go the Vatican Library for stupendous images of the Vergilius Vaticanus, a 1,600-year-old illuminated codex. Few of my students, of course, are trained to work with the Vergilius Vaticanus, but with a little Latin, they can delve into Virgil, Ovid, Horace, Cicero, Livy, and a host of other Latin authors at the Latin Library. You would think that such ready access to the great works of the past would make it possible to bring students with little to no background up to speed rather quickly. Take Dante's Divine Comedy, for instance. You don't even need to have a physical copy anymore (though don't be caught dead in my class without one). You have the entire Italian text, multiple English translations, and copious commentary all at Digital Dante. Considering how little students know about mythology, Christianity, philosophy, theology, history, and all the other things you need to know to follow the Commedia, the Internet is a godsend. Never heard of Pasiphaë? Go to Wikipedia. Then click "images" and immerse yourself in a range of artworks depicting the Cretan queen mating with the Minotaur. Don't know Guido Guinizelli? His biography is yours with the click of a button. So are his poems, his portrait, and an article that analyzes a recently discovered manuscript of his poem Omo ch'è saggio non corre leggero ("A wise man does not run lightly"). In short, you can make up for a lifetime of lost learning or write a decent term paper without ever entering a library. But herein lies the mystery. Why don't students do it? Why don't they take the simple steps necessary to become familiar with the Middle Ages or fill in other knowledge gaps that have widened during their youth, often through no fault of their own? Plenty of studies have already shown the detrimental effects of desultory Internet browsing. Many tech enthusiasts have conversely argued for the astounding learning progress possible through apps such as Duolingo. Being the Luddite that I am, I want to offer two other answers, one more distressing than the other. The first is that the humanities must be taught with passion - a passion that inspires students to read, say, the entire Iliad, not the CliffsNotes. Even with a world full of books at his disposal, the average student, no matter how bright, won't turn the cover page of the Iliad unless someone has at least suggested to him that it will change his life. But this is not merely a matter of cheerleading. Plenty of parents in the homeschooling movement do that day after day, but - again, through no fault of their own - have red only the CliffsNotes. They know the importance of the great books but have only a vague idea of what makes them great. You can only figure that out by reading the entire Iliad. The Iliad will change your life, the CliffsNotes will not. My wife and I homeschool four, so I know it's easier said than done. But I can offer no other answer. I am afraid the second answer is much more serious. Namely, maybe there are no gaps. What appear to be gaps are actually corners of the brain stuffed with garbage, false narratives, and outright woke propaganda. Where a love of Homer and Dante and many others should reign, a wrathful cynicism towards everything they represent seethes and rots. This became glaringly evident to me during the infamous February 16th interview with Marco Rubio on Face the Nation. The host, Margaret Brennan, asked the Secretary of State to respond to criticisms directed at J.D. Vance for meeting with the leader of the far-right Alternative for Germany party, Alice We...…
By Anthony Esolen. I have been committing Paradise Lost to memory - in emulation of a farmer who lived one big field over from a professor of mine, the medievalist George Kane, when George was a boy in Saskatchewan. Yes, I know what Milton thought of the Catholic Church. But Paradise Lost is still the greatest single poem in English, and I find Milton quite shrewd in his psychological analysis of good and evil, and what moves a presumably intelligent being to do wrong. I write this because some of the prelates in our Church seem to me to have a childish and simplistic, if not guileful, view of the relationship between what we know or think we know, and what it is right for us to do. Below, from memory, is Adam speaking to Eve in Book 9, on the fateful morning of the temptation and fall. Eve wants to work aside from Adam till noon, to get more done that way, because while they are near each other, they smile, they chat, and "the hour of supper comes unearned." Adam does not think it is a good idea, because, as he and Eve both know very well, they have an enemy somewhere in wait, malicious and devoured with hatred, but subtle and full of guile. Eve says, rightly enough, that God has made them proof against temptation, whether they are together or alone. Adam will yield, as we know, but in his last warning to Eve he sets forth how an innocent and intelligent soul can yet err in reasoning. God has made man "perfect," that is, finished, fully wrought, what man in his kind should be, and left him secure from outward force. But. . . within himself The danger lies, yet lies within his power: Against his will he can receive no harm. But God left free the will, for what obeys Reason is free, and reason he made right, But bid her well beware, and still erect, Lest by some fair appearing good surprised She dictate false, and misinform the will To do what God expressly hath forbid. Then not mistrust, but tender love enjoins That I should mind thee oft, and mind thou me. Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve, For reason not impossibly may meet Some specious object by the foe suborned, And fall into deception unawares, Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned. Notice that Adam and Eve, before the Fall, can reason incorrectly, at least for a time. How so? They may view only one aspect of a question. They may draw a hasty conclusion. They may not possess all the pertinent facts. A mistake is not a sin. Presumably (and Milton has already shown us the process in action, several times), if they let the question rest awhile, if they ask an answer from someone wiser than they are, if they talk the matter over, they will eventually find their mistake in reasoning. Such mistakes, or unsettled doubts, are of no decisive consequence, if we are talking about why the stars shine when all creatures are asleep, or why the infinitesimally tiny earth should receive influences from all the heavenly bodies, or whether angels can enjoy earthly food. They are urgent, in the case of Adam and Eve, only when they touch upon the "sole command, sole pledge of their obedience." Suppose then that your reason is "surprised," that is, ambushed, so that some evil action looks good. This is a common thing: everyone who chooses the wrong chooses it under some aspect of good. Such good is "specious," as Adam puts it. Milton intends the word literally: it is speciosum; it looks flashy on the outside. Hence we must obey, regardless of what we think we see at the moment. This is not blind obedience. It is a humble acknowledgment of our intellectual limitations, even if we are not confused by sinful desires. When those desires are in force, we can be pretty sure that "reason" will be rationalization, excuse-making, arguing oneself into the position that most pleases. The stronger the passions, or the more ingrained the habits, the more inevitable the rationalization will be. Sexual sins are not the worst - though that is no more than to say that pneumonia is not as b...…
By Robert Royal. A high-placed Cardinal complained this past week that some people - particularly some traditional Catholics - are hoping that Pope Francis will die. There are such Catholics, and their open disrespect for the successor of Peter, whatever his record, is simply wrong. But the way that they and the whole world take notice when the Pope of Rome may be exiting this mortal life to be replaced by another head of a Church that numbers nearly 1.4 billion members indicates that, despite all the problems and outright failures of Christianity in the modern world, its historic leader (in some ways even for many Protestants) still matters. At this moment, when the pope is in critical condition, it's only natural for people to look around and wonder: Who would be the best person to lead the Church as we enter the second quarter of the twenty-first century? It's an impossible question to answer, and there's great wisdom in the old Roman phrase Chi entra papa in conclave, esce cardinale ("Who enters a conclave as pope exits as a cardinal.") There have been just too many "frontrunners" who were never chosen. But if you're looking for information, the best place is The College of Cardinals Report. Besides, it's only seemly to wait until the current occupant of the Chair of Peter has passed on before speculating. But it's useful - not only for those of us who will live under the next pope but for the next pope himself - to consider not who but what we will need in the next few years. And the simple answer to that question is: It's complicated. I briefly scandalized my colleagues in the "Conclave Crew" (the precursor of the EWTN Papal Posse) the first time in 2013 that we all met in Rome. I was convinced then - and still am - that we don't need another "teaching" pope, by which I mean a pontiff and a Church that propose many "new things" to the world, except the uniquely New Thing, Jesus Christ, the beauty tam antiqua, tam nova ("ever ancient, ever new") in St. Augustine's phrase. Our God may be a God of surprises, but just now my sense is that we need much less that's novel, interesting, and "surprising," much more that is plain, solid, and sane. Between JPII and Benedict XVI, we were given an enormous spiritual, moral, and social legacy that still desperately needs to be absorbed at every level of the Church - from the tiniest parish to the most powerful dicasteries in Rome - and even beyond. Because even the most simple elements of Christianity have been slipping away from the culture and often from the Church herself. A wise woman of my acquaintance recently pointed out to me that in 2023 on the popular quiz show "Jeopardy," three contestants were asked to fill in the phrase "Our Father who art in Heaven, blank be Thy Name." None was able to do so. In a culture where that can happen, many of the things that are regarded as "issues" the Church must tackle - things like gender, climate, mass immigration, most politics - are first-world luxury concerns. If we believe that God became Man to save us from our sins in order to prepare us for eternal life then certain priorities arise. The most urgent thing any pope must do in our day is to get people to look beyond material matters to the spiritual dimensions of reality as a preparation for encountering the Lord of Creation. That's always been a problem, of course, but the situation is worse today given the sheer power of modern science and technology. Indeed, there's no small temptation these days to worship the work of our digital - and increasingly AI-generated - hands. But that is a snare and a delusion, even something of an open idol. Several prelates have the gifts to address this problem and would make good popes, other things being equal. But other things aren't equal, and the next pontiff is also going to have to have a very different set of skills in order to carry out a deep reform of the Vatican itself, especially the tangled mess of sex scandals and financial irregula...…
By Fr. Paul D. Scalia. But first a note from Robert Royal: As we make this posting, Pope Francis's condition is being described as critical by the Vatican. We encourage all our readers to pray for the Holy Father. Now for today's column... There's a little bit of Thomas Jefferson in each of us. A scary thought. He infamously cut and pasted verses from the Gospels to remove all miracles and mentions of the supernatural. The result was The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth or the "Jefferson Bible." It's an arrogant work that presents a naturalized Jesus, who is eminently reasonable and palatable to a certain kind of taste - and harmless. Unfortunately, we have the tendency to do likewise. If we don't cut out passages with a razor as Jefferson did, we certainly water down the strong words and smooth out the rough edges. We explain away what might discomfit us. As with Jefferson, it's all to make the Gospels more acceptable, more comfortable for our cult of comfort. So it is with today's Gospel (Lk 6:27-38), one of the most demanding and haunting. Jesus commands us to "love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." We are to be merciful just as our Father in heaven is merciful. But we look for a way to take the sting out of these commands: They're hyperbole. . . .He's speaking metaphorically. . . .Well, I mean, what does it really mean to love? We trim the words to fit our lives, rather than changing our lives to fit them. Jesus meant what He said. And He Himself did what He commanded: Father, forgive them. He is the Word-made-flesh, both teacher and exemplar. He reveals by His own life that His commands are possible. The saints have taken these words at face-value and lived them out. No Christian martyr ever died spitting out vengeful threats at his executioners. The martyrs fulfilled Jesus' command with words of forgiveness and mercy, even to their enemies. Stephen in Jerusalem, Thomas More on Tower Hill, Maximilian Kolbe in Auschwitz - they fulfilled the words of today's Gospel. Which means that these words are possible to live. But only as Christians. Christ's words never make any sense apart from Him and our vital participation in His life. The radical mercy He commands is not an add-on to discipleship but the inevitable fruit of our life in Christ. Problem is, we're still shackled to the natural, earthly man spoken of in the second reading. We're still assessing the New Adam's words by the First Adam's standards. We have not yet put on the fresh spiritual way of thinking characteristic of Christians. The reason we want to water down Christ's words is because we don't hear them within the context of grace and divine filiation. We labor under the misconception that God will somehow give a command that we cannot fulfill. Instead we should consider that when He gives a command He also gives the grace to fulfill it. Forgiveness is not only difficult but practically impossible without grace. Only God's grace makes us capable of Christian forgiveness, to be merciful as our heavenly Father is merciful. Indeed, we can be merciful as He is only because we have Him as our Heavenly Father. Supreme confidence in this grace is expressed (not surprisingly) by Saint Augustine in his wonderful little prayer: Da quod iubes et iube quod vis (Give what you command and then command what you will). A favorite prayer of Pope Benedict XVI's. The Doctor of Grace gets the order just right. God commands us to do crazy things - like loving our enemies and blessing our persecutors - because He has first given us His grace, made us His children. The first reading highlights by contrast the distinctly Christian dimension of the Gospel. It tells the story of David's mercy towards King Saul. But notice that his mercy is not the unqualified kind expected of us. David stays his hand only because Saul is the Lord's anointed. And "who can lay hands on the Lord's anointed and remain unpunishe...…
by Father Raymond J. de Souza. The feast of the "Apostles of the Slavs" - Saints Cyril and Methodius" - is observed liturgically on 14th February and not at all culturally, as schoolchildren draw valentines instead and their fathers buy flowers. No harm done. If the feast of the holy brothers had an octave, this year's would be remembered as bringing much harm to the Slavic lands. As the world rubbed its eyes in disbelief, the president of the United States offered his thoughts, analysis, and proposals regarding Russia's war on Ukraine, the third anniversary of which falls on Monday. In 2022, Catholics in Ukraine prayed that President Vladimir Putin of Russia might have a change of heart. This year they beseech God for the same regarding President Donald Trump. The two presidents see the world in similar ways, in which great powers dominate their "near abroad." St. John Paul the Great, a proud Slav himself, had a different view, which he laid out in some detail in the 1980s. The contrasting views are apparent before the Christian world now. In 2014, when Putin invaded Ukraine and annexed Crimea, U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry was distressed, muttering that it was a "19th-century act in the 21st-century." He must have been totally flummoxed when Putin then gave his Crimea address to the Russian Duma, and went back not to the 19th century, but nine hundred years earlier, to the Crimea where "Prince Vladimir was baptized", noting that "his spiritual feat of adopting Orthodoxy predetermined the overall basis of the culture, civilization, and human values that unite the peoples of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus." "We are one people," Putin continued. "Kyiv is the mother of Russian cities. Ancient Rus is our common source and we cannot live without each other." In the name of these spiritual and fraternal bonds, Putin has invaded and killed his brother Slavs. He has done this with the blessing of Kirill, the Russian Orthodox Patriarch of Moscow, who understands himself to be the spiritual father of the Ukrainians being killed by the Russian armed forces. For that reason, the "father and head" of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, Patriarch Sviatoslav Shevchuk of Kyiv - on a visit to the United States and Canada in these days - has referred to the war as "sacrilegious." It is unlikely that President Trump has views on the 10th-century baptism of the Slavic peoples, but he certainly has ideas about the 19th-century. Unlike Kerry, who lamented 19th-century thinking, Trump welcomes it. In his second inaugural address, Trump declared that the "United States will once again consider itself a growing nation - one that. . .expands our territory." It was a return to the Monroe Doctrine and "manifest destiny," words Trump deployed to rather extravagant effect, speaking of setting out for Mars. Trump did not speak of the American founding but did mention two presidents, William McKinley (1897-1901) and Theodore Roosevelt (1901-1909). Trump frequently praises that era - "tariff is the most beautiful word in the dictionary." The Monroe Doctrine, announced in the State of the Union address in 1823, instructed the European powers to consider the American continent, north and south, as the sphere of the United States. Their colonial days were over in America's backyard. In his 1904 State of the Union address, Theodore Roosevelt noted that in certain situations "adherence to the Monroe Doctrine may force the United States. . .to the exercise of an international police power." America reserved to itself the right to intervene in its own backyard and to acquire new territory, as it did in the McKinley-Roosevelt years. And if there are to be colonies in this hemisphere - Greenland, Panama, Guantanamo - then the United States should have them. It is easy to imagine that he would be sympathetic to how Putin thinks about Russia's "near abroad." That term, the English translation of blizhneye zarubezhye, came to prominence after the dissolution of ...…
By David Warren. There is a joke I remembered from my senior childhood, itself a large number of years ago: "I want to die in peace and tranquility, like my grandfather. Not screaming and panicking, like his passengers." Well, my own maternal grandpa was a railway engineer, or as we say today "a train driver." I hasten to point out that he did not die in a train wreck, though some did on the Sydney and Louisburg Railroad, though few, because its passengers were mostly humble lumps of coal. I remembered this joke when I was myself being wheeled into surgery, from a heart attack with all the trimmings, four years ago (to the day). This was my way of planning for a good death, or at least as good as possible. By an extraordinary coincidence, my Nova Scotia buddy, the poet Fraser Sutherland, was being wheeled in a gurney the other way along the same hospital corridor. He had also had a heart attack, but it was not his first, and he did not survive it. In a peculiar sense, I deem Fraser my "secular" guide to death, a kind of "Canadian Book of the Dead." (He was a sincere Quaker, and a courageous one, who had recently endured the loss of his whole family.) May he rest in peace. Death, for modern man, comes usually by surprise, for we have received no preparation from "happy clappy" Church figures, who avoid what they see as morbidity. Even when the doctors have given us formal warning, and death comes with or without bells clanging, it comes suddenly even when it is smooth. But there are also good priests, and traditional churches, and even though the Church may appear to be passing through a spiritual vacuum, there are ten-thousands of them and they can't all be utterly broken. Among such company one may speak of "a good death," and find people who won't be offended, because they know what you mean. My own first acquaintance with this phrase came not from personal experience but when I was exposed to the movie, A Man for All Seasons, and then went to the length of reading a Catholic biography of this saint, as he became one of my principal heroes. I was in high school, and not even Christian at the time, but accessible to heroism and a good story. It had not escaped my notice that Thomas More had had his head chopped off. This did not usually cause much pain (except, the Tudors often combined it with torture). But More had been unjustly tried and convicted, and had time to "think about it," while a guest of the Tower of London. Through all his parting conversations with friends, and unambiguous enemies, he had maintained not only calm, but a rich sense of humor. I soon learned that this humor, sometimes even slapstick, is a common quality among Catholic saints and martyrs. And yet they do take death, even their own, seriously. Given excruciating pain, there may be a certain amount of involuntary shrieking, but grumbling about fate and injustice is rare. There are Christian prayers to give thanks to God and heart to the afflicted, and these may be found in any traditional worship manual. You may say them, but in silence if necessary, or if not, in a moderate, unemotional voice. The good non-Christians also share this habit, and the execution chamber is a good place to look for subtle, secretive Catholics and near-Catholics, and for the chance of witnessing a good death. Alas, the condemned do not stay very long to prattle, for the typical execution is fairly prompt. To die well does not require a formal education or degree, but it does require preparation. It is, or would seem to be, the culminating moment for an organized life. This does not mean the most dramatic moment, and could be the opposite - especially if one is well-prepared. For in that moment of "transition," where one is changing from a live person into a dead person - or rather like the dragonfly, a metamorphic change from nymph - one is not merely a mechanical thing who dies as a fly dies, perhaps by impact with an automotive windshield. It is more like being born....…
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