An Example of Evangelical Catholicism in Practice

Jesuits at the Court

of Akbar the Great

in the late 16th 

century

There was a good homily at Mass yesterday morning for the feast of Saint Ignatius Loyola.  The priest, retired military chaplain and former missionary up on the Peruvian Altiplano—a man of some truly wonderful experiences—praised the Jesuits.  Turns out that he, like I, is a product of Jesuit schooling, though he went first cabin: Georgetown and Fordham. 

What he praised the Society of Jesus for is that they are not afraid to ask “Why?”  They are always willing to question.  This is rooted in the spiritual experience of Ignatius himself.  Ignatius had not been an easy convert: it took God’s Grace a lot of effort to reel him in and land him in the net of the saved.  And once in Peter’s barque, Ignatius was not afraid to question the tried and the true and do things in new ways.  For example, his “Companions of Jesus” were the first religious community to reject the “choral office”—choosing rather the somewhat revolutionary (at the time) idea that they should say their daily offices privately and individually rather than sing or chant the prayers liturgically in the church. Also  Ignatius didn’t mark a distinctive habit for the men of his new Society to wear.  Normally they dressed like secular priests.  But when there was need for them to adopt lay clothing—such as for their missions in Elizabethan England or persecuted 20^th century Mexico—they had no trouble doing so.  Jesuit missionaries to China first took on the robes of Buddhist monks and then, when they realized that this strategy hadn’t been the best to gain them access to the influence where they could make converts, they switched to the dress of mandarin scholars.  They also began saying Mass in Mandarin three and a half centuries before Vatican II put the Mass in the language of the people.  (Mandarin wasn’t the language of the ordinary Chinese, but of the scholars—similar to the Latin of 17^th century Europe.)    And yes the Church had “condemned” the thought of Copernicus and Galileo—but that didn’t stop Jesuit scholars such as Christopher Clavius or Wenceslaus Kirwitzer from their studies of the skies.  (Actually the list of Jesuit Astronomers in the 16^th and 17^th centuries is amazing and even today it is one of the most widely practiced sciences among Jesuits.)  There are always Jesuits thinking outside the box: they are seismologists, molecular biologists, computer scientists, ornithologists, mathematicians, paleontologists, botanists, and zoologists.  Jesuits are and have been musicians, philologists, natural historians, medical doctors, physicists, playwrights, poets, and lawyers.  Jesuits have served in the United States Congress and other parliamentary bodies, served as ambassadors, government ministers, university presidents, editors, and on governmental panels.  They have also taught high-school freshmen basic masculine hygiene, worked as chaplains in emergency rooms and hospitals, been missionaries under the most difficult circumstances and served as parish priests.  They have been confessors and spiritual directors to popes, kings, queens, and scullery maids.  There have been more than a few saints among them and, as in all groups, their share of sinners.  They have given their lives for the faith at the hands of Elizabethan Protestants, the North American Iroquois, Soviet Atheists, and U.S. sponsored militias in Latin America. They are truly the most phenomenal group of religious to have served the Church through our two millennia of spreading the Gospel.  Though there have been several communities of women religious who have modeled themselves on the Jesuits, the Society acknowledges no female branch, never has, and claims it never will.  Though I supposed they should be brave enough to ask themselves the question they ask everyone else in authority: “why?”

When we talk about evangelical Catholicism, the Jesuits exemplify the model.  They are men profoundly rooted in the Word of God.  From their first days in the novitiate Jesuits are formed in the Spiritual Exercise of Saint Ignatius Loyola—a thirty day retreat in which the new disciple is led through profound meditation to reflect on his own sinfulness, the life and teaching of Jesus, the sufferings of Jesus, and the Resurrection of Jesus and the impact that Resurrection is meant to have on our lives.  Those spiritual exercises not only give shape to the Jesuit’s own spirituality but his life and ministry for others.  The challenge is how to take this personal encounter of Christ, an encounter rooted in the Word of God, and make it the very blood that flows through our veins. 

One thing Jesuits—collectively—are not known for and that is quality liturgy.  (One of my favorite axioms is: “As confused as a Jesuit in Holy Week.”)  This is somewhat unfair, as some Jesuit establishments are known for the excellence of their liturgies.  I think of Holy Trinity Church in Georgetown DC, for example.  But by and large Jesuits tend to be a bit “low Church.”  Nevertheless, while the liturgy may not the most exciting, the sacramental life is intense.  Jesuit parishes: Holy Trinity in DC, Saint Ignatius or Saint Francis Xavier in New York, Saint Ignatius in Chicago, Saint Louis University Church in Saint Louis, Saint Ignatius or Saint Agnes in San Fran, The Gesu in Milwaukee, Saint Ignatius (they keep using that name) in Boston—are life-filled and lively centers of Catholic life and worship.  People come to these churches, they hear the word of God preached, they are welcomed into the community of the Church, and brought into a deeper life in Christ. 

I am obviously a super fan of the Society of Jesus and their contribution to the Church.  And delighted that we have a Jesuit Pope who is opening doors and windows and blowing the musty air out of the Church.  Ignatius’ motto was Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam—to the Greater Glory of God.  Well done good and faithful Jesuits!

Evangelical Catholicism--the Church's Great Potential II

St. Ignatius Loyla

Weigel says in his book Evangelical Catholicism that we are to meet the Risen Christ in the Scriptures and in the Sacraments and become friends with him.   I think he is “right on” but I suspect that we would mean different things by “friendship” with the Risen Lord.  In Evangelical Catholicism I don’t see the traces of the sort of intimate relationship with Jesus Christ to which the too often overlooked heritage of the Church’s mystics refers, but instead I see a rather heady and in-the-doctrinal-box Christ that is all too prevalent in 20^th and now 21^st century Catholic piety. 
 When we encounter Jesus in the Scriptures and in the Sacraments it is a mediated encounter.  I would like to explore this idea of evangelical Catholicism more deeply over a series of postings.  In yesterday’s post I gave the opinion that a genuinely evangelical Catholicism would draw on the prophets and the Gospels to root within itself a firm commitment to Social Justice.  I want to return to that idea, but first I think there is a need for establish a more explicit foundation for what Evangelical Catholicism demands of—and, at the same time, offers—us in our appreciation of the Scripture.  And to begin, I want to go back to Weigel’s statement:

The Catholic Church is being invited to meet the Risen Lord in the Scriptures, the Sacraments, and Prayer and to make friendship with him the center of Catholic life.

When we encounter Jesus in the Scriptures and in the Sacraments it is a mediated encounter.   Christ comes to us, not directly, but through the Word read or preached, or through the Eucharist or through the Absolution or through the Anointing.  We encounter Christ through the grace of a Sacramental agent.  Christ’s presence is mediated by a third party.   Now, it is Christ we encounter—don’t get me wrong—but the human soul always wants more, wants a direct and unmediated encounter.  The mystics all speak of these direct encounters: Gregory the Great, Bernard, Teresa of Avila, Sister Faustina, Francis de Sales, Ignatius of Loyola, John of the Cross.  While the mystics tell us of such encounters, such experiences are—by God’s grace—not beyond our capacity.   Indeed I think that most of us have, on the somewhat infrequent occasion, had such a direct encounter when we became suddenly aware of our being in the Divine Presence.  The search for this direct encounter is, according to John Cassian, the raison d’etre of the monastic life, but it is by no means the sole prerogative of the monk or nun.   Cassian knew from his own experience that it is possible for the human soul to encounter God directly, however briefly, in this life in anticipation of the unending enjoyment of his Presence in eternity.  We call this direct encounter of God during the span of our life here on earth “contemplative prayer.”  It is always an infused gift—not something that we can manufacture by our efforts at prayer or our moral behavior or our charitable works (though these can prepare us for his presence)—but God’s choosing to bring us, albeit somewhat momentarily, into his Presence. 

The regular commitment to contemplative prayer is an invitation to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.  In the Christian tradition, contemplative prayer is always rooted in the Scripture, in the Word.  It is usually tied to some form of Lectio Divina—that cogitatio on the scriptural text. (I hesitate to say “meditation” only because some will interpret this too narrowly, so I am using the more medieval word: “cogitatio” which means “thought” or “reflection.”)  
The reason that our prayer stays anchored in the Scriptural text is that one of the dangers of pseudo-spirituality is the tendency for a person to devise a Christ of their particular imagination.  Rousseau said that “God created man in his own image and likeness and man, being a gentleman, returned the compliment.”  For many people the Jesus they “encounter” in their prayer is nothing other than a projection of their own ideas and prejudices.  When we practice contemplative prayer, we stay close to the biblical text because we know that Word is authentic.  Yet entering into the Word in prayer is a different experience that studying the Word or even hearing it read in the Liturgy.  We can read the Bible for inspiration, for learning, for guidance.  All of that is good. In bible reading, we stay in the text.  But contemplative prayer is more passing through the text as one passes from an outer room into an inner where our most beloved Friend is waiting for us.   Our entrance and our retreat from the Divine Presence is in the Word, and the Word taken in its purity and not as “proof texts” to reinforce our pre-conceived ideas and notions.  In fact, Saint John of the Cross says that one of the signs of the authenticity of our prayer experience is that it challenges the ideas and notions which we brought to prayer.  If we don’t leave prayer somehow changed, we were not in the Presence of the Risen Lord. 
Karl Rahner, admittedly no theological hero for George Weigel, wrote that the Christian of the future will be a mystic or will cease to be a Christian at all.  His point is that living in this post-Christian era, only the person with that direct and unmediated experience of God will have the stamina to remain faithful in a faithless culture.  When we talk about an evangelical Catholicism we need first to ask ourselves what priority we will give to laying the groundwork not for  the piety that is so prevalent in certain circles today, but for a genuine spirituality that brings people into the intimate friendship and knowledge of Jesus Christ.  Piety lets us know about Jesus, but it lacks the ability to give us an authentic introduction to Jesus Christ where he can be the sort of friend Weigel speaks of.   

Why Are They Afraid of Pope Francis 14

Don't Look For This Any Time Soon

First of all, thanks Ann for your editing help.  I try to proof my entries, but sometimes I am in a hurry and things escape me.  I always welcome a chance to correct my mistakes.  

In my last post I wrote about Pius XII and I want to come back and write several more posts about him.  He was, in many ways and for many people, the defining pope of the modern age; certainly the arch-Pope of the Church as it was before  Vatican II, and many of those who want to restore that pre-Vatican II Church long for a Pius redivivus who will bring back the faded triumphalism of the papacy. Pius was Pope for nineteen years, seven months and seven days—the second longest reigning pope of the past one hundred years.  (John Paul II was Pope for 26 years, 5 months, and 18 days.)  He left an indelible mark on the Papacy and for some he was the last pope.  After Pius and his gloriously reigning style, they could just never adjust to the down-to-earth papacy of his successor, John XXIII or the subsequent papacies. 

As I mentioned in the posting, Pius was a genius, perhaps the pope with the highest I.Q. to sit on the papal throne in centuries.  I refrain from saying the most intelligent however as his extraordinary intellect got in the way of his practical aptitude on many occasions.   Pius’s  Achilles’ heel was that he was autocratic.    Confident in his intelligence and almost autistic in his personality, he was the sole decider and this led him into several disastrous decisions.  On the other hand, his remarkable theological breakthroughs accomplished in Encyclicals such as Divino Afflante Spiritu, Mediator Dei, Mystici Corporis, and even Humani Generis would never have passed the muster of a curial review and—ironically for those whose hero he is—without Pius’ contribution in these encyclicals, the theological developments of Vatican II would have lacked a foundation in the papal magisterium.  Vatican II is more the fruit of Pius’s mind than of that of his successor “Good Pope John.”  But Pius isn’t my topic today.  Francis is.  And in particular, Francis’s approach to authority and authoritarianism. 

In many ways, the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits) is the epitome of the authoritarian Catholicism of Pius XII.  Saint Ignatius broke the mold of religious life—abandoning all the relics of monasticism such as singing the Divine Office, religious habits, communal penances, living within a cloister—and created a new form of religious life modeled on soldiering.  Ignatius had been a soldier and he wanted religious storm-troopers to meet the challenges of the Church in Reformation Europe and in what his contemporaries perceived to be the societal chaos of the newly “discovered” lands of the Americas, Africa, and Asia.  In abandoning monastic models, Ignatius also abandoned the monastic authority structure in favor of strict military obedience.  There was no discussion with one’s superiors, no arguing, no calling for a chapter to come to group consensus.  Orders came from top down, pure and simple.  And the commander-in-chief was the Pope.  Jesuits were there to carry our his orders  This system worked for centuries.  Francis, as a Jesuit was part of it.  But listen to what he learned from his experience while he was provincial.   This is what he said in the interview in La Civilta Cattolica which was republished in America.

“In my experience as superior in the Society, to be honest, I have not always behaved in that way—that is, I did not always do the necessary consultation. And this was not a good thing. My style of government as a Jesuit at the beginning had many faults. That was a difficult time for the Society: an entire generation of Jesuits had disappeared. Because of this I found myself provincial when I was still very young. I was only 36 years old. That was crazy. I had to deal with difficult situations, and I made my decisions abruptly and by myself. Yes, but I must add one thing: when I entrust something to someone, I totally trust that person. He or she must make a really big mistake before I rebuke that person. But despite this, eventually people get tired of authoritarianism.“My authoritarian and quick manner of making decisions led me to have serious problems and to be accused of being ultraconservative. I lived a time of great interior crisis when I was in Cordova. To be sure, I have never been like Blessed Imelda [a goody-goody], but I have never been a right-winger. It was my authoritarian way of making decisions that created problems.

So for those who long for a day of Pius XII and a Pope who is, well, Pope, Francis ain’t your guy.  For the rest of us, we are glad he learned what he learned when he did.  This papacy is off to a great start, the morale is high, the energy is flowing down through the parishes as the window of Vatican II is open again and a fresh Breeze is blowing through the Church.  

Why Are They Afraid of Pope Francis? 9

In his interview with La Civilta Cattolica/America, Pope Francis said

Pope Francis: Looks friendly--but not to the

pezzi grossi monsignors who are afraid of

losing their desk jobs

Discernment is always done in the presence of the Lord, looking at the signs, listening to the things that happen, the feeling of the people, especially the poor. My choices, including those related to the day-to-day aspects of life, like the use of a modest car, are related to a spiritual discernment that responds to a need that arises from looking at things, at people and from reading the signs of the times. Discernment in the Lord guides me in my way of governing.

Discernment, at least in the tradition of Ignatian spirituality, is something new to the process of governing the Church.  The Church has, at least in the past four centuries, been governed primarily as a rational autocracy—and probably at least since the illnesses of Pius XII in the 1950’s, as a rational bureaucracy.  What do I mean by these terms?

With the rise of royal absolutism in the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries as the theories of “Divine Right” and absolute monarchy determined the politics of secular Europe, a corresponding notion developed in the Church—in part, no doubt, by the confusion of roles of the Pope between being a secular monarch and an ecclesiastical superior.  Popes had not always been absolute.  Their direct governance had in the first millennium been pretty much limited to their own See while their influence—as distinct from power—spread over the Western Church.  As papal power began to grow with the popes of the 11^th century Gregorian Reform it was checked and balanced by the power of local bishops, synods, and Councils.  From the 13^th-the 15^th century it was understood that the Roman Pontiff was subject to the authority of an Ecumenical Council. But after the Fifth Lateran Council and especially at Trent, the same sort of absolutism claimed by the Tudors and Stuarts in Britain and the Valois and Bourbons in France, as well as the royal houses of Spain and Portugal, was claimed by the Popes.  One can say that from Lateran V (1512-1517) until today, the Pope is an absolute monarch.  And while Pius IX made some feeble efforts at introducing governmental reforms—one cannot go so far as to say democratic reforms—in the Papal States upon his accession in 1846, there was no corresponding attempt to share governance of the Church until the Decree Christus Dominus of the Second Vatican Council in 1965. 

While Popes in this period could be considered—for the most part—to be wise and discerning shepherds of the faithful, “discernment” was not part of their operating mechanism.  While always cloaked in the most pious of language, decisions and decrees were made for all variety of reasons.   The 1773 Bull, Dominus ac Redemptor which suppressed the Jesuits, can hardly be said to reflect the Divine Will.  It was issued as a result of political pressure from the Courts of France, Spain, and Portugal where strong Masonic influence governed the religious policies and saw the Jesuits as the main resistance to the liberal Enlightenment ideologies they, the Masonic societies, were trying to advance.  Other policies—such as the 1896 Bull, Apostolicae Curae—were motivated by ecclesiastical politics, in this case a desire to undermine the credibility of the Anglican Church so as to maintain the number of converts to Roman Catholicism stemming from the Oxford movement.  Sometimes, Papal Decrees such as Pascendi dominici gregis and Lamentabili sane of Pius X addressed real problems but from a perspective that reflected a failing of personal intellect as well as what might even be termed a paranoia on the part of the Pope himself.  There were, of course, remarkable Popes and some excellent governance in this period, but while Bourbon France and Czarist Russia could also be used as outstanding examples of malfeasant authority, nothing proves the inadequacy of autocracy better than papal government as we have seen over the period of papal autocracy from the sixteenth through the twentieth century.   I think to a great extent that the Second Vatican Council was an attempt to re-direct the barque of Peter from the shoals of such unwise (and unholy) waters such as Mortalium Animos—in which Pope Pius XI condemned the Ecumenical Movement—or Jamdudum cernimus, which provided the basis for the notorious proposition found in they Syllabus of Errors of Pius IX that condemned the idea the Roman Pontiff can, and ought to, reconcile himself, and come to terms with progress, liberalism and modern civilization.  Similarly the Conciliar decrees swept away other embarrassing relics of papal absolutism such as condemnations of democratic government and the rights of freedom of conscience.  At the same time, the Council drew from and built on the extensive repertoire of sound papal decrees such as Rerum Novarum, Quadrigesimo Anno, Mediator Dei, Divino Afflante Spiritu, Mystici Corporis, Tra le Sollecitudine, and others.  All in all, the mixed record of Papal autocracy demonstrates that that the governance of the Church was no better—nor no worse—than other autocratic states.  Just because the Holy Spirit is available to those who call on Him (Her?), doesn’t mean that He(She?) is always consulted or that His(Her?) consultation is followed.  But then, when I look at my life, I would have to say the same for my own decision making.   
As for the allegation that rational bureaucracy replaced the rational autocracy that had been the modus operandi of modern popes sometime in the 1950’s, what I mean is that the serious illness and decline in health of Pius XII after 1952 led to that papal autocracy being exercised sub rosa not by the Pope personally but by the machinery of the Papal Curia in the Pope’s name but by their own  authority.  Most papacies through the history of the Church have known the torpor of a Pope’s declining years.  If they are given the opportunity, Popes, like the rest of us, are subject to becoming aged, feeble, and even senile.  For centuries this has not been a problem.  Without modern media it was easy to draw a veil of discrete dignity between a decrepit Pope and the credulous faithful.  Public appearances could be kept to a minimum.  There was no pressing need for an encyclical that couldn’t wait until the new reign.  Most papal business could grind to a halt for a year or two—or five.   Committees could meet and function to confirm elections to episcopal sees (bishops being more normally elected by their chapters than appointed by Rome until the 19^th century).   Government by ministers could function in the Church as it did in the Great European Monarchies during the dotage of the king.  But just as a succession of a new king to the throne gathered power back into the royal hands from the late king’s ministers, so too a new pope quickly overshadowed the Curial bureaucracy and gained control.
The decrepitude of Pius XII presented a different challenge.  While papal ceremonies could be shortened and audiences cut back, the day to day functioning of the Church could not be allowed to slow down in the turbulence of the Post-World War II/Cold War world.  There were huge challenges to be met from the spread of International Communism to the spread of Protestant missionary inroads in Latin America.  An intellectual renaissance triggered in part by Pius’ own 1942 Encyclical Divno Afflante Spiritu was causing concern about a revival of Modernism.  The ideas of Teilhard de Chardin—the Jesuit paleontologist/mystic were causing an uproar about orthodoxy as were the political ideas being advanced by the American Jesuit scholar John Courtney Murray.  In France advocates of the Nouvelle Theologie were upsetting those clinging the neo-Thomism mandated by Leo XIII.  This was no time for a Pope who was not running at full steam.  As usual the Vatican bureaucracy, especially the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office  (formerly known as the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition—how’s than for a bone-chilling title?) stepped in and took charge.  The final years of Pius XII were not happy ones for the internal life of the Church, but more perilous was that the new Pope, John XXIII, had considerable difficulty trying to wrest power back from the Curia Romana and in particular from the indomitable Cardinal Alfredo Ottaviani, Head of the Holy Office.  The Curia was taken aback when John, only three months into his papacy,  called a Council.  There was no need, they assured the Pope, of a Council.  He was infallible.  They—no, we meant “he,” the Pope (no, they meant “they” the Curia) could do anything a Council could do.  After writing a lineamenta (agenda) for the Council that would produce some window-dressing but no substantial change, the Curia officials were appalled that the Pope threw their schema out and permitted a commission of Council Fathers to re-set the agenda.  In session after session of the Council, the Curia prelates and their allies battled John’s successor, Paul VI and the proponents of collegiality (shared governance of the Church by the College of Bishops).  When the Council documents were signed, sealed, and delivered the Collegialists had won.  But they went home and the Curialists stayed to “implement the Council.”  They violated a key safety maxim: never leave a wounded animal.  I don’t have to tell you what a disaster that was, especially once John Paul II became Pope.  No Pope—John XXIII, Paul VI, John Paul I or II, or Benedict XVI—has been able to curb the power of the Curia.  The bureaucracy has taken on a life of its own.  Pope Francis has called in a commission of eight cardinals to “reform” the Curia and not one of the eight is a curialist himself.  Cardinal Guiseppe Bertello who administers the Vatican City State itself is the closest thing to a Curia prelate, but as his duties involve the temporal administration of the Vatican and not ecclesiastical responsibilities for the Holy See he is only on the “margins.”  We will see how successful Pope Francis shall be but there are those who fear, if not for their jobs, for their power and influence.  Good.    

Why Are They Afraid of Pope Francis? 6

Pope John XXIII

Let’s go back to why Pope Francis is causing such panic among the neo-trad Catholics and in particular why his interview for La Civilta Cattolica, reprinted in the Jesuit weekly, America, has the katholic krazies so worried. In the interview Francis spoke of the importance of discernment—and for those steeped in Ignatian (Jesuit) spirituality, discernment is the paramount attribute in living the Christian life.  One must come to discern the Will of God.  Note—one must discern. That means there isn’t a ready-made answer coming down from heaven through hierarchal authority.  This isn’t like the old days when you didn’t have to discern, you just had to obey.  Moreover, as if the need to discern wasn’t enough, the Pope quoted the maxim: non coerceri a maximo, sed contineri a minimo divinum est.  America quotes the translation as: not to be limited by the greatest but to be contained in the least—that is divine.  And that translation is just fine, but it wouldn’t pass the test of Liturgiam authenicam—remember that wonderful “instruction” by the Holy See that advocates the “most faithful” (ie literal) translation of texts?  Let’s try this: Not to be coerced by the greatest but to be limited by the least is divine.  Now, all due respect to Liturgiam authenticam, and it preference for the literal, but literal translation is most often not faithful to the translation because it doesn’t take the context of the text into consideration, nor does it pick up on either connotations or implied words or phrases.  Also, the Latin syntax sucks when it is carried over into English—just ask any priest who is struggling with the revised Missal.   So let’s go one step further and let me suggest this translation, placing the maxim both in good English and the context of what Ignatius meant by discernment: It is not God’s Will that we should be coerced by the highest powers but rather that we be made subject to the least important.  Of course Francis expands the meaning of this maxim to say that we should be happy to serve in whatever position—great or small—in which we find ourselves. He expands this to say the grace of magnanimity allows us to devote ourselves to the most humble tasks without resentment but with hearts open to God and to neighbor.  I like this, but for a person whose world-view is hierarchal, this is a more than a bit threatening.  Should we not be constrained by those in power?  Why did God institute hierarchy if it is not to govern us?  It is all well and good to talk about the need for the greatest to become the servant of all, the first to become the last—but hey, as a Church we need the Pope to be Pope and bishops to be bishops and the rest of us to pay, pray, and obey.  We don’t need to discern God’s Will—we need a Pope who will tell us God’s Will and hold our feet to the fire.   You let people discern and the next thing you know nuns aren’t wearing habits, married couples are using the pill, gays are marching down the aisle, and Father is making up the Mass as he goes along. 

And then, if that weren’t bad enough, Pope Francis quotes Good Pope John—who, to the neo-trads—was anything but good.  “You should see everything, turn a blind eye to much, correct a little” said the about-to-be-sainted Pope and echoed by his current successor.  “Whoa Nellie,” the neo-trads cry—“we need a Pope who corrects everything.  Why we got politicians who vote for Gay Marriage and liberal abortion laws marching up the communion aisle with the audacity of a Virgin Martyr; we got lesbian nuns practicing Wicca, we got priests in clown-suits saying Mass, we got Catholics voting for Obama (“the most anti-Catholic President in American History,”) we got churches being turned into discos—this “correct a little” ain’t working.  We need the Inquisition, not “I’m OK; You’re OK.” Yeah, this Francis thing ain’t working for those who want to bring back the old order, but for those of us who accept the basic premise that God’s Grace is given to all in the mystical body—you know, that Vatican II thing about a “universal call to holiness”—this discernment thing is an idea whose time has come.  It worked for Ignatius.  In fact, it worked for the great saints throughout history, men and women who chose (with God’s grace) a path of holiness: Thomas More, Bernard of Clairvaux, Thérèse of Lisieux, Francis of Assisi, Benedict, Damien of Molokai, Edith Stein, and perhaps—best of all—the Blessed Virgin Mary.  They all listened attentively to the Holy Spirit speak within their souls and charted a course that was in one way or another outside the lines of those who had gone before them. In fact, I suspect that if one looked carefully at the lives of the Saints, we would see that an adult, mature, and free response to the Holy Spirit was the more common path than blind unthinking submission to authority.  Go Francis.