What In The World Will be Postmodern Catholicism? 2

Notre Dame du Cap in the
heartland of what was once
French and Catholic Canada 

I am spending a vacation week in French Canada—my first return here in almost fifty years.  The area is stamped with its Catholic heritage.  Place names: Sainte Anne, Saint Benoit, Notre Dame du Cap, Saint Sebastian, Sainte Madeleine, l’Ange Guardien, Saint Luc.  Streets are named after saints, bishops, nuns and priests.  Every significant ville has its Couvent des Ursulines, invariably now a museum.  Driving along route 138 north of Quebec the towns are dotted with their charming 18^th century church steeples.   But the Catholic faith—vibrant only a few decades ago—is now all but dead.  This is not only the story in Nouvelle France, but in Old France as well.  And Spain.  And Germany.  Ireland is falling fast into the crevice of a post-Christian banishment of God from the culture.  And we are not far behind.

This is not simply a Catholic problem.  Calvinist Holland and Switzerland, Lutheran Denmark, Norway and Sweden, Anglican England, Baptist Wales, Presbyterian Scotland all find their empty churches turning into discothèques and restaurants and senior centers.  God simply is not relevant to contemporary culture. 

The problem is not, of course, God.  And while contemporary culture may be the challenge, it is not the problem.  The problem is our reluctance to have enough faith to be able to strip away the cultural accretions we have added to our faith over the centuries and shape the essentials to speak the Good News of the Kingdom of God in the language of our Postmodern culture. 

I write of “accretions” and “essentials.”  The Gospel remains the Gospel across the centuries and cultures.   God so love the world that he sent his only Son that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.  God did not send his son to condemn the world but rather that the world might have live in him.  That message remains ever valid.  The problems are the layers of gilt that we have applied to the lily in God’s name when they really have always been more to our fancy.  We don’t need the gilt.  The Lily is enough the way God made it.  And God has given us a rich heritage that, remodeled to present its best face to our world, can be an invaluable tool for re-evangelizing our Postmodern culture. 

What aspects of our Catholic heritage speak best to the contemporary world?

1.    A sense of mission.  Mission challenges people today.  Many feel a need to make a difference in bettering the world.  For some this may be the challenge of turning back the negative impact we have had on our environment.  For others it may be making a difference in third-world nations.  For still others it might be making a difference in our inner-city public schools.  The campaigns are as varied as are the interests.  One Catholic Church that has been enormously successful in attracting people of all ages and backgrounds is the Church of the Nativity in Burke VA.   A huge part of the glue that binds this community of faith is the passion for the people of Haiti which their late pastor, Father Richard Martin, encouraged.  They have made a huge difference.  The parish’s Operation Starfish has, since 1998, built over 1300 homes along with schools, clinics, sewing co-ops, fishing co-ops, small businesses, and vocational training centers in 10 “Nativity Villages” in Haiti.  Under Father Martin’s leadership and with his drive to make a better world in some very concrete and demonstrable ways, the parish tripled in membership.  This is only one example of how a sense of Mission can energize people and give them a reason to be plugged into Church. 

2.    A sense of community.  The old sitcom Cheers featured a bar “where everyone knows your name.”  The increasing isolation in today’s society is counter-balanced by a longing people have to belong to groups where others know them and they know others.  Really know.  Connect.  So often today people are no more than a cog in the impersonal wheel of life.  Gone are the days when one worked for an employer who knew them and cared about them and their families.  Today people migrate from employer to employer, leaving no impact and forgotten within days after their leaving.  The Church needs to be far more personal.  As Catholics we have maintained the heritage of community over the individualism of Protestantism, but too often community is only a theological concept and not a tangible reality.  I have seen churches that are genuine communities.  Within the last year I attended the funeral of a friend at an impossibly large church in Northern Virginia.  The sanctuary seats over 1200, though the funeral was held in the more intimate “Day Chapel” that holds maybe 200.  I was amazed to see how people rallied around my friend’s husband and children.  The chapel was packed.  There were a full set of volunteer ministers: Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion, readers, cantors, servers.  A squad of parishioners prepared and served a lunch for us—all 200—after the Mass.  People milled around, talking to us out-of-towners and welcoming us to their “parish family.”  Given the size of the parish, it is not rare for such funerals to happen three and four times a week but an inclusive community makes this possible.  And I want to highlight inclusive.  I noticed that at this parish there are regular meetings for AA and other 12 step programs including for those with compulsive sexual behaviors.  “And we have gone out of our way to welcome the LGBT community,” the pastor told me when, writing this blog, I called for more information.  There are support groups for the divorced and remarried as well as for singles, widows, and others who need the affirmation of a Christian fellowship.  While many of their neighboring parishes are withering on the vine, this Church (the pastor asked me not to reveal it’s name because of its gay-friendly policy in a people-hostile diocese) is growing steadily. 

3.    A recovery of our mystical tradition.  The fine points of doctrine do not interest most people under sixty today but there is a deep interest in the spiritual journey.  X-Catholics are turning to Buddhism, Hinduism, Wicca, and New Age gimmicks when we have an incredibly rich and far more sound spiritual heritage in Francis de Sales, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Ignatius Loyola and his Spiritual Excercises, Meister Eckhart, Thomas à Kempis and his Imitation of Christ, Brother Lawrence, Elizabeth of the Trinity, and a host of other spiritual writers.  How many of our clergy or religious today know anything substantial of this heritage?  I have had dinner at Wolfington Hall with the Jesuits at Georgetown University, an experience nonpareil in both gastronomy and lively conversation.  Jesus did figure in the conversations; Ignatius did not.  Pity.  There is a light here not to be hid under a bushel.  For all the academic vigor of the Jesuits, please remember your first and most needed gift is the spiritual tradition of Ignatian Spirituality.  You can educate the best but what we need you to pass on—that which only you can pass on—is that experience of Jesus which Ignatius has revealed.  And you Carmelites—the rigors of your silences and fasts are wasted if you don’t pass on the profound path to heart where Jesus waits that Teresa and John have shown us.  And who hears anything today of Francis de Sales and the Introduction To The Devout Life?   I don’t want a Salesian pastor administrating my parish or a Visitation Nun teaching French—they need to bring out the treasures that belong to the Church and make them available to a world that wants to find meaning in their lives.   I wish I could say that I knew any parish that was doing this, but the popularity of Richard Rohr and Richard Rohlheiser and Joan Chittester and Thomas Keating and the late Thomas Merton and John Main all testify to the powerful draw that the spiritual path has today. 

4.    We need a new path in worship.  The Second Vatican Council called for the Liturgy to be adapted to the cultures it encounters in its outreach to the peoples of Asia, Oceania, Africa, as well as the indigenous peoples of the Americas and Australia.  We are now encountering a radically shifted culture in the Developed World and we need to be open to adapting our rituals and prayers to that new culture.  I am going to write more on this specific topic in a future posting but suffice it to say that neither a return to the frozen-in-time (which is radically different from “timeless”) farce of liturgical restorationism and the reestablishment of the baroque rite of the 1570 Missal, nor slapping the Band-Aids of “being hip” on the 1970 rite can meet the crisis.  The central core, not of the ritual but of the Mysterium Fidei, can and must remain but we must not be afraid to deconstruct the edifice and from its ancient stones build anew. 

There is an urgency in proclaiming the Gospel in the cultural vernacular.  Saint Paul did it in the first century when he encountered the Greek Culture of the Mediterranean world.  Patrick did it bringing the faith to the Irish as Bonfiace did to the Germans and Ansgar to the Scandinavians.  Matteo Ricci tried to do it to bring the Gospel to the Imperial Court in Beijing and had he not been undermined by the Dominicans and Augustinians who were so locked in the prison of religion that faith was no longer a living reality, China today might be Catholic.  The acculturated Gospel has made the Dancing Church of Africa come alive in faith, has sustained the Vietnamese in their years of limited freedom, and has shifted the center of gravity in the Catholic world from the tired North to the Global South.  It can fan the embers of European and American Christianity in life again.  

The Troubling Presuppositions of Neo-Traditionalism

In regard to my last post, I received this following comment that merits some attention. 

Mark 4:35-41

A noble attempt that will fall on deaf ears for the tired Catholics who would like to believe that there's something more to Catholicism than toeing an ever-changing Party Line. The Traditional Latin Mass is not the Mass of power-hungry reactionaries, but of defensive, bewildered Catholics who yearn for at least symbolic stability in a world of doctrinal ambiguity. Right or wrong as they may be, those "preconciliar teachings" are what generations of Catholics have been taught and have told their children to believe and take seriously. It's one hell of a reverse course that they are being asked to take lying down.

I think the commentator highlights two of the problems with the neo-traditionalists who favor the usus antiquior, or as it is popularly often called, “The Traditional Latin Mass,” or the Tridentine Mass. 

The first problem the commentator identifies is the problem of change and the fact that change is a very threatening concept for many people.  In a world in which so much is changing so fast—from the Supreme Court’s legal establishment of Same Sex Marriage to the shifting geo-political boundaries of Central and Eastern Europe; from the rise of militant Islam to the breakdown of gender identities; from issues of global climate change to electronic video-games and instantaneous communication, the world seems at times to be spinning out of control.  In such an environment of a perceived chaos, the image of a Church which offers a fixed and immovable standard of practice and belief provides a refuge for those suffering from a sociological vertigo set off by this spinning planet.  Entry into a darkened church with candles providing pin-points of light and air scented with beeswax, incense, and musty vestments provides us not only with a respite from the confusion of daily life but entrance into a magical world that offers escape from the realities of today’s world.  We are permitted to hide ourselves in a fixed past that lets us, at least for an hour or two, avoid facing the uncertainties of the future.  Expand this magical world now with the gentle tones of Gregorian chant, the aroma of the incense, the white-noised drone of Latin prayers from the altar, and mindless immersion into the sensual stimulation of it all and you have a Spiritual Spa Day that gives you the emotional strength to face a week of the madness of the world around us. 

Sounds wonderful but the problem is that is not a life of discipleship.  The disciple is called not into a passive endurance of the spiritual vicissitudes of the world in which we live, but a confrontation with that world.  As Blessed Titus Brandsma, a Carmelite Friar who died at Dachau for his resistance to Nazi policies in occupied Holland wrote: “If you want to win the world for Christ, you must have the courage to confront it.”  We cannot retreat into the past, no matter how comforting. We cannot take our Catholic Faith and make it a freeze-dried relic of the Eisenhower years to be our spiritual security blanket.  God did not incarnate himself into this world so that we can escape it; Christ did not preach a Gospel of hiding ourselves in the Temple instead of facing the realities of human suffering—and human sin; Jesus did not hang on the cross for us to find comfort and escape and he was not raised from the dead so we could bury our faces in piety and pretend that we are somehow close to him because we feel the thrills of religion. 

The Christian knows that he or she must put on the armor of God so that we may stand firm against the tactics of the evil one and having done everything possible to hold our ground.  We cannot flee in this conflict to places of refuge but we must stay on the field of battle.  Change is inevitable.  The struggle is to make the changes work for the better.  Blessed John Henry Newman wrote “To live is to change and to be perfect is to have changed often.” The strategies and tactics of our struggle to be faithful cannot be the strategies and tactics of our parents and grandparents.  The world has changed.  An insistence on unchanging dogmas and doctrines may have served well in the past to fend off the challenges of Ratramnus of Corbie or Abelard but today they fail to win the hearts and the minds of the potentially faithful.  The baroque architecture and glorious strains of Palestrina or Gabrielli may have drawn the faithful of the 17^th century to faith, but today their power is lost on all but the effete and the savant.  The Liturgy of the 1570 Missal was a powerful tool in combatting the Protestant Reformations but it is totally ineffective against either the inroads of the self-proclaimed “evangelicals” or the far more dangerous religious and spiritual indifferentism that infects contemporary western culture.  You must remember, I am a historian and I love a visit to colonial Williamsburg. However, I have no reason to want to live—or pray—in the eighteenth century.  If God had wanted me to live in Rome of the Counter-Reformation he would have had been born in Rome in the Counter-Reformation.  But God had me born for the dawn of the 21^st century—and you too—and he expects us to live in our time and place. 

But this brings me to the second element of the above response to my previous post: it is not only a matter of change, even more basic is the understanding of what is faith.  The response presumes “faith” to be an acceptance by intellect and will of certain doctrines and practices or disciplines of the Church.  This has been a common misconception of “faith” by many Catholics at least since Leo XIII’s establishment of Neo-Thomism as the Church’s official theological framework.  Faith empowers the will and intellect to accept certain doctrines and practices but it should not be confused with the assent of the intellect and will.  Faith is a dynamic of the individual’s relationship with God, not with the Church or doctrine or even morals.  It is the relationship in which the believer is graced to put his or her trust in God.  An individual can have faith and yet not pass theological or even moral muster.  A person can have faith and be mistaken as to faith and morals.  This is not to imply that faith is a feeling—like charity and hope, the other theological virtues—faith is an act of the will in which the individual, empowered by God’s loving action (grace) yields to God’s will as the individual perceives it.  Abraham had faith—this yielding to God’s will—and it was counted to him as justice.  Faith is in many ways the antidote to the sin of Adam who trusted not in God but in his own will.  This sort of faith in which we put our trust in God enables us to ride the waves of change undisturbed knowing that while he may seem to be asleep, Christ is indeed in the barque of Peter and while the winds of the world and the waves of change may buffet the boat and even blow it this way and that, God will bring the barque to port.  Faith empowers us to face change without panic knowing that, in the words of Julian of Norwich, “It was necessary that there should be sin; but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Or, as Teresa of Avila writes: “Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you, all things are passing away: God never changes.  Patience obtains all things. Whoever has God lacks nothing; God alone suffices.”

Of course, faith—to be authentic—must not be some abstract surrender of the will to God but one that bears fruit in concrete action of “hearing the Word of God and putting it into practice” as Jesus himself says in the Gospels.  But that Will of God is not something frozen or even stable.  The Law of Moses forbade certain work on the Sabbath but Jesus permitted his disciples to pick grain on the Sabbath: Jesus did not perceive the Law to be a frozen ideology, immutable and unbending, as did the Pharisees.  Jesus stopped the crowd from stoning an adulteress, even though that was the punishment prescribed by the Law.  Jesus did not mandate his disciples to keep the traditional Jewish fasts.  He was not concerned with the ritual purity that mandated the washing of various household items when they had been “contaminated” by something or someone that rendered them unclean.  He himself broke the Law by sitting at table and sharing a meal—a sacred action in Judaism—with sinners and the most gross sort of sinners.  Jesus warned the religious of his day that he would see the tax collectors and prostitutes enter the kingdom of God before them.  My impression is that the stability for which some are looking for when they turn to pre-Conciliar Catholicism is in fact a lack of faith, an empty piety.  I think it is dangerous pastoral practice for the Church to offer what is essentially an unsafe harbor.  To sum it up, a quote I recently heard and found thought provoking: “the opposite of faith is not doubt, it is certainty.” Should this be true how sinful it is of us to look for those islands of certainty in the name of faith.  

Rethinking God

I was struck last week when a politician said that even in the case of rape when a child is conceived it is the will of God.  At first I thought: “how could anyone believe that?”  Then I thought: “Wait, I believe that.”  Then I had to sit back and ask myself: "what do I believe about God?"

First, we need to clarify what the politician said.  He did not say that the rape was the will of God.  No one who is professes faith in the God of Jesus could say that.  There are certain Old Testament stories that might lead one to believe that an act of violence such as rape or murder could be God’s will but it would violate the image of God as Abba, as a loving parent, that Jesus presents in the Gospels.  Such Divinely ordained violence threatens to annul the paschal sacrifice of Christ which suffices to atone for all the evil in the world and to cancel once and for all whatever divine wrath is due to sin.  So much for the rape issue.  What about God willing a conception of life resulting from this act of violence?  When this issue came up, I realized that I had long believed that God directly willed the creation of each and every human life at the time of its conception.  But after reflection it also dawned on me—in this context—that I have not for some time believed that God has directly willed the creation of each and every human life at the time of its conception.  It took a shock like hearing this jerk say something as outrageous as God has willed the conception of a baby as the result of an act of violence for me to realize that my thoughts about God and his role in our lives have indeed changed over the years.  Now, I am not saying that God therefore gladly permits the termination of an innocent life because of the circumstances in which it was conceived, but what I am saying is that I have come to more clearly differentiate God the Creator of Life from Santa in his workshop.  The creation of life is a biological process not an artisan craftsman at his skill.  I don’t mean that God has a conveyer-belt that piles up souls and shoots them into embryos like Pepsi being mass-squirted into racked bottles passing through a machine.   To be honest, I am not sure exactly what a “soul” is.  I am not saying that I don’t believe in souls, only that I don’t know what one is and how one is joined to a biological product.  I haven’t gotten that far yet.  And to be honest, I probably won’t spend a lot of time figuring that one out.  The important thing is that I realized I have begun to seriously reconsider what I think about God, how I understand God, my “concept” of God—my theology.  And obviously I am not alone. 

This is no surprise.  We Christians have redefined God at any number of points in our history.   Indeed the People of Israel redefined God periodically through their history before Jesus ever came along and gave us a very new and very different notion of God than had been held by his co-religionists.  Maybe we should look at some of these shifts in our understanding of God.  I am not saying that God changes but rather that our human understanding of God has changed throughout the history of our religious thought. 

And it is this shift in our basic understanding of the most important object of belief that has so many Catholics frightened and the consequent polarization as some in our faith have moved into brave and new experiences of God and others are anxious to keep God in the same Box in which they found him in as children.  We are going to have to look at this conflict.

A Path for the Wise

That picture of Mother Delores Hart in my last post drew an above average number of readers.  People love good old traditional nuns—I love good old traditional nuns, but then I believe that the monastic life in its various expressions—traditional and modern—is very much a hope for both the Church and the world in which we live. 

        Sister Joan Chittester, a member of the Benedictine Sisters of Erie PA, is a great example of the contemporary monastic.  I have never met Sister Joan though we have exchanged letters on a few occasions and she was a friend of a dear cousin of mine who died several years ago.  I have read a number of her books and find that while sometimes her ideas are challenging she can speak right to me.  One of my favorites is The Fire In These Ashes (Sheed and Ward, 1995).  In The Fire In These Ashes, Sister Joan says that the raison d’etre for monastic life is “to find God.”  You don’t become a monk or a nun for any other purpose than to find God. 

      I have always been a bit jealous of those who are called to the monastic life because at the end of the day, what is there except the search to find God?  I am a busy person.  I teach.  I run a library.  I give talks, retreats, renewal programs.  I am on committees.  I advise students with their research and papers.  I see people for spiritual direction.  I do a lot of things—but to what end?  Is life about keeping busy?  Or “putting bread and butter on the table?” I am a historian.  Do I really care about the Battle of Agincourt?  Am I supposed to think there is something worth caring about in the economic bubble of the twelfth century? Why should I bother with the Pirenne Thesis?  The fact of the matter is that history intrigues me not because some event a thousand years ago happened—things happening today have more import—but  because men and women in every age run around like ants on an anthill trying to find something? The question is: What are they looking for?  God?  No, of course not. At least not consciously.  But they are looking for meaning, for purpose.  And different people find different purpose in life.  For some it is love.  For some money. For  some power. For some freedom.  For some Beauty.  And does any of it last?  At the end of the day, does any of it matter?  No.  And so most just keeping running around in their busy circles.  But for those who wake up from their manic quest and realize how transient life is, the search then continues for that which is eternal. We want to set our eyes on some beacon that shines consistently drawing us on and through the pains and the sorrows, the transient joys and passing hopes of today.   Back in the third century people who realized how empty an unfocused life can be began going out into the deserts of Syria and Egypt.  They left their business and their families and their ambitions—and their religion—to live as solitaries, haunted by the realization that there has to be something more than money in the bank, love in their bed, a fancy house in which to live, and even moving ceremonies on Sunday mornings.  Perhaps the most startling thing is that they realized that a nice ceremony on Sunday morning wasn’t answering the call of their heart.  Here they were looking for God and they saw the emptiness of ritual and rite—the failure of religion to capture and hold the Divine Mystery.  Saint Antony Abbot is a prime example: he left his home and his pharmacy shop in Alexandria and shut himself up in an abandoned fort for over twenty years—never coming out, even for Sunday Mass.  

       Now I am not against Mass.  Far from it, I attend daily.  But Antony Abbot realized that the practice of religion was not enough.  There is something more, something beyond even the most fervent practice of religion.  Eighty some years ago Simone Weil wrote an essay in which she clearly distinguished the Love of God from the Love of Religion.  (Simone Weil, Waiting For God, trans. By Emma Craufurd, New York: Harper & Row, 1973.)  Religion is Religion—it isn’t God.  The Church is the Church—it isn’t God.  Religion or the Church can be the path to God and while it might advance you along the way, it ultimately will fall short of the destination. And often Religion or the Church are misused as paths that only circle back upon themselves.  Even the Sacraments will ultimately fall short.  The Uncreated can never be encapsulated in the created, the Creator in the creature.  This is why monks and nuns—real monks and nuns—have an affinity for agnostics.  They know how elusive God is.  God is always one step beyond us.  We arrive at the place where God was only to find that God has slipped away leaving a trace, a scent, some intangible sign that only makes us more ardent in our pursuit.  And at the same time we are pursuing him, ever more ardently, we begin to suspect that he is, in fact, pursuing us—luring us on ever deeper into  Mysterium—mysterium tremendum et fascinans.  And it is this that drives men and women into monasteries.  

        Sometimes in history the monasteries have taken on lives of their own—lives that distract the monk or the nun with the needs of administration, of building a church, of organizing the work, of feeding and clothing a community, of raising the money to do it all.  At the same time the formal prayers can easily replace the inner eros that impels the monk or nun on.  The need to practice the chant or shine the candleholders can seduce the heart away from its hunt and the monk or nun can forget the vision of their earnest years.  That is a tragic pitfall one hopes they can avoid. It is not unique to Christian monasticism—read the Dalai Lama and he will tell you the same about monks in his tradition who become lost in the superficial details and observances of their lives.   But monastic life is no place for religious people.  It is certainly no place for the pious.  Monastic life isn’t about the habit or the incense or even the chant.  All that is just icing on the cake—maybe even a seduction away from the heart of the life which is simply to seek God in his nakedness and in ours.

       And this is why we need to hear more of the monastic voices in the Church.  They have a wisdom that speaks beyond the superciliousness of the pious and directly to the dark night of the seeker.   As Elizabeth Barret Brownking wrote 

      Earth’s crammed with heaven

      And every common bush aflame with God

      And only he who sees takes off his shoes

      The rest sit round it

      And pluck blackberries

A lot of people are plucking blackberries—we need people in the Church today who can point and shout: “Fire!” For what a fire it is for those with eyes to see. 

The Faith Your Don't Find In Catechisms

Saint John of the Cross

I had planned on going back to the subject of Peter Waldo, Cathars, etc so that we could bridge into the Innocentian Reformation—the Reform of the Church under Pope Innocent III which I think was the most successful Reformation of the Church to date, but then I found myself in a fascinating conversation that has made me stop and think anew about some contemporary issues especially as there is a link between this new topic on which I hope to reflect and the success of Innocent’s attempts to restore vitality to the Church in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. 
       This conversation came up at dinner on Tuesday when a Brazilian friend of mine was talking about his doctoral thesis in Spirituality at the Pontifical Gregorian University.  He is writing on a reexamination of the spiritual doctrine of Saint Francis de Sales from the perspective of the personalist philosophy of John Paul II.  His point is that “conversion” must involve not merely an intellectual assent to doctrine but a person-to-person encounter with Jesus Christ.  We had a fascinating conversation as I know relatively little about either Francis de Sales or the philosophy of the late and now Blessed Pope.  I know them both as historical figures, but not as intellectuals, but I was struck by the similarity with the ideas being attributed to them by my friend to the mystical theology of Saint John of the Cross with which I am somewhat famiiar.  I guess I should not have been so surprised, at least in regards to John Paul, as I believe he wrote his doctoral dissertation on John of the Cross and Faith.  In regard to the subject of Faith, John of the Cross makes a clear distinguishing between knowing about God and knowing God. 
       I am struck by how many people know a lot about God without necessarily “knowing” him, or more to the point, without knowing Jesus Christ because no one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son has revealed him.   Faith to them is a matter of an assent of the intellect to theological propositions defined by the Church.  As I am writing this, I think in particular of a woman I had known some years ago when I was frequently in Leesburg Virginia.  This lady  was the local doyen of orthodoxy.  She rigorously critiqued every sermon, taped various priests and religious education speakers who had come to her parish to report them for suspicious ideas, and for years had controlled the religious education program in the local parish.  She had her small group of disciples and she used them to make sure the parish didn’t stray from what she perceived to be sound doctrine.  But alas, new brooms sweep clean and a new pastor displaced her stranglehold on things.  I have no doubt that she was (and perhaps, if yet alive, still is) a sincere person.  The problem was that for her faith equaled orthodoxy, or what she took for orthodoxy.  She could tell you all about what the Church (for her that meant the magisterium) taught about the faith, at least from Trent up to 1960, but I can’t say that I think she was a woman of faith.  She was a person of doctrine—but that is not a woman of faith.  Prayers were something one said.  “Spirituality” was comprised of no more than devotions—we had an argument about that once when she told me that “meditation is dangerous and you shouldn’t be practicing it, much less teaching it.”  Her fundamental moral compass was off in as that she had no scruples of taping a speaker without his (or her) permission, quoting them out of context in letters to the bishop, or even bearing false witness when she thought a religious education director, a speaker brought into the parish, a music minister or liturgical director was going off in what she thought to be a wrong direction.  Faith was orthodoxy; orthodoxy was faith.  There was no evidence of anything more than rigid doctrine and a rigid relationship to a rigid deity in her life.   She fit that description of Henri Bremond regarding Jansenism that I cited two or three days ago:  “Before penetrating into the depth of the mind Jansenism ruins the peace, condition of all true religion.  Before making converts it makes partisans, sectarians, whom it fatally severs from the mystical currents of their time.”  
       Unfortunately this woman is by no means unique.  The fault of classic Protestantism—at least the American variety—has been gross subjectivism: the triumph of emotion  over intellect.  But Catholicism, again at least the American variety, is no better off in its opposite of being strait-jacketed into doctrine.  All the doctrine in the world does not lead one to change of heart that is at the center of Jesus’ call in the Gospels.  That is why I was delighted to hear this Brazilian priest talk about Benedict XVI’s emphasis on evangelization as this personal encounter with Christ that is so transformative of the human person.  It is certainly not to be that raw subjectivism that I just attributed to the American Protestant tradition.  (I will do a few entries some day on John Wesley and how his own crisis of faith brought about this bizarre doctrine-less “faith” that marks American religion.)
       Now as to how this ties into our upcoming entry on the Innocentian Reformation.  The reign of Innocent III was marked by figures such as Francis of Assisi and Dominic de Guzman and others who, working within the perimeters of Catholic doctrine and just on the frontiers of institutional Catholicism  brought their contemporaries to this personal encounter with Christ that revived a religion that had been fading from the lives of everyday people and made Christian faith an exercise in actually shaping one’s life to the demands of the Gospel.  That is what we need today for renewal and that is what we rarely have.   At the end of the day the issue of faith is: do I take the Gospel for my rule of life.  Do I try to live not the Catechism of the Catholic Church, or the Documents of Vatican II, but the Gospel.  All due respect to those ICEL and Vox Clara people but it looks like their latest work isn’t succeeding in bringing faith to life any more than had the Latin Mass or the previous translation of the liturgy,  but if we are to be people of faith we had better find something that will.