Why We Don’t Leave
(Un Papa Simpatico)
Isaiah: 49:1-6 Acts
To the church in
the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Introduction
Nine months plus one day
The liturgical calendar celebrates only
three birthdays: that of Jesus (Dec. 25), of Mary (Sept. 8) and of John the
Baptist (June 24). Whenever a very important feast day lands on a Sunday, it
liturgically replaces the celebration of that Sunday. Because of the very
important role the John played in the story of salvation, today June 24, 2007,
the birthday of John the Baptist, replaces the Twelfth Sunday of Ordinary Time,
The liturgical calendar (which makes
no claim to actual historical dates) sets Jesus’ birthday on December 25. The time
between his conception and birth took exactly nine months. So counting back
nine months from December 25, the Annunciation (which marks the moment of
Jesus’ conception) takes place in the liturgical calendar on March 25. That’s
mathematically exact. Since
Quo nomine vocabitur: John
When
John was born, relatives and neighbors gathered a week later for the
circumcision and the naming of the infant. They asked “Quo nomine vocabitur?” (By what name shall the child be called?)
Some said he should be called Zechariah after his father, but
Appointed to point
The
birthday of Jesus has a liturgical vigil; so does the birthday of John. The
first reading for the vigil is from the prophet Jeremiah. “Before I formed you
in the womb I knew you; before you were born I dedicated you; a prophet to the
nations I appointed you” (Jer 1:4). John
was dedicated and appointed to point to
Jesus!
In the days of Jesus and John (who was only
six months older than Jesus) there was some puzzlement about who of the two was
greater? Throughout the New Testament there are various strokes to clarify that
Jesus is the greater. When Mary visits her cousin,
When John grew up, he went forth on his
mission to point to Jesus. When the Jewish authorities asked him one day, “Who
are you,” he spoke clearly saying, "No, I am not the Messiah. No, I am not
Elijah. No, I am not the Prophet. (Jn 1:19-21) Then he pointed to another saying,
“There comes one after me whose sandal straps I’m not worthy to loosen” (Jn
Quo nomine vocabitur: John XXIII
When
Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, Patriarch of Venice, was elected pope in the papal
conclave of 1958 in the Sistine Chapel in front of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, according to ancient
custom the presiding cardinal approached the pope-elect and asked, "Quo nomine vocaberis?" (By
what name shall you be called?) Angelo answered, "My name will be John. “
He chose to be named after that great precursor who pointed to Jesus. Then,
like his new namesake, the new pope set forth to point to Jesus.
He summoned his church to a Second Vatican
Council and invited her to point beyond herself. No easy task after centuries of addiction to
self-preoccupation, self-protection, self-affirmation and at times
self-aggrandizement. (That’s no fierce criticism; it’s simply a statement of
the human condition.) After many convulsions and withdrawal symptoms, the
church in council, like a good John the Baptist, pointed (at least on the paper
of its 13 documents) beyond herself and outward towards others.
The council’s most important document, The
Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen
Gentium (the revolutionary gem of Vatican II) concerned the very nature itself
of the
In the very first line of that very singular
document the church in council pointed to Christ. “Lumen
gentium cum sit Christus.…” (Since Christ [not the church] is the light of
the nations.…) Then the council proceeded
to make a truly historical course correction for the Bark of Peter. This
immense body of 3000 bishops assembled in the Basilica of St. Peter’s (its
place of venue) pointed not to itself but to the people of God. In an original
draft of that historic document, chapter II was entitled The Hierarchy and chapter III was entitled The People of God. Some of the council fathers rose to protest
saying, “Why is it that when we bishops speak about the church we always point
first to ourselves! We are not the church. The people of God are the church. We,
the hierarchy, exist for the people of God.” After a long and stormy debate in
the great nave of the basilica, the council fathers switched chapters II and
III. The chapter on The People of God
came before the chapter on The Hierarchy.
That was right order. That was an
immense course correction. That was called the Copernican Revolution of Vatican
II.[3]
The council called by the new John the Baptist pointed
not only to Christ and to Christ’s people but also to the very world itself. After
centuries of quarreling with it, the church in council pointed compassionately to
a world filled with many hopes and anxieties. [4] Mindful
also of her own anti-Semitism of centuries past, the council pointed
repentantly to the people of the Old Testament.[5] It
pointed fraternally also to Eastern Catholic Churches[6] and ecumenically to Protestant Christians.[7]
It’s mostly all on paper, but paper is important in
the life of the church. Documents, especially Dogmatic Constitutions (the
highest form of conciliar church teaching), are important in the life of the
church. Lumen Gentium is a Dogmatic
Constitution, and it will stand forever now in the life of the church to prick
the consciences of the hierarchy (and the faithful) whenever the church tries
to take back the promises of Vatican II and fall back into the old groove of
pointing to herself again and not to Christ and his People.
Dominus Iesus --Recidivism
Recidivism comes
easy. On
A strong reaction to
the document claimed that the church was falling back into her old ways, and
that the document would deal a severe blow to the great gains of ecumenism
since Vatican II. There is, however, really nothing new in Dominus Iesus. It reflects the long-standing belief of the Catholic
Church that she alone possesses the full truth and that all other faith groups
have only elements of truth. That does, indeed, seem a bit arrogant, but almost all faith traditions
believe that they alone possess the entire truth and view all other religions
as being at least partly deficient. At the end of the day, however, we ask:
when is the church more effective? When she points to herself out of duty, or
when she points to others out of good will, as she did in the council called by
Good Pope John?
Morris West
Morris L. West (April
26, 1916-October 9, 1999) was an Australian writer. He spent 12 years in a monastery
of the Christian Brothers, but left without taking final vows. His works often
focused on international politics and the role of the Roman Catholic Church in
international affairs. West is famous among
Catholics especially for his books The
Devil’s Advocate and The Shoes of the
Fisherman which envisioned the election and career of a Slavic Pope 15 years before
the ascension of Karol Wojtyła to his historical role of becoming Pope
John Paul II. West died while working at his desk on the final chapters of his
novel The Last Confession. It’s
about the trials and imprisonment of Giodano Bruno, who was burned at the stake
in Rome for heresy in 1600. West had long sympathized and even identified with Bruno.
In A View from the Ridge, West writes,
I believe I can say with
certainty that I remained in communion with the Church even when the Church
itself excluded me, and I remain there still, principally because of the
presence of John XXIII, the Good Pastor, whom I never met, though I did meet
his predecessor and his successor. Goodness went out from this man to me. I
acknowledged it then. I acknowledge it again.
The Romans named him un Papa simpatico. And everyone wished
he were younger, so that the imprint of his personality might be deeper on the
corporate life of the Church and the common life of the world. We had had a
surfeit of princes and politicians and theologians – even of conventional
saints. We needed a man who spoke the language of the heart, who understood
that the dialogue of God with man is carried on in terms far different from the
semantics of professional philosophers. We had John too briefly.
Fr. Hans Küng
In A
View from the Ridge, novelist West tells us why he remained a Catholic (“because
of the presence of John XXIII, the Good Pastor”). In a small volume entitled Why I am Still a Christian, Fr. Hans Küng
tells us why he remains a Christian. “First
of all,” he says, “despite all my criticisms and concerns, I can nevertheless
feel fundamentally positive about a tradition in which I live side by side with
so many others, past and present.” (Is he speaking about people like Francis of
Assisi, Mother Theresa and Good Pope John who exemplify the very best of that
tradition?) Furthermore, Küng says, “I would not dream of confusing the great
Christian tradition with the present structures of the church, nor [would I
dream of] leaving the definition of true Christian values to its present
administrators.” In that great Christian
tradition, Küng says, he finds “a
spiritual home on which I do not want to turn my back.”
Sr. Joan Chittister
Sister
Joan Chittister, OSB, is a very intelligent and internationally known
theologian. She is, however, highly
critical of the church. She maintains it is riddled with inconsistencies,
closed to discussion about those inconsistencies, and is sympathetic only to
invisible women. One day a woman asked her right out, “Why does such an unhappy
woman like you stay in the church?” She used the imagery of an oyster to
explain. The oyster defends itself against the irritation of sand within itself
by secreting a substance. The more sand
in the oyster, the more chemical the oyster produces until finally, after layer
upon layer of gel, the sand turns into a
pearl of great price (Mt 13: 44-45). If she would
rid herself of the irritation
by leaving the church, she said, the process would be over, and at the end of the
day there would be no pearl of great price, neither in her nor in her
church. “Over the years I have come to
realize that the church is not a place; it is a process. And if you leave the
church you leave part of the process that cultivates a pearl in you and in your
church. So I stay in the church, a restless pilgrim.”
Conclusion
The pilgrims
We, especially those of us who
have now been made pilgrims, do as West,
Küng and Chittister did: we remain in
communion with the church, even though the church herself has excluded us.
Despite everything, despite the horrific pedophile scandal in the clergy;
despite the refusal of the church to deal meaningfully with the critical
shortage of priests; despite her macho approach to the ordination of women;
despites the church’s preference to busy herself with such issues like who may or may not wash the
sacred vessels after Mass or what kind of flour may or may not be used for the
Communion wafer; despite the church’s great pretense that gays do not exist and
that the faithful don’t practice birth control--despite everything we remain in
communion with the church principally because of the presence of the likes of
St. Francis of Assisi, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, Good Pope John of Sotto Il Monte, Morris West, Fr. Hans
Kung and Sister Joan Chittister. They embody the best and most noble of the Christian tradition. If we leave them, to whom shall we go (Jn
6:68)?