The Journey of Truth

(From Ratzinger to Benedict XVI)

Introduction

The 2^nd note of the Ascension

Last Sunday the first note of Jesus’ return to the Father in the ascension was struck in the gospel reading: “Your hearts are troubled because I am leaving you. You trust in God; now trust also in me. I tell you there are many resting places in my Father’s house, and I am going there to prepare one of them for you” (Jn 14: 1-2). Today a second note of the coming feast of the Ascension (Thursday 5^th of May or Sunday 8^th of May) is struck. The evangelist John has Jesus promising that when he gets to the right hand of the Father in heaven he will send us the Spirit of truth (Jn 14:16-17) who will call to our mind all that he told us (Jn 14:26).

The Spirit of truth…

John was writing for the Greeks who, like Plato and Aristotle, were great philosophers--lovers of the truth. John generously uses the word truth in his gospel 25 times, while Mark and Luke use it only 3 times and Matthew only once. Towards the end of John’s gospel Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you a king?” He replies, “Yes I am a king. I was born for this, I came into the world for this: to bear witness to the truth; and all who are on the side of truth listen to my voice.” At that Pilate asks, “And what is truth” (Jn 18: 37-38)? If Jesus gave Pilate an answer, the gospel doesn’t record it.

Truth in the head or heart

In my book the question of truth is not just academic. That question has both plagued and energized me in my business for 50 long years. Over those years I have come to see there are two kinds of truths: truth in the head and truth in the heart. Truth in the head is the kind philosophers and theologians have. They think about it; they debate it; they write it down in their volumes, creeds and catechisms. For example, to the question who is Jesus of Nazareth, the creed answers, “He is light of light, true God of true God, begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father.” That’s a theological truth. It’s in the head. We recite it. At the end of the day, most of us aren’t quite sure what it means.

Then there’s truth in the heart. That’s the truth that was in Mother Theresa, the gutter saint who picked up thousands of human beings dying on the streets of Calcutta. She carried them to her house which, like the house of the Father in heaven, had many resting places for the weary. There in her hospice she kissed them and sent them all off to heaven, healed of their spiritual leprosy which made them think they were worthless. There was, indeed, a truth in Mother Theresa. It cried out, “Every single human being is precious in God’s eyes.” But her truth wasn’t in her head. I venture to say Mother Theresa was probably the world’s worst theologian. Her truth was in her heart. You don’t debate her kind of truth or discuss it or write it down. Her kind of truth you simply do. Of her kind of truth Paul writes, “If you do the truth in love, you will grow up into Christ who is the head”er kind of truth Paul isa speaking of when Her (Eph 4:15).

Truth as possession or pilgrimage

Over the years I’ve also come to see truth not as a possession but as a pilgrimage. It’s a journey. You can never say of truth, “I’ve got it! Here it is! I’ve arrived. There’s nowhere to go from here. There’s nothing more to be said. So don’t bother me.”

Some years ago there appeared a bumper sticker that proclaimed "God said it-I believe it-That settles it." Translation:”I’ve got the truth about the ineffable God down pat. There’s nothing more to be said. So don’t bother me.” Another bumper sticker, equally inflated, flatly declared, "I found it." At first I thought it had a cryptic meaning or some sexual implication. But no. I finally figured it out. It was a dead-serious claim to have found and to be in possession of godly truth. It, too, said, “I have arrived. There’s no where to go from here. I’ve found everything there is to be found. So don’t bother me.” The sticker made little people like me, who are always hobbling along, groping in the dark, searching and not finding, feel inferior.

I’ve never been tempted to bedeck my t-shirts with messages or my car with bumper stickers which give people a piece of my mind Maybe I subconsciously use homilies for that. I do admit, though, that once, only once in my life, I was tempted to use my car bumper as a pulpit. That was when a rival bumper-sticker rose up to challenge the old one that claimed “I found it.” The new one humbly confessed “I lost it.” I remember well the occasion of my temptation. The new sticker appeared on a taxicab waiting at a bus station. I ran after the cabbie to find out where I could get a sticker just like his, but he took off before I could reach him. So I still have a perfectly clean record when it comes to bumper stickers.

Trent and Truth: possession

The Council of Trent was called in 1545 and lasted for 18 years. It was in response to the Protestant Reformation. It spelled out the truths of faith in clear-cut rigid definitions. Then it put them all into deep freeze as untouchable possessions for four hundred years. All we did for four hundred years was to repeat the unchanging truths of faith in an ever-changing living world. On the very eve of the opening of Vatican II, on the 11^th of October, 1962, the big Latin missal that we were using at Mass in those days was the very same one decreed for us by the Council of Trent, 1545-1563. For four hundred long years nothing had happened, nothing had changed. That’s how we got into this frame of mind that the true Church never changes. The true Church must never change. The true Church can‘t ever change. That was, in fact, our very boast. But what never changes is dead!

Vatican II and truth: pilgrimage

Along came Vatican II, and all of a sudden things began to change on us. Suddenly you could eat meat on Friday or miss Mass on Sunday and still go to heaven. That threw many of us for a loop. Suddenly laymen were being ordained deacons. Suddenly God’s favorite language, Latin, was replaced by priests celebrating in Italian and Spanish and English.

At the end of the day the underlining difference between the Council of Trent and Vatican II is this: Trent delivered truth to us as a possession and last word with nothing new left to be said for the next four hundred years. That’s not a criticism. In light of the times when the Church was fighting for her very life during the Reformation, that’s the very best Trent could be expected to do.

On the other hand, Vatican II in its 13 documents repeatedly affirmed the pilgrim character of the earthly Church. That theme was intertwined in the Council’s thirteen documents. The Church is a pilgrim Church, a Church en route, a Church not yet arrived, a Church that as yet doesn’t have it made, a humble Church “who sees her dogmatic assertions not as erroneous, but as inevitably impoverished before the ineffable mystery that is God” (Richard Gaillardetz). A Church who see herself not in the possession of truth but always as on a journey of truth, courageously venturing into new lands. A Church who hasn’t said a last word but a first word about issues, courageously inviting a holy conversation among God’s people about divorce, married priests, ordained women, birth control and homosexuality.

A pilgrimage of truth

When truth is a possession, all you do is repeat it over and over again, and that can be a bit boring. Truth is more exciting as a pilgrimage, as a journey toward a shrine way up ahead. Recently some of us made such a journey of truth on the occasion of the death of Pope John Paul II and the election of Benedict XVI. As the cardinals of the Church were entering into conclave to elect a new pope the first chatter was that Cardinal Ratzinger, the notorious head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, was the leading contender. That first rumor was to be expected because many of the cardinals knew him well.

But some of us dismissed the chatter out of hand. We knew what a terrible guy he was. We knew he was chief enforcer in the Universal Church. We knew he was Top Cop and Grand Inquisitor for Pope John Paul II. We knew his other names: God’s Rottweiller and Cardinal No--no to divorce, birth control, homosexuality, women priests and married priests. When white smoke appeared over the Vatican and it was announced that it was, indeed, Cardinal Ratzinger who had been elected, our hearts sank. Our worst fears had materialized.

But in the ensuing days as many of us became TV or papal junkies, my demonized impression of the new Pope began to lose some of its dead certainty. We learned that he is a very intelligent man, speaks many languages and has written many works. We learned also that he prays a lot, is humble, gentle, kind and even timid. Gradually we found ourselves wanting to give the man a chance and even praying that he would succeed. Gradually we found ourselves entertaining hope that his new job of Chief Shepherd, replacing his old job of chief enforcer, could and would transform him, if transformation he, indeed, needs.

We had made a pilgrimage of truth. We had journeyed from our demonized Cardinal Ratzinger to Pope Benedict XVI towards whom we now feel kindly and are even hoping and praying that he succeeds mightily. If, at the end of the day, we end up with nothing more than Cardinal Ratzinger again, God’s Rottweiller, we still have made a journey of truth-- a journey of listening and trying to be fair.

…will call to mind all that he told us

The Spirit of truth whom Jesus promises to send us will call to mind all that he told us (Jn 14:26). What he told us is quite uncomplicated and very simple. We find it in the holy book of the gospels. Of the many powerful visual memories lingering on in me from TV’s coverage of the funeral Mass of Pope John Paul II, there’s one that presides over them all. It ‘s the image of the lonely cypress coffin with the opened book of the gospels lying on it and its page blowing in the wind. The entire sad solemn splendor of the papal funeral was but a setting for a diamond: the lonely cypress coffin and the holy book of the gospels with its pages blowing in the wind.

In that book we find what Jesus told us. In that book we find what the Holy Spirit is sent to call to our minds. It’s not very complicated. You don’t have to be a philosopher or theologian to understand it. In it Jesus tells us about the good Samaritan who came upon the poor man waylaid by robbers and poured compassion upon his wounds and carried him off to the nearest inn where he paid for care and cure. He tells us about the poor little widow who threw her mighty mite into the temple treasury, and who gave more than all the others put together. He tells us about the lilies of the field and the birds of the air who neither spin nor gather into bins, but who trust in the Father in heaven.

Jesus tells us about the prodigal son who took his inheritance and went off to squander his money and live loosely but then repented and returned to the house of his father. He tells us about the rich man dressed in purple who ate splendidly every day and didn't give a hoot about starving Lazarus down at the gate with dogs licking his sores. He tells us about another rich man who was busy building bigger and better bins, but who died suddenly in the middle of the night. That’s what Jesus told us. That’s what the Holy Spirit comes to call to our minds. It’s not deeply philosophical or theological, but it is quintessential.

What he didn’t tell us

Jesus really didn’t tell us much about all those controversial issues which keep bugging us Catholics. He didn’t tell us much, if anything at all, about birth control, celibacy, women in the church, homosexuality, etc. Here the Holy Spirit comes to challenge the Church (that’s us) to be true to her pilgrim character—to take all her doctrinal possessions and turn them into pilgrimages and journeys of truth. Here the Holy Spirit comes to challenge the Church (that’s us) to humility--to look upon her confident dogmatic assertions “not as erroneous but as inevitably impoverished before the ineffable mystery that is God.” As corollary to that the Holy Spirit comes to challenge the Church to a holy conversation with all the baptized followers of Jesus.

But that requires listening. For me there’s hope in the wind for a holy conversation in the midst of God’s people. The new pope chose Benedict as his new name. St. Benedict, known as the father of western monasticism, advised his abbots to seek out the voice of the least in the community and to listen to it. In the homily of his inauguration Mass last Sunday, Benedict XVI said this: “My real program of governance is not to do my own will, not to pursue my own ideas, but to listen together with the whole Church to the word and will of the Lord….” My program is to listen!

Conclusion

In praise of pilgrimage

The homily is never complete until we’ve stopped pointing to the Church, the Pope and anybody else to whom we want to give a piece of our minds. The Mass is never over until the dismissal. Ite, Missa est. Go forth, the Mass is ended. Go forth and carry all your dogmatic assertions gently and humbly. Go forth and make holy conversation, especially when among yourselves you see things differently. Go forth and always turn your truth into a pilgrimage. That’s much more exciting and satisfying than hauling your truth around as a heavy possession. If it weren’t for my pilgrimage of truth, I’d still be fuming and feeling ugly over Cardinal Ratzinger, instead of hopefully rejoicing over Pope Benedict XVI.

Out of the distant past I remember two lines in praise of pilgrimage:

Along the pilgrim’s path there are lands and stones

that cry out to those for whom the length of the road

has opened their ears and hearts.

Along the pilgrim's path there are shrines

where the eye and mind, purified by the length of the road,

contemplate and see God.