Carl E. Olson's Blog, page 203

Preface to Nicola Bux's "Benedict XVI's Reform", by Vittorio Messori

The Preface to Nicola Bux's Benedict XVI's Reform: The Liturgy Between Innovation and Tradition | Vittorio Messori

The “liturgical crisis” that followed the Second Vatican Council caused a schism, with many excommunications latae sententiae; it provoked unease, polemics, suspicions, and reciprocal accusations. And perhaps it was one of the factors—one, I say, not the only—that brought about the hemorrhaging of practicing faithful, even of those who attended Mass only on the major feasts. Well, it might seem strange, but such a tempest has not diminished but, rather, increased my confidence in the Church.

I will try to explain what I mean, speaking in the first person, returning thus to a personal experience. Some would regard this approach as immodest, but others would see it as the simplest way of being clear and to the point. It happens to be the case that despite my age I have only a very slight recollection of the “old” form of the Church’s worship. I grew up in an agnostic household and was educated in secular schools; I discovered the gospel—and began furtively to enter churches as a believer and no longer as a mere tourist—just before the liturgical reform went into force, which for me meant only “the Mass in Italian”.

In sum, I caught the tail-end of history. Only a few months later, I would find the altars reversed and some new kitschy piece of junk made of aluminum or plastic brought in to replace the “triumphalism” of the old altars, often signed by masters, adorned with gold and precious marble. But already for some time I had seen—with surprise, in my neophyte innocence—guitars in the place of organs, the jeans of the assistant pastor showing underneath robes that were intended to give the appearance of “poverty”, “social” preaching, perhaps with some discussion, the abolition of what they called “devotional accretions”, such as making the Sign of the Cross with holy water, kneelers, candles, incense. I even witnessed the occasional disappearance of statues of popular saints; the confessionals, too, were removed, and some, as became the fashion, were transformed into liquor cabinets in designer houses.

Everything was done by clerics, who were incessantly talking about “democracy in the Church”, affirming that this was reclaimed by a “People of God”, whom no one, however, had bothered to consult. The people, you know, are sovereign; they must be respected, indeed, venerated, but only if they accept the views that are dictated by the political, social, or even religious ruling class. If they do not agree with those who have the power to determine the line to be taken, they must be reeducated according to the vision of the triumphant ideology of the moment. For me, who had just knocked at the door of the Church, gladly welcoming stabilitas—which is so attractive and consoling to those who have known only the world’s precariousness— that destruction of a patrimony of millennia took me by surprise and seemed to me more anachronistic than modern.

It seemed to me that the priests were harming their own people, who, as far as I knew, had not asked for any of this, had not organized into committees for reform, had not signed petitions or blocked streets or railways to bring an end to Latin (a “classist language”, but only according to the intellectual demagogues) or to have the priest facing them the whole Mass or to have political chit-chat during the liturgy or to condemn pious practices as alienating, which instead were precious inasmuch as they were a bond with the older generation. There was a revolt on the part of certain groups of faithful—who were immediately silenced, however, and treated by the Catholic media as incorrigibly nostalgic, perhaps a little fascist—united under the motto that came from France: on nous change la réligion, “they are changing our religion.” In other words, although it was pushed by the champions of “democracy”, the liturgical reform (here I am abstracting from the content and am speaking only of the method) was not at all “democratic”. The faithful at that time were not consulted, and the faithful of the past were rejected. Is tradition not perhaps, as has been said, the “democracy of the dead”? Is tradition not letting our brothers who have preceded us speak?

Before judging its merits, let me repeat, it must be said that this reform came down from the clergy; the decision was handed down to the “People of God” from above, being thought out, realized, and imposed on those who had not asked for it or who had accepted it only reluctantly. There were some among the disoriented faithful who “voted with their feet”, that is to say, they decided to do other things on Sunday rather than attend a liturgy they felt was no longer theirs.

But, as a novice in Catholic matters, there was another reason for my stupor. Not having had particular religious interests “previously”, and being a stranger to the life of the Church, I knew that the Second Vatican Council was in progress from some newspaper headlines but did not bother to read the articles. So I knew nothing about the work and the long debates, with clashes between opposing schools, that led to Sacrosanctum concilium, the Constitution on the Liturgy, which was, among other things, the first document produced by those deliberations. Along with the other conciliar acts, I read the text “afterward”, when faith had suddenly irrupted into my life. I read it, and, as I said, I was left surprised: the revolution I saw in ecclesial practice did not seem to have much to do with the prudent reformism recommended by the Council fathers. I read such things as: “Particular law remaining in force, the use of the Latin language is to be preserved in the Latin rites”; I found no recommendation to reverse the orientation of the altar; there was nothing to justify the iconoclasm of certain clergy—which was a boon for the antique shops—who sold off everything so as to make the churches as bare and unadorned as garages. It was the space for the participating assembly, for encounter and discussion, not for alienating worship or—horror of horrors!—for an insult to the misery of the proletariat with its shining gold and art exhibits.

In short, I could not put the contrasts together: the fanatics of the ecclesial democracy were undemocratic: imposing their own ideas on the “People of God” without concern for what the “People” thought, isolating and ridiculing the dissidents. And the fanatics of “fidelity to the Council”— and they were almost always the same people—did not do what the Council said to do or even did what it recommended not to do.

Decades have passed since then, and what has taken place in the meantime is well known by those who follow the life of the Church. Well, what troubled many often saddened me, too, but it did not, as I said at the beginning, touch my confidence in the Church. It has not touched that confidence because the abuses, the misunderstandings, the exaggerations, the pastoral mistakes were those, as is always the case, of the sons of the Church, not of the Church herself. Thus, if we consider the authentic Magisterium, even in the dark years of chaos and confusion, it never substantially strayed from the guiding principle of et-et: renewal and tradition, innovation and continuity, attention to history and awareness of the Eternal, understanding the rite and the mystery of the Sacred, communal sense and attention to the individual, inculturation and catholicity. And, in regard to the summit, the Eucharist: certainly it is a fraternal meal; but just as certainly, it is the spiritual renewal of Christ’s sacrifice.

The conciliar document on the liturgy—the real one, not the mythical one—is an exhortation to reform (Ecclesia semper reformanda), but there is no revolutionary tone in it, insofar as it finds its inspiration in the considered and, at the same time, open teaching of that great pope who was Pius XII. After Scripture, Pius XII is the most cited source (more than two hundred references) of Vatican II, which, according to the black legend, intended to oppose the very Church he represented. In the many official documents that followed the Council, there is sometimes a pastoral imprudence, especially in an excess of trust in a clergy who took advantage of it, but there is no concession on principles: the abuses were often tolerated in practice but condemned—and it is this that counts in the end—at the magisterial level. Variations in doctrine were not responsible for the worst of what was done but, rather, “indults” that were exploited. It is because of such considerations—for what it is worth—that I and many others were not demoralized even in the most turbulent moments and years: a confidence prevailed that the pastoral misjudgments of which I spoke would be corrected, that the ecclesial antibodies would, as always, react, that the “Petrine principle” would prevail in the end.

It was, in other words, a confidence that times would come like those described—with obligatory realism but also with great hope—by Father Nicola Bux in this book. The recent past has been what it has been; the damage has been massive; some of the rearguard of the old ideologies of “progressivism” still boldly proclaim their slogans; but nothing is lost, because the principles are very clear; they have not been scratched. The problem is certainly not the Council but, if anything, its deformation: the way out of the crisis is in returning to the letter, and to the spirit, of its documents. The author of the pages that follow reminds us that there is work to be done to help many minds that— perhaps without even knowing it—have been led astray. We must help them recover what the Germans call die katholische Weltanschauung, the Catholic world view. It is not by chance that I use the German, as everyone knows where that Shepherd comes from who did not expect that ascension to the papacy to be woven into his story as a patient and “humble worker in the vineyard of the Lord”. If I put the reference to patience in italics, it is because it is one of the interpretive keys to the magisterium of Benedict XVI, as this book will also underscore.

These are pages that Don Nicola Bux was well equipped to write and for which we should be grateful to him. He is a professor of theology and liturgy with important teaching positions, and he has a special knowledge of the liturgy of the Christian East. It is precisely this, among other things, that permits him to show yet another contradiction of the extreme innovators: “Comparative studies show that the Roman liturgy in its preconciliar form was much closer to the Eastern liturgy than its current form.” In sum, certain fanatical apostles of ecumenism have, in fact, made the problem of encounter and dialogue worse, distancing themselves from those ancient and glorious Greek, Slav, Armenian, Copt, and other Eastern Churches, in trying to please the members of the official Protestant tradition. The latter, five centuries after the Reformation, seems near to extinction and often is represented only by some theologian with almost no popular following. In some cases, finds itself on the shores of agnosticism and atheism or on those of pentecostals and charismatics belonging to the infinity of groups and sects where everyone invents his rites according to current tastes in a chaos that it would be completely inappropriate to call liturgical.

The plan of the author of these pages is guided by the desire to explain—confuting misunderstandings and errors—the motivations and the content of the motu proprio Summorum pontificum through which Pope Benedict, while conserving a single rite for the celebration of the Mass, has permitted two forms of that rite: the ordinary form—the one that came out of the liturgical reform—and the extraordinary form, according to the 1962 Missal of Blessed John XXIII.

To give shape to his plan, Don Bux was able to draw, not only on his formation as a scholar, but also on the knowledge of the problems, people, and schools that he acquired in his experience working on commissions and in offices of the Roman Curia. So he has firsthand experience and is not just a specialist and a professor. Nevertheless, he understands that it is not possible to deal with the controversial question about the “return to the Latin Mass” (we put it this way to simplify) without taking account of the theological and liturgical perspective of Joseph Ratzinger and, then, the question of Christian and Catholic worship in general. That is the origin of this book—small and dense— which unites history and the present, theology and current events, and can help those who “already know” about these things to go into them more deeply and reflectively; and it can help the layman who “does not know” to understand the importance, the development, the beauty of this mysterious object that is, for him, the liturgy, which also, even if he is not practicing, involves him or those close to him at important moments in life.

As he himself says, with respectful and affectionate solidarity, the theological and pastoral perspective of Don Bux is the same as that of Joseph Ratzinger, whom he looks upon today as a master, also in respect to two indispensable Christian virtues: patience, as we have already pointed out, and prudence. It is a prudence in which there is a place for renewal, but never forgetting the tradition, for which change does not interrupt continuity. Ecclesia non facit saltus: Vatican II is heard and applied as it merits to be, but in its true intention, that of aggiornamento and of deepening, without discontinuity with the whole history of Catholic doctrine. These pages also help us to recover that sacred reality expressed by the liturgy: in liturgical action, understanding, in the Enlightenment sense, is not enough; thus, the translations into the vernacular are not enough: it is necessary to rediscover that the liturgy is, first of all, the place of encounter with the living God.

Father Bux, who knows the “world” well, reminds us that there is a mentality that needs to be changed. He thinks that the conditions for this are present: today it is often the young people who find, with awe that becomes passion, the riches with which the Church’s treasure chest is full. It is these young people who crowded around the Polish Pope, the great charismatic, and who now crowd around this Bavarian Pope, in whom—beneath the courteous and gentle manner—they intuit the wise project of “restoration” that Joseph Ratzinger has always understood in its noble and necessary sense: the restoration of the Domus Dei after one of the many tempests of its history. A project that has been meditated on for many years and that Benedict XVI is now carrying out with courage and patience, because in him, as Don Bux notes, “the patience of love” is at work—love for God and for his Church, certainly, but also for postmodern man, to help him rediscover in liturgical worship the encounter with him who has called himself “the Way, the Truth, and the Life”.

Benedict XVI's Reform: The Liturgy Between Innovation and Tradition | by Nicola Bux

• Also available in electronic book format

When Benedict XVI reestablished the celebration of the older Latin Mass, voices of protest rose up from many sides. The widespread fear was-and is-that the Pope had revealed himself as the reactionary defender of tradition that many have accused him of being since he was the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the former Holy Office.

Defenders of Benedict XVI have responded to these objections by explaining that the use of the Tridentine Rite is not a "step backward" to pre-Vatican II times, but rather a step forward. Now the Church can see what the older rite offered in terms of beauty, reverence, and meaning and perhaps desire more of those elements in the ordinary form of the Mass.

A professor of theology and liturgy, the author of this book explains the motives behind the Pope's decision to allow two forms of the Mass. He does this by turning to the Pope's own theological and liturgical writings, but he also draws from his experiences on various Church commissions and in offices of the Roman Curia.

The author also brings to his subject an astute understanding of current social and spiritual trends both inside and outside the Church. Sensitive to modern man's hunger for the sacred, he desires with Pope Benedict XVI that the Mass be first and foremost a place of encounter with the living God.

Nicola Bux is a priest of the Archdiocese of Bari and a professor of eastern liturgy and sacramental theology. He has studied and taught in Jerusalem and in Rome. He is a consultor to the Congregations for the Doctrine of the Faith and for the Causes of Saints and consultant of the international Catholic theological journal Communio. He was recently named a consultor to the Office of Liturgical Celebrations of the Supreme Pontiff.

The Blessing of Big Families

The Blessing of Big Families | Jim Graves | Catholic World Report

Despite the ridicule, criticisms, and misunderstandings they often face, large Catholic families joyfully embrace God’s will for their lives.

Pope Benedict XVI, in an audience with members of an Italian association of large families earlier this year, offered encouragement to couples who welcome children as a blessing from God. He said, “There is no future without children.”

The Holy Father continued, “In today’s context, a family made of many children constitutes a witness of faith, courage and optimism. … I hope that adequate social and legislative measures are promoted that safeguard and sustain large families, which represent richness and hope for the whole country.”

Large families are not uncommon in traditional Catholic circles, despite declining family sizes in broader society in the United States, Europe, and elsewhere in the developed world in recent decades. Parents of large families, religious and non-religious, are confronted with many challenges, including the social stigma associated with having more than two or three children. 

British soccer star David Beckham and wife Victoria, for example, welcomed their fourth child into the world last year, to the consternation of environmentalists, liberal politicians, and media figures who accused them of being selfish with the world’s resources. President Barack Obama’s senior science and technology advisor John Holdren has even gone so far as to argue that children from larger families have lower IQs.

But some couples are choosing to ignore criticism and buck societal trends. They welcome and embrace the gift of human life with which God has blessed their marriages. While the challenges are many, the blessings are far greater, they say, so long as they maintain a strong faith in God, work hard, and accept the sacrifices required of their vocation.

Contine reading at www.CatholicWorldReport.com.

St. Dominic and the Friars Preachers

St. Dominic and the Friars Preachers | Jordan Aumann, O.P. | From Christian Spirituality in the Catholic Tradition | Ignatius Insight

Religious life continued to evolve in the thirteenth century as it had in the twelfth, and the evolution necessarily involved the retention of some traditional elements as well as the introduction of original creations. In fact, the variety of new forms of religious life reached such a point that the Lateran Council in 1215 and the Council of Lyons in 1274 prohibited the creation of new religious institutes henceforth.

Nevertheless, two new orders came into existence in the thirteenth century: the Franciscans and the Dominicans. As mendicant orders they both emphasized a strict observance of poverty; as apostolic orders, they were dedicated to the ministry of preaching. Yet there was a noticeable continuity between the newly founded mendicant orders and the older forms of monasticism and the life of the canons regular. At the risk of oversimplifying, we may say that the Franciscans adapted Benedictine monasticism to new needs while the Dominicans adapted the monastic observances of the Premonstratensians to the assiduous study of sacred truth, which characterized the Canons of St. Victor.

The mendicant orders, however, were not simply a development of monasticism; much more than that, they were a response to vital needs in the Church: the need to return to the Christian life of the Gospel (vita apostolica); the need to reform religious life, especially in the area of poverty; the need to extirpate the heresies of the time; the need to raise the level of the diocesan clergy; the need to preach the Gospel and administer the sacraments to the faithful. This was especially true of the Dominicans, who were consciously and explicitly designed to meet the needs of the times and to foster the "new" theology, Scholasticism. The Franciscans, as we shall see, were more in the tradition of the old monasticism and sought to return to a life of simplicity and poverty.

St Dominic Guzmán, born at Caleruega, Spain, in 1170 or 1171, was subprior of the Augustinian canons of the cathedral chapter at Osma. As a result of his travels with his bishop, Diego de Acevedo, he came face to face with the Albigensian heresy that was ravaging the Church in southern France. When they learned of the failure of the legates to make any progress in the conversion of the French heretics, Bishop Diego made a drastic recommendation. They should dismiss their retinue and, travelling on foot as mendicants, become itinerant preachers, as the apostles were.

In the autumn of 1206 Dominic founded the first cloister of Dominican nuns at Prouille; towards the end of 1207 Bishop Diego died at Osma, where he had returned to recruit more preachers. The work of preaching did not end with the death of Bishop Diego, but during the Albigensian Crusade under Simon Montfort, from 1209 to 1213, Dominic continued the work almost alone, with the approval of Pope Innocent III and the Council of Avignon (1209). By 1214 a group of associates had joined Dominic and in June, 1215, Bishop Fulk of Toulouse issued a document in which he declared: "We, Fulk, ... Institute Brother Dominic and his associates as preachers in our diocese . . . . They propose to travel on foot and to preach the word of the Gospel in evangelical poverty as religious." (56) The next step was to obtain the approval of the Holy See, and this was of special necessity in an age in which preaching was the prerogative of bishops. The opportunity presented itself when Dominic accompanied Bishop Fulk to Rome for the Lateran Council, which was convoked for November, 1215. According to Jordan of Saxony, Dominic desired confirmation on two points: the papal approval of an order dedicated to preaching and papal recognition of the revenues that had been granted to the community at Toulouse. (57)

Although Pope Innocent III was favorably inclined to the petition, he advised Dominic to return to Toulouse and consult with his companions regarding the adoption of a Rule. (58) Quite logically, the Rule chosen was that of St. Augustine, as Hinnebusch points out:

The adoption was dictated by the specific purpose St. Dominic sought to achieve -- the salvation of souls through preaching -- an eminently clerical function. The Rule of St. Augustine was best suited for this purpose. During the preceding century it had become par excellence the Rule of canons, clerical religious. In its emphasis on personal poverty and fraternal charity, in its reference to the common life lived by the Christians of the apostolic age, in its author, it was an apostolic Rule. Its prescriptions were general enough to allow great flexibility; it would not stand in the way of particular constitutions designed to achieve the special end of the Order. (59)

In addition to the Rule of St. Augustine, the early Dominicans used the customs of the Premonstratensians as a source for their monastic observances, for which reason they were often called canons as well as mendicant friars. What was peculiar to the Dominican Order was added by the first Chapter of 1216 and the General Chapter Of 1220: the salvation of souls through preaching as the primary end of the Order; the assiduous study of sacred truth to replace the monastic lectio divina and manual labor; great insistence on silence as an aid to study; brisk and succinct recitation of the choral office lest the study of sacred truth be impeded; the use of dispensations for reasons of study and the apostolate as well as illness; election of superiors by the community or province,; annual General Chapter of the entire Order; profession of obedience to the Master General; and strict personal and community poverty.

On December 22, 1216, the Order of Friars Preachers was confirmed by the papal bull, Religiosam vitam, signed by Pope Honorius III and eighteen cardinals. On January 21, 1217, the pope issued a second bull, Gratiarum omnium, in which he addressed Dominic and his companions as Friars Preachers and entrusted them with the mission of preaching. He called them "Christ's unconquered athletes, armed with the shield of faith and the helmet of salvation" and took them under his protection as his "special sons." (60)

From that time until his death in 1221, St. Dominic received numerous bulls from the Holy See, of which more than thirty have survived. The same theme is found in all of them: the Order of Preachers is approved and recommended by the Church for the ministry of preaching. St. Dominic himself left very little in writing, although we may presume that he carried on an extensive correspondence. The writings attributed to him are the Book of Customs, based on the Institutiones of the Premonstratensians; the Constitutions for the cloistered Dominican nuns of San Sisto in Rome; and a personal letter to the Dominican nuns at Madrid.

The Dominican friars were fully aware of the mission entrusted to them by Pope Honorius III. In the prologue of the primitive Constitutions we read that "the prelate shall have power to dispense the brethren in his priory when it shall seem expedient to him, especially in those things that are seen to impede study, preaching, or the good of souls, since it is known that our Order was especially founded from the beginning for preaching and the salvation of souls." (61)

"This text," says Hinnebusch, "is the keystone of the apostolic Order of Friars Preachers. The ultimate end of the Order, it states, is the salvation of souls; the specific end,. preaching; the indispensable means, study. The power of dispensation will facilitate the attainment of these high purposes. All this is new, almost radical." (62) On the other hand, it may be interpreted as a return to the authentic "vita apostolica," and that is the way St. Thomas Aquinas would see it: "The apostolic life consists in this, that having abandoned everything, they should go throughout the world announcing and preaching the Gospel, as is made clear in Matthew 10:7-10." (63)

Preachers of the Gospel need to be fortified by sound doctrine, and for that reason the first General Chapter of the Order specified that in every priory there should be a professor. Quite logically, the assiduous study of sacred truth, which replaced the manual labor and lectio divina of monasticism, would in time produce outstanding theologians and would also extend the concept of Dominican preaching to include teaching and writing.

Dominican life was also contemplative, not in the monastic tradition, but in the canonical manner of the Victorines; that is to say, its contemplative aspect was manifested especially in the assiduous study of sacred truth and in the liturgical worship of God. However, even the contemplative occupation of study was directly ordered to the salvation of souls through preaching and teaching, and the liturgy, in turn, was streamlined with a view to the study that prepared the friars for their apostolate. Thus, the primitive Constitutions stated:

Our study Ought to tend principally, ardently, and with the highest endeavor to the end that we might be useful to the souls of our neighbors. (64)

All the hours are to be said in church briefly and succinctly lest the brethren lose devotion and their study be in any way impeded. (65)

Because of the central role which the study of sacred truth plays in the Dominican life, the spirituality of the Friars Preachers is at once a doctrinal spirituality and an apostolic spirituality. (66) By the same token, the greatest contribution which the Dominicans have made to the Church through the centuries has been in the area of sacred doctrine, whether from the pulpit of the preacher, the platform of the teacher or the books of the writer. The assiduous study of sacred truth, so strictly enjoined on the friars by St. Dominic, provides the contemplative attitude from which the Friar Preacher gives to others the fruits of his contemplation. In this restricted sense we may say with Walgrave that the Dominican is a "contemplative apostle." (67)

ENDNOTES:

(56) Cf. Laurent, Monumenta historica S. Dominici, Paris, 1933, Vol. 15, p. 60.

(57) Jordan of Saxony, Libellus de principiis ordinis praedicatorum, ed. H. C. Scheeben in Monumenta O. P. Historica, Rome, 1935, pp. 1-88.

(58) The Fourth Lateran Council forbade the foundation of new religious institutes unless they were extensions of an existing institute or adopted an approved Rule.

(59) W. Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order, New York, N.Y., 1965, Vol. 1, p. 44. The Rule of St. Augustine was also adopted by numerous other religious institutes founded in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

(60) Cf. W. Hinnebusch, op.cit., p. 49. On February 17, 1217, a third papal bull, Jus petentium, specified that a Dominican friar could not transfer to any but a stricter religious institute and approved the stability pledged to the Dominican Order rather than to a particular church or monastery.

(61) I Constitutiones S.O.P., prologue; cf. P. Mandonnet-M. H. Vicaire, S. Dominique: l'idee, l'homme et l'oeuvre, 2 vols., Paris, 1938.

(62) Cf. W. Hinnebusch, op. cit., p. 84.

(63) Contra impugnantes Dei cultum et religionem.

(64) I Const. S.O.P., prologue; cf. W. Hinnebusch, op. cit., p. 84.

(65) I Const. S.O.P., n. 4; cf. W. Hinnebusch, op. cit., p. 351.

(66) Cf. M. S. Gillet, Encyclical Letter on Dominican Spirituality, Santa Sabina, Rome, 1945 Mandonnet-Vicaire, op. cit.; V. Walgrave, Dominican Self-Appraisal in the Light of the Council, Priory Press, Chicago, Ill., 1968; S. Tugwell, The Way of the Preacher, Templegate, Springfield, Ill., 1979; H. Clérissac, The Spirit of St. Dominic, London, 1939.

(67) V. Walgrave, op. cit., pp. 39-42.

Related Ignatius Insight Articles and Book Excerpts:

• St. Thomas Aquinas and the Thirteenth Century | Josef Pieper
• Theologians and Saints | Hans Urs von Balthasar
• Catholic Spirituality | Thomas Howard

Jordan Aumann, O.P. (1916-2007), was a theologian and spiritual writer who authored Christian Spirituality in the Catholic Tradition and Spiritual Theology.

Why a purely evolutionary ethics makes ethical discourse meaningless

Richard Polt, a professor of philosophy at Xavier University, explains why theories of evolution cannot and do not provide a foundation or reasoning for ethical and moral truths:

I have no beef with entomology or evolution, but I refuse to admit that they teach me much about ethics. Consider the fact that human action ranges to the extremes. People can perform extraordinary acts of altruism, including kindness toward other species — or they can utterly fail to be altruistic, even toward their own children. So whatever tendencies we may have inherited leave ample room for variation; our choices will determine which end of the spectrum we approach. This is where ethical discourse comes in — not in explaining how we’re “built,” but in deliberating on our own future acts. Should I cheat on this test? Should I give this stranger a ride? Knowing how my selfish and altruistic feelings evolved doesn’t help me decide at all. Most, though not all, moral codes advise me to cultivate altruism. But since the human race has evolved to be capable of a wide range of both selfish and altruistic behavior, there is no reason to say that altruism is superior to selfishness in any biological sense.

In fact, the very idea of an “ought” is foreign to evolutionary theory. It makes no sense for a biologist to say that some particular animal should be more cooperative, much less to claim that an entire species ought to aim for some degree of altruism. If we decide that we should neither “dissolve society” through extreme selfishness, as Wilson puts it, nor become “angelic robots” like ants, we are making an ethical judgment, not a biological one. Likewise, from a biological perspective it has no significance to claim that Ishould be more generous than I usually am, or that a tyrant ought to be deposed and tried. In short, a purely evolutionary ethics makes ethical discourse meaningless.

Read the entire essay, "Anything But Human", on the New York Times' Opinionator blog.

The Holy Inquisition: Dominic and the Dominicans

The Holy Inquisition: Dominic and the Dominicans | Guy Bedouelle, O.P. | From Saint Dominic: The Grace of the Word (Ignatius, 1987, 1995)

In his History of France, so characteristic of the nineteenth century, Jules Michelet has painted a fresco in which he shows the Church of the thirteenth century in Languedoc checking "the spirit of free thought" that represented heresy. The sentences pour out, nervous, breathless, romantic . . . and inexact. "This Dominic", he writes, "this terrifying founder of the Inquisition, was a Castilian noble. No one surpassed him in the gift of tears, a thing so often joined to fanaticism." [1] And in the following chapter he continues: "The Pope could only vanquish independent mysticism by himself opening great schools of mysticism: I refer to the mendicant orders. This was fighting evil with evil; attempting that most difficult of contradictions, the regulation of inspiration, the determination of illuminism . . . delirium unleashed!"

Pedro Berruguete's (d. 1504) tableau, the Scene of Auto da fé in the Prado museum in Madrid, is equally well known. St. Dominic, recognizable by his mantle ornamented with stars, is seated on a throne presiding over a tribunal and surrounded by six magistrates, almost all of them laymen. Below, to the right, are heretics roped to stakes soon to be set ablaze. The contrast is striking and the composition noteworthy. The tableau was doubtless intended for the glory of Dominic: the same painter designed several altar pieces for the Dominican convent in Avila at the request of Thomas of Torquemada (d. 1493), Inquisitor General in Spain in 1483.

If we go back a little further in history we shall find Dominican witnesses to show how Dominic took part in the first Inquisition against the Catharists and Vaudois in Languedoc. A reference made by Bernard Gui (1261-1331) in a Life of St. Dominic does not hesitate to claim for his Founder the title of First Inquisitor, following the "legendary" texts of the thirteenth century. [2] Nor has the author of the celebrated "Manual for Inquisitors" hesitated to interpolate on his own authority the Albigensian History of Pierre des Vaux de Cernai in order to prove Dominic's presence at the Battle of Muret during the bloody Albigensian Crusade on September 12, 1213: the Saint is pictured holding in his hands a crucifix riddled with wounds, which is still shown at St. Sernin in Toulouse. [3]

Lacordaire, on the contrary, at the moment when he was pleading before his "country" the cause of the reestablishment of the Order of Preachers in France in 1838, that is to say, a few years after the impassioned words of Michelet about the foundation of the mendicant orders, affirmed boldly (chap. 6) that "St. Dominic was not the inventor of the Inquisition, and never performed the duties of an inquisitor. The Dominicans were never the promoters or principal agents of the Inquisition." The historical demonstration following these claims must unfortunately be viewed with some reserve. It was - and not only on the basis of historical accuracy - vehemently attacked, in particular by his friend Dom Prosper Guéranger, the restorer of the Benedictines of Solesmes; he accused Lacordaire of not having the courage to "accept his heritage".

What, then, are we to believe? Was Dominic the first of the inquisitors? The answer is categorically: by no means! Simple chronology suffices to resolve the problem: Dominic died in 1221, and the office of Inquisitor was not established until 1231 in Lombardy and 1234 in Languedoc.

Were the Friars the principal agents of the Inquisition? Or did they simply take part in it "like everyone else", as Lacordaire says? This time the answer must be more nuanced. But we must know exactly what we are referring to when we use the word inquisition, so deadly in its ordinary connotation, before we can attempt to define its significance.

We must first realize that there were two inquisitions or, to put it better, two currents of inquisition, quite dissimilar in their origins and functions. The first, in the thirteenth century, was the result of a long process set in motion by the popes; it is often called "the pontifical inquisition". The second answered to an initiative of the Catholic kings of Spain who, in 1478, asked the pope to reorganize the former institution. This tool of royal absolutism - aimed at the religious minorities of Jews and Moslems, who were being assimilated with difficulty into the national life, and at the current trends of thought which seemed to be threatening the social order - would not be suppressed until the nineteenth century. This was the object of "the black legend", so tenacious that even today the term "inquisition" immediately arouses emotional reactions and evokes concepts of fanaticism and intolerance among the people. The kings of Spain often appealed to Dominicans like Thomas of Torquemada, but more often, from the end of the sixteenth century on, to Jesuits. [4]

When we speak of the Inquisition today we often confuse two entities which it would be greatly to our advantage to distinguish: a procedure and a tribunal. The Inquisitio is first of all a juridical procedure. It is the procedure of inquiry which, in modern nations, is officially opened by public authority when some crime is brought to its attention. It precedes the registering of a complaint or accusation, which in its turn will set in motion the handling of the civil offense. The introduction of this procedure is very objective and detailed: this is its guarantee for the accused. The method has come a long way in comparison with the ancient procedure of accusation, which was in early times very general in its character. This was the situation at the beginning of the thirteenth century in regard to heretics: they were prosecuted only after having been formally accused. Toward 1230 the process of inquiry was used in regard to matters of faith. The problem lay not in the process of inquiry itself, but in the fact that the royal and ecclesiastical authorities considered that a manifestation of dissent in matters of faith was a crime, subject to official prosecution.

The Inquisition was also a tribunal, an emergency tribunal destined to identify the crime for heresy, using among other procedures that of inquiry. This was the origin of the Office of Inquisition, entrusted to various persons. Without voiding the tribunal of the bishop which, up to that time, had dealt with matters of faith, this new tribunal largely substituted for it.

Heretofore, heresy had been handled as a spiritual matter by the bishop's tribunal, which was charged with assessing the belief of the baptized in a given diocese. The prince, who used secular constraint to obtain the accusation and punishment of those condemned for heresy, according to the normal functioning of his penal law, left to the bishop the final decision as to the validity of the accusation of heresy.

At the beginning of the thirteenth century Pope Innocent III's many moves against heretics, in sending legates to various parts of Christendom, served only to arouse and increase the bishops' action. There were vast campaigns of preaching, destined to bolster the belief of Catholics and to lead heretics back to the Faith. It was with one of these campaigns of the Word, being conducted in the Midi, that Dominic was associated (1206-1209).

The frequent inefficiency of the bishops' tribunals led Emperor Frederick II of Germany and Pope Gregory IX to move toward the creation of an emergency tribunal. Its judge would be a cleric, but the prince would vouch for its foundation and temporal effectiveness. He would determine the locales, maintenance, the carrying out of arrests, and appearances before the courts, as well as the penalties incurred according to his own penal laws. In 1231 a joint decision of Pope and Emperor led to the creation of the Office of the Inquisition, to be erected from that time on in Germany and Italy. This tribunal was introduced in northern France in 1233 and in the Midi at the beginning of 1234. It is clear, therefore, that it was not especially designed for the latter region as is commonly supposed. It had nothing to do with St. Dominic.

This office may be defined as an emergency tribunal set up on a permanent basis to deal with all matters involving the defense of the Faith, and using the inquisitorial procedure, which was far more flexible and effective. [5] It was not a "religious policy". It was a matter of convincing a heretic of the contradictory position he held in regard to the Christian Faith, and of converting him. The Inquisitor must therefore be a good preacher. For the least grave faults the tribunal imposed penalties of a religious nature: to carry a cross, to visit churches, to make pilgrimages - or more weighty undertakings. If the heretic was obdurate, the Church handed him over to the secular arm which could, from the thirteenth century on, decree the death penalty, forbidden however at the Third Lateran Council. From 1252 on, the Inquisition made use of the right to torture those charged with heresy, as was customary at the time in common law. We can see from this the importance of the role of the Inquisition.

The choice of the one who should be judge of the Faith was all the more serious in Pope Gregory IX's opinion, since he feared the danger of a judge too dependent on the prince, in whose service he could slight honesty in the performance of his duties. This was often the case with bishops, especially in Germany. The Pope therefore tended to choose religious, and sometimes secular priests. The first known Inquisitor, Conrad of Marburg, was a secular priest. Soon, however, the Pope turned to the Dominicans, particularly for France (1233) and Languedoc (1234). Two years later he added a Franciscan. In the ensuing years the Inquisitors of Languedoc were regularly Dominicans, those of Provence, Franciscans. These religious could devote themselves to instructing the people in the Faith with more continuity and greater depth than could monks or secular clergy, who were frequently drawn away to other tasks. But the Inquisition was never, as such, an office of the Order of Preachers.

The inquisitors were not responsible for the creation of the Inquisition. If some of them lost their sense of proportion due to the fearsome power given them, like the too celebrated Roger of Bougre, named in 1235, who dishonored his name by his excesses in northern France, most fulfilled the duties of judge entrusted to them with competence, freedom of spirit and a concern for the salvation of souls. They were convinced of the salutary need for this charge, as were most Christians in the West.

The problem of the Inquisition is rooted in two far older problems: that of the prosecution of heresy in Christian society and, more generally, that of the feelings of this society about disagreements within the body of the faithful.

The latter goes back to the origins of the Church, when Christians were intensely attached to "being of one mind" (Phil 2:2): "one Lord, one Faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all" as St. Paul wrote (Eph 4:5). Faith was indeed entirely a gift of God; but to be authentic, it required belief and a common objective content.

It was Western society, ecclesiastical and political, which was responsible for creating and perfecting the Inquisition by a series of decisions on many levels. Western Christianity, welding the Church and temporal society together, believed it a just and holy thing to make Christian Faith and morals the basis for civil legislation and to place in its service the power of temporal coercion, of which the Inquisition was but one tool.

This sense of responsibility on the part of Europeans for the rule of Faith and for the salvation of their subjects, and their desire to intervene for its defense with the help of their bishops, remained very much alive in the West until the sixteenth century, even until the seventeenth. To rebel against the Faith was to rebel against the prince.

In their concern about salvation, so preponderant at the time, nations were often the first to insist on the prosecution of those who propagated teachings or methods of obtaining salvation that, in the judgment of the Church, risked the eternal loss of Christians. The man of the Middle Ages could understand tolerance of pagans who had no way of knowing revelation, but he was rigorous in dealing with Jews. This was to be the attitude of the papacy. It could regard deviations from the Catholic Faith and the repudiation of baptism only as grave sins. [6]

Dissension regarding the Faith thus appeared as the gravest of faults, by far the most pernicious. This is why the inquisitorial process sought first to cure, as a physician does. Not only the society that was threatened, but also the heretic himself, must be saved. This was the famous dilemma posed by Dostoyevsky in the striking scene of the Grand Inquisitor, depicted by him as an expression of Ivan Karamazov's revolt.

Throughout the Middle Ages this sort of temporal and spiritual collusion culminating in the Inquisition was considered normal. In none of the quarrels in which kings, emperors and rebellious clerics opposed the papacy - theologians like Marsile of Padua for example, so virulent and violent - do we find taunts about the Inquisition. Public opinion gave every evidence of approving, even desiring it. We must await the eve of the ideal of "tolerance", to find the challenging of at least the methods, if not the existence, of the institution. Erasmus, in this area as in others, seems to have been a precursor.

The Middle Ages were far more aware of social truths and values than of the sincerity of personal convictions. The deepening of the sense of the person and of liberty, though stressed by St. Paul as he considered Christian life to be ruled by grace (Gal 5:13) is a comparatively recent triumph. Our times cannot judge ages which thought otherwise. Our actual living out of this liberty is not, despite all the declarations of its intentions, favorable to the rights of man.

ENDNOTES:

[1] Vol. II, r. IV, chap. 7, Oeuvres complètes, vol. IV, critical edition, P. Viallaneix (Paris, 1974). In the first edition, Michelet wrote: "He was a noble Castilian, singularly charitable and pure. He was unsurpassed for his gift of tears and for the eloquence which drew tears from others." These last words were suppressed in 1852 and replaced by the vengeful sentence of 1861. "Examination of the revision of the text of 1833", op. cit., p. 657.

[2] For a statement of the question, see Vicaire, Dominique et ses Prêcheurs, pp. 36 57 ("Dominique et les Inquisiteurs", and also pp. 243 50).

[3] Cahiers de Fanjeaux, 16, pp. 243 5o (M. Prin and M. H. Vicaire).

[4] Guy Testas and Jean Testas, L'Inquisition (Paris, 1974).

[5] Cf "Le Credo, la morale et l'Inquisition", Cahiers de Fanjeaux 6 (1971), in particular the contributions of Yves Dossat. By the same author, Les crises de l'Inquisition toulousaine (1233 1273) (Bordeaux, 1959). See also Henri Maisonneuve, Etudes sur les origines de l'Inquisition, 2nd ed. (Paris, 1960); on Dominic and the early brethren, see pp. 248 49.

[6] For an exposition of the medieval attitude, see in the Summa Theologiae of St. Thomas, Ila IIae, q. 10. It is here that the famous formula is found: "The acceptance of faith is a matter of free will, yet keeping it when once it has been received is a matter of obligation" (10, a 10 ad 3).

Related Ignatius Insight Articles and Book Excerpts:

• St. Dominic and the Friars Preachers | Jordan Aumann, O.P.
• The Inquisitions of History: The Mythology and the Reality | Reverend Brian Van Hove, S.J.
• The Spanish Inquisition: Fact Versus Fiction | Marvin R. O'Connell
• The Crusades 101 | Jimmy Akin
• Were the Crusades Anti-Semitic? | Vince Ryan
• St. Thomas Aquinas and the Thirteenth Century | Josef Pieper
• Theologians and Saints | Hans Urs von Balthasar
• Catholic Spirituality | Thomas Howard

Guy Bedouelle, O.P. (b. 1940), is a French theologian, born in 1940 in Lisieux. He graduated from the Institut d'Etudes Politiques de Paris and has been the rector of the Catholic University of the West since 2008. He is the author of several books of Church history.

Bl. John Paul II on the mystery of evil and...

... the temptation to use political force to establish a utopian state in this life:

Nevertheless, it cannot be forgotten that the manner in which the individual exercises his freedom is conditioned in innumerable ways. While these certainly have an influence on freedom, they do not determine it; they make the exercise of freedom more difficult or less difficult, but they cannot destroy it. Not only is it wrong from the ethical point of view to disregard human nature, which is made for freedom, but in practice it is impossible to do so. Where society is so organized as to reduce arbitrarily or even suppress the sphere in which freedom is legitimately exercised, the result is that the life of society becomes progressively disorganized and goes into decline.

Moreover, man, who was created for freedom, bears within himself the wound of original sin, which constantly draws him towards evil and puts him in need of redemption. Not only is this doctrine an integral part of Christian revelation; it also has great hermeneutical value insofar as it helps one to understand human reality. Man tends towards good, but he is also capable of evil. He can transcend his immediate interest and still remain bound to it. The social order will be all the more stable, the more it takes this fact into account and does not place in opposition personal interest and the interests of society as a whole, but rather seeks ways to bring them into fruitful harmony. In fact, where self-interest is violently suppressed, it is replaced by a burdensome system of bureaucratic control which dries up the wellsprings of initiative and creativity. When people think they possess the secret of a perfect social organization which makes evil impossible, they also think that they can use any means, including violence and deceit, in order to bring that organization into being. Politics then becomes a "secular religion" which operates under the illusion of creating paradise in this world. But no political society — which possesses its own autonomy and laws — can ever be confused with the Kingdom of God. The Gospel parable of the weeds among the wheat (cf. Mt 13:24-30; 36-43) teaches that it is for God alone to separate the subjects of the Kingdom from the subjects of the Evil One, and that this judgment will take place at the end of time. By presuming to anticipate judgment here and now, man puts himself in the place of God and sets himself against the patience of God.

Through Christ's sacrifice on the Cross, the victory of the Kingdom of God has been achieved once and for all. Nevertheless, the Christian life involves a struggle against temptation and the forces of evil. Only at the end of history will the Lord return in glory for the final judgment (cf. Mt 25:31) with the establishment of a new heaven and a new earth (cf. 2 Pt 3:13; Rev 21:1); but as long as time lasts the struggle between good and evil continues even in the human heart itself.

What Sacred Scripture teaches us about the prospects of the Kingdom of God is not without consequences for the life of temporal societies, which, as the adjective indicates, belong to the realm of time, with all that this implies of imperfection and impermanence. The Kingdom of God, being in the world without being of the world, throws light on the order of human society, while the power of grace penetrates that order and gives it life. In this way the requirements of a society worthy of man are better perceived, deviations are corrected, the courage to work for what is good is reinforced. In union with all people of good will, Christians, especially the laity, are called to this task of imbuing human realities with the Gospel.

From the May 1, 1991 encyclical, Centesimus annus.

Equality and Catholicism

James Kalb | "Ecclesia et Civitas" | Catholic World Report

Neither equality or freedom can be the highest standard, but must refer to some greater, final standard.

America has taken freedom and equality as her highest political goals, and her most basic problems have to do with that commitment and how it should be interpreted. Recent events have focused attention on changing understandings of freedom and how they are weakening freedom of religion. Understandings of equality are also changing, with consequences for the Church that are no less serious.

At the time of the American Revolution equality meant, in principle anyway, that everyone had the same right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. What that meant concretely was that America would be a country ruled by settled laws that applied equally to everyone and did not impose many restrictions. As time has passed, and especially in recent decades, that understanding has developed into something much broader and less well-defined.

The specifics are dependent on other political commitments, so the views of conservatives and progressives differ. Last month we saw that conservatives understand freedom as freedom of action. Correspondingly, they see equality as equal opportunity, understood as elimination of artificial barriers to action, together with general availability of goods like education that facilitate effective action by everyone. We also saw that progressives have a more consumer-oriented understanding of freedom that is less interested in general with setting than results in individual cases. That understanding carries over to equality. For progressives, then, equality is now a broad requirement of equality of outcome that includes economic matters but extends beyond them to require equal respect and consideration in the various affairs of life.

Some aspects of the progressive understanding of equality tend to win in the long run. Conservatives want individuals to be able to act effectively, but who is to say what that requires?

Continue reading at www.CatholicWorldReport.com.

Behold the Olympics!

by James V. Schall, S.J. | Catholic World Report

Watching the Olympic Games on NBC has been more than frustrating. The actual events are cleverly isolated midst ad after ad, and chatter after chatter, on the screen. In frustration, I turned to a Spanish station that showed soccer, boxing, and races that were not yet available on NBC, which seems exclusively interested in what Americans do at the Games. No doubt, Ethiopian, German, or Chinese television networks feature their respective athletes.

I suppose that if I were in London, the logistics of getting to where separate events were actually happening would be daunting. No one could see everything as it was happening. And while each event has its own history and fascination, some people will be bored by swimming and others enthused by shooting or the pole vault. But, no doubt, something worth watching can be found in any event.

In the course of two weeks, we see boxing, rowing, equestrian events, track, shooting, jumping, vaulting, diving, swimming, weight-lifting, judo, volley ball, field hockey, basketball, soccer, wrestling, ping pong, gymnastics, badminton, hurdles, and marathons. The only things missing are football (American, Australian, Irish, and Canadian), sailing, baseball, poker, golf, lacrosse, hunting dogs, cock fights, bass fishing, auto racing, tractor pulls, and horse shoes. We see the world's fastest men and women, as well as the strongest, the most agile, and the most enduring. When we finally are allowed un-interruptedly to watch a complete event, it is precisely a spectacle, something to behold, to watch, fascinated.

Aside from the occasional athlete who blesses himself before a race, the heavy garb of some Muslim women, and the "God" when "God Save the Queen" is sung in honor of some British gold medalist, we see or hear no indication of religion, aside from shots of Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's. The opening and closing ceremonies feature no blessings. Perhaps it is just as well. Security is difficult enough as it is.

Yet, the Olympics did have religious origins in their Greek beginnings. Mt. Olympus was the home of the gods.

The idea that men did their best before the gods is not to be ignored. And what could men do? Were there any limits? Is there something finite about us?

Continue reading on the CWR blog.

Bp. Hugh Gilbert states the truth. Usual suspects are "offended"

No surprises here ("here" being Scotland):

A Catholic bishop has sparked outrage among equality campaigners by suggesting that the Scottish Government could extend legislation on same-sex marriage to include bigamy and even incest, if it truly believed in equality.

Bishop Hugh Gilbert of Aberdeen questioned why equality would not extend to “nieces who genuinely, truly love their uncles” and why men could not have two wives.

In response, the pro-gay marriage group Equality Network said his remarks were “offensive and uncalled for”.

The Scotsman further reports that the bishops of Scotland are "set to pull out of discussions over same-sex marriage" because they are convinced the Scottish Government will go ahead with legislation no matter their concerns or objections. It quotes Bishop Gilbert (who was appointed by Pope Benedict XVI) as also saying, “The truth is that a government can pass any legislation it likes. Why is it all right for a man to marry another man, but not all right for him to marry two women? If we really want equality, why does that equality not extend to nieces who genuinely, truly love their uncles?”

Meanwhile, the director 
of Equality Network takes the offensive by being offended: “We are very disappointed the Bishop of Aberdeen should choose to com­­pare same-sex marriage to polygamy and incest. That is offensive and uncalled for.”

What, exactly, is offensive about the bishop's remarks? After all, if people really do believe in "equality", isn't it bigoted of same-sex marriage proponents to consider their understanding of marriage to be superior to that of polygamists or relatives who wish to be married? On what basis do they separate their efforts from those of a man who wishes to have three wives, a woman who seeks two husbands, or an uncle and neice who are pursuing nuptials? If "equality" is simply an arbitrary marker that moves according to personal tastes, social fads, and other whims, who is to say that "gender-neutral" marriages are any better than what we might call relation-blind marriages or numerically-flexible marriages?

Almost all of those who support same-sex marriage incessently refer to "equality" and "love", two words that have become almost complete unmoored from any sort of objective or logical basis. The first now means the ability to have or be whatever I wish, regardless of previously (or even currently) accepted moral and social norms. The second merely refers to one's passions and desires: I want it, so I love it—for now.

What Bishop Gilbert's remarks point to is the question: where does this end? Is there, in fact, any criteria that will or can withstand the magical wave of the Eqaulity and Love Wand within a secular, progressive modern state?

The Feast of the Transfiguration (and the 34th anniversary of Paul VI's death)

The following is taken from an "Opening the Word" column I wrote for the February 28, 2010, edition of Our Sunday Visitor:

In sum, in the days leading up the Transfiguration, Jesus had directly confronted and demolished any false notions the disciples might have had about the nature of his mission. He strongly expressed the unwavering commitment he had to offering himself as a sacrifice for the world. His kingdom was not of this world, and he was not a political leader or a military warrior; he was not promising comfort and wealth. On the contrary, Jesus was promising a cross: “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Lk. 9:23).

  We can only try to imagine how disorienting and confusing this had to be for the disciples. Suffering, rejection, and rapidly approaching death were not parts of their plan! In the midst of this confusion and anxiety, Jesus took Peter, John, and James, the inner circle of the disciples, up to the mountain to pray, ascending, as it were, toward the heavenly places. There, above the tumult of the world and an ominous future, Jesus revealed his glory and gave them a dazzling glimpse of their eternal calling.

But the glory witnessed by the three apostles was not just about the future. “The Transfiguration,” notes Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis in Fire of Mercy, Heart of the World (Ignatius Press, 2003), “is the experience of the fullness of divine Presence, action, communication, and glory now, in our very midst, in this world of passingness and disappointment.” It is about the fullness of life now—not ordinary, natural life, but extraordinary, supernatural life. The Transfiguration is about the gift of divine sonship, which comes from the Father, who says of Jesus, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.”

St. Thomas Aquinas, in considering whether it was fitting that Jesus should be transfigured, observed that since Jesus exhorted his disciples to follow the path of His sufferings, it was right for them to see his glory, to taste for a moment such eternal splendor so they might persevere. He wrote, in the third part of the Summa, “The adoption of the sons of God is through a certain conformity of image to the natural Son of God. Now this takes place in two ways: first, by the grace of the wayfarer, which is imperfect conformity; secondly, by glory, which is perfect conformity…”

Peter and the disciples had to learn that Jesus’ death was necessary so his life could be fully revealed and given to the world. “On Tabor, light pours forth from him,” writes Leiva-Merikakis, “on Calvary it will be blood.”

Today also marks the 34th anniversary of the death of Pope Paul VI. Here is some of what Pope John Paul II said about Paul VI and this great feast day in 1999:

Today, the Eucharist which we are preparing to celebrate takes us in spirit to Mount Tabor together with the Apostles Peter, James and John, to admire in rapture the splendour of the transfigured Lord. In the event of the Transfiguration we contemplate the mysterious encounter between history, which is being built every day, and the blessed inheritance that awaits us in heaven in full union with Christ, the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.

We, pilgrims on earth, are granted to rejoice in the company of the transfigured Lord when we immerse ourselves in the things of above through prayer and the celebration of the divine mysteries. But, like the disciples, we too must descend from Tabor into daily life where human events challenge our faith. On the mountain we saw; on the paths of life we are asked tirelessly to proclaim the Gospel which illuminates the steps of believers.

This deep spiritual conviction guided the whole ecclesial mission of my venerable Predecessor, the Servant of God Paul VI, who returned to the Father's house precisely on the Feast of the Transfiguration, 21 years ago now. In the reflection he had planned to give at the Angelus on that day, 6 August 1978, he said: 'The Transfiguration of the Lord, recalled by the liturgy of today's solemnity throws a dazzling light on our daily life, and makes us turn our mind to the immortal destiny which that fact foreshadows'.

Yes! Paul VI reminds us: we are made for eternity and eternity begins at this very moment, since the Lord is among us and lives with and in his Church.

From the Byzantine Divine Liturgy, here is the Troparion for the Feast of the Holy Transfiguration:

You were transfigured on the mountain, O Christ our God, revealing as much of Your glory to Your Disciples as they could behold. Through the prayers of the Mother of God, let Your everlasting light also shine upon us sinners. O Giver of Light, glory be to You.

And here is part of reflection on the Feast and the tropar, written by a Byzantine Catholic monk:

The union of Christ's humanity and divinity is complete and full, and as we meditate upon the feasts of the Lord's life we always benefit by focusing on this wonderfully unity in his person. Let us, as disciples might, bask in the brightness of this mystery, begging our Savior God to reveal Himself more fully to us. For what we see is beautiful and alluring. The tropar proclaims that Christ reveals His glory to his disciples. But the glory is not the divinity, nor is it the humanity, both are glorious in Him! Let the light shine upon us sinners (for the glory of humanity is marred in us by sin), that enlightened and purified through this feast, we too may shine through His generous gift of mercy.

Read the entire reflection.