Carl E. Olson's Blog, page 296

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?

Continue reading on Ignatius Insight...

"HHS doesn't get the parable of the Good Samaritan..."

Sister Mary Ann Walsh, Director of Media Relations, USCCB, points out that the federal government—specifically, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services—is crossing the line, and in doing so is endangering the health and welfare of those served by Catholic hospitals and charities:

In a tacit acknowledgement that this violates the Constitution's cherished respect for religious liberty, HHS provides an exemption for religious employers -- but with a catch. The church agency can only claim exemption if it primarily serves people of its own faith. It also must meet other requirements, such as employing mostly people of its own faith.

This means HHS is setting itself up to determine what constitutes church ministry and who Jesus meant when he referred to serving "the least of my brethren."

Catholic hospitals, charities and educational institutions provide about $30 billion worth of service annually in this country. No one presents a baptismal certificate at the emergency room. The hungry do not recite the Creed to get groceries at the food pantry. Students can pursue learning at The Catholic University of America, Villanova or any other Catholic college without passing a catechism admissions test. The commitment to serve those in need, the sick, the hungry, the uneducated, is intrinsic to Catholicism. No federal rule (except now HHS's) says the church must limit its service to Catholics if it is to be true to its teaching. HHS doesn't get the parable of the Good Samaritan, who helped the stranger simply because he was in need.

Look at the numbers. Catholic hospitals admit about 5.6 million people annually. That's one out of every six persons seeking hospital care in the United States. Catholic Charities serves more than 9 million people annually. Catholic colleges and universities teach 850,000 students annually. Among those served are Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Muslims, atheists, agnostics and members of any other religious or irreligious group you can name.

Read the entire piece. No surprise, some incredibly smart and thoughtful Huff-and-Puff Post readers respond with the sort of erudite reflection one expects from secular zealots geniuses:

Since all you've got for health care guidelines are superstiti­ons from the Dark Ages, you really shouldn't pretend to be operating modern hospitals. Honesty, please, and less hypocrisy and for goodness sake, don't pretend the government is plunked down in the middle of your so-called "sanctuary­" when all you've got is a track record of child abuse and psychologi­cal intimidati­on to show for your double talk and anti-human rights Vaticanism­.

And:

You're correct, people don't show baptismal certificat­es when they go to the hospital. That doesn't mean you get to assume the right to claim authority over them or enforce your religious dogmas with taxpayer money.

This isn't about the state intruding in your 'sanctuary­,' it's about your 'sanctuary­' imposing itself on the public.

Which proves the old maxim: "You can lead Huffington Post readers to water, but you can't teach them to spell 'w-a-t-e-r' or even acknowledge its existence."

St. Dominic's "strong love burned with heavenly fire and God-like zeal."

From Pope Benedict XVI's February 3, 2010, General Audience, dedicated to the life and work of St. Dominic:

His successor at the head of the Order, Bl. Jordan of Saxony, gives a complete picture of St Dominic in the text of a famous prayer: "Your strong love burned with heavenly fire and God-like zeal. With all the fervour of an impetuous heart and with an avowal of perfect poverty, you spent your whole self in the cause of the Apostolic life" and in preaching the Gospel. It is precisely this fundamental trait of Dominic's witness that is emphasized: he always spoke with God and of God. Love for the Lord and for neighbour, the search for God's glory and the salvation of souls in the lives of Saints always go hand in hand.

Dominic was born at Caleruega, Spain, in about 1170. He belonged to a noble family of Old Castile and, supported by a priest uncle, was educated at a famous school in Palencia. He distinguished himself straight away for his interest in the study of Sacred Scripture and for his love of the poor, to the point of selling books, that in his time were a very valuable asset, in order to support famine victims with the proceeds.

Ordained a priest, he was elected canon of the Cathedral Chapter in Osma, his native diocese. Although he may well have thought that this appointment might bring him a certain amount of prestige in the Church and in society, he did not view it as a personal privilege or as the beginning of a brilliant ecclesiastical career but, rather, as a service to carry out with dedication and humility. Are not a career and power temptations from which not even those who have a role of guidance and governance in the Church are exempt? I recalled this a few months ago during the consecration of several Bishops: "We do not seek power, prestige or esteem for ourselves.... We know how in civil society and often also in the Church things suffer because many people on whom responsibility has been conferred work for themselves rather than for the community" (16 September 2009).

The Bishop of Osma, a true and zealous Pastor whose name was Didacus, soon spotted Dominic's spiritual qualities and wanted to avail himself of his collaboration. Together they went to Northern Europe, on the diplomatic missions entrusted to them by the King of Castile. On his travels Dominic became aware of two enormous challenges for the Church of his time: the existence of people who were not yet evangelized on the northern boundaries of the European continent, and the religious schism that undermined Christian life in the South of France where the activity of certain heretical groups was creating a disturbance and distancing people from the truth of the faith. So it was that missionary action for those who did not know the light of the Gospel and the work of the re-evangelization of Christian communities became the apostolic goals that Dominic resolved to pursue.

It was the Pope, to whom the Bishop Didacus and Dominic went to seek advice, who asked Dominic to devote himself to preaching to the Albigensians, a heretical group which upheld a dualistic conception of reality, that is, with two equally powerful creator principles, Good and Evil. This group consequently despised matter as coming from the principle of evil. They even refused marriage, and went to the point of denying the Incarnation of Christ and the sacraments in which the Lord "touches" us through matter, and the resurrection of bodies. The Albigensians esteemed the poor and austere life in this regard they were even exemplary and criticized the riches of the clergy of that time. Dominic enthusiastically accepted this mission and carried it out with the example of his own poor and austere existence, Gospel preaching and public discussions. He devoted the rest of his life to this mission of preaching the Good News. His sons were also to make St Dominic's other dreams come true: the mission ad gentes, that is, to those who do not yet know Jesus and the mission to those who lived in the cities, especially the university cities where the new intellectual trends were a challenge to the faith of the cultured.

This great Saint reminds us that in the heart of the Church a missionary fire must always burn. It must be a constant incentive to make the first proclamation of the Gospel and, wherever necessary, a new evangelization. Christ, in fact, is the most precious good that the men and women of every time and every place have the right to know and love! And it is comforting to see that in the Church today too there are many pastors and lay faithful alike, members of ancient religious orders and new ecclesial movements who spend their lives joyfully for this supreme ideal, proclaiming and witnessing to the Gospel! ...

Dominic, who wished to found a religious Order of theologian-preachers, reminds us that theology has a spiritual and pastoral dimension that enriches the soul and life. Priests, the consecrated and also all the faithful may find profound "inner joy" in contemplating the beauty of the truth that comes from God, a truth that is ever timely and ever alive. Moreover the motto of the Friars Preachers contemplata aliis tradere helps us to discover a pastoral yearning in the contemplative study of this truth because of the need to communicate to others the fruit of one's own contemplation.

Read the entire Audience on the Vatican website.

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:

Read the entire article on Ignatius Insight...

Waves, weakness, and the perfection of faith

A Scriptural Reflection on the Readings for Sunday, August 7, 2011, Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time | Carl E. Olson

Readings:
• 1 Kgs 19:9a, 11-13a
• Psa 85:9, 10, 11-12, 13-14
• Rom 9:1-5
• Mt 14:22-33

Three weeks after graduating from high school, I left the small town I had spent my entire life in and moved to a large city a thousand miles away to attend art school. The combination of loneliness and culture shock was a powerful one. During my first few weeks there I would often wonder if I had made a mistake. My lax prayer life suddenly came to life, and I often prayed and cried in unison as I coped with homesickness.

During those times of darkness I began to appreciate my weaknesses and the strength of God. I came to understand that God was using my new situation to humble me and to turn my focus upon Him. It's a lesson I continue to learn, of course, and will the rest of my life. It is also a lesson the great saints learned, in various ways, as today's Gospel demonstrates.

The account of the disciples tossed on the stormy sea in the early hours of the morning—between 3:00 and 6:00—is a dramatic one. I've read it many times and in doing so I've often focused on Peter's failing. "What did he become frightened?" I would wonder. "After all, he was actually walking on water!" But this overlooks a couple of essential points: the greatness of Peter's faith and love, and my own failure, in so many ways, to keep my eyes upon Jesus amid the storms of life.

After all, I doubt I would have had the faith to step out of the boat in the first place. On the contrary, what I share most with Peter is his weakness! And so my admiration for him continues to grow. The head apostle had many obvious qualities, especially his brash, pugnacious spirit. But it is his deep love for Jesus and devotion to him that stands out more and more.

Jerome, in his commentary on Matthew's Gospel, wrote, "Peter is found to be of ardent faith at all times." Yet, as we know, Peter's ardent faith was often imperfect. The same was true of the other apostles. Their love for Jesus was profound, but their faith had to grow, to deepen, and to be purified. It was necessary for their faith be tested since they would each face persecution and all of them (with the exception of John) would be martyred for their loyalty to Christ. They would, in other words, have to endure the darkest depths of human solitude and suffering.

In the Old Testament, the ocean and seas were often symbols of primordial chaos and dark powers: "Rescue me from my enemies and from the watery depths. Do not let the floodwaters overwhelm me, nor the deep swallow me, nor the mouth of the pit close over me" (Ps 69:15b-16). By walking on the violent waters, Jesus demonstrated his power over the elements—a power only the Creator possesses. His divinity is further revealed in his response to the disciples: "Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid." Or, more literally: "Take courage, I AM", the same name revealed to Moses by Yahweh in the burning bush.

Why did Jesus wait so long to rescue the disciples? It is the question we all ask in those moments of difficulty, as I did in my late teens. Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis, in his commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, notes that there is a profound "law of the spiritual life" demonstrated in this story: "that in order to come to the point where we can finally abandon ourselves totally to God, we must first feel what appears to be utter abandonment by God…"

Our fears, doubts, and terrors are not best overcome in comfort and warmth, but in the cold darkness of the night, when we come face to face with our mortal fragility and Christ's perfect strength. It is then that he reaches out and catches us. Freed from ourselves, we can then say with tested faith and burnished love, "Truly, you are the Son of God."

(This "Opening the Word" column originally appeared in the August 10, 2008, edition of Our Sunday Visitor newspaper.)

Where does Call to Action end and The New York Times begin?

Gail Deibler Finke, who recently reviewed the pro-priestette "documentary", Pink Smoke Over the Vatican, for Ignatius Insight takes a look at the cozy relationship between The New York Times and Call To Action:

Call to Action may be dwindling in numbers, budget, and influence, but apparently it's still got the ear of the "newspaper of record."

In late July the New York Times ran two stories (here and here) featuring a letter of support for excommunicated Maryknoll Father Roy Bourgeois, supposedly signed by 157 "priests in good standing," but not giving the text of the letter or the identities of the priests.

Here is what may be the text of the letter:

Dear Father Dougherty,

As priests in good standing within the Roman Catholic Church, we want to make clear that we support our brother Fr. Roy Bourgeois, MM in his priesthood and his right to speak from his conscience.

Signed,

This text is on Call to Action's web site, at the top of a form for priests to fill out. It requires signees to fill in their first and last names, dioceses, and email addresses. 

Good enough for me!

What's that? Not good enough for you? Well, that's all you get. Take it or leave it. Call to Action told me it will release the text and the identities of the 157 priests at its national conference in November -- after staff has tracked down all the men who signed it and made sure that they're okay with their names being known.

It seems to me that they should have done so before sending out the press release, but hey, that's just me. Due diligence, journalistic ethics, and all that still mean something to me.

But not the New York Times, which pretty much ran with the CTA press release (PDF file) for its July 23 story -- reporting the CTA's view that goings-on Ireland and Australia are tied into Fr. Roy's supporters in the USA and indicate a current of dissent in the Catholic Church.

Imagine that! Dissent in the Catholic Church!

Sorry, I got carried away. The second story is at least more honest: it openly profiles Call to Action and its views, outlines its changing acceptance (or lack of such) by the current bishop of its home city of Chicago, and even includes a zinger of a quote from what it calls an "outspoken conservative and critic" of the group.

But what it doesn't do is tell you who signed the letter, a key point in being able to evaluate what the letter means. CTA's spokeswoman told me that the Times has a copy of the letter and the names of all the priests who signed it. She also said that CTA provided the paper with contact information for the priest who headed up the letter project, which she said was conducted by phone and not by mail or through its web site.

And that may be all the information one needs to know. The Sunday piece quoted one of the signers, a retired Chicago priest the Times says is "unfazed by possible reprisals," Fr. Bill Kenneally. He told the Times that "since I'm retired, it's not like they can take a church away from me" for speaking out -- not exactly a rare voice of moral courage, but presumably an honest one.

If Fr. Kenneally is indeed representative of the men who signed the letter, it would not be surprising. Most of Call to Action's clergy and religious members are close to retirement or retired. If all they did to get people to sign the letter was call up their priest members, or priest friends of members, then it would be no surprise if the result was 150 or so retired priests. Anyone with a list of CTA members could probably predict most of the names.

But it is not a news story that members of a dissident group signed a letter supporting a dissident priest, especially if they are men who have been dissident priests since the 1970s. Moreover, if the real letter is the same as the letter CTA has on its web site, they don't even have to be all that dissident to sign it. I'm sure a lot of priests "support Fr. Roy in his priesthood and his right to speak from his conscience," no matter what wacky things he does. He is a hero of the anti-war movement and a Nobel Peace Prize nominee. Many people who believe in his work with School of the Americas Watch -- which gets plenty wacky at times -- are willing to cut him a world of slack.

The problem is, Fr. Roy went way past "speaking from his conscience" to doing something wrong. Maybe all those giant puppets and theatrics at School of the Americas Watch made it seem like no big deal, but what he did was participate in the "ordination" of his friend and protege, Janice Sevré-Duszynska. Canon law says that anyone who does so automatically excommunicates himself or herself. Given the chance to recant (Rome is actually amazingly lenient on this kind of thing) Fr. Bourgeois metaphorically thumbed his nose at the Church and is currently awaiting laicization while on what the NYT calls "a 34-city speaking tour" explaining his personal gospel of social justice.

It's sad. It's sad when someone who started out trying to dedicate his life to peace ends up dedicating it to his own pet theories. It's sad when people intoxicated with what they think is life and freedom and newness end up forty years later as rabble rousers incapable of rousing any rabble but themselves. It's sad when an organization that says it wants to renew the Church sends out press releases attacking it. And it's sad when a newspaper that once prided itself on providing "all the news that's fit to print" finds it fit to print any old club to hit the Catholic Church with, even if that club is a story so flimsy a volunteer writer for a radio station can tear it apart from her home office with half an hour of research and a few phone calls.

Read Gail's July 29th piece, "Pink Smoke Gets In Your Eyes".

Video of Fr. Joseph Fessio, S.J., and Paul George discussing "YouCat"...

... on EWTN's "Life on the Rock" with Fr. Mark and Doug this past Thursday:

 

For more about the Youth Catechism, visit www.YouCat.us.

The Transfiguration: Gospel to the Dead

by Frank Sheed | From To Know Christ Jesus

At Caesarea Philippi Jesus told the apostles that he would suffer and die and on the third day rise again. A week later, transfigured upon a mountain, he told Moses and Elijah.

Present when he told them were Peter and James and John, whom he had chosen to have with him when he raised Jairus' dead daughter to life, and whom he would choose to have nearest to him in Gethsemane. We tend to think of them as principals at the Transfiguration, almost as though the whole incident had been staged for their sake. Strengthened and comforted by it they certainly were; but they were not principals. Jesus conversed with Moses and Elijah: the three apostles were asleep part of the time and contributed nothing. Only one of them said anything at all: Peter said that it was a good thing they were there—they could make three shelters, one for Jesus, one for Moses, one for Elijah; but he himself tells us, through Mark (9:5), that he was too frightened to know what he was saying.

Let us glance quickly at what happened as told in the opening verses of Mark's ninth chapter and Matthew's seventeenth. Read especially Luke (9:28-36). He gives the most detailed account, and we wonder who was his informant. Of the three who were there, Peter tells us what happened through Mark (and find it again in 2 Peter 1:17-18—be sure to read it); James was long dead; could it have been John? Apart from "we saw his glory, he glory as of the only begotten of the Father", he says nothing of the Transfiguration in his own Gospel. It may be that Luke had a ready told all that John had to tell.

As at Caesarea Philippi, Jesus had climbed some way up a mountain to pray. As he prayed he was "transfigured"—the Greek word is "metamorphosed"—his face shining like the sun, his garments dazzling white, like snow. It is not clear at what point the three apostles went to sleep, but when they were fully awake they saw their Lord "in his glory", and Moses and Elijah standing with him, they too in glory. The three were speaking of the death that he would die in Jerusalem.

Moses was Israel's law giver, dead these fifteen hundred years. Elijah, greatest of prophets, had been whirled up into the sky eight hundred years before; and the prophet Malachi had said (4:5) that God would send him "before the coming of the great and awe-filled day of the Lord". Where had they come from?

Of Elijah the destiny is wholly mysterious. About Moses there is no such mystery. He was simply one of the greatest of those who had died at peace with God. Heaven was closed to these until Calvary should expiate the sin of the race. The soul of Moses, and the souls of all of them, were in a place of waiting—limbo, the border region, we most often call it. Abraham's bosom, Jesus called it in the parable of Dives and Lazarus; paradise, he called it to the thief who appealed to him on the Cross.

Supremely Moses represented the Law, and Elijah the prophets. What happened on the mountain established the continuity between Israel of old and the Kingdom, now at last to be founded, in which Israel was to find its fulfillment. It seems strange that the representatives of the Kingdom were, as they would be likewise in Gethsemane, asleep part of the time, and frightened when they were fully awake. It was no very stimulating account Moses would take back to limbo of the men on whom the Kingdom was to be built.

But for these—long dead or newly dead—who had been waiting in all patience till the Redeemer should open heaven to them, Peter, James, and John must have mattered little compared with the news Moses brought back that their redemption was at hand and how it was to be accomplished. What Jesus had told at Caesarea Philippi to men living upon earth, he now told through Moses to the expectant dead. Through Moses the Law had been given to the children of Israel. Through Moses the Gospel, the good news, reached limbo.

As Peter finished his proposal to build three shelters, a luminous cloud overshadowed them, wrapping them round so that once again they were afraid. A Voice came out of the cloud saying: "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased: hear ye him." The last three words, establishing our Lord's authority as teacher, were new. All the rest had been said by the same Voice at Jesus' baptism in Jordan.

Peter, James, and John had been afraid—afraid when they saw Jesus and Moses and Elijah all white and luminous, afraid when the cloud wrapped them round, afraid when the Voice sounded from the cloud. With a touch of his hand and the words "Arise and fear not", he recalled them to the world they were used to.

As they raised their frightened faces, they saw "no one but only Jesus"! He told them to say nothing of what they had seen on the mountain till the Son of Man (still his own phrase for himself, used of him by none of them) should be risen from the dead. Among themselves, they wondered just what that "risen from the dead" might mean. They had seen the daughter of Jairus and the young man of Nain dead and alive again. But they could not imagine how all this could apply to him who had raised those two.

And there was another problem, which they did discuss with Jesus himself as he and they came down the slope next day. They had just seen Elijah, and with this talk of Jesus dying, they would remember that Elijah had not died like other men; and they would remember that Malachi had said that Elijah would return and restore a sinful people to virtue before the day of the Lord. It was all very puzzling, and they put the puzzle to their Master. His answer, to the effect that Elijah had already returned in the person of John the Baptist, might have been clearer to them, had they known what the angel had said to Zechariah in the annunciation of John's birth (Lk 1:17)—"He shall go before the Lord in the spirit and power of Elijah ... to prepare unto the Lord a perfect people." At least they would have remembered that Elijah had lived in the desert, preached repentance, and rebuked rulers.

Related Ignatius Insight Book Excerpts:

• St. John the Baptist, Forerunner | Frank Sheed
• The Incarnation | Frank Sheed
• The Problem of Life's Purpose | Frank Sheed

Frank Sheed (1897-1981) was an Australian of Irish descent. A law student, he graduated from Sydney University in Arts and Law, then moved in 1926, with his wife Maisie Ward, to London. There they founded the well-known Catholic publishing house of Sheed & Ward in 1926, which published some of the finest Catholic literature of the first half of the twentieth century.

Known for his sharp mind and clarity of expression, Sheed became one of the most famous Catholic apologists of the century. He was an outstanding street-corner speaker who popularized the Catholic Evidence Guild in both England and America (where he later resided). In 1957 he received a doctorate of Sacred Theology honoris causa authorized by the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities in Rome.

Although he was a cradle Catholic, Sheed was a central figure in what he called the "Catholic Intellectual Revival," an influential and loosely knit group of converts to the Catholic Faith, including authors such as G.K. Chesterton, Evelyn Waugh, Arnold Lunn, and Ronald Knox.

Sheed wrote several books, the best known being Theology and Sanity, A Map of Life, Theology for Beginners and To Know Christ Jesus. He and Maise also compiled the Catholic Evidence Training Outlines, which included his notes for training outdoor speakers and apologists and is still a valuable tool for Catholic apologists and catechists (and is available through the Catholic Evidence Guild).

For more about Sheed, visit his IgnatiusInsight.com Author Page.

More praise...

... for Mary Eberstadt's book, The Loser Letters: A Comic Tale of Life, Death, and Atheism:

A century ago, you would have seen a stare of puzzlement if you had mentioned that an apologetic book "was fascinating and absorbing." At that time most apologists would take their pipe and point you to an abstruse dusty tome full of perplexing notions and profound truths written for the academician. Not so in the alluring and sinewy "The Loser Letters," by Mary Eberstadt. This charming volume is astonishing in its subtleness and philosophic intricacy as Ms. Eberstadt defies the philosophical naiveté, rational gullibility, and epistemic dishonesty of those who assail theism. Wily, satirical in its veiled apologetic that establishes those who are dubbed the "dulls" are not just brighter than the Brights, but are actually the ones who have the rational gravitas. ...

The Loser Letters is a lucid, unceasingly interesting, witty, cogent, and unique volume that will make a memorable gift to an atheist or a believer – great for the long plane ride or a sunny day at the park.

Read the entire review, written by apologist Mike Robinson on his blog, "The Lord God Exists". You can read the opening chapter of Eberstadt's book on Ignatius Insight.

(I would point out, as an aside, that one of the most fascinating and absorbing works of apologetics ever written was, in fact, published about a century ago, in 1908: G. K. Chesterton's wonderful book, Orthodoxy.)

What Difference Does Heaven Make?

What Difference Does Heaven Make? | Peter Kreeft | From  Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Heaven

If a thing makes no difference, it is a waste of time to think about it. We should begin, then, with the question, What difference does Heaven make to earth, to now, to our lives?

Only the difference between hope and despair in the end, between two totally different visions of life; between "chance or the dance". At death we find out which vision is true: does it all go down the drain in the end, or are all the loose threads finally tied together into a gloriously perfect tapestry? Do the tangled paths through the forest of life lead to the golden castle or over the cliff and into the abyss? Is death a door or a hole?

To medieval Christendom, it was the world beyond the world that made all the difference in the world to this world. The Heaven beyond the sun made the earth "under the sun" something more than "vanity of vanities". Earth was Heaven's womb, Heaven's nursery, Heaven's dress rehearsal. Heaven was the meaning of the earth. Nietzsche had not yet popularized the serpent's tempting alternative: "You are the meaning of the earth." Kant had not yet disseminated "the poison of subjectivism" by his "Copernican revolution in philosophy", in which the human mind does not discover truth but makes it, like the divine mind. Descartes had not yet replaced the divine I AM with the human "I think, therefore I am" as the "Archimedean point", had not yet replaced theocentrism with anthropocentrism. Medieval man was still his Father's child, however prodigal, and his world was meaningful because it was "my Father's world" and he believed his Father's promise to take him home after death.

This confidence towards death gave him a confidence towards life, for life's road led somewhere. The Heavenly mansion at the end of the earthly pilgrimage made a tremendous difference to the road itself. Signs and images of Heavenly glory were strewn all over his earthly path. The "signs" were (1) nature and (2) Scripture, God's two books, (3) general providence, and (4) special miracles. (The word translated "miracle" in the New Testament [sëmeion] literally means "sign".) The images surrounded him like the hills surrounding the Holy City. They, too, pointed to Heaven. For instance, the images of saints in medieval statuary were seen not merely as material images of the human but as human images of the divine, windows onto God. They were not merely stone shaped into men and women but men and women shaped into gods and goddesses. Lesser images too were designed to reflect Heavenly glory: kings and queens, heraldry and courtesy and ceremony, authority and obedience—these were not just practical socio-economic inventions but steps in the Cosmic Dance, links in the Great Chain of Being, rungs on Jacob's ladder, earthly reflections of Heaven. Distinctively premodern words like glory, majesty, splendor, triumph, awe, honor—these were more than words; they were lived experiences. More, they were experienced realities.

The glory has departed. We moderns have lost much of medieval Christendom's faith in Heaven because we have lost its hope of Heaven, and we have lost its hope of Heaven because we have lost its love of Heaven. And we have lost its love of Heaven because we have lost its sense of Heavenly glory.

Medieval imagery (which is almost totally biblical imagery) of light, jewels, stars, candles, trumpets, and angels no longer fits our ranch-style, supermarket world. Pathetic modern substitutes of fluffy clouds, sexless cherubs, harps and metal halos (not halos of light) presided over by a stuffy divine Chairman of the Bored are a joke, not a glory. Even more modern, more up-to-date substitutes—Heaven as a comfortable feeling of peace and kindness, sweetness and light, and God as a vague grandfatherly benevolence, a senile philanthropist—are even more insipid.

Our pictures of Heaven simply do not move us; they are not moving pictures. It is this aesthetic failure rather than intellectual or moral failures in our pictures of Heaven and of God that threatens faith most potently today. Our pictures of Heaven are dull, platitudinous and syrupy; therefore, so is our faith, our hope, and our love of Heaven.

It is surely a Satanic triumph of the first order to have taken the fascination out of a doctrine that must be either a fascinating lie or a fascinating fact. Even if people think of Heaven as a fascinating lie, they are at least fascinated with it, and that can spur further thinking, which can lead to belief. But if it's dull, it doesn't matter whether it's a dull lie or a dull truth. Dullness, not doubt, is the strongest enemy of faith, just as indifference, not hate, is the strongest enemy of love.

It is Heaven and Hell that put bite into the Christian vision of life on earth, just as playing for high stakes puts bite into a game or a war or a courtship. Hell is part of the vision too: the height of the mountain is appreciated from the depth of the valley, and for winning to be high drama, losing must be possible. For salvation to be "good news", there must be "bad news" to be saved from. If all of life's roads lead to the same place, it makes no ultimate difference which road we choose. But if they lead to opposite places, to infinite bliss or infinite misery, unimaginable glory or unimaginable tragedy, if the spirit has roads as really and objectively different as the body's roads and the mind's roads, and if these roads lead to destinations as really and objectively different as two different cities or two different mathematical conclusions—why, then life is a life-or-death affair, a razor's edge, and our choice of roads is infinitely important.

We no longer live habitually in this medieval mental landscape. If we are typically modern, we live in ennui; we are bored, jaded, cynical, flat, and burnt out. When the skies roll back like a scroll and the angelic trump sounds, many will simply yawn and say, "Pretty good special effects, but the plot's too traditional." If we were not so bored and empty, we would not have to stimulate ourselves with increasing dosages of sex and violence—or just constant busyness. Here we are in the most fantastic fun and games factory ever invented—modern technological society—and we are bored, like a spoiled rich kid in a mansion surrounded by a thousand expensive toys. Medieval people by comparison were like peasants in toyless hovels—and they were fascinated. Occasions for awe and wonder seemed to abound: birth and death and love and light and darkness and wind and sea and fire and sunrise and star and tree and bird and human mind—and God and Heaven. But all these things have not changed, we have. The universe has not become empty and we, full; it has remained full and we have become empty, insensitive to its fullness, cold hearted.

Yet even in this cold heart a strange fire kindles at times—something from another dimension, another kind of excitement—when we dare to open the issue of Heaven, the issue of meeting God, with the mind and heart together. Like Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones, we experience the shock of the dead coming to life.

C.S. Lewis: "You have had a shock like that before, in connection with smaller matters—when the line pulls at your hand, when something breathes beside you in the darkness. So here; the shock comes at the precise moment when the thrill of life is communicated to us along the clue we have been following. It is always shocking to meet life where we thought we were alone. "Look out!" we cry, "It's alive!" And therefore this is the very point at which so many draw back—I would have done so myself if I could—and proceed no further with Christianity. An "impersonal God"—well and good. A subjective God of beauty, truth and goodness inside our own heads—better still. A formless life-force surging through us, a vast power that we can tap-best of all. But God Himself, alive, pulling at the other end of the cord, perhaps approaching at an infinite speed, the hunter, king, husband—that is quite another matter. There comes a moment when the children who have been playing at burglars hush suddenly: was that a real footstep in the hall? There comes a moment when people who have been dabbling in religion ("Man's search for God"!) suddenly draw back. Supposing we really found Him? We never meant it to come to that!"

When it does come to that, we feel a strange burning in the heart, like the disciples on the road to Emmaeus. Ancient, sleeping hopes and fears rise like giants from their graves. The horizons of our comfortable little four-dimensional universe crack, and over them arises an enormous bliss and its equally enormous absence. Heaven and Hell—suppose, just suppose it were really, really true! What difference would that make?

I think we know.

Peter Kreeft, Ph.D., is a professor of philosophy at Boston College. He is an alumnus of Calvin College (AB 1959) and Fordham University (MA 1961, Ph.D., 1965). He taught at Villanova University from 1962-1965, and has been at Boston College since 1965.

He is the author of numerous books (over forty and counting) including: C.S. Lewis for the Third Millennium, Fundamentals of the Faith, Catholic Christianity, Back to Virtue, and Three Approaches to Abortion. See below for full listing if his Ignatius Press titles.

Kreeft's most recent Ignatius Press books include Socrates Meets Sartre, You Can Understand the Bible, The God Who Loves You, and The Philosophy of Tolkien.

• All Ignatius Press books by Peter Kreeft
• Excerpts from books by Peter Kreeft