Carl E. Olson's Blog, page 77
October 2, 2014
Theosis and Eros, Celibacy and Marriage
Dr. Adam G. Cooper is a permanent fellow and senior lecturer in the theology of the body at the John Paul II Institute for Marriage and Family, Melbourne, and author of two new books. (Photo: St. Andrew's Greek Orthodox Theology College: http://www.sagotc.edu.au/)
Theosis and Eros, Celibacy and Marriage | Interview with Dr. Adam G. Cooper | Catholic World Report
"The cross to me is everything," explains Dr. Adam G. Cooper in remarking on his two recent books, "It's the defining centre of God and human history."
Dr. Adam G. Cooper is a permanent fellow and senior lecturer in the theology of the body at the John Paul II Institute for Marriage and Family, Melbourne. He has a doctorate in philosophy from the University of Durham (UK) and a licentiate and a doctorate in Sacred Theology from Pontifical Lateran University (Rome). He has authored several books, including The Body in St Maximus the Confessor (2005) and Life in the Flesh (2008). His two most recent books were both published this year: Naturally Human, Supernaturally God: Deification in Pre-Conciliar Catholicism (Fortress Press) and Holy Eros: A Liturgical Theology of the Body (Angelico Press). His article, "Cardinal Kasper and the Church Fathers", was published by Catholic World Report this past June.
Dr. Cooper recently corresponded with Carl E. Olson, editor of Catholic World Report, about his newest books and his research into salvation, liturgy, theosis, the meaning of the body, and the crucial relationship between celibacy and marriage.
CWR: At first glance, these two books might appear to be about two rather different topics: soteriology and liturgy. But would it be accurate to say that each, in its own way, focus on shared topics, including the nature of man, the purpose of existence, and the end (or End) to which each of us is oriented?
Dr. Cooper: Yes, that's a fair observation. Much of my writing has tended to revolve around theological anthropology in one shape or another. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it revolves around Christology, from which a good deal of my thinking about what it means to be human and bodily emerges.
CWR: Naturally Human, Supernaturally God is rather unique in that it takes a topic—deification—usually discussed from a biblical perspective or a patristic foundation, and examines it in the writings of three great twentieth-century Catholic theologians: Réginald Garrigou-Lagrange O.P., Karl Rahner S.J., and Henri de Lubac S.J. How did you first become interested in the topic of deification? And how did you end up writing about Garrigou-Lagrange, Rahner, and de Lubac and their theological work about deification?
Continue reading at www.CatholicWorldReport.com.
Ignatius Press provides synod resources and e-books in preparation for the Extraordinary Synod on Family
Media Advisory:
WHAT – www.SynodResources.com, a website created by Ignatius Press that features a wealth of resources on the upcoming Extraordinary Synod on the Family, including the audio file and written transcript for the recent Synod-related books tele-press conference that featured Cardinal Raymond L. Burke and other Synod experts; topics of discussion; and key documents and information on the four books Ignatius Press is publishing appropriately timed with the Synod:
• REMAINING IN THE TRUTH OF CHRIST: Marriage and Communion in the Catholic Church;
• THE HOPE OF THE FAMILY: A Dialogue With Cardinal Gerhard Muller;
• ON HUMAN LIFE: Humanae Vitae.
All but ON HUMAN LIFE: Humanae Vitae are available now as e-books.
WHO – Ignatius Press, one of the largest religious publishers in the country, the primary English-language publisher of Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI’s writings and the publisher of Catholic World Report.
WHEN – The e-books and resources page are available now, just in time for the Synod, which begins October 5 in Rome.
WHERE – www.SynodResources.com.
For more information, please contact Kevin Wandra (404-788-1276 or KWandra@CarmelCommunications.com) of Carmel Communications.
Giving Pope Paul VI his due
Giving Pope Paul VI his due | Russell Shaw | CWR blog
On the approaching beatification of long-suffering servant pope who stood at the helm during a hectic and deeply disturbing decade and a half
When Pope Francis on October 19 formally declares Pope Paul VI “Blessed,” the event will recall one of the most painful periods in the history of the Church together with the long-suffering servant pope who stood at the helm when the storm was at its worst.
Pope Paul came to the papacy in 1963 in many ways superbly qualified for his daunting new role. When death took him 15 years later, he left Peter’s chair bearing an almost visible burden of disappointment and grief, having absorbed the shock of a hectic and deeply disturbing decade and a half.
His credentials for the papacy were peerless. As a close collaborator of Pope Pius XII from 1937 to 1954 Monsignor Montini had acquired rare insight into the structures and personalities of the Church. As Archbishop of Milan from 1954 until his election as pope, he’d gained hands-on experience in governing one of the world’s premier sees.
After initial skepticism about Vatican II, he emerged as one of the council’s leaders in the crucial first session, playing a central role in shaping its agenda. When Pope John XXIII died between sessions, the conclave of June 1963 chose him as pope on the firth ballot. Now he appeared poised for a pontificate of historic significance.
And so it was. But not in the way anyone expected.
His tenure had its high points—the historic meeting in Jerusalem in January 1964 with Orthodoxy’s Ecumenical Patriarch Athenagoras I, the triumphant close in December 1965 of Vatican II, the council he’d guided through three tumultuous sessions to a conclusion that seemed to promise bright hopes for the future, his trip soon after that to the United Nations in New York where he electrified the world with a moving address in which he cried out, “No more war!”
But something else, little noted at that moment, was soon to emerge that would change everything—for the Pope and the entire Church.
October 1, 2014
Emma Watson's Empty Performance at the U.N.
Actress Emma Watson addresses the U.N. on September 20, 2014. (Photo: YouTube capture)
Emma Watson's Empty Performance at the U.N. | Tessa Bowman | CWR blog
A sweet, unassuming delivery from the young actress cannot hide the unoriginal and problematic themes within her September 20th address
After social media exploded with re-posts of actress Emma Watson's speech on feminism at the United Nations on September 20th, some dissenters have since questioned the speech’s relevance, its observations about men, and its general coherence. Cathy Young, a contributor to Time and Reason magazines retorted in Time's most recent issue with an article entitled, “Sorry Emma Watson, but HeforShe is Rotten for Men”. Young takes issue withthe campaign which the U.N. asked Watson to launch.
HeforShe (www.heforshe.org) describes itself as a solidarity movement for gender equality, separating itself from other women’s movements by claiming its inclusion of men is unique. But Young questions whether this inclusion is meaningful, suggesting that it is not only patronizing, but that HeforShe is actually damaging to solidarity. She argues that the commission and campaign do not give enough attention to injustices committed against men and blatantly ignore the damage the feminist movement has historically done to men.
Watson's speech was out of place, as she apparenty recognized: “You might be thinking, 'Who is this Harry Potter girl, and what is she doing speaking at the UN?' And, it’s a really good question. I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” A sweet, unassuming delivery from a brave, polished young actress is not enough to hide the unoriginal and problematic themes for both women and men within the address. Since it was delivered as if these themes had never been discussed before, and since it is given so much credence by U.N. Officials, Youtube watchers, and pundits, it is worthwhile to examine it against long-standing discussions on the matter.
“A real conversation must let men talk not only about feminist-approved topics," Young demands. Bringing this theme to the table as if it were revolutionary, without referencing any historic male efforts, suggests that it has not yet been done, or that it has been done ineffectively until Emma Watson and the U.N. did so. Extending “a formal invitation,” to men to join the discussion is not only trite and a bit patronizing, it is also unnecessary.
Men don’t need an invitation. Let’s extend that much to both their intelligence and their history.
One man, for example, already presented the idea to the U.N. nearly a decade ago:
The Killer and the Saint: Pranzini and Thérèse
(Left) Henri Pranzini; (right) Thérèse Martin, age 13
The Killer and the Saint: Pranzini and Thérèse | K. V. Turley | Catholic World Report
The sensational story of the murderous Pranzini would inspire the young saint to adopt her “first sinner.”
In 1887, the following report appeared in the The Times:
Paris: March 17th
A triple murder was discovered this morning in the Rue Montaigne. A courtesan named Monty, or Regnault, lay dead at the foot of her bed, with two gashes on her throat, while her servant-maid and her daughter, a girl of 12, had been murdered in their bed. The supposed murderer is a man who mounted the stair just as the concierge was putting out the gas. He had vainly attempted to force a safe containing jewels worth 200,000f., and is presumed to have taken the money from the victim’s pocket. She was about 30 years of age. There are no traces of any struggle, but the occupants of the flat below heard a slight noise at 10 o’clock this morning. The concierge appears to have been accustomed to pull the checkstring about sunrise to let out the woman’s visitors.
A mysterious figure mounting the stairs as the gaslight was dimmed, a multiple murder, with one of the victims a courtesan, a theft, and, later, with nothing unusual in the room but a “cuff and belt” with the name “Geissler” inscribed upon them. These facts proved sensational enough to excite the press of the day as the hunt got underway for a thief and a killer, with the only clue being the name inked upon letters found at the scene…
Four days after the murder, a report came out of nowhere that seemed to give the police the breakthrough they needed. An “Italian” had been picked up by police many miles away at Marseilles. The man’s name was Henri Pranzini, and he appeared linked to the murders. The reasons for his arrest were quite simple. Having arrived on a night train at the port city, he proceeded to stay with a prostitute. It was she to whom he gave a locket, and, later, to another woman a watch was sold—both items aroused suspicions given the publicity then circulating about the Paris theft and murders, and police were duly alerted. Pranzini, having been apprehended at a theater in the city, admitted knowing Marie Regnault, but claimed that he had fled the capital for fear of being implicated in the events that had taken place—he denied any wrongdoing. His lodgings were searched by police, however, and therein were found bloodstained clothing. Unexpectedly, a case against this mysterious foreigner had started to form.
By March 23, Paris detectives had returned to Rue Montaigne, and in so doing had noticed that the apartment below that of the murder victims belonged to a watchmaker. Armed with the watch linked to Pranzini at Marseilles, they presented it to the neighbor, who not only recognized it but was able to show evidence of his work upon it; he had repaired it a few days prior to the murder, and, in so doing, had written a serial number on the watchcase before entering this in his work log. The watch found at Marseilles had the exact same numbers. The case against Pranzini began to build.
On March 25, at Marseilles, further circumstantial evidence appeared when missing jewels belonging to the dead woman were discovered at a park Pranzini had visited.
Saint Thérèse of Lisieux: Mystic, Comic, Everything
Mystic, Comic, Everything | Fr. Bernard Bro | Chapter One of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux: Her Family, Her God, Her Message | Ignatius Insight
Tall and strong, with the appearance of a child, a tone of voice, an expression, hiding within her a wisdom, a perfection, a perspicacity of a fifty-year-old. . . . Little innocent thing, to whom one would give God without confession, but whose head is full of mischief to play on anyone she pleases. Mystic, comic, everything ... she can make you weep with devotion and just as easily split your sides with laughter during our recreations. (GC 2:778)
This is the most vivid portrait that has been preserved of her: it was that of her subprioress, when Thérèse was twenty years old. Is that enough to make her "the greatest saint of modern times"?
We have the opportunity to avail ourselves of much testimony about her. In addition to the account of her life that she herself wrote, at twenty-two years of age and completed three months before her death, her sisters, her companions, left a series of interviews, sometimes noted day by day, that retain the sense of immediacy of television news. Through the (apparent) banality of these cartoon strips of piety, we always find the same reality: with Thérèse of Lisieux, we are with someone who, in the face of the two abysses that every man encounters, himself and God, has gone the limit, but while remaining our companion. Thérèse is indeed the human being faced with the abyss of freedom and the possibilities of choice-and faced with another abyss: that of an interlocutor called God (cf. pp. 30-31).
We are still at the dawn of the third great crisis of our civilization: it is no longer merely man confronted with his weakness (with the Greeks); no longer merely man confronted with his guilt (with Luther, at that tragic time for Europe, after the black plagues at the end of the Middle Ages); man today finds himself confronted with his solitude and with the desperate quest for a meaning to his life, confronted with the need to search for what would be an "authentic existence", "true life", which he fears never being able to enjoy. Among the innumerable witnesses that could be called to the stand in this interrogation, such as Rimbaud, Van Gogh, Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, or Kundera, I have intentionally kept two cries, because they seem to express the question that was Thérèse's own: "Here is my oId anguish, right there in the hollow of my body, like a bad wound that every movement irritates; I know its name, it is the fear of eternal solitude. And I have the fear that there may not be any answer" (Camus).
I implored, I begged for a sign, I sent messages to the heavens: no response. The heavens do not even know my name. I wondered at every moment what I might be in the eyes of God. Now I knew the answer: Nothing. God does not see me, God does not know me, God does not hear me. You see this void over our heads? That is God. You see this hole in the earth? That is God. You see this opening in the door? That is God again. The silence is God. Absence is God. God is the solitude of men. [1]
Thérèse was familiar with this anguish:
When I want to rest my heart fatigued by the darkness which surrounds it by the memory of the luminous country after which I aspire, my torment redoubles; it seems to me that the darkness, borrowing the voice of sinners, says mockingly to me: "You are dreaming about the light, about a fatherland embalmed in the sweetest perfumes; you are dreaming about the eternal possession of the Creator of all these marvels; you believe that one day you will walk out of this fog which surrounds you! Advance, advance; rejoice in death which will give you not what you hope for but a night still more profound, the night of nothingness." (SS 213)
For years, Thérèse sought her place in society. She had, of course, entered Carmel, but she sought to explain to herself what the essence of it was for her. And one day, completely radiant, she wrote:
Martyrdom was the dream of my youth and this dream has grown with me within Carmel's cloisters. But here again, I feel that my dream is a folly, for I cannot confine myself to desiring one kind of martyrdom. . . . I opened the Epistles of St. Paul to find some kind of answer. Chapters 12 and 13 of the First Epistle to the Corinthians fell under my eyes. I read there, in the first of these chapters, that all cannot be apostles, prophets, doctors, etc. . . . The answer did not fulfill my desires. . . . I continued my reading, and the Apostle explains how all the most PERFECT gifts are nothing without LOVE... .
I finally had rest. . . . I understood that LOVE COMPRISED ALL VOCATIONS, THAT LOVE WAS EVERYTHING, THAT IT EMBRACED ALL TIMES AND ALL PLACES....
Then, in the excess of my delirious joy, I cried out: . . . MY VOCATION IS LOVE!" (SS 193-94)
She had chosen the feast of Pentecost 1887 to confide to her father her desire to enter Carmel:
Everything around us corresponded with our tastes; we were given the greatest liberty; I would say our life on earth was the ideal of happiness. . . . It was necessary to turn away from it freely. . . . I chose the feast of Pentecost . . . . all day long begging the apostles to pray for me, to inspire me with the right words. Shouldn't they help the timid child who was chosen by God to be the apostle of the apostles through her prayers and sacrifices? ... (SS 106-7)
Her father was convinced. But the others remained ... And the trip to Rome would still not win the victory. Here is how she described her interview with the pope:
God is making me pass through real trials before having me enter Carmel. I am going to tell you how my visit with the pope went. . . . I did not want to return to my place without having spoken to the pope. I said what you were telling me in your letter The good pope is so old that one would say he is dead He can hardly say anything. . . . I would have liked to be able to explain my business, but there was no way. The Holy Father said simply: "If God wills it, you will enter." (LT 36, GC 1:353)
She would have to wait. Finally, everyone would be won over by the one who admitted: "I haven't any fear of anyone; I have always gone where I pleased. I always slipped by them" (LC July 10, no. 8, p. 85).
A "trick of the Holy Spirit". That is the primary statement of fact. Thérèse of Lisieux, beneath the appearance of a very nice little girl, is a soldier, a warrior. She is the equal of the greatest among the giants God has recommended to us, but under the most banal exterior.
In April 1932 , during a private audience with Bishop Picaud of Bayeux and Lisieux, Pius XI thought that the image of Thérèse was in the process of being watered down, and at that time he used the expression "a great man" to describe her. [2] The bishop reported this to the Carmel. Which was a bit of.a shock to her sisters, for whom Thérèse still remained a "little angel". But it was quite in these terms that Thérèse had spoken of herself "armed for war", taking up the call of Teresa of Avila to her daughters to "equal strong men" (cf. LT 201, GC 2:1016-17).
She brought about a revolution. We are only at the beginning of it.
She passed through the door of Carmel at fifteen and a half years of age. Now, Carmel is far from being "heaven". And she admitted:
Nothing near Jesus. Aridity! . . . Sleep! . . . But at least there is silence! . .. I would be unhappy possessing [all created beauties], my heart would be so empty! . . . It is incredible how big my heart appears to me when I consider all earth's treasures. But when I consider Jesus, how little it appears to me! . . . I would so much like to love Him! . . . Love Him more than He has ever been loved! (LT 74, GC 1:499-500)
In Carmel, there was solitude, a life of penitence, one meal per day, seven months out of twelve; little, too little, sleep; cold (a ingle room was heated); the experience of life with those one did not choose; the daily pinpricks. She noted with a smile: "The refectory, which I was given charge of immediately after I received the Habit, furnished me, on more than one occasion, with the chance of putting my self-love in its proper place, i.e., under my feet" (SS 160) .
A Warrior
She did not allow herself to weaken: "My nature was such that fear made me recoil; with love, not only did I advance, I actually flew" (SS 174).
I have experienced it; when I am feeling nothing, when I am INCAPABLE of praying, of practicing virtue, then is the moment for seeking opportunities, nothings, which please Jesus more than mastery of the world or even martyrdom suffered with generosity. For example, a smile, a friendly word, when I would want to say nothing, or put on a look of annoyance. (LT 143, GC 2:801)
To understand her secret as a warrior, we might go back to Nehru's admission to Malraux: "I have three enemies: the Chinese, famine, and myself. But, of the three, the most difficult is myself." Very quickly she learned that nothing can be done on the path of what for her was the true life without fighting against herself, against illusion. She, who, up to the end, had the childish fears of a little girl, would never fear the truth, never fear to "do the truth", as Saint John says: whether about herself, her faults, her own limits, about her family, her community, her sisters, or one day about death itself. She did not fear that the truth would diminish her. Quite the contrary. It was never a malicious truth. For she found here the true way to be victorious: by disarming, by never resisting. Instead of sidestepping an issue, cheating, trying to justify herself, telling herself stories, she disarmed, and she disarmed from the very moment when the truth was at issue. Then she found something greater: a confidence that opened up freedom to her.
Her sister Céline, older than she, who entered Carmel six years after she did, reported that one day, in watching Thérèse live, she experienced a moment of discouragement and said to her: "Oh, when I think of all I have to acquire." And Thérèse answered her at once: "Rather, how much you have to lose" (CSG 23).
As the novices used to ask her how they should conduct themselves when it came to spiritual direction, Thérèse replied: "With great simplicity, but without relying too much on help that might fail the minute you put it into practice. You would quickly be forced to say, like the spouse in the Song of Songs: 'The watchmen ... took away my mantle, they wounded me; it was only by passing a little beyond them that I found Him whom I love' [cf. Song 5:7; 3:4]. If you ask the watchmen humbly and with detachment where your Beloved is, they will tell you. Nevertheless, most often you will find Jesus only after you have passed beyond all creatures."
What in former times was reserved to privileged souls—Bernard of Citeaux, Ignatius of Loyola, or John of the Cross—we find Thérèse of Lisieux proposing for everyone: to triumph over the agony of her fate, to triumph over fear and solitude in the face of the uncertainties of the future and of death. Thérèse gives away the secrets of this "democratization" of the "night of the spirit". For her, there is in each one of us an infinite, explosive power that can conquer all fear. Thérèse is in agreement with the prophets and the great revolutionaries of her time who were seeking this power: this power exists, it is in each one of us. It is possible to conquer fear, all fear: that of the future, that of limits, that of others, that of death, of oneself. There is one condition for enjoying this infinite Power: accepting the truth about one's incapacity.
It was fitting that, before the last council gave more explicit recognition to the place of the laity and theorized about it, the Church had first been anticipated, even shoved forward, by this little girl. A priest from Vietnam wrote:
The centennial year of Saint Thérèse's birth occurs even here among the most distant. Here, Dalat, tribus Kohos, primitive tribes of the high plains. The mountain people of this region are haunted by fear, fear of spirits. Their worship is centered on the blood of beasts to appease the anger of the spirits. Say to God: "Our Father"? Consecrate oneself to his love? What a revolution! May this year bring to our companions the tenderness of heaven. Here, the spirit of the sun is called Siet Ngkao ("Cut-off-the-head"); the spirit of the rainbow: Jop Mham ("Suck-the-blood", like vampires); the spirit of thunder: Cong Co ("Cut-with-the-axe"); the spirit of water: Kuansan ("Claw-and-eat") . . . And so on for the others: always against man. At last, Thérèse will speak to them of a God who is for man.
"Cut-off-the-head", "Suck-the-blood", "Claw-and-eat". Who is without his evil spirits, and who has no need of being delivered from fear?
ENDNOTES:
[1] Jean Paul Sartre, Le Diable et Ie bon Dieu, tableau 10, scene 4.
[2] Cf. La Semaine religieuse de Bayeux , May 1 , 1932; reprinted in La Croix of May 18, 1932.
Related Ignatius Insight Excerpts and Essays:
• St. Thérèse of Lisieux: Patron Saint of Common Sense | Stephen Sparrow
• The Beginnings | Vernon Johnson | Chapter One of One Lord, One Faith.
• Online Resources for the movie Thérèse
Fr. Bernard Bro, Dominican and doctor of philosophy, has been a professor at the Pontifical Faculties of Saulchoir, preacher at Notre-Dame in Paris, and recognized by the Academie Francaise for the whole of his work. He is considered one of the world's foremost authorities on the life and writings of St. Thérèse.
St. Thérèse of Lisieux: Patron Saint of Common Sense
St. Thérèse of Lisieux: Patron Saint of Common Sense | Stephen Sparrow | Ignatius Insight
In August 2005, as part of a solo six-week tour of Southern Europe I travelled from New Zealand to Paris intending to spend five days based in the city. My hotel was on the edge of the Latin Quarter and quaint but from my window I could see Notre Dame Cathedral barely three hundred yards away across the Seine River. Oh and yes the quaintness of the hotel would have sent shivers down the spine of any self respecting fire safety officer but it was adequate for my needs. Anyway, two of my five days in Paris I allocated for day trips outside of the city. Chartres was my first choice and the second came down to either Versailles (and Napoleon’s tomb) or Lisieux. No disrespect intended to Napoleon, but in his day he did leave a lot of hard feelings, so Lisieux easily won out.
Lisieux is an attractive town about two hours by rail west of Paris and I arrived there on the same train as two Presentation Order nuns from India. Sister Lucilde was a registered nurse in a Paris Hospital and Sister Grace a teacher in Southern India and with shy smiles they wasted no time in inviting me to share their food and drink before the three of us set out to explore the town on foot. The Sister’s natural courtesy and lively sense of fun added greatly to a day that commenced with a visit to the Convent where St Thérèse had lived as a cloistered nun. A group of German pilgrims with their priest were about to have a mass in the chapel so we joined them and afterward inspected the Convent’s small museum, where among many items may be seen the Saint’s waist length blond wavy hair cut off the day she took her first vows.
Next we headed for the large modern Basilica dedicated to Thérèse — an impressive building in white stone with a spectacular hilltop setting. Large modernistic style murals on walls and arches dominate the interior décor. After eating lunch in the sun, we made our way to Les Buissonnets: the former home of the Martin family and now a museum. It’s an uncanny sensation to see displayed there the saint’s toys and dolls, or to use the same stairs she would have run up and down many times daily, and then to go outside and stroll through the garden with its tall cypress trees; all easily old enough to be the same trees Thérèse would have played under as a child.
Late afternoon I farewelled my new friends and started walking to the station to catch a train back to Paris. Being a hot day I entered a pub for a cold beer. The publican told me he had lived in Lisieux for only a couple of years having bought the business with redundancy money. He was curious about what a Kiwi was doing in town and asked if there was a religious significance to my visit and learning there was, proceeded to shake his head and say he couldn’t understand why people came from all over the world to visit a shrine honouring an obscure nun who did nothing except write down some deep thoughts. ‘She did nothing, nothing at all,’ he kept repeating. I refrained from pointing out that if his thinking caught on, the economic outlook for both the town and his pub would be gloomy to say the least and asked instead if he had ever read anything Thérèse had written. Not surprisingly he hadn’t, so I told him he might discover something important if he took the trouble to read her autobiography and urged him to make a start. The discussion was cut short by the imminent arrival of the train but it highlighted how much ill informed opinion exists about St Thérèse, even in the town in which she grew up and lived.
However, for those who have taken the ‘trouble’ to read Story of a Soul – and they number many millions – most seem to end up with at least one of three viewpoints. Many are amazed by the humility and simplicity of the saint, others by her radical heart centred theology, and still others by her courage in facing the doubt that God even existed. And of course taken together, all three viewpoints form a sort of Trinitarian blueprint for the spiritual life.
Given the circumstances surrounding the saint’s birth, we should consider ourselves fortunate that she didn’t die during the first weeks of her life. Thérèse was born on January 2nd 1873 in Alencon. She was the ninth and last child of Zèlie and Louis Martin. Four of the couple’s other children had already died and only one of those made it to age five. High rates of infant mortality were characteristic of the time, even in well to do families and although the Martins were comfortably off, Zèlie, like all mothers of large families worked hard; not only in the home but also managing her successful lace making business.
At the time Thérèse was born, Zèlie Martin was most likely in the early stages of the breast cancer that four years later would end her life, and that last pregnancy must have accelerated the course of the disease. Considering her health and age (42) it was hardly surprising that Zèlie found it difficult to breast-feed her newborn baby. Thérèse was just not thriving, quite the opposite in fact and after three months, Zèlie heeded her doctor’s advice and bundling up the now ailing infant she headed off in cold weather on the nine kilometre walk to Semaillé and the peasant home of Rose Taillè. Rose took over the task of breastfeeding and during the next twelve months reared Thérèse into a bonny, sun tanned, precocious toddler.
While Thérèse was fostered out, she wasn’t totally cut off from her family since every Thursday was market day and Rose usually travelled to Alencon to sell produce and while there would leave Thérèse at the Martin house until after the market closed. While living in the Taillè household, Thérèse was frequently cared for out in the fields while her foster family worked close by, and no doubt as she grew older she came to enjoy those wheelbarrow rides to and from the farmhouse. It seems likely that this period in Semaillé with its open fields and farmyard environment sowed in Thérèse the seeds of an interest in nature; confirmed later by her love of flowers and birds, and in her autobiography she recalled sharing with her older sister Celine a room that contained among other things, a large wire cage housing a mixed collection of finches and canaries.
Coming back into the family permanently at fifteen months, Thérèse found herself the centre of attention. However let’s be under no illusions, although love and kindness reigned in the Martin household, Thérèse described herself as bossy and temperamental and frequently given to tears when things didn’t go her way.
Shortly after the death of Zèlie in 1877, M. Louis Martin sold the home in Alencon and leased another in Lisieux so that his daughters could have close contact with the family of Zelie’s brother Isidore Guérin. The two families quickly became close, the all girl cousins being much the same age. Thérèse was now being taken care of by her two oldest sisters, Marie and Pauline. Not surprisingly she developed a strong attachment to her father and when he was home would follow him constantly, especially in the well-treed garden and he in turn would indulge her frequent whims such as transplanting some small flowering plant into a new position favoured by her. When a little older, Thérèse often accompanied M. Martin on fishing trips to local streams and while he waited patiently for the float to bob under indicating a fish strike, she would ramble nearby gathering wild flowers.
Spiritual formation of the five Martin girls had always been a priority for the parents and within a year of the move to Lisieux, Thérèse had entered the same routine as the rest of the family by attending Mass with them each morning in the town’s cathedral. In her autobiography (written in the Carmel under obedience) Thérèse told of how at an early age her thoughts often turned to God and how she could best serve him, however she did admit that about this time she was also plagued by religious scruples.
School was not a particularly enjoyable experience and Thérèse disliked math as a subject but did excel at science, religious study and French. At this time she owned a favourite blue hat and was so fond of it she sometimes wondered if it were possible to love God as much as she loved that hat. We’ve already heard about the birds that lived in her room but she also had a spaniel named Tom and both she and Celine had bantams given them by Rose Taillè. Thérèse was not afraid to recall incidents of her bad behaviour and related one occasion when as a small child she asked the family maid to reach up to get something from a high shelf and when the request was denied she stood firm and declared, "Victoire, you are a brat" and then turned and fled while the excitable maid ran through the house complaining shrilly that Mademoiselle Thérèse had just called her a brat.
Thérèse wrote how her temperamental and touchy nature dragged on until she was nearly fourteen when it ended with an event she ascribed to a special grace from God. Each Christmas Eve it had been a Martin family custom for the children’s shoes to be filled with small gifts of sweets which they eagerly pounced on after returning from midnight Mass. On this occasion however, Thérèse, being the youngest and the last to be so indulged, overheard her father expressing his relief that this would be the last occasion he would have to bother with such trifles. She was close to tears at the remark but recovered her composure and smilingly unloaded her gift filled shoes in front of her Papa to show her gratitude. Thérèse recorded in her autobiography how in that one instant she "recovered the strength of mind that she had lost at four and a half (when her mother died) and recovered it for good."
Within eight years of the death of Thérèse’ mother, the two oldest Martin sisters had entered the Carmelite Convent in Lisieux. Both young women were role models for Thérèse who at the earliest opportunity was determined to follow in their footsteps; a decision her father reluctantly but generously agreed to assist with. What was needed however was permission from the local clergy who were not at all happy at the prospect of one so young entering an enclosed religious order. Thérèse persuaded her father they should go direct to the local Bishop in nearby Bayeux for a decision. In order to look older for the meeting (she was only fourteen), Thérèse had her hair put up and wore her best dress. It was pouring with rain in Bayeaux that day and the Bishop was officiating at a large funeral in the cathedral. Nothing daunted, Louis Martin escorted his daughter inside to take shelter and totally mortified her by marching up to the front in a church crowded with sombrely clad mourners. Thérèse in her light coloured dress and wearing a white hat knelt in one of the front pews and fretted over what the congregation must be thinking of her attire. When afterward they met with the Bishop and his Vicar General, Thérèse was told the local clergy must be consulted before any decision could be made, which was a polite way of saying "not just yet Thérèse."
Three days after the meeting with the Bishop, M. Martin took Celine and Thérèse on a pilgrimage to Switzerland and Italy organised through the Bayeux diocese, the highlight of which was to be an audience with Pope Leo XIII in Rome. Although at that time protocol dictated papal audience members should remain silent when greeting the Pope, this didn’t stop Thérèse from hatching a plan with Celine to ask the Holy Father in person for permission to enter Carmel at the age of fifteen. However before entering the room, word was passed emphasizing the importance of not speaking since the audience would be quite long enough as it was. Thérèse later wrote, "Before I went in I fully resolved to speak out; but my courage began to desert me when I found the Vicar General from Bayeux, of all people, standing next to the seated Pope’s right hand." Nervously she turned to consult Celine who in a loud whisper said, "Speak out."
The next thing she was in front of Leo XIII and when he held out his hand she clasped it in hers and with tear filled eyes knelt and made her request. The Pope listened and passed a reassuring comment but when Thérèse remained kneeling he turned for clarification to the Vicar General who with thinly veiled irritation attempted to resolve the imbroglio. Thérèse’ however refused to budge and still clasping the Pope’s hand she again made her plea and this time the Holy Father leaned forward and looking directly into her eyes said, "If God wants you to enter you will." At this stage two Papal guards arrived and had to half carry her away but not before Thérèse managed to kiss the back of the Pope’s hand which he then raised in a personal blessing for her and afterward his eyes remained fixed on her departing figure until she was out of sight.
Thérèse learnt much from that journey. The people on the pilgrimage were well off and many priests travelled with them as well. She quickly came to understand why Priests are in need of prayer and the special role of Carmelites in attending to this need. She wrote later, "They have their frailties and their weaknesses like other men…if such people need our prayers, what about the priests who have gone slack?"
Well as we know, God must have wanted Thérèse to enter the Lisieux Carmel, although her entry was delayed for several months, due no doubt to the reluctance of the local clergy to yield ground on the matter. But, once inside the convent, the spiritual roots of Thérèse’ childhood sent up a flower of incredible holiness: a holiness it must be emphasized that was both well balanced and full of common sense with its simple theology of the heart, a theology that was in direct contrast with the Jansenist tainted faith of many Catholics in nineteenth-century France and Ireland. The very idea of the avenging God of Jansenism was repellent to Thérèse.
On the second page of Thérèse’ autobiography is an astonishing piece on the Mercy of God as she applied it to primitive peoples who had never heard of Jesus."Our Lord’s love makes itself seen quite as much in the simplest of souls as in the most highly gifted, as long as there is no resistance offered to his grace…he has made the poor savages with nothing better than the natural law to live by; and he is content to forget his dignity and come into their hearts too – these are the wild flowers that delight him with their simplicity." Thérèse’ view was entirely consistent with the Gospel message that embraces all who either know nothing of Christ or have at best only a distorted knowledge of Him.
Reacting to news from Les Buissonnets that the family maid was an alcoholic, Thérèse wrote her sister Celine saying she would pray for the poor woman but with true humility added that in the maid’s place, she (Thérèse ) would probably be still less good and perhaps, too, the maid would have been already a great saint if she had received one half the graces granted to herself.
More Theresian wisdom is contained in a letter to Fr Adolphe Roulland, then serving in Vietnam. Thérèse gently chided the young priest for doubting that martyrdom (a very real threat at that time) would gain him immediate entry to the Kingdom of Heaven.
"I know one must be very pure to stand before the God of all holiness, but I know, too, that the Lord is infinitely just: and it is this justice that frightens so many souls that is the object of my joy and confidence… As a father has tenderness for his children, so the Lord has compassion on us… This is Brother, what I think of God’s justice. My way is all confidence and love. I do not understand souls who fear a Friend so tender." Reflecting on her own "little way" of trusting God’s mercy for past peccadilloes, Thérèse told Fr Roulland, "I know there are saints who spent their whole life practising astonishing mortifications for past sins — but what of it? There are many mansions in the home of God."
Those brief excerpts come from a couple of the twenty or so letters Thérèse wrote to two young missionary priests who had asked the Lisieux Carmel to pray for their vocations. With her obvious spiritual maturity Thérèse was roped in by the prioress to give personal encouragement to these young men. It goes without saying that all correspondence both inward and outward was vetted by the prioress.
Eighteen months before her death from tuberculosis on September 30th 1897, Thérèse experienced the darkening of her faith. She described it as a trial that God permitted her to undergo. So how did she fight and overcome this spiritual and psychological ordeal? How did she beat off these temptations to give in to doubt and fear? In manuscript C of her autobiography Thérèse wrote:
"Every time the conflict is renewed, at each challenge from my enemies, I give a good account of myself –- by meeting them face to face? Oh no, only a coward accepts the challenge to a duel. No, I turn my back in contempt, and take refuge in Jesus, telling him that I’m ready to defend the doctrine of heaven with the last drop of my blood."
For Thérèse, spiritual combat was not about the cut and thrust of theological debate, which when boiled down often reflected nothing other than the pride of the combatants. Thérèse knew that only Faith could oppose doubt and yet she recognised the proper relationship of doubt to Faith. After all, for people untroubled by doubt, faith would be unnecessary: they would have certainty: and certainty ends inevitably in a sort of fundamentalism.
Thérèse’ was not alone in suffering from spiritual insecurity and in the Lisieux Carmel this affliction settled for varying periods on more than a few of her confreres. These good sisters seemed to yearn for a return to the time when Christianity so infused society that the Church’s apparent temporal perpetuity was beginning to appear as almost a proof of its rightness (triumphalism). Thérèse would have none of it. By virtue of understanding her own relationship to God (read that as humility), she was light years away from that viewpoint. In spite of the darkening of her faith, she was content to endure her trial knowing it was vastly more important to be where and what God wanted her to be, rather than to expect to see evidence of Divine Providence at every turn. For Thérèse, spiritual doubts were not stumbling blocks; she used them as stepping-stones.
The nineteenth-century French poet Charles Baudelaire once observed that the devil’s greatest wile is to convince people he doesn’t exist. If we recall the fourteen year old Thérèse’ reflection on the frailties and weaknesses of the priests who travelled with her on the pilgrimage to Italy, we see how well aware she was of this dangerous mind-set. Little surprise then that the notion of doing spiritual battle to save souls held a strong appeal for her and although she described herself as a fragile little flower, Thérèse was certainly no namby pamby and wrote of being ambitious to pursue numerous vocations. She dreamed of being a priest, an apostle, a doctor, a martyr, a Crusader: to plant the Cross on heathen soils, to preach the gospel on all five continents and the most distant islands all at once, and to go on being a missionary until the end of the world. Thérèse loved and frequently referred to that Gospel verse (Matt.11: 12) in which Jesus said. "It is by violence that the Kingdom of Heaven is taken."
Like a soldier kitted for war she was ready for battle: humility her armour and love her only weapon. She had a faith of truly mustard seed proportions (Matt. 17:20) enabling her to perform entire mountains of charitable acts and near the end of her autobiography Thérèse’ spelled out the contentment of knowing and trusting God’s plan for her by writing, "a heart enfolded in Divine love cannot remain inactive."
Stephen Sparrow writes from New Zealand. He is semi-retired and reads (and writes) for enjoyment, with a particular interest in the work of Catholic authors Flannery O'Connor, Walker Percy, Sigrid Undset, Dante Alighieri and St Therese of Lisieux. His secondary school education was undertaken by Society of Mary priests at St. Bedes College and after leaving school in 1960 he joined a family wood working business, retiring from it in 2001. He is married with five adult children. His other interests include fishing, hiking, photography and natural history, especially New Zealand botany and ornithology.
September 30, 2014
What is Love?
What is Love? | Fr. Dan Pattee, TOR | CWR Blog
The question that has guided Church discussions for decades will likely guide discussions at the upcoming Extraordinary Synod on the Family
As the Extraordinary Synod on the Family opens on Sunday in Rome, the question, “What is Love?” will likely guide many of the discussions. This should be expected since this question has guided Church discussions for decades—taking on new salience with the release of Pope Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical, Humanae Vitae.
It is a question that has not only concerned the Church. The popular culture is replete with references to the question of defining love. From rock, to hip hop to country music, the perennial theme of much of the music focuses on our longing and yearning for love—and our inability to find it. In 1993, the rock band, Foreigner, released the hit song, “I Want to Know What Love is.” And, three decades before that, Mick Jagger’s Rolling Stones complained about finding "no satisfaction"—despite access to a steady supply of sex, drugs, and money. Whatever love is, the purveyors of popular culture appear unable to have found it since their lyrics betray a level of unrest and sometimes violence that is uncharacteristic of genuine love.
The Papal Magisterium has been passionately pursuing an answer to this question—beginning with Pope Paul VI’s teaching that the procreative and unitive dimensions of human sexuality may not be separated (1968). This teaching was followed by Pope St. John Paul II’s Theology of the Body—with his 129 addresses from September, 1979 to November, 1984. It continued through Christmas, 2005 with Deus Caritas Est, written by Pope Benedict XVI.
St. John the Evangelist, in his first letter, states simply that God is love (1 Jn. 4:8). Is it possible that so many cannot “find satisfaction” simply because they have not yet known God? St. Augustine suggested as much when he wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” (cf. Confessions, Bk. I CSEL 33:1-5)
But, this would be no less true for Catholic Christians and those Christians within other denominations: what is love?
September 29, 2014
Five Myths About the “Rapture” and the “Left Behind” Industry
Five Myths About the “Rapture” and the
“Left Behind” Industry | Carl E. Olson | CWR
On the (short) history, (bad) theology, and (continuing) appeal of premillennial dispensationalism
This year has marked a sort of second coming of “the Rapture”. On June 29th, HBO launched a new series, "The Leftovers", based on the 2011 novel of the same title, written by Tom Perrotta, which follows the struggles of various characters living in the aftermath of the sudden disappearance of millions of people. “And then it happened,” states the novel's Prologue, “The biblical prophecy came true, or at least partly true. People disappeared, millions of them at the same time, all over the world.” The twist is that Perrotta apparently uses the Rapture as a plot device, but does not adhere to the dispensationalist belief system which features the Rapture (more on that below).
The recent movie, “The Remaining”, however, is completely dedicated to the “left behind” theology, as co-writer and director Casey La Scala explains:
And ever since I was a kid, I wondered what would happen if the Rapture were to happen and all of the sudden we were in seven years of hell. So, I went through Revelations and I got to the sixth trumpet, in which the Abyss is opened and the demons are released, and I said, ‘There it is!’ ... In the process of writing The Remaining, once I was sure the project would stand up to an evangelical base, I did a lot of work on making sure the rules of the Rapture were biblically accurate.
If La Scala really did refer to The Apocalypse as “Revelations”, then readers will be forgiven for questioning the depth of his research and knowledge of Scripture. Then again, being “biblically accurate” has never been a strong suit of the “left behind” theology (again, more on that below).
And then there is the new “Left Behind” movie, in theaters this coming Friday, starring Nicholas Cage (yes, he's still acting—or at least appearing in movies). The verbiage is boilerplate and sensational, a combination that has been an essential part of Rapture fiction since British author Sydney Watson published a trilogy of end times novels a hundred years ago—Scarlet and Purple (1913), The Mark of the Beast (1915), and In the Twinkling of an Eye (1916):
In the blink of an eye, the biblical Rapture strikes the world. Millions of people disappear without a trace. All that remains are their clothes and belongings, and in an instant, terror and chaos spread around the world.
With all of this eschatological excitement in the pop culture air, it's not surprising that I've received e-mails and questions about the newest round of Rapture roulette. The biggest question is simply, “Are the 'Left Behind' books and movies compatible with Catholicism?” Others follow. I addressed those and many, many other questions several years ago in my first book, Will Catholics Be Left Behind? A Catholic Critique of the Rapture and Today's Prophecy Preachers (Ignatius Press, 2003; e-book). I also write a number of articles about the “Left Behind” phenomenon, including pieces about the unoriginal nature of the Tim LaHaye/Jerry B. Jenkins novels, a short history of the “left behind” theology, a comparison of dispensationalism and Catholicism, and a rather scathing review of the Glorious Appearing, the twelfth Left Behind novel.
With that in mind, I am reposting an article I wrote in late 2003 for Crisis magazine, which examines five of the central myths, or misunderstandings, about the Rapture and related matters. I've not updated it (for example, there are a total of sixteen Left Behind novels, and they have sold around 65 million copies in all), but the main points are still just as good today as they were then.
--------------------
Three years ago I mentioned to a Catholic friend that I was starting to work on a book critiquing the Left Behind novels and premillennial dispensationalism, the unique theological belief system presented, in fictional format, within those books. “Why?” she asked, obviously bewildered. “No one really takes that stuff seriously.”
That revealing remark merely reinforced my desire to write that book, Will Catholics Be “Left Behind”? (Ignatius, 2003). Other conversations brought home the same point. Far too many people, including a significant number of Catholics, do not recognize the attraction and power of this Fundamentalist phenomenon. Nor do they appear to appreciate how much curiosity exists about the “end times,” the book of Revelation, and the “pretribulation Rapture”—the belief that Christians will be taken up from earth prior to a time of tribulation and the Second Coming. In addition, I hoped to pen the sort of book I wish that I, as a Fundamentalist, could have read while studying and approaching, by fits and starts, the Catholic Church.
In the course of writing articles, giving talks, and writing the book, I have encountered a number of questions and comments—almost all from Catholics—that indicate how much confusion exists about matters of eschatology, not to mention ecclesiology, historical theology, and the interpretation of Scripture. The five myths I present here summarize many of those questions, and I seek to provide basic and clear answers for them.
“The Left Behind books represent a fringe belief system that very few people take seriously.”
Exactly how many copies of the Left Behind books must be sold before the theology they propagate can be taken seriously?
"The Twelve Most Important Things to Know About Angels" by Peter Kreeft
Since today is the Feast of of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, archangels, here is a very popular post from a number of years ago that I'm re-posting for those who missed it before or would like to read it again. It is an excerpt from 
Angels (and Demons): What Do We Really About Them? (Ignatius Press; 2004, sixth printing) by Peter Kreeft:
The Twelve Most Important Things to Know About Them
1. They really exist. Not just in our minds, or our myths, or our symbols, or our culture. They are as real as your dog, or your sister, or electricity.
2. They’re present, right here, right now, right next to you, reading these words with you.
3. They’re not cute, cuddly, comfortable, chummy, or “cool”. They are fearsome and formidable. They are huge. They are warriors.
4. They are the real “extra-terrestrials”, the real “Super-men”, the ultimate aliens. Their powers are far beyond those of all fictional creatures.
5. They are more brilliant minds than Einstein.
6. They can literally move the heavens and the earth if God permits them.
7. There are also evil angels, fallen angels, demons, or devils. These too are not myths. Demon possessions, and exorcisms, are real.
8. Angels are aware of you, even though you can’t usually see or hear them. But you can communicate with them. You can talk to them without even speaking.
9. You really do have your very own “guardian angel”. Everybody does.
10. Angels often come disguised. “Do not neglect hospitality, for some have entertained angels unawares”—that’s a warning from life’s oldest and best instruction manual.
11. We are on a protected part of a great battlefield between angels and devils, extending to eternity.
12. Angels are sentinels standing at the crossroads where life meets death. They work especially at moments of crisis, at the brink of disaster—for bodies, for souls, and for nations.
Why do people think it's stupid to believe in angels?
One reason is a mistake about themselves: the failure to distinguish between (1) sense perception or imagination (which is a kind of inner sensing) and (2) reason, or intelligence, or understanding. We don't see pure spirits, and we can't imagine them. That doesn't mean we can't know or understand them. We can see and imagine the difference between a five-sided figure (a pentagon) and a six-sided figure (a hexagon), and we can also intellectually understand that difference. We cannot, however, sense or imagine the difference between a 105-sided figure and a 106-sided figure. Both look to us simply like circles. But we can understand the difference and even measure it exactly. So we can understand some things we can't see. We can't see qualities like good and evil either. What color or shape or size is evil? Yet we can understand them. We can imagine our brains, but not our minds, our personalities. But we can know them.
Many who deny angels deny or are uaware of the spiritual half of themselves. Angels are a touchstone of "know thyself". So are animals.
Aren't angels irrelevant today? This is the age of man, isn't it?
Yes, this is the age of man, of self-consciousness, of psychology. And therefore it is crucial to "know thyself" accurately today. The major heresies of our day are not about God but about man.
The two most destructive of these heresies—and the two most popular—are angelism, confusing man with an angel by denying his likeness to animals, and animalism, confusing man with an animal by denying his likeness to angels.
Man is the only being that is both angel and animal, both spirit and body. He is the lowest spirit and the highest body, the stupidest angel and the smartest animal, the low point of the hierarchy of minds and the high point of the hierarchy of bodies.
More accurately stated, man is not both angel and animal because he is neither angel nor animal; he is between angels and animals, a unique rung on the cosmic ladder.
But whichever way you say it, man must know angels to know himself, just as he must know animals to know himself, for he must know what he is, and he must know what he is not.
A free 80-minute lecture,"Aquinas and the Angels," by Peter Kreeft can be accessed here.
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