It's Not About You

When the first restriction for Mass where put in place, the bishop requested we not use the chalice, we not shake/hold hands, and we not receive on the tongue. This was a hard guidance for many who feel touching the host in their hands to be profane. Some tried to argue that they had a canonical right. Some insisted they would not offer their hands. Some said they wouldn’t receive at all during this time. I admit it was hard for me too. And I doubt which way is actually more sanitary.

But this wasn’t about my understanding of sanitary or canon law. Nor anyone else’s who was making public protestations. It’s a matter of obedience. The laity is placed under the care of their bishop. It is his responsibility to lead and protect. Some fail. Some fail spectacularly. But sometimes the laity fail too—fail to listen to their bishop when he says things they don’t already agree with, fail obey the rules he has placed, fail to follow where he leads.

And now the rule is don’t go to Mass. It’s hard to imagine a bishop telling his flock to not go to Mass, but hundreds of bishops around the world are making the same heartbreaking decision. For the safety of the community, stay home. The priests will continue the sacrifice of the Mass in private. The laity are expected to pray at home until we can gather again. Will we hold up our end?

I don’t want to watch Mass online and pray along in my living room. I want the familiar faces and my regular pew and the schola music. I want to receive the Eucharist and know exactly when confession is available. But I can’t have what I want. So I must do what I can. I can obey. I can wait. I can pray.

Freedom and Light in a Dark Box

The California Senate recently passed a bill that would require Catholic priests to break the sacramental seal of confession regarding information of sexual abuse of minors. While I’m not one to cry religious oppression in the U.S., this bill is a violation of the freedom of religion, dictating that spiritual matters come under the control of the state authorities. It also absolutely will not work. Not one person will be safer from this bill. But many souls could be hurt by it. But the bill isn’t really about helping victims. It’s about flexing authority over the Church and punishing it for its collective sin.

Priests are already mandated reporters of abuse. Unless it’s from confession, priests are required, like many other professions, to report known or suspected cases of abuse. The bill would do away with the confession exception. But how would that work?

Priests cannot violate the seal of confession. He would be automatically excommunicated. If faced with breaking the seal or going to prison, they are taught to go to prison. They have to put the sacrament above their own comfort or lives. Good shepherds suffer for their sheep. Confession can be anonymous, behind screens, without names. The priest would not necessarily know who is confessing to report it even if he could. The sacrament is for spiritual grace, not information gathering. A priest might instruct someone to come talk to him outside the confession, where as a mandated reporter he could do more, but in the box, he is only there to act in persona Christi and absolve sin.

But what if people worry that the seal of confession isn’t absolute? What if they fear going to confession or giving a full confession? Would someone genuinely confess child abuse only in confession knowing the priest will go to the police? State interference in religion violates the First Amendment. Dictating how a sacrament works and dissuading believers from practicing their religion is abuse of state power. In Communist Poland (and probably other places), the state would try to bug confessionals to gain intel on priests and parishioners. Spies infiltrated church communities. Will sting operations be set up, with someone confessing something then arresting the priest when he doesn’t report it? Sacred space means nothing to secularists. Sacramental grace means nothing to those seeking power and control.

Surely, this is only a first step. Why should priests have report child sex abuse but not child neglect, adult rape, murder, domestic abuse, suicide, self-harm, etc.? Once it is established that the confessional is not sacred, then the state can intrude further and further into people’s sins/crimes.

In further proof that this law isn’t really about saving victims but intruding on the sacrament, the state lessened the scope of the bill. Priests only have to report from the confessional if it’s a coworker or other priest. That greatly reduces the people affected. It might make some feel safer, but that’s the point—they might not fight it as much. It greatly reduces the odds of the state actually catching a criminal this way. And of course, as mentioned before, confession can be done anonymously; how should a priest know if it’s a person he should report or who that person is? Though that doesn’t matter; he’s not going to break the sacred seal no matter who it is.

I’m not too worried. I hope that the bill doesn’t pass the House in the fall. There are lots of people in California fighting it. I trust that no one will violate the seal even if it does pass. I think most faithful will still seek out the sacrament, even if the bill burdens them with worry that their private confession to God isn’t so private.

Proponents of the bill say that the Church is surrounded in secrets and cover-ups and that this is a way of exposing the truth. Yet it is the opposite. Confession is where people openly bare their souls, articulating their sins, thus exposing them to the light. We are not burdened to carry our sin and shame alone, in the dark recesses of our minds. We confess, we lay bare, with no fear of repercussion of any kind. Our faults seem so less powerful when exposed to the light of God’s mercy.  Our free will means we sin, but we can also freely choose to return to God, contritely asking for forgiveness that He readily waits to give. State interference with the confessional threatens our freedom.

Gifts of the Ghost

I've started pondering the Holy Spirit more. As a former "frozen chosen" it's difficult to relate to the person of the Trinity associated with movement and tongues and flames and emotion. But I'm starting to appreciate the movement of the Spirit in my life more and more and trying to make a conscious effort to be better acquainted. The most obvious place to start is the sacraments where I know we've met. The Holy Spirit gives gifts at baptism and confirmation; it would be rude not to open them.

The gifts of the Holy Spirit are first found in Isaiah 11: 2-3 describing the Root of Jesse: “The Spirit of the Lord will rest on him—the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of might, and Spirit of knowledge and godliness—and he will delight in the fear of the Lord.”  We receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit at our baptism, and they are strengthened through confirmation. We are given these gifts in order to spread and defend the faith. They are our tools, so like the disciples at Pentecost, we can be send out to share the Good News.

According to St. Thomas Aquinas, the gifts of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, and counsel direct the intellect, while fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord direct the will. The gifts help us exercise virtue and combat sin.

Wisdom, the first and highest gift, helps us to understand God and direct our actions toward Him. It is more than knowledge; it is an extension of belief into understanding that belief. Wisdom allows us to see the world in its true light. By knowing the proper ordering of the world, we can better bear its burdens and respond in ways that glorify God.

Understanding helps us see the core truth of beliefs and revelations. Through understanding, we see how all the pieces fit together. Understanding rises above natural reason and helps us draw out philosophical, theological, and moral conclusions. By seeing the big picture, we can make practical decisions that affect the world and our lives, guiding them toward God.

Counsel helps us judge how to best take action in situations. It builds upon what we discern through wisdom and understanding and brings that into practical application. It assures us and encourages us to do the right thing. Counsel gives us the guidance to defend the truth.

Fortitude helps us overcome fear and stand up for the truth. It is reasoned courage that emboldens us when our faith is tested, ridiculed, or persecuted. It was the martyrs’ fortitude that gave them the strength to die for the faith. But often we do not have to face that; instead we need fortitude against temptations, modern secular culture, and evil spirits.

Knowledge helps us judge according to truth. Whereas wisdom and understanding provide the will and intellect to discern truth, knowledge is the faculty by which it is known. Knowledge helps us see the circumstances and consequences that must be factored into right judgment. It helps us know God’s purpose for us. It also helps us distinguish the voice of God from the temptations of the devil and choose our response accordingly.

Piety helps us grow in desire to worship and serve God. It helps us go beyond practicing religion out of obligation and practice it out of love for God. Piety is sometimes called “the perfection of the virtue of religion.” It calls us to prayer, to Mass, to respect others, to acts of charity, to do all things for God.

Fear of the Lord helps us to maintain a healthy relationship with God. It is not the type of fear that comes from being scared or threatened. Fear of the Lord is the desire to not offend God but to show Him proper honor and respect. It is the foundation of our relationship with God, similarly to how in childhood our desire to not disappoint our parents first teaches us what actions are right or wrong. It is rooted in love.

Go, the Mass has Ended

I was recently at Mass, during communion. Most were kneeling in prayer or in line to receive. But several were making their exit. Opening the transept door and letting in the bright sunlight literally spotlighted the families leaving early. Of course the old joke ran through my head: “Judas was the first to leave Mass early.”

As I watched more and more leave, it reminded me of a conversation I’d had with a man a few weeks ago—a devoted man who attends Mass and Bible studies—who, when talking about a Mass that might be going too long, said, “Well, people can just leave after they receive. Mass is over by then.”

Um, Mass is over by then? What does he think Mass is, if it’s over as Christ’s body is still lying on the altar, in the hands of ministers, on the tongues of the faithful? When does he think it ends? I thought these people leaving early just didn’t care, but now I thought that they might not even know what Mass is. I know there are a lot of poorly-catechized Catholics who love Jesus as best they know him yet have no clue what the Church actually believes.

How sad would it be to go every week to church and be in the very presence of God and not know it? To receive Jesus, transubstantiated, and think it was still just bread and a commemoration? To show up to get your prayers said and communion received and not recognize the communal nature of the Mass or respect the solemnity of that time and space? How many are there and don’t know what they’re part of?

Sometimes people need to leave early: uncompromising work schedules, rowdy children, illness. But when it’s dozens of people, I suspect most of the reasons are just apathy about the Mass and the desire to beat traffic to lunch. Are those extra 10 minutes really that important?

For the record: the Mass is ended when the priest or deacon announces, “The Mass is ended.” Even then, it’s polite to wait for the recessional before actually recessing. One doesn’t have to read the Summa to figure out when Mass ends.

And this isn’t to bash those leaving early. At least they’re there at all. Some part of them recognizes the importance of Mass. They care to some extent. But do they understand? If they did, how could they bounce like that?

Do any of us fully understand? If we did, how could our minds wander? Physically present but mentally checked out. How could we at times go through the motions or get distracted. If we fully understood, we would approach the altar on our knees, in awe every time. We would never want to leave.

An Apology isn't Repentance

Something that Christianity teaches well is penance. But penance is not practiced well.

For most Christians, penance is giving up sweets in Lent or saying a few Hail Marys after confession. It’s a brief, solemn gesture. And that’s a start. Some Christian traditions don’t even have that. The Orthodox at least have stricter periods and rules of fasting. Penitential seasons like Advent and Lent force the Church into confront penance as a collective. We go into a more somber mode as a community. 

But do we actually repent as a community? It was recently Rosh Hashanah. In Judaism, the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are meant to be days of reflection and atonement. Atonement is paying the price of a transgression. It involves repentance, a contrite expression of remorse of the transgression. As Christians, we don’t focus so much on atonement, because we believe we cannot fully atone for our own sins; Christ atoned for us. So instead, there is the focus of repentance. We must sincerely remorse over our sins and want to receive atonement.

 

In a way, this was a radical, liberating teaching. There is no way to fully atone, and we don’t have to. We surrender to Christ who atones for us. Of course, true contrition and true surrender are not easy; it is a liberating yet difficult path.

But the problem comes when these ideas are applied in worldly matters. I transgress against my neighbor; I apologize; he in his mercy forgives me; all is well. But what if I’m not sincerely sorry? What if my apology was just a manipulative way to get out of trouble, knowing that he is morally bound to accept my remorse and show mercy? Then I can transgress again, without fear of consequence, because the onus is on my neighbor, the victim, to be merciful.

This is a common accusation thrown at Christians. That they can act hypocritically and immorally and get away with it as long as they say they’ve had a turn of heart and that they’re sorry. We are supposed to accept apologies, because we are called to be merciful, and we can’t know whether the apology is sincere or not. We see it over and over and over in the public sphere. The cycle of outrage, demand for a statement, a non-sincere apology, a brief retreat from the limelight, then a return to Hollywood, Washington, or whatever industry he came from. And we have to accept it; we have to forgive, because he apologized, and because it’s our duty to show mercy.

This is where I think penance is good. Our paltry penances rarely atone for our sins. But they do demonstrate actions. We can’t fully atone, but surely we should try to. What use is words without action? If someone sincerely repents, then they should take up their cross, not in punishment, but willingly. Let the turn from sin have a demonstrative turn. 

For the person whose apology is insincere, penance might work as punishment, a deterrent to bad actions. For the person whose apology is sincere, penance solidifies the determination to change one’s habits, to turn from sin in a demonstrative way. 

The Church is going through a chaotic time right now. Her hierarchy has done horrendous things. Bishop Knestout of Richmond lay down his staff, removed his ring, and lay prostrate in an act of penance that I found quite moving. Some laity feel called to repent as a Church—periods of community fasting, prayers, adorations, Mass intentions of repentance. I think those feelings are a valid and beautiful response, especially when it rises up from the laity who want to atone as a whole Church. Some tell them not to do so, that it’s not a laity problem; it’s a bishop problem, and the bishops shouldn’t make the laity feel guilty. Others tell them not to do it because it doesn’t actually accomplish anything, that it’s just empty gestures that don’t offer full atonement or bring justice to victims. But penance not about being made to feel guilty or bringing justice. It’s about expressing contrition, not to be seen and have one’s apology accepted, but for one’s own benefit. God offers the atonement. God offers the mercy. We offer the repentance.

To Hell with It

Recently, I was trying to find a quote about the Eucharist—one that contained all the majesty and mystery of the sacrament, that emphasized the absurd truth of it, that would rattle Protestant definitions and lead them home. Something akin to Tolkien’s: “Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament…There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth, and more than that: Death.”

But then I came across one that stripped away prose and got to the heart of the matter. Flannery O’Connor wrote: “Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. [Mary McCarthy] said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the 'most portable' person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.”

It was all the defense I was capable of. I so often struggle for words and explanations. I want the sound the defense—to know the philosophy and metaphysics, the teachings of the fathers, the logic, the history, the theology. I want to be able to hold and win debate. But I can’t. I’m not well-versed or well-prepared or well-spoken. But it is important to defend; it is the pinnacle of Christian worship. If it’s a symbol, then most Christians are misguided idolaters; if it’s truly Christ, then it the height of earthly experience.

So maybe I’m not the one to debate. Just stand my ground, even if my voice shakes.

'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.'

Motivation Monday - Tolkien on the Eucharist

Saturday Afternoon

It was raining as I pulled up to the church. One of the front doors was open, letting in the momentary cool air. In the narthex, two women had covered much of the floor in a patchwork of felt. The color squares had names and decorations on them, but I didn’t look too closely. I made a beeline for the confession line, which was already formed, even though confession didn’t start for another 15 minutes. There is always a line here, which is nice to see even if it is a bit time-consuming. There was a group at the front of the church taking pictures. They had just finished up a baptism, and the baby was the center of attention as the rest of the family rotated in and out, taking photos in every combination. They waved and made funny faces to get him to look toward the camera. Ultimately, they let him have a toy, and he rattled and cooed obliviously to his adoring family and the row of onlookers in line. My ovaries took over my brain, and I watched the baby for a long while before remembering why I was there. Then I had to go over my examination of conscience again. Afterward, as I left, the women in the narthex had affixed the felt squares to a cross. It was clearer now that they held the names of kids getting confirmed or first communion. Baptism, confession, confirmation, communion. The church was chock full of grace this Saturday afternoon. I stepped outside. The rain had stopped, and the sun was softly shining. I was slightly disappointed. I love gloomy weather, and I was ready to interpret the cleansing rain as a sign of my absolution. But this wasn’t a story with a beginning, an end, or satisfactory metaphors. It was just another afternoon. 

Go to the Winchester

There is rumor that the pope is forming a commission on reestablishing women deacons. I have to admit, I’m a bit torn on the subject. Within the Church, I’m all for deaconesses, whether officially ordained or not. In the earliest days of the Church, women performed ecclesiastical duties. Women baptized women entering the church, they led prayer, and they provided worship space. Phoebe was one of the first deacons, in fact, she’s the only person given that title in the Bible. She is introduced by Paul as a deaconess, an emissary of Rome, who is instructed to share his letter with the church in Cenchreae (Romans 16:1-2). Priscilla, Junia, Tryphena, Tryphosa, and Persis are also listed as women working for the Church, and they are commended by Paul (who, you know, is commonly regarded as a backwards sexist in some modern circles).

At the Council of Chalcedon in 451, it was stated that women shouldn’t receive the laying of hands as a deaconess until age 40, “and then only after searching examination.” I think the age limit shows that deaconesses were probably widows but certainly women with leadership and some life experience. The “laying of hands” isn’t clear if they were specially-blessed laity or actually ordained. So that is a matter that the Church will have to still decide. The role of deaconess stopped in the West in the 13th century, although Orthodox churches continued it. If the diaconate were be opened to women again, there is a ritual on the books (so to speak) for ordaining deaconesses from the 10th century, and their role would be the same as what is laid out in the Second Vatican Council’s reestablishment of the permanent diaconate for men. So there is some sort of precedent, although the Church would have to determine if a deaconess actually receives Holy Orders or is just an elevated lay role. In either case, I’d like to see the role of deaconess in the Church, in the tradition of Phoebe.

But I worry about the message others might take from deaconesses. Like the “spirit of Vatican II,” this could get out of hand for the uninformed. Within the Catholic community, both far right and far left will go nuts. There will be cries of Pope Francis going off the rails. The radical socialist out to upend the Church. And the implementation could be disastrous, (like, 1970s religious music bad)— an adrenaline shot to the “spirit of Vatican II.” Women joining to prove a point, not because of a calling. Photo ops all about girl power and fighting the patriarchy.

Outside the Catholic community, you can already see the headlines: “Vatican finally accepts women.” “Catholic Church changes position, gets with the times.” It would be broadcast as the Church capitulating to the zeitgeist, to overturning its beliefs, to changing for the sake of staying relevant. News of such a change would overlook the history and doctrine and just focus on the visual: a woman in an alb overseeing a Catholic wedding. It would cause people to complain that the Church is willing to forego its beliefs for popularity while at the same time people would complain that it’s not doing enough.

And for the people who want the Catholic Church to morph into whatever they desire, it will be regarded as a victory. Today, women deacons; tomorrow, women priests! And gay weddings! And abortion on demand! They will think they have gained something from all this. They will push for women in the priesthood even harder. Because to them there is no difference in a deacon and a priest. Because to them there is no difference between anything, ever. All is relative. Ontological truths or morality or divine mandates are secondary to current culture wars. The Church is their tool for social adequation instead of a vessel of God’s grace.

At this point, there has only been the suggestion that a commission might seek clarification. That’s a lot of ifs and a lot of boring bureaucracy. We’re not the East; we like to minutely define our doctrine, in our legalistic, Roman way. Slow, steady, and wordy. According to Catholic News Service, “Pope Francis had said his understanding was that the women described as deaconesses in the Bible were not ordained like permanent deacons are. Mainly, he said, it appeared that they assisted with the baptism by immersion of other women and with the anointing of women. However, he said, ‘I will ask the (Congregation for the) Doctrine of the Faith to tell me if there are studies on this.’” Of course, deciding that no, women can’t be ordained deacons will also cause a media frenzy about the big, bad Catholic Church whose stances won’t fall in line with 2016 America.

So the Church takes a reasoned, academic approach to clarifying an issue, and the world around it freaks the fuck out. Nothing changes.

Witness to Mercy

On Wednesday nights during the Year of Mercy my parish has adoration and confession. I hadn’t gone the first few weeks, but decided it would be a good practice to go during Lent. Plus, the allure of adoration and incense does eventually break me down. I settled in, said some prayers, read some from a devotional I had brought (which turned out not to be that great), and wound up just sitting silently in Christ’s presence. 

It was then that I began to really take in my surroundings. It was crowded; people were continuing to come in. The nave was fuller than it was most early Sunday mornings. It smelled holy (again, sucker for incense). Except for baby gurgles, it was pretty quiet. Several priests were offering confession, so they were stationed around the church: one back in the confessional, one in the side chapel, and one near the statue of St. Joseph (the front right). There weren’t any partitions. It was hard to look toward the front of the church without seeing who was at confession up there. Someone a few pews closer might have been able to make out what was said, but even across the room I could see the priest’s and penitent’s faces.

I was amazed by the people who went to confession during that hour, so publicly, in front of so many. Sure, the rest of us were mostly preoccupied by adoration, but still, the confession was taking place literally right in front of us. In the front of the church, lighting and acoustics are against any hope of privacy. 

In the early church, confessions were made publicly to the congregation. To sin against God was to damage the community of believers. It’s difficult enough for me to go now, in private, with a screen and seal. But I can see how everyone being that vulnerable and raw would bring the community together and help hold one another accountable. I wonder if the people I saw confessing felt some of that. When you go to confession, you’re at a turning point. You’re reaching out for grace. The weight and stain of sin is peeled away. It’s a glorious, intimate moment. I’ll admit, it would take me being in pretty dire straits to go to confession so openly. I was both baffled and impressed by those that did. 

I think that the front-of-the-church confessions were a great representation of the Year of Mercy. It was beneficial to me to watch a sacrament with a bit of detachment. It’s just as beautiful when it happens to someone else. I got to witness something normally tucked privately away. I got to witness that others struggle, too, and I got to witness them being washed in mercy.

She Do, He Do, I Can't Even

Wedding season has arrived. For a woman in her twenties, this is a busy time of year. It’s also a time where I must try very hard to battle my judgmental nature. There’s the eye rolling of extravagant splurging (the imported dance floor has to be white? why are there four sets of china on this registry?) and micro details (do bridesmaids really need matching underwear? since when is monogramed burlap elegant?). There’s the concern of lack of preparation (she has no sense of money, neither of them have jobs). And there’s the indignation that weddings are treated more like celebrations of romance than a sacrament (they’re really getting married on Good Friday? they’re getting married in a church, but only because it’s “cute”). For better or worse, I spend a lot of time each summer thinking about marriage and weddings.

The expenses of a wedding continue to confound me. I don’t personally mind what a person budgets for their wedding as long as they can afford it. If you’re rich, sure, spend $100,000. I will happily enjoy the free food and open bar. But the whole idea of the wedding industry and the long list of “must-haves” and their costs is obnoxious. For example, what’s the point of these multi-site, hundreds-of-pictures engagement photo shoots? Save-the-date on a chalkboard, walking down a road holding hands, looking into one another’s eyes with a barn as the background, the ring from dozens of angles. Except for the one or two pictures used for save-the-dates/ invitations/ Christmas cards, the photos are entirely self-indulgent and all look the same. The same goes for most of the “artsy” photos of the wedding day: the bands on top of a Bible, the dress hanging on the back of a door, the couple holding hands around a corner so they can’t see one another. Beyond the photos, there are the venues, the themes, the dozens of bridesmaids, the color schemes, the music and flowers and clothes that all reflect the couple’s (most likely the bride’s) idea of a dream day. It’s about an ideal moment, a fairy tale conclusion, saccharine perfection.

It’s also about making a social statement. There is a lot of concern for guests to be impressed and entertained. A reception with full meal and flowing drinks, a great band/DJ, parting gifts with the couple’s name and date. People go to wedding expecting to have a good time; the party might be more of a motivator than actually sharing in the couple’s union. Fundamentally, there isn’t a problem with weddings and receptions; a wedding day is about that particular couple’s expression and about the community supporting and celebrating them. But the wedding has become so commercialized that the marriage becomes just a part of the day, fit in among the idealized images and smashing parties. 

The more weddings I attend, the less I want a wedding. I’m not even 100% that I want a marriage, but if I do, I want to be so consumed with being married that getting married is hardly given a thought. My baptism planning consisted of getting a white gown and inviting the out-of-town grandparents (they may have gone out to lunch after; I was only 4 months old). My (first) confirmation planning consisted of taking classes, picking out a new dress, and having one nice picture taken outside of the church. My (Catholic) confirmation/first communion planning consisted of taking classes, picking out a new dress, and inviting my parents. There is a clear theme: new dress. And also thoughtful preparation and close relatives. And it should go without saying that the church and sacramental nature is implied. I don’t see why marriage has to be significantly different. Every time I witness a baptism, I’m overwhelmed with happiness, but the more I witness a marriage ceremony, I’m disillusioned by some aspect of it, even when I’m sincerely happy for the two people getting married.

I know most of my issues with weddings are my own projections. Maybe I’m more of a bitter old maid than I realize. My urge to shake some couples and scream, “What sort of premarital counseling have you received?” and “Why are you spending money you don’t have?” is more about my desire to control things than about them. And how they want to begin their marriage isn’t really my business. I’m working on the whole be-less-judgmental thing, but for me, that task is more daunting than planning a modern day wedding.