The Dogma Lives Loudly

When law professor Amy Coney Barrett faced her Senate confirmation hearing to serve on the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals, it was not just her legal philosophy or her qualifications that were questioned. Her Catholicism itself was under question, with strong implications that her being Catholic should disqualify her from serving as a judge.

Senator Durbin asked Barrett if she considered herself an “orthodox Catholic” and if she considered Catholics who didn’t follow Church teachings to be Catholic. What this had to do with her qualifications as a judge, I can’t imagine. Senator Feinstein dealt the resounding quote though, when she said, “I think in your case, professor, when you read your speeches, the conclusion one draws is that the dogma lives loudly within you, and that’s of concern.”

American Catholics aren’t unfamiliar with anti-Catholic sentiments and religious litmus tests, wrapped up in concern that one is more beholden to Rome than Washington. JFK toured the country trying to quell such fears when he ran for president. But in this case, Senator Feinstein was so blinded by her secular idealism that she did not recognize the compliment she paid Barrett.

What orthodox Catholic would not be honored to be told that the dogma lived loudly within her? Is that not a goal of this life, to be so steeped in the faith, so aligned with the will of God, that it shines through our every word and action? It was wonderful to see “the dogma lives loudly within you” become the Catholic equivalent of “nevertheless, she persisted.”

Dogma is a word often used with disdain. Dusty, old rules written hundreds of years ago. Words cluttering up the faith. Rigid. Close-minded. Arrogant. “It’s a relationship, not a religion.” But dogma is just the official principles of faith and morals. It’s the code by which we live. Without some form of dogma, our morality and philosophy are nothing more than whims, easily malleable and manipulable.

To have the dogma alive in us is to breathing expressions of the faith, to be the salt, to be the light. When I think of people within whom the dogma lives loudly, I think of Father Stanley Rother. I think of Dorothy Day. I think of St. John Paul II. I think of people who are passionate for their love of Christ and whose passion spills over into loving the world.  It is not shameful or concerning to have a moral code and live up to it. I strive for the insult: “the conclusion one draws is that the dogma lives loudly within you.”

Down on One Knee

Traditionally, when a man proposes, he gets down on one knee in front of woman and offers her a ring. It’s a sign of respect, of devotion, of humility as he awaits her answer. In the Western Church, genuflection (which means kneeling) is typically expressed by bending down on one knee. It is a sign of respect to a superior; it has meant such since Alexander the Great’s time. In the Church, it is a sign of respect to God, present in the Blessed Sacrament. The whole body acknowledges the presence of God. 

In sports, players go down on one knee when another player is injured. As medics and coaches go on the field to tend to the injured, the rest of the players remain silent, on one knee, as a sign of respect and concern to their injured peer. It also signals to the spectators that there is a serious incident on the field and that they too should be concerned and quiet. 

So when Colin Kaepernick, a professional football player who lived a fairly privileged life, started to realize the systemic racism and injustice in the country, he began feeling uncomfortable standing hand-over-heart for the National Anthem at each game. To him, it felt like a mockery to claim that America was one way when it was really another. So he sat. And then he knelt. And others followed suit. He took a knee, a sign of respect but also a signal that there is a serious incident going on that demands own concern.

This past weekend, it escalated, with dozens of players and others, including a franchise owner and a singer of the National Anthem, taking a knee. As far as protests go, this is about as mild-mannered as you can imagine. No chanting, no inflammatory language, no blocking streets, no occupying private property. And yet, people were outraged, calling the protesters un-American, seditious, thugs, disrespectful. There were demands that the players be fined, that they lose their jobs, that they be forced to stand for the anthem. 

Now, the NFL can very much dictate if they allow their players to kneel on the field or not. It’s their field, their uniforms, and their time. As a private company, they have that control. That’s why Colin Kaepernick isn’t working this season. But when dozens of players join in the peaceful protest (and when the act brings much attention to the league, especially when people tune in to see who’s kneeling or not), the NFL is also very much in their right to let it happen. And people can freely boycott or not based on the NFL’s decisions.

The First Amendment allows for peaceful protest. The very foundation of the country supports citizens bringing their concerns to the public forum and petitioning the government for redress of grievances. Freedom of speech is in place to protect minority or unpopular speech. You don’t have to like what others say, you don’t have to like that they are saying it. But you can’t restrict them from doing so. 

In the 1943 case West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette, the Supreme Court ruled that the First Amendment protected students’ rights to not salute the American flag or say the Pledge of Allegiance. The Court ruling read: “If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of option, or force citizens to confess by word or act their faith therein.”

What I’ve found so interesting in the “take a knee” protests are the vitriol, distain, and accusations heaped onto the protesters. The flag and the anthem have, in many’s minds, to represent the military, which subsequently, can never be wrong nor disrespected in any form. So an issue about racism becomes an issue about veterans. A conversation about injustice becomes a conversation about patriotism. A sign of concern becomes a sign of disrespect. A peaceful protest becomes an act of sedition. 

The post 9/11 patriotism was beautiful but dangerous. We can together as a country, we were all in this together. There is a demand that we maintain a solitary mindset of blind patriotism, that anything less is unacceptable. But that itself is un-American. America promotes free speech, free assembly, the right to petition; North Korea is where blind obedience is demanded. In the Barnette case, Justice Jackson wrote, “Those who begin coercive elimination of dissent soon find themselves exterminating dissenters. Compulsory unification of opinion achieves only the unanimity of the graveyard.”

The “take a knee” protest is about as peaceful—as passive—as a protest can be. But it’s still not submissive enough for some people. Just as college students weren’t submissive enough when they sat down to lunch at Woolworth’s. Just as Rosa Parks wasn’t submissive enough when she remained in her seat on the bus. Just as Tommie Smith and John Carlos weren’t submissive enough when they lifted their fists on the Olympic podium. Anything less than total capitulation is never enough for some authorities. And that’s the mindset Colin Kaepernick wanted to fight against. Every voice saying the players should just stand up, shut up, and play are proving him right. There is an injury on the field. Show your respect. Pay attention.

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

History is written by the winners, they say. But that’s not entirely true. Living in the South proves that. The Lost Cause narrative sustained, even if it’s not the national narrative. There are still Rebel flags and monuments to Jackson and Lee and reenactments of Confederate victories. The reasons why these persist are varied, and yes, many of those reasons are rooted in racism. The war was lost, the cause was wrong, but no one wants to say that their boys died in vain. Losers write history too.

How historical times or events are remembered and interpreted say more about the current times than those of the past. How interpretation of the past shows how we want to connect the present to some larger narrative. We want our times to make sense. We want to connect to moments of victory or morality or innovation. We want assurances that we are moving humanity the way it ought. So we fit our values and missions into the larger historical context. We align past heroes to ourselves, obscuring context. And when the stories don’t fit, they get reinterpreted or replaced entirely.

After the Civil War, President Johnson pardoned the Confederates. This was so that Southerners would not be punished by Northerners thus continuing the division. Rather, Confederates were reabsorbed as Americans, accepting the union and the label of American. That’s why in the South, the Confederacy is often remembered as part of America—Americans fighting Americans, i.e., a civil war. The regional memory is different than the national memory, and the fight over statues is really a fight over the story. Every group wants their story told, their memory validated. Collective memory is at the core of a group’s identity. It is worth fighting for. So the struggle to dictate the story can lead to violence and destruction.

Whether the statues should stay or go should be debated. Personally, I think there are cases for some to stay and some to go, and it would have to be determined on a case by case basis, factoring in the intent when it was erected and the community’s past and present situations. Baltimore city government decided to remove its statues before they became foci of conflict. And they had a point. The statues have become tangible beacons of the division of narratives.  Letting a frenzied mob tear down or vandalize property legitimizes chaos; it allows emotional outbursts to win over civil social discourse. Politics becomes not about rationalized ideology but about brute force.

Iconoclasts seek to erase history. They want to distance themselves from a dark past and create a new utopia, free of any tainting, residual influence. They want to purify themselves by sanitizing the landscape. In doing so, they disregard the past, destroy art, damage buildings, desecrate burial grounds.

We see iconoclasm in ISIS blowing up ancient sites, smashing some of Christianity’s oldest churches and even Muslim holy places to dust. We see it in the Red Guard destroying the Four Olds during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. During the French Revolution, the heads of the statues of Notre Dame were decapitated, and the cathedral became a Temple of Reason.

In the sixteenth century, the iconoclastic Protestants smashed stained glass and statues and threw out relics.  This was beyond a reformation; it was obliteration. The Church, her art, and her contributions were sought out to be erased. Along with political power, the iconoclasts wanted control over the community memory, to shape history as they wanted.

There are narratives that are truer and more just than others. There are reasons to remove images that represent oppression. But we must be careful from becoming iconoclasts, from believing that a purified landscape and erased history will lead to a pure, new society. There are no pure societies. There is nothing new under the sun.

In 1984, George Orwell says, “Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”

Floating Together

With the flooding in Texas, I’ve seen images of floating masses of fire ants. When fire ants sense danger, particularly flooding, they start linking together. They form a mass, with the vulnerable eggs, larvae, and queen bundled in the center. The wax on their bodies helps them float. Members rotate from below the water line to above so they don’t drown. They can float this way for weeks, until they find dry land.

It’s a terrifying but fascinating image. A single ant cannot possibly withstand a hurricane and massive floods. But together, the colony can survive. They see each other through, they protect their vulnerable, and they take turns bearing the most difficult task.

This is how the Church should work. By working together, we accomplish collectively what we can’t do alone. We protect and care for our most vulnerable. And at times, the individual has to suffer. When underwater, it’s difficult to remember the collective purpose; you’re just afraid of drowning and panic. But if the group is working together, then they won’t let you drown; you’ll be lifted up above the water line. Another will take on the sufferings when you can’t, just as you took on sufferings for the betterment of another.

We are a living, shifting body. That’s how we’ll ride out the flood.