Let's look at this penetrating commentary together, shall we?
To be fair, headlines are usually written by the editor, who clearly was too busy, or else he/she/they/it/erm would surely have seen greater merit in other options:
"You can't make me!"
"Who died and made you the boss of us, bishops?"
"I know you are but what am I?"
But if we ascribe to this mindset a seriousness that is doubtfully there, we might translate this headline to, "Why do the bishops think they get to make these decisions?" But of course, that takes Marianne Duddy-Burke nowhere she wants to go. Who did Jesus put in charge of his Church? The Apostles. And guess who succeeds them? Er ... the bishops? But gosh, the NCR still has a lot of space to fill; now what?
Ms./Mr./Mx. Duddy-Burke is terribly concerned with people not receiving Holy Communion if they "support legal abortion" or redefining marriage and other things. But Duddy-Burke thinks it's entirely too silly a question to even ask why any of these things (or anything else) would even raise an issue of someone not being allowed to receive Holy Communion. Which raises the first question I'd want to ask these folks who get the vapors at the thought of a politician or anyone being denied communion:
"Are there ever any circumstances under which a bishop rightfully ought to bar giving someone Holy Communion?" But of course Duddy-Burke and the NCR crowd never, never poses this question. Why so incurious?
Because, of course, that again leads somewhere they do not want to go; namely, to a discussion of just what those situations might be; and why facilitating the destruction of unborn children isn't worthy to include in that list.
Instead, Duddy-Burke takes us on a tour of church history. According to her, in those happy, olden-golden days of yore, "What we now know as Holy Communion originated in a home-based religious ritual, the Passover Seder, which is still a sacred celebration marked by Jews and friends in their homes."
And, of course, there was never any question of allowing absolutely everyone to take part in the Passover seder -- everyone knows that! Right?
The LORD said to Moses and Aaron: This is the Passover statute. No foreigner may eat of it. However, every slave bought for money you will circumcise; then he may eat of it. But no tenant or hired worker may eat of it. It must be eaten in one house; you may not take any of its meat outside the house.k You shall not break any of its bones. The whole community of Israel must celebrate this feast. If any alien residing among you would celebrate the Passover for the LORD, all his males must be circumcised, and then he may join in its celebration just like the natives. But no one who is uncircumcised may eat of it (Exodus 12:43-48).
Oops. Well, maybe Duddy-Burke needs to do a little more studying. She/he/yrm may want to check out the Didache, from the period she is describing:
But let no one eat or drink of your Thanksgiving (Eucharist), but they who have been baptized into the name of the Lord; for concerning this also the Lord has said, Give not that which is holy to the dogs (Chapter 9).
Or St. Justin Martyr:
The Eucharist, of which no one is allowed to partake but the man who believes that the things which we teach are true, and who has been washed with the washing that is for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has enjoined.
Oops again!
Well, Duddy-Burke is not faint of heart, and plows on, rejecting seeing "the Eucharist ... as something we 'receive,' rather than something we are vitally and essentially part of creating, sharing, and responding to. Something we are — the body of Christ." Not wrong; but a little fuzzy. She also laments that the Eucharist came to be "administered only by the clerical caste," whereas rightfully, quoting theologian Thomas Groome, the Eucharist "is the work of the whole community. By the power and presence of the Holy Spirit in the community, the assembly acts in union with Christ to realize again the Risen One's eucharistic presence in its midst."
Say, did you notice something? No mention of a priest being involved in the Eucharist! How about that! Look again: it's the "whole community," the "assembly," "in union with Christ" that confects the Eucharist.
How about that! I can go to brunch on Sundays!
But this raises a question for Duddy-Burke: if you don't need a priest to have the Eucharist, why are you complaining? According to you, you can stay home, with your friends, and have a nice seder-sort-of-meal, and have the Eucharist. No meanie bishops being mean to "shroud" everything with "mystery and taboo." Scary!
Seriously: why does Duddy-Burke even care what those dastardly bishops and their "clerical caste" have to say? Everyone can have the Eucharist any way he/she/gorm wants!
Shorter Duddy-Burke article:
D-B: You mean, terrible bishops, you won't let me and my friends have the Eucharist!
Bishops: But you just said you don't need us; you can celebrate the Eucharist without us.
Is there such a thing as "toxic religion"? What does this mean? What about the Catholic Faith?
This article at Religion Dispatches caught my eye.And it's tempting to dismiss it, given that there are so many assumptions the author treats as self-evident that are anything but. The most obvious one, it seems to me, is this: if you want to maintain that truth can't be known certainly, then how do you avoid the conclusion that what is truly right and wrong is likewise uncertain? And once you concede that, how do you take any kind of righteous stance against "wrong" or "evil"? Aren't you really conceding that a statement like, "X is wrong" or, "X is evil" means nothing more than, "____ is wrong/evil for me"? It's nothing more than a preference, and why should your preference be imposed?
If you are someone who can't concede that, at some point, there must be absolute moral norms, then you won't get much from this post. I'm interested in other questions beyond that.
So back to this idea of "toxic" religion. What might that be?
People who talk that way have four things in mind I think:
1) Specific teachings that are "hateful" or "hurtful" toward individuals, because of "who they are" or what they, themselves want or seek.
Most of the time, this is about sex. If you say that some sexual behaviors are immoral, and that being oriented toward those behaviors is unnatural, that's deemed hateful and "toxic." Similarly, if you insist that ones sexual identity is rooted in a fixed reality of biology -- i.e., male and female -- that too is deemed "toxic."
2) Hostility to free inquiry and thought; being open to what science might tell us about evolution, climate change or vaccines, to cite three common points of dispute.
3) Groups or religions or religious leaders that are too "controlling" -- either in what questions you ask, what beliefs you hold, or what choices you make.
4) Too much emphasis on guilt.
So let's take these in reverse order.
Guilt
This is true!
Christianity certainly talks about sin and, therefore, guilt. We need Jesus because we can't find eternal happiness without him: that's the basic point. Jesus himself said it, and so did the Apostles; the Gospels all say it; and this is what "orthodox" Christianity teaches to this moment, whether big-O Orthodox, Catholic or Protestant. Some Christians find this a bit much, so you have a more recent idea of near- or total universalism: we'll all end up OK in eternity, so relax.
Meanwhile, there is a legitimately "toxic" tendency -- certainly among Catholics -- to overemphasize sin and guilt. You can see this in many movements through the ages, and any priest hearing confessions can explain scrupulosity to you, and what struggles he faces in trying to dispel it.
Most priests, I think, wrestle with how they frame their homilies and teaching, so as to avoid feeding either extreme. When I stand up in the pulpit, I know some portion of my listeners are "don't worry, be happy" sorts who could use a little bit of fire-and-brimstone; but also listening are fretful folks who fear God will be angry if they stay home from Sunday Mass because, yes, they were sick, but they weren't that sick. Many times I've wanted to give two homilies; and I don't want the first group to hear what I say to the second, and vice-versa.
Meanwhile, there are priests, and particular groups in the Catholic Church, who seem heedless of these issues. Plenty seem to be in the "don't worry" camp; how can they miss all the warnings Jesus gives in the Gospels? Still others write articles and produce videos and booklets that make me wonder: have they never spent time with a scrupulous person? Their exceedingly detailed examinations of conscience are absolute torture for such folks, and end up being training in scrupulosity.
That said, let's admit some core of this complaint is really arising from bad conscience.
Who enjoys being reminded of ones favorite sins? We're told the Church is "homophobic" and "transphobic" and is "obsessed with pelvic issues." As far as I know, the Seventh Commandment ("Thou shalt not steal") is still a consensus teaching among all varieties of Christians. While I haven't done that many homilies talking about stealing as such; I also haven't seen many Catholics demanding we "rethink" this doctrine and "bring it up to date." Nevertheless, the Seventh Commandment gets quite a lot of attention from bishops and priests, as regards just wages, questions of "fair" taxation, distribution of benefits to the poor and powerless, issues of "environmental justice," ethical business practices, and so forth.
Yet I am not aware of us being labeled "kleptophobic" or of many saying we're "obsessed" with the issue.
Control
Again, this is a fair observation. Throughout history some religious movements and charismatic leaders have exerted too much control over the lives of their adherents.
A very high-profile, recent example would be the Legion of Christ, with it's clearly toxic founder, Marciel Maciel, who used his order to conceal horrendous abuses, including sexual abuse, but also manipulation of his members, who were bound to a vow not to voice criticism. (This is not to demean the many upright people who sought out the Legion in pursuit of holiness, and who sought vocations in the order for good intentions.)
Is this a particular feature of the Catholic Church, or Christianity in general? It's an old attack on Catholics, that we're all under the control of the pope -- or the Jesuits! -- or our parish priest. I've joked from the pulpit many times that I wish I had anything like the "power" over people -- or weather! -- that people imagine!
But, seriously, a fair minded observer would notice no pope in almost 200 years has operated without lots of public disagreement; it has been a long time since most bishops "thundered" or "threatened" about anything, and even when they do, few tremble. Has Speaker Nancy Pelosi been the least bit intimidated by her bishop's warnings?
To be frank, this problem is a pitfall of splitting off from the main body of the Church; and that splitting off can happen precisely when bishops, or the pope himself, has tried to address that unhealthy level of control. When people can set themselves up, independent of any hierarchy or denomination, there's not much control left.
A little tour of recent history -- especially regarding political movements -- will amply demonstrate this is human problem, not particular to religion.
Hostility to inquiry, i.e., science
Again, there is some truth here, to this extent: there are certainly Christians, including Catholics, who buy into the idea that "Science" is contrary to faith, and they are dismissive of scientific ideas that they don't prefer. This includes those who reject evolutionary theory out of hand, and endorse a "young Earth" form of Creationism; also those who are skeptical of climate change, and lately, of vaccines.
Why this is so is an interesting question, but I want to stay on this main path.
Nevertheless, I absolutely dispute the idea that any of this is a product of Christianity. "But what about Galileo, hmm?"
Well, let's set this straight. Without defending how he was treated, the issue with Galileo was not -- it was never -- about studying and learning, or even drawing conclusions. Rather, it was very specifically about drawing theological conclusions. That last thing is what it seemed, to church officials at the time, Galileo was doing. Notice his punishment wasn't death, or to stop learning, but to be silent. Again, not defending it, but let's be clear about that.
And, for that matter, let's also notice that the punishment of Galileo wasn't an exercise of papal teaching authority; it wasn't an infallible declaration. And the proof that it was an abberation is seen in there being pretty few examples to cite apart from Galileo.
And that was 500 years ago. So all you prove by that example is how terrible it was . . . 500 years ago.
Okay.
Meanwhile, you have to wear some massive blinders if you look at the sweep of history since the first proclamation of the Gospel to the world on that first Pentecost Sunday, almost precisely 2,000 years ago, and say that as Christianity spread, it brought darkness and superstition and hostility to free thought.
Is the truth ever "hateful"?
Allowing for all the terrible things that arise from human sinfulness (which is a Christian teaching; if Christianity is wrong about the pervasiveness of sin, how then do we explain the last few thousands years of world history, including but also beyond Christianity?), there remains the BIG QUESTION: is there truth? And if so, WHAT IS IT?
Until you answer that, how can you say any particular conclusion reached by Christianity, about human nature or human destiny -- and the choices that may determine that destiny -- are "hurtful" or "hateful"?
We're told a lot lately that it's "hateful" to say that sex apart from that between a man and woman -- and which is open to the transmission of life -- is wrong. Sinful. Harmful, perhaps in this life, and certainly regarding eternity with God.
Is it hateful...if it's true?
If it IS true, wouldn't it be hateful to say otherwise; or to say nothing?
Let me cite a famous atheist, Penn Jillette. In the video below, at about the 3:30 mark, he asks, "How much to have to hate someone to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell [other people] that?"
This is as good a place to concede the obvious: there are some genuinely hateful people, cloaking their hate in religion. Fred Phelps and his merry band of funeral-crashers come to mind, as do the Taliban.
God help me, I'll never defend either of these groups -- and I can think of others, as can you, to add to this list -- but you know, this only emphasizes the importance of my main point: what, actually, is the truth?
Do you really think it's a workable strategy to tell Phelps, or the Taliban, or the Iranian mullahs, etc., that there simply is no absolute truth? There is no God? There is no hell to warn people against or to save them from? Really? Explain to me why you think that's going to work. How do you propose to convince the Taliban of this?
All you really can prove is that it's all a matter of what provisional, operational "truth" each of us prefers. Mr. Taliban very much prefers his, thank you very much, Infidel! Why shouldn't he?
"Because it's mean." And what is that -- other than your preference?
No, I really think these examples only make it the more important, instead, to say, yes, there is absolute truth, from which we derive certain absolutes of right and wrong, and here's how your actions, Mr. Phelps, Mr. Taliban, measure up.
Mr. Phelps says he's thinking about eternity. So am I. And if you want to counter Mr. Phelps, you better do so as well.
Back to sex
To large numbers of people, it seems absurd to say that God cares much about human sex lives. But once you start thinking about it, no one could say he doesn't care at all. At least some sexual choices must be wrong, right? So how do you know? Where do you draw the line?
Does it really work to draw it at "consent" -- when, first, this seems to be rather tricky to establish? Not to get gross, but some sexual activities like to play around on the fringes of consent; and how many of the accusations of sexual predation hinge on consent being withdrawn? If you actually read some of the cases arising from college campuses, this is the issue: one party says, in effect, "I stopped consenting" and other party responds, "but that's not what you said at the time."
And, really, are you actually content to say that it's only about consent? People consent to all manner of destructive behaviors with diet and smoking and so forth. Is telling people to eat right, exercise and to stop smoking and taking other drugs "hateful" -- because, after all, they chose these things, right?
What this is all about are the basic assumptions we hold -- which, if we are honest, we may never have challenged, and may not want to. One of those assumptions is that, regardless of whatever bad choices we make in life, it'll all wash out fine in the end. God only sends a few really awful people to hell, if there is even a hell. For the rest of us -- if not all of us -- we end up just fine. So by that measure, who cares what you get up to with sex or drugs or anything else?
Or we operate from the assumption of extreme modesty about what we can know. That is, we say, well, who really knows, so who really can say? Except is that what you do when it comes to caring for the environment? People who are militantly agnostic about sexual choices pivot 180 degrees at the speed of light when the subject is addressing climate change. And I'm not against battling climate change; I'm just asking, which is it? We can't really know, or, yes we can?
So, yeah, there can be toxic religion. That's bad. But there can be a more fundamental toxicity: the closing of oneself off from even the possibility of truth. Either it's out there -- and there actually is a "there" out there...
Or else you are all alone. Nothing at all is certain. Nothing. At. All.
This article by Father Francis Hoffman (via Steve Ray) is very well done, and states everything clearly and succinctly.
The only thing I would add is a little depth to his third case: of nominally or lapsed Catholics who do not marry in a Catholic wedding. Consider the following case, which is very common:
A lapsed Catholic who is free to marry seeks to marry a non-Catholic, who likewise is free to marry. The Catholic has no particular desire, unfortunately, to practice his or her Catholic Faith. If the Catholic marries without benefit of the Catholic form of marriage, that marriage is treated as invalid by the Church, although -- as Father Hoffman says, it is potentially valid.
But before you say, then a Catholic should not attend that wedding, unless the Catholic party remedies this situation, let me explain something: there may not be any way -- in good conscience -- for the Catholic party to remedy it! Let me elaborate.
Suppose you tell your lapsed-Catholic friend, "look, we can fix this. Come with me to see Father Friendly, who will explain how you can be validly married. You can even be married at the park as you planned, since your intended is not Catholic, so whatever form of marriage s/he prefers can be an option -- with the bishop's dispensation."
Your lapsed-Catholic friend agrees, the couple meets with Father. In the course of that meeting, Father will explain everything, including that the Catholic party -- marrying a non-Catholic -- must make two promises:
Do you reaffirm your faith in Jesus Christ, and intend to live that faith as a Catholic?
Will you do all in your power to share your faith with your children by having them baptized and raised as Catholics?
Do you see the problem?
Here it is: we saw above that this lapsed-Catholic does not desire to practice the Catholic faith. Perhaps s/he does not believe in Jesus. Perhaps s/he has joined another religion, or simply has no faith at all.
The only way this marriage can be "recognized" is either the lapsed-Catholic must believe -- that is, undergo conversion -- or else, answer insincerely. (And don't doubt for a moment that happens!)
Does that seem just to you? Do you think that is the intent of Catholic norms on marriage, to say that if you lapse from your faith, you may never enter into a valid marriage?
At one time, a provision in canon law specifically said that someone who formally defected from the Catholic Faith was not bound to the Catholic form of marriage; that was intended, I think, for such situations. This provision, however, was deleted. Why? Because that deletion solved a knotty problem: Catholics who defected from the faith came to their senses, and sought to return to the faith -- and perhaps what helped them wake up was realizing they'd entered into a marriage (outside the church) hastily and without care, and now that marriage was a wreck. Alas, the marriage was presumed valid, and they had to go through the arduous process of asking for a declaration that it was otherwise -- i.e., null.
Since such situations often involved a lot of immaturity, the sense was that by treating such marriages as invalid -- for lack of form -- then the Catholic who is now back to his/her senses can either resolve the problem of a foolish (and invalid) marriage easily; or else seek the Church's help in that marriage being recognized as valid.
However understandable that concern was, it created a new problem which I highlighted. How is that to be resolved? Are we to press people to make insincere declarations of faith?
This week a new law went into effect in Texas, outlawing most abortions after the unborn child's sixth week of life. The not-very-bright, never-thinking-independently talking heads and professional shriekers all did their thing, especially when the U.S. Supreme Court did not do anything to block the new law. As a result, this looks like a big victory for the prolife cause.
Well, hold on.
First, here's why the U.S. Supreme Court didn't do anything. Normally, when a court blocks a law, what it actually does is issue an injunction stopping individuals from enforcing the law. Most of the time, those individuals are office holders: presidents, governors, attorneys general, judges, etc. (Here's a good explanation of the legal landscape.)
But this new law did something rather different. It specifically bars anyone in public office from enforcing this particular law! Instead, it allows for any private citizen to sue, in civil court, anyone who provides or facilitates abortions that are contrary to this new law.
So, the reason the U.S. Supreme Court didn't do anything, is because it's far from clear who, precisely, the court was supposed to enjoin: every citizen and resident in the state of Texas? Thankfully, the too-expansive powers of the courts aren't that expansive. Indeed, if you look closely at the petition that came before the high court this week, the abortion-defenders were asking for injunctions against a handful of people. Setting aside whether such an injunction would have been lawful, it would have been ineffective, because as I said, anyone at all can file a lawsuit against an abortion-provider.
So, is that it? Is that the end of the story? Not at all.
There's still a lot of legal wrangling to come, and as I am not an attorney, I won't try to parse all that. But here's what the framers of the law expect to have happen. At some point, someone actually files a civil lawsuit; and now there's a court case; and the abortionist or someone else who is implicated in abortion must defend him- or herself in court. The new law specifically says that one defense is to say that the abortion was legal under existing legal precedents (i.e., Roe and Casey). In other words, it's entirely possible that someone brings a civil suit against an abortionist, and the abortionist wins in state court.
On the other hand, in the event the abortionist (or insurer, or landlord who rents to the abortionist) loses, then it seems very likely that case ends up in the federal courts, and now, the federal courts have something they can "enjoin" -- i.e., the adverse judgment. Why? Because it conflicts with Roe or Casey. Alternately, the Supreme Court could then decide that the new law should be upheld, and so much the worse for prior precedents.
In the meantime, this new law makes things much more complicated for abortionists and their enablers; they have to deal with the threat of lawsuits from every side. And that prospect alone seems to be a victory, right?
Well, not so fast. What the conservative, pro-life majority in the Texas legislature can do, the liberal, pro-abortion majority in the California legislature can also do. Several years ago, California passed a law making life difficult for pro-life crisis pregnancy centers. After several years of litigation, the U.S. Supreme Court struck down that law. So why can't California try again, only this time, barring any public official from enforcing the law, and instead, invite private citizens to file lawsuits against pro-life pregnancy counseling centers?
Or, do the same against gun manufacturers and sellers?
Or, do the same to get at speech they don't like?
The possibilities are endless and not appealing. Recall the scene from Hunt for Red October: the Russian sub captain cleverly turns off the safeties on his torpedoes after Ramius tricks him; but then those torpedoes circle back on the Russian sub.
Again, I'm not a lawyer, but it seems to me there could be a case to be made that when government passes a law, it's the government's job to enforce it, and to make sure enforcement of that law is fair and unprejudiced. Call it a matter of due process, or "equal protection under the law," or an application of the "privileges and immunities" clause in the 14th Amendment. But if laws are passed with empower a flood of lawsuits, the chilling effect on the exercise of a constitutional right is real and serious. Of course, the Constitution does not and ought not grant a right to kill an unborn child. But so the U.S. Supreme Court has held more than once, and that is the real problem.
Several weeks ago, a local group planned to bring a priest here from Haiti. His parish benefits from contributions from local folks -- including my parishioners -- so this was an opportunity for them to know where their money goes, and for the priest and the Haitian parish to tell their story.
Meanwhile, I had a wedding scheduled for Saturday...that means a rehearsal Friday, of course.
Somewhere in there I got a call: So-and-so was from your parish; she died; her funeral was at Such-and-such a parish, will you lead prayers at the grave on Saturday? Sure.
(It's starting to get complicated, but what can I do?)
Priest visiting from Haiti speaks little English; he brings a parishioner of his who speaks English. The group here, that is organizing things, has a schedule for him to meet with this group, that group, see this and that. He's going to be at all the Masses this weekend. I speak up: Father should be given an opportunity to offer Mass himself; even in French, if that's all that works. I stupidly thought Haitians all speak French; they speak Creole, which is French derived, but not the same thing. At any rate, we planned for one Mass to be a mixture of French and English, meaning, Father could offer Mass and we'd all just manage.
Father-from-Haiti is very pleasant, but little time to visit. I've got a rehearsal, he's got visits...
Oh, and the retired priest who was going to come on Saturday morning -- I have two other Masses -- gets a fever. Now I have three Saturday Masses, plus confessions, plus the burial...
And then I get a call: a longtime parishioner died. When shall I meet with the family? How about Saturday, between the burial for the other lady, and the wedding? That's all that works. Thank God, everyone who came for the 11:30 am burial arrived by 11:30 am. Bereavement meeting at noon went smoothly -- good, as there's a wedding at 1:30 and I need to be in the sacristy at 1 pm. "Father, it's hot in church!" "Yes, and I suggest that if you keep these inside doors closed, that'll help." "Good idea!"
Oh, did I mention I was sick this past week? Nothing serious, but I was hoarse and coughing a lot. No one likes to have the priest up at the altar, coughing. Thankfully, I felt pretty good by 1 pm on Saturday. But at the 8:15 am Mass, I said, "it's going to be a long day, sorry but no homily, no petitions..."
The families kindly invited me to the reception; and if they do (they don't always), I am happy to go.
Oh, I forgot to mention two phone calls on Friday: about a very difficult situation. No details, sorry, it's private; but VERY difficult, and I apologized for not being able to talk longer, but -- the rehearsal was in 15 minutes.
So, by Saturday evening, things seemed on a good slide. All I had to worry about for Sunday was...
The priest visiting from Haiti would be the celebrant; but I would assist as I could, as he spoke almost no English; no one else in church spoke French. It worked, but there were some bumps.
Two more Masses...it went fine.
Then a baptism, now we're on the easy side of the day. Did I mention I was getting hoarse and coughing a little?
The visiting priest and his interpreter headed out after that, to another parish nearby and then to Indiana. Not so easy for them. Hearing about the deprivation in Haiti is...amazing. How blessed we are.
So it's been a couple of hours, doing nothing but drinking a cold drink on my porch, and nothing else.
It's been about five weeks since Pope Francis issued Traditiones Custodes, his motu proprio greatly restricting the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM), and everything, apparently, associated with it.
This decision hit me so hard that I barely talked about it, to anyone, for a week or two. I made only the briefest mention of it at Mass. Meanwhile, I contacted Archbishop Schnurr almost instantly to ask for whatever permissions were possible. Via the priest he designated as his "delegate" to handle these matters, I received permission to offer the Traditional Latin Mass "privately." No permission to celebrate any of the other sacraments in the traditional form; nor, it seems, for me to use the older forms of blessings. The Archbishop gave permission for two parishes in Cincinnati to continue offering the TLM, a parish in Dayton, and he indicated he would designate a site up north as well; that hasn't happened yet.
An aside: some want to fault Archbishop Schnurr for not being generous enough in applying, or even in sidestepping, the pope's edict. I am not a canon lawyer, so I am in no position to fault how Father Ruiz, the designated delegate, or the Archbishop himself, are construing things. But I do know they both are trying to act in accord with their consciences, as is right. And I know the following to be true: prior to Traditiones Custodes, Schnurr could not have been more generous toward those interested in traditional rites. Every priest was welcome to offer the TLM; training was generously made available; he made no problems whatsoever. The Archbishop takes seriously his moral duty to be obedient and I think he is trying to do that. Second, the choice of Father Ruiz was entirely suitable and irenic. He, too, has been supportive, and will do everything he can, conscientiously, to assist those interested in traditional forms.
So, to put it simply, even if you think Archbishop Schnurr could handle this differently, remember he is not the author of this new reality, and he is trying to navigate this with the long-term in view.
After a week, I did start writing about this situation in the parish bulletin, and I did work out how I would handle things at St. Remy. I have permission to offer the TLM privately; I have permission to allow a layperson to assist as an altar server; I have permission to do this in the church; no one told me to lock the doors or kick the faithful out of church; and I was told that if people wished to receive Holy Communion, I could give them the Eucharist. So these are the things I am doing. What, then, does offering Mass "privately" mean? It means that such a Mass cannot be on the parish schedule, nor can it be "announced." So, I regularly offer the TLM privately, without any announcement; but I do it the same time each week. If people figure it out and show up, what shall I do?
I am supremely confident that Archbishop Schnurr is entirely fine with people being present when I offer such a private Mass, but I can readily imagine it being otherwise. In the Diocese of Pittsburgh, the bishop has forbidden priests from any private Traditional Latin Mass. Meanwhile, in other places, even those things that might be suggestive of traditional things are being banned. In Costa Rica, vestments that savor of tradition are banned -- from use with the 1970 Mass -- as is Latin! A priest in the Archdiocese of Chicago has been told that he and the people must cease praying the St. Michael Prayer, and the Hail Mary, at the conclusion of Mass! Permission was graciously granted for them to do so silently.
All this is supremely silly and petty, and only serves to reflect badly on those who issue such edicts. What in the world does it even mean to say, you can't pray a prayer "after Mass"? Is the public recitation of the St. Michael Prayer forbidden entirely? No? Then how much time must elapse between the conclusion of Mass and the licit recitation of this prayer?
It may be hard to see it, but there will be good that comes from all this, although I doubt it will be what those who support this war on tradition hope for. But good will come, because it always does.
Meanwhile, there will be bad fruit as well; the instances I cited above are some of that bad fruit. There will be many who are discouraged -- I am discouraged! There will be further divisions as people take this opportunity to treat others badly, especially when they have the power to do so.
Also meanwhile, there are those counseling disobedience. I cannot assess the conscience of others, but I cannot endorse that.
It is one of the oldest and most seductive temptations: to justify disobedience out of an inflated sense of "necessity" and because some aspect of the obedience demanded is unfair or unjust. I will not say that there are never grounds for disobedience, but that option must be saved for last. However unfair it would be for the bishop to tell me (which he has not done, let me stress) that I may not offer the TLM at all, in my judgment, I would not be justified in defying him. If he directs me to offer the 1970 Mass only, then that is what I would do.
After all, whenever I reach the point that I think my only option is to disobey the bishop (or the pope), there still remains one other option: to resign -- i.e., from a pastoral assignment. Sure, I hear you say, "but that's exactly what these bishops want!" They may want this or that problem priest to go away, but they do need someone to staff parishes. Resignation is an entirely ethical way to refuse to obey; and it is a witness.
Remember, the battle is always the Lord's; and deciding to trust him is a powerful message, and a blameless one.
Meanwhile, we must simply wait for the contradictions that have been set in motion to grind away on each other. At Where Peter is, a gentlemen tries gamely to defend the pope's edict by arguing that the reason the TLM must be chucked out the window, in favor of the 1970 Missal, is because the new Mass is simply "better"; then to show the manifest inferiority of the old Mass, he cites several features that -- oops -- are likewise features of liturgy in non-Roman Catholic rites. Thus raising the question of whether these non-Roman rites must also be extirpated? The author tries to wave away the implication of his argument with a footnote: "Nothing I am saying here is meant to indicate any disunity between the Rites nor is it meant to indicate any inferiority of the other Catholic Rites." Well, you may not have "meant" to indicate inferiority, just as a poor driver doesn't mean to run the car into a telephone pole; but the mess remains.
The drift of these arguments -- and when arguments fail, naked impositions of power -- is to argue that no more debate may be tolerated about the 1970 Missal -- it's better, don't you see, so shut up! -- and for that matter, about anything that has followed the Second Vatican Council; and, for that matter, the Council itself. The basic approach here is simply to demand silence.
Not only won't that work; it is positively corrosive.
Many of us have long maintained that Vatican II was badly served by the implementation that followed, and I still take that view. But, if you keep insisting that people must accept it all -- the Council, plus the 1970 Missal AS-IS, plus all the rest of the decisions about religious life and architecture and catechesis -- as a package deal, while being told that if they question or wonder, they're schismatics and they "sadden" the Holy Father...
Well, people will stop asking their questions openly; but they won't stop wondering; and if they believe you that it's all a package deal, then at some point, people who previously did not question the Council itself may find themselves doing so. They will find themselves searching online for discussions of this subject; to learn more about an event that happened before they were born, and about which, they haven't really learned a whole lot. And if those in communion with Rome are forbidden to discuss openly these questions, then whose articles and websites do you suppose these inquisitive minds will land?
This all takes me back to when I entered the seminary. I had no particular interest in the the Traditional Latin Mass at the time; I had almost no experience with it and it was opaque to me. I had, however, familiarized myself with the documents of Vatican II before entering the seminary; that seemed common-sensical to do while waiting. But then I noticed something about the seminary (this was 1997): certain subjects and certain interests were verboten; any discussion was entered into furtively, while no faculty were around, and indeed, only with seminarians who one felt could be trusted.
What subjects and interests? Anything savoring of tradition! One was extremely careful about even expressing the slightest interest in the rites and forms of liturgy prior to 1970. Indeed, even expressing interest in clerical attire would get unfavorable notice from the "formators" -- because that might suggest a certain fetish about having a clerical identity: very unhealthy!
Guess what? This very climate of suppression and fear piqued my interest. Oh, I was quite careful myself; but all this seemed awfully curious to me: what was so dangerous about tradition? I naively thought of the Catholic Church as all about tradition; one of the things I had to wrestle with in my return to the Faith was understanding how tradition fit into the whole picture. And then I found myself asking: do these folks who are teaching us, or whose materials we are studying, imagine that Vatican II represented a break with the tradition? I knew in my bones that if there were two Churches (pre- and post-VII), then there is NO Church. The Church is one, and therefore, there must be continuity.
Thankfully, the seminary I attended is no longer subject to this repressive climate, but I suspect this sort of fearfulness is going to make a come-back in many places. It won't work, as it didn't work in my case and in the case of many with whom I attended the seminary; it will only serve to expose the fragility of the positions those who impose this sort of thought-control.
So, yes, this is all bad, but keep of good cheer. This new war on tradition will not be successful.
