Incarnations of Christianity

Note: As I finished writing this post, I realized it was far too long, but rather than edit and compress it, I decided to leave it alone in its original, unorganized state. 

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One of the more interesting aspects of my ministry as a parish deacon is to fulfill the role of what the late Tom Wolfe called “flak catcher.” Some parishioners apparently feel more comfortable approaching a deacon with their complaints and concerns than taking them directly to the pastor. I suppose I can understand that. The deacon might be clergy, but he’s generally, and erroneously, viewed as a kind of part-timer. After all, when we’re not wearing vestments, we deacons look like everyone else. Maybe we’re seen as more approachable because we, too, have families, work for a living, and live in the local community. 

Of course, what most parishioners don’t know is that deacons really can’t do much about most of their concerns. The big issues are decided by the bishop, the pastor handles how the parish will implement those decisions, and we deacons, quite appropriately, do what we’re told. After all, the word deacon derives from the Greek word, diakonia, which means service, especially the service of those who carry out the commands of others (that's us). When I find myself in that flak-catching role, I try to ease the parishioner’s concerns, explain the Church's or the parish's position, and, if necessary, refer the parishioner to someone who might be able to do something about it.

Anyway, I get phone calls. Not long ago two very different people called me on consecutive days with related, but different concerns. One caller wanted to know why we couldn't celebrate an occasional Latin Mass. He brought up his dissatisfaction with the Novus Ordo Missae; i.e., the new order of the Mass promulgated after the Second Vatican Council. He prefers the traditional Latin Mass, now called the extraordinary form, which he believes the Church has abandoned. I explained that both forms are equally valid. I also tried to convince him, as the great theologian Romano Guardini said, that it is the faithful, not the rubrics, which determine the faithfulness of a liturgy, whether extraordinary or otherwise. I then told him that although the vernacular is in general use throughout the world, the Church still prescribed Latin as the primary language for Mass. In fact, all translations derive from the Latin Roman Missal. I added that I, too, had a particular fondness for the traditional Latin Mass, the Mass I grew up with and in which I participated as an altar boy back in the 1950s. But he remained adamant and couldn’t understand why the Church had to change.

The second call was from a seasonal parishioner – what some call a "snowbird" – whom I will kindly describe as a “progressive” Catholic. He, too, had a liturgical question that eventually morphed into a complaint. He was unhappy with the pastor of his New York parish — “always preaching about abortion but rarely about social justice.” I think sometimes he calls just to test me, to see if he can get me to argue with him. Surprisingly, though, I kept my cool as I explained that to preach on abortion, the killing of millions of the most innocent among us, is to preach the very essence of social justice. Our conversation wandered among a variety of subjects and when I mentioned that some Catholics longed for the Latin Mass, he laughed and said, “Just a bunch of lost souls, trapped in the errors of the past. Just wait until we ordain woman. That’ll drive them over the edge.”

These two calls got me thinking about the Church over time. Was it wrong earlier – "the errors of the past" – and correct now, or was it correct in the past and wrong now? After thinking about this for a while, I concluded that the correct answer to each part of this double-barreled question is “No.” Certainly members of the Church, even an occasional Pope, have been guilty of error, and worse. After all, ordination at any level does not guarantee holiness. Called to holiness, deacons, priests, and bishops all remain sinners. Only the Church itself remains holy. And the Church knows this. In fact, one of the recent changes to the English translation of the Roman Missal reflected this internal awareness. The English translation of the congregation’s response to the priest’s prayer preceding the Eucharistic Prayer (a response we altar servers used to call the Suscipiat) was changed to more accurately reflect the original Latin:

“May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands for the praise and glory of his name, for our good and the good of his holy Church.” 

For years, ignoring the original Latin, this response had not included the word, “holy.” Could that omission in a prayer repeated by millions over several decades had an impact on the Church and its holiness as perceived by the faithful? An interesting question.

This leads us to infallibility, which is a magisterial gift of the Holy Spirit, a gift granted to the pope and to “the body of bishops when, together with Peter’s successor, they exercise the supreme Magisterium.” [See CCC 891.] But many of the details, the nitty-gritty of how we worship, are not immutable. Infallibility simply does not apply. Over the centuries the Church has often changed what it considers non-essential and managed to adapt its approach to the ever-changing political, social, even economic conditions it encounters in the world. But throughout its life, the Church has continued to do God’s redeeming, sanctifying work through the infallible Magisterium and the grace-filled efficacy of the sacraments. 

Because the Church was divinely instituted by Jesus Christ [Mt 16:18], it is transcendent. But because it must do God’s work in the world, it is also incarnate. The Body of Christ lives partly in the world and its history is one of adaptation to many different Christian cultures: Palestinian and Aramaic, Greek and Roman, Byzantine, Medieval, Baroque, Late European, Modern, and today’s emerging global Christianity. The problem occurs when we try to identify the Church with just one of these forms, in effect telling it to become static in its approach to the world. 

The Church cannot be identified with any given race, culture, or society. The true Christian is no more Greek or Roman than Italian or American or Chinese or Indian. The Church, then, freed from its attachment to any specific civilization or society becomes enriched by each culture in which it thrives. God certainly blessed the Church when Western civilization embraced Christianity, but this is just one of many incarnations of the Faith on earth. The Christian message, the Good News of Jesus Christ, because it comes from God, and not from man, must transcend all cultures and societies.

Sacred history began not with Abraham, but with creation. Indeed, God began His formal revelation in time with the words of creation:

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth" [Gen 1:1].

Actually...with the Word of creation, for the Person of the Redeemer is Himself the Creative Word of God. 

All that preceded Christianity cannot be dismissed simply as wrong! God is present throughout time, revealing Himself in ways we cannot grasp. The nature religions, Hinduism, Buddhism...all had their roles to play in the world's sacred history. 

Judaism, especially, through which God revealed Himself personally and more deeply over time, paved the way for the fullness of revelation. The covenant with Noah held firm, revealing God’s will for humanity, until it was superseded by the covenant with Abraham. This, too, held firm, reinforced by God’s covenant with Moses, and later with David, a covenant that included a promise.  With Jesus Christ, with the Incarnation, that promise and all that came before is fulfilled. 

Just as sacred history passed through all of human history, the Church has and will continue to do the same. The Church of the future, that emerging global Church, will in its own way incorporate the varieties of human civilization. The deposit of faith and the sacramental life cannot change, but so much of what we do, how we pray and worship, undergoes frequent and often rather radical change. 

If a first-century Roman Christian had tried to introduce the Rosary, I suspect it would have been summarily rejected. The time and place and culture simply weren’t right. But by the 13th century God knew the world needed this prayerful devotion and, through Mary, St. Dominic introduced it to the Church. Today we see the growth of the Divine Mercy chaplet thanks to God working through the life of St. Faustina. 

Devotions evolve over time, as do many elements of sacramental and other rites. Next Tuesday I will baptize a baby girl using the newly revised rite: the Order of Baptism of Children. Over the past quarter-century I've baptized a few hundred little (and not so little) ones, using the earlier rite. Both rites were valid because they center on "the water and the words." The other elements of the rite support our worship and our catechesis. Through them, parents and godparents, and all who witness this sacrament, come to share in and better understand God's miraculous work as He adopts this new Child. Sin is remitted, the grace of the Holy Spirit fills the soul, and the Church accepts a new member. None of this has changed, nor will it ever change. 

I should remind my two callers of this. 

"Make disciples of all nations," Jesus commanded. He didn't tell us what language to use in our worship, for He understands all language. Nor is the Church to be measured solely on its success in improving people's social conditions. Important as they are, these things are secondary.  The essential work of the Church is the liberation of the soul from spiritual bondage...its salvation.