took and mixed in with three measures of flour until
all of it was leavened." Matthew 13:33
From the December 2005/January 2006 Issue
The Majesterium of the Catholic Church
in the Modern Era
Patrick J. D’Silva
Patrick D'Silva recently received a Master's in Theological Studies from Harvard Divinity School, where he studied comparative religion. He now lives in Boulder, CO and made it to Mass the weekend after writing this essay.
Recently I saw one of my favorite family members He’s a favorite in large part because of the challenging theological discussions we have – without fail – every time we meet. A longtime member of the clergy, he has ably filled the role of family priest for many decades. While he is still mentally spry, he is also quite rigid on doctrinal matters. His standard opening (and concluding) line to me upon encountering my evolving skepticism and questioning of the Church always boils down to this: in order to call yourself a Catholic, you must accept the authority of the Roman Catholic Church; and if you accept the Church’s authority, then you must accept its teachings. My great-uncle does not use words like ‘authority’ and ‘teachings’ lightly, and I consider him to be a solidly Catholic individual, so I tend to use these discussions to examine whether or not I still have any right to call myself a Catholic. I find this question to be of particular importance as we enter the Advent season and its accompanying challenge to make the celebration of Christ’s birth a matter of relevance today.
At the outset, this essay would not be completely in tune with “Big C” Catholicism without a series of mea culpas. I have not attended Mass on a regular basis for over two years. More by happenstance than by conscientious effort, I put all my efforts into making Lent and Holy Week – not Advent and Christmas – the center of my devotional life. My prayer life is increasingly centered on my daily yoga practice – which takes up decidedly less time than a daily rosary. To top it all off, I rarely remember to say any sort of blessing before a meal – although the thought that I should pray enters into my mind at the same instant the first bite hits my tongue. Based on most sociological surveys I have read regarding US Catholics, I am by no means above average in the degree of my digressions from Church recommendations and teachings. But do these things determine whether or not I have a right to consider myself Catholic? Do I use my great-uncle’s position as the ultimate index of orthodoxy, or do I develop something different? Either way, when do I decide to leave the Church behind?
A variety of other denominations and religious traditions could serve as more nourishing spiritual homes for a wondering soul such as me. But none of them give me the respective comfort and inspiration that permeates my heart when I receive Communion, or say “Peace be with you” to complete strangers – and mean it. Contrast this with the fact that in the past few years I have prayed for the strength to divest myself completely of the Church over its handling of the sexual abuse crisis. The evil perpetrated by those who knowingly placed children in danger of such abuse is overwhelming. I would be lying if I said I had not thought that our world would be better off without such a Church. For some of the latest press on this crisis, I refer readers to the cover story of [underline title] National Catholic Reporter’s October 7, ’05 issue–covering the findings of a grand jury investigation into the Archdiocese of Philadelphia. Words cannot express my anger upon reading about the manner in which retired Cardinal Anthony Bevilacqua and the late Cardinal John Krol enabled sexual predators by covering up for their fellow clergy and moving known abusers from unsuspecting parish to unsuspecting parish. God only knows why, but I remain in the pew, albeit on the fast track to becoming a CEO (Christmas and Easter Only) Catholic.
I return to my great-uncle’s question: Do I accept the teaching authority of the Roman Catholic Church to the exclusion of all other truth claims? Almost. I have never bought the notion that in order to be a member of the Church, one must subscribe to each and every teaching. Our Church is far too vast, far too human, and far more mystical an entity than is acknowledged by such notions that attempt to boil identity and religiosity down to questions with answers only accepted in binary code. Yet it is a compelling question, one that reminds me of an evangelical Christian youth minister I knew in high school; he asked me during a Bible study if I had accepted Christ into my heart (and if not, then he advised me to do so at once when I went home). How do we internalize these metaphysical truths and distill them down to practical guides for daily action? I readily admit that the Catholic Church does this in a systematic and rigorous fashion through its centuries of teaching, but my evangelical mentor makes an equally important point, one that brings us back to the meaning of Advent and Christmas.
What does this celebration of Christ’s birth mean to you? Beyond the consumer mania that dominates this time of year, how do we as Catholics living in the United States imagine our place in the world? How focused are we on Christ? Does the Catholic Church help or hinder us in this effort? The ‘smells and bells’ tell us that we are entering into a distinct season, a portion of the year that is different from the rest, but how do we respond to it in terms of our daily actions? There are considerable outlets for our charitable impulses – clothing drives, food collections, alms giving – but these good works do not alone imply an internal state of grace and rightness with God. Providing the means to cultivate an active and internally focused spiritual life is surely one of the most important gifts of our Church. However, this gift does not end with prayer. Surely we are called to serve our Church with the full expression of our thoughts as well as our prayers.
My last conversation with my great-uncle ended when I gave him my best argument regarding the importance of a ‘loyal opposition’ within any institution. Naturally, I buttressed my argument with a standard line that as Catholics we are obligated to educate our consciences through consulting a wide variety of sources – especially Church teaching. In the end, after all, aren’t matters of salvation left to God alone? Surely within such a Church are those who consider themselves members, but who disagree with certain policies and lobby the Church to make changes. This disagreement is not indicative of treasonous or deviant behavior, but rather the opposite. Daily interactions with loved ones and co-workers tell us that most people only make a fuss about something when it really matters to them, and that silence is more often a sign of apathy than acquiescence or agreement. Would it not be possible for the Holy Spirit to move some Catholics to support the ordination of women to the priesthood, for approval of contraception, for equal pressure to ban the death penalty as to ban abortion? My great-uncle responded that he did not believe in such a thing as a loyal opposition, and that if you wanted to call yourself a Catholic, then you had to accept the teaching authority of the Roman Catholic Church.
Where does each of us stand in relation to this position? Even standing in line before the fabled Catholic buffet, after discussions like these I am not sure I can fill my plate with more than the theological and devotional equivalents of a few croutons and ice-berg lettuce. I have that distinct feeling held over from adolescence, when I would discover the existence of a party I ‘knew’ I should have been invited to, but wasn’t. Even if someday I were to become Episcopalian or Presbyterian, my soul would still be Catholic. Further more, I have a responsibility to stay invested – this Church belongs to me as much as anyone else, frocked or not. The surest way to guarantee the end of a vital Catholic Church in the US is for all malcontents to walk out the door. We must be assertive about our right to sit, stand, and kneel alongside those who currently define what it means to be Catholic. As we approach Advent, let us call to mind the wonder and grace exemplified by the hospitality and acceptance that mark the Bethlehem story. Mary and Joseph could not find room at the local inn, but persevered and found a way to take care of their responsibility that cold night. It is this core meaning that keeps me thinking about going to Mass this season, even if I don’t quite make it there…