Moreover...

In my last post (cue trumpet solo!) I outlined some of the risks I see in the current synodal process:  interpreting what is said through a worldly, rather than a Catholic, understanding; the inherently unrepresentative nature of the process; and the risks of bias (deliberate or inadvertent) in recording and summarising.

There are further problems, too. These are not inherent in the process, as the first batch were, but are related to the specific way in which this has been conducted.

The first of these is the nature of the questions asked.  It is instructive to consider what was asked, and also what was not asked.  

The first question, for example was:

I.               Our Journeying Companions

 

Who are we on the journey with and what persons or groups are marginalised and why?

Think of those who form our parish community as we journey together. Which people or groups are on the edges of our community? Whom do we know who no longer walks with us, those who used to and now we don’t see? How do we engage with those for whom the experience of Covid has prompted thoughts about faith? How do we welcome people? 

‘We feel connected to the Church community’

This is an interesting question, when one considers how one might go about answering it.  The first bit: who are we on a journey with? is so broad and vague as to be almost unanswerable in any meaningful way. So our attention shifts to the second clause, about marginalised people or groups. That of course invites the 'women are marginalised; lgbtq+ people are marginalised' responses that are so predictable. Was that the intention? It is hard to be sure. But if it wasn't then the choice of question was clumsy, and if it was, that raises other questions.

And then, like all the other questions, it ends with a statement that is the presumed desired state of affairs (in the written submissions, respondents were asked to tick a box to indicate the degree with which they agreed with the statement).

So looking at all 10 statements gives an overview of the desiderata:

 

We feel connected to the Church  

We feel that the Church community listens to us

We feel able to speak our minds confidently to other Church members

 The Mass/Worship helps us in our Christian lives

We want to be able to share our faith with others in our community

We often have conversations with others who have differing beliefs

We get on well with non-Catholic Christians

We have some responsibilities in our parish

Our local parish makes decisions after listening and prayer 

We are willing to listen to people even if they have different opinions to us

 In one sense there is nothing very objectionable about most of that. One might question the predominance of feeling in the opening three; and one might certainly object to the use of Mass/Worship as if anything could be on a plane with the Mass, the source and summit of the Christian life. Moreover to see the purpose of the Mass primarily as helping us in our Christian lives is deeply problematic. 

But those objections aside, what is astonishing is what is not here. There is nothing about the other sacraments; almost nothing about understanding or living the Faith...

So who has determined that these are the issues on which it is vital to hear the views of the Faithful, and on what basis have they been chosen?

Why aren't the questions based on the structure of the Catechism of the Church: Faith, the Sacramental Life, Life In Christ and Prayer, for example.  That would have been both more comprehensive and more (how shall I say this) Catholic.

It could be really valuable to learn, for example, why people neglect the Sacrament of Penance, and how (if) they engage in the corporal and spiritual works of mercy.  That could usefully inform actions aimed at fostering and deepening Faith. But that doesn't seem to be the point.

Which, of course, raises the larger question: what is the point of this Synodal process?

Its early fruits seem to be enabling and apparently legitimising the expression of heretical and heterodox views. Was that always the intention?

Our current Holy Father hates to clarify ambiguities, it seems; is that his way of  permitting the expression of heretical and heterodox views, with plausible deniability?

Or if not, what?

These are hard questions, and I find myself repeating with more regularity than is normal the promise of Our Lord Himself: portae inferi non praevalaebunt adversus eam. 

So I suppose we have to recognise that God writes straight with crooked lines, and that the Holy Spirit will draw good from all of this as He best knows how.

I can already see some positives emerging from all of this. It is becoming clearer by the day which of the bishops around the world are untrustworthy, with regard to teaching the Faith.  And for myself, whilst I have found the current pontificate challenging, it has had the result of making me pray more, and of curing any tendency to ultramontanism I may have had, so there is that, too...

On the value of listening (and some reservations)

 I am a great believer in the value of listening. Both at a practical and at a theoretical level, it is of great importance. Without listening we cannot understand and engage usefully with another; and it is frequently an act of charity.

So there is a part of me that understands, and sympathises with, the theoretical justification of the Synodal Way. And yet...

My concerns are significant, and they are many.  Here I will address just the first few of them.

I volunteered to run the parish meetings to consider the synod questions. What I realised (inter alia) was that listening is not in itself a neutral activity.  Thus when I heard a small (but vociferous) number of people (n=2) saying that it was an injustice that women are not admitted to leadership positions in the Church, and specifically the priesthood, I reflected that how I heard - and the meaning I derived - from that argument depended on the assumptions, beliefs, values, and so forth that I already held.  And inevitably so.

If I listen as a Catholic, understanding that the Church does not have the authority to ordain women; and particularly as a thoughtful and informed Catholic, who understands some of the reasons for that reality, then what I hear is an expression of a lack of catechesis: these poor women have never heard, or at least never understood (and therefore never accepted) the Church's teaching. It is lamentable, but no fault of theirs, in all probability. We have been failing to teach the Faith (and in particular the difficult bits) for a whole generation or more.

Whereas, if I listen without a full Catholic understanding, and particularly if I have imbibed a worldly perspective on such issues, I might reach a different conclusion: that the Holy Spirit is speaking through the Synod to change the Church. 

So that is risk number one; what it requires, of course, is listening with discernment, to distinguish the Heilige Geist from the Zeitgeist.

But I fear that I see a lack of such discernment being played out on a large scale at the moment. 

The second risk that my involvement in the process highlighted was about representation. In our parish, at least, the people who participated came from a very small selection of parishioners who were characterised by a common feeling of discontent. These were people who wanted more inclusion - by which they meant a celebration of things heretofore regarded as sinful, such as homosexual relationships, and the revision of Church teaching to suit their own particular agenda, including (as I mentioned previously) issues such as ordaining women, and condoning divorce.

On the other side of the equation, my Schola also submitted a written response to the Synodal questions, from a perspective of, let us say, a more traditional understanding of the Faith. 

But clearly, neither of these are representative of the typical person in the pew (if that is the idea) the vast majority of whom simply declined to participate. 

The process is only really of interest to those who are unhappy, one way or the other, or to the 'professional Catholics' who make up so much of the commentariat (and they are typically unhappy, too...). So for all the listening of the listening Church, what will be heard is a very distorted account of the views of the Faithful. Is that really how we hear the voice of the Holy Spirit?   

A third problem is the problem of recording. I tried to record the meetings accurately, with some clarity about which views were commonly held and which were individual.  But it would have been very easy for me to have recorded as important those issues I held to be important, and so forth.  And that risk is repeated at every level, as the diocesan and national summaries are prepared, and then as the great and the good in the Vatican look at the overall picture and draw up their summaries. 

These risks are inherent in the process, regardless of the good intentions (or lack thereof) of those running the process.   And then there's the question of the questions, and the thinking behind this sudden interest in synodality, and the desired outcomes...  But I will come to those another day.

Breaking my silence

I have been quiet (in this space at least) for a while. But I believe that the time has come to speak up again, and in particular on two issues. One is the current mayhem being unleashed on the Church in the name of synodality; the other is the current mayhem being unleashed on the world in the name of diversity.

So in the coming weeks, if I can find a few moments, I will share my reflections on both of these topics, that have been welling up (maturing seems too great a claim) over the last years.

It is easy to wonder if we are approaching the end times: the Church seems rocked to its foundations when there is mass episcopal betrayal and the Holy See is either silent or ambiguous, or worse; and the world seems given over to its own devices, with abortion rampant, and the war on humanity leading to the destruction of both minds and bodies by ideologies, such as the transgender cult, that are as inimical to reason itself as they are to human flourishing.

Yet it is not for us to know the time set by the Father Himself; whilst we should always stay awake and stay ready for the Second Coming, we should also learn from history that many previous generations have thought that the end was near, and were mistaken.  So we must also prepare for the long haul, and in particular equip our children and our grandchildren to deal with the grim future that we bequeath them, and do whatever we reasonably and legitimately can to leave things in a better state than they are now.

For there is no doubt that we are beset by demons; and I suspect that this kind can go out by nothing, but by prayer and fasting.

Active Participation

In my missal (inherited from my Father, [Society of St John the Evangelist/Desclée & Co, 1948, with changes post-1956] who bought it in 1973), there is an interesting note with regard to the new liturgy for Palm Sunday.

The english (sic) texts of pp 382 - 558 are those of the "Holy Week Manual" published in 1956 by Burnes and Oates, London, and Desclée & Co, Tournai.

[There is then an overview of the new rite, which concludes:]

In the new rite of "Palm Sunday" the active participation of the people is provided for: -

(1) The blessing of palms is to be done in sight of the congregation and facing it; and for this the people may hold their own palms and have them sprinkled and censed in their places.
(2) The people are to take part in the procession, walking after the celebrant, carrying their palms; and women are not excluded from this procession.
(3) The congregation is to sing the responses, and if possible, the refrain Gloria laus; and it may add the hymn Christus vincit, or another one, in honour of the Christ-King.
(4) The final (new) prayer at the end of the first part of the rite is to be sung facing the people.

I am not going to comment here on the wisdom of these changes, nor the principle apparently established, that the Church could create new rites in this way.

Rather, my attention was caught by the phrase 'active participation of the people.'  This was clearly a key idea of the liturgical movement, and what interests me is how modest were the provisions made for participation, compared to those unleashed by Bugnini after the Council.

Because, and this is the point I wish to make, I was struck by the probability  indeed the near certainty - that when the Council Fathers voted for more active participation, what most will have had in mind is the modest types of provision that they had experienced since the changes of 1955, as listed above.   Clearly there is nothing here that remotely presages what actually was done in the name of that simple phrase.

Why not receive in the hand?

With the advent of the Coronavirus pandemic, we have been requested by our bishop either to receive in the hand or make a spiritual communion.

I am grateful that he did not mandate this, as that would seem to be beyond his authority, but a request is understandable (though I understand that there is no evidence base for it...)

However, I believe that obedience is best practiced when we don't agree with, or sympathise with, the authority; but I am under the authority of my bishop (and he is generally a good chap), so I will obey.

I am also grateful that he explicitly mentioned making a spiritual communion: it makes it clear that he has some understanding of the sensitivities about this issue amongst some of his flock.

For myself, therefore (and I only speak for myself) I shall be making a Spiritual Communion for the foreseeable future.

I have noticed some odd comments on social media about people making this decision, and they show a startling lack of awareness about the considerations that might inform such a decision.

So here are some of the reasons why I will not receive in the hand.

I remember when this was introduced; the arguments used didn't convince me as a teenager: they look even thinner now, with the benefit of experience and hindsight.

Indeed, much of the reasoning seemed completely specious: Communion in the hand, we were told, reminds us that we have become temples of the living God; brings out the truth that we are sharers in Jesus' priesthood; is a more mature and adult gesture...

I defy anyone to justify such twaddle.

Paul VI himself disagreed. In Memoriale Domini, which dealt with this issue (as communion in the hand had been introduced by disobedient priests in Holland and Germany) he insisted on the traditional way of receiving. He polled the bishops of the world, who were overwhelmingly against the innovation, and he reiterated the dangers of communion in the hand, including a decline in reverence and a decline in belief in the Real Presence.

However, in a pastoral gesture, he said that where the practice was already established, the Bishops' Conference, if they wished (by a 2/3 majority) could ask Rome for permission to continue the practice.

Scandalously, not only did the bishops where the practice was established petition Rome, so did many other Conferences. And through this back door, the tradition of the Church and the clear direction from the Holy Father, and the views of the majority of the world's bishops, were all overthrown.

Since then, I have also  learned that the much-quoted lines from St Cyril of Jerusalem were very carefully selected to make it seem as though this were a return to an ancient practice.  But what St Cyril practiced was very different: immediately after the oft-quoted lines about making the left hand a throne, he continues "Then, carefully sanctifying the eyes by touching them with the holy Body...." One can see why the Church developed a more fitting manner of reception... Clearly that is not what was being reintroduced. Instead, what we were being taught to do was exactly what the Protestant reformers of the 16th Century had invented. These reformers, of course, were concerned to eliminate anything redolent of belief in 'a sacrificing priesthood possessing powers denied to the laity, or the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament.'

So, given its genesis in the reformation as a gesture opposing Catholic teaching, its initial introduction in the 60s by disobedient clerics, the clear intention of Memoriale Domini and the world's bishops when the issue was addressed, and the subsequent chicanery of the E&W (and other) hierarchies in introducing this, and distributing dishonest propaganda about it; and finally, given my own observation of the truth of Paul VI's warnings of the probable consequences... no, I will not avail myself of this practice.

(For more information on this, and the source of my direct quotations, see Communion in the Hand and other Frauds, by Michael Davies)

The First Commandment

In the light of recent events in the Vatican, and the various reactions to them, I have been pondering the First Commandment.

And the Lord spoke all these words:
I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

Thou shalt not have strange gods before me.
Thou shalt not make to thyself a graven thing, nor the likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, nor of those things that are in the waters under the earth.
Thou shalt not adore them, nor serve them: I am the Lord thy God, mighty, jealous, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me:
And shewing mercy unto thousands to them that love me, and keep my commandments.

Of course, the modern enlightened mind realises that the idea of God being jealous is clearly a nonsense, so we can disregard this passage...

However, I have an old-fashioned, unenlightened mind, so I treat it differently.  Of course, God as jealous is anthropomorphic - a metaphor. So, of course, what I want to understand is what the passage really means; and to inform that, how has the Church, the guardian and interpreter of Sacred Scripture, under the tutelage of the Holy Ghost, understood this.

The Penny Catechism is always helpful (I am a simple, as well as old-fashioned and unenlightened, soul).  It explains the first commandment (in part) thus:

181 The first Commandment does not forbid the making of images, but the making of idols; that is it forbids us to make images to be adored and honoured as gods.

182 The first Commandment forbids all dealing with the Devil, and superstitious practices such as consulting spiritualists and fortune tellers, and trusting to charms, omens, dreams and such-like fooleries.

Which is pretty clear.

And reflecting further on this, I was thinking about the folly of thinking that one can break God's commandment.  In one sense, one can, of course; but at a deeper level, one can only break oneself against the commandment.

If one takes the Law of Gravity as an analogue: one can defy the Law of Gravity by throwing oneself from a high building; but actually, the law takes effect, and one is damaged - or indeed killed - by the subsequent fall.

I think that the Commandments of God are the same; the implicit second half of each commandment is '... or you will bring spiritual death on yourself, (and harm to others).'

And these Commandments apply to all humanity. It is true that the subjective guilt may be less if one is genuinely ignorant, but these are bad things for people to do.  Not bad (only) because they offend a jealous God (to talk in metaphor - as that is the principle way in which we can talk about God) but bad because they are bad for us, in just the same way that jumping off a high building is bad for us - they will damage us (and normally, hurt others, too).

That is why any enculturation that encourages the pagan to persist in pagan practices is wrong; and any enculturation that encourages Catholics to indulge in pagan practices is even more wrong. Not only is it offensive to God, but it is necessarily damaging to the spiritual welfare of all involved.

However much indigenous people may revere Pachamama, we may not do so, nor encourage them to continue to do so, even out of the wish to befriend them.  We may not do evil that good may come of it.

Not to mention the small matter of scandal...

I end with my usual caveat: I am no theologian, merely an old-fashioned, unreconstructed and rather simple Catholic: I am always open to correction by those better informed.

Our Lady Who Turns Her Face to the Wall

Some years ago, my late mother gave me a small statue of Our Lady of Torreciudad.  She sits on top of the chest of drawers by my bed, in the corner of the room.  And she turns her face to the wall.

Or to be more accurate, perhaps, she turns her whole self to the wall.  She does this gradually, over time, so I don't notice it happening, until suddenly, one day, I see that she's facing the wall (or nearly) and turn her back.

The explanation, of course, is simple and natural; the statue has come free of its base, and every time I shut one of the drawers, it shifts a little on its base, with the net result I have described.

But because I am a very simple soul (or a very profound one - you decide) I see meaning in such things. There's a line in CS Lewis somewhere (That Hideous Strength, I rather fancy) about Our Lord doing all things for all people. 

And so I ask myself, why would Our Lady turn her face to the wall?  And the answer, of course, is sin.  So now I have developed the practice of only turning Our Lady back to face the room when I have been to confession: and when she turns to the wall, I know it's time to go again.

And that works pretty well...