Second century Christians would have given their eye teeth for my Bible’s table of Contents.
Today1 is the feast of Pope St. Damasus I, the pope who many believe to have issued the first authoritative list of the books of the Bible in 382–the Decree of Damasus.2 Up until that point, there was no official canon of Scripture. Nobody knew with any certainty how many books belonged in the Old Testament, much less the New. And because Scripture doesn’t and can’t testify to its own inspiration, we would have been in a great deal of trouble if it were our only authority.
But God is good and bestowed authority on the Church. The Church, inspired by God, then pronounced by the power of the Holy Spirit which books were also inspired by God. The whole question merits a far longer discussion than I’ve got time for at the moment, but I’ll give you the crux of the whole Catholic-Protestant debate in a nutshell, as seen by Karl Keating in Catholicism and Fundamentalism.
The Gospels are fairly reliable historical texts. While historians don’t consider them Gospel truth,3 they’re generally considered to be accurate as regards the major events and themes of the life of Christ.
The Gospels tell us Jesus claimed to be God. While he doesn’t say outright, “I am God,” statements like, “Before Abraham was, I am” (Jn 8:58) and “The Father and I are one” (Jn 10:30) leave little room for any other interpretation.
The Resurrection proves this claim. If you really want to hear me prove the divinity of Christ, watch this video. If you don’t have 40 minutes, suffice it to say that if he claimed to be God and then rose form the dead, he’s God.
Jesus, who was divine, founded an inspired Church. Matthew 16:18-19. He gave Peter the keys and promised to protect his Church against error.
The inspired Church gives us an inspired Bible. If you’re not convinced by the Decree of Damasus, we could find plenty of other authoritative lists. The date doesn’t matter so much for this discussion, just the fact of Scripture being canonized by the Church. Otherwise, how can we know which books belong? Augustine himself said, “I would not believe in the Gospel if the authority of the Catholic Church did not move me to do so.”
Note that this isn’t a circular argument; it starts with the Bible as a historical text and ends with the Bible as an inspired text–two distinct and largely unrelated claims. What’s key here is that the inspiration of Scripture rests on the inspiration of the Church. Without an inspired Church, the argument falls apart.
In fact, I’ve never heard a reasonable argument for the canon of Scripture that didn’t rely on Christ’s power at work in the Church. Sure, people have had personal experiences of the Spirit at work in various individual books, but to know for sure that God inspired each book? That requires some kind of outside authority–an authority nobody outside of Rome4 even claims. You might feel that you know for sure that John is inspired or Isaiah or Deuteronomy. But unless you have a Church, the best you’re going to get is a “fallible collection of infallible books.”5 I’m not willing to stake my life on a fallible collection.
What is any man who has been in the real outer world, for instance, to make of the everlasting cry that Catholic traditions are condemned by the Bible? It indicates a jumble of topsy-turvy tests and tail-foremost arguments, of which I never could at any time see the sense. The ordinary sensible sceptic or pagan is standing in the street (in the supreme character of the man in the street) and he sees a procession go by of the priests of some strange cult, carrying their object of worship under a canopy, some of them wearing high head-dresses and carrying symbolical staffs, others carrying scrolls and sacred records, others carrying sacred images and lighted candles before them, others sacred relics in caskets or cases, and so on. I can understand the spectator saying, “This is all hocus-pocus”; I can even understand him, in moments of irritation, breaking up the procession, throwing down the images, tearing up the scrolls, dancing on the priests and anything else that might express that general view. I can understand his saying, “Your croziers are bosh, your candles are bosh, your statues and scrolls and relics and all the rest of it are bosh.” But in what conceivable frame of mind does he rush in to select one particular scroll of the scriptures of this one particular group (a scroll which had always belonged to them and been a part of their hocus-pocus, if it was hocus-pocus); why in the world should the man in the street say that one particular scroll was not bosh, but was the one and only truth by which all the other things were to be condemned? Why should it not be as superstitious to worship the scrolls as the statues, of that one particular procession? Why should it not be as reasonable to preserve the statues as the scrolls, by the tenets of that particular creed? To say to the priests, “Your statues and scrolls are condemned by our common sense,” is sensible. To say, “Your statues are condemned by your scrolls, and we are going to worship one part of your procession and wreck the rest,” is not sensible from any standpoint, least of all that of the man in the street.
Reject the whole of the Church if you like. Reject Saints and Mary and the Eucharist and the Pope AND Scripture. But to use the Scripture given to you by the pope to reject the pope? To take the Bible, which was far less certain to the early Church than was the virginity of Mary, and use it to reject Mary? Chesterton doesn’t think it makes any sense at all. I’m inclined to agree.
Public service announcement for the Catholics among us: the Immaculate Conception (December 8) is a holy day of obligation. Every year. Even if it’s on Saturday or Monday. So get to Mass tonight or tomorrow morning because by the afternoon it’ll be Sunday and you will have missed Mass.
Yes, that’s two days in a row. Or twice in three days if you go to a vigil tonight. Keep in mind that you’re only required to go to Mass 57 times in a year. If Mass is about an hour long, that’s 57 hours a year. There are 8,760 hours in a year.1 That’s less than one percent of your life.
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I once had a student look at me stubbornly and declare, “I think it’s kind of ridiculous that y’all think Mary was only pregnant for, like, 3 weeks.”
I blinked rapidly a few times, absolutely baffled, before I realized what was going on.
“You know that Immaculate Conception is about Mary’s conception, right? Like, little embryonic Mary in her momma’s womb? Nobody thinks Jesus was conceived on December 8 and born on December 25. That would be ridiculous.”
This is the Annunciation, not the Immaculate Conception. Well, it’s the Annunciation to the Immaculate Conception, but you know what I mean. Hopefully. (Henry Ossawa Tanner)
This kid’s assumption wasn’t an unusual one, more’s the pity, so before we get started, let’s clarify our terms right quick. The Immaculate Conception is Mary’s conception in her mother’s womb. It tells us that Mary was conceived without sin. It’s not talking about Jesus’ conception.2 It’s also not telling us that Mary was conceived in a supernatural manner; when Mary was conceived, her parents were decidedly not virgins. Her conception took place in the ordinary way; the miracle was that in the moment of her natural conception she was supernaturally preserved from Original Sin.
This dogma3 is a very difficult one for Protestants to understand, let alone accept. There’s an undercurrent in Protestantism that finds its roots in John Calvin’s theology: the idea of total depravity. Calvin (and Luther) believed that people were inherently sinful, defined by their sin. Luther is famous for having declared that he was “a lump of dung covered in snow.”4 Luther was so overwhelmed by his own sinfulness and God’s grace that he believe that he was worthless and sinful but was covered by God’s grace so as to make him pleasing to God. To the minds of the reformers, to be human was to be sinful.5 Because of this, the Catholic claim that Mary was without sin sounds like a claim of divinity. It’s important to clarify first of all that being immaculate is not the same as being divine. As Christians, we know that God made us very good.6 Sin mars us, but not having sin doesn’t make us superhuman, it makes us fully human. Adam and Eve were immaculate before the Fall, after all; they, like Mary, were created immaculate but merely human.
A common objection to the teaching that Mary was without sin is Romans 3:23: “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” While Paul says “all” here, I think it’s clear that doesn’t mean that every single human person ever has committed a sin. Obviously Jesus didn’t. Neither do infants who die or the mentally handicapped who don’t have sufficient reason to commit sin. Clearly there are exceptions to this rhetorical “all.” So why not Mary?
Obviously, though, it’s not enough just to argue against those who oppose this doctrine. Let’s look instead at the affirmative. Clearly, the angel Gabriel’s approach to Mary indicates that she’s something special.
In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you. But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (Luke 1:26-30)
Angels don’t typically go around calling sinful humans “full of grace,” a term that could be better translated “you who have been completely grace-ized” if grace-ized were a word. Which it’s not. Hence the usual “full of grace.” Think about this: grace is God’s life within us. Sin separates us from God. So if Mary is sinful, a regular old village girl chock full of Original Sin, how can she be full of grace?
The New Eve reconciled with the first Eve. (Eve and Mary by Sr. Grace Remington, O.C.S.O)
And then there’s the fact that she has found favor with God. If she was lost in her sin, as we all were before Christ, how did she find favor with God? There’s something about the way she’s addressed that indicates that she’s different, something special.7
Naturally, Scripture isn’t entirely clear on this–if it were, there’d be no disagreement. But as Catholics, we recognize the Word of God as coming through Scripture and Tradition.8 So check out some super old stuff about Mary Immaculate.9
Hippolytus: He [Jesus] was the ark formed of incorruptible wood. For by this is signified that His tabernacle [Mary] was exempt from defilement and corruption.—235 AD
Origen: This Virgin Mother of the Only-begotten of God is called Mary, worthy of God, immaculate of the immaculate, one of the one.—244 AD
St. Ambrose: Mary, a Virgin not only undefiled but a Virgin whom grace had made inviolate, free of every stain of sin.—387 AD
St. Augustine, in response to Rom 3:23: All have sinned, except the holy Virgin Mary, concerning whom, for the honor of the Lord, I wish no question to be raised at all, when we are treating of sins. After all, how do we know what greater degree of Grace for a complete victory over sin was conferred on her who merited to conceive and bring forth Him Who all admit was without sin.–415 AD
Now, that’s not to say that anything some dude said forever ago has to be doctrine, but it’s certainly not a theological innovation if it was old news by the beginning of the third century.
Really, though, Mary’s sinlessness is just reasonable. People like to argue this by saying that a sinless person can’t come from a sinful one, which is a good instinct, I suppose. Of course, then Mary’s mom had to be sinless, and her mom, and hers, and eventually we have to trace it back to a sinless Eve, and that’s absurd.
Part of this idea is right, though–that Mary’s sinless nature was necessary for Jesus’ conception. Let’s try looking at it this way instead:
Before the Fall, we were in relationship with God.
Sin breaks this relationship.
According to moral law, babies must be created through a loving, committed relationship between their parents.10
This relationship would have been impossible if Mary had had Original Sin.11
God doesn’t break moral laws, so he had to be in relationship with the mother of Christ.
Mary had to be preserved from Original Sin.
Now this is just my reasoning here, not doctrine, so reject it if you like but it makes a lot of sense to me. There’s also the Ark of the Covenant connection: if the Ark was created so intentionally, formed out of perfect and pure materials in order to bear the symbolic presence of God, how much more would the tabernacle of the living God (the Blessed Virgin Mary) be pure and undefiled?
By the brilliant Peggy Aplseeds–go check out everything she’s ever done.
But–and this is the key to this question–Mary did NOTsave herself. Yup, that was a bold, italicized, capital not. Her immaculate nature is not due to her merit. You see, the rest of us had to be redeemed–saved after we fell. Mary was preserved instead–saved preemptively–by the power of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. God who is outside of time used future graces to save her in order to make those graces possible.12 Pius IX made it very clear that Mary’s holiness comes entirely from God when he declared this dogma ex cathedra in 1854:
“The Most Blessed Virgin Mary, in the first instance of her conception, by a singular privilege and grace granted by God, in view of the merits of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the human race, was preserved exempt from all stain of original sin.”
So let’s make sure we’re clear on this. Mary did not save herself. Like you and me (God willing), she was saved by the merits of Christ’s death and resurrection. In order to make her the perfect vessel for the incarnation of his Son, the Father applied those graces to her in the moment of her conception to preserve her inviolate, untainted either by Original Sin or by its consequences. The Church reminds us of this in the prayers of the Mass and the Office for the Solemnity:
“O God, who by the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin prepared a worthy dwelling for your Son, grant, we pray, that, as you preserved her from every stain by virtue of the Death of your Son, which you foresaw, so, through her intercession, we, too, may be cleansed and admitted to your presence. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.”
As always with the Blessed Mother, it’s essential that we remember that all doctrines about Mary are doctrines about God. All honor given to Mary is honor given to God. All love of Mary is love of God. When we celebrate the Immaculate Conception of Mary, we celebrate God’s incredible goodness in preparing the way for the Messiah. We celebrate his power to work miracles. We celebrate his ability to set things in motion that will only bear fruit years down the road. We recognize his providence and his desire to save us, whatever it takes. And with Mary we recognize our unworthiness and God’s unceasing clemency. With Mary, we proclaim the greatness of the Lord and rejoice in God our Savior.
This Advent season, let’s join our Mother in saying yes to God and allowing him to flood us with grace.
Want more on Mary? Here are all my posts tagged Mary. Enjoy!
Jesus was immaculately conceived as well, of course, but that’s not what this term is referring to. [↩]
And yes, it’s dogma. Proclaimed ex cathedra by Pius IX in 1854. [↩]
Which, by the way, is an extraordinarily unpleasant surprise to discover in the midst of a snowball fight. [↩]
While this line of thought is dominant in many Protestant traditions today, there are others that focus far less on sin. The idea that sinfulness is integral to the human condition maintains at least a subtle influence, though, on even the most “accepting” of communities. [↩]
It probably doesn’t help with the Annunciation-Immaculate Conception confusion that this reading describing the Annunciation is read on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception…. [↩]
Once you get over your misconception that purgatory’s pretty much hell, it’s actually kind of a nice idea. We get to imagine that we’re still connected with our deceased loved ones, and while we’re at it, we can pretend that we actually have the ability do something for them. Plus, if we’re kind of jerks, we know we’ve still got purgatory do deal with our mess, so we don’t really have to be good on earth, right? For those who are looking for theological platitudes, purgatory’s a win-win-win.1
But is there any truth to it? Or, as a Jehovah’s Witness I spent the other morning with said, “That’s Catechism! I want Scripture!!”2
Well, we’ll start with Scripture. But as you probably know, we in the Catholic Church use Scripture and Tradition with a healthy sprinkling of good old-fashioned reason. After all, Scripture itself doesn’t say “Scripture alone.” And, of course, there are some pretty essential truths that all Christians3 believe that can’t be found explicitly in Scripture: the Trinity, for one, and the divinity of Christ. But this is a matter for another post.4 Let’s get back to purgatory.
If you’ve been around apologetics circles much, you know that the best defense we have of purgatory comes from 2 Maccabees. It says explicitly that it’s a good thing to pray for the dead. The problem? Protestants don’t use 2 Maccabees. For a long explanation, check out this paper I wrote in grad school.5 The quick version is that 2 Maccabees belongs to that group of 7 books called the Deuterocanon by Catholics and the Apocrypha by Protestants. The Protestant claim is that Jesus didn’t use these books, so they don’t belong in the Bible. The truth is much more complicated than that, but suffice it to say that Luther didn’t say a word about getting rid of Maccabees until Johann Eck brought up this passage in a debate on purgatory at Leipzig in 1519. Basically, Eck read the passage, Luther paused, and then he said (to the shock of everyone present) that it was irrelevant because that wasn’t Scripture. It sure sounds to me like he knew he was beat, so he changed the rules.
Want to see what was so decisively pro-purgatory that Luther had to start removing books of the Bible? Check it out:
On the following day, since the task had now become urgent, Judas and his companions went to gather up the bodies of the fallen and bury them with their kindred in their ancestral tombs. But under the tunic of each of the dead they found amulets sacred to the idols of Jamnia, which the law forbids the Jews to wear. So it was clear to all that this was why these men had fallen. They all therefore praised the ways of the Lord, the just judge who brings to light the things that are hidden. Turning to supplication, they prayed that the sinful deed might be fully blotted out. The noble Judas exhorted the people to keep themselves free from sin, for they had seen with their own eyes what had happened because of the sin of those who had fallen. He then took up a collection among all his soldiers, amounting to two thousand silver drachmas, which he sent to Jerusalem to provide for an expiatory sacrifice. In doing this he acted in a very excellent and noble way, inasmuch as he had the resurrection in mind; for if he were not expecting the fallen to rise again, it would have been superfluous and foolish to pray for the dead. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be absolved from their sin. (2 Mac 12:39-46)
So here we have these men who have died with sin on their souls. Clearly Judas is praying for the dead, and that’s a good thing. Why pray for the dead if not for their salvation? What else could they possibly need? They don’t need anything if they’re in heaven. And what could prayers possibly accomplish if they’re in hell? So they’re dead and not yet saved. Purgatory much?
In fact, Judas doesn’t just pray for them, he offers sacrifices for them after their death in the hopes that these prayers will purify their souls in the afterlife. Sounds a heck of a lot like offering Masses for the souls in purgatory to me.
But while this passage is very helpful for those of us who accept the Deuterocanon, it will accomplish very little with Protestants. If you’re really on your game, you can explain that even if this isn’t Scripture, it demonstrates what the accepted belief at the time of Christ was. If this is what people believed and Jesus said nothing to correct it, it stands to reason that they were right.
Our whole argument from Scripture doesn’t stand or fall on this passage, though. 1 Corinthians 3:10-15 talks about the process of judgment and salvation. Note that there is a process of purifying fire—what is evil will be burned, what is good will remain. And so the dead will be judged and then saved (purified) through fire.
According to the grace of God given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and another is building upon it. But each one must be careful how he builds upon it, for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely, Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, or straw, the work of each will come to light, for the Day will disclose it. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire [itself] will test the quality of each one’s work. If the work stands that someone built upon the foundation, that person will receive a wage. But if someone’s work is burned up, that one will suffer loss; the person will be saved, but only as through fire.
Or how about Mt 5:25-26:
Settle with your opponent quickly while on the way to court with him. Otherwise your opponent will hand you over to the judge, and the judge will hand you over to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. Amen, I say to you, you will not be released until you have paid the last penny.
Here’s a description of a man who’s been judged and found wanting.6 He’s imprisoned, but not consigned to Gehenna as so often in the Gospels. No, this man is put in jail until he has paid the last penny. It seems that having died and been judged, he’s making up for his failings until he’s “put all the jelly beans back in the jar,” if you will. It seems, then, that there’s potential to make up for your sins after death.
We’re still saved by the blood of Christ–no works righteousness here.
And finally, Revelation 21:27, as we discussed last week. “Nothing unclean shall enter heaven.” If you’re a sinner, you’re unclean. You may have been forgiven and washed in the blood of the Lamb, but anyone who’s attached to his sin is not completely purified. Purgatory purifies you, makes you ready for heaven. Without it, those of us who aren’t as holy as though claimed by Christ ought to be—well, we’d be in a lot of trouble.
So purgatory is at least supported by Scripture, if not exactly proven without 2 Maccabees. But it’s also all over the writings of the early Church. Rather than being a medieval invention, as is often claimed, the idea of praying and even having Masses said for the dead is an ancient one, a core part of the life of the early Church.
The earliest I’ve found is from the account of the martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicity in 202. Perpetua has a vision of a dead friend suffering. She prays for him earnestly, then has a vision of him in glory. The obvious lesson is that her prayers had some effect on the state of his soul. There must, then, be something that happens after death that brings people from torment to glory.
Here are some quotations from the early Church that I’ll assume you can interpret yourself:7
Tertullian: “A woman, after the death of her husband . . . prays for his soul and asks that he may, while waiting, find rest; and that he may share in the first resurrection. And each year, on the anniversary of his death, she offers the sacrifice.” (216 AD)
St. Cyril of Jerusalem: “Then, we pray [in the anaphora] for the holy fathers and bishops who have fallen asleep, and in general for all who have fallen asleep before us, in the belief that it is a great benefit to the souls on whose behalf the supplication is offered, while the holy and tremendous Victim is present. . . . By offering to God our supplications for those who have fallen asleep, if they have sinned, we . . . offer Christ sacrificed for the sins of all, and so render favorable, for them and for us, the God who loves man.” (350 AD)
St. Monica: “Put this body anywhere! Don’t trouble yourselves about it! I simply ask you to remember me at the Lord’s altar wherever you are.” (late 4th century)
St. John Chrysostom: “Let us help and commemorate them. If Job’s sons were purified by their father’s sacrifice [Job 1:5], why would we doubt that our offerings for the dead bring them some consolation? Let us not hesitate to help those who have died and to offer our prayers for them.” (392 AD)
St. Augustine: “Temporary punishments are suffered by some in this life only, by others after death, by others both now and then; but all of them before that last and strictest judgment. But not all who suffer temporal punishments after death will come to eternal punishments, which are to follow after that judgment.” (419 AD)
St. Gregory the Great: “As for certain lesser faults, we must believe that, before the Final Judgment, there is a purifying fire. He who is truth says that whoever utters blasphemy against the Holy Spirit will be pardoned neither in this age nor in the age to come. From this sentence we understand that certain offenses can be forgiven in this age, but certain others in the age to come.” (604 AD, referencing Mt 12:32)
The power of the Mass releases souls from Purgatory. See how it’s purifying them?
This clearly isn’t some later development—the concept of praying for the salvation of those who have already passed away pervades the writings of the early Church. That individuals believe something clearly doesn’t make it true. But when we see consistent support of an idea from the Church Fathers—particularly from bishops exercising their magisterial authority—it certainly supports the claim that this idea is in fact true, the consistent teaching of the Church.
Generally, I’d finish up with an explanation of the logic behind a doctrine, the reason component, but I think I pretty much covered that in my description of purgatory. Suffice it to say that the grace of God is sufficient and Christ’s sacrifice saves us, but being saved is not the same as being sanctified. If there were no opportunity for final purification, God in his justice would be bound to exclude many from the holiness of heaven. And what about those who aren’t Catholic? Certainly, God will not damn someone because he was never exposed to the Gospel, but a Hindu would be unprepared to worship the Triune God. Perhaps in that case, purgatory is more like an intensive RCIA program. In any event, purgatory is a gift from a merciful God who will stop at nothing when it comes to our salvation.
During November, the month when we commemorate our dead in a particular way, take some time to pray for the souls of the deceased. Today, Veterans Day, is a perfect day to offer a prayer or ten for the souls of those who gave their lives for our freedom, whether they died in the process or not. And while you’re at it, go ahead and ask them for their prayers, too. They’re sure not doing anything else.
P.S. If you’re in the Atlanta area, you should come to the Georgia Tech Catholic Center on Monday at 7. I’ll be speaking about the Reformation roots of the divisions in Christianity and their theological implications. Basically, some history, some apologetics, and some ecumenism to tie it together.
He followed this with, “I grew up Catholic and we never opened the Bible–not once!” My students will tell you (with some trace of bitterness, I imagine) that they had to memorize all the books of the Bible in order and at least one verse every week. Hardly a day went by that we didn’t open our Bibles. Trust me, if I believe something, I can support it from Scripture. [↩]
Although, admittedly, not Jehovah’s Witnesses. [↩]
And my talk on Monday at Georgia Tech–you should come! [↩]
Seriously, you should read it. It’s so interesting!! [↩]
Admittedly, this might not be about judgment and salvation, but every other discussion of judges in the Gospels is, so…. [↩]
Pretty much any time I list quotations from the Church Fathers, I’m indebted to www.catholic.com, an incredible resource. [↩]
I have no idea why I mentioned purgatory to a Protestant friend while helping her clean her room when I was in college. Maybe because I hate cleaning and wanted credit for time served? In any event, I remember expecting it to be a throwaway comment. Until she responded.
“Purgatory? I thought we got rid of purgatory in the Middle Ages.”
Who got rid of purgatory? Since when has the Church gotten rid of anything? You seriously didn’t know Catholics believed in purgatory?
Turns out, it’s rather a hotly contested topic. So let’s explore, shall we?
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo – The Madonna of Carmel and the Souls of the Purgatory
First, what purgatory is not. Purgatory is not a final destination. It’s not a blank and empty place akin to limbo. It’s not a place where you earn salvation.1 Purgatory is a transient place for the cleansing (purging) of souls.
The idea is that those who die in a state of grace are saved. They’re destined for heaven. Many, though, are in need of some purification before they enter. Purgatory is a process of preparation for heaven and reparation for sins for those “who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified” (CCC 1030).
Preparation: “Nothing unclean shall enter it.”
The first element of purgatory is easier to understand. Revelation 21:27 tells us that nothing unclean shall enter heaven. You (I assume) and I are unclean. Despite having been restored to God’s graces by our baptism and subsequent confessions, we’re not entirely pure. In order to enter heaven, we must be cleansed. C.S. Lewis (himself a Protestant) put it this way:
“Our souls demand Purgatory, don’t they? Would it not break the heart if God said to us, ‘It is true, my son, that your breath smells and your rags drip with mud and slime, but we are charitable here and no one will upbraid you with these things, nor draw away from you. Enter into the joy’? Should we not reply, ‘With submission, sir, and if there is no objection, I’d rather be cleaned first.’ ‘It may hurt, you know’ – ‘Even so, sir.'” – C.S. Lewis, Letters To Malcolm
As always, it’s essential to point out that we are saved by God’s grace and by the merits of Christ’s Passion. We do not cleanse ourselves in purgatory, nor do the prayers of others cleanse us. God cleanses us through our suffering and in response to others’ prayers.
More than just removing your sin, though, purgatory removes your attachment to sin. I can’t imagine that many people die without even any venial sins on their souls, but most of those, I’m sure, still have some attachment to sin. Even this attachment must be cleansed before we’re able to rejoice in the presence of God.
I’m pretty sure they’re gonna do the wave for me when I get there. But it’s gonna be so much more awesome than any wave in any stadium ever.
I’ll be honest here: heaven doesn’t always sound that attractive to me. I mean, I want to be with Jesus more than anything. I’m homesick for heaven and I can’t wait to hang out with the Saints.2 I’m going to touch the leprous hands of St. Damien and hug the joyful St. Philip Neri and just stand near St. Teresa and wait for her to say something snarky. And I’m going to dance with Jesus. It’s going to be awesome.
But eternity is a long time. And I’m pretty sure eventually (within 24 hours), I’m going to get bored. I’m going to want to gossip or brag or just quit playing my stupid harp. If I went to heaven now, I wouldn’t be truly happy because I’d want to sin. See, I like my sin.3 Otherwise I wouldn’t sin. So if I’m going to be happy in heaven,4 I need to be cleansed not just of my sins (the mud of Lewis’ analogy) nor even of the residue of my sins (the stains left over–see below on reparation) but of my desire to sin (my love for mud?).
Even the cleansing isn’t enough, though. We have to be stretched, our capacity for God and good increased lest our minds literally be blown by meeting the Lord face to face. Think of it this way: you’ve been living your life in a windowless room in the dark. Heaven is like the beach at noon—you’ll go blind if God doesn’t gradually turn the lights up. And it’ll hurt like hell when he does, but you need that pain if you’re ever going to survive on the beach. Purgatory is the dimmer switch, the place where our capacity for God is stretched, our impurities refined.
This is the reason that purgatory has traditionally been described as a place of terrible suffering but also of unimaginable joy. It is a consuming fire that refines and burns off our sins, and yet it is the closest we’ve ever been to God. Wendell Berry describes the paradox:
I imagine the dead waking, dazed, into a shadowless light in which they know themselves altogether for the first time. It is a light that is merciless until they can accept its mercy; by it they are at once condemned and redeemed. It is Hell until it is Heaven. Seeing themselves in that light, if they are willing, they see how far they have failed the only justice of loving one another; it punishes them by their own judgment. And yet, in suffering that light’s awful clarity, in seeing themselves within it, they see its forgiveness and its beauty, and are consoled. In it they are loved completely, even as they have been, and so are changed into what they could not have been but what, if they could have imagined it, they would have wished to be.
Reparation: “You will not be released until you have paid the last penny.”
In addition to preparing our souls for heaven, purgatory also enables us to make up for the evil we have done on earth. Once again, let me point out that you can’t ever atone for your own sins–it is Christ who saves you, Christ who forgives you, Christ who heals you and the world. But God, good father that he is, allows us to participate in our salvation and wants us to cooperate with him.
Now God is merciful. And because he is merciful, sin has consequences. Yes, because he is merciful. God in his mercy did not want us to do what is evil without consequences to serve as deterrents. So our sin merits two kinds of punishment: eternal and temporal.
Eternal punishment is, as all Christians agree, hell. Eternal punishment is a consequence of sin, as St. Paul says: the wages of sin is death (Rom 3:23). When you go to confession, God forgives you and your eternal punishment is satisfied by the death of Christ. You no longer merit hell. But there are still consequences to your actions, damage you’ve done to yourself and others and the Church and the world. When you do penance or receive an indulgence,5 you satisfy some of the debt of temporal punishment you owe. But if you die not having satisfied all your temporal punishment, you are given the opportunity to “give back” in purgatory. With the mud analogy from above, it’s as though confession washes the mud from your baptismal garment but it’s still stained. Purgatory bleaches it whiter than snow.
But your sin doesn’t just hurt you–it hurts everyone. It’s as though there’s a giant jar of jelly beans on display in your classroom7 and you run up to it, grab a fistful of jelly beans, and fling them on the floor. Why? Who knows. Apparently you’re kind of a jerk.
Now, if you apologize for having flung the jelly beans, your teacher can forgive you, but you still have to put jelly beans back in the jar. You’ve hurt everybody by your reckless hatred of jellybeans and if you’re truly sorry, you want to make up for it. If the school year ends and you haven’t replaced all the jelly beans you trampled, you need to…spend your summer collecting jelly beans? Okay, the analogy is getting weird. But you see my point.
When we pray or do good on earth, we’re putting jelly beans back in the cosmic jar. If we die having been forgiven for our awkward jelly bean outburst but we’re still in the red, we go to purgatory until we’ve put in enough jelly beans or someone has put them in for us.
That’s what we mean when we say Rest In Peace, you know.8
Because here’s the awesome (and hotly-contested) thing: if we haven’t replaced all the jelly beans by the time we leave school, somebody else can do it for us. This is where the idea of praying for the holy souls in purgatory comes in. It’s not that Christ’s Passion is insufficient or that God refuses to let people out of purgatory unless we say the magic words; it’s that God has established his Church as one family and given us the gift of intercessory prayer. I think that, if for no other reason, God allows us to pray for the dead to give us the consolation of being able to do something. I think Protestants are never more Catholic than when they lose a loved one. The natural inclination is to pray for those who have died–probably because God gave us that inclination.
Common Ground
Despite the fact that Catholics reference purgatory as a matter of course and Protestants think it sounds medieval, there’s really significant agreement on this doctrine. All Christians agree that we ought to do good to make up for the evil we’ve done; Catholics simply maintain that we must. All Christians agree that we must be purified in order to enter heaven; Catholics simply maintain that this purification is a process while Protestants would consider it an event, a moment of purification. Now, I’d argue that God tends to work in processes rather than events9 and that really we couldn’t handle sudden holiness. As with the beach analogy, we need our sanctification to be gradual.
“For the Lord your God is a consuming fire” (Dt 4:24).
But we agree that we need purification. And nobody ever said it took time–in a sense, purgatory is outside of time. And nobody ever said that it was a place–why would immaterial souls need a place? And nobody ever said that there was really fire–fire burning immaterial souls? The division really comes down to the sola fide vs. faith and works argument: Catholics assert that our salvation and the salvation of others can be affected by our works; Protestants, naturally, disagree. That’s a discussion for another post (or six), but I think at this point we can say that there is quite a lot of common ground here.
I’ll leave the defense of purgatory–Scripture and Tradition–for another post. For this feast of the Holy Souls10 during the month of November in which we remember our dead, I’ll leave you with this: the doctrine of purgatory acclaims that God’s mercy is without end; not even death can end the merciful love of God. Purgatory is not a threat. It doesn’t demonstrate God’s desire to punish but to heal. Purgatory tells us that God, who desires that all men be saved (1 Tim 2:4), will fight to the death and beyond for your soul. Let’s pray for the souls in purgatory this month, but let’s also live like souls that are destined for heaven. Praise God for his mercy in coming after every lost lamb of us.
Strictly speaking, it’s not a place at all, but we’ll go with it. [↩]
If you pray the Office of Readings, you read this line from St. Bernard of Clairvaux yesterday: “The saints have no need of honor from us; neither does our devotion add the slightest thing to what is theirs. Clearly, if we venerate their memory, it serves us, not them. But I tell you, when I think of them, I feel myself inflamed by a tremendous yearning.” If you don’t pray the Office of Readings, you should. It’s awesome. Download the free app now. [↩]
This always shocks people. I’m not a serial killer. I like my stupid pathetic sin, not my terrifying, disgusting sin. Although, really, is there any other kind? [↩]
I’ve been an apologist almost since I’ve been a Christian.1 I remember arguing theology in high school, uncatechised as I was, and coming up with answers that surprised me. I guess I was vocal enough that the Holy Spirit decided to give me the gift of understanding in order to preserve the Church from my heavy-handed ignorance.
The minute I realized that I wanted to spend my life teaching others about God,2 I started coming up with arguments for every single thing. Since the moment I started teaching, I was an apologist, always giving explanations rather than just definitions.
My second year of teaching, I inadvertently taught a year-long apologetics class. I say inadvertently because I thought it was supposed to be an apologetics class; I found out second semester that it wasn’t really but it was going so well that my department chair didn’t say anything. Oops? We’ll call that a little more Holy Spirit action.
The class I began that year (HSP class of 2010!) is the best thing I’ve ever done. My notes for the class are 125 pages of hardcore apologetics, answers to pretty much everything. We start the year as atheists and build to a solid orthodox Catholicism, using Scripture, Tradition, and reason to defend everything along the way. At the end of the year, I always ask if there are any more questions:
Any questions on priestly celibacy? *pause* Any questions on holy orders? *pause* Any questions on the sacraments of vocation? *pause* Any questions on any of the Sacraments? *smugly* Any questions on anything the Roman Catholic Church believes, teaches, and professes to be true?
Some student: Nope. I think you pretty much covered it.
God willing, this document will one day be a book. But soon, it’ll be a workshop! It’ll be a whirlwind version, of course, cramming something like 150 hours into 1-3 days, but you can move a lot more quickly when people are there voluntarily and aren’t going to be tested.
Here’s my plan: your parish or diocese or campus ministry or whatever sets aside a chunk of time–ideally Friday evening through Sunday evening, although we can do a short version in one day or a few evenings. We’ll have prayer and fellowship (Mass every day, maybe the Liturgy of the Hours, meals in common, even set it up as a retreat if you like) and tons of fascinating, energetic presentations building a case for the faith from the ground up.
The short version of the apologetics “boot camp” will cover the very basics:
Session One: Is there a God?
Session Two: Is Jesus God?
Session Three: Catholicism and Protestantism
Session Four: Revelation and the Church
If you’re up for a longer experience, we’ll add in some of the particulars (your choice):
Session A: Salvation by Faith Alone
Session B: The Papacy
Session C: The Eucharist
Session D: The Sacrament of Reconciliation
Session E: Mary and the Saints
Session F: Purgatory and Indulgences
Session G: The Church’s Moral Teachings
Doesn’t this sound awesome? Oh my gosh, you guys, I’m so excited! And it’s so perfect for the Year of Faith!
I’m thinking this will be good for people college-aged and up, although younger folks should certainly be welcomed. I’ve just never met a large group of high-schoolers who’d really be into something this hardcore. Maybe on a diocesan level….
So if you’re with me in thinking that this sounds awesome (or you just like me and want to help me serve the Lord), will you please, please help me out? Print out this page with all the basic info and take it to your pastor/campus minister/DRE/whoever. Tell them I’m practically free3 and that I’m awesome. Lie if you have to.4 If they’re not convinced, point them to any of my posts tagged apologetics or anything in the Truth category. Send them to watch this video, similar to what you’d see in Session Two, although more disjointed since my notes were in my car and my car was at a Firestone in Alabama and I was in Florida. I can do everything but 3 or 4 quotations from memory, though. Or take a look at this video, an excerpt from Session Four.
If you want to convince them that I’m entertaining, show them this picture:
Point out that I was sober. And that the clothing was a costume. But that even dressed like a fool, I’m still sporting a prominent crucifix. In the world but not of it, baby.
If you want to convince them that I’m holy, try this one instead:
That’s a breviary. Yeah, I’m totally into prayer.
Basically, I”m so excited about this that I’m just babbling now and my babbling is manifesting itself in the form of random pictures I found on facebook. So I’ll shut up and leave it in your hands–don’t you really, really want to go to all these sessions? Let’s make it happen!!
When I was little (and even snarkier than I am now, if you can believe that), I used to take pleasure in criticizing statues of the Madonna and child:
While I have tried balancing toddlers on one hand, it rarely works out this well.
“What’s wrong with sculptors, anyway? Haven’t they ever seen a woman holding a baby? All of these statues of Mary holding Jesus are so unnatural. She’s not a mom, she’s like a Jesus-holder. He’s all hovering in front of her in some impossible position. It can’t be that hard to sculpt a woman holding a baby!”
I’d go on to mention that if you want a baby to face out, you have to hold it by the crotch (because, you know, I had so much experience holding babies) and that was too awkward for the artists’ prudish sensibilities.
Clearly I, at 12, was an authority on art, theology, and child-rearing. I have no idea why anyone put up with me. I can only hope that I’m less obnoxious now.
The Manger, by Gertrude Kasebier. Lovely, isn’t it?
I’m still not a huge fan of awkward-looking art, but the above statue in a church in Missouri got me thinking the other day. While I still prefer the beauty of more natural, maternal images, there’s something to be said for the “Jesus-holder” approach to the Blessed Mother.
In older works of art, I find,1 Mary and Jesus are posed much less naturally. This might in part just be the style of the day, but I think there’s more to it than that. Before the Reformation–maybe even before the 20th century–art wasn’t just beautiful or devotional, it was catechetical. When Mary seemed to exist merely to present Jesus to the viewer, it taught believers the essential truth that Mary exists expressly to present Christ to the world.
Madonna and Child in the Hagia Sophia, IstanbulMary, Star of the SeaLa Vierge au Lys, by William-Adolphe Bouguereau
See how Mary’s purpose in all these images is to bring Christ to the audience? Like somehow the artists didn’t get the memo that Catholics worship Mary and she is the center and meaning or our existence.
Oh, yeah. Cause we don’t. And she’s not.
Let’s go ahead and get a few things out of the way:
Mary is NOT God.
Catholics don’t think she’s God.
Catholics don’t worship her.
Mary didn’t save herself from sin.
Catholics don’t go to Mary instead of Jesus.
So why do we honor Mary, why celebrate her birthday (today!), why put up statues and pray rosaries and name all our daughters after her? A few simple reasons.
1. As Christians, we want to imitate Christ. Jesus was a good Jew,2 so he obeyed the commandments, notably the fourth commandment: honor your father and mother.3 Since we want to be like Christ, we honor his mother, too.
Let those who think that the Church pays too much attention to Mary give heed to the fact that Our Blessed Lord Himself gave ten times as much of His life to her as He gave to His Apostles. -Archbishop Fulton Sheen
But this is honor, not worship–dulia, not latria, for those Greek nerds among you. When we “pray to Mary,” we’re really just asking her to pray for us. We get that she’s just a creature, but we know how much Christ honored her,4 so we do the same.
Besides, how rude is it to go to somebody’s house and totally ignore his mom? That’s what we’re doing if we try to have a relationship with Christ without Mary. It might be possible, but it’s awkward and counter-intuitive.
2. We’re all about following the Bible. In Luke 1:48, Mary says, “From this day, all generations will call me blessed.” So we do.5
The Dominicans seem to have a corner on the “images of Christians under Mary’s mantle” market–at least online–but imagine more of a hodgepodge of Christians under her protection and you’ll see what I mean.
3. Mary is our Mother. On the cross, Jesus said seven things. Given that he was dying of asphyxiation and getting enough breath to say anything involved ripping the nails a little further through the flesh of his hands, I think we ought to take anything he says from the cross pretty seriously. One of those seven things was giving the Blessed Mother to the Beloved Disciple:
When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home. (Jn 19:26-27)
Note that John doesn’t use a name here, although we know that it’s him. He uses instead the title “the disciple whom he loved,” a title he uses for himself not because he’s super-arrogant but because he wants us to insert ourselves into this scene. We are the disciple whom Jesus loves and he gives us his mother, just as we recline on Jesus’ breast and follow him to his death and recognize him after he rises. So when Jesus gives Mary to John, he gives her to all of us.
And, of course, Revelation calls her the mother of all Christians (Rev 12:17).
Since Mary’s our mother, we honor her, we spend time with her, we keep pictures of her around the house, we ask her to pray for us. Maybe we even sing songs about her.6
She’s there for strength and guidance, but she’s not the goal.
But she’s our mother, not our God. Mary’s purpose in our lives is to hold our hands as we walk to God. Just as a baby learning to walk will hold his mom’s hands while walking to his dad, we hold Mary’s hands as we go together to the Father. It’s not about her and if we focused entirely on her, we’d fail, just like the baby would fall on his butt if he tried to walk forward while staring up at his mom. Any spirituality that has Mary as its ultimate goal is not Catholic–Marian spirituality is always to Christ through Mary.
4. Mary always brings people to Christ. Every time we see her in Scripture, she’s all about God. The reason she existed was to bring Christ into the world. The reason she continues to play such a role in our faith is because she’s bringing him to us again, just as she brought him to Elizabeth at the Visitation.
Mary and Elizabeth at the Visitation, by Corby Eisbacher–look at that joy!
She lives a life of obedience to the Father, directing people always toward her Son. Mary says very little in the Gospels, speaking only once during the adult life of Christ. On that occasion, at the wedding feast at Cana (Jn 2), Mary first intercedes for the people. Then, her famous last words: “Do whatever he tells you.”7
Do whatever he tells you. That’s it–that’s what she’s about. Any authentic Marian apparition always points people back to the Sacraments, to Christ present in the Eucharist. Because Mary knows, as do her children, that it’s just not about her.
For centuries, the moon has been a symbol of Mary, not because she’s a modern fertility goddess but because she, like the moon, has no light of her own. She’s only able to reflect the light of the sun.8 The moon is lovely only inasmuch as it shares slightly in the immense beauty of the sun; Mary is holy only inasmuch as she shares slightly in the immense holiness of her Son.
So we love Mary not instead of Christ but because of Christ.
Now, I wasn’t raised with Mary, so this was hard for me, too. I started praying the rosary long before I even thought it made sense, simply because I felt that God was calling me to. It took years of trying to develop a relationship with Mary before I came to understand that every single interaction I ever had with her was always drawing me closer to Christ.
I often hear Catholics say that you go to Mary when you “can’t” go to God, a statement that Protestants (and many Catholics) justly find outrageous. And yet there have been moments in my life because I am so broken that I felt I couldn’t go to God. I was angry or bitter or scared or whatever and I just needed my Momma. And as I tried to storm out of the church, she gently called my name, calmed me down, and brought me back to her poor, patient Son. Or she lifted my face, cast down and covered with tears, to look once more on my God. Those were moments when, rightly or wrongly, I couldn’t go straight to God. So my Momma took my hand and led me there herself.
My friends, Mary is nothing without Christ. And she does nothing but lead us closer to Christ. She’s so devoted to presenting Christ to us that she sacrifices her artistic sensibilities so we can see her as a Jesus-stand, awkwardly holding a baby holding the world in his hand. And somehow that awkwardness becomes more beautiful when we see what it really means: the Blessed Mother asking us to gaze on her son.
So join me today in honoring Our Lady for her intercession and guidance and motherly love. If this Mary stuff is still hard for you, maybe just chat with her for a minute to thank her for saying yes to God. If Mary’s your bffl, why not rock out a whole rosary as a birthday present? Definitely bake her a cake–it’s a feast day, after all.
Here’s to Mary of Nazareth–2000+ years and still going strong. Happy birthday, Momma!
I’m not an art historian, I’ve just spent an hour googling images of the Madonna and Child. There are a lot of ugly ones out there. Also, Jesus is naked more often than seems natural. [↩]
“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” Both a line from the Hail Mary and a line from the Bible–Lk 1:42 and 11:27. [↩]
I have a distinct memory of 8-year-old twins I know “singing” about how they missed their mommy: “Don’t take my mommy awayyyyy! She’s beautiful like a gypsy princess! Don’t take my mommy awayyyyyy!!” I’m not saying all Marian hymns are more poetic than that, but they certainly stem from a natural, human place, not an idolatrous one. [↩]
St. Bonaventure: “As the moon, which stands between the sun and the earth, transmits to this latter whatever it receives from the former, so does Mary pour out upon us who are in this world the heavenly graces that she receives from the divine sun of justice.” [↩]
Have you ever noticed what fools the Apostles are? I mean, they’re kind of the comic relief of the Gospels. Check them out:
“Loaves, fish, we get it! Can we maybe get some pizza?”
Jesus: *feeds 5000 people with 5 loaves and 2 fish*
Apostles: Oh, no! Now there are 4000 hungry people? What are we going to do??? (Mt 14-15)
Jesus: Beware the leaven of the Pharisees.
Apostles: Aw, shoot, he’s mad because we forgot to bring snacks!
Jesus: Seriously? Snacks? Remember yesterday when I fed the 4000? Seriously? Nobody gets what I’m going for here? (Mk 8)
Jesus: I’m going to die and rise again.
Peter: Nuh-uh, Jesus, no you’re not! (Mt 16–yes, right after Jesus made him pope.)
Jesus: I’m going to die and rise again.
Apostles: Okay, but really, who do you think is the best? Me, or him? Because I think it’s me, but he thinks it’s him and…. (Mk 9)
“Seriously, Peter, PUT AWAY THE SWORD!”
Jesus: I’m going to die and rise again.
James and John: Yeah, cool, can we ride shotgun? Like, can we sit next to you? (Mk 10)
Jesus: One of you will betray me.
Apostles: I would never do that because I’m the best. No, I’m the best! No, I’m the best!
Jesus: Oh, let’s just go so I can be handed over.
Apostles: No, Jesus, it’s okay. See, we have two swords here!
Jesus: Oh my goodness I am SO DONE with you people!! (Lk 22)
Jesus: BAM! I totally rose from the dead!
Apostles: (once they’re done being terrified) Cool. We’re going fishing. (Jn 21)
Okay, so I’m paraphrasing here. But taken all together, this is some pretty damning evidence against their eligibility for Mensa. They’re not very bright, they’re not very holy, and they’re not very brave. Remember how 10 of the 11 (we’ll leave Judas out of all this) ran away when Jesus was taken? And remember how they kept hiding after he died? And remember how they were still hiding in the upper room 50 days after he rose? They weren’t exactly written as heroes.
But aside from the fact that ordinary Apostles teach us that God can use any one of us, flawed as we are, I think comparing the Apostles before Pentecost to the Apostles after Pentecost teaches us something dramatic.
The transformation of the apostles and the spread of Christianity throughout the known world not by violence but by preaching was impossible without the Holy Spirit.
The Apostles are uneducated, mostly fishermen, not philosophers and public speakers. Acts 4:13 makes this clear: “Observing the boldness of Peter and John and perceiving them to be uneducated and ordinary men, they were amazed and they recognized them as the companions of Jesus.”
There was nothing charismatic about these guys. They weren’t clever or persuasive or attractive. They were “ordinary and uneducated men.” They had no business changing the world.
And even if they had been little cult leaders in the making, they were too cowardly to do anything as risky as preaching Christ crucified. Before the resurrection, they were so scared, Peter ran from a serving woman. But on Pentecost, he preaches to thousands. What changed? If Jesus didn’t rise, what made these inept cowards into brave evangelists? How did men who could barely follow a conversation convert the brightest minds of the ancient world?
That’s yesterday’s Saint, Bartholomew, holding the flesh that was flayed from his body. Awesome.
Remember, if you will, that 10 of the 11 Apostles who walked with Christ and touched his resurrected body–risen with the wounds of his crucifixion–died to tell the story. And poor John didn’t survive to old age for lack of his enemies’ trying–they boiled him and poisoned him, he just wouldn’t die. The Apostles knew for sure and for certain that Jesus had risen from the dead and they gave their lives to spread the news.
They were convincing in ways they’d never been convincing, passionate and courageous and brilliant where before they’d been…well…ordinary at best. And what did they get out of it?
Well, first, they made themselves look like morons. Then they established insanely difficult standards of behavior. Finally, they were tortured and executed in excruciating ways–joyfully embracing shameful deaths for love of the Risen Christ.
Peter Kreeft exposes how ridiculous it is to credit anything but the resurrection with their transformation:
If the miracle of the Resurrection did not really happen, then an even more incredible miracle happened: twelve Jewish fishermen invented the world’s biggest lie for no reason at all and died for it with joy, as did millions of others. This myth, this lie, this elaborate practical joke transformed lives, gave despairing souls a reason to live and selfish souls a reason to die, gave cynics joy and libertines conscience, put martyrs in the hymns and hymns in the martyrs—all for no reason. A fantastic con job, a myth, a joke. (Fundamentals of the Faith)
Sure.
See, there’s just no other explanation I can come up with for the peaceable spreading of Christianity throughout its first three centuries. Say what you want about Christendom and the Crusades, that first century, when people still remembered having known Jesus of Nazareth, that was some serious Holy Spirit action.
Otherwise, you’re telling me that incompetent, timid, ill-educated Jews transformed the world so that they could make themselves look dumb and get tortured in new and exciting ways? That all eleven of them were so committed to this lie that not one broke despite ridicule and sleepless nights and failure and fear?
If the coming into existence of the Nazarenes, a phenomenon undeniably attested by the New Testament, rips a great hole in history, a hole the size and shape of the Resurrection, what does the secular historian propose to stop it up with? (C.F.D. Moule)
It just doesn’t make sense to me.
And look at the fact that the Roman Catholic Church, a bureaucracy as inept as any the world has ever seen, has lasted longer than the greatest empires of earth—if Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, why do we still exist? If he didn’t rise, who inspired and strengthened the Apostles? If the resurrection isn’t true, why on earth did they all throw their lives away to say it is?
Shoot, friends, there’s just too much happy coincidence in this if there isn’t grace. I know I’m presupposing that the Gospels are fairly historically accurate (a post for another day), but I just can’t get past the Apostles. This is what made me a Christian all those years ago: the eyewitness testimony of eleven weak men with nothing to gain and everything to lose. I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s got to be something there.
So go ahead, laugh at the Apostles. I think God chose the foolish of this world to shame the wise for the very reason that their weakness and simplicity and lowliness makes his power that much more evident. Choosing Peter as the first pope may seem foolish, but the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom. Thank the Lord for our weak, scared, foolish Apostles and the way their poverty testifies to God’s power. Thank him, too, that our flaws frame his beauty just as theirs did.
I’ve got all this on my mind because of the Office of Readings from yesterday, the feast of St. Bartholomew. As usual, the Doctors of the Church say it better than I.
From a homily on the first letter to the Corinthians by Saint John Chrysostom
Paul had this in mind when he said: The weakness of God is stronger than men. That the preaching of these men was indeed divine is brought home to us in the same way. For how otherwise could twelve uneducated men, who lived on lakes and rivers and wastelands, get the idea for such an immense enterprise? How could men who perhaps had never been in a city or a public square think of setting out to do battle with the whole world? That they were fearful, timid men, the evangelist makes clear; he did not reject the fact or try to hide their weaknesses. Indeed he turned these into a proof of the truth. What did he say of them? That when Christ was arrested, the others fled, despite all the miracles they had seen, while he who was leader of the others denied him!
How then account for the fact that these men, who in Christ’s lifetime did not stand up to the attacks by the Jews, set forth to do battle with the whole world once Christ was dead—if, as you claim, Christ did not rise and speak to them and rouse their courage? Did they perhaps say to themselves: “What is this? He could not save himself but he will protect us? He did not help himself when he was alive, but now that he is dead he will extend a helping hand to us? In his lifetime he brought no nation under his banner, but by uttering his name we will win over the whole world?” Would it not be wholly irrational even to think such thoughts, much less to act upon them?
It is evident, then, that if they had not seen him risen and had proof of his power, they would not have risked so much.
“The Shrine of Mary, Queen of the Universe docks each Sunday at 0800 and welcomes visitors of all planetary affiliations.”
As a Catholic, if you’ve gone to Disney World in the past 20 years, you’ve probably been to the nearby shrine that serves visitors to the theme park: the National Shrine of Mary, Queen of the Universe.
Is it bad that I laugh every time I hear that name? It’s not that I disagree with the theology behind it, I just think it sounds a little bit ridiculous, like she won some intergalactic beauty contest or something. If I were funnier, I could write an Onion piece on this….
But those who named the Shrine were right–as the mother of the King of the Universe, Mary is the Queen of the Universe. It’s really that simple.
And yet this understanding of Mary as our mother and our queen is one of the issues that most deeply divides Christians. As I pointed out before in my discussion of Mary as the new Ark of the Covenant, the Old Testament often has more to tell us about Mary than the New Testament does.1
As Christians, we know that the entirety of history built to the climax of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. Salvation history (the story of God’s redemptive work in the world) is directed towards Christ, which means that the people and events of the Old Testament have significance beyond themselves. Throughout the Old Testament, we find “types” or foreshadowings of New Testament realities. So the flood is a type of baptism, manna is a type of the Eucharist, and David is a type of Jesus.
He’s the king of the world!
Now every Christian knows that Christ is King of kings and Lord of lords. So it stands to reason that the king of Israel is a type of Christ, just as Israel is a type of the Church, the people of God. If the king is a type of Christ, then the king’s mother would be a type of Christ’s mother: Mary. So we want to pay attention every time we see the mother of the king mentioned in the Old Testament–which, as it turns out, is quite frequently–to see what it tells us about the mother of our Lord.
As the mother of King Solomon, Bathsheba’s our best example of the queen mother in Israel (yes, she does more than bathe on the roof), particularly because we see her both as the king’s wife and as the queen mother, two very different roles.
You’d be amazed how hard it is to find a painting of Bathsheba with her clothes on. Here, she’s petitioning David to make her son Solomon king.
Let’s start with Bathsheba as wife of King David. In 1 Kings 1:16 and 1:31, Bathsheba visits King David to ask a favor. Twice she enters his presence and twice she pays homage to him. The wife of the king in ancient Israel had no role at court for the simple reason that the king might have many wives. So there was no real queen in Israel, only a queen mother.2 Despite her intimate relationship with David, Bathsheba approaches the king as his subject, not as his queen.
After David dies and Solomon takes the throne, however, everything’s different. Adonijah, Solomon’s half brother, wants something from Solomon, so he asks Bathsheba to intercede on his behalf, saying, “Please ask King Solomon, who will not refuse you” (1 Kgs 2:17).
Then Bathsheba went to King Solomon to speak to him for Adonijah, and the king stood up to meet her and paid her homage. Then he sat down upon his throne, and a throne was provided for the king’s mother, who sat at his right. She said, “There is one small favor I would ask of you. Do not refuse me.” The king said to her, “Ask it, my mother, for I will not refuse you.” (1 Kgs 2:19-20)
This is a totally different story. Before, she paid the king homage. Here, as the queen mother, the King pays her homage and then gives her a throne at his right hand. The placement here is key: it tells us that she’s second in authority. This isn’t just some honorary title–she plays a real role here. And as his second-in-command, she has a particular privilege to intercede for others. Adonijah pointed it out and Solomon confirms it when he tells her that he will not refuse her.
As it turns out, Adonijah’s asked for something that Solomon can’t grant.3 But I don’t think it hurts our case for the queen mother’s intercessory power that he refuses her. The queen mother isn’t the ultimate authority, she just has some serious influence. He won’t refuse her if he can help it, but it’s really his decision.
So we see from the beginning of the line of David that the queen mother is someone really special, just not as special as the king. She’s honored by the king and by all the people and is given the power to intercede. See where I’m going with this?
And it’s not just Bathsheba–throughout the books of Kings and Chronicles (the books that talk about the deeds of the kings of Israel and Judah), each time a new king takes office, his mother is named. In 1 Kings 15:13, we see that the office is so official that a queen mother can even be deposed. In 2 Kings 11, the queen mother kills off all her son’s descendants (she thinks). When they’re all dead, she becomes the ruler of Judah automatically. Since there is no heir, the crown seems to revert to the second-in-command: the queen mother. This isn’t some ceremonial title, it’s something real.
And then there’s Jeremiah 13:18: “Say to the king and to the queen mother: come down from your throne; from your heads fall your magnificent crowns.” Here the king and the queen both have authority, both have a throne, both have a crown.
Throughout the Old Testament, the mother of the king plays a very important role, one that must be honored by all the king’s subjects. It stands to reason that this would extend to the queen mother of the New Testament as well, and the book of Revelation supports this. In Revelation 12:1 we see Mary crowned with twelve stars, the number of completion. This tells us that the mother of all believers (Rev 12:17) is the queen of everything.
Coronation of the Virgin by Fra Filippo Lippi–thanks for the help in figuring this out, friends!
So when Catholics talk about Mary, we’re not trying to give her a place above or equal to or even close to Christ’s. Any good Catholic painting of the Blessed Mother in heaven shows her lower than Christ and off to the side. We know better than to worship her; all we’re asking is to treat the mother of the King of kings the way we would treat any queen mother. We want to honor her (Lk 1:48) and to ask for her intercession simply because she is particularly beloved by the Lord. We revere her above any other creature but we know that she is just that: creature, not creator.
I’ll leave you with the inimitable words of the second Vatican Council:
“Mary’s function as mother of men in no way obscures or diminishes this unique mediation of Christ, but rather shows its power. But the Blessed Virgin’s salutary influence on men . . . flows forth from the superabundance of the merits of Christ, rests on his mediation, depends entirely on it, and draws all its power from it.” (Lumen Gentium 60)
Mary, Queen of Heaven and Earth and all the Galaxies and the Whole Stinking Universe, pray for us! Happy Coronation of Mary to you all.
For much of this, as with most of my understanding of Marian theology, I am eternally indebted to Scott Hahn, particularly in his book Hail, Holy Queen. [↩]
In fact, the word “queen” in the Old Testament always refers either to a pagan queen or to the queen mother. Jezebel isn’t even considered a queen, although she bosses people around like she is. [↩]
He wants to be married to David’s concubine Abishag. Not only is this creepy, it would set him up as David’s successor and give him a claim as rival for the throne. Adonijah thought he was all clever–right till he got killed for it. [↩]
On November 1, 1950, Pope Pius XII made the second infallible statement ever made by a pope.1 Since this was only 60 years ago,2 it’s easy to assume that it’s an innovation, a made-up doctrine that has nothing to do with the faith of the Apostles. But there was nothing new about the doctrine, just the way it was expressed. With a shout and a bang, he declared to be infallible a teaching that everyone had pretty much been cool with forever: the Assumption of Mary.
From the Cathedral at Chartres–have you been there? If so, have you been back since they started cleaning the glass? It’s incredible.
What is it?
The official teaching is that at the end of her life, Mary was assumed body and soul into heaven. Note that she didn’t ascend (by her own power, as Christ did), but was assumed by God’s power. There is no official stance on whether she floated up kicking and somersaulting, fell asleep,3 appeared to die, or chose to die but was immediately reunited with her body when she was assumed. What matters is that she lives bodily in heaven with Christ, taken there by God’s miraculous grace.
Why do we believe it?
First and foremost, we believe it because it’s been presented to us as revealed by God. The Holy Father almost never makes infallible proclamations. Here, he’s exercising his power of infallibility4 to tell us this is true, so we accept it on faith.
But while that might be admirable on a personal level, it’s certainly not convincing. As always, I’m a big fan of Scripture, Tradition, and reason to help us through.
Scripture doesn’t give us anything explicit, as is the case with many issues, it being a finite book. Today’s first reading is as close as we get, where it describes a woman (Rev 12:1) who is the Ark of the Covenenant (Rev 11:19), the mother of the Savior (Rev 12:5), and the mother of all believers (Rev 12:17). Sure sounds like Mary to me. Verse 6 tells us that she “fled into the desert where she had a place prepared by God.” So the mother of the Savior, having finished her task, is taken up into a special place prepared for her. Works for me.
Tradition on the matter isn’t quite as ancient as it is on many Catholic doctrines, but it dramatically predates the Reformation. Apocryphal texts describe it as early as the 4th century, but I can see why we might not care about them. Some of the heavy hitters pick it up pretty early, too, along with some more obscure theologians.
The Apostles took up her body on a bier and placed it in a tomb; and they guarded it, expecting the Lord to come. And behold, again the Lord stood by them; and the holy body having been received, He commanded that it be taken in a cloud into paradise: where now, rejoined to the soul, [Mary] rejoices with the Lord’s chosen ones. . . (St. Gregory of Tours, Eight Books of Miracles 1:4, A.D. 575).
It was fitting that the she, who had kept her virginity intact in childbirth, should keep her own body free from all corruption even after death. It was fitting that she, who had carried the Creator as a child at her breast, should dwell in the divine tabernacles. It was fitting that the spouse, whom the Father had taken to himself, should live in the divine mansions. It was fitting that she, who had seen her Son upon the cross and who had thereby received into her heart the sword of sorrow which she had escaped when giving birth to him, should look upon him as he sits with the Father, It was fitting that God’s Mother should possess what belongs to her Son, and that she should be honored by every creature as the Mother and as the handmaid of God (St. John Damascene, Dormition ofMary, A.D. 697)
By the end of the seventh century, Mary’s Assumption was so established as fact that it had its own feast day already, according to Pope St. Sergius.5
I think reason‘s strongest on this one. We know that death (meaning the separation of body and soul) is a consequence of sin. St. Paul tells us that “the wages of sin is death” (Rom 6:23).6 If Mary was without sin (which, I suppose, merits its own post, but just go with it for now), then she couldn’t have died. Her time on earth came to an end, so God brought her to heaven body and soul (like Elijah and Enoch, so there’s a precedent).
Besides, not one church in the whole world claims to have Mary’s body. In a world where a church, a museum, and a mosque all claim to have John the Baptist’s head (with three others apparently having been destroyed over the course of history), this silence on the location of Mary’s body is deafening.
I’m inclined to think it’s this one (Mary’s Tomb, an Orthodox church in the Kidron Valley of Jerusalem) simply because it looks older and cooler.
Two churches in Jerusalem claim to be the tomb of Mary, along with one in Ephesus, but nobody claims to have even a pinky toe of the world’s most important Saint. For a Church that was grabbing at every body part imaginable to ascribe it to a Saint, this is pretty significant. Not only was there no body, nobody even pretended that there was. This only makes sense to me if the early Church understood that Mary had been assumed long before anyone bothered to write about it.
And then, of course, there’s the whole parallel between Mary and the Ark of the Covenant (linked above). It’s unreasonable to assume7 that God would allow the vessel that contained his only-begotten Son to rot. Her body had been made sacred and deserved to be treated with honor. If he could preserve her from decay, why wouldn’t he?
Why did it happen?
Do you ever wonder, in the midst of scriptural acrobatics and wordy New Advent articles, why God did these things in the first place? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that question–he’s always got a reason, and usually more than one. There’s nothing unfaithful about trying to figure out why, and often it leads us to deeper faith.
Obviously, there are the theological explanations: that Mary’s immaculate nature could not suffer death, that God glorified Mary by giving her an end like that of his Son, or that our feminist God desired “that not only the soul and body of a man, but also the soul and body of a woman should have obtained heavenly glory.”8 Perhaps Mary was given a glorified body that she might teach us how to be fully human when we get our bodies back.9
Look how eager she is to touch him–she’s so cute!
Or maybe Jesus just loved his Momma so much that he wanted to be with her in heaven. If you’ve got Spotify, do yourself a favor and listen to this song by Danielle Rose, a testimony to how beautiful the body of Mary is because of how it held and loved the body of Christ. Maybe beneath all the theological significance is a sweet example of a son who just wanted to be with his Momma. Maybe what we need to learn from it is to be homesick for heaven the way Mary was, to long to be in the presence of Christ so desperately that when our time comes we practically fly there.
There’s nothing innovative about the doctrine of the Assumption. It’s an ancient doctrine whose beauty is ever-new, drawing us deeper into a love of Our Lady and a longing for heaven. So praise God for the event and the Solemnity and the ex cathedra proclamation, and praise God especially for the gift of his mother as our mother, loving us from heaven and teaching us to follow Christ.
Mary Assumed into Heaven, pray for us!
There are those who think that early popes made ex cathedra statements, but I haven’t seen any direct evidence of this. Certainly this was only the second of the modern era. [↩]
I say things like “only 60 years ago” to teenagers and they look at me like I’m crazy, but in the grand scheme of the Church, 60 years ain’t much. [↩]
Eastern Christians call this the Dormition, the falling asleep of Mary. [↩]
I had almost finished a post on infallibility yesterday when WordPress ate it. Eventually, I’ll overcome my discouragement and rewrite it. Bear with me. [↩]
No link on this one as nothing’s showing up in my feeble Google searches, but I have it on Pius XII’s authority, so we’ll go with it. [↩]
Can I just tell you that I stumble over this every time I encounter it because I know the verb is supposed to be singular but the subject is clearly plural and WHAT is going on with THAT??? [↩]
You did know that we’re getting our bodies back, right? When we die, at best we become saints, but never angels. And at the end of the world, we’ll get our bodies back and I think we’ll be able to fly but there’s no official teaching on the matter 😛 [↩]
I’d make a great priest–I really would! I’m knowledgeable, I’m faithful, I’m an excellent listener, and, boy, can I preach.1 I’d touch hearts in the confessional and set parishes on fire.
It’s not that I wouldn’t be a good priest, it’s that I can’t be a priest.
Look at it this way: those little girls I told you about? I spend more time with them than their dad ever has. I flew to Indiana for Megan’s first communion earlier this year; I’d bet money that he doesn’t even know her middle name. He hasn’t seen them in years; I’m there every summer. I may be a much better father to them than he is, but I can’t be their father.
I might not be so great at giraffey things like walking on those spindly legs.
Or how about this: I’d be an incredible giraffe.–bear with me here. I’d be the first singing giraffe ever. I’d be able to read and write and spell prehensile when blogging about my awesome prehensile tongue. But I can’t be a giraffe. It’s not a matter of being good enough–I’m not capable. I don’t have the giraffeness it takes to be a giraffe, the maleness it takes to be a father, or the essence it takes to be a priest.
What we have to get here is that nobody’s saying women aren’t good enough to be priests. Nobody loved women more than Jesus. When he rose from the dead, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene (happy feast day!), and yet he didn’t invite her to the Last Supper. He honored her above all the apostles but he didn’t make her a priest. Not because she wasn’t good enough but because it wasn’t possible.
And quit telling me that the Church hates women. You can’t spend more than 15 minutes around real Catholics without wondering if they don’t maybe worship the Virgin Mary. You can’t feel the way we do about the blessed Mother and hate women. So this has to be a matter not of talent but of capability–not of intelligence and piety and compassion but of something innate to men that women don’t possess.
Intrinsic to this whole question is the idea that men and women are essentially different in more than just chromosomes and their biological expression. That’s what the church is assuming when she says (infallibly, btw) that women can’t be in persona Christi because they aren’t male.2
For a long time, I thought this was stupid. Do priests then have to be Semitic and have beards and wear sandals? Don’t be ridiculous.
But those things are all accidents (remember when we talked about substance and accidents?)–they’re characteristics that don’t define a person. Jesus’ gender, on the other hand, is substance. It’s essential to who he is.
Think about it this way: if John and Mary pull a Freaky Friday and switch bodies, John doesn’t become a woman. His maleness is not a mere function of his body–it’s who he is. We’d say that he was a man trapped in a woman’s body, not that he had become a woman. He may have long hair, pink fingernails, and great legs, but he’s still a man.
We have to keep this in mind when we’re discussing women’s ordination: the Church has never said that women weren’t good enough to be priests but that they weren’t capable. Just like my dad would have made a great mom but he can’t be a mom. He doesn’t have the femaleness required.
So if you’re a Catholic, you accept this because of Scripture (Jesus didn’t ordain women) and Tradition (the Church has never ordained women and has said infallibly that women can’t be ordained). You can argue all you like that Jesus was restricted by his culture, but then you’re a) ignoring the fact that everything he did flew in the face of cultural norms–prostitutes and tax collectors, anyone? and b) denying the divinity of Christ who would certainly have rejected those customs if he though it necessary, for that time or ours.
But why is this true?? I always got that I had to accept this, but it took a near miracle for me to see why God had designed things this way. I had to know what there is about “maleness” that is intrinsic to priesthood. C.S. Lewis (himself an Anglican) explains this brilliantly. If you’re short on time, definitely read him instead of me.
Lewis doesn’t say much, though, about the argument that really makes sense of all this for me. He understands that women can’t represent God to men the way that men can, not because they’re not kind or loving or wise enough but because God is masculine in relationship to his people. God is the initiator, the one who gives to his Bride who receives. (Forget your personal relationships for a minute and just recognize the significance of the act of sex in terms of what it means to be masculine or feminine.) So when priests act in persona Christi, they can only do that by fully imaging Christ the Bridegroom.
When he stretched out his arms on the cross, Jesus consummated his marriage with his Bride the Church. At each Mass, we step outside of time to that one sacrifice. When the priest takes the host in his hands, he speaks the words of Christ once again, “This is my body, which will be given up for you.” This moment in the Mass is the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, and the marital act of Bridegroom and Bride. It is offered by Christ through the person of the priest.
That’s why the gender of the priest is essential. The Mass is a marital act, an act of complete self-giving by Christ to his Church. If a woman were the priest, each Mass would be the image of a homosexual union. Think what you want about gay marriage in America, it’s pretty clear where the Church has to stand on the issue of the morality of homosexual actions (Rom 1:26-27, 1 Tim 1:10, 1 Cor 6:9). And the Church’s central act of worship has to be in line with God’s plan for men and women as much as everything else the Church does.
If priesthood were a matter of talent, I’d make a great priest. If Christianity were entirely reasonable (as Lewis says), it would be appalling to deny holy orders to women. But when we enter the realm of the divine, we have to accept that there may be some truths that counter contemporary human wisdom.
Second wave feminism taught us that equality meant sameness, that if men and women were equal it meant that they were interchangeable. What makes humanity so beautiful, though, is the difference between and complementarity of the sexes. And I think the great downfall of second wave feminism, even from a secular perspective, is that it tries so hard to champion the value of women while telling women they have to be men.
Gloria Steinem didn’t argue in favor of respect for the feminine genius, as did John Paul II; she declared that women, being as good as men, were just like men. So instead of earning the dignity we always deserved while embracing our femininity, we were told to want sex as much as men (and as indiscriminately as boys who are unworthy of the name “men”), to be as unemotional as men (without being bitches), and to work harder than men (since deep down we all know that women aren’t really as smart as men), all while looking hot.
Believe, me, I’m a feminist. You are, too. But I understand that to be a good woman, I don’t have to be a man. I can be as athletic or emotional or nurturing or intelligent as is natural to me without comparing myself to anyone else’s ideal. I can wear spike heels or Converse, work 10 hour days at the office or 16 hour days at home or never work a day in my life. I can be girly or tough or quiet or nerdy or all of the above. I’ve never let my culture define who I am because my self worth doesn’t lie in what I do but in who I am: I am His.
I’ve had people ask me in the past if it’s hard to be a woman in the Catholic Church. My Episcopalian grandmother tells me every time I see her that it’s a shame I can’t be a priest. But, having been blessed to accept this teaching, I’ve found that I love the Church all the more because of it. I would never want to be a member of a church whose doctrine is swayed by the sensibilities of the world. I feel so blessed to take refuge in a bastion of truth that stands firm in the face of onslaughts from every side.
I did feel a little sorry for myself for a while until I began to understand the beauty of being a woman in the Church. Sure, men can be priests, but most aren’t. Every woman, though, can be pursued by divine love in a way that speaks particularly to a woman’s heart. Every woman can picture herself in the arms of Christ in a way that’s meaningless (or disturbing) to most men. No, I can’t say Mass, and nothing will ever change that. But I can read the Song of Songs as a love letter to me. I can hear the voice of my lover crying out to me in the Eucharist, be lost in the romance of his embrace, and live as a princess in his kingdom.
And I wouldn’t trade that for a sham priesthood. Not for anything.
Please excuse the bragging here–I’m making a point. [↩]
If you haven’t yet read my most recent post on priesthood, please do. This post won’t make much sense if you don’t have that background. [↩]
