Today would have been my father‘s 56th birthday, but he died suddenly in November so it’s not.
With me on my baptism day, December 18, 1983. This is a very exciting picture because we’re both wearing shirts. I have discovered in recent months that this was unusual (for both of us) during the early years of my life.
And maybe I’m heartless and self-obsessed, but I’m mostly okay. Oh, when total strangers push for gruesome details of his death1 I sometimes lose it, but most of the time remembering him is more sweet than bitter, and I think I have theology to thank for it. More specifically, the doctrine of purgatory.
Every time I miss him, I pray for him. It’s not a discipline I’ve imposed on myself, it’s the natural reaction of a heart far from the one she loves. And suddenly I’m not so helpless in the face of death. If he needs anything, I can do something. I can pray for him. Purgatory helps me keep loving him–not just a feeling, but true love: sacrifice for the good of the other.
My father was a very broken man and reminiscing about him often shines a light on his flaws. One almost feels compelled to ignore his faults, but purgatory gives you permission to be real about them, to acknowledge them without despair. As far as I can tell, he died in a state of grace. But he had a tendency to revel in resentment and self-pity, among other imperfections. “Nothing unclean can enter heaven,”2 the Lord tells me, but not to worry. I don’t have to whitewash his memory to be confident in his salvation, because God’s bleaching his soul in preparation for his marriage feast. He’s stretching him and healing him and turning his weeping into joy. In purgatory, the Lord makes all things new. My father wasn’t perfect, but he’s being made perfect by the blood of Christ.
In so many ways, he was a wonderful father. But there were years when it seemed as though he couldn’t be my daddy because he was so caught up in himself. I have no desire for revenge, but with real relationships–especially when death is sudden–there’s a feeling that it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he didn’t have to make up for his failings, not fair that he never knew how he hurt me and now he just gets to be done and go be happy with Jesus. But in purgatory he knows. God help him, he sees every least way he hurt those he loved (and those he should have loved) and he’s praying and suffering to make up for it now, by God’s grace. It’s just the way he would want it, this opportunity to atone, and it brings healing and closure to our relationship because I know that he’s still working at it just as much as I am. His death doesn’t make our relationship any less human, and as I continue to heal and forgive and ask forgiveness, I know he’s walking beside me along the same path of healing.
There’s joy, of course, in our communion with the Church Triumphant. Whether he’s in purgatory or heaven, he’s praying for me. He’s praying hard for my unbelieving brothers.3 Whether he’s a saint or a suffering soul, I can speak to him. I can ask his forgiveness or laugh at something with him or just tell him I still love him when I see the little bald guy on the Tonight Show, the guy he and I always cheered for and I never knew why. There are no “if onlys,” not really, because there is no true separation among those who love the Lord, even if a veil divides us for a time.
The communion of saints is a joy indeed, the logical result of a God who is love. But purgatory is such a gift, a gratuitous outpouring of God’s mercy on the deceased and those who mourn. I need this–I need to know that I can do something for him, that he’s growing, that the Lord won’t leave him as he was. I need to hear my Church stand with me in praying for him day in and day out. I need to rejoice in mercy while rejoicing also in justice.
For some people, purgatory is a stumbling block. For others, it’s a temptation to aim for mediocrity. For me, purgatory is a consolation, a spiritual necessity, and a grace. I don’t expect everyone to be cool with tragedy because of this doctrine of purgatory, but it sure has given me peace. Before, it was always something I’d argued for, never something I’d rejoiced in. Now, I’m so thankful to belong to a Church that recognizes that not even death can separate us because not even death can stop the merciful love of Jesus.
Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer, happy birthday! Rest in peace.
Yesterday’s celebration is considered controversial by many Christians while others ignore the debate entirely. Forget Halloween, I’m talking about Reformation Day, when our separated brethren celebrate the beginning of Luther’s secession from Rome. At the heart of his revolt/reform was the question of indulgences, a much-maligned practice that is rarely understood by those who decry it.
Now don’t get me wrong: Luther was right.
Yup, I said it.
Luther was right.
As regards the sale of indulgences, anyway. Selling indulgences was never officially sanctioned by the Church, but it was a practice that was common in the late middle ages. Here’s how it came about:
Catholic faithful could get an indulgence for going on a pilgrimage or fighting in a crusade.1
Some people couldn’t manage to go on pilgrimage because of illness or responsibilities at home. If you couldn’t go yourself, you were given the option to pay for someone else to go and share in his indulgence.
Pretty soon, you could make a donation and get an indulgence in return.
Before you knew it, priests were selling indulgences.
It was never official doctrine that indulgences could be sold and Martin Luther did the Church a solid by pointing out what a disaster we had on our hands. The reforms of the Council of Trent (called to clean things up after the Reformation) made it impossible to buy an indulgence or even to get an indulgence for the good work of giving alms.
But while the sale of indulgences was wrong–maybe even reprehensible–the misuse of indulgences can’t define our attitude toward them. Unfortunately, in many Protestant circles the narrative is that Catholics purchase indulgences from a priest in order to get permission to sin in the future. You know, for 50 bucks you can skip Mass on Sunday; adultery will set you back 500. Here’s how it’s sometimes described:
In the dark ages, when Papacy held control of men’s consciences and few dared to think, one method which she practiced to supply herself with money was the sale of indulgences. The indulgence was a permission to sin and yet be free from its consequences. (via Biblestudents.com)
Trouble is, that’s not what an indulgence is. It’s not permission to indulge. Indulgences, in fact, have very little to do with life on this earth. They’re all about purgatory.
(Zack-Morris-Style time out: if you have any confusion about purgatory, stop right now and learn what it is. This will make very little sense if you’re not up on the reparative nature of purgatory. Done? Good.)
The purpose of purgatory is to prepare us for heaven but also to make up for the evil we did on earth. It’s only natural, then, to believe that we can make some of that reparation before we die. That’s what indulgences are about: removing the temporal punishment that’s due to us. By our prayer, we put jelly beans back in the jar.2 We satisfy our temporal punishment on earth so that we don’t have to satisfy it in purgatory.
The trickiest thing about indulgences is the fact that you probably associate them with “days off” purgatory. Then it becomes an accounting business (like in Graham Greene’s short story “Special Duties”) rather than a movement of the heart to God. Here’s where that came from:
Domenico Tintoretto: The Penitent Magdalene. Apparently this is what penance used to look like: skulls and sackcloth.
Back in the day, when people went to confession, they got some killer penances. “Sit outside the church door in sackcloth and ashes for 300 days” or “Fast for 500 days”–seriously hardcore stuff. When you were given such a penance, you could sometimes swap another pious practice for a certain period of your penance–make a pilgrimage to Rome, say, and get 200 days off. The idea was that your penance was about conversion and if you did something that was equally arduous or spiritually powerful, you’d done your duty. “Days off purgatory” were intended to help you see the relative value of a certain prayer but the concept ended up making people think that there were days in purgatory and we could tally them up. It got confusing for the faithful, so in recent years, the Church has changed the designation. Now we have plenary indulgences (which remove all your temporal punishment) and partial indulgences (which remove some). There is no specification of the amount of punishment satisfied, just plenary and partial.
So how do you get one?3 Before anything else, you have to be a member of the Catholic Church and in a state of grace–this is key since indulgences don’t forgive sin, they just help you deal with the consequences of your sin. Beyond that, things get more specific. In order to obtain a plenary indulgence for yourself, you have to:
Perform an action associated with an indulgence. There are about a million of these.4 Spend half an hour in adoration,pray the rosary with your family, read the Bible for half an hour. Check out a good list here. It’s not exhaustive, as the Church has the authority to add or remove indulgenced actions at any time, but it’s a good start.
Go to confession and communion within eight days before or after.
Pray for the pope.
Be free of all attachment to sin.
Oh, there’s the fine print. See, indulgences take away your “time” in purgatory.5 But it’s not just about reparation, it’s about preparation. You can’t get off on time served if you haven’t been reformed. So the only way you’ll find yourself without any need of purgatory is if you’re free of all attachment to sin. I don’t know about y’all, but I’m sure as heck not there yet.
Purgatory by Peter Paul Rubens
But you’re in luck! Even if you don’t fulfill the fourth requirement, you can get a partial indulgence–which would, I would imagine, remove all “time” in purgatory except what is needed to prepare your soul for heaven. Or you can choose to offer your indulgence for a soul in purgatory.6 The first 3 requirements remain the same but instead of asking an indulgence for yourself, you offer it for one of the Holy Souls and get a plenary for them.7
Why are we talking about this now? Well, with tomorrow being All Souls’ Day, it’s a good time to think about purgatory.8 But more to the point, from today through November 8th, you can get a plenary indulgence (for a departed soul) if you make a visit to a cemetery and pray for the dead.9 You can also get a plenary indulgence for someone in purgatory if you visit a church tomorrow and pray an Our Father and a Creed.
Look, I know it sounds like legalism: say these prayers and get out of hell free! But bear in mind that it’s not getting anybody out of hell, just leading them to perfection. It stands to reason that the more you pray and receive the Sacraments, the holier you’ll be. And if you’re asking the Lord to apply the graces he’s offered you10 to a departed soul, the God who exhorts us to pray for one another11 will grant that request and give grace in abundance to that soul.
And if nothing else, consider this: the promise of an indulgence will often draw reluctant penitents to the confessional. Sometimes I wonder if God didn’t arrange indulgences this way simply to give us yet another impetus to avail ourselves of the mercy pouring from the Sacrament of Reconciliation. If the checklist above is getting people to repent and pray, it must be a good thing. “By their fruits….”
Not really time, but us does what us can. Which, according to Google, is not a saying. Is it just something my dad says? I feel like there are a lot of things that I think are universal that are really just my dad being strange. I thought for years that “Figglety” was something people called little girls. Nope. Just my nickname from my dad. [↩]
You can get indulgences for yourself or someone in purgatory. You can’t apply them to anyone else living or (obviously, it would seem) to anyone in heaven or hell. [↩]
This is my plan: pray as many souls out of purgatory as I can, then let them pray me into heaven. [↩]
All Souls’ Day commemorates the Holy Souls in purgatory. [↩]
Assuming the other conditions above, of course. [↩]
You’re not earning anything, just availing yourself of what’s been offered. [↩]
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? [↩]
