Another of the friars and I were talking about limbo, the idea that there is some kind of eschatological destiny that corresponds to perfect natural happiness for the human person. This is opposed, of course, to the idea of heaven, which is perfect supernatural happiness.
At certain points in the history of Christian theological reflection, limbo served as a solution to two theological problems. First, where did the patriarchs, prophets, and righteous people of God of the old covenants await the resurrection they would receive in Christ? This is the so-called limbo of the fathers. Second, what becomes of infants who do not receive baptism through no fault of their own? Certainly God would not deny them a happy destiny! So perhaps there is a state on the "border" or limbus of hell, that corresponds to natural fulfillment, short of the supernatural fulfillment of heaven. This seems to have been the view of St. Thomas, though we have to say that Thomas was not always real good on eschatology; after all he didn't really want to accept the Immaculate Conception. And oh yes, the Immaculate Conception is a doctrine about eschatology and ultimate destiny.
Now folks will point out, quite correctly, that we don't talk about limbo anymore. Indeed, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, when it faces the question of unbaptized infants doesn't mention it all but holds out a well-founded and confident hope for their highest salvation.
But this doesn't mean that there is no such thing as limbo; doctrine is accurate to Truth, but it does not exhaust Truth. This is especially true when we are talking about something as difficult as the Last Things. Limbo remains a theological possibility. There are other things like this, theological possibilities that we don't talk about or teach because they are too unsure. For another example, I think it's entirely theologically possible that two or three presbyters (i.e. priests who aren't bishops) could ordain a layman a deacon, or ordain a deacon a priest. But we can't be so sure about this, so we don't put the validity of sacramental ministry in danger by doing such a thing.
For me, I don't have a problem accepting the idea of limbo. To me it sounds pretty good: a state of eternal, perfect happiness on the natural level for those who were denied baptism of water, desire, or blood through no fault of their own. It's not the perfect supernatural happiness of heaven which we begin to live in baptism, but it doesn't sound so bad.
Showing posts with label Doctrine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Doctrine. Show all posts
July 30, 2009
July 13, 2009
Catholic Conflicts
The comments on yesterday's post reveal that I hit some neuralgic spots for us Catholic Christians. I've been thinking about it.
There have been several moments in the journey of my baptism when I have found things very different than what I expected. These experiences have almost always left me confused, and sometimes quite scandalized. My entrance into religious life was one of the hardest; so hard in fact that I needed to quit and start over.
Another, not unrelated crisis of expectation and experience, deeper and more seminal for who I would become as a Catholic, came upon me almost immediately after my sacramental initiation. I found, to my surprise and confusion, that one had to decide whom to listen to when it came to Catholic teaching and practice. I had entered a church that seemed to be full of conflicts. Liberal vs. conservative, progressive vs. traditional, radical vs. restorationist, the "spirit of Vatican II" against the continuity of ancient tradition, those who were derided as "70s priests" vs. those equally derided as "neocons." Being innocent and somewhat ignorant--as well as very scandalized by the whole thing--I hardly knew what to think.
It was even hard to know what was the genuine Catholic doctrine. One priest said one thing, and another priest something else. One confessor identified something as a serious sin, another as a minor sin, and a third as not a sin at all. One spiritual director would advise you not to believe anything you read in National Catholic Reporter, while another would warn you not to believe anything you heard on EWTN. When rubrics or parts of the Mass delineated in my hand missal were not included in the liturgy I attended, I would ask the priest about it. One priest would tell me that certain parts were optional, while another would assure me that they were not.
Fortunately, I found a solution to this confused and frustrating situtation, one that I now recommend to others: I empowered myself. I picked up a copy of the Catechism, which was new in those days, a Code of Canon Law, and an enchiridion of doctrine. (For this last treasure, read this and then buy this.) I read it myself.
Catholic teaching on faith, morals, and practice is not a secret. You don't have to wonder what it is, or if the priest or whoever trying to tell you something is trustworthy or knows what he is talking about. Be empowered and read it yourself. It worked for me.
There have been several moments in the journey of my baptism when I have found things very different than what I expected. These experiences have almost always left me confused, and sometimes quite scandalized. My entrance into religious life was one of the hardest; so hard in fact that I needed to quit and start over.
Another, not unrelated crisis of expectation and experience, deeper and more seminal for who I would become as a Catholic, came upon me almost immediately after my sacramental initiation. I found, to my surprise and confusion, that one had to decide whom to listen to when it came to Catholic teaching and practice. I had entered a church that seemed to be full of conflicts. Liberal vs. conservative, progressive vs. traditional, radical vs. restorationist, the "spirit of Vatican II" against the continuity of ancient tradition, those who were derided as "70s priests" vs. those equally derided as "neocons." Being innocent and somewhat ignorant--as well as very scandalized by the whole thing--I hardly knew what to think.
It was even hard to know what was the genuine Catholic doctrine. One priest said one thing, and another priest something else. One confessor identified something as a serious sin, another as a minor sin, and a third as not a sin at all. One spiritual director would advise you not to believe anything you read in National Catholic Reporter, while another would warn you not to believe anything you heard on EWTN. When rubrics or parts of the Mass delineated in my hand missal were not included in the liturgy I attended, I would ask the priest about it. One priest would tell me that certain parts were optional, while another would assure me that they were not.
Fortunately, I found a solution to this confused and frustrating situtation, one that I now recommend to others: I empowered myself. I picked up a copy of the Catechism, which was new in those days, a Code of Canon Law, and an enchiridion of doctrine. (For this last treasure, read this and then buy this.) I read it myself.
Catholic teaching on faith, morals, and practice is not a secret. You don't have to wonder what it is, or if the priest or whoever trying to tell you something is trustworthy or knows what he is talking about. Be empowered and read it yourself. It worked for me.
October 22, 2008
God Language
Back at the beginning of the summer, I was utterly delighted to hear about the decision of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments that we are no longer to use or pronounce the divine name during worship.
This made me happy because I have always felt that the pronunciation of the divine name in contemporary songs and alternative psalmodies was disrespectful not only to God but to the whole Scriptural tradition, kept alive by our Jewish brothers and sisters, of not pronouncing the name. A couple of times since this came out, though, I've gotten into conversations with people who don't approve.
Mostly they mourn the loss of Dan Schutte's beloved setting of Psalm 139, "You Are Near." This I understand. It's a laudably Scriptural song, people love it, and it's catchy. Maybe the words can be changed, but otherwise this is a genuine loss. Other alternative liturgical texts, more spurious in origin, will also have to be scrapped, and good riddance.
In any case, when I've been in conversations about this point, I've noticed a real lack of good sense about the nature of the words we use to refer to God, and what sort of words they are. Someone will say, for example, "How come we can say 'Lord' or 'God' but we can't use this particular name for God?"
The reason is, I think, because "Lord" and "God" are not names. To say "Lord," or Adonai or Kyrios for that matter, is to pronounce a title, not a name. These are titles for God that replace the divine name in the case of the Old Testament, and titles that migrate to the Risen Lord in the case of the New.
To say "God" is not to pronounce someone's name, but to point to a concept, an idea. To say "God" is not to address someone by name but to attempt to signify the Deity. This is why it is misguided for missionaries to replace the word "God" in the Scriptures with the proper name of the local deity.
Even to say "The Father" or "The Son," using the signifiers that Jesus reveals for the Holy Trinity is not really to use a name but a description of a relationship. There isn't really such a person as "God the Father," but the relation of Source and paternity within God.
In the end we have to recognize that most of our efforts to refer to the divine Mystery take the form of titles and descriptions, not names. There are really only two proper names for God, the divine name revealed to Moses, which no one may pronounce, and Jesus Christ, the name of the Word of God become human, whom we may and must address by name precisely because of his Incarnation.
This made me happy because I have always felt that the pronunciation of the divine name in contemporary songs and alternative psalmodies was disrespectful not only to God but to the whole Scriptural tradition, kept alive by our Jewish brothers and sisters, of not pronouncing the name. A couple of times since this came out, though, I've gotten into conversations with people who don't approve.
Mostly they mourn the loss of Dan Schutte's beloved setting of Psalm 139, "You Are Near." This I understand. It's a laudably Scriptural song, people love it, and it's catchy. Maybe the words can be changed, but otherwise this is a genuine loss. Other alternative liturgical texts, more spurious in origin, will also have to be scrapped, and good riddance.
In any case, when I've been in conversations about this point, I've noticed a real lack of good sense about the nature of the words we use to refer to God, and what sort of words they are. Someone will say, for example, "How come we can say 'Lord' or 'God' but we can't use this particular name for God?"
The reason is, I think, because "Lord" and "God" are not names. To say "Lord," or Adonai or Kyrios for that matter, is to pronounce a title, not a name. These are titles for God that replace the divine name in the case of the Old Testament, and titles that migrate to the Risen Lord in the case of the New.
To say "God" is not to pronounce someone's name, but to point to a concept, an idea. To say "God" is not to address someone by name but to attempt to signify the Deity. This is why it is misguided for missionaries to replace the word "God" in the Scriptures with the proper name of the local deity.
Even to say "The Father" or "The Son," using the signifiers that Jesus reveals for the Holy Trinity is not really to use a name but a description of a relationship. There isn't really such a person as "God the Father," but the relation of Source and paternity within God.
In the end we have to recognize that most of our efforts to refer to the divine Mystery take the form of titles and descriptions, not names. There are really only two proper names for God, the divine name revealed to Moses, which no one may pronounce, and Jesus Christ, the name of the Word of God become human, whom we may and must address by name precisely because of his Incarnation.
July 21, 2006
Lawrence of Brindisi
Today we celebrate St. Lawrence, a Capuchin friar who had an illustrious preaching career around the turn of the 17th century. He was declared a doctor of the church in 1959.
Three Franciscans have been declared doctors: Anthony of Padua, Bonaventure of Bagnoregio, and Lawrence of Brindisi. That might not sound like very many, but it actually is compared to the other religious families of the western church. As far as I know the Jesuits have two, Robert Bellarmine and Peter Canisius, the Dominicans have two, Catherine of Siena and Thomas Aquinas, and the Carmelites have two, Therese of Lisieux and John of the Cross. Not that this is a competition.
These saints participated in the teaching ministry of Christ in very special ways. Nevertheless, all the baptized have a share in Christ the teacher. The ways we pray and behave and treat one another are an education for those around us. Our lives teach people whether or not the message we bring is really good news, whether it's worth the risk to try to love, whether or not there just might be Someone here whom we clumsily call "God."
Read more about Lawrence here, and check out one of his sermons here. Learn more about the doctors of the church here.
Three Franciscans have been declared doctors: Anthony of Padua, Bonaventure of Bagnoregio, and Lawrence of Brindisi. That might not sound like very many, but it actually is compared to the other religious families of the western church. As far as I know the Jesuits have two, Robert Bellarmine and Peter Canisius, the Dominicans have two, Catherine of Siena and Thomas Aquinas, and the Carmelites have two, Therese of Lisieux and John of the Cross. Not that this is a competition.
These saints participated in the teaching ministry of Christ in very special ways. Nevertheless, all the baptized have a share in Christ the teacher. The ways we pray and behave and treat one another are an education for those around us. Our lives teach people whether or not the message we bring is really good news, whether it's worth the risk to try to love, whether or not there just might be Someone here whom we clumsily call "God."
Read more about Lawrence here, and check out one of his sermons here. Learn more about the doctors of the church here.
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