EXCERPT:
Christmas can be a confusing time for all Christians, and particularly for Catholics. Already on December 26, my morning paper carried the phrase "now that Christmas is past us . . ."--this on the second day of Christmas! Our culture's hijacking of Christmas is so advanced that, no matter how many times people hear "The Twelve Days of Christmas," they still have no clue when those days actually are.
But the confusion over Christmas is much older than the current commercialization on which our economy depends for its survival. In America, Christmas has gone from an observance banned by New England Puritans in 1659 to a federal holiday in 1870, and since then has acquired all sorts of traditions from all kinds of sources. Some have Catholic origins, like the singing of carols, attributed to St. Francis of Assisi. But many traditions came to America from Protestant Germany via Victorian England, such as giving gifts on Christmas (rather than the feast of St. Nicholas on December 6) and the Christmas tree itself, which legend attributes to Martin Luther, father of the Protestant Reformation.
One might even argue that the American way of celebrating Christmas reflects how the divisions among Christians here have diminished over time. Yet the parishioners I work with often remain confused about the relationship between Protestantism and Catholicism. Are they separate religions, or different versions of the same religion? I typically answer by saying that "my Church is Catholic, but my religion is Christianity." Some people find that a pretty abstract answer, but now I have something more concrete: my recent photo of a Catholic/Protestant church!
Here is how it happened.
The Christmas display was already under construction in Strasbourg’s Main Square when I visited the city in early November. This city on the Rhine River has been juggled from France to Germany and back again, and so retains a unique character. France, a historically Catholic country where religion became a fighting matter and Protestants were once massacred as heretics, somehow embraces this town where Catholics and Protestants behave like extended family, in a way I have never seen before.
While the Reformation divided much of Europe into Protestant regions in the north and Catholic regions in the south, Strasbourg boasts a remarkable mix of Protestant and Catholic churches that is more typical in America than in Europe. In some cases Strasbourg’s co-existence of Protestant and Catholic Christianity takes on unique forms.
During my visit I attended a concert of ancient troubadour music at the church of Saint Peter the Elder. The amazing thing you realize as you approach the church is that it is really two churches stuck together. If you enter one door, you are in a Catholic church. If you enter by the other door, you are in the Protestant church. The concert was in the Protestant church, where we could see that its back wall, behind the altar, was actually the side wall of the Catholic Church, so the stained glass windows on the wall did not look outside -- they looked from one church into the other! It is as if, when the Reformation broke out in the sixteenth century, some of Saint Peter's parishioners wished to join the Reform, and so the parish built an addition where they could worship as Protestants!
The other remarkable thing is that this concert was part of an annual "St. Martin Festival," a series of performances scheduled around the feast of St. Martin of Tours on November 11, which is also Armistice Day (careful CrossCurrents readers know this is no coincidence). So while the performances are held at both Protestant and Catholic churches, the festival's timing is based on the Catholic Church’s liturgical calendar.
After the concert I picked up the parish bulletin -- only the phrase "Parish of Saint Peter the Elder (Protestant)” on top told me this was not a Catholic parish. I presume the Catholic church’s bulletin looks much the same, but is topped by "Parish of Saint Peter the Elder (Catholic).”
In settings like these, it is pretty clear that both parishes practice the same religion, each in their own way. Christianity is clearly their common faith.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
#312: Condoms Are Not Nukes
EXCERPT:
Confusion reigns since Pope Benedict’s XVI’s latest book-length interview earned him headlines in both the secular and church press, as well as an explosion of commentary in the blogosphere. This Pope, already celebrated for his PR gaffes, has now befuddled many observers with a comment which, in my opinion, breaks no new ground yet confirms an important opportunity for the church’s leadership.
Twenty years ago I was fired as editor of a Catholic diocesan newspaper for editorializing that the New England Bishops had oversimplified the moral issues – and stretched the truth – by not only opposing the use of condoms for AIDS prevention, but claiming they were ineffective as well. It seemed clear to me that, whatever one’s opposition to condoms as birth control, as disease prevention tools they were obviously a useful option. Now it looks like I was right but too early—premature pontification !
…
The issue here is that, while the Church will always have a dogmatic dimension (that is, a teaching aspect) it must always avoid dogmatism – a rigid unwillingness to listen to reason or apply common sense. The challenge is to maintain church policies that are both dogmatic and pastoral: that is, attuned to the real-life conditions of the people affected.
Benedict XVI has never been a pastor, but he has done parish work, and despite his conservative reputation, he has shown a gentle and pastorally sensitive side. He likes to offer opinions that are personal and non-definitive. He described his book on Jesus as “one man’s views” about which others might differ. And now he has given his latest interview to a German journalist who has published on Benedict before. In it, discussing condoms and AIDS, the pope has pretty much confirmed the French bishops’ view, that in some circumstances the use of condoms to protect others may reflect an impulse toward, rather than away from, moral responsibility.
I suspect the French bishops were not alone in taking this position. In this sense, Benedict’s openness is not new at all, but reflects an existing, even established view of Catholic bishops (especially in Europe and Africa) with whom Benedict has worked for more than 30 years.
So why all the headlines and commentaries?
Clearly this Pope is inclined, especially in his informal statements, to express surprisingly personal views that often come across more like a professor’s musings than a papal proclamation – and this style confuses many in the media.
In this new interview, for example, he opposes the use of birth control pills “so that I can jump into bed with a random acquaintance” – a turn of phrase Catholics hardly expect from their pope. Then he makes his concession on condoms by citing the hypothetical case of a “male prostitute”—an equally surprising papal image.
A key point here: this 83-year-old celibate male may be forgiven for assuming that a male prostitute will service only male clients (assuming, in other words, that women never pay for sex!). On that assumption, then, he is speaking of homosexual encounters: pregnancy is not a possibility, so the condom is clearly cannot serve a contraceptive function. It serves only to protect the partner from infection. In such a case, the church’s traditional opposition to artificial contraception never comes into play.
So despite all the confusion it caused, Benedict’s position is, in my opinion, a useful clarification. My own editorial 20 years ago objected to bishops demonizing condoms, as though they were an evil invention with no possible good use. To me, it was a no-brainer that condoms could prevent infection, and that such use might be a good thing.
By citing the case of homosexual encounters where conception is not an issue, the pope is acknowledging that Church teaching opposes contraception, not condoms themselves. Once this distinction is clear, one may imagine other similar cases: for example, when an infected husband might use condoms to protect his infertile wife.
In my view, then, the real gaffe was in condemning an object instead of its use. In Catholic tradition, any invention, product, or technology has generally been considered morally neutral, and then its various uses have been subjected to moral scrutiny according to Catholic moral teachings.
So, for example, powdered infant formula is neither good nor bad in and of itself – but promoting its use in third world regions where bad water supplies make formula dangerous can be condemned as a bad use of powdered formula.
The one exception to this general rule is nuclear weapons, for which the Church’s theologians and bishops have found no moral use under any condition. That’s why Vatican II’s sole condemnation was reserved for the use, threat, and even production of nuclear weapons. Nukes present that rare case where it appears that the THINGS themselves, rather than the use humans make of them, are morally objectionable.
To equate condoms with nukes – to make the two devices the only ones that have no moral use whatsoever – is patently ludicrous. The French bishops knew this all along, the pope has now confirmed their view, and this ex-editor keeps praying that US bishops will one day see the light.
Confusion reigns since Pope Benedict’s XVI’s latest book-length interview earned him headlines in both the secular and church press, as well as an explosion of commentary in the blogosphere. This Pope, already celebrated for his PR gaffes, has now befuddled many observers with a comment which, in my opinion, breaks no new ground yet confirms an important opportunity for the church’s leadership.
Twenty years ago I was fired as editor of a Catholic diocesan newspaper for editorializing that the New England Bishops had oversimplified the moral issues – and stretched the truth – by not only opposing the use of condoms for AIDS prevention, but claiming they were ineffective as well. It seemed clear to me that, whatever one’s opposition to condoms as birth control, as disease prevention tools they were obviously a useful option. Now it looks like I was right but too early—premature pontification !
…
The issue here is that, while the Church will always have a dogmatic dimension (that is, a teaching aspect) it must always avoid dogmatism – a rigid unwillingness to listen to reason or apply common sense. The challenge is to maintain church policies that are both dogmatic and pastoral: that is, attuned to the real-life conditions of the people affected.
Benedict XVI has never been a pastor, but he has done parish work, and despite his conservative reputation, he has shown a gentle and pastorally sensitive side. He likes to offer opinions that are personal and non-definitive. He described his book on Jesus as “one man’s views” about which others might differ. And now he has given his latest interview to a German journalist who has published on Benedict before. In it, discussing condoms and AIDS, the pope has pretty much confirmed the French bishops’ view, that in some circumstances the use of condoms to protect others may reflect an impulse toward, rather than away from, moral responsibility.
I suspect the French bishops were not alone in taking this position. In this sense, Benedict’s openness is not new at all, but reflects an existing, even established view of Catholic bishops (especially in Europe and Africa) with whom Benedict has worked for more than 30 years.
So why all the headlines and commentaries?
Clearly this Pope is inclined, especially in his informal statements, to express surprisingly personal views that often come across more like a professor’s musings than a papal proclamation – and this style confuses many in the media.
In this new interview, for example, he opposes the use of birth control pills “so that I can jump into bed with a random acquaintance” – a turn of phrase Catholics hardly expect from their pope. Then he makes his concession on condoms by citing the hypothetical case of a “male prostitute”—an equally surprising papal image.
A key point here: this 83-year-old celibate male may be forgiven for assuming that a male prostitute will service only male clients (assuming, in other words, that women never pay for sex!). On that assumption, then, he is speaking of homosexual encounters: pregnancy is not a possibility, so the condom is clearly cannot serve a contraceptive function. It serves only to protect the partner from infection. In such a case, the church’s traditional opposition to artificial contraception never comes into play.
So despite all the confusion it caused, Benedict’s position is, in my opinion, a useful clarification. My own editorial 20 years ago objected to bishops demonizing condoms, as though they were an evil invention with no possible good use. To me, it was a no-brainer that condoms could prevent infection, and that such use might be a good thing.
By citing the case of homosexual encounters where conception is not an issue, the pope is acknowledging that Church teaching opposes contraception, not condoms themselves. Once this distinction is clear, one may imagine other similar cases: for example, when an infected husband might use condoms to protect his infertile wife.
In my view, then, the real gaffe was in condemning an object instead of its use. In Catholic tradition, any invention, product, or technology has generally been considered morally neutral, and then its various uses have been subjected to moral scrutiny according to Catholic moral teachings.
So, for example, powdered infant formula is neither good nor bad in and of itself – but promoting its use in third world regions where bad water supplies make formula dangerous can be condemned as a bad use of powdered formula.
The one exception to this general rule is nuclear weapons, for which the Church’s theologians and bishops have found no moral use under any condition. That’s why Vatican II’s sole condemnation was reserved for the use, threat, and even production of nuclear weapons. Nukes present that rare case where it appears that the THINGS themselves, rather than the use humans make of them, are morally objectionable.
To equate condoms with nukes – to make the two devices the only ones that have no moral use whatsoever – is patently ludicrous. The French bishops knew this all along, the pope has now confirmed their view, and this ex-editor keeps praying that US bishops will one day see the light.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
#311: Signs of Life for Europe’s Faith
EXCERPT:
It is no secret that Pope Benedict XVI has worried about Europe for years. Since the student revolts of 1968 he has feared that Europe's Christian roots might be plowed under by modern secularism. And more recently, the growing Muslim presence in countries like France, Germany, and Britain has given him a new cause for alarm.
It is true, of course, the Christianity’s hold on Europe has been declining since the French Revolution broke the alliance between monarchy and hierarchy. But since World War II, the shortage of clergy, worshipers, and funds has reached crisis proportions. And now the sex abuse scandal spreading across Europe has produced what one Bishop called “Our greatest crisis since the French Revolution."
Yet my recent trip to France revealed a new and unforeseen development. Despite not one but two bad reputations (it has long been accused of harboring a "retrograde" spirit, and more recently stands accused of "inexcusable nonchalance" in managing priestly pedophilia) the Church in France is enjoying something of a PR rehabilitation. (The French, of course, are never shocked by such turnabouts -- not more than 400 years after Joan of Arc’s remarkable posthumous rehabilitation when, 25 years in her grave, she was sainted despite her convictions in church court for heresy and witchcraft.)
As one popular French magazine put it:
She (the church) nonetheless continues to hold her place in public debate. Her advice is sought, she gives it, and many listen. Curiously contrasting, too, is the gap between churches (and seminaries) often deserted, and the crowds that rushed elsewhere to see Xavier Beauvais’ “Des Hommes et Des Dieux.”.
The last reference is to a movie (English title "Of God and Men," which won the Grand Prize at the Cannes Film Festival last year and then became a box-office smash in France. It tells the true story of a community of French Trappist monks living in North Africa when Algeria erupted in terrorist violence in the 1990s. Threatened by terrorists who saw the monks as an alien presence, they decided not to evacuate the monastery for a safer venue. The film meticulously details the spiritual struggle among men committed to God -- and to the Muslim populace surrounding them -- but faced with the prospect of sudden and violent death.
The movie, which I saw during my visit, treats the monks’ faith with utmost respect, and takes their struggle absolutely seriously. I was both moved and impressed that a French director, as well as a huge French audience, would resist the easy secularist temptation to dismiss these men as misguided naifs duped by an outmoded faith. Instead they are portrayed as thoughtful, courageous, even heroic figures.
The enormous ticket sales suggest that, even if they don’t know it, the French hunger for spiritual inspiration.
Another striking example of the Church's renewed presence in France public life came on November 11 when I attended the solemn Te Deum and at the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Chartres, presided over by Bishop Michel Pansard.
Despite America's attempts to dilute the holiday into a generic celebration of military service by calling a “Veterans Day,” the French refuse to forget that on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month -- the feast of Saint Martin, patron of peace -- World War I came to an end.
The Te Deum is the traditional chant for Armistice Day, which (a bit like our Thanksgiving) is both a patriotic and a religious holiday for the French.
What struck me was that, even though I was attending a church service inside a cathedral, the Bishop’s talk (delivered to an assembly of the town's veterans, families, and other citizens and tourists, many of whom were not practicing Catholics) clearly addressed public issues. It sent the message that our faith, while personal, is hardly a private affair, but is a social thing that -- even in the most secularized country -- continues to claim its place in the public forum.
I was so moved by this address, both its content and its implications, that I asked the bishop for a copy, and translated it once I got home. As you read it, never forget that modern France has been a fiercely secularized haven for the most militant atheism and anti-clericalism; indeed, France still treats all religion as a private matter to be kept in its place.
It is no secret that Pope Benedict XVI has worried about Europe for years. Since the student revolts of 1968 he has feared that Europe's Christian roots might be plowed under by modern secularism. And more recently, the growing Muslim presence in countries like France, Germany, and Britain has given him a new cause for alarm.
It is true, of course, the Christianity’s hold on Europe has been declining since the French Revolution broke the alliance between monarchy and hierarchy. But since World War II, the shortage of clergy, worshipers, and funds has reached crisis proportions. And now the sex abuse scandal spreading across Europe has produced what one Bishop called “Our greatest crisis since the French Revolution."
Yet my recent trip to France revealed a new and unforeseen development. Despite not one but two bad reputations (it has long been accused of harboring a "retrograde" spirit, and more recently stands accused of "inexcusable nonchalance" in managing priestly pedophilia) the Church in France is enjoying something of a PR rehabilitation. (The French, of course, are never shocked by such turnabouts -- not more than 400 years after Joan of Arc’s remarkable posthumous rehabilitation when, 25 years in her grave, she was sainted despite her convictions in church court for heresy and witchcraft.)
As one popular French magazine put it:
She (the church) nonetheless continues to hold her place in public debate. Her advice is sought, she gives it, and many listen. Curiously contrasting, too, is the gap between churches (and seminaries) often deserted, and the crowds that rushed elsewhere to see Xavier Beauvais’ “Des Hommes et Des Dieux.”.
The last reference is to a movie (English title "Of God and Men," which won the Grand Prize at the Cannes Film Festival last year and then became a box-office smash in France. It tells the true story of a community of French Trappist monks living in North Africa when Algeria erupted in terrorist violence in the 1990s. Threatened by terrorists who saw the monks as an alien presence, they decided not to evacuate the monastery for a safer venue. The film meticulously details the spiritual struggle among men committed to God -- and to the Muslim populace surrounding them -- but faced with the prospect of sudden and violent death.
The movie, which I saw during my visit, treats the monks’ faith with utmost respect, and takes their struggle absolutely seriously. I was both moved and impressed that a French director, as well as a huge French audience, would resist the easy secularist temptation to dismiss these men as misguided naifs duped by an outmoded faith. Instead they are portrayed as thoughtful, courageous, even heroic figures.
The enormous ticket sales suggest that, even if they don’t know it, the French hunger for spiritual inspiration.
Another striking example of the Church's renewed presence in France public life came on November 11 when I attended the solemn Te Deum and at the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Chartres, presided over by Bishop Michel Pansard.
Despite America's attempts to dilute the holiday into a generic celebration of military service by calling a “Veterans Day,” the French refuse to forget that on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month -- the feast of Saint Martin, patron of peace -- World War I came to an end.
The Te Deum is the traditional chant for Armistice Day, which (a bit like our Thanksgiving) is both a patriotic and a religious holiday for the French.
What struck me was that, even though I was attending a church service inside a cathedral, the Bishop’s talk (delivered to an assembly of the town's veterans, families, and other citizens and tourists, many of whom were not practicing Catholics) clearly addressed public issues. It sent the message that our faith, while personal, is hardly a private affair, but is a social thing that -- even in the most secularized country -- continues to claim its place in the public forum.
I was so moved by this address, both its content and its implications, that I asked the bishop for a copy, and translated it once I got home. As you read it, never forget that modern France has been a fiercely secularized haven for the most militant atheism and anti-clericalism; indeed, France still treats all religion as a private matter to be kept in its place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)