There is a very interesting discussion going on in the comments to the latest Ragged Edge blog on liturgy, particularly between Larry Kropp, Ragged’s author, and Steven Riddle of Flos Carmeli. I’m not going to recap it here, but you can read it at The Ragged Edge. The following is not a response to any imputed positions of either of the writers mentioned above, but rather represents some thoughts on certain issues which that discussion raises.

The agendas, goals, objectives, and motivations of others are not entirely irrelevant, instead they are very relevant. The notion that we cannot make any “assumptions” about the inner lives of other people is an invention of modern popular psychology imbued with pseudo-spiritual ideas from the “strange brew” of such, actively present in western culture for most of the 20th century, and gaining near-dominance in the last 40 years. Modern popular psychology, despite its claims and veneer, is very far from being something that can advance our spiritual lives. It is about the pursuit of power and pleasure. The euphemism for power is “taking control of our lives”, and the parallel approach with pleasure is the attempt to remove all stress from our psyches so that we can “get our needs met” more fully. Being about power and pleasure, modern psychology is much more closely related to alchemy and black magic, than it is to any genuine help to spiritual growth. It is in the service of reducing stress and conflict that it encourages us to disengage our consciences whenever possible, and especially where other people are concerned.

But take the times of John of the Cross, for instance. In his day, a man who was a drunkard and neglected his family would have been seen as a sinner. John would have prayed for him all the harder, out of his depth of charity. A priest who changed the Mass to suit his own ideas would have been seen as nothing less than a heretic. Again, John and Teresa would have prayed for him all the harder because of it. But they would also have taken him sternly to task for it, not mincing words, precisely out of charity both for him and for those he might influence. I don’t think they would have thrown up their hands and said “Gee, we just don’t know what this guy is thinking, maybe he’s just trying to help…”

Returning to the subject of assumptions, I will assert something that I believe is obvious if a modicum of consideration is given to it. We make assumptions all the time, we cannot do without them, and there is nothing wrong about the process per se. As with so many other things in modern life, we tend to confuse process with content. An assumption may be perfectly valid and true. In this case it’s a good assumption and we’re right to act on it appropriately. Or it may be invalid and false. In that case it’s a bad assumption, and we’re wrong to act on it.

What assumptions can we make about the priest in Larry’s example? I would say this – if the motivation is to make things more “relevant” and “meaningful”, why don’t we ever, ever, ever hear of anyone saying “In order to make the Mass more relevant and meaningful to people, I’m going to stick strictly to the rubrics of the Roman rite, in letter and in spirit”? It’s because the rhetoric of “meaningfulness” when applied to tinkering with the Mass, is invariably used to justify changes in the direction of personal creativity, psychological comfort, blurring of the edges of doctrine, and trying to make the Mass into a sort of spiritual dinner party among good friends, instead of a sacramental celebration of the ultimate sacrifice that was made for us, and which, by the way, we will, in some form or fashion, be asked to imitate.

So I think we are entitled to assume that the priest in this case, having been thoroughly trained in the correct way to celebrate the Mass, had some knowledge of what he was doing and can be held responsible for it. He was also violating the rights of all the Catholics present at that Mass to have the Mass presented properly. Under Canon Law, we have the right to proper sacraments; this is not just a favor that is offered to us.

And since what we’re talking about is the sacrament that lies both at the center and summit of Catholic spiritual life, probably the most important help to our sanctification and salvation, intentionally compromising it for any reason cannot reasonably be viewed as a morally neutral act. There certainly is not enough evidence for us to conclude that the priest is an evil man. Here, like it or not, we are obligated to give the benefit of the doubt, but that’s because there is doubt (we cannot very well give the benefit of the doubt unless some doubt is present). If we don’t give it when appropriate, we risk the slow death of charity in our hearts, and the Church strongly admonishes us that without perseverance in charity, we cannot be saved. But I believe that we are perfectly justified in saying he did something wrong, really wrong, and not just sincerely misguided. And having concluded this, we must pray for him strenuously, just as John would have done.

It’s true that, as the Church teaches, we cannot know in detail the state of another person’s soul. But that’s not because we are clueless about it, it’s because a human soul is very deep, and only God can see to the bottom of it. The Catechism teaches us that we are entitled to recognize an objective wrong. Indeed we have to when confronted with it, otherwise we put the health of our own conscience at risk. But having recognized the wrong, we are still bound to respond to it in a Christian manner.

There really is such a thing as “tough love.” Jesus modeled it for us many times. But in that phrase “tough love”, we have to keep straight about which word is the noun, and which is just an adjective. We have to make sure that it is indeed love, which in some circumstances must take on a quality of toughness, and not just toughness with some love thrown in or claimed as a rationalization.

Recipe for Modern “Spirituality” – Take Truth, Add a Lot of Water, Stir Until Dissolved

When I was growing up, children in Catholic schools were still taught some doctrine and dogma, usually by nuns who did their best to explain things. Of course they knew that we children wouldn’t understand very deeply or clearly, and so they did what every good parent does when there is an urgent need for their child to behave in a certain way (not crossing a busy street without their parents) or even to simply believe certain things (e.g. to believe that we, the parents, will always be there to take care of them even if we get irritable or even angry sometimes). They instructed us to give the “assent of faith” to the things we were being taught. And we did. Because in spite of the hostility of modern thinking towards “taking things on faith”, no young child regards this as an unreasonable request, since they know intuitively and through experience that those adults entrusted with their care comprehend the world and its meaning better than children do (at least in some ways!).

As adults, we have to revisit these doctrines and try to understand them more maturely and fully. This is much more difficult, because even though our minds have certain limited advantages over the mind of a child, such as knowledge and experience, we do live in a world which is hostile to dogma of any kind, without necessary reference to the content of the dogma, but on principle. This is not a recent development, but was well under way in the early 20th century, as Chesterton attested to, and probably began in earnest in the 18th century, with the so-called “enlightenment” movement. It takes a strong swimmer to persistently resist the current of the river, and takes a strong mind to resist the currents of thought in the society around us. Most of us probably show our “fallen” colors in this regard, at least at times. So, as adults, if we are to be believers who have any idea of what they are believers in, we must be catechized as adults. And this brings us smack up against doctrine, and dogma.

But not only is our culture hostile to dogma, it even suggests a substitute, “spirituality”, and further suggests that it can be divorced from doctrinal teaching. In its use of this term “spirituality,” modern culture means subjective religious feelings or emotions of some kind, however vague or confused they might be. And it strongly hints that doctrine, the content and meaning of religious teachings, actually interferes with “spirituality.” It gives no compelling or persuasive arguments as to why this should be, but it expects every good obedient modern-thinking person to agree with it.

It would, indeed, be so much easier if the Church just went with the flow, softened the “rough edges” of its teaching, the things people have difficulty with, things like the virgin birth of Jesus, his miracles, his resurrection, the Assumption of Mary, etc. The Church could be much more popular if it did this, especially if it then emphasized only the good feelings that come with true faith, the friendships to be found, the practical help for living, etc. People would flock to it, fill its pews, and fill its coffers.

But they would be flocking to it for the wrong reasons, in fact for reasons exactly opposite to the right ones. They would be flocking to it because it reinforced what they already had some of, and offered them the chance to get more of it; we always prefer linear progress to any sort of risk or discontinuity. They would not be coming for the right reason – that there was something there which they do not possess on their own, which they are not capable of inventing or producing, something which represents a great risk because of its mystery, something which entails a discontinuity, or “leap of faith.” They would not be coming for Truth, and the Grace associated with it.

We can invent a watered-down version of Christianity, with minimal doctrine, and we can make it extremely attractive to modern sensibilities. It would be popular, and it would be very, very pleasing.

The problem is, it would not be inspiring. No one would commit his or her life to it in any real sense. No one would give up their life for it, because it would exist in the first place to make this present life more pleasant, and no one is willing to die to make their life more pleasant.

Only the Truth can truly inspire, and only Grace can give us the strength to live out that inspiration.

And this is the crucial, the indispensable connection between doctrine and spirituality, that doctrine is a formulation of “the Fullness of Truth,” and it is always this Truth that inspires a true spiritual life.

Community? Or "The Communion of Saints"?

In the Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraphs 946 - 962 gives fascinating insight into “the Communion of Saints." It begins by saying that “the Communion of Saints is the Church” (946), and after going into more detail, summarizes by saying “We believe in the communion of all the faithful of Christ, those who are pilgrims on earth, the dead who are being purified, and the blessed in heaven, all together forming one Church; and we believe that in this communion, the merciful love of God and his saints is always [attentive] to our prayers” (962). What a beautiful statement, and a what beautiful truth.

Perhaps this way of looking at the “Communion of Saints” is a good way to correct what strikes me as a distortion that can occur among the Catholics of today. Part of the “wine back into water” movement, which insists that every theological and spiritual truth must be denuded of its mystery and explained purely in terms of mundane everyday life, so that we can understand it roughly in the same way we understand a toaster (thereby inevitably rendering it about as spiritually profound as a toaster) is the tendency to not only overly emphasize the “community” aspect of parish life, not only to elevate it to the top priority of parish life, but to try to eliminate or minimize anything that might compete with it, such as the true supernatural understanding of Grace and the sacraments. I think of this as “false communitarianism”.

Of course not every parish falls into this, and not every manifestation of the very good and necessary community life of a parish is an instance of this distortion. And even the “shallower” aspects of community are gifts of God – sometimes it’s just fun to be together, and fun, real fun, is very definitely a wonderful gift of God. But strangely, a definite tendency appears to take this one aspect, community on the human level, and use it as a club to drive away the mystery and the supernatural. Over and over again, I hear people assert, sometimes with emphasis approaching aggression, that “I come here mainly for the people, the community,” or “the most important part of the Mass is the sign of peace,” etc. Books have been written trying to equate the spiritual truths of the sacred mysteries of the liturgy with those of a good dinner party at home with friends.

Again, I have nothing against a good gathering of friends – such times are truly gifts from our heavenly Father, and can be filled with their own grace. But successfully equate two things and one of them becomes, to appearances at least, superfluous. Successfully convince people that the liturgy equates to a good dinner party and you will not convince them to stop having dinner parties because they are no longer necessary. You will instead convince many of them to stop participating in the liturgy because it appears to them superfluous. And we know that, over the last several decades, this is exactly what has happened in the lives of many Catholics.

But what happens if, instead of seeking mere “community”, a term which has been seriously compromised, in our parishes and in our world, we instead emphasize and seek this “Communion of Saints”? If we truly believe in the Communion of Saints, as we say we do whenever we recite the Apostle’s Creed, then attending Mass, even with a Church full of our best friends, cannot be remotely equated with a good dinner party. We will be aware that, in a very real sense, we are there not only with the people we see around us, but we are also there with and for the souls in purgatory, and they for us, and with and for the souls in heaven, and they for us. I believe that then, in an entirely new way, we will begin to appreciate the people we can see and hear and touch around us, and realize that we are also there with and for them, and they for us, and not just to give each other a good feeling of togetherness, but to help each other on the glorious, difficult, temptation-strewn journey to God, a journey for which we all, each one of us, need all the help we can possibly get.

False communitarianism, at its worst, is simply a collective form of deadly pride. Instead of believing “I am the most important thing” we instead adopt the position that “this group of people I belong to is the most important thing.” Notice that the first statement manages to insert itself into, and hide, as it were, in the second, like a virus hiding in a cell. At its best, it is settling for far too little, setting our sights way too low. It is beneath the dignity and calling of a Catholic parish to settle for mere human community, especially when we consider that everything good and true and worthwhile in human community is subsumed as part of, but not the whole of, the larger reality. Our infinitely precious Deposit of Faith proclaims to us the Communion of Saints in all its profundity and vastness, and it is this that we should strive to understand, to bring alive, and yes, to enjoy, in our parishes and in our lives.