The Old Testament and the Eucharist

            The Old Testament might seem like a strange place to encounter the Eucharist. But Christ’s Passion was not an afterthought. Salvation history may be a much longer road than that to Golgotha, but both lead inexorably to the Cross.

            Sometimes we make the mistake of discarding the Old Testament as if it was a relic of the past, only meaningful to Judaism, and nullified by the New Testament. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Old Testament remains divinely inspired and is immensely relevant to our faith today.

            We should not be surprised therefore to find that parts of the Old Testament prepare us for the Eucharist. In Verbum Domini, Pope Benedict XVI writes, “God’s plan is manifested progressively and it is accomplished slowly, in successive stages despite human resistance.” St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “I gave you milk to drink, not meat: for you were not able as yet” (1 Cor. 3:2). The Old Testament’s prefiguring of the Eucharist is the “milk” fed to children before they are mature enough to eat the “meat,” the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.

             Four parts of the Old Testament that lead us to the Eucharist are: the priesthood of Melchisedech, the near-sacrifice of Isaac, the Paschal Lamb, and the Paschal cups.

            We read in Genesis chapter 14 that after Abraham rescues Lot from the four kings, a mysterious priest appears. His name is Melchisedech. He is “the priest of the most high God” (Gen. 14:18) and the king of Salem. Melchisedech blesses Abraham after his victory. What is significant is not that he blesses Abraham, but how he does so. Melchisedech comes “bringing forth bread and wine” (14:19). Does that sound familiar? It should. Melchisedech’s blessing of the bread and wine foreshadows Christ instituting the Eucharist by blessing bread and wine during the Last Supper. That is why Hebrews 7:17 says (Thou art a priest forever according to the order of Melchisedech.”

            We all know the story of Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son, Isaac, on Mount Moriah (see Genesis 22:1-14). As familiar as the account is, however, we often miss details that point towards the future sacrifice of Christ.

Isaac is Abraham’s only son by Sarah, the one in whom the Lord said, “shall thy seed be called” (21:12). In Isaac rests the covenant between God and Abraham that the former would be a father of many nations” (17:4). Similarly, Christ is the only-begotten Son of God. He is also the key to a covenant, but in a different way. While Isaac would fulfill the Lord’s covenant with Abraham through living and producing offspring, Christ fulfills the new covenant in His sacrifice on the Cross: “This is the chalice, the new testament in my blood, which shall be shed for you” (Luke 22:20). Both Isaac and Christ carry wood up a mountain. Isaac carries the wood upon which he would have been immolated while Christ carries His Cross upon which He is crucified. We know that Christ is a willing victim. Is Isaac?

While Isaac never vocally consents to his sacrifice in the Genesis account, we have good reason to believe that he was not bound unwillingly. At the time Isaac was born, Abraham was a hundred years old. Far from being a helpless infant (perhaps the only person a centenarian would be capable of overpowering), Isaac is strong enough to carry the bundle of wood up the mountain. It is reasonable to believe that Isaac would have been able to resist his elderly father. The fact that he did not do so means that he probably expected, like Abraham, that God would provide a victim to take his place.

And so God does. The angel of the Lord tells Abraham to stay his hand, and Abraham sees a ram stuck in the briars. Here, the comparison shifts, and it is the ram that represents Christ. The ram is stuck, thorny briars around its head. This image reminds us of the crown of thorns worn by Christ.

More importantly, the ram is sacrificed in Isaac’s place. The ram saves Isaac from certain death just like Christ who saves humanity from the death of the spirit that comes from sin.

God provides a victim to die instead of Isaac. Abraham accordingly renames Mount Moriah “the Lord will provide” (Gen. 22:14). Traditionally, it is held that the name of Jerusalem comes from Abraham’s renaming of Moriah. Jira is Hebrew for “to provide;” thus Salem, the land of Melchisedech, becomes Jerusalem (Hahn, Scott. A Father Who Keeps His Promises. 108). A ram was provided for Isaac in roughly the same area the Son of God would be provided for His people. The Eucharist is a fulfillment of the sacrifice foreshadowed by Abraham’s actions on Mount Moriah.

            Parallels can also be seen between the Paschal Lamb and the Eucharist. The Paschal Lamb is the sacrificial offering mandated for the Passover meal. There is a reason we call Christ the Lamb of God. Following the Lord’s commands, Moses first directed the Israelites to sacrifice a lamb so that they might be saved from the final plague to afflict the Egyptians: the death of the firstborns. Afterwards, the Passover meal was a remembrance of their deliverance from slavery.

Very specific instructions were given as to the lamb. It had to be “without blemish, a male a year old” (Exod. 12:5). Jesus is, of course, without sin and a man. As I said, the lamb was sacrificed to save the Israelites: “the blood [of the lamb] shall be a sign for you, upon the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you, when I smite the land of Egypt” (12:17). In the same way, it is the blood of Christ that saves us from the damnation merited by our sins.

Now, Moses says, “therefore you shall observe this day, throughout your generations, as an ordinance for ever” (12:17). But we as Christians don’t celebrate the Passover described in Exodus. Does this mean we don’t follow the word of God delivered through Moses?

Christ says, “Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have come not to abolish them but to fulfill them” (Matt. 5:17). Just as the Old Testament is fulfilled in the New, the Passover sacrifice is fulfilled in the new sacrifice of the Mass. Therefore (at least, hopefully) every Sunday we fulfill the ordinance of Moses to remember the Passover.

The connection between the Passover and the Eucharist is further shown by the Paschal cups. There are four cups of wine ceremonially consumed during the Passover meal: the cups of Sanctification, Deliverance, Blessing, and Praise. After the meal was finished, when the last cup had been consumed, the father would say, “Tel telesti” which means, “It is finished.”

    There is general agreement among biblical scholars that during the Last Supper, a Passover meal, Jesus and His disciples only drank three of the paschal cups leaving the cup of Praise unconsumed, the meal unfinished (Hahn 229).

Jesus acknowledges this omission saying, “I will not drink the fruit of the vine till the kingdom of God come” (Luke 22:18). During the Agony of the Garden, Jesus speaks of a cup: “Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will, but what thou wilt” (Mark 14:36). This “cup” isn’t just a metaphor for Christ’s suffering on the Cross. John’s Gospel tells us that towards the end of the Passion, Jesus says, “I thirst” (John 19:28). Using a hyssop branch (the same kind of wood used to sprinkle the blood of the Paschal Lamb according to Exod. 12:22), someone offers Him a sponge soaked with vinegar. After drinking, Christ says, “It is finished.” Tel telesti.

What He “finished” is the Passover of the Last Supper meal. The vinegar in the sponge constitutes the fourth and final cup of the Passover. Jesus deliberately prolongs the Last Supper meal to include His Passion. This shows us the sacrificial nature of the Eucharist. Jesus blessing the bread and wine of the Last Supper, transforming them into His Body and Blood, is directly linked to the sacrifice of that Body and Blood on the Cross.

The links between the Eucharist and the Old Testament are important, not just because they illustrate how as St. Augustine wrote, “The New Testament lies hidden in the Old and the Old Testament is unveiled in the New,” but they help us to better understand the great gift of the Eucharist.

The Mass is neither a mere remembrance of the Last Supper nor a “re-crucifying” of Christ. Rather, it is a participation in the timeless sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. This sacrifice was prefigured throughout the Old Testament as God prepared His people for the saving power of His Son.

Melchisedech suggests a new blessing through bread and wine. Abraham’s near sacrifice of Isaac helps us to understand how God provided Himself as a sacrificial victim in our place. The Paschal Lamb connects the deliverance of the Israelites from slavery to the Egyptians to our deliverance from slavery to sin. The Paschal cups show us how Christ fulfills the Old Testament with His Passion and death and gives us new life in His New Covenant.

While reflecting on the Eucharist, we must recognize that it is a difficult teaching for some. Our materialistic culture has developed an aversion to the supernatural. It looks at the consecrated Host and only sees an unleavened wafer. That’s the thing about the Eucharist. Even though we might have very good reasons to believe in the True Presence, like the Bread of Life discourse (John 6) and the Eucharistic imagery of the Old Testament, at the end of the day all we can do is believe. St. Thomas Aquinas aptly wrote, “faith supplies where senses fail.” We are, you might say, forced to have a humble faith in the Eucharist, because if we were to rely solely on ourselves, we too would only see bread.

The bottom line is: resting in the tabernacle, made present in the Mass, is the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ, the Lord of the Universe. So when you genuflect before entering your pew or kneel during the Eucharistic consecration, you’re not just fulfilling some liturgical requirement or performing a rote action, you are humbling yourself before God himself.

Blessed be Jesus in the most Holy Sacrament of the altar.  

On the Ordination of Women

A shameful thing happened at the national Assembly of Women Religious (NAWR) of 1971. One religious sister and two laywomen put on a show. They read the prayers of the Mass that are reserved to the priest up until the Consecration. This demonstration was intended to highlight the “injustice” of excluding women from the priesthood. Instead, it exposed the impious radicalism of certain elements lobbying for the ordination of women. One of the organizers of NAWR was quoted by Commonweal magazine as saying, "I hope you are all as disturbed by this as I am." Indeed we are, but not for the same reasons. 

This is just one example among many of the abuses perpetrated by radical feminists in their quest for the priesthood. The ordination of women has long been the fervent hope of dissident elements of the Church. Given false hope by the reforms of Vatican II, the feminists "re-open" the question of the ordination of women every few years. I say "re-open" somewhat patronizingly because Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium have all consistently and definitively closed this question.

Women cannot be ordained for one simple reason: the priesthood was instituted by Christ and the Church has no power to change its fundamental nature.  Sacred Scripture makes it clear that God established the priesthood. In the Old Testament, Abraham was blessed by "Melchisedech, the king of Salem, bringing forth bread and wine, for he was the priest of the most high God" (Genesis 14:18). Melchisedech prefigures the priesthood instituted by Christ; that is why the Psalmist says, "Thou art a priest forever according to the order of Melchisedech" (Psalm 109:4).

Jesus fulfilled the Old Testament priesthood at the Last Supper when He established the sacrament of holy orders. Though both men and women followed Jesus, He specifically chose twelve men as his Apostles. Though some of His closest disciples were women -- besides St. John, only women stood at the foot of the Cross -- Christ only ordained the Twelve. 

This was utterly intentional. Christ did not chose men as His priests simply to conform to the limitations of His time. Any argument to that effect insinuates that God's will can be limited by human culture. If Christ had willed it, He would have ordained women. The fact that He did not is ample justification for the constant practice of the Church. Indeed, the ordination of men alone is a Tradition that has never varied. The early Church did employ deaconesses, but even then, there was never a doubt as to the impossibility of their ordination. 

St. Thomas Aquinas treated the issue of women and the priesthood by distinguishing between the lawfulness and validity of a sacrament. Lawfulness describes whether it was right to administer the sacrament while validity describes whether it was possible for the sacrament to be administered. Stealing an example from Matt Fradd, to baptize an infant whose life is not in danger without the permission of the child's parents would be unlawful. While it was wrong to do so, the baptism was nevertheless valid and therefore took effect. It would, on the other hand, be invalid to try to baptize an animal. Because the creature lacks an immortal soul, a fundamental necessity for baptism, it is impossible for the sacrament to occur in the first place. 

St. Thomas Aquinas says that it would be invalid for a woman to receive the sacrament of holy orders:

"Wherefore even though a woman were made the object of all that is done in conferring Orders, she would not receive Orders, for since a Sacrament is a sign, not only of the thing, but the signification of the thing, it is required in all sacramental actions.... Accordingly, since it is not possible in the female sex to signify eminence of degree, for a woman is in the state of subjection, it follows that she cannot receive the sacrament of Orders" (Supplement to the Summa, Q.39, A.1). 

In other words, women cannot be priests because they lack "eminence of degree," being in "a state of subjection."

Now drop the torches and pitchforks, and give St. Thomas a chance to explain what he means by "subjection." In the first part of the Summa he writes:

"Subjection is twofold. One is servile, by virtue of which a superior makes use of a subject for his own benefit.... There is another kind of subjection which is called economic or civil whereby the superior makes use of his subjects for their own benefit and good.... So by such a kind of subjection woman is naturally subject to man" (Summa I, Q.92, A.1). 

The "eminence of degree" Aquinas attributes to men is not the result of medieval misogyny. Though our culture seems to have forgotten it, there is a difference between men and women. Part of that difference is man's preeminent position. 

"Superior" refers to position. For example, an elected official is superior to and exercises subjection over their constituents. But no one would say that the official is fundamentally better than anyone who voted for them. 

St. Lois de Montfort writes, "Jesus Christ gave more glory to God, His Father, by His thirty years' submission to His Mother than He would have done in converting the whole world by working the greatest miracles." No one would dare say that by subjecting Himself to the Blessed Virgin, Christ is indicating that she is fundamentally better than Him. Instead, God-Made-Flesh is obedient to Mary because she is His Mother. 

Thomas is saying that men and women are designed to play different roles, not that one sex is "better" than the other. This is no more oppressive than a father's position as head of the household. In the same way, men alone are called to be spiritual fathers through the priesthood.  

Unfortunately, dissidents all too easily brush off St. Thomas' arguments as the product of his time rather than looking at their validity. It is much harder to dismiss Pope Paul VI's letter to the Anglicans and St. John Paul the Great's Ordinatio Sacerdotalis. When the Anglican church began ordaining women, Pope Paul VI responded by writing:

"[The Church] holds that it is not admissible to ordain women to the priesthood for very fundamental reasons. These reasons include: the example recorded in the Sacred Scriptures of Christ choosing his Apostles only from among men; the constant practice of the Church, which has imitated Christ in choosing only men; and her living teaching authority which has consistently held that the exclusion of women from the priesthood is in accordance with God’s plan for his Church.”

If that is not enough for you, St. John Paul the Great was even more firm:

“Wherefore, in order that all doubt may be removed regarding a matter of great importance, a matter which pertains to the Church’s divine constitution itself, in virtue of my ministry of confirming the brethren (cf. Lk 22:32) I declare that the Church has no authority whatsoever to confer priestly ordination on women and that this judgment is to be definitely held by all the Church’s faithful.”

 Case closed.

In order to be a Catholic lobbying for the ordination of women, you must: deny some pretty strong Scriptural arguments; refute St. Thomas Aquinas, one of the greatest theologians in history; and find a way to explain how St. John Paul the great, when speaking ex cathedra, really didn’t mean what he said.

We cannot, however, in defending the restriction of the sacrament of Orders to men, neglect the instrumental role that women play in the Church. Even though they cannot become priests, there is indisputably a place for women in the Church. In the same apostolic letter quoted above, St. John Paul the Great writes, “The presence and the role of women in the life and mission of the Church, although not linked to the ministerial priesthood, remains absolutely necessary and irreplaceable.”

Without being priests, women make invaluable contributions to the Church. Lay women are lectors, Eucharistic ministers, CCD teachers, professionals who take Christ’s light into the workplace, and mothers who raise their children in the faith. Religious sisters sustain the Church with their prayers, serve the poor, teach in Catholic schools, and perform countless works of faith and love.

Of course, we cannot forget Mary, Mother of God. How could we? Her powerful intercessions preserve us from harm, her spiritual motherhood of all Christians brings us closer to her Son. Anyone who says that the Church is anti-woman is quite frankly self-deluded. The single most revered saint in history is the Blessed Virgin. In St. Gabriel’s address, “Hail full of grace,” we see that God has elevated her above the angels. My single greatest assurance that God does not intend for women to be priests is the fact that He did not make Mary a priest. If the priesthood signifies “eminence of degree” as St. Thomas Aquinas writes, and if it were at all possible for a woman to be a priest, would not Jesus Christ have ordained His Mother? Would not she who is honored by angels merit the priesthood if it were open to her sex?

Proponents of the ordination of women pretend that women feel alienated from the Church because they are excluded from the priesthood. This is demeaning to centuries of women who have courageously, humbly, piously, and selflessly served the Church. Women do not require admission to the priesthood to contribute to the life of the Church.

Deus Vult!

The Word: the Call to Love

Sunday’s Readings:

1^st Reading – Leviticus 19:1-2,17-18

Responsorial – Psalm 103:1-2,3-4,8,10,12-13

2^nd Reading – 1 Corinthians 3:16-23

Gospel – Matthew 5:38-48

            Last Tuesday, His Holiness Pope Francis reminded us, “The Word of God cannot be given as a proposal.” The Gospel is not a recommendation! There is nothing conditional in today’s readings. The Lord says, “Be ye holy, because I the Lord your God am holy” (Leviticus 19:2). Likewise, Christ says, “Be you therefore perfect, as also your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). God does not say this is something He would like us to do, this is a command. We must, with the help of grace, strive towards spiritual perfection.

            What does this perfection look like? Love.

            In Leviticus, God tells the Israelites that they “shalt not hate thy brother in thy heart, but reprove him openly lest thou incur sin through him” (Leviticus 19:17). People like to pretend that the Law of the Old Testament was brutal and oppressive, but this is a clear example of just the opposite. Not harboring resentment against someone close to you can be difficult especially if they have wronged you – any sibling knows this. But God commands us to love the other person and gently correct their sinful behavior instead of satisfying our desire for retribution in kind.

            Jesus takes this one step further in his fulfillment of the Law: “You have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thy enemy. But I say to you, Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you: and pray for them that persecute and calumniate you” (Matthew 5:43-44). Unfortunately, all too often we allow this teaching to lose its novelty and become a droll epigram we wear on t-shirts without living in our lives. We forget how radical Christ’s words are! It’s hard enough to love our neighbors. Loving our enemies would be impossible without the help of grace.

            This love distinguishes the Christian. Anyone can be kind to people who people who are kind to them, “do not also the heathens this?” (Matthew 5:47). Through Christ alone can we love those who hate and curse us.

            It is important to remember that Jesus does not require us to love each other simply because it is hard. We are called to love because of the dignity of the human person. “Know you not,” writes St. Paul, “that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16). As temples of God, we are invested we incredible value. That is why “if any man violate the temple of God, him shall God destroy” (1 Corinthians 3:17).

            According to à Lapide, “the Apostle is speaking mainly of the corruption that comes through the teaching of false doctrine, through pride, through envy, or the formenting of schism.” In our “civilized cultures we like to think that violence is the worst thing you can do to someone. It is not. Christ tells us, “Be not afraid of them who kill the body” (Luke 12:4). Rather, the temple of God is profaned by the spread of heresy. It is corrupted by sin. It is eroded by a culture that normalizes sexual perversion and that hates Christianity.

            Therefore, this love that we are called to as part of being perfected in Christ, does not just mean being a “nice” person. Christian love means that we “give to him that asketh of thee and from him that would borrow of thee turn not away” (Matthew 5:42). It means turning the other cheek when struck. It means not just fulfilling your duty, like when the Romans would force Jews to carry their equipment for a mile, it means exceeding your duty – as my Douay Rheims translation says, going the “other two” (Matthew 5:41).

It also means being firm in the truth. Letting someone live in a state of sin so as not to offend them is not love, it is cowardice. As Christians, we are called to lovingly correct people to save them from sin.

            Neighbors and enemies. Both were made in the image of God. God “maketh his son to rise upon the good and bad, and raineth upon the just and the unjust” (Matthew 5:45).

            In order to be “holy” and “perfect,” we must first love. Though we have the examples of the saints of two millennia, our greatest example of this love is God Himself. He is “merciful and gracious… slow to anger and abounding in kindness” (Psalm 103:8).

            Christianity is not a comfortable religion. Conventional wisdom rejects Christ’s teaching on love. It tells us that we should hurt those who hurt us. It tells us that it is ok to take advantage of people. It tells us that abortion is a right, homosexuality is an acceptable lifestyle, and helping someone kill themselves is letting them die with “dignity.” Fortunately, “the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God” (1 Corinthians 3:19).

Deus Vult!

Martin Luther, Heretic

One of the most controversial figures of the last thousand years is Martin Luther. In a time when the Church was nearly completely united, he introduced chaos and schism. Martin Luther single-handedly destroyed fifteen centuries of Christian unity. I doubt there would be the several thousand Christian denominations we have today without Luther's betrayal.

And yet we seem to have forgotten those simple facts. The popular history of Martin Luther, the one taught in public schools, is a puree of truth and myth. Martin Luther is lauded, yes, even by Catholics, for his "spirit of renewal."

Martin Luther was not a hero. He was an arrogant man who broke with Rome. He was a heretic.

The late middle ages were a glorious time for the Catholic Church. Education continued to improve with the support of monasteries. New monastic orders like the Franciscans, Trappists, and Dominicans emerged, each dedicated to serving a particular need within Christendom. St. Thomas Aquinas successfully adapted Aristotelian philosophy to Christian theology, a monumental triumph. Clerical celibacy was reinforced, ensuring that priests remained models of chastity for their flock. Thirty years before Luther's act of disobedience, Pope Sixtus IV restored the Sistine Chapel, adorning God's house with the works of Renaissance masters. Hospitals, schools, and institutions that cared for the poor were all run by the Church. The idea that the Catholic Church was corrupt and decayed in the time of Luther is a lie of Protestant revisionism.

That is not to say that there were no challenges for the Church. Anticlericalism encouraged dissent. This was most fully expressed in the teachings of the heretic, John Huss, who claimed among other falsities that sacraments were only valid if the priest was sufficiently "holy." Catharism promoted a primitive dualistic theology where Satan was nearly equal to God in power. While not widespread, there were cases of corruption. The sale of indulgences did occur. What began as a way of rewarding the noble sacrifices of Crusaders was occasionally twisted into a source of funds without concern for the salvation of souls.

Into this fray stepped an Augustinian monk named Martin Luther. The facts of his early life are obscured by Protestant hero-worship. What we do know about Martin Luther is that he was of a temperament wholly unsuited to the monastic lifestyle.  He alternated between neglecting the Breviary and engaging in extreme ascetical practices our of guilt. This instability suggests a possible explanation for his "faith alone" doctrine.

We've all heard the next part of this story. Luther learns about Tetzel's abuse of indulgences. He drafts a condemnation of this practice and dramatically nails it to the doors of the Wittenberg cathedral. Well, not quite so dramatically. In those days, cathedral doors were bulletin boards of sorts.

Even in this early work, Luther's heresy is evident. Catholics should note that in this document of "renewal," he suggests the inefficacy of Confession writing, "When our Lord and Master Jesus said, 'Repent' (Matthew 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance. This word cannot be understood as referring to the sacrament of penance..." (95 Theses, 1-2). I hope that our Protestant brothers and sisters likewise notice his belief in purgatory even while rejecting the authority of the pope, "The pope does very well when he grants remission to souls in purgatory, not by the power of the keys, which he does not have, but by way of intercession for them" (26).

When his theological errors came to the attention of the Vatican, Luther was summoned to Rome. Despite his monastic requirement of obedience, he refused on the grounds that he worried for his safety. Since he would not go to Rome, Rome went to him. Johann Eck, an esteemed theologian, who had identified 18 heretical statements in the Theses, invited Luther to join the Leipzig Debate. Luther was woefully outmatched; Eck was the greatest debater of his day. He maneuvered Luther into admitting his heretical views which ranged from denying the legitimacy of the pope to sola scriptura. Conveniently, Luther denied the authority of ecumenical councils to interpret Scripture while affirming his own. Eck answered his vain appeals to his personal interpretation by observing, "Martin, there is no one of the heresies which have torn the bosom of the church which has not derived its origin from the various interpretation of Scripture."

Luther's statements during the Leipzig Debate led Pope Leo X to censor his teachings and threaten him with excommunication. Luther responded by becoming even more radical. About a year after the Leipzig Debate, Luther published his Address to the German Nobility. If the lies of his Theses were often subtle, the errors of the Address are blatant and inflammatory.

He rejects the priesthood in the strongest terms: "Therefore a priest should be nothing in Christendom but a functionary," "Thus we are all consecrated as priests by baptism." He also encourages priests to break their vows of chastity, "It is not every priest who can do without a woman." Of course, Luther subsequently took a wife of his own. What he should have said is that not every man (especially not Luther) can be a priest! Perhaps appealing to the German princes, Luther denounces the political power of the Church, "Let it be decreed that no temporal matter shall be submitted to Rome, but all shall be left to the jurisdiction of temporal authorities." The Address to the German Nobility is the raving of an anarchist; Luther wanted to overthrow the authority of the Church and the very foundations of Christendom.

Luther went on to found his own church, and thus Protestantism was born. He reduced the number of sacraments to two, encouraged the neglect of ascetical practices, and promoted personal interpretation of Scripture instead of relying on the authority of ecumenical councils.

No man, not Arius, Huss, or Erasmus, did as much damage to the Church as the heretic, Martin Luther. He lead millions into separation from Christ's Church. He put their souls at risk by preaching falsity. Truly it is he whom Christ condemns when He says, "It is impossible that scandals should not come. But woe to him through whom they come! It were better for him that a millstone were hanged around his neck and he cast into the sea, than that he should scandalize one of these little ones" (Luke 17:1-2).

Martin Luther was not a reformer. He was an obstinate heretic who refused to reconsider his own personal interpretations of Scripture when faced with centuries of tradition. Every one of the several thousand Christian denominations has some link to his lies. The almost universal Protestant hatred of the pope can be traced back to Luther's personal squabbles.

Martin Luther is not someone to be lionized. He is not a saint of orthodoxy but of the "dictatorship of relativism" as Pope Benedict XVI called it. He championed personal interpretation of the Bible, a mere step away from personal interpretations of objective moral realities.

Brothers and sisters, we cannot allow historical revisionism to make us forget what Luther did. The Church should never, not even in an ecumenical spirit, honor him. Rather, we must remain steadfast in our rejection of his heretical doctrines, even if it doesn't make us any Protestant friends.

Deus Vult!

Meet Arius

This is not a story about a saint. This is a story about a man who defied both Scripture and the Magisterium and plunged the Church into strife for decades.

            Arius was born in the year 250 A.D. in modern-day Libya. He was a Catholic priest under the bishop of Alexandria. Now, Arius was a troublemaker. Prior to his ordination, he had been involved in schismatic activities. But St. Alexander, Bishop of Alexandria, was a forgiving man and overlooked Arius’ past mistakes. St. Alexander would come to regret his clemency. 

            Arius received theological instruction from Lucian of Antioch who, though venerated for his personal holiness and martyrdom, proposed a heretical Christological system (the relationship between God the Son and God the Father). Lucian suggested that the Son was not unified with the Father and was created instead of begotten. This undermines the very nature of the Trinity! Under Lucian’s system, which Arius adopted, Jesus Christ was the Son of God, but not one with God. Arius argued (in a manner eerily like the Protestants) that because Sacred Scripture never explicitly says that Jesus is of the same substance as God, He must have been created.

            Once he began preaching this heresy, Arius was quickly condemned by the authorities of his diocese. In 321, Arius was excommunicated. Unfortunately, what is known as the Arian Heresy did not end there. Though orthodox members of the Church quickly pointed out his error, there were others who encouraged it, several of them high-ranking members of the clergy. The most prominent among these was Bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, another former protégé of Lucian. Eusebius petitioned for the reinstatement of Arius. This created a rift in the early Church: Arians against orthodox.

            Three years after Arius’ excommunication, Constantine became Emperor of Rome after a bloody civil war. This was a turning point in the history of Christianity. Before going into battle against the far superior forces of Roman Emperor Maxentius, the pagan Constantine saw a flaming cross in the sky and heard the words “In hoc signo vinces” – “In this sign you will conquer.” Constantine had his soldiers paint the chi-rho symbol on their shields and engaged Maxentius in the battle of Milvian Bridge. Constantine’s significantly smaller force routed Maxentius. Crediting Jesus Christ for his victory, Constantine immediately issued the Edict of Milan which protected the practice of Christianity. To answer claims that Constantine merely converted as a political move, I find it unlikely that a pagan warlord fighting for control over a pagan empire would suddenly embrace a religion that had been marginalized and persecuted for three centuries.

            Soon enough, the Arian Heresy came to the attention of Emperor Constantine. He attempted to resolve their differences himself. In a letter to both Arius and St. Alexander, Constantine wrote that he saw the theological differences between the Christians and Arians to be of “a truly insignificant character,” and that he wanted Christianity to return to “settled uniformity.” Clearly, Constantine did not appreciate the importance of Christology. He was a soldier, not a theologian. When Constantine could not facilitate a reconciliation on his own, he worked with Pope Sylvester I to convene the First Council of Nicaea in 325.

            The Council of Nicaea was one of the most significant gatherings in Church history. It was the first ecumenical council and brought together 318 bishops. This council was not an exercise of authoritarianism. The orthodox bishops and Arian bishops discussed their mutual differences. One of the stars of the council was St. Athanasius. He personally debated Arius on the question of Christ’s unity with God and earned his reputation as the “Father of Orthodoxy” for his stalwart defense of the faith against Arianism.

            The most interesting legend to have been passed down to us about the Council of Nicaea concerns a certain St. Nicholas. Though largely unsubstantiated, it is said that St. Nicholas punched Arius in the face when the latter said something especially heretical. This is certainly an interesting contrast to Santa, St. Nicholas’ modern persona.

            After several months of deliberation, the council came to its decision. Arianism was formally condemned, and the homoousios formula was adopted. Homoousios means “one in being.”  The creed from the first Council of Nicaea, the forerunner of the Nicene Creed we recite today, states, “We believe in one God the Father Almighty… and in one Lord Jesus Christ… begotten not made, of the same substance with the Father [homoousion to patri]” and ends with, “Those who say: There was a time when He was not, and He was not before He was begotten; and that He was made out of nothing; or who maintain that He is of another hypostasis or another substance, or that the Son of God is created, or mutable, or subject to change, the Catholic Church anathematizes.” This is consistent with the beginning of the Gospel of John, “In the beginning was the Word: and the Word was with God: and the Word was God” (John 1:1). Every bishop present signed the formula except for two who were exiled and anathematized.

            Despite this agreement and the authority of the Council of Nicaea, the Arians continued to be a problem. They were led by Eusebius of Nicomedia. Though he had signed the creed, Eusebius strove to overturn the condemnation of Arianism. He was aided by the weak emperors who succeeded Constantine, many of them advised by heretics. The orthodox bishops, St. Athanasius chief among them, were therefore persecuted for many years as they maintained the validity of the homoousios formula.

            This controversy lasted for almost sixty years until the First Council of Constantinople was held in 381. The canons of this council strongly condemned Arianism and several other heresies. The Semi-Arians were subsequently reconciled with the Catholic Church, finally defeating the lies of Arius.

            The story of Arianism is important for two reasons. Firstly, it is an important chapter in the history of the Catholic Church. Arianism coincided with the end of the Roman persecution and demonstrated the ability of the Church to solve doctrinal disputes. This is painfully timely with the controversy of Amoris Laetitia and the dubia.

 Secondly, it highlights the importance of details when it comes to theology. The dispute revolved around the use of a single word to describe the relationship between the Father and Son. That one word led to decades of conflict. For that word, St. Nicholas was willing to punch Arius in the face and St. Athanasius was willing to suffer years of persecution and exile. Why? Because of the Church’s commitment to the Truth. The nature of the relationship between God the Father and God the Son is of the utmost importance to our faith. The saints would rather die than allow Christ to be reduced to a creature.

We need that same zeal today! Forget about one heresy, our age has thousands. Instead of just worrying about Arians, we contend with a never-ending number of Protestant denominations, militant atheists, Islam, the assorted New Age spiritualities, and progressive members of our own Church.

Many of these heresies are, just like Arianism, of a Christological nature. Self-styled intellectuals like to think of Jesus as a good moral teacher who was nonetheless not the Son of God. Islam makes the same mistake. They lower Christ to the rank of a prophet. They claim that He was not the Son of God. In other words, Jesus Christ, who said that He was the Son of God - “For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son” (John 3:16) - and never corrected those who called Him the Son of God on several occasions, said some good things but was just wrong about that little detail.

This is a logically untenable position. You cannot call Jesus a moral teacher while denying His claim to being the Son of God. Why? C.S. Lewis has the perfect answer in Mere Christianity:

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

Arianism is important because we face many of the same theological challenges today. We must stand firm in the Truth of Christ. We must not cede a single inch to the modern-day Arians, heretics, and schismatics.

Christ Jesus, one in being with Your Most Heavenly Father, have mercy on us.

Deus Vult!

Who Are These Crazy Christians?

What does it mean to be a Christian? The world has its own convenient labels for us. We are zealots, fanatics, bigots, and oppressors. Certain people have said that Catholicism is the "most socially acceptable politically conservative religion" while others claim we worship in a "middle ages dictatorship" that lacks "democracy and respect for gender equality." Others say that we use our faith  as justification for "discrimination, intolerance, racism, sexism, homophobia, Islamophobia, Christian supremacy or any form of intolerance." We are too conservative for some, too liberal for others. But these are all superficial definitions of Christianity that try to apply political labels to our faith.

Questions about Christian identity have existed as long as the Church. In fact, one of the best descriptions of Christianity comes from the second century. An anonymous writer calling himself Mathetes (Greek for disciple) wrote a letter to Diognetus explaining just what Christianity looks like. He begins by distinguishing Jews and Gentiles from Christians. Jews, he says, follow legalistic "superstitions" while Gentiles have a foolish pantheon of fallible gods. What I want to look at is his description of Christianity.

"For the Christians are distinguished from other men neither by country, nor language, nor the customs which they observe. For they neither inhabit cities of their own, nor employ a peculiar form of speech, nor lead a life which is marked out by any singularity. The course of conduct which they follow has not been devised by any speculation or deliberation of inquisitive men; nor do they, like some, proclaim themselves the advocates of any merely human doctrines. But, inhabiting Greek as well as barbarian cities, according as the lot of each of them has determined, and following the customs of the natives in respect to clothing, food, and the rest of their ordinary conduct, they display to us their wonderful and confessedly striking method of life." 

Unlike the Jews who made a clear distinction between the circumcised and uncircumcised, Christians can be found in any land. They are people of all nations. They are universal, the literal meaning of the word "catholic". At first, it is difficult to distinguish them from anyone else. They don't wear special hats or walk a certain way. Christians often initially appear to be just like the average Joe, but reveal the Truth of their faith in how they act and treat one another.

"They dwell in their own countries, but simply as sojourners. As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners. Every foreign land is to them as their native country, and every land of their birth as a land of strangers."

Mathetes continues, writing that Christians are not citizens of any single country. They are just as comfortable in a foreign country as they are in their homeland. This is especially important for us to remember in the aftermath of an election year. Before we are Republicans, Democrats, or even Americans, we are Catholics.

Christ said that Christians are "not of the world, as I also am not of the world" (John 17:16). Christians are present in the world while remaining distinct from its sinfulness. We live in a culture of death. It is very difficult not to get caught up in the allure of our surroundings. So many movies, books, and songs promote disrespect for life and glorify sin. Christians are not distracted by the worthless promises of comfort that the world offers because we are striving for a greater prize: eternal joy in Heaven. Elsewhere, Mathetes writes that, "what the soul is in the body, Christians are in the world." We are supposed to be in the world but not of the world just as the soul is distinct from the body.

"They marry, as do all [others]; they beget children; but they do not destroy their offspring. They have a common table, but not a common bed. They are in the flesh, but they do not live after the flesh." 

These words could not be more timely. In Mathetes' day, Christians "marry as do all." In these confused times, however, it is not that simple. The redefinition of marriage to include homosexual "couples" and an incredibly high divorce rate have seriously damaged the institution of marriage. We need strong married Catholics to write a testament to the beauty of married love through their lives. We need formation programs for engaged couples to prepare them for the reality of sacrificial love. We need Church officials who are not afraid to speak the Truth about marriage and who do not confuse the laity with vague language and outright lies.

Christians do not kill their children. This should be pretty straightforward, but it was not in the second century and it certainly is not in the twenty-first. As Mathetes wrote this letter, there were pagans who would "burn their sons and daughters in the fire to their gods" (Deuteronomy 12:31) and Romans who abandoned infants in the wilderness if they were considered "unfit" (to steal from Margaret Sanger's terminology). Today, children are sacrificed on the altars of convenience, fear, and profit. Groups like Planned Parenthood enrich themselves through ripping apart preborn babies. As Christians, we cannot tolerate the grave evil of abortion. Unfortunately, all too often we do. Only 50% of Catholic parishes have pro-life groups. Protestants are even worse with a dismal 5% of their groups promoting pro-life activities. Too many Christian women have had abortions, too many parishes have failed to address abortion, too many priests have equivocated on abortion.

This does not represent true Christian identity. We ought to be defenders of life. As Mathetes said, married Christians bring children into the world. They do not take them from it.

Furthermore, Christians are both generous and chaste, "They have a common table, but not a common bed." Jesus welcomed everyone to His table. He gave the Pharisees cause to ask Him, "Why do you eat and drink with publicans and sinners?" (Luke 5:30). Just like Jesus, we must be open to everyone and not just favor those who can help us or those who are respectable. Just like Jesus, we must treat the dirty beggar we pass on the street with the same dignity with which we would treat a king dressed in finery.

But this generosity does not translate into a tolerance of sin. Christians do not share "a common bed," a euphemism for sexual sin. True love means willing the good of the other. This idea is essential in our age of normalized perversity. We support marriage but refuse to redefine it. We believe in the beauty of sexuality but do not tarnish that beauty with lust and promiscuity.

"They pass their days on earth, but they are citizens of heaven. They obey the prescribed laws, and at the same time surpass the laws by their lives. They love all men, and are persecuted by all. They are unknown and condemned; they are put to death, and restored to life. They are poor, yet make many rich; they are in lack of all things, and yet abound in all; they are dishonoured, and yet in their very dishonour are glorified. They are evil spoken of, and yet are justified; they are reviled, and bless; they are insulted, and repay the insult with honour; they do good, yet are punished as evil-doers. When punished, they rejoice as if quickened into life; they are assailed by the Jews as foreigners, and are persecuted by the Greeks; yet those who hate them are unable to assign any reason for their hatred."

Here we come to the crux of Christianity as described by Psalm 79, "Thou hast made us to be a contradiction to our neighbors" (Psalm 79:7). Christians contradict the behavior of the world just like the horizontal beam of the Cross contradicted the vertical beam. Though we "are reviled", we do not hate anyone. Christians respond to persecution with love, the same love with which Christ said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34)  on the Cross and with which St. Stephen said, "Lord, lay not his sin to their charge" (Acts 7:59) as he was being stoned to death.

Though today we do not have to fear being torn apart by wild beasts like the Early Christians, we still face derision and scorn. Choosing to follow Christ will absolutely lead to the persecution, revilement, and condemnation that Mathetes writes about. The vast majority of the media, academia, politicians, and celebrities either openly despise Christianity like Jennifer Lawrence and Peter Singer or pretend to be practicing Christians while advancing policies diametrically opposed to the teachings of Christ like Tim Kaine and Nancy Pelosi. I hate to say it, but there are even members of the Church hierarchy who hold beliefs antithetical to the Magisterium and who censure faithful Catholics.

This is the essence of what it means to be Christian, being spit on, mocked, beaten, and even killed, all for the greater glory of God. Being Christian means carrying the Cross.

What is beautiful about this excerpt from Mathetes' letter to Diognetus is how it captures Christian identity. Christianity is not just a checklist of facts to believe in or a political orientation, it is a way of life. It is a radical way of life that provokes the world to hatred because we refuse to believe its lies. Being a Christian is both life-changing and revolutionary. It's simple really. All you have to do is pick up your cross and follow Jesus.

Deus Vult!

The Word: Responding to Mercy

The Gospel is a proclamation of mercy. The world likes to think that the Christian message is one of intolerance and hatred, but that is just because there is no room in the teachings of Christ for its militant hedonism. Jesus did not come to condemn, but to save. The Cross is not a verdict of "guilty" for the human race, it is the source of our salvation.

This Sunday's readings present us with two examples of this mercy: the healing of Naaman and of  the ten lepers. Naaman was a general of the King of Aram, a Gentile. He was afflicted with leprosy and desperate for a cure, turned to Elisha, the prophet, even though the Arameans were carrying out raids against the Israelites. "Naaman went down and plunged into the Jordan seven times at the word of Elisha, the man of God" (2 Kings 5:14). And he was healed.

Likewise, ten lepers interrupted Jesus on His way to Jerusalem, His way to the Cross. They cried out from a distance "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!" (Luke 17:15). And Jesus did. He sent them away and all ten were cured of their leprosy. Only the Samaritan leper, however, returned to thank Jesus.

We can learn a lot about responding to God's mercy from these two passages. Every human ever born (except for Jesus and Mary) entered the world stained with original sin. And as we get older, we add to the sin of Adam with our own sins. Leprosy is an analog for sin: it dirties, it decays, and it causes isolation. In the Bible, leprosy describes a number of skin diseases that mark the body just like sin sullies the soul. We associate leprosy with skin falling off, a physical decay that mirrors the spiritual death brought on by sin. Finally, sin separates us from God just like leprosy separated men from the rest of society. The lepers were, in the words of St. Cyril, "banished from the towns and cities, and counted unclean according to the rites of the Mosaic law."

Before they could be healed of their disease, both Naaman and the ten lepers had to ask for help. They could not cure themselves; Jesus points out this folly to the pharisees: "And He said to them, 'You will surely quote to me this proverb, Physician, heal yourself" (Luke 4:23). Likewise, we cannot forgive our own sins. Naaman needed Elisha, the man of God. The ten lepers needed Christ just as we need Him today.

By presenting their visible afflictions to God, Naaman and the lepers were making a sort of primitive Confession. They bared their flesh in the same way we bare our hearts in the confessional. Naaman "plunged into the Jordan seven times". When he came out, "His flesh became again like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean." (2 Kings 5:14). Washing himself in the Jordan was both physically and spiritually purgative. The lepers were "cleansed" (Luke 17:14) on their way to present themselves to the high priest. When we receive absolution, our own hearts are plunged into the Jordan, the waters of Christ's baptism, and we emerge with the clean heart of a child.

Despite the miracle of their healing, nine of the lepers never returned to thank Jesus. Their ingratitude betrays a lack of faith: "For although they knew God they did not accord Him glory as God or give Him thanks" (Romans 1:21). And we see God's mercy here. Jesus, being omniscient, knew this would happen. He knew that He would heal these men only to have them run away. But He still healed them. He loved them while allowing them to choose not to respond to that love.

How many times have we been those nine lepers? How often do we approach God on our knees, in our darkest hours, begging "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!" and then once saved, we utterly forget the mercy of God and return to past sins? Do we come back to the confessional again and again with the same sins without making any efforts to amend our lives? Lord, forgive us for our ingratitude, for seeking pity and comfort instead of new life.

We must take as models Naaman and the tenth leper. After "his flesh became again like the flesh of a child, and he was clean of his leprosy", Naaman came back to Elisha and confessed the greatness of God: "Now I know that there is no God in all the earth, except in Israel" (2 Kings 5:14-15). The tenth leper "realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him" (Luke 17:15-16). Note that the Church fathers universally identify the other nine lepers as being Jews. Christ was their Messiah, foretold by their prophets. They had a much greater obligation to return to thank Jesus. And yet it was the Samaritan alone who came back. Such was his faith. His falling at the feet of Jesus is what St. Catherine of Sienna calls the "slavish fear" of conversion.

Simultaneous with their gratitude and praise, Naaman and the tenth leper resolved to change their lives. Naaman, a great general, recognized that God's "right hand and holy arm have won the victory" (Psalm 98:1) and promised to only offer sacrifices to the Lord of Israel. St. Bede writes of the tenth leper that "he is commended to rise and walk, because he who, knowing his own weakness, lies lowly on the ground, is led to advance, by the consolation of the divine word, to mighty deeds."

Let us therefore hear Christ's words to the tenth leper as being addressed to each one of us. "Stand and go, your faith has saved you" (Luke 17:19). The Gospel is not limited to the historical time that Christ spoke them: "the word of God is not chained" (2 Timothy 2:9). Brothers and sisters, let us stand and "sing joyfully to the Lord" (Psalm 98:4), proclaiming the mercy of God.

We are in the Jubilee Year of Mercy. Let us be like Naaman and the tenth leper and respond to Christ's mercy with repentance and spiritual renewal. Remember that "if we persevere, we shall also reign with Him. But if we deny Him, He will deny us" (2 Tim 2:12).

DEUS VULT!