Fr Peter's newsletter notes - October 2005

Twenty-seventh Sunday of the Year - Sunday 2 October 2005

The journey of faith is marked by visits to the Father's house - in film and in reality.

It is a sad reflection of the times that whenever the Catholic Church is portrayed either in the cinema or on television, one expects the worse, and the future release of the Da Vinci Code will live up to expectations in this point. Hence it came as a pleasant surprise to see the Church pictured in a positive light in the recent film Cinderella Man, the story of a famous New York boxer, James J. Bradock, from the time of the Great Depression. Russell Crowe and Renee Zellweger make unlikely Catholics, as did Clint Eastwood in Million Dollar Baby, another boxing film with a Catholic backdrop and, although one could not condone some of their actions or sentiments, there was something real about their struggle with their faith. As the priest said to Clint Eastwood after daily Mass, 'no-one comes to Mass this often unless something is eating him inside'. This explanation is certainly lacking any mention of the divine aspect of Mass attendance, namely the worship of God, and the seeking of His mercy through participation in His Son's sacrifice. A film is not the place for a theological treatise, but the scene did at least emphasise that the Church is the right place for people like him and, by extension, for us.

The plot for Cinderella Man is the return through a stroke of luck of a former champion boxer who comes back from previous ignominy in the ring to win the world title. The Great Depression had wiped out his savings from his first boxing career, and he and his wife, like countless others, lived in desperate circumstances trying to eke out some form of existence and to look after their children. Both are Catholics and, although Braddock tells the priest in the height of his misery, in words that do not ring true of the period, that 'I am all massed out', there is the sense throughout that his faith never really left him. His wife added that they have also continued going to Church. On the night of the world-title fight, the whole Catholic community are praying in Church for his victory. His resurrection from obscurity and extreme poverty was a symbol of hope to many of the disenfranchised of the period.

Deep inside this man was a profound desire to see justice done, both to his family, and for himself. This sense of dignity had been fostered by the Church in which he had grown-up. Behind the story of the Cinderella Man lies a message about the role of faith in life, and to all who preach the Gospel. The Church teaches that the life of faith is a journey to the Father's house accompanied by Jesus Christ, and executed in the power of the Holy Spirit. This Trinitarian structure of faith is common to all of us, but within this unity lies a multiplicity of individual journeys. There is a unique path for each of us. It is unlikely to be a straight line, without bends and illusory dead ends. Despite these often contorted journey's, Christ remains our constant companion, even when his presence may from time to time be unknown to us. He is there asking that insistent question, is this the right way to the Father's house, and there are plenty of potential stops en route to help answer this question. Indeed we should ensure that we stop at least once a week at the Father's earthly house, our Parish Church. We need an external stimulus, the Word of God, to question our lives, and the spiritual food to continue our journey. The two films demonstrated that Mass-going is the essential backdrop to the moral life. The central characters were far from perfect, and like us, sinners in need of redemption, but they had grasped the essential truth that Jesus Christ is the source of mercy.

Twenty-eighth Sunday of the Year - Sunday 9 October 2005

The call of conscience is the way to break the spiral of decline resulting from the easy acceptance of sin.

The Sir John Soane museum must be one of my favourite museums in London. The eccentricity of this late eighteenth century owner-architect, who turned his living quarters into a repository of the antique and the modern, makes the museum a fascinating entry-point into one man's vision of his world. He has juxtaposed the products of the Roman Imperium with sets of Hogarth's paintings, medals of French revolutionaries and drawings of the Bank of England, that icon of English stability. Contemporary Britain exhibits many of the features of Georgian England, with its combination of economic strength, the weakness of the Church, and laxity over drink and sexual morals. The good news is that Georgian England gave way to the Victorian era with its religious revival and social concern.

The 'Rake's progress', one of the two series of Hogarth's paintings in the museum, is a series of eight paintings that depict the lamentable fall of Thomas Rake, from being the wealthy son of a miserly father to his consignment to a mental hospital. The sudden access to wealth makes him forget his commitments to the servant girl, Sarah Young, who is expecting their child. The new found wealth instead brings easy friends, quick purchases of fashionable art, and with it the seamier side of Georgian life. A visit to a brothel is the subject of the third picture in the series. Soon Rake's money is spent, and he finds himself being taken to the debtor prison. However, on the way Sarah Young meets the carriage and she pays off the debt and so frees her former love. This act of generosity is not reciprocated. Thomas Rake proceeds to marry a wealthy widow for her fortune, which he promptly loses at the gambling tables. He now finds himself in prison but, on visiting him this time, Sarah Young collapses in horror at the sight. The sad tale ends with Thomas Rake languishing in Bedlam, and their daughter persuading her mother to have nothing more to do with him. This series of eight pictures are full of the depravity of Georgian England, and demonstrate both the callous attitude to the human condition prevalent at the time, and the wilful refusal to seek some moral order out of the chaos.

This moral tale raises the question whether Thomas Rake was a victim of circumstance or a willing accomplice in his own misfortune. Many contemporary social theorists would argue for the former, claiming that the miserly father had not prepared his son for the world, and so the sudden access to riches would obviously cause him to lose control. The circumstances of his upbringing were not auspicious, but neither were they all pervading. There was a way out, and that was through the call of conscience as represented by Sarah Young. On numerous times she could have pulled him out of his spiral of decline if only he had accepted the commitment that an acceptance of her help would have entailed. The child represents their joint future, and the turning away of the daughter in the final picture demonstrates all too clearly that there is a finite time in this life in which to accept the hand of God. The alternative is a descent into a world of madness as represented by the mental institution, and the closure to the outside world of God's providence and love.

Twenty-ninth Sunday of the Year - Sunday 16 October 2005

The unity between personal religion and public duty is both necessary and possible for the good of the person.

The news story that George Bush was told by God to invade Iraq must have seemed a 'godsend' to the secular press. Despite denials from both the White House and the Palestinian Prime Minister, a man not unacquainted with the concept of God's will in daily political life, the story confirmed everything the press hate about a political leader known to be an evangelical Christian. This is what, in their opinion, religious men and women do, listen to the direct command of God to initiate what to the secular mind might be a contentious and unpopular policy, such as the decision to invade Iraq. On these terms the opposite viewpoint, that religion and politics do not mix, begins to gain credence and so a former-spin doctor can describe the government as one that does not 'do religion'.

If this is the case then the simultaneous pursuit of sanctity and governance becomes an impossible and unnecessary task. Thus no-one looks for saints in high office, nor should the country expect a politician to aim for holiness. The implication of this is more far reaching than seems at first sight. The quest for sanctity is not replaced by a morally neutral position, but by a split in the public official between an individual code of moral conduct and a possible decline into immorality in governance. This position cannot hold for long and, owing to human fragility, this public 'immorality' will seep into the human heart.

It is fitting then last week to celebrate the Feast of St Edward the Confessor, who did combine sanctity and governance. His might not have been the most successful of reigns, but he avoided the temptations of war, and discovered more personal satisfaction in providing a poor man with food for dinner. This modesty of aim might seem strange in a man who waited half his life in exile to inherit his kingdom, but it was essential to his pursuit of holiness. The temptations today are for all governments to interfere in every aspect of human life with the stated aim of bringing order out of the supposed chaos and myriad forms of social groupings and family life. The difficulty is that the order imposed rejects the individual's internal religious/moral drive, to be replaced by a never ending spiral of new laws, which of necessity become increasingly intrusive and all embracing.

This split between personal morality and public office is not restricted to just the governing classes. It is something that affects us all, whether at work, at home or in our communities. It also helps us to understand the new phenomenon of the 'quarter-life crisis' which afflicts many young professionals in their late 20s. The slow road to sanctity is pursued in the small details of everyday life not in grand gestures. St Edward the Confessor's legacy is that finding satisfaction in a modesty of aim is the only way to unite both the pursuit of sanctity and the duties of everyday life, whether in government, at work or at home. This comes as a necessary shock to those aiming to change the world, or who have worked hard through university and professional training courses. As Jesus said, 'What is point of winning the whole world if you lose your own life?' That is the ultimate outcome of separating religion and politics.

Thirtieth Sunday of the Year - Sunday 23 October 2005

The moral value of children cannot be measured in monetary terms alone

Last week when the minister for pensions announced new provisions for paternity leave of up to three months, he insisted in response to a question, that this would not lead to a baby-boom. He is most certainly correct in this matter, but his views, and those of his critics in the press, seem consumed with the economic burdens of child-bearing rather than with any notion of children as an investment for the future or, in more religious terms, a gift from God. The economic issues, such as who should pay for such provision, whether the individual company or the state through its tax revenue, are open questions. The search for an answer must lie in a shared understanding of social justice and common purpose, and not simply selfish concerns.

The current debate about the merits of paid paternity-leave says something profoundly depressing about the future of this country. The contrast with the post war years is very instructive. The bleak economic conditions of the time did not prevent a rise in the birth rate. The economic difficulties of the late 40s and early 50s did not blunt the country's optimism and the children born then could look to a decent future. Now, when the economic conditions of this country have changed immeasurably for the better the future still presents concerns, some necessary and some less so. The former might include the rising cost of childcare, and the accumulation of debt. It must look to many couples attempting to buy a home that bringing up children well will present a significant burden, at least in economic terms. I think we can be sympathetic to this point of view, and therefore any material help, from either the government or the individual's employers, should be welcomed.

This is where the Christian couple can make a personal stand, and exhibit the courage born of faith. The raising of children is a spiritual matter that turns on our understanding about the nature and purpose of human life. The Church has always taught that marriage is the correct place to bring up of children, because only within marriage is it possible to achieve this end with grace; a grace which involves both the good of the couple, and the good of the Church. These are not abstract ends completed without reference to the world of the here and now, but they crucially demonstrate that these divine intentions, as revealed through the Church, are greater than any particular material consideration. The difficulty in discussing the issue of children in secular terms is that the central purpose of morality has been removed, only to be replaced by nebulous concepts about the greatest happiness of the largest number. Unfortunately, once the spiritual dimension is removed, there is no argument against the shrill cry of those who do not want to pay for employees with children. Everything becomes reduced to monetary advantage, and so by stealth the employment and career patterns of employers are moulded to serve this purpose.

The Christian couple have to put aside all those statistics, to which their secular friends attach undue importance and, following in the footsteps of the patriarch Abraham, setting out into the unknown on God's command, put their faith in God's command to 'go forth and multiply'. The Church invites every couple likewise to make the courageous act of bringing children into the world, and to demonstrate that the promises made by God to Abraham about his and his descendants' future, both in the family and in society, do matter.

Thirty-First Sunday of the Year - Sunday 30 October 2005

The simplicity of God and life of service makes us strong to reject the siren voice of the guru.

It can sometimes be difficult to recognise one's own country from the newspaper. Over the last week two studies have been published which describe Britain as the country possessing the least useful workforce in Europe and of a people obsessed with the culture of the guru. This all seems a little harsh, and, I hope, a long way from our daily experience. Yes there are indolent workers, and yes there are those enthralled to gurus for everything from buying clothes, restoring houses, planning gardens and making lifestyle choices. We have met them in the workplace, but if we are honest there might be something of them in us, whether it is taking an extra hour off for lunch, or having a secret look at the stars in someone else's newspaper. The terminally lazy, and the victim of the guru, stand out because most people do not share such characteristics over any length of time.

However the constant need to seek approval through a slavish imitation of the guru is a contemporary phenomenon. It demonstrates the melancholic fact as to how little value the victim places on himself or herself. The hapless victim is made to feel they are uneducated in the ways of health, of fashion, of happiness. This can only really happen when the surrounding culture, whether in the family or society at large can offer no answers to the questions of life. The progressive removal of a Christian ethos in modern culture has not led to a feeling of liberation from the moral servitude imposed by a hierarchical Church. Instead it has made us individual arbiters of right and wrong, and of the appropriate and inappropriate. Sadly we have proved to be poor decision makers when left alone, and so easily succumb to the blandishments of the new priestly caste, that of the guru and the expert.

This week's Gospel comes as a timely reminder that the Christian can only have one Father in heaven and one teacher, the Christ. This single source of teaching that ultimately comes from the Father is truth itself. This is liberating because its source is utterly simple. There is no complexity in God, and so for the Christian the active life that reflects this divine simplicity is the life of service. However human pride wants to rebel and seize power against this situation, and the guru, like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, encourages one to doubt the truthfulness of God. This then creates an opening for the guru to lead the neophyte through the apparent complexities of life, and so help him or her make the real decisions that lead to human happiness. The trouble is that these choices are founded on a deceit, and like the house built on sand cannot withstand the rain or wind of human life. The guru in leading the neophyte into the complexities of life has simultaneously robbed their victim of the power of choice. The Church offers an alternative, the simplicity of life. Once this is accepted all those decisions about our homes, gardens, clothes etc gradually fall into place, as the material vehicles to serve God, the practical dimension of simplicity.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church: The transmission of Revelation 74-100

This section on the passing on of divine revelation (everything that God has made known about Himself, especially in Jesus Christ) up to the present day is one of the most contentious issues that divides Catholics from Evangelicals, as well as cause confusion to the average agnostic. Both Catholics and Evangelicals start from the same Scriptural point, the command of the risen Jesus to preach 'The Gospel' - 'the source of all saving truth and moral discipline'. For Catholics this is more than just the written Gospels. This is the Gospel, with a capital G, or better, the Good News. The Good News comes from Jesus Christ but is transmitted in two complimentary ways, orally and in writing. The entirety of both is called Tradition. The truthfulness of this entire Good News is guaranteed through the Bishops of the Church who are the successors of the Apostles.

This may be grasped more deeply when the Church recognises herself as a living person, the mystical body of Christ, whose continued life is Tradition. The written Scriptures are the soul of the Church, whose full meaning can only be grasped within the life of the Church. There is no competition between Scripture and Tradition because it is the same Holy Spirit that animates the Church as a whole, the individual evangelist and the teaching authority of the Bishops.

Thus Christianity is not just simply a religion of the book; nor is the Catholic Church just the preserver of a memory that goes back to Christ. Tradition is the continuing life of the Church, and the Scriptures, though accepted as divinely inspired and essential for faith, show the work of tradition within its writings, especially in the Gospels. The teaching authority of the Church, the Magisterium, is therefore at the service of Scripture and whose authoritative statements on the Word of God form the heart of the Tradition of the Church. These statements on the doctrines, on liturgical practices and on morality ensure that the faith believed today is the faith that was handed down by the saints.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church: The Sacred Scriptures nos 101-141

The Church passes on the Good News, both written and oral, in their entirety. The Bible is the soul of this Tradition, and the Church teaches that the human authors were inspired by the Holy Spirit in such a way that did not suppress their individual humanity. God is the ultimate author so, although written by human hand, the Bible teaches without error all the truths needed for our salvation. However, this divine inspiration did not crush the human author.

The implication of this human way of speaking about divine truths is that it makes it imperative to discern the exact meaning contained in the many different forms of writing that occur in the Bible. The Church believes that interpretation (exegesis) is necessary, and that it must be conducted under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, within the Church, rather than as a solitary academic effort. The principles guiding Catholic interpretation recognise the unity of the Scriptures, the living tradition of the Church, and the coherence of the truths of the faith.

The Church recognises four different attributes of Scripture. The first is the literal meaning. The Gospels are complex documents, and these products of faith were written after the events they describe. They contain within themselves the words of Jesus Himself, the reflection of an oral tradition of preaching, and finally the synthetic work of the sacred authors. Thus the literal translation is more than a simple translation but a deeper penetration of the text. The Bible also contains a spiritual message, the second, third and fourth senses: the allegorical, everything pointing to Christ; the moral, everything pointing to a way of life; and the leading sense, everything pointing towards heaven.

The first act of the nascent Church was the inclusion of the different books to form the Christian Bible. The antiquity of usage, the apostolic origin, and recognised destination were external criteria. The Church also used 'the rule of faith' as handed down through Tradition, and so accepted only those books and letters consistent with her faith. The same Holy Spirit that inspired the writers inspired the Church to choose the true Gospels and Letters.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church: Faith - the human response to God.

The catechism identifies three key points on this section on faith, the human response to God. First, that faith itself is 'a gift from God, a supernatural virtue infused by Him'. There is no such thing as a natural faith unaided by grace. Secondly, faith is based ultimately on the authority and truthfulness of God, even though the signs of credibility are such as to make belief look the rational answer to the question of God. Lastly, the faith of the individual believer participates in the already established faith of the Church. Every believer is linked in the chain that is tradition, the authentic voice of the Church, last week's subject.

The foundation of our faith is grounded in the action of God. This does not detract from the dignity of the human person. Faith still remains a free act, and the interior impulse of the Holy Spirit inspires the believer to search and respond to God's revelation when heard through the preaching of the Church. This is not a body of knowledge given to the believer, but an internal power that relies for its effectiveness on human co-operation. This grace moves the heart to see, and to submit to the external revelation of Jesus Christ, who makes the Father known. This submission becomes a vocation that looks to the future for its fulfilment. Both Abraham and the Virgin Mary are the two greatest examples of faith in the Bible. Abraham is the father of all who believe as he accepted God's word to cross the desert and settle in Israel to form a nation. The Virgin Mary demonstrates the perfect trust in the message of the angel despite the circumstances. Faith looks beyond the present moment and so contains within itself the sense of trust and hope.

The so-called 'marks of credibility' are those signs that assist the believer in recognising the truthfulness of God. The miracles of Jesus Christ and His saints, the Church's stability, growth and holiness all point to the acceptance of God's revelation. However, they are not sufficient in themselves as they require the right disposition, as is demonstrated in the Gospel miracle stories.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church: Faith - the Creed

The second section of the Catechism begins with a brief history of the development of the Christian creeds. The most famous of these were the Apostles Creed (normally used during the Rosary) and the Nicene Creed (normally said at Sunday Mass) which form a chain of belief linking the present believer to the apostle. The Church has always used brief formulae of faith, and many can be found in the New Testament. Three of the most obvious are the introduction to St Paul's Letter to the Romans (Rom 1:3-4), the hymn about Christ in his letter to the Philippians (2:2-7), and his First Letter to the Corinthians (15:3-5). Each formula expresses a particular aspect about Jesus Christ connected to our salvation.

The Church quickly recognised that there was a need for a more general formula of faith that would embrace the whole faith and which catechumens could recite prior to their baptism. The risen Jesus had commanded His disciples to baptise all the nations, and so each neophyte needed to understand the faith of the Church into which he or she was about to enter communion. The Apostles Creed, the earliest formal creed of the Roman Church, was composed of twelve articles, each of which had to be 'particularly and distinctly believed'. This creed was further developed in the battle against the unorthodox teaching of the early centuries, and became the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed, accepted by the whole Church in 325 and 381AD after two Church Councils of those names.

The Creeds are not a foreign imposition on the original teaching of Jesus but are part of what might be called an 'emerging Catholicism' that can be seen in the New Testament itself. The same Holy Spirit that inspired the original writers also inspired the Church to recognise that all the teachings of the Scriptures relate, in a coherent whole, to the person of Jesus Christ. The seriousness of the endeavour is the expression of the Church's desire to remain faithful to the teaching that saves, and to reject all teaching that is contrary to salvation.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church: 'I believe in one God'. Nos 199-231

The divine command to baptise in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and the circumstances, of providing instruction to candidates for baptism, led the Church to adopt a Trinitarian structure for her profession of faith. All the creeds begin with belief in the one God, and so everything that exists is ultimately related to God. This leads to accepting that God is truth, and so everything that exists participates in the truth of God. The human quest for truth is a participation in the divine truth.

The oneness of God lies at the heart of the Jewish faith, and separated them from the all the surrounding peoples, who believed in a multiplicity of deities. Jesus affirms the oneness of God, by using the expression Father and Son when explaining His relationship to God. Jesus does not call Himself God. The doctrine of the Trinity will explain how the oneness of God is not compromised by such relations, and so the Church can believe that God is both one and three.

The Old Testament shows that God did not remain an anonymous force but revealed His name to the Patriarchs and Moses. God tells Moses that He is the God of your fathers', and implying that fidelity to His promises is the historical expression of His oneness. This fidelity is also understood as compassion for His servants, the patriarchs. Later God will reveal His name as 'I am who I am', and confirm that He exists in an everlasting present moment that embraces all time.

The experience of Moses, Isaiah and Peter when hearing God's name is to discover their insignificance and sinfulness. Despite their, and our insignificance, God demonstrates His steadfast love through the words of His prophets, and ultimately in the coming of Jesus Christ. The name of God will be fully revealed by Jesus when he is lifted up on the Cross. 'Then you will know that 'I am'' (Jn 8:28)

The history of God's fidelity that runs through the whole of the Bible reaches its climax with the death of Jesus on the Cross. The spiritual significance of this fidelity makes St John declare that ultimately 'God is love', and so give an opening to the contemplation of the Trinity.