Clothes Make the Man

“For the apparel oft proclaims the man” ~ Shakespeare

“Domine non sum dignus” ~ Matthew 8:8

If you were to ask any of the students who attended Saint Anthony’s High School to say what made their school special amongst both private and public schools, there is no doubt that the active presence of the Franciscan Brothers of Brooklyn would be duly noted. Humble and hard-working men, they have shaped the Faith of the hundreds of thousands of students that have crossed their path. They have fostered in each the image of an unwavering yet tender-hearted Church. There is no wonder that their alumni often find themselves in professions dedicated to upholding Church teachings. 

This would not have been possible had it not been for their religious apparel, the Habit. The Habit is an essential element of what it means to be a Franciscan. It ranges from gray to brown to black depending on the particular community, but it is always fastened by a white waist cord with the Franciscan Crown attached. By wearing it, the Brothers unite their own individuality into a common charism. They place themselves in a paradox: though maintaining full membership in this world, they are engaging in it as citizens of Heaven.

The Habit is not a unique expression of this function. It is a part of what is collectively known as the religious dress. In the Christian world, primarily in the Western and Eastern churches, this refers to the daily clothing we see members of Religious Orders—both male and female—wear. Take the Jesuits on campus for example. Aside from the “S.J.” suffix attached to their names, they are easily discernible by their black attire and Roman collar. For male religious, these “street clothes” vary in appearance based on clerical state, ordination rank, and additional responsibilities; but in general, they are either a black clerical suit or cassock with a white Roman collar [1]. For female religious, the clothes vary based on the community and its particular charism. 

Many religious communities, like the Franciscans, maintain a traditional dress which is worn when with the community, when at work, or when amongst other religious groups. The Jesuits, as a tenet of their religious community and its distinct mission, do not have a special habit; rather, they generally adopt the clerical dress typical of the local diocesan priests [2]. 

The more solemn clothing, the vestments or in layman’s terms the “big guns”, are worn by the priest alone during the performance of the Sacraments. As Catholics, we are most familiar with these because of their primary and extensive usage at the Mass [3]. 

The Mass: it is the axis and pinnacle of a Christian’s life. It is Christ’s gift to the world that serves as both the perpetual renewal and memorial of His monumental sacrifice. This definitive expression of His boundless love lies at the heart of the Eucharist: when the bread and wine are transubstantiated beyond human comprehension into His Body and Blood [4]. It is in part by utilizing the finest adornments at Her disposal that the Church does Her best to both affirm and invite us to partake in this mystical, life-giving event—which yields the gifts of Joy and Hope. 

The Priest’s appearance and attire must, therefore, equally evoke the nature of Christ. His outermost garment, the chasuble, shows the all-encompassing, protective, and definitive Love of Christ; while His innermost, the white amice, serves as the Helmet of Christ’s redemptive blood that cleanses sin and sustains all with Grace even at their lowest points [5]. It was thus the view of Pope Saint John Paul II, one in which I find myself realizing, that such grand things as tiaras, laced trimmings, and jewels that were once members of the vestments, were only ever meant to accentuate, not eclipse this great Truth [6].

Even when away from the altar, the priest remains in Persona Christi, in the person of Christ. Many of us either do not know or properly realize that to be a priest or to be a member of a religious community is not an occupation. It is the occupant's sole identity, an indelible mark made by ordination or final vows that requires voluntary, utter self-surrender to the Will of God [7]. Our Eastern brethren recognize this better than we do, for whenever they greet an Orthodox cleric they are sure to kiss his hand while silently asking for a blessing. This is not a mark of clericalism nor a gesture based solely on cultural modes of respect: rather, it is the most efficacious and humbling reminder to the cleric of the august, yet heavy responsibilities entrusted to him.

Mankind has been made in the image and likeness of God [8]. This is an irrevocable Truth. We are all called, therefore, to certain responsibilities that are equal not in degree, but in bringing greater glory to Him. The clergy and religious communities do this in a highly visible and personal fashion when wearing their dress. They are publicly declaring witness to Christ’s infinite love and mercy which has, at extreme times, culminated in their martyrdom. They truly are the cornerstones of the Church and instruments of Christ. Therefore, their dress serves as an emblem to their mission. It invites all, particularly the struggling and the young, and asks each to seek meaning beyond this world. To accept the offer to be a part of something that demands the whole person. Something that is truly and utterly Divine. That ultimate calling: to be children of the Church.

Endnotes:

[1] Thurston, Herbert. “Clerical Costume.” CATHOLIC ENCYCLOPEDIA: Clerical

Costume, 1908. https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/04419b.htm.

[2] Saint Ignatius of Loyola, The Constitutions of the Society of Jesus and Their

Complementary Norms: A Complete English Translation of the Official Latin Texts,

(Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1996). 

[3] Braun, Joseph. “Vestments.” CATHOLIC ENCYCLOPEDIA: Vestments, 1912.

https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/15388a.htm.

[4] Jungmann, Josef Andreas, and Francis A Brunner. “The Mass Ceremonies in

Detail: Putting on the Liturgical Vestments.” Essay. In The Mass of the Roman Rite:

Its Origins & Development (Missarum Sollemnia), 276–89. Vienna, Austria: Herder

Verlag, 1950. 

[5] Jungmann, Josef Andreas, Julian Fernandes, and Mary Ellen Evans. “The

Theology of the Eucharistic Sacrifice: The Sacrifice of Christ and of the Church.”

Essay. In The Mass: An Historical, Theological, and Pastoral Survey, 111–27.

Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1976.

[6] John Paul II, Pope Saint. “Papal Inauguration Mass of Pope John Paul II.” The Holy See, October 22, 1978. https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/homilies/1978/documents/hf_jp-ii_hom_19781022_inizio-pontificato.html.

[7] Mangan, Charles M, and Gerald E Murray. “Why A Priest Should Wear His

Roman Collar: EWTN.” EWTN Global Catholic Television Network, June

1995. https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/library/why-a-priest-should-wear-his-roman

collar-11956
[8] Gen. 1:26-38 (NABRE)

The Review Reviews: Carrion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee

Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man

In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;

Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me

Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan

With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,

O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.

Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,

Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.

Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród

Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year

Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

At the age of 22, Gerard Manley Hopkins, against the wishes of his parents, converted to Catholicism. He entered the Society of Jesus two years later. As a Jesuit, Hopkins dealt with depression, writing many sonnets about his experiences in what came to be known as his “terrible sonnets.” Included in this selection are “I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, Not Day,” “No Worst, There is None,” “Carrion Comfort,” and many others. Hopkins uses this poem, starting as a description of his depression, to explain why God would allow such woes to befall him.

Although Hopkins had already desired a more “Miltonic” style by the time he wrote this sonnet, having written many of his previous poems in this (debatably) iambic pentameter, this sonnet, instead, uses sprung rhythm (which is accentual, rather than foot based verse—using a less regular stress placement). It is possible that this more sporadic accentuation and rhyme, as opposed to the comparative regularity of his previous pentameter sonnets, serve to highlight the seemingly sporadic nature of his punishment. Hopkins fails to understand why God would “lay a lionlimb against” him: it seems random.

As with much of Hopkin’s thought, the source of this punishment, this sorrow, “Despair,” lies in the crucifixion. As Hopkins asks, “why wouldst thou rude on me,” he makes a connection to the rood (cross) that Christ died upon by the homophones “rude” and “rood.” The final four words of the sonnet are also a connection to the crucifixion: “(my God!) my God” echoes Christ’s words on the cross: “my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” As Christ suffered that we might join the Father in heaven, so too do we suffer that we might make ourselves more worthy of the Father. Only read the words of Hopkins: “That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.” The chaff, the unnecessary part of his wheat must be blown away by his suffering, leaving only his greater grain behind [1]. By this suffering, “hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer;” he gains strength, he steals joy, he is able to laugh and cheer as a result of this “wring-world right foot rock.”

It is once Hopkins realizes that this suffering was for good that he sees the horror of his fighting against it and of wishing to end his life; to wish for the comfort of being a carrion, as described in the first stanza. He cries: “That night, that year / Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.” Hopkins uses the similar sound of “wretch” and “wrestling” to join them together: wrestling against the plan of God has made him a wretch or, being a wretch, he wrestled against his God. It is by this final thought that we see the true comfort for one’s suffering: trust in the eternal, omnibenevolent providence of God.

This sonnet by Hopkins exemplifies the Jesuit inheritance that we share with him: finding God in all things, even in our own suffering. But we must not only find God, but as Hopkins, must praise Him, glorify Him, sing our thanks to Him. The Jesuits were known for going into countries hostile to the faith, risking their lives for the sake of proclaiming the glories of God—this is our inheritance; may we not do the same?

Endnotes: 

[1] This is further explained in his retreat notes from St. Stanislaus’ College, Tullabeg, Jan. 6, 1889.

St. Joseph’s Memorial Chapel: Holy Cross’ Historic Event Hall?

Throughout the history of the Church, the saints have said plenty of things about St. Joseph, a man who said nothing about himself. St. John Henry Newman, a 19th century English literary and theological giant, says of St. Joseph: “His was the title of father of the Son of God, because he was the Spouse of Mary, ever Virgin. He was our Lord’s father, because Jesus ever yielded to him the obedience of a son. He was our Lord’s father, because to him were entrusted, and by him were faithfully fulfilled, the duties of a father, in protecting Him, giving Him a home, sustaining and rearing Him, and providing Him with a trade” [1]. St. Teresa of Avila, a 16th century Spanish mystic, Doctor of the Church, and reformer of the Carmelites, says of St. Joseph: “As [Jesus] was subject to St. Joseph on earth – for since bearing the title of father, being the Lord’s tutor, Joseph could give the Child command – so in heaven God does whatever he commands” [2]. St. Joseph was declared “patron saint of the universal Church” by Pope Pius IX in 1870 [3], a title which was celebrated by Pope Francis in his 2020 Apostolic Letter Patris corde [4], written for the 150th anniversary of the declaration.

The Church affirms time and time again St. Joseph’s crucial role in the Holy Family and subsequently in salvation history. Next to the Blessed Virgin, he is our greatest intercessor and exemplar of everyday virtue. He is also the role model for masculinity and fatherhood, making him the perfect patron saint for the chapel of a Catholic men’s college, which was what St. Joseph’s Chapel was back in 1924, when it was consecrated.

On April 21st, 2024, Holy Cross celebrated the 100th Anniversary of the St. Joseph Memorial Chapel with a celebration of Holy Mass featuring alumni, faculty, staff, and students of the College. President Rougeau gave opening remarks, Bishop McManus was present among the faithful, and three college choirs joined in song to commemorate the event [5]. What better way to celebrate Holy Cross’ stunning, historical chapel dedicated to the father of the Holy Family? A few more events took place to commemorate the Chapel’s 100th Anniversary – on March 23rd, 2024, the College Choir and orchestra performed pieces that were performed at the chapel’s original dedication, and this past November the College held a special Mass for All Saints’ Day featuring the Gospel Choir of St. Augustine’s Church from Washington, DC.

However, on March 19th, the Feast of St. Joseph, the College barricaded the doors of the Chapel, removed the altar from the sanctuary, replaced it with armchairs, and moved the Blessed Sacrament to the downstairs tabernacle. By 5 PM, security was guarding every entrance, and students were prohibited from entering. This was because of a panel event which would take place in the Chapel’s sanctuary. The panel featured Dr. Anthony Fauci and his wife, Dr. Christine Grady, in conversation with President Rougeau and his wife, Dr. Robin Kornegay-Rougeau. The panelists were invited to speak about how they have “navigated their personal and professional paths; how they have balanced demanding careers with family life; and the lessons they have learned along the way.” In the promotion for the panel, the College called it “the culmination of our celebration of the 100th Anniversary of St. Joseph Memorial Chapel.”

At the beginning of the panel event, Michele Murray, the Senior Vice President for Student Development and Mission, remarked that the College was delighted to host the panel “in honor of St. Joseph.” What could be more unrelated to the celebration of a Catholic chapel or St. Joseph than a panel event whose topic had nothing to do with the Catholic Faith, and whose main guest is not a practicing Catholic [6]? A Fenwick Review writer in attendance remarked that only one of the panelists explicitly mentioned God. In fact, in order for the event to occur, the College needed to strip the chapel of the qualities that sacramentally defined it as a Catholic chapel – the Blessed Sacrament and the altar. St. Joseph Chapel was reduced to an event hall, devoid of the sacred.

Is St. Joseph Chapel primarily a beautiful, old, event hall, whose function is to host the College’s most prestigious guests? Does it deserve to be celebrated merely for being a beautiful building, completely stripped of the features which define it as a place of worship? Can the College celebrate a “culminating event of the 100th Anniversary of the Chapel” while completely dismissing its sacred purpose and its patron saint?

The College held no special devotional events for St. Joseph’s feast day, no additional Masses to mark the “culmination” of the Chapel’s 100th Anniversary, and barricaded its entrances as early as 9 AM. By the time I arrived at 4:45 PM, security was blocking every door and prohibiting students from entering, even for personal prayer. The panel event ended at 8:30 PM, and as a result the regular 9:00 PM Mass had to begin late. Students were not allowed to enter the Chapel until minutes before the Mass began. So, even the regular sacramental activities of the day were pushed aside for the panel event.

It is a great privilege to have a beautiful chapel on campus, and an even greater privilege to have St. Joseph as its patron. What can be said of a College which “celebrates” its chapel and its chapel’s patron saint with an event that has to do with neither? Was St. Joseph’s Solemnity just an excuse to host our prestigious guests in the campus’ most beautiful building? What might the College’s attempt to celebrate the Chapel on St. Joseph’s feast day without an emphasis on the sacraments, or any religious element, reveal about its commitment to its Catholic tradition?

Endnotes

[1] John Henry Newman, A Triduo to St. Joseph, “Day 2: Consider the Glorious Titles of St. Joseph.” Newman Reader. https://www.newmanreader.org/works/meditations/meditations8.html#triduojoseph

[2] St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Teresa of Jesus, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodriguez O.C.D. (Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 1995), 79-80.

[3] Pope Pius IX, Decree: St. Joseph as Patron of the Universal Church, Dec. 8, 1870, https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/library/quemadmodum-deus-20726 

[4] Pope Francis, Patris Corde, Dec. 8, 2020, https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_letters/documents/papa-francesco-lettera-ap_20201208_patris-corde.html

[5] William McHale, Holy Cross Celebrates the 100th Anniversary of St. Joseph Memorial Chapel, May 3, 2024, https://hcspire.com/2024/05/03/holy-cross-celebrates-the-100th-anniversary-of-st-joseph-memorial-chapel/

[6] “Doctor Anthony Fauci on why he left the US government | BBC,” BBC News, December 1, 2023, YouTube Video, 3:43-4:51, https://youtu.be/3p6N6Lt3fo8?si=UPGSCkVxyzl-Qzyx. 

Peter Kreeft on "The Great Divorce"

At the end of the 2024 Fall semester, our book club welcomed Professor Peter Kreeft to speak on C.S. Lewis. Professor Kreeft teaches philosophy at Boston College and has authored over eighty books covering topics ranging from Zen Buddhism to Martin Heidegger, as well as philosophical dialogues featuring Marx, Socrates, and John F. Kennedy. When he arrived at Holy Cross donning a suit and purple tie, I asked him if he had done so intentionally as a nod to our school colors. He quickly insisted the tie choice was mere coincidence. Although Peter Kreeft is a giant in the Catholic philosophical world, he knew perfectly how to relate to an audience of college students. 

The lecture was attended by twenty philosophically and theologically inclined students, the majority of whom had been attending weekly meetings covering C.S. Lewis’s 1945 classic, The Great Divorce. In the three weeks leading up to Kreeft’s talk, the group met for one hour on Fridays to share food, fellowship, and thoughts provoking discussion on the chapters we had read. The novella follows an unnamed narrator as he makes the journey (via cosmic bus) from a dull and grey Purgatory to the ethereal outskirts of Heaven. The narrator witnesses souls balk at the idea of entering Heaven, preferring to distance themselves from God and return back to Purgatory (or Hell, depending on how you look at it). Up at the podium, Kreeft expounded effortlessly about the book, crystalizing and deepening the insights we had made together during club meetings. He included jokes and anecdotes that kept the audience engaged, and drew connections between the Bible, Dante, and other works by Lewis. Kreeft covered the main themes of the book: free will and God’s judgment of sin. God in his infinite patience and wisdom, Kreeft said, allows his stupid children to make the same mistakes over and over again so that we may come to him and ask for forgiveness. This gets to the heart of C.S. Lewis’s book: the shades in Heaven are given ample opportunity to accept God’s love, only to turn it down in favor of prideful pursuits. 

After the talk, Professor Kreeft stayed for a while to talk to the students, a courtesy we were all grateful for. 
Book club meetings will continue later this month, copies of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment will be provided for any Holy Cross student interested. Feel free to contact me at tgange26@g.holycross.edu.

Encountering “the Lonely and Afflicted” – A Catholic Approach to Mental Health

In June and July, I had the opportunity to take a summer session course with Prof. Peter Fay titled “Christian Ethics and Mental Illness.” It was a revelatory experience – one that enriched my limited understanding of how Catholicism presents itself to stand for and with the afflicted.  

In Genesis 1:27, God created human beings in His image and likeness to be happy, whole, and life-giving. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus gently invites all who labor and are burdened to find rest in Him (Matthew 11:28-30). Similarly, in John’s Gospel, Jesus emphasizes the relationship He seeks with His followers (John 15:4-5). Grounded in God’s Word, Catholics must look to His example to welcome with love and openness all men and women who suffer from mental illness. 

Mental illness is a common and pervasive aspect of human life. Over the last decade – especially since the COVID-19 pandemic – we have seen an alarming increase in depression and suicidal tendencies. In 2023, the CDC estimates that forty-six thousand people died from mental illness. Most were young, most died unnecessarily, and many were among the most gifted that we as a society have. However, despite the ubiquity of mental illness, those who suffer often remain associated with shame and embarrassment, which can prevent people from seeking medical help. 

Indeed, the subject of mental illness tends to bring out a complex humanity. It is an unfortunate fact that public awareness lags behind extensive clinical and scientific progress. Although many respond with kindness and generosity, it too often hits a deep vein of fear and prejudice. The vitriol and irrationality of such people can be disturbing. It also advances the conceptualization of mental illness as a spiritual flaw or shortcoming in character. It is appalling to encounter such attitudes more associated with the Middle Ages than with the progressive twenty-first century. 

As followers of Christ, mental health stigma contradicts the theological foundation of the One True Church. Saint Augustine of Hippo – arguably the greatest genius among the Church Fathers – considers the gift of the human intellect in his book City of God. He writes: “What a wondrous thing it is that we have been given the ability to know our world, ourselves, and even, with the help of grace, our God.” He continues: “[Those with mental illness] say and do many incongruous things, things for the most part alien to their intentions and their characters, certainly contrary to their good intentions and characters; and when we think about their words and actions or see them with our eyes, we can scarcely – or possibly we cannot at all – restrain our tears if we consider their situation as it deserves to be considered” (Volume II, Book XXII). 

St. Augustine’s stance on mental illness – and that of Catholic tradition – is clear. He earnestly urges Christians to empathize with those who struggle with mental illness and recognize that their actions often arise from pain and confusion rather than malice or moral deficiency. All too often, lost years and relationships cannot be recovered. The damage done to oneself and others cannot be put right. A person’s desire and will to live gradually erodes into a loss of meaning. Mental illness is a heavy burden, and adding other burdens of shame and dismay onto it only makes it heavier. Rejecting a person because of prejudice is like rejecting the broken and bloody Jesus hanging on the Cross. Therefore, we are each called to love and advocate for the least among us, in all their pain and fragility – just as Christ took all human suffering on Himself. 

Fifteen hundred years later, Saint John Paul II makes a similar point. At an international conference for healthcare workers in 1996, the Pope expressed: “Whoever suffers from mental illness ‘always’ bears God’s image and likeness in himself, as does every human being.” Nothing – not a criticism, experience, or a person – can diminish a person’s God-given dignity. Mental illness readily conforms that person to Christ and gives him a share in His redeeming passion. 

Catholic and Orthodox Christians can look primarily to the Body and Blood of Christ in the Eucharist – the source and summit of God’s radical love. The Sacrament, just like the Resurrection, can transform mental illness from an end to a beginning. The disarming simplicity of the Host is His promise to be with us “always, until the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). 

As the Messiah, Jesus Christ restored meaning to people’s lives. He not only served as a profound teacher but also as a healer to those He encountered. His ministry was marked by healing deeds that transcended mere physical ailments – He addressed the deep emotional and spiritual wounds that too often accompany His beloved children. The Gospel of John challenges all disciples – past and present alike – to do the works Jesus did and “greater [works] than these” (John 14:12). As Catholics, we must ask ourselves what deeds we find ourselves engaged in. Do we restore those around us, or do we rob them of the love given to us by the Divine Physician? 

All this is to say that Prof. Fay’s course was a reminder of what the Church can and does do for those with mental illness and that the Church is called to do more. We are all – as Lord Byron put it – differently organized. We each move within the restraints of our mind and live up only partially to its possibilities. However, it must be noted that some face more hardships than others.

That being so, we are each called to extend our arms wider in openness. We must embrace that same sense of love and inclusion found in the Eucharist for those who suffer from mental illness. If we learn to wholeheartedly walk alongside those who suffer, we can then be models of Christ. No longer confining our ministry to the sick toward those with physical ailments uplifts those with invisible – albeit no less important – illnesses. It is not just His work to love. It is ours. 

Bibliography 

Augustine of Hippo. City of God. Translated by Henry Bettenson, Penguin Classics, 2004.

John Paul II. “International Conference for Healthcare Workers: Illnesses of the Mind.” 1996. 

https://www.ncpd.org/resources_and_toolkits/mental-illness-theological-framework 

Pope Francis. “Homily on the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ.” 2020.

“Mental Health.” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, U.S. Department of Health and 

Human Services, 2024, www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/mental-health.htm.

“Mental Illness Statistics.” National Institute of Mental Health, 

www.nimh.nih.gov/health/statistics/mental-illness.

Charity, Queen of Dialogue

Last year, Holy Cross began a long-awaited dialogue about dialogue. Through social media spats, abrupt confrontations, and general tension on campus, the student body demonstrated that it was struggling to come together and engage in constructive discussion about its opposing worldviews. This is the sort of problem that does not befit a liberal arts college, a place whose purpose is the exchange of ideas. In order to remind students of this purpose, the administration had to ask itself, how can Holy Cross foster dialogue? And, are there some subjects that do not merit dialogue?

True to its liberal arts tradition, the College proposed a structured medium for students to voice their views on controversial issues. The administration, in conjunction with the newly founded group SPEECH (Students Promoting Empathy, Expression, and Civic Harmony), began a series called “Dialogue Dinners,” two-hour events during which students could come together and discuss current issues over a meal. These dinners offered students a casual, friendly setting to alleviate the tension of disagreement, but also enforced structure and civility through rules and the presence of administrators and student peer educators. 

One of the rules of the Dialogue Dinners comes directly from the Presupposition of St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises: “Be more eager to put a good interpretation on a neighbor’s statement than to condemn it. If one cannot interpret it favorably, one should ask how the other means it.” Ignatius’ advice calls for patience and cordiality, two necessary qualities of any decent conversation. They certainly have their place at a Dialogue Dinner.

Though the rest of the advice of the Presupposition was not included in the rules of the Dialogue Dinners, it is equally valuable. Still referring to the statements of one’s neighbor, St. Ignatius continues, “If he cannot save it, let him inquire how he means it; and if he means it badly, let him correct him with charity. If that is not enough, let him seek all the suitable means to bring him to mean it well, and save himself.” Notice the key principle here: charity.

St. Ignatius established these guidelines at the beginning of his Spiritual Exercises as a framework for the relationship between the spiritual director and the retreatant, the former of whom is essential to the growing prayer life and discernment of the retreatant. This quote from the Presupposition shows that spiritual direction is impossible without charity, the queen of virtues which Christians also call “love.” For, as Ignatius points out, love seeks understanding. Charity enables the spiritual director and the retreatant to truly listen to and understand one another. Charity disposes of presumptions and self-righteousness. Only with charity can the two engage in constructive dialogue. St. Paul said, “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13, ESV). No matter how learned the spiritual director may be, his advice bears no fruit without love for God and the retreatant. The same can be said for the retreatant’s reception of his advice.

Although the Presupposition was originally intended for this pairing, its content can easily be extended beyond the Spiritual Exercises to the rest of us undergoing daily life. Should we not also desire to nourish each other’s souls, knowing one another as fellow beloveds of God? Is this not what we owe one another as neighbors, or in Holy Cross language, as “men and women for and with others”?

St. Ignatius understood the essential role of charity for fruitful dialogue. This idea from our familiar Ignatian tradition takes its roots all the way back to the moment of creation, and is fulfilled by Christ in the New Covenant.

The Gospel of John paints creation as a dialogue between God and His creatures. The first chapter of John explains how Christ was present at the beginning of time, not yet enfleshed but as the “Word,” through Whom “all things were made” (1:3). Creation was made through the “Word,” which in the Greek also translates to “reason” or “logic.” John shows that God’s creation of the world was an act of reason, and that creation was brought about by the speech of God.

The original Greek makes clear that the act of creation was a dialogue. John 1:3, which begins “All things were made through Him,” tells us that the world was made “dia autou,” with the pronoun autou referring to the Logos, the Word. The preposition dia and the noun Logos form the Greek word “dialogos,” where we get our word for “dialogue.” Through his clever wielding of language, John reveals that creation is a dialogue between itself and its Creator.

Christ further exemplifies His life-giving nature as the Word in the miracles He performs during His ministry. In the three cases where he brings people back to life, He uses the power of speech. He famously brings Lazarus back to life when He commands him, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:43). He commands the twelve-year-old daughter of the synagogue leader back to life with the words, “‘Talitha cumi,’ which means, ‘Little girl, I say to you, arise.’” (Mark 5:41). Finally, He revives the son of the Naim widow with the command “Young man, I say to you, arise” (Luke 7:14). In each of these instances, Christ revives His creatures through speech. Through the miracles He performs during His ministry, Christ continues His creative act as Logos, culminating in His death and resurrection, by which human beings are constantly being redeemed and brought into new life.

Christ’s crucifixion fulfills creation, since it is by this act that man is able to do what he was made for; namely, enter into an eternal relationship with God. Man was made and given his purpose at the moment of His creation, when God breathed His own life into him – not only biological life, but life in the Spirit, as indicated in the Greek by the word “zoe” (Genesis 2:7) as opposed to “bios.” Man was uniquely made to be like God and to be one with Him. The Fall ruptured this relationship, but Christ’s willing sacrifice revives it and welcomes us back to life in the Spirit. St. Athanasius, a fourth century Church Father, understood creation and salvation as consistent events: “There is thus no inconsistency between creation and salvation; for the One Father has employed the same Agent for both works, effecting the salvation of the world through the same Word Who made it at the first” [1]. The Logos gave man life in the beginning, and He renews this life through His death and resurrection.

Why did Christ give up His life for humanity? St. John says that it was out of love. “Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins” (1 John 8-10). Love is at the essence of God and therefore the essence of the Logos. It was because of love that God formed man from clay and later sent His Son to die for him.

John continues, relaying a social message about how we ought to love one another: “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us” (1 John 11-12). As John says, Christians are called to love others in a way that parallels God’s love for man.

This poses a heavy demand. God’s love permits no exceptions. Christ’s sacrifice was for every member of the human race. This is a radical truth which dissolves divisions and calls us to love through difference and in difference. According to St. Paul, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). All people have a shared identity in Christ, in their purpose as human beings. 

Creation was a dialogue, with love at its center. Considering the nature of this first dialogue, what can we say of the dialogue at Holy Cross?

Holy Cross’ mission statement is rooted in dialogue. The following is a short excerpt: “Because the search for meaning and value is at the heart of the intellectual life, critical examination of fundamental religious and philosophical questions is integral to liberal arts education. Dialogue about these questions among people from diverse academic disciplines and religious traditions requires everyone to acknowledge and respect differences.” Though in secular language, this quote somewhat mirrors Paul’s advice to the Galatians. Our calling to be one in Christ demands respect in spite of differences. Since we are called to love one another as God loves His creation, dialogue is incomplete without love.

As the Gospels show, Christ’s speech gives life. In being made like God, destined for relationship with Him, we are given the ability to co-create, materially, spiritually, and intellectually. We participate in the perpetual dia Logos between God and man. Knowing the crucial role God has for us in His creation, we ought to do our best to ensure that our speech is also life-giving.

Endnotes 

[1] Athanasius, On the Incarnation, (St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary, 1982), 26. 

Some Considerations on the Rosary

The Most Holy Rosary is, in some sense, the unofficial official prayer of the Church. Though technically speaking, the Divine Office (in addition to the sacred liturgy itself) is the official public prayer of the Church, the Rosary is by far the most well known and most practiced devotion in the West. This is perhaps best demonstrated by the fact that this act of piety has the unique privilege of being celebrated with its own feast day in the Roman Rite. While it is not the only devotion to ever be granted such an honor, the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary (which has changed names several times since its institution by St. Pius V after the victory of the Battle of Lepanto in 1571) is the only one of such feasts to be universally inscribed on the traditional liturgical calendar. And indeed, it continues to be so within its inclusion on the calendar of the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite as an obligatory memorial. This great feast is celebrated on October 7th, and the entire month of October is dedicated to the Rosary. For this reason, it seems fitting to consider this most beloved of Catholic devotions.

The structure of the Rosary should be familiar to most Catholics. Its recitation consists of “decades”; that is, sets of ten recitations of the Angelical Salutation, a prayer more commonly referred to as the Hail Mary. Between each set the Lord’s Prayer is prayed, more commonly referred to as the Our Father. Given the amount of time that is taken to invoke the Blessed Virgin Mary, one could easily conclude that the Rosary is a Marian devotion. And of course, it is a Marian devotion, and chief among them. However, the Rosary is a devotion primarily oriented not toward the Lord’s mother, but toward the Lord Jesus Christ himself. Of course, this could be said of every act of devotion since all prayer is ultimately oriented toward God. However, what is intended here is not a simple fact regarding the nature of prayer, but a commentary on the true virtue of the Rosary. Whereas other forms of prayer, such as the Angelical Salutation itself, are primarily oriented toward the Blessed Mother in so far as they are simply petitions or acts of love made to her, the Rosary’s main focus is not vocal prayer at all, but meditation. What is the most integral part of the Rosary is also at times the most forgotten: the pious meditation on the mysteries that accompany it. 

The “mysteries” of the Rosary refer to particular events in the life of Christ that are especially fruitful for meditation given their significance in the Gospel. Each of the mysteries is assigned to a decade of the Rosary. Traditionally they are fifteen in number; however, St. John Paul II added five new mysteries, collectively called the Luminous Mysteries, to be recited in addition to the original Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious mysteries [1]. Nowadays, the Rosary is typically prayed as one set of mysteries at a time, with the particular set changing according to the day of the week. The original number of fifteen mysteries, which correspond to a total of fifteen decades, is not accidental. The devotion most likely arose from a modification of the Psalter, the collection of all one hundred and fifty psalms found in Scripture. The Psalter was traditionally recited in its entirety every week by the monks, but it soon became an object of attraction to the lay faithful as well. Of course, reciting all of the Psalms in a single week is nearly impossible for the average person given the amount of time required as well as the necessity of literacy (which was not nearly as common in the era when the Rosary began to develop). So the Church, ever mindful of the barriers that life in this world burdens upon the poor and always concerned with the accessibility of the full arsenal of her prayer, naturally developed the simplified version of the Psalter that is known today as “Our Lady’s Psalter:” the Most Holy Rosary. Rather than having to learn to read or memorize an entire collection of texts, the faithful would only have to make use of the most common prayers which were known and memorized by all the baptized and be familiar with the most central mysteries of the Gospel in order to participate in this prayer of the Church. 

Among the mysteries are the Annunciation of Our Lady, her Assumption into Heaven, the Nativity of Our Lord, his Crucifixion and Death, his Resurrection, his Institution of the Most Holy Eucharist, etc. Each of these mysteries finds its origin in Sacred Scripture, and all have lengthy narratives associated with them with the exceptions of only the Assumption and the Coronation of Our Lady as Queen of Heaven. It is for this reason that the Rosary has colloquially been referred to as “the Bible on a string.” In this way, the Rosary is a sort of lectio divina, the ancient method of the prayerful reading of Scripture made accessible to a universal audience. Although the reading of Sacred Scripture ought to always constitute a central part in the Christian’s devotional life, it is the case that the Rosary presents a summary of the Gospel in a manner that is simple, accessible, and easy for all people. Indeed, the Rosary is truly the prayer of the masses. Whereas some devotions are better suited to the more or less educated, others to the devout or the lukewarm, and others to children or adults, the Rosary is a prayer that is both easy and efficacious to all people who approach it in faith. Just as the stained glass windows, pictures, frescos, and statues that adorn medieval churches served to teach the central truths of the Christian religion and the lives of the saints to a mostly illiterate population, so can the Rosary serve to instruct those who either cannot or do not regularly read Sacred Scripture about the mysteries of the Gospel. And what is more, this instruction is done by means of meditation in union with the prayers of the mother of Jesus herself. So, if praying the Rosary is a method of instruction, then the question is raised: who is the instructor? 

Really there are two instructors of those who pray the Rosary: the Holy Spirit and the Blessed Mother. It is fitting to recall the intimate union that the Holy Spirit and Mary share as spiritual spouses, and the Rosary can help to do so. At the Annunciation, the Holy Spirit came upon Mary and in doing so caused the Incarnation of Christ in her womb. So the two are called “spiritual spouses”; “spouses” because the one effected the conception of Christ in the other, and “spiritual” because the virginity of Mary remained intact and she remained truly conjugally married to her most chaste spouse, St. Joseph. As also demonstrated by the Descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit once again came to sow seed to blossom into good fruit. Descending upon the Apostles in the presence of Mary, the Holy Spirit officially began the Church on that day. From these examples can be drawn this maxim concerning the Holy Spirit and the Blessed Virgin Mary: wherever the one is, so is the other. And when both are at work, holy fruit is born. So as the Spirit of Truth, who teaches all truth, reveals the secrets hidden in the mysteries of the Rosary, his blessed spouse hears the prayers of her devotees and prays for their sanctification as she reveals more and more of her Divine Son.

There is much more that can be said about this beautiful devotion. For those who are interested in beginning to pray it or mastering it, consider this simple course of action: firstly, memorize the prayers that constitute the Rosary. Secondly, become familiar with the mysteries by reading their respective passages from Scripture. Thirdly, begin to pray the Rosary according to a guide or with someone else who knows how to pray it. Fourthly, intimately meditate on the mysteries as you pray. And finally, pray the Rosary regularly, even every day. I must admit my own hypocrisy in this regard: while I recommend to everyone to pray the Rosary every single day, I myself hardly ever do so. Although I cannot say that I am someone who never skips a day, I can wholeheartedly say that even the regular recitation of the Rosary has completely revolutionized my life. In a time when so many are imprisoned by habitual sin, a prayer like the Rosary is the perfect remedy. Habitual prayer conquers habitual sin. So as we hail our Holy Queen while still in this valley of tears, and as we meditate upon the mysteries of the Most Holy Rosary, may we imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise.

Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Endnotes: 

[1] Pope John Paul II, Rosarium Virginis Mariae, Apostolic Letter, October 16, 2002. https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_letters/2002/documents/hf_jp-ii_apl_20021016_rosarium-virginis-mariae.html. 

On Swiss Cheese

I don’t like Swiss cheese, and this isn't an issue of taste or texture. I don’t like that every slice is really less than a slice on account of the fact that it's spotted with holes. Allow me now to digress from my introductory digression so as to maintain the time honored tradition of silence towards the subject of cheese [1]. In early September of this year, I was enjoying the company of an Eastern Orthodox friend of mine when he mentioned to me his frustration with the Catholic Church’s allowance of abbreviating scripture readings in Mass. He mentioned that he had learned about this when he accidentally happened upon a Catholic liturgical aid with brackets around part of the text and the words “optional” over the second reading of the day. He was scandalized by what he viewed as “censorship” of the scriptures. Our discussion then evolved into a larger discussion about the reform of the Church’s lectionary following the second Vatican Council, work which was ultimately carried out by the Consilium ad Exsequendam Constitutionem de Sacra Liturgia between 1964 and 1969. The lectionary of the traditional Roman Rite [2] dates its origins to time immemorial whilst the lectionary of the reformed Roman Rite [3] has its origins in the 1960s. The reformed lectionary is quite larger than the traditional and contains more scripture passages on account of its multi-year cycles of readings. This is a laudable accomplishment, but not every aspect of the reform was necessarily for the better. The reformed lectionary of 1969 can at times unfortunately be marred by an insistent suppressio veri. Frequently it abruptly omits or, through the allowance of short form options, allows the celebrant to omit difficult or controversial passages in the scriptures which have enjoyed a place in the Latin lectionary for centuries prior [4] [5] [6].

Perhaps the most (in)famous example of omission in the new lectionary is the missing verses of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians warning them not to unworthily take the body and blood of Christ. The reformed rite curiously omits the verses that read as follows:

27 Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. 28 Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. 29 For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. 30 For this reason many of you are weak and ill, and some have died. 31 But if we judged ourselves, we would not be judged. 32 But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world. (1 Corinthians 11:27-32, NRSV-CE) 

These verses appear thrice in traditional lectionary: Maundy Thursday, Corpus Christi, and the Votive Mass of the Holy Eucharist. This repetition typifies the nature of the sacred cycle of readings. To be clear, the Catholic Church still professes Paul’s words to be true (CCC 1385). Removal from the lectionary does not equate to denial of belief, nor does it indicate a removal from the canon of scripture itself. But, the law of prayer is the law of belief, lex orandi lex credendi, and removal from the lectionary is, in my opinion, a serious matter because it at the very least creates an edifice of disbelief. Omissions in the lectionary are themselves an indirect communication. Since we still profess the words of Paul to be true, we are even more so left to answer for our refusal to solemnly proclaim them in the liturgy. 

To cite another example of this phenomenon in the lectionary, let us look to October 2nd, the feast of all Holy Angels, where the Gospel reading is rather omissive. While the traditional rite assigns the entirety of Matthew 18:1-10 to be read, the reformed rite curiously lists the reading as Matthew 18: 1-5, 10 (i.e. read verses 1-5, skip verses 6-9, read verse 10). This is what the new lectionary omits:

6 “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7 Woe to the world because of stumbling blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling block comes! 8 “If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than to have two hands or two feet and to be thrown into the eternal fire. 9 And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into the hell of fire. (Matthew 18: 6-9, NRSV-CE)

Not only do these verses not appear in the reading for the feast of the Holy Angels, they appear nowhere in the reformed lectionary at all [7]. Scripture passages like this are difficult and intense, even when the distinction between the literal and the spiritual sense is established. Despite sacred scripture's array of difficult and challenging passages, the council fathers at Vatican II still wrote: “The Church has always venerated the divine Scriptures just as she venerates the body of the Lord” (Verbum Dei, 21). Passages like these would otherwise occasion pastors to instruct their flocks on how to read the scriptures, both the easy and the hard passages. The censoring of them in the liturgy presents a distortion of our Church’s scripture.

The importance of difficulties like these verses from Matthew’s Gospel reminds me of Kierkegaard’s “socratic task” described by the Boston College philosopher Peter Kreeft in his lecture series, The Great Debates of Philosophy. Kreeft begins by analyzing a passage from Kierkegaard’s Concluding Unscientific Postscript, wherein he concludes that “Out of love for mankind, therefore… I conceive it my task to create difficulties everywhere” [8]. Kreeft summarizes Kierkegaard’s task as “making things harder in a world that was trying to make things easier” [9]. Kreeft then goes on to note that “the one thing that Kierkegaard wanted to make harder above all was Christianity,” [10] the meaning of which Kreeft then clarifies by saying “not that he wanted to change it into something harder than it is, but that he believed his culture had changed it into something easier than it is, easier than Christ made it” [11]. The canon of scriptures, indeed, contains passages with difficult messages, but in an age where almost everything has been made easy for us, religion must remain difficult, just as Christ left it for us. Let us, then, earnestly encounter the difficult passages of scripture in the Church’s lectionary. 

There are many verses missing from the new lectionary, but these two examples suffice to illustrate the point. A reform spurred by a desire for there “to be more reading from holy scripture” in the Mass (Sacrosanctum Concilium, 35), should answer to the fact that it removed a multitude of verses that had been prayed by the Church for time immemorial. It almost bears no repeating, but, lex orandi lex credendi. To pretend by way of omission that the Church no longer believes what she still claims to believe is dishonest to the faithful, and not only to the Catholic faithful, but indeed to all Christians. Rather than assisting the Church in “scrutinizing the signs of the times and of interpreting them in the light of the Gospel” (Gaudium et spes 4.), the new lectionary tiptoes around difficulties; scrutinizing what should be read and what should be omitted according to the signs of the times. Like a slice of Swiss cheese, the new lectionary is full of unnecessary holes.

Endnotes 

[1] See Chesterton: “Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of Cheese.” 

[2] Also called the Extraordinary Form, usus antiquior, the Missal of Pius V, the Missal of John XXIII, or simply “the Traditional Latin Mass.”

[3] Also called Ordinary Form, usus recentior, Missal of Paul VI, or “Novus Ordo.” 

[4] Peter Kwasniewski, “Not Just More Scripture, But Different Scripture — Comparing the Old and New Lectionaries,” Rorate Caeli, January, 11, 2019, https://rorate-caeli.blogspot.com/2019/01/not-just-more-scripture-but-different.html. 

[5] For more on short form readings see: Matthew Hazell, “Short Forms of the Readings: Distorting the Gospel?,” New Liturgical Movement, October, 18, 2017, https://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2017/10/short-forms-of-readings-distorting.html. 

[6] For a complete side by side comparison of the traditional and reformed lectionaries see: Matthew Hazell, Index Lectionum: A Comparative Table of Readings for the Ordinary Extraordinary Forms of the Roman Rite, (Lectionary Study Press, 2016). 

[7] Matthew Hazell, Index Lectionum, 66. 

[8] For the full passage and context see: Søren Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific Postscript, trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 186-7. 

[9] Peter Kreeft, “Kierkegaard vs. Hegel on Religion and Individuality,” Word on Fire Institute, April 20, 2023, YouTube video, 25:49-54, https://youtu.be/9QHNodY8Ki8?si=cdJEoK_nACxAucaa.

[10] Ibid. 28:03-7

[11] Ibid. 28:08-18