Franciscan at Home

In our on-going considerations of underlying presumptions and preoccupations of contemporary culture and catechesis I want to consider the thought of a wonderful Catholic thinker, Dietrich von Hildebrand, and what he has to say in an essay entitled ‘Efficiency and Holiness’ (The New Tower of Babel, 1977) In this essay, he discusses what he calls the ‘heresy of efficiency.’ What he says there has deep relevance for our catechesis. Von Hildebrand goes into three different ways this heresy of efficiency can be understood. We will explore aspects of this heresy in this and in the following issue of The Sower.

One way to understand the heresy of efficiency is that it is rooted in an idolatry of man’s achievements. Achieving great things is considered to be man’s greatest value. With this man’s center of gravity has shifted away from what man is to what he does. This idolatry of achievement not only affects the ways in which we judge one another, but also how we judge ourselves. We replace the authentic ideal of holiness with the mere accomplishment of ‘great things’.

Continuando con nuestra reflexión sobre las supuestas y preocupaciones de la cultura y catequesis contemporáneas, quiero considerar el pensamiento de un maravilloso intelectual católico, Dietrich von Hildebrand, y sus aportaciones en un ensayo titulado “Eficiencia y santidad” (The New Tower of Babel, reimp. 1977). En este ensayo, trata de lo que denomina la ‘herejía de la eficiencia’. Lo que allí dice tiene una profunda relevancia para nuestra catequesis. Von Hildebrand detalla tres maneras en que se puede entender esta herejía de eficiencia. Exploraremos ciertos aspectos de esta herejía en éste y en el siguiente número de El Sembrador.

Una forma de entender la herejía de la eficiencia es que está enraizada en una idolatría de los logros del hombre. Los logros grandiosos son considerados como el valor mayor del ser humano. Con esto, el centro de gravedad del ser humano se ha desviado de lo que es el hombre a lo que hace el hombre. Esta idolatría del logro no solamente afecta las maneras en que nos juzgamos, sino en cómo nos juzgamos a nosotros mismos. Reemplazamos la ideal auténtica de la santidad con el mero logro de ‘cosas grandes’.

El 11 de octubre del 2008, el Mons. Olmsted, Obispo de Phoenix, se dirigió a la organización internacional laica, Católicos Unidos en la Fe (CUF) con motivo del Congreso Conmemorativo de su 40° Aniversario en Pittsburgh, Pensilvania, EEUU. Muy gentilmente concede a The Sower el derecho de publicar su ponencia que presentamos a continuación.

Estoy verdaderamente agradecido con la organización Católicos Unidos por la Fe y por el llamamiento a un apostolado activo en la Iglesia y en el mundo que extendió el Vaticano II a los seglares. No obstante, quizá sea de provecho recordar las palabras con las que Juan Pablo II prosigue en su Exhortación Apostólica refiriéndose a las ‘tentaciones’ que enfrentan los seglares en los tiempos posconciliares (#2): “Al mismo tiempo, el Sínodo ha notado que el camino posconciliar de los fieles laicos no ha estado exento de dificultades y de peligros. En particular, se pueden recordar dos tentaciones a las que no siempre han sabido sustraerse: la tentación de reservar un interés tan marcado por los servicios y las tareas eclesiales, de tal modo que frecuentemente se ha llegado a una práctica dejación de sus responsabilidades específicas en el mundo profesional, social, económico, cultural y político; y la tentación de legitimar la indebida separación entre fe y vida, entre la acogida del Evangelio y la acción concreta en las más diversas realidades temporales y terrenas.”

Aunque esto lo comentó Juan Pablo II hace ya varios años, ¿no vemos estas mismas tentaciones aún hoy en día? Si no nos enfrentamos directamente con estas tentaciones, si los fieles laicos desisten de luchar la batalla interna que consiste en conformar sus vidas diarias con la verdad y la caridad del Evangelio, la santidad no se dará. Veamos un poco más de cerca a la batalla que arroja cada tentación.

While I am indeed grateful for Catholics United for the Faith and for Vatican II’s summons of the laity to their active apostolate in the Church and the world, it might be helpful to recall what John Paul II went on to write in his Apostolic Exhortation about “temptations” faced by the laity after Vatican II (#2),

“At the same time… the post-conciliar path of the lay faithful has not been without its difficulties and dangers. In particular, two temptations can be cited which they have not always known how to avoid: the temptation of being so strongly interested in Church services and tasks that some fail to become actively engaged in their responsibilities in the professional, social, cultural and political world; and the temptation of legitimizing the unwarranted separation of faith from life, that is a separation of the Gospel’s acceptance from the actual living of the Gospel in various situations in the world.”

Although John Paul II made these remarks some years ago, do we not still see these temptations today? If these temptations are not faced squarely, if the laity fail to engage in the battle within of conforming their daily lives with the truth and charity of the Gospel, holiness will not happen. Let’s look a little closer at the battle each temptation poses.

This series that examines key features of contemporary culture that characterizes the ‘field’ into which the Word is sown by catechists today.

The soil into which we wish to sow the seed of the Word of God in catechesis is radically influenced by the philosophical mindset of pragmatism, which makes the soil a bit rocky, or even thorny.

Pragmatism is a perilous way of thinking. In his encyclical letter on faith and reason, Pope John Paul II makes this clear, describing pragmatism as ‘dangerous’. He says, ‘No less dangerous is pragmatism, an attitude of mind which, in making its choices, precludes theoretical consideration or judgments based on ethical principles.’ (Fides ET Ratio 89)

This way of thinking, then, neglects truth for the sake of what appears to be practical. Pope Benedict relates this way of thinking to the narrative of the Passion: ‘In Christ’s passion narrative we find Pilate’s question: “What is truth?” (Jn 18: 38). It is the question of a skeptic who asks: “But, you say you are the truth, but what is the truth?” And thus, with truth being unrecognizable, Pilate lets it be understood: we act according to what is most practical, what is most successful and not seeking the truth. He then condemns Jesus to death because he follows pragmatism…’ Here the Holy Father reveals the evil consequences of living according to pragmatic ways of thinking, in which we are willing to ignore larger questions of truth: it results in the death of God the Son.

The sixteenth century in Europe was an axial period in history. Major changes were taking place in society, and in the midst of much strife there was also creativity. The Renaissance was giving way to more serious Christian theology, and the question of education was to receive a major leap forward with the foundation of a number of Teaching Orders. While the great events of the day might have been seen as diets, synods, the Council of Trent and wars, a creative initiative took place within the schools which was to be a major factor in creating a Christian heart in the classroom.

To look at this in the context of Church history, I propose a glance first at the long tradition of guilds, confraternities and sodalities; then at the events of 1563; then the spread and development of the confraternities, and finally the question of what lessons these developments hold for us today.

The Love of the Father reaches out to every person. Nothing is outside of the mission of the Son and the Spirit, who have been sent among us to draw the whole of creation back to the Father’s house. This inclusiveness is fundamental to the Gospel. The Church announces the Good News in which the Father has acted ‘far beyond all expectation’, sending his own beloved Son (CCC 422). The Catechism quotes from the ninth century Council of Quiercy, ‘There is not, never has been, and never will be a single human being for whom Christ did not suffer’ (cited in CCC 605).

There can be an opposition set up in the minds of some, however, between what is rightly seen as this essential inclusiveness of the Gospel and the teaching of doctrine and morals.

Sometimes, of course, it is not the fact of teaching itself so much as the manner in which the teaching is given which is problematic, and this important point should always be given attention in catechesis: the manner of our teaching follows the pedagogy of God himself, who is respectful of our dignity and our freedom in the ways in which he addresses us. The General Directory for Catechesis signals some of the features of an authentic catechetical ‘manner’ for us: catechesis ‘proposes’ the Gospel; it ‘transforms the processes of intelligence, conscience, liberty and action’; it remembers that belief is ‘a fruit of grace and liberty’, and so on (see GDC Part III for numerous indications).

Freedom! What a wonderful gift we have been given in free will. Everyone values their freedom, from the youngest to the oldest. We are appalled when a person’s, or a groups of peoples, freedom is repressed. We recoil in horror when we think of the Nazi’s, or the totalitarian regimes of communism, and what they did to those they conquered.

In the field of catechesis we must always emphasize, and respect, the freedom of the human person. When we teach the Gospel we are proposing, not imposing.

However, we must also try to diagnose whether we and our students have a correct or incorrect understanding of freedom. As catechists we must affirm what is right, as well as disabuse our students of what is wrong, in their understanding of freedom.

Unfortunately, their understanding of freedom is likely to reflect that which was described by the Second Vatican Council: ‘Our contemporaries make much of this freedom and pursue it eagerly; and rightly to be sure. Often, however, they foster it perversely as a license for doing whatever pleases them, even if it is evil.’ (Gaudium et Spes 17) St. Peter warns us, ‘Live as free men, yet without using your freedom as a pretext for evil…’ (1 Pet 2:16)

If St. Paul were visiting us her today, what advice would he give to catechists?

Dynamic catechesis is a dialogue of salvation. In this sacred conversation we share the revelation of Jesus Christ and invite our hearers to faith. Catechesis is an act of communication. It is a form of communion with others.

Among other examples of catechesis in the New Testament, I draw your attention to three of them in Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. Paul involves himself personally and passionately with people. He speaks. He listens. He persuades. He testifies. He trusts enthusiastically in the power of the Spirit to convince his listeners. If he were visiting us today, I think he would inspire us to use the following guidelines for catechesis.

Share the theology of the Cross
Illumine the hope of the Resurrection
Explain the Power of the Eucharist

In 1678 Titus Oates announced his discovery of a Jesuit-inspired plot to murder King Charles II and replace him with his Catholic brother, James, Duke of York. In the wave of engineered hysteria that followed upon his allegations, thirty-five priests and laymen were put to death.

When the full extent of Oates’ perjuries was discovered, there was a widespread sense of revulsion towards the bloodletting, which they had occasioned. This would significantly affect official attitudes towards English Catholics and the laws under which they suffered. Penal legislation against seminary priests remained in force, and the Toleration Act of 1689 specifically excluded Catholics, but no priest in England was executed after1681. Although occasional test cases were brought as late as 1771, and a priest named Maloney was condemned at Croydon to perpetual imprisonment in 1769, this was commuted, ‘by the mercy of the Government’ to banishment after three years. Other cases were thrown out of court on the grounds of insufficient evidence.[i]

James II’s flight into exile in 1688 was marked in several places by outbursts of violence against Catholic chapels,[ii] but no priests or religious were killed. By and large, the government wished ‘to let sleeping dogs lie’, and throughout the eighteenth century, while the Catholic gentry would be penalised by exclusion from government office, by social ostracism and by the imposition of double land-taxes, the days of bloody persecution were over. The Stuart Risings of 1715 and 1745 were met with indifference by the great majority of English Catholics, and by the middle of the century the Vicars Apostolic and informed Catholic gentlemen had come to accept that the Stuart cause was hopeless, and that they should make their peace with the House of Hanover.

It was against this political background that the nucleus of Oscott College’s Recusant collection was formed.