Franciscan at Home

n our previous issue, Dr. Kreeft explored several important issues that arise when we consider the questions of “who” and “when” as they relate to Christ in the Eucharist. In this article, he will examine three final questions, to help us better understand the Church’s teaching concerning our Eucharistic Lord.

What?

What activity is Christ performing in the Eucharist? Obviously, he is acting on us and in us in Holy Communion, both in body and soul, since he enters us both in body and soul not just in order to be there, to be actual, but also to be active in us. He does stuff to us. He saves us from ourselves, he washes away our sins, he justifies and sanctifies us, and glorifies us. He gives us all graces, he makes us, gradually, what he made Mary suddenly and totally, namely “full of grace.” For us, this process is not completed and perfected in this life, as it was for Mary. But what God did to her, he does to us. He does—he is now at work doing—a far greater work than making the entire universe out of nothing: he is making saints out of sinners. The whole world is like that more-than-magical-box we call the confessional: Adam walks in and Jesus walks out. Christ does what only God can do: he creates in us a clean heart. He is performing heart surgery on us. He is what T.S. Eliot called “the wounded surgeon.” Holy Communion is heart surgery.

But what is Christ doing there in the Eucharist all the time, even when we are not receiving Holy Communion and when we are not offering his Body and Blood to the Father for the salvation of the world as we assist at the Mass? What is he doing there during Eucharistic adoration? And what is he doing right now?

St. Thomas answers that question in a single word, a wonderful word, in the most perfect and beautiful Eucharistic hymn ever written. The first line is “Adora te devote, latens deitas, quae sub his figuris vere latitas.” (Devoutly I adore thee, hidden deity, Who beneath these figures hideth there from me.) That word latitas is the answer to our question, “What is Christ doing there?” He is hiding.

The phrases “God from God” and “Light from Light” are used in the Nicene Creed which is recited at every Sunday Mass.

In Latin, the phrase “Light from Light” is lumen de lumine. The phrase appears in the very first section of the Creed:

"I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. I believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages. God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father; through him all things were made."

The Symbolum Nicaenum, or Nicene Creed, was first promulgated at the Council of Nicea (325), though in an abbreviated form from what we have today. St. Athanasius (296-373), the great bishop of Alexandria, attributes the composition of the Nicene Creed to a Papal Legate called Hossius of Cordoba. The Creed is also sometimes called the Nicene-Constantinoplian Creed since it appears in the Acts of the Council of Constantinople (381). It was formally promulgated at Chalcedon in 451 and has come down to us as our present Nicene Creed.

It was at the Councils of Nicea and Constantinople that the true nature of Jesus was defended against a multitude of heresies. In particular, the words “God from God” and “Light from Light” were aimed against the Arian heresy, which denied the pre-existence of Christ. Arius (c. 250-336), a priest from Alexandria, argued that the Father alone is God in the full sense and that the Son was a being created by the Father. This idea was also called “subordinationism.” The Councils, drawing upon the traditions handed down to them from the Apostles, condemned the heresy and declared that Jesus was indeed both true God and true man. Against Arius, the Nicene Creed reasserts the principle that Jesus Christ is not made by God and so is of the created order, but is instead of the same order of being as the Father: uncreated, eternal, and timeless. The Greek word “homo-ousios” (of the same being), or in Latin “consubstantialis” and now in the English version of the Creed “consubstantial,” was used to denote the relationship of God the Father to God the Son.

Nonetheless, Arianism remained a problem for well over a century. The whole of modern day France was infected with Arianism until King Clovis married Burgundian Princess Clotilde. In 496, Clotilde, who was not an Arian, convinced Clovis that Christ really was God. When Clovis converted to this position, some 4,000 of his soldiers followed him, and as a consequence Arianism died out in the Frankish kingdom. St. Clotilde is one of a number of saintly queens who used her influence with poorly catechised husbands to change the course of history in a decidedly Christian direction.

If you have ever traveled internationally, you have undoubtedly experienced the challenge of interpreting unfamiliar signs. Deciphering these enigmatic symbols can be a funny exercise, as long as you are not desperately lost. The first time I traveled to Australia, my wife and I were regularly in stiches at the utterly unique signs. My favorite had to be the camel, wombat, and kangaroo caution sign. Seeing this sign was a clear indication that we were far from home and in very unfamiliar territory[CR1] .

The purpose of a sign is to teach the viewer something: warning, action, direction, etc. The Catholic Christian faith is filled with signs that are designed to teach, but just like unfamiliar signs in a foreign country, if someone does not clearly explain the meaning of the sign, we will remain in ignorance or left to make our best guess. Frequently, cradle Catholics do not understand the meaning of the signs that surround them and this leads to a deficient Christian life, lacking the full available richness .

When it comes to RCIA, explaining the meaning of the signs and symbols is all the more crucial. Being one who came to the Catholic Church later in life, I cannot state strongly enough how confusing are many of the actions within the liturgy to an uninitiated observer. I’ll never forget being handed the baptismal candle, when my children were baptized, and seeing the chi rho (☧) on the side of the candle. Not knowing what it was, I asked the three religious sisters present at the baptism what it meant and they didn’t know either. I now know and can give a wonderful explanation, but that is for another time.

Uno de los signos de la experiencia contemporánea es un sentido muy extendido de quebrantamiento, una especie de pesadez de ser. Por lo mismo, una de las afirmaciones menos debatidas de la cristiandad es que tenemos necesidad de sanación, tanto a nivel personal como a nivel social. Los analistas sociales buscan sin cesar las causas de este descontento individual y colectivo. Mientras existan factores culturales que contribuyan a la enfermedad posmoderna, la teología cristiana siempre ha ofrecido una causa de raíz del descontento de la humanidad: el pecado original que heredamos y los pecados personales que cometemos. Si el pecado fuera el fin de la historia, la Cristiandad ofrecería un panorama bastante desolador. Según sugiere su mismo nombre, sin embargo, la Cristiandad no termina con nuestro quebrantamiento, sino que señala hacia arriba y hacia afuera a Cristo, quien vino a este mundo precisamente para salvarnos de nuestro pecado y del peso de sus efectos.

Aunque siga el debate sobre las raíces de los problemas de la humanidad, el punto central de la Buena Nueva del Evangelio es la verdad de que Jesús vino para que nosotros pudiéramos tener vida (Cf. Jn 10,10). Esta participación en la vida divina por medio de la gracia, recibida de manera especial por medio de la oración y de los sacramentos, se nos ofrece gratuitamente. La gracia es un don divino que a la vez sana nuestro quebrantamiento y nos eleva a la verdadera grandeza espiritual. Santo Tomás de Aquino escribió sobre este doble efecto de la gracia en la Summa Theologiae: “…el hombre para vivir rectamente necesita un doble auxilio de la gracia de Dios. El primero es el de un don habitual por el cual la naturaleza caída sea curada y, una vez curada, sea además elevada, de modo que pueda realizar obras meritorias para la vida eterna, superiores a las facultades de la naturaleza. El segundo es un auxilio de gracia por el cual Dios mueve a la acción. Ahora bien, el hombre que está en gracia no necesita otro auxilio de la gracia, en el sentido de un nuevo hábito infuso. Pero sí necesita un nuevo auxilio en el segundo sentido, es decir, necesita ser movido por Dios a obrar rectamente.”[1] Estos efectos curativos y transformativos de la gracia son precisamente el antídoto contra nuestros corazones rotos y nuestro mundo roto.

One of the marks of contemporary experience seems to be a widespread sense of brokenness, a sort of heaviness of being. Therefore, one of the least debated claims of Christianity is that we need healing, both personal and societal. Social analysts repeatedly look for the causes of this individual and collective discontent. While there are cultural factors that contribute to postmodern dis-ease, Christian theology has always offered a root cause for humanity’s discontent: original sin that we inherit and the personal sins that we commit. If sin were the end of the story, Christianity would indeed be rather bleak. As its name implies, however, Christianity does not stop with our brokenness but rather points us upward and outward to Christ, who came into this world precisely to save us from our sin and the weight of its effects. While debate may continue regarding the roots of humanity’s problems, central to the message of the Good News of the Gospel is the truth that Jesus came that we might have life (see Jn 10:10). This sharing in divine life by grace, received especially through prayer and the sacraments, is freely offered to us. Grace is a divine gift that both heals our brokenness and uplifts us to true spiritual greatness. Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote of this two-fold effect of grace in the Summa Theologiae: “In order to live righteously a man needs a twofold help of God—first, a habitual gift whereby corrupted human nature is healed, and after being healed is lifted up so as to work deeds meritorious of everlasting life, which exceed the capability of nature. Secondly, man needs the help of grace in order to be moved by God to act.”[1] These curative and transformative effects of grace are precisely the antidote to our broken hearts and our broken world.

The catechesis of adults is one of the great catechetical challenges in this time of the New Evangelization. This is a particularly difficult and unique challenge because, as we are all keenly aware, many of the adults in our parish pews are poorly catechized and are not only in great need of authentic and systematic catechesis but are also in need of a evangelization, or a presentation of the basic Gospel message. St. John Paul II addresses this reality in Catechesi Tradendae when he refers to many adult Catholics as “quasi-catechumens.” He reminds us that adult catechesis today needs to be “directed to those who in childhood received a catechesis suited to their age but who later drifted away from all religious practice and as adults find themselves with religious knowledge of a rather childish kind. It is likewise directed to those who feel the effects of a catechesis received early in life but badly imparted or badly assimilated” (art. 44). If we are honest in our assessment, quasi-catechumens comprise perhaps 70 to 80% of the adults occupying the pews at any given Sunday Mass. To make things even more urgent, the New Evangelization requires and even demands that the lay faithful take up their particular baptismal vocation to be present and active in the ordinary places of secular culture, and to work within it like leaven to build up the kingdom of God.[i] Until the laity are able to understand and live out this crucial mission, the New Evangelization is in danger of never becoming a reality despite the extraordinary movement and promptings of the Holy Spirit in our time. St. John Paul II expresses this urgency clearly when he states, “A new state of affairs today both in the Church and in social, economic, political and cultural life, calls with a particular urgency for the action of the lay faithful. If lack of commitment is always unacceptable, the present time renders it even more so. It is not permissible for anyone to remain idle.”[ii]

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What is the Neophyte Year?

Many of us may be aware of the RCIA process that is undertaken in many parishes, but have we stopped to ask ourselves the question, “What happens to the new Catholics after the Easter Vigil?” The Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults offers a period of Mystagogy for the seven weeks leading up to Pentecost, but then what?

The new Catholic, for the period up to the anniversary of their reception into the Catholic Church, is known as a “neophyte,” that is, “one who is initiated at the Easter Vigil. The term comes from the Greek word meaning newly planted.”[1] During this period, the parish should support the new Catholics in various ways to deepen their understanding of the faith. Ongoing catechesis is a necessary undertaking, if we are to continue to grow in faith and in love of Jesus Christ. This is echoed in the experience of the apostolic and early Church; for example, St. Paul counselled against neophytes becoming bishops too early (cf. 1 Tim 3:6) “lest their lack of experience in the faith render them arrogant or deficient.”[2] Similarly, the Council of Nicaea (325 A.D.) prohibited acceptance of a neophyte into holy orders, “lest being puffed up with pride, he fall into the judgement of the devil.”[3] It is clear from this prohibition that even in the fourth century, when the period of the catechumenate would have lasted several years,[4] the neophyte is still seen very much as in a period of early spiritual development. The questions might be asked: What kind of spiritual development is needed in new Catholics today? What should be happening during the Neophyte Year?

The Neophyte Year is a time which:

allows the neophytes to reflect on their experience of the sacraments, Scripture, grow closer to Christ through the Eucharist and participate more frequently in the parish. The parish community is called to mentor the neophytes as they begin to live as Christian disciples and fulfill their baptismal vocation to evangelize.[5]

Research into Current Neophtye Formation and Patristic Catechesis

In my M.A. and License studies at Maryvale Institute, Birmingham, I wrote and defended a dissertation on neophyte formation and patristic catechesis. This involved an empirical research element that studied responses of a questionnaire sent to 211 parishes in the Archdiocese of Westminster. It is not necessary to go into the results in any major detail here, but what was of interest was that a large majority of parishes did not appear to offer any ongoing formation during the neophyte year. Admittedly some parishes struggled in finding the extra resources and catechists to support ongoing neophyte formation. I also conducted research into sacramental participation in Sunday Eucharist, because the obligation of a Catholic “to attend Mass on Sundays and holy days of Obligation”[6] is the first precept of the Church. Participation in the Sunday Eucharist is a “testimony of belonging and of being faithful to Christ and to his Church”[7] and a way of witnessing to the truth of the Gospel.

My expectation was that a high percentage would be regularly attending weekly Sunday Eucharist as Christian living “requires being nourished through regular attendance at Mass.”[8] I also expected an enthusiasm for receiving Jesus weekly, because as the YouCat says: “Anyone who is really seeking Jesus’ friendship responds as often as possible to Jesus’ personal invitation to the feast.”[9] However, the reality was that less than 50% of those who had been through RCIA in a five year period were attending Sunday Eucharist weekly.[10] This is a worrying trend, because “some estimates indicate that as many as 50-70% of new Catholics (neophytes) cease to practice their faith within two years.”[11] This illustrates why ongoing neophyte formation should be a priority for parishes.

“I know my kid has problems, but at least she’s not on drugs!” You’ll hear this uttered by moms appealing to their child’s teacher or by fathers trying to rationalize their son’s lackluster behavior. The intent of the phrase is to make one’s existing defects of character seem less significant when compared to someone who has “real” problems. In fact, I remember a mildly heated conversation during my own teen years, when my parents were beside themselves trying to get me to manage my personal life. My mom, sensing the tension and realizing that I really was a good kid, paused at one point and said, “Son, we really are pleased with you, at least you’re not on drugs.” Comforted by this low bar, I continued in my mediocrity.

While this statement is intended to give comfort, it offers a skewed perspective on our purpose for living. Our purpose is not to achieve an absence of vice but to pursue the presence of virtue (Gal 5:22-24; CCC 1784, 1803). If our life is simply measured by the lack of destructive behaviors, we will have set a low bar indeed.

Many parish RCIA processes operate on the “at least you’re not ___________” principle. They measure a candidate’s progress by the lack of obvious sin, more than the presence of virtue or adherence to the Gospel. Due to the challenges in the conversion process, a pastor or RCIA director can unwittingly believe that as long as one is willing to be baptized and there is no presence of serious sin, the RCIA has done its job. If you have found yourself in this place, allow me to inspire you to raise the level of expectation and transform your RCIA into what the Church intends, that is, to generate unbaptized evangelists.

Great Expectations

The expectation of the Church is that the RCIA is supposed to train catechumens (apprenticeship) in the entire Christian life.[i] By entire, the Church really means entire. By God’s grace, everything that should be part of the post-baptismal Christian life, with the exception of sacraments, should be present in some form before baptism: faith, hope, charity, repentance, prayer, moral life, good works, etc. (RCIA 75.1-3). There is one more aspect in which the Church expects catechumens to participate: the apostolic work of evangelism. The Church says, “catechumens should also learn how to work actively with others to spread the Gospel and build up the Church by the witness of their lives and by professing their faith (RCIA 75.1, AG 14).

So often those working in RCIA are just hoping catechumens will come to Mass every Sunday, and the thought of including catechumens in the apostolic work of the Church never crosses their minds. Most RCIA processes are structured for catechumens to only be receivers and not givers.