Franciscan at Home

The idea that “cultural capital,” in the sense of cultivated dispositions of mind and body, might play a role in catechesis is often resisted from two extreme positions. First, there are those who argue that faith formation is merely propositional. We simply need to teach people the Catechism. This we might call the opposition from the right. Second, there are those who instinctively tie the concept of “cultural capital” to the class-war and are aggressively hostile to the idea that some cultures and what we call “cultural formation” might be superior to others. This we might call the opposition from the left. It is often found in liberation theology circles where, for example, knowledge of more than one language or an ability to play a musical instrument, is associated with having had a bourgeois education.
In my first book Culture and the Thomist Tradition,[i] I was critical of the opposition from the right and did not really address the opposition from the left because I thought that battle had been won by Josef Ratzinger in the 1980s. The central principle of my book, which might be called a synthesis of the philosophy of Alasdair MacIntyre with the theology of Josef Ratzinger, is that if you want to catechize people, you need to give them an experience of a fully functional Catholic culture and not merely present them with doctrinal propositions (though these are important and have their place) and certainly not try to market the Catholic faith to them by transposing it into the idioms and practices of contemporary popular culture. Ratzinger described the latter practice, which was hugely popular in the 1960s and 70s and has been making a come-back among liberation theologians, as treating the Church as if it were a haberdashery shop with its windows needing to be re-dressed and decorated with each passing fashion season. What MacIntyre and Ratzinger have both argued, in different ways, is that the ethos of Christian institutions needs to be governed by practices that embody a Christian logic or meaning. If you feed people doctrine but the whole realm of praxis is running on a different logic (for example, a utilitarian logic or an economic rationalist logic), then the Holy Spirit can’t breathe, grace is suffocated, because there is a logical disjunction between the theory and the practice. God created us in such a way that even a five-year-old can sense that something is not quite adding up, even if the five-year-old is unable to explain the problem in terms of the relationship between logos and ethos. In theological language distinctions are often made between the “logos of love” (which is inherently Christian) and the logos of the machine (which is inherently atheistic). So, a preliminary MacIntyrean point is that if you want to catechize people it helps to expose them to a milieu where the set of social practices are running on the logos of love.

On October 11, 1992, Pope St. John Paul II declared the Catechism of the Catholic Church “a sure norm for teaching the faith and thus a valid and legitimate instrument for ecclesial communion.”[i] Let us examine the key terms in this statement. They help us to understand the character of the Catechism. In the previous article I wrote of the Catechism as an instrument that would help us to reconnect the fragments of the faith back into a living whole.[ii] In other words, it is an instrument fitted for bringing about ecclesial communion. In the situation of the new evangelization, many whom we catechize live without a strong awareness of the organic wholeness of the Catholic faith, its beauty, symmetry, and coherence. They have even less recognition that this organic wholeness of the faith flows from the living Body of Christ, having God the Son as its Head. Many of the baptized and confirmed members of the Body of Christ, therefore, have only a partial understanding that the life of Christ, as Head of the Body, is available to them—his strengths, his virtues, his faculties. As St. Gregory the Great put it, “Our redeemer has shown himself to be one person with the holy Church whom he has taken to himself.”[iii] We long for the Holy Spirit to lead those whom we catechize into a lively consciousness of this loving union that God has established with them in his Church. This union is the “marvelous exchange” that we celebrate in the Christmas season when the Creator of all became man, born of the Ever-Virgin, making us “sharers in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share our humanity.”[iv] Only in this way, we know, through living in the light of these truths, can the lives of those we catechize be more perfectly formed into the likeness of Christ. We long for the Holy Spirit to “indoctrinate”[v] those whom we teach—to imbue them with the teachings, the doctrines, of Christ. The Catechism is given to us precisely for the sake of enabling such an indoctrination to make the teachings of the Church accessible and available to every member of Christ’s Body so that each can become “fully mature with the fullness of Christ himself.”[vi] We saw in the previous article how the Catechism has been carefully designed specifically to reach out to bring the saving doctrine of the faith to the “edges” and “peripheries” of the Church. This happens when we attend to those still holding to “fragments” of faith in order to gather and bring them into communion with the living whole.

No one sneaks into the Catholic Church. I absolutely love this aspect of becoming a Christian in the Catholic Church. Let me explain. I was raised in a Pentecostal Protestant denomination (International Church of the Foursquare Gospel). In some ways, Pentecostalism is closer to Catholic doctrine than Reformed Protestantism, but there is a major difference in how people become Christians. To become a Christian in the church of my youth, a person (let’s call him “Bob”) might have an experience like this. Upon being invited to church, Bob would hear Christ-centered praise and an expository sermon on a biblical text. At the end of each service, an appeal to become a Christian would be given. In doing this, the pastor would invite the congregation to bow their heads and close their eyes — no looking. Then he would ask those who wanted to receive Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior, for the first time, to raise their hands. If Bob wanted to respond, he would publically raise his hand and the pastor would invite him to silently repeat a simple prayer of belief in Jesus. As a child I always wanted to peek to see who raised their hands. I was fascinated that people were responding to Jesus for the first time, and I wanted to see who they were. I always wondered why we were not allowed to know who had just been “saved.” As a result, I never met the new Christians of my Church unless they freely divulged this information in conversation. Bob might have attended for one Sunday or twenty, but following the hand-raising response, there was no assessment of what he believed or understood. There was also little to no personal follow up and formation. Bob was simply invited to keep coming to Church. The RCIA process in the Catholic Church is notably different. We march people in front of the liturgical assembly several times before they are fully initiated: the Rite of Acceptance, Rite of Sending, Rite of Election, and three times during the Easter vigil! Catholicism emphasizes the public profession of faith and the consequent prayerful presence and affirmation by the community. While there are stark differences between the respective Pentecostal and Catholic understandings of salvation, many do not realize that the Catholic Church teaches that, objectively, the process of salvation begins with a public profession of faith, long before baptism. According to the Church, there is a profound transformation that takes place within each person in this public profession during the Rite of Acceptance. This transformation depends upon two essential catechetical milestones that prepare for the Rite of Acceptance. If these two milestones are lacking, the inquirer will not have the necessary disposition to allow the rite to bear its intended fruit. The rite will objectively take place, but its fruit in the life of a new catechumen will be stunted.

This second part of Wiliam Newton's article was never published in a printed issue of The Sower, as the magazine went ouf of print before the last installment was completed. However, the editor of The Catechetical Review adds it to this issue online for the benefit of subscribers interested in the conclusion of Dr. Newton's commentary on Richard Dawkins's The God Delusion.

Dearest Patience,

In the recent letter I sent to you concerning some of the arguments put forward by Richard Dawkins concerning the existence of God, I promised I would write to you again to address what he says about religion and morality in his book The God Delusion.[i] So as a friend who strives to keep his promises…here we go!

The first problem that Dawkins comes up against is that religion is still extremely widespread as well as ever-present throughout human history. This presents a problem for Dawkins, because it means he has to show how something so utterly wrongheaded and insidious is, nonetheless, so enduring and prevalent.

Evolution and Natural Selection

Given Dawkins’s intellectual commitments, the only acceptable explanation is going to have to conform to the theory of evolution and natural selection. This is problematic because natural selection is the very hardest of task-masters: it rewards only what is useful and harshly punishes everything that stands in the way of progress. Yet, as Dawkins has repeatedly asserted throughout The God Delusion, religion is the most negative of phenomena. It perpetuates ignorance, impedes scientific progress, and cripples individuals with feelings of guilt (p.279-308). In what conceivable sense could it, therefore, be useful?
Dawkins’s main argument is that religion is not directly useful but that it is a side effect of another useful human trait (p.174). This trait turns out to be the unquestioning acceptance by inferiors of what their superiors tell them. For example: because Billy believes the elders when they tell him that deadly nightshade is poisonous this increases Billy’s chances of survival (since he doesn’t eat it). However, little Johnny (genetically more inclined to disbelief/disobedience) does eat it and he dies. Accordingly, Johnny (and his kind) has no progeny, while Billy (and his kind) does. The upshot is that a genetic propensity to believe what the elders say (including the religious nonsense they spout) dominates.

For us catechists, St. John Paul II's "theology of the body" should strike a single, resounding chord in our hearts and minds: "good news!" It is, in essence, the Gospel of Jesus Christ. While St. John Paul II's 133 Wednesday catecheses include a profound application to sexual and marital morality, the application occurs primarily at the end of this series of discourses. As a consummate catechist, St. John Paul II knew that grace perfects nature.[1] It doesn't replace nature nor jump ahead of it. Thus, to truly understand how we should act, we have to first understand who we are and what our purpose is. In other words, the foundation of faith is a correct view of the human person, a correct metaphysics. Before you hurriedly skip to another article because you fear I'm about to launch into the philosophical stratosphere, let me reassure you I am not. Like you, I am a catechist in every pore of my being. I live to communicate the faith to others in a concrete and systematic way. However, I am increasingly convinced that our efforts to pass on the faith often fail to be transformative because we assume others have already adequately answered the key human questions of "Who am I?" and "What is my purpose?" Or, perhaps without realizing it, we have relegated those questions to the realm of psychology and philosophy, as if they are irrelevant to theology and catechetics. In truth, these two questions constitute the core of Christianity. The cataclysmic shock Christianity introduced into history was not its moral teachings; other cultures and religions embraced and taught similar moral norms. Rather, the novelty of Christianity is its illumination of personal identity. Confessions of faith in Jesus' divinity are the highpoints of the Gospels: Peter professes, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God" (Mt. 16:16); the centurion at the foot of the cross concludes, "Truly, this man was the Son of God" (Mk. 15:39); St. John declares the purpose of his gospel to be "that you might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God" (Jn. 20:31).

According to the General Directory for Catechesis, “adult catechesis must be given priority.”[1] In fact, the GDC links adult catechesis to the baptismal catechumenate: [Adult catechesis] “involves ‘a post-baptismal catechesis, in the form of a catechumenate...presenting again some elements from the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults with the purpose of allowing a person to grasp and live the immense, extraordinary richness and responsibility received at Baptism.’”[2] Therefore, adult catechesis is not simply a refresher course in content but is permeated by the idea that the life of Baptism (and each of the sacraments) must be lived in maturity. And this requires ongoing formation and support, a “permanent mystagogy.”[3] Therefore, Pope Benedict XVI, in Sacramentum Caritatis, calls for a “mystagogical approach to catechesis, which would lead the faithful to understand more deeply the mysteries being celebrated.”[4] Initiation is ultimately ordered to being one with our Lord in an intimate and eternal communion. Such intimacy requires that we approach Jesus’s Body with love, free from serious sin, and with a reverent disposition. However, many seem to take the reception of Communion lightly in the Church today. Reception of the Eucharist, for many, has become routine, uniform, and even presumed as a right, regardless of canonical standing or state of soul. We know from St. Paul that improper reception of Communion works against its true purpose and rather than deepening our participation in the life of God, it can actually alienate us from him: "Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord. Let a man examine himself, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment upon himself" (1 Cor. 11:27-30, RSV).

A SURVEY FOR CATECHISTS U.S. Marines have a code of honor: no one gets left behind—not even the fallen on the battlefield. They are bound together in brotherhood. Their commitment to this code enables Marines to act with courage and valor. Similarly, as baptized Catholics we form a bond as God’s family and pledge to accompany any child of God through conversion. In a culture hostile to the faith, we must exercise Marine-strength courage to remain vigilant for those who fall away. How well are we keeping that pledge? Admittedly, too many baptized and confirmed Catholics fall away from the faith without taking hold of the treasure of our faith and its promise of eternal life. They are dying on the battlefield, spiritually speaking. Statistics in this regard are nothing short of alarming, with Catholics experiencing the greatest net loss due to changes in affiliation.[1] An estimated 70% of young Catholics no longer practice their faith by the time they reach adulthood.[2] Do we strategically think about the way in which our “baptismal training” equips people to survive spiritually in a toxic secular culture? Are we praying vigilantly for their return and going in search of them? One of the reasons that many of our baptized people do not survive with their faith intact is that “basic training” for becoming a disciple—personal conversion to Jesus Christ, personal relationship with him—is a neglected dimension of Catholic formation. Children baptized in infancy come to the parish for catechesis, and we work hard to communicate the content of the faith; but we often fail to put them in touch with—in intimacy with—the person of Jesus Christ, which Pope St John Paul II said is the “definitive aim of catechesis.”[3] In our concern to communicate Christian doctrine effectively, we sometimes overlook the fact that baptized people may not yet know Jesus Christ enough to care about what he taught. In this article, I will set forth a small offering of some principles and practices by which we can create conditions that favor personal conversion amidst the secular culture. This is less about developing new programs (though this can be helpful) than about applying these principles and practices in ministries that already exist. First, I will set forth a number of principles drawn from the teaching of recent popes, who are the architects of the New Evangelization. These will be followed by four kinds of practice.

The election of Pope Francis has brought with it a renewed focus on the attractiveness of the Christian message. There are already two magisterial documents from this pope’s hand offering insights into his vision for catechesis. Perhaps the best known of his observations can be found in Evangelii Gaudium, where he has drawn attention to the fundamental bedrock of what we ought to be passing on—the Kerygma:

Jesus Christ loves you; he gave his life to save you; and now he is living at your side every day to enlighten, strengthen and free you.[1]

The structure is disarmingly simple, and yet it allows us to touch on every important aspect of the Christian life. We are reminded that the foundation of all we do as Christians is the love of Christ. Before every program, prior to any inspirational conference, above all petty politics or personal clashes of any kind, we do what we do because Jesus Christ loves you. This finds its most powerful expression in what Christ did: he gave his life to save you. This is not some distant event that is no longer relevant, for Jesus is living at your side every day—made present mysteriously through the sacraments and made personal through our ongoing dialogue in prayer. Finally, there must be some element of struggle and personal transformation involved in this; for Christ stands by us for a good purpose: to enlighten, strengthen and free you. This is an incredibly powerful summary of what we are trying to pass on to those in our care, by living it out ourselves. It is so important that “all Christian formation consists of entering more deeply into the kerygma.”[2]

The New Evangelization is a call to each person to deepen his or her own faith, have confidence in the Gospel, and possess a willingness to share the Gospel. It is a personal encounter with the person of Jesus, which brings peace and joy. (Disciples Called to Witness, 3)

Does the New Evangelization make you a little bit uncomfortable? Does it feel as if you are moving out into unchartered water? Does it feel as if some of the tools you are comfortable using aren’t adequate anymore? If so, you may be just where God wants you.

I know what they are thinking. Most of the seminarians and lay students that follow my course “Catholic Social Teaching” in our seminary/school of theology begin with the assumption that this is the “social justice” course. Some like this reduction of “Catholic Social Teaching” to “social justice.” Others dread it. Few question it. I savor the guilty pleasure of playing off of this supposition, building it up in crescendo-like fashion, until at last it is obliterated by the logic of the Church’s social documents themselves. I do enjoy this, but I also do this for pedagogical reasons: I want the assumption that Catholic social teaching reduces to social justice so utterly razed in the minds of my students that when it falls it can never rise from the ashes of its ruin. No resurrection here, please.

Social justice is a part of Catholic social teaching, and an important part. However, it is only a part and it cannot be equated with the entirety of Catholic social teaching without doing serious harm to both. Social justice is that form of justice that regulates one’s relationships according to the standards of law. Typically, it is taken to be about society’s larger institutions like business corporations, political structures, and forms of the market. Catholic social teaching, on the other hand, includes social justice and much, much more. Catholic social teaching covers each of our relationships and socializations in general and, most importantly, does so in a manner where the demand of justice (what is due to another) is not the sole focus. This also means the Church’s social teaching can reach to those forms of relationships that in whole or part elude the categories of justice and law, such as the relationship of friendship. The social teaching of the Church is capable of this wide perspective because, first and foremost, it begins not from law, but from God’s Trinitarian love as manifest in Jesus Christ.

And so, this clarification is an important one. Catholic social teaching is not first about the state of one’s nation, and then somehow extended to other realms of life in a secondary, derivative manner. Catholic social teaching is as much about the living room as it about the halls of Congress.