True and False Reform

I've just finished reading Yves Congar's True and False Reform in the Church (Liturgical Press, 2011). Though first published in French in 1950, it remains a compelling invitation to look at the Church today and to embrace the notion of its ongoing reform.

One fascinating possibility connected with Congar's study is that it contributed to Pope John XXIII's decision to call for an ecumenical council.

It was at Vatican II that Congar learned that Archbishop Angelo Roncalli in 1952, when he was the Vatican's envoy to France, read the book, and mused, "A reform of the church: is such a thing really possible?"

Some who have read Congar's book and heard Pope John XXIII's opening address to the Council hear an echo of Congar's thesis in the Holy Father's understanding of the need for reform.

Blessed John XXIII's observation that "the substance of the ancient doctrine of the deposit of faith is one thing, and the way in which it is presented is another" sounds like Congar's observation, "...ideas of the 'outdated' or of  'change' do not bear upon Christianity in itself or upon its dogmas and its hierarchical structure. What is called into question, frankly, are certain forms, practices, or habits of historical Catholicism."

The Vatican's initial response to True and False Reform in the Church was negative, and the Holy Office ordered that the book not be translated or republished.

"As far as I myself am concerned, from the beginning of 1947 until the end of 1956," Congar later wrote, " I have never known anything from that quarter (that is, the Vatican's Holy Office) except an uninterrupted stream of denunciations, warnings, restrictive or discriminatory measures and distrustful interventions."

By 1962, however, Congar was serving as a peritus at the Second Vatican Council, and over the four sessions contributed many paragraphs to several Vatican II documents.

Congar, of course, was not alone in such rehabilitation. Prior to Vatican II Henri de Lubac, Karl Rahner, and John Courtney Murray had also experienced their share of investigation and disciplinary actions before becoming expert consultants for the Council Fathers. (And the investigations and discipline continue today for a newer slate of theologians as Bradford Hinze of Fordham University records in the first chapter of When The Magisterium Intervenes, edited by Richard R. Gaillardetz, Liturgical Press, 2012.)

One of Congar's main convictions about true and successful reform in the Catholic Church is that would-be reformers must remain in the Church. He faults Martin Luther for his violence and irritability, and suggests that had Luther advanced what was good and Christian in his thinking without breaking with the Church he would have better served the cause of reform.

There are, in Congar's analysis, four conditions for reform without schism: 1) The primacy of charity and of pastoral concerns. He quotes Pope Pius XI: "Every true and lasting reform in the last analysis had its point of departure in holiness, in persons who were inflamed and impelled by the love of God and neighbor."

2) Remaining in communion with the whole Church, and the reason for that communion with the whole body is  that "complete truth is to be found only in total communion."

3) Having patience with delays. Says Congar, "In any reform movement, impatience threatens to ruin everything...The innovator, whose reform turns to schism, lacks patience."

4) Genuine reform through a return to the principle of tradition (not through the forced introduction of some novelty). He writes, "A Catholic reform movement therefore will be obliged to begin with a return to the fundamental principles of Catholicism ...Tradition is essentially the continuity of development arising from the initial gift of the Church ...Resourcement consists in a re-centering on Christ and on the paschal mystery."

Congar is the first to acknowledge that reform is not easy to effect. He recognizes the role of the hierarchy is to be conservators. He acknowledges that institutions are by nature reluctant to change.

At the same time he recalls the insights of St. Cyprian, St. Augustine, Pope Nicholas I and St Gregory VII: "When you have custom without truth, all you have is antiquity of error" and "The Lord never said, 'I am the custom,' but rather 'I am the truth.'"

Pope Paul VI consulted with Congar on more than one occasion. Perhaps Congar's insight influenced Pope Paul as well as Pope John. In his encyclical Ecclesiam Suam, August 6, 1964, Pope Paul wrote, "...when we speak about reform we are not concerned to change things, but to preserve all the more resolutely the characteristic features which Christ has impressed on his Church. Or rather we are concerned to restore to the Church that ideal of perfection and beauty that corresponds to its original image.." (47).

A Schism of Indifference?

Someone asked me recently, "Father do you think the American Church will break away from Rome, that we're headed for a schism?"

Her question was motivated by her disappointment with the hierarchy's handling of the pedophile crisis and by her perception that the reforms and spirit of Vatican II are being stifled.

I tried to calm her anxiety, recalling the old bromide Ecclesia reformans et reformanda, the Church is now reforming and always will be in need of reform.

My response was lame so I punted, "The Holy Spirit is with the Church, and despite our human failings, the Spirit will guide us to all truth."

Later, as I thought about her question, about whether a new schism was possible, I drew the uneasy conclusion that in a sense a schism is already taking place, a schism of indifference.

And to be precise, the break is not so much with the Church as with Church leadership. A segment of the Catholic population is simply ignoring the hierarchy.

It is not a schism born of rejection of the core beliefs of the Church.
These "schismatics" believe in God, in the Trinity, in the Bible, in the sacraments, even in the essential role of the hierarchy.

What identifies them is their conviction that many "rules" are unnecessarily restrictive, stifling the movement of the Spirit, impeding the spread of the Gospel, limiting forgiveness, and confining God's grace.

They meet to pray, to read Scripture, to discuss --to breathe. They participate in parish liturgy, they lead parochial programs, they strive sincerely to be Christian, they believe they are truly Catholic. They may be under the radar but they are there.

They are frustrated --upset about what they perceive to be a repudiation of Vatican II reforms, an unhealthy focus on power and control, the imposition of unnecessary rules and restrictions, and a paralyzing fear throughout the Church.

It's probably too dramatic to label this phenomenon a schism, even a schism of indifference. In his Encyclopedia of Catholicism, Father Richard McBrien defines schism as "a formal breach in Church unity brought about when a particular group willfully separates itself from the larger community." Strictly speaking then, this phenomenon does not qualify as a schism since there is no formal breach, no separation from the communion.

Nevertheless there are these pockets of disillusioned Catholics, begging for renewal and reform in a Church that seems deaf to their pleas, and yet they have no thought of ever leaving this "one, holy, catholic and apostolic church."

It would be a mistake to deny or ignore their existence, and a greater error to condemn them. The guiding principles are clear: Christ-like love, dedication to the Gospel, openness to the Holy Spirit, compassion for all who are in pain, and dialog, dialog, dialog. In many instances they have, I think, a valid point.

Family members don't always agree with one another, but their disagreements do not cancel the familial bond. Rejection is not an option. Respect is essential. Reconciliation is the goal.

Schism is probably an inaccurate description, but the growing indifference is very real. This is a sign of our times that needs attention.

A New Pentecost

I was reading The Second Coming by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), and found again one of the more insightful lines in poetry: The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty Centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Critics have given no single exegesis or explanation of Yeats' imagery. What is the "widening gyre?" Who is the falconer? What does the falcon represent?

The lack of consensus among the experts gives me leave to propose my own interpretations, and the freedom to change my mind with every reading. As America's librarian Archibald MacLeish insisted, "A poem should not mean, but be."

The poem's title suggests that Yeats was thinking of the Christian expectation that Jesus will come again. This parousia will herald judgment day. Yeats confirms that the world is falling apart and he sees some apocalyptic vision on the horizon forecasting a new stage in human history.

The line contrasting the best and the worst captures the formula for disaster. Jesus saw it: "The children of this world are more prudent...than the children of light." Edmund Burke saw it: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

On the world's stage or in the church's sacristy politics today seems to be in a downward spiral. Too many good people are disheartened.

I do not want to be counted among "the prophets of gloom" with whom Pope John XXIII disagreed, but I think we are in one of those valleys which characterize certain epochs of human history, including the history of the Church. Coming off the heady days of Vatican II, the Church has had to struggle to implement the council's vision and spirit. Many members are tired, some are discouraged; still others are afraid.

I don't sense much conviction about the mission and ministry we reviewed at Vatican II. The excitement of celebrating new forms of liturgy, the exhilaration of seeing Catholics and Protestants in friendly dialogue, the enthusiasm of lay involvement in Church ministry, the euphoria of the council's call to holiness re-animating the spirituality of the faithful -- all these prescriptions for aggiornamento have in my estimation slowed and become commonplace.

Jesus too sensed a malaise in his day: "We piped you a tune but you did not dance, we sang you a dirge but you did not wail."

Maybe the biblical visions and images of apocalyptic literature were devised to rouse a sleeping people to awareness and action. Maybe Yeats' "blood-dimmed tide" is an echo of "the sea tuned to blood" in Revelation 8:8. Maybe the beasts of Revelation 13 are mirrored in Yeats' vast image out of Spiritus Mundi in the desert sand.

Experts in poetry may well reject the spin I've put on The Second Coming, but I suspect Yeats would nod generous approval for I am convinced that he is saying, "We've screwed up the last twenty centuries. It's time for a second start."

Yeats' prophecy of the second coming reflects his belief that Christians might do better the second time around as they waken from twenty centuries of stony sleep.

Even in his day, St. Cyprian (200-258 AD) reminisced about an earlier time when "the faith of believers was warm with a fervor of faith still new."

I think this belief prompted Pope John to pray that his council might effect "a new Pentecost in our time," a new age when the best will be full of conviction and the worst will lack passionate intensity.