Doing religion

Just returned from a depressing talk about Carmelite spirituality. The speaker was a friar, in civvies of course, who chose to approach the topic by denigrating what he called 'religion'. A preliminary sneer about Pope Benedict 'doing religion big time' and enthusiasm for Pope Francis who wants us to seek God (unlike any previous pope, of course) set the tone and I'm afraid I switched off for a good deal of what followed.

Essentially he seemed to be saying that the silent and comtemplative charism of Carmel was about allowing God to find us 'where we are', which could as easily be in the world as in an enclosed cloister. No problem there, he was speaking to lay people and a few secular priests. What I found disconcerting was that he seemed to suggest (and of course I could have misunderstood)  that fruitful contemplation could be undertaken simply by taking out your Bible, reading,and interpreting it for yourself and that prayer was in any case about 'finding yourself'. Really? There was I thinking that it was an attempt to be open to God and that a little guidance from the Church might not go amiss.

Given that the phrase 'peace and justice' was bandied about repeatedly it came as no surprise that he seemed to think that all 'spiritualities' including the pagan were as good as each other.

Nor was it much of a surprise that he didn't like 'religion'. He defined this, essentially, as fixation on form, rather than content; in other words those who value beautiful liturgy, traditional devotions (rosary, Eucharistic adoration &c), frequent confession are superficial Christians who are judgemental of others (!) and make their liturgical and devotional preferences into a sort of false God. No understanding at all that such things are not viewed as an end in themselves, but as necessary aids to help us on our way as seekers of God.
Luckily I've started to read St Teresa of Avila, whom I expect to be more use.

He ended with another little sneer. If anyone finds Pope F. too 'challenging' they can 'go backwards' to their Benedict comfort zone but  note that he always taught that we must seek Christ in Scripture. Thanks, we knew that already. We just, like Benedict, find beauty and reverence a help in our seeking.

Hand or Tongue?

One of the slightly disconcerting things  in the early days before I had finally decided to return to the Church was watching people standing to receive Communion and taking the Host in their hand. I remember thinking that it might as well be a Ritz cracker for all the external reverence I saw. Now I had spent some time in the Church of England where communion was received in the hand, but then,officially at least, those receiving did not believe (and they were right not to believe) that they were receiving anything but a blessed wafer. Oddly enough we received kneeling at the -wait for it- altar rails. You know those nasty excluding things Catholic churches have largely got rid of. So my real problem was a perceived lack of reverence for the Host as the Body and Blood of Christ : in which all Catholics believe- don't they?

Well, no they don't, anything between 40-70% depending on which survey you consult. And it's hardly original of me to suppose that this might have something to do with the way they receive. I think you need to tread carefully here. Not everyone who receives in the hand is intentionally irreverent or believes otherwise than as Christ and the Church teach about the Eucharist. But many seem very casual and it seems quite likely that over time it can wear down that awe that I learned as a child when only the consecrated hands of the priest touched the Host.

I've just been reading bishop Schneider's pamphlet 'Dominus Est - It is the Lord' on precisely this subject. The bishop, of whom I hadn't heard until recently, seems to have become something of a poster boy for traditionalists and I'm none too keen on personality cults. But what he has to say is pertinent. He draws on a large range of patristic sources to show that Communion on the tongue became the practice at an early stage, while avoiding the propagandist trap of asserting that it was always so. He puts reception in the hand in the early Church in its proper context of purification and humble prostration. And he argues the compelling reasons for reception on the tongue while kneeling. Kneeling has been a sign of reverence and humility in our culture for many centuries: we kneel to those greater than ourselves and stand before our equals. Rather than take as our right what is offered we humbly accept the gift. In a particularly good image he likens such reception to the small child being fed by its parent.

So what do I do? Having thought about it for some years, but lacking the courage to be different, I was standing in line at the Cathedral one day behind some young overseas Catholics who all received quite unselfconsciously on the tongue and I just followed suit. It felt awkward for a while, but, as I was in any case used to doing it at traditional Mass, I soon got used to doing it all the time. But do I kneel? Afraid not: my knees are stiff and while I could get down without altar rails to help I could only get up again by hanging on the the priest. And that I think would be a step too far!

Habemus episcopum

The diocese of  Hallam at last has a new bishop-elect. Not much seems to be known about him and he hasn't set the traditionalist blogosphere alight, but as our parish priest said this morning, he's a Redemptorist so he should know how to preach.
Well, that's a start. A proactive, evangelising bishop is just what this rather stagnant diocese needs. One who, like bishop Egan of Portsmouth, will preach the Gospel irrespective of criticism and do his best to be a humble and orthodox shepherd. One who will not be complacent about the problems within the Church.We have a few such bishops already, may bishop Heskett be one of them.

Green shoots?

An elderly priest asked me a few weeks ago if I saw any sign of 'green shoots' in the Church. Well, 'no' was the answer. Fewer, mainly elderly, priests, (although there has reportedly been a slight upturn in vocations since 2005) resulting in more parishes having no resident priest and conversely priests, like Church of England ministers, having to take on several parishes; ageing and dwindling congregations; young people mostly abandoning whatever connection they had with the church  once they leave school. No, no green shoots, I said. Not in England at any rate.

But yesterday I was idling my way through various blogs and somewhere, can't remember where,came across someone who was trilling about exactly that: green shoots and 'springtime' in the Church. And why so? Because, it turned out, a 'dissident' Irish priest, who was forbidden to publish several years ago by the CDF, has had sanctions against him lifted. There's no sign that he's repented or acknowledged his wrongdoing in spreading material contradicting the teaching of the Church on (of course) sexual matters- that's what usually concerns dissidents.

This is a sign to those Catholics (the majority, I'm afraid) who have spent the last 30 years complaining about the 'repressive' nature of the magisterium and sulkily asserting their right to believe whatever is most attractive and convenient for them. (They do of course have that right, but they really shouldn't confuse their self-selected titbits with the Faith, still less sneer at those who disagree with them). What they think they now have is a Pope who is, if not exactly on their side, much more relaxed about what ordinary Catholics get up to, keen on concepts like 'mercy' which they interpret to mean it's OK to do whatever you like, God will always forgive you, and  happy to leave most matters to local bishops.

This is so depressing. We had (not that I was around for most of the time) two good, orthodox Popes for a generation, who worked tirelessly to undo the damage caused in the 1960s and 1970s and to set the Church on the right course post-Vatican II (which both men were committed to and of course involved in behind the scenes). And now that seems under threat, because we have, for whatever reason, a Pope who thinks and behaves like a provincial bishop and appears to have difficulty in articulating the substance of the Catholic Faith, instead muddying the waters so that dissidents can claim, surely wrongly, that he's one of them.

Given the head of steam building up over the forthcoming synod on 'The Family' which many people seem to think will be solely concerned with the hurt feelings of people who have entered knowingly into illicit relationships which should preclude them from receiving Communion, there seems a greater likelihood of schism than at any time in the last 40 years. This might not be a wholly bad thing and perhaps Pope Francis' pontificate will turn out to be the point at which we stop trying to put sticking plaster on broken bones, acknowledge that only a very few Catholics are faithful and rebuild from that remnant.

Not what I wanted or expected when I came back. But there is one important thing to remember: Christ has already won the victory. It will all end well- but there will be much to endure first.

40 Days Reflections

Our local 40 Days For Life vigil ended on Thursday. Unlike some vigils elsewhere and ones I've been involved with in the past, it was decided at the start that we would not approach women going into the clinic, so we can't report encouraging numbers of 'turnarounds'. What has been gained? I think the most important practical gain is that it's put people across the diocese who are or want to be involved in pro-life work in contact and it's energised those involved- everyone was very positive at our last meeting about doing it again in the autumn. And as someone said, it's always good to meet people who think as you do, rather than regard you as a bit 'obsessive' about the subject (and believe me, you can get that attitude from fellow-Catholics). The organisers reckon that about half the priests in the diocese, including the bishop, had joined the vigil at least once, which is encouraging: you can sometimes feel that priests, possibly from a well-intentioned desire not to look as if they're controlling the faithful, are reluctant to turn out.

The effect of all the prayer on both those prayed for and those praying is of course intangible. Going by past experience, I'll only know if it had any direct effect on my spiritual life some way down the line.

I had relatively few face-to face contacts. I mentioned the young man and the rosary previously; the flip side was the very, almost tearfully, angry young woman who, rather bravely, I thought, came up to us and abused us and described us as 'vile'. Even though I was once that angry young woman I've never worked out quite why opposition to abortion (a pretty 'vile' thing itself) causes such fury in its supporters. Of course, some women will have have had abortions and will feel they're being judged, but that wasn't my case.  I think it's because instinctively and very deep down you know that what you are doing in advocating the destruction of the unborn, is purely evil and something that goes against your deepest instincts - in other words being pro-life is part of the natural law inscribed on our hearts and consciences. And that you cannot admit. Equally I've never worked out why its supporters seem to think abortion a positive good as opposed to a painful necessity. My road to being pro-life started years ago when I was shocked by the glee with which a friend who worked in a women's centre told me of the number of women she'd helped to refer for abortion. I wonder how many of the women she 'helped' now regret that.

A Little Evangelising

I've been spending a few hours a couple of times a week at the 40 Days For Life Vigil in Doncaster. The other day I found myself there alone for a few minutes while the other person on duty moved their car. Inevitably someone came up to me. I assessed him at once: gaunt, scruffy, terrible teeth, can of beer in hand. Prison, tick, drugs, tick, I suppose he'll ask me for money. But no: he wanted to know if it was unlucky to wear a rosary as a necklace. I explained that a rosary was for praying with, so wearing it probably was rather irreverent. It turned out he had one at home and didn't know what to do with it, apart from a hazy notion that he should say 'that Hail Mary' with it. Then he asked why the beads were set out in different ways and I explained about the different prayers and mysteries  and how he could use it. Was there any way he could research this more? I dug out one of the 'How to say the Rosary' cards we'd been using and gave it to him and I think it's true to say his face lit up. And off he went, promising to pray for us.

I found the whole episode really moving, partly because, who knows, I may have sown a little seed, or watered an existing one - and this is why we need to be upfront and out in the world, not having endless parish discussions about the New Evangelisation. But also because, not for the first time,I was willing to judge someone by their appearance and write them off. I don't do charity at all well. Come to think of it, who evangelised whom? Perhaps I learnt more than him.

And another sort of evangelisation story: I went to a Latin Requiem in another parish this week for someone who had been a regular at Latin Masses in the area and a usefully active presence in the parish for many years, without ever becoming a Catholic (his wife is Catholic). But a few days before he died, he asked the parish priest to visit him and requested reception into the Church. The labourer called at the eleventh hour, whose reward will be as great as those who worked in the heat of the day. As one who skived off for the day and only returned in the evening I rejoice for him. And for the priest who had accepted him as he was and never pressured him, but whose example must have helped in the end.

Museum pieces?

I went to York yesterday (Saturday) for the annual Latin Mass Society pilgrimage. Part of it involves a procession through the city centre past the shrine of St Margaret Clitheroe in the Shambles, saying the Rosary as we go. It's always instructive to hear the comments- mostly bemused, some offensive- from bystanders. Yesterday as we entered the Shambles I heard 'Dunno. Must be summat to do with Museum'.

There's food for thought. What we think of as bearing witness to our faith (mis)understood as an exercise in historical re-enactment. Well, there were the men leading it in birettas and cassocks, but the rest of us looked pretty early-21st century. People are so used now to seeing re-enactment whether it's on TV where no historical documentary is complete without it or at historic sites, where women in crinolines and men in powdered wigs try to engage you (I still treasure the memory of the 'footman' at one establishment who greeted us with 'Hi guys'). So obviously this must be what people doing something inexplicable but clearly religious and in 'costume' must be up to.

So is that how people view religion now? Something to do with 'heritage' that a few nostalgics engage in? And is there a risk ( I know there is) that attachment to the older forms of Catholic devotion is in part an exercise in nostalgia for a time when the Church was so much more certain and solid?