Article: Learning to love bravely

DOUG MCMANAMAN

My friend's attitude towards policing is an accurate image of what our attitude in the spiritual life ought to be.

Years ago I accompanied a friend of mine, a police constable from York Region, as part of a ride along program that was in operation at the time. It was a fascinating experience, but what continues to stand out in my memory is my initial reaction to my friend's particular modus operandi. He'd drive up behind a car, enter the plate numbers into his computer with one hand, read the driver's record, then quickly move on to another car if nothing stood out. If, however, something were to appear out of the ordinary, such as a DUI, drug or weapons possession, etc., he'd pull the car over to investigate the possibility of a recurrence.

Initially, I felt rather uncomfortable with his aggressive approach only because I am not the type of person who goes out looking for trouble. "Why not just leave well enough alone?", would be an accurate formulation of what I was probably feeling at the time. By the end of the night, I knew I'd make a lousy cop, for things only appear "well enough", and an astute cop knows that evil always hides under a serene veil. I fully recognize the value of my friend's personality type, for it was through this approach that he's been able, over the years, to uncover and thwart many a criminal scheme.

I could very easily characterize my attitude as compassionate, sensitive, and peace loving, but in truth, it is nothing more than fear. I'd make an ineffective Protector of the Peace because, ironically enough, I love peace too much. Criminals depend on peace loving, non judgmental, sentimental nice guys like myself, but they cannot succeed as criminals in an environment made up of the shrewd and astute, those who love justice more than their own peace of mind and who are open to seeing in human nature possibilities and realities that some of us simply will not behold, because they are unpleasant to behold, such as the reality of free, self-determined choices that are evil, not merely misguided, much less determined.

Similarly, much of what passes for sensitivity and compassion within the life of the Church is often little more than fear of confrontation that stems from an excessive love of peace, notwithstanding that sensitivity and compassion are very important qualities in themselves, especially with regard to ministering to the poor and the mentally ill.

But the results of fear veiled as sensitivity often include things like grammatically awkward liturgies, lukewarm preaching more akin to Kool-Aid at room temperature than strong wine that cheers the heart and tweaks one's sense of wonder, not to mention a community (parish, school, or diocese, etc) that on the surface appears unified, but underneath is as divided as an old corpse.

"How often the Lord must look at us sadly and say to us in the silent language which we could understand if only our hearts were not so deafened by their fear, 'But I sent you into this situation to fight for me, are you not part of the army, the avant-garde of the kingdom which I have sent out to fight for me on earth?'"

Scripture makes clear that we are at war, not at peace: "For our battle is not against flesh and blood but against the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness" (Eph 6, 12). Christ warned of persecution (Mt 5, 11; 10, 16-25), and he said: "Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword" (Mt 10, 34-36). The division Christ brings is certainly not the kind of polarization that is forever the aim of those who belong to darkness, but the division that results from God's word proclaimed: "The word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword" (Heb 4, 12).

My friend's attitude towards policing is an accurate image of what our attitude in the spiritual life ought to be. Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh writes: "Too often Christians have the habit whenever a problem or danger arises of turning to the Lord and crying, 'Lord protect us, save us, fight for us'. How often the Lord must look at us sadly and say to us in the silent language which we could understand if only our hearts were not so deafened by their fear, 'But I sent you into this situation to fight for me, are you not part of the army, the avant-garde of the kingdom which I have sent out to fight for me on earth?'"

Christianity is primarily about the pursuit of the perfection of charity, and not the pursuit of "my own peace of mind". Many who have forgotten this have been lured away from the Church in pursuit of a more private, "New Age" kind of spirituality that promises peace. Some have remained within the Church, but have become determined to reform theology and worship to suit their new frame of mind. But the peace they pursue cannot be delivered, because genuine peace is a side effect of a life that pursues the perfection of charity, which can only be channelled through virtue, in particular the virtue of fortitude. The more our prayer is focused on growing in the supernatural love of God, and less on our own peace of mind, the more deeply will we be carried into the very heart of the mystery of God, who is Love. There we will rediscover those who are the object of His love, and the Holy Spirit of Love between the Father and the Son will return us back to the earth, armed with the fortitude that will allow charity to achieve its purpose. This is the charity that burned within the hearts of all the great missionaries and martyrs of the Church.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Douglas McManaman. "Learning to love bravely." lifeissues.net (2007).

Reprinted with permission of Douglas McManaman.

THE AUTHOR

Doug McManaman is a Deacon and a Religion and Philosophy teacher at Father Michael McGivney Catholic Academy in Markham, Ontario, Canada. He is the past president of the Canadian Fellowship of Catholic Scholars. He maintains the following web site for his students: A Catholic Philosophy and Theology Resource Page, in support of his students. He studied Philosophy at St. Jerome's College in Waterloo, and Theology at the University of Montreal. Deacon McManaman is on the advisory board of the Catholic Education Resource Center.

Copyright © 2009 Douglas McManaman

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Article: Thinking About Moral Absolutes

FATHER TADEUSZ PACHOLCZYK, PH.D.

When Pope Benedict XVI visited the United States in April of 2008, I had the chance to attend the opening ceremony at the White House South Lawn.

As I listened to President Bush's welcoming remarks to the Pope, I was caught off guard by one line in particular, a powerful statement that seemed almost too philosophical to be spoken by a United States president: "In a world where some no longer believe that we can distinguish between simple right and wrong, we need your message to reject this dictatorship of relativism and embrace a culture of justice and truth."

The President was expressing how we live in a time of history marked by moral relativism. This is the belief that there really is no right and wrong, just your opinion and mine about right and wrong, and we should simply "agree to disagree" and learn to get along. That is to say: you may believe that abortion, same-sex marriage, and embryonic stem cell research are fine, and I may not, but there's really no point in arguing, since everything is relative anyway -- morality is up to me and you to decide individually. In such a view, there are no moral absolutes or universals, and morality shifts freely with each person's perspective.

Ultimately, however, this position is neither reasonable nor logical.

If morality were merely about your and my moral opinions, the results would be disastrous. If I believe racism against blacks and the institution of slavery built upon it are wrong, but you believe they're okay, can we both go our merry ways and live according to our own morality? Clearly not, and the United States had to undergo a terrible civil war to address this very question. If I believe serial murder and rape are wrong, but you believe they're OK, can we both go off and live according to our own positions? Clearly not, since both positions cannot be true.

These obvious examples illustrate what each of us already knows, namely, that in the real world "relative" truth doesn't work. Suppose you and I each drive towards an intersection with a traffic light. If it were up to you and me to make up our own minds about what color the light is, without any reference to its real color, there would certainly be a lot of accidents at our intersections. What many fail to realize is that the moral world works similarly. Many people's moral lives are crashing and burning because they fail to respect the non-arbitrary markers of the moral roadmap guiding our human journey. They've slipped into thinking that they can make up their own rules as they go along, and that it's all relative to their own desires or circumstances.

In the movie Schindler's List, much of the action takes place in a Nazi labor camp. The camp commandant decides to take a young, Jewish girl to be his personal maidservant. At one point in the film, this girl has a private and very disturbing conversation with another man, Oskar Schindler, the protagonist of the film. With deep fear in her voice she says to him, "I know that someday my master will shoot me." Schindler at first can't believe what he is hearing, and he does his best to reassure her that the commandant is really quite fond of her. But she insists, "No, someday he will shoot me." She then speaks of what she had witnessed the previous day. She had seen him walk out of his quarters, draw his gun, and shoot a Jewish woman who was walking by with a bundle in her hand. She described the woman: "Just a woman on her way somewhere. No fatter, or thinner, or slower, or faster than anyone else; and I couldn't guess what she had done [to provoke him]. The more you see of the commandant, the more you see there are no set rules that you can live by. You can't say to yourself, 'If I follow these rules, I will be safe.'"

The more you see of the commandant, the more you see there are no set rules that you can live by. You can't say to yourself, 'If I follow these rules, I will be safe.'

Fr. Raymond Suriani, commenting on this famous scene from the movie noted how this girl was absolutely correct: In a world of moral confusion, in a world of moral relativism, there can be no safety, and, consequently, no peace. She understood that in the "world" of that Nazi labor camp, right and wrong had been blurred to such an extent, that she couldn't determine what was "right" even in the mind of the commandant. What pleased him at one moment might not please him in the next. And if he happened to have power, or to have a gun in his hand when he wasn't pleased, she knew she could easily end up being his next victim.

There are certain important truths and universal moral absolutes which speak powerfully to us as humans about how we must relate to ourselves, to others, and to society. We can draw strength from the prophetic and protective voice of the Church, which speaks tirelessly to us of these moral absolutes and points out the threat to our humanity posed by every agenda of relativism.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Rev. Tadeusz Pacholczyk. "The Obama Stem Cell Darkness." Making Sense Out of Bioethics (April, 2009).

Father Tad Pacholczyk writes a monthly column, Making Sense out of Bioethics, which appears in various diocesan newspapers across the country. This article is reprinted with permission of the author, Rev. Tadeusz Pacholczyk, Ph.D.

THE AUTHOR

Rev. Tadeusz Pacholczyk, Ph.D. earned his doctorate in neuroscience from Yale and did post-doctoral work at Harvard. He is a priest of the diocese of Fall River, MA, and serves as the Director of Education at The National Catholic Bioethics Center in Philadelphia. See www.ncbcenter.org.

The National Catholic Bioethics Center (NCBC) has a long history of addressing ethical issues in the life sciences and medicine. Established in 1972, the Center is engaged in education, research, consultation, and publishing to promote and safeguard the dignity of the human person in health care and the life sciences. The Center is unique among bioethics organizations in that its message derives from the official teaching of the Catholic Church: drawing on the unique Catholic moral tradition that acknowledges the unity of faith and reason and builds on the solid foundation of natural law.

The Center's staff consults regularly on life science issues and medical issues with the Vatican, the U.S. bishops and public policy-makers, hospitals and international organizations of all faiths. Vatican agencies including the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Pontifical Academy for Life and the Pontifical Council for Health Care Workers consult with the Center to help formulate magisterial teaching.

The Center publishes two journals (Ethics & Medics and The National Catholic Bioethics Quarterly) and at least one book annually on issues such as physician-assisted suicide, abortion, cloning, and embryonic stem cell research. The latest publication is an update of its Handbook on Critical Life Issues, which examines such topics as the theology of suffering, euthanasia, organ transplantation, and stem cell research.

Inspired by the harmony of faith and reason, the Quarterly unites faith in Christ to reasoned and rigorous reflection upon the findings of the empirical and experimental sciences. While the Quarterly is committed to publishing material that is consonant with the magisterium of the Catholic Church, it remains open to other faiths and to secular viewpoints in the spirit of informed dialogue.

Father Tadeusz Pacholczyk, Ph.D. is a member of the advisory board of the Catholic Education Resource Center.

Copyright © 2009 Rev. Tadeusz Pacholczyk, Ph.D.

Article: Virtue and the Art of Living

EDWARD P. SRI

I’ll never forget the instructor’s last words: "And if you happen to fall out of your kayak, don’t try to stand up in the river."

A number of years ago, my wife and I went kayaking on the Arkansas River in the Colorado Rockies. We had never been kayaking before, so we went with a group led by a guide who gave us lessons -- lessons that included the warning about not standing up in the river. "The river is not that deep," he said. "But it is very powerful. If you fall into it, don't stand up because the river will knock you right down. Just hold on to your life jacket and wade to the side."

We began our adventure on smooth, peaceful waters, with me in the front of the kayak and my wife in back. Things were off to a great start as we enjoyed the clear blue skies, the beautiful scenery around us, and the snowcapped mountains above. But we knew the rapids eventually would come, and that would be our first test as new kayakers.

Suddenly, we heard them: the roar of the rapids. Our adrenaline started pumping and we got ready. Into the rapids we went. kayak tilted to the left and the waves poured in. We jumped back to the right and were soaked again. We jerked left again and then straightened up just in time to push through successfully. We made it to the other side of the rapids and returned to safe, smooth waters. We passed the first test!

I turned around to smile at my wife and celebrate: "We did it!" But Beth had a look of horror on her face. She was frantically pointing forward and yelling, "Keep it straight! it straight!" She noticed that as I had turned around to celebrate -- prematurely -- the kayak turned with me. In a matter of seconds, we had done a complete 180 and now were floating backwards down the Arkansas River!

Going Against the Current

I eventually got us straight again, but it was too late. There was a large tree log that had fallen halfway across the river. While the rest of our group followed our guide around the log, we were headed straight for it. Our kayak brushed up against the log and was immediately sucked under by the river. We were left desperately hanging on to the log with our bodies being pulled under. Soon enough, we too were sucked underwater, swept away by the current.

Downstream I drifted submerged, choking in the water and having my rear end hit what seemed like every rock in the river. I didn't like that feeling, so guess what I tried to do. Yes, I tried to stand up. And immediately, boom! The river knocked me back down. In a panic, I tried a second time to stand up, and instantly, I was pulled under the water and swept away. After a failed third attempt to stand up, I finally remembered the instructor's words, "Don't try to stand up in the river." I held on to my life jacket, rose to the surface, and eventually made it safely to the side of the river. My wife survived, too. I found her alive about a half-mile downstream -- and we haven't been kayaking since!

It's hard to stand up against a powerful river. And similarly, it's hard to stand up against the current of our culture. There is not a lot of support from our secular, relativistic world for living a good Catholic life. In the media, in the workplace, and sometimes even in our own families, we do not get a lot of encouragement for going deeper in our Catholic faith, for building a strong marriage and raising godly children for the Lord. Quite the opposite. Many forces are constantly working against us, distracting us from what is most important in life and trying to knock us down in our pursuit to follow Christ.

Virtue: Skills for Life

If we want to swim against the tide of our culture, there is one thing we need that is absolutely critical. If we want deep trust and intimacy in our marriages, if we want to build a strong family life for our children, if we want to have true Christian friendship with others -- in sum, if we desire to live our Catholic faith deeply and not be swayed by the way the world tries to get us to live -- there is one thing we need that is virtually indispensable. And that's virtue.

No matter how much I may sincerely desire to live out my Catholic faith and grow in my relationship with Christ, no matter how much I may sincerely desire to be a good husband to my wife, a good father to my children, and a good friend to the people in my life, without virtue, I will fail to live these relationships well. I will be swept away by the current of the culture and my own selfish desires unless I am proactively swimming upstream to cultivate virtue in my life.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines virtue as "an habitual and firm disposition to do the good" (no. 1803). Think of virtue as a skill that enables one to do the right thing easily and to love God and neighbor as if it were second nature. Just as various trades and crafts require certain skills, so the art of living requires virtue. The virtues arethe crucial life skills we need to live our relationships with God and neighbor with excellence.

Flying High

When teaching about virtue, I like to talk about airplanes. Since my childhood, I've been fascinated by flying. I loved going to the airport and seeing planes take off and come in for landing. And when onboard, I always wanted to sit by the window, so that I could gaze at the sky above and look down at the clouds and ground far below. To this day, while most frequent flyers prefer the aisle seat, I still choose the window because of how enthralled I am about being in flight.

Now, here's a question for you: After hearing of my passion about flying, would that ever make you want to get into an airplane with me in the cockpit? No way! I may value flying and have strong feelings about airplanes, but if I do not have the skills to fly a plane, you don't want to fly with me as your pilot.

Similarly, my father was a surgeon, and I grew up often following him to the hospital and looking at books and pictures about anatomy and surgical procedures. I have fond memories of my dad as a surgeon and continue to place surgeons in high esteem. However, would you want to get on the operating table with me as your surgeon just because I value surgery so much? Hardly. Since I never went to medical school and do not possess the skills of performing operations, you don't want me serving as your surgeon.

This is all common sense. No one would ever get into an airplane with someone who doesn't have the skills of flying. And no one would ever hop on the operating table with someone who didn't possess the skills of surgery. Yet in our age, many people jump into business partnerships, dating relationships, and even marriages without ever asking the fundamental question of virtue: Does this person have the virtue -- the skills -- necessary to live this relationship well? Does this person have patience, generosity, prudence, self-control, humility, discipline, etc.? These are just some of the many virtues we need to love others and live out our commitments to them.

Value or Virtue?

When I speak at marriage and family conferences, I often ask spouses two questions. First: "How many of you value your spouse and want to treat him or her well?" Everyone raises their hands. Second: "How many of you do things that hurt your spouse?" Everyone raises their hands again.

It's easy to say I value my spouse, my children, my friends, and my God. And I may sincerely desire to love them all. But it takes much effort, practice, and grace to acquire the virtues I need to actually be a good husband, father, friend, and Christian. The virtues are like powers within us that help us to love others. Indeed, the virtues give us the freedom to love, and without the virtues, we are simply not capable of loving others the way God intends.

However, virtue should be understood relationally. The virtues are not important merely for one's own life; they are the habitual dispositions -- the skills -- we need to love God and the people God has placed in our lives. If I lack virtue in certain areas, that doesn't just harm me; it affects the people closest to me. They will suffer the consequences of my lack of virtue.

This is an important point to make. When I was younger and heard people at church talk about the virtues, I had an individualistic view of the virtuous life. I had a mistaken impression that virtues were something good merely for my own soul: for my moral development or my spiritual life. Humility, piety, kindness, prudence, temperance -- these and other virtues seemed to be simply good qualities every Catholic was supposed to have in order to be a good Christian. The virtues were like badges that made you a good "boy scout" for God.

However, virtue should be understood relationally. The virtues are not important merely for one's own life; they are the habitual dispositions -- the skills -- we need to love God and the people God has placed in our lives. If I lack virtue in certain areas, that doesn't just harm me; it affects the people closest to me. They will suffer the consequences of my lack of virtue.

For example, if I lack in the virtue of generosity, I will do selfish things that hurt my spouse. If I lack prudence and spend too many hours preoccupied with work and not enough time with my children, my kids will feel the effects of the imprudent way I choose to spend my time. If I often get overwhelmed with life and become easily irritated, stressed, or angered, the people in my life will suffer the consequences of my lack of patience and perseverance.

This is the most tragic thing about my deficiency in virtue: To the extent that I lack in virtue, to that extent I am not free to love. No matter how much I may desire to be a good son of God, a good husband to my wife, and a good father to my children, without virtue, I will not consistently give the best of myself to the Lord, I will not honor and serve my wife effectively, and I will not raise my children as well as I should. My lack of virtue will affect other people's lives.

Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (now Pope Benedict XVI) once said that in our progressively secular, de-Christianized world, we have lost "the art of living." Indeed, in an age of moral confusion, when the heritage of the virtues and character formation has not been passed on, we no longer know how to live life well. This new series of articles will explore the Catholic tradition of the virtues in a practical way to help us begin to recover "the art of living."

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Edward P. Sri. "Virtue and 'The Art of Living'." Lay Witness (January/February 2009): 10-11.

This article is reprinted with permission from Lay Witness magazine.

Lay Witness is a publication of Catholic United for the Faith, Inc., an international lay apostolate founded in 1968 to support, defend, and advance the efforts of the teaching Church.

THE AUTHOR

Dr. Edward (Ted) Sri is professor of theology at the Augustine Institute in Denver, Colorado (www.augustineinstitute.org) and a frequent contributor to Lay Witness. Edward Sri is the author of Queen Mother, Mystery of the Kingdom, and The New Rosary in Scripture: Biblical Insights for Praying the 20 Mysteries. His books are available by calling Benedictus Books toll-free at (888) 316-2640. CUF members receive a 10% discount.

Copyright © 2009 LayWitness

Article: The Shifting Middle

FATHER JAMES V. SCHALL, S.J.

In the Aristotelian tradition, virtue stands in the middle, between two extremes, a too much and a too little.

Aristotle thought that a non-arbitrary middle could be found. Prudence arrived at it, but did not constitute it. Aristotle's good man lived virtuously, not just any way. Our actions were judged midst the actual circumstances in which we lived our lives.

But suppose I have an argument about what is half of thirty. One man says it is twenty, the other twenty-five. Thus, their mean is twenty-two and a half. But all three views are wrong, though twenty is closer to the right answer than the other two.

Individual and political ethics today are full of ponderings about the "mean or middle." The going view is this: No real "mean" exists. Lacking a stable standard, the "mean," said to be "rational," is placed anywhere on the line from zero to thirty.

The state defines both the line and the mean. It enforces its law. The extremes become increasingly possible as the implicit "goal" of the shifting middle. "No enemies to the left," became a cry out of the French Revolutionary tradition. Its logic became inexorable. The line becomes a circle where extremes meet.

I think of these things in watching the president. On a platform or podium, he serenely looks now one way, now back to the other, on the one hand, on the other. He stands above the fray forever surveying the in-betweens. He judges not, lest he be judged. No beam in his own eye obscures his vision.

Between the Ayatollah and President Bush, his extremes, he is "in-between." He cannot act because he is on no "side." On abortion, he wanted as little of it as possible. In practice, he finds no limits. He sees no problem. He agrees with everybody. On this scale, anyone who claims limits becomes an "extremist." To maintain limits is "hate" language.

If Socrates hated anyone, it was the "sophists" -- wise gentlemen who, among other things, accepted teaching fees. They equitably explained whatever the young man wanted to know. They took no stands themselves. If someone wanted to become a politician, a warrior, or a poet, they would teach that. Words were more powerful than deeds. Without words, deeds lapsed into insignificant silence. With soul-moving words, the world could be changed, while it remained what it was.

Brad Miner recently remarked on the disappearance of the vocabulary of sin. (The Catholic Thing, June 22). It is only the word that has disappeared, not the reality. When we lose a sense of sin, we are confident that all our problems are caused by someone else, preferably by "structures" and other impersonal things that, indeed, cannot "sin." We want to reform the world not by becoming virtuous within ourselves, but by reconfiguring what is outside of us.

"There is a reason for being," Benedict remarks, "and when man separates himself from it totally and recognizes the reason only of what he himself has made, then he abandons what is precisely moral in the strict sense." He is left with "on the one hand and on the other," with nothing solid in between.

Re-reading Huckleberry Finn the other day, I realized that Huck's life was a struggle with his conscience about why he did bad things. It "warn't" his fault, of course. He was born that way. Even if he "felt" he hadn't done "nothin'," his dang conscience kept a-bugging him. "But that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong," he says to himself, "a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him anyway…. It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet ain't no good, nohow. Tom Sawyer he says the same." In fact, Huck's "no-sense-conscience" led him to do some mighty good things. The room it took in his "insides" was worth it.

Joseph Ratzinger gave two lectures on "conscience" that were published in English (Ignatius Press 2007). Huck was often a victim of ill-instructed conscience. But his conscience was itself vivid. "Conscience is understood by many," Ratzinger wrote, "as a sort of deification of subjectivity." This deification is what remains after we deny any objective cause of our own being.

The "shifting middle," when spelled out, describes the sophist who teaches us to do whatever we want. It is the legislator or judge who passes or interprets a law on the basis of what he thinks we need. It is the executive who enforces the middle between shifting extremes but takes no stand on right or wrong.

"A person's conscience ain't got no sense and just keeps going for him anyhow." It "goes" for him is because his soul won't let him alone.

"There is a reason for being," Benedict remarks, "and when man separates himself from it totally and recognizes the reason only of what he himself has made, then he abandons what is precisely moral in the strict sense." He is left with "on the one hand and on the other," with nothing solid in between.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Father James V. Schall, S.J. "The Shifting Middle." The Catholic Thing (June 25, 2009).

Reprinted with permission from The Catholic Thing. All rights reserved. For reprint rights, write to: info@thecatholicthing.org.

The Catholic thing -- the concrete historical reality of Catholicism -- is the richest cultural tradition in the world. That is the deep background to The Catholic Thing which bring you an original column every day that provides fresh and penetrating insight into the current situation along with other commentary, news, analysis, and -- yes -- even humor. Our writers include some of the most seasoned and insightful Catholic minds in America: Michael Novak, Ralph McInerny, Hadley Arkes, Michael Uhlmann, Mary Eberstadt, Austin Ruse, George Marlin, William Saunders, and many others.

THE AUTHOR

Father James V. Schall, S.J., is Professor of Political Philosophy at Georgetown University and the author of many books in the areas of social issues, spirituality and literature including The Mind That Is Catholic: Philosophical & Political Essays, On the Unseriousness of Human Affairs: Teaching, Writing, Playing, Believing, Lecturing, Philosophizing, Singing, Dancing; Roman Catholic Political Philosophy; The Order of Things; The Regensburg Lecture; The Life of the Mind: On the Joys and Travails of Thinking; Schall on Chesterton: Timely Essays on Timeless Paradoxes; Another Sort of Learning, Sum Total Of Human Happiness, and A Student's Guide to Liberal Learning.

Copyright © 2009 The Catholic Thing

Wednesday Liturgy: Where the Priest Should Begin Mass

ROME, JUNE 23, 2009 (Zenit.org).- Answered by Legionary of Christ Father Edward McNamara, professor of liturgy at the Regina Apostolorum university.


Q: Which is the right place or position to begin the celebration of Mass, bearing in mind the two tables: table of the word and table of the Eucharist? I have the experience of priests who start either from the celebrant's chair (which is either in front of the altar, or on the side of the altar), or from the altar, or still from the pulpit. -- A.M., Harare, Zimbabwe

A: The entrance procession and the beginning of Mass are described in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (GIRM), No. 50:

"When the Entrance chant is concluded, the priest stands at the chair and, together with the whole gathering, makes the Sign of the Cross. Then he signifies the presence of the Lord to the community gathered there by means of the Greeting. By this Greeting and the people's response, the mystery of the Church gathered together is made manifest.

"After the greeting of the people, the priest, the deacon, or a lay minister may very briefly introduce the faithful to the Mass of the day."

It is clear, therefore, that the priest should ordinarily begin a Mass with the faithful from the celebrant's chair. This chair, as specified in GIRM, No. 310, "Must signify his office of presiding over the gathering and of directing the prayer."

It is not liturgically appropriate to begin the Mass either at the ambo or at the altar because each liturgical place should be reserved for its proper purpose, the ambo for the table of the Word, the altar for the table of the Eucharist.

This is why liturgical norms specify that commentaries, monitions and other announcements should not be delivered from the ambo but from some other place. Once the initial veneration of the altar is completed, it should not be used until the presentation of the gifts. It is also better to wait until this moment before placing the missal, visible microphone, extra ciboria and other necessary liturgical elements upon the altar.

A related question is the most suitable location for the priest's chair. According to GIRM, No. 310: "The best place for the chair is in a position facing the people at the head of the sanctuary, unless the design of the building or other circumstances impede this: for example, if the great distance would interfere with communication between the priest and the gathered assembly, or if the tabernacle is in the center behind the altar. Any appearance of a throne, however, is to be avoided. It is appropriate that, before being put into liturgical use, the chair be blessed according to the rite described in the Roman Ritual.

"Likewise, seats should be arranged in the sanctuary for concelebrating priests as well as for priests who are present for the celebration in choir dress but who are not concelebrating."

To this we may add the suggestions offered by the U.S. bishops in the document "Built of Living Stones":

"63. The chair of the priest celebrant stands 'as a symbol of his office of presiding over the assembly and of directing prayer.' An appropriate placement of the chair allows the priest celebrant to be visible to all in the congregation. The chair reflects the dignity of the one who leads the community in the person of Christ, but is never intended to be remote or grandiose. The priest celebrant's chair is distinguished from the seating for other ministers by its design and placement. 'The seat for the deacon should be placed near that of the celebrant.' In the cathedral, in addition to the bishop's chair or cathedra, which is permanent, an additional chair will be needed for use by the rector or priest celebrant.

"64. 'The [most appropriate] place for the chair is at the head of the sanctuary and turned toward the people unless the design of the building or other circumstances [such as distance or the placement of the tabernacle] are an obstacle.' This chair is not used by a lay person who presides at a service of the word with Communion or a Sunday celebration in the absence of a priest."

Although these documents allow for a great deal of flexibility (depending on the design of the church), it is safe to say that placing the chair in front of the altar is not a good idea as it tends to detract from the altar's centrality. There may be some ceremonies, such as religious professions or the institution of ministers, where a chair or faldstool is temporarily placed before the altar and is removed once its use has ceased.

Locating the chair at the head of the sanctuary behind the altar was quite popular in churches in the immediate aftermath of the liturgical reform, and this option remains in the missal. However, it is not always the best option and this is why the latest edition of the missal has added the clause regarding possible impediments due to the design, distance or the presence of the tabernacle.

One of these motives for an exception could probably be applied to almost any church. In recent years there has also been a positive trend toward returning the tabernacle to the sanctuary in many parish churches. Because of this it is becoming fairly common to place the chair to one side of the altar often parallel to the ambo. This is usually the right-hand side as one enters the church, since the most common placement of the ambo is to the left.

This is facilitated by the norm in the new missal that the altar servers do not flank the celebrant but have a place of their own. It is easier to find a distinct location for one chair (plus a suitable seat for the deacon) than for a row.

Wednesday Liturgy: Marian Hymns at Offertory

ROME, JUNE 16, 2009 (Zenit.org).- Answered by Legionary of Christ Father Edward McNamara, professor of liturgy at the Regina Apostolorum university.


Q: Recently, one musician has told us during the class that Marian songs should not be sung during the offertory of a Mass. Is this true? Why so? -- D.Z., Beijing

A: I have often heard this particular "norm" bandied about but have yet to find an authoritative source for it.

The 2007 guidelines on liturgical music, "Sing to the Lord," published by the U.S. bishops' conference, give only general criteria regarding hymns. To wit:

"A hymn is sung at each Office of the Liturgy of the Hours, which is the original place for strophic hymnody in the Liturgy. At Mass, in addition to the Gloria and a small number of strophic hymns in the Roman Missal and Graduale Romanum, congregational hymns of a particular nation or group that have been judged appropriate by the competent authorities mentioned in the GIRM, nos. 48, 74, and 87, may be admitted to the Sacred Liturgy. Church legislation today permits as an option the use of vernacular hymns at the Entrance, Preparation of the Gifts, Communion, and Recessional. Because these popular hymns are fulfilling a properly liturgical role, it is especially important that they be appropriate to the liturgical action. In accord with an uninterrupted history of nearly five centuries, nothing prevents the use of some congregational hymns coming from other Christian traditions, provided that their texts are in conformity with Catholic teaching and they are appropriate to the
Catholic Liturgy (no. 115)."

It is sometimes difficult to find specific "appropriate" hymns for the preparation of gifts as this moment of the rite has received less attention from modern composers than the entrance and communion.

Since this is a new requirement in the liturgy, there are few older vernacular hymns for the offertory. This is probably also due to the fact that a hymn is only one of several options at this moment. Apart from a hymn it is possible to use the traditional Latin chant for the day; a polyphonic piece by the choir; purely instrumental music (outside of Lent); and even no music at all.

The question here is: whether Marian hymns should be judged as "inappropriate" for the presentation of gifts.

I believe we can be guided here by the extraordinary form of the Roman rite. In this rite the offertory chant is not an optional text but is proper and specific to each particular day or season. A glance at the liturgical calendar shows that the prescribed text for the offertory on Marian feasts usually refers to Mary. In many cases the offertory chant is taken from the first part of the Hail Mary, or a psalm verse applicable to Mary and occasionally is an original composition such as on the feasts of the Queenship of Mary and the Assumption.

Thus I think it is clear that Church tradition validates the use of Marian texts at least on her feast days. There are also some oblique references to Mary in the offertory chants on other occasions, such as the feasts of saints noted for Marian devotion. For example, on the memorial of St. Gabriel of the Sorrowful Mother (Feb. 27), the chant is taken from Psalm 115:16-17: "O Lord, I am your servant, the son of thy handmaid. You have loosed my bonds and I will offer you a sacrifice of praise."

With this in mind it would appear that there is no reason to ban Marian songs for the gifts, if there is a good reason for having one. They are certainly justified on Marian feasts and probably also during the Marian months of May and October.

They could also be used on other occasions, but I believe that the criterion of their being "appropriate" is important. They should not just be used as fillers because nothing else is available. The lyrics should also in some way relate to the feast or to the mystery being celebrated, especially those texts which bring out Mary's relationship with Christ.

Insofar as possible, just as all hymns used in the liturgy intended for community use, the text should preferably express an ecclesial profession of faith and not just a personal and individual devotion.

Wednesday Liturgy: Follow-up: Prayers Recited Quietly

ROME, JUNE 16, 2009 (Zenit.org).- Answered by Legionary of Christ Father Edward McNamara, professor of liturgy at the Regina Apostolorum university.


In the wake of our June 2 comments on the priest's quiet prayers, a U.S. reader remarked:

"Here in Boston I've often wondered why the Missal instruction to pray certain prayers 'inaudibly' is not only ignored, but the prayers themselves are changed, presumably to include the congregation. I refer specifically to two instances:

"The prayer during the washing of the hands is often audible and one hears: 'Lord, wash away our iniquities, cleanse us of our sins.' I'm assuming the celebrant is not using the 'royal we' here, and while I appreciate the sentiment, it's disconcerting, because precisely at this time I'm praying (silently) to the Lord to purify the priest!

"Prior to their reception of Communion, I often hear priests pray, loudly: "May the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ bring us ALL (that's not my emphasis ... that's the priests') to everlasting life." (To which the congregation invariably responds, understandably I suppose, with a hearty "Amen!") Again, I appreciate the sentiment, but it is while the priest communicates that I try to (silently) pray for his eternal glory. This sort of interrupts my prayer for him.

"I already know that these (and, alas, too many other) instances aren't in the missal. What I'm wondering is simply why do priests do this?"

Why indeed? I can think of many reasons, but in the end they will be merely speculative. I can only put it down to inadequate liturgical formation and a consequent lack of understanding of the inner dynamics of the celebration. Such acts betray a deficient grasp of how these personal prayers address the priest's specific need for purification in virtue of his unique role within the celebration.

The fact that the priest says these prayers quietly can also be a teaching moment in which he, through his devout attitude, teaches the faithful how to prepare for Communion. Saying this prayer aloud turns it into another vocal prayer, thus depriving it of its proper liturgical function.

This goes to show that fidelity to the missal, and not our personal ideas regarding community involvement, is actually the most integrally pastoral attitude we can have.

Article: Farewell to Judgment

ROGER SCRUTON

The sciences aim to explain the world: they build theories that are tested through experiment, and which describe the workings of nature and the deep connections between cause and effect. Nothing like that is true of the humanities.

The works of Shakespeare contain important knowledge. But it is not scientific knowledge, nor could it ever be built into a theory. It is knowledge of the human heart. Shakespeare doesn't teach us what to believe: he shows us how to feel -- case by case, person by person, mood by mood.

As universities expanded, the humanities began to displace the sciences from the curriculum. Students wished to use their time at university to cultivate their leisure interests and to improve their souls, rather than to learn hard facts and complex theories. And there arose a serious question as to why universities were devoting their resources to subjects that made so little discernible difference to the wider world. What good do the humanities do, and why should students take three or four years out of their lives in order to read books which -- if they were interested -- they would read in any case, and which -- if they were not interested -- would never do them the least bit of good?

In the days when the humanities involved knowledge of classical languages and an acquaintance with German scholarship, there was no doubt that they required real mental discipline, even if their point could reasonably be doubted. But once subjects like English were admitted to a central place in the curriculum, the question of their validity became urgent. And then, in the wake of English came the pseudo-humanities -- women's studies, gay studies and the like -- which were based on the assumption that, if English is a discipline, so too are they. And since there is no cogent justification for women's studies that does not dwell upon the subject's ideological purpose, the entire curriculum in the humanities began to be seen in ideological terms. The inevitable result was the delegitimizing of English. Unlike women's studies, which has impeccable feminist credentials (why else was it invented?), English focuses on the works of dead white European males whose values would be found offensive by young people today. So maybe such a subject should not be studied, or studied only as a lesson in social pathology.

People of my generation were taught to believe that there are human universals, which remain constant from age to age. We were taught to study literature in order to sympathize with life in all its forms. It doesn't matter, we were told, if Shakespeare's political assumptions do not coincide with ours. His plays do not aim to indoctrinate; they aim to present believable characters in believable situations, and to do so in heightened language that would set our imaginations and our sympathies on fire. Of course, Shakespeare invites judgment, as do all writers of fiction. But it is not political judgment that is relevant. We judge Shakespeare plays in terms of their expressiveness, truth to life, profundity, and beauty. And that is how you justify the study of English, as a training in this other kind of judgment, which leaves politics behind.

We judge Shakespeare plays in terms of their expressiveness, truth to life, profundity, and beauty. And that is how you justify the study of English, as a training in this other kind of judgment, which leaves politics behind.

This other kind of judgment used to be called "taste." When the humanities emerged in the late 18th century it was in order to develop taste in literature, art, and music. And so it remained right down to the time of my youth. The central discipline of a subject like English was criticism, and you taught criticism by getting students to raise questions about their own and others' emotions, and by exploring the ways in which literature can both ennoble and demean the human condition. It was not an easy task, but there were examples to follow -- great critics like R. P. Blackmur, F. R. Leavis, William Empson and T. S. Eliot, who had raised the study of literature to a level of seriousness that justified its claim to be an academic subject.

The same was true of art history and musicology. Both subjects involve historical and technical knowledge. But when they emerged as university disciplines they were inseparable from the cultivation of taste. You taught these subjects by way of introducing students to the great works of our civilization (and sometimes of other civilizations too); and all the knowledge you conveyed was designed to back up your principal endeavor, which was to justify aesthetic judgments.

To teach in this way is to run a great risk. Taste and judgment are faculties that we develop: they form part of the great transition from youthful enjoyment to adult discrimination. To teach them is to offer a rite of passage, into the adult way of life. And young people today are suspicious of rites of passage unless they themselves devise them. Their rites of passage are not from adolescence but more deeply into it. This, I believe, is the key to understanding their musical taste. The songs, styles, and groups that appeal to modern adolescents are invitations to join the gang. And criticism of their music by anybody who is outside the gang is offensive -- an existential affront, which threatens their core experience of social membership.

This attitude makes judgment all but impossible, and it is one reason why departments of musicology are now "into" pop music and Heavy Metal, and refrain from creating the impression among their students that they regard the Western canon as anything more than a piece of musical history. I recently had the experience of teaching a course on the philosophy of music to young people in a British university, and was acutely aware at every moment of the resentment that now greets any criticism of pop. Only comparative judgments are acceptable, and the comparison has to be between one piece of pop music and another. This is in fact an interesting exercise. You can learn a lot from comparing Peter Gabriel and the Kooks which you probably will not learn from comparing Bach and Vivaldi -- a lot about the varied forms of self-indulgence in music, and the many ways of failing to make voice-led harmonies or melodies that are capable of prolongation. But you are not allowed to judge. Lives have been built around this stuff, and they are lives that are armored against the adult world and determined to avoid any passage into it. Students would listen respectfully to my examples from the classics. But they were examples of my music, and in no way to be understood as examples for them to follow. Mozart and Schubert passed before their ears like caravans on the horizon -- the spectacle of a distant, exotic, and in the end irrelevant form of human life.

Teachers in subjects like English and art history have also encountered this flight from judgment, and it is one source of the crisis in the humanities, since judgment is what the humanities are really about. Subjects like English and art history grew from the desire to teach young people how to discriminate art from effect, beauty from kitsch, and real from phony sentiment. This ability was not regarded as an unimportant skill like fencing or horse riding, which students are free to acquire or not, according to their interests. It was regarded as a real form of knowledge, as vital to the future of civilization as the knowledge of mathematics, and more closely connected with the moral health of society than any natural science. It was only on that assumption that the humanities acquired their central place in the modern university.

The true conservative cause, when it comes to the universities, ought to be the restoration of judgment to its central place in the humanities. And that shows how difficult a task the recapture of the universities will be.

If, however, the humanities are to avoid the cultivation of taste, it is not only their central place in the curriculum that is thrown in doubt. Given their prominence in the modern university, and the fact that increasingly many students come to university who are unprepared for any other form of study, any change in the humanities is a change in the very idea of a university. Conservatives often complain about the politicization of the universities, and about the fact that only liberal views are propagated or even tolerated on campus. But they fail to see the true cause of this, which is the internal collapse of the humanities. When judgment is marginalized or forbidden nothing remains save politics. The only permitted way to compare Jane Austen and Maya Angelou, or Mozart and Meshuggah, is in terms of their rival political postures. And then the point of studying Jane Austen or Mozart is lost. What do they have to tell us about the ideological conflicts of today, or the power struggles that are played out in the faculty common room?

The true conservative cause, when it comes to the universities, ought to be the restoration of judgment to its central place in the humanities. And that shows how difficult a task the recapture of the universities will be. It will require a confrontation with the culture of youth, and an insistence that the real purpose of universities is not to flatter the tastes of those who arrive there, but to present them with a rite of passage into something better. And the word "better" simply raises the problem all over again. Who has the right to say, that one thing is better than another?

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Roger Scruton. "Farewell to Judgment." The American Spectator (June, 2009).

This article reprinted with permission from The American Spectator.

THE AUTHOR

Roger Scruton is a research professor at the Institute for Psychological Sciences in Washington D.C. He is a writer, philosopher, publisher, journalist, composer, editor, businessman and broadcaster. He has held visiting posts at Princeton, Stanford, Louvain, Guelph (Ontario), Witwatersrand (S. Africa), Waterloo (Ontario), Oslo, Bordeaux, and Cambridge, England. Mr. Scruton has published more than 20 books including, Beauty, Culture Counts: Faith and Feeling in a World Besieged, The Palgrave Macmillan Dictionary of Political Thought, News from Somewhere: On Settling, An Intelligent Person's Guide to Modern Culture, An Intelligent Person's Guide to Philosophy, Sexual Desire, The Aesthetics of Music, The West and the Rest: Globalization and the Terrorist Threat, Death-Devoted Heart: Sex and the Sacred in Wagner's Tristan and Isolde, A Political Philosphy, and most recently Gentle Regrets: Thoughts from a Life. Roger Scruton is a member of the advisory board of the Catholic Education Resource Center.

Copyright © 2009 The American Spectator

Article: Never let a crisis go unused

FATHER GEORGE W. RUTLER

During the persecution of Christians in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman prefect Rusticus was frustrated by the serene equanimity of the Christian convert Justin, a Platonic philosopher.

The Romans considered Christianity a superstitio parva (a perverse superstition) and classified its morality as immodica (immoderate) for, among other things, refusing to abort the unborn and "expose" the newly born. Bereft of rational arguments against Christians, Nero blamed them for burning Rome, as some would blame the Jews for the bubonic plague. The demagogic policy, updated by Lenin and made a political craft in our day, was "never let a crisis go unused."

Every great cause attracts its sociopaths who cloak their pathology in the mantel of righteousness. It is always wrong to do something intrinsically evil, no matter how good the desired end may be. If Jesus admonished St. Peter for cutting off a man's ear in an instance of self-defense, the principle of proportionality is much stronger when an individual wildly appropriates to himself the right to kill in cold blood. When an outlaw destroys life in the name of human dignity, however depraved and macabre the target, the raucous contradiction gives cynics a chance to exploit the crime. This is the manner of hypocritical Pharisaism, as opposed to the venerable Pharisees whose righteousness Our Lord said should be exceeded by his disciples. The debased Pharisees gave themselves a bad name because they cynically postured as scandalized in order to haul themselves onto a shaky moral platform higher than their opponents.

I cite the case of a man gone off the edge who committed murder in Kansas in the name of the sacredness of life. Impatient with rational voices, he said: "These men are all talk. What we need is action -- action!" He was rightly called a "misguided fanatic" but opportunists exploited the crisis to blame their political opponents. On the other hand, some deluded people actually defended and praised the murderer.

The Kansas killing to which I refer was the Pottawatomie Massacre; Abraham Lincoln used the term "misguided fanatic"; the opportunists were Southern slaveholders; and those who praised the maverick killer included Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. The "inventor of American terrorism" was John Brown, whose body "lies a-mouldering in the grave." A more prudent abolitionist, Julia Ward Howe, transposed the lyrics of the old song into a hymn of Christ who "is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored." The sane diction of authentic confessors of faith, as opposed to the demented, was very like what Justin patiently told Rusticus: "We hope to suffer torment for the sake of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and so be saved. For this will bring us salvation and confidence as we stand before the more terrible and universal judgment-seat of Our Lord and Saviour."

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Father George William Rutler. Weekly Column for June 7, 2009.

Reprinted with permission of Father George W. Rutler.

THE AUTHOR

Father Rutler received priestly ordination in 1981. Born in 1945 and reared in the Episcopal tradition, Father Rutler was an Episcopal priest for nine years. He was received into the Catholic Church in 1979 and was sent to the North American College in Rome for seminary studies. Father Rutler graduated from Dartmouth, where he was a Rufus Choate Scholar, and took advanced degrees at the Johns Hopkins University and the General Theological Seminary. He holds several degrees from the Gregorian and Angelicum Universities in Rome, including the Pontifical Doctorate in Sacred Theology, and studied at the Institut Catholique in Paris. In England, in 1988, the University of Oxford awarded him the degree Master of Studies. From 1987 to 1989 he was regular preacher to the students, faculty, and townspeople of Oxford. Cardinal Egan appointed him Pastor of the Church of Our Saviour, effective September 17, 2001.

Since 1988 his weekly television program has been broadcast worldwide on EWTN. Father Rutler has published 16 books, including: Coincidentally: Unserious Reflections on Trivial Connections, A Crisis of Saints: Essays on People and Principles, Brightest and Best, Saint John Vianney: The Cure D'Ars Today, Crisis in Culture, and Adam Danced: The Cross and the Seven Deadly Sins.

Copyright © 2009 Father George W. Rutler

Article: Devotion to the Sacred Heart Today

FATHER JOHN A. HARDON, S.J.

We may say that devotion to the Sacred Heart began on Calvary. When the Heart of Christ was pierced on the Cross, it opened the door to realizing how deeply Jesus loves us.

In return, He wants nothing more than for us to love Him with all our hearts. There is nothing that God wants more than for us to love Him without reserve.

What God wants more than anything else is for us to love Him more than anyone else in the world. I like the prayer of St. Claude la Colombiere, in which he asks, "O God, what will You do to conquer the fearful hardness of our hearts? Lord, You must give us new hearts, tender hearts, sensitive hearts, to replace hearts that are made of marble and of bronze."

St. Claude goes on to ask our Lord, "You must give us Your own Heart, Jesus. Come, lovable Heart of Jesus. Place Your Heart deep in the center of our hearts and enkindle in each heart a flame of love as strong, as great, as the sum of all the reasons that I have for loving You, my God."

Colombiere closed with a prayer of petition, "O holy Heart of Jesus, dwell hidden in my heart, so that I may live only in You and only for You, so that, in the end, I may live with you eternally in heaven."

This is the sum total of our Catholic faith. We believe that God made us out of sheer love. None of us, none of us had to exist. We also believe He became man to die on the Cross out of love for us. We further believe that He is present in the Blessed Sacrament with His living Heart of flesh so that we may come to Him and tell Him how deeply we love Him.

In today's love-starving world, how we need to follow the example of Jesus Christ in His unspeakable love for us. If there is one adjective that describes the modern world, this world is a loveless world. This world is a selfish world. This world is so preoccupied with space and time that it gives almost no thought to eternity and the everlasting joys that await those who have served God faithfully here on earth.

How do we serve God faithfully? We serve Him only as faithfully as we serve Him lovingly, by giving ourselves to the needs of everyone whom God puts into our lives. No one reaches heaven automatically. Heaven must be dearly paid for. The price of reaching heaven is the practice of selfless love here on earth.

That is why God puts into our lives so many occasions for loving people who obviously do not love us, or giving ourselves to people who have never given themselves to us. How desperately we need, especially in today's world, to learn that God became man in order to suffer and die out of love for us on the Cross.

That is what devotion to the Sacred Heart is all about. It is the practice of selfless love toward selfish people.

That is what devotion to the Sacred Heart is all about. It is the practice of selfless love toward selfish people. It is giving ourselves to persons that do not give themselves to us. In all of our lives, God has placed selfish persons who may be physically close to us, but spiritually are strangers and even enemies. That is why God places unkind, unjust, even cruel people into our lives. By loving them, we show something of the kind of love that God expects of His followers.

Devotion of the Sacred Heart is the solution to the gravest problem in the modern world today. How can we give ourselves to those who do not love us, who even positively hate us? We can love them, with the help of divine grace, by following the example of Jesus Christ, who died on the Cross out of love for a sin-laden human race.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Father John A. Hardon. "Devotion to the Sacred Heart Today." Catholic Faith Magazine.

Reprinted with permission from Inter Mirifica.

THE AUTHOR

Fr. John A. Hardon, S.J. (1914-2000) was a tireless apostle of the Catholic faith. The author of over twenty-five books including Spiritual Life in the Modern World, Catholic Prayer Book, The Catholic Catechism, Modern Catholic Dictionary, Pocket Catholic Dictionary, Pocket Catholi Catechism, Q & A Catholic Catechism, Treasury of Catholic Wisdom, Catholic Lifetime Reading Plan and many other Catholic books and hundreds of articles, Father Hardon was a close associate and advisor of Pope Paul VI, Pope John Paul II, and Mother Teresa and the Missionaries of Charity. Order Father Hardon's home study courses here.

Copyright © 2009 Inter Mirifica