“A strong city have we; he sets up walls and ramparts to protect us. Open up the gates to let in a nation that is just, one that keeps faith. A nation of firm purpose you keep in peace; in peace, for its trust in you.”
G.K. Chesterton once described an optical illusion which came to him like a vision. He happened to be looking toward a large basilica; a train rested on its tracks at the base of, and in front of, the cathedral. As he looked that way, thinking of anything else, the train began to move and it appeared for a moment, as if the cathedral were moving and the train was still.
The Church was on the march! So it appeared to the journalist a half-century before the Second Vatican Council. How does it feel from within that vast building? Perhaps it's like the passengers in the train who see the station move as they sit motionless on their seats. The world is changing.
But, a half century after the Council, we feel the bumps, jolts, rapid accelerations, and sudden braking of a Church in motion. As I anoint Catholics in the VA hospital I can tell if they're attending Church when I say, "The Lord be with you." If they say, "And also with you!" they've not been in a while. "And with your spirit!" became the correct response on the First Sunday of Advent ten years ago, on November 27, 2011 -- except for when it was the correct response in the late 1960's.
And yet, despite its movement and worrisome vibrations the Church still rests solidly upon the Rock of our Salvation. Since 1965, when the Council concluded, some small fissures have appeared and a few splinter groups have struck out on their own, calving like icebergs off a glacier. But the Communion remains the same; we go with the martyrs and saints and the Virgin Mother as we follow the Shepherd. Protestant pastors have sometimes remarked upon the amazing resilience of the Catholic Church; their brittle denominations, built of agreement on controverted issues by people who feel strongly about their opinions, shatter at the slightest motion.
A sacramental church anchored on the Rock of God's word is not uncomfortable with the bumps, knocks, and sudden twists of history. We treasure our past and remember with pleasure the victory of the martyrs who defeated their persecutors. In every century, and every decade of all twenty-one centuries, we find amazing demonstrations of courage, integrity, and honesty that prove our fidelity. They are us -- our martyrs -- and we are them.
However, just as owning a house is maintaining a house, we reform continually. We do penance for our sins privately and publicly. We do not forget the scandal of our sins. Should we forget some sins or cover up others the Holy Spirit guarantees they will be published from the rooftops. (That too is God's mercy.) The Bible nowhere says that God has to be nice about exposing the sins of his people.
We cling to the Rock as a house clings to its foundation. As we must sooner or later regroup after the epidemic(s), we will find the Church has learned from the experience but is nonetheless the same Church of martyrs, saints, and sinners.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.