actions speak more clearly than words

[Geoff explained difficulties trusting some of the teaching and implementation of Vatican II. I respond at length. Mid conversation ...]

Geoff: the Assisi incident made an impact on you. Truth is, I don’t know anything about it, at all. If you want to send a link or something, I’ll read about it. But off the top of my head, I can’t respond intelligently, although the incident was important to you.

I’d like to describe three incidents, and I’d be interested in your reactions.

The first was decades ago, and involved a gradual change over a couple of years. I read Evelyn Waugh’s biography of Edmund Campion, and was deeply impressed. A detail: when he left his 15-year stint teaching philosophy and rode toward his new assignment in England, the average life expectancy of Catholic priests in England was six weeks. He rode from Prague happily, and was a delight to travel with, his companions said. But also, they said, he dropped back from the group to ride alone to pray the Office with great care. His tranquility and his prayer were linked.

Well, I loved that, and I set out to learn to pray as he prayed. I learned my way around in the old breviary, and brushed up my Latin so I could make my way through the psalms, and visited a monastery to learn psalm tones. But after a year or so, I came to the conclusion that the Latin and the Gregorian chant were eye-opening and glorious, but were nonetheless a distraction. I wanted to focus on the psalms. So I switched to English, with Latin as a backup when I wanted additional insight or clarity. English was my own language, and I wanted to get at the meaning without distraction.

When I switched to English, I read a lot faster, and then read a lot more, and then read the whole Bible … and then made friends with many Protestants who also loved Scripture.

I’ve skipped a lot. But the point is, what brought me into a relationship of love and respect with many Protestants began with a serious effort to follow the path of Edmund Campion, a Counter-Reformation martyr. On the surface, it might seem that where I started and where I ended were diametrically opposed. But I think that times have changed, and the Spirit blows. I am pretty confident that Campion would (did, does) understand and approve. I think he led, and I followed. Catholics and Protestants belong together, not at each other’s throats. The war is over. I am a Catholic, not a Protestant; but the war is over. We have disagreements, but we are brothers and sisters, and the war is over. We are still arguing, like siblings, but we are keenly aware that we agree far more than we disagree. The war is over.

Second. I learned a great deal from a Reformed Presbyterian minister, a genuine Calvinist, who admired Cotton Mather. We had a wonderful discussion one afternoon about idolatry, struggling to understand each other’s views on Mary and on the Bible. He worried that I was worshipping Mary. I said that I thought my relationship with Mary was very much like his relationship with the Bible. Did he worship the Bible? From the outside, it certainly appeared that he was he was confused about the fullness of revelation: is “the Word” Jesus, or is “the Word” a fat book with a black cover? From the outside, he seemed confused; but having gotten to know him, I understood tranquilly that Scripture led him directly to Jesus, and he wasn’t confused or idolatrous. Could he see that a relationship with Mary did the same for me? I’m not confused; I know who she is and who she isn’t; and she has led me to know her son. I do see and understand that from the outside, a relationship on Mary can sometimes look confusing, but let me explain … [extended conversation].

The conversation was enormously fruitful. Because we trusted each other, we got past superficial errors, and got to the heart of the two questions. And we ended convinced: I was not involved in Mariolatry, and he was not involved in bibliolatry.

Third. Much tougher. I attended a conference on bioethics one year. It was a prestigious international conference, with lots of big names. Both major strands of bioethics were represented: (1) bioethics as an ethical system designed to protect the interests of the bios, of Mother Nature (that is, population control); and (2) bioethics as a secular approach to ethical questions about life issues (that is, a search for “neutral” language about abortion and euthanasia and cloning and such). I came as a fierce critic, an outsider, ready to argue. I thought then (and think now) that bioethics often functions as the priesthood of eugenics.

One conferee was a long-haired gentleman who worked in India. He brought four women from Indian villages (who were dressed in saris, and the four of them increased the color and beauty of the conference dramatically). I spoke with them a bit, and at one point I expressed a worry and a caution. I said (approximately, condensing) that the conference was full of intelligent leaders, but I hoped they would not be too impressed; I hoped they would not equate intelligence and sophistication with atheism. One of them lit up, and hastened to re-assure me. Yes, she said, we understand your concern! That’s why we brought our gods with us. Then she reached in her bag and pulled out a small jade elephant. I was totally unprepared for that. Not many of my friends have their gods in their pockets. We laughed and laughed.

Nothing inside me rose up in worry, crying out against paganism and idolatry. At the time, and since, I thought her response was precisely on target (almost precisely). But wait: wasn’t she openly explicitly obviously manifestly idolatrous? No alarm bells went off inside me; why not? Am I stupid, jaded, careless, privately idolatrous? I think not. (But of course, if I were idolatrous, I wouldn’t think so, would I?)

We didn’t settle down to talk about theology, so I don’t really know what that was all about; and I don’t expect I will ever know (this side of the grave). But I am pretty sure that the way she used a word had nothing whatsoever to do with the way I use the same word. I don’t think that she was confused about the power and majesty of her toy elephant, any more than Catholics are confused about the power of relics and statues. I don’t think she thought she was holding God in her hand; I think she showed me an outward manifestation of a belief, that the Creator knows us and responds to us, and that we should turn our minds toward heaven regardless of what others say.

I think idolatry is real. But I don’t think I saw it there.

I think idolatry is real. I know a man who lives in a gold temple, a shrine. The shrine doesn’t seem to have a clear focus at first; there aren’t any altars or icons or indications of who the god is that the temple was built for. Was it a temple to worship gold, to bow down to money? I think not; I think the gold points – as gold should – toward something else, something or someone worthy of golden worship. After a few disoriented moments, I think, it gets clear that the shrine is built for the exaltation of the owner himself. He is the god in the shrine. I don’t think he worships Mammon, although some people who are smarter than I think he does. He would never claim to be a deity, but I think the temple is an expression of self-worship. I could be wrong, but that was my impression.

Sometimes words communicate ideas, and sometimes they are just in the way. Sometimes you have to shut your ears and open your eyes to understand what’s happening. I don’t think the Indian women were idolaters, despite their words; I do suspect that the rich man was an idolater, despite his silence on the subject.

*******

It seems to me that this periodic weakness of words is key to understanding a fundamental teaching of the Lord. In his description of the Last Judgment, Jesus did not talk about creeds or beliefs; he talked about acts. It seems to me that acts reveal the heart much more clearly and reliably than words, and it seems to me that the Lord said the same. It seems to me that Jesus said: if you serve your neighbor with love, it’s because I prompted you to do so, and you heard my voice inside you and you responded to me. You may or may not know me by name, but you know my voice, and you respond to it. And by contrast: if you know my name, but refuse to respond to my words that I speak in the quiet of your heart, then you won’t serve my people with love; and when you say you know me, you are lying.