Pope Francis

I was going to point out an interesting inconsistency (?) in the encyclical Laudato Si. But this past weekend, I was confronted with major headlines about something else Pope Francis has said. It started with a Dutch news site, which was shared in a WhatsApp group:

Pope: contraception is allowed against Zika

Going to the Internet to find out the truth of the matter, there were many more such headlines from international news sources:

BBC: Zika virus: Pope hints at relaxation of contraception ban…

CNN: Pope suggests contraception OK to slow Zika

Wall Street Journal: Pope Francis Says Contraception Can Be Acceptable in…

New York Times: Francis Says Contraception Can Be Used to Slow Zika

Los Angeles Times: Pope opens the door to contraception in averting harmful…

Washington Post: Pope Francis suggests contraception could be permissible…

The Guardian / USAToday / ABCNews: Pope suggests contraception can be condoned in Zika crisis

Fighting my own little guerrilla war on misinformation, I posted a link to the actual interview. It was conceded that the Pope had not quite said it in those words.

There was a brave attempt by an alumna of the University of Nebraska to explain that ‘avoiding pregnancy’ does not necessarily mean using contraceptives. This is true, but while writing this blogpost, I heard that Fr. Lombardi has confirmed that the Pope was indeed speaking about contraceptives. Which makes a statement like the following difficult to harmonize with Church teaching:

On the other hand, avoiding pregnancy is not an absolute evil. In certain cases, as in this one, or in the one I mentioned of Blessed Paul VI, it was clear.

So not only does the Pope suggest that contraception is permissible to counteract the Zika virus, but he suggests that it is clearly permitted.

Of course, questions now arise why this should be the case for Zika but not for AIDS.

I think I will wait for the dust to settle.

So, what is the inconsistency in Laudato Si? This concerns the addressees of the encyclical. In 1963, Pope John XXIII made a significant change in addressing his encyclical on world peace (Pacem in Terris) not only to his fellow-bishops and the other faithful, but to all people of good will. This precedent has been followed in some other encyclicals, such as Caritas in Veritate (but, oddly enough, not Fides et Ratio).

In Laudato Si, the circle seems to be drawn even wider. In one of the first paragraphs, Pope Francis writes,

Pope Saint John XXIII … addressed his message Pacem in Terris to the entire “Catholic world” and indeed “to all men and women of good will”. Now, faced as we are with global environmental deterioration, I wish to address every person living on this planet.

A good will is not required; if you are a person, then Pope Francis is speaking to you, whether you are benevolent or hostile. However, further on in the document, this open address seems to be narrowed down again, in the first sentence of Chapter 2 about the Gospel of creation:

Why should this document, addressed to all people of good will, include a chapter dealing with the convictions of believers?

What happened to the villains inhabiting this planet? Do they not exist or are they no longer in view? Perhaps it is supposed that they do not read encyclicals? That would be a wrong assumption, because I have in fact read Laudato Si.

Questions, questions. Well, let me end with an assertion, again from Pope Francis, from the airplane interview that has so quickly become (in)famous. This is a good bit, in response to a question about the friendship between Pope John Paul II and Dr. Anna-Teresa Tymieniecka, that threatens to get overlooked:

A man who does not know how to have a relationship of friendship with a woman – I'm not talking about misogynists, who are sick – well, he's a man who is missing something. …

I also like to hear the opinion of a woman because they have such wealth. They look at things in a different way. I like to say that women are those who form life in their wombs – and this is a comparison I make – they have this charism of giving you things you can build with.

Patience

I have been absent for a while. Meanwhile, my friend Christy has not. She has set herself the task of writing a blogpost each day, for reasons outlined in the link. I don’t think I can do the same, but I’d like to try writing a snippet every Monday about a text that crosses my path, any text, a book or a sentence, it does not matter.

So let’s start here and now, with the story of King Saul which I have been reading. It’s a story I have been familiar with for a long time: the tall man chosen and anointed to be the first king of Israel. He seems rather reluctant at first, but comes to accept and even to love his position. When David threatens to outshine him, he hunts him (unsuccessfully) up and down through the land. Eventually he meets his fate in battle, dying together with his heirs.

Actually Saul’s downfall is announced before the name of David is even mentioned. A Philistine army is coming for him while Saul waits for the prophet Samuel, the one who has anointed him, to offer sacrifices. But because Samuel is late and the soldiers are starting to fidget and desert, Saul takes it upon himself to begin the ceremony. This is problematic because an Israelite king, unlike his colleagues in the Ancient Middle East (who are seen as divine beings), typically has no religious functions. So when Samuel arrives, he gets angry and tells Saul that his kingship is coming to an end.

There is one detail in the story that I never noticed before. It happens when Saul goes to Samuel for the first time, not with the goal of being anointed king, but because he is on a family errand and needs some help. Saul enters the city where Samuel lives and asks if the prophet is around. The young women answer him,

He is; behold, he is just ahead of you. Hurry. He has come just now to the city, because the people have a sacrifice today on the high place. As soon as you enter the city you will find him, before he goes up to the high place to eat. For the people will not eat till he comes, since he must bless the sacrifice; afterward those who are invited will eat.

The good example that Saul should have followed is right at the beginning of the story!

Tailoring Wisdom

I have started on a new phase in life: an internship in the parishes of the Westland region, a federation consisting of twelve churches. I still need some time to orient myself, so I cannot give you an impression at the moment, also because it is getting rather late. As it is time for the September blogpost, however, I will perform a desperate trick and pull an old poem out of the hat. Enjoy!

Tailoring wisdom

Voluminous billowing cloth that can embrace

all forms; sparkling in light of early morn;

true image of the folds of time and space –

the cloak of erudition lightly worn,

clasped and adorned with geometric gems

completed by a ruby at the heart,

vital eccentric centre. At the hems

seven dancing bells that resonate. In part

this intricate stitchment of energized human signs

seems like a yarn spun on the looms of God.

The chasubles, worn by our own divines,

present this cherubic aspect. Feet wing-shod

flutter beneath in ill-disguised employ:

a blessing on the gospellers of joy!

Omnia Instaurare

Today is the memorial of St. Pius X. At Mass the priest memorized that his motto was Omnia instaurare in Christo, ‘To restore all things in Christ’. The word suddenly looked familiar: the Greek word stauros means ‘cross’.

Intrigued, I searched for an etymological connection, and found one. The words instaurare and stauros can be traced back to the Proto-Indo-European root stā- ‘stand, set down, make or be firm’.

Incidentally, the Hebrew root for ‘make or be firm’ is ’MN, from which the Hebrew word for ‘faith’ is derived (emunah); from the same root comes the word amen.

Strength to the Creator

At the beginning of Aronofsky’s movie Noah (which I still need to finish watching), Noah encounters a wounded animal. A small band of hunters are pursuing it, and because they threaten Noah, he kills them.

Later, one of his sons (probably Ham, he does have the name for it) asks Noah why the men were intent on killing the animal. Noah replies that they thought eating the meat of the animal would give them strength. The son asks, ‘Is it true?’ Choosing the indirect reply, Noah responds, ‘They forget: strength comes from the Creator.’

I was reading today’s Gospel (John 6:51-58), in which Jesus says emphatically that the one who has eternal life is the one who eats his flesh and drinks his blood. Verse 57 struck me in a new way: ‘As the living Father sent me, and I live through the Father, so the one who feeds on me (*), even he will live through me.’

A comparison is drawn here: Jesus relates to the Father as the believer (or rather: the eater) relates to Jesus. What struck me about this is the connection between ‘living through’ and ‘being sent’, which is only made explicit in the first half of the comparison. Being sent implies executing a mission for someone else, giving your strength to accomplish someone else’s will. So the Son draws his life from the Father, but the life itself is expended in doing the Father’s will.

So, to extend the comparison: the one who stands forward to feed on Jesus thereby indicates his willingness to be sent by Jesus. The strength that is given is not appropriated for oneself, but is lived out in mission: the strength from the Creator is expended for the Creator in the practice of obedience.

(*) I have used the ESV-translation of the verb trōgō. Some Catholic exegetes make much of the fact that John uses a word with the graphic original meaning of ‘chewing’ or ‘gnawing’. However, Strong indicates that the word can also be used in the more general sense of ‘eating’. Hence the slightly more neutral translation.

The Violent God

Someone asked me to write about the apparent discrepancy between the loving God of the New Testament and the violence commanded, superintended, or executed by God in the Old Testament. While I think this distinction is oversimplified (cf. the last chapter of the Bible), I have done my best to answer cogently. The following response was considered unsatisfactory by the questioner, so if you have any ideas for its improvement, do share them. After all, it is likely that this question will be asked again.

In the Psalms, as in the entire Old Testament, there are texts in which God’s praises are sung, as well as texts about struggle. Questions can arise about how these relate to the double commandment of love which Jesus gives us: to love God above all and one’s neighbour as oneself.

Even in the Lauds of the first Sunday, whose Psalms are read on every feast day, we encounter this doubleness: after the Psalm of personal desire (“O God, you are my God, I watch for you from the dawn”) and the great canticle from Daniel (“Bless the Lord, all his works”), the last Psalm moves from song of praise to war chant: “Let the faithful celebrate his glory, rejoice even in their beds, the praise of God in their throats; and swords ready in their hands, to exact vengeance upon the nations, impose punishment on the peoples…”

Some say that the oldest text of the Bible is Exodus 15, the song of Israel’s liberation. Here, too, battle and praise blend together: “The LORD is a man of war; the LORD is his name. Pharaoh’s chariots and his host he cast into the sea…” The same goes for Psalm 136, with its recurring refrain “for his steadfast love endures forever”. The steadfast love of God is apparent both in his wise creation of the heavens and stretching out of the earth above the waters, and in his striking down the firstborn of Egypt. Verse 18 of this Psalm might sound paradoxical to our ears: “He killed mighty kings, for his steadfast love endures forever.”

How is this to be squared with the love of one’s neighbour in the New Testament?

Firstly, it is significant that the Biblical heroes are generally not impressive warriors. Again and again it is emphasized that the power of Israel does not lie in its strong men, but in God who protects the land. This becomes clear even during the military conquest of Israel, described in the book of Joshua: for instance, the walls of Jericho collapse because the people walk around them with the ark, according to God’s instructions (Jos. 6). But at the moment when the people does not act according to God’s will, even a weak army is capable of routing it, as happens at Ai (Jos. 7).

King David, the great hero of the Israelite people, starts out as a shepherd boy; he is capable of defeating the armoured giant Goliath because God decides the outcome of battle, and “the Lord saves not with sword and spear” (1 Sam. 17:47). This also becomes apparent in the rest of David’s life: he spends more time fleeing than achieving military successes. When he is in flight from the jealous king Saul, David refuses twice to kill his persecutor (1 Sam. 24 and 26); afterwards, in flight from his son Absalom, he lets himself be cursed without retaliating (2 Sam. 16).

So a tension exists in the Old Testament. On the one hand, it happens multiple times that God interferes violently to save the people of Israel from its enemies, or orders Israel like a commander to do battle. On the other hand, there is a strong realization that God accomplishes his plans not thanks to Israel’s military power, but precisely in spite of Israel’s weakness. Professional fighters, glorified in the literature of other nations, are treated with suspicion in the Bible.

This prompts the question: how is it possible for such a violent God to lead such a tame people? In my opinion it is due to the fact that God’s violence is always aimed at (1) liberation from the oppressor and (2) protection of what is holy, in particular God’s people, God’s law, and the city of Jerusalem where God’s temple stands.

The central thought of the OT is that God gives a country to his people, destined to become the place where God’s law is put into action. This presupposes an attitude of humility and obedience on the people’s part (no self-glorification and aggression!). It also means that this gift should be cherished: as long as the law is obeyed, God will take care of the rest. In other words, God has delimited a space and given it to the people in his particular care. Whenever this space is threatened, God acts, precisely because He bears love towards his people.

One could object that in that case God’s love is not universal. If God single-handedly kills 185,000 Assyrians in one night to end the siege of Jerusalem (2 Kgs. 19:35), then does God love Jerusalem but not the Assyrians?

This way of thinking seems too individualistic to me. For the very reason that God loves all people, He cannot allow his holy city to be conquered, because it is the place from which He wishes to grant blessing to the whole world. But that means that this city must be defended against enemies who would violate the holiness of the place (and so annihilate the blessing). You could say that the world sometimes needs to be protected against itself, by means fair or foul.

Throughout the entire Bible, the idea recurs that God loves the whole world and wants to bless it, but through the people (and places) of his choosing. It starts with the ‘father of the faithful’, Abraham. God sends him on his way with this blessing: “I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” (Gen. 12:2-3)

To extend his love to the whole world, God chooses Abraham; but that means that the enemies of Abraham do not participate in God’s blessing.

What applies to Abraham, also applies to the people and the land of Israel: hence the war against the nations that stand in Israel’s way. Jerusalem in particular becomes a place of blessing for the whole world: it is destined to become the place of gathering for all nations to worship God.

The land of Israel and the city of Jerusalem were places of earth, previously inhabited by Gentile nations and subsequently capable of being threatened, sacked and destroyed by hostile powers. Hence the need to conquer them and then to defend them, with the ultimate aim of safeguarding God’s blessing. In Biblical historiography, God has a leading role in this process: in this way Israel is reminded that its power is not in military violence, but in listening to God’s law. God creates a space for the consciousness that his ultimate plan is the creation of a world of blessing and peace, so that mighty nations beat their swords into plowshares (Is. 2:4) and there is no more war.

In the New Testament, too, God sends someone to be a source of blessing for the whole world, namely Jesus. In the hearing of the skeptical Jewish council, Peter testifies about Jesus: “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)

That is a reason why the struggle in the Old Testament does not resurface the same way in the New Testament: Jesus Christ is handed over and put to death (and the Father allows it to happen, He does not intervene this time), but He is then vindicated by being raised from the dead and ascending into Heaven. He is no longer threatened and needs no more defence; He has already suffered everything and is therefore elevated above all dangers. God’s blessing is no longer bound to a certain place, but is accessible everywhere, because Jesus is with us everywhere.

The Old Testament shows us how important the ‘holy land’ is and how much God loves and protects it; in the New Testament, it becomes evident that this kingdom is ultimately the reign of Christ, which is realized in heaven and carried in our hearts on earth, which we are all invited to do.

That is why the Old Testament remains a source of inspiration to me, including the tougher texts. It reminds me that we must be active in searching for a place where we can worship God in peace and with a good conscience (which may entail a radical ‘no’ to ourselves or others); that the sacred in our lives is vulnerable and in need of protection; but also that we cannot enforce the blessing ourselves, because it comes where and when God wants, greater and deeper than we can imagine in advance.

From Gorging to Gorges

I had nothing to say this month because I spent all my time reading: Umberto Eco, William Desmond, Barbara Tuchmann, the Book of Judges. I was disconnected from Facebook, no people around me; it was wonderful. Today, however, on the memorial of St. Ignatius of Loyola, I am going to Austria with a group of warm-hearted young adults, to spend a week mountain hiking and meditating while walking. Wish us luck! That's all for now, because I'm typing on my cellphone.