The Catholic Thing

By Robert Royal.

But first a note: Sometimes it goes right. One of the most iconic churches in Christendom returned to active use again this weekend. Resurrection to even greater life is a central feature of Christianity. And it's worth recalling that much else that we may consider beyond repair in our culture may just be waiting for the right efforts to come to life again. But that means making proper efforts and sacrifices on our part. Here at TCT we not only try to keep Catholic things alive, we're determined to make the presence of the Faith in the world stronger, broader, brighter. If you'd like to be part of those efforts, please, we're well into our fundraising campaign now and still need significant support. Your gifts can be a gift to many others in many ways. Just click the button below, follow the simple instructions, and we'll all still be here in 2025 renewed and ready for more action.

Now for today's column...

The re-opening of the Cathedral of Notre Dame this weekend reminded me of an experience I had there over a decade ago - and has stayed with me ever since. I was in Paris to give a lecture on my book about the twentieth-century martyrs. (The sequel, on the 21st-century martyrs, will be published in May for the 2025 Jubilee). I stopped into Notre Dame for evening prayer. There was just a small group of us - not even fifteen. Afterwards, the priest remarked that all the scaffolding had, finally, just been taken down. (There had been internal work being done for what must have been years.) He said, enjoy seeing the whole church again, but don't linger too long. The guards and other workers had to lock up and get home.

I must have been the sole non-Parisian because everyone else just vanished. And, marvelously, I had Notre Dame de Paris all to myself for a few minutes. It felt like being engulfed, not so much by the beauties of the building, which are countless, to be sure. But you can mostly see those even when the church is full of tourists. What struck me, without thinking about it, was the length and breadth and height of Notre Dame, and the sheer scope of the Faith in France, with its centuries of great geniuses and saints - and also, alas, since the French Revolution, its many martyrs and apostates.

Outside the main entrance on the Parvis Notre Dame-Place John Paul II, it was the hour entre le chien et le loup. A vivid old expression about uncertainty at dusk, when you can't distinguish "between a dog and a wolf." (In the countryside, where the phrase probably originated, meeting a dog in the dark is okay. Meeting a wolf is not.) There's a medallion in the pavement there marking Point Zéro, the center of Paris and of France. I think that's still the case, though for many French and millions of tourists, the specialty boutiques and the high-end restaurants and the now-lost bohemianism of the Left Bank are what the city and the country are all about.

No longer the "Eldest Daughter of the Church," but the Eldest Estranged Daughter.

And yet. . . .There's no denying that much of the world is somehow relieved, even celebrating, that Notre Dame survived. The unexpected size and number of donations - a billion euros, probably a little larger than the actual costs of repair, a lot from America - attest to the fact. And the pictures of the now bright interior - secondary controversies about altar and vestment designs aside - present a stunning Catholic image, without recent rival.

There's something more to it also, a sense as if among so many other priceless things that our world has lost, this one at least, in the end, had to be saved. And was. And more importantly, at least for some of us, points towards something.

Which is why it is unfortunate that Pope Francis decided not to attend the re-opening. He sent a message encouraging the French to reclaim their heritage. Lord knows they need it. Even French President Macron said that Notre Dame "tells us how much meaning and transcendence help us to live in this wo...

By David G Bonagura, Jr...

Advent curiously proceeds from the future to the past, from the arrival of Christ at the end of time to the arrival of the infant Christ millennia ago at Bethlehem. The bridge joining the two is St. John the Baptist's message that still applies for us in the present: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." (Matthew 3:2)

We hear the Baptist's charge on the second Sunday of Advent but we rarely dwell on it. Bridges may be pretty to look at, but they are not destinations. We hurry across with a quick glance on our way to more important matters: shopping, decorating, feasting, opening our presents.

Yet John won't let us pass him unnoticed. Determined to penetrate our ears, now stuffed with air pods, he shouts a message that we must heed or suffer the consequences:

I baptize you with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire. (Matthew 3:11-12)

Only repentance - expressing sorrow for sin and asking for forgiveness - prepares us for Christ's birth. The road to Bethlehem runs wide through the wilderness by the Jordan. It's a rough road, quite out of the way, but the only way to the newborn king.

Bethlehem means "house of bread." What do we find there? The Word made flesh, the Bread of Life, whose flesh is life for the world. "My flesh is food indeed." (John 6:55) Jesus comes to us in the Incarnation so we "may have life, and have it abundantly." (John 10:10) He nourishes our flesh with His own: "He who eats me will live because of me. This is the bread which came down from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live forever." (John 6:57-58)

So what are we really preparing for in Advent? Yes, the birth of Christ, which is not only an end in itself (we simply sit with the Lord, adoring alongside the shepherds and Magi) but also a means to an end: it brings about our redemption. The Son of God has taken on flesh. He then gives us His flesh in the Eucharist so we can prepare to meet Him when He comes again in triumph.

The Advent of Christ in the flesh, then, sends us back to the future Advent that we celebrated first. And we arrive back there via the same bridge we crossed earlier: through repentance of sin as preached by the Baptist.

Repentance is not a singular occurrence. We must repent daily because as we live, we inevitably sin. The Church urges a nightly examination of conscience to foster a habit of repentance. But our sorrow turns to joy, for we know the two sides of the bridge: the infant Christ and the judging Christ. Each fills us with awe. Each spurs us to action. Each calls us to a greater love.

The incarnation brings about our deification. "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Corinthians 5:21) "God became man so that man might become God." (St. Augustine)

The Eucharist allows the incarnate God to deify us from within. As we digest Him, we become more like Him. Our repentance prepares us to receive Him, who then provides us power to resist sin and to love more courageously. The Eucharist is the sacrament of love, which is the motive for and the means of repentance. In uniting love and repentance, the Eucharist also unites the two comings of Christ.

If John the Baptist is the bridge between the two Advents, the Eucharist is the bridge's vertical suspender and cables. Anchored deep in the sea and stretching skyward, it supports the entire bridge, equally present to both its ends that become one through it. It is not just functional, but beautiful.

Hence, for the Eucharist, we stop look up, and adore. Past and present become one in it because it is He who is "the Alpha and the Omega, the first and t...

By George J. Marlin.

But first a note from Robert Royal: Everyone knows that Catholics supported the president-elect in surprising numbers. But today, George Marlin, drawing on information from one of the Trump pollsters, makes clear just how surprising a turn it is, especially among Hispanics. Most analysts have expected that Hispanics would remain faithful to the Democrats, but it seems they are more faithful to basic realities like work, family, faith, and much more. It remains to be seen whether that support will translate into actual changes in the country. But it's encouraging. And it's on hopes like these that this site stays at its tasks. We're getting late into this fundraising campaign and still have a way to go. So, the time to make your contribution to this work is now. The world won't wait. And neither can we. It's easy - and did I say tax-deductible? Just click the button.

Now for today's column...

My book, The American Catholic Voter: 200 Years of Political Impact, was published twenty years ago. That work tells the story of European Catholics who arrived on America's shores in the 1800s and early 1900s with only the clothes on their backs, worked through their parishes and neighborhoods to overcome nativist bigotry, and became a significant voice in local, state, and national politics.

For most of the 20th century, those white ethnics were an important voting bloc in the Democratic Party. But in the post-Vatican II culture wars, they flocked into the arms of Republicans Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan.

In the 21st century, the white population in general, and white Catholics in particular, have been a declining electoral force. In 1970, 88 percent of the voting population was white; today it is 67 percent. Most of the Catholic "Nixon Democrats" have died and many of their children and grandchildren are "Cafeteria" Catholics who no longer respect the moral teachings of the Church.

But the Hispanic population (60 percent Catholic) has been growing by leaps and bounds. In 1970, there were 8.9 million Hispanics living in the United States; in 2022, that number hit 63.7 million - 19 percent of all Americans.

As for eligible Hispanic voters, in 1988 they totaled 7.7 million. Now it's 36.2 million. That number is expected to grow annually because 29 percent of Hispanics are currently under eighteen. Hispanic voters are changing the nation's political landscape. And that development was evident in this year's presidential election.

To win, Trump needed more than the aging white Catholic vote in the seven swing states. His campaign, therefore, targeted working-class minorities, particularly Hispanics, to get him over the finish line. The campaign's outreach paid off. Catholics provided the margins of victory in the closely contested swing states.

For the complete statistics, you can see them on the text version of today's column.

As for the overall 2024 national generic Catholic vote, 58 percent supported Trump, 40 percent Harris. Even more striking, 66 percent of Catholics who attend Mass at least once a week, cast their ballot for Trump. Those who go to church only a few times a year voted 56 percent Trump.

The votes of white Catholics broke 61 percent Trump, 35 percent Harris. Hispanic Catholics supported Trump, 53 percent to 46 percent over Harris. In 2024, Trump garnered 45 percent of the total Hispanic vote versus 32 percent in 2020, and 29 percent in 2016. In 2020, Biden carried Hispanics by 41 points while Harris won by only 4 points - a whopping 54 percent swing.

The age distribution of the Hispanic vote is interesting. Forty-eight percent of Hispanics under the age of 44 cast their vote for Trump. Those over 65 voted 58 percent Trump, 41 percent Harris. Hispanic men voted 55 percent Trump, 43 percent Harris. Only Hispanic women went for Harris (60 percent, only 38 percent for Trump).

One extraordinary result: Starr County, Texas, the most Hispanic county in the nation (97 percent Mexican-American) had voted...

By Michael Pakaluk.

But first a note from Robert Royal: Professor Pakaluk - who I'm happy to say will be with us at our January 25th anniversary gala next month (click here for tickets) - explains today what has gone wrong with our whole educational system as well as the consequences for all of us as individuals and as a society. It's going to take serious effort to repair that loss, but there's no alternative, unless we're willing to live in inhuman chaos. The Church is the only institution capable of leading such a recovery and here at The Catholic Thing we try to do our part daily, every day of the year. In fact, we're stepping up our efforts with courses, seminars, podcasts, and more. I'm sure you know this. So if you haven't already given during this end-of-year campaign, please do your part in this great work. There are many ways to send support. Pick one. Please. Today.

Now for today's column...

Readers of Newman's Idea of a University are perhaps so distracted by its two brilliant opening arguments that they fail to notice other arguments as important, such as his claim that a university must have colleges, or that a university education must be classical.

His first brilliant argument is that since a university is a place of universal learning, then a "secular" university, which excludes the discipline of theology, will not be a genuine university and will suffer various ill effects. His second is that, as a university is different from a research institute, its main purpose is not "the production of knowledge," but the formation of intellectual virtues in its students - what he describes as the distinctive beauty of the mind.

Newman could see that a new conception of a university was taking shape, as a knowledge factory dominated by STEM subjects (as we call them), in the service of industry and the military, disregarding the genuine intellectual good of the students, and not orientated to any sort of "wisdom." Anyone who accepted his two main brilliant arguments would reject this novel conception.

Yet his argument that a university education must be classical obviously cuts against this conception as well. (See the chapter in The Idea, "Christianity and Letters."

The argument has similarities with Pope Benedict's famous lecture at Regensburg, where the Holy Father taught that Christianity's appropriation of Greek thought was providential, not accidental. And that theology therefore must lose its way if it becomes "de-Hellenized." Newman teaches similarly that higher education must lose its way if it turns from the Classics.

He begins by arguing that there is a such a thing as "Civilization." His view is nuanced. He acknowledges Chinese, Hindu, Aztec, and Saracen civilizations, but he says that each is isolated from the others and stands outside another distinct whole, which he contemplates:

I call then this commonwealth pre-eminently and emphatically Human Society, and its intellect the Human Mind, and its decisions the sense of mankind, and its disciplined and cultivated state Civilization in the abstract, and the territory on which it lies the orbis terrarum, or the World.

Readers will see immediately that all "woke" controversies hinge on this question whether there was and is this Civilization, as Newman asserts.

His next step is to say that Christianity once it arises becomes generally coincident with this Civilization: "on the whole, the two have occupied one and the same orbis terrarum. Often indeed they have even moved pari passu, and at all times there has been found the most intimate connexion between them."

Readers familiar with Newman's Apologia pro Vita Sua know that the conception "what the world as a whole judges" was central, too, to his embrace of Catholicism.

From this intimate connection, Newman argues to a similarity of structure and inspiration: "the Classics, and the subjects of thought and the studies to which they give rise. . .have ever, on the whole, been the instruments of education whic...

By Fr. Gerald E. Murray.

But first a note from Robert Royal: Our colleague Fr. Gerald Murray tells a story today that we hear all too rarely: the decades of satisfaction and enjoyment that priests, religious, and laypeople experience by living lives faithful to Catholic truth. There are many challenges to such lives today, both outside and inside the Church. But it's by persisting in the hope of better days that we will keep the Faith alive in our time - and beyond. At The Catholic Thing, we're committed to staying in that fight and not growing weary despite the struggles. I'm quite sure that you, our readers, come here regularly because you share that perspective. Which is why I feel confident in asking you to show that commitment by supporting our work. The harvest could be great if the workers can stay in the field. Please, don't delay. Support The Catholic Thing today.

Now for today's column...

I was ordained a priest on December 1, 1984, by the late Archbishop John J. O'Connor at New York's St. Patrick's Cathedral. Forty years later, I am moved to thank God for all that He has done for me in my life. I entered the seminary with a desire to serve as a Catholic priest, and that was granted to me. I had excellent teachers at St. Joseph's Seminary, Dunwoodie, NY. In Rome, Pope John Paul II was leading the Church in the path of true renewal in fidelity to Catholic doctrine amidst the various crises that had arisen in the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council. That effort would continue under one of the greatest theologians ever to become pope, Benedict XVI.

No newly ordained priest knows what the future holds for him beyond his first assignment. I was sent to serve at St. Athanasius Church in the Bronx under a holy pastor, Monsignor Raul del Valle, a Cuban priest exiled by Fidel Castro. It was a short but instructive assignment. I then served in three other city parishes before being sent to Rome to study canon law. My gratitude to Cardinal O'Connor for this assignment is heartfelt: knowing canon law has proven immensely useful in my analyzing and commenting upon what is happening in the Church - on television, radio, and at The Catholic Thing.

The life of the Church these past forty years has been marked by devastating revelations of passivity and cover-ups by bishops regarding horrific crimes of sexual abuse of minors (and adults) by priests, bishops, and cardinals. A cowardly refusal to confront evil was standard operating procedure until the veil was ripped off and the harm caused to innocent victims by unchaste clergy - and their protectors - became known.

Catholic moral teaching has been subject to a relentless assault by prominent theologians. The repudiation of reverence in the sacred liturgy in favor of self-expression (in reality, self-worship) has become widespread and is by now almost expected. This was abetted in the past by ineffective Vatican interventions - and now by the outright indulgence of the perennial temptation to reduce worship of God to self-congratulatory affirmations of human genius and accomplishments.

Catholic unity in faith, morals, worship, and discipline depends, in large measure, upon the willingness of those in authority to reverently and gratefully acknowledge and conform to Catholic teaching and practice, which are blessings of Divine providence. The defense of that unity, which is a fruit of fidelity to what has been handed on to us by the Church, is now treated cavalierly as unhealthy, retrograde, and rigid. It's regarded as an infantile clinging to the familiar, a fearful refusal to break out of an obsolete form of Christianity, a prideful claim of unattainable certainty. Believers are, instead, being called to embrace ambiguities and nuance, as if the world didn't already have enough of those.

The motto "To restore all things in Christ" has been stunningly replaced by a coercive demand that we submit ourselves to a seemingly never-ending "synodal" re-education, an amorphous categor...

ByFrancis X. Maier

But first a note from Robert Royal: As Fran Maier makes clear today, one of the principles that distinguishes Catholics from many Protestants is a theological point with practical consequences. All Christians should know that our salvation is a free gift from God. None of us earns Heaven. But Catholics believe that accepting God's grace should also lead us to become doers of the word as well as hearers. It's like being a reader of The Catholic Thing but. . .well, best not to draw a humble parallel with the greatness of the Faith. Still, we need those of you who can do something to do so. We welcome readers who cannot contribute financial support, but those of us who can give to make up for those who cannot help others to the Way as well. But you know all this. So what are you waiting for? If you haven't already, please do what you can for The Catholic Thing right away.

Now for today's column...

Words matter. They express but also shape our thoughts, which in turn frame the way we live. Here's an example: The words of the Nicene Creed are crucial to Christian belief. They've summarized and guided the Christian faith for 1,700 years. We recite them routinely every Sunday at Mass, but there was nothing routine in their origin. Good people argued, fought, and died in formulating them, and their influence over the centuries has been massive. Simply put, words matter for two reasons. They convey or distort reality, and they enrich or mislead both the persons who hear them, and the persons who use them.

As a result, if words become corrupted, wrote the philosopher Josef Pieper (in Abuse of Language, Abuse of Power), "human existence itself will not remain unaffected and untainted." He described the intentional abuse of language - so common in modern politics - as "an instrument of rape" because it violates the human right to truth. But sloppiness, inaccuracy, and well-intended compromise in the use of language can be just as damaging as deceit in their effects. We can gradually lose our convictions by draining away the strength of the words we use to express them.

This is why I've always found the Epistle of James so compelling, especially during Advent. Written by James the Less, chief elder of the early Church in Jerusalem, the text makes for a bracing read. It's clear. It's forceful, It's practical. And it's brief.

While his spirit is fraternal and his intent is to encourage the faithful, James has very little time for ambiguity or excuses. There's an urgency, a zeal, to his words that flows directly from his witness to a world-changing event, the resurrection of Jesus Christ. His message is simple: The "before" and the "after" of Christ's mission are two radically distinct realities. And unless self-described Christians want to lie to themselves and everyone else, they need to act in accord with what they claim to believe.

The letter's central message is found in verses 1:22 through 1:25:

Be doers of the word and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who observes his natural face in a mirror; for he observes himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But he who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer that acts, he shall be blessed in his doing.

The theme is reprised in verses 2:14 through 2:17:

What does it profit, my brethren, if a man says he has faith but has not works? Can his faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and in lack of daily food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace be warmed and filled," without giving them the things needed for the body, what does it profit? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

For James, "even the demons believe - and shudder." The faith of demons is lifeless because, in their pride and treason against God, they refuse faith's obligations. James's point is not that good works can somehow ...

By Brad Miner.

But first a note from Robert Royal: I'm grateful for the way we're moving steadily along in our funding drive, but we frankly need to step things up. Some readers have written to say that they will give later for various reasons. And that, of course, is fine. Still, there's no time like now. And it's by having a sense - now - of what our resources will be that we can begin to plan what we can do in the coming year - or whether we will even be here at all. The need is clear. So are the means. Please, donate to the work of The Catholic Thing, do what you can today.

Now for Today's column...

I'm pretty sure I was in a Christmas pageant when I was a little boy, probably at the Worthington (Ohio) United Methodist Episcopal Church, where I also sang in the children's choir. I've never been able to read music (except drum notations), and I can't carry a tune. But I could listen and imitate, although I mostly hummed. Still, this was almost 70 years ago, and memory fades.

Christmas pageants have been featured in a number of movies, most notably in The Bells of St. Mary's (1945), in which "Billy," who can't be more than 6 years old, does a run-through of the story of the birth of Jesus for Fr. O'Malley (Bing Crosby) and Sister Mary Benedict (Ingrid Bergen). It's funny and charming.

Just released is The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, and it's funny and charming. It's about a church in a small town that yearly puts on a pageant, which the longtime director insists on keeping unchanged in almost every detail, save the kids cast to play Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds.

It's also about a mysterious family named the Herdmans: six very badly behaved kids (Imogene, Ralph, Claude, Leroy, Ollie, and Gladys ), whom everyone in town, it seems, either reviles or fears. The 1972 book upon which the movie is based (by the late Barbara Robinson) was retitled in the United Kingdom as The Worst Kids in the World, and that seems about right. But - egads! - the Herdmans are cast in the pageant's major roles.

In book and film, it's noted that, whereas in previous pageants, parents were excited (and even competed) to have their newborn play the role of baby Jesus, when the Herdmans are cast (which they accomplish by terrorizing the other kids), the director, Grace Bradley (played by Judy Greer) must recruit a vinyl baby doll. THAT's how bad those Herdmans kids are!

The leader of the Herdmans pack is the older sister and oldest sibling, Imogene (Beatrice Schneider), who is especially mean to Mrs. Bradley's daughter, Beth (Molly Belle Wright). But it's Beth who coaxes Imogene and her brothers and sister to return to the pageant (after promised snacks did not materialize) and perform as they ought in the story of poor people who are witnesses to a miracle.

In the lead-up to the pageant, there's a brief subtext of sorts in which adults wonder why the pageant has to be the same as it always has been, and I was wondering if we were going to be watching a kind of Protestant version of the Synod on Synodality. But, no, director Dallas Jenkins (the creative force behind The Chosen) gives us the best kind of nostalgia and continuity with tradition, perfect for the weeks after a presidential election.

And it's a nostalgia (from the Greek nostos, meaning home) that is essential. We need so very much to recall the kind of faith, hope, and love that has always characterized Christmas in America and American cinema. And it doesn't matter if you prefer Cary Grant in The Bishop's Wife (1947) or Denzel Washington in The Preacher's Wife (1996) - both playing the angel, Dudley, in versions of Robert Nathan's 1928 novel - because, putting aside history and theology, we most definitely do not need another cynical, nihilist "holiday" horror movie, of which there have been about fifty in the last four decades.

Indeed, we're at the point culturally at which the media's favorite Christmas movie is Die Hard.

Part of what makes The Best Christmas Pageant Ever work is it...

But first a note from Robert Royal: Today we have two commentaries on a horrific development in England - the approval of an assisted suicide law. Fr. Kiely writes from London; Professor Esolen from closer to home. Before final approval, there are still some hurdles for the proponents to get over. But we know from sad experience in other countries what a degradation of respect for human life that final approval would bring. This is only one of many such challenges we're going to be facing in all the developed countries and elsewhere in the next year, and beyond. Which is why our work here at The Catholic Thing is becoming even more urgent. As is yours. You are an essential part of what happens here and in our supposedly advanced societies. If things like this are going to be stopped - they still can be - we must all work together. You know how. Please, do it today. Click the button. Send a check. But act, today, to advance The Catholic Thing.

Now for today's columns...

Cast off the Darkness

Fr. Benedict Kiely

To begin Advent in darkness, both physical and metaphorical, seems very appropriate. It is a gloomy time of year, the nights are drawing in early, the atmosphere is cloudy and damp: gloomy is the right description. From the Old English for darkness, we know it can describe despondency and a lack of hope, a sense which approaches despair.

There is much that might make us gloomy at the moment, not least the awful vote in the British House of Commons on Friday allowing the euthanizing of those deemed not worthy of life. Although this crime against the Fifth Commandment has been allowed for years in other formerly Christian countries, such as Canada or Holland, and has had terrible consequences, all of which were said to not to be possible when the laws were introduced, the fact that Britain still has the external vestiges of being a Christian country make this moment worthy of more than gloom; it is now a different country, with post-Christian laws and government.

The pretense, the falsehood, of a national Church, a Christian monarch, and the paraphernalia of State Christianity must be called out for what it is: an illusion, play-acting, a stage set behind which is emptiness. If the King signs this legislation, which he will, as with the legalization of abortion in 1967, the process begun by Henry VIII, declaring himself as the Supreme Head of the Church of England, will have reached its final, ugly, and fetid dissolution.

Perhaps that kind of language is intemperate, some might say; there are safeguards, there will be no "slippery slope," no one will be coerced, the State will never force anyone to die. Everywhere euthanasia, state-sanctioned suicide, for that is what it is, has been allowed, the safeguards have changed. In Holland, children of 12 years old and up, can be euthanized.

We must be under no illusions as Christians. It is not business as usual, keeping quiet, keeping our heads down, hoping none of the encroaching darkness will overwhelm us. What if you are a doctor, or nurse, or some other kind of medical professional, and you are expected to participate in this? What if you get sick or incapacitated and your relatives decide it's time for you to go? It won't happen, we are told. But something has happened that is very bad. When we need roaring bishops, like lions, all we get are meows from kittens.

Who will speak, who will act, who will be witnesses? It can only be us, individual men and women of faith who do not participate in the evil. The protestant theologian, Stanley Hauerwas has written some very pithy and simple words, which give us a plan for how to respond. He wrote: "I say in 100 years, if Christians are known as a strange group of people who don't kill their children and don't kill their elderly, we will have done a great thing."

What is probably the earliest Christian document - other than the Gospels - that we have, the Didache, written at some point in the first century A.D., says that there ar...

By Fr. Thomas G. Weinandy.

In the Office of Readings recently, a second-century anonymous author exhorted his readers to "take courage." This counsel brought to mind an event from my distant past that still resonates as we begin this Advent season.

I was about to begin my doctrinal studies at King's College, and it was dark when I arrived at our Capuchin friary in the borough of Peckham in southeast London. When I was shown my room, I immediately looked out the window to see my view over the next three years. Across the way, was a pub. Blazing above its door, in big red neon letters, was the phrase: "Take Courage."

One of the friars informed me that that pub sold a beer called "Courage," and so the brewery's motto, "Take Courage." I took it as a providential sign as I was about to study for my D. Phil. I also, over the years, imbibed a pint or two of Courage, though I found that it did not make me more courageous.

The phrase, "take courage," contains within it the future, but not simply a neutral future, that of "the yet" still to be lived. Rather, it looks to a future that will be fraught with challenges, risks, and even dangers. In the face of these future menacing encounters, one must "take courage." The Courage brewing company is not alone in urging one to "Take Courage." God Himself, throughout the whole of the Old Testament, exhorts the Jewish people to "take courage."

Although Moses did not enter the Promised Land, a land that was occupied by other peoples, God declared to Moses: "Be strong and of good courage, do not fear or be in dread of them: for it is the Lord your God who goes with you." (Deuteronomy 31:6) Even though the future would be filled with many dangers, Moses was to take courage, for the Lord would be present at all times.

God also promised Joshua that, as he was with Moses, so now he would be with Him: "Be strong and of good courage; be not frightened, neither be dismayed; for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

When Solomon inherited the kingly throne of David, God said that he would give him "discretion and understanding," and therefore he is to "be strong and of good courage." (1 Chronicles 22:12-13)

In these historical cases, these important individuals were not to be fearful of the future, but were to take courage in all circumstances because God would be with them at all times.

Moreover, the Psalmist prayed in hope that he would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Therefore, he affirmed to himself: "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; yea, wait for the Lord." (Psalm 27:13-14)

The Psalmist may have needed to await the future, but he did so courageously, for he awaited in the assurance of the Lord's saving action. Similarly, the saints were to "love the Lord," for he preserves the faithful. Therefore: "Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord!" (Psalm 31:23-24)

Paul, in his epistles, continually exhorts his readers to be faithful to the Gospel. This loyalty demands courage in the midst of trials and persecution. Therefore, he urged the Corinthians: "Be watchful, stand firm in your faith, be courageous, be strong." (1 Corinthians 16:13)

Among other things, courage demands watchfulness, lest one lose heart and forsake the faith. Courage is the stalwart advocate of the Christian life.

Courage, for Christians, is founded upon Jesus. Through His passion, Jesus has conquered sin and vanquished death - that which most frightens humankind. Through faith in Jesus, Christians have been saved from sin and thus from the curse of death. In His resurrection, Christians obtain eternal life.

Jesus can, therefore, truly proclaim to His apostles: "In the world you have tribulations; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) Whatever tribulations that may come in the course of one's Christian life, one can take courage in that Jesus has overcome them, and, therefore, one can be of good cheer...

By Father Raymond J. de Souza

But first a note from Robert Royal: Fr. de Souza lays out a series of interesting events in today's column, which point towards a different spirit and direction for the Church in the very near future. But NOW is the time to keep the faith as a living energy and to think through where, precisely, we need to go. That's a work that we cannot afford to put off, and here at The Catholic Thing, we won't. I'm sure many of you understand that - which is why you come here - and also understand that we need your support to carry out this work. The need is great, the workmen willing. Will you help? Tomorrow is Sunday and we don't fundraise, and then we're into the week when it's easy to be distracted by other matters. So, please, click the button. Support The Catholic Thing. Today.

Now for today's column...

As the liturgical year 2024 ticks down to its final moments, there is a touch of weariness in the Roman air, even though a Jubilee Year is soon to begin,

The synodal assembly on synodality expired at the end of October, but the synodal process for a synodal Church continues. Just this past week Pope Francis issued a reminder not to forget what the synod had been speaking to all the churches. Not even a month out and it seems that the Holy Father is concerned that the whole matter will simply wither away.

Weariness in Rome does not mean weariness everywhere. Rome is not the whole Catholic thing, after all. But weariness at the center is worse than vitality there, radiating out to all the local churches. I have seen both, and vitality is better.

The contrast first struck me at the penitential vigil, which opened October's synodal assembly. Cardinal Christoph Schönborn of Vienna asked, in the name of all, for "forgiveness, feeling shame for the obstacles that we place in the building of a truly synodal, symphonic Church…"

"Symphonic" caught my ear, because a "symphony" is the image that Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger used to capture the beauty of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Schönborn was its general editor. The English edition was published in 1994.

If synodality means anything at all, the Catechism remains the single most synodal project in the recent life of the Church, perhaps in recent centuries, perhaps ever. It was born of the extraordinary synod of 1985, and involved over six years a vast global consultation of the worldwide episcopate and an international array of scholars, all led by Ratzinger and Schönborn. The latter, in that capacity, has fewer sins against synodality to confess than most.

It's a long way down, however, from the symphony of faith to feeling shame about offenses against synodality. So much is different from thirty years ago, a timely reminder that nothing endures permanently - or even for very long.

Cardinal Schönborn is a Dominican, one of the more prominent of his generation. Father Timothy Radcliffe, OP, belongs to that same generation and was master general of the order when Schönborn was created a cardinal in 1998. Next week, Radcliffe - retreat master of the recent synodal process - will be created a cardinal himself. He is 79, so he quasi-belongs to the company of distinguished over-80-years-old ecclesiastics raised to the scarlet in recognition of outstanding service to the Church, particularly in theological work. Henri de Lubac and Avery Dulles were also so honored.

How was it thirty years ago? St. John Paul the Great created Yves Congar, another Dominican, a cardinal in November 1994 at age 90. He died seven months later. Whatever one might think about Radcliffe's oeuvre, it's a long way down from Yves Congar, who was an adornment to the rather unremarkable cardinalatial class of 1994.

The talk in Rome in November 1994 was about Crossing the Threshold of Hope, John Paul's book released that fall. An international publishing sensation, the Holy Father's wide-ranging responses to the questions of journalist Vittorio Messori brought the good news of salvation in Je...