The Church, the Death Penalty, and a Further Muddying of the Waters

"Pope Changes Catholic Teaching to Make Death Penalty 'Inadmissible'." So runs the headline of Time Magazine's article about the revision Pope Francis has ordered to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, no. 227. The Holy Father's new formulation reads as follows, in full:

Recourse to the death penalty on the part of legitimate authority, following a fair trial, was long considered an appropriate response to the gravity of certain crimes and an acceptable, albeit extreme, means of safeguarding the common good.

Today, however, there is an increasing awareness that the dignity of the person is not lost even after the commission of very serious crimes. In addition, a new understanding has emerged of the significance of penal sanctions imposed by the state. Lastly, more effective systems of detention have been developed, which ensure the due protection of citizens but, at the same time, do not definitively deprive the guilty of the possibility of redemption.

Consequently, the Church teaches, in the light of the Gospel, that “the death penalty is inadmissible because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person”,^[1] and she works with determination for its abolition worldwide.

_______________________

^[1] Francis, Address to Participants in the Meeting organized by the Pontifical Council for the Promotion of the New Evangelization, 11 October 2017: L’Osservatore Romano, 13 October 2017, 5.

So, what are my thoughts? Far be it from me to strive for dissent, or for the "cafeteria Catholicism" of picking and choosing teachings that I like. Far be it from me to deny the "inviolability and dignity of the person." Far be it from me, even, to deny that the death penalty is abhorrent and to be eliminated whenever possible.

Yet, how can the Holy Father state unilaterally that the death penalty is "inadmissible"? It may be that there are fewer and fewer cases where it is the only way to safeguard the common good. Let's even entertain the hypothetical that there are presently no cases where it is the only way to safeguard the common good. Even then, the blanket statement that the death penalty is inadmissible would hamstring people in possible future instances where it may again be the sole means to safeguard the common good.

On the one hand, I'm totally on board with the new formulation's application in wealthy, first-world countries like the United States. I can't imagine a single instance in our country where the death penalty is presently a morally legitimate option. But the Catechism is not written solely for the faithful in wealthy countries, but for the faithful worldwide, and for both our present generation and future ones. Ironically, the explanatory note of Cardinal Ladaria, prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, that the Catechism's new formulation will "encourage the creation of conditions that do allow for the elimination of the death penalty" hints that there actually exist where the formulation does not yet apply! How is it exactly that the universal teaching of the Church does not apply universally? The problem here runs deeper than ham-handed headlines in secular publications.

What the new formulation and its grand unveiling has accomplished is further to cement in the minds of the faithful the falsehood that Church teaching can change. What was true for previous generations is apparently no longer true for ours. Which is hogwash and baloney. While it's true that circumstances change, and while I'd agree that the teachings in particular of Pope St. John Paul II have given us a deeper understanding of the dignity of all human persons, at least hypothetically there may be present and future instances where the death penalty is the sole means of safeguarding the common good.

Does all of this make me a dissenter? Pray God that it only makes me a dissenter from a poorly written formulation of the Church's perennial teaching. Catechism formulations come and go; some are clearer articulations, others not so much. But the Church's teaching is perennial; it does not, it cannot, change.

The Dogma Lives Loudly Within Me, Too

"I think whatever a religion is, it has its own dogma. The law is totally different. And I think in your case, professor, when you read your speeches, the conclusion one draws is that the dogma lives loudly within you, and that’s of concern."

Amy Coney Barrett. Image from nd.edu

That was the statement of California Senator Dianne Feinstein last year during the confirmation hearing for Amy Coney Barrett, a Trump nominee to the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals who was confirmed, and who is being floated as a potential successor to retiring Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy.

A Notre Dame law professor and the mother of seven, the 46 year-old Barrett also happens to be a devout Catholic. That was the origin of Feinstein's concerns, for how could Barrett serve the court impartially when her decision-making process is so strongly influenced by her religious beliefs? Indeed, it was the concern of Protestants in the 19th century as waves of Irish and Italian immigrants flooded through Ellis Island. How could they ever be good Americans? Even a century after the "Know-Nothings" were tarring and feathering Catholic priests and burning their churches, many were still asking how John F. Kennedy could be president when he was beholden to the pope.

The irony is that this stems from a misreading of a 1988 essay. In it Barrett and her co-author, John Garvey, now the president of the Catholic University of America, speculate about how Catholic judges can deal with capital cases, given the Church's opposition to the death penalty. Their conclusion is far from saying Catholic judges must commute sentences if they're opposed in conscience to the death penalty. Rather, Barrett and Garvey conclude that judges can recuse themselves when their personal convictions are at odds with the law of the land.

The concerns of Feinstein and others of our time and of the Know-Nothings of the 19th century are centered on the so-called Separation of Church and State. They say that an activist judge may foist his--or her--religious convictions on our pluralistic American populace. We are not all Catholics, and we are not all guided by Catholic beliefs or principles. Therefore it would be a problem if the dogma does indeed "live loudly" in Barrett.

Of course there is no evidence that I'm aware of that Barrett is an activist who would legislate from the bench, and in fact a careful reading of her essay shows precisely the opposite. But the bigger irony that I'm contemplating on this Independence Day is that the Founding Fathers separated Church from State in order to keep the State from interfering with churches, not the other way around.

As regards justices, or senators, or other government officials in our sordid age, would that the dogma lived more loudly in all of them. Government officials are not robots programmed to fulfill the wishes of the populace mechanically. Rather, they are (or ought to be) men and women of conviction, especially judges, whose job it is to interpret and apply the law to real human situations. Their convictions--religious, philosophical, whatever--should influence their reading of our founding documents and the law of the land. That's how we avoid a Dred Scott decision, for example, which was based on the false premise that blacks were not persons and were therefore not entitled to claim citizenship.

Dred Scott was logically argued--and so was Roe v. Wade, for that matter--but only a person of strong moral conviction can discern the underlying falsehoods. This is the criterion for public office that nobody seems to be talking about. And why not? Why are not calling loudly for public officials in whom dogma lives loudly? Why are we doing precisely the opposite?

As regards Barrett, I haven't read enough about her or the other potential nominees to form a strong opinion. I'll probably wait until Trump announces his short list before I bother. But on this 4th of July, I praise God for the gifts of life and liberty, and for the right to raise children in whom the dogma lives as loudly as it does in me.

Cardinal McCarrick and the Catholic Church's Continued Dark Night

I still remember the whirlwind of my mid-summer arrival after I was sent to study in Rome back in 2004. Another seminarian and I had flown there early for an Italian immersion program in preparation for fall classes. Exiting Fiumicino, we made it to the Pontifical North American College in time for the large mid-day meal that the Italians call pranzo. Unaware that the college's dress code is quite relaxed during the summer, I remember that we changed into cassocks before finding our way to the large, formal refectory. We were a little red-faced, I think, to be the only ones dressed like that!

We ended up sitting down to dinner with a diminutive, elderly man who was wearing the tab collar and a faded black suitcoat of a priest. He was friendly and engaging, asking us where we were from and where we would be studying Italian. Only halfway through the meal did I get it through my travel-fogged brain that we were speaking with Cardinal Theodore McCarrick, at that time the powerful and highly influential archbishop of Washington, D.C.

Cardinal McCarrick greeting Admiral Fallon after a Sept. 11 Memorial Mass. Image from Wikipedia Commons.

This is the same Cardinal McCarrick, now 87 years-old and living in a nursing home, who last week was removed from public ministry by the Vatican due to credible accusations that he had sexually abused a teen-aged boy more than 50 years ago. Word is also coming out that journalists have been sitting on a story since the early 2000s about the cardinal's sexual exploitation of seminarians. Journalist Rod Dreher writes that he couldn't get any priests to risk their priesthood by speaking out at the time. He also notes that the story almost went to press in The New York Times magazine in 2012 but was shelved for some mysterious reason at the last minute. Now folks are asking why the press kept quiet, especially after the Archdiocese of Newark disclosed late this week that there had been three allegations against the cardinal there and in the Diocese of Metuchen, and that two of them had led to settlements.

What does all of this mean to me? Well, for starters, I'm still processing things. One thing I'm trying to square is the scandalous account from Dreher and the friendly, engaging priest-figure I met back then. A few years later, after having left the seminary, I attended Mass at the University of Notre Dame, and Cardinal McCarrick happened to be the celebrant and homilist. He gave a powerful homily. I told him so when I shook his hand afterward. He smiled warmly but of course didn't recognize me.

How could I have been so oblivious to all of this? Obviously I'm not talking mainly about McCarrick, whom I hardly knew. I'm rather thinking of the the whole priest sex abuse scandal and the whole "gay network" that the journalism of Dreher and others continues to expose. I was in Rome, of course, just after the height of the sex abuse revelations. Boston's Cardinal Bernard Law had already been exiled to Santa Maria Maggiore. He actually instituted my seminary class into the lectorate in 2005. I remember that year that there was also an apostolic visitation of the North American College, and that an American archbishop was sent to interview each of us seminarians separately. I won't mention his name in case it is under some kind of seal, but I do remember telling the archbishop that I hadn't seen a thing. I told him that my real concern was the potential for alcoholism among some men who were soon to be ordained. It seemed to me that many seminarians drank heavily on a regular basis, perhaps as a cure for the loneliness that resulted from celibacy or, for those of us studying in Rome, the distance from the familiar things of home.

Again, how could I have been so oblivious? Well, I'm thankful that I was, because frankly I don't know if my faith at the time could have withstood knowing more than I did. I treasure my time in Rome, and I cherish the friendships I made with many of my classmates, some of whom are today faithful priests serving throughout the United States and others of whom, like myself, left the seminary to pursue the calling of marriage and family life.

And what of my faith today? I would say that I am serene in my faith. I have learned not to put my faith in princes, for "they are but men, they have no power to save" (Psalm 145:3). That goes for Princes of the Church like Cardinal McCarrick as well. So I will pray for the cardinal in his own dark night, that the truth may set him, and the entire Church, free from this terrible scandal. And I thank God for all the priests and bishops who continue humbly to serve Christ and His Church, both those who are holy and those who, like me, are best described as works in progress. Semper reformans, semper reformanda.

Sacristan's Corner-- On veils and and seeing 'through a glass, darkly'

Here I've combined the fourth and fifth of the bulletin blurbs I've been writing, since both are on the topic of veils, the last focusing on the veiling of the statues for Passiontide. 

You probably remember that the Veil of the Temple was torn in two at the very moment of Jesus' death. But maybe you wonder what this mysterious veil was. Its origins are in the Book of Exodus, where the Lord instructed that the Holy of Holies containing the Ark of the Covenant and God's Mercy Seat be shielded from people's eyes. 

Veils, in other words, were important for the Jews to separate what is sacred from what is of the world. For the same reason, the tradition of veiling holy things has entered into Christian practice. 

The General Instruction of the Roman Missal says that it is “very fitting,” for example, that the chalice be covered with a veil. You may have also noticed that there is now a veil over the tabernacle, which is our own true Holy of Holies, and that there is even a veil over the ciborium which the priest takes from the tabernacle before distributing Holy Communion. 

In short, these veils are beautiful reminders from our Catholic tradition that we ourselves are constantly striving to become less of the world, so that one day we may pass through the veil of this world into God's direct, unveiled presence in life everlasting. As St. Paul beautifully puts it, we see the Lord in the midst of the struggles of this life “through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). 

Today you've probably noticed that all the statues and crosses are now also veiled. These last two weeks of Lent are traditionally known as “Passiontide” because during the 5th week of Lent the Preface of the Lord's Passion is used and then, on Palm Sunday, the Passion account is read. 

Passiontide marks an intensification of our Lenten prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. In Medieval Germany a large purple cloth known as the hungertuch, or “hunger cloth,” would be stretched across the entire sanctuary throughout Lent to Good Friday, a dramatic precursor to our current practice of veiling the statues. The idea is that we should hunger for the comforting visuals—the familiar statues, images, and artwork that ordinarily aid our prayer and contemplation. 

We will get them back, of course. First the Crucifix will be unveiled for our veneration on Good Friday. Then all the Passiontide veils will come off at the Easter Vigil, for the Risen Lord “satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness” (Psalm 107:9).

Blurb 1 (The Crotalus), Blurb 2 (Benedictine Arrangement), Blurb 3 (Benedictine Arrangement, Part 2)

We are all set for Passiontide at St. Peter's, Middle Ridge, Wis.

Sacristan's Corner-- Benedictine Arrangement, Part 2

The third in a series of bulletin blurbs I'm writing...

Last week I wrote about the “Benedictine” arrangement and specifically about the altar crucifix. But you've probably also noticed the six candles placed on the altar for weekend Masses. Why six? Simply because this is the traditional number of candles for Sundays and high holy days. 

Actually, seven candles are used when a bishop presides! In churches like St. James in La Crosse, where the original high altar is again being used, three candles are placed on one side of the tabernacle and three on the other side. 

Here at St. Peter's, our own altar crucifix, a gift from Msgr. Hundt, is from the chapel of the nuns who taught at the parish many years ago. I'm told that the candlesticks are from St. Peter's own high altar. 

What a beautiful sense of continuity there is, therefore, in returning these candlesticks to use. After all, the forebears of so many here at St. Peter's built this church. 

Now they could walk into church and recognize the altar arrangement that they knew, and that their own parents and grandparents and great-grandparents knew, and that even the early Christians knew in their own celebrations of Holy Mass by candlelight in the catacombs.

Blurb 1 (The Crotalus), Blurb 2 (Benedictine Arrangement)

Our Benedictine altar arrangement at St. Peter's Parish, Middle Ridge, Wis., during the Christmas season.

Sacristan's Corner-- The Benedictine Arrangement

The second in a series of bulletin blurbs I'm writing... 

Some are wondering, what's up with the cross and candles on the altar? It's called the “Benedictine” arrangement because it was inspired by Pope Benedict XVI, who suggested it in The Spirit of the Liturgy, published a few years before he became pope. 

Benedict wrote about how, after the Second Vatican Council, priests in many parishes began facing the congregation during the Eucharistic prayer in order to foster a greater sense of community. Fostering community is a laudable goal, Benedict wrote, but “moving the altar cross to the side to give an uninterrupted view of the priest is something I regard as one of the truly absurd phenomena of recent decades. Is the cross disruptive during Mass? Is the priest more important than Our Lord?” 

The idea is that the altar cross, with the corpus facing the priest, permits the priest to gaze upon the Crucified Christ during the Eucharistic prayer, just as the large crucifix suspended above the tabernacle permits of the congregation. After all, that's exactly what the Mass is: the unbloodly renewal of Our Lord's sacrifice on the cross. 

When Benedict became pope in 2005, he implemented the “Benedictine” arrangement for all of his liturgies, and Pope Francis has continued this practice since becoming pope in 2013. Also in the last decade, large cathedral parishes and little country parishes alike all throughout the world have followed the example of Pope Benedict and Pope Francis—including, most recently, St. Peter's Parish, Middle Ridge!

Blurb 1 (The Crotalus)

Our Benedictine altar arrangement during the Christmas season.

Sacristan's Corner-- The Crotalus

Over at our little country parish, where I reign gloriously as sacristan, I've been making some small, incremental liturgical changes à la "reform of the reform." While I haven't encountered resistance, exactly, folks generally like things the way they're used to them, and so it's been suggested to me that  I write brief weekly bulletin blurbs to explain things. So here's my first little blurb--about the crotalus. Enjoy!

Clack, clack, clack. Maybe you noticed the strange sound that has replaced the bells. That's the crotalus, which shares its name with a genus of snakes who make a clacking, or rattling, with their tails when frightened. The scientific name of the rattlesnake is crotalus cerastes! 

The use of the crotalus at Lenten Masses dates back more than a thousand years. Some old churches in Spain and Latin America actually have a giant crotalus in the bell tower, since even the church bells can't be rung during the Triduum. 

So, why use the crotalus during Lent? Similarly, why deprive ourselves of good things, like desserts and meat, during Lent? Perhaps the answer is found in the song “Again We Keep This Solemn Fast” where one verse reads, “Our speech, our laughter, every sense,/ learn peace through holy penitence.” 

We yearn for the beauty of the bells just as we yearn for the things we've given up. The bells will ring again briefly on Holy Thursday during the Gloria, and then, after the sacred silence of the Triduum, they'll return to their place of honor at the Easter Vigil. 

Until then, their absence is a reminder, together the sanctuary bereft of flowers and the omnipresent, somber color of violet, that we're preparing for something far more beautiful than bells or any other worldly thing: the joy of the Lord's Resurrection.