Our Magic Bishops

In a blog post on U.S. Catholic, Scott Alessi contrasts statements on poverty from the Archdiocese of New York and the bishops of New Jersey with the lack of such from the USCCB at last week's general assembly: Had the entire body of America's bishops made a similar statement last week, it would have called national attention to the serious moral concerns that surround the country's economic troubles. And I have to ask: Would it?



Is there anyone currently unaware of the serious moral concerns that surround the country's economic troubles who would become aware of them through a statement made by the USCCB at its fall general assembly?



Even if such people exist, I don't think the USCCB should pitch its semiannual agenda at a handful of oddballs.



More generally, I don't think episcopal statements -- at the diocesan, state, or national level -- magically make their way into general cultural consciousness to effect public policy. Scott Alessi would no doubt object strenuously to that "magically," but by what other process would episcopal statements work? The U.S. Catholic blog is itself full of bitching at bishops who don't do or say what the bloggers want them to (the post I quoted from being an example of the "more in sorrow than anger" type). Where comes the power of the bishops' words when they happen to align with the opinions of bloggers for U.S. Catholic?



Still, as I've said before, you really can't lose by talking episcopal woulda-coulda-shoulda. | 3 comments | Tweet

The unreasonable opposition You will have noticed, I'm sure, that the readings for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ the King present images of a very pastorally minded king. I myself will look after and tend my sheep.



And he will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. Ours is, moreover, a King who doesn't mind associating with commoners: And the king will say to them in reply, "Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me." Which, when you think of it, is a pretty broad-minded attitude for He Who Is to adopt toward we who are not. (Or a deep-hearted attitude for He Who Is Love.)



And yet, it's not uncommon to find people who are deeply offended by the idea that the Almighty, Eternal LORD should speak of us like sheep. "Who is God," they ask, "to disrespect us like that?"



Of course, at other times they're likely to say things like, "Humans are nothing but curiously organized dust, random bits of chemicals evolved to create similar bits of chemicals."



Kind of odd to brag about being nothing, then feel disrespected. Though I suppose both the bragging and the indignation feed a sense of superiority, so it makes sense if not reason. More sense, arguably, than our Lord Jesus Christ the King loving us as a shepherd love his sheep. | 1 comments | Tweet

A twist on irreverence This post on a doomed Canadian attempt at irreverence reminds me of this post on a doomed Canadian habit of sacrilege. Where there is no cause for reverence, there can be no irreverence, only offensiveness.



A stock response to such stories -- beyond mockery at the manufactured implications of edginess in offending Christians -- is to say, "If they really want to be edgy, they'll do an 'irreverent' comedy special on Mohammed."



But such people can no more be irreverent toward the holy things of Islam than they can be toward the holy things of Christianity. We have to ask, where is their cause for reverence?



Look! Here it is:







If they really want to be irreverent, if they really want to be edgy, they'll put on the Internet a list of their corporate sponsors, including all the retail products made by those corporations, and title it something like, "A Partial List of Companies Who Support Public Expressions of Contempt for Christianity." When they mock their own god in a way that invites a smiting, then I'll call them irreverent. | 0 comments | Tweet

A balancing act "Children are innocent and love justice," Chesterton wrote, "while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy."



I'd amend that to, children love justice for others, and most of us adults prefer mercy for ourselves. Few children are overly keen on dispassionate justice for themselves, and plenty of sufficiently wicked adults object to mercy for others.





Children and adults: not so different.



It takes some maturity, I think, to see the relationship between the need for mercy for oneself and the desire for mercy for others. Heck, it takes some maturity to see the need for mercy for oneself in any but a superficial sense.



Once we properly desire mercy for others, the justice we desire for them is not merely punitive, but restorative and even healing. Someone at that level of maturity should then see the need to endure healing justice himself (and please let me know when you get there if that "should" holds).





Extending the circle of concern.



(This post uses "mercy" and "justice" from the perspective of the wrongdoer. We can also speak of mercy toward and justice for the innocent, whether us or others, but somehow that's an easier balance to reach.) | 0 comments | Tweet