Tag Archives: jesus

Understanding the Catholic Church through St. John Lateran

This Sunday (Nov. 9th) we interrupted our regular calendar to celebrate “St. John Lateran.” Who is he, and why does his celebration rank above a Sunday in Ordinary Time, when famous saints like Francis of Assisi or Patrick do not? Well, first of all, he is not a person! Instead, we are celebrating the dedication of a church in Rome. That just leads to a new question, though: out of all of the tremendous churches in Rome, why is this the only one that merits such an honor? Not even St. Peter’s Basilica is celebrated in this way. It struck me that if someone understands the significance of this celebration, they will understand much of how the Catholic Church understands itself. This post is not meant to be a definitive response to every question, but I hope to at least lay out a schema to get the big picture view. I’ll put some section headings in case that helps you to jump to the area of your interest!

Jesus’ plan to found a Church, built upon the Apostles, with Peter as the leader of the Apostles, and true unity as the goal

We believe that Jesus came to found a Church, the fulfillment of the promises in the Old Testament. The clearest statement of this is when Jesus gives Simon his new name of Peter: “I name you Peter [which means “rock”], and on this rock I will build my Church” (Matthew 16:18). Jesus is ultimately the foundation upon which the Church is built: “for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely, Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11). But, the Apostles are likewise essential in the foundation of the Church. The book of Revelation describes their names as forming the foundation stones of the full realization of the Church in the heavenly Jerusalem: “And the wall of the city had twelve foundation stones, and on them were the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb” (Rev. 21:14). St. Paul draws these two aspects together in his letter to the Ephesians: “So then you are no longer strangers and sojourners, but you are fellow citizens with the holy ones and members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the capstone. Through him the whole structure is held together and grows into a temple sacred in the Lord” (Eph. 2:19-21). 

The Apostles were a distinct group among those who followed Jesus. As we hear in Luke 6:12-13, “In those days he departed to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer to God. When day came, he called his disciples to himself, and from them he chose Twelve, whom he also named apostles.” Jesus called them to a special role of leadership within the Church, guarding its unity and teaching. We see this in their role in interpreting which parts of the Old Testament still applied to Christians (the Council of Jerusalem in Acts of the Apostles, Chapter 15). Questions of interpreting the Scriptures would arise throughout history, and Jesus instituted a specific ministry to respond to this need, beginning with the Apostles. Otherwise, how could one trust a particular interpretation over another who spoke with equal sincerity/persuasiveness? This structure gives a visible marker for unity. The institution of the Apostles actually comes before the writing of the New Testament, as this provided a context to receive these inspired works and to interpret them correctly. The early Church could not possibly have lived in a “Scripture alone” mode of life, disregarding the teaching of the Apostles and the tradition handed down by them. As St. Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, “Therefore, brothers, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught, either by an oral statement or by a letter of ours” (2 Thess. 2:15). Otherwise, “a text without a context becomes a pretext” (as the saying goes), to be used however the interpreter sees fit.

We see the authority of the Apostles in the verse immediately after Jesus gives Simon the name of Peter: “I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matthew 16:19). In fact, Peter is given the specific role as the leader of the Twelve Apostles. In addition to His words in Matthew 16, we see Peter listed first in the various lists of Apostles, and exercising leadership (for example, being the one to call for the election of Matthias and delivering the first sermon on Pentecost). Jesus tells Peter, out of all of the Apostles at the Last Supper, “I have prayed that your own faith may not fail; and once you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:32). 

What type of community is he supposed to strengthen? In the words after the Last Supper, Jesus prays that the unity of the Church may be the same as that between Him and His heavenly Father: “I pray not only for them, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me” (John 17:20-21). We believe that Jesus wants a true unity in the Church – using the perfect unity of the Trinity as a model. This doesn’t mean absolute uniformity – the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit remain distinct Persons within the Trinity – but it also excludes a loose federation that only has an external appearance of unity. He wants us to really work together, to share a common Faith and structure. Like a tree, there is a difference between branches that all share a common life with the roots and the trunk, and various trees (or dead branches) that are merely in proximity to each other. It is for this reason that the Catholic Church does not see the plan of Jesus to be various communities that each have their own version of Christianity, accepting part of the structure (preaching, music, the Scriptures), but rejecting the parts that they do not prefer (the seven Sacraments, ordained ministry, the Eucharist). This is not a claim that “we are right because we are so amazing,” but an attempt to be faithful to those marks of the Church that the early Christians saw as essential to the plan of Jesus: One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic (as outlined in the Nicene Creed).

The growth of the Church from the Apostles to the present structure

After the Resurrection, Jesus spent forty days with the disciples until His Ascension (Acts 1:3). He then invited them to pray, and they received the Holy Spirit on the fiftieth day, Pentecost (Acts 2:1). After this, the Apostles led the initial Church in Jerusalem itself. The Apostles eventually went to spread the message of Christ outside of Jerusalem, adding new members to the Church. This included new leaders who were given the title of Apostle (e.g., Matthias in Acts 1:26 to replace Judas Iscariot, and St. Paul in 1 Corinthians 1:1). They formed new communities of the faithful in other towns. As mentioned above, the believers were to share a true unity, not just something superficial. The Apostles initially provided the foundation of this unity, but they were called to move on (and would not live on earth forever). They left behind them newly ordained leaders called “bishops” (literally, “overseers,” e.g. Acts 20:28). St. Paul writes his letters to Timothy and Titus as ones who are undertaking this responsibility, having received this grace through the imposition of his hands (i.e., ordination, 2 Timothy 1:6). The Apostles and other bishops alone were not enough to care for all of the pastoral need, and so we see the ordination of deacons (Acts 6) and priests (the English abbreviation of presbyters, e.g. Acts 20:17). 

Thus we have the basic structure of the Church: local communities cared for by priests and deacons (which we now call “parishes”), larger groups of parishes cared for by a bishop (which we now call a “diocese”), and a true communion of bishops under the successor of St. Peter (who we now call the “Pope,” an English nickname for the Bishop of Rome). To go back to the analogy of the tree, these are branches that all draw from the same root structure/inner life.

Two early witnesses to this structure of the Church: St. Ignatius of Antioch and St. Irenaeus of Lyons

This is not some sort of late medieval development, or even one that came about only after Constantine legalized Christianity in the Roman Empire in 313 AD. One of the clearest articulations of it is by St. Ignatius of Antioch, who was martyred around the year 107 AD, very much within the living memory of the time of the Apostles. We have seven letters of his as he traveled on his way to martyrdom. He writes, “See that you all follow the bishop, even as Jesus Christ does the Father, and the priests as you would the apostles; and reverence the deacons, as being the institution of God. Let no man do anything connected with the Church without the bishop… Wherever the bishop shall appear, there let the multitude [of the people] also be; even as, wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church… Whatsoever [the bishop] shall approve of, that is also pleasing to God, so that everything that is done may be secure and valid” (Letter to the Smyrnaeans, Ch 8). In the next part of that letter, he adds, “Let all things therefore be done by you with good order in Christ. Let the laity be subject to the deacons; the deacons to the priests; the priests to the bishop; the bishop to Christ, even as He is to the Father” (Ch 9). This does not mean that the laity are mere servants of the ordained – on the contrary, we remember that Jesus instructed the Apostles that their role “was to serve, not to be served” (Matthew 20:28). Instead, it highlights the particular responsibility that the ordained have to serve the unity of the Church by providing something other than charismatic leaders providing their own “version” of the Church. 

St. Irenaeus of Lyons (who died around 200 AD) is another clear witness to the presence of the Church’s structure well before Constantine. He wrote a famous book called “Against Heresies” – in other words, correcting errors in understandings of the Faith. He writes, “One should not seek among others the truth that can be easily gotten from the Church. For in her, as in a rich treasury, the apostles have placed all that pertains to truth, so that everyone can drink this beverage of life. She is the door of life. For she is the entrance to life; all others are thieves and robbers” (Book III, 4.1). Irenaeus traces the path from the Apostles to the present, focusing specifically on the Church of Rome. As he says, he does this, “by indicating that tradition derived from the apostles, of the very great, the very ancient, and universally known Church founded and organized at Rome by the two most glorious apostles, Peter and Paul; as also [by pointing out] the faith preached to men, which comes down to our time by means of the successions of the bishops. For it is a matter of necessity that every Church should agree with this Church, on account of its pre-eminent authority” (Book III, 3.2). He then gives the list of the twelve bishops of Rome who followed Peter up until the time of his writing, showing the importance of tracking this office even for someone like him living in a distant land.

Why St. John Lateran, though?

I will finally get down to answering my initial question! Given that the Church is built upon the structure of ‘local parish, local diocese, and universal Church,’ each community celebrates the dedication of three churches in its calendar: that of the local parish church, that of the principal church of the bishop of their diocese (called a Cathedral), and that of the Cathedral of the Bishop of Rome (the Pope). While the new St. Peter’s Basilica is more famous (built in the 1500s), the basilica in the Lateran territory actually has had the more significant history over the years (founded in 324 AD). The early Christians were not able to build significant public structures due to the periods of Roman persecution, and so used subtle places like homes or the catacombs. When Constantine opened up public celebration in 313 AD, he gave the Church space in the Lateran territory. Buildings of an architectural style called “basilicas” were located in Rome, and could easily be converted into churches (having large open areas and a raised platform at the end). One of these was adapted to become the Bishop of Rome’s chief church, and this is the origin of “St. John Lateran.”

One of the most confusing factors is that the name “St. John Lateran “ is just a modern English abbreviation, not the church’s actual name. Its real name is, “the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior and Saints John the Baptist and John the Evangelist at the Lateran.” It is the Pope’s Cathedral, and therefore the “mother church” of the whole Catholic Church. It has picked up the patronage of the two St. Johns, and in common parlance that became the shorthand, along with its geographical area of the Lateran territory. However, while the other three Major Basilicas are dedicated to the key Biblical saints of Mary, Peter, and Paul, the Pope’s Cathedral is primarily dedicated to Jesus Christ, the Most Holy Savior, and the ultimate foundation of the Church. Amen!

Tolkien’s Vision of Creation, Sin, and Redemption

Background on Tolkien’s approach to writing myth/legend

JRR Tolkien had a profound theology/philosophy of what it meant to write mythology. Rather than denigrating it as “mere” fiction, he saw creating mythology as an aspect of what it means to be made in the image of God. If God is a Creator, then we are “sub-creators,” capable of devising “Secondary Worlds” that reflect the real/“Primary World.” We see throughout the Scriptures the way that God invites us into His work, not choosing to do everything apart from us, but calling humans constantly to be co-workers with the plan of redemption. Saints are not “rivals” to God’s work (as some misunderstand it), but rather shining examples of God’s grace in action.

Tolkien saw the challenge of authors to be to create a Secondary World with the “the inner consistency of reality.” If this was done correctly, readers would be able to imagine themselves actually living in that world – something that Tolkien called “Secondary Belief.” He wrote: “To make a Secondary World inside which the green sun will be credible, commanding Secondary Belief, will probably require labour and thought, and will certainly demand a special skill, a kind of elvish craft. Few attempt such difficult tasks. But when they are attempted and in any degree accomplished then we have a rare achievement of Art: indeed narrative art, story-making in its primary and most potent mode” (from his essay “On Fairy Stories”).

This Secondary World has to be like our world in some ways, but unlike it in others. The difference is what allows it to shock us out of the familiarity that makes us miss what is truly fantastic in our everyday experience. It also lets us see old truths in new ways. It is similar to Jesus’ use of parables – images that draw us into truth through story. In one of his most significant letters, Tolkien explains, “I believe that legends and myths are largely made up of ‘truth,’ and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode” (Letter 131). 

Tolkien’s Image of Creation

On this note, I want to share a little about the way that Tolkien approached Creation in his Legendarium (“Legendarium” refers to the massive amount of background material that he prepared around the stories of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings). This text can be found in the Silmarillion, the central writings that were put together and published after his death by his son Christopher. Here I give the text written by Tolkien in italics, with my commentary in brackets. You will notice that Tolkien writes the text in a more archaic style, a method to evoke the sense that we are reading something from the olden days. He uses the image of singing to represent sharing in the thought and music of God. It is set as a prelude to the actual creation of the world, considering how God might have planned for the work that was to come. This happens through the cooperation of the Ainur, who represent the highest angels – including Melkor, the one who introduces discord into the song (representing the devil). This account of creation shows the way that God works through this interference to create beauty.

There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad. But for a long while they sang only each alone, or but few together, while the rest hearkened; for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Iluvatar from which he came, and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly. Yet ever as they listened they came to deeper understanding, and increased in unison and harmony.

 [“Eru” means “the One,” and is the first title given to God by Tolkien. It represents one aspect of the truth perceived in many stories of God – that this being is the one who has no equal. The second title – “Ilúvatar” – means “All-father.” It highlights a second key aspect of God perceived by religion broadly speaking, that God is the “uncaused cause,” the one who exists by nature and not by previous action of another being, the Creator of creation. The creation of the Ainur corresponds to the creation of the angels.]

And it came to pass that Iluvatar called together all the Ainur and declared to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed; and the glory of its beginning and the splendour of its end amazed the Ainur, so that they bowed before Iluvatar and were silent. Then Iluvatar said to them: ‘Of the theme that I have declared to you, I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken, and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into song…

[Here God invites the angels to share in his work of creation – they are entrusted with the role of “sub-creating” (explained in the first part of this post), to utilize the gifts given to them by God to enrich the world. Chief of these gifts is the “Flame Imperishable, which represents a share in God’s own uncreated life, which incorporates the ideas of existence and grace]

But as the theme progressed, it came into the heart of Melkor to interweave matters of his own imagining that were not in accord with the theme of Iluvatar; for he sought therein to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself. To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren. He had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable Flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own, and it seemed to him that Iluvatar took no thought for the Void, and he was impatient of its emptiness. Yet he found not the Fire, for it is with Iluvatar. But being alone he had begun to conceive thoughts of his own unlike those of his brethren. Some of these thoughts he now wove into his music, and straight-way discord arose about him, and many that sang nigh him grew despondent, and their thought was disturbed and their music faltered; but some began to attune their music to his rather than to the thought which they had at first. Then the discord of Melkor spread ever wider, and the melodies which had been heard before foundered in a sea of turbulent sound. But Iluvatar sat and hearkened until it seemed that about his throne there was a raging storm, as of dark waters that made war one upon another in an endless wrath that would not be assuaged.

[Melkor is the representation of Satan/Lucifer – created as a high angel, but who turned away from God out of pride. Tolkien represents this pride as seeking the Fire (God’s life) apart from God, and his disruption of the plan of creation as introducing discord into the singing of the Ainur, leading to the fall of others.]

Then Iluvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that he smiled; and he lifted up his left hand, and a new theme began amid the storm, like and yet unlike to the former theme, and it gathered power and had new beauty. 

[Here, God introduces a counter theme to the discord of Melkor/Satan. This is the promise of redemption (see Genesis 3:15). Rather than destroying us after the Fall, God chooses to redeem us – like the decision to renovate a house instead of demolish it.]

But the discord of Melkor rose in uproar and contended with it, and again there was a war of sound more violent than before, until many of the Ainur were dismayed and sang no longer, and Melkor had the mastery. Then again Iluvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern; and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity. And it seemed at last that there were two musics progressing at one time before the seat of Iluvatar, and they were utterly at variance. The one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came. The other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice, but it seemed that its most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern. 

[Melkor contends against the plan of salvation by pushing for a new discord (which Tolkien describes as “loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated” – depicting the way that sin has a repetitive and uncreative aspect about it). God counters with an even more profound theme (the salvation of Christ, which brings good out of evil – “deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came”). One can understand the way Tolkien describes this if familiar with the challenges of his own life – the death of his father when he was three years old, the shunning of his mother by her family when she entered the Catholic Church, the death of his mother when he was twelve years old, his time as an orphan, the challenging courtship of the love of his life, his experience of the horrors of trench warfare as a soldier in World War I, and the death/separation of all of his close friends from the same conflict. Despite all of these sorrows and reasons for despair, Tolkien found healing and hope in the Gospel. He did not see faith as something for the faint of heart, but something that could confront real darkness and bring light.]

In the midst of this strife, whereat the halls of Iluvatar shook and a tremor ran out into the silences yet unmoved, Iluvatar arose a third time, and his face was terrible to behold. Then he raised up both his hands, and in one chord, deeper than the Abyss, higher than the Firmament, piercing as the light of the eye of Iluvatar, the Music ceased. Then Iluvatar spoke, and he said: ‘Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Iluvatar, those things that ye have sung, I will show them forth, that ye may see what ye have done. And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.

[Finally, God brings the music to an end, representing the definitive plan for the course of the world. The singing represented the formation of the plan of Creation – now God will play out the music through events: Creation, the Fall, the Redemption, and the time of the Church until the end of the world. In this process, Tolkien gives a response to the problem of evil. This is seen especially in the final sentences (if it is helpful, here is a rendering in modern speech: “And you, Melkor, will see that nothing can be done that does not have its ultimate basis in me, nor can anyone change the course of events without my permission. For the one who tries to work against me, will find that I use the attempts to disrupt my plan to bring about things even more wonderful, and which the one disrupting me did not even imagine”). In this, God highlights that He will use the evil introduced by Melkor to produce greater beauty. This is where the analogy of music particularly shines – musical notes that seem to only make discord in the melody can be woven in with other notes to make a pleasing harmony. The music becomes richer for this, rather than uglier. This truth is proclaimed during the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil: “Oh happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer.” Instead of just restoring Adam and Eve to the life that they had in the Garden, God gives us a deeper, more profound share in the life of Christ on earth, and in His glory in heaven. In the end, Melkor’s plots against God only result in a greater mercy.]

I hope that this meditation is helpful for you to see the mystery of the Creation, the Fall, and the Redemption in a new light!

The Veiling of Images

Many churches veil or remove images at this time of year. Why? Some people encountered this practice in the past, and wonder why it went away/returned. For others, it is new, and they wonder what it signifies. I will touch on both points here, and I hope that this helps to grant a better appreciation of the practice!

History

The veiling of images began at some point during the Middle Ages (at least by the 9th century). In modern times, it was required until the revision of the liturgy that followed the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. Previously, the final two weeks of Lent were officially called “Passiontide.” This term was dropped in the revised liturgy, along with the requirement to veil images. The instructions left veiling as a possibility, but deferred the matter to the local bishops. For many years it was uncertain whether this was permitted in the United States, and so the practice become much less common.

Official reference to the veiling of images returned in the 1988 guidance from the Vatican on the preparation/celebration of Easter, which encouraged the practice. All ambiguity was removed (at least in the books!) when the US bishops approved the new Missal in 2002. This Missal specifically instructs that the veiling of images is permitted to begin the weekend before Palm Sunday (i.e., corresponding to the same two week stretch as the old period of Passiontide). 

Significance

Now that it is clear that the veiling of images is permitted, I think the key question is whether it corresponds to something that is true about the liturgy, or whether it is a distraction. For my own part, I have always thought that the veils intuitively made sense. However, I have encountered enough questions from others to know that this is not true for everyone! Here are some of the reasons that I find this practice helpful-

On a technical point, making a change at this point in Lent corresponds to a real change in the liturgy. We shift to a new Preface before the Eucharistic Prayer at Mass starting this weekend. There is more emphasis on the saving Passion and Death that is to come. It is fitting that a change in appearance matches this change in the prayers.

Similarly, at the beginning of Lent we are instructed to remove flowers and other superficial decorations, and then after Mass on Holy Thursday we are instructed to remove even the altar cloths. There is an internal motion of removing more and more of the elements of beauty and ornamentation in the church as we go along. Including the step of veiling the images leans into this progressive simplification. It matches the way that Christ’s glory is hidden in His suffering and death. The Prophet Isaiah says in one of the predictions of the Messiah as the ‘Suffering Servant,’ “He had no majestic bearing to catch our eye, no beauty to draw us to him” (Isaiah 53:2b). The veiled appearance of the church highlights the hidden nature of the Messiah.

Emotionally, the veiled images give me a sense of mourning, of a house being packed up in preparation for a period of vacancy, and of separation. Christ experiences these things as His apostles betray and abandon Him. The faithful disciples experienced this sense of separation at Christ’s death and burial. Separation is a true felt experience, even though we know that the Father never truly left the Son, and that Jesus never abandons us (much like the fact that the image is still present when veiled, even if covered).

The veiling of images reminds us that mourning and grief are not contrary to the Christian faith. St. Paul writes, “We do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope” (1 Thess 4:13). He doesn’t say that they shouldn’t grieve, but that they shouldn’t grieve like those without hope – this speaks to the manner of grief, not its absence. St. Paul invites the Romans to “Weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15). Jesus Himself wept at the death of His friend Lazarus, and taught, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). Mourning is a healthy response to the pain of grief, an acknowledgement that something has changed and that the world is not yet as it should be. We do suffer loss, and it is not contrary to our hope in eternal life to acknowledge that. I think the opposition to the veiling of images as invoking too much melancholy misses the healing aspect of this practice. The liturgical year trains the heart to find God at all times, when His presence is palpable or not. For two weeks we sit with the mystery of loss… but it does not last forever. Easter is coming soon!

Conclusion

Returning to the question at hand, to evaluate the veiling of images, we have to think about whether it enhances or distracts from the spirit of the liturgy at this point of the year. I think that it reflects something that is true both of the final weeks of Lent and of the spiritual life in general. I find the liturgy richer for the addition of this symbol, and that the veils help us to connect emotionally with what is happening. Jesus doesn’t defeat something small and trivial, but rather the greatest of pains. We sing the Alleluia all the more joyfully the better we understand what the Resurrection has overcome!

Christmas Images and St. John Damascene

Advent/Christmas is a time filled with images – manger scenes, the Holy Family, angels, Saint Nicholas, and many others. This is not unique to the Catholic Church, but something you see almost everywhere this time of year!

What is ironic, is that for some the Catholic use of images is in fact an obstacle and stumbling block to belief in the Church. Many believe that this violates the Old Testament prohibition: “You shall not make for yourself an idol or a likeness of anything in the heavens above or on the earth below or in the waters beneath the earth” (Exodus 20:4). How can we fill our churches with graven images, when this is specifically prohibited? The extreme view of this position is called iconoclasm (literally, “image breaking”). It is the belief that all forms of images are against the teaching of the Scriptures and the respect due to God, and must be removed or destroyed.

Therefore, I think that it is very fitting that we always celebrate the feast of St John Damascene (Dec. 4th) near the beginning of Advent. He was an active writer in the early 700’s at a time when iconoclasm was very strong. In his writings we find a wonderful defense of the practice of sacred images – seeing them not as an obstacle to authentic worship, but a powerful aid!

First, the extreme position against images is not even a fair interpretation of the Old Testament. Just five chapters after the supposed prohibition against all graven images, God commands that the Israelites make images of the cherubim (a type of angel) to be placed on the Ark of the Covenant: “Make two cherubim of beaten gold for the two ends of the cover” (Exodus 25:18). Likewise, wooden statues of the cherubim are included in the construction of the Temple in Jerusalem: “In the inner sanctuary he made two cherubim, each ten cubits high, made of pine.” (1 Kings 6:23). Thus, the Old Testament does not forbid the creation of all sacred images, but only in the narrower sense of ones specifically worshipped in place of God (i.e., idols). As Catholics, we do not worship the saints in place of God, but rather see them as living brothers and sisters near to the Lord – “He is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive” (Luke 20:38). We give thanks for the grace of God at work in them, and ask them to pray for us.

Second, St John Damascene specifically draws out the way that things have changed after the incarnation of the second person of the Trinity- Jesus taking on human nature in the womb of the Virgin Mary, true God and true man. Many of the Old Testament laws were connected to the particular time and situation, or as a preparation toward later fulfillment. There are many times that Jesus declares this about Old Testament teaching: 

  • “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’… [and] ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5: 38, 43-44).
  • “He said to them, ‘Are even you likewise without understanding? Do you not realize that everything that goes into a person from outside cannot defile…’ Thus he declared all foods clean.” (Mark 7:18-19). 
  • “Because of the hardness of your hearts Moses allowed you to divorce your wives, but from the beginning it was not so.” (Matthew 19:8). 

In each of these cases, Jesus speaks of an Old Testament teaching that was pointing toward a deeper fulfillment, not one that was binding for all time. Many other examples could be found – for example, the animal sacrifices in the Temple.

Along this line, St John Damascene pointed out that when the “Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:15), God made a living image of Himself. Jesus says, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). The prophet Isaiah speaks of the way that the Messiah will remove what veils God: “On this mountain he will destroy the veil that veils all peoples, the web that is woven over all nations” (Isaiah 25:7). Indeed, we see this at the death of Christ on the Cross: “And behold, the veil of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom” (Matthew 27:51).

For all of these reasons, it is a mistake to take an overly strict interpretation of the prohibition against images in the Old Testament. I provide these abundant Scriptural references, since the attack against Catholic sacred images is often motivated by a desire to be faithful to what the Bible teaches. We can see that the Scriptures themselves teach us that God has reached out to us in a new way. The New Testament proclaims a closeness to God. Saints or sacred images do not keep us from seeing the glory of God as if they were competing lights, but rather they are mirrors that reflect the divine goodness in radiant beauty. It is a wonderful practice during Advent and Christmas to spend time praying in front of the art of the season, calling to mind more and more deeply the presence of God in our lives!

An Appointed Time for Everything

[I wanted to share this as a last-minute prep for Christmas – I originally wrote it for the News-Gazette Faith & Worship guide this year. God bless!]

“There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens” (Eccl. 3:1). It may seem odd to see these words from the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes in an article about Christmas, as it is a reading more often associated with funerals! However, in addition to speaking of a “time to weep… [and] a time to mourn,” this chapter speaks of “a time to laugh… and a time to dance” (v. 4). It is wisdom to understand the grace proper to each time, and to live in accord with it. The liturgical year (in other words, the church calendar of seasons, holy days, etc) applies this Biblical wisdom to our lives. As much as we give great significance to changing calendar years, I believe we should give even more significance to the change of liturgical seasons.


Advent encompasses the four Sundays before Christmas Day. The Christmas season is more than a single day, but continues through the traditional twelve days to Epiphany. Too often we miss the grace of the season of preparation, and cut short the celebration of its fruits. I want to look at three ways that Advent complements and prepares for the grace of the Christmas season. Advent is a time of reconciliation – with God and neighbor. This entails receiving forgiveness, granting forgiveness, and working to form stronger bonds. The fruit of this work is peace – the true, profound peace we desire to celebrate on Christmas.


Advent is a time of charity – a generosity that flows from gratitude. Commercialism may drive us to “shop till we drop,” and leave us worn out and in debt. The fruit of helping those in need and service to others opens up an interior freedom that leads to joy – the true, profound joy we desire to celebrate on Christmas.


Advent is a time of prayer – conversation with God. Whereas the world around us is filled with noise, prayer allows us to hear clearly. Scriptures, sacraments, devotions, and personal prayer give us the opportunity to spend quality time with God. The fruit of this time is love – the true, profound love we desire to celebrate on Christmas.


Ecclesiastes wraps up its reflection on the various times of life by stating, “I have seen the business that God has given to mortals to be busied about. God has made everything appropriate to its time, but has put the timeless into their hearts…” (vv. 10-11a). There is a timeless grace hidden in the Child Jesus. What a gift to have this appointed, appropriate time of year to once more make our way to Bethlehem.