Let me begin by saying, as a white Catholic, I knew almost nothing about the black Catholic experience until I heard Father Bryan Massingale speak at a conference. Massingale is a theologian, and also has to talk about racism a lot because he's black. As he says, when he was ordained, he only meant to become a priest. But he's obliged to be a black priest because that's what people see when they look at him. After hearing Massingale speak, I read his book on the church and racial justice (see below). Then I sat with him at another conference and got to talk with him more personally. He convinced me that I needed to read Cyprian Davis' history of contributions that black Catholics have made to this country—and how they were treated in return by country and church. Davis' history is an illuminating, breathtaking, and harrowing journey toward understanding. It made me realize that confronting the sin of racism takes time, education, and will—the same way building a society woven through with the thread of racism took time and teaching and deliberate decisions to create.

What becomes clear in an examination of the past and present is that racism is about everything in this country: poverty, education, health care, criminal justice, immigration, workers' rights, gender bias, the environment. Name an issue, and you discover there's a racial component to it that a white person may not have considered. This is what's meant by white privilege, a volatile term that a lot of people don't like to hear and don't properly understand. It doesn't imply that a white person is automatically richer, better educated, or has more career opportunities available to them—an obvious untruth. The privilege is that white people don't have to think about race. In every situation we face, we don't have to ask: what's the "white angle" on this? How will my skin likely affect my outcome here?

If you're black, Asian, Native American, or Latinx, you're never separated from the realities of race and what it may mean for you in any situation. And if you're white like me, you may be unaware that racism is a wound that harms us all.  A spiritual danger, that is. We can't live contentedly knowing about Lazarus at the gate, sick and hungry and in need, without being complicit in his suffering. We can't live adjacent to injustice and not be summoned to speak out against it until it's defeated. Most white people I know don't "have it out" for people of color, and therefore don't see racism as a problem they have. We ALL have the problem. It's our problem, until it's no one's problem.

Scriptures: Compassion is the counterpart to racism when it leads to solidarity, as follows: Matthew 25:31-46; Luke 7:11-17; 10:29-37; 15:11-32; 16:19-31; Romans 12:9-18; 1 Cor 11:17-29; 2 Corinthians 5:12, 16-21; Galatians 3:27-28 new creation

Books: Racial Justice and the Catholic Church, by Bryan Massingale (Orbis Books, 2010)

The History of Black Catholics in the United States, by Cyprian Davis (Crossroads, 1991)

Understanding and Dismantling Racism: The Twenty-First Century Challenge to White America, by Joseph Barndt (Fortress Press, 2008)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Known as the Stabat Mater Dolorosa ("The Sorrowful Mother Stood"), this medieval hymn is referenced as early as 1388. It was utilized as a liturgical sequence at Mass until the Council of Trent (1545-1563) suppressed this usage along with hundreds of other sequences. It returned to the Roman Missal in 1727 and was recommended for the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows on September 15. Most of us know it because it's widely sung during the Stations of the Cross. Yet its authorship is uncertain.

Among those proposed as the composer of the Stabat Mater was Saint Bonaventure (1221-1274), a doctor of the church. Since the Stations of the Cross were a Franciscan invention [see article "Where do the Stations of the Cross come from?"], it seemed plausible that an eloquent Franciscan might be its author. Pope Innocent III, who gave authorization to Francis of Assisi to begin his order, was also proposed as the writer, with less evidence. One of the Popes Gregory (just which one remains unspecified) and Pope John XXII have likewise been asserted by various period writers as composers of Stabat Mater. These speculations are no better than hearsay.

The most popular contestant was Jacopone da Todi (ca. 1230-1306), a Franciscan brother. Jacopone joined the Franciscans after the sudden loss of his wife in an accident. He was a poet and dramatist known for the composition of many laudi—religious songs and poems—as well as theatrical presentations of the gospel. 

Unhappily, Jacopone got swept up in a Franciscan controversy. After the death of Francis, many of his order were keen to relax the rule of absolute poverty. As Franciscans became more involved in apostolic work, some preferred to follow other religious orders in the acquisition of land and housing. A "Spirituals" faction, meanwhile, were repulsed by what they viewed as a sell-out of their ideal. The Spirituals broke from the order, and were excommunicated by Pope John XXII (a competitor with Jacopone as the source of Stabat Mater). Jacopone was imprisoned for writing poems criticizing his opponents—including the pope. A later pope freed him, and the Franciscans reclaimed Jacopone's body after death. These days Jacopone hovers near sainthood. But his penning of the Stabat Mater was thrown into question when a predated copy was found in the prayerbook of some 13th-century Dominican nuns.

Whoever wrote it, the Stabat Mater has enjoyed more than 60 English translations. It's been set to music more than 50 times, including by Vivaldi, Haydn, Schubert, Liszt, Dvoršák, and Verdi—and most recently, by James MacMillan in 2015. 

Scriptures: Luke 2:33-35; John 19:25-27

Book: Stabat Mater: The Mystery Hymn, by Desmond Fisher (Gracewing Publishing, 2015)

E-Resource: The Ultimate Stabat Mater Website - It compares multiple translations of the ancient hymn line by line.  

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Lamb of God, or Agnus Dei, has come to be a familiar liturgical formula referring to Jesus. This is interesting, as the term only occurs twice in the New Testament, and not at all in the Old. 

Of course, sheep and lambs are pervasive images in both Testaments, as you would expect in an agrarian culture. Lambs were essential to the religious sacrifices of Israel, including the centrally significant Passover lamb whose blood marked the doorposts and lintels of Hebrew houses in Egypt on the night when the angel of death passed over the land. Yearling lambs were also sacrificed at Israel's priestly ordination rites, and lambs served as peace offerings and sin offerings as well. It's clear from the earliest usages that the blood of lambs had special authority as a sign of God's protection, guidance, and forgiveness.

In the prophecies of Isaiah, the theology is advanced. Isaiah sees the lamb as an innocent and vulnerable animal, gentle and peace-loving. Contrast it with the lion, wolf, or bear, always in search of prey. In the songs of the faithful servant, Isaiah envisions the servant as a lamb led to slaughter, bearing the guilt of many without protest.

These early Hebrew understandings of the lamb's role in purifying the community of sin, and in making peace between the people and God, certainly contributed to John the Baptist's meaning when he identifies Jesus to the crowds: "Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" In John's gospel, this phrase is in the Baptist's mouth twice. From that same Johannine community emerges the image of the victorious Lamb of Revelation, who sits at God's throne and illuminates the New Jerusalem as its sole source of light.

It's no wonder that, when Philip the deacon encounters the Ethiopian eunuch in Acts, the man is puzzling over Isaiah's references to the lamb led to slaughter and trying to pierce the mystery. Why would God send a lamb to do the work of communal restoration? Why indeed? The Paschal mystery remains the focal point of salvation: that the innocent one bears away the world's guilt.

So we sing of this mystery in the Gloria at Mass, and in the three-fold "Lamb of God" before communion. "Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world," the priest intones. "Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb." 

Scripture: Exodus 12:3-9; Leviticus 3:6-11; 4:32-35; Isaiah 11:6; 53:7; Luke 10:3; John 1:29, 36; 21:21:15; Acts 8:32; 1 Peter 1:19; Revelation 5:6-13; 7:9-17

Books: At the Supper of the Lamb: A Pastoral and Theological Commentary on the Mass, by Paul Turner (Liturgy Training Publications,  2011)

The Lamb and the Beasts, by Stephen J. Binz (Twenty-Third Publications, 2006)

E-Resource: Website "Art and Theology: revitalizing the Christian imagination through painting, poetry, music, and more" - Don't miss Victoria Emily Jones' articles on liturgical art. And please, enjoy a hymn or two.

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Catechesis is the process of awakening a person to faith. We typically think of catechesis as instruction: children's religion programs, or RCIA formation for adults preparing for baptism. While catechesis involves teaching, textbooks aren't central to the process. "The study of the sacred page" is the heart of the matter (Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, nos. 21-26). Catechesis is a ministry of the word: not only reading Scripture but entering into dialogue with God's word so that it dwells in us. Our lives literally become an echo of what we hear.

Catechetics is the theory behind catechesis—something you may not consider unless you're a catechist (one who provides catechesis to others). But it's something to think about if you suspect your parish programs have an agenda more partisan than pastoral. Catechetics since Vatican II aims not merely to pass on "the deposit of faith"—those traditions and teachings governing church life. Catechetics recognizes the human element in the process of awakening faith. It's not about indoctrinating future disciples through the memorizing of immoveable truths. Catechetics seeks to use age-appropriate and culturally sensitive methods of instruction so that faith formation, and not indoctrination, is the result. Catechists must not only know church teaching, but also grasp the social and moral context of their times and how their communities might be called to respond to them. 

Catechism was once the fundamental way religious instruction was accomplished. A catechism is a manual of instruction involving a question-and-answer format. It typically follows the organization of the creed, the Ten Commandments, and the seven sacraments. The point of such instruction was literally to echo the catechism in memorizing the answers to each question and to reiterate them verbatim. The present Catechism of the Catholic Church, contrary to popular belief, wasn't intended to be a personal manual of instruction for the classroom. It's meant to guide bishops in the formation of diocesan programming.

Catechumen is the easiest to distinguish in this echo chamber of similar-sounding terms. It refers to an unbaptized person seeking to be joined to the church. Catechumen is often contrasted with candidate, the term for a baptized Christian who seeks to become Catholic.

Scripture: Deuteronomy 32:2; Psalm 119; Matthew 5:1-7:29; 22:34-40; Acts 5:27-42; 1 Timothy 4:6-16; 2 Timothy 3:14-17

Books: Catechesis in a Multi-Media World: Connecting to Today's Students, by Mary Byrne Hoffman (Paulist Press, 2012)

The Art of Catechesis: What You Need to Be, Know, and Do, by Maureen Gallagher (Paulist Press, 1998)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Officially known as the Vigil for the Deceased, the wake service is part of a sequence of funeral rites conducted according to local custom and clergy accessibility—and nowadays, with Covid protocols in place. In the revised Rites of the Catholic Church, these rites all share a dual purpose: to commend the dead to God and to support Christian hope among the living.

The stations of the funeral rite in their fullest expression recognize significant times and places surrounding the death of a loved one. They include a vigil in the home at the time of death, the laying out of the body, the gathering of relatives and friends for a consoling Liturgy of the Word, the life-affirming sharing of the Eucharist at the church, and the final commendation and burial at the cemetery. These rites presume that spiritual preparation of the sick and dying, and their families, was pastorally administered. In this way, the deceased and the mourners are accompanied through the process of loss and consolation comprehensively.

These three stations of the funeral rite—in the home, in church, and at the cemetery—aren't always geographically possible or culturally appropriate. A second option with two stations is therefore recommended: at the chapel and the gravesite. A third plan has one station: at the home of the deceased. In the United States, the wake service is typically held at a funeral home rather than an individual's home, followed by a funeral Mass and cemetery committal service.

The rites are uncommonly delicate in their recommendations, especially regarding the wake. Family traditions, local customs, and "anything that is good may be used freely" ("Funerals," 2). Some families may want to pray the rosary together or sit in silence; others may include singing and telling stories. Only that which is "alien to the gospel" is discouraged. The central concern is that those gathered have sufficient opportunity to pray and profess their faith.

Whether the vigil takes place in the home or at church, the body of the deceased may be available for viewing or in a closed casket. Cremains may also be placed in a position of respect. Typically a greeting, psalm, Scripture reading, brief homily, general intercessions, and the Lord's Prayer comprise the formal parts of a wake. While a priest or deacon may lead the service, it's also permissible that a lay person do this—and the other funeral rites, too, save the Eucharist itself, when no priest is available.

Scripture: Genesis 23:1-20; 47:28-31; 49:28–50:14; Deuteronomy 34:5-8; 1 Samuel 31:8-13; 2 Samuel 1:11-12, 17-27; Tobit 1:16-20; 2:1-8; 4:4; Sirach 38:9-23; Mark 15:42—16:1; Matthew 26:6-13; Luke 7:11-17; John 11:17-44; 19:38-42

Books: Planning the Catholic Funeral, by Terence P. Curley (Liturgical Press, 2005)

After the Funeral, by Jane Winsch (Paulist Press, 1995)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Canon law says "clerics are forbidden to assume public offices which entail a participation in the exercise of civil power" (Canon 285.3). Furthermore, "clerics are not to have an active role in political parties and in the direction of labor unions unless the need to protect the rights of the Church to promote the common good requires it in the judgment of the competent ecclesiastical authority" (Canon 287.2). This second canon is tricky, since the "unless" opens the door to political involvement if a competent authority deems it necessary. But who might that authority be if a papal representative and national bishops' committee don't see eye to eye?

Historically, priests—including a Benedictine, a bishop, and a future cardinal—were elected to public offices before the canonical ban was set in place by Pope John Paul II in 1980. A few were elected afterward and chose laicization. Twenty-three Catholic clergy have served as ambassadors, chancellors, representatives, prime ministers, and presidents in 11 countries since the 18th century. European countries that elected or appointed priest politicians include France, Germany, Poland, Austria, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic. In the Americas, Nicaragua, Venezuela, Paraguay, the Dominican Republic, Canada, and the United States have all seen priests serving in government roles. 

The first U.S. priest to serve in federal government was Sulpician missionary Gabriel Richard. Assigned to the Michigan Territory, Richard served one term as a non-voting territorial delegate to Congress. In the 1970s, Norbertine priest Robert John Cornell represented Wisconsin in Washington for two terms. Cornell withdrew a bid to regain his office in 1980 after the ban. Jesuit Robert Drinan represented Massachusetts for five terms in Congress, ending his reelection campaign after the ban.

Upon relinquishing his campaign, Cornell said, "It is my personal belief that serving in Congress is no more inconsistent with the priesthood than teaching government and history, as I have done for 35 years."

In addition, several Sisters of Mercy, a Sister of St. Joseph, and a Dominican Sister have been elected to state or city positions of governance in the United States since the ban took effect. Technically the Canon claims jurisdiction only over clergy. However, in at least three instances, the sisters in question were ordered by their local bishop to choose between politics and religious life. All three chose to retain their elected seats "to promote the common good."

Scripture: reflect on roles of biblical priest-leaders - Moses, Samuel, Ezra, Judas Maccabeus

Books: Politics in the Parish: The Political Influence of Catholic Priests, by Gregory Allen Smith (Georgetown University Press, 2008)

Catholics and Politics: The Dynamic Tension Between Faith and Power, eds. Kristin Heyer et. al. (Georgetown University Press, 2008)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Altogether, 21 ecumenical councils are recognized by the church. These gatherings have moved the church forward in an evolution of self-understanding that is by no means complete today.

Only two are known as Vatican Councils because the rest were held elsewhere than the Vatican Basilica in Rome. Five gathered in the Lateran Basilica, also in Rome. Four convened in Constantinople. Two took place in Nicaea, and two in Lyons. The longest and certainly one of the most fateful councils was held in Trent. Other locations include Ephesus, Chalcedon, Vienne, and Constance. One curious council is known by the names of four cities it migrated through: Basel-Ferrara-Florence-Rome. 

And of course, though it doesn't make the official count, a very significant council was called in Jerusalem by Peter, James, and John not long after the time of Jesus. It was there that Paul was granted special permission to bring non-Jews into the church without circumcising them first.

What did the rest of the councils decide? The first seven (from 325 to 787) condemned a lot of divergent theologies: Arianism, Apollinarianism, Nestorianism, Monophysitism, the Three Chapters of Theodore of Mopsuestia, Monothelitism, and iconoclasm. These teachings mostly involved divergences in the way Jesus is perceived: whether in relationship to God, or to his own humanity or divinity. The last one, iconoclasm, was a movement to destroy icons used in veneration. Those of us who love our holy images might be grateful that one got condemned.

The eighth council, the fourth held in Constantinople (869-70), broke the church apart into East (Constantinople) and West (Rome). The Eastern Church doesn't recognize any of the councils that followed. After that, the council agendas become largely, well, churchy: determining relationships between popes and kings, dealing with the phenomenon of anti-popes, reining in misbehaving clergy, ruling on how popes should be elected. 

The very important Fourth Lateran Council (1215) defined Eucharistic transubstantiation and ruled that Catholics should go to confession annually. It also made the infamous decision to require Jews and Muslims to wear distinctive dress. Several later councils attempted to bring the Eastern and Western halves of the church back together again—without success. The Council of Trent (1545-63, with several interruptions) dealt with the significant challenges of the Protestant Reformation. Vatican I (1869-70) declared papal infallibility. Which brings us to the still-recent reforms of Vatican II (1962-65), with its agenda opening onto an engagement with the broader world. Which makes you ask: what should the next church council do?

Scripture: Matthew 18:20; Acts 15:1-35

Books: The Ecumenical Councils of the Catholic Church: A History, by Joseph F. Kelly (Michael Glazier, 2009)

21 Ecumenical Councils that Shaped Catholic History and Beliefs (Audiobook), by John W. O'Malley (Now You Know Media/Learn 25, 2017)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Just as the church welcomes us at the start of life in the sacrament of Baptism, the church prepares us with sacramental rites and prayers to strengthen us for the final journey. These rites are known by various names: extreme unction, last rites, viaticum. Last rites aren't a discreet eighth sacrament, but incorporate aspects of three familiar ones: Reconciliation, Anointing, and Holy Communion (called in this hour viaticum, Latin for "on the way with you"). Included in these rites are prayers commending the dying person to the protection of God.

Death isn't typically an event we can schedule on a calendar and organize liturgically, like other sacramental occasions. The moment of death is far from uniform, and may not be predicted much in advance. This makes what happens in the Last Rites highly flexible to the nearness of death as well as the coherence and ability of the dying person. 

When the person receiving the sacraments is capable, the Last Rites are celebrated in their fullness. The priest is the typical minister of these rites, but it's appropriate that family is present whether in a home or hospital setting. The private sacrament of Reconciliation is followed by the communal Anointing of the Sick. This sacrament may take place even if there's been a previous anointing earlier in the illness. Silence, the laying on of hands, prayer, and the blessing with oils are signs that remind us of the healing authority of Christ. (The term extreme unction was formerly used to express the urgency of this final "unction," or anointing.)

The Anointing of the Sick imparts many graces. Gifts of the Spirit—peace, strength, and courage—are made available to the dying. We're united with the passion of Christ in our suffering. The faith of the dying person strengthens the church as it "contributes to the good of the People of God" in this powerful witness. (Lumen Gentium 11:2) Lastly, the anointing prepares the traveler for the final journey into life everlasting.

The Catechism notes: "As the sacrament of Christ's Passover the Eucharist should always be the last sacrament of the earthly journey, the 'viaticum' for 'passing over' to eternal life." (CCC 1517) Jesus says, "The one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise you up on the last day." When time is short, viaticum, along with the prayer of commendation, is sufficient for the entire rite.

Scriptures: Mark 2:17; Matthew 10:37-39; John 6:54; Romans 8:16-17; Colossians 1:24; 2 Timothy 2:11-12; James 5:14-16; 1 Peter 4:13

Books: The Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, by Lizette Larson-Miller (Liturgical Press, 2005)

A Ritual for Laypersons: Rites for Holy Communion and the Pastoral Care of the Sick and Dying (Liturgical Press, 2019)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Reading them would be tough—unless you know Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. The story of the scrolls isn't complete even now, more than 70 years after the first collection was discovered by a Bedouin boy in search of a lost sheep in 1947. As recently as March 2021, archeologists announced new findings in yet another cave, including fragments from some books of prophecy. Who knows what else lies undiscovered in the Judean desert, with its excellent conditions for preserving ancient artifacts?

The Dead Sea Scrolls raise more questions than they supply definitive answers. To the disappointment of many, the scrolls aren't a smoking gun linking the Qumran community (which consigned these writings to their caves) with Jesus, John the Baptist, or Christianity. No New Testament texts appear among the thousands of fragments so far unearthed. Yet every Jewish biblical book except Esther is logged among the findings. The original 11 caves, uncovered between 1947 and 1956, contained some 900 distinct manuscripts, most of them extra-biblical. 

What we learned from Cave 1, which seems to have been a deliberate library for the community, is that a great deal of attention at Qumran focused on the present and the future, not just the past. The rules by which this community—presumed by most scholars to be the Essenes—would live was a paramount concern.  The Essenes were among three significant subgroups within Judaism between 150 BC and 68 AD, when Roman soldiers destroyed Qumran. Unlike the Sadducees, who ran the Temple and cooperated with the Roman occupiers, the Essenes withdrew from Jerusalem and rejected the legitimacy of the Temple leaders. Rather than participating in the customary ritual sacrifices, the Essenes anticipated the rabbinic movement to come which would replace Temple worship with study of the Law of Moses. 

Like the third movement of the period, that of the Pharisees, the Essenes were dedicated to religious purity. Young men found their zeal and idealism attractive, and would enter the community for a time. However, a longstanding practice of celibacy deterred some from remaining. A study of gravesites around Qumran revealed that the community relaxed the celibacy requirement at a later date. A more recent gravesite included women and children buried separately, at a discreet distance, from the men.   

The scrolls provide evidence to the complexity of religious ideas circulating in the generations around Jesus. Judaism was fractured. The interpretation of sacred texts was seriously debated. Jesus wasn't the only teacher of his time calling for a reexamination of what Pilate once wondered: What is truth?

Scriptures: Matthew 24:3-14; 1 Timothy 1:3-11; 4:1-16; 6:3-6; 2 Timothy 2:14-26; 3:10-17

Books: The Impact of the Dead Sea Scrolls, by Joseph Fitzmyer, S.J. (Paulist Press, 2020)

The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity, by James VanderKam, Peter Flint (HarperOne, 2004)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

First, the term never appears in the Bible. The theology of the Fall evolves over time and reflection by church fathers, especially Augustine who popularized the term "original sin" to define humanity's "fall from grace." (See Questions Catholics Ask:  "What is ‘original sin’ "?)

Which is not to say biblical texts concerning the first sin don't provide ample material to support the doctrine that followed. The story is dramatically simple: God makes a man and woman in the divine image and instructs them not to eat from a single tree in the garden. Eating its fruit would be fatal. Yet the couple prefers to take advice from a fellow creature in the Garden. This serpent claims the fruit doesn't cause death, but actually delivers fullness of life as God enjoys. This turns out to be the worst fake news in history.

This ancient myth is etiological, in the manner of Rudyard Kipling's stories of how the leopard gets its spots and the rhino its wrinkles. Why is life so hard? people wonder. Is God doing this to us? Do we deserve to suffer? The story of the Garden assures us that God doesn't cause harm. People do this; and we do it with every choice we make against God's benevolent guidance.

Saint Paul later hooks this story about the origins of suffering to the gospel accounts of the passion of Jesus. Paul simplifies the math by condensing the story to two crucial actors. One chooses the way of disobedience (not listening to God), launching the story of sin and suffering. Another chooses perfect obedience and, by means of his voluntary suffering, reverses the consequences of sin and death. One man falls, and another is lifted into the heavens. The point is clear: the self-willed path leads to ruin. Pursuing the will of God leads to salvation. Choose wisely.

The theology of the Fall becomes problematic when it narrows its focus on two "original" persons; one historical choice; and the dreadful consequences for the rest of us. Because of a single defining moment most of us didn't participate in, men and women are perpetually alienated from each other and the earth, between generations, and from God. Most parochial school kids figure out early on this is a pretty raw deal for a piece of fruit. To transfer our gaze to the significance of every human decision—toward self-will, or for the holy will—is to recognize that we each choose to fall, or to rise.

Scriptures: Genesis 2 & 3; Isaiah 14:12-21; Ezekiel 28:12-19; Sirach 25:24; Wisdom 2:23-24; Romans 5:12-21

Books: An Introduction to the Old Testament: A Feminist Perspective, by Alice L. Laffey (Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1988)

A New Heaven, A New Earth: The Bible and Catholicity, by Dianne Bergant and Ilia Delio (Orbis Books, 2016)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

How did the church arrive at the idea that we receive seven divine gifts at Confirmation? We memorized them once—wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord—in case the bishop quizzed us before the sacrament. While Acts of the Apostles and Saint Paul's writings say a lot about the Holy Spirit's activity, bestowing these seven particular gifts never comes up.

The prophet Isaiah lists the gifts as we know them (see Isa 11:1-2). The Hebrew translation of this passage lists only six; the seventh, piety, derives from the Septuagint translation from which the Catholic Bible emerges. Isaiah foretells that these special characteristics will be revealed in the one who comes "from the stump of Jesse"—that is, the promised king of David's lineage who will come to rescue the people. This future king is often identified as the Messiah (Hebrew for "anointed one").

When Jesus arrives, born of David's line eight centuries after the time of Isaiah, he's recognized as the possessor of such divine gifts and therefore the fulfillment of the prophecy. He's acknowledged as the Christ (Greek for "anointed one"). In turn, Jesus promises to send the same Spirit that dwells in him to his disciples. In the upper room at Pentecost, his promise is fulfilled. So when you and I are anointed with the oil of chrism at Confirmation, it follows that we "anointed ones" are recipients of these divine gifts.

Perhaps you don't feel wise or courageous. I'm not the best specimen of piety either. Manifesting these gifts isn't something we do automatically after we're confirmed, the way superheroes suddenly manifest their superpowers. As theologians say, we have to become "docile" to the work of the Spirit, to make ourselves habitually open to the Spirit's influence. That means putting the ego aside—something we don't do without a great deal of practice.

At the same time, we understand that we are granted genuine spiritual superpowers known as charisms. These special favors bestowed by the Spirit are provided for the benefit of the church. Saint Paul recites a litany of such charisms including wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, mighty deeds, prophecy, discernment, and the gift of tongues. Paul later lists teaching, service, and administration as additional spiritual gifts. These aren't meant to override Isaiah's list of seven. On the contrary, they suggest that the Holy Spirit is ready to provide whatever gifts the church requires.

Scripture: Isaiah 11:1-3; Psalm 143:10; John 14:15-17, 25-26; 16:7-15; 20:22-23; Acts of the Apostles 2:1-4; Romans 8:14-17; 1 Corinthians 12:4-31

Books: Fire of Love: Encountering the Holy Spirit, by Donald Goergen, OP (Paulist Press, 2006)

The Holy Spirit: Setting the World on Fire, edited Richard Lennan and Nancy Pineda-Madrid (Paulist Press, 2017)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

In civil law, we hear the phrase: ignorance of the law is no excuse. Yet in moral theology, nuances determine the amount of responsibility we have for rules and laws of which we may be unaware. Our ignorance is measured, and at some degree we do hold a certain amount of responsibility.

But first, let's consider what the Catechism of the Catholic Church has to say about human freedom and responsibility in general. The culpability we hold for our actions is mitigated in many ways, including: "ignorance, inadvertence, duress, fear, habit, inordinate attachments, and other psychological factors." (CCC 1735) These factors spell out reasons we may be less guilty, or even absolved of guilt, based on the conditions under which we act. If we're honestly unaware of the moral value of what we do, we're much less liable for it. If we didn't intend to do the thing, or were forced to; if we operated under powerful influences like fear or outside pressure; if we've repeated the offense so many times we're practically compelled to it; or if we suffer from mental illness in a variety of forms—these conditions qualify our culpability to a great extent.

The question you're specifically asking is one of vincible ignorance: that which is not invincible, but can be readily overcome. How responsible am I for the ignorance under which I as a moral agent have operated? It depends on how easily I might have known or should have known that I did wrong. Vincible ignorance is defined in three degrees: simple, crass, and affected. Say, for example, you learned the holy days of obligation as a child, but missed Mass on the Assumption on August 15th. As a Catholic, it's your responsibility to observe the holy days but you were on vacation and just forgot. That's simple ignorance and it's not a serious moral failure.

However, it becomes a crass moral fault if you miss Mass every year on August 15th because you make no effort to re-educate yourself regarding obligatory holy days (Mary the Mother of God, Ascension, Assumption, All Saints, Immaculate Conception). And it becomes an affected or studied kind of ignorance if you refuse to acknowledge that the church considers these feasts to be significant and worthy of reflection in the life of the faithful and pay no attention to the liturgical calendar. Not knowing the holy days then becomes a morally weighty matter.

Scripture: Genesis 3:11-19; 4:10-15; 2 Samuel 12:1-15; Psalm 119:105-106; Sirach 15:14-15; Mark 7:18-23; Romans 1:18-21; 2:14-16; 6:17; 2 Timothy 3:14-17; 1 John 3:19-24

Books: The Call to Holiness: Embracing a Fully Christian Life, by Richard Gula, SS (Paulist Press, 2003)

Making Choices: Practical Wisdom for Everyday Moral Decisions, by Peter Kreeft (Servant Press, 1990)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Images have been a part of worship since the era of cave paintings. But they have a bad reputation in the Bible, starting with the First Commandment. As a result, both Jews and Muslims ban the use of images in their art and architecture (but please read Chaim Potok's wonderful novel My Name Is Asher Lev for insights into how an artist's inspiration to create clashes with the prohibition against images). The biblical problem is spelled out in that original commandment:

"I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them or serve them. It is written: 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.'"

The law's primary concern is exclusive fidelity to the God of Israel. Having just emerged from Egypt—a culture of abundant images from its hieroglyphic writing and statues to pyramids and the Great Sphinx—it was paramount not to confuse Israel's God with the deities of the land of slavery. Yet also and more poignantly, the liberating God who effected the nation's rescue is a Lord who is fundamentally free as well. Image-making can only shrink the divinity in the people's imagination. Just think how depictions of the Ancient of Days in a long white beard convinced many generations that being made in God's image implies being white and male. A God carved by human hands seems easily controllable by human rituals or reprisals. So: if God doesn't come through on your request, just withhold next year's harvest sacrifice.

Of course we know how the story goes. Even while Moses is actively receiving this prohibition on Mount Sinai, the community below is shaping a golden calf with its treasure. Ignorance of the law (that wasn't a law five minutes ago) evidently is no excuse! Yet consider how the fashioning of the Ark of the Covenant includes two cherubim of beaten gold in its design, just five chapters later. God also commands Moses to make an image of a seraph serpent to cure the people at a later date. Cherubim are likenesses of heaven above, serpents of earth below—both pointedly forbidden. The commandment's goal is even sharper here: not to forbid all image-making, but only that reverenced and served as a rival deity. "No graven images" discouraged idolatry and, simultaneously, any images that might limit or define the liberating and liberated God.

Divinizing any creature (including wealth, power, celebrity) remains a fundamental religious prohibition. The catechism notes, however, that by his incarnation Jesus introduces a new "economy" of images that assist us in venerating, not the images themselves, but the God incarnate whom they represent. (CCC no.2131-2132)

Scripture: Genesis 1:26-27; Exodus 20:2-6; 25:17-22; Leviticus 19:4; 26:1-2; Numbers 21:8-9; Deuteronomy 5:6-10; 6:4-5; Judges 17:1-6; 1 Kings12:28-30; Isaiah 30:22; 45:16; Matthew 4:10 

Books: The God of Life, by Gustavo Guttierrez/ trans. Matthew J. O'Connell (Orbis Books, 1991)

Icons in the Western Church: Toward a More Sacramental Encounter, by Jeana Visel, O.S.B. (Liturgical Press, 2016)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

When we put our faith in other people, it means we trust them to do as they say and to follow through on their promises. It doesn't mean we believe that they exist. Yet this minimalist definition of faith seems to be what's most often applied in the realm of religion. Faith in God, in this sorry little sense, merely implies giving intellectual assent to an eternal Being out there somewhere. Faith can further imply our adherence to a certain list of beliefs taught by a group that purports to represent God: church, synagogue, mosque, or meeting hall. 

Believing in a set of ideas about God is quite different from putting our confidence in a vital relationship with the God who saves: the God who rescues us, personally, and whose promises are true. Settling for the former notion is probably the most short-changing proposition we can make in our spiritual lives. Contrast that with what happens if we extend the same faith to God we offer to people. As Jesuit theologian Michael Cook describes it, we only surrender our trust to those with whom we have a shared history that recommends such confidence. Committing our faith to another person is a "self-transcending" hour that involves risk. We become vulnerable to betrayal, deceit, or disappointment. Who would take such a risk unless the one to whom we give our faith has proven credible and worthy of it?

This is precisely the kind of faith Abraham surrenders to the God who invites him to leave home and extended family, and to embark on a future that's unseen and unknown. God promises land and descendants. If Abraham hadn't believed God was good for it, he would never have left his father's tents.

What reason might you and I have to commit our destinies to God? The Bible reveals a shared history between God and humanity in which people are frequently deceitful and disappointing. Yet God is steadfast. We can also meditate on creation itself, in which God's commitment to life, beauty, and prosperity are clearly seen. Ultimately, it's only in taking the plunge into trusting God, and accepting the invitation to journey with God as Abraham did, that we learn for ourselves that God's promises are true. As Karl Rahner says, we can settle for the mind grasping divine mysteries. Or we can permit ourselves to be grasped.

Scripture:  Genesis 12:1-7; Matthew 17:14-20; Luke 11:9-13; Romans 4:1-3, 13-25; 5:1-5; 10:4-10; 1 Corinthians 13:12-13; 2 Corinthians 5:7; James 2:14-18; 1 John 1:1-4

Books: Christology as Narrative Quest, by Michael L. Cook, S.J. (Liturgical Press, 1997)

Why Stay Catholic? Unexpected Answers to a Life-Changing Question, by Michael Leach (Loyola Press, 2011)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Prayer is a spiritual art, so recommended prayer forms vary according to the artist. In Richard McBrien’s Encyclopedia of Catholicism, three general categories are listed: vocal, mental, and passive. Vocal prayer is defined as anything that uses words—spoken, recited, or sung. It can utilize composed or spontaneous prayers. The psalms and the liturgy of the Mass are two examples of vocal prayer. Mental prayer, by contrast, is a silent reflection involving the imagination and will. Ignatian guided imagery and the use of Scripture in meditation (lectio divina) are samples of mental prayers. Passive prayer is also known as contemplation. You don’t control or generate it: you relinquish all. In return, the mystical encounter awaits as pure gift of God. Passive prayer can be ecstatic, as Teresa of Avila experienced it. It can also be a source of intense suffering, as with John of the Cross.

Another way to envision prayer forms are two categories suggested by Richard Rohr: mental prayer and body prayer. Here “mental” describes that which involves the rational being: both vocal and mental forms outlined above would fit into this idea of mental prayer. Body prayer, by contrast, means “to pray from the clay”—the vessel of the self formed from clay and divine Breath. This could include spiritual activities as diverse as walking the labyrinth or Stations of the Cross, pilgrimage, fingering rosary beads, tai chi, or yoga. Depending on your level of participation in passive prayer mentioned above, this could be a mental prayer or a full-body experience.

The Modern Catholic Encyclopedia (ed. Glazier/Hellwig) gets more explicit, listing 16 prayer forms. The first bunch are communal: public (shared prayer), Eucharist (the source and summit of our faith), Scripture (where God speaks), and the Divine Office (psalm-led prayer on behalf of humankind). Tre Ore, the least familiar on this list, is a Trinity prayer in which one hour is given to silent adoration, one to writing and reflection, and a third to group sharing.

The MCE list includes the familiar: personal prayer, spiritual reading, silent listening, recitation (rosaries, litanies), mental prayer, contemplation, the examination of conscience. It also explores the idea of recollection (bringing God to mind throughout the day), meditation (guiding the intellect and reason), affective prayer (involving the emotions and affections), and journaling as an interactive mapping of the spiritual journey. This is by no means a definitive list. Consider it a place to begin.

Scripture: Num 6:24-26; Psalms; Matthew 6:9-13; Luke 1:46-55, 68-79; 2:29-32

Online
• A downloadable “User’s guide on the ways to pray” by Linus Mundy
• “Find Your Spirituality Type” quiz by Roger O'Brien
• “What's the difference between saying ‘set’ prayers and prayers in my own words?” by Alice Camille
• “How is the Mass ‘prayer’”? by Alice Camille

Books: Prayer and Temperament: Different Prayer Forms for Different Personality Types, by C. Michael, M. Norrisey (Open Door, 1985)

The Breath of the Soul, by Joan Chittister (Twenty-Third Pub, 2009)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

The trouble with Pilate’s question—apart from his dubious sincerity—is that someone with a Greco-Roman bias is asking this of a Jewish teacher. To the philosophical mind, truth is a substance obtained through a rational process. You can then pin it to the wall and say: Ta da! That’s truth. To the biblically trained Jewish mind, however, truth is discovered through experience, which then gives rise to faith and promotes integrated behaviors. Pilate and Jesus weren’t in the same conversation.

The Semitic word for truth is aman, meaning “reliable, constant, secure.” It’s the root from the Hebrew word Amen derives. In this sense a person can be true, as well as a word, a law, or a way of life. God is Ultimate Truth to the biblical believer, which is why all earthly ribbons of truth should be pursued, according to the sages of the Wisdom tradition. God will prove to be at the journey’s end. The person devoted to truth can look forward to a mystical union of the earthly and the heavenly: “Love and truth will meet; justice and peace will kiss. Truth will spring from the earth; justice will look down from heaven.” (Psalm 89:11).

In Greek-speak, truth is an intellectually appreciated “known.” So Jesus is described as “a truthful man” by onlookers in our Greek New Testament. But to the Hebrew mindset, embracing truth leads to trust in its source. So those who believe that Jesus is “the way, the truth, and the life” have to put their trust in him and not just appreciate his teaching. One who finds Jesus trustworthy in this way would also have to commit to “doing” truth or living in it: “Children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth.” (1 John 3:18)

Passionist scholar Paul Wadell notes that truth makes society possible. To live together we must trust each other. Living in the truth affirms trust and builds community. In a society of public lies, spin, and distortion, language becomes a disguise of meaning rather than authentic communication. We no longer trust our leaders—much less opponents, foreigners, or enemies!—because “You have my word” becomes an empty phrase. On the personal level, those who choose to live in self-serving fantasy rather than truth will reject reality and short-circuit social justice in favor of what works for them. A community without truth is a harrowing proposition. Say Amen, somebody!

Scripture: Ps. 12:2-3; 19:10; 119:142; Mark 12:14; John 8:31-32; 14:6; 17:17; 18:37; Romans 9:1; Gal 2:5; 1 Timothy 2:3-4; James 5:19-20

Books: Adult Faith: Growing in Wisdom and Understanding, by Diarmuid O’Murchu (Orbis, 2010)

What Is God: How to Think About God, by John F. Haught (Paulist Press, 1996)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

According to the church’s moral theologians, this is not true. The morality of using vaccines tested with fetal cell lines has been debated by theologians for years and has consistently been resolved in favor of vaccination. Many common vaccines we routinely give our children—including those for measles, mumps, rubella, and chicken pox—were developed and tested using the same cell lines utilized in the manufacture of the current vaccines for COVID-19. 

Here’s where your sister’s pastor finds matter for concern and confusion. In the U.S., cell lines used in lab research were originally cultivated from fetal tissue from abortions that occurred fifty years ago—before the moral debate on utilizing such tissue was engaged. It’s important to grasp that the fetal cell lines used in the production and testing of vaccines today are not the same fetal tissue from those abortions. Fetal cell lines are grown and reproduced in laboratories. They are thousands of generations removed from the original fetal tissue and are no longer capable of differentiating as human cells do.

The fear among those who reject the use of vaccines as immoral is that receiving the vaccine means materially cooperating with the sin of abortion. However, the distance from the source of the fetal cells and the laboratory process involved in growing and reproducing the cells is sufficient to remove all culpability, in the estimation of moral theologians.

All pronouncements from the Vatican and the USCCB conclude that inoculation with the anti-COVID-19 vaccine does not constitute material cooperation with abortion. Additionally, the immediate good of preventing infection and ending the pandemic is sufficient to offset the distant evil of abortion. It becomes a moral imperative for Catholics to be vaccinated: to participate in the moral good of protecting others from infection. Failure to do so could constitute a sin of omission.

In the words of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF): “All vaccinations recognized as clinically safe and effective can be used in good conscience with the certain knowledge that the use of such vaccines does not constitute formal cooperation with the abortion.” And “The morality of vaccination depends not only on the duty to protect one’s own health, but also on the duty to pursue the common good.”

Pertinent Documents:

—“Moral reflections on vaccines prepared from cells derived from aborted human fetuses” - The Pontifical Academy for Life (PAV) 2005

— Dignitas Personae (On Certain Bioethical Questions) - Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) 2008 

—“Clarifications on the medical and scientific nature of vaccination” - (PAV) 2017 

—“Note on the morality of using some anti-Covid-19 vaccines” - (CDF) December 2020 

—“Moral Considerations Regarding the New COVID-19 Vaccines” - (USCCB) Committees on Doctrine and Pro-Life Activities, December 2020

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Most of us equate faith healing with a miraculous resolution of a medical condition that can’t be explained by other means. In charismatic instances of faith healing, a sick person receives the laying on of hands, is prayed over often in an unintelligible language of tongues, and may experience being “slain in the Spirit”—falling to the ground involuntarily. In the movies, this is the moment when the person gets up, throws away the crutches, and walks away restored.

But let’s not be dismissive about the gift of healing. In the gospels, healing is frequently achieved by a touch or word from Jesus. In the early church, James exhorts the community to lay hands on the sick and pray for them—presuming a curative effect. Our Sacrament of the Sick today is an anointing with oil that seeks to restore the sick person to wholeness in body, mind, and spirit.

But what exactly are we praying for when we pray for healing? Theologian John Craghan distinguishes between seeking God’s intervention, and trying to assert mental control over the illness. Movements like Christian Science attempt the latter, while Catholic tradition invokes divine help. Craghan outlines four elements particular to Catholic teaching on healing: All healing is a gift from God. Sickness is not merely a result of incorrect thinking but a real condition. Medical help available through science cooperates with the goal of healing and should not be rejected as contrary to faith. And finally, the body isn’t the only place where sickness lodges and healing is needed; mind and spirit need restoration as well to achieve wholeness.

This understanding suggests it’s not enough to insist, “If it’s God’s will, I’ll get better”—denying a doctor’s recommendations or prescriptions. Likewise, those suffering from depression shouldn’t imagine that if only their faith were stronger, their condition would evaporate overnight. The loss of physical or mental health is distressing enough without the addition of unwarranted blame or guilt. 

The church has always invested in healing by means of the sacraments, as well as in caring for the sick by the construction of hospitals worldwide. Modern health care too often depersonalizes and dehumanizes the sick person in clinical settings and procedures. The Sacrament of the Sick restores the sick to the community of faith, and reveals them as a sign of Christ’s enduring suffering and compassion.

Scripture: Exodus 15:26; 1 Kings 17:17-24; Sirach 38:1-15; Mark 1:21-34; Matthew 14:13-14; 25:31-46; Luke 7:21-23; John 9:1-5; James 5:13-16

Books: Healing Through the Sacraments, by Michael Marsch (Liturgical Press, 1989)

Healing the Future: Personal Recovery from Societal Wounding, by Dennis, Sheila, and Matthew Linn (Paulist Press: 2012)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

As an adjective, being scrupulous describes a person who’s extremely attentive to details. Those who are scrupulous get the job done diligently and meticulously. When it comes to moral matters, the scrupulous are known for high-minded principles. If you hire a scrupulous employee, s/he can be trusted not to cut corners, cook the books, or take inkjet cartridges home from the office.

Pathological scrupulosity, however, manifests as a form of anxiety disorder. Then scrupulosity becomes a morbid fear of being in a sinful state. This condition isn’t about having a sensitive conscience: it would be terrific if more people did. The scrupulous person begins to manufacture occasions of sin, seeing the mirage of wrongdoing even where there isn’t any. The scrupulous start to worry that they’re about to sin; or have sinned without knowing it. 

“Don’t be a ‘scrupe,’” a confessor cautioned me when I was a somewhat pious teenager, already convinced that going to confession repetitively was a ladder to greater holiness. This priest was warning me that the road to spiritual scrupulosity often leads, not to the echelons of sanctity of medieval saints I secretly hoped to reach, but to an inability to judge the morality of any action with clarity. When the goal becomes rooting out every speck of potential personal sinfulness, the genuine ideal—of seeking the way of holy living—is obscured. Self-absorption is always a sign that the focus needs to be restored to God, and not to one’s own state of purity. In my case, the early warning got me off a road that could have led to great suffering.

Those who suffer from the mental illness of scrupulosity express anxiety about not going to confession often enough, not confessing adequately, or not performing their penance with sufficient contrition. They confess the same sins over and over, or repeat their penances trying to perfect their remorse. Even so, the scrupulous lose faith in the ability of absolution to do its work. They may come to believe they can’t be forgiven because the evil in them is too great. This, ironically, IS a matter of sin: to doubt the efficacy of divine forgiveness. It’s like saying that Jesus died on the cross in vain when it comes to you, since you personally are too bad to be saved. Those afflicted with scrupulosity should seek professional counseling, in addition to qualified spiritual direction.

Scripture: Joshua 1:9; 2 Chronicles 20:20; Psalms 9:10-11; 46:11; 56:3-5; 103:8-10; Proverbs 3:5; Isaiah 43:25; Matthew 21:22; Luke 1:37; 24:32; John 8:12; Ephesians 3:11-12; Philippians 4:13; Hebrews 13:8; Revelation 3:20-21

Website: https://scrupulousanonymous.org 

Books: Understanding Scrupulosity: Questions and Encouragement, by Thomas M. Santa, SSsR (Liguori Publications, 2017)

A Worrier’s Guide to the Bible: 50 Verses to Ease Anxieties, by Gary Zimak (Liguori Publications, 2012)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.

Taizé is an ecumenical movement founded in 1952 by Swiss-born Roger Schütz-Marsauche to recover the fruits of monasticism for Protestants and to promote unity among Christians. Does it have the blessing of the Roman Catholic Church? Most surely, and then some. Taizé’s most recent annual meeting, held virtually, received messages of support from Pope Francis, the Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, and the Patriarchate of Moscow. In addition, the Archbishop of Canterbury, representatives of the leadership of the World Council of Churches, the World Lutheran Federation, and other communions reaffirmed their support.

Why does Taizé enjoy such universal approval? The integrity of its founder certainly plays a large role. Brother Roger, as he was known, was the son of a Protestant minister and Huguenot mother. As a Presbyterian, Roger studied theology until contracting tuberculosis. During his convalescence, he became fascinated by monastic life. Yet his conscience was burdened by the horrors of war. In 1940, along with his sister Genevieve, he bought a property in Taizé, France, to shelter Jews and Christians persecuted by the Nazis. When the Gestapo learned of their efforts, they moved to Geneva. There, Roger joined an ecumenical community and became committed to the path of reconciliation.

After the war, Roger returned to Taizé to establish a quasi-monastic community open to all Christians. The Church of the Reconciliation, with its simple music and un-dogmatic ritual, attracted thousands of pilgrims weekly—and still does. Brother Roger urged young people to trust in God, remain connected to their local churches and to the common good of humanity. Taizé gatherings can be found in Africa, North and South America, Asia, and across Europe.

Brother Roger’s relationship to Catholicism is the source of much interest. A friend of Mother Teresa, he was known to attend daily Mass since 1972, receiving Eucharist from bishops and even two popes: John Paul II and Benedict XVI. It was rumored he’d become a Catholic, but in 1980 Brother Roger clarified: “I have found my own identity as a Christian by reconciling within myself the faith of my origins with the mystery of the Catholic faith, without breaking fellowship with anyone.” In 2005 at the age of 90, Brother Roger was murdered by a mentally ill woman during a Taizé service. A Catholic cardinal presided at his funeral.

Scripture: John 17:20-26; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31; Ephesians 4:1-6, 15-16 

Website: https://www.taize.fr/en 

Books: Brother Roger of Taizé: Essential Writings (Orbis Books,2006)

A Community Called Taizé: A Story of Prayer, Worship, and Reconciliation, by Jason Brian Santos (Inter-Varsity Press, 2008)

Reprinted with permission from PrepareTheWord.com. ©TrueQuest Communications.