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TopREFLECTIONS BY AN ELDERLY ITALIAN
Back when I was in the parish, we used to have preparation classes each month for those who would be involved in infant Baptisms. Family as well as sponsors were invited, and sometimes grandparents and above would be present. It was a chance to do some work on updating the theology of those present, some of whom didn’t seem to have spent any time thinking about religious issues since high school (or grade school!)
Well, one natural topic to spend some time on was the idea of "Limbo," the place or state of those who through no fault of their own died without being baptized (infants, those before Christ, etc.) That idea is a common Catholic concept that most people are familiar with.
It would come as something of a shock to people to be told that the idea of Limbo is not now, and never has been, a teaching of the Catholic Church. Surprised? One more time, it is not a teaching of the Catholic Church. The highest stance that could be given to it is that of a "respected theological opinion." Because it seemed to make about as much sense as anything else anyone has come up with, priests from the pulpit, certainly nuns in the schools, and the "common understanding" gave it a lot more weight than it should really get.
After explaining things, at one of those preparation sessions there was a truly ancient little Italian (great-great grandmother?) woman who just kept saying: "I believe everything Church says (she missed the point of the discussion) ... but Christ wouldn’t be mean to little baby. He work it out." Based on intuitive faith in Christ, whether there is a good theological explanation or not, she had absolute trust in Christ’s love.
I wonder whether there are emotional as well as theological issues involved in this whole question. Why is there so much of a focus on figuring things out for God? Why does my sense of ownership of Christian identity seem to depend so heavily on figuring out whether someone else is excluded? Remember the Scribes and Pharisees Christ got so irritated with? Do you think he was irritated because they were religious lawyers or because they got carried away?
Back in the Seminary I got in trouble with a Professor of Sacramental Theology. (I really didn’t get in trouble that often!) Anyway, he spent about 2 classes excitedly and in agonizing detail explaining how he had figured out an alternative to the theory of Limbo. We had a coffee break, and down in the cafeteria I approached him. I thanked him for the explanation he was giving but suggested that it didn’t change reality. Regardless of what the Church comes up with, Christ is going to do what makes sense to him, and he’s not waiting for the benefit of our thoughts on the subject. Using almost the same words as the little Italian lady, I told him that I felt that Christ had already worked it out to his satisfaction, and I was willing to trust that.
The priest hit the roof. He was really hot. When we went back up to class he said: "Mr. Mahoney has informed me that he feels that what we’ve been talking about is irrelevant because Christ will figure things out for himself. How many of you also feel that way?"
There was about a second’s hesitation, and then every hand in the class shot up. The professor stomped out of the room and never returned to the subject.
The subject is important, and we should have continued working with it, but not as if God would be forever bound by what we came up with.
I’d like to share some thoughts.
For most Christian groups there has been a presumption of exclusive possession of "salvation" with other groups generally seen as excluded. Often it is held and proclaimed with an intensity that suggests that what is really being expressed is a need for security. In effect, I affirm that I am safe by telling others that they are condemned. I am saying that I am special by telling others that they are not. I suppose you could even call it a kind of cultural projection—I take my insecurity and vest in some group outside, and then relate to them based on what I have projected.
For Catholics, there have been statements that "Outside the Catholic Church there is no salvation." That was broadened to "Outside the Church there is no salvation" (broader, ie. the community of those who believe in Christ). Many theologians in more recent statements seem closer to the idea of "Outside of Christ there is no salvation." I think we’re getting better, and maybe the next step will focus on sincerity, seeking truth, and respect for other human beings. We aren’t there yet.
I’m using the Catholic Church as an example, but other Christian Churches do it too, figuring out what for them is the minimum required for salvation, and then pronouncing judgment on others, even if they carefully avoid using harsh language.
Those dynamics become more clear if a particular group manages to get some other group to attack or abuse them. It then makes the issues appear much more clear, and their own faith much more apparent. I’m tempted to compare it at times to a case of "projective identification" such as sometimes occurs in some emotional disorders. Maybe another way of putting it would be to talk about a kind of "siege mentality" that sees all outside as opposed and threatening.
I know I’m overstating things, but there are a lot of implications in this dynamic. Perhaps things have become in some ways more difficult as we moved further away from early Christian times.
I have no intention of going into extensive analysis of the point, but please note that phrases like "Kingdom of God," "Reign of God," "Kingdom of Heaven," etc. can have several different meanings. There also can be seen several different phases of that idea. My favorite translation of the term is "Reign of God."
The Reign of God can be viewed as here on earth, starting with Christ’s death and Resurrection. It enters a new phase with the destruction of the Temple, and we’re in the third phase waiting for the Second Coming of Christ. All that is outward, external, tied up with history, etc. Entering the Reign of God is not something that comes later, it comes here and now.
There is a theological understanding for most Churches that if someone dies before the Second Coming they go to God and enter the Kingdom in that sense. Our brains have a hard time working with that idea, partly because if someone dies and is with God "external time" really doesn’t mean anything. We try to be logical, but that doesn’t work too well either.
OK, were the Scriptures and the early Church laying down a law code or criteria for being a part of the Reign of God here on earth? Were they saying under what circumstances you get a chance of seeing God? You could certainly argue that they were, but there is, I think, another possibility.
Could they be saying, "Here is what we have experienced and found to be true. By coming to faith and being baptized, we have come to know we are in the Reign of God. That has changed everything about our lives in ways we can’t even come close to describing. Those who have refused faith have in fact not entered the Reign, and no other way has been known that leads to entering it. One day we know that we will enter the fulfillment of that Reign of God."
Their fervor in spreading the Gospel was based, I think, on a joyous desire to share the beautiful gift that they came to know.
Still, how God works with others is up to God, isn’t it? Are we saying that God can’t be present to other cultures, other peoples, other races? What we can testify to is what we have experienced and the faith that has come to life.
Perhaps the job of the Church, and of Christians, is to help the Reign of God to be more and more present—for there to be growth in justice, peace, love, truth. The "condemnation" of those who come to know who Christ is and reject him is to not be part of that Reign of God that we’re working on. What happens later in figuring things out is up to God. My job is to be faithful to the mission that I share in.
How does that proclamation of the "Good News" occur? In the early Church, the first proclamations were to the Jewish People who were to have been preparing for the Messiah. They were to be "ready" to hear the "Good News" of Christ and the Reign of God. Today we would call that the process of "Pre-evangelization." They were ready to hear the announcement.
What about today? How many people actually are confronted with a choice about belief in Christ, and then end up choosing to reject him? A lot? A few? What do you think?
Is it rejection of Christ to ignore someone shouting about him on a street corner? If someone is starving are they able to truly hear a message about God’s love? What if they’re starving for something other than food? What might have to happen if somehow the idea of God or Christ has gotten so mixed in with abuse or hypocrisy that there is in effect a veil over someone’s eyes? What might have to occur in the way of Pre-evangelization before there can be a true proclamation?
Some talk about the idea of spreading the Gospel as if it’s about 90% words. Perhaps it’s really about 1% words, spoken gently and with love.
Can I make any presumptions about someone being "saved" or "not saved?"
How about a story?
I once knew a native missionary priest from India, and over time I got to know him pretty well, since he did some graduate studies in Detroit and still comes back from time to time to ask for money. With a lot of paraphrasing, I’d like to describe what he told me about actually being a missionary.
You establish a mission with land already bought by the Church, off in a remote area where Christian missionaries have not been before. If you’re lucky you can arrange a jeep ride all the way to the area, but if not, you may have to walk the last 20 or 30 miles, carrying your things with you.
When you get there, you try hard to be friendly and not threatening, and the villagers are scared and suspicious of any outsiders—they only mean trouble. You build yourself some sort of shelter, prepare ground and plant your crop. Slowly you allow yourself to become a part of the village.
Eventually someone comes and asks why it is that your grain seems to be growing better than the other grain in the village. You explain the improved farming ideas you brought with you, and offer to give some of the improved grain that you also brought. In effect, your crop gradually turns into the seed source for the village, to give the people more food, and even some extra to sell. It is done freely, without taking advantage of the people.
My friend identified an additional problem, and managed to get the Diocese to send him an old shotgun and some shells. There were many tigers around the village, and the people always walked with fear. Usually it was enough of a precaution to keep their animals in close at night, so the smell of humans would keep the tigers away, but sometimes a tiger would turn rogue and attack animals and people in the village, even in their homes. The tigers were a constant fear.
Well, my friend got the shotgun, and let the people know that if they saw or heard a tiger in close to yell, so that he could come with his shotgun. Even if he wasn’t able to shoot the tiger, he could use the noise of the gun to try to scare the tiger away.
Now, he was as afraid of tigers as anyone else, and no one puts themselves in front of a tiger willingly with an old, one-shell shotgun. But that was what he was offering—to stand between "his people" and the tiger, to do the best he could to protect them, even if he was hurt or killed in the process.
Later, on one of his scrounging trips, he got a small amount of medicine that he brought back with him. He let the people know that if they were sick, he would freely give of that medicine, to the best of his ability. Later, finally, he was able to get the government to agree to send a nurse to the village once in a while to provide at least some health care, especially for the children. He and the villagers together built a small first aid station where someone sick could stay and be cared for, lowering the chance of spreading disease.
What does this have to do with being a missionary?
Well, at some point in the process, one or two of the villagers would come and sit with him and ask very directly "Why do you do these strange things? We have no money to pay you." The answer would simply be "It’s because of following in the way of the One I believe in. It’s because of my God." Eventually they would ask, "Please, tell us of this strange God." Then, and only then, did he start to speak of Christ. What did he speak of? Rules? Requirements? What tone of voice did he use? Intense? Critical?
At least for my friend, he would invite the villagers to his house and they would sit together, with stories and parables, with shared questions. The words were gentle, with respect for the voice of God already speaking in the hearts of the villagers. Eventually, one or more would say, "I want to follow the way of this Christ too." A new Christian community was forming. The proclamation and witness of that Christian community would then spread throughout the region, not because of the words said, but because of the strange things that they would think of and do. Their primary witness was the values and love that they had. The words flowed out of that.
Well, in that village, a new Christian community did form. They eventually established a regional hospital, somehow got an old tractor for the use of whoever needed it, improved education in the area, and sought to reach out to others. What they had to offer was for all, whether Christian or not, with no "payback" involved. There was no attempt to attack Hindu or Buddhist or Moslem faith, but merely a free offer to share their own faith and a willingness to invite others to follow the strange ways of the Christ.
The people of the village found it hard to understand the idea of a man who did not seek to marry and have a family. They were confused by the idea of not being first concerned for your own survival. No one seeks to look in the face of the tiger. They were confused by the idea of someone who truly loves life but does not fear death. Both my friend and I know that he is not perfect—far from it. I think that his humility and honesty were also part of his proclamation. His pride in being a Malabar Rite Catholic priest, seeing himself as following in the tradition of St. Thomas the Apostle, his dedication to making this his life’s work—I think all of that was part of the proclamation as well.
The method being described is slow, but also very different than simply walking in and starting to talk about what and who he believes in.
Without this kind of route, is Christ really being proclaimed? If the priest at some point abused some child or adult in the village, would his proclamation have meaning? If he stole or defrauded or was on a power trip or condemned the villagers for their beliefs, would Christ then be able to be proclaimed? If he lied, about anything, would his proclamation have meaning?
For your consideration ... One definition of "evangelization" that I like is "to proclaim the Good News of Christ when it is ready to be proclaimed, where it should be proclaimed, in the way it should be proclaimed, to the person to whom it should be proclaimed." Again, I think the proclamation is only 1% words.
Perhaps the responsibility for making that proclamation is ours, perhaps the responsibility for figuring out what to do if it is truly rejected is God’s. What is the moral responsibility for responding to a proclamation that has never been heard? What if the proclamation made is not of the Good News but of something else?
These are thoughts, not very organized, that run through my brain cells when I think about that simple question: "What happens to those who aren’t Christian?"
© Fr J Mahoney