It’s a commonplace notion of the Catholic faith that revelation closed with the death of the last apostle. To us, it’s commonplace. But to the early Christians, it was a most urgent matter.

As the apostles went to their martyrdom, one by one, the flock they left behind saw vanishing the only eyewitnesses to Jesus’ teaching — the only guarantors of Christian orthodoxy.

It was then, in the first century, that the Christian community produced what we might call its first “catechism,” a book that bears the title “The Teaching of the Lord to the Gentiles Through the Twelve Apostles” — or, in Greek, simply the “Didache,” the teaching.

The Didache (pronounced DID-uh-kay) is actually more than a catechism. It’s a “church order” (to use the technical term), a book that combines doctrinal summary with liturgical instruction and a little bit of moral exhortation. It’s like a missal, a manual, and a catechism rolled into one. We possess several church orders from Christian antiquity, but the Didache is almost certainly the oldest, and most of the later ones depend upon the Didache.

How old is the Didache? Most scholars place its composition between A.D. 60 and 110. However, one of the top scholars alive, Enrico Mazza, argues very persuasively that the liturgical portions of the document were composed no later than 48 A.D. If he’s correct, that means that our oldest liturgical texts pre-date most of the books of the New Testament.

The Didache, which was rediscovered at the end of the 19th century, reads like a time capsule from the apostolic generation.

Twenty-first century Christians tend to romanticize those founding years of the Church as a golden age of unity, when believers absorbed sound doctrine by osmosis, and when Christians couldn’t help but love one another, and bless their persecutors, and feed the poor.

But that’s not how it was. Early on, the Church faced serious threats from self-proclaimed Christians who denied, for example, that the eternal Word truly became flesh (see 1 Jn 4:2 and 2 Jn 1:7). They also denied the reality of the Eucharist and the necessity of the Church. Quite early in the game, there were even some teachers who held that revelation was a private affair between God and the individual believer. They spun wildly creative religious systems (see 1 Tim 1:4) and gave a green-light to unbridled lust (see Jd 7). To legitimize their “revelations,” such heretics often attributed oracles to the apostles (see Gal 1:7 and 2 Thess 2:2).

Amid this confusion came order and orthodoxy in the Didache. It is, perhaps, the earliest ancestor of today’s Catechism of the Catholic Church. And, indeed, the new Catechism quotes that first one several times (details below).

Many scholars believe that the Didache was compiled, from various oral and written sources, in Antioch of Syria, the place where the disciples of Jesus were first called Christians (Acts 11:26).

Tradition holds that St. Peter, the first pope, was the founding bishop of Antioch, and one of the earliest titles given to the Didache was “The Judgments of Peter.”

The document is small, just 16 brief chapters, but it manages to cover a wide area, from morals to sacraments, from prophecy to liturgy. The opening sections (chapters 1-7) offer an exposition of Christian life, emphasizing Christianity’s distinctiveness from pagan ways.

“Two ways there are, one of life and one of death, and there is a great difference between the two ways,” the Didache begins. “Now the way of life is this: first, love the God who made you; secondly, love your neighbor as yourself.”

What follows, then, is a remarkable synopsis of Jesus’ teachings in a series of quotations and paraphrases. Strung together in a continuous narrative are the Golden Rule, excerpts from the Sermon on the Mount, and commentary on the Ten Commandments. Then, in contrast, the way of death appears as a catalog of vices.

The second section (chapters 7-9) is stunning in its picture of Catholic life. It begins with detailed instructions on baptism: the sacrament should be conferred in running water, it says, and by immersion, if possible. But the Didache also makes allowance for our current custom of pouring water over the head of the candidate.

The early Church, like the Church in recent years, fasted on Fridays, but also on Wednesdays. The traditional day for celebration of the Eucharist was Sunday. Christians, counsels the Didache, should pray the Our Father three times every day.

Three chapters of the Didache deal specifically with the liturgy, advising the faithful how to prepare and conduct themselves, and prescribing prayers for the clergy. The unknown author makes clear that, even at this early date, the Church reserved Holy Communion only for those who were baptized and free of any grave sin. “Let no one eat or drink of your Eucharist unless they have been baptized … If any one is holy, let him come; if any one is not so, let him repent.” Repentance normally involved confession of one’s sins: “receive the Eucharist after having confessed your transgressions, that your sacrifice may be pure.”

The Eucharistic Prayer of the Didache emphasizes the Mass’s power to unify the Church: “We thank You, our Father, for the life and knowledge which You made known to us through Jesus Your servant; to You be the glory forever. Even as this broken bread was scattered over the hills, and was gathered together and became one, so let Your Church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into Your kingdom; for Yours is the glory and the power through Jesus Christ for ever.”

After Communion, those early Christians were urged to give thanks in this way: “We thank You, holy Father, for Your holy name which You caused to dwell in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality, which You made known to us through Jesus Your servant; to You be the glory forever. Almighty Master, You created all things for Your name’s sake; You gave food and drink to men for enjoyment, that they might give thanks to You; but to us You freely gave spiritual food and drink and life eternal through Your servant. Before all things we thank You that You are mighty; to You be the glory forever. Remember, Lord, Your Church, to deliver it from all evil and to make it perfect in Your love, and gather it from the four winds, sanctified for Your kingdom which you have prepared for it; for Yours is the power and the glory forever. Let grace come, and let this world pass away. Hosanna to the God (Son) of David! If any one is holy, let him come; if any one is not so, let him repent. Maranatha. Amen.”

The text appears to be published as canonical, “official” rites, but with room for inspired charismatic expression: “Permit the prophets to give thanks as much as they desire.”

The modern Catholic will see much that is familiar in the Didache and little that is alien to his or her experience. Perhaps the most striking differences are in attitude. The first Christians lived with a strong sense of the imminence of Jesus’ return – as He is really present in the Eucharist. “Let grace come, and let this world pass away … Maranatha.” Some scholars believe that “Maranatha” was the primitive Church’s prayer of consecration in the liturgy.

The Didache shows that, in structure, the early Chruch resembled the modern in many ways, with bishops and deacons set apart for ministry to the rest of the community. Those who held teaching offices taught with authority, and we can see that their teaching has remained constantly with the Church. Thus the Didache shows that, from the beginning, the apostles condemned abortion: “You shall not kill the embryo by abortion, and shall not cause the newborn to perish.”

Since the Didache was considered to have originated with the apostles, tis authority was mighty throughout the first millennium of the Church. Many of the early Church Fathers quote the document, and some counted it as part of the New Testament.

But while the quotations remained on the record, the documents itself faded from view by the end of the era of the Fathers. Scholars until recently could only speculate about its composition, piecing it together from the various quotations.

Then, in 1873, an orthodox bishop, Metropolitan Philotheos Bryennios, discovered a manuscript of the Didache in a library in Constantinople. It was published immediately, to much notice among Christians.

Now, 2,000 years after it was written, this ancient catechism has become an important part of the Church’s most modern one. And today’s Catholics can look into the life and teaching of their first-century forebears, as if in a mirror.

Online resources on the Didache are plentiful. Here are just a few.

Catechism of the Catholic Church, numbers 1696 (on the “two ways,” 2271 (on abortion), 2760 and 2767 (on the Our Father), 1331 (on the Eucharist) and 1403 (on the Maranatha).

Kevin at Biblicalia offers an interesting discussion of the “two ways” teaching. He’s also posted a growing supply of ancient church orders.

You’ll find the Didache in the original Greek at Christian Classics Ethereal Library, along with several English translations.

The “Early Christian Writings” site has conveniently placed several English translations in one handy package.

An evangelical blogger, Rick Brannan, is hosting an ongoing online discussion of the Didache here.

Enrico Mazza’s most fascinating work on the Didache will be found here and here.

As my good bishop packs his bags for his new archepiscopal see 250 miles to the south and east, I’m thinking much on his office, which is the office of an apostle.

I’ve been blessed with good bishops all my life. But, as I bounce through the blogosphere, I see that some other folks have had their patience tried by their bishops — and sometimes their patience has been found wanting. Still, it’s a Catholic thing, a sacramental thing, to put faith in the apostolic reality, even when we don’t care much for the bishop’s decisions. It’s likely that Peter would have rubbed many of us the wrong way. He had his idiosyncracies; and, from the gospels to the apocrypha, the ancients testify that he spent a lifetime trying to overcome them. No doubt, he was borne up by the prayers of his flock. In my family we pray for the bishop with every Rosary: “For the bishop of this diocese, Donald, and his intentions.” Once, my angelic daughter Gracie providentially mispronounced the line: “For the bishop of this diocese, Donald, and his tensions!” Since I knew a little bit about the difficulties of the episcopal state, I didn’t correct her. We just kept praying.

Love for the bishop. Respect for the bishop. Reverence for the bishop. These are commonplaces of the patristic era, a time when there was no shortage of bad episcopal example. Some historians believe that a majority of the world’s prelates at the time of Nicea were Arian. Our ancient chroniclers keep an infamous and long roster of bishop-heresiarchs, bishop-schismatics, and bishops involved in sexual and financial misdeeds. God only knows how many were merely inept, insensitive, dimwitted, lazy, or obnoxious.

Yet the refrain of the Fathers is constant. Ignatius said: “Let a man respect the bishop … For, whoever is sent by the Master to run His house, we ought to receive him as we would receive the Master Himself. It is obvious, therefore, that we ought to regard the bishop as we would the Lord Himself.” And again: “Be obedient to your bishop … as Jesus Christ in His human nature was subject to the Father.” And still more Ignatius: “Whatever has [the bishop’s] approval is pleasing to God.” He wrote those words around 107 A.D. Some centuries later, Jerome offered the same advice: “Be obedient to your bishop and welcome him as the father of your soul.”

I’ve known only upright bishops, but the Fathers made no qualifications. Neither do their faithful children. I found a lovely echo of this patristic teaching in the blog of Father John T. Zuhlsdorf, a priest in Rome. Father Zuhlsdorf is a patristic scholar with a license from the Augustinianum …

…the differences I might have with [a certain bishop’s] positions do not permit me to offer him public disrespect. His offices and state of life as a successor of the Apostles merit courtesy. We accomplish nothing by harsh words or lack of decorum in public discourse. This has been a fault of both traditionalists and progressivists alike.

In these columns from time to time I indulge in some gentle ribbing of those with whom I disagree, but I am dedicated to maintaining overall a tone of respect in these columns as befits a Catholic gentleman. You will never change the mind of an opponent holding lofty position by showing him impertinence. Gentlemen ought to be able to disagree without allowing rancor to distract from pursuit of the truth. If His Excellency should ever choose to respond in any way, his contribution would be treated fairly and civilly.

Eric Scheske of The Daily Eudemon has launched the most amazing crash course in, well, all of history. Eric takes us from the dawn of civilization to the papacy of Pope John Paul II in “18 holes” — and they’re quick holes, just like miniature golf. Hit the links now. He’s just about to arrive at the Patristic Era. If you get really good at doing history this way, we’ll call you “Tiger.” Here’s Eric:

I’m repeatedly shocked at the lack of historical knowledge, especially among Catholics who should have at least a fundamental grasp of the subject in order to appreciate their religion. I earlier started a booket with the working title, “18 Holes to Knowledge.” It revolved around 18 events, spanning the dawn of history to JPII, and was intended to help people develop a Catholic historical sense without much effort. I couldn’t find a publisher for the booklet, so I abandoned it, but two people told me that they found the “holes” from the dawn of history to Christ helpful. As a “public service,” I have cut-and-pasted them below…

Read the rest. And spend some time glorying in the archives of The Daily Eudemon. If Chesterton and Mencken were alive today, TDE is just the kind of blog they’d give us.

How did I let so much of May go by without writing something Marian? Shame on you for not reminding me.

The Church’s first expressions of Marian devotion were beautiful and memorable. They’ve been passed intact from generation to generation, and they’re still used today. She is there in the early creeds (“born of the Virgin Mary”), there in St. Ignatius of Antioch’s professions of faith. In the middle of the second century, St. Justin described her as the New Eve. Like the first Eve, Mary is mother of all the living — now those who are truly alive in Christ.

The earliest recorded Marian prayer was in use in Egypt in the 200s (and possibly earlier). Catholics still pray that prayer today: “We fly to your patronage, O holy Mother of God. Despise not our petitions in our need, and keep us from all danger. O ever glorious and faithful Virgin Mary!”

The oldest surviving images of Mary show her cradling the baby Jesus at her breast. Probably the earliest is a fresco in Rome’s Priscilla Catacombs, painted probably around 250 A.D. The earliest Egyptian Madonna is exquisitely engraved in stone.

The earliest surviving record of a Marian apparition is also from the 200s. She appeared St. Gregory the Wonderworker, and you can read the story here, as told by St. Gregory of Nyssa.

If you have not yet read Mary and the Fathers of the Church: The Blessed Virgin Mary in Patristic Thought by Luigi Gambero, please do yourself the biggest favor and order a copy today. Do it for your Mother.

If you’ve read Gambero and you want more, take a look at On the Dormition of Mary: Early Patristic Homilies by Brian Daley, S.J.

Just discovered ArchArt, a site full of art and archeology images, mostly from the Holy Land and formerly Byzantine lands. There’s some striking stuff here. It’s all copyrighted and watermarked, but it does give you good close-up views of several must-sees, like the famous allegorical inscription of St. Abercius. You’ll find that one, plus a nice Peter and Paul image, at the page marked Christian archeology.

The “historical Merlin” has joined his friend the “historical Arthur” over at the pages of GrailCode.com. I hope you’ll stop by to welcome everyone’s favorite wizard. You’ll also find new material on St. Gildas the Wise, who, according to the old patristics manuals, flourished around 569 A.D., preaching the Gospel to areas of Ireland that had lapsed back into paganism. (I wonder if the snakes returned?)

You can also meet these characters in the pages of our book, The Grail Code, should you be kind enough to buy a copy.

Michael Barber of Singing in the Reign wants us to know something:

A brand new Catholic school is opening up on the West Coast. There is really nothing like this school. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Let me explain…

This week The Da Vinci Code movie is being released. Sadly, it will no doubt do damage to the faith of countless believers. The Telegraph is reporting that two thirds of Britons who have read the book now believe its claims regarding Jesus’ relationship to Mary Magdalene …

The movie’s release underscores the immense influence Hollywood has on our culture. In fact, it was only a couple of years ago that a movie moved countless numbers of people across the country to rediscover God’s grace. I will never forget the moving testimonials I saw on evening newscasts from by people who had just watched Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ …

These two movies represent Hollywood’s great potential to either foster the faith or undermine it. Yet, despite the great influence of the media, there has been little professional training offered from a faithful Catholic perspective to those young people interested in entering into the field—until now.

Enter John Paul the Great Catholic University. The new college—approved by the state and supported by the local bishop—will offer state of the art training and degrees in Media. Students will learn from those who have succeeded in the field. In addition, the school will offer degrees in Business, helping to train young Catholic professionals of tomorrow …

All students will be required to take a number of courses in Scripture, Moral Theology, and Catholic Literature and Art—taught by faculty faithful to the teaching of the Church’s Magisterium. In all of their Catholic formation, students will learn how to live out their faith in the world and apply Catholic principles in their future professions.

That’s a compelling vision. I don’t have to tell visitors to this blog about the papacy’s other two “Greats” — Leo and Gregory — and how those men turned the challenging circumstances of their day to the benefit of the Gospel. I think they, and John Paul, would approve of this “Great” effort.

Read the rest of Michael’s exhortation here. And visit John Paul the Great Catholic University online.

Thanks to those readers who pointed out that MARI’s online profile of St. Aquilina was not “sumptuously illustrated,” as I had promised. Mea culpa: I had only told you a third of the story. See also part 2 of the journal’s treatment of St. Aquilina, “Renewing the Devotion to Aquilina the Martyr Saint”, and part 3, “St. Aquilina’s Church and Sanctuary.” If you still want more pictures, all I can say is, sheesh, don’t be so greedy. It’s not like the Lebanese were wielding Kodaks in the third century.

Reflecting on A.O. Scott’s savage review of The Da Vinci Code in the New York Times, my co-author Chris Bailey said: “One of the most amusing things about Dan Brown’s book is how it provokes real writers (like me) into withering sarcasm, doubtless rooted in our envy of someone who can make a billion dollars from a book without going through the pointless toil of learning to write. I’d say that enough sarcasm has been spent on The Da Vinci Code to wither what’s left of the Amazon rain forest.”

After a sixteen hundred year market lull, gospels are once again a growth industry.

Publishers now are rushing to market to supplement the only standbys — Matthew, Mark, Luke and John — with some ancient castoffs: the so-called gospels of Judas, Mary Magdalene, Thomas, and Philip, among others.

These are the “apocryphal” (“hidden”) gospels, purported portraits of Jesus that were spurned as phony or heretical by the early Church. For years, they were a curiosity indulged only by scholars. Now, they’re making a popular comeback.

Browse your local bookstores, and you’ll likely find a dozen collections of apocrypha, most of them released by major publishers in the last five years. Titles are provocative: “The Other Bible,” “The Complete Gospels,” “The Hidden Teachings of Jesus” and “The Lost Books of the Bible.” All suggest that the standard Christian Bible is missing something essential. One volume boasts that it contains “Everything you need to empower your own search for the historical Jesus.”

Many Catholic scholars, however, dismiss the fad.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” said Father Peter Stravinskas, author of The Catholic Church and the Bible. “When I was in grade school, some sisters would tell us syrupy stories from the infancy gospels, and they would be reprimanded by their superiors for teaching such nonsense.”

The infancy gospels — fanciful accounts of Jesus’ childhood — make up just one category of apocryphal literature. There are also collections of Jesus’ alleged sayings, full-scale biographies, apocalyptic tracts (similar in style to the biblical Book of Revelation) and letters attributed to the apostles.

Most arose in the first three centuries of Christianity, before the Church officially proclaimed the “canon,” or definitive list of New Testament books.

Some of the apocrypha were dismissed out of hand by the Fathers of the Church because of the narratives’ patent absurdity or crude style. Others were seriously considered for inclusion in the canon, but were eventually dropped because their contents did not stand up to scrutiny.

Lists had long been in use in local churches. A Milanese fragment, the Muratorian Canon, survives from the second century. And St. Athanasius, in the mid-fourth century, published a list that is identical with New Testament as we know it today. The matter of the Christian canon was definitively settled with the Synods of Hippo (A.D. 393) and Carthage (397 adn 419), which were guided by the brilliant St. Augustine. These synods confirmed the list of the Roman synod of 382, attended by Jerome and presided over by Pope Damasus. The same list appeared in a letter of Pope Innocent I in 405. Rome had spoken; the matter was settled, right?

Well, sort of. Even afterward, however, some Christian apocrypha continued to influence popular piety and art. Yet few people seriously considered these “gospels” sacred, or even historically reliable — until recently.

Some years back, I interviewed William Farmer, who was then the general editor of the International Bible Commentary. Farmer (a remarkable scholar, who has since passed away) traced the resurgence of interest in Christian apocrypha to an archeological find in 1945: “The single most important factor has been the discovery of the fourth-century Nag Hammadi library in Egypt. The texts included a copy of the Gospel of Thomas, a collection of purported sayings of Jesus.”

Scholars differ on the exact date of the Gospel of Thomas, but most agree that it is of great antiquity. Some — though not in the mainstream — believe it to be older than books that were included in the New Testament.

The Gospel of Thomas, like all the texts in the Nag Hammadi cache, is Gnostic in character. Gnosticism, a religious movement contemporary with early Christianity, held that salvation came through secret knowledge (in Greek, gnosis) given only to a spiritual elite. Gnostic Christians, whom the Church rejected early as heretics, taught that Jesus’ mission was to reveal this secret knowledge and separate the saved “knowers” from the ignorant rabble.

Most Gnostics took a dim view of the material world and especially of the human body, which they saw as a prison for the spirit. As a result, they minimized (or denied) the importance of Jesus’ bodily incarnation, His suffering and His resurrection, emphasizing instead His spiritual reality and teaching. Thus they also minimized the uniqueness of the witness of the twelve apostles.

Gnostic Christians taught, instead, that any one of the elite could have a spiritual encounter with Jesus and write a “gospel” that was just as authoritative as those by the apostles.

And write them they did — leading St. Irenaeus to complain, in 180, that “every one of them generates something new, day by day, according to his ability; for no one is deemed perfect who does not develop some mighty fictions.”

The Nag Hammadi find included mighty fictions attributed to James, John, Peter, Paul, Thomas and Mary Magdalene. Some 30 years after their discovery, the texts reached a wide audience through Elaine Pagels’ popular paperback The Gnostic Gospels, which some critics described as an “altar call” for a Gnostic revival.

Pagels, however, did explain why the institutional Church could not peacefully coexist with Gnostic members.

The Church proclaimed universal salvation, while Gnostics reserved the gift only for an elite. The Church taught that the death and resurrection of Jesus were decisive historic events; Gnostics saw them as metaphors or illusions. The Church looked to the apostles for authority, while Gnostics looked in the mirror.

St. Irenaeus railed against Gnostic arrogance: “They consider themselves mature so that no one can be compared with them in the greatness of their knowledge, not Peter or Paul or any other apostles!”

The most famous Gnostic gospel, that of Thomas, is a collection of sayings, some of which also appear in the canonical Gospels, while others portray a Jesus unrecognizable — a savior who denies he is “master” to his followers.

Yet “Thomas” has gained a following, recently, among fringe groups in academia. The Jesus Seminar, a free-standing research institute, published Thomas with the four canonical Gospels in a single volume titled The Five Gospels.

Father Alfred McBride, O. Praem., author of many Catholic Scripture studies, sees the book’s title as significant. “Those who speak for the Jesus Seminar show a great deal of interest in elevating Thomas to canonical status,” he told me in a 1998 interview. “And in so doing they reduce the importance and authority of the present New Testament canon. They have their reasons: Thomas has no passion narratives, no miracles, not much that’s supernatural. It’s Jesus the wisdom teacher, which suits their idea that religion is merely humanitarian common sense.”

Participants in the Jesus Seminar also produced The Complete Gospels, an anthology of more than a dozen apocrypha packaged with the canonical four — implying a level playing field for what they call alternative “early Jesus traditions.” Yet they fail to emphasize that the apocryphal gospels rarely gained more than small, local followings, and that many were condemned as heretical from the get-go, while others were dismissed as inaccurate or tawdry.

The Gospel of Nicodemus, for example, is a moving courtroom drama, attempting to portray the small details of Jesus’ trial before Pilate. Doctrinally, it checks out; stylistically, it passes muster. But ultimately it failed the test for the Church Fathers because it is wildly inaccurate in its depiction of Roman jurisprudence and Jewish custom. It also stretches credulity by purporting to describe Jesus’ descent into hell.

“You find a tendency toward sensationalism in the apocrypha,” said Father Stravinskas. “In the canonical Gospels, there’s a reverential silence on some matters The apocrypha, however, are ebullient in divulging intimate details about Our Lady and Our Lord.”

Indeed, while canonical Luke and Matthew merely state that Mary is a virgin, the author of Infancy-James goes so far as to drag in a skeptical midwife to perform a physical examination.

The boy Jesus, for His part, appears in the infancy gospels as a sort of wonder-working Dennis the Menace. In Infancy-Thomas, Jesus breathes life into clay birds, stretches beams in His father’s carpentry shop and strikes dead a teacher who dared to punish Him. In the Arabic Infancy Gospel, He turns cruel playmates into goats. According to Infancy-Thomas, the boy’s neighbors lived in constant fear, moving St. Joseph to cry out: “Do not let [Jesus] go outside the door, because anyone who angers Him dies!”

More troubling, the Nag Hammadi Gospel of Philip strongly suggests that Jesus was physically intimate with Mary Magdalene: “Christ loved her more than all the disciples,” it alleges, “and used to kiss her often on the mouth.”

Most of the apocrypha offer not a different perspective on the historical Jesus, but rather a different Jesus, and some, indeed, purvey a different religion.

According to Father Stravinskas, this accounts for some of their appeal today. “This is a resurgence of Gnosticism,” he said. “These people claim to have a better grasp of the truth than anyone else in the Church, including the magisterium.”

He said the apocrypha also appeal to prurient interests of more mainstream Catholics: “It’s in synch with a tendency to rely on extraordinary revelations: apparitions, visionaries and messages of a doomsday nature.”

Father McBride pointed out that the marketing of these books relies on anti-Catholicism to tease readers with a taste of forbidden fruit. “The message is that the Catholic Church has been keeping secrets, once again chaining up the Bible, not letting people know the real story.”

But, for scholars, the recent surge of interest presents an opportunity, according to Farmer, who enjoyed a distinguished career in biblical studies at Southern Methodist University and converted late in life to Catholicism. “The emergence of these new materials gives us an opportunity to develop a deeper understanding of the canon,” he said. “I hope that Christians who regard the canon as decisive for faith might come to a better understanding of why the Church has preserved some books and not others.”

Still, all the dialogue in the academy won’t change the list of approved books, Farmer said. And Father McBride agreed: “The canon belongs to the Church, not the university.”

Father Stravinskas explained why: “Karl Rahner said that the Church, in deciding the canon, was like a mother at work in her apartment, and down below in the courtyard there could be 40 children screaming or crying — but she could hear the voice of her own and know it.”

Scott Hahn and I just — this very day — finished taping our sixth series for EWTN. This one’s called “Letter and Spirit,” and it’s based on Scott’s book by the same name. Our general area of discussion is the relationship between scripture and liturgy. The Fathers figure hugely, of course. I don’t know when the series will air. But as soon as I know, you’ll know.