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Like a nursing child

Remember, that stuff about the Church Fathers and breastfeeding — you read it here first (here and here). But now go ahead and read it at CNS.

The reverence and awe of Catholics who truly believe they are receiving Jesus in the Eucharist should lead them to kneel and receive Communion on their tongues, said a bishop writing in the Vatican newspaper.

“If some nonbeliever arrived and observed such an act of adoration perhaps he, too, would fall down and worship God, declaring ‘God is really in your midst,'”  wrote Auxiliary Bishop Athanasius Schneider of Karaganda, Kazakhstan, quoting from the First Letter to the Corinthians.

In a Jan. 8 article labeled a “historical-liiturgical note,” Bishop Schneider reviewed the writings of early church theologians about Eucharistic reception and said the practice of laypeople receiving Communion on the tongue was the predominant custom by the sixth century.

The article in L’Osservatore Romano appeared under the headline, “Like a nursing child in the arms of the one who nourishes him.”

Bishop Schneider said that just as a baby opens his mouth to receive nourishment from his mother, so should Catholics open their mouths to receive nourishment from Jesus.

“Christ truly nourishes us with his body and blood in holy Communion and, in the patristic era, it was compared to maternal breastfeeding,” he said.

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Biblical Interpretation as Life Skill

Many books present the Church Fathers’ methods of biblical interpretation as an academic artifact or a curiosity of intellectual history, superseded by our own critical insights. In Reading the Bible As God’s Own Story, biblical scholar Father William Kurz, S.J., presents them as a life skill for ordinary Christians.

The “genius of the early fathers,” he says, was their habit of giving “intense attention to details in the text” while always reading “each individual passage in the light of Scripture’s essential story line.” The Bible — especially as it was proclaimed through the liturgical lectionaries — told one grand story of creation, fall, and redemption, a story that was universal, yet intimately personal.

Kurz, a New Testament scholar at Marquette University, notes that the “common academic approaches” of his contemporary colleagues “limit interpretation to only those senses that were available to a reconstructed ‘original’ first-century audience.” The Fathers’ methods, however, allow for a “theological reading” of biblical texts — a reading that permits life application throughout the ages, as well as an intelligent and constructive response to the erroneous interpretations of heretics.

Kurz presents the Fathers’ methods through the works of two early Christian teachers, Irenaeus (second century) and Athanasius (fourth century), both of whom had to marshal a strong biblical theology to oppose emerging heresies (Gnosticism for Irenaeus and Arianism for Athanasius).

It’s a very useful book at an astonishingly low price.

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Patroness for Ailments of the Breast

Today is the memorial of St. Agatha, patroness of Sicily, the land of my grandparents, and one of the patrons of my parish.

Because of the tortures she endured in martyrdom, St. Agatha is also patroness of women who live with diseases of the breast. PZ, a sometime visitor to this site, has a deep devotion to the third-century martyr. He sent me a prayer card with the saint’s image on front and the following novena on back. Pass it around. Think of it as a deeply traditional version of the pink ribbon.

O glorious Saint Agatha, through whose intercession in Christ I hope for the restored health of body and soul, hasten to lead me to the true Good, God alone. By your intercession, O blessed Agatha, may I ever enjoy your protection by faithfully witnessing to Christ. You invite all who come to you to enjoy the treasure of of communion with the Holy Trinity. Moreover, if it be for God’s greater glory and the good of my person, please intercede for me with the request of [mention request here].

Saint Agatha, you found favor with God by your chastity and by your courage in suffering death for the gospel. Teach me how to suffer with cheerfulness, uniting myself to Christ crucified with a simplicity and purity of heart. Amen.

Saint Agatha, eloquent confessor of Jesus Christ as Savior, pray for me.

Saint Agatha, the martyr who says to Jesus, “possess all that I am,” pray for me.

Saint Agatha, concerned with the welfare of all God’s children, pray for me.

Saint Agatha, pray for me.

Agatha’s story is in Butler, of course, and critically dissected and patristically pedigreed in the old Catholic Encyclopedia. Her images abound at Artcyclopedia.

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Fayoum It May Concern

According to Al Ahram, archeologists have turned up another Christian-era necropolis in Egypt. It will be interesting to see what they find.

Deir Al-Banat necropolis, which lies in the southern Fayoum, comprises a series of rock hewn tombs dating from the Graeco-Roman period through to early Christian times. To the north is a well preserved ruin of a mediaeval monastery with a fired brick church at its centre, a mud brick residential area and a refectory where the monks would have communal meals.

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Novel Approaches to the Fathers

Marcus is the sequel to Father Michael Giesler’s first novel, Junia: The Fictional Life and Death of an Early Christian. Set in second-century Rome, Marcus tells the story of a young pagan nobleman as he first encounters Christianity.

Since Marcus is a philosophy student, the novel represents the inevitable clash of ideas as they play out in conversations, books, and ordinary lives. Marcus’s contemporaries are stirred up by the teaching of Justin, the Christian philosopher and sometime resident of Rome. Christian students are seeking a language that will enable them to distinguish the Logos of John’s Gospel from Stoic uses of the same word. Meanwhile, Gnostic heresies are just beginning to emerge within the churches. And ordinary pagans look with incredulity upon the Church’s exaltation of celibacy, chastity, and virginity — as if it’s the spoilsport at the pagan orgy.

Yet neither Junia nor Marcus is a “novel of ideas.” Giesler’s plots turn mostly on matters of friendship, romantic attraction, rejection, betrayal, and the desire for revenge. Always looming large are the dangers that attended Christian life in the empire: denunciation, humiliation, martyrdom.

Dramatic, engaging, and easy reads, both of Giesler’s novels should be required beach consumption for Christians. Though they’re written by a celibate priest, they’re much sexier than The Da Vinci Code (for example), yet they’re still appropriate for teens on up.

Both books, Junia and Marcus, are ideal imaginative entries into the world of the pre-Nicene Church.

Thus, we are thrilled that Father Giesler is coming to Pittsburgh next week. I hope to see you at one of his public events.

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Coming to Pittsburgh

One of my favorite writers on early Christianity is Fr. Michael Giesler, author of the novels Junia: The Fictional Life and Death of an Early Christian and its sequel, Marcus. Both are set in second-century Rome. They’re great page-turners in the tradition of Ben-Hur and Quo Vadis; and they deserve a wide audience. (I’ll post my review, from Touchstone magazine, tomorrow.)

I’m happy to report that Fr. Giesler is coming to my beloved Pittsburgh next week. I’m sure you’ve always wanted to see Pittsburgh. I hope you’ll be able to meet us (and pick up his books) at one of his public appearances. The dates, places, and times follow.

THURSDAY, FEB. 7
8:30 p.m. — Lecture, “The Glory of the Early Christians: Family Life and the Gift of Celibacy,” Gentile Gallery, Franciscan University of Steubenville

FRIDAY, FEB. 8
11 am — Mass at Aquinas Academy (2308 West Hardies Road, Wildwood, PA 15091)
12 noon – 2 pm — Booksigning in lobby of Aquinas Academy
3-5 pm — Booksigning at Kirners Bookstore (219 4th Avenue, Pittsburgh, PA 15222)

SATURDAY, FEB. 9
10:30-11:30 am — Booksigning at Grandevue Study Center (237 N. Dithridge St., Pittsburgh, PA 15213)

Fr. Giesler holds a doctorate in sacred theology and an advanced degree in philosophy. In addition to his novels, he has published many scholarly articles.

If you know people in Pittsburgh or Steubenville, please spread the word!

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Radical Conversion

The Holy Father gave his third audience on St. Augustine today. Teresa Benedetta translated :

Dear friends,

After the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, we return today to reflect on the great figure of St. Augustine.

In 1986, my dear Predecessor John Paul II dedicated to Augustine, on the 1600th anniversary of his conversion, a long and dense document in the form of the Apostolic Letter Augustinum Hipponensen (Augustine of Hippo).

The Pope himself defined the text as “an act of thanksgiving to God for his gift to the Church, and through it, to all of mankind, with that miraculous conversion” (AAS, 74, 1992, p. 802).

I wish to return to the topic of Augustine’s conversion in a future audience. It was a fundamental theme not only for Augustine’s life, but also for ours. In last Sunday’s Gospel, the Lord himself summarized his preaching in the words, “Convert yourselves”.

Following the path of St. Augustine, we can meditate on what this conversion means: it is something definitive, decisive, but the fundamental decision must be developed and must be realized throughout our whole life.

The catechesis today will be dedicated instead to the theme of faith and reason, which was a determinative theme, or better still, the detrminative theme in the biography of St. Augustine.

As a child, he learned the Catholic faith from his mother Monica. But as an adolescent, he abandoned this faith because he could no longer see its reasonableness, and he did not want a religion that could not be, for him, also an expression of reason, and therefore, of truth. His thirst for truth was radical and led him to distance himself from the Catholic faith.

But his radicality was such that he could not content himself with philosophies which did not arrive at truth itself, which did not arrive at God. To a God who was not just the ultimate cosmological hypothesis, but the true God, the God who gives life and who enters our own life.

Thus all of St. Augustine’s intellectual and spiritual itinerary constitutes a model valid even today for the relationship between faith and reason, a theme not only for believers but for every man who searches for the truth, a central theme for the equilibrium and destiny of every human being.

These two dimensions, faith and reason, are not to be separated nor to be opposed to each other, but should always go together. As Augustine himself wrote after his conversion, faith and reason are “the two forces that bring us to knowing” (Contra Academicos, III, 20, 43).

In this respect, two Augustinian formulations (from Sermons, 43,9) remain rightly celebrated for expressing this coherent synthesis between faith and reason: Crede ut intelligas (I believe in order to understand) – belief opens the way to get to the threshold of truth – and, inseparably, Intellige ut credas (I understand in order to believe): to scrutinize truth in order to find God and believe.

Those two statements by Augustine express with effective immediacy and with profundity the synthesis of this issue, in which the Catholic Church sees the expression of its way.

Historically, this synthesis had been taking shape, even before the coming of Christ, in the encounter between the Jewish faith and Greek thought that resulted in Hellenistic Judaism. Successively, this synthesis was recovered and developed throughout history by many Christian thinkers.

The harmony between faith and reason means, above all, that God is not far: he is not far from our reason and our life; he is close to every human being, close to our heart and close to our reason, if we really put ourselves on the right way.

It was precisely this closeness of God to man that Augustine experienced with extraordinary intensity. The presence of God in man is profound and at the same time, mysterious, but we can discover and recognize it in our most intimate being.

Do not go out, the convert says: “but go back into yourself – truth resides in the interior man, and if you find that your nature is changeable, transcend yourself. But remember, when you transcend yourself, that you transcend a soul which reasons. Then reach beyond – to where the light of reason is lit” (De vera religione, 39, 72).

As Augustine himself underscored with that most famous statement at the start of Confessions, his spiritual autobiography written in praise of God: “You made us for you, and our heart is restless until it rests in you” (I,1,1).

Distance from God is equivalent therefore to distance from our selves: “Indeed, you,” Augustine writes (Confessions, III, 6,11), addressing himself to God, “are more intimately present to me than my inmost being and higher than the highest element in me” – interior intimo meo et superior summo meo – such that, he adds in another passage, recalling the time before his conversion, “you were in front of me, but I, instead, had gone far from myself and could not find myself again, and even less could I find you again” (Confessions, V, 2, 2).

Precisely because Augustine had lived firsthand this intellectual and spiritual itinerary, he knew how to render it with such immediacy, profundity and wisdom in his works, recognizing in two other famous passages from Confessions (IV, 4, 9 e 14, 22) that man is ‘a great enigma’ (magna quaestio) and ‘a great abyss’ (grande profundum) – enigma and abyss that only Christ illuminates and saves.

This is important: a man who is far from God is also far from himself, alienated from himself, and can recover himself only if he meets God, and thus, he will also arrive at himself, his true I, his true identity.

The human being, Augustine then underscores in De civitate Dei (The City of God, XII, 27) – is social by nature but anti-social by fault, and is saved by Christ, the only mediator between God and mankind and the “universal way of freedom and salvation”, as my predecessor John Paul II repeated (Augustinum Hipponensem, 21): Outside this way, which has never failed humanity, Augustine says in the same work, “no one was ever liberated, no one can be liberated, no one will be liberated” (De civitate Dei, X, 32, 2).

As the only mediator of salvation, Christ is the head of the Church and is mystically united to it, to the point that Augustine could say: “We have become Christ. Indeed, if he is the head, and we are the members (limbs), the total man is he and us” (In Iohannis evangelium tractatus, 21, 8).

People of God and house of God, the Church in the Augustinian vision is thus closely linked to the concept of the Body of Christ, based on the Christologic re-reading of the Old Testament, and on sacramental life centered in the Eucharist, in which the Lord gives us his Body and transforms us into his Body.

It is therefore fundamental that the Church – the People of God in the Christologic and not the sociological sense – should be truly in Christ, who, Augustine says in a very beautiful test, “prays for us, prays in us, is prayed to by us: he prays for us as our priest, he prays in us as our head, he is prayed to by us as our God – so we recognize in him our voice, and in ours, his” (Enarrationes in Psalmos, 85, 1).

At the conclusion of the apostolic letter Augustinum Hipponensem, John Paul II asked whatthe saint has to say to men today, and responded with the words that Augustine dictated in a letter shortly after his conversion: “It seems to me that man should be led back to the hope of finding the truth” (Epistulae, 1, 1): that truth which is Christ himself, true God, to whom one of the most beautiful and famous prayers in Confessions (X, 27,38) is addressed:

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new,
late have I loved you!
You were within me, but I was outside,
and it was there that I searched for you.
In my unloveliness
I plunged into the lovely things which you created.
You were with me, but I was not with you.
Created things kept me from you;
yet if they had not been in you
they would have not been at all.
You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness.
You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness.
You breathed your fragrance on me;
I drew in breath and now I pant for you.
I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more.
You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

So it was! Augustine had encountered God and all his life experienced him to the point that this reality – which was above all an encounter with a Person, Jesus – changed his life, as he has changed that of so many men and women in every age who have had the grace to encounter him.

Let us pray that the Lord may give us this grace and to make us find his peace by doing so.

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Augi-ence

Pope Benedict returned to Augustine today — another installment in what he hinted would be a “series.” Since he’s an Augustine scholar, this promises to be a fun run of audiences. I’ll try to find a full-text translation by day’s end. Meantime, here’s the Vatican’s summary.

As we continue our catechesis on Saint Augustine of Hippo, I wish today to consider some of the teachings of this great Doctor of the Church. A passionate believer, he recognized the importance of bringing together faith and reason. It was he who taught that we should believe in order to understand, and understand in order to believe. God makes himself known to our reason, although he always transcends what we can know through reason alone. As Augustine beautifully expressed it, God is “more intimately present to me than my inmost being” and “higher than the highest element in me.” Saint Augustine taught that by belonging to the Church, we are so closely united to Christ that we “become” Christ, the head whose members we are. As our head, Christ prays in us, yet he also prays for us as our priest, and we pray to him as our God. If we ask what particular message Saint Augustine has for the men and women of today, it is perhaps his emphasis on our need for truth. Listen to the way he describes his own search for God’s truth: “You were within me and I sought you outside, in the beautiful things that you had made. You were with me, but I was not with you. You called me, you cried out and broke open my deafness. I tasted you, and now I hunger and thirst for you.” Let us pray that we too may discover the joy of knowing God’s truth.

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Underground Movement

About a year ago, I posted a short review of The Christian Catacombs of Rome: History, Decoration, Inscriptions, by Vincenzo Fiocchi Nicolai, Fabrizio Bisconti, and Danilo Mazzoleni. I wrote a long review for last October’s issue of Touchstone Magazine, and the full version follows.

The Roman catacombs are a veritable city of the dead. More than sixty miles of labyrinthine corridors have been discovered so far, and archeologists are still finding more. Estimates of their population range into the millions. And they are our richest source of evidence of early Christian life.

A lavishly illustrated coffee-table volume, The Christian Catacombs of Rome allows us to walk those corridors with three of the world’s leading experts on the subject. All are members of the Vatican’s Pontifical Commission on Sacred Archeology; all teach archeology at Roman universities.

From their intimate knowledge of thousands of inscriptions, artifacts, bone fragments, and artworks, the authors give us brief and brilliant glimpses of the ordinary lives of the early Christians, answering questions like: What kind of work did they do? Were they poor, rich, or middle-class? (See below.) How old were they when they married? (Women were 14-20, men 20-30.) What qualities did they value in their spouses and in their children? (No surprise here: fidelity, affability, concord, integrity.) How did they die? (Relatively few were martyrs.)

UNDERGROUND WORKS
The catacombs were dug by a professional corps of tunnelers out of the soft volcanic rock at the outskirts of Rome. Following soon after were an army of artists and artisans: brick masons, stone masons, plasterers, sculptors, mosaic and fresco artists, not to mention priests and mourners.

And much of this industry bustled during a time of intermittent persecution. Though the Christian catacombs represent the first massive public work of the Church, they were, so to speak, an underground economy.

The book divides neatly into three sections. Vincenzo Fiocchi Nicolai sketches the catacombs’ origin and development, giving readers a concise but complete introduction to the subject. He covers not only the history of their construction, but also the history of their excavation — which, given the crude methods of past centuries, was sometimes their destruction.

In the second section, Fabrizio Bisconti examines the artistic decoration of the catacombs and its interpretation (a field given to much controversy). In the final section, Danilo Mazzoleni highlights the 40,000 inscriptions that embellish the tombs, inscriptions that range from graffiti scratched in plaster to poems chiseled in marble.

All three sections are packed with useful and fascinating details. Mazzoleni, for example, uses the epitaphs to show us what the early Christians did for a living. They were “bricklayers, cleaners, dyers, seamstresses, shoemakers and cobblers . . . doctors and veterinarians, lawyers, notaries, stenographers, couriers, teachers, and clerks of grain administration.” Thus, we see the whole range of professions and social classes, and probably in close proportion to their distribution in Roman society.

Along the way, he challenges the fairly common assertion that the pre-Constantinian Christians were overwhelmingly pacifist. On the contrary, he writes, “diverse specialties and every rank” of the military are represented in Christian catacomb inscriptions, “including praetorians (the corps was disbanded by Constantine), cavalry and equites singulares.”

CHRISTIAN NAMES
Mazzoleni also analyzes the names bestowed and taken by the Christians of Rome. Readers can follow the trends through those early centuries, learning, for example, that relatively few chose biblical names, and many chose the names of martyrs (there are 3,000 Lawrences in one catacomb alone!). It was more common, however, to choose names with theological associations, such as Agape (love), Irene (peace), Anastasius (resurrection), Spes (hope), Quodvultdeus (what God wills), and so on. And many Christians seem to have stuck with the old, traditional Roman names, the names of pagan deities (Hermes, Hercules, Aphrodite, Eros).

One illuminating subsection covers “Humiliating names or nicknames.” These names “were sometimes used by some faithful as a life-long act of modesty, precisely because of their unpleasant significance. . . . This is the case of Proiectus and Proiecticus, which meant ‘exposed,’ and the unpleasant Stercorius, [which] can be understood as ‘abandoned in the garbage.’ . . . At the Catacomb of Pretestato, one of them was in fact named Stercorinus.”

The authors (or translators) are being polite. Stercorius is most accurately translated by what kids call “the S-word.” Thus, Stercorinus (the diminutive) means “Little S***,” or “Dear S***.”

Why would Christians bear such a name? It is likely that these particular Romans were, as infants, rescued from the dungheap — the place where Romans abandoned “defective” or female newborns. After all, the pagan philosopher Seneca said: “What is good must be set apart from what is good-for-nothing.”

I’ll bet that no small number of those “good-for-nothings” were rescued by Christian families. They were lucky to be alive, but surely they still had to suffer the taunts of playmates, who were pleased to remind them of their lowly origins.

As Mazzoleni points out, they may have kept those demeaning names as “a life-long act of modesty” — or perhaps as an act of triumphant irony. The joke, after all, was on the pagan world, which would soon enough die out for the crime of murdering its young. These children who were dung in the eyes of Imperial Rome knew that they were precious in the sight of God.

And in the catacombs they were buried among popes and praetorian guards. Nicolai remarks on the “uniformity of the tombs” that demonstrates the “heavily egalitarian ideology of the new religion.” In the catacombs, Stercorius is immortal, even in a merely historical sense, thanks to the work of these three authors. Reading their book is a profoundly religious experience.