Por Obispo Robert Barron
La semana pasada falleció el cardenal Roger Etchegaray. Quizás el suyo no era un nombre familiar, pero este hombre muy decente hizo una contribución sustancial a la vida de la Iglesia, sirviendo en varias capacidades diferentes a lo largo de los años y colaborando estrechamente con el Papa Juan Pablo II. Tuve el privilegio de conocerlo a mediados de la década de 1990, cuando visitó el Seminario Mundelein donde yo era profesor de teología. El Cardenal quería dirigirse a la comunidad, pero su inglés era un poco inestable, así que traduje para él. Pero recuerdo que su sonrisa y su gozo evidente en el Señor no necesitaban ninguna traducción.
La primera vez que vi a Roger Etchegaray fue algunos años antes, en un día extraordinario en la Catedral de Notre Dame en París: el funeral del legendario teólogo Henri de Lubac. En ese momento, como estudiante de doctorado de tercer año, me dirigí a Notre Dame, con la esperanza de poder participar en la misa del funeral. Cuando me acerqué a la puerta, un agente de seguridad me detuvo y me preguntó: “Est-ce que vous êtes membre de la famille? (¿Eres miembro de la familia?),” “Non,” respondí. Luego me preguntó: “¿Est-ce que vous êtes theologien? (¿Eres un teólogo?). ”Con cierta inquietud, dije:” Oui (Si), ”y rápidamente me guió a una posición privilegiada cerca del frente de la Catedral.
Al sonido profundo de las campanas de la Catedral, el sencillo ataúd de madera de de Lubac fue llevado por el pasillo central. Noté, cuando pasó por mi posición, que el ataúd estaba coronado por la birreta roja del cardenal de Lubac. Al final de la misa, el cardenal Etchegaray se levantó para hablar en nombre del Papa. Leyó un hermoso homenaje de Juan Pablo II, y luego compartió la siguiente anécdota. Poco después de su elección al papado, John Paul vino a París para una visita pastoral. Hizo una parada especial en el Institut Catholique de Paris para reunirse con teólogos y otros académicos católicos. Después de sus comentarios formales- continuó Etchegaray – Juan Pablo II levantó la vista y dijo: “¿“Où est le pere de Lubac? (¿Dónde está el padre de Lubac?) ”El joven Karol Wojtyla había trabajado estrechamente con de Lubac durante el Vaticano II, específicamente en la composición del gran documento conciliar Gaudium et Spes. De Lubac dio un paso adelante y, Etchegaray nos dijo que el Papa Juan Pablo II inclinó la cabeza ante el distinguido teólogo. Luego Etchegaray, volviéndose hacia el ataúd, dijo: “Encore une fois, au nom du pape, j’incline la tête devant le pere de Lubac (Una vez más, en nombre del Papa, inclino la cabeza ante el padre. de Lubac).“
Esto es mucho más que una historia encantadora, porque sobre la reverencia de Juan pablo II por Henri de Lubac hay una historia muy interesante de relevancia continua para nuestro tiempo. De Lubac fue el defensor más destacado de lo que llegó a llamarse la nouvelle theologie (la nueva teología). Apartándose del Tomismo estricto y bastante racionalista que dominó la vida intelectual católica en la primera mitad del siglo XX, de Lubac y sus colegas se volvieron con entusiasmo a las Escrituras y a las obras maravillosas y multifacéticas de los Padres de la Iglesia. Este regreso a las “fuentes” de la fe produjo una teología que fue espiritualmente informada, ecuménicamente generosa e intelectualmente rica, y que puso a de Lubac “al fuego (hot water)” a un nivel considerable con el establecimiento académico y eclesial de esa época. En el apogeo de sus poderes, durante la década de 1950, fue silenciado y se le prohibió enseñar, hablar o publicar. Rehabilitado por el Papa Juan XXIII, de Lubac desempeñó un papel fundamental en el Vaticano II, influyendo decisivamente en muchos de sus principales documentos. Es completamente correcto decir que este defensor de la reforma del Concilio Vaticano II no era amigo del conservadurismo católico preconciliar.
Sin embargo, en los años inmediatamente posteriores al Concilio, Henri de Lubac se impacientó con el liberalismo católico, liderado por figuras como Hans Küng, Karl Rahner y Edward Schillebeeckx, que estaba superando los textos del Vaticano II y que se acomodaba demasiado fácilmente con la cultura ambiental, perdiendo su union con el cristianismo clásico.
Y así, junto con sus colegas Hans Urs von Balthasar y Joseph Ratzinger, fundó la revista teológica Communio, que era un contrapeso a la revista Concilium, que publicó los trabajos de los principales liberales. Fue esta escuela de Communio, ese camino intermedio entre ambos, el conservadurismo y el liberal rechazo del Vaticano II, algo que Juan Pablo II abrazó con entusiasmo. Si usted busca una evidencia clara de que el Papa polaco favoreció este enfoque, no busque más allá del Catecismo de 1992, que está lleno del espíritu de la nouvelle theologie (la nueva teología), y del hecho de que Juan Pablo II honró especialmente a los tres fundadores de Communio, haciendo a José Ratzinger jefe de la Congregación para la Doctrina de la Fe y nombrando cardenales a de Lubac y a Balthasar.
¿Se exhiben hoy los rechazos del Vaticano II de parte de la izquierda y de la derecha? Simplemente vaya usted al espacio de los nuevos medios católicos y encontrará la pregunta fácilmente respondida. Lo que aún es muy necesario es la actitud de Lubac: profundo compromiso con los textos del Vaticano II, apertura a la conversación ecuménica, disposición a dialogar con la cultura (sin ceder) y reverencia por la tradición sin sofocar al tradicionalismo. Quizás podría invitarlo a usted a reflexionar sobre ese gesto y esas palabras del cardenal Etchegaray que aprendí hace muchos años: “Una vez más, en nombre del Papa, inclino la cabeza ante el padre de Lubac.”

(El obispo Robert Barron es autor, orador, teólogo y fundador de Word on Fire, un ministerio global de medios de comunicacion – Wordonfire.org)

By Bishop Robert Barron
(Editor’s note: Bishop Joseph Kopacz is on vacation at press time. His regular column will return in our Oct. 11 edition.)
Recently, Cardinal Roger Etchegaray passed away. Perhaps his was not a household name, but this very decent man made a substantive contribution to the life of the Church, serving in a number of different capacities over the years and collaborating closely with St. Pope John Paul II. I had the privilege of meeting him in the mid 1990s when he visited Mundelein Seminary, where I was serving as professor of theology. The Cardinal wanted to address the community, but his English was a bit shaky, so I translated for him. But I recall that his smile and evident joy in the Lord needed no translation whatsoever.
The first time I ever laid eyes on Roger Etchegaray was some years before that, on an extraordinary day in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris: the funeral of the legendary theologian Henri de Lubac. A third-year doctoral student at the time, I had made my way to Notre Dame, hoping against hope that I might be able to participate in the funeral Mass. As I approached the door, I was stopped by a security agent who asked, “Est-ce que vous êtes membre de la famille? (Are you a member of the family?)” “Non,” I responded. Then he inquired, “Est-ce que vous êtes theologien? (Are you a theologian?)” With some trepidation, I said, “Oui,” and he promptly directed me to a prime position near the front of the Cathedral. To the tolling of the deepest bells in the Cathedral, the simple wooden coffin of de Lubac was wheeled down the middle aisle. I noticed, as it passed by my position, that it was topped by de Lubac’s red cardinal’s biretta.
At the close of the Mass, Cardinal Etchegaray rose to speak on behalf of the Pope. He read a beautiful tribute from John Paul II, and then he shared the following anecdote. Soon after his election to the papacy, John Paul came to Paris for a pastoral visit. He made a special stop at the Institut Catholique de Paris to meet with theologians and other Catholic academics. After his formal remarks, Etchegaray continued, John Paul II looked up and said, “Où est le pere de Lubac? (Where is Father de Lubac?)” The young Karol Wojtyla had worked closely with de Lubac during Vatican II, specifically in the composition of the great conciliar document Gaudium et Spes. De Lubac stepped forward and, Etchegaray told us, Pope John Paul bowed his head to the distinguished theologian. Then, turning to the coffin, Etchegaray said, “Encore une fois, au nom du pape, j’incline la tête devant le pere de Lubac (Once more, in the name of the Pope, I bow my head before Father de Lubac).”
This is much more than a charming story, for upon John Paul’s reverence for Henri de Lubac hangs a very interesting tale of continuing relevance to our time. De Lubac was the most prominent proponent of what came to be called la nouvelle theologie (the new theology). Departing from the strict and rather rationalist Thomism that dominated Catholic intellectual life in the first half of the twentieth century, de Lubac and his colleagues turned with enthusiasm to the Scriptures and to the marvelous and multifaceted works of the Church Fathers. This return to the “sources” of the faith produced a theology that was spiritually informed, ecumenically generous and intellectually rich — and it got de Lubac in considerable hot water with the academic and ecclesial establishment of that time. At the very height of his powers, throughout the 1950s, he was silenced, prohibited from teaching, speaking or publishing. Rehabilitated by Pope John XXIII, de Lubac played a pivotal role at Vatican II, decisively influencing many of its major documents. It is altogether correct to say that this champion of the reforming Second Vatican Council was no friend of pre-conciliar Catholic conservatism.
However, in the years immediately following the Council, Henri de Lubac became impatient with the Catholic liberalism, led by such figures as Hans Küng, Karl Rahner and Edward Schillebeeckx, which was pushing past the texts of Vatican II, accommodating itself far too readily with the environing culture and losing its mooring in classical Christianity. And so, along with his colleagues Hans Urs von Balthasar and Joseph Ratzinger, he founded the theological journal Communio, which was meant as a counterweight to the journal Concilium, which published the works of the leading liberals. It was this Communioschool, this middle path between both a conservative and liberal rejection of Vatican II, that John Paul II enthusiastically embraced. If you seek clear evidence that the Polish Pope favored this approach, look no further than the Catechism of 1992, which is filled with the spirit of the nouvelle theologie and to the fact that John Paul specially honored the three founders of Communio, making Joseph Ratzinger head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and naming both de Lubac and Balthasar Cardinals.
Are both left-wing and right-wing rejections of Vatican II on display today? Just go on the Catholic new media space and you’ll find the question readily answered. What is still very much the needful thing is the de Lubac attitude: deep commitment to the texts of Vatican II, openness to ecumenical conversation, a willingness to dialogue with the culture (without caving in to it), reverence for the tradition without a stifling traditionalism. Perhaps I might invite you to muse on that gesture and those words of Cardinal Etchegaray that I took in many years ago: “Once more, in the name of the Pope, I bow my head before Father de Lubac.”

(This article first appeared at WordOnFire.org. Bishop Robert Barron is the founder of Word on Fire Catholic Ministries and Auxiliary Bishop of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
We live in a culture that idealizes youth and marginalizes the old. And, as James Hillman says, the old don’t let go easily either of the throne or the drive that took them there. I know; I’m aging.

For most of my life, I’ve been able to think of myself as young. Because I was born late in the year, October, I was always younger than most of my classmates, graduated from high school at age seventeen, entered the seminary at that tender age, was ordained to the priesthood at age twenty-five, did an advanced degree within the next year and was teaching graduate theology at age twenty-six, the youngest member on the faculty. I was proud of that, achieving those things so early. And so I always thought of myself as young, even as the years piled up and my body began to betray my conception of myself as young.

Moreover, for most of those years, I tried to stay young too in soul, staying on top of what was shaping youth culture, its movies, its popular songs, its lingo. During my years in seminary and for a good number of years after ordination, I was involved in youth ministry, helping give youth retreats in various high schools and colleges. At that time, I could name all the popular songs, movies, and trends, speak youth’s language and I prided myself in being young.

But nature offers no exemptions. Nobody stays young forever. Moreover, aging doesn’t normally announce its arrival. You’re mostly blind to it until one day you see yourself in a mirror, see a recent photo of yourself or get a diagnosis from your doctor and suddenly you’re hit on the head with the unwelcome realization that you’re no longer a young person. That usually comes as a surprise. Aging generally makes itself known in ways that have you denying it, fighting it, accepting it only piecemeal and with some bitterness.

But that day comes round for everyone when you’re surprised, stunned, that what you are seeing in the mirror is so different from how you have been imagining yourself and you ask yourself: “Is this really me? Am I this old person? Is this what I look like?” Moreover you begin to notice that young people are forming their circles away from you, that they’re more interested in their own kind, which doesn’t include you and you look silly and out of place when you try to dress, act and speak like they do. There comes a day when you have accept that you’re no longer young in in the world’s eyes – nor in your own.

Moreover gravity doesn’t just affect your body, pulling things downward, so too for the soul. It’s pulled downward along with the body, though aging means something very different here. The soul doesn’t age, it matures. You can stay young in soul long after the body betrays you. Indeed we’re meant to be always young in spirit.

Souls carry life differently than do bodies because bodies are built to eventually die. Inside of every living body the life-principle has an exit strategy. It has no such strategy inside a soul, only a strategy to deepen, grow richer and more textured. Aging forces us, mostly against our will, to listen to our soul more deeply and more honestly so as to draw from its deeper wells and begin to make peace with its complexity, its shadow and its deepest proclivities – and the aging of the body plays the key role in this. To employ a metaphor from James Hillman: The best wines have to be aged in cracked old barrels. So too for the soul: The aging process is designed by God and nature to force the soul, whether it wants to or not, to delve ever deeper into the mystery of life, of community, of God and of itself. Our souls don’t age, like a wine, they mature and so we can always be young in spirit. Our zest, our fire, our eagerness, our wit, our brightness and our humor are not meant to dim with age. Indeed, they’re meant to be the very color of a mature soul.

So, in the end, aging is a gift, even if unwanted. Aging takes us to a deeper place, whether we want to go or not.

Like most everyone else, I still haven’t made my full peace with this and would still like to think of myself as young. However I was particularly happy to celebrate my 70th birthday two years ago, not because I was happy to be that age, but because, after two serious bouts with cancer in recent years, I was very happy just to be alive and wise enough now to be a little grateful for what aging and a cancer diagnosis has taught me.

There are certain secrets hidden from health, writes John Updike. True. And aging uncovers a lot of them because, as Swedish proverb puts it, “afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas.)

GUEST COLUMN
By Sister Constance Veit, LSP
During a recent Catholic conference, I saw a Scripture quote on a poster that read: “Always be prepared to make a defense to anyone who calls you to account for the hope that is in you, yet do it with gentleness and reverence…” (1 Peter 3:15-16).

A series of talks by Catholic theologians and public figures drove home for me just how applicable these words are today.

From the recent scandals in the Church to the continued legal threats to religious liberty, traditional marriage and family and the dignity of human life, the times in which we are living seem catastrophic for Christians. Is there any hope for the future of the church in western societies like ours? What are we ordinary Catholics to do?

As I pondered these questions, the words of St. Peter provided me with two take-aways. First, we should not be afraid to speak up for Christ and the Gospel in the public square. And second, we will be able to make a difference only if we do so with kindness and humility.

St. Peter advised the early Christians to always be prepared, which presupposes we have done our homework. A Dominican speaker at the conference emphasized the need for serious study because standing up for our Catholic faith today requires intelligent answers. But he added that effective evangelization is not purely a matter of intellectual effort; it involves both knowing and authentically living our faith. Actions speak louder than words – and when we do speak, our personal witness of grace can touch hearts more effectively than theological treatises.

I think this is what St. Peter meant when he spoke about “the hope that is in you.” This hope is not something remote or academic – it is the living presence of Christ in our hearts.

We all share in the pledge of an imperishable inheritance by virtue of our Baptism, but this living hope is not bestowed on the church as a corporate body. It is a promise given to each of us individually as a beloved son or daughter of God. “Christ in you – and in me – for each of us, our hope of glory!” (cf. Colossians 1:27).

If we are tempted to become discouraged in the face of so many threats to our Catholic faith, perhaps it is because we have not yet taken full ownership of the hope that is in us.

Saint Jeanne Jugan, foundress of the Little Sisters of the Poor, took hold of this living hope and exercised it as confidence in Providence and sure faith in what awaited her in heaven (1 Peter 1:3-4).
Jeanne Jugan often reminded the young Little Sisters about the presence of Christ in the tabernacle, in the poor and in their own hearts. She advised them to look to Jesus for strength in all their trials and difficulties. Faced with challenges she would say, “That seems impossible, but if God is with us it will be accomplished.”

As strong as her faith and hope were, Jeanne Jugan was fully aware of the limited power of words to win over hearts and souls. She counseled the Little Sisters not to prolong chapel devotions, lest the Residents become bored and walk away.

She also advised the Sisters not to rush their begging rounds, impetuously blurting out their needs as if they were their due.

Finally, she taught the Little Sisters to pray discreetly when out in public so that they would neither draw undue attention to themselves nor offend nonbelievers.

In a word, Saint Jeanne Jugan taught the Little Sisters to let their humble acts of charity do the talking in drawing others to Christ. The annals of our Congregation are filled with stories of elderly individuals who were converted or led back to the practice of their Catholic faith through the quiet but heroic charity of generations of Little Sisters.

Many of the speakers at the conference I attended talked about missionary discipleship. Even the most well-known and intellectually intense spoke about service and solidarity with the poor as essential means of evangelization in today’s polarized world.

“Nothing is more exhilarating than bringing others to Christ,” George Weigel exclaimed with an enthusiasm that made me want to go out and announce the Good News – knowing that the only convincing way to do this today is through the language of closeness, generous love and humble service.

(Sister Constance Veit is director of communications for the Little Sisters of the Poor.)

From the hermitage
By Sister alies therese
People “go to Mass” for a variety of reasons. Some go because they are compelled by some notion of obligation or see the community value in it. Others are afraid of committing a mortal sin by not attending. Some understand and respect the transubstantiation process. And others, indeed, who like the preaching or music.
Perhaps you have a few additional thoughts on what you consider “go to Mass” means, or as it has been said “hear Mass.” We know about the Lord’s Supper or Holy Communion. Excellent preaching is rarely found and music can vary from one place to another, full-blown Cathedral choirs to small mission church pianists, all trying their best to assist us in our worship.
In my almost 50 years, I have been many places in one form of ministry or another and there’s not much I haven’t seen or heard. I suppose we have our favorite niggle … one of mine is singing all the verses (most of the time).
Music and art are very important to the reverential and special way that liturgy might be celebrated. In particular, music knits the Mass parts together, gives a flow to the delicacy of the Eucharist and gives us, the worshippers, the opportunity to sing out our praise to God and to be reminded of an important part of the story.
If you consider some of the hymns you might favor you might leave out verses three and four, for example. This seriously diminishes the fullness of the text that the author was so inspired to write.
Here are two examples …
The highlights of the verses of “Softly & Tenderly,” published by Will Thompson in 1880, are rooted in Matthew 11:28. For me the whole point of the hymn is in verse four, “Oh, for the wonderful love.”
(1) Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling/ … see on the portals He’s waiting and watching
(2) Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading/ …Why should we linger and heed not His mercies?
(3) Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing/ … shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming …
(4) Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised/ …Though we have sinned, He has mercy and pardon …
Another example is “Alleluia! Alleluia! Let the Holy Anthem Rise,” by Edward Caswall (1841-1878).
(1) Alleluia! Alleluia! Let the holy anthem rise …
(2) … Like the sun from out the wave …
(3) … Christ has burst our prison bars …
(4) … Blessed Jesus, make us rise …
As in any well-written piece, the author of the text wants us to travel somewhere with our musical storytelling so that the lessons we need to learn about the truths of faith might be presented in a robust and satisfying way. In this case, the author wants us to go from our attempt at understanding that Jesus was raised from the dead, how powerful that was and what it might look like, in order to get us to the final verse where we now ask … “make us rise.” From what God has done to what we need. From what God has done to what God now promises us. When we cut off the latter two verses, we almost miss the point Caswall was making.
You might think this is a bit petty. I’ve heard others complain it makes the “Mass too long” to sing all the verses. OK. But it is really only once a week (minimum). For me, if we are going to include music in the liturgical celebrations then we need to have great respect for both text and music.
There is a lot of energy used in singing and there are so many hymns and parts to choose from. We have seen over the years the changes in style, some coming back, some fading out. What we might need to be reminded of is that in the very act of singing, or with other forms of musical accompaniment, are at least two things: 1) that the community is inspired to cooperate with the Spirit to praise God and 2) that our worship of God is serious enough to be careful about our art and music so that as we leave our celebration, we are indeed prepared to welcome the stranger, the neighbor, the other because the message of a hymn sings sweetly in our hearts.
It is not necessary to sing every verse all the time, as it is not necessary to sing all the Mass parts (especially if the presider feels a bit challenged). However, when the liturgy team chooses for us what best expresses the liturgy and prayer of the day, we might consider more carefully how we participate with abandon and joy so that our God might be joyously worshipped and praised.

(Sister alies therese is a vowed Catholic solitary who lives an eremitical life. Her days are formed around prayer, art and writing. She lives and writes in Mississippi.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
There’s a huge difference between being bright and being wise, between brilliance and wisdom. We can be highly intelligent, but not very wise. Ideally, of course, we should strive to be both, but that isn’t always the case, particularly today.

We’re living in a culture that rewards brilliance above wisdom and within which we pride ourselves first of all in being brighter than each other. Who has the highest degree? Who went to the most elite university? Who’s the most entrepreneurial? Who’s the most popular? Who’s the cleverest scientist, researcher, writer, journalist, television personality, or wit at the office or family table? Who’s the most brilliant? We never ask: Who’s the wisest? Today intelligence is valued far above wisdom and that’s not always good. We’re a highly informed and intelligent people, but our compassion is not nearly on par with our brilliance. We’re bright, but not wise.

What’s the difference between intelligence and wisdom? Wisdom is intelligence that’s colored by understanding (which, parsed to its root, means infused with empathy). In end, what makes for wisdom is intelligence informed by empathy, intelligence that’s grasps with sympathy the complexity of others and the world, and this has implications.

Learning, to be truly helpful, must be matched by an equal growth in empathy. When this isn’t happening, then growth in intelligence is invariably be one-sided and, while perhaps providing something for the community, will always lack the kind of understanding that can help bind the community together and help us better understand ourselves and our world. When intelligence is not informed by empathy, what it produces will generally not contribute to the common good. Without a concomitant empathy, intelligence invariably becomes arrogant and condescending. True learning, on the other hand, is humble, self-effacing and empathic. When we develop ourselves intellectually, without sufficient empathy, our talents invariably become causes for envy rather than gifts for community.

Ironically, at the end of the day, intelligence not sufficiently informed by empathy will not be very bright, but instead will be an arrested intelligence wherein its fault will not be in what it has learned (for learning itself is good) but in where its learning stopped. It will suffer from a hazard aptly named by Alexander Pope, where “a little learning is a dangerous thing,” where we have read one book too many but one book too few!

One might object here and make a plea for science and scientific objectivity. Isn’t empirical science the product of a pure intellectual pursuit which refuses to be colored by anything outside itself? Isn’t the ideal of all learning to be purely objective, to not have a bias of any sort? Where does empathy play a role in pure research? Doesn’t an eye turned towards empathy fudge pure objectivity?

Pure objectivity doesn’t exist, in science or anywhere else. Science today accepts that it can never be purely objective. All measurement has its own agenda, its own angle, and cannot help but interfere (however infinitesimally perhaps) with what it measures. Everyone and everything, including science, has a bias (euphemistically, a pre-ontology). Thus, since all learning necessarily begins with an angle, a bias, pre-ontology, the question is not: How can I be purely objective?” But rather: What serves us best as an angle from which to learn? The answer is empathy. Empathy turns intelligence into wisdom and wisdom turns learning into something that more properly serves community.

However empathy is not to be confused with sentimentality or naiveté, as is sometimes the case.
Sentimentality and naiveté see a fault within intellectuality itself, seeing learning itself as the problem. But learning is never the problem. One-sided learning is the problem, namely, learning that isn’t sufficiently informed by empathy, which seeks knowledge without understanding.

I teach graduate students who are mainly preparing for ministry within their churches and so, for them, graduate learning is, by definition, meant to be more than just scoring high marks, graduating with honor, being informed and educated, or even just satisfying their own intellectual curiosities and questions. By their very vocation, they are striving for wisdom more than for mere intelligence. But even they, like most everyone else in our culture, struggle to not be one-sided in their learning, to have their studies bring them as much compassion as knowledge. We all struggle with this. It’s hard to resist a temptation that’s as endemic in our culture as certain bacteria are in our waters, that is, the temptation to be clever and bright, more informed than everyone else, no matter if we aren’t very compassionate persons afterwards.
And so this column is a plea, not a criticism: To all of us, whether we’re doing formal studies; whether we’re trying to learn the newest information technology; whether we’re trying to keep ourselves informed socially and politically; whether we’re writing articles, books, or blogs; whether we’re taking training for a job; or whether we’re just mustering material for an argument at our family table or workplace, remember: It’s not good merely to be smart, we must also be compassionate.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, TX.)

Guest Column
By Melvin Arrington
Dear incoming Freshmen,
A popular 1960s TV series told viewers, “You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to the outer limits.” These words could well apply to you as you head off to college in a few weeks. Get ready; your horizons are about to expand exponentially and you’ll soon discover that the world is much bigger than you think.
A large number of your class will be leaving home and parental supervision for the first time. From now on, you’ll make your own decisions. Unfortunately, many choose to stop attending religious services during their college years. The latest surveys show that almost one in four Americans claims no religious affiliation; these are the so-called “nones.” College freshmen, don’t become one of these statistics.
The rise of the nones can be blamed, at least partially, on relativism, which now holds sway in our modern secular, materialistic culture. Truth has come to mean whatever you want it to mean, and the determination of right and wrong is largely a matter of personal opinion. When there’s “your truth” and “my truth,” then we have no truth. But you’ve been taught the difference between right and wrong. Remember what our Lord proclaimed in John’s Gospel: “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”
No matter what some of your professors and fellow students may tell you, faith and science are not enemies. The notion that there is a war going on between science and religion is nothing more than a modern myth. God is truth, and the Catholic Church encourages the pursuit of truth, wherever it may be found.
After all, it was the Catholic Church that fostered and developed the scientific method and founded the university system. Consider these important figures from the history of science: the 13th century English philosopher and Franciscan friar, Roger Bacon, one of the earliest proponents of empiricism and experimental science; the 16th century astronomer and Catholic cleric, Nicolaus Copernicus, famous for overthrowing the age-old geocentric theory of Ptolemy by proving that the earth orbits the sun; and the 19th century Augustinian friar, Gregor Mendel, known as the father of modern genetics. And let’s not forget Father Georges Lemaitre, the twentieth-century mathematician and astronomer who formulated the Big Bang theory of the origin of the universe! Bam! Don’t let them tell you the Church is anti-science. Remember, the Catholic Church formed the basis for Western civilization and was, in large measure, responsible for its development over the centuries.
College campuses used to be citadels of learning, somewhat isolated from the problems of the outside world. However, in recent decades the “real world” has invaded our campuses resulting in drug abuse epidemics, sexual assaults, hate speech and racially motivated violence and a host of other evils. For a variety of socio-political, cultural and economic reasons college campuses are no longer safe zones. Choose wisely when making new friends. You’re going to need a strong support group. Here’s my recommendation: check out some of the Catholic Campus Ministry activities at your school.
You will hear a lot of talk of political correctness and left/right politics, but don’t let yourself be distracted by these discussions. Left and right are false categories when it comes to questions of faith. If we truly love those in need, we’ll figure out the best methods for serving them and not worry about whether others label us liberal or conservative.
You already know the importance of acquiring knowledge, but the real goal is to attain wisdom. As you think through the tough issue of the day, you will develop what the academic world calls critical thinking skills, but don’t forget about the role of faith in your life. If your mind is going to soar upward, it’s going to need both wings – reason and faith – in order to arrive at the truth. A bird can’t fly with just one wing.
Ecclesiastes tells us there’s nothing new under the sun. It’s all been thought, said and done before, but it may be new to you. If you haven’t already begun to explore the big questions, now that you are in college you should begin to do so in earnest. I’m referring to questions such as: Who am I? Where do I come from and where am I going? Does human life have a meaning and purpose? Why am I here? How am I supposed to live? What happens when I die? What ultimately matters? And the big one that always comes up as a challenge to Christians – Why does an omnipotent and benevolent God allow bad things to happen to good people?
Venerable Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen once acknowledged that it’s not easy for Catholics to explain why God permits evil and suffering, but at the same time he boldly asserted that it’s impossible for an atheist to explain the existence of goodness and love in our world. You simply can’t have love without God, because God is love.
Your college experience should turn out to be some of the best years of your lives. It’s a time to discover things you didn’t know about yourself and the world we live in today. It’s an opportunity to transition to independent living and meet people from different backgrounds. You will form life-long friendships over the next four years or so, and you may even meet your future spouse. Establish a proper balance between studies and social activities, be safe, and stay focused on what’s really important in life. Always remember your family loves you and, more importantly, God loves you.
P.S. And be sure to go to Mass.

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of Oxford St. John Parish.)

Reflections on Life
By Berta Mexidor
“ For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus made me free from the law of sin and of death.” (Romans 8: 2)
Faith in God and permanent prayer are the palliative with which thousands of undocumented immigrants maintain for years a life outside immigration law. “But if, while we sought to be justified in Christ, we ourselves also were found sinners, is Christ a minister of sin? God forbid.” (Galatians 2:17)
When a person decides to become an illegal immigrant, most of the time he or she has weighed the great dilemma and consequences of its actions. Many immigrants come to the United States with the certainty of finding laws much more humane and reasonable than those of his country of origin. “And the law came in besides, that the trespass might abound; but where sin abounded, grace did abound more exceedingly.” (Romans 5:20) In a joint statement, the bishops of Mississippi stressed that the role of the church at this time is “to provide comfort, material assistance and strength to separated children, parents and families and to those traumatized.”
In the raids conducted, people arrested, were found in their places of employment. Many did not have legal documents to work or remain in the United States. Some people were quickly released to continue with their lives, yet others were released with electronic bracelets, while waiting for a court appearance. Some of those detained will choose to return to their home countries voluntarily. Others, depending on their legal situation, will be deported or prosecuted criminally, while their relatives can only hold on to the divine and man’s laws.
In the bishops joint statement, they point out “to say that immigration reform is a contentious and complex topic would be an understatement.” Millions of people want to come to the United States for the humanization of their laws, contributing to a healthier life for every citizen, economic and personally. Many must wait for years. Thousands are waiting around the world, trusting the system, others resign themselves to stay in their countries and cast away the dream of living in America, the” promised land,” the “American dream.”
There are others who, in a situation of abuse, poverty and despair, cannot wait or do not have the financial means or education and decide to cross the border by risking their lives and that of their children. The vast majority subject their children to a situation of hopeful illegality when they bring them across the border. Others are procreated here in the States and are in fact American citizens. Their parents raising them with the hope of a better life and a possible immigration solution for their family members.
Generally, this illegality is not planned, therefore, there is no contingency plan present. There is no talk of hidden pain before children, some of whom grow up without knowing all the legal implications of the complex situation of their parents and relatives are going through.
Unfortunately, some immigrants take advantage of the laws and commit deceptive acts. These negatively affect American society and all immigrants.
The expectations of undocumented immigrants are to work and to live in a much healthier society than they left behind. None want to be captured, but each of them knows that capture is a possibility of the situation in which they find themselves. No person is fully prepared to face the authorities and much less to see their children suffer throughout the process.
The vast majority of immigrants are simple, fervent Christians, good parents and family people who aspire for a better life for their descendants. Some voices try to vilify the immigrant or consider them a victim. Immigrants are neither one nor the other. They are just people. When they break the law, it is only as a last resource for family improvement. With much humility, many are aware of the transgression, but the human misfortune in which they live drives them into an act of courage with civil or criminal consequences.
Many immigrants are Catholics much like you. The church is the center of understanding, spiritual help and the place to share experiences with people in the same situation or with those who share the same faith. They ask God for forgiveness for their sins and mercy as a reward under the received promise of “ But go ye and learn what this meaneth, I desire mercy, and not sacrifice: for I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Matthew 9:13).

(Berta Mexidor is Mississippi Catholic contributor, manages content for Mississippi Católico. Native of Cuba, in the U.S. for 18 years and hold a master’s degree in political sciences.)