As we seek to re-engage inactive Catholics, we should heed Pope Benedict’s recent homily on the Feast of the Chair of St. Peter, in a Mass concelebrated by 22 new Cardinals: “The Church does not exist for her own sake, she is not the point of arrival, but she has to point upwards, beyond herself, to the realms above.”
For the new Cardinals, receiving the red biretta would be a heady experience, not to mention concelebrating with the Pope around Bernini’s Altar of the Chair. And yet the Holy Father reminded them that their new attire is about responsibility, not privilege; service rather than power. The red, in fact, signifies their willingness to love their brothers and sisters unto death.
His words are also a gentle reminder to all Catholics that simply being Catholic—i.e. just being a card carrying member—is not an end in itself. What do I mean?
Consider that every faith tradition has its own particular pitfalls. For many Protestants, who view the church as an exclusively invisible reality, a nebulous unity of all people who love Jesus, the temptation is to view the church as expendable. That’s why the video, “Why I Hate Religion but Love Jesus,” has become a Youtube sensation.
Catholics, on the other hand, know that the Church is both visible and invisible; yet our temptation is to focus on the institution alone and forget that the Church exists to lead people to Jesus Christ. The visible aspects of the Church are indispensable, because we are material beings who experience the divine life of grace through our bodies (and thus, our senses). But the Church we see, smell, touch, and taste exists to make visible the invisible mystery of God.
The Pope points this out, declaring that “The Church herself is like a window, the place where God draws near to us.” It helps, of course, that above Bernini’s Altar of the Chair is a stunning alabaster window that irresistibly attracts the eye with, as the Holy Father describes it, the “light that comes from above, without which (the world) would be uninhabitable.”
Without the transcendent reality, Bernini’s sculpture is just a piece of furniture. And let’s be honest, far too many Catholics grow up seeing the sculpture but never the light behind it.
They do the right things, the visible actions that we Catholics do, but they never experience in personal terms the invisible reality of Christ’s love in their lives. And so they drift, with the majority of Catholics leaving the Church not in anger but in apathy.
Some become disillusioned with Catholicism, but find an evangelical congregation that talks
openly and convincingly about Jesus and the difference he makes in your life. They have a personal experience of faith, and they believe everything in their Catholic past was empty ritual.“I went to the Catholic Church my whole life,” they attest, “But I never knew Jesus or heard the gospel.” We could rightly quibble that they saw Jesus and heard the gospel in every Mass they attended, but perception is reality; not objective reality, of course, but subjective.
Others become disillusioned with Christianity in general, and feel the gnawing emptiness of a life without faith.
Meanwhile, we who practice the faith might feel a certain indifference to these inactive Catholics, knowing that we have found the fullness of faith and losing little sleep over those who used to sit around us. Or if we are concerned for them, we sometimes are more motivated to simply get them back to the Catholic Church, as if merely “being a Catholic” is an end in itself.
Yet as the Pope reminds us, occupying a pew is not the goal. Rather, the Catholic Church is the sacrament of salvation, the most complete expression of the Christian life and the path most conducive to union with Jesus Christ. The Church exists not to perpetuate the institution, but so that people in every generation might know Jesus Christ and the abundant life he gives.
So in the task of reaching out to inactive Catholics, we might ask ourselves two questions. First of all, why are we inviting persons back in the first place—just to be Catholic or to know Jesus Christ? And secondly, when they come back, what kind of parish will they be finding; one in which Jesus is moving in the lives of the people, laity and clergy alike, or one with beautiful furnishings but no compelling vision of the light shining through?
For the new Cardinals, receiving the red biretta would be a heady experience, not to mention concelebrating with the Pope around Bernini’s Altar of the Chair. And yet the Holy Father reminded them that their new attire is about responsibility, not privilege; service rather than power. The red, in fact, signifies their willingness to love their brothers and sisters unto death.
His words are also a gentle reminder to all Catholics that simply being Catholic—i.e. just being a card carrying member—is not an end in itself. What do I mean?
Consider that every faith tradition has its own particular pitfalls. For many Protestants, who view the church as an exclusively invisible reality, a nebulous unity of all people who love Jesus, the temptation is to view the church as expendable. That’s why the video, “Why I Hate Religion but Love Jesus,” has become a Youtube sensation.
Catholics, on the other hand, know that the Church is both visible and invisible; yet our temptation is to focus on the institution alone and forget that the Church exists to lead people to Jesus Christ. The visible aspects of the Church are indispensable, because we are material beings who experience the divine life of grace through our bodies (and thus, our senses). But the Church we see, smell, touch, and taste exists to make visible the invisible mystery of God.
The Pope points this out, declaring that “The Church herself is like a window, the place where God draws near to us.” It helps, of course, that above Bernini’s Altar of the Chair is a stunning alabaster window that irresistibly attracts the eye with, as the Holy Father describes it, the “light that comes from above, without which (the world) would be uninhabitable.”
Without the transcendent reality, Bernini’s sculpture is just a piece of furniture. And let’s be honest, far too many Catholics grow up seeing the sculpture but never the light behind it.
They do the right things, the visible actions that we Catholics do, but they never experience in personal terms the invisible reality of Christ’s love in their lives. And so they drift, with the majority of Catholics leaving the Church not in anger but in apathy.
Some become disillusioned with Catholicism, but find an evangelical congregation that talks
openly and convincingly about Jesus and the difference he makes in your life. They have a personal experience of faith, and they believe everything in their Catholic past was empty ritual.“I went to the Catholic Church my whole life,” they attest, “But I never knew Jesus or heard the gospel.” We could rightly quibble that they saw Jesus and heard the gospel in every Mass they attended, but perception is reality; not objective reality, of course, but subjective.
Others become disillusioned with Christianity in general, and feel the gnawing emptiness of a life without faith.
Meanwhile, we who practice the faith might feel a certain indifference to these inactive Catholics, knowing that we have found the fullness of faith and losing little sleep over those who used to sit around us. Or if we are concerned for them, we sometimes are more motivated to simply get them back to the Catholic Church, as if merely “being a Catholic” is an end in itself.
Yet as the Pope reminds us, occupying a pew is not the goal. Rather, the Catholic Church is the sacrament of salvation, the most complete expression of the Christian life and the path most conducive to union with Jesus Christ. The Church exists not to perpetuate the institution, but so that people in every generation might know Jesus Christ and the abundant life he gives.
So in the task of reaching out to inactive Catholics, we might ask ourselves two questions. First of all, why are we inviting persons back in the first place—just to be Catholic or to know Jesus Christ? And secondly, when they come back, what kind of parish will they be finding; one in which Jesus is moving in the lives of the people, laity and clergy alike, or one with beautiful furnishings but no compelling vision of the light shining through?
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