MADISON — On Monday, March 20, at the chapel of Holy Name Heights (Bishop O’Connor Center), His Excellency Robert C. Morlino, Bishop of Madison, celebrated a Pontifical Mass at the Throne for the transferred Feast of St. Joseph.
The Mass was in the Roman Rite’s older, traditional form, sometimes called the “Extraordinary Form.” The music was in Latin, in Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony, with two hymns in English for the entrance and the recessional.
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I have been reading, with both profit and delight, Thomas Joseph White’s latest book, The Incarnate Lord: A Thomistic Study in Christology.
Fr. White, one of the brightest of a new generation of Thomas interpreters, explores a range of topics in this text — the relationship between Jesus’ human and divine natures, whether the Lord experienced the beatific vision, the theological significance of Christ’s cry of anguish on the cross, his descent into Hell, etc. — but for the purposes of this article, I want to focus on a theme of particular significance in the theological and catechetical context today.
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Every community, inevitably, has a value or set of values that it considers fundamental, some basic good which positions every other claim to goodness. For most of the modern liberal democracies, for example, freedom and equality play this determining role in the moral discourse.
In Communist societies, economic justice, construed as the elimination of the class structure, would provide such a foundation. In the context of German National Socialism, the defense of the Fatherland and the will of the Führer anchored the moral system, however corrupt.
There is a rather simple means of identifying this ultimate value: in regard to any particular moral or political act, keep asking the question, “Why is this being done?” until you come to the point where you find yourself saying, “Well, because that’s just a good thing.” The “just a good thing” is the value that your society or culture considers non-negotiable and which in turn determines all subordinate values.
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Every community, inevitably, has a value or set of values that it considers fundamental, some basic good which positions every other claim to goodness. For most of the modern liberal democracies, for example, freedom and equality play this determining role in the moral discourse.
In Communist societies, economic justice, construed as the elimination of the class structure, would provide such a foundation. In the context of German National Socialism, the defense of the Fatherland and the will of the Führer anchored the moral system, however corrupt.
There is a rather simple means of identifying this ultimate value: in regard to any particular moral or political act, keep asking the question, “Why is this being done?” until you come to the point where you find yourself saying, “Well, because that’s just a good thing.” The “just a good thing” is the value that your society or culture considers non-negotiable and which in turn determines all subordinate values.
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| Robert Enright |
Second in a series of seven articles on forgiveness.
Lent is a time of seeking forgiveness for sins and then practicing forgiveness toward those who have been unfair to us.
When we forgive, we give the gift of goodness to those who have not been good to us. As we are forgiven, we forgive, as the Catholic Church teaches (Catechism of the Catholic Church, par. 2838).
Sometimes, when people reflect on this link between being forgiven in the Sacrament of Penance and then forgiving others, there may be some apprehension in now extending that forgiveness to those who have been hurtful.
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The massive rose windows of the medieval Gothic cathedrals were not only marvels of engineering and artistry; they were also symbols of the well-ordered soul.
The pilgrim coming to the cathedral for spiritual enlightenment would be encouraged to meditate upon the rose of light and color in order to be drawn into mystical conformity with it.
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The massive rose windows of the medieval Gothic cathedrals were not only marvels of engineering and artistry; they were also symbols of the well-ordered soul.
The pilgrim coming to the cathedral for spiritual enlightenment would be encouraged to meditate upon the rose of light and color in order to be drawn into mystical conformity with it.
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Anyone even vaguely acquainted with my work knows that I advocate vigorous argument on behalf of religious truth. I have long called for a revival in what is classically known as apologetics, the defense of the claims of faith against skeptical opponents. And I have repeatedly weighed in against a dumbed-down Catholicism.
Also, I have, for many years, emphasized the importance of beauty in service of evangelization. The Sistine Chapel Ceiling, the Sainte Chapelle, Dante’s Divine Comedy, Bach’s St. Matthew’s Passion, T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, and the Cathedral of Chartres all have an extraordinary convincing power, in many ways surpassing that of formal arguments.
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The Netflix original series The Crown, which has to do with the last months of the reign of King George VI and the first years of the reign of his daughter, Queen Elizabeth II, is just the kind of program that Americans in particular seem naturally to love.
It features beautiful photography of palaces, processions, and formal receptions; and it provides a behind-the-scenes look at the ne plus ultra of the British aristocracy. Consider it Downton Abbey on steroids.
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Spoiler Alert: The following is the first half of Bishop Barron’s reflections on Martin Scorcese’s new film, Silence, in which he outlines the plot. In the second half, which we will publish next week, he discusses the ending of the film and adds his “dissenting” thoughts about it to the conversation among critics.
I have long been an ardent fan of Martin Scorsese’s films. Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas, The Aviator, Gangs of New York, The Last Waltz, Casino, etc. are among the defining movies of the last 40 years. And The Departed, Scorsese’s 2007 crime drama, was the subject matter of the first YouTube commentary that I ever did.
