9 posts tagged “catholic”
A work in progress...
About the Faith
The Baltimore Catechism
Theology for Beginners, by Frank Sheed
The Tridentine Creed
Scripture
Genesis
Exodus
Joshua
Judges
1 & 2 Samuel (1 & 2 Kings in some older Bibles)
Tobit
Job
Wisdom
The Gospel According to St. Mark
The Gospel According to St. John
The Acts of the Apostles
Hebrews
1 & 2 Peter
Church Fathers
Letters of St. Ignatius of Antioch
First and Second Apology, by St. Justin Martyr
The Incarnation of the Word, by St. Athanasius
Sermons of St. John Chrysostom (selected)
The Confessions, by St. Augustine
Letters of St. Leo the Great (selected)
Spiritual/Moral Reading
Introduction to Devout Life, by St. Francis de Sales
The World's First Love, by Bishop Fulton Sheen
In Defense of Purity, by Dietrich von Hildebrand
The Practice of the Presence of God, by Brother Lawrence
The Story of a Soul, by St. Therese of Lisieux
Transformation in Christ, by Dietrich von Hildebrand
The Secret of the Rosary, by St. Louis de Montfort
Literature
Beowulf
The Golden Legend (selections)
The Song of Roland
The Divine Comedy, by Dante
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Quo Vadis, by Henryk Sienkiewicz
The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien
Understanding the Times
On the Threshold of Hope, by Pope John Paul II
The Syllabus of Errors, by Pope Pius IX
Iota Unum, by Romano Amerio
The Devastated Vineyard, by Dietrich von Hildebrand
[From The Autobiography of G. K. Chesterton, ch. 4]
In the matter of religion, I have been much concerned with controversies about rather provocative problems; and have finally adopted a position which to many is itself a provocation. I have grieved my well-wishers, and many of the wise and prudent, by my reckless course in becoming a Christian, an orthodox Christian, and finally a Catholic in the sense of a Roman Catholic. Now in most of the matters of which they chiefly disapprove, I am not in the least ashamed of myself. As an apologist I am the reverse of apologetic. So far as a man may be proud of a religion rooted in humility, I am very proud of my religion; I am especially proud of those parts of it that are most commonly called superstition. I am proud of being fettered by antiquated dogmas and enslaved by dead creeds (as my journalistic friends repeat with so much pertinacity), for I know very well that it is the heretical creeds that are dead, and that it is only the reasonable dogma that lives long enough to be called antiquated. I am very proud of what people call priestcraft; since even that accidental term of abuse preserves the mediaeval truth that a priest, like every other man, ought to be a craftsman. I am very proud of what people call Mariolatry; because it introduced into religion in the darkest ages that element of chivalry which is now being belatedly and badly understood in the form of feminism. I am very proud of being orthodox about the mysteries of the Trinity or the Mass; I am proud of believing in the Confessional; I am proud of believing in the Papacy.
But I am not proud of believing in the Devil. To put it more correctly, I am not proud of knowing the Devil. I made his acquaintance by my own fault; and followed it up along lines which, had they been followed further, might have led me to devil-worship or the devil knows what. On this doctrine, at least, there is, mingled with my knowledge, no shadow of self-satisfaction any more than of self-deception.
[From This Tremendous Lover, by M. Eugene Boylan, pgs. 371-3]
If we would but be convinced that there is but one answer to the riddle of life and if we would accept our vocation to divine union as the sole end of our life, then immediately everything falls into perfect harmony; the whole scheme of things down to every detail of our lives acquires a new meaning, for all things have been accepted by the will of our Redeemer and made to co-operate in leading us to union with God. All things work together for good to those who love God, for it is His purpose and plan to re-establish all things in Christ....
For Christ is all, and in all. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. No one can truly love, except Christ loves in him. No one can be truly loved, except Christ be loved in him. It is only by Christ and with Christ and in Christ that we can love God; and God Himself loves us in Christ for He has chosen us in Christ before the foundation of the world, unto the praise of the glory of His grace in which He hath graced us in His Beloved Son.
For God made all things for His glory, and Christ is the glory of His substance. God willed to glorify Himself by His mercy, and ours is the misery that calls down His mercy. Our holiness in spite of our misery is the glory of His mercy, for Christ is our All. Let us then be filled with Christ, and by a life of love become one with Him, through Whom, and with Whom, and in Whom, in the unity of the Holy Spirit—the Love that is God Himself—is all the Glory of God.
[From Homily 10 on St. John, by Augustine of Hippo]
Extend thy charity over the whole earth if thou wilt love Christ,
for Christ's members are over all the earth. If thou lovest but a
part, thou art divided: if thou art divided, thou art not in the
body; if thou art not in the body, thou art not under the Head. What
profiteth it thee that thou believest and blasphemest? Thou adorest
Him in the Head, blasphemest Him in the Body. He loves His Body. If
thou hast cut thyself off from His Body, the Head hath not cut
itself off from its Body. To no purpose dost thou honor me, cries
thine Head to thee from on high, to no purpose dost thou honor me.
It is all one as if a man would kiss thine head and tread upon thy
feet: perchance with nailed boots he would crush thy feet, while he
will clasp thy head and kiss it: wouldest thou not cry out in the
midst of the words with which he honors thee, and say, What art thou
doing, man? thou treadest on me. Thou wouldest not mean, Thou
treadest on my head; for the head he honored; but more would the
head cry out for the members trodden upon, than for itself because
it was honored. Does not the head itself cry out, I will none of
thine honor; do not tread on me? Now say if thou canst, How have I
trodden upon thee? say that to the head: I wanted to kiss thee, I
wanted to embrace thee. But seest thou not, O fool, that what thou
wouldest embrace does in virtue of a certain unity, which knits the
whole frame together, reach to that which thou treadest upon?
[From his Confessions, Book 2, Chapter 3]
But while in that my sixteenth year I lived with my parents, leaving all school for a while (a season of idleness being interposed through the narrowness of my parents' fortunes), the briers of unclean desires grew rank over my head, and there was no hand to root them out. When that my father saw me at the baths, now growing towards manhood, and endued with a restless youthfulness, he, as already hence anticipating his descendants, gladly told it to my mother; rejoicing in that tumult of the senses wherein the world forgetteth Thee its Creator, and becometh enamoured of Thy creature, instead of Thyself, through the fumes of that invisible wine of its self-will, turning aside and bowing down to the very basest things. But in my mother's breast Thou hadst already begun Thy temple, and the foundation of Thy holy habitation, whereas my father was as yet but a Catechumen, and that but recently. She then was startled with a holy fear and trembling; and though I was not as yet baptised, feared for me those crooked ways in which they walk who turn their back to Thee, and not their face.
Woe is me! and dare I say that Thou heldest Thy peace, O my God, while I wandered further from Thee? Didst Thou then indeed hold Thy peace to me? And whose but Thine were these words which by my mother, Thy faithful one, Thou sangest in my ears? Nothing whereof sunk into my heart, so as to do it. For she wished, and I remember in private with great anxiety warned me, "not to commit fornication; but especially never to defile another man's wife." These seemed to me womanish advices, which I should blush to obey. But they were Thine, and I knew it not: and I thought Thou wert silent and that it was she who spake; by whom Thou wert not silent unto me; and in her wast despised by me, her son, the son of Thy handmaid, Thy servant. But I knew it not; and ran headlong with such blindness, that amongst my equals I was ashamed of a less shamelessness, when I heard them boast of their flagitiousness, yea, and the more boasting, the more they were degraded: and I took pleasure, not only in the pleasure of the deed, but in the praise. What is worthy of dispraise but vice? But I made myself worse than I was, that I might not be dispraised; and when in any thing I had not sinned as the abandoned ones, I would say that I had done what I had not done, that I might not seem contemptible in proportion as I was innocent; or of less account, the more chaste.
[From Louis's last instructions to his eldest son, Philip; quoted here.]
Fair son, the first thing I would teach thee is to set thine heart to love God; for unless he love God none can be saved. Keep thyself from doing aught that is displeasing to God, that is to say, from mortal sin. Contrariwise thou shouldst suffer every manner of torment rather than commit a mortal sin.
If God send thee adversity, receive it in patience and give thanks to our Saviour and bethink thee that thou hast deserved it, and that He will make it turn to thine advantage. If He send thee prosperity, then thank Him humbly, so that thou becomest not worse from pride or any other cause, when thou oughtest to be better. For we should not fight against God with his own gifts.
Give heed that thy servants and thy subjects live under thee in peace and uprightness. Especially maintain the good cities and commons of thy realm in the same estate and with the same franchises as they enjoyed under thy predecessors; and if there be aught to amend, amend and set it right, and keep them in thy favor and love. For because of the power and wealth of the great cities, thine own subjects, and especially thy peers and thy barons and foreigners also will fear to undertake aught against thee.
Finally, my very dear son, cause Masses to be sung for my soul, and prayers to be said throughout thy realm; and give to me a special share and full part in all the good thou doest. Fair, dear son, I give thee all the blessings that a good father can give to his son. And may the blessed Trinity and all the saints keep and defend thee from all evils; and God give thee grace to do His will always, so that He be honored in thee, and that thou and I may both, after this mortal life is ended, be with Him together and praise Him everlastingly. Amen.
[By St. Bernard of Clairvaux, quoted at Pontifications]
Today the glorious Virgin has ascended into heaven, surely filling up the measure of joy of those who dwell there. But it might seem more fitting for us to weep than to clap our hands. If heaven rejoices in Mary’s presence, does it not follow that our world below should bemoan her absence? Nevertheless, let us make an end of our repining, for here we have no abiding city: we seek the very city to which blessed Mary has gone today. If we are enrolled as citizens of heaven, it is surely right for us to remember her and to share her joy even in our exile, even here beside the waters of Babylon. Our Queen has gone before us, and so glorious has been her entry into paradise that we, her servants, confidently follow our mistress, crying: Draw us after you and we shall run toward the fragrance of your perfumes. We in our exile have sent on ahead of us our advocate who, as mother of our judge and mother of mercy, will humbly and effectively look after everything that concerns our salvation.
Today earth has sent a priceless gift up to heaven, so that by giving and receiving within the blessed bond of friendship, the human is wedded to the divine, earth to heaven, the depths to the heights. A sublime fruit of the earth has gone up to heaven, from whence the best gifts, the perfect gifts descend. The blessed Virgin has ascended on high and therefore she too will give gifts to us. And why not? Surely she lacks neither the ability to do so, nor the will. She is the queen of heaven; she is compassionate; she is the mother of the only-begotten Son of God. This more than anything proves the greatness of her power and love—unless, perhaps, we do not believe that the Son of God honors his mother, or unless we doubt that Love itself, which is born of God and rested nine months in her womb, evoked a response of love in her heart.
But quite apart form the benefits that will accrue to us through her glorification, if we love her we shall rejoice because she goes to her Son. We shall certainly congratulate her without reserve, unless—which God forbid—we are wholly without gratitude toward her who has found for us the way of grace. The Lord, who she first received when he entered the village of this world, today receives her into the holy city. But can you imagine with how much joy, with how much glory? On earth there was no worthier place for Mary to receive the son of God than the temple of her virginal womb. Nor in heaven is there a worthier place for her than that royal throne to which her Son has today exalted her.
Who can describe either how Christ was begotten or how Mary was taken up into heaven? Just as Mary surpassed in grace all others on earth, so also in heaven is her glory unique. If eye has not seen or ear heard or the human heart conceived what God has prepared for those who love him, who can express what he has prepared for the woman who gave him birth and who loved him, as everyone knows, more than anyone else? Blessed indeed is Mary, blessed in many ways, both in receiving the Savior, and in being received by the Savior.
[By Monsignor Robert Hugh Benson, quoted in Magnificat, August 2006, pg. 149 (full text here)]
What is that strange passion known only among Catholics as a wholesome and recognized instinct, by which men and women, even boys and girls—in the very height of vitality and strength—think that the one thing worth doing is to immure themselves in a cell, in order to suffer? What is the instinct that makes the Carmelite hang an empty cross in her cell, to remind herself that she must take the place of the absent figure upon it—and yet keeps the Carmelite the most radiantly happy of all women. The joy of a women—I might say the gaiety of a woman—over her first child is but a shadow of the solemn joy of a Carmelite, the irrepressible gaiety of a Poor Clare—women, that is, who have sacrificed every single thing that the world thinks worth having...
The thing is simply inexplicable except on one hypothesis—that that unique thirst of Jesus upon the cross is communicated to his members, that his ambition to suffer is perpetuated continually in that Mystical Body in which he reenacts the history of his Passion—that these are the cells of that Body, which, like his hands and feet, are more especially pierced by nails, and who rejoice to know that they are called to this august vocation, by which the redemption wrought on Calvary is perpetually reenacted on earth; who "fill up what is lacking of the sufferings of Christ," who are lambs of God whose blood mingles with the Blood on Calvary, victims whose sacrifice is accepted as united with his. This conception of the Church as the Body of Christ is surely the one hypothesis which makes the sufferings of individuals tolerable to contemplate.
[From Introduction to Christianity, by Joseph Ratzinger, pgs. 52-53]
The basic paradox already present in belief as such is rendered even more profound by the fact that belief appears on the scene in the garb of days gone by and, indeed, seems itself to be something old-fashioned, the mode of life and existence current a long time ago. All attempts at modernization, whether intellectual, academic "demythologization", or ecclesiastical, pragmatic aggiornamento, do not alter this fact; on the contrary, they strengthen the suspicion that a convulsive effort is being made to proclaim as contemporary something that is, after all, really a relic of days gone by. It is these attempts at modernization that first make us fully aware just how old-fashioned what we are being offered really is. Belief appears no longer as the bold but challenging leap out of the apparent all of our visible world and into the apparent void of the invisible and intangible; it looks much more like a demand to bind oneself to yesterday and to affirm it as eternally valid. And who wants to do that in an age when the idea of "tradition" has been replaced by the idea of "progress"?
