Category: Religious traditions, rituals. customs, and understandings

Faltando a Misa Dominical

Una conversación repetida a menudo:
Padre, hoy no recibí la comunión porque no podía confesarme”.
“¿Por qué?”
“Llevo unas semanas enfermo en casa”.
“Entonces, no es tu culpa. No tienes que ir a la confesión. Puedes recibir la comunión.
“¿Pero, padre, ¡es un pecado mortal!”
Aquí hay una versión de la conversación para estos días de la coronavirus:
“Padre, no he sido muy bueno. No fui a misa los últimos dos domingos “
“¿Por qué?”
“No había misa a la que ir”.
“Entonces, no es tu culpa. No hiciste nada malo”.
“Lo sé, pero me siento mal”.
Es natural “sentirse mal” por faltar a la misa: es una práctica que caracteriza al “católico practicante”, y es una fuente de fortaleza, consuelo y gracia para la próxima semana.
Hay algunas personas que les gusta ir a misa con más frecuencia, incluso todos los días. A algunas personas les gusta ir a misa con menos frecuencia, talvez solo por días especiales como Nochebuena, miércoles de ceniza y domingo de Pascua.
La decisión práctica de suspender las asambleas de grupos grandes en estos días, incluso las Misas, es comprensible y tiene sentido—a pesar de que no se siente del todo bien, y extraña la misa.
Vale, espera un momento. Es molesto. No me gusta. ¿Por qué tengo que “sonreír y soportarlo”?
No tienes que soportarlo.
¿Qué tal algunas alternativas posibles?
Bueno, por ejemplo, en el primer gran documento del Concilio Vaticano II, la Constitución sobre la Sagrada Liturgia, hubo una declaración muy interesante y desafiante:

. . . Cristo siempre está presente en su iglesia, especialmente en las celebraciones litúrgicas.

Está presente en el sacrificio de la Misa tanto en la persona de su ministro, “lo mismo que ofrece ahora, a través del ministerio de sacerdotes, que antes se ofreció en la cruz”, y sobre todo en la especie eucarística. Por su poder, él está presente en los sacramentos, de modo que cuando alguien bautiza es realmente Cristo mismo quien bautiza. Él está presente en su palabra, ya que es él mismo quien habla cuando las sagradas escrituras se leen en la iglesia. Por último, él está presente cuando la iglesia ora y canta, porque ha prometido “donde dos o tres se reúnen en mi nombre, allí estoy yo en medio de ellos”. (Mt 18:20).

Léalo nuevamente, cuidadosamente, con esta pregunta en mente: ¿Cuánto de esto es posible para mí, en casa?
Cualquiera puede estar “en comunión” con Cristo por leer su palabra pensativamente, razonadamente, y devotamente—las lecturas de las Escrituras para el domingo u otras partes de los Evangelios o la Biblia.
Cualquier persona que viva con otro u otros puede consolarse recordando que cuando dos o más se reúnen en el nombre de Cristo, él está allí en medio de ellos.
Además, no se necesita ningún sacerdote: el jefe de familia o cualquier otro puede liderar lecturas, canciones u oraciones.
No olvides que la fe generalmente nace en la familia y se nutre del ejemplo de otros creyentes, incluso de unos pocos.
En sus mandamientos al pueblo judío, Dios dijo que se mantuviera santo el séptimo día—¡pero no implicaba ir al templo o la sinagoga para hacerlo!

(Una traducción del inglés)

29 de marzo de 2020

Missing Mass on Sunday

An oft repeated conversation:
“Father, I didn’t receive communion today because I couldn’t go to confession.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been home sick for a couple of weeks.”
“Then, it’s not your fault. You don’t have to go to confession. You can receive communion.”
“But, Father, it’s a mortal sin!”
Here’s a Corona-virus-pandemic version of the conversation:
“Father, I haven’t been very good. I didn’t go to Mass the past two Sundays.”
“Why?”
“There was no Mass to go to.”
“Then, it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, but I feel bad.”
It’s natural to “feel bad” about missing Mass — it’s a defining practice of a “practicing Catholic”, and it’s a source of strength, consolation, and grace for the week ahead.
Some people like to go to Mass more frequently, even every day. Some people like to go to Mass less frequently, perhaps only on special days like Christmas Eve, Ash Wednesday, and Easter Sunday.
The practical decision about suspending large group assemblies these days, even Masses, is understandable and makes sense — even though it doesn’t feel right at all, and I miss Mass.
Okay, wait a minute. It’s upsetting. I don’t like it. Why do I have to “grin and bear it”?
You don’t!
How about some possible alternatives?
Well, for instance, in the first great document of Vatican Council II, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy there was a very interesting and challenging statement:

. . . Christ is always present in his church, especially in liturgical celebrations. He is

present in the sacrifice of the Mass both in the person of his minister, “the same now offering, through the ministry of priests, who formerly offered himself on cross,” and most of all in the eucharistic species. By his power he is present in the sacraments so that when anybody baptizes it is really Christ himself who baptizes. He is present in his word since it is he himself who speaks when the holy scriptures are read in the church. Lastly, he is present when the church prays and sings, for he has promised “where two or three are gathered together in my name there am I in the midst of them.” (Mt 18:20).

Read it again, carefully, with this question in mind: How much of this is possible for me, at home?
Anybody can be “in communion” with Christ by thoughtfully, reflectively, and prayerfully reading his word — whether the scriptural readings for the Sunday or other parts of the Gospels or Bible.
Anybody living with another or others can be consoled by recalling that when two or more are gathered together in Christ’s name, he is there in the midst of them.
Also, no priest is needed — the head of the household or any other can lead in readings, song, or prayer.
Don’t forget, faith is usually born in the family and nourished by the example of other believers, even just a few.
In his commandments to the Jewish people, God said to keep holy the seventh day — but it didn’t involve going to temple or synagogue to do it!

29 March 2020

(Available in
Spanish translation)

Dreaming the Impossible Dream

The spirit of the great sixteenth century Spanish novel, El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha, was beautifully captured by a song in the Broadway musical based on it, “To dream the impossible dream.”
Impossible dream is a good description of an ideal. A dictionary definition of an ideal is “an ultimate object or aim of an endeavor, especially one of high or noble character.”
Ideals are abstractions. An ideal is “the act of considering something as a general quality or characteristic, apart from concrete realities, specific objects, or actual instances.”
An attractive ideal is also a “carrot on the stick”—the metaphor refers to a cart driver dangling a carrot in front of a mule or donkey to induce and encourage it to move forward.
One of the great ideals that began to profoundly influence the development of Christianity, especially after it became an imperial state religion, was that of totally renouncing the world, the flawed and corrupt world, to live a life of extreme following of Christ.
Once the era of the heroism of the martyrs with their willingness to suffer and die was over, the new heroism that captured the Christian imagination was to choose to tame the body by radical austerity and solitude, to seek an imagined angelic purity of spirit.
The ordinary believers esteemed these amazing monks, sought their counsel, and aspired to somehow introduce some limited moderated elements of their spiritual discipline into daily life, especially prayer, fasting, and sexual continence.
Even if the extremism of these “quixotic” ultra-austere monks could not be fully imitated, this angelic ideal took firm root in Eastern Christianity and gradually spread throughout the whole church.

The ideal life-style of the clergy had been proposed by Saint Paul in his first letter to Timothy (3:2-13):

. . . a bishop must be irreproachable, married only once, temperate, self-controlled, decent, hospitable, able to teach, not a drunkard, not aggressive, but gentle, not contentious, not a lover of money. He must manage his own household well, keeping his children under control with perfect dignity . . .
Similarly, deacons must be dignified, not deceitful, not addicted to drink, not greedy for sordid gain, holding fast to the mystery of the faith with a clear conscience . . . Deacons may be married only once and must manage their children and their households well . . .

The growing esteem for the monks’ ideals and life-style began to change the ideals of clergy life. Many bishops chose total abstinence and an austere life-style. Their example, in effect, began to be a reproach to others, even those living good and holy lives according to the counsels of Paul.
The traditions of the Eastern churches even today reflect this. Bishops must be selected from among monks or lesser clergy who live a monastic life style: however priests and deacons may be drawn from the married or celibate.
The radical, extreme ideals of the desert fathers and the Eastern monks are impossible dreams in that, except for a special grace of God, they are not humanly entirely attainable—but some still inspire, induce, and encourage us.


3 November 2019

Lingering Manichaeism

Manichaeism was a major religion that emerged in the third century. Condemned by the early Church as a heresy, it was founded by the visionary Mani in the Iranian Empire. It thrived between the third and seventh centuries, spreading east to China and west to the Roman Empire.
Manichaeism taught a dualistic cosmology, a primeval struggle between a good, spiritual kingdom of light and an evil, material kingdom of darkness.
This included a dual attitude to sexuality: It was a mighty, powerful drive that first caused the kingdom of darkness to spread; it also could be totally transcended and banished forever from the self.
Two classes existed among the followers of Mani: The Elect totally rejected sexual desire and dietary indulgence, leading ultra-abstemious lives. The majority, the Auditors, were married men and women who idealized the life-style of the Elect and who at least fasted and observed sexual abstinence for fifty days in the year.
Some of these ideals and attitudes existed in early Christian traditions. Eusebius wrote:

Two ways of life were thus given by the Lord to his Church. The one is above nature, and beyond common human living; it admits not marriage, child-bearing, property nor the possession of wealth. . . . Like some celestial beings, these gaze down upon human life, performing the duty of a priesthood to Almighty God for the whole race. . . .
And the more humble, more human way prompts men to join in pure nuptials, and to produce children, to undertake government, to give orders to soldiers fighting for the right; it allows them to have minds for farming, for trade and for the other more secular interests as well as for religion.

Even earlier, similar reflections about a dual aspect to the life of human beings were elaborated by Plato. The distinction between body and soul, between the material and spiritual, between the lower and higher runs all through Greek thought.
Its influence can be seen in the writings of Saint Paul, when he sometimes sounds more like the educated citizen of the empire than the rabbinic scholar.
In any case, by the fourth century there was a strong ideal of extreme asceticism increasingly spreading through the Christian world. Especially in the East, and Egypt in particular, there was a certain “fleeing the world” with the growing popularity of monasticism.
Individuals in the style of the famous Anthony, divesting themselves of the encumbrances and temptations of the city, embraced solitary life in the nearby desert.
For them, the demands of the spirit required harsh treatment of the body—extreme fasting and total sexual abstinence.
Their spiritual prowess became legendary; they were supported and sought out as gurus by the lesser mortals who may have shared their values but who could never imitate their example except occasionally.
As centuries passed, the popularity of desert asceticism waned, monasticism gradually transformed into cloistered religious community life, and religious communities began to be organized to provide charitable and religious services.
But Platonic, Manichaean, monastic, and religious community ideals of sexual renunciation still influence Western culture, popular religiosity, and church discipline.


27 October 2019

Continence

Continence. 1. self-restraint; moderation 2. self-restraint in sexual activity; especially total abstinence

In the pre-Christian Roman Empire, an important ideal for men in upper-class Roman society was sexual continence. It was not an ideal of total abstinence, but very much one of moderation.
The buildup of passionate, sexual energy and power naturally demanded release, and release temporarily diminished and depleted this reservoir of masculine power.
Moderation in releasing it was necessary, not because of any disparagement of sexual activity as such but because of the danger of excessively weakening oneself by indulging in it too frequently.
In Jewish culture, at the same time, there also was no disparagement of sexual activity as such, but, like many normal and even necessary human functions and activities, it could make a man temporarily ritually impure.
Temporary sexual abstinence was required for the performing of many religious rites and was also seen as an ideal for strengthen those engaged in fighting for good causes.
In the pre-Christian period, some small communities of Jews of strict observance seem to have idealized total abstinence. However, again, not because of any disparagement of sexual activity as such, but because of the need of no distraction or weakening in one’s whole-hearted commitment to serving God.
The Gospels have little to say about sexual continence except for Jesus’ comment about “. . . eunuchs who made themselves so for the sake of the kingdom of Heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.”
This is not about sexual activity as such but about abstaining from marriage and family as distractions from one’s whole-hearted commitment to the kingdom of Heaven.

Paul, the educated rabbi and Roman citizen, had a lot to say about these matters, probably influenced by cultural traditions and reflecting his own life experience.
For him, continence is more than moderating a man’s energies and power or preparing him for an immediate ritual activity or for fighting for a religious cause.
The tension between some human drives and activities is not only a matter of strengthening vs. weakening or ritual purity vs. impurity. In Paul’s moral judgement, it also is a matter of higher or lower, good or bad, and righteous or sinful.
With the passage of time, the expansion of Christianity, and the influence of a variety of changing cultures, many Christian attitudes about sexual continence became more than either a practical, religious, or moral ideal.
Gradually permanent total abstinence became a regulation, demand, or canonical legal obligation for certain classes of Christians: monks, nuns, religious brothers, religious sisters, and bishops—and, in the Western (Latin) church, priests.
The Reformation led to a rejection of this demand for permanent total abstinence for clergy. Currently, gradually changing the Latin discipline is being cautiously explored.
It is very much influenced by the attitudes, values, and practices of contemporary post-Freudian societies. Besides a disciplinary change, it also involves a reassessment of the philosophies, theologies, and cultural practices that shaped the life of the Church.
We need some classic Roman moderation, not because of any disparagement of change as such but because too much too soon may excessively weaken the Church.


20 October 2019

Going to Confession

The Act of Contrition I was taught as a child concludes with, “. . . I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.”
Further, the Sisters told me that, if I couldn’t recall any sins when I went to confession, I should tell the priest I was sorry for my past sins and ask his blessing. (It was unthinkable to receive communion without going to confession first.)
I did what they said in my second confession, a week after the first. “Get out,” the priest brusquely said, “kneel down, examine your conscience, and come back!”
Now, people tend to go to confession rarely and communion often, much to the dismay of many taught as I was.
In the early Christian centuries frequent communion was usual, but it gradually declined. In the Middle Ages it got to be so infrequent that the Fourth Lateran Council decreed that everyone had to receive communion at least once a year.
That’s the root of the custom of “making one’s Easter Duty,” preparing during Lent for an annual confession and reception of communion at Easter.
The Council of Trent encouraged more frequent communion than once annually, and St. Pius X (1903-1914) not only strongly encouraged the practice but also lowered the age for First Communion.
However, the association of confession and communion still continued—even now Latin Canon Law requires annual confession.
The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy of the Second Vatican Council (par. 62) stated, “With the passage of time, however, certain features have crept into the rites of the sacraments and sacramentals which have made their nature and purpose less clear to the people of today. Hence some changes are necessary to adapt them to present-day needs…”

The Council mandated (par. 72), “The rite and formulas of Penance are to be revised so that they more clearly express both the nature and the effect of the sacrament.”
A new Rite of Penance was published in 1973. Although the document had a traditional title, the key concept pervading it was reconciliation, reconciliation with God and with the Church.
Actually this harked back to a troubling issue in the early era of Christian persecution, what to do with a Christian who apostatized—who formally disavowed his baptismal commitment to live by the teachings of Jesus and to belong to the Christian community, the Church.
It was finally decided that if the apostate truly repented and begged forgiveness and reinstatement in the community, after a period of public penance he or she could be reconciled and readmitted into the Church.
However, since the initiation rite of Baptism could not be repeated, a new penitential rite was needed to celebrate and affirm this readmission.
Later, the rite began to be used to celebrate the sinner’s repentance and readmission into the Church in the case of other grave and public sins, not only apostasy.
Gradually it became more private, evolving into the familiar “going to confession.” This included celebrating the repentance of less serious offenses against God and the Church and strengthening one’s repentance and resolve to live a holier life.
To be grateful for the loving mercy and grace of God should be a constant of our lives—and reconciliation as often as may be needed.


18 August 2019

The Obligation of Celibacy

“. . . consider again and again what sort of a burden this is which you are taking upon you of your own accord…you will be required to continue in the service of God, and with His assistance to observe chastity and to be bound for ever in the ministrations of the Altar . . .”

This is the old warning by the bishop concerning the obligations of celibacy to candidates for major orders in the Western Church. But, precisely what does the obligation involve?
In the 1917 Code of Canon Law (canon 132, §1) it involved being unable to marry and bound to the obligation of chastity.
In the current Code of Canon Law (canon 277, §1)—echoing the Vatican II Decree on the Ministry and Life of Priests—it is about “perfect and perpetual continence for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.”
It also describes celibacy as “a special gift of God by which sacred ministers can adhere more easily to Christ with an undivided heart and are able to dedicate themselves more freely to the service of God and humanity.”
The main Gospel reference to celibacy in the teachings of Jesus is Matthew, 19:11-12:

The disciples said to him, “If that is how things are between husband and wife, it is advisable not to marry.” But he replied, “It is not everyone who can accept what I have said, but only those to whom it is given. There are eunuchs born so from their mother’s womb, there are eunuchs made so by human agency and there are eunuchs who made themselves so for the sake of the kingdom of Heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.”

The topic has a much more extensive development and personal treatment in the letters of St. Paul.

What do key words like eunuch, celibacy, chastity, and continence imply?
A eunuch is a castrated man. In some cultures (e.g. the Roman empire) a eunuch implied a man of trust not only in the sense that as a harem guard he wouldn’t take advantage of women in his care but also that as a general he wouldn’t seek the throne for his own progeny. Metaphorically, a eunuch for the sake of the kingdom is someone who renounces having his own family so as to more generously serve others.
Celibacy refers to the implicit or explicit renunciation of marriage (classically defined as the permanent union of a man and a woman for the purpose of procreating children). It is usually assumed to include abstention from “sexual relations” (presuming that only within marriage are sexual relations appropriate and allowed).
Continence is usually taken to mean self-restraint or abstinence, especially but not exclusively in regard to sexual activity. Perfect and perpetual continence seems to refer not so much to abstaining from procreating children but more to abstaining from all forms of explicit sexual activity.
Originally, “chaste” meant “unmarried.” In usage, chastity has evolved more and more to mean decency, being undefiled, stainless, pure, and—if sexual activity is considered as defiling, staining, and impure—not engaging in sexual relations or activity.
As Western society increasingly rejects its inherited “puritanism” regarding human sexuality, it risks “throwing the baby out with the bath water.” It’s still something admirable and good to sacrifice having one’s own family for the sake of God and loving service to the whole human family.


2 June 2019

The Medium Is the Message

In his 1964 book on understanding media, Marshall McLuhan coined the now familiar phrase, “The medium is the message.” It means that the nature of the channel through which a message is transmitted can become more important than the meaning or content of the message itself.
With all due respect, this can and often does happen with sacraments.
What is a sacrament? The word is rooted in a Latin translation of the Greek word for mystery, in the original sense of something secret and beyond our full understanding or comprehension.
Take, for instance, the sacrament of Baptism. The rite of baptism historically was fundamentally an initiation ceremony for new Christians. A Christian is someone who has chosen to embrace and live by the teachings of Jesus in union with others of similar commitment (i.e. the Church).
Once the person has decided to make this new life commitment, he or she is welcomed into the Christian community by participating in a ceremonial washing and anointing ritual.
The washing, originally a complete immersion in water, was a public sign of cleansing away an old style of life and emerging into a new one, a “rebirth”.
The anointing with oil evoked being consecrated, publicly and permanently, to a new role in life as a follower of Jesus—and being spiritually strengthened for the challenges of this new life like the athlete anointed before the competition.
But, gradually, gradually the ceremony itself began to overshadow the important life decision and commitment that necessarily preceded it and was celebrated by it. In fact, with the development of infant baptism, the subject of the ceremony did not yet even have the capacity of making a life choice.

Once Baptism came to be seen as necessary for salvation, a very short form of the essential part of the ceremony was used for infants in danger of death—and even for dying adults beyond the possibility of making coherent personal choices.
The medium—the sacramental rite—in some sense became more important than the message—the personal, adult commitment to follow Jesus which the rite celebrated. In fact, it almost became magical in that the correct pouring of water and saying of words themselves were believed to achieve grace and salvation—and were seen as necessary for it.
Take, for another instance, the sacrament of Holy Orders. Fundamentally the rite of ordination is a commissioning ceremony for various ranks of church officers.
It presumes that the participant has discerned and is responding to a call from God and also has been judged qualified and acceptable for special office by the Church—in the sense, once, of the whole Christian community but, now, of only the ordaining bishop and the authorities who recommend the candidate to him.
But, again, gradually the ceremony itself began to overshadow the important life decision, assessments, and commitment that necessarily preceded it and was celebrated by it.
Again, the medium—the rite—was becoming more important than the message. It, too, almost became magical in that ordination itself was conceived as mystically changing and empowering the candidate, even regardless of his qualifications or lack thereof.


26 May 2019

Melchizedek . . . Priest Forever?

What do we know about Melchizedek? The first reference to him in the Bible is in the Book of Genesis (14:18):

Melchizedek, king of Salem, brought out bread and wine. He was a priest of God Most High. He blessed Abram with these words:
“Blessed, be Abram by God Most High,
The creator of heaven and earth;
And, blessed be God Most High,
who delivered your foes into your hand.”
Then Abram gave him a tenth of everything.

The second reference is in Psalm 110:4:

The Lord has sworn and will not waver:
“You are a priest forever in the manner of Melchizedek.”

The other scriptural references are found in the Letter to the Hebrews. Its writer was trying to describe Jesus and his death in an intelligible and thought-provoking way for a Jewish Christian reader in terms of the Jewish high priest in his role of offering atonement sacrifice.
But, by Mosaic law Jesus could not have been a priest, since he was not even of the tribe of Levi much less an Aaronic priest.
That is why the writer invoked the figure of Melchizedek, explaining that Jesus, as did Melchizedek, had a greater priesthood, for Abraham himself, great ancestor of all the Hebrew tribes, received Melchizedek’s blessing and placed offerings in his hand.
Over the centuries, this image of Jesus the priest has had a perduring influence on the Church. The entire Christian people, and especially its leaders, were thought of as a priestly people, sharing in that eternal priesthood of Jesus which was “in the manner of Melchizedek.”

Gradually this notion of the leaders of the Church as priests and offerers of Christ’s sacrifice dominated entirely the earlier understanding of them as the overseers and the elders of the Christian communities.
As theology developed and evolved, especially sacramental theology, the “forever” of Psalm 100 was taken to mean not only that the Messiah, Jesus himself, was “a priest forever in the manner of Melchizedek” but also all ordained priests.
The rite of ordination became not only the laying on of hands as a sign of appointment and authorization but also the celebration of the entrance of the person into a special leadership caste with a “forever” aspect.
Sacramental theology described this forever aspect as a permanent “character,” altering the very nature of the ordained person—an ontological change. The priest became thought of as sacred and holy.
This had a lot of challenging long-term implications, even now. Just think, for example, of some questions like these:
– can a priest permanently and irrevocably be removed from office?
– are the acts of his ministry valid even though his personal behavior is sinful?
– is a bishop or religious superior obligated to his care and supervision, no matter what he does, until his death?
Meanwhile, as the concept and nature of priesthood is increasingly being examined, the Melchizedek image still lives on.
There is a traditional Latin hymn still regularly sung to celebrate a priest’s ordination, Tu es sacerdos in aeternum secundum ordinem Melchisedech—You are priest forever in the manner of Melchizedek.


28 April 2019

Pearls versus Oysters

If I were an oyster, I think I’d take a pretty dim view of pearls. After all, what makes a pearl? Usually it’s the result of some foreign and perhaps irritating particle getting lodged inside the protective shell of the living oyster.
Since the oyster can’t get away from or get rid of the foreign particle, it does its best to deal with it — the oyster secretes and coats it with the same nacre that lines and smooths the inside of its shell.
The result is an encapsulated particle in the form of a glistening sphere — a pearl. Alas, poor oyster, for the pearl is worth more to most people than the creature that brought it into being. The pearl is ripped from the living flesh in which it is nested and the oyster is cast aside to die.
It’s an odd inversion of values. Since without oysters there can be no pearls, why should the pearl be worth so much more than the oyster?
In some ways, living faith communities are like the oyster. They are confronted with disturbing foreign customs or secular traditions that somehow find their way into the fabric of their daily life.
If it’s not possible to get rid of them, living societies do their best to accommodate and incorporate them, suitably modified and rendered harmless.
Curiously, some of the things and customs most associated with the identity of a particular church or religious community often are the results of such accommodations. Further, these “pearls” are sometimes inordinately esteemed, valued and defended.
For example, appropriate religious clothing. Increasingly, Muslim women are wearing head scarves or veils that had their origin in some ancient Middle Eastern customs. They are becoming a controversial badge of religious identity.

But, how much do scarves and veils ultimately matter? With respect, the faith and devotion of the person is more than important than the clothing.
Catholics have experienced similar situations. A couple of generations ago it was unthinkable that a woman would come to church with her head uncovered; now the custom barely exists.
The founders of many religious congregations wanted their members to live simply and modestly, so they made their uniform the ordinary clothing of the poor of their day. What would they think of the post-Vatican II controversies about habits or of a religious generation more concerned about dress than mission?
Is it vital that Western prelates wear the Roman imperial purple, now the sign of the papal household? Is not the Byzantine Liturgy equally efficacious, if its prelates do not wear imperial-style crowns?
Whether the congregation prays barefoot or shod, covered or uncovered, men and women together or apart, prayer is still prayer.
Orthodoxy survived a time without its icons. Western Catholicism can manage without Latin high Masses. Protestants have grown beyond “only Scripture.” These are all precious pearls of our various histories and traditions — but the living church is greater than them all.
We dispute customs and traditions prompted by different times and places. But, the most important thing is the living, common faith that produced them.
The pearl may be of great price, but the oyster is priceless.


(Published as “Priceless Oysters” in
one, 33:2, March 2007)