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235. More than the heart of Jesus, the heart of Roman Catholicism. On the latest encyclical of Pope Francis


Dilexit Nos (DN, “He loved us,” a quotation from Romans 8:37) is the fourth encyclical of Francis’ pontificate signed on 24th October. After 2013’s Lumen Fidei (The Light of Faith, although written by Benedict XVI and thus not his brainchild), 2015’s Laudato si’ (Praise Be to You) on environmental issues, and 2020’s All Brothers on universal fraternity, DN takes its cue from the Roman Catholic devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus to elaborate a more general reflection on the heart, affections, and compassion in a world full of evils.
 
The encyclical consists of 5 chapters, which are made up of 220 paragraphs, and it comes out while the celebration of the 350th anniversary of the first manifestation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque is still underway. Not surprisingly, the text mentions Jesus’ apparitions in Paray-le-Monial (France) between late December 1673 and June 1675. Francis also names some mystics particularly connected to this devotion: Therese of Lisieux (1873-1897) and Faustina Kowalska (1905-1938). The encyclical stitches together biblical reflections, patristic quotations, historical examples, and devotional practices that all converge at times on the human heart, other times on the heart of Christ, and always on the devotion of the “sacred heart.”
 
Devotion to the Sacred Heart is pervasive in Roman Catholic spirituality. Images of the bleeding heart, dedicated processions, mystical writings, collective imagery, and iconography in churches are all spaces imbued with this relatively modern tradition. Even the prestigious Catholic University of Milan is named after the Sacred Heart. This is to say that DN grafts onto very fertile ground for Roman Catholicism, which the pope evidently wants to enhance further.
 
In DN, the whole movement of Roman Catholicism can be seen in the watermark: there is some biblical quotation that is then elaborated in practices that take leave from the Bible as they go to focus on images and devotions that seek to “actualize” the biblical message. Through recourse, further revelations shift attention away from the biblical Christ and onto the Christ imagined by the church and mediated by it.
 
In DN, the biblical starting point flows into popular piety. The message of Scripture is blurred to make room for the world of devotions. Moreover, for the pope, popular piety is the “immune system of the church,” instead of being considered an excrescence to be always kept in check and treated with biblical antidotes.
 
St. Margaret Mary Alacoque herself, who initiated the devotion of the Sacred Heart, tells of revelations that led her to corporal mortifications (self-flagellation, sticking needles, ingesting other people’s vomit, etc.), encouragement to devote herself to the cult of Our Lady, and even to the heart of Mary (No. 176). Well, Pope Francis recalls with approval that Pius XII in 1956 stated that “the worship of the Sacred Heart expresses in an excellent way, as a sublime synthesis, our worship of Jesus Christ” (No. 79) and that it is even “a synthesis of the Gospel” (No. 83). Perhaps it is a synthesis of the Roman Catholic gospel, but certainly not the biblical gospel! Indeed, DN gives voice to the Roman Catholic account of the “Sacred Heart,” not Jesus’ heart as the Bible presents it to us.
 
This brief introduction to DN is worth concluding with a reference to a work almost contemporaneous with the Catholic apparitions of the Sacred Heart and the beginning of its devotion. The work is entitled The Heart of Christ in Heaven toward Sinners on Earth and was first published in 1651. It became the most popular work of the Puritan Thomas Goodwin (1600-1680).
 
Here, we find an excellent example of what it means to meditate on the heart of Christ biblically without giving room for spurious and misguided devotions. In the book, Goodwin sets out to show from the Scriptures that, in all His heavenly majesty, Christ is not now detached from believers and indifferent but has a very strong affection for them. Goodwin begins with the beautiful assurances given by Christ to His disciples, taking as an example of this love the washing of Christ’s feet (John 13). The heart of his argument, however, lies in the exposition of Hebrews 4:15, in which Goodwin shows that, in all His glorious holiness in heaven, Christ is not unkind toward His people; if anything, His heart beats stronger than ever with tender love for them.
 
Instead of the “sacred heart” of Dilexit Nos, so hopelessly steeped in traditions and practices that are contrary to the gospel, we need to know and experience the heart of Jesus as the Bible (sola Scriptura!) presents it.

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234. Applying Dan Strange’s Magnetic Points to Conversations with Roman Catholics

The following Vatican File is an excerpt from my forthcoming book Tell Your Catholic Friend. How To Have Gospel Conversations with Love (Brentwood, TN: B&H Books, 2025).

In my conversations with Catholic friends, I have found it useful to reference the five “magnetic points” expounded by British theologian Daniel Strange.[1] There are five fundamentals that all human beings are looking for and to which they are magnetically drawn. Because of their universal presence in people’s lives, they can be seen in Catholics.
 
According to Strange, each religion responds in various ways to these five questions. Their responses are points of attraction for people to be drawn to them. The questions are:
 
1. The search for totality: a way to connect to reality
2. The need for a norm: a way to live
3. The yearning for deliverance: a way out of oppression
4. The sense of destiny: a way to control
5. The reality of a higher power: a way to measure up to the supernatural
 
According to Strange, “these magnetic points act as a kind of ‘religious anatomy’ of fallen human beings.”[2] Other religions suppress God’s truth and seek to substitute it with an alternative account, resulting in a messy combination of beliefs and practices. According to Strange, every religious conversation touches on one or more magnetic points. It is up to us to succeed in conveying the message of the Gospel by showing how the Good News is the right answer for relating to the world, living according to God’s will, being set free from sin, relying on divine benevolent providence, and living in the power of the Holy Spirit.
 
Every religion, Roman Catholicism included, provides improbable and insufficient answers to the magnetic points. The Gospel subverts these answers and fulfills the magnetic points. In the darkness of human existence, only the proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ can bring light. Truth is found in Him. This is the complete and living power for people, the power long suppressed and rejected. Dan Strange comments: “[T]he gospel of Jesus Christ does not bypass the magnetic points, but is the subversive fulfillment of the magnetic points.”[3] The Gospel does not replace the points but presents a Person, Jesus Christ, who fulfills them and grants them to those who believe: in fact, “our hope is not in a ‘what’ but in a ‘who.’”[4] Here is how he does it.
 
1. Totality. Jesus says, “I am the vine, you are the branches. The one who remains in me and I in him produces much” (John 15:5). He connects us to Himself, freeing us from our isolation.
 
2. Norm. Jesus says, “Don’t think that I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to abolish but to fulfill” (Matthew 5:17). He provides a moral norm for life and death, based on His own character, without degrading into moralism.
 
3. Deliverance. Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). He alone brings a finished deliverance; we cannot perform it ourselves and are liberated from guilt and shame.
 
4. Destiny. Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). For those who trust Him, their destination is not enslavement but wholeness in resurrected bodies.
 
5. Higher power. Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in the darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). He is the Highest Power who became a human being we can know and love personally.
 
It is up to the church to be a magnetic people, living out the Gospel in a way that testifies to God’s authority, God’s control, and God’s presence in and over everything. In our conversations with friends, Strange suggests four moves to employ the magnetic points: entering our neighbor’s world, exploring his belief system, exposing its weaknesses and faults, and evangelizing by presenting Jesus, always communicating the Gospel “holistically and humanely.”[5] Strange’s magnetic points also apply specifically to our Gospel conversations with Catholic friends. A few examples can be briefly mentioned, especially as far as the points related to totality, norm, and higher power.
 
Totality. Roman Catholicism provides a sense of belonging to a bigger story and community. Catholics feel a part of something historical, global, cultural, and institutional. Unfortunately, the totality Roman Catholicism offers is not grounded in the biblical Gospel and has multiple cracks in it. Often, Catholics become disillusioned with the institution, develop skepticism, and look for totality either in family traditions that are embedded in religion or secular options. Jesus Christ grants a far better and deeper identity. He gives us a place in His historical and global family. In biblical terms, we become a branch among many grafted into the vineyard (John 15:5), living stones within the spiritual house (1 Peter 2:5), ears of wheat in God’s field (1 Corinthians 3:9), sheep within an innumerable flock (John 10:16), members never disconnected from the whole body (1 Corinthians 12:27). Without neglecting the particular identity of each person, the biblical vision is strictly collective. In short, submitting to Jesus’s leadership as our head involves becoming members of His body (1 Corinthians 12:12). As a community of believers, the church, as imperfect as it is, is nonetheless our spiritual home where fellowship and support can be found. 
 
Norm. Over the centuries, Rome has developed a detailed moral code for the faithful. There are norms for all aspects and moments of life, often presented in moralistic terms. To be a good Christian, you must perform these norms as your duty. In our contemporary world, many Catholics want to be disentangled from the moral framework of the church. They experience it as cumbersome, if not oppressive, an imposed and impersonal code. The opportunity is there for us to present Christ as the One who fulfilled God’s requirements and gives the good life we long for but cannot find apart from Him (John 10:10). Christ’s truth liberates us and gives us the desire to follow Him and His ways.
 
Higher power. Many Roman Catholics relate to the supernatural formally through Jesus Christ but practically through the mediation of Mary and the saints and in the context of ritual acts or ceremonies such as the “sacramentals” that may include blessed water or holy oil. Access to the supernatural, including miracles, visions, and the afterlife, is mediated by channels other than Christ alone and is often intertwined with superstitious practices. The Gospel invites us to fear God alone, who is the Lord of all, and presents Jesus Christ as the only one who died, rose again, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father, interceding for us. Jesus has conquered death (1 Corinthians 15:55-57) and has given us a spirit not of fear but of power, love, and sound judgment (2 Timothy 1:7).

[1] Daniel Strange, Making Faith Magnetic (Epsom: The Good Book Company, 2021). One needs to be aware that Strange draws and develops the five points from the work of Dutch missiologist Johan Herman Bavinck (1895-1964), whose many years of missionary experience in Indonesia have been a source of precious missiological insights.
[2] Strange, Making Faith Magnetic, p. 27.
[3] Strange, Making Faith Magnetic, p. 88.
[4] Strange, Making Faith Magnetic, p. 89.
[5] Strange, Making Faith Magnetic, p. 93.

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233. The Biblical Jubilee and the Roman Catholic Holy Year: Twins or Strangers?

In the religious world and beyond, a mobilization is underway in preparation for the 2025 Jubilee called by Pope Francis with the bull Spes non confundit (Hope does not disappoint). The Roman Catholic Church has already been preparing for some time. Millions of people plan to make some kind of “pilgrimage” to Rome or the designated places, whether secular or religious.
 
One is inundated with news but struggles to understand what is happening. After all, most people know that the word “jubilee” comes from somewhere in the Bible. The book of Leviticus, chapter 25, says that every 50 years a year was established to restore livable conditions for all. The three basic provisions of the jubilee year were: The restitution of sold property, the freeing of slaves, and the resting of the land. Clearly, this was something disruptive. The question is: How is it that the Roman Catholic Church calls what is going to happen in 2025 a “jubilee”? Is there a difference between a jubilee and a holy year? The Roman Catholic Church tends to use the two terms interchangeably, but is it legitimate to confuse them?
 
The tradition of the holy years
First of all, it should be pointed out that jubilees, from the Middle Ages onward, have also been referred to as holy years. In fact, in the medieval Catholic tradition, the idea of a “holy” year was placed side by side with that of jubilee, eventually becoming synonymous or at least an element of specification. The year in question was defined as “holy” insofar as it began, took place, and ended with sacred rites officiated by the pope or ecclesiastical authorities; by extension, the entire period delimited by somewhat sacred ceremonies was called a holy year. Actually, the latter definition better suits the congruous number of such years called by various popes over the centuries. They retain the name of the biblical jubilee, even though the measures taken and the spirituality promoted under these circumstances are more related to medieval Catholicism than the biblical message.
 
From Boniface VIII to the Present Day
Pope Boniface VIII called the first holy year in history with the bull Antiquorum habet fida relatio of February 22, 1300. The immediate occasion for this initiative was the accreditation of the rumor that was circulating more and more insistently that, in the centennial year, those who, repentant and confessed, visited the basilicas of St. Peter and St. Paul would obtain a “most full remission of sins.” The idea of redemption proper to the jubilee had morphed into that of an indulgence for the benefit of pilgrims. The influx to Rome was considerable and the granting of the “remission” was extended until the end of the year to meet everyone’s needs. The jubilee of Boniface VIII responded to popular religiosity’s need to celebrate a great cathartic event of peace and forgiveness after the troubled era of the Crusades. Among the pilgrims of this first holy year is Dante Alighieri, who referred to it in some verses of the Divine Comedy, the XVIII canto of the Inferno, and the XXXI canto of Paradise. Two years after the jubilee, Boniface VIII promulgated the famous Bull Unam sanctam in which he affirmed the supremacy of the theocratic power of the church over any other earthly institution. In this way, the widespread sentiment was satisfied and the authoritarian conception of the church was reaffirmed.
 
During the Avignonese parenthesis of the papacy (1305-1377), the expiration of the holy year was no longer linked to the centenary but was provisionally established in the order of fifty years. Thus, the jubilee of 1350 was celebrated without the presence of the pope (Clement VI) but with a strong involvement of the Roman population. But Pope Urban VI decided to set the deadline every 33 years, taking the years of Jesus’ earthly life as the yardstick; therefore, he called the holy year in 1383. Outside of any precise scanning, Boniface IX celebrated a jubilee of his own in 1390; while the coming of the centenary and the unexpected influx of pilgrims to Rome led him to repeat it in 1400. Subsequent ones were called by Martin V (1425) and Nicholas V (1450). The twenty-five-year practice was made binding by a bull of Paul II (1470). Sixtus IV took advantage of the 1475 jubilee to beautify Rome with major works such as the Sistine Chapel and the Sixtus Bridge over the Tiber River. The greatest artists of the time worked in Rome in preparation for that event. The jubilee became an event to beautify the pope’s city and to provide it with accommodations for pilgrims. In the century of the Protestant Reformation, holy years were celebrated by Alexander VI (1500), Clement VII (1525), Julius III (1550), and Gregory XIII (1575). On the latter occasion, an estimated 300,000 pilgrims from all over Europe arrived in Rome. The tone of the celebrations ranged from the pursuit of a spiritual dimension to the ostentation of ceremonial pomp and ecclesiastical power. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, ordinary holy years were called at regular intervals by Clement VIII (1600), Urban VIII (1625), Innocent X (1650), Clement X (1675), Innocent XII (1700), Benedict XIII (1725), Benedict XIV (1750), and Pius VI (1775). The difficult situation of the Catholic Church in the Napoleonic era prevented Pius VII from holding a jubilee in 1800.
 
However, the tradition resumed in 1825 with Leo XII, only to be interrupted again in 1850 due to the events of the Roman Republic and the temporary absence of Pius IX from the Vatican. The pope himself was able to call the holy year in 1875; however, the occupation of Rome by the Italian army did not allow the celebration of public ceremonies or even the influx of crowds. The first jubilee of the 20th century was organized by Leo XIII (1900). It was followed by that of Pius XI (1925) and, in the aftermath of the end of World War II, by that of Pius XII (1950). During that year, the dogma of Mary’s Assumption into heaven was proclaimed. The last ordinary jubilee was celebrated by John Paul II (2000). The one in 2025 called by Pope Francis is thus in a long Roman Catholic tradition.
 
In addition to these twenty-six jubilees called “ordinary” jubilees, because they are more or less tied to predefined deadlines, the Catholic Church has also promoted “extraordinary” holy years to celebrate certain worthy events deemed to be of a certain importance. The custom of proclaiming holy years of an extraordinary nature dates back to the 16th century, precisely in the wake of the Protestant Reformation, which had strongly denounced the scandal of indulgences. Instead of curbing and deeply revising the doctrine and practice in question, the Catholic Church reacted by increasing initiatives to distribute indulgences. For this reason, the ordinary jubilees were no longer deemed sufficient given the considerable time lag from one to the next, and there was therefore the additional holding of extraordinary years. In the 17th century alone, forty were organized! The last ones celebrated were those of Pius XI (1933) on the occasion of the 19th centenary of the Redemption, that of John Paul II (1983) to commemorate the 1950th anniversary of the same event, and the Jubilee of Mercy called by Pope Francis in 2015-2016. Pope Wojtyla also convened a Marian year (1987), which is further evidence of the departure from the content and spirit of the biblical jubilee by the Catholic tradition of holy years, while Pope Ratzinger convened a “Pauline” one (2008-2009) to commemorate the Apostle Paul and Pope Francis one dedicated to “St. Joseph” (2020). In general, it can be said that holy years are indicators that reflect the Catholic Church’s emphases, practices, and journey over time, but have a nonexistent relationship with the biblical jubilee.
 
The Issue of Indulgences
Beyond the historical sequence of the holy years and the names of the popes to whom they are linked, it is important to point out what were and what are still the qualifying moments planned for the celebration of these anniversaries. In this regard, it can be said that a set of religious practices typical of medieval Catholicism were associated with the jubilee with the result that they ended up taking precedence over the demands posed by the jubilee itself. The holy year is more a product of Roman Catholic spirituality than of biblical jubilee. The hallmark of the holy year is medieval religiosity later elaborated over the following centuries but not faith based on Scripture.
 
Thus, the Roman Catholic jubilee is characterized primarily by a pilgrimage to Rome with an associated visit to its major basilicas and an offer of “general forgiveness” in relation to the system of ecclesiastical indulgences. At this point in the discussion, it should become clear that both prescriptions are clearly foreign to the biblical jubilee. The latter, in fact, did not involve a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or any other place. In this regard, it should be recalled that the theme of pilgrimage is a rich biblical metaphor for the Christian life, but the practice of pilgrimage to a particular place is not prescribed either for the jubilee or other circumstances. As for forgiveness connected with jubilee, it clashes with the finality of Christ’s work. By His incarnation, death, and resurrection, Jesus accomplished all that was necessary for man to receive true forgiveness. His jubilee consists of the gift of forgiveness to those who believe in Him. Because of the jubilee of the Lord Jesus, offers of forgiveness related to the ecclesiastical apparatus are useless, wrong, and anachronistic.
 
The issue of indulgences is reminiscent of the violent controversy that arose during the Protestant Reformation when not only the excesses but the very institution of indulgences was radically challenged. To the distracted eyes of most, indulgences may appear a somewhat cumbersome legacy of medieval Catholicism but deprived of legitimacy in the practice of the contemporary Roman Catholic Church. Today, one hears that indulgences are no longer offered as they have been more or less tacitly abolished. Yet, the opposite is true. In fact, the institution of indulgences is certainly one of the typical aspects of the jubilee and, as John Paul II notes in the Bull Aperite portas Redemptoris of January 6, 1983, the gift of indulgences is “proper and characteristic of the Holy Year.” It consists of the remission before God of the temporal penalty for sins granted by the church. In the Catholic view, just as Christ’s sacrifice must be “re-presented” at the Mass, so the forgiveness of the sins of the faithful must be administered periodically by the church that participates in that sacrifice. The Catholic Church, far from abolishing this much contested practice, has instead further specified and regulated it without affecting its essential features in the least.
 
To this end, after discussions on the matter by the Second Vatican Council, Paul VI promulgated the constitution Indulgentiarum doctrina (1967) and later published the Enchiridion indulgentiarum (1968) to regulate the whole issue. The latter document was updated again in 1986. In addition, the two greatest doctrinal texts of Catholicism, the 1983 Code of Canon Law (canons 992-997) and the 1992 Catechism of the Catholic Church (§§ 1471-1479), contain doctrinal definitions and pastoral provisions on the subject testifying to the extreme vitality of the doctrine and practice of indulgences even in view of the Holy Year of 2025.
 
Pope Francis’s Holy Year
As already noted, Pope Francis, prior to the one in 2025, had already proclaimed the Holy Year of Mercy in 2015. The bull calling that jubilee is titled Misericordiae Vultus (The Face of Mercy). The pope addresses the topic of indulgences in paragraphs 21-22, where he uses language that is much more personal and relational than juridical and traditional while maintaining the substance of the theology and practice of indulgences.
 
Now, in anticipation of the Jubilee of 2025, the May 9, 2024 Bull of Indiction, Spes non confundit (Hope does not disappoint), recalls the biblical text of Romans 5:5 and the theme of hope found in the New Testament. However, in addition to the formal reference, the pope hooks the Catholic event to the medieval tradition of holy years that drew inspiration from sources other than biblical ones. He speaks of a “grace event,” but this is a conception of grace that is mediated through the ecclesiastical institution that opens its “treasury” and is “merited” by pilgrims in various ancient and updated ways. The “Norms Concerning the Granting of Indulgences” issued on May 13, 2024, specify that the grace of forgiveness can be acquired through a series of devotional practices such as the traditional crossing of “holy doors” and visiting the designated churches, but also by those who “recite in their own home or there where the impediment holds them back (e.g. in the chapel of the monastery, hospital, nursing home, prison) the Lord’s Prayer, the Profession of Faith in any legitimate form and other prayers in conformity with the purposes of the Holy Year, offering up their sufferings or hardships in their own lives.” Given that we are in a digital age, the norms for the granting of indulgences have also been adapted by providing that the latter is obtainable “by abstaining, in a spirit of penance, at least during one day from futile distractions, real but also virtual, induced for example by the media and social networks, and from superfluous consumption.”
 
Now, out of ecumenical modesty, a wise communication strategy, or both, indulgences are mentioned only fleetingly in the official publications of the Catholic Church. Little is said about the exercise of this practice other than a reference to tradition; just as it is not emphasized, so it is not denied. The whole theological framework of indulgences outlined by the recent magisterium remains firmly in place and constitutes what is not said explicitly but reiterated implicitly in the Papal Letter. The Jubilee of 2025 will still be a year in which the opening of the holy door of St. Peter’s will sanction the beginning of the Catholic Church’s bestowal of the remission of sins on the millions of pilgrims who will flock in urbe (in the city) but also extra urbem (outside of the city).
 
Which Connection Then?
By contrast, the Jubilee of Jesus Christ, foreshadowed by the prophets and fulfilled by the Messiah, made ultimate forgiveness possible for believers. The Son of God paid the penalty and guilt of sins, and those who believed in Him were set free. Just as His sacrifice was unique, unique also is His forgiveness. Jesus Himself gives this forgiveness and does not give it to others to manage. The whole message of the Christian jubilee revolves around the person and work of Christ—the executor and guarantor of the jubilee—without providing for ecclesiastical involvements, mediations, and administrations in remitting sins that only God can forgive. Instead, the holy year called by the Vatican has the Roman Catholic Church at its center in the role of dispenser of indulgences. The Bible says that Christ’s sacrifice was unique and final for the salvation of those who believe, and so the practice of indulgences questions, and indeed denies, the perfect efficacy of Jesus’ work. Instead of bringing one closer, indulgences distance one from the jubilee of the Lord Jesus.
 
While it is true that jubilee was brought about by the Lord Jesus (e.g. Isaiah 61:1-3 and Luke 4:16-21), the church can only proclaim and practice it but not administer it, let alone make money from it. 2025 will certainly be a holy year of religious tradition, but it cannot be called a jubilee in the biblical sense.
 
This is an excerpt from my booklet Il Giubileo. Molto più e molto meglio di un anno santo (Rome: ADI-Media, 2024).

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232. The Future of the Catholic Church? A Symposium Held by First Things

Periodically the future of the Catholic Church pops up in the religious debate. What will the outlook of Roman Catholicism be in 10-20 years? Just to mention a couple of titles on this topic, I recall a book by American Vatican expert John Allen fifteen years ago, The Future Church. How Ten Trends are Revolutionizing the Catholic Church (New York: Doubleday, 2009) and one by Italian historian Andrea Riccardi, The Church is Burning: Crisis and Future of Christianity (Bari: Laterza, 2021). The attention to the future is always alive because we all ask questions about tomorrow.
 
It is not surprising, then, that a conservative Catholic magazine such as First Things published a symposium entitled “The Future of the Catholic Church” (August 2024), polling five Catholic theologians (all with conservative leanings): three Americans, one Nigerian, and one Pole. The topics covered are governance, the church and the secular West, the global church, the magisterium, and the liturgy. In fact, we are living through the waning and final phase of Pope Francis, and the topic of the future is not just an abstract exercise. It is likely that, not before long, the Roman Catholic Church will be called upon to make important decisions about its future.
 
What comes out of the symposium? Here are some remarks.
 
Asking questions about the future of the Catholic Church requires taking a stand on the recent past, at least since Vatican II (1962-1965). Many of the issues on the table (the interpretation of modernity, the dialogue among religions, the challenges of contemporary culture, and internal church reforms) are daughters or grandchildren of the last Council. It can be said that 60 years after the Second Vatican Council, the Catholic Church is still debating the meaning, interpretations, and implications of Vatican II. The voices collected by First Things distinguish between the Council as such which they accept (while acknowledging some ambiguities in its texts) and the applications they reject when they were inspired, as they see it, by a desire to break with tradition and accommodate the trends of the secular West. It is no surprise to read that the interpretation of Vatican II that is embraced is the one indicated by Benedict XVI: Vatican II must be received not away from Tradition let alone contrary to it, but with a “hermeneutic of continuity” with it.
 
Then, any reflection on the future implies an evaluation of Pope Francis’ papacy. Here the judgments of the Catholic theologians surveyed by First Things are very critical and negative. While acknowledged as pope, Francis is considered both the “cause” and “symptom” of the crisis of present-day Roman Catholicism. Issues like doctrinal ambiguity, double standards in dealing with sexual abuse cases, centralization of power (ironically passed off as “synodality” that should be all about decentralization), and lack of transparency in behaviors and decisions make the current papacy a thorn in the side of conservative Roman Catholicism. First Things had already written and disparagingly spoken about Francis’ legacy as “liquid Catholicism.”
 
In particular, the following changes introduced by Francis are severely criticized in the symposium: the absolute condemnation of the death penalty (the legitimacy of which in some cases has been removed from the Catechism), access to the sacraments even for those who do not live in marriage or chastity (provided for in the 2016 apostolic exhortation Amoris Laetitia), and the blessing of same-sex couples (provided for in the recent document Fiducia supplicans). Obviously, the Roman Catholicism represented by First Things hopes that the era of Francis will end as soon as possible and that it will be followed by popes who will resume the line, in their eyes more integral and coherent, of John Paul II and Benedict XVI. George Weigel, a leading author of the journal, has already provided an ideal portrait of the next pope that American Catholic conservative circles hope to get.
 
In addition, the symposium points to a deficiency present in Vatican II’s reading of Western modernity. Except for expressing awareness of the risks of ideological atheism, the Council gave a hopeful and positive interpretation of the modern world, thinking that Christian humanism would intercept the changes and offer a synthesis acceptable to all to “sanctify” the world. In fact, secularization has evolved into forms that are not only anti-Christian (only in part and in mild forms envisioned by the Council) but above all indifferent to the faith. Vatican II simply did not anticipate this; Roman Catholicism in recent decades has approached secularization thinking to catch its deep impulses but has not really grasped what was at stake. The result was that the church did not “sanctify” the modern world, but the modern world demystified itself and, in part, the church. As Michael Hanby writes, “Our educated elites don’t think of God.” Pope Francis’ strategy has been to try to come to terms with secularization by lowering thresholds of entry into the church, limiting expectations of Catholic practice, and making doctrinal and moral commitments fluid. All to no avail. The West has not moved closer to the Roman Catholic Church but has continued its dismissal of it.
 
This is the criticism of the symposium. According to the opinions gathered, the Roman Catholic Church and its current top leadership do not understand the Western world adequately and therefore do not fully understand its challenges. It thinks that secularization is essentially neutral if not good, albeit with some ideological asperities, and in the end integrable into the Catholic synthesis, updated by Vatican II and interpreted by Francis under the rubric of mercy. Rome tries to chase the secularized West on its own ground, but secularization increasingly shifts its course toward outcomes indifferent or hostile to Roman Catholicism.
 
The evoked solution by the symposium is to return to a form of Roman Catholicism guided by scholastic theology (i.e. Thomas Aquinas), fully “Catholic” and “Roman” at the same time, without personality cults such as that which has characterized Francis’ papacy. This means a Roman Catholicism that “develops” in the sense of organic growth (à la John Henry Newman), without ruptures with the past and with a “muscular” attitude toward secularized modernity. No reformation according to the gospel is envisioned, only a recalibration of what Roman Catholicism has always stood for doctrinally and institutionally. In short, conservative American Roman Catholicism looks to the future by imagining the Catholic Church as the expanded global version of itself. This seems to be a rather regional and limited view. More importantly, it lacks gospel content and hope. If the future of the Roman Catholic Church is the re-publication of traditional and energized Roman Catholicism, that future does not look evangelically bright.

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231. Why Does the Roman Catholic Church Have Seven Sacraments? A Thomist answer and a preliminary evangelical critique

This article is a review of Romanus Cessario, OP, The Seven Sacraments of the Catholic Church (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2023), xiv + 290 pp.

The sacraments, the sacramental journey, the sacramental life, etc., either taken together or separately, all characterize Roman Catholic theology and practice at the core level. Entering the sacramental mystery and actions of the Roman Catholic Church means accessing it from the main door and finding oneself in the main room. This is to say that the book by Romanus Cessario on the seven sacraments is an invitation to explore what lies at the heart of the Roman Catholic account of the gospel. Cessario is well-positioned to give such a perspective: a leading scholar in Thomistic studies, himself a member of the Order of Preachers (Ordo Praedicatorum), he also holds the Adam Cardinal Maida Chair of Theology at Ava Maria University, Florida. He is a systematic theologian with a particular interest in historical theology, mainly Thomism.

The book’s take is neither an exercise in creative theology nor an exploration of new directions in sacramental theology. Rather, it is a thoughtful presentation of the magisterial tradition of the Roman Catholic Church on the sacraments, with particular attention given to Thomas Aquinas’s teaching and legacy, coupled with a commendation of it that, in the end, appears to take an apologetic tone. In fact, the book ends with these words: “[T]he foregoing presentation of the pattern of sacramental life in the Catholic Church aims to encourage everyone to embrace these rhythms of salvation unto everlasting life” (p. 274). The literary genre of the book could be described as catechetical, in the high sense of the word.

The volume is divided into two parts: the first one (made of twelve chapters) deals with Catholic sacramental theology in general, whereas the second one (made of seven chapters) expounds on each sacrament, classifying them as sacraments of initiation, sacraments of healing, and sacraments at the service of communion. Given that Roman Catholic theology is sacramental at the core, Cessario helpfully argues that the Roman Catholic account of the gospel is that “God bestows his gifts of grace only through Christ and the visible mediations that Christ establishes and bequeaths to his Church” (p. 9). Here we find a concise, yet admirably clear, summary of the two axioms of Roman Catholicism. On the one hand, the “nature-grace interdependence” whereby God’s gifts of grace reach out to us only through visible forms provided by nature. On the other, the “Christ-Church interconnection” whereby Christ continues his work through the mediations of the Church. The sacraments display both the necessity of natural objects (e.g. water, oil, bread, wine) to receive grace (Cessario here quotes Thomas approvingly when he writes about “the power inherent in the materials to act as signs and convey meaning,” p. 99) and the necessity of the Church through its priests who act as an alter Christus (i.e. another Christ) in administering it. In a nutshell, there is a whole theological world in this sentence. Evangelical readers should pause for a moment here. The Roman Catholic account of the sacraments is not to be taken sacrament by sacrament, as if they were disconnected actions, but as a whole, since they are part of a sacramental vision grounded on the deepest commitments of Roman Catholicism that, at the core level, reject the “Scripture alone” and “faith alone” principles of the biblical gospel.  

Cessario is well aware that when dealing sacramental theology today, one needs to wrestle with the legacy of Vatican II (1962-1965), the latest Council of the Roman Catholic Church that included a dedicated document on liturgy, i.e. Sacrosanctum Concilium, and the innovations that followed. Cessario readily acknowledges that in the aftermath of Vatican II, the attention of theologians moved “away from the classic themes in Catholic sacramental theology” (p. 17). As a result, topics like the objective efficacy of the sacraments and the nature of sacramental grace, pillars of traditional Roman sacramentology, were approached differently. Their interpretation no longer appealed to ontological categories but “relied on the modern notion of encounter” (p. 25). Representative of this trend is Edward Schillebeeckx’s book Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God (1963), where the more existentialist notion of encounter replaced the metaphysical framework of sacramental causality, efficacy, and mediation embraced by the Roman Church in its official teaching. The Council’s call to liturgical renewal was understood and pursued in terms of discontinuity with traditional patterns of thought and practice, causing some sacramental confusion. The long-term, negative effects of these post-conciliar debates are the concerns that form the background of Cessario’s book. Here the Thomist theologian wants to provide a theological account of the sacraments embedded in traditional Roman Catholic understanding and present it to counter deviating trends in contemporary sacramental practices. Less present in this part of the book is the awareness of the widespread abandonment of sacramental practice in much of Europe and, in general, the West, especially in the younger generations. In these regions, most Catholics do not receive the sacraments of reconciliation and the Eucharist on an ongoing basis, creating a worrying gap between the “hard” sacramental structure of the Roman Church that is so characteristic of its traditional outlook and the “light” participation of the faithful in its operations. Cessario seems more concerned with the post-Vatican II deviations from the traditional sacramental patterns than with the recent decline in sacramental practice.

In line with the standard Roman Catholic view of “tradition” – that is recalled by quoting Dei Verbum 10: “[S]acred Tradition, Sacred Scripture, and the Magisterium of the Church are so connected and associated that one of them cannot stand without the others” (p. 12) – Cessario’s authoritative reference points are Thomas Aquinas, the Council of Trent, Vatican II as it is read by the 1992 Catechism of the Catholic Church, and the recent papal magisterium of John Paul II. These voices form the ecclesiastical tradition that Cessario puts himself in the service of and wants to commend in facing the worrying ripple effects of some post-Vatican II ambiguous re-interpretations of Roman Catholic sacramentology.

After setting the stage for what lies ahead, the departure point is to retrieve the notion of sacramental causality. Central to Rome’s view is that “the sacraments confer the grace they signify,” as the Catechism no. 1127 states. Here Cessario summarizes Thomas’s view of efficient causality as the hinge of sacramental theology. His arguments revolve around the necessity of ontological and causative structures threatened by existential, encounter-type categories. While his interpretation of Thomas seems impeccable, there is no attempt to ground the whole discourse in Scripture. The starting point here is a philosophical notion of causality derived from Medieval thought rather than a theology of “sign” stemming from the Bible. This epistemic pattern appears consistently in Cessario’s work. His book is based “on the principles of classical Thomism” (p. 79), and it reflects the nature of Roman Catholic theology of the sacraments, which heavily relies on Thomistic philosophical notions rather than biblical principles. Again, it is not Scripture that has priority, but what defined his approach is one tradition within Roman Catholic theology.

The reliance on Thomas is apparent even when expounding how the sacraments cause God’s grace. When the sacramental action occurs, “a perfective physical causality” (p. 81) is at work in the sacraments. What is implied here is that grace heals a wounded nature, perfecting it in the supernatural order. The background, which is congruent with the “nature-grace interdependence,” is that sin is considered a “wound” to be healed, and the sacraments are those causative actions of grace that perform the healing. At this point, Cessario introduces the tripartite structure of the sacraments: 1. Sacramentum tantum (the immediate grace produced by the sacrament); 2. Res et sacramentum (the abiding effect of the sacrament); 3. Res tantum (just the reality or the reality only), and he carefully explains the complex account of these medieval philosophical descriptors. The underlying point is to stress the causalitatis physicae perfectivae (the perfective physical causality), another instance that the sacramental theology of Rome requires more philosophical preliminaries than plain biblical support. As a matter of fact, “Catholic theology conceives of sacramental instrumentality after Aristotle’s notion of principal and secondary causes” (p. 118). Outside of this philosophical perimeter, as it is re-interpreted by the Thomistic tradition, it is hard to find what constitutes the plausibility structures of Rome’s sacramental theology. The causality principle makes the sacraments work both as “image-perfection” (elevating nature) and as “image-restoration” (healing nature), another insight taken from Thomas (p. 132). According to Cessario, the stress on causality should not lead to developing a magical view of how the sacraments work as if they were a combination of words and actions governed by an impersonal supernatural power.  On the contrary, sacraments in general do not perform magic (p. 158) and, more specifically, “baptism is not magic” (pp. 174-175). What happens in the sacraments is a “mysterious alchemy” (p. 175) between God’s efficacious work through physical realities and man’s fragile freedom and assent.

As to the nature of the sacrament, the Dominican theologian refers to the “Christ-Church interconnection” in establishing a parallel between the constitution of the sacrament and the incarnation of Christ whereby the Word of God took on flesh in the womb of the virgin Mary. The sensible and perceptible reality of the sacraments stemming from the “nature-grace interdependence” is associated with them being intertwined with the incarnation. Quoting David Bourke, Cessario asserts that “as prolongations and extensions of the incarnate Word it is fitting that the sacraments should correspond in structure to it and consist of both words and fleshly realities” (p. 101). Later he argues, this time quoting John Paul II’s encyclical Fides et Ratio (1999), that the sacraments follow “the logic of the Incarnation” (p. 170). This confirms that the Roman Catholic sacramentology makes sense within the context of the two axioms and as an elaboration of Thomistic categories of thought.

In a book seeking to commend traditional patterns of thought, it is no surprise to find the rehearsal of Aquinas’s well-established assumption that it was Christ himself who instituted each of the seven sacraments, even though to prove the point, one has to work out several inferences rather than looking for Scriptural support. If one reads the Bible for what it says, it is apparent that some sacraments, e.g. confirmation and anointing of the sick, were not instituted by our Lord. Only if, and when, the Roman Catholic account of the “Christ-Church interconnection” is taken for granted and assumed can one ascribe to Christ what was decided by the Church. Even regarding the number of the sacraments, Cessario is dogmatic. In line with the Council of Trent, there are seven and “no other option is possible” (p. 131), although the only argument given for it is that of “suitableness or fittingness” (p. 133) concerning the perfection of the human person, i.e. an anthropological criterion but hardly a biblically grounded reason.

As already indicated, the book’s second part is a lengthy presentation of the seven sacraments: baptism, confirmation, Eucharist, penance and reconciliation, anointing of the sick, holy orders, and matrimony, always stressing the “objective efficacy” (p. 150) of their administration. Overall, Cessario gives much attention to the detailed deliberations of the Council of Trent, both in terms of its decrees and canons. In line with the purposes of the book, the treatment given to each sacrament reflects the Roman Catholic position as it is enshrined at Trent and its implementation. As for baptism, it is interesting to read of its necessity for salvation and also, as the Catechism teaches (no. 1257), the fact that “God has bound salvation to the sacrament of Baptism, but he himself is not bound by his sacraments” (p. 155). The recognition of the divine will explains why Roman Catholicism is tied to its sacramental structure (teaching the causative efficacy of the sacraments to receive salvation) and is, at the same, committed to the hope for the salvation of all, regardless of faith in Christ and the administration of the sacraments, especially baptism. The Roman Catholic view of baptism is also intertwined with its doctrine of justification. Cessario acknowledges the controversy over the doctrine during the Protestant Reformation and reaffirms the Catholic view established at Trent. 

Regarding confirmation, Cessario argues that “the Catholic Church expects the confirmed Christian to take seriously his or her obligation to act as a true witness of Christ” (p. 180). Again, the fact that this expectation is increasingly frustrated by the high rates of sacramental abandonment after confirmation does not seem to be a point that Cessario feels the need to ask serious questions about regarding the sacramental structure and its “causative” dimension. If baptism causes people to have their original sin removed and be justified, why is it that after their teenage years, many Catholics stop going to church and, therefore, somehow interrupt the sacramental journey? Cessario wants to reaffirm the traditional teaching on confirmation from the Council of Florence to the Council of Trent but does not seem as concerned as with the pastoral issues it involves. His theological endeavor is focused on ecclesiastical texts in an attempt to re-establish the authentic teaching of the Roman Church more than actual people on the ground who seem to be going in different directions than those expected in the magisterial texts. More fundamentally, isn’t the fact that the sacraments do not “cause” in and of themselves the expected outcomes an indication that the causative structure in Roman Catholic sacramentology is more of a philosophical grid than a biblically realistic category?

On the Eucharist, Cessario takes for granted that the eucharistic reading of John 6 (e.g. by the Catholic exegete Raymond Brown) is right and connects it to some early sacrificial interpretations of the Eucharist in the Church Fathers that were eventually elevated to a dogmatic status by the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) and confirmed by Trent. In this context, he devotes a few pages to some Renaissance challenges that paved the way for the Reformation. While acknowledging the differences between Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin, his general remark against them all is that they departed from “the clear teaching” of the Fourth Lateran Council (p. 204), considering it just “an opinion” (p. 205). Their fault is mainly considered a breach of traditional medieval teaching. However, little effort is made to understand the biblical reasoning behind the sacramental theologies of the Reformers and their criticism of previous accounts of the sacraments. As already noticed, Cessario operates within a theological framework governed by a particular tradition rather than being subject to the final authority of Scripture.

On Holy Orders, the “Christ-Church interconnection” is again clearly displayed as another demonstration of the pervasiveness of the axiom in shaping sacramental theology. Quoting John Paul II, Cessario concurs that “in every priest it is Christ himself who comes” (p. 247) and “The priest is another Christ” (ibid.). It isn’t easy to find clearer statements than these.

In the Introduction, the author writes that “the book aims to present, without apology, the seven sacraments from a Catholic point of view” (p. 3). Having gone through the entire volume, one can say that Cessario has succeeded in his goal. The book opens the door to the sacramental world of the Roman Catholic Church, and it does so with a catechetical and apologetic tone. The book is particularly interesting for the evangelical reviewer because it frames Roman Catholic sacramentology within the two axioms of “nature-grace interdependence” and “Christ-Church interconnection” and with a heavy reliance on Thomistic categories. In so doing, it exemplifies what it means for Roman Catholic theology and practice to be a well-integrated system and reflects the central role of Thomas Aquinas and his legacy in shaping it.

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230. What is at Stake with the Roman Catholic View of the Sacraments? Ask Professor Henri Blocher

Dean of European evangelical theologians, Henri Blocher needs little introduction. The opportunity to measure up to his work again is offered by the publication of the second volume on the church and the sacraments: La doctrine de l’Église et des sacrements, vol 2 (Charols: Excelsis; Vaux-sur-Seine: Edifac, 2024). The Parisian theologian’s ecclesiology and sacramentology are confirmed to live up to the notorious depth of his thought.

As with the first volume on the church, La doctrine de l’Église e des sacrements, vol. 1 (Vaux-sur-Seine: Edifac, 2023), which I reviewed in the article “What is at Stake with the Roman Catholic View of the Church? Ask Professor Henri Blocher” (1 February 2024), the focus of this review will also be on Blocher’s assessment of Catholic sacramentology. The book also contains a discussion of Reformed theology’s conception of the sacraments and that of the baptistic churches. Obviously, it is worth reading it all to appreciate not only Blocher’s critical reading of Roman Catholicism but also of the Reformed view, especially concerning pedobaptism.

Blocher begins the volume with an analysis of the Catholic understanding of the sacraments. While he acknowledges that it is a well-codified doctrine in the Roman magisterium, he does not hide the fact that in Catholic seminaries in the last century the “traditional” version has been subject to very discordant interpretations and versions. It is not so much a matter of detail, rather of different conceptualities with which it is approached: no longer the Aristotelian-Thomistic one with which it was constructed, but those borrowed from Heidegger’s philosophy, Lacan’s psychoanalysis, Oddo Casel’s “mystery” theology or Austin and Searle’s speech-act theory. This is to say that Catholic sacramentality, while retaining a “Roman” hard core still tied to a certain causative mechanism, also has its own “Catholic” vitality that allows it not to limit itself to the mere repetition of past formulas and arguments, but to expand them to readings influenced by theories of signs, symbols and meanings inferred from modern currents of thought. An example of this internal dynamic of Catholic sacramental theology is, for Blocher (p. 11, 15-20, 37-40), represented by F. Schillebeeckx’s work, Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God (1960 ; English edition 1987), who rereads sacramentality from a personalist perspective.

Questioning sacramental causation
For Blocher, at the heart of Catholic sacramentality lies the causative role in the administration of grace, that is, “the real efficacy of the sacramental operation” (p. 13). The cause is connected to the sign. While in the Church Fathers and the early Middle Ages the relationship between cause and sign is established but still fluid, Thomas Aquinas imprinted on Catholic theology the concept of “causative efficacy.” Famous is his phrase “significando causant” (Summa Theologiae III, qq. 60-65) as it refers to the sacraments as a cause of grace by means of signifying it. In an anti-Protestant function, the Council of Trent espouses this definition and carves it into its canons, which anathematize those who do not embrace it. In the Thomist-Tridentine line, Christ acts through “another Christ” (the priest) through the sign that causes the administration of grace contained and conferred by the sign.

Blocher warns against the temptation to have a “magical” view of Catholic sacramentality (p. 20). There is no impersonal mechanism that disregards the disposition and cooperation of each person (priest, faithful) and the absence of “obstacles.” However, while recognizing the role of the faith of the subjects, it is the sacramental conception of the church itself as an extension of Christ (p. 25) that makes up for the shortcomings of one or the other and ensures the efficacy of the sacrament. As the human and divine natures are united in Jesus Christ, the humanity of the element is joined to the “divinity” of grace bestowed by the church in the unity of the sacrament. As already argued in the first volume on the church, for Blocher the Roman Catholic understanding of the church as an extension of the incarnation is a distinctive feature of the entire Roman Catholic system, including its view of sacramentality.

Being the fine exegete that he is, Blocher reviews the biblical texts that Catholic theology reads from a sacramentalist perspective, noting that no evidence stands out about the plausibility of this reading. Moreover, it reverses biblical proportions about the relationship between interiority and exteriority (the former being more important than the latter). Moreover, it is in open contradiction with biblical texts such as 1 Corinthians 1:17, Romans 14:17 and Hebrews 9-13. In addition, the New Testament never associates the sacraments with the action of Christ Himself, but with that of the disciples sent by Christ. In other words, it is not Christ who baptizes or administers the Supper (as Roman Catholicism believes), but it is the disciples who are commissioned to do so in His name. Christ baptizes with the Holy Spirit but commands the church to baptize in water and administer the Supper.

The Roman Catholic sacramental system, thus infused with causal efficacy, turns out to be a mirror of pagan systems of rites of passage associated with birth, adolescence, marriage and death (p. 35). By minimizing the impact of sin, Roman Catholicism has opened itself to syncretistic forms and structural compromises with pagan forms of “natural” religiosity (pp. 36-37).

On the theories of causality at work in Catholic sacramentology, Blocher shows awareness of the nuances present between the Thomist reading already referred to (“significando causant”), the “occasional” one of Bonaventure and Duns Scotus, the “moral” one by Melchor Cano,” and others. These are all variations on the theme of causality that do not eliminate the underlying problem: for Rome, grace is made to flow from an act of the church.

Roman Catholicism elevates the incarnation to a metaphysical principle that must reproduce itself to be efficacious. Because of that, it loses sight of the “once and for all” of the atonement, it shatters the “it is finished” of the cross, it derogates from the celebration of God alone and his glory, it questions justification by faith alone (without works). It elevates the church to a dispenser of grace (pp. 43-45). In short, Catholic sacramentology considers the church to be a “mediator” of grace and stands in radical contrast to the biblical message.

Continuing his discussion, regarding the seven sacraments dogmatized at the Council of Trent, Blocher notes that “the sacramental septenary leads to fragmenting grace in a way the New Testament does not” (p. 93). In breaking down grace, Roman Catholicism parcels it by losing sight of its being a divine gift: God’s grace is not a “thing” that the church slices up and serves individually, but God himself giving himself.

On baptism, the Parisian theologian dwells more on the critique of Protestant paedobaptism while glossing over the Catholic conception. This is a limitation of the book: not including a chapter on baptism according to Rome.

The Problems of the Roman Catholic Eucharist
Blocher focuses on the Roman Catholic Eucharist the most. He recalls that Thomas Aquinas described the Eucharist as the most important sacrament because it essentially contains Christ Himself, while the other sacraments only involve Christ by participation (meaning Christ’s presence not being as real and substantial as in the Eucharist). Blocher speaks of a “Catholic exaltation of the Eucharist” (p. 145) because it is considered the source and summit of all Christian life. In it, Roman Catholicism encapsulates all: ecclesiastical dogmatics and institutional belonging. Besides being prevented by Rome itself, evangelical participation in the Eucharist is therefore to be avoided precisely because it is the sacrament par excellence of those who are Roman Catholic (p. 187).

Blocher devotes an entire chapter to analyzing two pillars of the Catholic Eucharist: the “real presence” and the “sacrifice.” From the Council of Trent, the Catechism of the Catholic Church (nn. 1373-1377) speaks about the presence of Christ in the Eucharist by using the adverbs “truly, really and substantially.” Blocher notes that evangelicals too (even the Zwinglians!) speak of “presence.” One must understand what meaning to attribute to this presence: for evangelicals (except Lutherans who have a conception of their own), it is “spiritual,” that is, thanks to the Holy Spirit and in the Spirit; for Catholics, on the other hand, it implies the change of substance of the bread and wine brought about by the officiant into the sacramental body of Christ. These are two effectively distant experiences and concepts of presence.

Where does this Roman Catholic understanding come from? Blocher recalls the evolution of Catholic dogma. While the thinking of Irenaeus, Origen and Tertullian swings and tends toward a realist interpretation, more spiritualist readings are found in other Church Fathers (p. 195): Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus and Augustine are cited. The latter has an unresolved theology of the Supper: at times he identifies the divine reality and the sacramental sign, at other times he speaks of their difference (p. 200). Medieval development reached its peak with the dogma of transubstantiation at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. This dogma adopted a literal interpretation of Jesus’ words, “this is my body,” and became a core part of Roman Catholic doctrine. It was accompanied by a devotion to the mystery of the Eucharist, a desire for physical contact to receive grace, and a heightened reverence for the ecclesiastical institution’s power to sanctify (p. 207).

Biblically speaking, Blocher notes that in Scripture the body and blood of Christ are not linked to the bread and wine: it is out of biblical parameters to think of a change in their nature. It is “methodologically irresponsible to invent a new use of language without the text requiring it” (p. 215). If anything, the church is the body of Christ and “nothing indicates that the bread becomes the body” (p. 217). In addition, the wine remains the “fruit of the vine” (Matthew 26:29). Moreover, bread and wine signify and represent the body and blood of Christ, without being transformed into Christ Himself. Finally, Christ’s ascension to the right hand of the Father does not allow for the “localization” of Christ’s presence on the Eucharistic table (p. 211).

Remaining tied to the Tridentine dogma of transubstantiation, Roman Catholicism has in recent decades paved the way for relational re-interpretations of substance (e.g., B. Sesboüé) or in the direction of “transignification” (e.g., P. Schoonenberg) that, however, do not change the Catholic sacramental system (p. 213). The bottom line of the problem remains: Roman Catholicism needs to locate a “substantial” contact by which divine life is transmitted (p. 220).

As for the Catholic conception of the Eucharist as a “sacrifice” (and therefore propitiatory), Blocher notes how in the early Church Fathers the Eucharist is primarily associated with the sacrifice of prayers (Justin, Irenaeus, Tertullian). It is only from the second half of the third century that the emphasis changes and the idea of the re-presented immolation of Christ’s sacrifice takes hold (Cyprian of Carthage, Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom). Again, Augustine oscillates between positions. At the Council of Trent, Rome carved into its doctrine the sacrificial and expiatory conception of the Eucharist: according to Dutch theologian G. Berkouwer, it is a shadow cast over the sufficiency of Christ’s work (p. 232). The work of the atonement is not accomplished once and for all but is continually immolated. For Roman Catholicism, it is therefore not complete: it requires the substantial presence of the body of Christ and the continual offering of the church. Blocher is peremptory: “the idea of a sacrificial immolation of Christ on the Eucharistic table, transformed into an altar, has no justification whatsoever, be it biblical or theological” (p. 241). We are in the presence of an accretion of Roman Catholicism dependent on the natural and pagan religions absorbed into the corpus of Catholic experience.

Contrary to the ecumenical reading that wants to see in the Roman Catholic conception of the Eucharist another and complementary way of understanding and practicing the Lord’s Supper, Blocher helps to clarify that, even in the presence of the same and similar words, Roman Catholic sacramentology operates in a universe other than the evangelical faith. For this reason, the Parisian theologian has rendered with this dense and profound book another useful service to evangelical theological discernment.

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229. Thomas Aquinas, Man of Dialogue?

How can a man who lived 800 years ago be taken as a model of “dialogue” to deal with the cultural fragmentation and winds of war blowing through the world today? This was the question behind a major conference held in Naples (25-27 April) to mark the 750th anniversary of Thomas Aquinas’s death (1274). The conference’s title was “St. Thomas Aquinas. Man of the Mediterranean, Man of Dialogue,” and it was held partly at the Pontifical Theological Seminary of Southern Italy and partly at the Dominican Convent of Madonna dell’Arco. Twenty-five papers were presented including some by leading Italian scholars of Thomas, both Dominicans (e.g., Serge-Thomas Bonino, Angelicum, Rome; Giuseppe Barzaghi, Bologna; Giorgio Carbone, Bologna), university academics (e.g., Pasquale Porro, University of Turin; Luciano Malusa, University of Padua) and prominent Roman Catholic theologians (e.g., Antonio Staglianò, president of the Pontifical Academy of Theology).
 
The conference had three sections: 1. Thomas and Naples, 2. Thomas as a man of dialogue, and 3. Thomas and the dialogues of the 21st century. It aimed to highlight the comprehensive scope of Thomas’s thought, which can include and encompass the concerns of the dialogue partner in a greater whole. This is why he was referred to as a model of “dialogue”: his thought does not oppose what is different, does not reduce it, but enmeshes it by integrating and expanding it.
 
A Snapshot of the Conference
Thomas Aquinas was presented by S.-T. Bonino as a “catholic” intellectual who could gather the thoughts of other philosophers and theologians, purify them, and recapitulate them in Catholic fullness. As J. Ellul argued, Thomas could leverage the principles of “natural reason” and thus invited interlocutors of other faiths, e.g., Muslims, to reason with him by assuming the universal possibility of “right” reason. As a way of application, what we need in our world is not the kind of reason that polarizes issues and people but the one that can build bridges between them. Thomas is a champion of this approach. According to M. Benedict, reason is the hinge that holds together his dialogue and confrontation with the Jews. According to F. Tramontano, Thomas argues that reason is accessible to all, especially in the Summa contra Gentiles; against this background, Aquinas challenges non-Christians to use reason to arrive at what all can attain and then open themselves to faith. A. Cortesi went as far as saying that as for today’s inter-religious dialogue, Thomas helps to see “more” of reality that will make us discover “more” of truth to make “more” friends among us. These are just a few insights that help to get an idea of what was presented at the conference.
 
This understanding of Thomas serves the catholicity of Roman Catholicism, i.e. its willingness and ability to include all in its synthesis. Today, it has a very attractive and inviting trajectory. Still, it loses sight of the integrity of the biblical gospel because it underestimates the devastating effects of sin on all life, including reason. It also loses sight of the antitheses of the gospel (“God vs the idols,” “either with me or against me,” “light vs darkness,” “sin vs holiness”), and the call to take every thought captive to Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5) instead of flirting with the thought-patterns of the world. What was presented was a fascinating, welcoming, non-oppositional Thomism, inviting one to participate in the extended synthesis that Roman Catholicism aspires to, i.e. Bible and traditions, nature and grace, faith and reason, Christians and non-Christians, Christianity and religions.
 
On Elenctic and Eclectic Readings of Thomas
As the only evangelical scholar contributing to the conference, my paper was entitled “Between Eclectic Reading and Elenctic Theology: Thomas Aquinas in the Reception of Protestant Theology.” In it, I identified two ways of reading Thomas that have been common on the evangelical side: on the one hand, the “elenctic” one (i.e., objecting and refuting), of those who approached him to challenge his system (Martin Luther is the chief example, Francis Schaeffer is the latest); on the other, the “eclectic” one (i.e. appropriating sections and parts), of those who used him in a selected and circumstantial way, taking cues here and there from his thought, always maintaining a certain distance from his system (Martin Bucer and Peter Martyr Vermigli are examples in the sixteenth century, Francis Turretin in the seventeenth century, Herman Bavinck in the last century).
 
On the Reformation’s side, the long history of Protestant interactions with Thomas Aquinas can be summarized with a series of theological exercises between evangelical eclecticism and elenctics. On the one hand, Thomas was never considered as belonging to the Protestant camp as if he were a proto-Reformer. On the other, he did belong to the Medieval tradition with which the Reformation has always been in critical dialogue, at times retrieving and expanding it, other times radically departing from it. The best link that can be established is eclectic, on a case-by-case, issue-by-issue basis, with strong resistance, if not opposition, to embrace Thomas and Thomism as shapers of the theological architecture of Protestant thought.
 
Protestant discomfort with Thomas concerned his view of the nature-grace relationship and its repercussions on understanding and living out of the Christian faith. His overly positive view of human reason and his too-optimistic trust in it are signs of Aquinas’s moderate consideration of the effects of sin. Thomas seems to concede too much to natural reason and too little to the disruptive consequences of sin. From an evangelical standpoint, his problem is not in the details or some compartments of his thought (which can be brilliant as they mirror Scripture’s teaching) but in the fabric of his system that is permeated by a thoroughgoing optimism in human capabilities. This was the conclusion of my paper.
 
Having an evangelical voice contribute to this academic conference on Thomas was important. The lesson of historical evangelical theology should be kept in mind by present-day retrievers of Thomas: between elenctic (critical) and eclectic (selected appropriation) reading lies what is the proper approach for evangelical faith vis-à-vis Thomas Aquinas and tradition in general, always to be subject to the supreme scrutiny of Scripture.
 
P.S. For a more in-depth evangelical study of Thomas, I recommend my newly published book Engaging Thomas Aquinas. An Evangelical Approach (London: Apollos, 2024).

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228. The Filioque and Christian Unity

On a recent symposium addressing the old controversy in the hope of breaking new ground
 
Filioque (“and from the Son”) is the Latin expression that the Western church added to the article of the Nicene Creed concerning the Holy Spirit: “The Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son” (Filioque).
 
The point that was intended to be made by the insertion was twofold. On the one hand, it wanted to honor what Jesus himself had affirmed when He said: “I will send you the Helper … the Spirit of truth” (John 15:26; see also 14:26), thus indicating an active role of the Son in the procession of the Spirit. On the other hand, the Filioque wanted to reinforce the recognition of the full deity of Jesus Christ, which had been challenged by the heresy of Arianism, according to which Jesus was a divine creature but not God himself.
 
The Eastern Church rejected the Filioque because it was introduced without prior consultation and because the Church feared that it could infringe on the Father’s unique role in the procession of the Spirit.[1] Of course, there are better places to review the millennium-old controversy which has complex theological, ecclesiastical, and cultural overtones. However, the reference to the Filioque is nonetheless necessary to introduce a conference that took place in Rome on the topic.
 
On April 9th, I participated in a theological symposium on the Filioque at the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross, the flagship academic institution of the powerful Catholic organization, Opus Dei. Professor Giulio Maspero’s book Rethinking the Filioque with the Greek Fathers (Eerdmans, 2023) was at the center of the discussion, and the symposium was the opportunity to test the book’s ecumenical proposal. In a nutshell, Maspero suggests to re-signify the Filioque in a way that is acceptable to the West and the East, and to do so, he goes back to the lesson of Gregory of Nyssa and the other Cappadocian Fathers who used relational and non-essentialist categories in thinking about the procession of the Spirit.
 
“In the fourth century, when Pneumatomachians denied the divinity of the Holy Spirit, the Cappadocian Fathers came to a relational understanding” of the Holy Spirit, i.e., He “was conceived of as the glory and power eternally exchanged between the Father and the Son.”
 
According to Maspero, the Cappadocians help us to overcome the misunderstanding of the procession of the Spirit. They taught that the Son has an “active role” in it, not a “causative” one which only the Father has.
 
At the symposium, prominent scholars took part and debated the proposal. Among them were Khaled Anatolios, dean of the School of Theology of the University of Notre Dame and a leading authority on Athanasius and the Council of Nicaea; Edward Siecienski, author of The Filioque: History of a Doctrinal Controversy (OUP, 2013), the definitive book on the topic; and Msgr. Andrea Palmieri, of the Pontifical Dicastery for Christian Unity. I was invited to the table to represent an evangelical voice.
 
In my remarks, I underlined that Maspero’s distinction between the essentialist approach (with its emphasis on cause/causation) and the personalist one that was apparently favored by Gregory of Nyssa strikes as very promising. On the one hand, the Reformers arguably abandoned essentialism and theories of causation, which are not biblical and almost inevitably must lead to some form of subordinationist heresy, whether it is linear or triangular. On the other hand, a personalist approach allows for the full equality of the Persons of the Trinity and emphasizes their mutual relations. It is into those relations that believers are drawn by the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives, making it vitally important for us that he should communicate an equal relationship with the Father and the Son. If that is what Gregory of Nyssa was saying (as Maspero seems to think it was), then evangelical theology has much in common with him.
 
In short, the rediscovery of the Cappadocians’ personalist and relational categories that challenge the essentialist categories of Greek metaphysics introduced into much Christian theology is laudable. The appreciation of the active role of the Son in the procession of the Spirit from the Father helps to break out of the impasse of thinking of the procession as “caused” by the Father and the Son, with the risk of having two sources of divinity and not one.
 
While locating itself on the Western side of the Filioque, Evangelical theology has always shown at least implicit appreciation of the Cappadocians (e.g., John Calvin), thought that the East was not heretical for not subscribing to the Filioque (e.g., Francis Turretin), and more recently maintained an open-minded attitude toward the issue (e.g., Gerald Bray, Robert Letham, John Frame).
 
After appreciating Maspero’s proposal, I took the opportunity to ask a couple of questions to contribute to further the discussion, especially regarding the ecumenical proposal.
 
First, if it is right to move beyond the “causative” categories to recover the biblical ones that are relational, should we not also do so for the sacraments and thus move out of the causative sacramental mechanisms of Roman Catholic and Orthodox theology to appreciate the action of the Spirit in communicating grace by faith alone in Christ alone? In other words, we cannot limit the recovery of relationality to the Filioque issue alone but must extend it to all theology, as Scripture invites us to do and as the Reformation did.
 
Evangelicals do not believe that the Holy Spirit comes down into the sacramental elements by an act of invocation or epiclesis. That idea fits in very well with the mystical notion of the resting of the Spirit on the Son and is explained in terms of “causation,” but the Bible does not teach that the Spirit works in that way. It is not through the ministry or sacraments in causative terms but by a direct conviction of sin in our hearts that the Spirit builds up the church. While it is good to move away from causative categories in addressing the Filioque, should we not do the same in the area of the sacraments to re-discover the relational import of how God bestows his grace in his Son by the Spirit?
 
Second, since Maspero’s proposal is ecumenical, the question is: Are we sure that by smoothing the corners on the Filioque there is a genuine rapprochement? Historic divisions in Christianity are made of layers and levels that have affected the deep structures of the different confessions. The Catholic “system” differs from the Orthodox and Protestant systems. What lies at the heart of the respective faiths is a complex combination of theology, history, politics, culture, etc. The Filioque may have some weight, but other issues have a much greater impact on the real differences and divisions.
 
One indicative example in the Catholic-Protestant dialogue is the acclaimed 1999 Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification (JDDJ) signed 25 years ago between Lutherans and Catholics. Ecumenical theologians and leaders considered it a watershed in ecumenical relationships and overcoming the issues that had caused the Reformation. These initial enthusiastic expectations have proved to be wishful thinking. JDDJ is so ambiguous and inconclusive that it has left both the Roman Catholic and Lutheran “systems” untouched. Not unsurprisingly, very little has changed since JDDJ. This is a sober reminder even for the conversations around the Filioque. We may come to a more common appreciation of the issue across the Christian spectrum, but will this new awareness touch on the foundational commitments of the Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and Evangelical faiths?
 
Ultimately, we must ask if we are prepared to review and revise our traditions in light of Scripture as our ultimate authority and be willing to change accordingly. This is the real benefit and promise of the “Scripture Alone” principle, whether for Trinitarian discussions or the cause of Christian unity. Far from being reductionist or one-sided, the Scriptural principle goes deeper into the heart of issues and is the reliable entry point into divine truth to be confessed and lived out.

[1] On the whole issue see Gerald Bray, “The Filioque Clause in History and Theology”, Tyndale Bulletin 34 (1983) pp. 91-144, and Id., “The Double Procession of the Holy Spirit in Evangelical Theology Today: Do We Still Need It?,” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 41 (1998) pp. 415-426

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227. Thomas Aquinas, a test case for evangelical discernment

Thomas Aquinas died on March 7, 1274, exactly 750 years ago. This year and next (the eighth centenary of his birth) will be special occasions to reckon with his legacy. Indeed, there will be conferences, publications, and various initiatives worldwide.
 
To approach Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) is to encounter one of the all-time giants of theology. Thomas is second only to Augustine in his influence on Western Christianity. More specifically, for centuries, Roman Catholicism has regarded Thomas as its champion, the highest, most resounding, most complete voice of Roman Catholic thinking and believing. Canonized by John XXII as early as 1323 only forty-nine years after his death, he was proclaimed a Doctor of the Church by Pius V in 1567 as the quintessential Catholic theologian whose thinking would defeat the Reformation. During the Council of Trent, the Summa theologiae was symbolically placed next to the Bible as evidence of its primary importance in formulating the Tridentine decrees and canons against justification by faith alone. In the seventeenth century, Thomas was considered the defender of the Catholic theological system by Robert Bellarmine, the greatest anti-Protestant controversialist who influenced entire generations of Roman Catholic apologists.
 
In 1879, Pope Leo XIII issued the encyclical Aeterni Patris, where he pointed to Thomas as the highest expression of philosophical and theological science in a climate marked by bitter confrontation with modern thought. The Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) stipulated that the formation of priests should have Thomas as the supreme guide in their studies (Optatam Totius, no. 17).
 
In more recent years, Paul VI (Lumen ecclesiae, 1974) and John Paul II (Fides et ratio, 1998) expressed deferential appreciation by pointing to Thomas as a “master of thought and model of the right way of doing theology” (FR, no. 43). This is to say that the Church of Rome has appropriated Thomas persistently and convincedly, elevating him to the Roman Catholic theologian par excellence. Moreover, Thomas is the recognized authority behind many unbiblical developments in medieval and modern Roman Catholicism, from Trent to Vatican I and II. One cannot fail to see the distorting elements at the heart of his system that have generated departures, rather than approaches, to biblical faith.
 
In recent decades and with increasing intensification, Thomas has instead been brought closer to a Protestant theological sensibility. Today, there seems to be a widespread perception that Thomas is no longer a heritage for Roman Catholics and that evangelicals can and should learn much from Thomas. Protestant theologians (from Peter Martyr Vermigli to Herman Bavinck via Francis Turrettini) generally exercised theological discernment that enabled them to appreciate the aspects of his theology that fell within the groove of biblical and orthodox faith and to reject his teaching where it conflicted with Scripture. In other words, they did not espouse the Thomist system as such (including its metaphysics and epistemology). Still, they broke it down into its parts as far as possible to do so with integrity and used it “eclectically.” Their attention to Thomas was more methodological than substantive. They merely borrowed some of his ideas but did not assign them architectural importance.
 
While certain sectors of evangelical theology know a genuine flirtation with the thought of Thomas, it may be useful to recall the lesson of a great Reformed theologian like Herman Bavinck (1854-1921). As with other ancient and medieval church fathers, Bavinck adopts an approach to Thomas that has been described as “eclectic,” that is, free to pick up insights and theses from him in awareness of his being on the other side (the Roman Catholic side) from the foundations of evangelical theology. Within a theology anchored in Scripture, Bavinck reads Thomas with intelligence and spiritual acumen, using various elements without espousing his system. For Bavinck, grace does not elevate or perfect nature but redeems it from sin. This eclecticism is also how the Reformers and Reformed and Lutheran scholastics read Thomas, sometimes endorsing his positions and arguments but being clear that the framework of Thomas’ theology built on the nature-grace motif was distinct and distant from the evangelical faith.
 
This is not to reject Thomas as a quintessentially toxic theologian to be avoided at all costs, nor to elevate him as a champion of Christian orthodoxy, but to regard him as an indispensable interlocutor in the history of Christian thought to be read critically and generously in light of the principle of “sola Scriptura” that the Reformation called to the attention of the whole church.
 
P.S. Let me point out my upcoming book (May 2024) that can help evangelical discernment related to Thomas: Engaging with Thomas Aquinas. An Evangelical Approach (London, Apollos, 2024).

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226. If the Pope thinks that Rome is a “mission field.”

Evangelicals have known for centuries that Rome is a “mission field.” It is no coincidence that as soon as the breach of Porta Pia opened in 1870 (when Rome was liberated from papal power and the Pontifical State ended), Bibles and Christian tracts were immediately smuggled in to further the evangelization of the city. Despite being considered the cradle of Christianity, Rome had experienced a somewhat tyrannical religious monopoly by Roman Catholicism over the centuries. Still, it could not be said to be an evangelized city. Very religious, yes, but Christian, no. Rome was a mission field because it prevented the free circulation of God’s Word in the vernacular language and suppressed any attempts to bring about a biblical reformation.
 
For this reason, after 1870, evangelism and church planting activities were initiated by evangelicals surrounded by suspicion and, at times, opposition. This continues to this day. By evangelical standards, Rome was and is still a mission field. With around 100 evangelical churches and a population of 4 million, it is indeed a mission field.
 
Since 1870, much water has passed under the bridges of the river Tiber. Today, even the Roman Catholic pope says Rome is “a mission field.” Meeting with the Roman Catholic clergy on 13th January, Francis said just that: the heart of Roman Catholicism, the seat of the papacy, the center of Roman Catholicism, the city that Popes have claimed their own is a “mission field.”
 
What does that mean? The challenges of secularization, disengagement, and abandonment of religious practice are putting increasing pressure on the Roman Catholic Church right here in the eternal city. Accustomed to imposing its primacy on consciences for centuries, now that its authority structure and the social imposition of customs no longer work automatically, even Roman Catholicism in Rome is in a crisis of numbers and participation. Masses (with exceptions) are semi-deserted, and parishes (with exceptions) are perhaps attended for the services they offer to the young or the poor, but certainly are no longer known to be places of spirituality (e.g. prayer, catechesis). Much of the Roman population is not “active” in Catholic practices.
 
Rome is still religious in its “hardware” but less and less so in its “software.” Everything in Rome speaks of the established and pervasive presence of the Roman Catholic Church (palaces, institutions, churches, the Vatican). Still, it is beginning to perceive itself as a presence needing self-defense and promotion. So, the pope, who is the Roman Catholic bishop of Rome, says that the city must be considered as a mission field to be reached with the “new evangelization” by an “outgoing” church, the two passwords that he has been using since the 2013 programmatic document “The Joy of the Gospel.”
 
Although it may appear so, what Pope Francis said is not a new thing. Back in 1974 (exactly 50 years ago), Cardinal Poletti, then the pope’s vicar for the city of Rome, said that Rome was a “mission field.” It caused a stir then. Ten years after celebrating the splendors of the Second Vatican Council, the church began to see Rome not so much as “our” city but as a place to be reached.
 
When Francis says Rome is a “mission field,” one must also see the other side of the coin. On 4th January, he met with the Mayor of Rome, Roberto Gualtieri, and the President of the Lazio Region, Francesco Rocca—something that does not happen for any other faith community. The city’s two highest political and administrative authorities are not generally received “in audience” by religious leaders in their offices. However, the pope does it frequently, and they go to him with deferential attitudes. He is a top political figure.
 
Four days later on 8th January, the president of the Italian Catholic Bishops Conference, Cardinal Matteo Zuppi, signed the hiring of 6,500 new religion teachers (chosen by Roman Catholic bishops and paid for by Italian taxpayers) with the Italian government. This, too, is not a practice of a “mission field” but of a country enslaved to a religious denomination. A mirror of an unjust privilege is the fact that in public, state-funded schools, Roman Catholic teaching is the only option available for students and is paid for by the state.
 
And then, on Sunday evening, 14th January, Pope Francis was interviewed live on prime-time: an hour-long, almost kneeling interview by anchorman Fabio Fazio on “Che tempo che fa” show. It was on this program that, after defending the blessing of same-sex and irregular couples, when asked about the reality of hell, the pope said: “I like to think hell is empty; I hope it is.” Again, this is not an opportunity that other religious leaders are given, but it does not signal the fact that Italy is a “mission field” in the sense that evangelicals would give to the expression. Rome is rather an “occupied” field by a religion only.
 
The Roman Catholic hierarchy may consider Rome to be a “mission field,” but the pope and the Roman Catholic Church are not letting go of their grip on the city. Evidently, the pope feels the ground shaking under his feet and clings to the political-economic-institutional-media privileges of the past. He says he wants to do “mission,” but what he does is manage power.
 
For evangelicals, Rome was and is a mission field in need of evangelization by people and churches who witness the biblical gospel. “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” (Acts 3:6). Neither the promise of political favour nor the prospect of social status, the gospel is the message of salvation in Jesus Christ alone by faith alone according to the Bible alone. This is the evangelical mission to the city of Rome. The pope’s is something else.