Part One (continued)...

Immigrants and Religious Practice

As Liam Riley had stressed with forceful conviction, some knowledge of history is necessary for grasping how certain events occurred and why people acted in the way that they did. Furthermore, without knowledge of the past, a person will have little understanding of the present and no real expectation or reasonable hope for what lies ahead. Without an historical perspective, he or she will merely live in the here and now, ignorant of what was and indifferent to what may come.

Americans seem to have neither a sense of history nor a taste for it. The well-known entrepreneur, Henry Ford, summed up this deplorable state when he proclaimed, "History is bunk." Thus, many lay people in this country have little or no knowledge of either salvation history or of secular history, or, more importantly, of the Catholic view that all history converges in the Person of Jesus Christ. This disturbing condition requires a look back at the arrival of religious practices in America by way of European immigrants.

Since popular devotions arise according to spiritual needs, in the sixteenth-century, the Protestant Reformation compelled a host of Catholics in Europe to establish "passed-on" religious practices. In the main, these practices became ancestral cultures of piety for two reasons. First, many bishops, clerics, and monks had fallen into states of infidelity or of moral corruption. Second, faithful bishops, priests, and monks were persecuted, went into hiding or exile, or were martyred, all of which created a spiritual vacuum for the ordinary lay person.

Historical circumstances, then, forced the laity in Europe to develop religious practices for daily living, such as praying the rosary and novenas, and petitioning popular saints. Devotions included the prominent placement of a crucifix and holy pictures in the home. Under or outside of clothing, religious medals or scapulars were worn.

Catholic immigrants from Europe brought to the dioceses of the United States their ancestral cultures of piety. Other religious practices, such as benediction, the stations of the cross, public processions, and veneration of relics, arrived in America by way of priests or consecrated religious. Religious practices soon became regular activities in parish life and in Catholic education, and they served as backbone material for the institutional Church in this country.

It did not take long for most immigrants and their offspring to receive ongoing parish instruction or formal Catholic education. And that is the reason why so many Catholics grew up with basic knowledge of Christian belief and matured as morally-responsible citizens. Despite manifest and manifold successes, weaknesses existed in parish life and in the educational system. This is not to say that the content of the instruction was problematic. The difficulties resided in some teaching methods, ways of learning that became ripe for exploitation in the post-Vatican Council II period.

Prior to Vatican Council II, parish instruction and formal Catholic education did not consist of the whole of the Deposit of Faith: sacred scripture, apostolic tradition, and living magisterium. One glaring weakness, for instance, was the lack of study in sacred scripture. Possessing little knowledge that the Word of God is the foundation of Christian belief, the newcomers to this country and their offspring simply memorized the short version of the Baltimore Catechism.

Catechesis generally consisted of learning the Ten Commandments, the valid administration of and participation in the sacramental life of the parish, the natural laws of moral and social living, the human statutes of the institutional Catholic Church, and the positive laws of the political regime. In a nutshell, the Old Testament Commandments and licit reception of the sacraments directed the lives of the laity more than the New Testament Commandment: "You must love one another just as I have loved you" (Jn 13:34).

Another weakness was the strict obedience required of the laity. When it came to the application or interpretation of the above-mentioned laws, diocesan bishops exercised a paternalistic authority which, in turn, was employed by pastors of parishes, resident clergy, and teaching religious orders. As a result, the laity became habituated to obey ecclesiastical authorities without question — whatever the bishop, father, brother, or sister said was to be followed to the letter.

Paternalistic authority sometimes even entered into free-willed human acts that necessitate individual choice, such as the exercise of personal freedom when entering into the marriage covenant, or priestly or consecrated religious life. The exercise of that style of leadership sometimes attempted to influence political and social matters that contained neither a Faith-related subject nor a moral principle. Consequently, law and morality, in an odd way, assumed the stature of a quasi-religion.

Relying too heavily on strict adherence to the ancestral cultures of piety, parish instruction and formal Catholic education established in the baptized a mentality that was legalistic and moralistic. Even though most lay people possessed strong personal beliefs, Faith, morals, and paternalistic authority had become so tightly entwined that it was near impossible for most of the laity to distinguish one element from another.

An unbalanced emphasis on morals reduced religious practice to obeying laws and rules. Enforcement of laws and rules was via the notion of "possibility": possible punishment in the hereafter. Violators of laws or rules were made to consider the content of a minor offense as possible grave matter and, therefore, a mortal sin punishable in Hell. Too many Catholics, for example, attended Mass on Sundays because the threat of mortal sin and Hell-fire was very real to them.

Paternalistic oversight of their popular base was considered by bishops to be necessary. It not only preserved unity among the laity, it protected, they thought, the institution against attacks, such as those experienced during the French Revolution. But, by the twentieth century, it was clear that the Catholic Church in America was no longer under siege. In fact, the institution had not only survived, it now prospered.

Weaknesses such as the ones mentioned above produced a multitude of mechanical Catholics. As Monsignor Romano Guardini suggested, "There was too much outward show and too little inner reality." In the long run, parish instruction and formal Catholic education created — from top to bottom — a religious culture of routine formalism and narrow piety: a "culture of laws" (Saint Cyril of Jerusalem). Consequently, for many lay people, the institutional Church had become an empty enterprise:

The tragedy of baptism, at any age, is that so often we are incorporated into a Christian community that has forgotten its splendor. Frailty and dust are given predominance in teaching. The possibility of splendor, glory, and holiness, the call to be saints, is the wealth hidden away. . . Overemphasis on the magical wiping away of sin has created some very bad habits in Church people. These bad habits emerge from an attitude that [theologian Dietrich] Bonhoeffer calls cheap grace. Cheap grace is never really valued because those receiving it put forth little effort on their own. (Macrena Wiederkehr, Benedictine nun)

Although it may seem harsh to some, the assessment above is not intended to malign in any way the heroic efforts or impugn the character of bishops, priests, and teaching religious who sacrificed their lives to transmit basic Catholic beliefs to childlike believers. Nonetheless, it must be recognized that there was a tendency in Catholic life, prior to Vatican Council II, to place the tower of morals in front of, if not above, the tower of Faith. To understand this phenomenon, we will take a look at the pontificate of Pope Pius X, his exposé of Modernist ideology, and the rebellion of Martin Luther.

Part One - Two Towers

A Roman Holiday

To help the reader grasp better the image of two towers, let me give an actual account of an incident in my life that convinced me beyond any shadow of a doubt that de-Christianization is the separation of the tower of Faith from the tower of morals.

On December 25, 1987, I found myself in Italy conversing with an Irish historian. In a way, this is true. I was in Rome. It was Christmas Day. And I was speaking to a sheep-herder named Liam Riley, an Irishman well-versed in the history of his homeland.

It just so happened that the two of us were staying at the same hotel on Via Aurelia, a stone’s throw from Saint Peter’s Square: Piazza del San Pietro, if you will. Prior to a chance encounter, we had never met one another before.

Apparently, Liam Riley had spotted me at his son’s ordination to the priesthood the day before, and remembered my face and name. This was certainly probable. I was invited to give a short talk by Father Salvatore Grissini after the ordination ceremony. Father Grissini, a former student of mine, was elevated to the priesthood on Christmas Eve alongside Liam’s son, Seamus. That is why Liam and I were in the Eternal City, and, by happenstance, he said, "lodged at the same inn."

There is an entirely different reason, however, why the two of us were now in the hotel lounge, taking the tiredness from our bodies and the chill out of our bones with some "heavenly dew." Only moments before, my wife, daughter, and I had entered the hotel lobby and were heading toward the elevator to take us up to our room. This required passage by the lounge.

"Meehan!" A raspy-toned, Irish brogue called out again, "Meehan!" I peered into the sunlit bar; my wife and daughter went directly to the elevator. My beloved spouse understood only too well that for her and Katie to loll around the lobby would be lunacy since it was an Irishman who called out to me from a "pub."

Entering the premises, I spotted a thin, well-dressed gentleman with a weather-beaten face and mop of curly white hair. He was sitting in a large, but comfortable lounge chair. It was not difficult to assume that the person who "come hithered" me with a gnarled forefinger was the voice. He was the only person in the place. As I approached, he raised up a six-foot frame and we exchanged formal introductions.

After I sat down in a chair that faced Liam Riley, a few pleasantries were passed. "Social blather," he called it. He ordered a pair of potations and, in the round-about Irish way, began to storytell.

Like all superior tale-tellers who know their art well, Liam Riley exuded maturity, experience, and knowledge of lore. He considered himself a sagacious elder, and, in the social context of the lounge that day, it was proper for him to do so. Liam Riley understood, too, that history should serve as the background to a good story. Whether the history presented is fact or fiction is irrelevant. What counts is the rhythmic thrill of a lilting dialogue.

My encounter with this wise patriarch brought to mind another truth about the Irish. They are the saddest of people in their music, literature, and poetry. Yet, they are the most joyous of people when it comes to the prospects of engaging in a good fight. Sitting across from Liam Riley on that Christmas Day at mid-afternoon in Rome, and looking into his unwavering, cobalt blue eyes, I prepared myself for a healthy go-around — of dialogue, that is.

Liam Riley asked, "Now where is it that you come from?" My response was geographically accurate, "The State of New Hampshire in America." A deep groan came from within his soul, and the pain expressed on his ruddy wrinkled face was more than I could bear. So I queried, "Did I say something wrong?"

Intensely irritated, Liam Riley bellowed with the belligerence of a beleaguered teacher, "Something wrong! Something wrong! Are you Americans so dull as to think that the world originated in 1776 and that history began with the Declaration of Independence? When I asked where it is that you come from, I was not trying to help you find your way home. I want to know where your people come from in Ireland. If they were Orangemen, do you think for one wisp of a second I would have extended my personal generosity and invited you to sip and sass with me? Glory be to everything that is divine and holy, see if it is possible for you to respond unlike a dumb beast. Even Balaam’s ass was capable of speaking with some eloquence!"

Immediately, I remembered that an historical setting should open a story, and that "sip and sass" is rhythmic dialogue in thrilling Irish meter. What an idiot! The elderly Irishman had to instruct the American dullard in English tutorial fashion. How embarrassing! So, with reverence and docility, I ordered another round of sips so the sass session could proceed on its appointed course.

"Connemara," I blurted out after the waiter had deposited two libations on the low table that lay between our chairs. The one-word answer caused Liam Riley to pause. He took a long draught from his tumbler-sized glass. That "sip" not only lubricated his well-worn vocal chords, it readied himself for the arduous task of imparting a history lesson as preparation for the story to be told.

For Liam Riley, the task was going to be burdensome. The American did not respond with awe and respect for his forefathers in the Catholic Faith. Obviously, the American was unaware of the price that his ancestors had paid to preserve the tower of Faith in Ireland. You see, Liam Riley is first and foremost a Catholic.

"Sheep-stealers!" There the two of us were — face to face. I said, "Connemara." He replied, "Sheep-stealers." By calling my forefather’s "sheep-stealers," Liam Riley might as well have said they were Catholic criminals. What a two-word dialogue this is, I thought.

The ever-observant eyes of Liam Riley saw that the reaction he sought to bring about within my soul was there. Anger churned within my heart and my cheeks were burning. Satisfied, Liam was prepared now to teach by story. Somehow or other, I was ready to listen and to learn.

With a very brief and short-lived display of gentleness, Liam Riley provided the kind of consolation only a father can give to a son. In a paternally affectionate tone, he stated with sociological certainty, "It was not their fault. They lived on rock. They depended on others to eat and, therefore, to live the Faith." Intrigued, I asked with a truly inquisitive voice, "How did this come to be?" With a pleased look, Liam paused. Taking only a small sip from his glass this time, I realized that real sass-time had arrived.

Stretching his long legs out under the low table, the tension departed from Liam Riley’s face and physique. Then, he gave another pithy, one-word answer, "The rock." I gasped, "The rock! By all that is sane, what do you mean by the rock?"

Here I was faced with the dilemma of the relationship between Faith and morals: my ancestors were Catholic sheep-stealers! And here, the shepherd, Liam Riley, was resolving the ancestral enigma with one word, "Rock." Mustering up every bit of courage possible, I imitated his own expressive language and asked, "Glory be to everything that is divine and holy, what on earth are you talking about?" He smiled and replied, "Earth."

To say that I was numbed is an understatement. Clearly, rock and earth fall into the same general geological category. But, what do pebbles and dirt have to do with the tower of Faith and the tower of morals; how do rock and earth explain the problem of Catholic criminals?

The earlier emphasis by Liam Riley had been on the word, "Faith," not on the immoral act of stealing sheep. This perplexed me, and a querulous frown came upon my countenance. Taking an even smaller sip from his half-filled glass, Liam settled back into his chair with a wide grin. Mentally, I mused that this must be "solemn high" sass-time.

Liam Riley began with a condensed history of a de-Christianized England and a somewhat morally-impoverished Irish populace. He started with King Henry VIII (1491-1547). "‘Defender of the Faith’ he was proclaimed," said Liam. But, he had another title for the English King with eight wives. "Whoremaster," Liam pronounced. In reality, however, the story-telling shepherd was not interested in King Henry VIII and his adulterous acts while seeking a male descendent to occupy the English throne. Liam Riley used the British monarch as a way to introduce the central figure in England’s attempt to de-Christianize Ireland: Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658). With personal and political passion, Cromwell, appointed Lord Protector of Ireland, hated, respectively, the Catholic Faith and the Irish people and was determined to annihilate the former and exterminate the latter.

In compact form, Liam Riley gave the historical account of why Cromwell’s efforts failed. Once again, the connection between the tower of Faith and the tower of morals came forth from the lips of this childlike believer, that is to say, Liam Riley grasped well that there are two towers in Christendom: Faith and morals. He understood, too, what happens whenever the two towers are assailed from within or from without. In this particular case, King Henry weakened the tower of morals in England through adulterous living; Oliver Cromwell sought to destroy the tower of Faith in Ireland by persecuting the "papists."

This period of violence in England and in Ireland was not unknown to me. The novelty was the way Liam Riley juxtaposed King Henry and Cromwell, as if they represented two towers: the tower of Faith and the tower of morals. For Liam, each historical figure represented what was wrong with England and the institutional Church in that country at that time: apostasy (Faith) and personal vice (morals). "It is one thing," Liam remarked, "to be a fallen-away Catholic because of immoral living as was the dissolute Henry. It is quite another to be anti-Catholic because of sinful hatred, as was the infidel Cromwell."

The hatred of Oliver Cromwell for the Catholic Faith and the Irish people impelled him to try to eliminate what he considered aboriginal pagans. To do so, Cromwell marched his militia all the way to the west coast of Ireland. He wrote from Drogheda near Dublin in September, 1649 that the ruthless campaign he waged against the Irish would "tend to prevent the effusion of blood in the future . . . . which otherwise cannot but work remorse and regret." As he went along, he slaughtered childlike-believing Catholics English-style: hanged by the neck, drawn-and-quartered, and left as bird bait. Cromwell and his army finally arrived at Connemara, a remote place just short of the deep cliffs that overlook the Irish Sea.

"Hah!," Liam Riley chortled with a joyous heart and victorious grin. "That is where the Catholic Faith and the Irish people survived. The faithless fraud and his band of butchers had reached the west coast of Ireland, turned around, and never came back. The land, laddie, the land! The rocky land saved the Catholic Faith and the people living on it. Connemara! There is your Faith and your birthright, my boy, a place of Catholic glory and Irish heroism!"

Having established the thrill factor, Liam Riley intensified the rhythm of the story by describing the rocky land of Connemara, the locale of beautiful hand-cut marble. My not-so-rhythmic response was that of an obtuse American. I asked, "Why is that important?"

Sitting bolt upright with his back as straight as a steel beam, the jaw of Liam Riley clenched iron tight. A steam-like hiss came from his trembling lips. His answer was spewed forth by a powerful inner force. "Connemara! Connemara! The rocky land saved the Catholic Faith and the Irish people. There was not a tree to hang them on! There was not a stream to drown them in! There was not a piece of earth to bury them in. Hah!"

From a pragmatic point of view, the west coast of Ireland did become an obstacle in the vicious campaign of Oliver Cromwell. Yet, it is also true that the land represented the triumph of a people whose unyielding courage delivered them from extermination and, thereby, preserved the Catholic Faith and personal belief in their homeland.

The images of trees, streams, and rocky land did not escape me. No persecution could make my ancestors waver ("There was not a tree to hang them on"); no apostate could overwhelm them ("There was not a river or stream to drown them in"); and no misery could swallow them up ("There was not a piece of earth to bury them in"). So, according to Liam Riley, despite their renown as "necessary" Catholic sheep-stealers, my Connemara ancestors were heroic saints. Their unwavering fidelity and courage, he suggested, was the only reason that Catholic John Meehan had the privilege to sit before and learn from Catholic Liam Riley.

As if he himself had just won the victory over Oliver Cromwell and, hence, preserved forever the Catholic Faith in all Ireland, Liam Riley settled back with ease into his paternal throne — the lounge chair. Like the now-setting Italian sun, the prince of storytellers had completed with competence this day’s assignment, and he seemed really pleased to have taught an ignorant American about his Catholic heritage.

Sipping ever so slowly on the last of the John Jameson whiskey, the two of us sat in silence for sometime. Then, with a sudden surge of energy, Liam Riley stood up and stretched his slim frame to the limit. He shook my hand with the strength of a father’s love and said, "Good-bye." I watched his confident gait enter the lobby and disappear. I never saw or heard from Liam Riley again.

Sated by the session of sass, I took the final sip from my own glass. As I reviewed Liam Riley’s tale, the famed Connemara marble took on a new luster because it now had historical meaning: childlike belief and rock-like Faith.

Two Towers

In the coming weeks, we will be posting segments from the text of John Meehan's Two Towers-the deChristianization of America and a Plan for Renewal here. We feel it is an important book deserving wide readership-and thus are putting it online in segments.

John Meehan is the co-founder and retired President of Magdalen College in Warner, NH. Without further words on our part, let us begin at the beginning....

Two Towers-the de-Christianization of America and a Plan for Renewal

(Ccpyright John Meehan 2005)

Preface

The Two Towers Explained
For too many years now, I have listened to questions from distraught, almost hopeless, lay people. Why does the Catholic Church in this country seem so wishy-washy? Why have so many young people stopped going to Mass? Why is there such a lack of reverence in church? What happened to priestly vocations? Why are parishes closing? Why is there so much scandal? How did this falling apart come about? What is the cause of this crisis? Who is responsible for it?

This book will attempt to address the substantive issue behind the questions above, and to offer a practical solution. It must be understood from the outset, however, that, while the exposure of sexual misconduct by a few priests and the administrative negligence of some bishops is certainly horrible and humiliating, that scandal is not the actual institutional crisis. The crisis is much deeper than and goes way beyond the sexual perversity of any priest or the malfeasance of any bishop. In my judgment, the crisis in the Catholic Church in America is de-Christianization, which is nothing else than the separation of two towers: the first being the tower of Faith, and the second being the tower of morals.

De-Christianization means that the tower of Faith has become disconnected from the tower of morals. The separation of the tower of Faith from the tower of morals is the taproot of de-Christianization in the United States. As with the destruction of the two towers in New York City on September 11, 2001, the disconnection of Faith from morals has a history and cultural force behind it: the how, why, what, and who, so to speak.

The twin towers of the World Trade Center were destroyed unexpectedly by a sinister force seeking cataclysmic damage to the economic and political infrastructure of this country. It is no less true that there has been a malevolent attempt to separate, and then to collapse, the two towers of Christendom: Faith and morals.

Let me describe the two towers. Scripturally grounded in our "Father in the Faith" — Abraham of the Old Testament — the tower of Faith is cemented firmly in an ancient heritage and a long-standing tradition. Moses, the Law, and the prophets are its girders. The apostles, the Gospels, and papal succession are its framework. Church councils, ex cathedra declarations, and the lives of saintly men and women are its exterior covering. The Eucharistic Sacrifice, seven sacraments, and Liturgy of the Hours are its interior activity. Comprised of sacred scripture, apostolic tradition, and a living magisterium, this tower is called by the Roman Catholic Church the "Deposit of Faith."

The architectural plan of the tower of morals is found in the order of Creation. Due to the Original Sin of Adam and Eve, the construction of this tower required "hands-on" experience and supernatural intervention. Thus, the erection of the tower of morals proceeded ever so slowly during a near 3,000-year course of Western history. Cost overruns, as it were, came from a long record of unjust laws imposed by a variety of oppressive political regimes and a lack of cultural consensus regarding right ethical behavior. To complete construction of this tower, a common codification of Church and secular law was necessary if the tower of morals was to settle into a recognizable hall of legal justice. The Judeo-Christian system of organizing and directing public and private life by way of Divine Law and the natural law is the foundation supporting the edifice. The administration of just laws is its framework. Human statutes are its exterior covering. Equal protection under law is its interior activity.

Standing side-by-side, the tower of Faith and the tower of morals have served as sturdy pillars of civilized living in most parts of the Western world.

Postscript

This written work is not a scholarly treatise. It is a brief account of the historical and cultural experiences of a layman who seeks to give solace to every childlike believer who has suffered silently in the pew of a parish church. Childlike believers have agonized because they refused to be defined by any other reference point than their identity as baptized Catholics. In context, their inner suffering has been a muted cry for real freedom.

The cruelest response to the pain of childlike-believing lay people has been the attempt to explain their suffering away with prepackaged psychological or sociological answers from the secular world. But, childlike believers chose not to descend into the hollow pit of human ideas. Rather, they elected to embrace a life of interior freedom through personal prayer, hoping that their children and grandchildren would be spared the agony of baptismal loneliness, a deeply-felt spiritual wound that is hell to endure.

With the strongest possible emphasis, let me state that to be childlike does not mean to be childish or naive, that is to say, a baptized person is to be neither irrational nor simple-minded:

Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. I tell you solemnly, anyone who does not welcome the Kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. (Mk 10:14-15)

To be childlike means to have a baptismal instinct for the realities found in revealed truths:

The whole company of the faithful, who have an anointing by the Holy Spirit, cannot err in faith. They manifest this distinctive characteristic of theirs in the supernatural instinct of faith (sensus fidei) of the whole people when, from the bishops to the most ordinary lay person among the faithful, they display a universal agreement on matters of Faith and morals. (Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, no.4)

Childlike believers are the baptized who possess a sincere belief in the Person of Jesus Christ and His divinely-founded Catholic Church. The future Pope Benedict XVI, Josef Cardinal Ratzinger, while Prefect of the Sacred Congregation of the Faith and Doctrine in Rome, extolled the fidelity and docility of childlike believers:

The universal Catholic Church still lives also on the enormous strength of those people who are humble believers. In this sense, the great host of those who need love and who give love is indeed her true treasure: simple people who are capable of truth because, as the Lord says, they have remained children. Through all the changes of history, they have retained their perception of what is essential.

With profound fraternal love, this book is dedicated to childlike believers, lay people who see and live by the light of Faith.