Walter Kasper, Accepting the Mystery: Scriptural Reflections for Advent and Christmas

“Against all wishes or temptations to restrict the horizon of human existence to what is feasible, manageable, consumable, the Christian celebration of Christmas gives language to the message of faith: human being, acknowledge the mystery that you are!”

This quotation from Cardinal Kasper’s Foreword (in which the last part of the sentence paraphrases a quote by Pope Leo the Great) to his new book Accepting the Mystery (Paulist Press, 2016) sums up the theme that runs like a red thread through this marvelous little book: Despite the relentless attempts of contemporary media to convince us otherwise, there is a transcendent dimension to human life. It’s not all about what you (or your favorite celebrities) wear or eat, where you live, and so forth. Nor is it about being in complete control of our lives. In his reference to the horizon of human existence, Cardinal Kasper is suggesting an important theme in the late Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner’s writings, which is that God is the horizon toward which all human existence tends. If we accept that, then (1) we relinquish the possibility of complete control; (2) what is “feasible, manageable, consumable” fades in importance.

The author has a magnificent gift for communicating profound thoughts in a way that a wide readership can understand (or I should say “audience”—these reflections come originally from homilies he has preached over the years). They aren’t “warm fuzzy” thoughts: In the first reflection he writes about that firebrand prophet John the Baptist, about judgment, and about repentance. And he applies the words of 20^th-century Protestant theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer about “cheap grace” to remind us that each of us is called to a repentance—a turning-around of our lives—that may not always be easy.

Cardinal Kasper is obviously a widely read, cultured man. Not only Bonhoeffer but also Greek mythology and other sources are drawn upon to expand upon or illustrate his thoughts.

On a practical level, this book is perfect for those who like to have a special book for spiritual nourishment during the Advent and Christmas seasons but who don’t want the commitment of “daily readings.” (Speaking for myself, I know that skipping a reading or two or three for whatever reason can make us feel guilty and then perhaps too discouraged to continue with the book at all.)  Here, in 64 pages, we have eleven reflections averaging about four pages each—easily manageable by a busy person who can’t commit to every day. Five for Advent, three for the immediate Christmas season, and three for Epiphany, the Baptism of the Lord, and beyond.

In addition, these reflections are so profound, so beautiful, so packed with meaning, I dare say that reading them need not be restricted to the Advent and Christmas seasons. So if you don’t already have this book, even though several days of Advent 2016 have already passed, go get yourself a copy. You won’t regret it.

An Introduction to the Gospel of Mark

A couple of years ago I had the pleasure of editing Scripture scholar Wilfrid Harrington, OP's delightful and accessible Reading Mark for the First Time.  Here I share with you a review of the book that has appeared in the current issue of Biblical Theology Bulletin (Vol. 46, 2016).

Wilfrid J. Harrington, a Dominican scholar, has written a brief and insightful introduction to the Gospel of Mark. He begins with what he calls a “modest” proposal: to outline Mark’s literary technique, and to discuss the “centrality of the cross to Mark’s account of Jesus” (p. 2). In the pages that follow, he does exactly this, and he does it very well, within the confines of his stated purpose. 

    Harrington divides his work into two primary sections. In Part One, he discusses the story of Mark’s Gospel in its broad themes and literary structure. He walks the reader through the background of the Gospel, before introducing what he calls Mark’s “literary pointers,” including the overall plan of the book, various emphases and concerns in the Gospel, and what he sees as the divine purpose that unfolds in Mark. To illustrate the kinds of observations Harrington offers his readers, a few examples will be helpful. On pp. 17–20, he discusses Mark’s use of minor characters as foils to the major players in the story, such as the disciples. The courageous women in 15:40–41 are a bold contrast to the fleeing disciples in 14:50, for instance. Harrington reminds us that “any enlightened reading of Mark’s Gospel must acknowledge the major contribution of its minor characters” (p. 20). He discusses Mark’s use of triplets (pp. 23–27), summary statements (pp. 30–31), inclusio (pp. 32–36) and bracketing (pp. 37–40) to help the reader to “better appreciate Mark’s artistry” (p. 24), that is, to see the overall structure of Mark’s telling of the Jesus story. He also points readers to the significance of Mark’s use of the region of Galilee (p. 36), of his references to Jesus being alone (pp. 41–44), and to the frequent theme of the disciples’ misunderstanding of Jesus (pp. 45–48). Harrington’s goal is that as the reader explores the Gospel, these “literary pointers” become clear, guiding the reader to understand Mark’s message. In this, his material is quite helpful. The second section of the book focuses on the message of Mark, which revolves around Jesus Christ. Harrington discusses Mark’s depiction of the Christ as prophet (pp. 69–85), as teacher (pp. 85–91), as messiah (pp. 94–95), as the Son of David (pp. 95–96), and as the Son of God (pp. 97–100). He then turns his attention to the theme of the suffering of Jesus in Mark. He presents Jesus as the suffering servant (pp. 105–08), discusses a brief theology of the cross (pp. 108–11), and Mark’s depiction of the passion narrative (pp. 119–22). He reminds his reader of Mark’s theme of the great reversal—that what seemed to be a failure (the death of Jesus) was God’s great victory in the resurrection. He concludes his second section with a discussion of discipleship, or as he calls it, “walking the way.” 

    For Harrington, Jesus’ relationship with his disciples provides a pattern and example for contemporary disciples in their walk with Jesus Christ. Harrington finds in Mark’s Gospel “the nature of Jesus’ call and the nature of Christian response—in short, (showing) what ‘following Jesus’ means” (p. 130). Harrington traces this through the call of the twelve as well as their frequent misunderstanding of Jesus (pp. 130–33). He discusses threats to discipleship in Mark’s Gospel, such as riches, false religion, and the traditions of men (pp. 143–49). 

    Harrington is a Dominican priest and scholar, but there is much to be found in his book to benefit those who do not share his tradition. In his section on Mark’s theology of the cross, for example, he does not seek to impose a specifically Catholic theology on the text, but retains his emphasis on Mark’s telling of the passion story. Readers from a wide range of theological persuasions, from evangelicals to liberals, Catholics to Protestants, will find much in his book with which to agree, and will find it a helpful guide to the story and text of Mark’s Gospel. If Harrington’s insights into the Gospel appear to arise more from a close observation of the biblical text than from an analysis of contemporary Markan studies, his bibliography bears this out. In the whole of his text, he cites only three authors besides himself: Moloney, Meier, and Schillebeckx. In this respect, his work is particularly refreshing. He does not write as a scholar observing other scholars, but as a preacher observing the Gospel of Mark. His analysis would be quite useful for a lay reader beginning to study Mark (as his title indicates) or for a teacher presenting the contents of the Gospel to a lay audience, but for a rigorous analysis of the Marcan text, the scholar should look elsewhere. As he tells us in his introduction, his goals are modest. His book fulfils his goals quite well, and is worthwhile reading for those who desire a broad, if not necessarily deep, introduction to Mark’s Gospel.

New Bio Dispels Myths about St. Dominic

St. Dominic, founder of the Order of Preachers (Dominicans), sometimes gets a bad rap as a severe, overly intellectual character, in contrast to his “more approachable” contemporary, Francis of Assisi. They’ve got it wrong about poor Dominic. Down to earth and a realist, Dominic was much loved (as well as respected) by the early followers who knew him personally. He read the signs of the times. Asked whether he wasn’t taking a great risk by sending those nice young men in their spiffy habits out into the highways and byways—wouldn’t some of them fall by the wayside?—he replied, “That’s the chance we have to take.” Among those who make up his legacy are a number of noted poets (Thomas Aquinas, who “did” some of his most memorable theology in liturgical verse), mystics (Catherine of Siena, a feisty lady who wasn’t afraid to tell Popes they were wrong), artists (Renaissance painter Fra Angelico), and writers on spirituality from medieval to modern times.

Any well-known saint becomes the subject of his or her share of pious hagiographies, and St. Dominic is no exception. Until now the last serious biography of Dominic, by the eminent English spiritual writer Bede Jarrett, OP, was published in 1924. Now, published by Paulist Press, comes St. Dominic: The Story of a Preaching Friar by veteran Dominican author and teacher Donald Goergen, OP. Neither a “pop” hagiography nor a heavily footnoted academic tome, Fr. Goergen’s book is the fruit of a long-standing, loving relationship between the modern-day friar and his medieval Master. This isn’t an author who knows about his subject, but an author who knows his subject. As its subtitle suggests, the book emphasizes the holy work of the Preaching, the spreading of the gospel wherever the Good News needed to be heard. Goergen includes the story of the fateful encounter with a Cathar innkeeper that ignited Dominic’s passion for preaching.

Preaching, for a Dominican, isn’t confined to sermons. Dominicans preach through whatever work each one is called to do: thus the examples of poets, mystics, artists, and spiritual writers mentioned above. This is the Order founded by Dominic—not an Order of dry intellectuals but one of men and women, down to earth like their Founder, who use their gifts and earthly things to fulfill their calling to spread God’s word. Such is Dominic’s legacy. Donald Goergen’s St. Dominic is a saint biography that everyone can enjoy.

Pope Francis: All You Want to Know

It was inevitable that books about Pope Francis, the most intriguing man to lead (or, as he himself would say, to serve) the Catholic Church in many a decade, if not century, would become something of a cottage industry. But if you're intent on reading a biography of the man, not a hagiography but an honest, no-holds-barred account of what makes Jorge Mario Bergoglio-turned-Pope-Francis tick, then Paul Vallely's Pope Francis: The Struggle for the Soul of Catholicism is, beyond a doubt, the one you want to have.

Paul Vallely is an award-winning British journalist internationally known as a commentator on religion, society, and ethics. In order to write this book he has left no stone unturned, conducted prodigious research and probing interviews with persons who have known Jorge Mario Bergoglio from as far back in his life as it was possible to go. The result is an in-depth, indeed one could say warts-and-all portrait of the complex Argentinian churchman who became the first pope from Latin America.

Many readers will be surprised to learn that this loving, smiling pope has a past as a conservative within the church and a divisive figure within his religious order, the Society of Jesus. Appointed as Provincial of the Argentine Jesuits at the young age of 36, a position in which he served between 1973 and 1979, he had to hit the ground running and learn on the job. Inevitably, he made mistakes for which he later came to feel remorse. This was the era in which Liberation Theology was on the rise and in which Vatican counter-attacks on it began, and Fr. Bergoglio was suspicious of it. Not that he was indifferent to the plight of the poor -- far from it; but his notion of how to help them took the traditional road of charity rather than the in-the-trenches approach of empowerment that he later came to espouse. At the time, two of his priests actually moved into the slums to work with the people, and Bergoglio pulled them out, insisted that they leave this "close-up" work.

But Vallely's account is balanced and nuanced, not a "bad Bergoglio -- good Pope Francis" book. He sets an event like this in its context and explains how the young Provincial, responsible for the lives and welfare of his priests, feared for the safety of his two confreres; it wasn't a matter of indifference to the situation of the slum dwellers, but an awareness of the grave danger in which workers for the poor and oppressed were putting themselves. Indeed, readers will be intrigued to learn how many of Pope Francis's concerns today have roots in his experiences in his post-conversion ministry among the poor.

And what was the conversion that Bergoglio experienced? Tension between conservatives and progressives among the Latin American Jesuits had reached the point where his superiors thought it best to send him away for a while.  In 1986 he visited Germany to do research for a doctorate; he began investigating the life and work of Msgr. Romano Guardini, a philosopher and religious writer who had considerable influence on him (he cities him several times in his encyclical Laudato Si). The project was eventually abandoned (a matter of personal regret to me, I must admit). In 1990 he was "exiled" for two years to the Jesuit community in Cordoba, and here Bergoglio's time away from clerical, pastoral, and administrative pressures gave him the mental and spiritual space to think and reflect on his life.  He became aware of, and contrite for, his perceived mistakes and returned a different man. Here can be seen the beginnings of the pope who espouses mercy above all and who calls himself a sinner. Pope Francis is probably the last person who would want to be called a saint, and yet Vallely's portrayal of him conjures up that definition of a saint as "a sinner who knows s/he has been forgiven."

Even Francis's less popular positions are explained rather than justified: his apparent slowness to act decisively on women's issues, for example, set in the context of his Latin American upbringing. (Yet, the irony cannot be missed that his position on where the Church should be going -- focus on Social Justice, not on what he himself has termed "below the belt" issues such as abortion -- is very close indeed to that espoused by the much-maligned LCWR.) But he is undeniably courageous, especially in his going head-to-head with the endemic corruption in the Vatican Bank and the Curia and his confronting of that perversion of religion otherwise known as the mafia. He may be exasperating to those who are more comfortable with being able to pigeonhole someone, but undeniably he has brought the first real breath of fresh air to the Church since Good Pope John XXIII "opened the windows" more than 50 years ago. While he has never explicitly criticized the two oppressive papal regimes that immediately preceded him, his actions speak for him: he aims to return the church to its founder's ideals of service -- "Those who wish to be great among you must be servants" -- and of concern for the poor.