ENCYCLICAL LETTER
DEUS CARITAS EST
OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF
BENEDICT XVI
TO THE BISHOPS
PRIESTS AND DEACONS
MEN AND WOMEN RELIGIOUS
AND ALL THE LAY FAITHFUL
ON CHRISTIAN LOVE
Dear Friends,
Ave Maria!
As you all know,
it has been the centuries-old tradition in the vernacular languages to
capitalized pronouns and possessive pronouns referring to Almighty God and to
our Divine Lord Jesus. Faithful translations of the Popes' letters and
addresses into the vernacular tongues have always maintained this important
sign of respect for the majesty of God and the divinity of Our Blessed
Lord. The English translations coming now from the English Edition of the
Osservatore Romano have systematically stopped this Catholic protocol, most
recently in the Pope's encyclical.
Fortunately the
expert translators of Papal material into the Portuguese, Italian and Spanish
tongues continue to follow this respectful practice which exists also in
their own traditions. It is certainly evident that the clergy and faithful in
these countries would not accept the introduction of referring to the Divinity
in the lower case, and it is equally certain that we should not accept anything
less regarding our own Catholic tradition. The respectful reference to
God in the upper case, incidentally, is a practice followed also by devout
Protestants.
So I am asking
all of you, who feel so inspired, to send a letter or e-mail to the Director of
the Osservatore Romano, Signor Mario Agnes, expressing your displeasure at this
callous and disrespectful practice and requesting that the editors correct the
texts on the internet and in any future printed versions.
The email
address of the Osservatore is:
or
Direttore
MARIO AGNES
"L'Osservatore
Romano"
00120 Cittá del Vaticano
"And I say to you: Whosoever shall confess Me before
men,
him shall the
Son of Man also confess before the angels of God.
But he that
shall deny Me before men
shall be denied
before the angels of God" (Lk. 12, 8-9).
Thank
you all
and may God bless you.
In Christ,
Father Thomas Carleton
[H] his
Return to the main page of www.OurLadysWarriors.org
1.
³God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him² (1 Jn 4:16).
These words from the First Letter of John express with remarkable clarity the heart of the
Christian faith: the Christian image of God and the resulting image of mankind
and its destiny. In the same verse, Saint John also offers a kind of summary of
the Christian life: ³We have come to know and to believe in the love God has
for us².
We
have come to believe in God's love:
in these words the Christian can express the fundamental decision of his life.
Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the
encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a
decisive direction. Saint John's Gospel describes that event in these words:
³God so loved the world that he gave [H]his
only Son, that whoever believes in [H]him
should ... have eternal life² (3:16). In acknowledging the centrality of love,
Christian faith has retained the core of Israel's faith, while at the same time
giving it new depth and breadth. The pious Jew prayed daily the words of the
Book of
Deuteronomy which
expressed the heart of his existence: ³Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God is one
Lord, and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all
your soul and with all your might² (6:4-5). Jesus united into a single precept
this commandment of love for God and the commandment of love for neighbour
found in the Book of
Leviticus: ³You shall love your neighbour as yourself² (19:18;
cf. Mk 12:29-31). Since God has first loved us (cf. 1 Jn 4:10), love is now no longer a mere ³command²; it is
the response to the gift of love with which God draws near to us.
In
a world where the name of God is sometimes associated with vengeance or even a
duty of hatred and violence, this message is both timely and significant. For
this reason, I wish in my first Encyclical to speak of the love which God
lavishes upon us and which we in turn must share with others. That, in essence,
is what the two main parts of this Letter are about, and they are profoundly
interconnected. The first part is more speculative, since I wanted here‹at the
beginning of my Pontificate‹to clarify some essential facts concerning the love
which God mysteriously and gratuitously offers to man, together with the
intrinsic link between that Love and the reality of human love. The second part
is more concrete, since it treats the ecclesial exercise of the commandment of
love of neighbour. The argument has vast implications, but a lengthy treatment
would go beyond the scope of the present Encyclical. I wish to emphasize some
basic elements, so as to call forth in the world renewed energy and commitment
in the human response to God's love.
PART
I
THE
UNITY OF LOVE
IN CREATION
AND IN SALVATION HISTORY
A
problem of language
2.
God's love for us is fundamental for our lives, and it raises important questions
about who God is and who we are. In considering this, we immediately find
ourselves hampered by a problem of language. Today, the term ³love² has become
one of the most frequently used and misused of words, a word to which we attach
quite different meanings. Even though this Encyclical will deal primarily with
the understanding and practice of love in sacred Scripture and in the Church's
Tradition, we cannot simply prescind from the meaning of the word in the
different cultures and in present-day usage.
Let
us first of all bring to mind the vast semantic range of the word ³love²: we
speak of love of country, love of one's profession, love between friends, love
of work, love between parents and children, love between family members, love
of neighbour and love of God. Amid this multiplicity of meanings, however, one
in particular stands out: love between man and woman, where body and soul are
inseparably joined and human beings glimpse an apparently irresistible promise
of happiness. This would seem to be the very epitome of love; all other kinds
of love immediately seem to fade in comparison. So we need to ask: are all
these forms of love basically one, so that love, in its many and varied
manifestations, is ultimately a single reality, or are we merely using the same
word to designate totally different realities?
³Eros²
and ³Agape² difference and unity
3.
That love between man and woman which is neither planned nor willed, but
somehow imposes itself upon human beings, was called eros by the ancient Greeks. Let us note straight away
that the Greek Old Testament uses the word eros only twice, while the New Testament does not use it
at all: of the three Greek words for love, eros, philia (the love of friendship) and agape, New Testament writers prefer the last, which occurs
rather infrequently in Greek usage. As for the term philia, the love of friendship, it is used with added depth
of meaning in Saint John's Gospel in order to express the relationship between
Jesus and his disciples. The tendency to avoid the word eros, together with the new vision of love expressed
through the word agape, clearly
point to something new and distinct about the Christian understanding of love.
In the critique of Christianity which began with the Enlightenment and grew progressively
more radical, this new element was seen as something thoroughly negative.
According to Friedrich Nietzsche, Christianity had poisoned eros, which for its part, while not completely
succumbing, gradually degenerated into vice.[1]
Here the German philosopher was expressing a widely-held perception: doesn't
the Church, with all her commandments and prohibitions, turn to bitterness the
most precious thing in life? Doesn't she blow the whistle just when the joy
which is the Creator's gift offers us a happiness which is itself a certain
foretaste of the Divine?
4.
But is this the case? Did Christianity really destroy eros? Let us take a look at the pre- Christian world. The
Greeks‹not unlike other cultures‹considered eros principally as a kind of intoxication, the
overpowering of reason by a ³divine madness² which tears man away from his
finite existence and enables him, in the very process of being overwhelmed by
divine power, to experience supreme happiness. All other powers in heaven and
on earth thus appear secondary: ³Omnia vincit amor² says Virgil in the Bucolics‹love conquers all‹and he adds: ³et nos cedamus
amori²‹let us, too, yield to love.[2]
In the religions, this attitude found expression in fertility cults, part of
which was the ³sacred² prostitution which flourished in many temples. Eros was thus celebrated as divine power, as fellowship
with the Divine.
The
Old Testament firmly opposed this form of religion, which represents a powerful
temptation against monotheistic faith, combating it as a perversion of
religiosity. But it in no way rejected eros as such; rather, it declared war on a warped and
destructive form of it, because this counterfeit divinization of eros actually strips it of its dignity and dehumanizes
it. Indeed, the prostitutes in the temple, who had to bestow this divine
intoxication, were not treated as human beings and persons, but simply used as
a means of arousing ³divine madness²: far from being goddesses, they were human
persons being exploited. An intoxicated and undisciplined eros, then, is not an ascent in ³ecstasy² towards the
Divine, but a fall, a degradation of man. Evidently, eros needs to be disciplined and purified if it is to
provide not just fleeting pleasure, but a certain foretaste of the pinnacle of
our existence, of that beatitude for which our whole being yearns.
5.
Two things emerge clearly from this rapid overview of the concept of eros past and present. First, there is a certain
relationship between love and the Divine: love promises infinity, eternity‹a
reality far greater and totally other than our everyday existence. Yet we have
also seen that the way to attain this goal is not simply by submitting to
instinct. Purification and growth in maturity are called for; and these also
pass through the path of renunciation. Far from rejecting or ³poisoning² eros, they heal it and restore its true grandeur.
This
is due first and foremost to the fact that man is a being made up of body and
soul. Man is truly himself when his body and soul are intimately united; the
challenge of eros can be said to
be truly overcome when this unification is achieved. Should he aspire to be
pure spirit and to reject the flesh as pertaining to his animal nature alone,
then spirit and body would both lose their dignity. On the other hand, should
he deny the spirit and consider matter, the body, as the only reality, he would
likewise lose his greatness. The epicure Gassendi used to offer Descartes the
humorous greeting: ³O Soul!² And Descartes would reply: ³O Flesh!².[3]
Yet it is neither the spirit alone nor the body alone that loves: it is man,
the person, a unified creature composed of body and soul, who loves. Only when
both dimensions are truly united, does man attain his full stature. Only thus
is love ‹eros‹able to mature and
attain its authentic grandeur.
Nowadays
Christianity of the past is often criticized as having been opposed to the
body; and it is quite true that tendencies of this sort have always existed.
Yet the contemporary way of exalting the body is deceptive. Eros, reduced to pure ³sex², has become a commodity, a
mere ³thing² to be bought and sold, or rather, man himself becomes a commodity.
This is hardly man's great ³yes² to the body. On the contrary, he now considers
his body and his sexuality as the purely material part of himself, to be used
and exploited at will. Nor does he see it as an arena for the exercise of his
freedom, but as a mere object that he attempts, as he pleases, to make both
enjoyable and harmless. Here we are actually dealing with a debasement of the human
body: no longer is it integrated into our overall existential freedom; no
longer is it a vital expression of our whole being, but it is more or less
relegated to the purely biological sphere. The apparent exaltation of the body
can quickly turn into a hatred of bodiliness. Christian faith, on the other
hand, has always considered man a unity in duality, a reality in which spirit
and matter compenetrate, and in which each is brought to a new nobility. True,
eros tends to rise ³in ecstasy²
towards the Divine, to lead us beyond ourselves; yet for this very reason it
calls for a path of ascent, renunciation, purification and healing.
6.
Concretely, what does this path of ascent and purification entail? How might
love be experienced so that it can fully realize its human and divine promise?
Here we can find a first, important indication in the Song of Songs, an Old Testament book well known to the mystics.
According to the interpretation generally held today, the poems contained in
this book were originally love-songs, perhaps intended for a Jewish wedding
feast and meant to exalt conjugal love. In this context it is highly
instructive to note that in the course of the book two different Hebrew words
are used to indicate ³love². First there is the word dodim, a plural form suggesting a love that is still
insecure, indeterminate and searching. This comes to be replaced by the word ahabà, which the Greek version of the Old Testament
translates with the similar-sounding agape, which, as we have seen, becomes the typical expression for the
biblical notion of love. By contrast with an indeterminate, ³searching² love,
this word expresses the experience of a love which involves a real discovery of
the other, moving beyond the selfish character that prevailed earlier. Love now
becomes concern and care for the other. No longer is it self-seeking, a sinking
in the intoxication of happiness; instead it seeks the good of the beloved: it
becomes renunciation and it is ready, and even willing, for sacrifice.
It
is part of love's growth towards higher levels and inward purification that it
now seeks to become definitive, and it does so in a twofold sense: both in the
sense of exclusivity (this particular person alone) and in the sense of being
³for ever². Love embraces the whole of existence in each of its dimensions,
including the dimension of time. It could hardly be otherwise, since its
promise looks towards its definitive goal: love looks to the eternal. Love is
indeed ³ecstasy², not in the sense of a moment of intoxication, but rather as a
journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self towards its
liberation through self-giving, and thus towards authentic self-discovery and
indeed the discovery of God: ³Whoever seeks to gain his life will lose it, but
whoever loses his life will preserve it² (Lk 17:33), as Jesus says throughout the Gospels (cf.
Mt 10:39; 16:25; Mk 8:35; Lk
9:24; Jn 12:25). In these words,
Jesus portrays his own path, which leads through the Cross to the Resurrection:
the path of the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies, and in this
way bears much fruit. Starting from the depths of his own sacrifice and of the
love that reaches fulfilment therein, he also portrays in these words the
essence of love and indeed of human life itself.
7.
By their own inner logic, these initial, somewhat philosophical reflections on
the essence of love have now brought us to the threshold of biblical faith. We
began by asking whether the different, or even opposed, meanings of the word
³love² point to some profound underlying unity, or whether on the contrary they
must remain unconnected, one alongside the other. More significantly, though,
we questioned whether the message of love proclaimed to us by the Bible and the
Church's Tradition has some points of contact with the common human experience
of love, or whether it is opposed to that experience. This in turn led us to
consider two fundamental words: eros, as a term to indicate ³worldly² love and agape, referring to love grounded in and shaped by faith.
The two notions are often contrasted as ³ascending² love and ³descending² love.
There are other, similar classifications, such as the distinction between
possessive love and oblative love (amor concupiscentiae amor benevolentiae), to which is sometimes also added love that seeks
its own advantage.
In
philosophical and theological debate, these distinctions have often been radicalized
to the point of establishing a clear antithesis between them: descending,
oblative love‹agape‹would be
typically Christian, while on the other hand ascending, possessive or covetous
love ‹eros‹would be typical of
non-Christian, and particularly Greek culture. Were this antithesis to be taken
to extremes, the essence of Christianity would be detached from the vital
relations fundamental to human existence, and would become a world apart,
admirable perhaps, but decisively cut off from the complex fabric of human
life. Yet eros and agape‹ascending love and descending love‹can never be
completely separated. The more the two, in their different aspects, find a
proper unity in the one reality of love, the more the true nature of love in
general is realized. Even if eros
is at first mainly covetous and ascending, a fascination for the great promise
of happiness, in drawing near to the other, it is less and less concerned with
itself, increasingly seeks the happiness of the other, is concerned more and more
with the beloved, bestows itself and wants to ³be there for² the other. The
element of agape thus enters into
this love, for otherwise eros is
impoverished and even loses its own nature. On the other hand, man cannot live
by oblative, descending love alone. He cannot always give, he must also
receive. Anyone who wishes to give love must also receive love as a gift.
Certainly, as the Lord tells us, one can become a source from which rivers of
living water flow (cf. Jn 7:37-38).
Yet to become such a source, one must constantly drink anew from the original
source, which is Jesus Christ, from whose pierced heart flows the love of God
(cf. Jn 19:34).
In
the account of Jacob's ladder, the Fathers of the Church saw this inseparable
connection between ascending and descending love, between eros which seeks God and agape which passes on the gift received, symbolized in
various ways. In that biblical passage we read how the Patriarch Jacob saw in a
dream, above the stone which was his pillow, a ladder reaching up to heaven, on
which the angels of God were ascending and descending (cf. Gen 28:12; Jn 1:51). A particularly striking interpretation of this vision is
presented by Pope Gregory the Great in his Pastoral Rule. He tells us that the good pastor must be rooted in
contemplation. Only in this way will he be able to take upon himself the needs
of others and make them his own: ³per pietatis viscera in se infirmitatem
caeterorum transferat².[4]
Saint Gregory speaks in this context of Saint Paul, who was borne aloft to the
most exalted mysteries of God, and hence, having descended once more, he was
able to become all things to all men (cf. 2 Cor 12:2-4; 1 Cor 9:22). He also points to the example of Moses, who entered the
tabernacle time and again, remaining in dialogue with God, so that when he
emerged he could be at the service of his people. ³Within [the tent] he is
borne aloft through contemplation, while without he is completely engaged in
helping those who suffer: intus in contemplationem rapitur, foris
infirmantium negotiis urgetur.²[5]
8.
We have thus come to an initial, albeit still somewhat generic response to the
two questions raised earlier. Fundamentally, ³love² is a single reality, but with
different dimensions; at different times, one or other dimension may emerge
more clearly. Yet when the two dimensions are totally cut off from one another,
the result is a caricature or at least an impoverished form of love. And we
have also seen, synthetically, that biblical faith does not set up a parallel
universe, or one opposed to that primordial human phenomenon which is love, but
rather accepts the whole man; it intervenes in his search for love in order to
purify it and to reveal new dimensions of it. This newness of biblical faith is
shown chiefly in two elements which deserve to be highlighted: the image of God
and the image of man.
The
newness of biblical faith
9.
First, the world of the Bible presents us with a new image of God. In surrounding
cultures, the image of God and of the gods ultimately remained unclear and
contradictory. In the development of biblical faith, however, the content of
the prayer fundamental to Israel, the Shema, became increasingly clear and unequivocal: ³Hear, O
Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord² (Dt 6:4). There is only one God, the Creator of heaven and earth, who is
thus the God of all. Two facts are significant about this statement: all other
gods are not God, and the universe in which we live has its source in God and
was created by him. Certainly, the notion of creation is found elsewhere, yet
only here does it become absolutely clear that it is not one god among many,
but the one true God himself who is the source of all that exists; the whole
world comes into existence by the power of his creative Word. Consequently, his
creation is dear to him, for it was willed by him and ³made² by him. The second
important element now emerges: this God loves man. The divine power that
Aristotle at the height of Greek philosophy sought to grasp through reflection,
is indeed for every being an object of desire and of love ‹and as the object of
love this divinity moves the world[6]‹but
in itself it lacks nothing and does not love: it is solely the object of love.
The one God in whom Israel believes, on the other hand, loves with a personal
love. His love, moreover, is an elective love: among all the nations he chooses
Israel and loves her‹but he does so precisely with a view to healing the whole
human race. God loves, and his love may certainly be called eros, yet it is also totally agape.[7]
The
Prophets, particularly Hosea and Ezekiel, described God's passion for his
people using boldly erotic images. God's relationship with Israel is described
using the metaphors of betrothal and marriage; idolatry is thus adultery and
prostitution. Here we find a specific reference‹as we have seen‹to the
fertility cults and their abuse of eros, but also a description of the relationship of fidelity between Israel
and her God. The history of the love-relationship between God and Israel
consists, at the deepest level, in the fact that he gives her the Torah, thereby opening Israel's eyes to man's true nature
and showing her the path leading to true humanism. It consists in the fact that
man, through a life of fidelity to the one God, comes to experience himself as
loved by God, and discovers joy in truth and in righteousness‹a joy in God
which becomes his essential happiness: ³Whom do I have in heaven but you? And
there is nothing upon earth that I desire besides you ... for me it is good to
be near God² (Ps 73 [72]:25, 28).
10.
We have seen that God's eros for
man is also totally agape. This
is not only because it is bestowed in a completely gratuitous manner, without
any previous merit, but also because it is love which forgives. Hosea above all
shows us that this agape
dimension of God's love for man goes far beyond the aspect of gratuity. Israel
has committed ³adultery² and has broken the covenant; God should judge and
repudiate her. It is precisely at this point that God is revealed to be God and
not man: ³How can I give you up, O Ephraim! How can I hand you over, O Israel!
... My heart recoils within me, my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not
execute my fierce anger, I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and not
man, the Holy One in your midst² (Hos 11:8-9). God's passionate love for his people‹for humanity‹is at the
same time a forgiving love. It is so great that it turns God against himself,
his love against his justice. Here Christians can see a dim prefigurement of
the mystery of the Cross: so great is God's love for man that by becoming man
he follows him even into death, and so reconciles justice and love.
The
philosophical dimension to be noted in this biblical vision, and its importance
from the standpoint of the history of religions, lies in the fact that on the
one hand we find ourselves before a strictly metaphysical image of God: God is
the absolute and ultimate source of all being; but this universal principle of
creation‹the Logos, primordial
reason‹is at the same time a lover with all the passion of a true love. Eros is thus supremely ennobled, yet at the same time it
is so purified as to become one with agape. We can thus see how the reception of the Song of Songs in
the canon of sacred Scripture was soon explained by the idea that these love
songs ultimately describe God's relation to man and man's relation to God. Thus
the Song of Songs
became, both in Christian and Jewish literature, a source of mystical knowledge
and experience, an expression of the essence of biblical faith: that man can
indeed enter into union with God‹his primordial aspiration. But this union is
no mere fusion, a sinking in the nameless ocean of the Divine; it is a unity
which creates love, a unity in which both God and man remain themselves and yet
become fully one. As Saint Paul says: ³He who is united to the Lord becomes one
spirit with him² (1 Cor 6:17).
11.
The first novelty of biblical faith consists, as we have seen, in its image of
God. The second, essentially connected to this, is found in the image of man.
The biblical account of creation speaks of the solitude of Adam, the first man,
and God's decision to give him a helper. Of all other creatures, not one is
capable of being the helper that man needs, even though he has assigned a name
to all the wild beasts and birds and thus made them fully a part of his life.
So God forms woman from the rib of man. Now Adam finds the helper that he
needed: ³This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh² (Gen 2:23). Here one might detect hints of ideas that are
also found, for example, in the myth mentioned by Plato, according to which man
was originally spherical, because he was complete in himself and
self-sufficient. But as a punishment for pride, he was split in two by Zeus, so
that now he longs for his other half, striving with all his being to possess it
and thus regain his integrity.[8]
While the biblical narrative does not speak of punishment, the idea is
certainly present that man is somehow incomplete, driven by nature to seek in
another the part that can make him whole, the idea that only in communion with
the opposite sex can he become ³complete². The biblical account thus concludes
with a prophecy about Adam: ³Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and
cleaves to his wife and they become one flesh² (Gen 2:24).
Two
aspects of this are important. First, eros is somehow rooted in man's very nature; Adam is a seeker, who ³abandons
his mother and father² in order to find woman; only together do the two represent
complete humanity and become ³one flesh². The second aspect is equally
important. From the standpoint of creation, eros directs man towards marriage, to a bond which is
unique and definitive; thus, and only thus, does it fulfil its deepest purpose.
Corresponding to the image of a monotheistic God is monogamous marriage.
Marriage based on exclusive and definitive love becomes the icon of the
relationship between God and his people and vice versa. God's way of loving
becomes the measure of human love. This close connection between eros and marriage in the Bible has practically no
equivalent in extra-biblical literature.
Jesus
Christ the incarnate love of God
12.
Though up to now we have been speaking mainly of the Old Testament,
nevertheless the profound compenetration of the two Testaments as the one
Scripture of the Christian faith has already become evident. The real novelty
of the New Testament lies not so much in new ideas as in the figure of Christ
himself, who gives flesh and blood to those concepts‹an unprecedented realism.
In the Old Testament, the novelty of the Bible did not consist merely in
abstract notions but in God's unpredictable and in some sense unprecedented
activity. This divine activity now takes on dramatic form when, in Jesus Christ,
it is God himself who goes in search of the ³stray sheep², a suffering and lost
humanity. When Jesus speaks in his parables of the shepherd who goes after the
lost sheep, of the woman who looks for the lost coin, of the father who goes to
meet and embrace his prodigal son, these are no mere words: they constitute an
explanation of his very being and activity. His death on the Cross is the
culmination of that turning of God against himself in which he gives himself in
order to raise man up and save him. This is love in its most radical form. By
contemplating the pierced side of Christ (cf. 19:37), we can understand the
starting-point of this Encyclical Letter: ³God is love² (1 Jn 4:8). It is there that this truth can be
contemplated. It is from there that our definition of love must begin. In this
contemplation the Christian discovers the path along which his life and love
must move.
13.
Jesus gave this act of oblation an enduring presence through his institution of
the Eucharist at the Last Supper. He anticipated his death and resurrection by
giving his disciples, in the bread and wine, his very self, his body and blood
as the new manna (cf. Jn 6:31-33).
The ancient world had dimly perceived that man's real food‹what truly nourishes
him as man‹is ultimately the Logos,
eternal wisdom: this same Logos
now truly becomes food for us‹as love. The Eucharist draws us into Jesus' act
of self-oblation. More than just statically receiving the incarnate Logos, we enter into the very dynamic of his self-giving.
The imagery of marriage between God and Israel is now realized in a way
previously inconceivable: it had meant standing in God's presence, but now it
becomes union with God through sharing in Jesus' self-gift, sharing in his body
and blood. The sacramental ³mysticism², grounded in God's condescension towards
us, operates at a radically different level and lifts us to far greater heights
than anything that any human mystical elevation could ever accomplish.
14.
Here we need to consider yet another aspect: this sacramental ³mysticism² is
social in character, for in sacramental communion I become one with the Lord,
like all the other communicants. As Saint Paul says, ³Because there is one
bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread² (1
Cor 10:17). Union with Christ is
also union with all those to whom he gives himself. I cannot possess Christ
just for myself; I can belong to him only in union with all those who have
become, or who will become, his own. Communion draws me out of myself towards
him, and thus also towards unity with all Christians. We become ³one body²,
completely joined in a single existence. Love of God and love of neighbour are
now truly united: God incarnate draws us all to himself. We can thus understand
how agape also became a term for
the Eucharist: there God's own agape comes to us bodily, in order to continue his work in us and through us.
Only by keeping in mind this Christological and sacramental basis can we correctly
understand Jesus' teaching on love. The transition which he makes from the Law
and the Prophets to the twofold commandment of love of God and of neighbour,
and his grounding the whole life of faith on this central precept, is not
simply a matter of morality‹something that could exist apart from and alongside
faith in Christ and its sacramental re-actualization. Faith, worship and ethos
are interwoven as a single reality
which takes shape in our encounter with God's agape. Here the usual contraposition between worship and
ethics simply falls apart. ³Worship² itself, Eucharistic communion, includes
the reality both of being loved and of loving others in turn. A Eucharist which
does not pass over into the concrete practice of love is intrinsically fragmented.
Conversely, as we shall have to consider in greater detail below, the
³commandment² of love is only possible because it is more than a requirement.
Love can be ³commanded² because it has first been given.
15.
This principle is the starting-point for understanding the great parables of
Jesus. The rich man (cf. Lk 16:19-31)
begs from his place of torment that his brothers be informed about what happens
to those who simply ignore the poor man in need. Jesus takes up this cry for
help as a warning to help us return to the right path. The parable of the Good
Samaritan (cf. Lk 10:25-37)
offers two particularly important clarifications. Until that time, the concept
of ³neighbour² was understood as referring essentially to one's countrymen and
to foreigners who had settled in the land of Israel; in other words, to the
closely-knit community of a single country or people. This limit is now
abolished. Anyone who needs me, and whom I can help, is my neighbour. The
concept of ³neighbour² is now universalized, yet it remains concrete. Despite
being extended to all mankind, it is not reduced to a generic, abstract and
undemanding expression of love, but calls for my own practical commitment here
and now. The Church has the duty to interpret ever anew this relationship between
near and far with regard to the actual daily life of her members. Lastly, we
should especially mention the great parable of the Last Judgement (cf. Mt 25:31-46), in which love becomes the criterion for
the definitive decision about a human life's worth or lack thereof. Jesus
identifies himself with those in need, with the hungry, the thirsty, the
stranger, the naked, the sick and those in prison. ³As you did it to one of the
least of these my brethren, you did it to me² (Mt 25:40). Love of God and love of neighbour have
become one: in the least of the brethren we find Jesus himself, and in Jesus we
find God.
Love
of God and love of neighbour
16.
Having reflected on the nature of love and its meaning in biblical faith, we
are left with two questions concerning our own attitude: can we love God
without seeing him? And can love be commanded? Against the double commandment
of love these questions raise a double objection. No one has ever seen God, so
how could we love him? Moreover, love cannot be commanded; it is ultimately a
feeling that is either there or not, nor can it be produced by the will.
Scripture seems to reinforce the first objection when it states: ³If anyone
says, ŒI love God,' and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not
love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen² (1
Jn 4:20). But this text hardly
excludes the love of God as something impossible. On the contrary, the whole
context of the passage quoted from the First Letter of John shows that such love is explicitly demanded. The
unbreakable bond between love of God and love of neighbour is emphasized. One
is so closely connected to the other that to say that we love God becomes a lie
if we are closed to our neighbour or hate him altogether. Saint John's words
should rather be interpreted to mean that love of neighbour is a path that
leads to the encounter with God, and that closing our eyes to our neighbour
also blinds us to God.
17.
True, no one has ever seen God as he is. And yet God is not totally invisible
to us; he does not remain completely inaccessible. God loved us first, says the
Letter of John quoted above (cf. 4:10), and this love of God has
appeared in our midst. He has become visible in as much as he ³has sent his
only Son into the world, so that we might live through him² (1 Jn 4:9). God has made himself visible: in Jesus we are
able to see the Father (cf. Jn 14:9).
Indeed, God is visible in a number of ways. In the love-story recounted by the
Bible, he comes towards us, he seeks to win our hearts, all the way to the Last
Supper, to the piercing of his heart on the Cross, to his appearances after the
Resurrection and to the great deeds by which, through the activity of the
Apostles, he guided the nascent Church along its path. Nor has the Lord been
absent from subsequent Church history: he encounters us ever anew, in the men
and women who reflect his presence, in his word, in the sacraments, and
especially in the Eucharist. In the Church's Liturgy, in her prayer, in the
living community of believers, we experience the love of God, we perceive his
presence and we thus learn to recognize that presence in our daily lives. He
has loved us first and he continues to do so; we too, then, can respond with
love. God does not demand of us a feeling which we ourselves are incapable of
producing. He loves us, he makes us see and experience his love, and since he
has ³loved us first², love can also blossom as a response within us.
In
the gradual unfolding of this encounter, it is clearly revealed that love is
not merely a sentiment. Sentiments come and go. A sentiment can be a marvellous
first spark, but it is not the fullness of love. Earlier we spoke of the
process of purification and maturation by which eros comes fully into its own, becomes love in the full
meaning of the word. It is characteristic of mature love that it calls into
play all man's potentialities; it engages the whole man, so to speak. Contact
with the visible manifestations of God's love can awaken within us a feeling of
joy born of the experience of being loved. But this encounter also engages our
will and our intellect. Acknowledgment of the living God is one path towards
love, and the ³yes² of our will to his will unites our intellect, will and
sentiments in the all- embracing act of love. But this process is always
open-ended; love is never ³finished² and complete; throughout life, it changes
and matures, and thus remains faithful to itself. Idem velle atque idem
nolle [9]‹to
want the same thing, and to reject the same thing‹was recognized by antiquity
as the authentic content of love: the one becomes similar to the other, and
this leads to a community of will and thought. The love-story between God and
man consists in the very fact that this communion of will increases in a
communion of thought and sentiment, and thus our will and God's will
increasingly coincide: God's will is no longer for me an alien will, something
imposed on me from without by the commandments, but it is now my own will,
based on the realization that God is in fact more deeply present to me than I
am to myself.[10]
Then self- abandonment to God increases and God becomes our joy (cf. Ps 73 [72]:23-28).
18.
Love of neighbour is thus shown to be possible in the way proclaimed by the
Bible, by Jesus. It consists in the very fact that, in God and with God, I love
even the person whom I do not like or even know. This can only take place on
the basis of an intimate encounter with God, an encounter which has become a
communion of will, even affecting my feelings. Then I learn to look on this
other person not simply with my eyes and my feelings, but from the perspective
of Jesus Christ. His friend is my friend. Going beyond exterior appearances, I
perceive in others an interior desire for a sign of love, of concern. This I
can offer them not only through the organizations intended for such purposes,
accepting it perhaps as a political necessity. Seeing with the eyes of Christ,
I can give to others much more than their outward necessities; I can give them
the look of love which they crave. Here we see the necessary interplay between
love of God and love of neighbour which the First Letter of John
speaks of with such insistence. If I
have no contact whatsoever with God in my life, then I cannot see in the other
anything more than the other, and I am incapable of seeing in him the image of
God. But if in my life I fail completely to heed others, solely out of a desire
to be ³devout² and to perform my ³religious duties², then my relationship with
God will also grow arid. It becomes merely ³proper², but loveless. Only my
readiness to encounter my neighbour and to show him love makes me sensitive to
God as well. Only if I serve my neighbour can my eyes be opened to what God
does for me and how much he loves me. The saints‹consider the example of
Blessed Teresa of Calcutta‹constantly renewed their capacity for love of
neighbour from their encounter with the Eucharistic Lord, and conversely this
encounter acquired its real- ism and depth in their service to others. Love of
God and love of neighbour are thus inseparable, they form a single commandment.
But both live from the love of God who has loved us first. No longer is it a
question, then, of a ³commandment² imposed from without and calling for the
impossible, but rather of a freely-bestowed experience of love from within, a
love which by its very nature must then be shared with others. Love grows
through love. Love is ³divine² because it comes from God and unites us to God;
through this unifying process it makes us a ³we² which transcends our divisions
and makes us one, until in the end God is ³all in all² (1 Cor 15:28).
PART
II
CARITAS
THE
PRACTICE OF LOVE
BY THE CHURCH
AS A ³COMMUNITY OF LOVE²
The
Church's charitable activity as a manifestation of Trinitarian love
19.
³If you see charity, you see the Trinity², wrote Saint Augustine.[11]
In the foregoing reflections, we have been able to focus our attention on the
Pierced one (cf. Jn 19:37,
Zech 12:10), recognizing the plan of
the Father who, moved by love (cf. Jn 3:16), sent his only-begotten Son into the world to redeem man. By dying
on the Cross‹as Saint John tells us‹Jesus ³gave up his Spirit² (Jn 19:30), anticipating the gift of the Holy Spirit
that he would make after his Resurrection (cf. Jn 20:22). This was to fulfil the promise of ³rivers of
living water² that would flow out of the hearts of believers, through the
outpouring of the Spirit (cf. Jn 7:38-39).
The Spirit, in fact, is that interior power which harmonizes their hearts with
Christ's heart and moves them to love their brethren as Christ loved them, when
he bent down to wash the feet of the disciples (cf. Jn 13:1-13) and above all when he gave his life for us
(cf. Jn 13:1, 15:13).
The
Spirit is also the energy which transforms the heart of the ecclesial
community, so that it becomes a witness before the world to the love of the Father,
who wishes to make humanity a single family in his Son. The entire activity of
the Church is an expression of a love that seeks the integral good of man: it
seeks his evangelization through Word and Sacrament, an undertaking that is
often heroic in the way it is acted out in history; and it seeks to promote man
in the various arenas of life and human activity. Love is therefore the service
that the Church carries out in order to attend constantly to man's sufferings
and his needs, including material needs. And this is the aspect, this
service of charity, on which I want
to focus in the second part of the Encyclical.
Charity
as a responsibility of the Church
20.
Love of neighbour, grounded in the love of God, is first and foremost a
responsibility for each individual member of the faithful, but it is also a
responsibility for the entire ecclesial community at every level: from the
local community to the particular Church and to the Church universal in its
entirety. As a community, the Church must practise love. Love thus needs to be
organized if it is to be an ordered service to the community. The awareness of
this responsibility has had a constitutive relevance in the Church from the
beginning: ³All who believed were together and had all things in common; and
they sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had
need² (Acts 2:44-5). In these
words, Saint Luke provides a kind of definition of the Church, whose
constitutive elements include fidelity to the ³teaching of the Apostles²,
³communion² (koinonia), ³the
breaking of the bread² and ³prayer² (cf. Acts 2:42). The element of ³communion² (koinonia) is not initially defined, but appears concretely in
the verses quoted above: it consists in the fact that believers hold all things
in common and that among them, there is no longer any distinction between rich
and poor (cf. also Acts 4:32-37).
As the Church grew, this radical form of material communion could not in fact
be preserved. But its essential core remained: within the community of
believers there can never be room for a poverty that denies anyone what is
needed for a dignified life.
21.
A decisive step in the difficult search for ways of putting this fundamental
ecclesial principle into practice is illustrated in the choice of the seven,
which marked the origin of the diaconal office (cf. Acts 6:5-6). In the early Church, in fact, with regard to
the daily distribution to widows, a disparity had arisen between Hebrew
speakers and Greek speakers. The Apostles, who had been entrusted primarily
with ³prayer² (the Eucharist and the liturgy) and the ³ministry of the word²,
felt over-burdened by ³serving tables², so they decided to reserve to
themselves the principal duty and to designate for the other task, also
necessary in the Church, a group of seven persons. Nor was this group to carry
out a purely mechanical work of distribution: they were to be men ³full of the
Spirit and of wisdom² (cf. Acts
6:1-6). In other words, the social service which they were meant to provide was
absolutely concrete, yet at the same time it was also a spiritual service;
theirs was a truly spiritual office which carried out an essential
responsibility of the Church, namely a well-ordered love of neighbour. With the
formation of this group of seven, ³diaconia²‹the ministry of charity exercised in a
communitarian, orderly way‹became part of the fundamental structure of the
Church.
22.
As the years went by and the Church spread further afield, the exercise of
charity became established as one of her essential activities, along with the
administration of the sacraments and the proclamation of the word: love for
widows and orphans, prisoners, and the sick and needy of every kind, is as
essential to her as the ministry of the sacraments and preaching of the Gospel.
The Church cannot neglect the service of charity any more than she can neglect
the Sacraments and the Word. A few references will suffice to demonstrate this.
Justin Martyr (Ý c. 155) in
speaking of the Christians' celebration of Sunday, also mentions their
charitable activity, linked with the Eucharist as such. Those who are able make
offerings in accordance with their means, each as he or she wishes; the Bishop
in turn makes use of these to support orphans, widows, the sick and those who
for other reasons find themselves in need, such as prisoners and foreigners.[12]
The great Christian writer Tertullian (Ý after 220) relates how the pagans were
struck by the Christians' concern for the needy of every sort.[13]
And when Ignatius of Antioch (Ý c.
117) described the Church of Rome as ³presiding in charity (agape)²,[14]
we may assume that with this definition he also intended in some sense to
express her concrete charitable activity.
23.
Here it might be helpful to allude to the earliest legal structures associated
with the service of charity in the Church. Towards the middle of the fourth
century we see the development in Egypt of the ³diaconia²: the institution within each monastery responsible
for all works of relief, that is to say, for the service of charity. By the
sixth century this institution had evolved into a corporation with full
juridical standing, which the civil authorities themselves entrusted with part
of the grain for public distribution. In Egypt not only each monastery, but
each individual Diocese eventually had its own diaconia; this institution then developed in both East and
West. Pope Gregory the Great (Ý 604) mentions the diaconia of Naples, while in Rome the diaconiae are documented from the seventh and eighth
centuries. But charitable activity on behalf of the poor and suffering was
naturally an essential part of the Church of Rome from the very beginning,
based on the principles of Christian life given in the Acts of the Apostles.
It found a vivid expression in the case of the deacon Lawrence (Ý 258). The
dramatic description of Lawrence's martyrdom was known to Saint Ambrose (Ý 397)
and it provides a fundamentally authentic picture of the saint. As the one
responsible for the care of the poor in Rome, Lawrence had been given a period
of time, after the capture of the Pope and of Lawrence's fellow deacons, to
collect the treasures of the Church and hand them over to the civil
authorities. He distributed to the poor whatever funds were available and then
presented to the authorities the poor themselves as the real treasure of the
Church.[15]
Whatever historical reliability one attributes to these details, Lawrence has
always remained present in the Church's memory as a great exponent of ecclesial
charity.
24.
A mention of the emperor Julian the Apostate (Ý 363) can also show how
essential the early Church considered the organized practice of charity. As a
child of six years, Julian witnessed the assassination of his father, brother
and other family members by the guards of the imperial palace; rightly or
wrongly, he blamed this brutal act on the Emperor Constantius, who passed
himself off as an outstanding Christian. The Christian faith was thus
definitively discredited in his eyes. Upon becoming emperor, Julian decided to
restore paganism, the ancient Roman religion, while reforming it in the hope of
making it the driving force behind the empire. In this project he was amply
inspired by Christianity. He established a hierarchy of metropolitans and
priests who were to foster love of God and neighbour. In one of his letters,[16]
he wrote that the sole aspect of Christianity which had impressed him was the
Church's charitable activity. He thus considered it essential for his new pagan
religion that, alongside the system of the Church's charity, an equivalent
activity of its own be established. According to him, this was the reason for
the popularity of the ³Galileans². They needed now to be imitated and outdone.
In this way, then, the Emperor confirmed that charity was a decisive feature of
the Christian community, the Church.
25.
Thus far, two essential facts have emerged from our reflections:
a) The Church's deepest nature is expressed in her
three-fold responsibility: of proclaiming the word of God (kerygma-martyria), celebrating the sacraments (leitourgia), and exercising the ministry of charity (diakonia). These duties presuppose each other and are
inseparable. For the Church, charity is not a kind of welfare activity which
could equally well be left to others, but is a part of her nature, an
indispensable expression of her very being.[17]
b) The Church is God's family in the world. In this
family no one ought to go without the necessities of life. Yet at the same time
caritas- agape extends beyond the
frontiers of the Church. The parable of the Good Samaritan remains as a standard
which imposes universal love towards the needy whom we encounter ³by chance²
(cf. Lk 10:31), whoever they may
be. Without in any way detracting from this commandment of universal love, the
Church also has a specific responsibility: within the ecclesial family no
member should suffer through being in need. The teaching of the Letter to the Galatians
is emphatic: ³So then, as we have
opportunity, let us do good to all, and especially to those who are of the
household of faith² (6:10).
Justice
and Charity
26.
Since the nineteenth century, an objection has been raised to the Church's
charitable activity, subsequently developed with particular insistence by
Marxism: the poor, it is claimed, do not need charity but justice. Works of
charity‹almsgiving‹are in effect a way for the rich to shirk their obligation
to work for justice and a means of soothing their consciences, while preserving
their own status and robbing the poor of their rights. Instead of contributing
through individual works of charity to maintaining the status quo, we need to build a just social order in which all
receive their share of the world's goods and no longer have to depend on
charity. There is admittedly some truth to this argument, but also much that is
mistaken. It is true that the pursuit of justice must be a fundamental norm of
the State and that the aim of a just social order is to guarantee to each
person, according to the principle of subsidiarity, his share of the
community's goods. This has always been emphasized by Christian teaching on the
State and by the Church's social doctrine. Historically, the issue of the just
ordering of the collectivity had taken a new dimension with the
industrialization of society in the nineteenth century. The rise of modern
industry caused the old social structures to collapse, while the growth of a
class of salaried workers provoked radical changes in the fabric of society.
The relationship between capital and labour now became the decisive issue‹an
issue which in that form was previously unknown. Capital and the means of
production were now the new source of power which, concentrated in the hands of
a few, led to the suppression of the rights of the working classes, against
which they had to rebel.
27.
It must be admitted that the Church's leadership was slow to realize that the
issue of the just structuring of society needed to be approached in a new way.
There were some pioneers, such as Bishop Ketteler of Mainz (Ý 1877), and concrete
needs were met by a growing number of groups, associations, leagues,
federations and, in particular, by the new religious orders founded in the
nineteenth century to combat poverty, disease and the need for better
education. In 1891, the papal magisterium intervened with the Encyclical Rerum Novarum of Leo XIII. This was followed in 1931 by Pius XI's
Encyclical Quadragesimo
Anno. In 1961 Blessed
John XXIII published the Encyclical Mater et
Magistra, while Paul VI, in the Encyclical Populorum
Progressio (1967) and in the Apostolic Letter Octogesima
Adveniens (1971), insistently addressed the social problem, which
had meanwhile become especially acute in Latin America. My great predecessor
John Paul II left us a trilogy of social Encyclicals: Laborem Exercens (1981), Sollicitudo Rei Socialis (1987) and finally Centesimus Annus (1991). Faced with new situations and issues,
Catholic social teaching thus gradually developed, and has now found a
comprehensive presentation in the Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the
Church published in 2004 by the
Pontifical Council Iustitia et Pax.
Marxism had seen world revolution and its preliminaries as the panacea for the
social problem: revolution and the subsequent collectivization of the means of
production, so it was claimed, would immediately change things for the better.
This illusion has vanished. In today's complex situation, not least because of
the growth of a globalized economy, the Church's social doctrine has become a
set of fundamental guidelines offering approaches that are valid even beyond
the confines of the Church: in the face of ongoing development these guidelines
need to be addressed in the context of dialogue with all those seriously
concerned for humanity and for the world in which we live.
28.
In order to define more accurately the relationship between the necessary commitment
to justice and the ministry of charity, two fundamental situations need to be
considered:
a) The just ordering of society and the State is a
central responsibility of politics. As Augustine once said, a State which is
not governed according to justice would be just a bunch of thieves: ³Remota
itaque iustitia quid sunt regna nisi magna latrocinia?².[18]
Fundamental to Christianity is the distinction between what belongs to Caesar
and what belongs to God (cf. Mt 22:21),
in other words, the distinction between Church and State, or, as the Second
Vatican Council puts it, the autonomy of the temporal sphere.[19]
The State may not impose religion, yet it must guarantee religious freedom and
harmony between the followers of different religions. For her part, the Church,
as the social expression of Christian faith, has a proper independence and is
structured on the basis of her faith as a community which the State must
recognize. The two spheres are distinct, yet always interrelated.
Justice
is both the aim and the intrinsic criterion of all politics. Politics is more
than a mere mechanism for defining the rules of public life: its origin and its
goal are found in justice, which by its very nature has to do with ethics. The
State must inevitably face the question of how justice can be achieved here and
now. But this presupposes an even more radical question: what is justice? The
problem is one of practical reason; but if reason is to be exercised properly,
it must undergo constant purification, since it can never be completely free of
the danger of a certain ethical blindness caused by the dazzling effect of
power and special interests.
Here
politics and faith meet. Faith by its specific nature is an encounter with the
living God‹an encounter opening up new horizons extending beyond the sphere of
reason. But it is also a purifying force for reason itself. From God's
standpoint, faith liberates reason from its blind spots and therefore helps it
to be ever more fully itself. Faith enables reason to do its work more
effectively and to see its proper object more clearly. This is where Catholic
social doctrine has its place: it has no intention of giving the Church power
over the State. Even less is it an attempt to impose on those who do not share
the faith ways of thinking and modes of conduct proper to faith. Its aim is
simply to help purify reason and to contribute, here and now, to the
acknowledgment and attainment of what is just.
The
Church's social teaching argues on the basis of reason and natural law, namely,
on the basis of what is in accord with the nature of every human being. It
recognizes that it is not the Church's responsibility to make this teaching
prevail in political life. Rather, the Church wishes to help form consciences
in political life and to stimulate greater insight into the authentic
requirements of justice as well as greater readiness to act accordingly, even
when this might involve conflict with situations of personal interest. Building
a just social and civil order, wherein each person receives what is his or her
due, is an essential task which every generation must take up anew. As a
political task, this cannot be the Church's immediate responsibility. Yet,
since it is also a most important human responsibility, the Church is
duty-bound to offer, through the purification of reason and through ethical
formation, her own specific contribution towards understanding the requirements
of justice and achieving them politically.
The
Church cannot and must not take upon herself the political battle to bring
about the most just society possible. She cannot and must not replace the
State. Yet at the same time she cannot and must not remain on the sidelines in
the fight for justice. She has to play her part through rational argument and
she has to reawaken the spiritual energy without which justice, which always
demands sacrifice, cannot prevail and prosper. A just society must be the
achievement of politics, not of the Church. Yet the promotion of justice through
efforts to bring about openness of mind and will to the demands of the common
good is something which concerns the Church deeply.
b) Love‹caritas‹will always prove necessary, even in the most just society. There is no
ordering of the State so just that it can eliminate the need for a service of
love. Whoever wants to eliminate love is preparing to eliminate man as such.
There will always be suffering which cries out for consolation and help. There
will always be loneliness. There will always be situations of material need
where help in the form of concrete love of neighbour is indispensable.[20]
The State which would provide everything, absorbing everything into itself,
would ultimately become a mere bureaucracy incapable of guaranteeing the very
thing which the suffering person‹every person‹needs: namely, loving personal
concern. We do not need a State which regulates and controls everything, but a
State which, in accordance with the principle of subsidiarity, generously
acknowledges and supports initiatives arising from the different social forces
and combines spontaneity with closeness to those in need. The Church is one of
those living forces: she is alive with the love enkindled by the Spirit of
Christ. This love does not simply offer people material help, but refreshment
and care for their souls, something which often is even more necessary than
material support. In the end, the claim that just social structures would make
works of charity superfluous masks a materialist conception of man: the
mistaken notion that man can live ³by bread alone² (Mt 4:4; cf. Dt 8:3)‹a conviction that demeans man and ultimately disregards all that is
specifically human.
29.
We can now determine more precisely, in the life of the Church, the
relationship between commitment to the just ordering of the State and society
on the one hand, and organized charitable activity on the other. We have seen
that the formation of just structures is not directly the duty of the Church,
but belongs to the world of politics, the sphere of the autonomous use of
reason. The Church has an indirect duty here, in that she is called to
contribute to the purification of reason and to the reawakening of those moral
forces without which just structures are neither established nor prove
effective in the long run.
The
direct duty to work for a just ordering of society, on the other hand, is
proper to the lay faithful. As citizens of the State, they are called to take
part in public life in a personal capacity. So they cannot relinquish their
participation ³in the many different economic, social, legislative, administrative
and cultural areas, which are intended to promote organically and
institutionally the common good.²
[21]
The mission of the lay faithful is therefore to configure social life
correctly, respecting its legitimate autonomy and cooperating with other
citizens according to their respective competences and fulfilling their own
responsibility.[22]
Even if the specific expressions of ecclesial charity can never be confused
with the activity of the State, it still remains true that charity must animate
the entire lives of the lay faithful and therefore also their political
activity, lived as ³social charity².[23]
The
Church's charitable organizations, on the other hand, constitute an opus
proprium, a task agreeable to her,
in which she does not cooperate collaterally, but acts as a subject with direct
responsibility, doing what corresponds to her nature. The Church can never be
exempted from practising charity as an organized activity of believers, and on
the other hand, there will never be a situation where the charity of each
individual Christian is unnecessary, because in addition to justice man needs,
and will always need, love.
The
multiple structures of charitable service in the social context of the present
day
30.
Before attempting to define the specific profile of the Church's activities in
the service of man, I now wish to consider the overall situation of the
struggle for justice and love in the world of today.
a) Today the means of mass communication have made our
planet smaller, rapidly narrowing the distance between different peoples and
cultures. This ³togetherness² at times gives rise to misunderstandings and
tensions, yet our ability to know almost instantly about the needs of others
challenges us to share their situation and their difficulties. Despite the
great advances made in science and technology, each day we see how much
suffering there is in the world on account of different kinds of poverty, both
material and spiritual. Our times call for a new readiness to assist our
neighbours in need. The Second Vatican Council had made this point very
clearly: ³Now that, through better means of communication, distances between
peoples have been almost eliminated, charitable activity can and should embrace
all people and all needs.²[24]
On
the other hand‹and here we see one of the challenging yet also positive sides
of the process of globalization‹we now have at our disposal numerous means for offering
humanitarian assistance to our brothers and sisters in need, not least modern
systems of distributing food and clothing, and of providing housing and care.
Concern for our neighbour transcends the confines of national communities and
has increasingly broadened its horizon to the whole world. The Second Vatican
Council rightly observed that ³among the signs of our times, one particularly
worthy of note is a growing, inescapable sense of solidarity between all
peoples.²[25]
State agencies and humanitarian associations work to promote this, the former
mainly through subsidies or tax relief, the latter by making available
considerable resources. The solidarity shown by civil society thus
significantly surpasses that shown by individuals.
b) This situation has led to the birth and the growth
of many forms of cooperation between State and Church agencies, which have
borne fruit. Church agencies, with their transparent operation and their
faithfulness to the duty of witnessing to love, are able to give a Christian
quality to the civil agencies too, favouring a mutual coordination that can
only redound to the effectiveness of charitable service.[26]
Numerous organizations for charitable or philanthropic purposes have also been
established and these are committed to achieving adequate humanitarian
solutions to the social and political problems of the day. Significantly, our
time has also seen the growth and spread of different kinds of volunteer work,
which assume responsibility for providing a variety of services.[27]
I wish here to offer a special word of gratitude and appreciation to all those
who take part in these activities in whatever way. For young people, this
widespread involvement constitutes a school of life which offers them a
formation in solidarity and in readiness to offer others not simply material
aid but their very selves. The anti-culture of death, which finds expression
for example in drug use, is thus countered by an unselfish love which shows
itself to be a culture of life by the very willingness to ³lose itself² (cf. Lk 17:33 et passim) for others.
In
the Catholic Church, and also in the other Churches and Ecclesial Communities,
new forms of charitable activity have arisen, while other, older ones have
taken on new life and energy. In these new forms, it is often possible to
establish a fruitful link between evangelization and works of charity. Here I
would clearly reaffirm what my great predecessor John Paul II wrote in his
Encyclical Sollicitudo
Rei Socialis [28]
when he asserted the readiness of the Catholic Church to cooperate with the
charitable agencies of these Churches and Communities, since we all have the
same fundamental motivation and look towards the same goal: a true humanism,
which acknowledges that man is made in the image of God and wants to help him
to live in a way consonant with that dignity. His Encyclical Ut Unum Sint emphasized
that the building of a better world requires Christians to speak with a united
voice in working to inculcate ³respect for the rights and needs of everyone,
especially the poor, the lowly and the defenceless.² [29]
Here I would like to express my satisfaction that this appeal has found a wide
resonance in numerous initiatives throughout the world.
The
distinctiveness of the Church's charitable activity
31.
The increase in diversified organizations engaged in meeting various human
needs is ultimately due to the fact that the command of love of neighbour is
inscribed by the Creator in man's very nature. It is also a result of the
presence of Christianity in the world, since Christianity constantly revives
and acts out this imperative, so often profoundly obscured in the course of
time. The reform of paganism attempted by the emperor Julian the Apostate is
only an initial example of this effect; here we see how the power of
Christianity spread well beyond the frontiers of the Christian faith. For this
reason, it is very important that the Church's charitable activity maintains
all of its splendour and does not become just another form of social
assistance. So what are the essential elements of Christian and ecclesial
charity?
a) Following the example given in the parable of the
Good Samaritan, Christian charity is first of all the simple response to
immediate needs and specific situations: feeding the hungry, clothing the
naked, caring for and healing the sick, visiting those in prison, etc. The
Church's charitable organizations, beginning with those of Caritas (at diocesan, national and international levels),
ought to do everything in their power to provide the resources and above all
the personnel needed for this work. Individuals who care for those in need must
first be professionally competent: they should be properly trained in what to
do and how to do it, and committed to continuing care. Yet, while professional
competence is a primary, fundamental requirement, it is not of itself
sufficient. We are dealing with human beings, and human beings always need
something more than technically proper care. They need humanity. They need
heartfelt concern. Those who work for the Church's charitable organizations
must be distinguished by the fact that they do not merely meet the needs of the
moment, but they dedicate themselves to others with heartfelt concern, enabling
them to experience the richness of their humanity. Consequently, in addition to
their necessary professional training, these charity workers need a ³formation
of the heart²: they need to be led to that encounter with God in Christ which
awakens their love and opens their spirits to others. As a result, love of
neighbour will no longer be for them a commandment imposed, so to speak, from
without, but a consequence deriving from their faith, a faith which becomes
active through love (cf. Gal
5:6).
b) Christian charitable activity must be independent
of parties and ideologies. It is not a means of changing the world
ideologically, and it is not at the service of worldly stratagems, but it is a
way of making present here and now the love which man always needs. The modern
age, particularly from the nineteenth century on, has been dominated by various
versions of a philosophy of progress whose most radical form is Marxism. Part
of Marxist strategy is the theory of impoverishment: in a situation of unjust
power, it is claimed, anyone who engages in charitable initiatives is actually
serving that unjust system, making it appear at least to some extent tolerable.
This in turn slows down a potential revolution and thus blocks the struggle for
a better world. Seen in this way, charity is rejected and attacked as a means
of preserving the status quo.
What we have here, though, is really an inhuman philosophy. People of the
present are sacrificed to the moloch of the future‹a future whose effective realization is at best doubtful.
One does not make the world more human by refusing to act humanely here and
now. We contribute to a better world only by personally doing good now, with
full commitment and wherever we have the opportunity, independently of partisan
strategies and programmes. The Christian's programme ‹the programme of the Good
Samaritan, the programme of Jesus‹is ³a heart which sees². This heart sees
where love is needed and acts accordingly. Obviously when charitable activity
is carried out by the Church as a communitarian initiative, the spontaneity of
individuals must be combined with planning, foresight and cooperation with
other similar institutions.
c) Charity, furthermore, cannot be used as a means of
engaging in what is nowadays considered proselytism. Love is free; it is not
practised as a way of achieving other ends.[30]
But this does not mean that charitable activity must somehow leave God and
Christ aside. For it is always concerned with the whole man. Often the deepest
cause of suffering is the very absence of God. Those who practise charity in
the Church's name will never seek to impose the Church's faith upon others.
They realize that a pure and generous love is the best witness to the God in
whom we believe and by whom we are driven to love. A Christian knows when it is
time to speak of God and when it is better to say nothing and to let love alone
speak. He knows that God is love (cf. 1 Jn 4:8) and that God's presence is felt at the very time
when the only thing we do is to love. He knows‹to return to the questions
raised earlier‹that disdain for love is disdain for God and man alike; it is an
attempt to do without God. Consequently, the best defence of God and man
consists precisely in love. It is the responsibility of the Church's charitable
organizations to reinforce this awareness in their members, so that by their
activity‹as well as their words, their silence, their example‹they may be
credible witnesses to Christ.
Those
responsible for the Church's charitable activity
32.
Finally, we must turn our attention once again to those who are responsible for
carrying out the Church's charitable activity. As our preceding reflections
have made clear, the true subject of the various Catholic organizations that
carry out a ministry of charity is the Church herself‹at all levels, from the
parishes, through the particular Churches, to the universal Church. For this
reason it was most opportune that my venerable predecessor Paul VI established
the Pontifical Council Cor Unum
as the agency of the Holy See responsible for orienting and coordinating the
organizations and charitable activities promoted by the Catholic Church. In
conformity with the episcopal structure of the Church, the Bishops, as
successors of the Apostles, are charged with primary responsibility for
carrying out in the particular Churches the programme set forth in the Acts of the Apostles (cf. 2:42-44): today as in the past, the Church as
God's family must be a place where help is given and received, and at the same
time, a place where people are also prepared to serve those outside her
confines who are in need of help. In the rite of episcopal ordination, prior to
the act of consecration itself, the candidate must respond to several questions
which express the essential elements of his office and recall the duties of his
future ministry. He promises expressly to be, in the Lord's name, welcoming and
merciful to the poor and to all those in need of consolation and assistance.[31]
The Code of Canon
Law, in the canons on the ministry of the Bishop, does not
expressly mention charity as a specific sector of episcopal activity, but
speaks in general terms of the Bishop's responsibility for coordinating the
different works of the apostolate with due regard for their proper character.[32]
Recently, however, the Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops explored
more specifically the duty of charity as a responsibility incumbent upon the
whole Church and upon each Bishop in his Diocese,[33]
and it emphasized that the exercise of charity is an action of the Church as
such, and that, like the ministry of Word and Sacrament, it too has been an
essential part of her mission from the very beginning.[34]
33.
With regard to the personnel who carry out the Church's charitable activity on
the practical level, the essential has already been said: they must not be
inspired by ideologies aimed at improving the world, but should rather be
guided by the faith which works through love (cf. Gal 5:6). Consequently, more than anything, they must be
persons moved by Christ's love, persons whose hearts Christ has conquered with
his love, awakening within them a love of neighbour. The criterion inspiring
their activity should be Saint Paul's statement in the Second Letter to the Corinthians: ³the love of Christ urges us on² (5:14). The
consciousness that, in Christ, God has given himself for us, even unto death,
must inspire us to live no longer for ourselves but for him, and, with him, for
others. Whoever loves Christ loves the Church, and desires the Church to be
increasingly the image and instrument of the love which flows from Christ. The
personnel of every Catholic charitable organization want to work with the
Church and therefore with the Bishop, so that the love of God can spread
throughout the world. By their sharing in the Church's practice of love, they
wish to be witnesses of God and of Christ, and they wish for this very reason
freely to do good to all.
34.
Interior openness to the Catholic dimension of the Church cannot fail to
dispose charity workers to work in harmony with other organizations in serving
various forms of need, but in a way that respects what is distinctive about the
service which Christ requested of his disciples. Saint Paul, in his hymn to
charity (cf. 1 Cor 13), teaches
us that it is always more than activity alone: ³If I give away all I have, and
if I deliver my body to be burned, but do not have love, I gain nothing² (v.
3). This hymn must be the Magna Carta of all ecclesial service;
it sums up all the reflections on love which I have offered throughout this
Encyclical Letter. Practical activity will always be insufficient, unless it
visibly expresses a love for man, a love nourished by an encounter with Christ.
My deep personal sharing in the needs and sufferings of others becomes a
sharing of my very self with them: if my gift is not to prove a source of
humiliation, I must give to others not only something that is my own, but my
very self; I must be personally present in my gift.
35.
This proper way of serving others also leads to humility. The one who serves
does not consider himself superior to the one served, however miserable his
situation at the moment may be. Christ took the lowest place in the world‹the
Cross‹and by this radical humility he redeemed us and constantly comes to our
aid. Those who are in a position to help others will realize that in doing so
they themselves receive help; being able to help others is no merit or
achievement of their own. This duty is a grace. The more we do for others, the
more we understand and can appropriate the words of Christ: ³We are useless servants²
(Lk 17:10). We recognize that we
are not acting on the basis of any superiority or greater personal efficiency,
but because the Lord has graciously enabled us to do so. There are times when
the burden of need and our own limitations might tempt us to become
discouraged. But precisely then we are helped by the knowledge that, in the
end, we are only instruments in the Lord's hands; and this knowledge frees us
from the presumption of thinking that we alone are personally responsible for
building a better world. In all humility we will do what we can, and in all
humility we will entrust the rest to the Lord. It is God who governs the world,
not we. We offer him our service only to the extent that we can, and for as
long as he grants us the strength. To do all we can with what strength we have,
however, is the task which keeps the good servant of Jesus Christ always at
work: ³The love of Christ urges us on² (2 Cor 5:14).
36.
When we consider the immensity of others' needs, we can, on the one hand, be driven
towards an ideology that would aim at doing what God's governance of the world
apparently cannot: fully resolving every problem. Or we can be tempted to give
in to inertia, since it would seem that in any event nothing can be
accomplished. At such times, a living relationship with Christ is decisive if
we are to keep on the right path, without falling into an arrogant contempt for
man, something not only unconstructive but actually destructive, or
surrendering to a resignation which would prevent us from being guided by love
in the service of others. Prayer, as a means of drawing ever new strength from
Christ, is concretely and urgently needed. People who pray are not wasting
their time, even though the situation appears desperate and seems to call for
action alone. Piety does not undermine the struggle against the poverty of our
neighbours, however extreme. In the example of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta we
have a clear illustration of the fact that time devoted to God in prayer not
only does not detract from effective and loving service to our neighbour but is
in fact the inexhaustible source of that service. In her letter for Lent 1996,
Blessed Teresa wrote to her lay co-workers: ³We need this deep connection with
God in our daily life. How can we obtain it? By prayer².
37.
It is time to reaffirm the importance of prayer in the face of the activism and
the growing secularism of many Christians engaged in charitable work. Clearly,
the Christian who prays does not claim to be able to change God's plans or
correct what he has foreseen. Rather, he seeks an encounter with the Father of
Jesus Christ, asking God to be present with the consolation of the Spirit to
him and his work. A personal relationship with God and an abandonment to his
will can prevent man from being demeaned and save him from falling prey to the
teaching of fanaticism and terrorism. An authentically religious attitude
prevents man from presuming to judge God, accusing him of allowing poverty and
failing to have compassion for his creatures. When people claim to build a case
against God in defence of man, on whom can they depend when human activity
proves powerless?
38.
Certainly Job could complain before God about the presence of incomprehensible
and apparently unjustified suffering in the world. In his pain he cried out:
³Oh, that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his seat!
... I would learn what he would answer me, and understand what he would say to
me. Would he contend with me in the greatness of his power? ... Therefore I am
terrified at his presence; when I consider, I am in dread of him. God has made
my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me² (23:3, 5-6, 15-16). Often we
cannot understand why God refrains from intervening. Yet he does not prevent us
from crying out, like Jesus on the Cross: ³My God, my God, why have you
forsaken me?² (Mt 27:46). We
should continue asking this question in prayerful dialogue before his face:
³Lord, holy and true, how long will it be?² (Rev 6:10). It is Saint Augustine who gives us faith's
answer to our sufferings: ³Si comprehendis, non est Deus²‹²if you understand him, he is not God.² [35]
Our protest is not meant to challenge God, or to suggest that error, weakness
or indifference can be found in him. For the believer, it is impossible to
imagine that God is powerless or that ³perhaps he is asleep² (cf. 1 Kg 18:27). Instead, our crying out is, as it was
for Jesus on the Cross, the deepest and most radical way of affirming our faith
in his sovereign power. Even in their bewilderment and failure to understand
the world around them, Christians continue to believe in the ³goodness and loving
kindness of God² (Tit 3:4).
Immersed like everyone else in the dramatic complexity of historical events,
they remain unshakably certain that God is our Father and loves us, even when
his silence remains incomprehensible.
39.
Faith, hope and charity go together. Hope is practised through the virtue of
patience, which continues to do good even in the face of apparent failure, and
through the virtue of humility, which accepts God's mystery and trusts him even
at times of darkness. Faith tells us that God has given his Son for our sakes
and gives us the victorious certainty that it is really true: God is love! It
thus transforms our impatience and our doubts into the sure hope that God holds
the world in his hands and that, as the dramatic imagery of the end of the Book of Revelation
points out, in spite of all darkness he ultimately triumphs in glory. Faith,
which sees the love of God revealed in the pierced heart of Jesus on the Cross,
gives rise to love. Love is the light‹and in the end, the only light‹that can
always illuminate a world grown dim and give us the courage needed to keep
living and working. Love is possible, and we are able to practise it because we
are created in the image of God. To experience love and in this way to cause
the light of God to enter into the world‹this is the invitation I would like to
extend with the present Encyclical.
CONCLUSION
40.
Finally, let us consider the saints, who exercised charity in an exemplary way.
Our thoughts turn especially to Martin of Tours (Ý 397), the soldier who became
a monk and a bishop: he is almost like an icon, illustrating the irreplaceable
value of the individual testimony to charity. At the gates of Amiens, Martin
gave half of his cloak to a poor man: Jesus himself, that night, appeared to
him in a dream wearing that cloak, confirming the permanent validity of the
Gospel saying: ³I was naked and you clothed me ... as you did it to one of the
least of these my brethren, you did it to me² (Mt 25:36, 40).[36]
Yet in the history of the Church, how many other testimonies to charity could
be quoted! In particular, the entire monastic movement, from its origins with
Saint Anthony the Abbot (Ý 356), expresses an immense service of charity
towards neighbour. In his encounter ³face to face² with the God who is Love,
the monk senses the impelling need to transform his whole life into service of
neighbour, in addition to service of God. This explains the great emphasis on
hospitality, refuge and care of the infirm in the vicinity of the monasteries.
It also explains the immense initiatives of human welfare and Christian
formation, aimed above all at the very poor, who became the object of care
firstly for the monastic and mendicant orders, and later for the various male
and female religious institutes all through the history of the Church. The
figures of saints such as Francis of Assisi, Ignatius of Loyola, John of God,
Camillus of Lellis, Vincent de Paul, Louise de Marillac, Giuseppe B.
Cottolengo, John Bosco, Luigi Orione, Teresa of Calcutta to name but a
few‹stand out as lasting models of social charity for all people of good will.
The saints are the true bearers of light within history, for they are men and
women of faith, hope and love.
41.
Outstanding among the saints is Mary, Mother of the Lord and mirror of all
holiness. In the Gospel of Luke we find her engaged in a service of charity to her
cousin Elizabeth, with whom she remained for ³about three months² (1:56) so as
to assist her in the final phase of her pregnancy. ³Magnificat anima mea
Dominum², she says on the occasion
of that visit, ³My soul magnifies the Lord² (Lk 1:46). In these words she expresses her whole
programme of life: not setting herself at the centre, but leaving space for
God, who is encountered both in prayer and in service of neighbour‹only then
does goodness enter the world. Mary's greatness consists in the fact that she
wants to magnify God, not herself. She is lowly: her only desire is to be the
handmaid of the Lord (cf. Lk
1:38, 48). She knows that she will only contribute to the salvation of the
world if, rather than carrying out her own projects, she places herself
completely at the disposal of God's initiatives. Mary is a woman of hope: only
because she believes in God's promises and awaits the salvation of Israel, can
the angel visit her and call her to the decisive service of these promises.
Mary is a woman of faith: ³Blessed are you who believed², Elizabeth says to her
(cf. Lk 1:45). The Magnificat‹a portrait, so to speak, of her soul‹is entirely
woven from threads of Holy Scripture, threads drawn from the Word of God. Here
we see how completely at home Mary is with the Word of God, with ease she moves
in and out of it. She speaks and thinks with the Word of God; the Word of God
becomes her word, and her word issues from the Word of God. Here we see how her
thoughts are attuned to the thoughts of God, how her will is one with the will
of God. Since Mary is completely imbued with the Word of God, she is able to
become the Mother of the Word Incarnate. Finally, Mary is a woman who loves.
How could it be otherwise? As a believer who in faith thinks with God's
thoughts and wills with God's will, she cannot fail to be a woman who loves. We
sense this in her quiet gestures, as recounted by the infancy narratives in the
Gospel. We see it in the delicacy with which she recognizes the need of the
spouses at Cana and makes it known to Jesus. We see it in the humility with
which she recedes into the background during Jesus' public life, knowing that
the Son must establish a new family and that the Mother's hour will come only
with the Cross, which will be Jesus' true hour (cf. Jn 2:4; 13:1). When the disciples flee, Mary will remain
beneath the Cross (cf. Jn
19:25-27); later, at the hour of Pentecost, it will be they who gather around
her as they wait for the Holy Spirit (cf. Acts 1:14).
42.
The lives of the saints are not limited to their earthly biographies but also
include their being and working in God after death. In the saints one thing
becomes clear: those who draw near to God do not withdraw from men, but rather
become truly close to them. In no one do we see this more clearly than in Mary.
The words addressed by the crucified Lord to his disciple‹to John and through
him to all disciples of Jesus: ³Behold, your mother!² (Jn 19:27)‹are fulfilled anew in every generation. Mary
has truly become the Mother of all believers. Men and women of every time and
place have recourse to her motherly kindness and her virginal purity and grace,
in all their needs and aspirations, their joys and sorrows, their moments of
loneliness and their common endeavours. They constantly experience the gift of
her goodness and the unfailing love which she pours out from the depths of her
heart. The testimonials of gratitude, offered to her from every continent and
culture, are a recognition of that pure love which is not self- seeking but
simply benevolent. At the same time, the devotion of the faithful shows an
infallible intuition of how such love is possible: it becomes so as a result of
the most intimate union with God, through which the soul is totally pervaded by
him‹a condition which enables those who have drunk from the fountain of God's
love to become in their turn a fountain from which ³flow rivers of living
water² (Jn 7:38). Mary, Virgin
and Mother, shows us what love is and whence it draws its origin and its
constantly renewed power. To her we entrust the Church and her mission in the
service of love:
Holy
Mary, Mother of God,
you have given the world its true light,
Jesus, your Son the Son of God.
You abandoned yourself completely
to God's call
and thus became a wellspring
of the goodness which flows forth from
him.
Show us Jesus. Lead us to him.
Teach us to know and love him,
so that we too can become
capable of true love
and be fountains of living water
in the midst of a thirsting world.
Given
in Rome, at Saint Peter's, on 25 December, the Solemnity of the Nativity of the
Lord, in the year 2005, the first of my Pontificate.
BENEDICTUS
PP. XVI
[1]
Cf. Jenseits von Gut und Böse,
IV, 168.
[2]
X, 69.
[3]
Cf. R. Descartes, ‘uvres,
ed. V. Cousin, vol. 12, Paris 1824, pp. 95ff.
[4]
II, 5: SCh 381, 196.
[5] Ibid., 198.
[6]
Cf. Metaphysics, XII, 7.
[7]
Cf. Ps.-Dionysius the Areopagite, who in his treatise The Divine Names, IV, 12-14: PG 3, 709-713 calls God both eros and agape.
[8] Plato,
Symposium, XIV-XV,
189c-192d.
[9]
Sallust, De coniuratione Catilinae, XX, 4.
[10]
Cf. Saint Augustine, Confessions, III, 6, 11: CCL 27, 32.
[11] De
Trinitate, VIII, 8, 12: CCL
50, 287.
[12]
Cf. I Apologia, 67: PG 6,
429.
[13]
Cf. Apologeticum, 39, 7:
PL 1, 468.
[14] Ep.
ad Rom., Inscr: PG 5, 801.
[15]
Cf. Saint Ambrose, De officiis ministrorum, II, 28, 140: PL 16, 141.
[16]
Cf. Ep. 83: J. Bidez,
L'Empereur Julien. ‘uvres complètes, Paris 19602, v. I, 2a, p. 145.
[17]
Cf. Congregation for Bishops, Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops
Apostolorum Successores (22
February 2004), 194, Vatican City 2004, p. 213.
[18] De
Civitate Dei, IV, 4: CCL 47,
102.
[19]
Cf. Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World Gaudium et Spes, 36.
[20]
Cf. Congregation for Bishops, Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops
Apostolorum Successores (22
February 2004), 197, Vatican City 2004, p. 217.
[21]
John Paul II, Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation Christifideles Laici (30 December 1988), 42: AAS 81 (1989), 472.
[22]
Cf. Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Doctrinal Note on Some
Questions Regarding the Participation of Catholics in Political Life (24 November 2002), 1: L'Osservatore Romano, English edition, 22 January 2003, p. 5.
[23] Catechism
of the Catholic Church, 1939.
[24]
Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity Apostolicam Actuositatem, 8.
[25] Ibid., 14.
[26]
Cf. Congregation for Bishops, Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops
Apostolorum Successores (22
February 2004), 195, Vatican City 2004, pp. 214-216.
[27]
Cf. John Paul II, Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation Christifideles Laici (30
December 1988), 41: AAS 81 (1989), 470-472.
[28]
Cf. No. 32: AAS 80 (1988), 556.
[29]
No. 43: AAS 87 (1995), 946.
[30]
Cf. Congregation for Bishops, Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops
Apostolorum Successores (22
February 2004), 196, Vatican City 2004, p. 216.
[31]
Cf. Pontificale Romanum, De ordinatione episcopi, 43.
[32]
Cf. can. 394; Code of Canons of the Eastern Churches, can. 203.
[33]
Cf. Nos. 193-198: pp. 212-219.
[34] Ibid., 194: pp. 213-214.
[35] Sermo
52, 16: PL 38, 360.
[36]
Cf. Sulpicius Severus, Vita Sancti Martini, 3, 1-3: SCh 133, 256-258.
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