Tag: Church History

9 min read

Church History

Who Are Some Overlooked Popes?

Christopher M. Bellito

May 20, 2022 7:01 am May 20, 2022

9 min read

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9 min read

Everyone has heard of the big-name popes. There’s Gregory I the Great (r. 590-604), the first to call himself “servant of the servants of God.” There was the influential canon…

Everyone has heard of the big-name popes.

There’s Gregory I the Great (r. 590-604), the first to call himself “servant of the servants of God.” There was the influential canon lawyer Innocent III (1198-1216), the warrior Julius II (1503-1513), and several popes named Pius, including Popes Pius VI (1775-1799) and VII (1800-1823), both of whom were taken prisoner by the French in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, respectively. More recently, we have the architect of the Second Vatican Council, John XXIII (1958-1963), and then the beloved John Paul II (1978-2005), maybe the next “Great” pope. But of the more than 260 men who succeeded Peter, there are many overlooked popes. While they weren’t all worthy of entry into a hall of fame, there were many who helped save the Church and change the papacy — and are worth meeting.

Consolidating Papal Power

For nearly three centuries, Christianity was an illegal religion in the Roman Empire, so the bishop of Rome could extend his authority beyond his city only rarely. During the fourth century, Roman emperors tolerated and then favored Christianity before finally making it the one, only and official religion of the empire. As a result, the bishop of Rome could now exercise his unique stature as Peter’s successor and extend his influence throughout the known world of Europe and the Mediterranean coast.

Pope Damasus I (366-384) built on what could be considered moments of papal authority in the Church’s early years. He inherited some examples of Roman bishops intervening in situations such as legal disputes, questions of leadership or Church doctrine and rules.

We might even say that he was one of the first “popes” in the sense that he consolidated and centralized papal authority as he acted above and beyond all the other bishops who, until that time, were referred to as papas (Greek for father), too.

Damasus said his decision was the ultimate one in disputed questions and cases, making himself the final court of appeals and asserting he could reverse a decision made by archbishops against bishops under them. He set himself up as arbiter when local or regional councils decided on a doctrinal statement or disciplinary action, claiming that no lower decision was final until he said so. Perhaps Damasus’ most influential decision was to commission Jerome, his secretary, to translate the Bible into Latin. This translation, which came to be called the Vulgate, was the authoritative biblical text for Christianity for centuries, and Jerome is honored as a Doctor of the Church.

A Papal Son

We are sure of at least three papal fathers and sons, but there was only one pair where the son directly followed his father. We should note that this happened at a time when the Church was trying to make clerical celibacy the norm, but priests with sons was not unusual and clearly didn’t stand between a man and the papacy at that time.

Anastasius I (399-401) was succeeded by his son Innocent I (401-417). Pope Innocent declared that nothing done by priests and bishops anywhere, no matter how far from Rome, could be considered to be settled until Rome’s bishop gave his approval or rejection. Once the bishop of Rome, acting with his authority as Peter’s successor, made that approval or switch, there was no higher authority to turn to. He also believed that the way liturgies were celebrated in Rome should be the norm for every other Christian site. As Innocent said, all streams flowed from Rome.

A Good Avignon Pope

From 1309 until 1377, the papacy moved to southern France, to a lovely region called Provence and a city that popes built into a lavish second-city Rome named Avignon. While there were good reasons for the papacy to leave Rome temporarily, the papal Curia became entrenched in what was deemed a nicer location and gained a fairly justified reputation for greed. The Italian humanist Petrarch (1304-1374) visited Avignon and declared it the Babylon of the West, which is why people call this period the Babylonian captivity of the papacy.

Recent scholarship reveals that while these decades were not the highest moments of Church history, the Avignon papacy was far from a rogues’ gallery. One pope stands out. Benedict XII (1335-1342) had a reputation as a strong investigator of heresy. Born Jacques Fournier, he was a spiritual man and a scholar: a member of the ascetic Cistercian order with a theology doctorate from the University of Paris, the most prestigious school of theology in the Church at the time. He was especially concerned with improving the quality of Church leaders: we find no evidence of nepotism in his record, and he instituted more rigorous examination of candidates for high offices.

Pope Benedict fought absenteeism by sending home any priest or bishop in Avignon whose primary job was being a pastor somewhere else. At the same time, it seems he gave up the idea of returning to Rome: he built a huge fortresslike palace, transferred the papal archives to Avignon and reserved for himself many appointments, which had previously been left on the local level, to prevent corruption.

The Humanist Pope

Nicholas V (1447-1455) reigned when the papacy was trying hard to regain its footing after the setbacks of the Avignon papacy and the Great Western Schism. Originally Tommaso Parentucelli, as a young man, he was right in the middle of the Renaissance flowering of art, architecture and literature in the key city of Florence, Italy.

Pope Nicholas did much to restore not only the papacy but Rome as its vibrant heart. He made 1450 a jubilee year, which rejuvenated the city’s economy. Led by Nicholas’ example, Roman families were generous patrons to painters, sculptors, architects, engineers, tapestry designers, weavers and metalsmiths. Nicholas was also interested in the written word and essentially established the Vatican Library.

Pope Nicholas collected Greek and Latin manuscripts, often directing that other documents in different languages be rendered into Latin for the archives. He used money gained during the jubilee year to send agents throughout Europe and the Mediterranean to find, buy or copy manuscripts.

Even the very word Vatican that we use as shorthand for what the pope and Roman Curia are doing gained new meaning because of Pope Nicholas. The papal home and headquarters had for over a millennium been in and around the Lateran basilica and palace, which the Roman emperor Constantine donated in the early fourth century. Nicholas moved the papal offices to the Vatican hill in Rome, in part because of its historic connection with Peter, the site of whose death and burial had been marked there for centuries.

Not only did he relocate the papal bureaucracy there, but, as part of his program to recover papal prestige and burnish its reputation, he made the decision to build a new St. Peter’s Basilica, which eventually became the structure standing there now.

The Unlikely Reformer

One would think that a 25-year-old cardinal who received the honor of a red hat because his sister was a papal mistress would be the last person leading efforts to reform the Church, but that’s just what happened with Pope Paul III (1534-1549). Born Alessandro Farnese to a powerful family, he lived the typical, if distressing, life of some Renaissance cardinals. Not long after being elected pope, he named two of his teenaged grandsons cardinals and gave other offices to his family members.

But while at the same time guilty of nepotism, something changed in the man. His mind turned toward reform in the years just after Martin Luther posted his 95 Theses in 1517. As pope, he appointed reform-minded cardinals to the Curia and brought churchmen from outside Roman circles to prepare a report on what was wrong in the Church, knowing that a perspective from afar was needed to break up the entrenched in-house mentality of protecting the home office.

Although Pope Paul III could not move against the papal bureaucracy as quickly or completely as he would have liked, he still set into motion the reform mindset that would result with the Council of Trent, which first met during his papacy in 1545. He also looked forward to the future of Catholicism even as those around him counseled retrenchment against Protestantism.

Pope Paul encouraged innovative religious orders, such as the Ursulines (founded in 1535 by St. Angela Merici), with their ministry to poor girls, and the Jesuits (approved by Pope Paul in 1540), deeply involved in evangelization, missions, education and the Catholic Reformation.

Resurrecting Peter

Pope Sixtus V (1585-1590) was another builder pope who responded to the Protestant rejection of the papacy by resurrecting the importance of Peter and his successors as vicars of Christ. Born Felici Peretti, he continued building the new St. Peter’s Basilica, and it was during his pontificate, in fact, that the dome of the basilica was finally completed. He likewise reorganized the Curia into fifteen permanent congregations headed by cardinals, a system that is still in existence. He also tied the current Church in with its historic past in Rome by celebrating Lenten liturgies in the city’s oldest churches, where they had first been observed. As one of his preachers said, “O blessed are we, we who behold today living and breathing that ancient form of the Church.”

In a real sense, it is Sixtus V’s city that pilgrims continue to visit — the city of Peter and his successors.

Christopher M. Bellitto is associate professor of history at Kean University in Union, N.J. He is the author of “Church History 101: A Concise Overview” (Liguori Publications, 2008) and “101 Questions and Answers on Popes and the Papacy” (Paulist Press, 2008).

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8 min read

The Church

What is heraldry in the Catholic Church?

Michael R. Heinlein

May 18, 2022 7:15 am May 18, 2022

8 min read

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8 min read

Ecclesiastical heraldry is both familiar and mysterious. Frequently seen in one form or another, coats of arms pervade our Catholic culture in numerous ways: on letters and newspapers, diocesan websites…

Ecclesiastical heraldry is both familiar and mysterious.

Frequently seen in one form or another, coats of arms pervade our Catholic culture in numerous ways: on letters and newspapers, diocesan websites and Twitter pages, in Roman churches and diocesan cathedrals. Most Catholics, though, are unaware of the significance of this time-honored practice.

Steeped in tradition, ecclesiastical heraldry is a regulated system of self-identification, adopted by the Church from medieval society, which operates as a science and an art form with its own rules and regulations.

A heraldic achievement, also called a coat of arms, is permitted lawfully for those who occupy ecclesiastical office — for example, popes, cardinals, archbishops, bishops, monsignors, priests, religious superiors such as abbots and abbesses — as well as ecclesiastical territories and institutions — for example, dioceses, religious orders, papal knighthoods, basilicas, cathedrals, parish churches, schools and other Catholic institutions. While heraldry runs the risk of being seen as haughty or pompous, in reality it simply seeks to graphically herald (or announce) — in color and symbol — who and what the bearer is.

Identification

The use of artistic elements to identify personages, locations and possessions first existed in pre-Christian societies. Pharaohs of ancient Egypt offer one of the earliest precursors of heraldic practices. Their various holdings of goods and properties were identified with the symbols found in the cartouche, an oval symbol containing personal hieroglyphics with a distinct line at the bottom indicating royalty. Likewise, the Book of Numbers provides evidence that standards and symbols were used by the tribes of the nomadic Israelites in early biblical times (see 1:2,18,52).

The papal coat of arms of Pope Benedict XVI (2005-2013). Shutterstock

Modern heraldry finds its origins with the Battle of Hastings in 1066 — illustrated in the famous Bayeux Tapestry — when knights concealed by battle armor were first identified with decorated shields. Later developments incorporated the shield design into body coats, banners and even coverings for horses. These coats of arms subsequently became synonymous with the knight’s family, especially following the Third Crusade (1189-92). The shape and character of ecclesiastical heraldry are closely tied to these developments since the Church adopted many of the customs and traditions of the culture.

As feudal and belligerent Europe shifted into the structures of nobility and royalty, familial arms were used much as in ancient Egypt — to identify themselves and their possessions. Similar measures of personal identification were incorporated into items such as seals (often part of rings), which were legally mandated for use on documents and letters as a means to provide authenticity and prevent forgery.

Because noble status and property was inherited by the oldest son through primogeniture, the youngest son was typically offered for service in the Church. Familial arms continued to be used by those appointed to such ecclesiastical positions of jurisdiction and authority, although they were typically modified for ecclesiastical use by removing warlike symbols. Many sources indicate that the first bishop known to do so was Guy of Vergy, bishop of Autun in the early 13th century. A personal papal coat of arms — other than just the standard tiara and keys indicative of papal office — was first used during the pontificate of Pope Martin V (1417-31). Use of heraldry by all ecclesiastical officeholders became a standardized means of self-identification beginning in the 17th century.

Heraldry’s Rules

Because a coat of arms seeks to identify its bearer, each must be unique — like a passport or Social Security number. Therefore, offices and methods for documentation and legislation for both secular and ecclesiastical heraldry were established, the most notable and enduring secular example being the College of Arms established in England by King Richard III in 1484. Initial codification of heraldry in the Church coincided with widespread practice by the 17th century through a system of ecclesiastical headgear developed by French heraldist and printer Pierre Palliot.

Although the jurisprudence of secular heraldry significantly weighs upon the Church’s heraldic tradition, it was also shaped by the development of doctrinal, liturgical and canonical factors. The Church itself began to systematically regulate her heraldry in 1905, with Pope St. Pius X’s establishment of the Heraldry Commission of the Roman Curia, an office abolished in 1960 by Pope St. John XXIII.

The papal coat of arms of Pope St. John Paul II (1978-2005). He was the last pope to adopt the triple tiara of the popes. Shutterstock

At the end of the subsequent decade, with the approval of Pope Paul VI, three specialists published Rubrica Araldica Vaticana — the compendium of rules governing ecclesiastical heraldry today. Likewise, the Vatican Secretariat of State issued Ut sive sollicite in 1969, a brief instruction on coats of arms and other honorifics for cardinals, bishops and other prelates. Current scholarly interest in the field is reinforced by the laudable and exhaustive 2014 manual of ecclesiastical heraldry published by Cardinal Andrea Cordero Lanza di Montezemolo, a leading heraldic authority and designer of Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI’s coat of arms.

An equally significant aspect of heraldry’s regulations is the centuries’ old linguistic components governing it. In effect, heraldry has its own language.

Even today, the artistic rendering of a coat of arms is accompanied by a lengthy explanation written in blazon — heraldry’s own language. Coming from a word from French for “shield,” blazon combines terms of Old English and French resulting in a language with a distinctive word order, vocabulary and grammar. Blazon describes a coat of arms with such detail that it is possible to be artistically reproduced by anyone familiar with the lexicon. Coats of arms are described in Latin from the bearer’s point of view, left and right for the viewer correspondingly are called dexter and sinister.

A coat of arms for each ecclesiastical order, office, rank or institution contains several symbolic elements. External elements to the coat of arms describe what office and jurisdiction the bearer holds, while interior elements describe the bearer.

Starting at the uppermost part, replacing the knight’s helmet or monarch’s crown on the crest of secular arms, most ecclesiastical arms are topped with a galero — a hat now only used in ceremonial depictions.

The unique and central part of any coat of arms is the shield. Most shields for cardinals and bishops are impaled — a combination of two parts often indicating occupation of an office — in which the arms of the bearer’s diocese are seen on the left and personal arms are on the right. Examples of those bearing only their personal arms are titular bishops such as auxiliaries, some cardinals and officials in the Roman Curia or cardinals not ordained as bishops. Behind a bishop’s shield is a processional cross denoting rank in the episcopate: one horizontal bar indicates a bishop or two indicates an archbishop. The cross is replaced by a crosier for those with ordinary jurisdiction who are not bishops, such as abbots or the ordinaries of the Anglican Ordinariates. Because they occupy positions of jurisdiction, male and female religious superiors are entitled to bear a coat of arms, although the only one of those which might be impaled is an abbot’s with the arms of his abbey.

The coat of arms of Cardinal Angelo Scola, Archbishop of Milan since 2012, and previously the Patriarch of Venice. Shutterstock

A quick glance at a coat of arms, then, provides important information. Looking at the coat of arms of Cardinal Angelo Scola depicted on Page 28, the following facts about him can be deduced by reading his coat of arms: The coat of arms is topped with a red galero, indicating he is a cardinal; there is a processional cross with two horizontal bars, indicating he is a metropolitan archbishop; there is an impaled shield, indicating he is the ordinary bishop of his archdiocese.

Personal aspects of a shield also incorporate elements of the bearer’s life, often depicting symbols representative of their particular devotions or patron saints, life events or genealogy. Additionally, below the shield is a motto chosen by the bearer, typically from Scripture.

Michael R. Heinlein is editor of Simply Catholic. Follow him on Twitter @HeinleinMichael.

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1 min read

Church History

How Is Someone Named a Doctor of the Church?

Msgr. Charles E. Pope

May 4, 2022 8:05 am May 4, 2022

1 min read

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1 min read

The Doctors of the Church are teachers of the faith who have demonstrated exemplary holiness and have deepened the whole Church’s understanding of the Catholic faith. They must be officially…

The Doctors of the Church are teachers of the faith who have demonstrated exemplary holiness and have deepened the whole Church’s understanding of the Catholic faith. They must be officially declared doctors by a papal proclamation. Such men and women also are known particularly for the depth of understanding and the orthodoxy of their theological teachings.

Though their teachings are not infallible, being a “doctor” means that they contributed significantly to the formulation of Christian teaching in at least one significant area in a way that has impacted later generations.

Through the Middle Ages, the title and process of being named a doctor remained a fluid and informal one. In the 13th century, however, the Church formalized the process by which the Church could honor persons with the title and then put out the first official list of Doctors of the Church.

There are three requirements for being named a Doctor of the Church. First is great sanctity. Thus only those who have already been declared to be saints by the Church may be named a doctor. A second requirement is eminent learning. This is often demonstrated by the fact that they were known to be great teachers of the Faith. The third requirement is a proclamation by the Church. Usually, such proclamation is made by the pope.

Msgr. Charles E. Pope is a priest of the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C.

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12 min read

Relics

Shroud of Turin: Evidence of Jesus’ Resurrection?

Father Robert Spitzer

April 19, 2022 7:00 am April 19, 2022

12 min read

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12 min read

The Shroud of Turin is a burial shroud (a linen cloth woven in a 3-over-1 [3:1] herringbone pattern) measuring 14 feet 3 inches in length by 3 feet 7 inches…

The Shroud of Turin is a burial shroud (a linen cloth woven in a 3-over-1 [3:1] herringbone pattern) measuring 14 feet 3 inches in length by 3 feet 7 inches in width. It apparently covered a man who suffered the wounds of crucifixion in a way very similar to that recorded for Jesus of Nazareth.

The cloth has a certifiable history from 1349, when it surfaced in Lirey, France, in the hands of a French nobleman — Geoffrey de Charny. It also has a somewhat sketchy traceable history from Jerusalem to Lirey — through Edessa, Turkey and Constantinople. This history is confirmed by the pollen grains found by Max Frei, the coincidences between the Shroud and the Sudarium (facecloth) of Oviedo, and the coincidences between the Shroud’s seven unique facial features and those attributed to the Mandylion — the Holy Image of Edessa.

The Shroud has undergone considerably more scientific testing than any other relic in human history. The 1978 Shroud of Turin Research Project (STURP) investigation and subsequent investigations were remarkably thorough, and with the exception of the questionable 1988 carbon dating, all the evidence points to it being the burial cloth of Jesus, including the following:

I. Four contemporary dating tests: The vanillin dating test of Dr. Raymond Rogers, the two spectroscopic analyses (of professor Giulio Fanti, et al.), and the compressibility and breaking strength tests (of Fanti, et al.) date the Shroud to a time commensurate with the life and crucifixion of Jesus.

II. Three kinds of extrinsic dating evidence: (A) Testing of pollen samples by Dr. Max Frei who collected dust samples from the Shroud during the 1978 STURP investigation and later classified 58 pollen grains by comparing them to pollen grains in the largest botanical museums around the world. His conclusion was that the majority (45) were from the region of Israel (specifically from sedimentary layers from 2,000 years ago near the area of the Sea of Galilee), with six grains from the eastern Middle East (two grains from Edessa, Turkey, and one growing exclusively in Istanbul/Constantinople). The remaining grains came from France and Italy. Importantly, 13 of the pollen grains are unique to Israel and are found at the bottom of both the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea. (B) Roman coins on the eyes of the image on the Shroud, which give evidence that it’s highly probable that the image of the man on the Shroud of Turin has two Jewish lepta, minted in A.D. 29 by Pontius Pilate in Judea at the time of Jesus, on his eyelids. (C) One-hundred twenty coincidences of blood and fluid stains between the Shroud and the Sudarium of Oviedo give evidence of a date and location of the Shroud’s origin similar to that of Jesus.

III. The blood stains on the Shroud: The blood stains tell a story very similar to the highly unusual crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth — they were imprinted on the Shroud before the image was made (the opposite of what would need to be done by a forger). The Shroud has deposits of real human blood, according to the experts who studied the blood flecks gathered on the STURP tapes in 1978. They determined that the blood on the Shroud is real. Some researchers have found that male DNA and an AB blood type are also present on the cloth. Though genetic testing confirms these findings, there is no guarantee that they belong to the man on the Shroud.

IV. Formation of the image on the Shroud: The image was not formed by dyes, chemicals, vapors or scorching. The only known explanation for the formation of the image is an intense burst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation (equivalent to the output of 14,000 excimer lasers) emitted from every three-dimensional point of the body in the Shroud.

The combination of the above evidence is exceedingly difficult to explain in any way other than the burial cloth is that of Jesus of Nazareth. Moreover, the formation of the image by an intense outburst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation is suggestive of a resurrection event similar to that described in the Gospels. The above scientific evidence requires that a new carbon-dating test be done which observes the standard protocols for sampling. When these protocols are observed, it would be surprising if the result was not similar to the results of the four new dating methods mentioned above — approximately A.D. 50. If this result is obtained, it would indicate that the Shroud of Turin is very likely the burial shroud of Jesus Christ with evidence suggestive of His resurrection in light.

Evidence?

While we currently do not have a definitive explanation for how this unique and mysterious image was created from the body of a deceased man, the most plausible current hypothesis comes from a combination of two teams of researchers.

Dr. John Jackson’s team studied the Shroud and proposed the vacuum ultraviolet radiation hypothesis in 2008.

According to Jackson, an intense burst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation produced a discoloration on the uppermost surface of the Shroud’s fibrils (without scorching it), which gave rise to a perfect three-dimensional negative image of both the frontal and dorsal parts of the body wrapped in it.

Currently, we know of no natural explanation for the seemingly unique occurrence of such a burst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation from either a decomposing body or the geological/atmospheric conditions within a tomb. Though this is suggestive of a possible supernatural origin of the radiation — perhaps as a part of Jesus’ resurrection — we cannot prove this scientifically, because we cannot construct a scientific test for a supernatural cause — all we can do is eliminate every known natural cause of this seemingly unique radiation. The uniqueness and current inexplicability of this phenomenon gives us reason to believe that God has given us evidence of Jesus’ resurrection. This belief can be strengthened by further understanding of the light phenomenon that seems to be the source of the image as well as the continued elimination of natural causes for it. The most convincing seems to be the hypothesis of Jackson.

Research

The research of the 1978 STURP investigation, as well as subsequent research of Jackson, Fanti, Paolo Di Lazzaro and their teams, shows the likelihood that sometime after the blood deposits had dried on the Shroud the decomposing body in the Shroud emitted a short intense burst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation that led to a dehydration and discoloration of the frontal and dorsal parts of the Shroud, giving rise to a perfect photographic negative image. Jackson’s research also suggests that the body inside the Shroud became mechanically transparent and emitted light evenly from every three-dimensional point within it. This allowed the frontal part of the Shroud to collapse — creating an image (of both the inside and outside of the hands) as well as a double image on the frontal part of the Shroud.

Currently, the known laws of physics cannot explain how a decomposing body can emit an intense burst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation. Furthermore, they cannot explain how such a body could become mechanically transparent and emit light from every three-dimensional point within it.

So, where does that leave us? If Jackson’s explanation continues to be the only one to explain away the enigmas, and if future articulations of the laws of physics cannot explain how a decomposing body could become mechanically transparent and evenly emit vacuum ultraviolet radiation from every three-dimensional point within it, then we are left at the brink of a trans-physical or metaphysical explanation. Under these conditions, it would be both reasonable and responsible to believe that a trans-physical cause interacted with the decomposing body to transform it into an intense burst of light.

Evidently, we cannot scientifically prove a trans-physical cause, because science is restricted to the domain of physical causation. However, if the above conditions hold, we can reasonably infer the possibility and perhaps the likelihood of such a trans-physical cause. This is sufficient for reasonable and responsible belief.

Does this trans-physical explanation of the Shroud’s image point to the resurrection of Jesus? Jesus’ resurrection was not a resuscitation of a material corpse but rather a transforming event which gave rise to what St. Paul called a “spiritual body” — a body transformed in glory, spirit and power. Could this transformation of a material body into a burst of intense light signify a beginning point of the transformation of Jesus’ body from a physical one to a spiritual-glorified one? Though there can be no scientific proof of this, it is a reasonable inference from the parallels between the explanation of the Shroud’s enigmatic image and the testimony of St. Paul and the Gospel writers. In this sense, we might say that the image on the Shroud presents a clue — even a relic — of Jesus’ resurrection.

Conclusion

Why would we think the body in the Shroud was that of Jesus? As explained above, it is exceedingly improbable that the Shroud is a medieval forgery. First, there are no paints, dyes or other pigments on the Shroud (except for the small flecks coming from the sanctification of icons and paintings which touched it).

Second, the anatomical precision of the blood stains — which are real human blood that congealed on the Shroud before the formation of the image — are in precise anatomical correlation to the image itself. How could a medieval forger have accomplished this?

Third, it is exceedingly difficult to explain how pollen grains indigenous to Palestine appeared in abundance on a shroud of probable Semitic origin (if it originated in medieval Europe) and how coins minted in A.D. 29 in Palestine appeared on the eyes of the man on the Shroud. How could a medieval forger have duplicated these first-century Palestinian characteristics of the Shroud?

Fourth, the five enigmas of the image on the Shroud almost certainly preclude a forgery. How could a medieval forger have used vacuum ultraviolet radiation to discolor the cloth on the uppermost surface of the fibrils? How could he have created a perfect photographic negative image? How could he have created a double image on the frontal part of the Shroud? And how could he have known how to duplicate the interior and exterior of the hands in perfect proportion to each other? Thus it does not seem reasonable or responsible to believe that the Shroud is a medieval forgery.

Three Last Points

Beyond this, there are three probative kinds of evidence pointing specifically to Jesus’place and time of origin and to His unique crucifixion and resurrection:

The material of the Shroud, the pollen grains on it and the coins on the man’s eyes all have their origin in first-century Palestine — the place where Jesus was purported to have died.

The blood stains come from a crucifixion event identical to the one described in the four Gospels — which was very unusual, if not unique, in many respects — such as being crowned with thorns, being flogged and being pierced with a Roman pilum (spear).

The five enigmas of the Shroud’s image point to a trans-physically caused burst of vacuum ultraviolet radiation from a mechanically transparent body. This is suggestive of the transformation of Jesus’ body from a physical one to a spiritual-glorified one (as reported by St. Paul and the four Gospels).

The spiritual-glorified transformation of Jesus’ body was unique to the Christian view of resurrection. It was not known in Judaism (which held to a resuscitation of the flesh) or pagan cults (which held to ethereal or ghostlike views of immortality). Thus the enigmas on the Shroud’s image point to the uniquely Christian view of resurrection implied by Jesus’ risen appearance.

The odds of this first-century Palestinian burial shroud — with the unique features of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection — being that of anyone else is exceedingly remote. Inasmuch as the image is not a forgery, and that it originated from a real person living at the time of Jesus, crucified in the unique way of Jesus, and producing a burst of intense vacuum ultraviolet radiation from his decomposing body, who else would it be? Given all this, we might reasonably infer that the Shroud is the burial cloth of Jesus, which contains not only a relic of His crucifixion but also His resurrection in glory. If so, it shows both the truth of the most significant event in human history as well as the accuracy of the Gospel accounts of it.

Father Robert J. Spitzer, Ph.D., is a Jesuit priest currently serving as president of the Magis Center in Garden Grove, California. A prolific author, he also appears weekly on EWTN’s “Father Spitzer’s Universe.”

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7 min read

Scripture

What We Believe, Part 16: The Biggest Meeting in the World

Father Joshua J. Whitfield

March 15, 2022 8:03 am March 15, 2022

7 min read

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7 min read

What was the scope and work of the Second Vatican Council? John W. O’Malley’s excellent book, “What Happened at Vatican II,” explains that the council “was quite possibly the biggest…

What was the scope and work of the Second Vatican Council? John W. O’Malley’s excellent book, “What Happened at Vatican II,” explains that the council “was quite possibly the biggest meeting in the history of the world” (p.18). As such, it’s helpful here to take a moment to grasp its massive size and range. Nothing like it has ever been seen in the history of Christianity.

Vatican II was opened on Oct. 11, 1962, and was concluded on Dec. 8, 1965. Held over four 10-week sessions, it was convened in successive autumns, augmented by innumerable public sessions and working sessions. Bishops and other religious leaders taking part in the council came from all over the world to deliberate and vote in formal council sessions, usually on what, earlier that spring, theologians and prelates had argued about in lectures, in working papers and behind the scenes. It was a long, complicated, at-times chaotic and dramatic process. Yves Congar, a great theological voice and influence during the council, wrote in his journal at its start that the council obviously had “no working method.” He wrote, “We are at sea.”

From one point of view, the council was the Church at its most bureaucratically banal. It was also a mix of the human and the spiritual, and Congar repeatedly talked about its mystical side. He wrote, “I see that a Council goes through phases of shadow and sunlight. I believe the Holy Spirit. He makes use of people” (My Journal of the Council, 10 November 1962; 26 November 1962).

As Congar made clear, when thinking about the Second Vatican Council, as we said before, one mustn’t see it just as some isolated moment in history but as something of the Spirit. The council was a very human and at times imperfect endeavor, but still it was an endeavor of the Church. Remembering here that the Church’s DNA contained in John 17 helps us think about Vatican II. Jesus promised his disciples — even today’s disciples — the power of glory and love. Thus, this gathering of the Church was a spiritual gathering before all else; and so, to understand it at all, one must understand it spiritually.

But what was this council specifically to be about? Through his Secretary of State, Cardinal Tardini, John XXIII sent out, believe it or not, a questionnaire. “The Venerable Pontiff wants to know the opinions or views … of their excellencies, the bishops,” Tardini wrote. Since there was no urgent crisis to address, Tardini needed their suggestions “in preparing the topics to be discussed at the council.” They were invited to respond “with complete freedom and honesty.” The door was open to talk about anything, and Rome actually got mountains of stuff back from this questionnaire — 2,598 opinions were solicited, gathering 1,998 responses. Some bishops answered with only a page, others sent back book-length tomes. Almost 3,000 invitations were sent out all over the world. Bishops, prelates and other religious leaders from 116 countries participated. Europe and the Americas counted for 70% of that participation. The Americans largely paid for it. If there was an ecumenical council called today, the demographics would obviously be quite different. German theologian Karl Rahner, an influential figure at the council, said once that at Vatican II the Church finally became a “World Church” (Karl Rahner, “I Remember,” 89). At any one time, 2,400 council fathers participated; overall, 2,860 people participated in Vatican II. By contrast, only 750 people participated in Vatican I and only anywhere from 29 to over 200 people participated in the Council of Trent. When Vatican II was in session, there may have been 5,000 to 10,000 people in Rome solely on council business. Rome during that time was a busy and bustling place. St. Peter’s Basilica was transformed into a forum that dwarfed houses of parliaments and congresses. There was even a bar in the nave behind the seats called Bar Jonah!

Three lay “auditors” spoke at the council, and although there were 15 women serving as auditors, none of them spoke. Among the theological experts present — the periti — some were among the greatest theologians of their time and of the century. One such peritus was Joseph Ratzinger, the future Pope Benedict XVI. Also, there were theologians like the aforementioned Yves Congar, though never formally a peritus, as well as Henri de Lubac and Karl Rahner. Many great theologians added their brains, hearts and words to the council by serving as careful writers of many of the council’s documents.

A global news event, 1,000 press passes were issued to the council. News from the sessions made the headlines — one thinks of Francis Murphy’s essays for the New Yorker under the nom de plume Xavier Rynne. Among the non-Catholic observers were Protestant theologians and leaders from all over the world. One of my teachers at Duke, the late Geoffrey Wainwright, a Methodist systematic theologian, was an observer. Other Protestant theologians like Albert Outler from Southern Methodist University and Oscar Cullman were also observers. And their presence was particularly important and mattered a great deal to John XXIII. One anecdote illustrates this. In typical Roman Catholic institutional fashion, at one session the Protestant observers were put in the corner behind a pillar. Why? Because they were Protestants of course. Yet, when John XXIII noticed, he stopped everything and moved all the Protestant observers to the very front, giving them the best seats in the house. When one Protestant observer later said to John XXIII, “Now I see why it can be a good thing to have a Pope!” the pope replied, “Now my Council really begins!” Again, remember he called the council on Jan. 25 at the end of the old Christian Unity Octave. He knew what he was doing!

On paper, the result of Vatican II was a lot of documents — over 3,000 pages of Latin texts. These documents were categorized into four constitutions, nine decrees, and three declarations. The constitutions were to be the most important, the decrees less so and the declarations even less. However, once published, each document took on a life of its own. Some are clearly dated — interesting, but a product of the time. Some are the most beautiful theological texts produced in the 20th century. Speaking personally, these documents helped me discover Catholicism because they described a faith and a Church that I simply thought beautiful and biblically complete. The descriptions of the Church in Lumen gentium (on the Church) and Unitatis redintegratio (on Christian unity) moved me deeply. Sacrosanctum concilium (on liturgy) articulated for me, in biblically rich clarity, just what it is we Christians do when we gather to worship God. Dei verbum (on Scripture) helped me think clearly about how tradition and the Bible relate. The last constitution, Gaudium et spes (on how the Church lives in the world) — a controversial text then and still today for some — articulates as best as it could at the time that tense, creative relationship.

These, of course, are just some of the texts of the council, and they deserve more of our attention. But, for now, remember that to understand what we believe as Catholics, to understand the Church, we must explore and understand the Second Vatican Council — the expression of Catholicism in our time.

Father Joshua J. Whitfield is pastor of St. Rita Catholic Community in Dallas and author of “The Crisis of Bad Preaching” (Ave Maria Press, $17.95) and other books. Read more from the series here.

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What We Believe, Part 15: The Characteristics of Vatican II

Father Joshua J. Whitfield

March 8, 2022 8:09 am March 8, 2022

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9 min read

Why did Pope St. John XXIII call the Second Vatican Council? And what was the Council about? Taking stock of the state of theology and the life of the Church…

Why did Pope St. John XXIII call the Second Vatican Council? And what was the Council about? Taking stock of the state of theology and the life of the Church in the 20th century, one could suggest several reasons. At the end of the day, though, it should be remembered and taken seriously that John XXIII claimed the Holy Spirit’s inspiration for calling the Council. It is quite reasonable to suggest — and also helpful to remember — this: that Vatican II was the work of the Spirit.

Before exploring the answer to this question any further, though, we should admit that Vatican II, even today, evokes a wide range of emotions. Some, for instance, think Vatican II the worst thing to happen to the Church. With it came innovations and departures from the ancient faith so horrific, it’s claimed, that many have broken away or fallen away from the Church because of it. However, on the other end, others think Vatican II changed all the mean and nasty things about Catholicism, freeing modern Catholics to be good secular liberals unbothered by a primitive creed. Here, people talk about things like the “spirit of Vatican II” but without being able to tell you where in the documents of Vatican II it says exactly what they’re saying, because it turns out they’ve not really read the documents.

These, obviously, are two extreme reactions to Vatican II, found more and more on the margins of Catholic experience these days, yet still very much present in the Church. The truth of the matter, though, is that to understand Vatican II, one must accept it as an ecumenical council of the Catholic Church and that the teaching of Vatican II is expressed faithfully in the Council’s documents themselves. That is, the “spirit of Vatican II” is found in the documents themselves, read and interpreted within the communion of the Church. Thus, to understand Vatican II genuinely, as well as modern Catholicism, one must become familiar with the Council’s documents — reading them well. And you don’t have to be a theologian to do that; you just have to know how to read.

But still, what was the Council about? Speaking personally, as a former Anglican, I’ve always thought it to be significant that the Council was called on Jan. 25 — the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. You see, this feast concludes the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, a week in which Christians worldwide pray for the reunification of Christian believers. It was begun as the “Christian Unity Octave” by Father Paul Wattson and the Society of the Atonement just after he and other members of the society converted to Catholicism from the Episcopal Church. This “Christian Unity Octave” by the 1920s and 1930s would be celebrated all over the Catholic world; by midcentury, Protestant bodies too would join in this endeavor of prayer. And so, that John XXIII called Vatican II at this time hints at what he hoped would be a major focus of the Council — healing the unity of Christians. Remember John 17.

But, of course, there was much more to it than that. Exploring the “why” of Vatican II, one place to begin is to read John XXIII’s opening address to the Council from October 1962. “Our duty is not only to guard this precious treasure,” he said, “but to dedicate ourselves with an earnest will and without fear to that work which our era demands of us.” His hope was that the Church would offer a fresh presentation of the Catholic faith in “perfect conformity to the authentic doctrine.” Making use of modern “methods of research” and embracing “the literary forms of modern thought,” the pope wanted the Church to speak clearly to the modern world, which he made clear necessitated a rethinking. For the “substance of the ancient doctrine of the deposit of faith is one thing, and the way in which it is presented is another.” Now what John XXIII was saying is that it’s not the Faith that’s changing, but the presentation of the Faith. He said the Church must think about the delivery of the Faith, finding ways to articulate the Faith in a reasonable, sophisticated manner that is neither fideism nor fundamentalism. John XXIII had a great deal of trust in the reasonableness of faith. The Church wasn’t meant to retreat from the world; quite the contrary. The Council’s task was to take the deposit of faith and deliver it to the world in an authentic way, without intellectual cowardice or bravado but, he said, in a “predominantly pastoral” way. That is, Vatican II wasn’t primarily about articulating theology or doctrine — as, say, in the Council of Nicaea when the fathers articulated the divinity of Christ (homoousios) — but about the pastoral articulation of the Faith.

One feature, different from other ecumenical councils, indicating this new pastoral approach is that Vatican II communicated in an entirely new idiom. It promulgated no disciplinary canons, for example, although it did inaugurate the revision of the Code of Canon Law that would come to fruition in 1983. Vatican II pronounced no anathemas as did the Council of Trent. The tone of the documents of Vatican II are completely different. They are persuasive and evocative — conversational. That is, the texts are dialogical. Gaudium et spes — the Council’s Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World — for example, reads like an invitation to the world to talk about truth, goodness and peace. It’s a profoundly hopeful and open document, not defensive or condemning.

John O’Malley’s indispensable book on the Council, “What Happened at Vatican II,” notes the common characteristics of Vatican II summed up in three concepts — aggiornamento, the development of doctrine and ressourcement. The first idea, and the one associated most readily with Vatican II is aggiornamento, which can mean “updating” or “refreshing.” It means something like what John XXIII meant when he said he wanted to “open the windows of the Church and let some fresh air in.” It’s what he talked about in his opening address — not changing the Faith at all but refreshing it, updating it.

The other characteristic of Vatican II — the development of doctrine — is an idea associated with the work of St. John Henry Newman, who is in a sense one of the intellectual fathers of Vatican II. He wasn’t present at the Council. He had been dead for 70 years by the time it began. One of the most famous modern converts to Catholicism — from the Church of England — he was a great theologian and man of letters. His book, “An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine,” which he wrote while still in the process of converting to Catholicism, made a simple but profound observation about the Christian faith. And that is — although there is the deposit of faith, revealed truth from Scripture and the Holy Spirit — the articulation of the faith develops over time. Now this idea for many was and remains controversial. Fundamentalists, of course, hate it. Many Eastern Orthodox theologians don’t much care for it either. But Newman’s point was basically this: Christian doctrine is sharpened, better articulated, and is expressed more clearly as it needs to be over time. Take, for example, the dogma of the Trinity. We believe that God is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. However, that dogma wasn’t fully articulated until 381. Why? Because, as Newman pointed out, there wasn’t any reason to articulate it fully until a fight broke out about it. The Church articulated definitively the full divinity of Christ only when Arius started causing trouble by questioning it. And after Nicaea, people were questioning the divinity of the Holy Spirit — they were called pneumatomachians, meaning “Spirit-fighters” — forcing the Church to articulate more clearly her belief in the Holy Spirit. And so, as history progresses, doctrine is better articulated. That’s what Newman meant by “development,” and it was an idea fundamental to Vatican II.

The last concept intrinsic to council, ressourcement, came about from around the turn of the 20th century, among theologians mainly in France who started doing theology in a new way. This new way — associated with Jesuits like Henri de Lubac and Gaston Fessard and Dominicans such as Marie-Dominique Chenu and Yves Congar — came to be called nouvelle théologie. But it was a way of doing theology that really wasn’t new at all; it was just different for its time. Sarah Shortall’s book, “Soldiers of God in a Secular World,” tells the story of this important theological movement. Neo-Scholasticism dominated theology in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and that was theology done propositionally, so to speak. That is, one defined terms and logically placed one’s propositions in logical order. The theologians of this nouvelle théologie, however, were committed to ressourcement, which simply means “return to the sources.” To understand the deposit of the faith and to articulate it theologically, these theologians went back to Scripture and to the early Fathers of the Church. Essentially, their method was this: If you want to know something about the Eucharist — for instance, transubstantiation — how should you study it? Well, you begin with the sources, with the Eucharist as it’s treated in Scripture. Then you explore what the early theologians believed and taught; then study the eucharistic controversies of the 10th century, and so on. By that method, exploring the sources of the Christian faith, a person can better understand what the Church means when it uses the word “transubstantiation.” And that’s better than simply taking a word and defining it in unhistorical abstraction — like “transubstantiation is X.” You see the difference? Ressourcement is a return to the sources that better helps us understand how ideas took shape within history. And it was a new way of doing theology in the first half of the 20th century, and one which shaped not just Vatican II but the whole of modern Catholicism.

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