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<div>At the Transfiguration, the apostles seemed to know that the persons conversing with Jesus were Moses and Elijah. How?</div><div>The Gospels do not explain how the disciples were able to recognize Moses and Elijah at the Transfiguration, so any answer is a guess.
Possible ways the disciples were able to recognize <a href="https://www.catholic.com/encyclopedia/moses">Moses</a> and <a href="https://www.catholic.com/encyclopedia/elias">Elijah</a>:
<ul>
<li>Jesus referred to them by name in his conversation with them, and the disciples overheard it.</li>
<li>The disciples overheard the conversation, and the context informed them with whom Jesus was speaking.</li>
<li>They had something unique about their appearance that made them readily recognizable (Exodus 34:29; 2 Kings 1:8).</li>
<li>There was some sort of heavenly announcement that wasn&#8217;t recorded in the Gospels.</li>
<li>Jesus explained to the disciples who they were.</li>
<li>They were divinely inspired to recognize them, similar to God&#8217;s revelation to Peter that Jesus is the messiah.</li>
</ul>
</div>

How Did the Disciples Recognize Moses and Elijah at the Transfiguration?

Tim Staples takes a detailed walk through Scripture and Catechism to explain the Church as the Body of Christ, what that means, why she has a hierarchy of members, how she distributes grace through the Sacraments, whether whether an unbaptized person can be a member, invincible ignorance, and the difference between the Church triumphant and the Church suffering.

What Exactly is ‘The Church?’

Walter M. Miller’s novel A Canticle for Leibowitz has long been a favorite of mine. In this I’m not alone: this epic story, of a post-apocalyptic world in which the Catholic Church rebuilds civilization only to watch it descend into barbarism again, has captivated millions of readers since its publication in 1959.
One passage late in the book (mild spoiler) burnished itself in my mind. A nuclear attack has destroyed a major city and left thousands of survivors poisoned by radiation. The government sets up “Mercy Camps” to <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/three-questions-for-euthanasia-fans">euthanize</a> the suffering. A priest gives a ride to a young mother headed to one of the camps, intending to have her baby put out of its misery.
The priest tries to talk her out of it, but every argument he makes is deflected by the kind of sophistry and emotional appeals we would recognize in today’s culture wars. Finally, in desperation, he turns to her and says,
<blockquote>“I&#8217;m not asking you. As a priest of Christ I am commanding you by the authority of Almighty God not to lay hands on your child, not to offer her life in sacrifice to a false god of expedient mercy. I do not advise you, I adjure and command you in the name of Christ the King. Is that clear?”</blockquote>
For an instant, he expects the woman to laugh. When the Church, he thinks to himself, “occasionally hinted that she still considered her authority to be supreme over all nations and superior to the authority of states, men in these times tended to snicker.”
But the woman doesn’t laugh. Finally, she is moved, at least for the moment, not to commit the evil she had planned. It turns out that she needed, as Miller narrates, “the voice of authority now, more than she needed persuasion.”
I thought of this scene yesterday when <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/donald-trump/trump-says-wants-make-ivf-treatments-paid-government-insurance-compani-rcna168804">former president Donald Trump announced</a>, unprovoked and apropos of nothing, that if elected to a second term he would see to it that in-vitro fertilization (IVF) procedures are fully funded (either by insurance or government) for all who want them.
Let’s leave aside that empty campaign promises run rampant in election years, and so this could be all bluster; let’s ignore for now that this plan is a gross affront both to Catholic teaching (and thus the beliefs of Trump’s Catholic running mate) and the conventional principles of the conservatives whom Trump claims to represent. What makes me mindful of that Canticle passage is the general absence of that fictional priest’s courageous moral authority when it comes to our world and IVF.
Yes, the magisterium has laid out the Church’s <a href="https://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_19870222_respect-for-human-life_en.html">teaching</a> on assisted reproductive technologies, and Pope Francis has repeatedly reaffirmed it. But on the subject of IVF there remains a <a href="https://www.npr.org/2024/03/22/1239879602/despite-church-prohibitions-catholics-still-choose-ivf-to-have-children#:~:text=A%20Pew%20Research%20survey%20in,vitro%20fertilization%20is%20morally%20wrong.">massive gulf</a> between the Church’s moral doctrine and the views and practices of everyday Catholics. As with contraception (somewhat less so with abortion), the Church says one thing but most of the people believe and do another.
In this context, we can understand why Trump might think he has little reason to fear Catholic backlash against this new campaign promise.
I have <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-hardest-teaching-of-them-all">written before</a> about how the Church’s teaching on IVF may be the single toughest moral claim it makes. The real-life cases in which it is used are so gut-wrenching, and the human lives it produces bring so much joy, that for many people it seems impervious to bloodless theological or philosophical criticism.
The Church needs to persuade these people, certainly. Our bishops, the pastors and catechists who teach under them, and lay apostolates like Catholic Answers work to make Church teachings—especially the hard teachings—reasonable and accessible so that people in the pews may understand them and assent to them fully. This important effort continues.
But, as with the woman in the story who, despite the priest’s best efforts to change her mind with reason, can’t understand or accept why she should not take her sick child to a Mercy Camp, there are many Catholics who won’t be persuaded on IVF. And it seems to me that, for such people, our pastors need to re-discover their voice of authority.
Anecdotally, today the opposite is more common. Do you know couples whose parish priest gave them “permission” to undergo IVF, or who told them just to follow their consciences? I do. So perhaps our pastors need a stronger dose of conviction before they can start speaking with authority. The chain between the Church’s official teachings and the seminaries, universities, and academies through which that conviction is supposed to be transmitted to clergy and lay leaders needs to be strengthened for a start.
Like the priest in the book, those who invoke the Church’s supreme authority in our world should expect derisive laughter, too. The Lord spoke with authority, and they spat on him. But authority grows with use; the more our leaders are heard from, the more they will be heeded. And so I still look hopefully to a future time when politicians refrain from policies that offend Catholics because Catholics observe all the teachings of the Faith—even if it’s sometimes not by persuasion but simply by a command in the name of Christ the King.

Time to Be Stronger on IVF

All four Gospels refer to a woman named Mary Magdalene. She is one of the witnesses of Christ’s crucifixion, burial, and resurrection, and she is often named first in lists of women.
All this makes it clear that she was prominent in the early Christian community and was well-known by the authors of the Gospels. But who was she? What do we know about her? And how has her image changed over time?
The first thing to note is her name: Mary Magdalene. Magdalene is not a last name. They didn’t have last names in first-century Jewish society, so what does this term mean?
It helps if you look at the Greek behind it. In Matthew, Mark, and John, she is referred to as Maria hê Magdalênê or Mariam hê Magdalênê. These would be literally translated as “Mary the Magdalene”—so a Magdalene is a kind of person.
The specific kind of person a Magdalene represents is someone from the fishing village of Magdala, which was a mostly Gentile town of about 40,000 people on the western side of the Sea of Galilee.
So Mary was from Magdala in Galilee. She is thus being referred to by a naming convention whereby you give the person’s name and place of origin—as in “Jesus of Nazareth” (Acts 10:38) or “Jesus the Nazarene” (Matt. 26:71).
This place designation is not the most common way that women were referred to in first-century Palestinian Jewish culture. Men were often referred to using a patronym—that is, their father’s name—as in “Simon son of Jonah” (Matt. 16:17) or “Simon son of John” (John 1:42). Women were normally named based on their relatives. However, when an Israelite woman got married, she left the house of her father and became a member of her husband’s household. Consequently, women were commonly referred to in different ways:
<ul>
<li>An unmarried woman would be referred to using her father’s name—e.g., “Anna the daughter of Phanuel” (Luke 2:36).</li>
<li>A married woman would be referred to using her husband’s name—e.g., “Joanna the wife of Chuza” (Luke 8:3).</li>
<li>A woman who was a mother might be referred to using the name of her son or sons—e.g., “Mary the mother of Jesus” (Acts 1:14), “Mary the mother of James and Joseph” (Matt. 27:56). This would happen especially if the woman was a widow and no longer had a husband.</li>
<li>And if a woman didn’t have a living father, husband, or son, she might be referred to by the name of her siblings—e.g., though the Gospels never do this, you could refer to “Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus.”</li>
</ul>
But none of these things happens for Mary Magdalene. Instead of specifying which Mary we’re talking about by referring to her relatives, she gets a place designation.
This suggests that she didn’t have any relatives who were well known in the early Christian community, so they defaulted back to a place name.
Most likely, she had no father, husband, or sons—and she certainly didn’t have any who were well known.
The identifying thing that stuck out in the minds of the first Christian communities was that she was a Galilean from Magdala, so that’s how they referred to her.
Luke tells us two interesting things about Mary Magdalene. At one point, he says,
<blockquote>Soon afterward [Jesus] went on through cities and villages, preaching and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. And the Twelve were with him, and also some women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Chuza, Herod’s steward, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their means (8:1-3).</blockquote>
This tells us that “seven demons had gone out” of Mary, so she was a former demoniac, and given the context, it was likely Jesus who cast the demons out of her, something that is explicitly stated in <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/a-fake-resurrection-in-marks-gospel">the longer ending</a> of Mark (Mark 16:9).
She is also grouped among the women who provided for Jesus and the Twelve “out of their means.” This suggests that Mary was a woman of means. She had money—i.e., disposable income that she could use to support Jesus and his mission.
All four Gospels indicate that Mary was a key witness to the events of the climax of Jesus’ ministry.
She had come with his traveling party to his final Passover in Jerusalem (Matt. 27:55, Mark 15:41), and there she witnessed the Crucifixion (Matt. 27:56, Mark 15:40, John 19:25).
She also witnessed his burial (Matt. 27:61, Mark 16:47) and his resurrection (Matt. 28:1, Mark 16:1, John 20:1), after which she returned and told the Twelve (Luke 24:10, John 20:18).
Luke mentions that the women had prepared spices with which to anoint Jesus’ body on Good Friday, after the Crucifixion (Luke 23:56), and then they brought the spices to the tomb on Easter Monday (24:1). Mark adds the detail that they had bought the spices (Mark 16:1), which would again suggest that Mary Magdalene had financial resources.
But when they arrived at the tomb, they discovered it empty, and angels appeared to them and announced that Jesus has been raised.
John records a touching story of Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene (John 20:11-18). He doesn’t mention other women being with her, so it is possible she was alone.
When she realizes that she is seeing Jesus, she is overjoyed, but he gives her a warning. Some translations render it, “<a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/touch-me-not">Do not touch me</a>, for I have not yet ascended to the Father.” This translation is confusing since—before the Ascension happens—Jesus invites Thomas to touch his wounds (John 20:27).
Better translations would be “Do not hold me” (RSV), “Stop holding on to me” (NAB:RE), and “Do not cling to me” (ESV). The idea is that Mary shouldn’t become overly attached to Jesus now that he’s back, because he’s going to be ascending to the Father, and she will not always be able to be with him.
We’ve covered the passages in the New Testament that explicitly name Mary Magdalene, but some Christians have wondered if she may be mentioned in other passages—either with the name Mary or without it.
For example, it has been speculated that she may be the sinful woman (likely a prostitute) who weeps on Jesus’ feet, wipes them with her hair, and anoints his feet (Luke 7:36-50).
The answer is that she almost certainly is not this woman. Not only does Luke not name her, but he also relates this story at the end of chapter 7 of his Gospel. The very next thing he says is the passage quoted above, where Mary Magdalene is introduced.
It is scarcely likely that Luke would omit the woman’s identity at the end of chapter 7 and then immediately introduce her by name at the beginning of chapter 8. We thus have no basis for besmirching Mary Magdalene’s reputation by accusing her of being a prostitute.
Many have identified Mary Magdalene with Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus, including Pope Gregory I (590-604). However, this also is a mistake.
One reason is that Mary Magdalene is identified as “the Magdalene” in all four Gospels, whereas the two Gospels that refer to the sister of Martha and Lazarus (i.e., Luke and John) identify her with respect to her siblings. This means that the latter Mary had prominent siblings who were known in the Christian community, whereas Mary Magdalene did not.
Further, Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus isn’t from Magdala. She isn’t even from Galilee. John tells us, “A certain man was sick, Lazarus from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha” (John 11:1).
Bethany is just outside Jerusalem in Judea, so Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were Judeans rather than Galileans, and Mary of Bethany would have had no need to follow Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem for the final Passover, because she lived right there!
The idea that Mary Magdalene and Mary of Bethany were the same person was common for a long time in the Western church (not the Eastern churches), and this left a mark on the Western liturgical calendar.
Mary Magdalene has long had a memorial on July 22, whereas Martha has one on July 29. But now that the confusion between Mary Magdalene and Mary of Bethany has been cleared up, the Congregation for Divine Worship <a href="https://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/ccdds/documents/rc_con_ccdds_doc_20210126_decreto-santi_en.html">ordered in 2021</a> that the July 29 memorial be listed as that of “Martha, Mary, and Lazarus”—giving the other two Bethany siblings their due on the calendar.

Who Is Mary Magdalene?

As Catholics, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/why-im-catholic-sola-scriptura-isnt-workable-part-i">we sometimes point</a> to the <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/on-the-different-kinds-of-protestants">doctrinal chaos</a> within Protestantism as evidence for the need for an infallible Church. As fallible humans, we tend to err, even when trying our hardest. And so it’s unsurprising that the various denominations of Protestantism come to wildly <a href="https://www.catholic.com/audio/cot/one-question-protestants-cant-answer">different conclusions</a> on doctrine, including questions like “Does God love everyone?” “What must I do to be saved?” and so forth. But some Protestants will respond to this objection by pointing out that, for members of a supposedly-unified body, Catholics sure do spend a lot of time fighting amongst themselves.
This objection is nothing new. Back in 1850, <a href="https://www.newmanreader.org/works/anglicans/volume1/lecture10.html">St. John Henry Newman pointed out</a> that “it is a well-known point in controversy, to say that the Catholic Church has not any real unity more than Protestantism,” and to claim that “the greatest alienation, rivalry, and difference of opinion exist among the members of the Catholic priesthood.” And as Newman points out, this objection is half-true and half-false.
The true half is that there are opinionated and strong-willed Catholics. After all, Newman said, “the children of the Church are not of a different nature from the Protestants around them,” and left to himself, “each Catholic likes and would maintain his own opinion and his private judgment just as much as a Protestant.” Nor is this a bad thing, of itself. Your intellect is a gift from God, after all. As Newman put it:
<blockquote>The intellect of man is active and independent: he forms opinions about everything; he feels no deference for another&#8217;s opinion, except in proportion as he thinks that that other is more likely than he to be right; and he never absolutely sacrifices his own opinion, except when he is sure that that other knows for certain. He is sure that God knows; therefore, if he is a Catholic, he sacrifices his opinion to the Word of God, speaking through His Church.</blockquote>
But the situation isn’t all good. Due to original sin, “each mind naturally is self-willed, self-dependent, self-satisfied; and except so far as grace has subdued it, its first impulse is to rebel.” And so, on all of those issues upon which the Church hasn’t spoken infallibly, “there ever has been, and ever will be, a vast exercise and a realized product, partly praiseworthy, partly barely lawful, of private judgment within the Catholic Church.”
So there are areas within Catholicism that are left to private judgment, and over which Catholics can and will disagree. This always has been, and always will be, the case. But there are also areas upon which the Church has <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Enchiridion-Symbolorum-Compendium-Definitions-Declarations/dp/0898707463">spoken definitively</a>, and this is where we see how the equation to Protestantism is a false one. There’s no binding creed within Protestantism, no infallibly settled doctrines upon which all Protestants must agree. There are good and bad Catholics: those who accept or reject the Church’s dogmatic teaching. But there’s no such thing as “good” or “bad” Protestants in this sense, since there’s no set of dogmatic teaching. The objection makes it sound as if it were “difficult or impossible to ascertain what it was that the Roman Communion taught,” when we know the opposite to be true.
Finally, Newman points out that the remarkable thing isn’t that Catholics often disagree. We should expect as much from a Church spanning the globe, two millennia, and untold numbers of ethnicities and nationalities. Of course we have a lot of disagreements. The remarkable thing is that we have a coherent creed to which all faithful Catholics assent, no matter their culture or background or natural inclinations.