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Is the Catholic Church a CULT?

<div>Would God for some reason rescind a person's salvation? </div><div>To be clear, if someone falls out of grace and ultimately goes to hell, it’s the person’s fault, not God’s. God will judge us accordingly for such unrepentant mortal sin, but we will have refused God’s gift of salvation:
<blockquote>We cannot be united with God unless we freely choose to love him. But we cannot love God if we sin gravely against him, against our neighbor or against ourselves: &#8220;He who does not love remains in death. Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him.&#8221;612 Our Lord warns us that we shall be separated from him if we fail to meet the serious needs of the poor and the little ones who are his brethren.613
<blockquote>To die in mortal sin without repenting and accepting God&#8217;s merciful love means remaining separated from him for ever by our own free choice. This state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed is called &#8220;hell&#8221; (<a href="http://www.vatican.va/archive/ccc_css/archive/catechism/p123a12.htm">CCC 1033</a>, emphasis added).</blockquote>
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For more on this subject, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/search?q=salvation">please see our various online resources</a>.
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Losing My Religion (and Salvation)

<div>How did the polar bears and penguins reach Noah’s ark?</div><div>That’s a good question. The answer depends on what actually happened in history.
The Catholic Church does not prohibit interpretations of Genesis 6-8 that include a worldwide flood, but neither does the Church require there to be a worldwide flood in all interpretations of these passages. Instead, according to Pope Pius XII, “in simple and metaphorical language adapted to the mentality of a people but little cultured,” the first eleven chapters of Genesis “both state the principal truths which are fundamental for our salvation, and also give a popular description of the origin of the human race and the chosen people” (Humani Generis 38).
Consequently, the flood could be understood as impacting the entire world, or possibly a large region of the world. If it did impact the entire world, animals in distant regions would likely have been miraculously transported to the ark.
On the other hand, if the flood was more regional, a view which has gained increasing traction in recent centuries because of scientific findings, then all the animals of the world would not have been destroyed, and thus polar bears and penguins would not have been affected.
For more on this topic, please see this <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/a-catholic-perspective-on-a-new-attraction">article</a> in Catholic Answer Magazine Online.
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Two Views of the Flood

<div>What is the Church’s teaching on atonement?</div><div>The eminent theologian Ludwig Ott defines atonement in the following way:
<blockquote>By atonement in general is understood the satisfaction of a demand. In the narrower sense it is taken to mean the reparation of an insult. This occurs through a voluntary performance which outweighs the injustice done (Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma, 186-187).</blockquote>
Ott distinguishes between full value atonement and incomplete value. If the reparative act completely counterbalances the grievousness of the guilt, then the act is adequate and complete (full value). If the act is not commensurate with the grievousness of the offense but is graciously accepted as sufficient, then the act is inadequate and not of complete value. Finally, if the act of atonement is not performed by the offender, but by another in his stead, then the act is one of vicarious atonement.
The Church teaches that Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross is one of vicarious atonement that is complete with full value for the redemption of the human race. Concerning the vicarious nature of Christ’s sacrifice, the Catechism of the Catholic Church states:
<blockquote>By his obedience unto death, Jesus accomplished the substitution of the suffering Servant, who “makes himself an offering for sin,” when “he bore the sin of many,” and who “shall make many to be accounted righteous,” for “he shall bear their iniquities.” Jesus atoned for our faults and made satisfaction for our sins to the Father (615, emphasis original).</blockquote>
The Catechism articulates the full and complete value of Christ’s atoning sacrifice in this way:
<blockquote>Christ’s death is both the Paschal sacrifice that accomplishes the definitive redemption of men . . . and the sacrifice of the New Covenant, which restores man to communion with God by reconciling him to God through the &#8220;blood of the covenant” (613, emphasis original).</blockquote>
The Church’s teaching on atonement is consistent with what Jesus himself taught: “The Son of Man is come . . . to give his life as a redemption for many” (Matt. 20:28).
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A Primer on Atonement

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Join Catholic Answers Live as Cy Kellett interviews Fr. David Michael Moses on reaching young people through social media and evangelization in today’s digital age!
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Why Evangelize on Social Media? – Fr. David Michael Moses (Encore)

As I showed in <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/john-calvin-the-gnostic-protestant">Part 1</a> of this series, not only Calvin, but various Protestant sects argue for the sixty-six-book canon of Scripture on explicitly and undeniably gnostic grounds.
In this article, I will show just how thoroughly gnostic Calvin’s argument is by examining his Institutes of the Christian Religion, in which he doubles down on his claim that the means of knowing the correct canon of Scripture is the “inward illumination” and “secret testimony of the spirit.”
In addition to this, he also disclaimed the need for the witness of others (i.e., the Church) to any particular canon of Scripture. He wrote as follows in <a href="https://www.ccel.org/ccel/calvin/institutes.iii.viii.html">Book 1, Ch. 7, §5 of the Institutes</a>:
<blockquote>Let it therefore be held as fixed, that those who are inwardly taught by the Holy Spirit acquiesce implicitly in Scripture; that Scripture, carrying its own evidence along with it, deigns not to submit to proofs and arguments, but owes the full conviction with which we ought to receive it to the testimony of the Spirit.
Enlightened by him, we no longer believe, either on our own judgment or that of others, that the scriptures are from God; but, in a way superior to human judgment, feel perfectly assured—as much so as if we beheld the divine image visibly impressed on it—that it came to us, by the instrumentality of men, from the very mouth of God.</blockquote>
Not only does knowing the correct canon come through an “inward illumination” of the “secret testimony of the spirit,” but this “illumination” is taught “in a way superior to human judgment.” Note once more the sleight of hand: Calvin simply labels the judgment of the Church as to the canon “human judgment,” but his own judgment he labels the “inward illumination” of the Holy Spirit. Yet he has made zero argument for why we should believe that his “inward illumination” is from God, whereas the judgment of the Church is a merely “human judgment.” The devil truly is in the details, all of which Calvin assumes rather than argues for.
Calvin thereby not only claims that the knowledge of the canon comes in a gnostic fashion, but has locked the individual inside his own ego—an ego superior to all external witness and authority. The canon is no longer a public revelation imparted by God by means of duly authorized representatives (i.e., apostolic authority), as the Christian faith had always been understood to be. Rather, it is an “inward illumination” that requires no witness from others, no duly authorized representative, and no public testimony to its veracity. Quite contrary to many of his claims about the necessity of ecclesial authority (which was virtually always his personal authority), and its role in speaking for Christ, when it comes to the canon of Scripture, Calvin argues like a Gnostic and maintains his ground like a Gnostic.
What can justify this? Apparently just the word of Calvin, and his purely subjective conviction that he (and those who agree with him) are “enlightened” by God.
Incidentally, whereas Calvin claims that only the elect receive this “inward illumination,” many of those who agree with him on the canon (other Protestants) vehemently disagree with him on other doctrines he claims are necessary for salvation. One wonders why God would give an “inward illumination” to the “elect” to know with perfect and unchallengeable certainty the canon of Scripture, but not the actual doctrines it supposedly taught. Calvin never addresses such blatant incoherence.
The next few sentences of the same section make his gnostic approach even clearer:
<blockquote>We ask not for proofs or probabilities on which to rest our judgment, but we subject our intellect and judgment to it as too transcendent for us to estimate. This, however, we do, not in the manner in which some are wont to fasten on an unknown object, which, as soon as known, displeases, but because we have a thorough conviction that, in holding it, we hold unassailable truth; not like miserable men, whose minds are enslaved by superstition, but because we feel a divine energy living and breathing in it—an energy by which we are drawn and animated to obey it, willingly indeed, and knowingly, but more vividly and effectually than could be done by human will or knowledge.
Hence, God most justly exclaims by the mouth of Isaiah, “Ye are my witnesses, saith the Lord, and my servant whom I have chosen, that ye may know and believe me, and understand that I am he” (Isa. 43:10).</blockquote>
This is a remarkable statement from a man who claimed to be “reforming” the Church.
First he disclaims entirely the need for arguments—“proofs or probabilities,” as he says—a strange assertion for a man writing a treatise hundreds of pages long explaining why his particular doctrines should be believed. He asserts that his conclusion is based on truth that is “too transcendent for us to estimate.” Upon what basis does he claim this? We don’t know. He denies that he owes anyone any arguments.
But he then proceeds to make one: his sixty-six-book canon of Scripture is correct because he and those of his persuasion “have a thorough conviction” that it is “unassailable truth.” Those who disagree with them are enslaved to “superstition,” he claims. He and his followers, on the other hand, are not merely certain of their conviction, but “feel a divine energy living and breathing” in the canon they have identified—a remarkable appeal to what can only be described as a sort of physical sensation.
The fact that so many Christians throughout the ages had included other books in the canon of Scripture never seems to enter Calvin’s mind. These great saints could no doubt, likewise, claim to experience “an energy by which [they] are drawn and animated to obey it [Scripture], willingly indeed, and knowingly, but more vividly and effectually than could be done by human will or knowledge.” Yet they often believed that the canon of Scripture included seven additional books that Calvin excluded.
So which one is right? Those with the stronger “thorough conviction that, in holding it, we hold unassailable truth”? But even by this “standard,” would not the conviction of so many centuries of saints—especially martyrs—count on the scale far more than that of just Calvin, who was just one man at the head of a small sect, who did not die a martyr?
Calvin concludes his “argument” as follows:
<blockquote>Such, then, is a conviction which asks not for reasons; such, a knowledge which accords with the highest reason, namely knowledge in which the mind rests more firmly and securely than in any reasons; such in fine, the conviction which revelation from heaven alone can produce. I say nothing more than every believer experiences in himself, though my words fall far short of the reality.
I do not dwell on this subject at present, because we will return to it again: only let us now understand that the only true faith is that which the Spirit of God seals on our hearts. Nay, the modest and teachable reader will find a sufficient reason in the promise contained in Isaiah, that all the children of the renovated Church “shall be taught of the Lord,” (Isa. 54:13). This singular privilege God bestows on his elect only, whom he separates from the rest of mankind. For what is the beginning of true doctrine but prompt alacrity to hear the Word of God? And God, by the mouth of Moses, thus demands to be heard: “It is not in heavens that thou shouldest say, Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, that we may hear and do it? But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth and in thy heart,” (Deut. 30:12, 14).
God having been pleased to reserve the treasure of intelligence for his children, no wonder that so much ignorance and stupidity is seen in the generality of mankind. In the generality, I include even those specially chosen, until they are ingrafted into the body of the Church.
Isaiah, moreover, while reminding us that the prophetical doctrine would prove incredible not only to strangers, but also to the Jews, who were desirous to be thought of the household of God, subjoins the reason, when he asks, “To whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?” (Isa. 53:1). If at any time, then, we are troubled at the small number of those who believe, let us, on the other hand, call to mind, that none comprehend the mysteries of God save those to whom it is given.</blockquote>
The gnostic nature of Calvin’s argument could not be clearer, as he applies it not only to the canon of Scripture, but to the Christian faith itself. It bears a disturbing resemblance to religious and secular ideologies of succeeding centuries that disavowed the need for reason, argument, and logic to defend their positions.
Calvin speaks of “knowledge in which the mind rests more firmly and securely than in any reasons”—a gnostic claim that cannot be countermanded.
Calvin describes this knowledge: “Every believer experiences in himself.” So now “experience” is the criterion of dogmatic veracity—just not, apparently, the “experience” of countless generations of Christians over the preceding 1,500 years that contradicts him. And who can ever contradict that which is experienced “in himself”? No one.
Calvin says to whom this knowledge is given: “This singular privilege God bestows on his elect only, whom he separates from the rest of mankind . . . God having been pleased to reserve the treasure of intelligence for his children.” So once again, every one of the countless Christians and saints who identified a different canon from Calvin are apparently not among the “elect” or the “children” of God—not among those “specially chosen”—even while those who apparently qualify are at the same time at odds with Calvin on many other doctrines.
Should Calvin or those who follow him be disturbed at how few have ever believed anything like what he proposes? No, he says, because “none comprehend the mysteries of God save those to whom it is given.”
Calvin has thus sealed himself and the “elect” of his sect off from not only the Christian public witness of apostolic authority from the first century onward, but from argument, reason, and logic, all while very selectively appealing to a set of subjective experiences, namely those of his sect.
It is impossible to imagine anything more circular and gnostic than this. Calvin claims that God reveals the canon only by an inward illumination of the individual, and then he locks the ego of that individual in a self-sealed container that has no need to appeal to any other witness, testimony, or authority, satisfied in the assertion that God speaks directly to him, but the perennial witness and authority of the Church is mere “human judgment.”
Is anything like this found in Christian history? For that matter, is anything like this found in Scripture?
The answer to both is a firm “no.” With respect to the canon, Calvin has invented his own religion in order to guarantee that he arrives at his own conclusion, and that religion is nothing less than a revival of a novel form of Gnosticism under a veneer of Christianity.

Trapped in the Mind of John Calvin

“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”
In both the call of the first disciples in John 1 and the call of 1 Samuel 3, we see an emphasis on personal encounter: the Lord sees people and calls them by name. In the case of Peter, he even gives a new name.
Names are intimate things, words of power. The fact that naming is so central in the magical systems of countless fantasy worlds stems from a basic reality that we all know. We notice when people call our name. Maybe we don’t want our name to be called, so this is not a power that is intrinsically good.
Learning to recognize our names is an important part of growing up. When a child responds to her name, we rightly understand that her sense of identity is developing; she begins to see the world not just as light and dark, Mom and not-Mom. She begins to know that she is a person.
When God reveals his name to Moses in Exodus 3, we see a radical development in human knowledge. God’s personal character is already implied with his call of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, his promises of blessing. Yet to reveal his name suggests that this covenant, while not exactly between equals, is nonetheless a covenant between persons. The God who meets Moses is not merely some force who happened to interact with his ancestors; he has a name. The fact that pious Jews have always recognized this name as holy—set apart, unpronounceable—is not mere superstition or magical thinking. It is awe and gratitude in the face of an unimaginable gift: that the transcendent God who is the source of all being would want a relationship with us.
For that really is the heart of these call stories in Samuel and in John. God doesn’t call people just to become transmitters of certain choice pieces of information. He calls them by name so that he can communicate to his people by means of a personal relationship. To say this is to touch on a whole bundle of mysteries, chief of which is that the incarnate divine Son leaves us not a body of writing or ideas, but a group of men charged with inviting others into the same school of discipleship. They have ideas, to be sure, but the heart of their mission <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-secret-ingredient-to-evangelizing">involves persons</a>.
A recurring theme of implicitly anti-Catholic rhetoric involves emphasizing Jesus’ personal call at the expense of what is usually labeled religion. At heart, I find these statements rather sad in their ignorance, for the heart of Catholic religion is a relationship with God. If it is not, it is not the Catholic religion. We are all called by God and named in baptism. Further, we must all at some point continue in maturity to recognize this call in a more personal way.
Indeed, religion in its core sense involves nothing but relations. That is what the word means. If it has been dumbed down and reduced to something like a set of rules abstracted from relationship, that is the fault of modernity and its antagonism to tradition, not of the Catholic religion as it is actually taught and practiced. In any case, it would be ridiculous to say that Jesus’ personal call is somehow opposed to rules or to exterior practices. Otherwise, instead of “come and see,” he would have told Andrew and Peter to go back to their homes and think nice thoughts about how God loves them. A God who gives us relationship without any content, boundaries, or goals is not the God of Samuel or of Jesus Christ.
That is how we must understand St. Paul’s call to sexual morality in 1 Corinthians 6. I suppose we could say here that Paul has abandoned the relationship at the heart of Christianity for a set of rules—and there are those today, in various progressive Christian pulpits, who would. But again, this would be to misunderstand both what Paul taught and what Jesus said. The reason that the body matters is precisely because of the relational call at the heart of Christianity. God calls us each by name to follow him. He doesn’t just call our souls. He calls persons who are body and soul. I cannot follow Jesus with just my mind and my heart. If I am invited to someone’s house for dinner, I cannot spit on his table, light fire to his couch, and make fun of his children, all the while saying that what really matters is the relationship. The body and its actions are meaningful. Everyone knows this, even though modern culture takes great pains to convince us otherwise. We cannot escape from this reality.
Because bodies have meaning, when Jesus tells us that he gives us his body and his blood, it doesn’t take a full grasp of the Mosaic Law’s understanding of blood to sense that he is giving us something intimate and personal. His body is his self, and his blood is his life. Once again, the invitation is completely personal. He isn’t, like some spiritual guru, pointing us to a path of enlightenment that has nothing to do with him. He is asking us to join our life to his so that our lives—our souls and bodies—can share in his own goodness. This is so much more than following a set of rules. But there are rules in a very natural sense: if you want to share the life of a person, you have to configure your own life so that it is capable of doing so. I can say that I love my children, but if I order my days so that I never see them, or that I always prioritize other things, I am not doing a very good job of it.
We may be inclined to insist, as an immature child might insist, that the relationship must happen on our own terms as we define them. But such a relationship will only become disordered. In his meditation on 1 Samuel 3, Peter Kreeft points out that, when faced with someone wiser than ourselves, we should always listen more than speak. Eli wisely instructs Samuel not to unload his thoughts and feelings to the mysterious voice, but rather to listen.
How hard that is for us in our relationship with God! We just want to explain everything, justify everything, frame everything on our own terms rather than simply listening at the times when he tells us to listen: in the proclamation of Scripture, in the breaking of bread, and in the silence of our hearts in his presence. The problem with so much modern theology—call it “contextual” or “from below” or whatever—which wants to start with us and move to God, is that we never actually get to God. We just get to pseudo-divinized versions of ourselves, which it turns out aren’t really capable of salvation, just of endless introspection.
The opposite temptation, I suppose, is to listen in such a way that we cannot take a step without direction. Should I brush my teeth tonight? Let me pray on it. That, too, is the wrong posture, for it places the voice of God in competition with our ordinary natural life, suggesting that any decision I make on my own is somehow apart from God’s providence.
The virtue of religion—there’s that word again—might be described as the virtue of right relations, the virtue of listening and acting well with God, neither becoming automatons who need strict programming nor agents of chaos who value ourselves over the relationship. A right relationship remembers the past, appreciates the present, and looks forward to the future. I’d suggest that we need all three of those things for a healthy relationship with God: diligence over what he has revealed in the past, patience and attentiveness to his presence today, and a willingness to grow more fully into the life he intends for us. May we hear his call to us and respond, like Samuel and the first disciples, with faith. “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

God Wants More of You

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DAY 218
CHALLENGE
“Christians are a bunch of hypocrites.”
DEFENSE
Yes. And?
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Consciousness of the fact that we don’t think and act the way we should is a human universal. So is the desire for others to think well of us. Everyone wishes to save face and, at one time or another, either shades the truth or flat out lies to appear better than he is. This makes hypocrisy another human universal, and it applies to Christians and everyone else.
When confronted with the fact that we don’t live up to our moral standards, we have several options. One—which is not good at all—is to abandon our standards. Reviewing them to make sure they are correct is one thing, but tossing them aside so we can indulge in im- moral behavior is another. It also will not work in the long run, for we cannot escape the moral law written on our hearts. We can only temporarily suppress it.
A second choice—also not good—is to pretend we are better than we are. This is the option of hypocrisy. It is not good because it’s an offense against the truth. Hypocrisy is a form of lying—specifically, lying about our own behavior, using either words or deceptive actions (CCC 2483). Hypocrisy is also risky, because in the long run the truth tends to be found out, and people will see you for the hypocrite you are. For Christians, hypocrisy takes on added gravity because it can push people away from God (Rom. 2:23–24).
The third choice—and the only good one—is the hardest. It means maintaining our moral standards, being honest about the fact that we don’t live up to them and seeking God’s grace to do better in the future. This doesn’t mean telling everyone everything we’ve done wrong (CCC 2489). Frequently, it is none of their concern, and in some situations knowing could even hurt them (e.g., marriages can be harmed by a naive and imprudent sharing of information about one’s sexual failings). However, it does mean being humble and willing to admit the fact that we are sinners.
Christians may share the universal inclination to hypocrisy, but that doesn’t mean Christianity is false. Christianity teaches that we are all sinners. The good news is that there is mercy, even for hypocrites like us.
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Christian Hypocrisy

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Which came first: the Bible or the Church? Let’s talk about it.

<div>Is being a good person selfish if I am doing it in fear of being sent to hell?</div><div><a href="http://www.baltimore-catechism.com/lesson18.htm">The Baltimore Catechism</a>:
<blockquote>Q. 767. What is imperfect contrition?
A. Imperfect contrition is that by which we hate what offends God because by it we lose heaven and deserve hell; or because sin is so hateful in itself.
Q. 768. What other name is given to imperfect contrition and why is it called imperfect?
A. Imperfect contrition is called attrition. It is called imperfect only because it is less perfect than the highest grade of contrition by which we are sorry for sin out of pure love of God&#8217;s own goodness and without any consideration of what befalls ourselves.
Q. 769. Is imperfect contrition sufficient for a worthy confession?
A. Imperfect contrition is sufficient for a worthy confession, but we should endeavor to have perfect contrition.</blockquote>
It is obviously better to be sorry for sin solely because it is wrong and is an offense against God&#8217;s love but being sorry primarily because we are afraid of hell is still a good thing.  It shows that we trust what Jesus has taught us about the effects of sin and that we respect his judgment.  Imperfect contrition is a good starting point to help us focus on why sin separates us from God and one another and deepening our relationship to God.
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Am I Selfish If I Fear Being Sent To Hell?

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DAY 338
CHALLENGE
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“Unanswered prayer disproves Christ’s teaching on prayer. Jesus said, ‘If you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, “Move from here to there,” and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you’ (Matt. 17:20b). But experience shows that we can’t do such things by prayer.”
DEFENSE
Jesus’ teaching is more complex than this challenge suggests. It doesn’t involve a promise that we’ll always get what we ask.
First, Jesus makes the statement when the disciples have just failed to exorcise a demon. When they ask why they were unable to drive it out, he says, “Because of your little faith” (Matt. 17:20a). If the apostles, who were accustomed to working miracles, including driving out demons (Matt. 10:1, 5–8), could have inadequate faith, then we may, too. (Also, in this instance the disciples were trying to cast out a particularly powerful type of demon; Mark 9:29).
Second, the statement that having faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains does not mean that faith has some magical power of its own. The point is that it is God who performs miracles, and he is omnipotent. The size of the miracle is therefore not dependent on the size of the person’s faith but on God.
Third, this means that we do not have a promise that simply anything we pray for will happen. It must be the will of God (cf. Luke 22:42; James 4:13–15; 1 John 5:14).
Fourth, the fact that mountains usually do not move in response to prayer indicates it is usually not God’s will for this to happen. That’s why Jesus uses this example—because of how striking it is. He is using hyperbole (exaggeration to make a point). The point is that our prayers are dependent on God, not the size of our faith; Jesus is not issuing a promise that simply anything we ask for will be granted.
Fifth, elsewhere Jesus indicates that in some cases we will need to believe without doubting (Matt. 21:21; cf. James 1:6–7).
Sixth, the New Testament indicates that our individual dispositions can affect the outcome of our prayers in other ways, particularly with regard to whether we are living in a way pleasing to God (John 15:7; James. 4:3, 5:16; 1 Pet. 3:12; 1 John 3:22).
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Unanswered Prayer

The earliest Christians believed the Eucharist is a true sacrifice  ✝️

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DAY 266
CHALLENGE
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“Religion is intrinsically hostile to science.”
DEFENSE
This is a gross caricature that itself exhibits hostility to religion.
There have been conflicts involving science and religion (e.g., the Galileo affair, the Scopes Monkey Trial). There are religious individuals who are hostile to science, but there also are scientifically oriented individuals who are hostile to religion. Looking down on something as “unscientific” displays hostility in the same way dismissing it as “irreligious” does.
The supporters of both religion and science are flawed human beings who are sometimes unjustly hostile, but this does not make the two fields intrinsically hostile to each other.
Religion is a diverse phenomenon. When one thinks of all the different religions in the world, all the diversity of viewpoint and attitude that can exist within a single religion, and all of the scientists who belong to different religions, it is a gross caricature to assert that religion is somehow fundamentally opposed to science.
Christianity, in particular, understands God as a divine lawgiver who embedded certain laws in nature. These laws can be investigated by humans, and it has been argued that this understanding has played an important role in the rise of modern science, in which many Christian scientists were prominent.
Religion, science, and philosophy each ask fundamental questions about the world, and sometimes the areas investigated by the three disciplines overlap. However, this does not make the three disciplines intrinsically hostile to each other.
From a Christian point of view, all truth is God’s truth, and he is glorified when humans use their divinely given intellects to discover what God has done, regardless of which field makes the discovery.
The Catholic attitude toward science is expressed in the Catechism:
The question about the origins of the world and of man has been the object of many scientific studies which have splendidly enriched our knowledge of the age and dimensions of the cosmos, the development of life forms and the appearance of man. These discoveries invite us to even greater admiration for the greatness of the Creator, prompting us to give him thanks for all his works and for the understanding and wisdom he gives to scholars and researchers (CCC 283).
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Religion Hostile to Science?

A special Christmas Day episode of Focus with Catholic Answers President Christopher Check.

Christmas Day with President Chris Check

<div>So what if a fetus is alive and human? Every cell in my body is alive and human. Is every cell in my body a human being? Are sperm and eggs human beings too?</div><div>Sperm, egg, fetuses, and toddlers are all human in the adjective sense of the word, since they possess human DNA. Unlike sperm and egg, however, fetuses and toddlers are also human in the noun sense of the word. Specifically, they are human organisms, or individual members of the human species. But what do we mean when we say the unborn is an organism?
An organism is a collection of biological parts, or organs, that function together to sustain the existence of a whole being that possesses the qualities of life. If I can give a living thing time, nutrition, and a proper environment, and it is able to develop toward becoming a mature member of its species, then it is an organism and not a mere body part.
Because body cells such as skin, sperm, and egg can never—even given time, nutrition, and a proper environment—develop into an adult human, they are not organisms. In contrast, you and I are <a href="https://www.catholic.com/video/when-does-a-fetus-become-a-person-0">organisms</a>, because if we are given time, food, and the proper environment (i.e., not on the moon or at the bottom of the ocean), we will continue to develop into mature members of the human species.
Likewise, an unborn child, when given time, nutrition, and a proper environment (i.e., not outside the uterus) will develop into a mature human being if he does not die prematurely. Embryologist E.L. Potter points out, “Every time a sperm cell and ovum unite, a new being is created which is alive and will continue to live unless its death is brought about by some specific condition” (Pathology of the Fetus and the Infant, 7).
The fact that some <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/an-embryo-is-a-living-being">embryos</a> and even other born children die before they become adult humans does not negate the fact that they are human beings. They still are human beings because they have the intrinsic capacity to develop into a mature human being even if their development is cut short.
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So What if a Fetus is Alive and Human?

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DAY 45
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CHALLENGE
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“Why should we confess our sins to a priest? We should go to God directly.”
DEFENSE
We can and should ask God directly for forgiveness, but Scripture also reveals that it is his will—in some cases—that we approach his ministers in confession.
Prayer may be sufficient for the forgiveness of daily, venial sins, but Jesus indicated that some sins are more serious by instituting the sacrament of confession to deal with them.
After rising from the dead, he told the disciples, “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.” Then he breathed on them, and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are for- given; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained” (John 20:21–23).
Previously, God had sent Jesus to forgive sins on earth (Matt. 9:6), and people glorified God “who had given such authority to men” (Matt. 9:8). Now Jesus shares this authority with his ministers.
Notice that he gives them the power to forgive or retain (not for- give) sins. The decision whether to forgive or retain a sin is serious, and Christ’s ministers must not make it in an uninformed manner. To perform their role, they need to be properly informed.
In particular, ministers need to know: (1) that we have committed a particular sin, and (2) that we are genuinely repentant. Since they have no way of knowing these things apart from our informing them, we are obliged to confess. Thus we have the sacrament of confession.
John 20:21–23 is also the background we need when reading the same author’s affirmation that, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).
TIP
Historically, penance has been celebrated in different forms. Early in Church history, it was common for it to be celebrated publicly, with Christ’s minister presiding over the service. Such public confession is envisioned in the exhortation, “Therefore confess your sins to one another” (James 5:16), which is done in the presence of “the elders of the church” (James 5:14)—the elders being the priests. In Greek, “elder” is presbuteros, from which we get the English word “priest.”
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Confessing to a Priest

Pope Francis Died. What Happens Now?

<div>Can going to Mass on a weekday substitute for Sunday Mass?</div><div>No. Our obligation is to attend Mass on Sundays (or Saturday evening). If someone is unable to fulfill his Sunday obligation for valid reasons, then his obligation to attend is simply abrogated.
If someone has missed Mass due to laziness or some other illegitimate reason, then he cannot make up for missing his Sunday obligation by attending a weekday Mass.
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Can I Attend a Weekday Instead of Sunday Mass?

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DAY 216
CHALLENGE
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“Religion is inherently violent, producing countless wars.”
DEFENSE
This claim does not withstand scrutiny.
War is not unique to humanity. Other species—including ants, bees, and chimpanzees—wage war, understood as the organized, collective use of lethal violence against external enemies (such as for control of territory). Yet these species do not have religion. War’s roots are thus non-religious.
Religion is a human universal, and historically there have been no atheist societies. It is thus impossible to argue that non-religious societies were less violent than religious ones. The officially atheist societies that arose in the Communist world in the twentieth century were not more peaceful than others. They warred, exported revolution, and killed tens of millions of people, including their own citizens.
If religion predisposed people to violence, we should see this on the small scale, yet violent criminals don’t usually seem to be devout churchgoers.
Like non-religious viewpoints, religions have differing attitudes toward violence, ranging from advocating violence for a variety of causes to advocating it only in self-defense to thoroughgoing pacifism. One cannot tar all religious viewpoints with the same brush. If religion can inspire people to kill, it can also inspire them to refrain from killing (“You shall not kill,” Exod. 20:13; “Love your enemies,” Matt. 5:44).
Similarly, if lack of religious zealotry deprives one non-religious person of a motive to kill, another non-religious person may go on to slay because he is not constrained by religious values against killing.
Ultimately, religions don’t go to war. Governments do, and they usually must convince an ambivalent populace of their decision to do so. In this, they may use religion as a motivating factor (whether or not the religion of the enemies is different), but that doesn’t make religion the cause of war.
Often wars are fought when there is no difference in religion. In the bloodiest war in U.S. history—the Civil War—the North and the South had the same religion.
Most wars are not fought over religious goals such as converting, subjugating, or killing people because they have a different religion. Instead, they are fought over secular goals such as control of territory and resources, self-determination, defending national prestige, or seeking revenge for perceived wrongs.
TIP
For more, see the book The Myth of Religious Violence by William Cavanaugh.
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Religion and War

Resurrection Debate Debrief

<div>Did Adam and Eve have sex in the garden that created original sin? My mom and aunt said this is what they learned in Catholic school in the 1940s and ’50s. They say "eating the apple" really meant they had sex. I say no. Please help. </div><div>You are right. According to the Fathers of the Church and St. Thomas, Adam and Eve did not have intercourse until after the fall. There are precise theological and moral reasons for this teaching, too complex to go into here. The original sin was an act of disobedience followed by Adam&#8217;s ignoble blaming of Eve for his sin. Whatever eating the fruit (it was not an apple that was depicted in Genesis) means, it does not mean having intercourse, because that is something God commanded them to do, not something he forbade them to do. The first sin was doing something forbidden, not doing something commanded. When you reflect on this you see how incoherent this opinion is.
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Was Having Sex the Original Sin?

In this episode Trent appears as guest on a podcast for the Christian Research Institute and helps their mostly Protestant audience better understand the arguments of St. Thomas Aquinas.

Sharing Aquinas’s “Five Ways” with Protestants

The passage most associated with the Immaculate Conception is Luke 1:28-30, where Gabriel addresses Mary with the title (or proper name) of full of grace or highly favored one (Greek: Kécharitôméne). Kécharitôméne is the passive perfect participle form of the verb charitoo, expressing a completed action or definitive perfection. The verb’s root is charis, Greek for grace or favor. The full literal translation of Kécharitôméne would be oh, one who is completely graced or favored. It is followed by “You have found favor [Greek: charis, grace] with God.”
In the fourth century, Jerome translated Kécharitôméne as gratia plena—full of grace—since God had blessed Mary “in Christ with every spiritual blessing,” having chosen her and us in Christ “before the foundation of the world . . . [to] be holy and blameless [Latin: immaculati]” (Eph. 1:3-4).
If God fully favored or graced Mary, she needed to be free of sin, of any alienation from God. Mary is fully graced, as she is fully a virgin. Had she been “unvirginal” in any moment of her existence, then she would not be fully a virgin. Likewise, had Mary been disfavored (i.e., in sin) at any moment, then she would not have been fully graced by God or “filled with all the fullness of God” (Eph. 3:19).
Light is an image for grace. Being clothed with the sun indicates that Christ shared with Mary his glory, favor, and grace in God, just as he will with all Christians: “The righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (Matt. 13:43), when we shall be full of grace. God did this with Mary in anticipation of the redemption, of her becoming the Mother of God. This fulfilled his promise: to pour out his Spirit upon his maidservants and handmaids—upon the handmaid of the Lord.<a href="#_edn1" name="_ednref1">[i]</a> The Spirit both purified and filled Mary at her conception so she could be called full of grace and most blest of women. As Gregory Nazianzen (d. 390) explains:
<blockquote>He was conceived by the Virgin, who had first been purified by the Spirit in soul and body; for, as it was fitting that childbearing should receive its share of honor, so it was necessary that virginity should receive even greater honor (Sermo 38.13).</blockquote>
Mary was more blessed, spiritually holy, clear, pure, and spotless than Lady Wisdom from the Old Testament (Wis. 7:23-24). God sought Mary—as he does every Christian—to be Christ’s pure bride (2 Cor. 11:2-3), just as Abraham sought a pure bride for his son Isaac (Gen. 24:3,37; 28:1-2): she must not be a daughter of Canaanites—of sinners descended from Cain. No, Christ’s bride must be immaculate: spiritually holy, spotless, without blemish or wrinkle (Eph. 5:25-27), just as every Christian must be washed clean of any stain so as to form the spotless bride. So it is impossible that Mary had any sin affecting her relationship with God.
God goes to great lengths to preserve women from defilement, prefiguring how God would preserve Mary from the spiritual defilement of sin.<a href="#_edn2" name="_ednref2">[ii]</a> Sinful and defiled women are antithetical to Mary. Sin is linked to shame. We contract sin at conception and experience shame as we grow. Scripture praises Susanna, in the Book of Daniel, “because nothing shameful was found in her” (13:63). In fact, she freely faced death rather “than to sin in the sight of the Lord.” (v. 23). God vanquished the tempting adversaries of Mary, more blessed than Susanna. So describing Mary as immaculate, free from all sin, best fits Scripture.
Key to understanding the Immaculate Conception is how Scripture prefigures Mary in Eve. Exploring early Christian writings, John Henry Newman (d. 1890) noticed how God created both Adam and Eve fully graced and favored, with no stain of sin or shame. This meant their human nature could reflect God’s image and likeness perfectly. The New Adam typology suggests that the New Eve would also be fully graced and immaculate. In fact, God calls all of us, “before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless [Latin: immaculati] before him” (Eph. 1:3-4). Human nature doesn’t necessitate sin: God calls all to be immaculate, free from sin and its effects. So Mary could be.
As the Word of God and source of all grace (John 1:14-17), Christ was conceived in Mary without sin. Since he is eternally God, he is also eternally holy and without sin. This radically differs from Adam, Eve, and Mary, all of whom had the capacity to sin, whereas Christ did not. Although her immaculate conception differs from her son’s, Mary is more blessed than Eve, even before the Fall! “Blessed is the man [or the woman] to whom the Lord imputes no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit” (Ps. 32:2).
Justin Martyr (d. 165) compares Mary to the immaculate, undefiled virgin Eve (Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, 100). In Scripture, virginity affirms something beyond the physical: it represents freedom from sin. (Scripture does not say that every person who is sexually a virgin is free from sin or immaculately conceived. The Bible makes only a negative assertion: the loss of virginity is connected with sin and impurity.) Where there is sin, there is a loss of virginal love of God and a loss of the wholesome relationship with God the Father. As more blessed than Eve, Mary is more fully a virgin and free from sin; she is fully graced with a favorable relationship with her heavenly Father (Luke 1:28-30).
Ill favor is sin. For St. John, sin and virginity are mutually exclusive:
<blockquote>Then I looked, and lo, on Mount Zion stood the Lamb, and with him a hundred and forty-four thousand who . . . have not defiled themselves with women, for they are chaste . . . and in their mouth no lie was found, for they are spotless (Rev. 14:1-5).</blockquote>
Adam and Eve lose this immaculate grace and shamelessness when they freely disobey God.<a href="#_edn3" name="_ednref3">[iii]</a> God curses Eve’s sin: “I will greatly multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you” (Gen. 3:16). Eve, and all women stained with original sin, are cursed with birthing pain and menstrual and birthing bloods, associating these with sin and a need for purification.
As God puts enmity between the devil and the Messiah’s mother (Gen. 3:15), so Satan does not break through God’s protection of Mary. Pope John Paul II explains:
<blockquote>The absolute hostility put between the woman and the devil thus demands in Mary the Immaculate Conception, that is, a total absence of sin, from the very beginning of her life. The son of Mary won the definitive victory over Satan and enabled his mother to receive its benefits in advance by preserving her from sin. As a result, the son granted her the power to resist the devil, thus achieving in the mystery of the Immaculate Conception the most notable effect of his redeeming work . . . the beginning of a new order which is the result of friendship with God and which, as a consequence, entails a profound enmity between the serpent and men.</blockquote>
Mary is blessed because of her faith (Luke 1:41-45), and “whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (Rom. 14:23). So fullness of faith means fullness of sinlessness and grace. Christ’s mother is “a lily among brambles, so is my love among maidens” (Song of Sol. 2:2), oh, blessed among women!

What It Means to Be ‘Virgin of Virgins’

Let’s begin with a quick recap of this famous parable, whose name varies with the emphasis—the parable of the prodigal son, the parable of the two brothers, the parable of the loving father.
This is explicitly recounted in the Gospel as a parable, not a real story, so the Lord himself invites us into the multiple layers of symbolic meanings. Perhaps the first layer is the immediate dynamic among the righteous, sinners, and God. Much like the story of the prophet Jonah, where God rebukes the prophet for his elder brother-like whining, the point is that God’s mercy is his own prerogative, not some sort of calculation where we get to sit around and fret about who deserves it. Jesus tells this parable in the context of the scribes and Pharisees complaining about his mercy toward sinners, so it also contains a subtle nod to the Lord’s own divinity. As with so many of the parables, although there is a great deal to learn about ourselves, perhaps the larger and more important message has to do with God.
A second layer would be the relationship between the lost northern tribes of Israel—the prodigal son who wastes his inheritance—and the more faithful southern tribe of Judah, the elder brother of the parable. Here, too, the story says something about Jesus himself. By this point, many Samaritans—descendants of those less faithful northern tribes, scorned by the Judeans—had begun to follow Jesus, no doubt turning many heads, not just of the scribes and Pharisees.
A third layer is closely related to the second, and that is the relationship between Israel and the world—or the Gentiles. Most of the peoples of the earth, since the days of Noah and Abraham, had run away from their inheritance. But Israel had been preserved as a righteous and faithful remnant. At this point, Jesus is still largely preaching to the Jews, and we don’t really see clearly the full weight of his universality until Pentecost, but already he had a reputation of both consorting with Gentiles and implying through many of his other parables that the elder brother, the people of Israel, has squandered his inheritance. In other words, despite their outward fidelity to the law, their hearts were not at all different from those of the Gentiles. The elder brother in the parable, despite his outward respect for his father, reveals in the end that he is not so different on the inside.
We could perhaps go on, but I want to mention one final layer of meaning—this time less a straightforward allegory than a resonance with our first reading from the book of Joshua. The people of Israel had been wandering the wilderness for forty years as a punishment for their rebellion. Just before this scene, the people cross the Jordan into the promised land. Tradition sees this wandering as a sign of the wandering of human nature in this present life before we are finally able to enter the kingdom of heaven. Connect that as well, of course, with these forty days of Lent as we look to Easter. At this moment, hope becomes reality. The manna from heaven—always seen by the Church Fathers as a type of the Eucharist—gives way to the produce of the land itself, which is to say the beatific vision.
In the end, whereas we might identify more with the prodigal son or the elder brother at different moments in time, the thing that matters most about the parable is the love and mercy of the father. He represents a new kind of family, a new kind of economy, a new creation—that true and final promised land—where grace and mercy reign. And the catalyst ushering in that new world is his heartbreak and longing for communion with his sons.
The heartbreak and longing are critical. This isn’t some cold, calculating father who looks at his accounts again and says, “Well, son, it’s been a good year for me, so I guess I can afford to give you another chance.” He doesn’t worry about the cost. This is God’s love for us: a selfless choice to tie his life to ours. He knows that it will hurt, and he does it anyway
Peter Kreeft writes, “If you want to avoid suffering at all costs, then the stupidest thing you can possibly do is to love someone, to give your heart to someone, because it will certainly be broken, many times, in many ways.” There is a great mystery here, wrapped up in the mystery of the Trinity and the mystery of the Incarnation, one that we can fully digest only when we cross the Jordan of this life. But we don’t have to understand everything about how this makes sense in terms of nature and theology and atonement to receive and grasp on some level the description of God’s character; as we say and as I often quote from our Prayer of Humble Access, our gracious Lord’s “property is always to have mercy.”
In other words, this is just who God is. It is just who Jesus is. We don’t have to understand it. We don’t even have to like it. At times we might be like the prodigal son, overwhelmed and confused at how the Father could possibly receive him back. At times we might be like the elder son, angry and envious, and also confused as to how all this works, unsure of whether his choices were in the end the right ones when the mercy seems so ridiculously free. But the father in this story, who is really more akin to the divine Son, stands at the crux of history, literally allowing his body to be beaten, his soul to be anguished, and his heart to be pierced because he would rather die a thousand deaths than see his brethren and children separated from him.
The old collect for today reminds us that though “for our evil deeds” we “do worthily deserve to be punished,” we can confidently ask God to be “mercifully relieved” by the comfort of his grace. Modern consciousness (and liturgy) shrinks back from that rather stark description of our plight, worrying that it makes God into some angry, punishing despot. But this is exactly opposite the point: God, despite all that we do, is more grieved than angry. The Sacred Heart isn’t bound by some kind of external law demanding punishment; God is rather bound to his own sovereign decision to give us freedom. He bears the cost of that decision himself in a way more infinite and total than any punishment we might ever imaginably bear in this life. He is not, in other words, standing around looking for ways to condemn us; we are quite capable of doing that for ourselves. He is rather always looking for ways to pardon us, to revive us, to restore us to the good.
This is the God who wants to share his life with us. Let us then leave the old world and go with him into the promised land.