Manage Account

<div>What is the Black Madonna?</div><div>A &#8220;black Madonna&#8221; is a state or image of Mary that depicts her with black or dark skin. The most famous one is Our Lady of Czestochowa, a Polish image that has been proclaimed the &#8220;Queen of Poland.&#8221; Various pious legends abound as to its origins. One claims it was originally painted by St. Luke. Another claims that it was discovered by Emperor Constantine&#8217;s mother in the fourth century, and the Emperor built a shrine to venerate it. Various miracles are also attributed to it, and it is credited with saving various Christian armies and communities from destruction.
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The Black Madonna

<div>What are the suggested readings for a funeral Mass?</div><div>The readings for a funeral Mass may be found in the <a href="https://www.catholic.com/encyclopedia/lectionary">Lectionary</a> in the volume that has the Ritual Masses and Votive Masses. Often a parish has a commercially produced booklet that provides a selection of readings for a funeral along with other possible choices for the Mass. These booklets rarely give all the available options. It would be good to ask to see the actual Lectionary, rather than just the planning pamphlet if you want to have the greatest selection possible.
All this being said, letting the family choose the readings is a courtesy. It is actually the right of the priest or deacon celebrant of the funeral to choose the readings, since he will base his homily on them. So, if one is given the opportunity to choose the readings, one might politely choose them while making clear that one is happy with any choice the celebrant may prefer.
Another point, added here for the fun of it: those reading at the funeral should read from the actual Lectionary rather than off sheets of paper or from pamphlets. This is due to the reverence due to the word of God. If such sheets have to be used, at least they should be in some nice, Lectionary-like binder. The best practice is to photocopy the readings from the lectionary that will be used at the Mass and have the readers practice the readings from those. Then the text in the lectionary will appear exactly as they practiced it, but they won&#8217;t have to bring a floppy or folded piece of paper to the ambo, which would be something like bringing up the bread on a paper plate at the offertory.
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Readings for a Funeral Mass

When does a fetus become a ‘person?’

Today’s feast is rare in that it falls on Sunday only once or twice a decade. But even on other days, it is unusual.
In every church, it is normal to observe the anniversary of the dedication, much in the way that we might observe our own birthday, date of baptism, or wedding anniversary. The four major Roman basilicas have, at least in recent centuries, had their anniversaries observed by the whole Latin Church—that is, St. Mary Major, St. Peter, St. Paul, and St. John Lateran. But most of these are optional memorials, whereas today’s feast not only is obligatory, but outranks a Sunday in Ordinary Time.
Though those writing calendar rubrics rarely leave a complete set of explanatory notes about their decisions, we can suggest two primary reasons for this unusual pre-eminence of a particular church building. First, the proper title of the Lateran Basilica is in fact the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior and Saints John the Baptist and John the Evangelist at the Lateran. Quite a mouthful, that—no wonder we shorten the name. But the point is that whereas dedications to both St. Johns were added in the ninth century, the original dedication was to Christ the Redeemer, and so this effect makes the day a feast of Our Lord under that title. Second, the Lateran Basilica has long been considered the “mother” of all the churches of the world. Yes, even more so than St. Peter’s. So we honor this particular building, as Pope Benedict declared at an Angelus address in 2008, as “an expression of love and veneration for the Roman Church, ‘which,’ as St. Ignatius of Antioch affirms, ‘presides in charity’ over the entire Catholic communion.”
What a beautiful gesture for us—especially those of us who have chosen, from much prayer and wrestling, union with the Holy Roman and Apostolic See.
Perhaps we should say something about this particular basilica and why it is so significant. It is probably the oldest building made specifically for public Christian worship in Rome. It was dedicated on this day in the year 324 by Pope Sylvester I. Its construction was thanks to not the pope, but the emperor Constantine, who, when he entered Rome in triumph in 312, wanted to offer some sign and gift to the God of Jesus Christ.
This is not the place to judge the extent of Constantine’s personal faith. Whatever his theology at that point, it seems his conviction that it was this God who gave him victory was firm enough that he refused, on entering the city, to offer the customary sacrifices to the gods. Supposedly the Roman establishment was so scandalized by this sleight that Constantine hid from public view for a while.
The site he chose for a new temple was not in the midst of the city alongside the temples of Jupiter or Vesta or Mars, but to the southeast, just inside the walls, next to the Celian Hill on the site of an old barracks and adjacent to a palace that was part of the dowry of Constantine’s wife, Fausta. Yet a traditional Roman temple was a place for the deity, not for the people, hence unsuited for Christian worship, in which the new sacrifice offered was integrally related to the people offering it and the form of offering. So when the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer was built, Constantine used as a model the Roman basilica, a multipurpose rectangular building designed to hold large numbers of people.
The Lateran Basilica, as it came to be called, was the first such building made as a church. But whereas Roman basilicas were modest structures, this church was built on a grand scale, with opulence and beauty, designed to hold 3,000 people. Though Constantine was careful in not thrusting this too much into the face of the Roman establishment, the symbolism was clear enough: this was a symbol of the triumph of Christianity.
The Lateran Basilica from that point became the seat of the bishops of Rome, the popes. And the palace attached to it came to be their official residence all the way up to the Avignon papacy in 1309. The original basilica was destroyed by earthquake in the ninth century and rebuilt; it was destroyed again by fire in the fourteenth century and rebuilt. Later in that same century, it was destroyed by another fire and rebuilt.
Although the popes haven’t lived in the palace since the fourteenth century, the church remains the seat and throne of the bishop of Rome. When Pope Leo took possession of the church and celebrated Mass there for the first time this past spring, he was formally taking up the most tangible aspect of his ministry: the pope leads the universal Church because he leads a particular church with a particular relationship to the universal Church.
There is a concrete, material aspect to the Church that we disregard at our peril. There was something of a modern trend, a moment in history that I think is blessedly now fading away, suggesting that, because ultimately the Church is the people, not a building, the buildings are merely functional and can just as well look like a supermarket or a sports arena as a place of solemnity. This was taking a certain truth and using it as a weapon against other corollary truths. As a comparison, we might remember that the Christian tradition has always insisted on the priority of spiritual things. The state of a person’s soul is ultimately more significant than the state of his body. But this does not mean we can do whatever we want with our bodies, that they are of no significance at all, or that material things are of no significance. We often seem to live, in the twenty-first century, in a constant swinging pendulum between the gnostic extremes of materialism and spiritualism. The fact that many people in this world act as if temporal, bodily things are the only things that matter does not permit us to discard them for some supposedly pure realm of spirit.
“You are God’s building,” St. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 3. “You are the temple of God.” And so the basilica, in the imagination of the early Roman Church, became a kind of temple of temples, a holy of holies. Rather than something in competition with the ecclesia as people, they saw it as proof and a sign of that reality. How we house Christ’s body tells an important story to the world, and to ourselves, about what we value and how we treat God’s gifts.
The Church’s greatest “treasures” were, and are, God’s people, as St. Lawrence famously told the pagan authorities of Rome less than a century before the construction of the Lateran basilica. All the more reason to consecrate for them a place worthy of that high calling. Again we can see this in Constantine’s architectural decisions in the fourth century. As far back as we can find them, the rites of the dedication of a church building echo the initiatory rites of the faithful themselves: the building is instructed in the faith through a symbolic writing on the ground; it is purified with salt and washed with holy water; it is anointed with holy oil; upon the altar, which is its heart, incense is burned in the fire of charity; and there, at last, it becomes a place of sacrifice, like the human body and soul, where God’s own creation is returned to him in love and where the fire of God’s own love comes down to us to give life and power.
The story of Christ’s cleansing of the temple in John gives an interesting window into the early Church’s understanding of this dynamic. The old Temple was, they knew, soon to become almost irrelevant in view of the temple that was Christ’s own body. Even so, his disciples could look back and recall the words of Scripture: “Zeal for your house will consume me.” If the Temple was of no consequence in comparison with the true temple to come, why was the Lord so consumed with zeal for it?
The simple answer is that zeal for the Lord’s ultimate abode in heaven must take concrete form on earth, even while we know that here we have, in the words of Hebrews, “no lasting city” (13:14), but seek “a city which is to come.” The movement, emphasized over and over again in the great tradition, from visible things to invisible things, rarely means that we must discard the visible things.
The sacraments are the first and most obvious proof of this. We are asked to look beyond the visible form of bread and wine to the truth of the substantial body and blood hidden within, but this vision of faith does not destroy our sight. Our senses are elevated, educated, vivified, clarified. But they remain, because the Lord died not for us to become some sort of gnostic pure spirit, but to become human beings fully alive, body and soul, shining with the glory of God. The streams of grace flowing out from the holy temple, like in Ezekiel’s vision, bring new life to all creation. The many tangible and visible things that the tradition gives us, from the historical church of St. John Lateran to this and every parish church, are not merely doorways to some secret spiritual realm; they are engines of our sanctification, vehicles that invite us to peer through the mystical veil not just once, as some paltry symbol that can be discarded, its meaning spent, but over and over again as we move further into the beauty of God.
We are on our way home to heaven. To go there, we must first learn to love the home he gives us here, even while we look through and beyond it to the world to come.

‘St. John Lateran, Pray for Us’

<div>Why did Nicodemus bring such a large amount of spices to the tomb?</div><div>As with the sinful woman who anointed the Lord&#8217;s feet in the house of Simon, the amount used was not dictated by practical necessity but was a sign of the honor due and given to the Lord himself. Forty pounds were used for the funeral of the Rabbi Gamaliel, so a hundred pounds (or more likely about seventy-five of our pounds) would be a sign of extreme veneration of the person of Jesus. This excess is a sign both of the love of Our Lord&#8217;s followers and of his surpassing dignity.
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Why Did Nicodemus Bring So Much Spice?

The gospel is central to the Christian faith, but few people realize how the Bible itself understands the concept.
Previously, I showed that—based on passages in the Old Testament—the New Testament understands the gospel to be the message that <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/what-does-scripture-say-about-the-gospel">the time has arrived</a> for God to inaugurate his kingdom and begin ruling in the world.
Once you realize this, you find echoes of the gospel in other passages that don’t even use the term. For example, if God’s kingdom is now arriving, who has been ruling the world up to now?
There are two answers to this question. One is the human kingdoms that have ruled the world thus far and oppressed God’s people. But now these kingdoms are being supplanted by the kingdom of God. In Revelation, we read,
<blockquote>Then the seventh angel blew his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, saying, “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever” (11:15).</blockquote>
So the kingdom of the world has been replaced by the kingdom of God and Christ. But this announcement—like the gospel itself—is not coming out of the blue. It’s also predicted in the Old Testament. For example, the prophet Zechariah predicts that there will be a day when “the Lord will be king over all the earth” (Zech. 14:9).
In Daniel, we read of a series of pagan kingdoms that oppress God’s people, and then we are told,
<blockquote>And in the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed, nor shall the kingdom be left to another people. It shall break in pieces all these kingdoms and bring them to an end, and it shall stand forever (Dan. 2:44).</blockquote>
Later, we read about a similar line of pagan kingdoms, and we learn about the role of the Son of Man in their overthrow. Daniel says,
<blockquote>I saw in the night visions, and behold, with the clouds of heaven there came one like a son of man, and he came to the Ancient of Days and was presented before him.
And to him was given dominion and glory and a kingdom, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him; his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom one that shall not be destroyed (7:13-14).</blockquote>
The idea of the pagan kingdoms of the world being replaced by God’s kingdom through the Son of Man—or Christ—is one of the expectations established in the Old Testament.
However, the pagan kingdoms of the world are not the only answer to the question of who was ruling before the time of God’s kingdom. The other answer is found on the angelic level—in the invisible world that operates behind the visible, earthly kingdoms.
Scripture gives us glimpses of that invisible world, such as when John tells us, “The whole world lies in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19).
And when Jesus was tested in the desert, we read:
<blockquote>The devil took [Jesus] up and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time, and said to him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.”
And Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and him only shall you serve’” (Luke 4:5-8).</blockquote>
So God had allowed the devil to have spiritual control on the angelic level of all the nations of the earth. And to test Jesus, the devil offered him all these nations in exchange for worship, but Jesus knew that this was not God’s plan and rejected the offer.
Consequently, John tells us, “The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil” (1 John 3:8).
And in John’s Gospel, as Jesus is preparing to go to the cross, he says,
<blockquote>Now is the judgment of this world; now will the ruler of this world be cast out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself (12:31-32).</blockquote>
Thus, Hebrews says that Jesus partook of flesh and blood so that
<blockquote>through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil (2:14).</blockquote>
All this forms the conceptual background to the New Testament understanding of the gospel. It’s the good news that—although the devil has reigned in the world up to now, and there have been a series of pagan empires that have oppressed God’s people—the time has finally arrived for God to come and begin reigning through his kingdom.
This happens because his Son defeats the powers of darkness by his atoning death on the cross and by his resurrection and ascension to the right hand of God, where he now sits and reigns while the final defeat of the powers of darkness and death is implemented. As St. Paul says:
<blockquote>As in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ.
Then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death (1 Cor. 15:22-26).</blockquote>
We thus see that there is a central role for Jesus as the Son of God in the New Testament’s conception of the gospel, and that’s not surprising.
Of the more than thirty references you’ll turn up if you search for the “gospel of” or the “good news of,” they don’t all refer to God and the kingdom. Eleven of them—or about a third—refer to variations on the gospel “of Christ,” “of Jesus Christ,” “of our Lord Jesus,” and “of his Son” (Mark 1:1; Rom. 1:9, 15:19; 1 Cor. 9:12; 2 Cor. 2:12, 9:13, 10:14; Gal. 1:7; Phil. 1:27; 1 Thess. 3:2; 2 Thess. 1:8).
In addition, the four documents about the life of Christ are called Gospels—a usage that dates back to the apostolic age.
So Jesus has a very prominent place in the New Testament understanding of the gospel, but this is not the original way it was conceptualized. The Old Testament prophets, John the Baptist, and Jesus all initially announced the gospel as the arrival of God’s kingdom, and this is how it was publicly announced for years—all through Christ’s earthly ministry.
Only Jesus fully understood the role he would play in bringing that kingdom about, he disclosed this only gradually, and even his own disciples did not understand it until he rose from the dead.
Therefore, the role of the Son in the gospel was a secondary announcement. It was added to the original, primary understanding of the gospel of God and his kingdom at a later stage to explain how that kingdom would come about. That’s why the earliest announcements of the gospel put all the focus on God and his kingdom, and the announcements of the gospel in connection with the Son were all given later.
The primary proclamation of the gospel is thus the announcement that the time for God to inaugurate his kingdom has arrived, and the secondary proclamation is that this kingdom will be implemented through God’s Son.
But notice that there’s still something missing from the way the New Testament conceptualizes the gospel. The passages where the New Testament refers to the gospel just do not focus on individuals. They don’t focus on you, your sin, your forgiveness, you being delivered from hell, or you being united with God in heaven.
That’s not what we find in these passages, and that understanding reframes the gospel away from the New Testament’s conception to present the gospel as if it were about what happens to individuals like you and me. To put it bluntly, the gospel is not about us. It’s about God, his Son, and his kingdom.
Of the more than thirty references to the “gospel of” and the “good news of,” only one of them explicitly refers to salvation. In that passage, Paul says,
<blockquote>In [Christ] you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit (Eph. 1:13).</blockquote>
Here Paul identifies “the word of truth” with “the gospel of your salvation.” Salvation is one of the implications of the gospel for us. It is because of the gospel that we can be saved. But a single verse that mentions this fact does not radically change the focus of the New Testament in how its authors think of the gospel.
The primary proclamation of the gospel is still that the time for God’s kingdom has arrived. The secondary proclamation of the gospel is still that God’s kingdom will be implemented through his Son. And the fact that we can be saved through the Son is an addendum to these proclamations of the gospel, but it is not the essence of the gospel itself.
We thus see that there are a lot of misconceptions about the gospel—at least if people are taking their own definitions to be what the New Testament means by the word. I covered many of these alternate conceptions <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/misunderstanding-the-gospel">here</a>.
Different groups can use terms however they like, but they are not representing the New Testament understanding of the gospel if they say it is equivalent to
<ul>
<li>the whole of Scripture,</li>
<li>the whole of Christian doctrine,</li>
<li>the whole of Christ’s teachings,</li>
<li>Lutheranism’s idea of anything that preaches God’s grace and forgiveness,</li>
<li>the distinctive doctrines of Full Gospel Pentecostals,</li>
<li>the distinctive doctrines of Calvinism,</li>
<li>the idea of justification by faith alone,</li>
<li>the idea of justification by grace alone, or even</li>
<li>the idea that God has saved us—as individuals—through the death of his Son since we could not save ourselves.</li>
</ul>
No, the core of the gospel, beginning with texts in the Old Testament, is that the time for God’s kingdom has arrived and all opposing powers will be overthrown. The elaboration of the gospel is that God’s kingdom will be implemented through his Son. And a happy consequence of that fact is that we can be saved through his Son.
The New Testament’s understanding is not about us as individuals and how we can benefit. The gospel is not about us. Instead, the good news is about what God and his Son are doing in the world, what they’re doing to their enemies—like the devil and the pagan world order. How we can benefit as individuals, how we can get on board with God’s plan, is a consequence of the gospel, but it’s not the essence of the good news.
So what do we need to do to benefit from the good news? Jesus himself told us:
<blockquote>The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel (Mark 1:15).</blockquote>
Or, as St. Peter put it on the day of Pentecost:
<blockquote>Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38).</blockquote>

How People Get the Gospel Wrong

<div>How does one reconcile the doctrine of purgatory with the doctrine of Justification? On the one side, we are sent to purgatory to be made holy, but the doctrine of Justification says that we are actually made righteous when we are justified. </div><div>In short, one must distinguish between initial and ongoing justification.
In initial justification at baptism, the believer is forgiven of all theirs sin, remitted all temporal punishment due those sins, and is inwardly transformed by the indwelling of the Holy Trinity.
However, unless they die right after Baptism, that’s not the end of their walk with the Lord. They are called to grow in their holiness through the process of ongoing justification, and their bad choices can pull them away from God and his Church from one extent to another. If they subsequently die and have unforgiven venial sins and temporal punishment due their sins in general, e.g., being attached to sinful behavior despite having been forgiven or related transgressions, they will need the purification of Purgatory (CCC 1472). In this light, Purgatory fosters holiness through our postmortem purification.
For more on the distinctions between justification, good works and Purgatory, please read <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/we-can-work-it-out">this article by Tim Staple</a> and also <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/justification-process-or-one-time-deal">this one</a>, plus our two <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/the-roots-of-purgatory">tracts</a> on <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/purgatory">Purgatory</a> and also our two <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/primer-on-indulgences">tracts</a> on <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/myths-about-indulgences">indulgences</a>.
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Reconciling Justification and Purgatory

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Are Christians atheists?

<div>What do I say to parents who tell me they will let their child decide on baptism?</div><div>It seems that the parents need instruction in the faith, or that their own faith is not strong. You should encourage them to go to Mass each Sunday and pray with the child at home, even if they are not having the child baptized. How will the child decide if he or she has never been taught anything about the Faith at all? This is just a recipe for having no religion and being ignorant, and ignorance is not a good way to prepare to make such an important decision.
I doubt, however, that these parents know very much about the Faith. Encourage them cheerfully and maybe they will come around.
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Let a Child Decide About Baptism?

<div>Would it be appropriate for me to use the sign of the cross when I pray if I am not Catholic yet? </div><div>Certainly you may and should make the sign of the cross. It is not reserved for Catholics, and it is a powerful prayer for enlightenment and protection. If you make it while saying, &#8220;In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen,&#8221; then you are combining an act of faith in Christ&#8217;s Cross and Passion with the profession of faith in the Holy Trinity, and this will be very good for your soul. But become a Catholic as soon as you can. I will pray for you.
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Should a Non-Catholic Sign Himself?

Do Pets Go To Heaven? Jimmy Akin and host Cy Kellett tackle this question in light of records of near death experience.
Transcript:
Caller: We just lost our cat. And I told my son that you have an argument that pets go to heaven. So if you could give your argument that good pets go to heaven, we would really appreciate it.
Jimmy: Okay, so I should introduce a clarification, which is I don&#8217;t claim. Okay, so first of all, this idea that you hear that animals don&#8217;t have an afterlife is not church teaching. That is a theological speculation that is based on Aristotelian physics or metaphysics.
Physics in this case. And I, in episode 203, which is where I discuss this more fully of *Mysterious World*, which you can get to by going to Mysterious FM203, I go through the arguments for animals not having an afterlife and I conclude they don&#8217;t work. I think they&#8217;re bad arguments.
So I&#8217;m not convinced by that. I would say that I don&#8217;t propose they go to heaven. I don&#8217;t know whether they go to heaven or not. Heaven is full spiritual union with God. But I do think there is evidence that they have an afterlife and that at least some animals do, and that it may be a positive afterlife, even if it isn&#8217;t the kind of full union with God, you know, where you have this intellectual vision of God known as the beatific vision that humans can get.
I don&#8217;t know what animals get, but I do have evidence that they may well have an afterlife and that it may be a positive afterlife. Whether it would or would not count as heaven is a separate question.
So there are a number of lines of evidence, and I&#8217;m going to propose at least three lines of evidence that we have in favor of some animals having an afterlife.
One, and I&#8217;ve already mentioned the first one, which is that when humans have near-death experiences, they not only see like their departed relatives in the afterlife while they&#8217;re temporarily clinically dead, they also see animals.
And I did it. And I talk about this in episode 203 of *Mysterious World*. I did a search of a major database of near-death experiences. It has like more than 5,000 near-death experiences in it. And I found by searching on terms like, you know, cat, dog, rabbit, horse, pet animal, things like that, that as many as a quarter of the near-death experience reports that the database contained might have references to animals in them.
Now, I can&#8217;t say it&#8217;s exactly a quarter because what I didn&#8217;t do is read all 5,000 of the reports, but I did find that many. I did find like a quarter of that number that mentioned animals in some way. The actual percentage may be lower than a quarter because you might have one that has the word animal in it and pet in it and dog in it. And so that would look like three hits when really it would count as one if you actually read them.
But this is still a very common thing in human near-death experiences. So that&#8217;s piece of evidence number one.
Piece of evidence number two is a sub-case of piece of evidence number one. There is a kind of experience, and this occurs both in deathbed visions and it occurs in near-death experiences. It&#8217;s what&#8217;s called a peak in Darien experience.
And that&#8217;s P, E, A K, like a mountain peak. This is based on a literary allusion to a poem about a mountain peak in Darien Province, Panama. And I won&#8217;t go through exactly what the allusion involves, but basically the term has become attached to a kind of experience where you see someone in the afterlife, or you see. Basically you see someone in the afterlife that you did not previously know was dead.
For example, an early peak in Darien experience that got recorded about 100 years ago, you had this woman who had just given birth to a child, and she had this heart condition, and the birth was too much of a strain on her system. And so she was in the process of dying.
And they&#8217;d been afraid during her pregnancy that she might not even survive to give birth. So they had her in this maternity hospital and they were rigorously screening what information she was exposed to. But then as she&#8217;s in the process of dying, she starts having a deathbed vision and she&#8217;s like, oh, here&#8217;s my father, and he looks very happy and he&#8217;s welcoming me into the afterlife and oh, hey, what&#8217;s my sister Vita doing here too?
Because as far as the woman knew, her sister Vita was alive. But in fact, her sister Vita had died three weeks earlier. And they had asked the matron of the maternity hospital, is it safe to tell her with her heart condition that her sister Vita has passed on? And the matron said, no, don&#8217;t mention that to her.
And they even had the woman&#8217;s husband screen the woman&#8217;s mail to avoid anyone accidentally mentioning that Vita had died, because they thought that could trigger a cardiac event and she might not survive to give birth to the baby.
So as she&#8217;s having the near-death experience, she sees her father, which would be expected because everybody knew he had passed on. But then she sees someone that she didn&#8217;t know had passed on, namely her sister Vita. And that&#8217;s an example of a peak in Darien experience.
If you see someone in either a deathbed vision or a near-death experience that you did not previously know was dead, and then it turns out it&#8217;s true that they&#8217;re dead, that&#8217;s a peak in Darien experience.
So here&#8217;s the thing. Peak in Darien experiences happen with animals. So someone will be having a near-death experience or a deathbed vision and they&#8217;ll say, oh, here&#8217;s my grandmother and she&#8217;s holding my cat. And the person knew previously the grandmother had died, but they didn&#8217;t know that their cat had died. And it turns out to be true.
So they just like they saw their grandmother in the afterlife, they saw their cat in the afterlife. And in this case, what makes this different than the first type of evidence I mentioned is that it&#8217;s verifiable their cat had died while they were in the hospital and they didn&#8217;t know that.
So this would be, you know, preternatural evidence that they&#8217;re having a real experience that they&#8217;re really learning about their cat being in the afterlife because they had no natural way of knowing that. So it would be a preternatural experience.
Then there&#8217;s the third form of evidence that I would point to, which is that we have so. And again, this parallels other things with humans. Humans very frequently, it tends not to be talked about in our culture, but humans very frequently have experiences that are what are known as after-death communications.
And this is after-death communications are where you have like lost somebody who is close to you and then after they&#8217;re dead they show up again. And they can show up in a number of different ways. I also have *Mysterious World* episodes about after-death communications. So you can check those out for more info.
But like 40 to 50% of the population globally has at least one after-death communication at some point in their lives. Okay, well, turns out it happens with animals too. There are animal after-death communications.
I haven&#8217;t yet done a *Mysterious World* about those, but I have in the last couple of years there have been some research papers done on this, and I will be doing an animal after-death communications episode in the near future. But you can hear about the other stuff that I talked about, for example, by going to Mysterious FM203.
So the three pieces of evidence I pointed to here, and I could name others, but the three pieces of evidence I pointed to here are, number one, people having near-death experiences report seeing animals in the afterlife.
Piece of evidence number two, people have peak in Darien experiences involving animals that they&#8217;ve known which are then verifiable. And piece of evidence number three, people have after-death communications, particularly from animals that they&#8217;ve known.
So those would be the three pieces of evidence I would mention. Also, and this is something you might be interested in, but I just recently did an episode on animal end-of-life experiences.
So if you go to, and I can get the number for you for that pretty quick I think. Yeah, it&#8217;s episode 366. So if you go to Mysterious FM 366, you can learn about the kinds of end-of-life experiences that animals frequently have and see if you think your animal, your cat may have had any of the experiences that have otherwise been reported.
Cy: Annie, thank you. Thanks very much.
Jimmy Very sorry to learn that you lost your cat. That&#8217;s always sad.
Cy: Thank you for the call, Annie. Mike&#8217;s in Pennsylvania watching on YouTube. Mike, welcome. Go ahead with your question.

Do Pets Go To Heaven?

<div>Is it acceptable to sell my art in a gallery that is rented by other artists if the building is owned by Freemasons?</div><div>Yes. We are not responsible for the convictions and religious and political activities of those with whom we do business, unless the relationship is explicitly based on those convictions. So renting from the Freemasons does not constitute formal participation in their sect.
There is only here what we would call &#8220;material cooperation,&#8221; which is not wrong if it is for a sufficient reason. Even if you had the choice between a devout Catholic landlord who charged too much and a masonic one who had reasonable rates, you could choose in your own interest the mason&#8217;s property.
After all, our republic was founded by Freemasons. Our laws were largely formulated by them, and they are still a significant force in American, Latin American, and European society. Catholics have to be able to live in such a society as justly and reasonably as possible. We are always free to have a private preference not to rent or buy from someone, but this cannot be presented as a moral obligation.
There are those who in their praiseworthy zeal for right social order, and in their frustration at their inability to make an impact, can fixate on boycotting businesses or media outlets that do not promote true public morality, but it is very rarely the case that a boycott is a moral obligation. It is a political instrument, which can be effective or ineffective.
In short, you may rent from a Freemason, and you may buy coffee from Starbucks, even though its CEO supports gender ideology. None of this implies any approval of their opinions. You are also free not to because you find their actions repugnant and want a lifestyle that is less involved in their power and influence. Many wise people do this, but that is a free choice, not an obligation.
</div>

Material Cooperation Explained

Why does the widow put her two coins into the treasury?
That is the question. All the rich men, they give out of their abundance—generously, in an absolute sense, but only out of what they consider expendable. I remember a fascinating conversation at coffee hour in an Episcopal group in New England, some years ago, discussing the idea of the tithe  (a tithe is, by the way, a tenth—that’s just what the word means), and a certain British gentleman commented to me that surely that is 10 percent of one’s readily available income. I am not completely sure what he meant; certainly tithing doesn’t mean you cut off and sell a tenth of your house every year, or something like that. But if he meant that the tithe was meant to be simply a portion one’s disposable income after all the bills have been paid, etc., I think he may have missed the point. For the ancient people of God, the tithe was the tithe; whether it was money from trade, or fruits of the harvest, one gave the first portion to God. Not a piece of the leftovers. Without too much stretch, we might translate this as follows: give your first hour’s wages to God, whatever that may be.
But still there’s the question of why. For the rich men in the Temple, we might translate the why into today’s terms: perhaps there is a tax benefit to giving a certain amount. Perhaps by giving a certain amount they will please an important patron or board member. Perhaps they give, in a simple way, because they want to and because they can. There is no judgment necessary here: in highlighting the widow’s gift, Jesus is not suggesting that the other gifts are meaningless or unworthy.
But the why does matter in the end. The widow gives, Jesus says, not out of her excess, but out of her substance—in fact, she gives all that she has. So for her, the donation is not merely an act of supporting some cause that she likes, at a time when she has some money to spare that maybe needs to go to a good cause. For her, this is an act of personal faith: she is giving not just her coins, but her own hope of health and well-being. For her, this small amount is of far greater significance than the larger amounts given by others.
It’s an act of faith, but also, I think, of joy. People give sometimes out of obligation. People give sometimes with a sense of self-interest. But this one gives willingly, almost as if she were not the true owner.
And there we have the key: this power of gift. St. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 4: “What have you that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?” If God’s grace—God’s gifts and favor toward us—is a constant theme for Paul, it is also the constant theme of the whole Bible. Genesis begins with grace: with God’s creation out of nothing, his gift of life to all creatures, his gift of divine dignity and freedom to humanity. The widow of Zerephath in 1 Kings receives God’s unexpected gift of food. Revelation ends with grace—with the heavenly city descending to the new earth, where God will dwell with his people together.
And in the middle, at the crossroads of history, we find Jesus: the incarnate Son of God, who gives the world himself. Our reading from Hebrews speaks of this gift and its unique character. It is a sacrifice unlike any other, because it is total, complete, and forever. We remember it at every Mass; we make it present once again, we offer again—in an unbloody way—the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ, presenting before God God’s own flesh and blood for the renewal of creation. Grace upon grace upon grace.
We can legitimately celebrate the right to private property—a right the Catholic Church affirms—and take a real and rational pleasure in the work that we do in building up treasure, so to speak, in this world, whether for ourselves or for following generations. So tradition is clear that we need not take from the widow’s mite some kind of universal rule of poverty, much less some kind of Marxist deconstruction of the value of individual work. But the spiritual principle is quite real, and no less powerful: in an absolute sense, from the perspective of eternity, we own nothing. We come into this world empty-handed, and we take nothing with us when we leave. The Christian concept of “stewardship” is a reminder of this. We are, as human beings, stewards of creation. We are also stewards of the resources we have at the present time. But they do not finally belong to us; they belong to our Lord and Master.
I think some of the great benefactors and philanthropists among <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/a-glimmer-of-hope-for-the-rich">the very rich</a> have understood this. And many people in great poverty understand this as well, which is why charitable giving among the poor remains, even today, much more common than it is among those with more. It is those of us somewhere in the middle who find it hard, probably because we convince ourselves that being comfortable is the same thing as being good stewards.
There was risk involved in God’s self-gift to us—first in creation, and then even more in the incarnation. This risk is obvious—we see it fully on the cross. Giving us himself meant being vulnerable. Do we think, then, that following this Lord will involve no risks? Do we think it will be safe? Do we think it will make demands only on our leftovers, on our spare time, on the parts of life that we already happen to have available? As C.S. Lewis reminds us, Aslan is not a tame lion. This Lord who suffered death for us is not very interested in a half-hearted faithfulness.
We know that stewardship is much more than money—it is also about time, energy, resources, talent. In all these things, God wants our first fruits, not our leftovers. Christianity is not a part-time club, but an all-consuming romance. If we all acted on this truth, with a whole heart, imagine the power of such witness in a world aching for the touch of divine grace.

Decoding the Widow’s Mite

Why do we know some things are wrong? Evolution can’t answer that.

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Video

Whenever morality comes up in discussions, some atheists argue evolution is sufficient to explain morality. In this video, Karlo explains why this argument fails and why God is necessary for a complete account of morality.
Transcript:
Whenever morality comes up in discussions, some atheists argue evolution is sufficient to explain morality. They’ll say, “Morality is merely a product of evolution—the behavior patterns we call morality have been naturally selected for the survival of our species.”
Is evolution sufficient to explain morality? Do we need to give God the boot when it comes to morality? The answer’s no, and here are some reasons why.
For argument’s sake, let’s say morality is merely the product of evolution. The question still remains why I ought to behave in a way that will benefit the survival of our species. Whence does my moral obligation come?
If there were no God, then the dictates of our evolved nature wouldn’t express the intelligence or will of any rational being superior to humans.
But if that’s the case, then how could something that is the byproduct of random and chaotic non-rational processes morally bind anyone? Intuitively we see that this doesn’t make sense. But we can do better than intuition.
As Thomas Aquinas explains in his Summa Theologiae, law is “an ordinance of reason for the common good, made by him who has care of the community” and is “imposed on others by way of a rule and measure.” But this necessarily presupposes a being of intelligence and volition who can impose it.
Therefore, if the evolved order of human nature that determines what’s good for us is to be a law that morally binds us, there must exist a being superior to humans who have intellect and will and has care over the human community. Without such a personal being, like God, there could be no moral obligation.
So, unless one is willing to say moral obligation doesn’t exist, one should reject the idea that evolution is sufficient to explain morality.
If you want to learn more about this topic and others like it, visit our website at catholic.com. Also, visit catholicanswersspeakers.com to learn how you can bring me out to speak at your event.
For Catholic Answers, I’m Karlo Broussard. Thanks for watching.

Can Evolution Explain Morality?

<div>I am an Orthodox Christian. If the ancient church truly believed that the bishop of Rome was the leader that could clarify the dogmas, why did the emperors call for the ecumenical councils? Wouldn’t it be much more easy and orthodox to just ask the bishop of Rome? </div><div>First of all, I am heartened to hear that you recognize how close Catholics and Orthodox are. Although there remain tragic divisions, we shouldn’t overlook the profound agreement between the two. In terms of ecumenical councils, I think that this was largely pragmatic. For instance, the emperor Constantine paid for the travel (and board!) of the 318 participating bishops at the Council of Nicaea, even permitting them to bring guests (for instance, influential monks). The cost and logistics involved would have been difficult or impossible for Pope Sylvester to manage back then. 
But I think that your deeper question is whether the pope makes ecumenical councils irrelevant. As Catholics, we believe in both the infallibility of the pope and in the infallibility of ecumenical councils. Think about it this way: on the <a href="https://www.catholic.com/encyclopedia/judaizers">Judaizer</a> question (the question of whether Gentile Christians need to follow the Mosaic Law to be saved), we get the answer first from St. Peter (Acts 10–11), and then from the Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15). Did Peter have the ability to settle the question? Yes, in the sense that God had shown him the correct answer and preserved him from error. But it was clear that there were some Christians who thought that the apostle was wrong, and the Council of Jerusalem provided additional support. Peter, the first pope, was an apostle. As such, he had the ability to not only speak infallibly, but (unlike modern popes) to enjoy divine inspiration in particular contexts, such as when he preached on Pentecost (Acts 2), or when he wrote 1 Peter and 2 Peter. Nevertheless, the Judaizer controversy wasn’t settled by his acting alone. 
Far from making ecumenical councils irrelevant, I would argue that it’s only through the pope that we know which are the <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/the-authority-of-ecumenical-councils">true ecumenical councils</a>. Between the legalization of Christianity and the end of 787, there were more than seven attempts to hold an ecumenical council. Famously, in 449, Emperor Theodosius II convened the so-called “Second Council of Ephesus,” under the authority of Patriarch Dioscorus of Alexandria. But the pope condemns this as a “robber council,” and today, neither Catholics nor Orthodox accept its legitimacy. So why do we only have “seven ecumenical councils” during this period? Because these are the seven accepted by the pope. 
Without the pope, there’s no clear principle by which to determine which councils are real, and which are robbers. Even the late Orthodox theologian and Bishop Kallistos Ware admitted, <a href="http://orthodoxeurope.org/print/11/1/6.aspx">“All Orthodox know which are the seven councils that their Church accepts as ecumenical, but precisely what it is that makes a council ecumenical is not so clear.”</a> (And in fact, some Orthodox claim there are really eight or nine ecumenical councils, which demonstrates the lack of clarity on the matter). 
The Bible doesn’t render the Church irrelevant, as some Protestants believe—and it’s actually from the Church that we know which are the proper books of the Bible. Likewise, the pope doesn’t render ecumenical councils irrelevant—it’s actually from the pope that we know which are the proper councils. 
</div>

Papal Infallibility Does Not Make Ecumenical Councils Irrelevant

<div>Does water have to be poured thrice, or a person immersed thrice, for a valid baptism?</div><div>For the purpose of validity, it does not matter if the water is poured once, twice, or thrice. All that is required is the pouring of water and the trinitarian formula.
The Catechism of Trent, The Sacrament of Baptism:
<blockquote>It is a matter of indifference whether the ablution be performed once or thrice. For it is evident from the Epistle of St. Gregory the Great to Leander that baptism was formerly and may still be validly administered in the Church in either way. The faithful, however, should follow the practice of the particular Church to which they belong.</blockquote>
</div>

Are Three Pours Required at Baptism?

The Book of Acts does not tell us the full story of early Church history. It provides only partial information.
This is obvious from the fact that it covers just the period between A.D. 33 and 60, when it suddenly stops (providing us an important clue to when it was written). Even within that time frame, though, it is only a partial record.
For example, the book of Acts tracks the activities of basically three individuals:
<ul>
<li>Peter (chapters 1-6, 9-12)</li>
<li>Philip the Evangelist (chapter 8)</li>
<li>Paul (chapters 9, 11, 13-28)</li>
</ul>
This gives us a big clue about who Luke’s main sources were in composing the book—at least for those parts that he didn’t personally witness, which are found in the so-called “we” passages later in the book, where Luke describes what “we” did.
Luke tells us almost nothing of the activities of the other apostles, or of other Christians, and so the book is also incomplete in that way.
It does not even give us a complete record of what its main figures did:
<ul>
<li>Peter vanishes from the narrative after chapter 12, except for a brief reappearance in chapter 15.</li>
<li>Philip has only a single chapter devoted to his activities.</li>
<li>And, as we will see, Acts does not record many of the activities of Paul.</li>
</ul>
Some time ago, I did a study of the flow of time in the book of Acts. Periodically, Luke will provide time cues, saying that Paul spent three years in Ephesus (20:31) or that he stayed in Thessalonica for three weeks (17:1-2) or that they sailed from Mitylene and the next day arrived at Chios (20:14-15).
As a Bible chronology geek, I couldn’t resist going through the book of Acts and making a list of all the explicit time cues—as well as providing estimates for the  implicit ones (e.g., when Paul goes from one place to another and we can estimate how long it took based on ancient travel times and methods) and the vague ones (e.g., if Luke says Paul spent “many days” somewhere, I might reckon that as a month).
I wanted to add all these up and see if they fit within the chronological framework that the book covers as a whole. Could all of the activities ascribed to Paul have taken place in the years within the book that he was active?
The good news, from an apologetic perspective, is that they did. Acts appears to cover a period of twenty-seven years (A.D. 33 to 60), but my time estimates for the events it mentions came to only thirteen years in total.
That means that there is plenty of room in the twenty-seven years that the book covers for all of the events Luke records—and more! So Luke passes that test as a historian. He does not give us an impossible chronology. But he also does not give us a complete chronology.
We know that the record is incomplete because of the information recorded in Paul’s letters. For example, in 2 Corinthians, there is a famous passage where Paul is so frustrated with some of the people at Corinth that he has an epistolary meltdown, and he says some very interesting things about what he has done in his life. When comparing himself to his opponents, Paul writes:
<blockquote>Are they servants of Christ? I am a better one—I am talking like a madman—with far greater labors, far more imprisonments, with countless beatings, and often near death.
Five times I have received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one.
Three times I have been beaten with rods; once I was stoned.
Three times I have been shipwrecked; a night and a day I have been adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brethren; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure (11:23-27).</blockquote>
So here are the totals:
<ul>
<li>Forty lashes minus one from the Jews: 5</li>
<li>Beaten with rods: 3</li>
<li>Stoned: 1</li>
<li>Shipwrecked: 3</li>
<li>Adrift at sea for a night and a day: 1</li>
</ul>
How many of these does Luke record in the book of Acts? Exactly two.
The thing is, 2 Corinthians was written some time between A.D. 55 and 57, depending on which chronology you accept. No matter what, though, it was written before Paul went to Jerusalem for the final time, because in 2 Corinthians 9:1-5 he tells the Corinthians to be ready to make donations so that he can take them to the Jerusalem church when he makes his final visit.
That trip is already underway—and he has already passed the city of Corinth—by Acts 20:5-6. We know this because in that passage, Paul is in Troas—a city to the east of Corinth. Therefore, 2 Corinthians had to be written before this point on his final journey to Jerusalem, and so what is found in 2 Corinthians must have happened before Acts 20:5.
This means that all the perils Paul mentioned above must have occurred before this point in Acts.
But only two such perils are mentioned by Luke. One is the stoning at Lystra that occurs in Acts 14:19. This is the single stoning that Paul mentions in his list. (Another stoning, at Iconium, was attempted in 14:5, but it apparently fell through because Paul mentions being stoned only once.)
The second is in Acts 16:22-37, where Paul is beaten with rods at Philippi. That’s likely one of the three beatings he refers to in 2 Corinthians.
But these are the only events in 2 Corinthians that can be referred to in Acts.
There must, therefore, be two other beatings with rods. They happened during the period that Acts covers, but they are not mentioned in Acts.
In addition, all five of the times that Paul received the “forty lashes minus one” from the Jews are not mentioned in Acts.
Nor are the three times he was shipwrecked, because the only shipwreck mentioned is in Acts 27, which is after his final journey to Jerusalem and thus after 2 Corinthians was written.
Furthermore, when that shipwreck occurs, Paul and his companions ran the ship aground in a bay of the island of Malta (27:44-28:1). They do not spend a night and a day in the sea. That must refer to an earlier event.
There are several other events mentioned in Paul’s letters that aren’t found in Acts. Some of these are in the pastoral epistles (1-2 Timothy, Titus), but these letters likely were written after the book of Acts closed.
This is not the case, however, for events found in Galatians, which was clearly written during the time period covered by Acts.
An example is the fifteen-day visit Paul made to Jerusalem, where he saw only Peter and James the Lord’s brother (Gal. 1:18-19). That’s not in Acts.
Neither is the much more consequential visit that Peter (Cephas) made to Antioch while Paul was staying there. There were fireworks between the two during this meeting (Gal. 2:11-16), but Luke does not mention it in Acts.
We thus see that Acts is not just a limited record of a few key figures (Peter, Phillip, and Paul). It is restricted even in what it records about all of these three. Undoubtedly, each did many more things than are recorded in Acts.
In particular, Paul experienced many things that aren’t mentioned in the book even though they fell in the period it covers.
Why didn’t Luke record them? In some cases, he may not have wanted to because he didn&#8217;t want to distract the reader from his overall message. For example, if he included Paul&#8217;s rebuke of Peter at Antioch, it could have distracted from the fundamental agreement (present both in Acts and Galatians) between Peter and Paul.
In other cases, Luke may not have known about the event. He wasn’t by Paul’s side during the whole time of his ministry. Indeed, the first “we” passage doesn’t occur until Acts 16:10-17, so there was a lot of Paul’s ministry that Luke didn’t witness.
Paul may have recounted some of them to Luke, though, just as he did for the readers of 2 Corinthians. So why wouldn’t Luke include those?
Likely, because they would have been too repetitive for his own readers. Recording five lashings, three beatings with rods, and three shipwrecks before we get to the one in chapter 27 could be seen as overkill.
It also could have taken more space than Luke felt he had available to him if he were going to keep Acts approximately the same length as his Gospel, which was the length of a typical scroll.
Luke thus may have had good reasons for not recording everything that happened to Paul. Still, it would be fascinating to know more.

What Acts Leaves Out

Saying you’re “<a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/why-catholics-cant-be-pro-choice">Catholics for choice</a>” (i.e. the choice to kill unborn children) is like saying you’re a vegetarian for beef and pork BBQ. It doesn’t make sense, but if you repeat loud enough and long enough some people will let you get away with it and maybe even some other doozies.
I think Catholics for Choice could change their name to “Catholics for Clout Chasing” because their recent X post is a shameless example of that. Just say something blasphemous about the Blessed Virgin and guarantee yourself publicity in a world where there is no such thing as “bad press.”

Most informed people recognize this is a dumb argument, but they may not know the specific logical fallacy it employs. That’s the fallacy of equivocation: using the same word but with two different meanings.
The argument appears to be saying, “Mary had a reproductive ‘choice’ so everyone should have a reproductive ‘choice.’” And sure—Mary was free to choose to not conceive a child in her womb, and every woman should also have that choice because the marital act involves a free gift of self. But abortion is not a “reproductive choice.” <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/how-to-prove-life-begins-at-conception">Reproduction has already happened!</a> Abortion is instead the choice to kill a child before he or she is born.
Saying Mary was free to not become pregnant doesn’t mean women should have the freedom to not remain pregnant. That’s like saying the choice to not become a pilot means a person should also have the choice to not remain a pilot and be able to parachute out of a packed plane mid-flight, leaving the passengers to do the flying instead.
Pregnancy isn’t a job. It’s a sacred responsibility God entrusted to women. Mary received the most sacred responsibility of all: bearing the savior of the world. It’s blasphemous to use the sublime beauty of the Incarnation to argue for the evil of abortion—but when an organization’s very name is a nonsensical blasphemy, what more can you expect from them?

A New Low for “Catholics for Choice”

<div>Who are the Nephilim and where did the Nephilim come from? Were the Nephilim aliens?</div><div>The <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/7-mysteries-about-the-nephilim" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nephilim</a> were a group mentioned briefly in <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/explaining-the-nephilim-of-genesis" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Genesis 6:4</a> and again in Numbers 13:33. The best-supported reading, both linguistically and historically, is that &#8220;Nephilim&#8221; refers <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/are-the-nephilim-biblical-aliens">to unusually tall, powerful humans</a>. The term is likely a loanword meaning &#8220;giants,&#8221; and the biblical text itself describes them as &#8220;mighty men of old, men of renown.&#8221; However, there is no biblical or other historical basis for believing them to be aliens, as some have claimed.
Genesis links the Nephilim to the union of the &#8220;sons of God&#8221; and the &#8220;daughters of men.&#8221; The oldest Jewish and Christian interpretation holds that &#8220;<a href="https://www.catholic.com/audio/tjap/who-are-the-nephilim" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">sons of God</a>&#8221; refers to angelic beings who rebelled, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/audio/tjap/who-are-the-nephilim">fashioned temporary bodies for themselves</a>, took human wives, and produced offspring who were large in size and possessed super-human strength. This reading was standard in ancient Judaism and appears in some apocryphal texts like 1 Enoch.
Genesis 6:4 explicitly notes that the same kind of unions happened again &#8220;afterward,&#8221; which explains why the Israelites later encountered tall peoples in Canaan who were identified with the Nephilim. In brief, the Nephilim were human giants, and Scripture ties their origins to illicit unions between fallen angels (demons) and human women. This is an interpretation that best fits the language of the text and the earliest historical understanding of it.
For more information, including another perspective on who the sons of God in Genesis 6:4 may be, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/explaining-the-nephilim-of-genesis">please see this resource of ours</a>.
</div>

Who Were the Nephilim?

<div>If we have to do good works to keep our right standing with God, how is salvation by grace alone?</div><div>Read the letters of St. John in the New Testament and you will see the delicate but real connection between fulfilling God&#8217;s commandments and being in his grace. Our Lord himself said, &#8220;If you love me keep my commandments.&#8221; A thing&#8217;s being or nature is only shown by its actions; if we contradict the life of grace in us by evil deeds, then we cannot be in God&#8217;s grace. If we show by our deeds that we love God, then our life of grace is strengthened and renewed. We cannot separate the two things, grace and works, completely.
It is true that nothing we can do can place us in God&#8217;s grace if we have lost it by sin. That is the work of his sheer mercy. But to persevere in God&#8217;s grace, we have to continue to do the good works &#8220;he has prepared for us to walk in,&#8221; as the apostle says. We cannot make ourselves alive if we are dead, but if we are alive we can cooperate with our Maker in preserving and maintaining the life he has given us. This is simply common sense in the spiritual life.
</div>

Faith and Works

I mindlessly ate a piece of ham at 7 a.m. on the morning of Ash Wednesday. This took place while I packed my three oldest children ham sandwiches for school and made my husband one for work. Lent was off to a strong start, and it has regrettably progressed with approximately the same level of recollection.
My twin boys (babies numbers five and six) were born just six weeks ago, and although I blame sleep deprivation for most of my forgetfulness, I confess that the idea of entering into a willing death to self feels redundant. I was in Lent while the rest of the world enjoyed Christmas. Isn’t it Easter yet?
When we walk the path of the Church calendar, it is inevitable that our lives will sometimes feel incongruent with the season. You may be faced with the passing of a loved one during a time of feasting or have reason to celebrate in the times of fasting. Or you may, like me, simply feel too submerged in the needs of daily life to engage with the season. The Church year is the pattern by which we live our lives, but the rhythm may sound loud and triumphalist some years and feel distant in others.
A beautiful aspect of being a part of the Church is its oneness. In this phase of my life, when small children are so often demanding my attention, I have come to a deep appreciation for the fact that my actions or lack of actions don’t impact the activity of the Church. When I am in the back of the church changing a diaper, Mass goes on, sweeping me and my baby along with it. When I kick off Lent with a mouthful of meat, the beauty of the season is unmarred. This means there is grace and room for my weakness and fatigue within the greater strength of the Church. If I make space and time for the needs of my newborn sons, how much more will Mother Church care for me?
When I recently expressed the dryness of my attitude toward this Lenten season to a friend, he referred me to a delightful little book titled <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Practice-Presence-God-Brother-Lawrence/dp/1614279683/ref=sr_1_9?crid=3UREAX2MU37BB&amp;dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.zdcT0sY2Zt3_e3YF7e9Mhu1jl73f-eYADLVnXfXem2VdZcPlNPqL74dE6CPwE9I7Bsvsg2y51hw-jT4d5LdiHQFoR27RyB9ltqXpkhTCWiDrLKVLuhd3FPcFKZXZuJ4P5tKfUl7iI0OdVxKZw-ibKpS66x3GsPKsNX4Jz3V7FKRjN6RAJ0cGB3YOowRfR7BOKn-jLmRW041STMw1De0z4-ySgqNsIRqA7z1AGjQV5Ik.-WH_JSru8sww1IHBWxgVv9b6dUn4LxCNc5fyhfqG_yI&amp;dib_tag=se&amp;keywords=the+practice+of+the+presence+of+god&amp;qid=1741891208&amp;sprefix=the+practice,aps,135&amp;sr=8-9">The Practice of the Presence of God</a>. Brother Lawrence was a monk who found that the most direct path to God is one of simplicity. He strove to complete every daily task entirely out of love while basking in a childlike awareness of God’s presence. Brother Lawrence taught that “our sanctification does not depend on changing our works, but in doing for God’s sake what we commonly do for our own.”
This may bring to your mind another beloved saint, Thérèse of Lisieux, who preached this “little way” when she <a href="https://youth.rcdow.org.uk/voices/inspiring-quotes-from-st-therese-of-lisieux/">explained</a>, “It pleases him to create great saints, who may be compared with the lilies or the rose; but he has also created little ones, who must be content to be daisies or violets, nestling at his feet to delight his eyes when he should choose to look at them. The happier they are to be as he wills, the more perfect they are.”
The Church doesn’t strictly require much throughout the Lenten season. We are all required to fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday—with exceptions like children, pregnant or breastfeeding mothers, and the ill. Additionally, we must abstain from eating meat on Fridays throughout the season. Other sacrifices we choose to make should be done purely for the love of God.
Lent is a season of being aware of our own sin and repenting; however, giving up something sinful isn’t an appropriate Lenten sacrifice. Rather, these sacrifices are a practice of giving up something good so that you can receive it back at Easter and enjoy it all the more in the season of feasting. All this is done out of love for Christ, who first loved us “and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God” (Eph. 5:2).
If you are feeling fatigued by Lent, and even small additional burdens feel beyond your capacity, perhaps God wants you simply to sit with him in your weariness and offer the discomfort of your daily work. Remember that the three pillars of Lent are prayer, fasting and almsgiving. If you are struggling with one, then lean more deeply into the others. Embrace the childlike way of Brother Lawrence, who reminds us that “we ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, who regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.”
When carried out with prayer and love, the small duties of your day are worth far more than rigorous mortifications without them. Take a deep breath. Your striving doesn’t need to be for greater sacrifices, but only for consistent love in the ones set before you.
Hang in there, my friends—Easter is coming!

Fatigued by Lent

<div>If Padre Pio will be my son’s confirmation saint, which name should he use: Pio or Francesco?</div><div>Your son would use the name Pio as his confirmation name, which is the saint&#8217;s religious name and the name by which he was canonized. Francesco was <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Padre_Pio">Padre Pio</a>&#8216;s birth name, but he did not ordinarily use that name and was not commonly known by that name after he entered the Capuchins.
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Padre Pio as Confirmation Saint

If you listen to Catholics discussing the Blessed Sacrament today, you’re likely to hear—not just, but especially in traditional circles—an emphasis on the Eucharist as “sacrifice” and a complaint about overemphasis on the Eucharist as a “meal.”
Maybe you’ve wondered: what are they talking about?
Well, discussion of the Eucharist as sacrifice is certainly no novelty. In fact, it’s probably how most Catholics predominantly discussed the sacrament, certainly until not too long ago.
But sacrifice? We’re in the twenty-first century, remember?
Okay, but that doesn’t make the Eucharist any less real as a sacrifice.
In the ancient world, including the times described in the Old Testament, sacrifice was the way one sealed a covenant. A covenant was not just a “contract” or an “agreement.” It was a life commitment between two parties. To enter a covenant was to undertake a most solemn obligation on which the parties staked their lives. You’ve heard the expression “cross my heart and hope to die”? That child’s phrase today expresses something of the gravity of the commitment two parties that bound themselves to each other made.
Covenants were brought into being with blood because, for most human beings in antiquity, blood was the seat of life. If your blood was spilled, you were weak. If spilled too much, you were dead. That is why animals were offered in sacrifice: their blood was supposed to represent the human covenant-makers.
Covenants could be between equals, but they usually were between unequals, between a superior and a subordinate. A defeated king who now became a vassal to his conquerer was bound by covenant.
And when God made covenants—with Abraham, with Moses, with Israel—those were most definitely covenants between unequals.
Covenant partners bound themselves by their lives to do (or not do) something vis-à-vis the other. A vassal bound himself not to be disloyal to his king and to defend him. Israel bound itself to keep God’s Law, and God bound himself to be their God and they his people.
God’s first covenant is creation: God bound himself to man in a special way by creating him in “his image and likeness.” Man broke that covenant by wanting to be not God’s image and likeness, but rather “like God” himself, deciding for himself what is good and what is evil. Israel broke God’s covenant by its constant religious backsliding.
“Again and again you offered a covenant to man and . . . taught him to hope for salvation.”
The final and definitive covenant, “the new and everlasting covenant,” is made with God in Christ. It is made with his blood, “not the blood of bulls and goats” (Heb. 9: 13-14), but of a human being who, at the same time, was God. As man he offered himself absolutely to God; as God, his offering is absolutely perfect. Jesus did what we could not but needed to do. He offered himself on the Cross, unto death.
But what does this have to do with the Eucharist?
Jesus explicitly speaks of the Eucharist as his body and his blood. They do not “represent” or “symbolize” his body and blood; they are his body and blood, “the blood of the new and everlasting covenant, shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.” That act of Jesus’s absolute submission to his Father’s will, even unto death, is re-presented in every Mass.
Jesus clearly intended the Eucharist to be part of his offering on the cross. Catholic theology speaks of the Eucharist as making the “sacrifice of Christ present.”
But Jesus instituted the Eucharist on Holy Thursday night, and he didn’t die until Good Friday afternoon. So how are they connected?
Let’s remember that, for God, time is not past, present, and future. Jesus is not sitting at God’s right hand, waiting to see how history will turn out. “All time belongs to him,” we say during the inscription of the paschal candle at the Easter vigil. For us, mortal creatures, time is experienced as unfolding: past, present, and future. For God, all time is now.
So, yes, Jesus offered himself once and for all (a prime Protestant contention that also corresponds to Heb. 10:10). But Jesus’ offering encompassed his passion, death, and resurrection on Calvary that was already anticipated in the Last Supper and is made present in every Eucharist that has been celebrated from then until the end of time. This is Jesus offering himself.
Jesus enjoined his apostles to “do this in memory of me”—not as an afterthought, not as a “hey, Jesus did this, and isn’t it nice?” No, “memory” here in a Jewish context has a specific meaning. It is a making present of the thing being remembered here and now.
The Last Supper was a Passover meal. The Passover prefigures the Eucharist. When God institutes the Passover, he instructs Moses that Israel is to keep this “memorial” forever (Exod. 12:14) because every generation of Jews stands together with Moses and Aaron and the Jews of Egypt with whom God made this covenant. Even today, during the Passover meal, the youngest child asks, “Why is this night different from all others?” Take note of the verb and adjective: the child does not ask “why was that night different,” but “why is this night different?” Before Almighty God, every Jew who was, is, or will be was part of that Passover.
And if the Passover merely prefigures the sacrificial offering of the Lamb of God, the real offering on Calvary presupposes just as real a memory: whoever belongs to Christ is joined, in every Eucharist, to the Upper Room and Calvary. If by baptism we become part of Jesus’ death (Rom. 6:31-11), well, baptism makes us participants in that death in order to make us part of the mystical body of Christ.
So is the Eucharist a meal? Yes, but a unique kind of meal, because it is also a sacrifice, thanks to which (and thanks only to which) we are saved.
By taking part in and receiving the Eucharist, we—the mystical body of Christ—join the supreme offering of our head to God. That is why we speak of the priest as celebrating in persona Christi. It’s not “Father John’s Mass.” It’s Christ’s Mass, who acts through human ministers to accommodate us, mortal creatures bound to space and time, raising us up to God’s dimension not bound by such limits.
(To read more on the Eucharist as sacrifice, see the Catechism of the Catholic Church, <a href="http://www.scborromeo.org/ccc/p2s2c1a3.htm#1367">1362-72</a>.)

The Eucharist as a Sacrifice

<div>Why can’t I find "Catholic Answers Live" on my radio station, 1620 AM?</div><div>I infer you’re referring to KSMH 1620 AM, which serves the Sacramento area. Relevant Radio, with which KSMH is affiliated, made a decision not to carry Catholic Answers Live on its member stations. For more detail, please see <a href="https://www.catholic.com/news/top-rated-catholic-show-no-longer-on-relevant-radio">our article addressing this matter, </a>which includes other ways you can listen to our radio show, including via our phone app.
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Why Can’t I Find Your Radio Show On Air?

Tim Staples highlights several key passages in Scripture which directly refute the Protestant doctrine of salvation by faith alone and show that Jesus established the Catholic Church as the true authority of His Word.

Why Protestant Doctrine Is Unbiblical

A common charge against the rosary is that it violates Jesus’ prohibition of “vain repetition” (Matt. 6:7, KJV). Catholics often answer this charge by pointing to the fact that Jesus isn’t condemning repetitious prayer as such, but mindless prayer—prayer that involves repeated words with no attention, no intention, and no engagement of the heart. This makes sense, given that Jesus instructs his disciples not to pray “as the Gentiles do,” which involved repeated prayers aimed at appeasing their gods rather than forming the heart.
But you might wonder, “How attentive do we have to be in praying the rosary?” And what’s the point of the repetition to begin with, even if it’s not bad as such?
These are great questions. And they need answers. So let’s see what we can come up with.
Concerning the first question, I think we can look to St. Thomas Aquinas for some help. In the second part of the second part of his Summa Theologiae, question 83, article 13, Aquinas explains that when it comes to the end of prayer being better obtained—which is devotion (a movement of the will to readily subject oneself to things pertaining to God)—Aquinas says that conscious attentiveness is necessary. But when it comes to the effects of prayer, sustained attentiveness is necessary only for one of the three.
For meriting an increase in grace (the first effect) and obtaining what we ask (the second effect), the original intention with which one begins the prayer is sufficient. But for what he calls “spiritual refreshment of the mind” (the third effect), continued attentiveness is necessary. For support, he quotes 1 Corinthians 14:14, where St. Paul writes, “If I pray in a tongue . . . my understanding is without fruit.”
Now, you might be asking yourself, “What kind of attentiveness does Aquinas have in mind here?” He lists three kinds.
First, there is attention to words—making sure we don’t say the wrong thing. Second, there is attention to their meaning. Third, there is attention to the end of prayer—namely, God—and what we’re asking for.
For Aquinas, all three matter. But the last one is most important, especially because when prayers are committed to memory, the first and second senses of attention are easily fulfilled.
Here’s another important question: even if repetition is okay, what’s its purpose?
I can think of four things repetitious prayer achieves.
First, it orders the will toward God. Every Hail Mary and Our Father that we pray involves a new act of desire for the spiritual goods we’re asking for in the prayers. Such repetitive requests keep the will fixed on these spiritual goods, which in turn keeps the will fixed on God, because we recognize he’s the source of these goods.
Second, repetition intensifies love—for Jesus and for our Blessed Mother. Each repeated prayer expresses renewed trust in God’s grace and renewed trust in our Lady’s assistance, thereby deepening our love for both. As St. Augustine says in Epistle 130, his Letter to Proba, “by means of words and other signs [in repeated prayer] we arouse ourselves more effectively to an increase of holy desires.”
Third, repetition provides a stable verbal framework, freeing the mind to contemplate the mysteries of Christ’s life rather than scramble for new words, while at the same time willing the requests that each prayer expresses.
Fourth, the repeated pursuit of the good in and through each prayer forms virtue, building stable dispositions of faith, hope, and charity. That shapes the soul over time into a saintly soul.
So there we have it: a fourfold purpose of repetitious prayer.
Okay. There’s one last thing I want to share. And it’s not so much a theological question, but more of a pastoral point. Again, it comes from Aquinas.
In article 14 of that same question mentioned above, Aquinas provides us with a helpful principle: the quantity of a thing should be commensurate with its end. 
In layman’s terms, that just means you use as much of something as the goal calls for—no more, no less. For example, you use only the amount of medicine that’s needed for restoring health. You don’t use ten painkillers for a mild headache—the amount should fit the purpose.
Applied to prayer, Aquinas says prayer should last long enough to arouse devotion—but if it causes weariness, it should stop. Here’s what he says:
<blockquote>Prayer should last long enough to arouse the fervor of the interior desire, and when it exceeds this measure, so that it cannot be continued any longer without causing weariness, it should be discontinued.</blockquote>
If we apply that to repetitious prayer, Aquinas would have us stop the repetition and employ another form of prayer if such repetition is causing weariness within the soul—a loss of fervor of devotion.
That matters pastorally. Some Catholics feel guilty for not wanting to pray the rosary. But they fail to recognize that it might be due to the simple fact that they’re weary of the repetition and need to foster devotion in some other way. Perhaps at that moment the Holy Spirit is moving them to another form of prayer for a season. Just like in human relationships, our relationship with the Lord involves a variety of different ways in which we express love for him.
So here’s the wrap-up!
Catholics would do well to continue being prepared to answer the “vain repetition” charge. But we’d also do well to equip ourselves to explain the spiritual benefits of repetitious prayer and the pastoral counsel surrounding it. This isn’t just for the purpose of persuading others about the rosary; it’s for our spiritual benefit as well.

When NOT to Pray?

A caller asks how to respond to a Jehovah Witness who claims we should not celebrate Christmas because the three wise men were astrologers and the horrible acts Herod committed. Trent Horn, proprietor of The Counsel of Trent Podcast gives the Catholic answer.
Article referenced by Trent written by Jimmy Akin: https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/mysteries-of-the-magi

Did the Three Wise Men Practice Astrology?

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One size doesn’t fit all Protestants.

<div>Are the principles of the Socialist Party the same as those of the Catholic Church?</div><div>No, the Catholic Church explicitly rejects socialism.
<blockquote>If Socialism, like all errors, contains some truth (which, moreover, the supreme pontiffs have never denied), it is based nevertheless on a theory of human society peculiar to itself and irreconcilable with true Christianity. Religious socialism, Christian socialism, are contradictory terms; no one can be at the same time a good Catholic and a true socialist (Pius XI&#8217;s <a href="http://w2.vatican.va/content/pius-xi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xi_enc_19310515_quadragesimo-anno.html">Q</a><a href="http://w2.vatican.va/content/pius-xi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xi_enc_19310515_quadragesimo-anno.html">uadragesimo Anno</a>, 120).</blockquote>
<blockquote>The Church has rejected the totalitarian and atheistic ideologies associated in modem times with &#8220;communism&#8221; or &#8220;socialism&#8221;  (Catechism, 2425).</blockquote>
Pope Leo XIII&#8217;s <a href="http://w2.vatican.va/content/leo-xiii/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_l-xiii_enc_15051891_rerum-novarum.html">Rerum Novarum</a> explicitly rejects several main tenants of socialism.
Socialism severely curtails rights to private property. The Church, on the other hand, upholds the individual&#8217;s right to private property (Catechism, 2401).
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Does Catholicism Support Socialism?

<div>Please provide information on atheism.</div><div>Please see <a href="https://www.catholic.com/search?q=atheism">this link</a> for various resources from Catholic Answers.
You may also want to purchase our <a href="https://shop.catholic.com/20-answers-atheism/">20 Answers</a> booklet on atheism as well as Trent Horn&#8217;s <a href="https://shop.catholic.com/answering-atheism-how-to-make-the-case-for-god-with-logic-and-charity/">Answering Atheism</a>.
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Information on Atheism

Is Birth Control More Sinful Than War?

How can missing church on Sunday be a mortal sin? It isn&#8217;t even the Sabbath, so why would Catholics refer to attending mass on Sundays as a grave matter? Jimmy Akin answers this question in an excerpt from Catholic Answers Live.
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Transcript:
Even though Sunday is not literally the Sabbath, it is the Christian equivalent of the Sabbath. It&#8217;s described in the Bible as the Lord&#8217;s day. And so, since the first century, Christians have met together on Sundays. St.Paul, for example, in the Corinthian Correspondence, talks about taking up a collection on Sundays when Christians meet together. So we know Christians were meeting on Sundays as the Lord&#8217;s Day for religious services. The question then becomes, how serious is that obligation, using the Jewish Sabbath as a parallel under the law of Moses, if you were a Sabbath-breaker, that&#8217;s one of the Ten Commandments, it&#8217;s right up there against don&#8217;t commit murder, don&#8217;t commit adultery.
Right up there is, remember the Sabbath to keep it holy. In fact, you could even under the Mosaic law, you could even be killed, executed, if you were a Sabbath breaker who just disregarded the Sabbath. So this was regarded as an extremely serious obligation in the Jewish community, and it is among the Ten Commandments. And so even though we&#8217;re not obliged to keep the same day holy, the obligation to keep that day holy is a grave one. It&#8217;s not something that should just be ignored because we meet on that day. The obligation is a grave one because we have a grave obligation to render proper worship to our Creator. And this is how we do that. So that&#8217;s the basic reason.
Now, there can be good excuses for missing Mass. If you&#8217;re sick, don&#8217;t go. There are legitimate reasons for not going. But as a matter of principle, the obligation to meet together for communal worship, to give proper worship to our Creator together, is a grave one. And we need to honor that.

Is Missing Sunday Mass a Mortal Sin?

<div>If we don’t have our bodies in heaven until the end of the world, how are we present to each other there? How do we see and interact with each other?</div><div>This is a good question. Of course, the answer comes from theological reflection with help from some philosophical principles. The human soul separated from the body is naturally very restricted in what it can actively know and experience. This is because the human soul, even though it is spiritual in nature, requires the use of the senses for its natural knowledge, and without a body, there is simply no natural sense experience. So, if the soul separated from the body is to have any specific knowledge beyond the awareness of its own existence and its dependence on God, it will need to be helped and strengthened by higher beings—namely, God and the angels.
So we can say that in heaven the souls perceive each other in their vision of their common source and cause: the essence of God. They may also be enlightened by the angels and Our Lady (who has a body already) about God&#8217;s effects in his creatures. Once they are given this knowledge, then they have a simple, intuitive understanding of each other and any of the things that have been shown them. The real question, given all this, would appropriately be &#8220;Is there anything they do not know?&#8221; St. Gregory the Great exclaims in a concise phrase, &#8220;What is it that they cannot see, they who see Him who sees all things?&#8221;
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How Do Souls Without Bodies Interact?

The Church’s liturgical calendar throws up some oddities sometimes. One set of Sundays, and other feasts and fasts, is fixed in relation to Easter, which moves around the spring. Another of feasts is fixed to Christmas, and a third is fixed to calendar dates. And so different occasions can coincide: a feast of the “sanctoral cycle” can fall on a Sunday, and all the feasts of the spring and early summer are vulnerable to being swallowed up by the events of Lent and Eastertide.
A feast day like Christmas will fall on a Sunday only approximately once every seven years. Even less frequent are the occasions when significant dates of the sanctoral and paschal cycles coincide. The most famous of these occasional coincidences is that between Good Friday and the Feast of the Annunciation, March 25. It last happened in 2016 and will not happen again until 2157.
This year, we have the coincidence of Ash Wednesday and the traditional date of the feast of the Roman martyr St. Valentine.
The tidy-minded modern mindset is inclined to see these clashes as inconvenient. Not only are there elaborate rules about which occasion takes precedence, but sometimes the celebration of one is moved by a day to avoid it. (March 25 this year is the Monday of Holy Week, which means that, like with Good Friday, the Annunciation will be moved to the Monday after the Octave of Easter, April 8.) Huge efforts were made over the course of the twentieth century to stop Lent being cluttered up with feasts of a non-Lenten character.
This was not the attitude of our predecessors in the Faith, who celebrated both coinciding events on the same day and looked for a symbolic significance in the coincidence. The feast of the Annunciation marks the day of the Incarnation, and tradition has it that Good Friday fell on the same day. The <a href="https://msf-america.org/blog/333-holy-thorn-relic">Holy Thorn of Andria</a> in Italy seems to agree: over the centuries, this relic of the Crown of Thorns has <a href="https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/33630/italys-bleeding-thorn-marks-the-coincidence-of-good-friday-annunciation">shed a few drops of blood</a> when Good Friday falls on 25th March. The same coincidence marked the day the English martyr St. Margaret Clitherow <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/extreme-catholic-heroism">suffered in 1586</a>. In a different way, the feasts of St. Patrick and St. Joseph, which always fall in Lent, give us something to look forward to.
St. Valentine and Ash Wednesday create a particular kind of clash because of the way they have become embedded in popular culture. St. Valentine was moved from February 14 in the liturgical reform of 1969, but he has remained there stubbornly in the popular imagination, as the patron of young couples. Ash Wednesday’s significance as the start of Lenten observance has been overwhelmed in some cultures by the celebration of &#8220;Carnival&#8221; or &#8220;Mardi Gras,&#8221; the &#8220;farewell to meat&#8221; that precedes it. This has taken on such a life of its own that it has spread over several days, swamping Ash Wednesday itself.
For this reason, Archbishop Annibale Bugnini, who oversaw the reform of the liturgy in the 1960s, expressed regret that he could not move Ash Wednesday to a Sunday. (See The Reform of the Liturgy, p. 307, n. 7.) He did manage to break the connection between the greeting-card industry and the liturgical feast of St. Valentine, sticking in St. Cyril and St. Methodius on February 14 instead. Despite this, even the Vatican Information Service called the 14th St. Valentine’s Day when Pope Francis, in 2014, thought it a good day to <a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/pope-invites-engaged-couples-to-spend-valentines-day-with-him/">bless engaged couples</a>. Bugnini’s fear of the secular significance of the day <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/halloween-and-the-triduum-of-death">overcoming its religious meaning</a> was itself overcome by the desire to make something of religious significance out of a day noticed by the secular world.
There are various theories as to why Valentine’s Day has become associated with romantic love, but the association has no obvious connection with his holy life and heroic death in the third century. It is an example of popular culture simply making use of the Church’s calendar, at a time when this was not just the &#8220;liturgical calendar,&#8221; but everyone’s calendar. In Britain, the Monday after the “twelfth day” of Christmas, <a href="https://nationaltoday.com/plough-monday/">Plough Monday</a>, was the day to return to work after the break, and rents were (and in some places still are) collected on &#8220;quarter days&#8221; fixed by the great feasts of Christmas (December 25); the Annunciation (March 25); the Nativity of St. John the Baptist (June 24); and Michaelmas, or the Feast of St. Michael the Archangel (September 29). Phrases from the liturgy became associated with particular actions or attitudes: the word placebo <a href="https://www.etymonline.com/word/placebo">comes from</a> a psalm (114 in the Vulgate) commonly recited for the dead, including by those wishing to ingratiate themselves with the deceased’s family. This isn’t the secularization of the holy; it is the penetration of ordinary life by a ubiquitous devotional culture.
Placing romantic couples under the patronage of a celibate who was executed for his love of Christ in the distant past, for the sole reason that his feast falls in the early spring, seemed perfectly logical and appropriate to the pre-modern Catholic mind. Personally, I can’t see anything wrong with it, either. The couples certainly need his protection today, and, as St. Thérèse of Lisieux said in the context of her own eccentric devotions, &#8220;there is no jealousy in heaven.&#8221; Trying to turn the day into something not connected with the kind of love ordered to the goods of this world—marriage and children—is both quixotic and puritanical. These goods are good, and God made them. They have to be treated with care, and this is where the Church’s teaching can genuinely help out the world.
St. Valentine’s falling on Ash Wednesday this year is a reminder, like some of the more spectacular calendrical coincidences, that life is made up of both feasting and fasting. There must be no feasting without fasting, and no fasting without feasting, either.
Ash Wednesday is unusual as a day that is not a holy day of obligation but still widely observed as a devotional day, with people attending church to receive their ash. I would recommend this year that celebrations associated with St. Valentine take advantage of the proximity of Shrove Tuesday—“Fat Tuesday,” the feast before the fast of Lent—so that the importance of Ash Wednesday is not forgotten.

Valentines and Ashes!

When I was a Baptist, I was stunned to learn that Martin Luther anachronistically read his disagreements with Catholics into the Bible, taking St. Paul out of his original context and making the text on salvation say something it doesn’t. During my time at Harvard, now as a Catholic, I’ve heard the same point on Luther reaffirmed, but this time directly from some of the world’s top biblical scholars. If Luther got justification wrong because he read his sixteenth-century context into the first century, then what else might be off?
The dispute between Jesus and the Pharisees on the tradition of the elders is another example of a Protestant misreading of the Bible. Although Jesus disputes the oral, extrabiblical tradition of the elders, which the Pharisees cite as an authority, Jesus does not reject oral tradition itself. In other words, Jesus rejects certain oral traditions here, but not because they are oral tradition rather than the written word.
Let’s first read the debate in context.
The argument erupts because the Pharisees note that Jesus’ disciples do not wash their hands before eating, which is a Jewish tradition or custom (Matt. 15:1-2, Mark 7:1-5). Jesus charges the Pharisees with hypocrisy, citing Isaiah 29:13, and says, in Mark 7:8, “You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.” In Matthew 15:6, he says, “So, for the sake of your tradition, you make void the word of God.”
How does Jesus back this charge? He seemingly changes topics by mentioning that the Pharisees would force someone not to help his mother and father, thus violating one of the Ten Commandments, if the money with which he would have helped his parents is declared “Corban,” or pledged as an offering to God (Matt. 15:3-6, Mark 7:9-13). Jesus emphasizes in both Gospels that the Pharisees are willing to side with a human tradition against the scriptures.
So how does Jesus’ argument deal with the hand-washing tradition? After all, this hand-washing ritual does not technically contradict anything in the Bible. The tradition is likely meant to make the everyday people pure, or pure according to the Pharisees, like the priests in the Temple who are biblically commanded to wash their hands (Exod. 30:17-21).
Rather than dealing directly with the hand-washing tradition itself, Jesus undermines the credibility of the Pharisees, or their vision of how to obey God, which calls into question their traditions, including hand-washing. It’s the equivalent of discrediting a politician and his policy proposals by mentioning a terrible law he once supported.
The earliest document of Rabbinic Judaism, the Mishnah, explains why the Pharisees had extrabiblical laws. It says in m. Avot 1:1, “Moses received the Torah at Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly. They said three things: Be patient in [the administration of] justice, raise many disciples and make a fence round the Torah.” The idea of building “a fence round the Torah” echoes Deuteronomy 22:8, where a fence is supposed to be made around rooftops so that it is impossible for someone to fall off.
The tradition of the elders is part of this fence. It is supposed to help people not to violate God’s law. Jesus, however, is calling into question the fence of the Pharisees and whether it successfully helps people follow God. Christ does this by questioning whether the Pharisees really understand what God wants, especially given what God has said in Scripture.
There are two things worth noticing. First, Jesus does not completely reject extrabiblical tradition. At most, Jesus is rejecting traditions that contradict Scripture or come from a system that fundamentally misunderstands Scripture. The burden of proof, then, is on the Protestant to show that Catholic traditions actually contradict the Bible or come from a system that fundamentally misunderstands Scripture. That’s a high burden of proof.
Second, Jesus’ argument in its original context concerns moral customs and not the later debates on Tradition between Protestants and Catholics. The fundamental debate between Jesus and the Pharisees is on righteousness according to the Torah. It has nothing to directly say about other kinds of oral traditions, meaning Jesus could technically agree that Moses and Joshua orally commanded later Jewish leaders to make a fence around the Torah, but Jesus simply questions the fence in operation during his time on earth.
Thus, the debate in its original context does not ultimately say what Protestant apologists need it to say.

A Bad Argument for Sola Scriptura

Is Jesus a Myth?

Is there such a thing as an objective right or wrong?

<div>When was first universal Mass decreed?</div><div>There have always been various local decrees, or decrees that covered a great amount of territory, that attempted to regularize the celebration of the Holy Eucharist. Thus, in the Christian East, the rite of Constantinople, called sometimes the &#8220;Byzantine&#8221; rite, took the place of much of the Syrian rite in Asia Minor and Syria, and in the Christian West the rite of the church of Rome tended to replace local rites in Gaul and Spain. Even so, in all their history they never universally replaced all of the local rites.
The successors of the emperor Charlemagne imposed the Roman rite on their territories, and the Normans imposed the Roman rite on the British Isles, for example. But local rites in Milan in Italy, Lyons in France, and Toledo in Spain remained, and do so to this day.
The first practically universal promulgation of a rite of the Mass was by St. Pius V in 1570 in his bull Quo Primum Tempore, when he imposed the Roman usage of the Roman rite on the whole Latin Church, but even he allowed for local variations of more than 200 years&#8217; standing. Then there was the universal promulgation by Blessed Paul VI of the revised Roman Missal in 1969, but this promulgation of what is often now called the &#8220;ordinary form&#8221; did not abolish the missal promulgated by St Pius V. So the most one can say is that these decrees were practically universal, but none of them abolished exceptions, which have always existed and will continue to exist.
A very recent example is the approval of the Anglican-use missal for the Anglican Ordinariates. This missal is a variation of the Roman rite but moves in the direction of being a kind of fusion of the old Roman rite and the new one, albeit in the vernacular.
</div>

When was First Universal Mass Decreed?

Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers advises a caller on how to enrich his prayer life with technology, and explains how he has made the most of it with such resources as the iBreviary and Laudete apps.
Transcript:
Host: We go now to Dan in Portland, Oregon listening on Mater Dei Radio. Dan, you are on with Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers.
Caller: Hi, thank you for taking my call. Thank you to Catholic Answers and Deacon Harold, it&#8217;s great to have you on there.
Dn. Harold: Thank you, I&#8217;m glad to be here.
Caller: So for dryness and prayer, I&#8217;ve found that it&#8217;s an opportunity and a calling to to do what Steve says is going deeper, trying to maybe think about some things I haven&#8217;t been thinking about, because I fall into the rut of doing the same thing over again, you know, with prayer, like a lot of people do. I wonder if you could speak to that about the idea of going deeper, maybe talking some things over with the Lord that, you know, we might be avoiding, kind of, and maybe not even aware of it, and experiencing a breakthrough that way. And also the use of technology, I&#8217;ve been finding it really helpful to have an arsenal of prayer, prayer devices and tools and ideas and, you know, ways of praying, and if you could speak a little bit about tradition in the Church of utilizing, you know, books and television now all the technologies, kind of&#8230;I don&#8217;t know if sanctifying the the technology, I don&#8217;t know if that&#8217;s the right way to describing it but&#8230;
Dn. Harold: Yeah, let me put it this way. I do use the technology on my phone. For example, I travel a hundred fifty thousand miles a year and often I&#8217;m traveling between liturgical seasons, and I pray the full Liturgy of the Hours every day, okay, so on my on my phone I have apps. For example I use the iBreviary, you know, so instead of bringing the four-volume set with me when I&#8217;m on the road, I could just go to iBreviary and use that. I also use the Laudete app and I use that &#8217;cause there&#8217;s a gazillion prayers on here, but some of them I actually bookmark. So I have bookmarked Adoration, Chapel of Divine Mercy, Consecration to Mary, Litany to Saint Joseph, Litany of the Precious Blood, St. Benedict, St. Joseph&#8217;s prayer, and I use these prayers on a daily basis, and rotate them around, so that, you know, every day I have a different prayer and actually there&#8217;s a billion prayers on here.
And so you find your favorite ones and you just use those as part of your regular prayer. I think that will help to deepen your prayer life, when you start to add your life and your experiences into your prayer so you&#8217;re not just saying words, but you&#8217;re actually reflecting on your life, reflecting on where you are in your relationship with God, and that prayer is aiding and lifting up your heart so that it could be actually closer and more intimate to God&#8217;s heart, because when your will and God&#8217;s will are in communion then you&#8217;re truly free to be the person he created you to be. But prayer is the way to get there.
And so I think, yes, using technology could be a great way of deepening your prayer life. But I would say the easiest thing to do, or the best thing to do, would be just to just to start praying, to pray through those difficult times, to go to&#8211;again, go to confession regularly to just remove anything that might be blocking you from experiencing a full depth of God&#8217;s Grace in your life.
Host: Thank you very much, Dan.

How Technology Can Help Your Prayer Life

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DAY 110
CHALLENGE
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“Catholics’ use of Tradition and the Magisterium is wrong. In the Bible, God says we must neither add to nor take away from Scripture (Deut. 4:2, 12:32; Rev. 22:18–19).”
DEFENSE
These passages do not prove what is claimed.
The two from Deuteronomy deal with the Israelites’ observance of the Mosaic Law. The first says: “You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor take from it; that you may keep the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you” (emphasis added).
The second reads: “Everything that I command you you shall be careful to do; you shall not add to it or take from it” (emphasis added).
These exhortations do not mean there are no sources of revelation outside the Law. If they did, they would cancel the rest of the Old Testament and the New Testament.
They would also contradict Deuteronomy itself, which says: “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brethren—him you shall heed” (Deut. 18:15). Here Deuteronomy specifically foretells the arrival of additional sources of revelation (prophets), which the Israelites are to heed.
The passage in Revelation reads: “I warn every one who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if any one adds to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book, and if any one takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.”
“This book” is a reference to the book of Revelation, not the entire Bible. This is indicated by the parallel passage at the beginning, where John was told, “Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches” (Rev. 1:11).
It is also indicated by the reference to “the prophecy of this book”— Revelation being a prophetic book. And it is indicated by the Greek word used here for “book”: biblion. This was the normal word for a scroll. Revelation fit into a scroll, but the entire Bible never did. It was far too long and consisted of a library of scrolls.
The warning is thus against tampering with the content of Revelation. It does not say there are no authorities besides Scripture.
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Adding to Scripture

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This is why I'm not Eastern Orthodox...

Caller asks: Who wrote the Gospels? Tim Staples, staff apologist, gives the Catholic Answer.
Transcript:
All right, Tim, I was wondering, I&#8217;ve heard it said that Mark&#8217;s Gospel was written first and that it&#8217;s based on the preaching of St. Peter. What I want to know is, are the other three Gospels also based on the preaching of another apostle that&#8217;s not Peter or no? Right. Your question is a good one. Are all of the Gospels based on input of the apostles, right? Yes, and in order for an inspired author to be an inspired author, one of the criteria was he had to be in contact with one of the apostles.
And in the case of Matthew, of course, Matthew is an apostle, so he is the apostolic source for Matthew&#8217;s Gospel. Mark, as you mentioned, it&#8217;s not only the preaching of Peter, I would argue, Ryan, but the fact that Mark is said to be in, for example, 1 Peter chapter 5, right around, where would that be, about verse, I want to say, 14 and 15. It&#8217;s right in there of 1 Peter. Mark is referred to as the beloved son of Peter. So he was a companion of St. Peter. So it was certainly based on Peter&#8217;s preaching, but more than that, you have a sort of very close friendship. Mark was kind of Peter&#8217;s secretary, so to speak. And so he had intimate knowledge, a very close relationship with St. Peter. So yes, Peter, and it&#8217;s really, I will tell you this, Ryan, when you understand sort of the tradition behind the Gospels, it really helps in your study of the Gospels.
We know Matthew was, of course, written by Matthew, but it was also written in the context of writing to a Jewish Christian community. And you see that in Matthew&#8217;s writings, Noah. It&#8217;s awesome. For example, we know the biggest issue among the Jewish Christian community in the first century was over authority. I mean, they had a problem with what was called the Judaizers, who threatened to tear the fledgling church apart, claiming that for the Gentiles in particular, but for Jews as well. In order to be a Christian, you first got to be a Jew, and you got to keep the Jewish law and go to the temple and especially be circumcised and so forth. And when you see that, Matthew, you understand why. You know, it was Peter who came in and put the hammer down on that false teaching at the First Church Council in Acts chapter 15. And so that&#8217;s why in Matthew&#8217;s Gospel you have such an emphasis, more so by far than any other&#8211;the apostles on Petrine authority. You uniquely have, in Matthew chapter 10 verse 2, Peter is called the first apostle. He comes right out and says it, protos, which means they&#8217;re chief. He&#8217;s the chief apostle. It&#8217;s not first chronologically because we know in John 1.41 Andrew was the first chronologically. I hope you&#8217;re following me here. So Peter is declared there to be the first. That is the chief apostle. You have only in Matthew&#8217;s Gospel do you have, you know, Peter walking on the water in Matthew 14. Only in Matthew 16 do we have the keys of the kingdom. Only in Matthew 17 do you have Peter throwing in the hook, catching the fish, that miraculous he has money to pay the tax in the place of Jesus. Right there you have vicar of Christ right there. And on and on we can go in Matthew&#8217;s Gospel. Mark&#8217;s Gospel, you have none of that. As you pointed out, Ryan, because Mark gets the substance of his Gospel from Peter, and Peter we know was an extremely humble man. So you don&#8217;t have any of the Petrine text there. What you do have is Peter emphasizing all of the apostles. We would say the college of the apostles and their authority. And you see that in a special way in Mark chapter 6 when we have the feeding of the 5,000 and then afterward when, you know, Jesus comes walking on the water. You notice in Matthew 14 it&#8217;s Peter who steps out and miraculously walks on the water. Again, Matthew emphasizing Petrine authority.
And then when he starts to go under Jesus in effect says, &#8220;Nope, you&#8217;re not going under. Get back up on top of those waves.&#8221; And he supernaturally walks back to the boat with Jesus. I mean, right? But in Mark&#8217;s Gospel, look at Mark 6 47 through 52, and it&#8217;s incredible. What you see is all the apostles call out to Jesus. He stops, turns, steps into the boat, and the storm ceases. And he&#8217;s emphasizing all of the apostles rather than the emphasis on Peter. Now they don&#8217;t contradict to each other. It&#8217;s just different aspects of the same story that are being brought out for the particular community to whom the apostles are writing. And that&#8217;s why it&#8217;s important, Ryan, that we do understand that Peter is the source behind Mark&#8217;s Gospel. It is really, really helpful. Now St. Luke got much of his Gospel from St. Paul. And you say, &#8220;Well, wow, St. Paul, but he wasn&#8217;t there.&#8221; Well, yeah, but St. Paul received direct revelation from Jesus Christ.
And so, yeah, you have St. Luke who, to some substantial, in some substantial way, got a lot of his stuff from St. Paul. Now of course we also know St. Luke interviewed eyewitnesses. He tells us in Luke chapter 1, so he no doubt conversed with the other apostles. And with the Blessed Virgin Mary we know from the intimate details he had of Mary&#8217;s life and Christ&#8217;s life as an infant. But then John&#8217;s Gospel, of course, you have John the apostle, and we don&#8217;t have time. We could spend the whole hour talking about the importance of St. Luke being a Gentile and the influence there in St. John and his encounters with Serenthas and the early Gnostics who denied the divinity of Christ, denied the real presence of our Lord and the Eucharist. And that&#8217;s why you have in John&#8217;s Gospel the emphases on the divinity of Christ, the real presence of our Lord and the Eucharist in John 6, and a lot more because the Gnostics also denied the incarnation. We have the unique occurrence in John 1.14 and the Word was made flesh, not mentioned in any of the other Gospels. So yeah, Ryan, all four of the Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, have at their sources either the fact that they are apostles in Matthew and John, or they are closely connected to and had a close relationship with the apostles in Mark, who was Peter&#8217;s secretary in St. Luke, who we know from the book of Acts traveled with St. Paul.

Who Wrote the Gospels?

<h2>What Are Mortal Sins?</h2>

Everyone knows—or almost everyone does—that there are morally good actions and morally evil actions. But when is an action not only wrong, but sinful? And particularly mortally sinful? After all, as St. John says, “all wrongdoing is sin, but there is sin which is not mortal” just as “there is sin which is mortal” (1 John 5:16,17). A <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/mortal-sin" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">mortal sin</a> is one that “destroys in us the charity without which eternal beatitude is impossible. Unrepented, it brings eternal death,” as the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) puts it (1874). That’s what makes it “mortal,” or deadly: it cuts us off from God forever, unless it is “redeemed by repentance and God’s forgiveness” (CCC 1861). 
Thanks be to God, not every evil action is mortally sinful. So how do we know which is which? Just as there are <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/do-circumstances-determine-the-sinfulness-of-an-act">three ingredients</a> in evaluating a moral action (the object, intention, and circumstances), so there are three ingredients in a mortal sin: (1) “grave matter,” (2) “full knowledge,” and (3) “deliberate consent.” And the Catechism is clear that all “three conditions must together be met” (1857).  
If all three are met, it’s mortally sinful. Otherwise, “one commits <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/mortal-and-venial-sin" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">venial sin</a> when, in a less serious matter, he does not observe the standard prescribed by the moral law, or when he disobeys the moral law in a grave matter, but without full knowledge or without complete consent” (CCC 1862). That’s still a problem, since venial sin “weakens charity” and “impedes the soul’s progress in the exercise of the virtues and the practice of the moral good,” and “deliberate and unrepented venial sin disposes us little by little to commit mortal sin,” but venial sin does not (of itself) “deprive the sinner of sanctifying grace, friendship with God, charity, and consequently eternal happiness” (CCC 1863). 
What does “grave matter” mean? It means that the sin is serious. But how do we evaluate the seriousness of a sin? The Catechism is explicit about the grave nature of particular sins, including sacrilege (2120), blasphemy (2148), perjury (2152), deliberately avoiding Mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation (2181), murder (2268), hatred of neighbor “when one deliberately desires him grave harm” (2303), prostitution (2355), sexual relations outside marriage (2390), and adulation that “makes one an accomplice in another’s vices or grave sins” (2480). St. Paul likewise gives lists in Galatians 5:19-21 and 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 of sins whose practitioners will not “inherit the kingdom of God.” But none of these lists is exhaustive. 
More broadly, the Catechism says that “grave matter is specified by the Ten Commandments” (1858), pointing to Jesus’ words to the rich young man. When the man asks him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”, Jesus answers, “You know the commandments: ‘Do not kill, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not bear false witness, do not defraud, honor your father and mother’” (Mark 10:17,19). Jesus’ clear implication seems to be that those who do commit adultery, steal, etc. shall not inherit eternal life. 
Even here, there are two important caveats. On the one hand, not every violation of the Ten Commandments is a mortal sin. For instance, the person who steals a dollar is <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/what-are-some-examples-of-venial-sins">not necessarily damned</a>. On the other hand, not every mortal sin is a direct and obvious violation of the Ten Commandments. St. Thomas Aquinas <a href="https://www.newadvent.org/summa/3148.htm">considers this objection</a> directly in considering the sin of gluttony: “Every mortal sin is contrary to a precept of the Decalogue: and this, apparently, does not apply to gluttony.” Aquinas argues that gluttony is an indirect violation of the Third Commandment (keeping the Sabbath holy) by turning us away from holiness. That’s a strange answer, but he explains: “Mortal sins are not all directly opposed to the precepts of the Decalogue [Ten Commandments], but only those which contain injustice: because the precepts of the Decalogue pertain specially to justice and its parts.” In other words, the Ten Commandments lay out “the first principles” of the moral law; they’re not an exhaustive list of every serious sin. The right question is this: is this the kind of behavior that places something else above God or turns me away from God? If so, it’s grave matter. 
In considering whether or not a sin is mortal, circumstances matter. For instance, the Catechism points out that “one must also take into account who is wronged: violence against parents is in itself graver than violence against a stranger” (1858). Likewise, stealing from the excess wealth of a millionaire is less evil than stealing the food of a starving man. Taking the example of lying, the Catechism explains how to determine the gravity of a sin: “The gravity of a lie is measured against the nature of the truth it deforms, the circumstances, the intentions of the one who lies, and the harm suffered by its victims. If a lie in itself only constitutes a venial sin, it becomes mortal when it does grave injury to the virtues of justice and charity” (2484). 
<h2>Related Content</h2>
<h3>Articles</h3>
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/sin-the-debate-between-catholics-and-protestants" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Sin: The Debate Between Catholics and Protestants</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/how-hard-is-it-to-commit-a-mortal-sin" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">How Hard Is it to Commit a Mortal Sin?</a></li>
</ul>
<h3>Podcasts</h3>
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.catholic.com/audio/scw/why-god-lets-us-sin" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Why God Lets Us Sin</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.catholic.com/audio/sp/are-some-sins-worse-than-others" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Are Some Sins Worse Than Others?</a></li>
</ul>
<h3>Resources</h3>
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/the-catholic-answers-guide-to-an-examination-of-conscience" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Examination of Conscience</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/catholic-answers-guide-for-getting-to-mass?_gl=1" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Find a Church Near Me</a></li>
</ul>
<h3>Books</h3>
<ul>
<li><a href="https://shop.catholic.com/spiritual-warfare-and-the-discernment-of-spirits/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Discernment of Spirits</a></li>
<li><a href="https://shop.catholic.com/20-answers-good-and-evil/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">20 Answers: Good &amp; Evil</a></li>
</ul>

Mortal Sins: The Basics

Chris Stefanick, responding to a Catechism teacher with ambivalent students, encourages us to &#8220;get excited&#8221; about the opportunity to have students right in front of us even if they don&#8217;t care.
Transcript:
Host: Teresa in Fresno, California listening on the Immaculate Heart Radio app, you are on with Chris Stefanick, what&#8217;s your question?
Caller: Good afternoon, thank you for taking my call. My question: I am a Catechism teacher preparing children for their First Communion, and I have a class right now of 13 children that are fourth grade and above, so they haven&#8217;t had their First Communion when they normally should have. So my problem is not that I&#8217;m not evangelizing as well as I can, but their parents are doing nothing. They don&#8217;t go to Mass, they don&#8217;t know how to pray their prayers, they don&#8217;t know how&#8211; they don&#8217;t even know how to hold a rosary. And I&#8217;m getting frustrated. I&#8217;m&#8211;one student, I gave them a Mass journal and I said, &#8220;This is for you to take to Mass, when you go to Mass,&#8221; and because I went to a dynamic Catholic event, and, you know, just see if God&#8217;s talking to you and what God&#8217;s saying. &#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t go to Mass. No, I&#8217;ll never go to Mass.&#8221; And I&#8217;m like, &#8220;Well why are you here then?&#8221; &#8220;I&#8217;ll never go to Mass.&#8221;
Chris: Yeah. First I want to thank you for your patience. You know, because it takes patience. But listen, I&#8217;ve worked with Confirmation students for years, I actually wrote a confirmation program called &#8220;Chosen,&#8221; and, you know, after years of working with Confirmation kids, you see tons of these people who show up, drop their kids off, and could care less about the faith. I brought up the example of Catholic schools, and there&#8217;s some parents who want to fight to make sure their administration cares more about God, but there&#8217;s some administrations that&#8217;s very holy and would say, &#8220;Yeah, but Chris, 99% of the parents dropping their kids off could care less,&#8221; right?
Here&#8217;s a key thing we gotta hold on to. Catechists, administrators, teachers, don&#8217;t lose hope. You know, when you see a group of people in front of you who don&#8217;t have faith, who could care less, please don&#8217;t get frustrated, please get excited. Go to the Acts of the Apostles. I mean, think of Acts chapter 2, and how they&#8217;re in front of this group of people who don&#8217;t know Jesus. Their first response wasn&#8217;t frustration, it was excitement.
Now we have a very unique situation nowadays, see, because those people, obviously the Apostles didn&#8217;t expect them to know Jesus Christ and didn&#8217;t expect them to have a relationship with Jesus. We have people showing up for Catechism classes, and sitting in Catholic schools, and sometimes even showing up for Mass who could care less, it&#8217;s very strange. But we should&#8211;and as strange as that is, let&#8217;s never get frustrated. God give us the grace to get excited.
You know, Pope Francis says to go to the fringes, right? Well shoot, after years of working in youth ministry and in Confirmation classes I&#8217;m thinking, &#8220;I don&#8217;t have to go out and look outside the doors of my church to find the fringes.&#8221; Shoot, I don&#8217;t have to go outside the Church very far to maybe get martyred. I&#8217;ll have kids sitting in front of me who can&#8217;t stand me just because I&#8217;m calling them to follow Jesus Christ, you know? But that&#8217;s also an opportunity, like we might never have again. If they&#8217;re coming out of nostalgia now, again in 20, 30 years they might not be.
So we have a prime opportunity to evangelize. We will see a certain percentage of these people who could care less stay Catholic for life if we don&#8217;t blow that opportunity. You know, but we have to stay patient, we have to keep showing our joy, we have to form relationships with these people and with their parents. You know, often relationships are the most time-consuming, painful ways that conversions happen, because we prefer to just hang out with people who think exactly like us. But try to befriend these families. Try to befriend the parents of kids, school administrators who are dropping their kids off at school, and engage the long painful road to conversion.
You know, I&#8217;d also say when it comes to&#8211;whether schools or or Catechism classes, make sure there&#8217;s evangelistic components like retreats that you bring these people on. I know with third and fourth graders it&#8217;s difficult, but in high schools, you know, there&#8217;s great speakers you can bring in, there&#8217;s retreats you can put on, there&#8217;s Steubenville conferences, if you Google that I think it&#8217;s one of the most effective evangelistic outreach tools out there today for for three-day retreats for young people. And often kids show up&#8211;they had to go, they didn&#8217;t want to be there. But hey, I love those kinds of kids sitting out there, right? That&#8217;s my target audience: &#8220;I have to be here.&#8221; &#8220;Yes! Awesome.&#8221;
Host: And you know Chris, I&#8211;Theresa thanks so much for that call, I think that&#8217;s a really important point, actually, we gotta hit that side of it too.

Teaching Catechism When Kids Don’t Care

<div>If the Novus Ordo isn’t a new Mass but instead the ordinary form of the Latin Mass, why is it referred to as such by Pope Paul VI in his Address to a General Audience, Nov. 26, 1969?</div><div>To be sure, the &#8220;New Mass&#8221; is new. The term ordinary does not refer to the age of the rite but is purely a legal term, indicating its practical status in the church today. Obviously, if you are talking about the past millennium, then the &#8220;extraordinary&#8221; form is the ordinary one. So the word does not indicate long-term historical, but actual, current circumstances.The term ordinary has more the sense of a current default mode of liturgy than an evaluation of its value as a rite.
</div>

What Does ‘Ordinary’ Form Mean?

In this episode of Catholic Answers Live, Jimmy Akin joins Cy Kellett to explain why popes take new names after their election. Drawing from Church history and tradition, Jimmy explores how this practice developed, what these names signify, and why the choice often reflects a pope’s mission, inspiration, or theological emphasis.
Transcript:
Cy: The question is timely, so I wanted to throw it out to you. Where do popes get their names from?
Jimmy: Well, they pick them. This is actually the very first decision a pope makes after he becomes pope. The first decision is, do you accept your election? And if he says yes and he&#8217;s already a bishop, bam. That moment he&#8217;s the pope. So once he&#8217;s become pope, the very next thing that happens is they ask him, by what name do you wish to be called? So this is his first decision as pope. And then it gets announced, and then he comes out and so forth and greets the folks.
So that&#8217;s where the names come from, if you interpret the question in one sense. But there are a couple of other senses that you could ask it in. One of them is, well, what&#8217;s the source of the names? If the pope himself picks it, where is he getting it from? And the answer is, these days, popes get their name typically from previous popes. And so they look back on who were the previous popes, who&#8217;s someone that I would like to emulate, what message will be sent if I pick this pope&#8217;s name rather than that pope&#8217;s name. And they pick it from a previous pope, but not always.
Now, originally, popes didn&#8217;t have a papal name. You could argue Peter did, because Jesus changed his name. So he got his name from Jesus. His birth name was Simeon or Simon, but then Jesus called him Peter, and that&#8217;s what other people called him. But then after Peter, they just kept their birth name. So, like Pope Clement, he would have just been born Clement. And, you know, Pope Linus, he would have just been born Linus. And so they took their name from whatever their parents had given them.
Now, there were a few deviations from this in the first millennium. So that&#8217;s between, you know, that&#8217;s the first 10 centuries up to the year 1000, there were a few. The first guy to pick a different papal name was named Mercurius. That was his birth name. But he didn&#8217;t. It&#8217;s reported, at least. I haven&#8217;t seen a direct quote from him on this. But it&#8217;s reported that he didn&#8217;t feel it would be appropriate for the Christian world to be led by someone named Mercurius, because Mercury was the name of a Roman God. And so it&#8217;s like, why is your Christian leader named after a pagan God? So he thought there was a problem with that.
But not all popes have thought that, because there was a previous pope, Dionysius, and Dionysius was also a pagan god. So there have been popes with pagan god names, but Mercurius thought that was a bad idea. So he took the regnal name or papal name, John, and he was the second person to have the name John. So he became known as Pope John II. There were a handful of others in the first thousand years of church history that did the same thing.
But when the papal name custom really took hold was in the second millennium, just before the year 1000 in 996, we had a gentleman take a special name as pope. And thereafter, almost everybody did. I mean, basically, for a thousand years, you had people picking a new name when they became pope, with like three exceptions in the 1500s that kept their birth names.
And you might wonder, well, why would this happen at this point in time? You know, why would popes all of a sudden start this tradition of taking a different name? I have never seen a study done on that, a historical study done on that question. But my guess is it&#8217;s because of what royalty were doing. It&#8217;s been common with royalty throughout history to pick a different regnal name than their birth name.
And so by the Middle Ages, you know, when the year 1000 happened, kings and queens were a big deal in Europe. And the pope was also a monarch. He ruled the papal states. And so to make the. And it seemed more like a person was more authoritative if they had a new name in their new office as pope. And so it brought dignity to the office in that cultural context.
And so I suspect that the naming conventions among European monarchs had an influence on popes taking new names. If that hypothesis is true, then we might expect that sometime in the third millennium, that custom may fall away, because kings and queens are not a big deal now. The pope does not have the papal states anymore. And rather than trying to acquire more influence by imitating what secular rulers are doing, the popes are trying to come across as humble and as the servant of the servants of God.
So at some point in the third millennium, maybe 100 years from now, we may have popes just sticking with their baptismal names, unless their baptismal name is Peter or Jesus, because we&#8217;re not going to have a Pope Peter II. No one wants to. Someone who had a birth name of Peter, they would definitely pick something else, because otherwise it would be like, who are you to compare yourself to St. Peter, you know, so I don&#8217;t expect a Peter II.
Also, if someone&#8217;s named Jesus, what Pope Jesus? Really, that would be a bit of a shock to some people. And so I suspect anyone named Jesus or Peter will keep up the custom of changing names. But the custom may fade away.
And we even see signs that we&#8217;re living in an age right now where popes are reconsidering the pool of names they want to draw from. Because in 1978, we had John Paul I elected, and he had the first double papal name in history. He said he wanted to honor Pope John and Pope Paul, so he called himself John Paul.
Then we had Pope Francis, which was another unprecedented papal name after Saint Francis of Assisi. And even if we look at other popes like Pope John XXIII and Pope Paul VI, they had reached back hundreds of years to find a papal name. And so that suggests that popes these days are feeling like maybe the current route, bunch of names is a little stale and they&#8217;re rethinking some things.
But I did a whole study of the subject of papal names back in 2013 when Pope Benedict XVI retired. I turned it into an ebook just called *Pope Names*. It&#8217;s not currently on Amazon, but I&#8217;m hoping I can get it up again real quickly.
And I also talk about this in the upcoming Monday episode of the *Jimmy Akin Podcast*, where I look at how four popes, the four most recent popes, so that&#8217;s John Paul II, Benedict XVI, Francis, and Leo XIV, how they met the world. And I cover their choice of papal names because that&#8217;s their first decision about how they&#8217;re going to interact with the world.
And then we watch footage of them coming out on the balcony, the loggia at St. Peter&#8217;s, and we analyze their body language and see what that tells us about how they&#8217;re going to reign. So there are some very interesting lessons you can learn about them from just their opening interaction before they say anything in public. Just studying. Okay. What&#8217;s their name and what are they doing with their body? That tells us a bunch about their reigns, and I&#8217;m going to be covering that on the *Jimmy Akin Podcast* on Monday.
Cy: Very cool. David, I&#8217;m sorry you weren&#8217;t able to stay on the line, but I hope you were listening and that answer was helpful to you.

Why Do Popes Change Their Names?

Paul says in 1 Corinthians 1:17 that Christ did not send him to baptize. Does this mean that baptism is not necessary for salvation? Karlo Broussard gives the reason why the answer is no and explains what Paul meant.

Is Baptism Necessary For Salvation?

Can We Trust Jesus?
Jesus made some pretty extraordinary claims, such as the claim to be God. But should we believe him? Karlo dives into the gospels to take a look at whether Jesus was a liar, a lunatic, or if he was actually God.
&nbsp;
Transcript:
After a lecture I once gave, a gentleman, swaying back and forth with an overwhelming smell of alcohol, approached me and said, “Hey Man, I’m the Messiah.” Obviously it wasn’t hard to conclude this dude was delusional.
Now, Jesus made some pretty extraordinary claims as well, such as the claim to be God. But should we believe him? Maybe he was delusional—like that man? Maybe Jesus was lying? Is it reasonable to believe these alternative explanations? Well, no. And here are some reasons why.
First, I don’t think it’s reasonable to believe Jesus was lying because he performed miracles as direct proof of his divine claims, as Mark records in 2:5-7 when Jesus heals a paralytic to justify his claim to have power to forgive sins—something only God can do. Furthermore, it’s clear from Mark’s Gospel the Sanhedrin sentenced Jesus to death for his claims to be God, and Jesus accepted it. People don’t die for what they know to be a lie.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t a liar, but perhaps he was a lunatic? I don’t think this explanation works either. The historical evidence is such that even skeptics conclude Jesus was a wise man. But if he was wise, don’t you think he’s wise enough to know who he is?
Furthermore, there are no few examples in the Gospels where Jesus’ audiences were amazed with the things he said, and he often read their minds. This is not lunatic type behavior.
So, if Jesus is not a liar, and not a lunatic, then he must be Lord.
If you want to learn more about this topic and others like it, visit our website at catholic.com.
For Catholic Answers, I’m Karlo Broussard. Thanks for watching.

Was Jesus a Lunatic?

A discouraged caller asks Marcellino D’Ambrosio what to do when you keep confessing the same sin. Marcellino D’Ambrosio encourages him and gives advice on how to persevere through this trying time.

Stuck in Habitual Sin?

The Great Apostasy is False...

<div>When was Mary born?</div><div>There is no firm evidence on when the Blessed Mother was born. But if, as tradition holds, Mary was in her later teenage years when she married Joseph and conceived Jesus, this would tell us roughly when she was born, i.e., late in the B.C. (Before Christ) era.
For more information on the Blessed Mother, including on how her birth was prophesied according to the Protoevangelium of James, see <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/mary-ever-virgin">our tract “Mary, Ever Virgin.”</a> For further background on Mary’s heritage, see <a href="http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/15464b.htm">this article</a>.
</div>

When Was Mary Born?

Candlemas, the Presentation, the Purification. There are three significantly different names for this feast in the Latin Church. The main events, given in our Gospel reading, center on our Lord’s entrance into the Temple as a child—his presentation as the firstborn son, as well as Our Lady’s ritual purification after childbirth. As a result, the feast has traditionally emphasized two further theological notes behind these two events: first, the integrity of our human nature or substance in the Son of God, which comes up in our reading from Hebrews, and second, the preservation of Mary’s virginity even after childbirth.
To these four mysteries, we then add two more. Some Eastern Christians call this day the Meeting in the Temple—first with Simeon and then with Anna. Our tally now comes to six mysteries. Next, from Simeon we get a prophecy about Jesus’ passion and Mary’s sorrow. Eight. Lastly, in Simeon’s exuberant song, the Nunc dimittis, we find a ninth aspect—light. Christ is the light of the world, and so we bless and light candles.
If I were preaching in a different century, I might make a big deal about the numerical symbolism in that list of nine mysteries. For now, though, it’s probably best just to acknowledge and wonder at all these layers. One of the old antiphons appointed for the procession appears to touch on almost all of them, adding to them that familiar nuptial language that seems to show up everywhere in Scripture and Tradition: “O Sion, adorn thy bridechamber, and receive Christ thy King: greet Mary who is the gate of heaven: for she beareth the King of the glory of the new light: she remaineth a virgin, yet beareth in her arms a Son begotten before the morning star: whom Simeon took in his arms declaring to all nations that he is Lord of life and death, and Savior of the world” (Adorna thalamum).
With that beautifully prolix antiphon in mind, perhaps it’s helpful to think of this feast through the lens of one of my favorite concepts: the liturgical stammer. This is not an official dogmatic concept (maybe it goes without saying), but some scholars have used it to think about the ways that the liturgy seems to repeatedly stumble over itself in the struggle of saying what needs to be said.
The liturgical stammer is more obvious in some places than others. If you’ve ever been to a Byzantine liturgy, you’ll notice the repetition, almost bewilderingly excessive to many modern Western ears, of “Lord have mercy” and other key phrases. But the traditional Roman liturgy does this as well, and not just with the Kyrie. Sometimes it is as subtle as the priest’s constant turning back and forth between congregation and altar; the need to repeat “The Lord be with you” at several different moments; the repetition of orations when in theory one would suffice; the multiple opportunities to kiss the altar; the seeming indecision, in the Roman canon itself, about whether or not we even have any right to be doing what we’re doing, whether we really dare to approach the altar of God. Often it feels like two steps forward and one step back.
Much, much more can be said about that, but here I mainly want to show the kind of stammer that we see in today’s feast. What is the feast about? Well, it’s about the Presentation—no, the purification—no, the Incarnation—no, the virginity of Mary—no, the meeting with Simeon—and so on and so forth. It is about each of these things and all of them, and part of the meaning of this kind of restless movement from one to the other is the fact that we can never, in this world, finally get it in any decisive and permanent way.
We see the stammer, again, in that great text from today’s Gospel, the canticle of Simeon, the Nunc dimittis:
<blockquote>Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,
according to thy word; 
for mine eyes have seen thy salvation 
which thou hast prepared in the presence of all peoples, 
a light for revelation to the Gentiles, 
and for glory to thy people Israel.</blockquote>
Perhaps it’s overdramatic to call such eloquent words stammering. There is after all a great biblical tradition of repetition and parallel structures. What we get here are three things all together:
<ul>
<li>First, the Lord’s salvation.</li>
<li>Second, the light for the Gentiles.</li>
<li>Third, the glory of Israel.</li>
</ul>
What Simeon implies is not that these are three separate things, but that these three things are, precisely, the thing that his eyes have seen. He repeats it three times, using three different concepts: salvation, light, glory.
First there is a very this-worldly hope—the salvation of a people long oppressed. Then there is another hope, still of this world, but somewhat higher: a light that enlightens. Here, with this notion of enlightenment, we’ve entered a more intellectual level. Light, even the smallest candle on a dark path, is knowledge. But, it seems, the story gets even better, because with salvation and knowledge also comes glory. The glory of thy people Israel.
And what, we might ask, is glory? We use the word constantly in our worship. Glory be to God on high. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. Glory be to thee, O Lord.
Glory in the New Testament can mean a variety of things: praise, fame, honor, dignity, splendor.
Maybe, though, this doesn’t really help us at all, because it brings us to one more layer of conceptual language. “Glory” is not normally something you can sink your teeth into or grasp in your hands. But here, in Simeon’s song, is something different: he holds in his hands “the glory of Israel.”
The key to Simeon’s three things—salvation, light, glory—is not another concept, or another word, or another secret definition. The key is a baby, barely more than a month born.
Babies are, in so many ways, signs that exceed their meaning. Despite all that we do in this age to control the making of babies, to make childbearing and childrearing one more consumer choice alongside buying furniture or using natural gas, babies always come to us as strangers.
It’s fitting, then, that this baby stands for a meaning that is not subject to our control or manipulation. We can try to manipulate him, try to control what he stands for, but at the end of the day what he stands for is himself. He is not a symbol of something else. With Jesus, it is no longer proper to speak of salvation, or the light of the world, or the glory of Israel, apart from this person who is the new Israel, the new salvation, the new light.
If we find this feast disorienting, we do well to look, with Simeon, to the Lord. We do not have to choose between Jesus and Mary, between Israel and the nations, between heaven and earth. Christ himself is our peace, as St. Paul writes, “who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility” (Eph. 2:14). We cannot really describe this peace, in worldly terms, in the language of human violence. We can only stammer on about Jesus.
It is a bold stammer, like Simeon and like Anna. But there is no further explanation, no deeper key, than Jesus himself. We can try to offer the world other things: a Jesus who is pure enlightenment, a Jesus who is political liberation, a Jesus who is simple Jewish prophet. Yet what Simeon sees is none of these things and all of them: a person who in himself is the fulfillment and the end of all things.
Our call as Catholics is to stammer and stutter our way to glory. This will look strange, because peace looks strange. We are too used to our divisions. The world cannot understand, for example, how the Church can speak on both hospitality and judgment, on unconditional love and the reality of sin. The world cannot understand how Christians can care for the good of all while proclaiming the end of all things. The world cannot understand how a virgin could be the Mother of God, how God could be man, and how death could become life.
That is what Simeon says, in the end: that death has become life, that a human woman has become the Mother of God and the Queen of Heaven, that the glory of the Lord has been made visible, in veiled form, even as it will be made visible on our altar this morning. And in response he says: I have seen Life himself, so my own life is of no account. Use it as you will, Lord, in witness to your glory.
God make us such witnesses. Amen.

Stammering at Mass

Some Protestants argue that Paul’s letter to the Galatians shows Peter was just one leader among many—not the first pope. In this episode, I explain why Galatians 2:6 and 2:9 don’t undermine Peter’s unique role and actually make good sense within the broader biblical case for the papacy.
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TRANSCRIPT:
Was Peter really the first pope—or was he just one “pillar” among others? Some think Paul teaches the second view in his letter to the Galatians! But I don’t think he does.
Hey guys, Welcome back to the channel! So glad to have you with me. If you haven’t done so already, don’t forget to subscribe to the channel and hit that bell notification so you can be notified when new videos are released. Also, I’d like to invite you to consider helping keep this podcast going by financially supporting us on Patreon at doctorkarlo.com with “doctor” spelled out.
So, when it comes to the Catholic claim that Peter was the first pope, there’s definitely no shortage of objections. But today, I want to zero in on a couple of them that come straight out of Paul’s letter to the Galatians. There are two verses in Galatians 2 that Protestants often bring up as evidence that Paul didn’t see Peter as “the pope”: verses 6 and 9. Verse 11 is another but we’re gonna save that for some other time.
So let’s start with Galatians 2:6. Paul writes,
[PHONE READ]
And from those who were reputed to be something (what they were makes no difference to me; God shows no partiality)—those, I say, who were of repute added nothing to me.
At first glance, it seems like Paul is putting himself on the same level as Peter—basically saying, “Hey, Peter’s not above me.” Protestant apologist Jason Engwer, a frequent contributor for the Protestant blog triablogue.com, took this line in a 1999 <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20220706184848/http:/www.biblicalcatholic.com/apologetics/debate15.htm">debate</a> with Catholic apologist Mark Bonocore. Here’s what he argued:
[PHONE READ]
Paul asserted his equality with, not his superiority to, the other apostles ( . . . Gal. 2:6-8). Paul was not a pope, nor was Peter or any other apostle. It is the express testimony of Paul that what Peter and other prominent church leaders were meant nothing to him. . . . The equality and independence of Paul are a contradiction of the doctrine of the papacy.
And Jason isn’t the only one who reads Paul this way.
Tony Dupree, writing for renew.org in an article called <a href="https://renew.org/contributor/tony-dupree/">“Was Peter the First Pope?”</a>, says this about Galatians 2:6:
[PHONE READ]
Paul identifies these men “reputed to be something” in verse 9: James, John and Cephas (another name for Peter). What? Peter, the Pope, could add nothing to Paul? God shows no partiality? Doesn’t this description make you wonder about the Catholic teaching of the Papacy?
Protestant apologist Jim McCarthy falls right in line. In a 2024 <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHLKoMSaFyU">interview</a> on The Berean Call YouTube Channel, he stated the following:
[VIDEO]
in chapter 2:6 5:36 [Paul] goes out of his way to say that when 5:38 he went to speak to these men he he just 5:40 saw them as brothers in Christ he didn&#8217;t 5:42 see them as a hierarchy or someone to 5:45 whom he had to submit in terms of being 5:48 the head of the universal church. 
So the question is: does Galatians 2:6 really prove that Paul didn’t see Peter as having a higher rank of authority?
I don’t think so. And here’s a few reasons why.
First, the argument assumes that Peter’s authority meant nothing to Paul. But that’s not what Paul is saying. What meant nothing to him was the reputation—the high esteem—that Peter, James, and John had in the eyes of the Galatian Christians.
Evangelical scholar Richard N. Longnecker points this out in his book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Word-Biblical-Commentary-Vol-Galatians/dp/0849902401">Galatians</a>. He says it’s not that Paul is dismissing Peter or the apostles themselves, but rather the inflated claims that the Jewish converts (whom Longnecker calls “Judaizers”) were making about them. He puts it like this:
[PHONE READ]
Contrary to many who deny irony in Paul’s usage, it seems hard to ignore at least a certain “dismissive” tone in Galatians 2—a dismissal, however, not of [Peter or] the Jerusalem apostles themselves, but of the Judaizers’ claims for them.
And what might these claims be? D.B. Orchard, in his commentary on Galatians in A Catholic Commentary of on Holy Scripture, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Catholic-Commentary-Holy-Scripture/dp/B000P0NEAI">answers</a>, “the fact that the Twelve knew Jesus in the flesh before his Resurrection.” It was this fact that made them of “repute” in relation to Paul.
And if you look closely, Paul’s whole point in this section is about reputation. He says:
<ul>
<li>v. 2—“those who were of repute”</li>
<li>v. 6—“who were reputed to be something”</li>
<li>v. 9—“who were reputed to be pillars.”</li>
</ul>
So what’s Paul really saying? He’s saying, “Look, just because these guys are highly respected doesn’t mean I’m any less of an apostle. Jesus himself called me, and that makes me just as much an apostle as them.”
But here’s the key: being equal in apostleship doesn’t mean equal in rank of authority. Think about it. My wife and I are completely equal in dignity as human beings, but I still have the role of headship in our family. Or take Catholic Answers: Chris Check and all of us apologists are equally full-time employees, but Chris is the president—he’s the one steering the ship.
So, Paul’s comment about him being equal as an apostle doesn’t knock Peter off his role as chief apostle. In fact, Matthew 10:2 actually calls Simon protos—“first” when he lists the apostles, not in the sense of order, but in the sense of rank.
Now, another big problem with the Protestant argument is that it overlooks some key contextual details that actually show Paul recognizing Peter’s authority.
Take Galatians 1:18-19. Paul talks about his first trip to Jerusalem after his conversion:
[PHONE READ]
“Then after three years I went up to Jerusalem to visit Cephas, and remained with him fifteen days. But I saw none of the other apostles except James the Lord’s brother.”
Notice that? Paul goes out of his way to visit Peter and spends more than two weeks with him. James is mentioned almost as an afterthought. Why would Paul single out Peter like that if he didn’t see him as being in charge?
So, if anything, that passage shows that Paul considered Peter the main guy during that visit.
Galatians 2:2 is another contextual detail. There, Paul writes,
[PHONE READ]
I went up by revelation; and I laid before them (but privately before those who were of repute) the gospel which I preach among the Gentiles, lest somehow I should be running or had run in vain.
The Greek word Paul uses here for “laid before them” is anatithemi. Greek scholars note that this word means “laying for the sake of consideration.” For example, the Greek-English Lexicon for the New Testament and Early Christian Literature (famously referred to as BDAG, which is an abbreviation for names of the editors), defines the Greek word anatithemi as
[PHONE READ]
to lay something before someone for consideration, communicate, refer, declare w. connotation of request for a person’s opinion . . . I laid my gospel before them Gal. 2:2. 
So here’s the question: why would Paul feel the need to lay his preaching before Peter for consideration if he didn’t see Peter as the visible principle of unity for preaching the gospel?
Bottom line: Galatians 2:6 might look at first like it undermines Peter’s authority. But when you look at the context, it’s not doing that at all. Paul isn’t rejecting Peter’s role as leader—he’s just pushing back against the inflated reputation the Jewish converts were attaching to Peter, James, and John.
And when you look at the bigger picture, Galatians actually supports the idea that Paul recognized Peter’s leadership in the early Church. Which means Galatians 2:6 really can’t be used as proof that Paul rejected the papacy.
Okay, let’s now turn to the objection from Galatians 2:9. Here’s what Paul says:
[PHONE READ]
“When they perceived the grace that was given to me, James and Cephas and John, who were reputed to be pillars, gave to me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship.”
Now, you’ll notice Peter—called Cephas here—is listed second, right after James. And some argue that this proves Peter wasn’t unique in his role as the foundation of the Church, let alone the first pope.
Engwer, again, is someone who makes this point. He does so in his article, <a href="https://triablogue.blogspot.com/2020/10/the-pillars-of-roman-catholicism.html">“The Pillars of Roman Catholicism.” </a>Here’s how he puts it:
[PHONE READ]
It’s doubtful that people would have been grouping Peter with other apostles as pillars of the Church and naming him second, after James, if he was thought of as a pope. Catholics emphasize Peter being the foundation of the Church in Matthew 16, which sounds a lot like the pillar concept in Galatians 2:9. It’s unlikely the early Christians thought of Peter as such a unique foundation—an infallible ruler over all Christians—yet saw him the way Paul describes him here.
So, here’s the argument in simple form:
<ul>
<li>Premise 1: If Peter was uniquely the foundation of the Church, like Catholics say, he wouldn’t have been listed second in Galatians 2:9.</li>
<li>Premise 2: But he is listed second.</li>
<li>Conclusion: Therefore, Peter wasn’t unique as the foundation of the Church—he wasn’t the pope.</li>
</ul>
Let’s take a closer look at this.
The key assumption here is that being listed second means Peter wasn’t superior in rank—less important than James.
But is that a fair assumption? Not really.
Think about it: when we list people in a sentence or an email or a story, we don’t always put them in order of rank or importance. A lot of times, names just come to mind as we’re writing. The specific order of importance or greatness would only be of interest if that’s what we’re after.
This could have been the case for Paul. Paul could have been simply listing the names as they came to mind, without any intention to list them according to rank.
So unless Paul explicitly says he’s listing people based on rank—and he doesn’t—there’s no reason to assume that’s what’s going on.
Even if Paul were trying to say something with the order, it still wouldn’t disprove Peter’s special role. Why?
Because as I just showed from Galatians 1:18-19, Peter actually is portrayed as the top leader, even above James.
Now, let’s talk about James for a minute. Which James are we dealing with?
This isn’t James the brother of John—he was killed by Herod in Acts 12:2. This is James, the “brother of the Lord,” who stepped up to lead the Church in Jerusalem after Peter left.
That shift is hinted at in Acts 12:17, where Peter escapes prison and tells the others, “Tell this to James and the brothers.” After that, Peter leaves Jerusalem, which opened the door for James to take leadership in that local Church.
We even have early Church sources backing this up.
Eusebius, in Church History (Bk. 2, ch. 1), says James,
[PHONE READ]
“whom the ancients surnamed the Just on account of the excellence of his virtue, is recorded to have been the first to be made bishop of the church of Jerusalem. This James was called the brother of the Lord.”
Jerome says the same in Lives of Illustrious Men, writing that
“James was once ordained by the apostles bishop of Jerusalem.”
So by the time Paul visits Jerusalem in Galatians 2:9—which was 14 years after that first visit, recorded in Gal. 2:1—James had become the local leader.
Protestant New Testament scholar F.F. Bruce explains in his The Epistle to the Galatians: A Commentary on the Greek Text:
[PHONE READ]
On Paul’s earlier visit to Jerusalem, Cephas was the most important man in the church; Paul went up specifically to meet him, and adds that he also saw James. But all our evidence (scanty as it is) indicates that James became increasingly influential in the Jerusalem church. An opportunity to increase his influence at the expense of Cephas/Peter came with the latter’s departure from Jerusalem after his escape from Herod Agrippa’s prison (Acts 12:17) (pg. 121-122). 
These circumstances of James being the bishop in Jerusalem could explain why Paul lists James first: to acknowledge his current leadership in the Jerusalem church. Peter, meanwhile, was only there temporarily—for the Council of Jerusalem.
Here’s another interesting possibility. Paul may have listed James first to make a strategic point.
In Galatians 2:12, Paul mentions the “circumcision party”—Jewish Christians who believed Gentiles had to be circumcised. Paul says these guys came from James, and Peter ended up fearing them.
These people highly respected James. So if they were going to try and use anyone to argue against Paul, it would’ve been James.
But Paul flips the script.
He points out that James, Peter, and John all gave him the right hand of fellowship. They all approved of his ministry to the Gentiles—including James.
So, maybe Paul lists James first to hammer that home. In effect, he’s saying: “Even the guy you think would be on your side agrees with me.” That would totally undercut the circumcision party’s argument.
Here’s the takeaway:
Every argument is only as strong as the assumptions behind it.
In this case, the assumption that Peter being listed second means he wasn’t the pope just doesn’t hold up. There are plenty of good reasons Paul might have listed James first and not Peter:
<ul>
<li>It could’ve been random.</li>
<li>It could’ve reflected James’s role as bishop of Jerusalem at the time.</li>
<li>It could’ve been a deliberate move to disarm Paul’s opponents.</li>
</ul>
So no—Galatians 2:9 doesn’t prove Peter wasn’t the first pope.
There’s just not enough there to overturn the much broader biblical case for Peter’s special role, especially what we see in Matthew 16:18, where Jesus names Peter the rock.
So next time someone says, “Peter was just one of the guys—not the guy,” you’ve got some solid responses to offer.
At the end of the day, Galatians doesn’t knock Peter off his role as chief apostle—it actually makes sense once you look at the context. Paul was pushing back against inflated reputations, not Peter’s authority. And the order of names in Galatians 2:9 just doesn’t carry the weight Protestants want it to.
Bottom line: Peter wasn’t just a “regular ole pillar”—he was the rock Christ set at the foundation of his Church.
Well, my friends, that’s it for today! If you found this video helpful, make sure to like, subscribe, and share it with someone who might need to hear this. And for more resources, check out my website at karlobroussard.com.
If you want me to come and speak at your event, visit catholicanswersspeakers.com.
Lastly, I’d love for you to consider supporting me over on Patreon. I can’t continue doing this podcast without your financial support. You can find me over at doctorkarlo.com with “doctor” spelled out.
Thanks for hanging out, and I’ll see you next time!

Peter, a Regular Ole “Pillar”?

Jimmy Akin lays out the general theological understanding of how God makes the saints in Heaven aware of our prayers to them.

How Can the Saints Hear Silent Prayers?

<div>If you are invited to an infant baptism, are you expected to bring a gift?</div><div>Whether a family expects a gift depends upon the family. If it is customary to bring a gift in that family or region, that usually means something simple. For example, a children&#8217;s book about the faith, a stuffed animal with some sort of religious significance, a rosary, etc.
</div>

Is a Gift Expected for a Baptism?

Liberal Catholicism is DEAD!

Let’s begin by returning to our passage from the Epistle of St. James:
<blockquote>What causes wars, and what causes fightings among you? Is it not your passions that are at war in your members?  You desire and do not have; so you kill. And you covet and cannot obtain; so you fight and wage war.</blockquote>
Some of the other modern translations have “cravings” rather than passions, which further drives the point home.
Whenever I hear this language of craving and desire, I recall my time teaching world religions to middle-schoolers. Buddhism in particular has a lot to say about desire: Life is full of suffering. Suffering is caused by desire. Once, in class, we were reading about Buddhist monasticism, and my students were reacting to some of the precepts that Buddhist monks and nuns have to follow, like not eating after noon and not watching shows. The kids were just horrified at the idea of going so long without food every day. You can’t eat. You can’t watch TV. What in the world is left to do? I think this was before the health trend of intermittent fasting came onto the scene!
All of those disciplines, whether in Buddhism, in Christianity, or in secular wellness culture, are designed to free people from the suffering caused by desire. Food is a pretty easy example. Say I have a craving for apple pie. I really, really want apple pie. And I don’t get it, so I’m sad. But even if I do get it, I’ll probably eat too much of it and get a bellyache. So there’s suffering, however small it might be. Apply that same principle to everything, from college admissions to romance.
James is writing to an early Christian community that is getting all messed up because of different desires. This shouldn’t be that surprising. Jesus’ disciples, in Mark, are getting into fights with one another because of their desire for greatness. This is what people do. We want things, and we get into trouble because we don’t get them. Or we want things, and we get them, and we keep craving them because it’s never quite enough.
There’s a remarkable harmony between the Buddhist and Christian teaching on this subject. (I think we can charitably hope that this is one of the things behind the pope’s confusing and misleading remarks on Singapore last week.) We are addicted to unsatisfying things. We crave things that don’t last. But I think here’s where the similarity ends, because the prescription for this illness is very different. For Buddhism, the prescription is to empty yourself of all desire so that you have no suffering. There’s no good place for desire because there is nothing in the world really worth desiring, nothing that actually lasts.
Christianity suggests, instead, that the problem is not desire itself, but what we desire and how. The Catechism even goes so far as to say that the term “passions” “belongs to the Christian patrimony” (1763) and that the passions are “natural components of the human psyche” (1764). Not, in other words, just something irredeemably bad that we need to avoid at all cost. It’s not bad to desire food, sex, material success—all of those things are good in the right place and time. But it is bad to desire temporary goods more than permanent goods. When you’re focused on earthly things as your main goal, you’re destined for failure because these things won’t last. But if you desire the eternal, infinite thing—God—above all else, the other desires can find their place.
Let me give a simple analogy. My one-year-old daughter loves to eat. I think that, like my former middle school students, she would be horrified at the idea of not eating after noon. And at certain points I think it would be fair to say that she loves the food more than she loves me or her mother. Like all babies, she is a creature of desire. She wants. She gets upset when she doesn’t get what she wants. She is hard to keep satisfied.
As we grow up, as we get more mature (if we do mature), we learn that these things that we enjoy actually have a source. And so at some point in your life you realize that it’s your mother whom you should love, not just the things she gives you. Because there are no things without the source.
But how do we do this? How do we love God more than the good things of this world? It’s much easier said than done.
We have a hint in our Gospel. Jesus tells us, “If any one would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.” It’s a weird statement, because probably we shouldn’t want to be first at all. But Jesus has just been telling us about how the divine Son—who is certainly the first of everything that is—must suffer and die.
It sounds a bit like we’re supposed to act like Jesus—which is more than just easier said than done. It’s impossible. Because, you know, we are not God.
There, again, is the biggest difference between Christianity and not just Buddhism, but every other religion and philosophy that I can think of. It’s not just that it’s not about you. Because there is a way of saying it’s not about you that makes it all about you—all about how good you have to be and how hard you have to work to serve others. But for Christianity, it really isn’t about you at all. It’s about Jesus.
So the point of this impossibly, perfectly good human being who somehow enters into suffering and death for the sake of everyone else, is not first that we need to be like him—that comes later—but that we need to be him. The Christian life is not about working hard until you love the right things; it’s about uniting yourself with the one person who gets love right. That’s what we do in baptism; that’s what we do when we receive the Blessed Sacrament. And it’s then, when we are part of the body of Christ, and no longer just ourselves, that our desires and cravings can reform and improve. It’s only when we grow into Christ that we really “grow up.”
This may seem like an impractical thing when life is full of lists of what we should and shouldn’t do. But in another way, it is the most practical thing in the world. What for many people seem like optional, extra things—prayer, going to church, receiving the Eucharist, confessing your sins—are actually the most important things. They are indispensable, and they are not really that complicated.
We can never be good in a permanent way without being attached to the source of all goodness. So come to Jesus. Seek him. Worship him. Receive him. Become part of him in Holy Communion so that our “sinful bodies”—that is, the bodies weighed down with disordered desire—“may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.”

What Buddhism Gets Right

Does the Council of Jerusalem in Acts 15 relate back to a council 1 Chronicles 28? I’m thinking that if it does, it could be more proof for the papacy.

Does Matthew quote the Septuagint?

I heard an interpretation of the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac that Abraham failed because he should have offered himself in place of Isaac. Is there any truth to that interpretation?

I find it’s hard to use 2 Macc 12:46 to defend Purgatory to Protestants because they don’t believe in that book. How do you deal with that?

How do we answer someone who says that God is Jehovah?

How do we answer free-gracers that bring up Rom 3:20 as proof that works of the law are all works?

What is the biblical evidence for inclusivism, meaning that God has mercy for those who through no fault of their own have not heard the gospel? And if there’s time… Why does Acts 1:5 talk about a water baptism and a holy spirit baptism, but Eph 4:5 sa...

Scriptural Apologetics

Are Catholics priests unbiblical?

Are aliens real… or something else? 👀

Infallibility isn't just for Popes!

Sharing some initial thoughts on Pope Leo XIV.

Have debates becomes dumb?

Many Catholics in the West assume that Islam is simply another Abrahamic religion and therefore shares our ideas about freedom, the individual, and the nature of society. But when you actually study Islam as a political system using the Quran, the Hadith, and the early biographies of Muhammad, you begin to see a structure that looks surprisingly similar to communist collectivism.
The resemblance is not theological. It is political.
I am not speaking about Muslim individuals. I am speaking about Islam as a governing project.
When you compare Islamic sources to the political writings of Karl Marx, three major parallels appear. First, the Caliphate functions as a collectivist authority that controls wealth and property. Second, Islam divides humanity into an insider and outsider hierarchy that determines legal rights and social value. Third, classical Islamic jurisprudence divides the entire world into a realm of peace and a realm of conflict, which creates a permanent ideological mission directed at the outside world.
These are not generalizations. They are derived directly from the original sources of Islam and the foundational writings of communism.
<h2>The Caliphate and the Marxist State</h2>
In the Communist Manifesto, Marx explains that communism is defined by one central idea, which he describes as the abolition of private property (chapter two). In the Critique of the Gotha Program, Marx explains that wealth is to be collected and redistributed by a central authority. In Marx’s vision, the state functions as the manager of society’s resources, determining what each person receives according to need.
Islam does not abolish private property in a total sense, but the Quran and the classical jurists grant the Caliphate extensive authority over wealth and land. The Quran states that the property of conquered peoples belongs to Allah and his messenger, which means the ruler administers it for the community (59:6 to 7). This includes entire tracts of land, agricultural output, and possessions acquired in conquest.
Taxation in Islamic governance is not incidental. It is an essential component of the political system. Muslims must pay zakat as a mandatory wealth tax. Non-Muslims must pay jizya, and the Quran explicitly commands fighting them until they submit to this tax (9:29). Land taken in conquest is taxed through the kharaj system. War booty, known as ghanimah, is distributed by the ruler to the Muslim community.
The earliest biographies of Muhammad record these actions clearly. Ibn Ishaq describes the confiscation of land from the Jewish tribe of Banu Nadir and its redistribution under Muhammad’s authority (Ibn Ishaq, Sirat Rasul Allah). Ibn Hisham preserves the same episodes in his recension. The picture that emerges is a political authority that manages communal resources and redistributes wealth based on religious criteria. In form, if not in ideology, it resembles a collectivist economic system.
<h2>Islam’s Hierarchy of Belonging</h2>
 Communism proclaims universal equality, but in practice, it creates a hierarchy consisting of party faithful at the top and noncommitted citizens below. Islam creates a similarly structured system, although based on religious allegiance rather than political commitment.
Classical Islamic law divides humanity into three legal categories. Muslims receive full membership in the community. Dhimmis are non-Muslims who live under Islamic rule and who must pay the jizya tax while accepting a lower social status. The Quran requires this state of submission explicitly, describing dhimmis as those who pay the tax while feeling themselves subdued (9:29). Those outside Islamic rule are unbelievers, referred to in the Quran and the Hadith as opponents to be confronted unless they enter a treaty or submit to Islamic authority.
The Pact of Umar, a foundational document in Islamic jurisprudence, details the restrictions placed on dhimmis. These include limits on building houses of worship, prohibitions on bearing arms, and constraints on public religious expression. In many classical courts, dhimmis could not testify against Muslims and sometimes could not hold positions of authority over Muslims.
The Hadith also reinforces this hierarchy. Sahih al Bukhari records that Muhammad stated he had been commanded to fight the people until they declare the testimony of faith, which is the Shahada (1:24). The implication is that full membership in the community and full legal protection derive from ideological commitment, not from universal human dignity. This structure is remarkably similar to the Marxist class model, in which insiders receive privileges and outsiders are treated as obstacles to the ideological project.
<h2>Dar al Islam and Dar al Harb</h2>
Marxism views the world as divided between capitalism and revolutionary socialism. Classical Islam has a comparable division that is even more explicitly defined. Islamic jurisprudence distinguishes between Dar al Islam, which is the House of Islam, and Dar al Harb, which is the House of War. These terms appear throughout the classical legal schools, including the writings of Abu Hanifa, Al Shafii, and Ibn Taymiyyah.
Dar al Islam refers to regions under Islamic governance where sharia (Islamic law) is applied. Dar al Harb refers to regions not under Islamic rule, which are understood to be in a state of potential conflict until peace is established through conversion, submission, or treaty.
The Hadith literature clearly articulates this understanding of the world. As mentioned above, Sahih al Bukhari records that Muhammad said he had been commanded to fight the people until they testify that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is his messenger. The Sira states that Muhammad sent letters to rulers in surrounding territories instructing them to accept Islam or face consequences, which is recorded in both Ibn Ishaq and Ibn Hisham.
This worldview includes the idea that Muslims in non-Muslim lands may conceal certain practices or beliefs when necessary for protection, which is a concept found in some juristic discussions connected to prudential dissimulation. The strategic nature of this system resembles communist revolutionary tactics, in which adherents live within the opposing system while working to advance the ideology.
<h2>Anticipating the Objection: “But Catholicism Did the Same”</h2>
A common response to this analysis is the claim that Catholicism, when historically dominant, behaved in similar ways. This objection fails because it confuses historical abuses by Christians with theological requirements of Christianity. Catholicism can be misused politically, but it does not contain a political ideology that mandates coercion, collectivism, or civil hierarchy by divine command.
The New Testament establishes no civil legal code, no mandatory economic system, and no requirement that the Church rule states. Christ explicitly rejects political kingship, declaring, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36), and distinguishes divine authority from civil authority (Matt. 22:21). Catholic political arrangements therefore arise from prudential judgment and natural law reasoning, not from revealed law that must be imposed.
Unlike Islam or communism, Catholicism does not require forced ideological conformity. The Church teaches that faith must be free and cannot be coerced (CCC 160). There is no Catholic equivalent to religious taxation, legal subjugation of unbelievers, or a divinely mandated division of the world into realms of peace and war.
Where Catholic societies historically violated these principles, they acted against the gospel, not in obedience to it. Islam and communism, by contrast, integrate belief, law, and political authority into a single ideological system by design. Catholicism does not.
When Catholics examine Islam not only as a belief system, but as a political and legal project, they discover a structure that resembles collectivist ideology in key ways.
Communism is atheistic, whereas Islam is religious, but the political shape of both systems places the collective above the individual and divides humanity into ideological categories. Christianity stands apart from both systems because it affirms the inherent dignity of each person created in the image of God.
Understanding these distinctions is essential for Catholic evangelization and for realistic engagement with Islamic political theology. Clarity serves charity. If we want to proclaim the gospel effectively, we must understand the political worldviews with which Christianity interacts.

Islam and Communism

Most of us take for granted that the Gospels according to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/who-wrote-johns-gospel">John</a> were in fact written by <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/did-matthew-mark-luke-and-john-really-write-the-gospels">Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John</a>, respectively. In times past, this would have been the obvious assumption, and questioning this assumption would have been seen as an absurd waste of time.
However, no assumption is safe today, and the identity of the authors of the Gospels is now hotly debated by some scholars.
So let’s take a look at this question. Who did write the Gospels? And why does it matter?
Briefly, we should begin by setting the parameters of the question. When talking about who wrote the Gospels, we should clarify which gospels we are talking about. There are only four canonical Gospels, those purported to be written by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, which are considered authentically part of the New Testament by all Christians the world over. There are a great number of so-called “gospels.” Among others, there are the “Gospel of Judas,” the “Gospel of Mary,” the “Gospel of Thomas,” the “Gospel of Philip,” the Protoevangelium of James, and many more.
These are all recognized as having been written a century or more after the death of Jesus, sometimes several centuries later, and not attributable to those closest disciples of Our Lord, or even to their disciples. While these facts in and of themselves do not mean that they are unreliable historical records, we know that the authors were not divinely inspired, as the Church has discerned and declared the canon of Sacred Scripture, and the canon is <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/john-calvin-the-gnostic-protestant">closed</a>. Scripture is public revelation from God, and such public revelation ceased with the death of the last apostle (see Dei Verbum 4, CCC 66-67, 73). So these so-called “gospels,” though they may be historically interesting documents, are not part of that canon. The authorship of those documents is not at issue here.
The four canonical Gospels were all written during the first century A.D., most likely in the second half. Jimmy Akin, in his book <a href="https://shop.catholic.com/the-bible-is-a-catholic-book/">The Bible Is a Catholic Book</a>, writes that the Gospels “came to be known by these names within living memory of the time they were written, when people were aware of who the authors were, and therefore we need to take the authors’ names seriously.”
There is good evidence that the Gospels of Matthew and John were written by eyewitnesses, and the Gospels of Mark and Luke were written by close associates of apostles, according to Akin. Additionally, there is little to no evidence to the contrary—not even ancient claims of different authorship. We must avoid the temptation to ignore earlier generations’ conclusions simply because those conclusions are now ancient and the temptation to accept blindly the conclusions of modern scholarship simply because it is fresh. Such chronological snobbery has no place in an honest pursuit of the truth. So although some today might say that we can’t know for certain that the Gospels were written by the men they are attributed to, we have every reason to believe that they were.
So who were Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? Two of the authors of canonical Gospels—Matthew and John—were apostles of Our Lord. Matthew, also known as Levi, was a tax collector who was called by Jesus and left his life behind. John and his brother James, the sons of Zebedee and nicknamed “Sons of Thunder,” were fishermen along with Peter and Andrew. John is often referred to as “the beloved disciple” and was given charge of Our Lady as Jesus hung dying on the cross.
The identities of Mark and Luke are a little harder to nail down, but longstanding tradition tells us that Mark the evangelist is the “John Mark” from the twelfth chapter of Acts of the Apostles, a companion of Paul and Barnabas. Mark was a cousin of Barnabas, according to Paul’s letter to the Colossians (4:10). He is referenced many times throughout the letters of Saint Paul. The Gospel of Mark is considered by some to be St. Peter’s Gospel, as tradition holds that Mark essentially served as a scribe, recording the teachings and recollections of Peter.
Luke was a follower of St. Paul (Col. 4:14), and we have references identifying him as the author of the third Gospel dating all the way back to St. Irenaeus of Lyons in the second century A.D. He is also identified as the author of Acts of the Apostles and is noted by St. Paul as being a physician.
The identity of the authors of the Gospels is more than a point of historical interest. For many people, the question of authorship of the Gospels affects how they view the historical reliability and authority of the Gospels. If the Gospels were not actually written by the apostles (or their disciples), they might say, it is not eyewitness testimony and thus is not reliable. In fact, critics of Christianity often point to this authorial ambiguity precisely to try to undermine the Gospels’ authority. They claim that anonymous, non-apostle Christians compiled hearsay reports and legend, and these were passed off as authentic eyewitness accounts and can thus be summarily dismissed.
But the Gospels cannot be dismissed, and they must not be dismissed. They are the most important documents in the history of the world, inspired by the Holy Spirit. Historical and textual evidence points to the traditional identities of the Evangelists; the authority of the Gospels comes from their divine inspiration. But for those who do not accept that premise, their historical reliability can be demonstrated based on authorship. And the Gospels were written by eyewitnesses or others who recorded the eyewitness testimony. They are historically reliable documents, and of unfathomable import.
We cannot say with any degree of certainty that every word contained in each Gospel came from the hand (or mouth) of the attributed author. But the evidence shows that the ancient tradition of the Gospels’ authorship is reliable and worthy of belief.

Who Really Wrote the Gospels?

As an infant, I had a rare disease, which (left untreated) has a mortality rate of upwards of 80 percent. Thanks be to God, my mother’s persistence meant that doctors realized what was going on just in time, and my life was spared. It was on St. Joseph’s day, 1985, that I was released from the hospital.
Since then, Joseph has been in my life in a variety of ways. When I was a lawyer, I could turn to St. Joseph the Worker. When I was in seminary, I was inspired by the way he modeled chaste, celibate love for the sake of Jesus and Mary. And now, as a husband and father, I’m inspired by the way he shows what married love and fatherhood ought to look like.
I can envision a possible objection here: how can St. Joseph be a model for fathers when he’s not even Jesus’ real father? Perhaps you’re remembering when Mary and Joseph find Jesus in the Temple, and Mary says to him, “Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been looking for you anxiously.” If so, you surely remember Jesus’ reply: “How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:48-49). Some <a href="https://www.blueletterbible.org/Comm/stewart_don/faq/what-everyone-needs-to-know-about-jesus/29-is-the-virgin-birth-to-be-understood-literally.cfm">Protestant commentaries</a> see in Jesus’ response here a total denial of Joseph’s fatherhood, arguing that this passage shows that “his Father was God, not Joseph,” and that “while people may have assumed Jesus was Joseph’s son, in reality, he had no human father.”
That’s a serious misreading of the passage. One clue is that St. Luke, who has just told us about the Virgin Birth in the prior chapter, nevertheless refers to Joseph and Mary as Jesus’ “parents” three times (Luke 2:27,41,43) in this chapter. But the error is deeper than just a misunderstanding of the Holy Family. If adopted fathers aren’t true fathers, and adopted sons aren’t true sons, then we’re all in trouble. After all, we’ve been adopted as sons and daughters of God, and are destined to receive heaven and earth as our inheritance. As. St. Paul says (Gal. 4:4-7),
<blockquote>but when the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So through God you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son then an heir.</blockquote>
So, in a very important sense, we need to start by saying that yes, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Man-Named-Joseph-Guardian-Times/dp/168192952X/">Joseph is Jesus’ father</a>. It’s through Joseph’s lineage (see Luke 1:27) that the Evangelists show us that Jesus fulfills the prophecies about the Messiah being a son of David. And it’s important that the finding in the Temple episode ends with Luke telling us that Jesus “went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them” (2:51). Jesus perfectly observed the Fourth Commandment—“honor your father and your mother” (Exod. 20:12)—toward Joseph and Mary.
Nevertheless, it’s true that St. Joseph isn’t Jesus’ father in every sense. Most strikingly, he’s not Jesus’ biological father. But more significantly, Jesus’ obedience to his heavenly Father is superior to any earthly obedience, a fact he highlights in his response to his mother. So Joseph is a father, but he is also a sort of “stand-in” for Jesus’ truest father, God the Father. Pope Francis captures this dynamic well in his apostolic letter <a href="https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_letters/documents/papa-francesco-lettera-ap_20201208_patris-corde.html">Patris Corde</a>. Drawing upon the Polish writer Jan Dobraczyński, he describes Joseph as “the earthly shadow of the heavenly Father.”
Is that really unlike the rest of us fathers? St. Paul tells the Ephesians that “I bow my knees before the Father (Patēr), from whom every family (patria) in heaven and on earth is named” (Eph. 3:14-15). The Catechism points to this passage in reminding us that God the Father “transcends human fatherhood and motherhood, although he is their origin and standard: no one is father as God is Father” (239). Later, we’ll be reminded that “parents must regard their children as children of God and respect them as human persons” (2222).
That is, it’s not just Jesus who owed a higher authority to God than to his earthly father. That’s true for my children (and all children) as well. Given the unique circumstances of who his son was and how he came into this world, Joseph was keenly aware of this fact. But it’s worth remembering for the rest of us as well. In the secular world, children are sometimes treated as mere consumer goods to be acquired . . . or <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-hardest-teaching-of-them-all">manufactured</a> in a lab, if need be. It’s easy for kids to be treated as little more than extensions of their parents’ personalities, or as letterboards upon which mom and dad can make personal statements to the world.
In the Christian world, we sometimes deny the full humanity of our children by an exaggerated vision of “male headship.” The Evangelical pastor <a href="https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2003/february/5.50.html">Steven Tracy tells</a> the horrifying story of a man caught physically and sexually abusing his own children. The man explained, “I guess I did it because I was the head of the family, and it was my right to do whatever I wanted to my wife and kids.”
But the truth is, our kids aren’t simply automatons created to do our bidding or to complete us in any sense. Instead, they are first and foremost God’s children, and we’re just taking care of them. Like it or not, they have a calling in this life that we didn’t choose for them: their true Father did. And that means we need to know when to back off and let them be about their Father’s business.

Joseph Really Is Jesus’ Father

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DAY 311
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CHALLENGE
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“We know that the Bible teaches we should do theology ‘by Scripture alone’ (sola scriptura) because Jesus and the apostles quote Scripture as their final authority.”
DEFENSE
This claim is demonstrably false.
Although Jesus and the apostles quote from Scripture, all this shows is that they considered it an authority capable of settling questions it deals with, not that it was the only authority. Speaking of it as “their final authority” misleadingly assumes there was a single, final authority for them, but a person can have Scripture as an authority while also having other authorities.
Thus Catholics, Orthodox, and other Christians who do not accept sola scriptura also quote Scripture to settle issues. Just look at other entries in this book. Scripture is regularly cited to prove different points, yet the author clearly does not believe in sola scriptura. Therefore, the sola scriptura advocate will need to show more than that Jesus and the apostles quoted Scripture to settle issues. He will need to show they recognized no other authorities.
This is not possible. For a start, Jesus and the early Christians lived in an age when public revelation was still being given. Some of these revelations are recorded in Scripture (e.g., Matt. 1:20–21, 2:13; Luke 1:11–20, 28–37, 2:9–14; Acts 9:4–6, 10–17, 10:10–16; Rev. 1:10–11). Regardless of whether a revelation was recorded in Scripture (and many were not until decades after they were given), its message was authoritative. This, of itself, reveals that the early Christians did not believe in sola scriptura.
The transmission of revealed material (whether it took the form of a vision or not) is Tradition, and the early Christians passed on Tradition in oral form long before it was written in Scripture (e.g., Matt. 10:7; Luke 10:1–16; Acts 2:14–40; 1 Cor. 11:1–2; 2 Thess. 2:15, 3:6).
They also believed a divine teaching authority (Latin, magisterium) had been given to the Church, beginning with Jesus, who “taught them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes” (Matt. 8:29) and pronounced authoritatively on the correct interpretation of prior revelation (Matt. 5:21–48). Similarly, the leaders of the Church recognized that they were divinely guided in a way that allowed them to pronounce authoritatively on the questions of their day (Acts 15:1–29).
We thus see the early Church using Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium.
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Scripture as Final Authority?

<a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/papal-infallibility">Papal infallibility</a> is an oft-misunderstood doctrine of Catholicism, so it&#8217;s crucial that we understand it correctly. Mark Brumley explains how and when the pope is protected by the Holy Spirit from teaching error.

When Is the Pope Infallible?

I recently stumbled upon a disturbing pro-abortion TikTok video. It was simply a photo with text over it stating: “When a mother during pregnancy knows that her child will be born with some malformation or incurable disease and still decides to have it, it is not an act of nobility, it is an act of selfishness.” If that wasn’t bad enough, the video had over one million likes with thousands of supportive comments. 
This reaction is no surprise, however, since many people in modern society assume that those with disabilities live unhappy lives filled with constant suffering. But is this assumption true?
In my response to the video, I discuss <a href="https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/02/110224121911.htm">a study</a> of people with locked-in syndrome (LIS), which is a medical disability that leaves people paralyzed completely – except for movement in their eyes. In the study, researchers assessed the mental and emotional wellbeing of those with LIS. Although we might assume their lives are filled with suffering and sadness, most respondents (72%) reported being happy, and only a small percentage reported having suicidal thoughts.
So the assumption that those who live with NIL (and similar conditions) have miserable lives is not aligned with scientific findings. Not only this, but encouraging abortion to prevent these so-called “miserable” lives is nothing but closeted <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ableism">ableism</a>. In an age where discrimination is condemned widely and loudly, such beliefs should be firmly rejected. Nevertheless, because of our society’s rampant diminishment of the sanctity of life, many people do not think twice about supporting eugenics (disguised as mercy) for those with disabilities. It is up to us to recognize this disguise, and <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/what-if-the-babys-going-to-die-anyway">expose it</a> with the charity and light of Christ.

When “Pro-Abortion” Is Just “Pro-Ableism”

Using the Greek Text to Defend the Eucharist

It is not a Nintendo game; rather, it was a wildly popular book back in the day.
The Prisoner of Zenda, written by Anthony Hope in 1894, is about a man forced by circumstances to pretend to be a king, for the sake of the real king, the kingdom, and the woman the pretender loves. It is a fascinating story of a man who does many noble things and displays many noble virtues, yet the story is itself a counterfeit, insofar as it (and its protagonist) pretend great evils are actually lofty and noble. Because Zenda, consciously or not, embraces the lie that society and the state are the highest goods, it also excuses sacrilege and adultery.
The Prisoner of Zenda begins and ends with the protagonist, Rudolf Rassendyll, in England, to all appearances an unambitious, languid country gentleman. However, while attempting to do some sightseeing in the European principality of Ruritania, he meets the soon-to-be-crowned king of that territory, to whom he is almost identical in physical appearance. When the king is drugged and captured by his rival for the throne, Rassendyll impersonates him to bide time while planning a rescue. He puts his life on the line again and again, dusting off skills and virtues no one ever suspected him of having, all the while falling in love with the beautiful princess Flavia.
If you can&#8217;t already appreciate something of the good of this story, well, you are precisely the one who needs to read it. For the most part, it is healthy entertainment, and healthy entertainment, as Daniel McInerny <a href="https://www.getprinciples.com/popular-entertainment-and-the-good-life-essay/">points out</a>, is prescribed by Thomas Aquinas as a virtue in itself. Beyond entertainment, swashbuckling stories prepare the passions to desire the virtuous. They inspire our irascible emotions, the ones that move us to accomplish difficult things for the sake of the good. Finally, as my friend and colleague Sean Fitzpatrick has noted, the story is in one sense an antidote to cynicism, because it is about a man who <a href="https://crisismagazine.com/opinion/the-prisoner-of-zenda-by-anthony-hope-escape-from-cynicism">sacrifices self</a> for others.
Yet even the ideal of self-sacrifice can become perverted, or even turn on itself, and the perversity in the novel is a danger. So it is not only appropriate to use this book as an illustration of an error, but also to forearm readers who take the worthwhile risk, to unmask the counterfeit morality lurking in the corners of this tale of the counterfeit king.
The first and most example of perverse self-sacrifice occurs early in the book. As part of the tradition of coronation in Catholic Ruritania, Rudolf receives the Holy Eucharist, although he is a Protestant. No objection is made by the loyal men of the king who are aiding and abetting him, although they are Catholics. In this way, late Victorian England, by the pen pf Anthony Hope, makes it clear that when it comes to duty, duty toward our maker can be peremptorily dismissed. It also sounds a false note in the rest of the appeals to God and his providence made through the rest of the book by the protagonist and his friends.
The second example of the Victorian noble lie is perhaps most illustrative. Rudolf, pretending to be king, in all truth falls in love with Princess Flavia. However, after Rudolf succeeds in rescuing the king, both agree that their love cannot be consummated, since the best thing for Ruritania would be her marriage with the real king and the consolidation of the royal bloodline. So far, though a bittersweet disappointment to the reader, it is perfectly right behavior. The commitment of matrimony is more fundamentally of the will than of the emotions, and Christian monarchs have sacrificed their personal attachments for the sake of their countries before.
However, the relationship becomes unchaste in the most insidious and deceptive way. Although Rudolph and Flavia do not physically consummate their love, they keep the fires burning in their hearts, even when Flavia finally marries the king. In what is meant to be a touching scene at the end of the book, Rudolf describes his yearly pilgrimage to Dresden, where a Ruritanian comrade brokers an exchange of roses between the old lovers. No physical sight of each other, much less physical proximity . . . and yet, what echoes through the chamber of our hearts is the idea that adultery can be fine, even noble, as long as it remains spiritual and, even more importantly, not disruptive to the interests of the state.
In this way, Hope joins a chorus of other Victorian English people of various creeds and political persuasions, such as John Stuart Mill, Thomas Carlyle, and George Eliot: the useful is what matters, not questions of God, the metaphysical, or even truth. However, this belief, prominent in The Prisoner of Zenda, too, presages the fall of Victorian England. For if God is important only so far as belief in him upholds the state, public morals, and decency, probing questions are opened up that the state, society, and decency cannot respond to. Aren&#8217;t the state&#8217;s rights, isn&#8217;t duty itself, important only insofar as they help individuals attain individual desires? If blasphemy is permitted in the interest of the state, why can&#8217;t treachery be moral in serving the interests of individuals? If adultery in the will and desire can be indulged in, why can&#8217;t promiscuity be justified if consenting adults aren&#8217;t hurting anyone?
In this way, we can begin to see that The Prisoner of Zenda as a pretense itself, based on a god that is not a god: the state. The only hope of what is noble in the novel is virtues that themselves receive their justification and status from a theology and philosophy that goes beyond those endorsed by the characters.
Nevertheless, if it is read in the right spirit, it not only serves some wholesome food for the imagination, and not only presents an unconscious history lesson on Victorian England, but also allows us to take part in the rescue of the book from its own imprisonment in a kind of relativism.