Priests

Having indulged in quite a bit of negative commentary in the past few years on subjects and events related to the priests of Roman religion,¹ I thought it was high time that I shared some more positive thoughts.

In other words, this is about what priesthood is, and/or should be, from biblical points of view.

John to the seven churches that are in Asia: Grace to you and peace, from Him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven Spirits who are before His throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.  To Him who loves us and released us from our sins by His blood—and He has made us to be a kingdom, priests to His God and Father—to Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever. Amen.  (Rev. 1:4-6)

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Blessed and holy is the one who has a part in the first resurrection; over these the second death has no power, but they will be priests of God and of Christ and will reign with Him for a thousand years.  (Rev. 20:6)

Here, both texts from the Johannine Revelation refer to large, apparently inclusive groups, labeling them “priests.”  There doesn’t seem to be a particular emphasis on the nature of the priesthood, but it’s something positive.

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession, so that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who has called you out of darkness into his marvelous light; for you once were not a people, but now you are the people of God; you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.  (1Peter 2:9-10)

I had a bunch more commentary written, but in the end, I decided my words were adding nothing of value.  Whatever it is that priests are, it’s good.  And it seems to be everybody, not an exclusive class.  With the advent of Jesus and his way, all were considered to have “priestly” access, rights, and responsibilities.

I’ll close with worshipful words about the High Priest:

There is no other sacrifice —
No one to pay the ultimate price —
But the one, perfect Priest on high:
King everlasting, our Christ!

from “Worshipping You Alone”
words and music by Brian Casey

 

Next:  Nations (and this won’t be about geopolitics)

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¹ Find a couple repudiations of Roman religion here:

• https://blcasey.wordpress.com/2014/02/02/seeing-on-feb-2nd/
• https://blcasey.wordpress.com/2012/06/11/its-really-not-all-that-important-guys/

Vianney’s folly (3 of 3)

A central tenet of my iteration of neo-protestantism, as I stand with certain spiritual forbears, involves criticism of the Roman Catholic ekklesiological institution.  This post is the final installment of a three-part series of protests of R.C. institution–specifically of their idea of priesthood.

John Vianney was looked to as a model because of his simple, quiet life of service.  He is said to have become one of the greatest “confessors” ever.  The term “confessor” can pertain to booth-style Roman Catholic confession sessions, or to a special historical role of sufferer recognized by the R.C. institution.  I’m not sure which sense is intended when used in reference to this John.

I learn from the article’s author that “four or five priestly vocations were awakened” in John’s parish in Ars, France.  What makes a vocation priestly?  I’m given no details, but I suspect that if these four or five were listed, I would react in one of two ways to each, in succession:  either the “vocation” is bogus, or it is for all Christians, not just those at certain hierarchical levels in institutions.

Not to downplay the various offenses I felt as I first read this article, but there was a single paragraph that represented the height of either ludicrousness or blasphemy—take your pick.  These words are attributed to John Vianney, when he was “speaking of the Holy Orders” (whatever those are):

Go to confession to the Blessed Virgin, or to an angel; will they absolve you?  No.  Will they give you the Body and Blood of Our Lord?  No.  The Holy Virgin cannot make her Divine Son descend into the Host.  You might have two hundred angels there, but they could not absolve you.  A priest, however simple he may be, can do it.  Oh, how great is a priest!  If he understood himself he would die, not of fear, but of love.  He will not understand the greatness of his office till he is in Heaven.

Simply put, I feel deeply embarrassed for John Vianney and for the writer of this article who perpetuated such nonsense.  The above paragraph is an embarrassment to all who would claim to honor the name of Jesus.

Look critically at the assumption of any continuing function of Mary, the assumption of transubstantiation, the capital letters that erect a façade of hierarchy and mystery, and of course the attempt to imbue the “office of a priest” with significance.  Where is the reality?

Roman Catholics accept that there is some power and authority vested in ordained priests.  I accept no such thing.  The author of this article concludes by asserting that a priest “is a man ordained to continue the Savior’s work of Redemption until the end of time.”  I respond, “We are all to continue His work.  There is no special class of humans recognized by God.” Any attempt to assert a clergy class based on scripture will be in vain.

In a strangely parallel reading (in Jeremy Begbie’s Resounding Truth), just today I noted the celebrated spiritualist composer Olivier Messiaen’s affirmation of “the existence of the truths of the Catholic faith.”  This statement, along with every news-media mention of “The Church” when referring to the Roman Catholic institution—or any other, for that matter—gives me spiritual pain.  The “Catholic faith” must be recognized as a human system, a superimposition on biblical Christianity, and a system gone awry.  Really, every human system goes awry; it’s just that this one has survived so many centuries of scripture-defying presumption that I feel a profound need to criticize it resoundingly.

And so I leave my criticism of the Kansas monks and the brand of religion they stand for.  Good riddance, clergified concepts of priesthood and all monkish ideals.  And may God truly have mercy on all our souls—including yours, you sincere but misguided friends in similar faith.

Long live reforming.

Ontology and ordination (2 of 3)

A central tenet of my iteration of neo-protestantism, as I stand with certain spiritual forbears, involves criticism of the Roman Catholic ekklesiological institution.  This post is the second in a three-part series of protests of R.C. institution–specifically of their idea of priesthood.

The writer of the article (referred to yesterday) proceeds presumptively to describe what he views as an ontological change that occurred after the bishop’s “ordination.”  (Ontological rhetoric deals with the nature of existence and reality.)  The thought is that prior to the laying on of hierarchical hands, nothing special was happening when the priests would practice “celebrating Mass” with the “unconsecrated host” in their hands, but that after ordination, well, then an “ontological change took place,” and the “piece of fried paste became the body, blood, and divinity of Jesus Christ.”  The words “celebrating Mass” are abiblical, and “unconsecrated host” begs a challenge, but I’ll leave those where they are.

I’m not knowledgeable enough to discuss the historical ins and outs of transubstantiation and consubstantiation, but I know a couple of sources for the R.C. idea on this, and I know they’ve overemphasized at least one brief passage and have not handled scripture well in this area at all.  Even if they should happen to be on to something and there’s some level of mysterious ontological change in the bread, it’s presumptuous to think that the mere laying of some robed archbishop’s hands on some other-colored-robed monk means that that monk’s basic nature is changed, and when he touches bread and utters an incantation now, something is existentially different.  It just isn’t so, and I have no qualms about saying that it isn’t.

Moving on … did you know that the current pope proclaimed last year as the Year for Priests?  Talk about an ontological shift … oh, wow, how things are now so radically different for me, now that I know that it was the Year for Priests!  All my reality has been changed.  😉  Anyway, apparently, a guy dubbed “St. John Baptist Mary Vianney” was held up as a model for today’s priests.[1] This John– I’ll call him John instead of using the androgynous “Mary” label he and other R.C. adherents often take as a third or fourth given name — lived during the early 1800s in France and reputedly didn’t have an elevator shaft all full of crayons, or his bright taco combo platter didn’t go all the way up, or something.  John did eventually pass his priest exams and is now the “patron saint” of all priests.

Now, a “patron saint” is supposed to have ongoing powers of intercession—a sort of direct-line to God.  The closest one can get to this silly idea in scripture is in the parable of the “Rich Man and Lazarus,” and interpretation of parables is always a bit elusive.  Anyway, I’ve digressed a couple of times in a single paragraph—forgive me for being spiritually and emotionally antagonized—so I’ll return tomorrow!

Next:  More on John Vianney, non-realities, and the priest’s (non-)office

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[1] My flippant use of the word “guy” here is intended to refer to the personage on the proper level.  He was, after all and in essence, just another guy like me.

A central tenet of neo-protestantism (1 of 3)

I don’t want to make any single group—my own or any other—the solitary butt of this blog’s criticisms.  Neither do I want to shy away, though, from what will continue to be a central tenet of my iteration of neo-protestantism:  criticism of the Roman Catholic ekklesiological institution.

As regular readers know, I’ve periodically poked at the presumptions and assumptions in letters of appeal I’ve received in the mail from the Benedictine Monks of Atchison, Kansas—where I once lived, delightedly, for three years.  (Delighted by Kansas, not by the monks or by the abbey, mind you.)  A couple of months ago, though, I did finally take the step of writing congenially to the abbot, politely sending him excerpts  of my own writings (some from here, for example) in exchange for all the unrequested ones I’d received from the guys at the abbey, and to request that I be taken off their mailing list.  In the words of F. Flintstone, perhaps not a more spiritually astute personage, but one whose memorable words out of another pile of rubble[1] apply here, yeahbut, abbot! do take me off the mailing list. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.  If that escaped you, just say the words in bold aloud.)

About a month ago, I received an entire magazine published by these Kansas monks.  Within the pages was a feature on the meaning of priesthood, as understood by the author, a monk.  This blogpost will decry the content of that article.  I intend to pull no punches, finding spiritual and logical fault with the RC idea of “priesthood”—its underpinnings, its overarching concepts, and everything between.  I intend to take R.C. criticism to a new level, and then I resolve not to write about the Kansas monks here ever again.  Deal?

The article begins with two brief accounts of two different archbishops and their having laid hands on the heads of eight young monks, “ordaining them as priests.”  Right out of the starting gate, I bristled.  From the presumptuous idea of the spiritual office of archbishop to the syrupy veneer (to mix a metaphor) on the idea of “young monks” to the assumption that a hierarchical laying on of hands somehow conveys spiritual power or authority—all this repels me like an opposing-charge magnet.  An arch- anything strikes me as evil, egomaniacal, or at least arrogantly aggrandized.  I’m already fired up, and the meat of this article is several paragraphs hence.

In the second paragraph, another presumption appears:  that R.C. bishops[2] of this day bear some resemblance to bishops of the first century, and that there has been a succession of miraculous power-bequests at the hands of bishops.  I’ll ignore the lack of attempt to connect “archbishop” in one paragraph with “bishop” in the next; there’s no attempt here to justify an extrabiblical hierarchy.

Tomorrow:  ordination and ontology

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[1] This is a feeble play on the ex cathedra notion—the ridiculous presumption that the Pope is infallible when he speaks “out of the chair (Latin: cathedra) of Peter.” I can see Benedict now:  “Hum dee-dum-dum-dum dum … I’m walking from the kitchen to the chair … hum dee-dum … a minute ago I spoke of corn flakes and coffee; now I’m infallible….”

[2] Here I’ll assume that the writer of this article had some knowledge of the etymology of “bishop,” i.e., that it does stem from the biblical word episkopos and that there is some biblical precedent for “bishoping,” albeit not like Christendom tends to think of it today, in our more globalized society.

Preparing for onslaught

Monday, I heard a speaker refer to reforming.  She framed herself as a Calvinist, and therefore, a “reformer.”

Notice the suffix she chose.

The speaker’s self-descriptor caused me to question both her literalness and the self-awareness of most religious movements.  (Don’t ask.  I’m just like that with words.)  She could equally aptly have said, “I’m (R)reformed,” but that sounds a little more static.  I myself would also choose the bolder assertion of being a reformer, and with that boldness goes a certain amount of misplaced arrogance, I know.  The point is that I want to be engaged actively in reforming.

Again with the suffixes:  I could have said “I want to be engaged in reformation,” but the –ation wouldn’t have implied enough ongoing activity for my taste.  Maybe that’s just how I hear it.

I would not choose “reformed” or “restored,” even if the former term had no denominational associations.  Calvinist and American Restorationists (Stone-Campbellers) alike tend to view themselves as having restored, as having arrived, to an appreciable extent.  The concrete resultant state is the problem.  To think we have it all figured out is also arrogant, of course.  I find it a trifle unbecoming for anyone to label himself “Reformed.”

The gerund -ing implies just the right thing.  I want to be an active reformer, which means I’m into reforming on an ongoing basis.  Calvin and Zwingli were as explicitly interested in a primitivist, back-to-the-Bible brand of Christianity as I am.  I was intrigued yesterday by some material I was reading on Zwingli–he is said to have stressed the “utterly unique authority of Scripture,” holding the Bible at the “heart of reformation.”  (Begbie, Resounding Truth, 114).  The 16C reformers said and did some good things, and they went overboard on some others—just like the rest of us.  If we continue actively reforming today, these overboard positions receive fresh analyses.  That’s the kind of Christianity I want to be engaged in.  Christ-ian discipleship implies active learning and following.

For the next three days, I’ll be availing myself of an opportunity for blistering criticism.  This will be, in a limited sense, a strong—like poblano peppers?—taste of active reforming.  These posts will by no means be a bedrock look at central doctrines.  Rather, they will constitute one possible starting point in the business of reforming.

Those of you who may wish to position yourselves “graciously” at the ecumenical epicenter of Christendom may wish to tune out until Sunday.  🙂  Starting tomorrow, for a planned three days, I’ll be posting a criticism of the Roman Catholic notion of priesthood, touching on related doctrines and assumptions that are in desperate need of reforming.  It is not only the RC institution that deserves censure; there are applications for all of us in all our church groups.  Let us continue reforming.

Laity

It struck me at the oddest of times yesterday morning that the clergy-laity system (with which I quarrel, and which exists in nearly all churches with which I’ve had any connection whatsoever) has at least one redeeming quality. “Laity,” I supposed, may be derived from the Greek latreuo and/or leitourgeia, which are probably related to the Latin laetatum. These words, I further supposed, are related to the notion of Christian service and, by extension, to various horizontal actions.

Aha! “Laity,” considered alone, then, may come from a concept wholly appropriate to foist upon the church at large–that of Christian activity and service. (“Clergy” is a different story, in my way of thinking.) So I looked it up … and the picture is a bit more complicated, according to internet etymology sources.

“Laity” may come from the Old French “lai” and the suffix “té,” which in turn come from late Latin and Greek words for “people” and “common” that–in the case of the Latin, at least–was used to distinguish the priesthood from the common people.

Ah, yes … laos rang a bell, then. But is this word related to latreuo (service) or not? It doesn’t appear to be so, according to Wigram’s Analytical Lexicon. (The name of the city of Laodicea does seem connected, however. “Lao” is obviously laos, and the “dicea” part is a word that gets nearly a page in Wigram’s, referring to judgment and punishment. I wonder whether Laodicea might have been named based on the notion of government or justice meted out by, or for, the common people. The modern country Laos may also have a linguistically connected name. That was a tangent, without extra charge.)

I’m basically back where I started, not having found any particularly redeeming origin in the notion of laity, and decrying the delineation in the church between a special class of people and the common people. Greek and Latin terminology aside now, we in the 21st century who wish to follow God’s intent should rid ourselves of the ekklesial impediment that is the special-class priesthood. Special training and seminaries may be warranted, but class distinctions are not, and they inhibit spiritual growth more than they spur it on.

If you are thinking something along the lines that “he’s probably on track here, and I’m glad my church doesn’t have priests,” may I encourage you to ponder these things more. Churches in my own fellowship, which is more than loosely connected but which does not consider itself a full-blown denomination, abides more comfortably within the clerical hierarachy system than it wants to admit.

Preacher-centrism

Paid ministers as servants?

Pastor’s pitching

Ordination of a class — a human concoction