by Fr. James B. Buckley, FSSP
From the September 2011 Newsletter

Some exegetes claim that the parable of the Marriage of the King’s Son (Matt. 22:1–14) is the same as the parable of the Great Supper (Luke 14:16–24), but the overwhelming majority of scholars deny it. The similarity between the two is that those who were first invited refused the invitation and their places were taken by strangers from the highways.

The differences, however, set them apart. In Luke’s parable the one who invites the guests to his supper is not a king and the guests who refuse the invitation do not abuse the messengers. Unlike Matthew’s parable where the king burns the city of the rebels who maltreated and killed his delegates, the only retribution given in Luke’s parable is that “none of those that were invited will taste of my supper” (Luke 14:24). Moreover, it is only in Matthew’s parable that the king orders the guest who entered the banquet hall without a wedding garment to be bound hand and foot and thrown into the outer darkness.

The parable of the Marriage of the King’s Son presents two difficulties. First of all, why would those invited to the wedding feast injure and even kill the messenger? Secondly, how could a stranger suddenly invited to a wedding feast be justly punished for not wearing a wedding garment?

In answering the first question, Fr. Leopold Fonck, S.J. explains that accepting such an invitation signified loyalty to the king. It is, consequently, true to life that those who had planned a revolt would express their dissatisfaction with the king by maltreating his messengers.

As to the second, the man, by not answering the king’s question, indicates his guilt (Matt. 22:12). This, says Father Fonck, “proves that the prince had given those strangers who had come from the highways time and opportunity to garb themselves suitably for the royal feast (Parables of the Gospel, p. 368).

The parable, which is divided into two parts, illustrates in its first part that the Jews who had spurned the divine invitation were rejected in favor of the Gentiles. In the second part it demonstrates that the condition of holiness is necessary for entrance into eternal life.

The wedding feast which the king prepared for his son and the son’s bride is an image of the everlasting happiness that the eternal Father has prepared for the members of the Church, the Mystical Bride of His Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ. Those invited first were the Jews who imprisoned the Apostle Peter, five times scourged the Apostle Paul, and killed both John the Baptist and James the Greater. As a punishment for their outrageous rebellion, the city of Jerusalem in a.d. 70 was destroyed by the Romans, fulfilling the prophesy of Christ.

In the second part of the parable, which corresponds with the call of the Gentile peoples, the king’s servants are ordered to invite whomever they shall find at the crossroads, bad as well as good. Saint Augustine observed that the first invited who excused themselves from the feast were bad, but in this second group only those who wear the wedding garment are good. The wedding garment, he says, is charity, and it belongs to those who do not seek their own but rather the things of Jesus Christ.

Because none of those invited in the first part were found worthy, and only one of those invited in the second part was found unworthy, Father A. Jones believes that the remark “many are called but few are chosen” (Matt. 22:17) refers to the whole parable but not to either of its parts (c.f. A Catholic Commentary on Holy Scripture, p. 891). “The majority of the (Jewish)  people,” he writes, “by their own fault, are deprived of salvation, but a remnant of Israel will yet share therein” (c.f. Romans 11:25). In his commentary the renowned Fr. Cornelius A. Lapide, S.J. observes that both faith and charity are necessary for salvation. The Jews who rejected Christ lacked faith, without which “it is impossible to please God,” but although the man without the wedding garment had faith, he lacked charity and so was cast into the outer darkness.

by Fr. James B. Buckley, FSSP
From the August 2011 Newsletter

The parable of the wicked husbandmen is one of a select few which are found in all three synoptic Gospels. At Mass on the Friday after the second Sunday of Lent it is read from Matthew. Though it is not without its difficulties, the point of the parable—i.e. the rejection of Jewish leaders and those who followed them—was clearly understood by the chief priests and Pharisees who “knew that he spoke of them” (cf. Mt. 21:45; Mk. 12:12; Lk. 20:19).

In the parable Our Lord says that a man let out his vineyard to husbandmen but when he sent his servants to request his share of the harvests, the servants were beaten and treated shamefully; some were even murdered. Lastly, the owner sent his only son who was cast out of the vineyard and killed.

In Mark and Luke, Christ tells his audience that the owner “will come and destroy those husbandmen and will give the vineyard to others.” In Matthew the audience, in response to Christ’s question about what the owner will do to punish such wickedness, replies: “He will bring those evil men to an evil end; and will let out his vineyard to other husbandmen who will render him the fruit in due season” (Mt. 21:41).

In his book, The Parables of the Gospel, Father Leopold Fonck, S.J. observes that the Jews whom Our Lord was instructing were familiar with the image of the vineyard. Isaias had written: “For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel” (Isaias 5:7). In speaking of the vineyard, therefore, Christ is talking about the Kingdom of God which in the Old Testament was identified with the House of Israel.

The owner of the vineyard who planted it with care is the Lord God and the messengers are the prophets whom He sent to His people. These men were treated shamefully and their message rejected. Jeremias 20:2, for example, says: “And Phassur struck Jeremias the prophet and put him in the stocks that were in the upper gate of Benjamin, in the house of the Lord.” Some were even put to death. Speaking of the prophet Urias, Jeremias writes: “And they brought Urias out of Egypt: and brought him to king Joakim, and he slew him with the sword: and he cast his dead body into the graves of the common people” (Jeremias 26:23).

When the wicked husbandmen kill the only son of the vineyard owner, their destruction is sealed. Christ, the Word made flesh, is the only Son of the Eternal Father who by means of this parable prophecies that He will be slain by the leaders of the Jews. Pontius Pilate indeed sentenced Our Lord to death but— in the words of Saint Augustine—the Jews slew Him with the sword of their tongue when they cried out to the Roman governor: “Crucify Him.” Because they rejected the Messiah, the kingdom of God is taken from them.

Christ calls Himself the cornerstone because He unites Jews and Gentiles in His Church. “And whoever falls upon this stone,” He says, “will be broken: but on whomever it shall fall, it shall grind him to powder.” In his interpretation, Father Fonk writes: “As a light potter’s vessel, if it strikes against a big stone or is hit by it, in either case is smashed to pieces, so the rejected Messiah will prove the temporal and eternal destruction of Israel.”

Father Cornelius A. Lapide, however, says that the one who falls on the stone shall bring harm to himself but in such a way that the harm may be repaired by repentance. The one on whom the stone shall fall can have no hope of reparation or restitution. Saint Thomas Aquinas, referring to Saint Jerome’s commentary, says that the one who falls on the stone is one who believes in Christ but falls on Him by committing serious sins, but the one on whom the stone falls is the one who who does not believe. A salutary application of the parable was made by Alphonsus Salmeron, S.J., one of the original companions of St. Ignatius of Loyola who became an outstanding biblical scholar. “For what the Lord predicted would happen to the Jews,” Salmeron said, “we see also to have happened in many Christian nations in Africa, Asia and in Greece.” This same application was made even more trenchantly by Bishop Cornelius Jansen, a scriptural scholar who attended the last session of the Council of Trent, “It is to be feared,” he wrote, “that the same thing happen to us, if, as many in this part of the west have already been affected, they continue to hold in contempt ecclesiastical teaching which venerable antiquity has handed down to us listen instead with itching ears to those who speak novel teachings.”

by Fr. Eric P. Flood, FSSP
From the August 2011 Newsletter

As priests are to “offer up gifts and sacrifices for sins” (Heb. 5:1), Christ, the Eternal High Priest, being perfect, could offer only the most perfect Sacrifice in atonement for sin. Since there is no greater sacrifice than to lay down one’s life, He sacrificed Himself during His passion and death upon the Cross for the salvation of mankind.

This one Sacrifice is continually presented to His Father in the heights of Heaven and is made present on earth every time a Catholic priest offers Holy Mass. The greatest glory of the priesthood is approaching the altar, in imitation of Christ, and offering the same Sacrifice, although in an unbloody manner.

But the example of Christ also shows that the priest is more than one who offers a Sacrifice upon the altar: he is also one who is to be sacrificed for the salvation of souls. Our Lord’s example of rising from the dead and ascending into Heaven only after a life of sufferings and toil indicates to every subsequent priest what to expect in this life.

“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me” (Mt. 16:24). As the life of Christ was a constant series of privations, humiliations, fatigue, and labors from Bethlehem to Calgary, so too will be the life of the priest. If the student is to become as the Master, the sufferings in this life need to be received in a spirit of gladness and joy for the glory of God and the salvation of souls throughout the world.

As Christ was sacrificed as the Paschal Lamb, unblemished and unspotted, He was led to the shearers without uttering a sound. Now, men raised to the dignity of the priesthood have the duty of living a holy life, and, if necessary, following the slain Lamb to martyrdom.

It is necessary, then, for those discerning a vocation to the priesthood to understand this notion of being willing to offer one’s life to God and to embrace suffering and labor in a spirit of charity. The formation of seminarians needs to inculcate this true spirit of sacrifice so that each candidate comprehends his life as no longer his own.

The priesthood is not like a secular job in which one decides his profession; rather, the priest is chosen by God (Heb. 5:4). The man does decide to embrace God’s calling or not, but such a pursuit cannot be for selfish reasons such as money, recognition, or an easy life.

The history of the Church shows what happens when priests do not live their priesthood in imitation of the suffering Christ, for it spills over into the lives of the faithful. The adage goes as follows: a holy priest yields a fervent parish; a fervent priest yields a good parish; a good priest yields a lukewarm parish; and a lukewarm priest yields a cold parish.

But few are those who are willing to persist in a life of suffering joyfully for the Church. Christ Himself declared this when He said that “many are called, but few are chosen” (Mt. 22:14). Whereas God always provides for the Church in calling a sufficient number of men to be priests, oftentimes there is not a shortage of priests; rather, only an insufficient number of good and holy priests willing to suffer in imitation of Christ.

And the sufferings can be immense and varied, ranging from physical deterioration and ailments to the venom of tongues found in false accusations and ridicule. Hence, one of the marks of a vocation to the priesthood is the willingness to learn how to suffer out of love for God.

As a result, seminaries are often nicknamed “The School of the Cross.” Priests who survived imprisonment at Dachau in World War II afterwards professed that the priesthood was better understood by what they had to suffer.

Thus, the burdens placed upon a priest’s shoulders become a fitting preparation for the next time he celebrates Holy Mass. And his life in conformity to Christ Crucified transforms his daily burdens into light and sweet labor.

The second annual Camp St. Isaac Jogues, held at the Fraternity’s beautiful headquarters in the rolling Pocono Mountains of Northeast Pennsylvania, was again a great success! 26 boys attended the camp this year from July 13-23, where they experienced daily mass, catechism, and a variety of sporting and athletic activities. Fr. Simon Harkins, FSSP, and Deacon Mr. Kevin O’Neill, FSSP, were assisted by six seminarians from Our Lady of Guadalupe Seminary in making sure the boys enjoyed a proper balance of spiritual and athletic experiences in a youthful and exuberant Catholic environment.

by Fr. James B. Buckley, FSSP
From the July, 2011 Newsletter

The expression “kingdom of heaven” is used by Saint Matthew 33 times; and the expression “kingdom of God” is used 32 times by Saint Luke, 14 times by Saint Mark, and twice by Saint John. According to the renowned biblical scholar, Father Ferdinand Prat, S.J., these expressions are synonymous. This becomes obvious by comparing Matthew 13:11 (“To you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven…”) with Mark 4:11 (“To you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God…”) and Luke 8:10 (“To you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God…”). It is the opinion of Father Joachim Salaverri, S.J., an expert on Fundamental Theology, that “kingdom of heaven” was used by Matthew because his Gospel was written for the Jews who were “accustomed to refrain from professing the unutterable name of God and substituted heaven for it” (BAC Sacrae Theologiae Vol. I, p. 516). In the other Gospels, written for the Gentiles who were unfamiliar with Jewish tradition, “kingdom of God” would be more easily understood.

Both expressions refer to the universal kingdom announced in the Old Testament and established by Christ in the New.

Among the many Old Testament passages which proclaim that the Gentiles would also enter into God’s kingdom, the following are illustrative: Isaias 2:2 (“And in the last days the mountain of the house of the Lord shall be prepared on the top of the mountain, and it shall be exalted above the hills, and all nations shall flow into it”); Psalm 71:11 (And all the kings of the earth shall adore him; all nations shall serve him”); and Malachias 1:11 (“For from the rising of the sun even to the going down, my name is great among the Gentiles, and in every
place there is sacrifice, and there is offered to my name a clean oblation: for my name is great among the Gentiles, saith the Lord of hosts”).

Matthew says that after John baptized Him, “Jesus began to preach and to say: Do penance, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (4:17). Recording the same incident, Mark writes: “Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God and saying: The time is accomplished and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent and believe the gospel” (1:14–15).

It is the kingdom of God or certain aspects of it that Christ explains in His parables. In the parables of the dragnet and of the wheat and the cockle, for example, He reveals that the kingdom of God exists both in this world and in the next. In this world it comprises both the good and the bad, but in the next life it will consist only of the just.

Our Lord further compared the kingdom of God to the mustard seed which was the smallest seed in any Palestinian garden but which grew in a short time to tower above all the other vegetable plants. It was in a very short time that the kingdom of God built on the apostles spread throughout the Roman Empire. Those Jews who converted to Christ after hearing Peter’s Pentecost sermon, for example, were “Parthians, Medes and Elamites.” They lived in “Mesopotamia, Judea and Capadocia, Pontus and the province of Asia, Phrygia and Pampylia, Egypt and the regions of Libya around Cyrene.” Some were “even visitors from Rome” (cf. Acts 2:9–10). With the conversion of the Roman centurion Cornelius, the
realization of a universal kingdom embracing Jews and Gentiles had begun.

A companion parable, that of the leaven, announces that by a mysterious hidden power, what is sown in men’s souls like a seed will transform them. As evidence of this transformation Eusebius of Caesaria (d. a.d. 341) writes in his Preparatio Evangelica: “…The Sythians no longer feed on human flesh because the message of Christ has penetrated their region; nor do other races of barbarians still defile themselves by incest with sisters and daughters; …nor do they pursue other pleasures of the body which violate the laws of nature; nor do they give the corpses of their neighbors to be eaten by dogs and birds, as they once did; nor do they make sacrificial offerings to the demons as if to gods, as was proscribed by their ancestors.”

Since the kingdom of God can endow men with supernatural virtue in this life and eternal happiness in the next, Our Lord compares it to a treasure hidden in a field and to a pearl of great price. As the man who found the treasure in the field sold all that he had to purchase it, so must we willingly and joyfully give up all things to possess the kingdom of God.

by Fr. James B. Buckley, FSSP
From the June, 2011 Newsletter

In his analysis of the Prodigal Son, Father Leopold Fonck, S.J. says that there are two parts to the parable. The first part concerns the fall of the younger son into evil ways and his conversion. The second part treats of his reception in his father’s house. Both parts are further divided into sections. The first has three: the younger son’s leaving his father’s house, his life in a far off country and his conversion. The second part has two sections: the young man’s reception by his father and his reception by his older brother.

It is the father’s magnificent forgiveness of his younger son who had so grossly offended him which silences the objection the scribes and Pharisees had made about Christ, i.e. “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them” (Luke 15:2). As Father Fonck writes; “What is it that He (Christ) would engrave so deeply on the heart of his hearers save the great truth of the inexhaustible love and mercy of the Heavenly Father for the sinful yet repentant child of earth — that love and mercy which He Himself had come to proclaim to the world by His words and still more by His example” (Parables of the Gospel, p. 782). The comparison between the mercy of the earthly father for hi contrite son and the mercy of God for His contrite children is, of course, the essential point of the parable.

But what of the reception given by the older brother? Does this have any relation to the central idea of the parable? Some have identified the elder brother with the Pharisees but others recognize that unlike the Pharisees whom Christ rebukes for their hypocrisy, the elder brother is not contradicted when he protests his fidelity to his father. Because his criticism of his father’s rejoicing over the return of the prodigal manifests anger and envy, the older brother is not, however, without fault. Baffled by these considerations. many other commentators regard the behavior of the elder brother as an incidental feature which has no correspondence to the parable’s supernatural meaning. But how can so integral a section lack significance?

In a sermon entitled “Contracted Views of Religion” Blessed John Henry Cardinal Newman points out that the reaction of the elder brother springs from “perplexity” and “distress of mind.” What was the use of serving his father dutifully “if there were no difference in the end between the righteous and the wicked?” “At first sight,” the Cardinal continues, “the reception of the penitent sinner seems to interfere with the reward of the faithful servant of God.”

In his gentle response to his son’s outburst the father assures the elder brother that there is a difference between obedience and rebellion. “Son,” he said, “thou art always with me and all that is mine is thine.” What the father is telling him, Newman says, is this: “why this sudden fear? Can there be any misconception on thy part because I welcome thy brother? Dost thou not yet understand me? Surely thou hast known me too long to suppose that thou canst lose by his gain. Thou art in my confidence. I do not make any outward display of kindness towards thee, for it is a thing to be taken for granted. We give praise and make professions to strangers not to friends.” (Parochial and Plain Sermons, p. 547)

“But we were bound to make merry and rejoice,” the father insists, “for this thy brother was dead , and has come to life; he was lost and is found” (Luke 15:32). These words, Newman says, “contain a consolation for the perplexed believer not to distrust Him.” They also underscore what Christ had said earlier in the same chapter at the conclusion of the Parable of the Lost Sheep: “I say to you that, even so, there will be joy in Heaven over one sinner who repents more than over ninety-nine just who have no need of repentance” (Luke 15:7). †

(Originally from the June, 2011 Fraternity Newsletter)

There are scientific ways of knowing the identity of a person, such as fingerprinting, retinal scans, or DNA analysis; however, in everyday life, the identity of a person is by his face. It may happen that we see a person from behind or from a distance and think we know who it is, but until we see the face, the identity of the person can remain in doubt.

The human face is so unique that, except for identical twins, we instantly know who a person is merely by sight of it. Furthermore, we often associate everything we know about the person by the face. His abilities, personality, and past shared experiences become so much a part of his face so that even the person’s reputation and name are tied to it.

By means of the face, we also ascertain how a person must be feeling at the moment. The countenance indicates whether a person is sad, upset, content, or joyful. Likewise, the face expresses what is even deeper inside the person, such as moods, dispositions, likes, and dislikes.

Close contact with the face of another person expresses intimate love, while not showing one’s face or “turning one’s back” on another person expresses anger, disappointment, or contempt.

A conversation is personal when conducted face-to-face, but the same conversation loses its familiarity when the parties are speaking on the telephone or across the room from each other. Talking while being occupied with something else is considered not giving our full attention, and speaking with one’s back towards the person is considered rude or insulting.

Turning, then, to our conversation with God — prayer — it is best realized only in Heaven where it will be face-to-face, but until then, it helps to picture the Person with Whom we are conversing. Hence, while praying, when the mind focuses upon an image of God, whether internally or externally, we better maintain our attention.

In order to assist us at the greatest prayer, Holy Mass, we face the Altar upon which the Sacrifice of Calvary is made present, and, together with the priest, we adore and beseech God. The entire congregation and priest focuses upon God, and our posture and visage are directed in such a way as to face the One with Whom we are speaking. As a result, the posture of the faithful should not be considered as facing the priest; rather, facing God, since Mass is not a conversation with the celebrant, but the Triune God.

While the priest offers Mass, he does everything possible to show respect, maintain attention, and not lose sight of the great action before him while he concentrates upon the prayers given him to say. To assist him, he faces heavenward, beseeching the Blessed Trinity on behalf of his flock.

Thus, he does not have his back turned towards the people; rather, the priest is facing the same direction as the rest of the community who are facing God. As we do not take offense by the person who has his back towards us in the pew in front of us, so too, there is no offense when the priest has his back towards us as we are all praying to the same Blessed Trinity, and all faces are directed toward Him to Whom we are speaking.

To take this analogy one step further, if, perchance, the person in the pew in front of us turned around and faced us, we would expect him to say something. Likewise, when the priest at Mass turns towards us, we expect his words to be directed at us; otherwise, it is obvious that he is speaking to someone else at those times he is faced in the same direction as everyone else in the church.

By having the priest face God during Mass, there is the additional benefit of the identity of his human nature diminishing when his face is not seen. During Mass, the priest acts in persona Christi, so that the less we see the face of the priest, the more his personality and identity subside. Consequently, our minds more easily focus upon the occurring holy actions and sacred mysteries as we avoid attention given to any concomitant human elements.

As mentioned above, at those times when the priest faces the faithful, such as the sermon, we instantaneously realize to whom these words are directed. However, to avoid the atmosphere becoming too “humancentric,” the priest maintains a dignified mannerism even at these times, in imitation of Christ preaching to the faithful of His time.

Yet, arriving at the most solemn parts of Mass, when our attention is most directed towards God (ad orientem), all our efforts—internal and external—are united in adoring and praising the Triune God in the most sublime and reverent manner.

Awaiting, then, the happy state of the elect who see God face-to-face in the beatific vision, our conversing with God on earth ought to be shown by humble and reverent attention, love, and devotion. Doing so will prepare our soul never to lose sight of God for all eternity.

Below is video of the recent ordinations which took place in May at Our Lady of Guadalupe Seminary according to the traditional rite of ordination.   You can also view these videos on the seminary’s new YouTube channel.

Video I

Video II

Video III

Video IV

Video V

Video VI

Video VII

Video VIII

Video IX

Video X

by Dr. Dennis Q. McInerny, Ph.D.
(Originally in the June 2011 Fraternity Newsletter)

Our fast dimming and drifting culture would seem to have given rise to a new distinction — or at least it has come up with a new name for what is really an old and rather tired bit of rationalization — and it is one which, at least according to those who are most apt to appeal to it, is to be taken as having deep significance. It is the distinction between being religious and being spiritual. How is the distinction to be understood, from the point of view of those who propound it and presumably guide their lives by it?

I will put myself in the shoes of one of its advocates, and thus try to explain it to you in a manner he would be likely to adopt. “To begin with, you must not suppose that the distinction refers to two modes of being which, though different, are to be considered as quite equal. Not at all. Being spiritual is definitely superior to being religious. I don’t want to be unduly hard on religious people, but facts are facts and they must be faced up to squarely. Religious people represent a type which, because of their seemingly ungovernable superficiality, their lack of inner substance and creative self-reliance, need to associate themselves with like-thinking and like-acting people so as to preserve and protect whatever tenuous self-identity they have managed to retain. And, let’s be honest, religious people have a long, sad history of hypocrisy behind them, by which they are more than a little tainted. They go through the motions, they avow to believe this, that or the other thing—and some of those beliefs, it has to be admitted, are, taken in themselves, somewhat noble—but there is an embarrassing discrepancy between their beliefs and their actions. In a word, they lack integrity.

“Believe me, I know this firsthand. You see, I was brought up in a religious family, to be specific, I was baptized and brought up a Catholic. Not only that, all my education was in Catholic schools—grade school, high school, even college. However, I’ve left all that behind me. I am no longer religious, but I am, mind you, a spiritual person. You religious people, especially you Catholics, are probably shaking your heads at that, and feel sorry for me. Don’t. You may think that by ridding myself of religion I have retrogressed, but in that you think wrongly.  Rightly regarded, my life has to be seen as an example of real progress, for to be spiritual is to have advanced oneself to a higher plane of reality.

“What does it mean to be spiritual, as opposed to being religious? Well, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to explain, but I will give it a try. To be spiritual is first of all to be honest with yourself, to do what you think is the right thing to do, and not what other people tell you is the right thing to do. It is to be guided by one’s innermost self. To be spiritual is to be able to appreciate all the good things of life, to be able to enjoy things with an open heart and an open mind, in a spirit of non-judgmental tolerance. It means to be grateful. A spiritual person is energized and led by a lively sense of the transcendent; he has this keen feeling that there is Something out there which is very big and very mysterious and very wonderful. As a spiritual person I appreciate the higher things in life—music, poetry, the beauties of nature. And of course there is love, which is supreme. I love everybody, and I ardently wish that everybody would love everybody.”

The above description represents, I think, a reasonably accurate description of the mind-set of someone who would identify himself as spiritual, but not religious. What are we to make of it? First of all, we have to say that, if the terms which compose the distinction are to be correctly understood, it is entirely specious, for if one is genuinely religious one cannot but be genuinely spiritual. Obviously, the spokesman for the “being spiritual” position from whom we have just heard has a very poor grasp on what it means to be religious, and hence his understanding of spirituality is necessarily anemic and mushy.

So, we must clarify a very important term, by asking: What does it mean to be genuinely religious? But before addressing that important question I want to make a brief comment on the fact that our spokesman was raised a Catholic, that, indeed, as he pointed out, he is a product of Catholic schools, all the way through college. Now, as it happens, there are not a few young Catholics today who are in the same boat as our spokesman. They have been raised Catholics, but they have abandoned their faith, opting for an arid, quasi-pantheistic New Age No-Man’s- Land, a territory which seems to have become a favorite camping ground for many in our secularistic age. Because these people are adults, possessed of the use of reason, and because their decision was freely made, they are the ones who are ultimately responsible for it. But given what has been the general state of Catholic education over the past four decades and more, given what has happened to catechesis during that same period, I would argue that those young Catholics are not entirely to blame for the unfortunate state in which they find themselves. The responsibility for their plight must extend to those Catholic educators and catechists who seemed to have been doing everything but passing on the faith to those who were entrusted to their care.

What, then, is religion? Father John Hardon, typically, gives us a crisply precise definition. Religion is “the moral virtue by which a person is disposed to render to God the worship and service He deserves.” The virtue of religion is a particular manifestation of the larger virtue of justice. To be just is to render to another what is due to the other. What is due to God? Everything, for everything, including our very being, comes from Him. To be religious is not easy; in a way it can prove to be the hardest thing in the world, for by it we must overcome that tenacious and ever-pressing temptation to put ourselves above all else, even God Himself. To be religious is ever to strive to fulfill, day in and day out, the two greatest commandments: love of God and love of neighbor. It is what we were made for.

To claim to be spiritual but not religious has a high sounding ring to it—that’s the intended idea—but in reality it is simply an overly self-conscious effort to take the moral high ground by dint of clever rhetorical wordplay. Though empty of serious meaning, the claim nonetheless represents a ploy which is typical of our disingenuous age, for it represents a common way we have of attempting to assuage our consciences by vesting bad decisions in glittering garments.

On Saturday, May 21, Deacon Matthew McCarthy, FSSP and Deacon Christopher Pelster, FSSP were ordained priests for the FSSP by His Excellency, Bishop Fabian W. Bruskewitz (Diocese of Lincoln) at Saints Peter and Paul Chapel at Our Lady of Guadalupe Seminary.

Our gratitude and thanks to His Excellency for ordaining these men to the Holy Priesthood, our congratulations to our new priests and their families, and thanks to all our benefactors and friends who have supported these men and the seminary during the course of their studies with prayers and other assistance. Below are some pictures of the day.

Look for an article and more photographs of the ordinations in an upcoming edition of the monthly newsletter of the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter.   To receive the monthly newsletter for free, click here to subscribe.