A Prima Facie Account of Sacred Tradition and the Place of Apostolic Succesion

This was originally posted as a comment somewhere else, but the thread was taken down. I thought it might be helpful as a Prima facie account of a catholic understanding of apostolic succession and tradition. It’s inadequate for its brevity; and was written ‘off the cuff.’

Bear that in mind. It is what it is, and it’s not what it doesn’t pretend to be. Being a first blush account of why the church starts where she does, it’s not an attempt to change anyone’s mind. It’s an attempt to let you in on how the world looks from the other side.

We often want to go ‘duhh.’ when presenting our case. Its all so obvious. This is a ‘duhhh’ moment from the catholic side. Apparently things aren’t all that obvious, but perhaps you can understand where we catholics are beginning and why.

If we wish to use the word ‘tradition’ as scripture uses it, then it would simply mean teaching and stories that are handed down from one person to another. ‘Apostolic tradition’ would be authoritative; non-apostolic tradition might or might not be- depending on the context.

”Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you—unless you believed in vain.

For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles.  Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unworthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.  But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain…” I Cor 15:3-10

Paul delivered that which he had received. This is tradition. It is also clearly authoritative. Notice the authoritative tradition was transmitted orally- it was preached.

The written tradition of scripture isn’t controversial, but the fact that authoritative tradition was often passed on through oral transmission is attested to in so many ways that it is often missed for the ubiquity.

Take the Great Commission accounts- the apostles were to be witnesses of Christ, and this would be done through the preaching of the gospel. They were to teach everything that Christ had commanded. This is ‘tradition’- the apostles passing on what they had received… and though some of these men would be used to give us the written Canon, their transmission of what Christ had commanded would primarily be accomplished, orally. The commission was to preach the gospel- not write it down. Each of the apostles was faithful to this charge, though all didn’t leave us scripture.

Something else to notice is that the apostles could be sure of passing the tradition along because Christ himself promised to be with them… until the very end of the age.

This is picked up in the Acts account, where the apostle’s continuation of Christ’s mission to the world was dependent upon them receiving his Spirit. (Act 1:6-8) The apostles would pass on that with which Christ had entrusted to them by the enablement and protection of the Holy Spirit. Authoritative Tradition is only possible because of the Holy Spirit.

While Evangelicals are accustomed to equate ‘God’s Word’ or the ‘Word of God’ with scripture, scripture itself uses it to include the oral transmission of the authoritative tradition that is effectual because of the Holy Spirit. I Thess 1:2-10 is one of many examples of this. God’s Word goes forth without dependence on the development of writing or printing technologies.

All of this receives explicit endorsement from St. Paul when he rights ‘To this he called you through our gospel, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. So then, brothers, stand firm and hold to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by our spoken word or by our letter.’ 2 Thess 2:14-15

Obviously, it would not have been needful to point out that both written and oral apostolic tradition was authoritative and binding, if all authoritative tradition could be found in one or the other.

In addition, the fulfillment of the prophecies of the Old Covenant (that Israel would be regathered and then the Word of the Lord would flow out from Jerusalem into the entire world) was begun in the earthly ministry of Christ. He passed the continuation of that ministry on to his apostles.

We find this being done in the Great Commission passages and the account of Pentecost, for example. This is why St. Paul speaks about being entrusted with something precious- the deposit that St. Jude mentions.

The same limiting conditions that made it necessary for Christ to hand over his mission to those whom he sent out (which is what ‘apostle’ significantly means) continues to be present for the apostles… and each and every generation thereafter… until the end of the age.

This is why we find St. Paul entrusting his authority to men like Titus and Timothy.

We are told that these men were responsible for entire geographical areas. There was no congregational election. They appointed elders; they disciplined and spoke with the apostle’s authority- because the apostle said they did. (Titus 1:5-9)

We find St. Paul telling Timothy ‘For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands,  for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.

Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God,  who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, … for which I was appointed a preacher and apostle and teacher, which is why I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me.  Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.  By the Holy Spirit who dwells within us, guard the good deposit entrusted to you. 2 Tim 1:6-14

Notice that 1) St. Paul has been appointed an apostle and that 2) this involves being entrusted with something, and that 3) he later entrusted Timothy with it, and that 4) the content of this trust was given to Timothy orally, and that 5) Timothy was to guard it by the power of the Holy Spirit… 6) a gift that was given through the laying on of hands.

So, it seems to us that :

* Tradition is authoritative.

* Tradition is equated with the Word of God.

* The authoritative transmission of tradition is guaranteed throughout the ages by the promised presence of Christ with his church, thought the Holy Spirit.

* Tradition is transmitted both orally and through written documents.

* Christ provided for the safe transmission of this authority by appointing men who spoke with his authority.

* They in turn did the same thing with men whom they selected to speak with their (with Christ’s) authority.

All of this seems to be the situation as scripture presents it.

Church history confirms that the self-conscious passing on of the trust through the laying on of hands, continued without interruption. Wherever the gospel went- from India to the ancient British Isles- bishops went with it.

To the catholic Xian, it seems that to these obvious scriptural facts the evangelical must add a few non-biblical (in the sense of not being found in scripture) assertions. We can’t affirm them because in addition to being extra-biblical, they cancel out clear biblical precedent.  Finally,  they are non-catholic.

Being both extra-biblical and non-catholic removes them from the realm of authoritative tradition.

Might be bone-headed, but that’s where I am.

 

A FABLE- By Robert Farrar Capon

A Fable- By Robert Farrar Capon

Once upon a time, in the mud at the bottom of a tidal pool, there lived an oyster. By oyster’s standards, he had a good life: the sea water was clean, and full of plankton, and the green warmth of the light at low tide made him grow and prosper.

Next to him lived a stone with whom he sometimes talked. It was very much the same size, shape and color as he, and was good, if undemanding, company. As a matter of fact, their conversations gave the oyster a definite feeling of superiority. He loved to dwell at length on the differences that underlay their apparent similarity. Rocks, he would say, are merely mineral. Oysters may be mineral on the outside; but inside, they are bona fide members of the animal kingdom.

One day, however the stone surprised him by coming up with a rejoinder. It pointed out that there were nonetheless some advantages to being further down the evolutionary scale. Rocks have fewer enemies than oysters. Starfish and oyster drills, it observed, were no threat to stones; to the oyster they were a matter of life and death. Furthermore, the stone told him, it was getting just a little tired of being put down by an oyster with airs. He might get a lesson in humility if he would listen to some of the things the starfish say about oysters- things which the oyster never heard because he was too busy being mortally afraid, but which the stone heard regularly, and with amusement.

Starfish, it seems, have a very low opinion of oysters. They eat them, but they always refer to them as ‘nothing more than a rock with a stomach.’ In fact, what passes as starfish humor…invariably has to do with how stupid it is to be an animal and not be able to move about. The worst thing one starfish can call another is ‘sessile creature.’

The oyster terminated the discussion huffily and went into a state of profound depression. To have everything he had been so proud of become the butt of underwater ethnic wisecracks made life not worth living. Existence, he concluded, was nothing but a cruel joke. All the faith he once had in a grand design of the evolutionary scheme forsook him. Better to believe in nothing than dignify this farce of a world with its pretensions of order. He became an anti-evolutionist, and stopped saying his prayers.

For a while, righteous indignation made the loosing of his religion rather fun, as it always does; but as summer wore on into fall and the water began its slow progress to winter’s cold, he became merely sour- angry at the universe, but even more angry at himself for having let it turn him into a grouch. Finally, in desperation, he decided he would pray once again; but this time with a difference. No more mumbling of set pieties. He saw himself as a Job among oysters; he would open his shell and curse his day.

And the oyster spoke and said, “Let the day perish wherein I was spawned, and the night in which it was said, A seed oyster has appeared. Why is light given to him that is in misery, and life to the bitter in soul? Why do I live my days in doubt and darkness? O, that one would hear me, and tell me openly of the glories above. Behold, my desire is, that the Almighty would answer me.”

And, to his utter astonishment, a voice said, “All right, all right. But I have to make it short. It’s Friday afternoon.

“It’s all true. There are things you never even dreamed of. All kinds of stuff. And with moves you couldn’t imagine if you tried. As a matter of fact, that’s your problem. There you sit with a rock on one side and a starfish on the other. My apologies. It’s a limited field of vision, I admit, but in the evolutionary scale business, you’ve got to put a lot of things near the bottom. Spoils the effect if you don’t.

“Anyways, the moves. I’ll tell you a few. Basketball. College basketball, especially. The best ones are so flashy, they make you laugh for not being able to believe the guy actually made the shot. And squirrels gong through trees. One of my best effects. You know the last time a squirrel missed his footing? I keep track of such things. It was May 3rd 1438. Definitely, a record.

“And it’s not all slapdash, either. I’ve got creatures so graceful, they almost break your heart. When it comes to exquisite moves, my favorite maybe is girls’ knees. Lovely. Some people think that’s a funny thing to get excited about, but in my line of work, there’s no substitute for enthusiasm.

“Seriously. If you take the knee thing and really go all the way with it, you get my absolute favorite for loveliness, a prima ballerina. Talk about moves. It’s like Ernie DiGregorio, Marcel Marceau and Squirrel Nutkin all rolled together- but as a girl, which makes it that much better. Terrific.

“Listen, though. Its almost sundown, and I have to set a good example. As I said, your basic problem is your point of view. There really are all these great moves, but you unfortunately don’t know from motion. If your going into business as the world’s first philosophical oyster, its o.k. by me. But just so you shouldn’t get it all wrong, I’ll give you one piece of advice: Think very carefully. Remember that all this stuff really is, but it can’t possibly be the way you think. Or, to turn it around: The way you think about things will never be exactly the same as the way they are. But enough. I really have to run. Mazel tov.”

And with that the voice ceased and the oyster was left alone in his thoughts. He felt both humbler and more elated than ever before. He resolved to philosophize no matter what the difficulties, and, in order to make the best use of the voice’s advice, he decided to put himself in a methodical frame of mind. What followed is a transcript of his train of thought.

1. There is motion. I, as an oyster, can distinguish two sorts. The first is being moved (e.g., both the stone and myself can be moved by oystermen). The second is moving of one’s own. The stone cannot do this at all. I can move the part of myself within my shell but I cannot move my whole self from place to place. The starfish can move from place to place.

2. The voice was quite clear on the existence of more mobile creatures than the starfish. Let me see what I can say about the prima ballerina:

Starfish move; ballerinas move.
Starfish attack oysters.
Can starfish attack ballerinas?

This is problematical. Perhaps a tentative solution would be that since ballerina’s motion is apparently far more eminent than the starfish’s, a ballerina would invariably move in
such a way as to avoid starfish. There are unresolved difficulties however:

a. I do not know whether starfish and ballerinas occupy the same medium.
b. I do no know whether starfish have any interest in attacking ballerinas.

3. Let me begin again:

Starfish move; ballerinas move.
Starfish are deadly to oysters.
Are ballerinas deadly to oysters?

One line of approach would seem to be that, since the voice says that ballerinas are his absolute favorite for loveliness, and since loveliness and deadliness do not seem to be compatible, the ballerina cannot be deadly to the oyster. (This depends, of course, on what is meant by loveliness and deadliness. It also might depend on whether a ballerina’s possible deadliness to the oyster proceeds out of her nature, as the starfish’s does, or out of some accidental or acquired taste, as it were. If the latter were true, then it might be that not every ballerina is deadly to oysters). In any case, there is not enough evidence to resolve the question.

4. Even though the voices enthusiasm for the world of higher motion seem to have suspended my own doubts, it is disturbing to think how easily a skeptical oyster could argue from all this that ballerina’s do not exist, but rather are nothing more than a distracting hypothesis invented by oysters who cannot face te grimness of existence without flinching.

5. Tentatively, I shall list the following as the chief properties of the prima ballerina:

a. mobility (like the starfish’s, but better)
b. Invulnerability to starfish (likely)
c. Loveliness (on faith)
d. Deadliness (possible but not certain)

There is a good deal unresolved here. Perhaps it would be useful to consider next what ballerinas are for. This is fascinating but tiring. At least, though, the sea water seems refreshing again.

 

Some Thoughts After Watching The Dark Knight

I think cable TV screwed up the best part of the week for kids- Saturday morning.

With cartoons available non stop, today’s children just don’t understand how wonderful it used to be to wake up to Scooby Do or Land of the Lost. Looking back on it, Saturday mornings during the 70’s just felt ‘Sabbathy,’ if you know what I mean. Cartoons followed by a whole day of bike riding (Mom and Dad never worrying about where we were) or maybe football or working on homemade go-carts. I can’t imagine how empty the day must feel with a gazillion channels and the weekend’s version of The Today Show playing on all major networks.

I count the Superfriends, The Herculoids, Speed Buggy, Shazam and Space Ghost among the closest friends of my youth… mentors, even. I know now that this was a continuation of a much older tradition. My Dad tells me about Saturday mornings spent watching The Lone Ranger and Flash Gordon at his small town theatre deep in the Southern Highlands. My mother’s father had a similar love for old time western matinee serials- the ones that didn’t muddy the lines between the good and bad guys.

While the glories of my childhood Saturday mornings may be lost to my children, they’re still being formed by the same sorts of tales. It’s one story, really and it stretches back beyond the childhood of my Granddaddy by at least four thousand years.

I was reminded of this while sitting in a theater this weekend, watching The Dark Knight.

What a wonderful, disturbing and thought provoking movie.

Ages ago, Babylonian children sat around fires and heard the story of the creation of the world. The great monster of Chaos entered into battle with her children. Her son Marduk prevailed, and was crowned Lord of the god’s. He continued to grow in glory, becoming the founder of Babylon. His mother’s murdered cadaver was fashioned into the world we know. Her death- her violent vanquishing- made possible our existence.

It’s a story repeated in myths around the world- from those of exotic India to ancient Greece, warm Rome to frozen Scandinavia. Reality begins in conflict. War is the given state of life. Violence is the only way to deal with the perpetual and inevitable reappearance of those forces which are bent on destroying life as we know it.

Recognize the narrative? Walter Wink showed me that I heard it every Saturday morning, growing up. Think of Popeye and Bluto’s constant battles to take or defend Olive Oyle’s virtue. Same thing, week after week and episode after episode. Nothing changes. Nothing is learned.

Superman intervenes against the bad guy. He or she is banished into everlasting darkness and Metropolis is saved. No appeals to conscience or the underlying motivation of a disenfranchised or bullied villain. There are no human villains. Only purely evil ones. Only really bad, dark, ambushing, shoot first, unreasoning bad guys. How to deal with that? Kick their butt. Snuff ‘em out. Cleanse the city.

The Lone Ranger was never conflicted. He was as pure as the metal for which his horse was named. Unambiguously righteous, he dispensed justice with silver bullets.

This understanding of how the world works, how evil and goodness are distributed and what justice demands of the good guys has been called the Myth of Redemptive Violence. It’s the world’s second oldest story, and without doubt, it has captured the imagination of the vast majority of men and women who have ever lived.

It might seem counter intuitive, but I think the makers of The Dark Knight franchise understand that this ancient story is a hopeless one. Violence doesn’t rid the world of evil. At its best, violence can provide brief respite from people who are set on harming those we love. At it’s worse, it makes us indistinguishable from the bad guy. Either way, it breeds more violence.

Violence, like divorce, is part of the cursed world that is passing away: A concession of mercy on the part of the God who refuses to go all ‘Superman’ on his creation.

The movie Batman Begins ends with the realization that the escalated and violent smack down of crime will only raise the level of intensity. The police wear bullet proof amour, and the mob loads their weapons with armor piercing shells. The Batman overcomes the average gangster…and gives birth to a sycophant like The Joker. The cycle is never ending. For all of The Batman’s success, the city ends up worse than before he arrived.

Even Batman longs for the day when he can hang up his cape. He cannot save the city. He cannot save himself. He can only lower himself into the bloody flood that is threatening to drown the ones he loves and hope he isn’t sucked under.

And yet…we are thankful for Batman. Given the violence that surrounds us, we find hope in the bat signal flashing in the clouds. Ambiguously, he is needed, but his violent intercession belongs to the world which he is struggling to end. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be, but it is what it is. God help us. God have mercy on us all.

In a world where survival is the ultimate end, there can be no real distinction between the good and the evil. The Joker knows this and taunts Batman with the truth that you can’t play by rules and hope to overcome. Repeatedly, Batman struggles to rise above the soul destroying reality that an ultimate commitment to the survival of me and mine, makes anything justifiable.

I left the movie wondering how many men in Batman’s position would be able to wield his sword and stop the blow as Batman did multiple times in this movie. How inefficient his choices were. How dumb-assed. How irresponsible and unloving, when the lives of good men and women are on the line. Its not like they would give us the same courtesy….

I was reminded of another movie. The forces that rallied around the Fellowship in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy had the means to win their conflict for the entire duration of the conflict. Obviously, to this company, there were more important things than simply winning the conflict. Those things are what made them worth saving. They refused to put on the ring, because its use would make them indistinguishable from the enemy. Survival was not the ultimate good. There was something they would not do, somewhere they would not go-even if the refusal meant victory for the enemy.

Could there be a more relevant question for Americans and Christians. Roosevelt condemned Japan for the uncivilized bombing of Chinese civilian targets. Our last act in that conflict was to unnecessarily drop nuclear warheads on cities selected because they were civilian. We hung war criminals for the crime of water boarding. Today….

Things are not what they ought to be. Violence breeds violence. Blowback is inevitable, and in a post Hiroshima and 911 world where terrorism has become the poor mans A-bomb, doesn’t Pearl Harbor seem a nostalgically upfront and honest militaristic brutality? After these things, where does evil ratchet to next?

Thank God for the Batman. Thank God for those who don’t wield the sword in vain. But may God preserve us from willing to live at any cost. May God preserve us as men and women. Come lord Jesus and save us, everyone- gangster, child and the Batman whose running from the inevitable of a war fought on the enemies terms.

We must remember that God taught David’s hands to war, but the temple had to wait on David’s son.

Our story didn’t begin on a battlefield. It started amidst the quiet domesticity of our Creator laboring six days at his work bench. I think the Sabbath wonder of my childhood Saturdays, not the Illiad, provide a true glimpse behind the scenes of reality.

How can I tell that story in the middle of Gotham?

 

The Pornographer’s Dream

Ben Myers has an interesting post that combines thoughtfulness regarding the category of the erotic and contemporary worship. I’ll paste it in full below.

The pornographer’s dream: or, the problem with contemporary worship

There’s been a lot of speculation in recent years about why so many evangelicals are converting to Rome and to Eastern Orthodoxy. I wonder whether the highly experiential focus of contemporary worship might have something to do with it.

The New York singer-songwriter Suzanne Vega has an entertaining song entitled “Pornographer’s Dream” (from her 2007 album, Beauty and Crime). In the song, Vega asks what kind of woman a pornographer would dream about:

Would he still dream of the thigh? of the flesh upon high?
What he saw so much of?
Wouldn’t he dream of the thing that he never
Could quite get the touch of?

It’s out of his hands, over his head
Out of his reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils, covered in silk
He’s dreaming of what might be

Out of his hands, over his head
Out of his reach, under this real life
Hidden in veils,
He’s dreaming of mystery.

It’s a nice idea: the pornographer, from whom nothing is concealed, dreams only of concealment itself. Unlike the rest of us, his fantasies involve not naked flesh, but a body “hidden in veils, covered in silk.” For the pornographer, the only thing forbidden is mystery, so that his fantasises are of clothed women, veiled flesh.

As an analysis of pornography, I think this is completely correct. The real problem with pornography is not that it is too erotic, but that it is not erotic enough. In seeking to reveal everything, to fulfil every fantasy, it destroys the very possibility of fantasy and eroticism. And so the use of pornography ultimately results not in erotic ecstasy or euphoria, but in mere boredom.

Perhaps all this can serve as a parable for the contemporary preference for experiential worship styles. Where every church service becomes the opportunity for a life-changing experience of the divine presence; where every song and sermon and prayer is designed to produce immediate emotional impact; where the whole Christian life is transformed into the pursuit of a “naked” experience of the divine – here, the final outcome can only be a profound and paralysing boredom. And for those subjected to such boredom, the only remaining spiritual desire is for a mysterious God, a God not merely naked and exposed, but clothed in ritual, sacrament, tradition.

Why are so many evangelicals converting to Rome and Constantinople? Perhaps their infinitely deferred quest for a Deus nudus has finally resulted in an unbearable boredom. Perhaps they’re dreaming of a God who is not always promiscuously available to immediate experience, but is instead “hidden in veils, covered in silk” – a more modest, and therefore more sexy God.

For what it’s worth, my own opinion is that we should avoid the pitfalls both of a promiscuous experientialism and of any reaction towards ritualism for its own sake. Instead of trying by our own efforts either to strip God or to clothe him, we should look to the place where God has both veiled and unveiled himself for us: in the event of Jesus Christ.

 

ALASTAIR’S BACK!

He’s blogging again!

 

PENTECOST IN A NEW KEY

She could see the threatening glow gathering above the flat horizon in the East. The Hammer was rising.

Everyone else in the village had hidden themselves away- just as The Boundaries stipulated. The young mother was trying, but raising two young children alone was not easy, and getting them to move without violating the writings seemed impossible. They were always in danger of transgressing, and so, often in danger of dying. Every morning’s Heatrise was one of those times.

“Come on. Come on… but don’t hurry. Don’t….,” her voice grew loud in exasperation, but she caught herself and glanced around. Little children wanted to run. It seemed a perverse joke to give them desires that would only kill them.

Chai, the youngest slowed to a walk, trying not to make eye contact. Mother and daughter then waited on the ten year old to reach them. He was very pious.

 

The Word Made Solid in St. Elmo

I went to a reception this week. I wanted to honor a talented art student at the completion of her Senior Project, but much of my admiration ended up splashing heavenward. I guess that’s the sort of thing that ought to happen when we’re presented with something that’s well done. But it remains a rarity for me…. at least in its more spontaneous manifestations.

My friend’s a sculptor, and the culmination of the past four years of study had been placed lovingly in a friend’s yard. I won’t pretend to understand the techniques involved in creating this sort of work, but I want to have a go at describing what I felt when I first saw it….and maybe, a little bit of why.

 

Holy Hatred

I originally posted this last year after the horrific Virginia Tech shootings. Surely, tomorrow morning will be a hard one for many many people, and once again, it’s reminded me of the certainty that death will come for those I love. The recollection makes me gnash my teeth; it’s why I can not, will not, let go of our ancient faith. Amidst all the siren’s calls and intoxicating glitter of today, I need to remember that on another day “the Great Thing” will be mine to face. So, I thought I’d put this post up again, if only for my own sake.

Her picture reminded me of my daughter.

There’s a clear resemblance and I was instantly drawn to the short description of this precious young lady. The account only made the connection stronger- she was openly Christian, home schooled, unusually innocent and sweet. Those who knew her thought she was likely praying for her attacker as he took her life.

Oh God. I could feel the tears forming. I’ve got that little girl living in my house.