Diary of A Wimp (Who is Catholic)?

In a recent South Park episode, an anti-statist milita group decides to strike a blow at the federal government, so its members arm themselves and seize a Federal Express store. The gag works because it’s plausible — some intelligent adults are just literal-minded enough to make a mistake like that.

I belong in the Amelia Bedelia club as much as anyone. When I first joined the Church, I thought National Catholic Reporter was the official organ, or any rate an official organ, of the Catholic Church in the United States. That everyone wrote so grumpily about the hierarchy made perfect sense; the brass was obviously keeping the paper on a low budget.

It’s with this awareness of my own barely-vincible ignorance that I sympathize with the Archdiocese of Detroit in its campaign to get RealCatholicTV to rename itself. Knowing I’ll never be mistaken for Michael Voris is one of the few luxuries I take for granted. Having to fight for it seems as unfair as having to carry water from some village well or hew firewood to boil it.

On his blog, In the Light of the Law, Ed Peters offers a For Dummies summary of the legal issues involved. He argues that Canon 216, by stating “no undertaking is to claim the name ‘Catholic’ without the consent of competent ecclesiastical authority,” makes the self-description “Catholic” a privilege to be sought, not a right to be claimed. I don’t pretend to know whether he’s right, but if he turns out to be, and if competent ecclesiastical bodies do start restricting use of the company logo, it might not be the end of the world.

This morning, while making a random, non-exhaustive list of media entities and personalities who write as members of the Catholic Church, I was struck by how many don’t use the name “Catholic.” Elizabeth Scalia is the Anchoress. Katrina Fernandez calls her blog the Crescat. Te Deum Laudamus is Te Deum Laudamus. Fr. Richard John Neuhaus named his magazine First Things; L. Brent Bozell, Jr. named his Triumph (evoking, whether he meant to or not, the make of sports car my dad used to drive). Once, when in Dean Wormer mode, Cardinal Spellman ordered Dorothy Day to rename the Catholic Worker. If he hadn’t rescinded the order — if Day had replaced the name with, say, Ora et Labora — I doubt either movement or newspaper would have suffered.

Names that refer obliquely to Catholicism while making no claim to represent the Magisterium reflect a vital paradox: the Body of Christ is made up of individual members that are capable of acting independently. (And, in some cases, acting like, you know, members.) There is an institutional hierarchy, and there should be one. But the reality is that huge amounts of creative activity that go on the Church’s account come from people acting on their own initiatives and according to their own consciences. Restricting the label “Catholic” to the institution gives both it and these people their proper dignity. It straightens the record, and distributes credit and discredit fairly.

In Phoenix, we saw a line drawn when Bishop Olmsted revoked his endorsement from St. Joseph’s Hospital. Founded in 1895 by the Sisters of Mercy, a Catholic religious order, St. Joseph’s forfeited its claim to the label “Catholic,” in the bishop’s judgment, when doctors performed an abortion on a woman suffering hyperpulmonary tension. Along with the bishop’s endorsement, the hospital lost the rights to house the Blessed Sacrament and to have Masses celebrated on its grounds. On the other hand, it continues to operate under its old name. The Church retained her integrity; the hospital, its autonomy. Both paid a price, and both will have plenty of time to reflect on whether the transaction was beneficial.

In Kerry Kennedy’s book Being Catholic Now, various prominent Americans talk seriously about the Church’s influence on their lives. Some, like Angela’s Ashes author Frank McCourt, no longer identify as Catholic. Others, like James Carroll and Sr. Laurie Brink, O.P. do, but challenge certain Magisterial teachings. None of them, however, simply shrugs and says of the Church, “Oh, it’s okay, I guess.” Their lives represent long, complex dialogues with their Catholic upbringings. Not even those who are formally out of the Church can say the Church is wholly out of them. By outlining its boundaries clearly, the institutional Church can give herself and the people who make up the Ecclesia sufficient distance to take exactly this kind of long, hard look at one another.

The Church can’t control what people think. For the most part, she can’t control what people do. As rights go, guarding her name looks like a pretty modest one to stand on. If Bishop Olmsted decides he’s ashamed of my shenanigans, then with perfect assent of intellect and will, I’ll start calling this place Grotto of the Anchorite.

  • brandy101

    How about something tying in with “desert,” considering your location?

    ["Anchorite" sort of implies desert living doesn't it? The whole St. Antony thing?]

  • Sarah

    To the Archdiocese of Detroit, I think I can say on behalf of all sedevacantists, “Join the club.”

  • jkm

    “(And in some cases acting like, you know, members.)”
    *wouldhavebeenaspittakehadshenotbeendrymouthedwithawe”

    Besides the priceless lines and the brilliant South Park analogy, you have the clearest understanding of this issue I’ve seen anywhere. It helps also to note that the language of the canons refers particularly to “apostolates” of the faithful, precisely to keep clear the lines of who’s speaking for whom you pointed out. So if I wanted to open a Wimpy Catholic burger stand, unless I were to be distributing tracts on the napkins my local ordinary would not have a canonical leg to stand on in trying to indicate what would certainly be his unhappiness. It’s only been recently that media outreach has been seriously considered an apostolate, and there’s still lively discussion about whether blogs count. But you’re probably OK for now. :)

  • jkm

    And forgive the pilpul, but technically an anchorite/anchoress is a barnacle, rooted in place in a simple dwelling attached to a church. (Like Julian of Norwich, whose real name we don’t know, but whose anchorage was St. Julian’s church.) So not necessarily a desert creature.

    These days anchorites and hermits tend to be lumped together, except by themselves. When I met my first diocesan-rule hermit last year, he was in Cincinnati for the reception into the Church of a friend and his family, though his hermitage is in Maine. “Since when do hermits get to go on road trips?” I blurted (the whole diocesan-rule thing having been slipped into the Church while I was away). “I’m not an ANCHORITE,” he retorted.


CLOSE | X

HIDE | X