.png)
Traditionalism isn’t a very confident religion. That may seem a counter-intuitive observation, given the boldness of traditionalists on every topic, from the Holy Mass to the number of inches below the knee a skirt should be. Yet, a confident person does not need to proclaim their confidence.
There is something frenetic, insecure, even needy, about traditionalism. When I left the Society of St Pius X in 1999 I was struck by how self-centred it was. For me, and hundreds of other priests and layfolk, it was the centre of the universe, demanding constant attention, nay, adoration. We believed it was the salvation of the world. Yet barely a handful of persons was even aware of its existence.
This traditionalist mindset manifests itself in activity. Acts of piety attempt to fill the uncomfortable spiritual space created by disconnection. Masses, confessions, rosaries, mortifications, sacrifices, eucharistic crusades – all these seem to become substitutes for genuine, trustful, faith. Now, all these things are good, and important of course. Yet traditionalists seem to practice these with such urgency and anxiety, as if the world’s guilt had fallen on their shoulders alone. And it disguises a deep discomfort, a feeling that something is not fundamentally right. It amazes me that 36 years on, the SSPX still harps on about what a pivotal event in the history of the Church the episcopal consecrations were supposed to be.
Contrast this with the quiet dignity of faith we observe in our parishes now. Yes, we share Our Lord’s cross for the salvation of the world. Yet it is a joy; a privilege, because we journey with Him and each other. We do not need to shout the faith to the world. Our lives proclaim the Gospel, and we trust in the power of the Word.
And yet, we can still hold onto the disquietude. I know I did. Someone living in an abusive environment cannot help but retain the scars. For a number of years I was making a fundamental mistake about my relationship with God and His Church. The frantic insecurity of traditionalism had put all the focus on me and my efforts. The question that plagued me for years was, ‘what can I do to please God?’ The question recalls poor Martin Luther, a monk terrified by a violent thunderstorm, begging mercy from a God he believed to be so demanding, so severe.
The answer is, of course, ‘Nothing.’ I can do nothing to please God. Have you noticed that, in the gospels, Our Lord does not begin His discourses by telling us what we must do? Instead, He talks about relationship. In John 1:35, two of John the Baptist’s disciples follow Jesus. He turns to them and asks ‘What do you seek?’ The Lord does not demand. He invites. They respond ‘Where do you live?’ They want to know about Him, before they hear His message. The Saviour responds, ‘Come and see.’ In other words, experience Me. Then, I will teach you, if you want. The encounter with God begins with meeting a person, and that Person is Jesus Christ.
Consider also the 15th chapter of St John, where the Lord says ‘Abide in Me, and I in you.’ In other words, ‘be with Me, live with Me.’ He demands nothing but trust. This is not, of course, the faith-without-works of Luther, but it is an acknowledgement that love is a co-operation with grace.
In my last post I wrote that God’s love is unconditional. Let’s stop asking God how we may justify ourselves. Rather, let us pray that His love may be at work in us. True religion draws us out of ourselves, in God’s wondrous light. We are free and at peace when we surrender to that light.
Heavenly Father,
You are all good. In you I move and live, and have my very being.
You created me for yourself, to share in Your perfect happiness.
I surrender to You every fear and anxiety. I hope in You, for it is impossible that You could despise me.
I trust You, and know that Your sweet will shall be manifest in me,
Through the merits of Your dear Son, Jesus Christ,
Who, with You and the Holy Spirit,
Lives and reigns, God, world without end.
Amen.
Comments