Everything Belongs to You
by Dwight Longenecker
My dream had come true. I had come to England
from fundamentalist America with the idea of being an Anglican country
parson like the poet George Herbert.
After doing my theological training I was ordained and eventually wound up
as vicar of two ancient country churches with a large country vicarage. God
gave me a rewarding and satisfying ministry, but my friendships with the
local Benedictine monks, and the continued drift of modern Anglicanism into ‘cafeteria
Christianity’ (where everybody chooses what they like and reject what they
dislike) led me to the decision to resign from my Anglican ministry and be
received into full communion with the Catholic Church.
Even though we were in the country my parish
was full of lively, committed Christians from a range of denominational
backgrounds. We had regular Bible
studies, parish quiet days and a warm and uplifting form of worship. We were
involved in local evangelism and tried to blend evangelical zeal with Catholic
spirituality. People were growing in the faith and the church was doubling
in size. Naturally the people were shocked and upset by my decision to go.
There was a mixture of emotions. Some had listened closely to my preaching
and had seen the whole crisis coming. Others were angry and accusatory. I
was being disloyal to my own troubled church. Even worse, I was calling their
Christian life into question by leaving. Still others were confused and frustrated.
Their feelings were summed up by a good Methodist lady who came to our church
with her Anglican husband, ‘Surely the only thing that matters is how much
we love Jesus!’ she cried.
Her question was difficult to answer, not because
there was no answer, but because there were too many. In a letter to an
enquirer Cardinal Newman said, ‘Catholicism
is a matter, it cannot be taken in a teacup.’ But that he meant that Catholicism
was so vast and the reasons for conversion so overwhelming and complex, that
it was impossible to sum up the whole thing in a neat and pithy formula.
In a sense my Methodist friend was right, ‘The only thing that matters is
how much we love Jesus’. Hers is the right answer, but it is also the right
question. How much do we love Jesus, and how can we be sure that we are loving
Jesus and not just our idea of Jesus?
I had seen so many Jesuses amongst different
Christians, and each one was strangely like that particular Christian.
Charismatics saw a Spirit-filled
prophet of God, people concerned with justice and peace saw a radical revolutionary
who spoke for the poor, Intellectuals saw a Jesus who was cleverer than anybody
else and suffered for it, Tasteful Christians saw a Jesus who was a kind
of persecuted poet. The list could go on and on. More importantly, I began
to see that my Jesus was also a reflection of myself. I’m inclined to be
intellectual, contemplative and intuitive by nature. I followed a Jesus who
pondered problems, went out to the wilderness to pray and found crowds of
people difficult. My Jesus was one who walked a lonely path to a distant
cross because that’s how I was walking through life myself.
But to follow Christ means to lose yourself,
not to worship yourself. More and more I wanted an objective Jesus-- one
who was not my own reflection.
I wanted a Christ who was cosmic, not a Christ who was comfy. Where was
this Jesus to be found? In the incarnation. In other words, in his body.
Where was his body to be found? The Scriptures were clear. The body of Christ
was the church. St Paul was inspired to use this image for the Church. I
had been taught that the church was the body of Christ in a symbolic way,
that all of us in a particular congregation should work together like members
of a body. But the emphasis in that teaching was on only one half of the
image: it stressed ‘body’—not Christ. When I put the two together and saw
the church as the body of Christ a window opened. As an Evangelical
I was taught that the different churches were all man-made organisations
which were useful, but essentially un-necessary. Suddenly I saw the Church
as the mystical body of Christ—a living, dynamic organism empowered by the
Holy Spirit to continue the work of the risen Lord in the world. The Church
was suddenly a sacrament of Christ. In my brothers and sisters I could find
Jesus. In my service to the Church I could find Jesus. In our worship I could
find Christ. In obedience to the teaching of the church I could find Jesus.
By immersing myself in the Church I was immersing myself into Jesus himself
and transcending the limitations of my personal walk with the Lord.
St Paul also used the image of the Body of Christ
for the Eucharistic bread and wine. The two parts of the Body of Christ—the church and the communion
are intermingled in St.Paul’s teaching. ‘The bread which we break is a sharing
of the body of Christ. We are all members of one body because we all share
in the one bread.’ The other objective and powerful way to meet the real
Lord Jesus Christ in a personal way was through the Eucharist. There Church
and Christ are one in communion. This experience of communion and Church
was personal but not subjective. It was emotional, but not merely emotion.
It was particular and universal at the same time.
All of this new understanding took place while
I was still an Anglican, and for a few years I carried on believing that
it was possible to remain
as a good Anglican and still be ‘catholic’ in my theology, prayer and worship
practise. Then through various crises in the Anglican church I began to ask
further questions about authority in the church. I was excited that through
communion and church I could experience Jesus Christ in a way that was both
particular and universal, but how could I be sure that I was sharing in as
full an experience of this universal Christ as possible? Along my whole faith
journey I had wanted more, not less. I wanted to affirm all the good things
of my Evangelical upbringing, but to also affirm all the good things of Anglicanism.
Increasingly I wanted also to affirm all the goodness within Orthodoxy and
Catholicism as well.
As an Anglican with increasingly Catholic sensibilities
I began to feel that my experience of Christ within the Anglican Church
was simply a larger
version of the individualistic Christ I had experienced within Evangelicalism.
In other words, if the Evangelical Christian was inclined to find a ‘Jesus’ who
was rather like himself, then the same problem could be seen on a denominational
level as well. I began to see that Anglicans worshipped a very Anglican Jesus.
He was a refined, softly spoken gentleman. He was tolerant, tasteful and
forgiving. He was eventually persecuted by the barbaric, bigoted religious
people. There was much that was good and true in the Anglican portrait of
Jesus, but there was also a fair bit missing. If individual Christians made
Jesus in their own image, so did the various denominations.
The problem with a Jesus who is only personal
is that he becomes private property. There were only two ways around this
problem of the merely personal
Jesus. One way is the Anglican way in which every opinion is tolerated and
encouraged. By allowing every personal Jesus–even heretical ones—the Anglican
hopes to obtain a comprehensive Jesus. The other option is to break away
into a little Christian group where everyone shares the same vision of Jesus,
and that one becomes the only one. The first way is called latitudinarianism— or
indifferentism. The second way is called sectarianism. In the first option
every type of personal Christ is tolerated. In the second only one type of
personal Christ is tolerated.
But surely both ways had an element of truth? All the different personal
Jesuses reflected a dimension of Jesus Christ, but it was also true that
there had to be one which was the fullest, and most complete experience of
Christ. Somewhere there had to be a Church which embraced all the varied
portraits of Jesus while still holding up an objective Christ who transcended
and completed all the partial portraits. If Jesus promise to be with us always
was true, and if the Church was the mystical body of Christ, then there had
to be a Church which presented an objective Christ to the world in a personal
way.
To offer a universal Christ in a personal way
the Church had to speak with an authority that was bigger than any one
individual. That authority had
to have certain traits to offer a Christ which was both personal and universal. I
began to draw up a little list to outline what traits such an authority ought
to have. First such an authority would need to be historical. In order to
give me a Jesus which was bigger than me this church’s teaching and experience
had to be rooted in history. Through her roots in history I could share in
a Christian experience which transcended my own personal feelings and background.
Secondly, this authority had to be objective.
In other words, it couldn’t
be subject to my personal whims, the whims of my local pastor or any local
prophet or teacher. The authority had to operate above the interests and
concerns of the church itself. To prove its objectivity, this authority had
to be spread out over a large number of people over a long period of time
while remaining consistent in its themes and purpose.
Connected with the criterion of objectivity
is that this authority should be universal. It cannot be the voice of just
one person, one nationality,
one theological grouping or one pressure group. This authority has to transcend
geographical, cultural and intellectual boundaries. Not only does this authority
have to be universal in geographical terms, but it has to transcend time
as well. It has to be universal down through the ages—connecting authentically
with every age.
But if this authority is universal it must also
be particular. This fourth trait means the authority must be specified
in a particular place and through
a particular person. It cannot be just a vague ‘body of teaching’ or some
kind of ‘consensus of the faithful’. To speak to me personally it must speak
with a clear, particular and authentic voice. If it is particular, then it
also has to be able to speak to particular problems and circumstances. A
particular authority will apply the universal truths of the gospel to particular
problems with confidence.
Fifth, this authority should be intellectually
satisfying. While it must be simple enough for every person to understand
and obey, it must also be
challenging enough for the world’s greatest philosophers. As Jerome said
of Scripture, ‘it must be shallow enough for a lamb to wade and deep enough
for an elephant to swim.’ This authority must be intellectually coherent
within itself, and it must be able to engage confidently with all other intellectual
religions and philosophical systems. Furthermore, if it is intellectually
satisfying it must offer a world view which is complete without being completely
closed. In other words, there must be both answers and questions which still
remain.
Sixth, this authority needs to be Scriptural.
Since Scripture is a primary witness to the revelation, this authority
should be both rooted in Scripture,
and founded by Scripture. If it is Scriptural it will also look to Scripture
continually as a source of inspiration and guidance. While this authority
will flow from Scripture it will also confirm Scripture and offer the right
interpretation of Scripture with confidence—never contradicting Scripture,
but always working to further illuminate Scripture.
If an authority can be shown to fulfil all six of these traits, then these
are a good confirmation that the authority is not ephemeral and merely human
but is of divine origin. If this authority can be found then it would be
able to give my personal experience of Jesus Christ the universal depth and
breadth which lifts me out of that worship of that Jesus in my own image,
which is essentially the worship of myself.
I now accepted that my faith had to be Catholic
if it was to be universal, however, I still felt that I could be a good
Catholic while remaining an
Anglican. According to my Evangelical viewpoint, since denominations didn’t
matter one could subscribe to Catholic views while remaining in another denomination.
But something still niggled. How could I claim to be ‘Catholic’ while I was
rejecting one of the basic principles of Catholicism—that being Catholic
means being in full communion with the head of the family of the Catholic
Church, the Bishop of Rome? How could I be Catholic while rejecting the rock
on which the Catholic Church was built?
I then came across Cardinal Newman’s famous Essay on the Development
of Christian Doctrine. In a logically clear, but dense passage he says,
If Christianity is both social and dogmatic,
and intended for all ages, it must, humanly speaking, have an infallible
expounder, else you will secure
unity of form at the loss of unity of doctrine, or unity of doctrine at the
loss of unity of form; you will have to choose between a comprehension of
opinions and a resolution into parties; between latitudinarian and sectarian
error… You must accept the whole or reject the whole…it is trifling to receive
all but something which is as integral as any other portion. Thus it would
be trifling indeed to accept everything Catholic except the head of the body
of Christ on earth.’
In other words, if I wanted that Catholic fullness
of the faith I couldn’t
pick and choose. How can you have fullness when you are still the one who
is choosing what is ‘full’ and what isn’t? To accept the body of Christ in
its fullness one has to accept it all. That’s what fullness implies. Not
wanting to give up my ministry and my beautiful home, churches and congregations,
I agreed to ‘accept the Pope’ but remain in the Anglican Church. Before long
it became clear that I could not accept the Pope without submitting to his
teaching, and that his teaching said to enjoy the fullness of the faith I
had to be in full communion with the faith. St Paul’s word’s haunted me.
There is one bread and one body. We who are one body share in the one bread.’ Eventually
I accepted that the only way for my personal vision of Jesus to be enlarged
to a universal experience of the risen Lord was to be received into full
communion and personal union with his Body on earth--the universal Church.
Once we became Catholics I felt like I was having
an ‘overdose of reality’.
There was something concrete and tangible about the Catholic Church I had
never experienced in other churches. It wasn’t all nice either. There were
things I didn’t like and which I couldn’t do anything about. The sacrifices
we made brought hardships to our marriage and our financial situation. But
there was also a crystal clear and beautiful hardness to the Church. I began
to see that the mystical body of Christ on earth also has to have a physical
and visible dimension. As Christ took a real physical body in the incarnation,
so for his work to continue, his body on earth had to be real, historical
and physical. Docetism is the heresy which says Christ never took a real
physical body, but only seemed to be incarnate. My Evangelical view of the
Church being only invisible was a sort of ecclesiastical docetism. The new,
and sometimes uncomfortable, reality I felt in the Catholic church was a
sign of its really being a sacramental presence of the risen Lord in the
world.
We have now been Catholics for just over five
years. The other weekend I was asked to lead a home group retreat. The
members of the group were all
young Christians in their twenties and thirties. Many of them were converts
to Catholicism, many had had a great conversion experience through the Evangelical
Anglican ‘Alpha’ course. We spoke at some length about the future of Christianity,
and the great things God was doing in the Church today. At the end of the
day I asked them what they wanted most of all for themselves and the Church.
After much thought, Tony, one of the young men
said, ‘I want my personal
experience of Jesus to be as wide as the whole universe. I want the cosmic
Christ to be my personal Christ.’
Tony was expressing what I have found within
the Catholic Church. While many Churches have one or more of the traits
of authentic universal authority,
only the Catholic church has all seven. She stretches through history not
only back to the Apostles, but through the Jews to Abraham our father in
faith. She is objective because her teaching transcends individual opinions
and pressure groups. Her authority is universal—stretching across every continent
as well as across time, and yet it is particular because it speaks through
one person to the particular needs of real people at a particular time. Anyone
who has dipped into the teachings of the Catholic Church will find them systematic,
comprehensive and yet challenging and open. If they close doors they also
open windows. Finally, the Catholic Church is deeply Scriptural in all her
worship, prayer and teachings. Because she also makes the scandalous (in
human terms) claim to be a divinely founded body she fulfils the seven traits
which indicate a universal authority.
The Catholic church offers individuals a personal experience of Christ which
is truly universal. This wider experience can only happen as the individual
submits and submerges himself into the vast experience which is the universal
church. Through joyful submission to the authority of the universal church
the personal experience of Jesus Christ is enlarged beyond all our imagining.
We thought we had it all and we realise that all we had was ourselves.
Becoming a Catholic is like being in that last
book of Narnia. After the children enter the real Narnia they find everything
is real, and everything
belongs to them. They run ever faster and with more and more joy they cry
with all creation, ‘Further up and further in!’ Indeed, through the mystery
of the Catholic Church everything in the universe becomes one’s own. This
universal unity is expressed by St Paul. Writing to the Corinthians he says, ‘…everything
belongs to you…the world, life or death the present or the future, all belongs
to you, and you belong to Christ and Christ belongs to God.’ My own experience
is the beautifully understated praise of the psalmist, ‘O Lord, you have
placed my feet in a large room.’
In his highly influential book, Christendom Awake, the
English Dominican, Aidan Nichols sums it up:
It is, then, quite false to regard submission
to the Church’s public doctrine
as a barrier to personal spiritual development. The contrary is the case.
Rather, the acceptance of doctrine—as Chesterton indicated in Orthodoxy –ushers
the self into a wider room where, in the words of St John of the Cross,
Mine are the heavens and mine is the earth;
mine are the people, the righteous are mine and mine are the sinner the
angels are mine and the
Mother of God, and all things are mine, and God himself is mine and for
me, for Christ is mine and all for me. What, then, dost thou ask for and
seek my soul? Thine is all this, and it is all for thee.
