Rome
American reaction to Pope Benedict XVI’s latest book, Jesus of Nazareth:
The Infancy Narratives, so far has been restricted to quick day-one news
pieces, partly because it was released the day before Thanksgiving. (The Vatican
isn’t always known for its sense of moment, but let it be recorded that in this
case, they managed to get book on shelves just in time for “Black Friday”.)
In fairness, even here in Rome the book hasn’t been a sensation, largely
because it doesn’t contain that one thunderclap passage – reevaluating the
morality of condoms, for instance (as in Benedict’s 2010 interview book with
Peter Seewald), or absolving Jews from collective guilt for the death of Christ
(as the pope did in his 2011 volume on Jesus.)
This is Benedict’s third book on the life of Christ, with the first, issued
in 2007, focusing on the baptism to the transfiguration, and the second,
released in 2011, treating Holy Week. In the prologue, Benedict says this entry
isn’t so much a third volume as an “antechamber”.
The quick headlines focused on the pope’ defense of the historical
reliability of the infancy narratives – Jesus really was conceived virginally,
he insists, there really were Magi, he really was born in Bethlehem, and so on.
The pope also sees no reason to doubt that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was a
primary source for the infancy narratives.
As with his other two books on Jesus, however, Benedict’s interest is less
with the historical dimension of the gospels than their theological
significance. His chief aim, he says, is “to help people on their path toward
and alongside Jesus.”
Without attempting a book review, which would really require an expert in
Biblical studies, the following are four noteworthy points about The Infancy
Narratives as read through the eyes of a vaticanista, meaning a
journalist who scours papal writings for hints about his approach to church
policy.
Between Skepticism and Fundamentalism
Benedict obviously has robust confidence in the basic accuracy of the
Biblical tradition. He endorses the position of German Bible scholar Klaus
Berger, who argues that in the absence of proof to the contrary, one should
assume that the gospel writers got it right, since they were far closer to the
events than modern exegetes – and that “mere suspicion” is not sufficient to
judge their accounts historically dubious.
On the matter of the virgin birth, for instance, Benedict says it’s a
“cornerstone” of the faith: “If God does not have power over matter,” he writes,
“then he simply is not God.”
That said, Benedict XVI is clearly no fundamentalist.
For instance, Benedict breezily concedes that it would be impossible to try
to reconcile the differences in the genealogies of Jesus presented by Matthew
and Luke, saying in both cases their primary interest is the theological and
cosmic significance of Jesus’ birth, not the details of his ancestry.
In other words, Benedict isn’t bothered that on certain matters of detail,
the gospels appear to contradict themselves.
The pope also has no problem saying that Christian tradition got the date of
Jesus’ birth wrong. Rather than what we now regard as the year zero, he says,
Jesus was most likely born around 7 or 6 B.C. (As it turns out, there was an
astronomic event that year which, as the pope notes, is believed by some to
underlie the story of the “star in the East” that led the Magi to Jesus.)
On another score, a pious Catholic tradition has long read Luke 1:34, when
Mary asks the Angel Gabriel after he tells her she will conceive a child, “How
shall this be, since I have no husband?” to mean that she had taken a vow of
virginity. Over the centuries, this tradition has seen Mary as a forerunner of
consecrated virginity in the church, especially for women. A quick internet
search will turn up any number of Catholic web sites which insist that Mary was
a “consecrated virgin of the Lord,” and that Joseph was her guardian or
protector.
Noting that such an idea would be “quite foreign to the world of Judaism at
Jesus’ time,” Benedict XVI summarily dismisses it as “inconceivable.” (One
wonders what all those Catholic apologists who insist on this tradition will
make of the pope’s words.)
In general, Benedict argues that the New Testament records real history, but
he calls it “interpreted history,” meaning events that actually happened, but as
they were “interpreted and understood in the context of the Word of God.” What’s
important, he suggests, is not the fine points but the overall theological
message.
This approach is consistent with the 2008 Synod of Bishops on the Bible,
which aimed to position the Catholic church vis-à-vis the truth of Scripture
somewhere between skepticism and fundamentalism.
Classic Ratzinger touches
Those who’ve followed the work of Joseph Ratzinger over the years will
recognize in The Infancy Narratives several classic touches.
First, Benedict XVI argues that the spiritual worship taught by Jesus was not
a radical break with the Old Testament tradition of a sacrificial cult. Instead,
the pope insists, the Old Testament priesthood was a “path” toward Jesus, and
there’s a “development” in priestly spirituality discernible from the Old
Testament through the gospels.
In effect, that’s a sort of scriptural version of Benedict’s famous argument
for a “hermeneutic of reform … of renewal in continuity” as the right way to
understand the Second Vatican Council (1962-65). Benedict tends to see new
phases in the life of the church neither as a break with the past, nor a simple
recapitulation of it. In his mind, they’re developments that bring the past
along and give it new life.
In a similar vein, Benedict insists that Jesus was not a “liberal or a
revolutionary,” and that his criticism of Israel’s “false piety” was not meant
to upend the entire Old Testament tradition embracing both the law and the
prophets.
Second, a striking feature of Benedict’s personality is the serenity he
exudes in the midst of crisis and scandal – and his papacy hasn’t suffered any
shortage of either one. A chief reason is his conviction that the celebrated
events of today will quickly fade, while the real forces shaping culture and
history often pass unnoticed.
Whether that’s laudable perspective or a prescription for indifference may be
a matter for debate – if it isn’t actually both. In any case, it’s part of the
pope’s makeup, and we get another small glimpse of it in the book.
Discussing the appearance of the Angel Gabriel to Zechariah to announce the
birth of John the Baptist, Benedict writes: “The hidden event that takes place
during Zechariah’s evening sacrifice, unnoticed by the vast world public, in
reality ushers in the eschatological hour – the hour of salvation.”
For good or ill, it’s simply part of Benedict’s character to think that
things “unnoticed by the vast world public” are more important than the stuff
that dominates headlines in the here-and-now.
Third, there’s a vintage Ratzingerian dig at the professional theological
guild, delivered the way only someone who used to move in that world could
do.
Discussing the scene in which the Magi ask the chief priests and the scribes
where the messiah is to be born, Benedict notes that the religious authorities
answered the question, but “do not feel prompted to take any practical steps as
a result.” In other words, they tell the Magi where to expect Christ – “in
Bethlehem in Judea” – but they don’t seek him out themselves, or embrace his
message.
Thus the pope’s subtle swipe: “Does this, perhaps, furnish us with the image
of a theology that exhausts itself in academic disputes?”
The Danger of Power
Famously, Lord Acton’s line that “power tends to corrupt, and absolute power
corrupts absolutely” was coined with respect to the papacy. At a common sense
level, most people consider popes to be fairly powerful figures – a perception
backed up by canon 331 of the Code of Canon Law, stating that popes
possess “supreme, full, immediate and universal ordinary power in the
church.”
Yet as he has on other occasions, Benedict XVI uses The Infancy
Narratives to issue a warning to Christians about the dangers of proximity
to power – specifically, the negative effects of becoming mixed up with
this-worldly systems of authority.
It’s not so much that power corrupts, as Benedict sees it, but that power
“disfigures.”
In the context of discussing the kind of kingdom which the birth of Christ
promised, Benedict writes: “Jesus’ words to Pilate remain perennially true: ‘My
kingdom is not of this world.’ In the course of history, the mighty of this
world have sometimes tried to align it with their own [kingdoms], and that’s
when it is put at risk. They seek to link their power with Jesus’ power, and in
the process they disfigure his kingdom and endanger it.”
Benedict adds, “Or else it is subjected to constant persecution by rulers who
will tolerate no other kingdom than their own, and would like to destroy this
powerless king, whose mysterious power they fear.”
Notably, the pope seems to lay the blame for this temptation to blur throne
and altar mostly on the side of the throne, suggesting it’s the “mighty of this
world” who try to co-opt Christ for their own ends. While there are certainly
examples of that, both historically and in the present, critics might argue that
sometimes the temptation percolates on the side of the altar too – that church
leaders themselves sometimes aspire to worldly power, and the privilege it
brings.
In any event, Benedict’s language stands as a caution about the “disfiguring”
consequences that result when the church is enlisted on behalf of politics. It
would be an interesting thought exercise to ponder what that implies today –
especially, perhaps, for Americans in the wake of the 2012 elections.
Humility and Joy
It’s always interesting to know what a pope considers to be the hallmarks of
authentic Christian life. One can argue over whether his policies are actually
promoting those qualities, of course, but it’s still useful to have a clear
sense of what he’s looking for.
In The Infancy Narratives, Benedict suggests two such hallmarks:
humility and joy.
Humility comes up as Benedict discusses the two annunciation scenes in the
infancy narratives, that of the birth of John the Baptist and that of Jesus. The
former, he notes, features a priest of Israel receiving a visit from an angel
during the Temple liturgy, while the latter involves an unknown woman in simple
surroundings living in a town, Nazareth, which has no real significance in the
Old Testament.
Here’s what Benedict deduces from the contrast: “The sign of the New Covenant
is humility, hiddenness – the sign of the mustard seed. The Son of God comes in
lowliness.”
The stress on joy, meanwhile, comes out of Benedict’s discussion of the
annunciation to Mary. He notes that Gabriel does not employ the usual Jewish
greeting with Mary – shalom, or “peace” – but the Greek term
chaĩre, which tradition renders as “hail,” but which really
means something like “rejoice!”
“Joy appears in these texts as the particular gift of the Holy Spirit,” the
pope writes, “the true gift of the redeemer.”
Benedict also notes that in Greek, the terms “joy” and “grace” share the same
root. As he puts it, therefore, “joy and grace belong together.”
There you have it: According to Benedict XVI, humility and joy are core tests
for Christian authenticity. Let the conversation begin about whether those two
qualities are actually characteristic of Catholic life in the early
21st century.
....
Taken from: http://ncronline.org/blogs/ncr-today/vaticanista-reads-popes-book