All of us consider ourselves to be missionaries
CONSTITUTIONS OF THE CAPUCHIN
FRIARS MINOR
CHAPTER
XII
THE PROCLAMATION OF THE GOSPEL
AND THE LIFE OF FAITH
No.
176
A COMMENTARY BY BR. ANTONIO
BELPIEDE *
[Translated from Italian by br.
Albert D’Souza and br. Patrick McSherry]
In the words of an
old proverb: “A king is the king to everyone except to his valet.”[1]
This saying is also applicable - mutatis
mutandis - for settings other than a monarchy. The fancy clothes and
ethical hypocrisy, the misleading propaganda, the curled wigs of King Louis of
France or the dozens of medals pinned on Leonid Brezhnev’s broad chest vanish
before the eyes of the personal valet. The everyday humanness of the king is
revealed, at times in sickness, weakness, and with vices. The wig’s ringlets
give way to the reality of hair loss caused by the stress of leadership or unqualified
baldness. The king appears naked in the eyes of the valet who, hopefully, is faithful
to the person of the king and to the crown.
Similarly, like a
valet loyal to his king, the General Procurator gets to see the Order without a
wig, without medals pinned to her chest, void of make-up, lacking the halos of her
saints, in her weariness, in her desire to serve which at times clashes with
cowardice and depravity, lethargy coming from every which direction in waves
that only the Lord of history can understand.
When addressing
novices or young friars, the Order is presented as a garden of beautiful, fruit-bearing
trees; olive trees displaying their silver or green double-faced fronds depending
on the direction of the wind; prolific vines full of swollen red clusters
promising goblets of delicious wine; sweet figs cracked at their base, showing streaks
of white and red, fully mature and waiting to offer their sweet nourishment. And
then, as in the story of Jotham,[2]
life happens, and even a thornbush, presumptuous in its sterile ugliness, urges
the other plants to elect him king.
It is not charity to
deny the truth. But as with a king, prudence bids us to cover the nakedness of a
brother. For us, called to live the Gospel, the highest form of charity in the
face of the reality of weakness and sin, lies in remembering and witnessing the
omnipotence of God. God is able to transform the nasty thornbush, with its slicing,
dangerous barbs, into a perennial, crackling burst of energy, faith and beauty.
The thorny results of our limitations, perhaps our misery, instead of being
hidden under a delusive cloth, should be exposed to the perennial breath of the
Spirit that it might burn like the bush that not only caught the attention of
Moses, but also sent him on a mission.[3]
The genesis of the Order’s
mission, therefore, is not founded on some flattering representation of
holiness doused with talcum powder, but on a strong faith in the One who is
capable of transforming us into a burning bush of continual evangelization, similar
to what happened when he sent back, running uphill with joy, Cleopas and his
companion whose hearts burned within them when he interpreted for them all the
Scriptures referring to his passion.[4]
The Simon Peter who stood up before the other eleven on the day of Pentecost and gave his first discourse was a wounded and mended man. He was not a “flawless novice,” but one who three times denied knowing his master. Why should we falsify our formative models and the image of the Order with exaggerated pretenses of holiness? In the Roman Canon, when the priest says: “to us also, your servants, who, though sinners…” he speaks the truth. The power of the Gospel is unleashed in its mission because at its core is a mandate very similar to the one received by Peter on the Lake of Tiberias: “Feed my sheep.”[5] Once again, repeated three times. Every true missionary of the gospel is wounded and mended. As the renowned expert on humanity, Carl Gustav Jung, stated: “The doctor is effective only when he himself is affected. Only the wounded physician heals.”[6]
Const. 176.1 In our apostolic
brotherhood, we are all called to bring the joyful message of salvation to
those who do not believe in Christ in whatever continent or region they may
find themselves. For this reason, all of us consider ourselves to be
missionaries.
“Called” is both beautiful
and true. It is he [Christ] who has called us, each with his own unique and
beautiful calling. Precisely because Francis was called to be a servant to
everyone, he said he felt “obligated” to share the cherished words of the Lord.
“I am bound” – “teneor”.[7]
The founder’s words have a more juridical sound that those of the Constitutions.
Almost eight centuries later, we find a striking similarity in the text which
solemnly opens Book III on The Teaching Function of the Church in the Code of Canon Law:
Can. 747, §1 The Church, to which Christ the Lord has
entrusted the deposit of faith…has the duty and innate right, independent of
any human power whatsoever, to preach the gospel to all peoples….
The Church has a
corresponding duty – as inherent as its
right – to preach the Gospel. Who can
make a claim to the Church’s exercise of this duty of hers? Who, in short, can
claim a right to receive the proclamation of the Gospel? As already indicated
in canon 747, §1: “omnibus gentibus”
– “all peoples.” Dictatorships and authoritarian regimes notwithstanding – as during
the persecution of the early Church by the Roman Empire – the Church is called
to make herself a servant of the Word before those who do not know Christ, as
well as before those who have known but have forgotten. How blest was our brother
Francis, inspired to translate legal words of duty into poetry, to blend in his
enlightened heart poetry and contract, to transform an ecclesial obligation
into a multipurpose song. The poetry of the Gospel also obligates us to be
duty-bound servants, a servant-Church that brings the humble diakonía of the Word to all people, and
like its founder, an Order that serves the Word within the Church.
|
Const. 176.2. In addition to the missionary work undertaken
in Christian communities strong enough to shine the light of gospel witness
in society, we recognize the special situation of those brothers commonly
called missionaries. They leave their own country of origin and are sent to
engage in ministry in different societies and cultures in which the Gospel is
unknown or where young Churches require assistance. |
For centuries the Church has made a theological, canonical, and psychological distinction between the ancient particular Churches, especially those of Europe, and mission territories. The text of the Constitutions mirrors this distinction. The very organizational structure of the Roman Dicasteries gives evidence to the strength of this distinction at both the juridical and governmental levels. The oldest dioceses in Europe, America and Australia are subject to the authority of the Congregation for Bishops. The younger dioceses, on the other hand, are subject to the Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, also known as the Propaganda Fide, which, not surprisingly, is located in the Piazza di Propaganda, adjacent to the beautiful Piazza di Spagna in Rome.[8] Just as younger dioceses are entrusted to the Congregation that has greater competence in the territories of first proclamation, a fortiori, other ecclesiastical structures that have not yet been established as dioceses, e.g., Vicariates and especially Apostolic Prefectures (see can. 368).
Multiple signs
indicate a weakening, a disappearance, and even a blatant rejection of the
Christian faith in long-standing Christian lands like Europe, the American
continent, and other Western nations. These signs include the omission effectively
negating the “Judeo-Christian roots” in the Preface to the European
Constitution, the progressive decrease in sacramental marriages, and the
growing practice sometimes referred to as requesting to be “un-baptized”, that
is, the desire to be deleted from the baptismal register in those places where
it is customary to be entered into a registry after having received the
sacrament at the request of one’s parents.
The “Christian
communities capable of radiating the evangelical witness in society” more and
more frequently have become communities that are barely able to survive amid
deserts of faith, thirsting for the living water they once possessed, and which
“have lost a sense of faith, either partially or totally” (176.3).
Const. 176.3. In the same way we
recognize the particular missionary circumstances of brothers sent to
environments where the Gospel needs to be proclaimed anew, where the lives of
entire groups of people are no longer inspired by the Gospel, and where many
baptized people have lost a sense of faith, either partially or totally.
A few years ago it would have been
difficult to judge the missionary effectiveness of friars sent out as part of
the New Evangelization. With decisive determination, our Constitutions have owned
and assumed the fact that missionaries are needed for the long-established
churches of the already Christianized West. I am reminded of a beautiful
painting I saw years ago in our friary in Assisi. It depicted a friar dressed
in an ivory-colored habit, sporting a colonial helmet on his head, venturing
out on the Amazon River in a canoe. This was one of the images that Catholics –
youngsters and mothers, mission benefactors and supporters – had of the friars,
as well as other common panoramic vistas, such as the African savannah, or the
ever-green and humid Asian jungle. These iconic images retain their value. The Missio ad gentes must be pursued
vigorously, as 176.2 of the Constitutions reiterates. Today, however, we must
broaden our images of mission to include friars chatting with young people
during an improvised sit-in at the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris, or in London’s
Hyde Park, or of Secular Franciscans or nuns strumming guitars in front of the
Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, or praying in front of the square at Ponte Milvio
in Rome. From dreams and images we can move on to concrete projects.
It was the great John Paul II, the
young 59-year-old Pope, who, in his mother tongue, Polish, in his native land,
and in his hometown of Krakow, on June 11, 1979, coined the phrase The New Evangelization. It took place in
a working-class district of Nova Huta where the pro-Soviet regime wanted to
build an atheistic working-class neighborhood, void of any churches. Then-Cardinal
Wojtila, pastor of that Catholic city, took the side of his people fighting against
the red-flagged bureaucracy. He fought and won. Where state-sponsored atheism
was intended to be planted, in its stead a monumental cross stands as witness to
John Paul II’s courage and his inspired prophecy as a new Pope: we need a New
Evangelization. At first the word spread slowly, but by 1983 it was proclaimed
powerfully at the Assembly of Latin American Bishops in Puebla. By 2010, after the
death of John Paul II, Pope Benedict established the new Pontifical Council for
Promoting New Evangelization. Pope Francis, in his 2013 Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, The Joy of the Gospel,
revived in us a desire for the joy that Christ nourishes.
My mother Maria ate very little. There
were seven of us at the table. She was happy just to watch us, her children,
devour everything, and she would explain to us: “My nose is so full of the
cooking aromas that I’ve lost a bit of my appetite.” Perhaps something similar
happened to this precious phrase; we have spoken and written a lot about the
New Evangelization, but we lost a bit of our appetite for the Gospel, a craving
for a renewed Mission. We slowly continue to do the same things. Early in this
millennium, the Church is at work in the already “Christian” world, maneuvering
to rearrange borders and relocate archives. Our Order is a part of that Church.
Progressively over the past several decades, European Provinces have been
merged, often to encompass entire nations, such as has happened in France,
Germany and Spain. Currently, Ireland and the United Kingdom may merge. The trend
will soon migrate to the United States and Spanish-speaking South America.
Maybe it’s inevitable, maybe not. Perhaps numerically-challenged Provinces
could be transformed into more agile juridical structures, like Custodies and
Delegations, supported by numerically-strong circumscriptions with a renewed missionary
spirit. It’s worth considering.
The fundamental point, however, lies
elsewhere. We need to experience a change of heart and mind, to take to the streets,
to get back to homes. We often find ourselves walled up in lethargic,
comfortable fraternal settings, ministering in ways that repeat long-standing patterns,
awaiting people in the temple, failing to hear the silent scream of those standing
next to us, while in every European city, throughout the once Christian West, people
yearn to hear again the Name of Jesus from the lips of someone who believes:
God saves.
Const. 176.4 Therefore, aware
that every person has the right to hear God’s good news and live his vocation
to the full, let us be sure not to turn a deaf ear to the Lord’s missionary
command.
The missionary command has changed;
it has diversified. The κήρυγμα – the core proclamation – must continue.
At the same time, the New Evangelization must go beyond its initial stages and
become an ongoing mindset of the churches with an ancient tradition. There’s a
community waiting outside the temple. There is a community bombarded with
countless voices, distracted by a thousand electronic servants, yet thirsting
for a refreshing word like the spring water
about which the Jewish Rabbi spoke to the woman of Samaria: “If you knew
the gift of God… “.[9]
At the end of number 176 of the
Constitutions, we find a legal utterance of Francis. If every person “has the
right to hear the Gospel,” then we, brothers of Francis, have an obligation in
the Church to proclaim it with hearts on fire, as did Cleopas and his companion
after their encounter with Jesus.
From the perspective of the General
Procurator’s Office, the Order does not appear like a king with coiffed hair, propped
up with supports and sporting medals. The more real we are, in the poverty of
our sin and in the overflowing richness of the Holy Spirit’s making, the more
we will burn throughout our life like the bush that fascinated Moses, and that
sent him on a mission. Amen.
* General Procurator (2013-2020)
[This text was closed in may 2020]
© copyright Antonio Belpiede
2020 –
For the free use of the
Order of Capuchin Friars Minor
[1] The source of
this proverb as quoted is unknown, however similar sayings (“there are no
heroes/great men to their valets/servants”) are attributable to Montaigne (Essays,
book iii. chap. 2); Anne-Marie Bigor de Corneul (a letter to Melle Aïssé, 1728); Johann
Wolfgang Goethe (Ellective
Affinities, 1809 and Maxims and
Reflections, 1833); Friedrich Hegel
(Phenomenology of Mind and Philosophy of History); and Lev Tolstoj (War and Peace, 1865/69).
[2]
Judges 9:7-15
[3]
Exodus 3
[4] Luke 24:13-35
[5]
John 21:15-17
[6] Carl Gustav Jung, Memories, dreams, reflections
[7] “Cum sim servus
omnium, omnibus servire teneor et administrare odorifera verba Domini mei,” Later Admonition and
Exhortation to the Brothers and Sisters of Penance
(aka Second Version of the Letter to the
Faithful).
[8] For the sake of completeness, the competence of the Congregation for the Oriental Churches must be kept in mind (see John Paul II, Apostolic Constitution Pastor Bonus, 1982, art. 56.)
[9] John 4:10
