Our Two Sacraments

Your generation grasped the intuition that God’s vision of human love is magnificent, that Christian perfection is not the exclusive preserve of monks, and that marriage, too, is a path to holiness. You asked your priests to examine the Christian mystery of marriage, to deepen its theology, and to work with you to develop a spirituality for the married Christian. You were quite right to be demanding. Good work has been done. The path is now marked out for the Christian who wishes to strive for Christian perfection within and through marriage. L’Anneau d’Or, the magazine, has contributed to this as best it could. We must persevere, for the task is far from complete.

But today—in this final issue of the tenth year of L’Anneau d’Or—allow me, in turn, to make a demand of you. I ask you—who once asked us to understand the greatness of your marriage—to reflect on the greatness of our priestly vocation. Make no mistake: I am not seeking sympathy, but rather a profound understanding of the mysterious powers of our sacrament.

For the priest of our time certainly does not lack sympathy. Never before have literature, theatre, and cinema shown such interest in him. Undoubtedly, the credit for the priest’s grand entry into contemporary literature belongs to (Georges) Bernanos and his unforgettable Diary of a Country Priest. Yet, we must admit that only the secondary aspects of the priesthood—sometimes merely anecdotal or even lacking authenticity—have been captured. The essential element has been missed: the mystery of the priest. And I am not certain that Christians—even the active members of our own Movements—always have a more accurate view.

To understand the priest, one must place oneself, from the very outset, at the heart of the mystery of Christ. Any other viewpoint distorts the perspective.

Governor Festus summarised the conflict between Paul and the Jews in these terms, It concerns “a certain Jesus who had died, but whom Paul asserted to be alive” (Acts 25:19). Festus had grasped the point. This is precisely what lies at the heart of the Christian faith: Christ, having reconciled humanity to His Father through His death, has risen again. He is alive. “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” the angel of the Resurrection asked the holy women.

Let the Ascension, then, not mislead us: it is a mistake to think that Christ—having bequeathed to us His teachings, His Eucharistic Body, and the priests who are His ministers—has departed from our world. The Ascension is a transition from one mode of presence to another: from a visible presence to an invisible one. Christ has not escaped our universe; He remains inextricably bound to it by all the ties of His humanity. With His glorious and invisible body, He is present among us. He will always be so, just as He promised, “And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

In His presence, He acts. He is like a pole, a centre from which emanate all the supernatural energies of the Redemption—energies that ceaselessly work upon humanity to uplift and transform it. Thus, He continues the mission for which the Father sent Him, a mission that will not conclude until the Last Day. Until then, He unceasingly builds His Mystical Body—His Church—day by day, person by person. Make no mistake: this is something entirely different from mere recruitment, or from asking for a person’s adherence as one might for any ordinary group. For Christ, the aim is to have everyone share in His death and resurrection, and to bring about in each person the redemption that is a passage from sin to grace, from death to life—to that new life which is divine charity. It is a true re-creation. And it takes place gradually, as mankind opens themselves to this action of Christ—who ceaselessly calls upon them—and to that fire destined to consume everything.

The law of the Incarnation remains valid—that law which led the Son of God to reach mankind through human means, to assume a body so that He might be seen, heard, and touched. To achieve the goal we have just mentioned—the building up of the Mystical Body—Christ’s action employs a means He chose above all others: the priest—or more precisely, the priestly body, ranging from the Pope to the humblest suburban curate. It is to this priestly body that Christ communicates His sanctifying power, through a vital transmission that is ever-present and active. — It should be noted that this participation in Christ’s sanctifying power is the very foundation of the distinction between clergy and laity.

Do not interpret this to mean that Christ grants power of attorney to His priests to sanctify us—like a man setting off on a journey who delegates authority (that is, the power to act in his stead) to a subordinate. Once again, Christ is not absent; He is the Great Present One. It is He who acts, but through the priestly body. It is He who teaches His Church, but through the magisterium; it is He who leads, but through the hierarchy; it is He Himself who communicates His life to His members, but through His priests and the sacraments. Note the little preposition “through.” It is through the artist’s hand that an inner vision becomes a statue or a painting. It is through the priesthood that the life of Christ passes into the members of his Mystical Body. The priesthood is thus like the instrument—the free and living organ—that Christ uses to accomplish his redemptive work.