Tony Lusvardi, S.J.

IHSes and resigning popes

Last month the Gregorian Jesuits took our spring community outing to L’Aquila, capital of the Abruzzo region. L’Aquila was most recently in the news for a 2009 earthquake that tragically killed over 300 people. Most buildings in the city have been restored, though construction still abounds.

Highlights of the trip were two churches. The first, the Basilica of St. Bernardino of Siena, is dedicated to the Franciscan preacher (1380-1444) with a great devotion to the name of Jesus. In fact, in images of St. Bernardino one frequently sees the IHS Christogram–using the Greek letters for the name of Jesus. The “IHS” was later taken up, of course, by the Society of Jesus. The IHS sunburst with the three nails of Christ’s passion is prominently displayed all over the Basilica of San Bernardino. The saint died in L’Aquila and is buried in the basilica.

L’Aquila’s other iconic church is Santa Maria di Collemaggio, burial place of Pope Celestine V (1215-1296). It is known as the Church of Pardon because of the plenary indulgence Celestine attached to the church–what locals refer to as an annual Jubilee. Celestine’s papacy, however, could hardly be considered a success, and he resigned after only a few months in office. He was a holy hermit, perhaps never really cut out to be pope.

Cagliari cathedral

A few weeks ago, I mentioned the time I spent in Maracalagonis, Sardinia during Holy Week this year. I thought I’d follow up with a few pictures of Cagliari’s Cathedral, certainly one of the city’s highlights. The building is well kept up and contains a number of artistic gems. Among these are the two sides of what was once a single pulpit, which now flank the main door. These were sculpted by Guglielmo of Pisa around 1160 and later sent to Cagliari when the city was ruled by that merchant city-state.

Intentions, motives, and what makes for a valid sacrament

The question of invalid baptisms has been in the news recently. In my commentary on the question in La Civiltà Cattolica, I pointed out that the Vatican’s most recent document on the question, Gestis verbisque, gives renewed attention to the minister’s intention. For a sacrament to be valid, a minister must intend to do what the Church does when celebrating that sacrament. And that means that if he changes what the Church prescribes in her official liturgical texts–by inserting his own words or deleting something required to be there–then he manifests an intention to do something else. It’s just as straightforward as it sounds. The proof is not in the pudding, but in the action.

Last week, however, another question was sent to the Vatican about what sort of intention might invalidate a sacrament, this time an ordination. The question proposed the distasteful case of a bishop who ordained a man with whom he had engaged in an illicit sexual relationship. Could he possibly have the right intention? Wouldn’t such a sinful situation invalidate the ordination?

The article in which this question was raised described it as “potentially explosive.” Fortunately, this grenade was defused by St. Augustine in the fifth century. The great theologian was responding to controversy about the validity of baptisms, whether the sinfulness of a minster invalidated the sacrament. He responded no. Augustine’s principle has remained a bedrock of sacramental theology ever since. It is really Christ who baptizes, Augustine said, and he can do so even through profoundly imperfect human instruments. The same goes for ordinations. Augustine sagely realized that if perfection were required of ministers in order for sacraments to be valid, then we simply wouldn’t have sacraments.

So how does Augustine’s principle fit with the requirement that one has to have the right intention to celebrate a sacrament validly? Here we have to make what might at first seem like a rather technical distinction but is, once you’ve thought the question through, also rather straightforward. The distinction is between intention and motive.

Andrea Grillo and Rachel Lu on Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation

Earlier this month, after delivering ten copies of Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation to Sant’Anselmo at Easter time, I walked up the Aventine Hill to pick up my diploma–the last formality involved in earning my doctorate. The last act, I suppose, of my formal education! It’s a walk I made many times before while a student. I haven’t been back to Sant’Anselmo for a while now, but am grateful for the studies in sacramental theology I did there.

When I received my copies of Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation, I had one more reason to be grateful — the insightful words of endorsement on the back cover from my dissertation director Prof. Andrea Grillo, who read many draft versions of the tome and managed to remain in good humor throughout! Here’s his review:

Lusvardi offers a historical reconstruction of the ‘baptism of desire’ that traverses the entire arc of the Christian tradition, starting from the origins. A straightforward work, expressed in a language endowed with finesse, irony and acumen. Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation is singularly effective in pointing out the fact that in the modern reception, a series of priorities is imposed on the issue that empty its meaning.
Andrea Grillo, Pontifical Atheneum of Saint Anselm, Rome

Also last week, I was delighted to see Rachel Lu’s review of the book at Word On Fire. Rachel’s review had a particular significance for me since, as she points out, I was there when she was baptized as an adult 19 years ago.

Filippo and Filippino Lippi at Rome’s Capitoline Museum

Filippo Lippi, Madonna of Humility, 1420

Though I still have a few weeks of grading exams to go, summer is definitely here in Rome. To celebrate the end of classes, I took a morning off last week to visit a special exhibit at Rome’s Capitoline Museum. The Capitoline is one of several museums in the Eternal City that would be the top attraction anywhere else but gets overshadowed by the Vatican Museums and the Borghese Gallery. It contains a number of impressive ancient Roman sculptures and a couple of Caravaggios — antiquity and baroque being the two periods Rome is known best for. When it comes to Renaissance art, Rome takes second place to Florence (though, given the work of Michelangelo and Raphael in the Vatican, the competition is still stiff).

In any case, the Capitoline is hosting an exhibit this summer dedicated to the work of Filippo Lippi (1406-1469) and his son Filippino (1457-1504). I mentioned Filippo before for his wonderful frescoes in Spoleto’s cathedral depicting the life of the Virgin. Filippo grew up an orphan and very poor. He was raised in a Carmelite monastery in Florence and became a monk. His superiors noticed his talent and encouraged his artistic career. He proved, in fact, to be a better artist than a monk. While executing a commission in a monastery in Prato, he ran off with a 17-year old novice, Lucrezia Buti, who became the model for some of his most beautiful female figures. Filippino, you might have guessed, was the fruit of their union.

A bloody Sunday: Corpus Christi homily

Homily for the Solemnity of Corpus Christi (B)

Today’s readings are bloody. Some years the readings for Corpus Christi emphasize the bread that becomes the body of Christ, and they remind us that the Eucharist is our nourishment and also the source of our unity. A single loaf of bread is formed from many individual grains of wheat.

But today’s readings are full of blood. This is not a Sunday for the squeamish. Blood sprinkled, blood shed, blood poured out, drinking blood. If we are tempted to imagine that worship is something abstract or comfortable or safe, the blood-spattered images in today’s readings should give us second thoughts. In the ancient world and in the time of Jesus, worship was a matter of flesh and blood, of life and death. Entering the Temple of Jerusalem would have been a shock to the senses—crowds of visitors both from Judea and from the Jewish diaspora; animals—birds, sheep, goats, bulls—and all their animal noises and smells; the sounds of these animals being slaughtered; the smell of blood; and the songs of prayer, of the psalms rising to heaven, with the smoke of burning incense and roasting meat. Worshipping God was not for the squeamish.

I think the fact that today’s readings speak rather vividly of the blood of goats, heifers, and bulls—bowls of blood—is perhaps a way of reminding us that Christianity—following Jesus—requires a certain courage. In one way or another we all have to overcome our squeamishness, whatever form it might take. The perfect act of worship, after all, the sacrifice which is the model for all other acts of worship, the death of Jesus on the cross, was not only bloody, but brutal. There was nothing abstract or comfortable in the scrouging and beating, in the nails, the crown of thorns, or the agonizing hours on the cross. And yet this was not, in the final analysis, merely an act of violence or a miscarriage of justice but an act of self-giving love. The blood of the new covenant was shed for those Jesus calls to be his friends and disciples.

But why blood? What is the meaning, for example, of what probably seems to us the very strange gesture of Moses who, to seal the covenant between God and his people, splashes blood upon the altar and then sprinkles it on the people. When I read this passage one of my first very modern, very practical thoughts is, “How are the Israelites going to get all that blood out of their clothes? What a mess!” But we are told, in the letter to the Hebrews, that it is blood—the blood of Christ—that cleanses.

Granados endorsement

Just a friendly reminder that if you haven’t yet ordered your copy of Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation, at a mere 20 cents/page, it remains a bargain. And each page is jam-packed with non-stop theological action.

You might think I’m biased, but you don’t have to take my word for it. When the book came out, I was thrilled to see that CUA Press had arranged a review and endorsement from Fr. José Granados. Attentive readers will recall that I mentioned Fr. Granados’s superb Introduction to Sacramental Theology here before. (It’s now available in Italian under the title Teologia dei sacramenti: Segni di Cristo nella carne.)

Here’s his verdict:

Offers a very accurate historical analysis of the doctrine of baptism of desire, starting with St. Ambrose and St. Augustine up to Vatican II. Lusvardi does not only give information about the different Fathers and theologians but delineates a clear leading thread that allows us to follow the development of the idea. The analyses are precise, the bibliography is abundant and well chosen, the documentation is excellent, the theological approach very sound.
José Granados, author of Introduction to Sacramental Theology: Signs of Christ in the Flesh

Some recent publications…

I’m honored to have a couple of recent works appear in print in the past few weeks, the first an article in La Civiltà Cattolica, a publication founded by Italian Jesuits in 1850, which has since gone international. The article “Gestis Verbisque: The Words and Actions of the Sacraments” (the Italian is here) analyzes a recent Vatican document dealing with sacramental theology — specifically the question of invalid baptisms. The document Gestis verbisque was available only in Italian at the time I wrote the article, but has since come out in English (and other languages) here. It’s an important document because it reminds priests and deacons of the need to faithfully celebrate the sacraments according to the Church’s tradition and liturgical books. We probably all have had unfortunate experiences of goofy things happening in liturgy because Father thought that he could improve upon a centuries-old ritual with regrettable results. Gestis verbisque reminds us that “The Church is the ‘minister’ of the Sacraments, but she does not own them.” My own article fleshes out some of the background behind the document and points out where I think it adds something theologically (its treatment of the minister’s intention). It was interesting to see some of the strange cases in history that I found while researching Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation come up again in modern settings. You’d think we’d learn!

The other publication is the first short story I’ve published in a while–too busy with academic work–in a magazine that will be familiar to readers of these pages, Dappled Things. Dappled Things is the only literary magazine I know of dedicated exclusively to Catholic literature. I’ve been honored to have a number of short stories and essays appear in their pages over the years, some of which can be found on their site. My most recent story, “Pious Tchotchkes,” is in their Easter 2024 issue, which is only available in print. Their print issues are always beautifully crafted.

The story is set in Portugal, and here are a couple of places alluded to — baroque exuberance in Coimbra and Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in continental Europe.

Ascension

Transfiguration, pulpit (Pisan 1160), Cattedrale, Cagliari

“Today our Lord Jesus Christ ascended into heaven; let our hearts ascend with him. Listen to the words of the Apostle: ‘If you have risen with Christ, set your hearts on the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God; seek the things that are above, not the things that are on earth’ (Col. 3:1-2). For just as he remained with us even after his ascension, so we too are already in heaven with him, even though what is promised us has not yet been fulfilled in our bodies.”

St. Augustine, homily on the Lord’s Ascension, quoted in Robert Imbelli’s
Christ Brings All Newness (Word on Fire Academic, 2023), p. 144.

The bodily resurrection of Jesus

Galleria degli Arazzi (Gallery of Tapestries), Vatican Museum: The Resurrection, Raphael, 1519

As we near the end of the Easter season, I’ve been reading the latest book of Fr. Robert Imbelli, Christ Brings All Newness (Word On Fire Academic, 2023). It is a fine collection of essays on everything from Vatican II to Dante, all held together by the wonder and uniqueness of the Son of God’s entry into the world. The title comes from St. Irenaeus of Lyons: “Christ brought all newness in bringing himself.”

To give a taste of the book–and as we approach the Ascension–I thought I’d share some of Fr. Imbelli’s words on the Resurrection from the essay “Resurrection and Real Presence.” Insisting on the bodily resurrection of Jesus–and not some watered-down academic knock-off–Imbelli again demonstrates a truly sacramental sense of the body’s importance, which I mentioned in another post a few weeks ago.

“Resurrection faith stretches heart and mind to the breaking point, as they stagger under the unbearable lightness of being. Is it any wonder that we frequently retreat before the mystery, reducing it to more manageable perspectives? And so, certain scholars contend, ‘He is risen into the kerygma’–betraying thereby their inordinate appetite for ideas. No resurrection there, only a ghostly apparition. Or, some ecclesiastical functionaries insist, ‘He is risen into the institutional church”–displaying, by the very contention, a rather petrified imagination. That would merely exchange one tomb for another. Or, others of more liberationist bent cry, ‘He is risen as the people’–manifesting their often havoc-wreaking innocence. A provocative resuscitation, perhaps, but no true resurrection. But against all infringement of the mystery, the angel stands adamant: ‘He is risen; he is not here!'” (pp. 158-9)