Joy Davidman

Taken as practical counsel for survival, the Fifth Commandment is now almost a dead letter. Yet if our world were read more

Taken as practical counsel for survival, the Fifth Commandment is now almost a dead letter. Yet if our world were truly Christian, the change might be a reason for rejoicing. We no longer need our families -- we are therefore free to love them with complete unselfishness. Now at last it is possible to honour our parents genuinely, because they no longer have the power to kill us if we don't. The old sort of honour was sometimes an ugly sham: the son who respects Father only out of fear of punishment is not much of a son, just as the Christian who worships God only out of fear of hell is precious little of a Christian. But the new sort of honour can be a beautiful and holy thing. There are many sweet and sane families bound together by love; there are plenty of experts who remind us that only love can make the modern family work at all. And one must admit that there are plenty of parents very willing to be honoured. The catch is that not so many of them are willing to be honourable.

The idol-maker may know, more or less clearly, that he is only giving shape to the half-formed concept of God read more

The idol-maker may know, more or less clearly, that he is only giving shape to the half-formed concept of God in his head; that his images are solid metaphors -- what we call symbols. The skeptical Greek philosopher may remind us that, after all, the image of Athena is only a symbol, only a means of fixing one's rambling thoughts upon the spirit that is Athena. Yet the idolater will persist in losing sight of the forest for the trees, and the god for the image. The gold and ivory statue of Athena becomes holy in itself, an answerer of prayer, a mysterious source of power, a material object somehow different from other objects. The crucifix, the plaster image, the saint's relic or miraculous medal or cheaply and illegibly printed Bible may become themselves things considered holy and magical, able to stop a bullet. Worse yet, the god confined in an image is a shrunken and powerless god. Because you have limited your concept of God to a man shape on a carved crucifix, you may be in danger of inferring that you are free to outrage the man shapes walking and breathing around you. Because you worship the god in a specially baked wafer and a specially designed chalice, you may forget to worship the God of all bread and all wine.

There have always been two kinds of Christianity -- man's and Christ's. Does anyone today remember how the emperor Constantine read more

There have always been two kinds of Christianity -- man's and Christ's. Does anyone today remember how the emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion? It is said that he had a vision -- saw a cross in the sky with the inscription, "In this sign shalt thou conquer." He accepted the new faith promptly, because he thought it would defeat his enemies for him. That is man's Christianity, a means to earthly triumph. And in our present crisis we are appealing to it to defeat the Russians for us. We hear of the life-and-death struggle between Christianity and Communism, the necessity of "keeping God alive as a social force" -- as if our Lord could not survive a Soviet victory! It is a poor sort of faith that imagines Christ defeated by anything men can do.

Feast of Thomas More, Scholar & Martyr, & John Fisher, Bishop & Martyr, 1535 We sometimes come to read more

Feast of Thomas More, Scholar & Martyr, & John Fisher, Bishop & Martyr, 1535 We sometimes come to God, not because we love Him best, but because we love our possessions best; we ask Christ to "save Western civilization", without asking ourselves whether it is entirely a civilization that Christ could want to save. We pray, too often, not to do God's will, but to enlist God's assistance in maintaining our "continually increasing consumption". And yet, though Christ promised that God would feed us, he never promised that God would stuff us to bursting.