A Podcast Appearance
On Catholicism, anthropology, and miracles
I recently had the pleasure of appearing on a podcast by
Carlton on Catholicism, miracles, science, anthropology, and 18,576 other things. It was really supposed to be an interview just on miracles — Robbie, a non-Christian who records podcasts about the meaning crisis, was looking for a serious Christian who was educated and knew something about science yet still believed in the wild and wacky teachings of the Church. A mutual friend put us in touch, and this podcast episode was the result.
If you listen to it, you’ll be able to appreciate that Robbie did a heroic job of trying to keep me on track, even though the conversation continuously wandered into topic after topic: evolutionary social science, comparative anthropology, American culture, imperialism, ritual studies, and — as I said — lots of others before we finally got to talking about miracles toward the end. He was immeasurably patient with me. The interview itself starts about eight minutes into the recording. Please enjoy.
Right, I’m Catholic Now
I haven’t discussed this on this blog, but my wife and I officially entered the Catholic Church this past Easter on Holy Saturday after several years as (fairly) contented Anglicans. Swimming the Tiber, as it’s known, has been quite an adventure, which I plan to write more about in future posts. Suffice it to say for now that, despite the utter mess the Catholic Church is in — all the rumors are true, and worse — it somehow feels like home in a way nothing else can compare with.
I went to Mass on Friday (it was All Saints’ Day, a “day of obligation” but really a good excuse to cut work for an hour or two and do something I actually enjoy) and reveled in the beauty of the liturgy, the seriousness of the homily, and the simple faith of the people around me in the pews. Anyone who’s joined the Catholic Church recently, a nontrivial group of people, knows that the rumors of the Church’s demise are greatly exaggerated, at least if you find one of the good and serious parishes. There were probably sixty people in the pews for this, one of four Masses for the feast day. To my great pleasure, the priest brought out kneelers for Communion, which many of the people in attendance availed themselves of (although many did not, which was completely okay).1
Anyway, as I was leaving the church building, I passed by two statues of Mary and Joseph in the narthex (the entryway or vestibule to the church). They were, like a lot of Roman Catholic art, frankly a bit tacky — gaudily colored, perhaps slightly saccharine — but something about them captivated me. I paused as I opened the door onto the street, the last parishioner to depart after the candles on the altar had been extinguished. A story that had been brewing in my unconscious for decades seemed to be coming to life. I wasn’t sure exactly what the story was, but it contained scenes like this one: statues, lovingly carved if perhaps a bit sentimental; priests moving quietly in shadowed hallways; candles flickering before side altars; an enormous tradition of wisdom, intellect, and childlike faith all entwined together in an institution greater than any other humans have ever devised.
Of course, though, we didn’t devise it. If you’re a Catholic Christian, you believe that the Church is the invention or gift of God. It’s also the bride of Christ, the mystical Body that is slowly being united with Him throughout the centuries, in a story of “groaning” that encompasses all other human stories, all ambitions, all fears. It almost sends shivers down your spine, if you’re the sort who can get into that kind of thing.
Which, apparently, I am.
Listen to the podcast for more about how a person with my sort of background, trained the evolutionary social sciences and currently working in biomedical publishing, thinks such non-sciencey things as miracles could possibly happen.
Let’s not delve into the liturgy wars in the Catholic church (the ongoing nature of which is another piece of evidence that the Church is just as messed up as you think it is, in case you were looking for one). The priest simply noticed that a small group of people had started kneeling again to receive Communion, a practice that used to be de riguer in Catholicism but has lapsed since the reforms of Vatican II, and thought it would be more orderly if kneelers were used for this. But once the kneelers were out, dozens of people who normally received standing and in the hand plopped right down on them and took Communion in the old way. It was kind of sweet to see suburban Boston people, many with too many graduate degrees, kneeling before the Holy Eucharist. It’s a posture of humility that I don’t think the secular world in America offers any counterpart to. Where would you kneel in a courtroom or a boardroom? Where would you kneel in a classroom or a city park? Nowhere, that’s where.