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From On Being Catholic by Thomas Howard

I just finished reading Thomas Howard’s latest book, On Being Catholic, and I must say that I was very impressed. Howard is a convert to Catholicism and because of this he brings a unique view on the Church. This book is an excellent explanation of how Catholics see the world with a touch of inspirational spirituality. To underline the point, take a look at this passage:

Rank. Perhaps that is the word that may supply the clue necessary to open up the Catholic vision of God’s majesty to non-Catholics who worry that the ancient Church has stolen away the exclusive glory of God and has distributed it among a great multitude of interlopers.

The “rank” of the noble men and women who throng the earthly king’s court is, of course, derived from him. The duke’s dignity not only does not subtract one farthing from the king’s majesty: it augments that majesty, as though to say, “See, see what nobility this sovereign bestows. See how he raises his servants to share his glory.” The awe that comes over us upon the entrance of one of the great barons into the presence glances immediately from his armor straight to the figure on the throne. The great ladies of the court, so serene in their fathomless dignity, decked with the vesture that, even in its richness, is scarcely adequate to the nobility that crowns them – they gaze on our awe with eyes that say, “To him. To him be all honor and majesty and might and blessing.”

This is the Catholic vision of God’s majesty. He is not a niggardly sovereign, sitting upon his riches like a dragon on hoard, sullen and wary lest anyone snatch the smallest coin from the heap, thereby subtracting that sum from his exclusive prerogative. There are, alas, widely espoused theologies that talk of God’s glory as though this were the picture and that grudge any spilling-over of that glory onto any creature. To listen to such theologies is to conjure the spectacle of a great king, solitary in his splendor and served by thralls, sycophants, and helots, forever groveling, forever scourged by their masters with, “Give him the glory! Be careful to give him the glory!”

It is an ironic refrain, of course, since the whole point of the splendid assembly of nobles is that indeed the sovereign receive the glory. To that extent the slave-driving master’s refrain is technically true. Bu there is something parsimonious about it all. Give him the glory, as though any remnant of cloth on me that is not a filthy rag somehow calls in question that glory.

But the grimmest khans, sultans, and pharaohs in their tyranny have not grudged their glory thus. The greater their retinue, the greater their splendor.

It is thus, says the Roman Catholic Church, with God’s glory. He is a God who crowns us with glory and honor (see Psalm 8). He is a God who has raised us and made us to reign with his own Son. He is a God who exults in ennobling his servants and who has made them his own kin, brought them into his banqueting house, and unfurled the banner of love over their heads.

This is what his bounty purposes for all who will receive him. “As many as received him, to them gave he the power to become sons of God.” Sons of God? Lord: I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. Make me as one of your hired servants. Let me hunt with the dogs for the crumbs that fall from your table.

You are to sit at my royal table, says his bounty to us all. You were indeed poor and wretched and blind and naked and so covered with wounds and bruises and putrefying sores that there was no remedy for your condition – no remedy, that is, but my grace. But now you are washed, you are healed, you are clothed with the righteousness of my own Son, the Prince of Glory. Your tunic, your armor and spurs and robe and the very diadem that glitters on your brow: those you have for me because I love my only begotten Son and wish to present him with this guerdon for his suffering. He shall see of the travail of his soul and shall be satisfied. I have adopted you and made you coheirs with him of all my glory.

God bless,
Jay