By Father Benedict Kiely
I do not know whether Cardinal Jean-Paul Vesco, Archbishop of Algiers, has read the satirical poem “Absolute and Abitofhell” by Monsignor Ronald Knox. The poem portrays the Oxford dons and clerics of his day, enamoured of theological liberalism: the sort of churchmen whom, St John Henry Newman said, he had fought all his life.
The lines of that poem which come to mind regarding our man in Algiers are as sharp as vinegar: “When suave politeness, tempering bigot zeal, / Corrected ‘I believe’ to ‘One does feel’”.
Cardinal Vesco has recently said several things that went beyond mere courtesy toward his Muslim neighbours. His first statement condemned “proselytism,” which he called “poison,” and was challenged by Bishop Robert Barron, who knows a thing or two about evangelisation.
A kind of storm has broken out on the internet, with the usual suspects—the Knoxian professors, as we might call them—condemning Bishop Barron and reminding the world that the Cardinal exercises his ministry in a difficult situation, that is, among Muslims. The usual syncretism officials maintained that the Cardinal’s words had been misinterpreted: he was not denying the “Great Commission” to preach the Gospel to all nations, nor the call to conversion.
Cardinal Vesco attempted to clarify his earlier statements, but only dug himself into an even deeper hole. The Church, he said, “is not there to convert” and has “better things to do” than seek converts among what he called the other “monotheistic religions.”
The Church, in any country where Islam predominates, is certainly in a difficult situation. Where today is the great see of Hippo, or the city of Tagaste, where St Augustine was born? Its ancient Christian population has disappeared: first attacked by barbarian hordes and then annihilated forever under Islam.
It is difficult to proclaim Christ under conditions of hostility, as I know only too well after more than ten years helping persecuted Christians throughout the Middle East. So the question arises: if converting is not the Church’s task, what is She for?
During the first three centuries of Christian history, all members of the Church, hierarchy and people alike, lived in overwhelmingly hostile situations. Ten of the twelve apostles died for the faith: Judas committed suicide, and only St John reached old age. The martyrs—men, women and children—bore witness to the truth of the Christian faith. They believed, with St Paul, that there is “no other name under heaven by which we can be saved than the name of Jesus.”
Today, in the lands where my charity works, families are murdered and priests martyred in an overwhelmingly hostile place. They are forced to leave their homes, abandon all their possessions, their businesses are destroyed, because they believe in the words of Him who proclaimed Himself “the Way, the Truth and the Life.”
I have known people who faced death for having converted from Islam. One lady, threatened by her own family, said that no longer mattered, because she “knew Christ.”
Interreligious dialogue is immensely difficult when someone wants to cut off your head for what you believe. This might even suggest that such a “dialogue” makes no sense.
Some say that the Cardinal merely wished to condemn proselytism, a word that has acquired a modern connotation that makes it unpopular. The modern meaning implies something more than persuasion: it suggests some kind of coercion. Against Cardinal Vesco, the idea that there could be the slightest possibility of coerced or forced conversions in a Muslim country is pure fantasy.
More than forced conversion, the Cardinal is clearly referring to the very act of conversion. Yet the origin of the word proselytism, as it was understood for centuries, comes from the Greek and means “the one who has arrived”: a proselyte.
The followers of Jesus Christ claimed, with great humility, that they had “arrived” at the truth. The “task” of one who had arrived at the truth was, according to Truth Himself, to tell others this Good News. In fact, He commissioned His disciples to do exactly that. “Woe to me,” said St Paul, “if I do not preach the Gospel!” (1 Corinthians 9:16).
Pope Francis, at the beginning of his pontificate, firmly stated that the Church is not an NGO. Others can educate, feed, house and meet the medical needs of various populations, often better than the Church. What then is the Church for, if not for proclamation and conversion?
Has that work been useless? Should we not help our persecuted brothers if all religions are equal? Does it matter little whether one believes in Jesus, in Muhammad or, for that matter, in Buddha? If we have “better things to do,” what exactly are they?
Hilaire Belloc, another enemy of the affected professors, marvelled at the “permanence and resistance” of what he rightly considered a Christian heresy (that is, Islam). He called it “the most powerful denial of the Incarnation, the denial that came armed and victorious.”
For one who believes in Christ (in the “thrilling romance of orthodoxy,” as Chesterton said), a heresy is something to be fought, not weakly accepted or praised. A cardinal of the Holy Roman Church wears red for a reason: because shedding blood for Christ—being a martyr, even if not sought—is the supreme form of witness.
The martyrs of the last twenty centuries—the men, women and children who at this very moment are dying solely for their faith in Christ—are not among those who think that conversion does not matter. They have found the truth that sets them free, even if they must die proclaiming it.
If the Church has “better things to do” than convert people to Christ, then, as Flannery O’Connor once remarked to friends who maintained that the Eucharist is only a symbol, if the Church’s teaching is not true, then “to hell with her.”
But the Church already has the “best” thing to do: and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against her.
About the author
Father Benedict Kiely is a priest of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham. He is the founder of Nasarean.org, which helps persecuted Christians.