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224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2003
An ethic is an external norm or rule—“do this,” “don’t do that.” Ethos refers to a person’s inner-world of values, what attracts and repulses him deep in the heart. In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ is not only confirming God’s ethical code. He is also proclaiming the true ethos of God’s commandments—what they call us to internally. In effect Christ says, “You have heard the ethic not to commit adultery, but the problem is you desire to commit adultery. Your ethos is flawed because you’re filled with lust.” (p. 38)
Most people look at Christian morality—especially sexual morality—as an oppressive list of rules to follow. How far this misunderstanding is from the “living morality” proclaimed by Christ! The Gospel doesn’t give us more rules to follow. The Gospel is meant to change our hearts so that we no longer need the rules (see CCC 1968). To the degree that we experience this change of heart, we experience “freedom from the law” (see Romans 7; Galatians 5)—not freedom to break the law; freedom to fulfill it. Here is an example of what freedom from the law looks like: Do you have any desire to murder your best friend? This may seem like an odd question, but it actually demonstrates the point. Assuming you do not, then you do not need the commandment “Thou shalt not murder thy best friend” because you have no desire to break it. To this extent you are “free from the law.” In other words, you do not experience this law (“Thou shalt not murder thy best friend”) as an imposition because your heart already conforms to it. (p. 39)
Experience attests that even the most wonderful marriage does not fully satisfy our hunger for love and union. We still yearn for “something more.” I love my wife, Wendy, more than any words can express, but she will not mind my saying that she is not my ultimate fulfillment. Do not hang your hat on a hook that cannot bear the weight! If we look to another human person as our ultimate fulfillment, we will crush that person. Only the eternal, ecstatic, “marriage” of heaven—so far superior to anything proper to earthly life that we cannot begin to fathom it—can satisfy the human “ache” of solitude. (p. 55)
While the idea of being recognized first as a “sister” usually brings great relief to the woman, John Paul observes that it presents a certain challenge for the man (see TOB 109:4). More specifically, it challenges him to assess his motives. Is he motivated by love or by lust, by the sincere gift of self or merely by a desire to gratify himself? The normal man recoils at the idea of lusting after his sister—and so should a man recoil at the thought of lusting after his bride! This is precisely the point. The lover of the Song accepts this challenge and does not hesitate to call his beloved “my sister.” With such a recognition, he demonstrates that his desire for her as “bride” is not one of lust but of love. With “a disinterested tenderness” (TOB 110:2) the lover desires only to be a sincere gift to his beloved according to the image of God. (p. 93)
The Church does not impose on us the idea that love should be permanent. Permanence is what the heart longs for. In her teaching that sex is meant to express permanent love (that is, marital love), the Church is simply inviting us to be true to the “song” that wells up from the deepest recesses of our souls. Listen to it! It is the Song of Songs. (p. 96)
As the Catechism indicates, the Latin Church usually chooses her priests from among men of faith who have chosen celibacy as their life’s vocation (see CCC 1579). This seems to imply that the choice of celibacy should come first. If a Catholic man (in the Western church) has discerned a celibate vocation, then, within his life of celibacy, he might also discern a call to priesthood. Those priests who believe celibacy was foisted on them, it seems, have not understood these important distinctions. As a result, many today are clamoring for an end to priestly celibacy. Some even blame celibacy itself for the sexual problems and abuses of some of the clergy. As I wrote in my book Good News About Sex and Marriage, “Celibacy does not cause sexual disorder. Sin does. Simply getting married does not cure sexual disorder. Christ does. If a priest, or any other man, were to enter marriage with deep-seated sexual disorders, he would be condemning his wife to a life of sexual objectification. The only way the scandal of sexual sin (whether committed by priests or others) will end is if people experience the redemption of their sexuality in Christ” (GN, p. 163). Authentic Christian celibacy witnesses dramatically to this redemption. It is true that, as a discipline of the Latin Church (rather than a doctrine), the practice of reserving priestly ordination to those men who have chosen a celibate life could change. But when we realize how celibacy points us to the ultimate meaning of sex, we recognize that our world needs the witness of Christian celibacy now more than ever. (p. 63)
As a practical example of husbands living a redeemed sexuality in subjection to their wives, I often point to this eye-opening passage from the Pope’s book Love and Responsibility. It not only shows that Karol Wojtyla (John Paul’s pre-papal name) was no prude, but, more importantly, it calls men to self-control and tenderness out of deep respect and reverence for their wives. Wojtyla wrote that if a husband is truly to love his wife, “it is necessary to insist that intercourse must not serve merely as a means of allowing [his] climax. ... The man must take [the] difference between male and female reactions into account ... so that climax may be reached [by] both ... and as far as possible occur in both simultaneously.” The husband must do this “not for hedonistic, but for altruistic reasons.” In this case, if “we take into account the shorter and more violent curve of arousal in the man, [such] tenderness on his part in the context of marital intercourse acquires the significance of an act of virtue” (LR, pp. 272, 275). (p. 78)
In other words, what could they do to avoid conceiving a child that would not render them unfaithful to their wedding vows? You are doing it right now (I presume). They could abstain from sex. There is nothing wrong with abstaining from sex when there is a good reason to do so. The Church has always recognized that the only method of “birth control” that respects the language of divine love is “self-control.” (p. 110)
What purpose does contraception really serve? This might sound odd at first, but let it sink in. Contraception was not invented to prevent pregnancy. We already had a 100 percent safe, 100 percent reliable way of doing that —abstinence. In the final analysis, contraception serves one purpose: to spare us the difficulty we experience when confronted with the choice of abstinence. When all the smoke is cleared, contraception was invented because of our lack of self-control; contraception was invented to serve the indulgence of lust. (p. 113)
In short, whether they realize this or not, contracepted intercourse says, “We prefer the momentary pleasure of a sterlized orgasm over the opportunity of participating in the inner-life of the Trinity.” To which I respond, “Bad choice!” But do you think if couples really knew they were choosing this, that they would continue to do so? I cannot help but think of Christ’s words from the cross, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). (p. 117)
In the new evangelization, we need to be able to walk into fraternity parties where people are getting drunk and seeking illicit sex and say, “Do you know what you really want here? You want the Eucharist and marriage, and the Catholic Church has them in their fullness.” (p. 124)
John Paul II’s Theology of the Body provides great hope for this urgently needed renewal within the Church. When we view the Gospel message through the interpretive key of man and woman’s call to communion, not only does the Gospel message take on flesh, but even the most controversial teachings of the Church—contraception, divorce and remarriage, homosexuality, an all-male priesthood, etc.—begin to make beautiful sense. (p. 125)