Jobran nodded vigorously, and said, “I know—I’ve been reading them, also. St. Catherine de Ricci supposedly descended spiritually into Purgatory every Sunday night, while St. Catherine of Sienna received frequent visions from her earthly father who was in Heaven, and both described their experiences. St. Teresa of Avila spoke in her Autobiography about three saints whom it was revealed to her did not have to pass through Purgatory before entering Heaven. But quite frankly, a lot of the visions and commentaries that provide any details about what Heaven is like are from mystics—who seem a little bit credulous, to most of us in the modern world.”
“But one is not obliged to believe or honor anything that is revealed in a purely private revelation; not even one such as the appearances of the Blessed Mother at Fatima,” the Abbot replied.
Jobran responded, “And, quite frankly, that position seems rather strange to me. Either the teaching of such mystics is true, or it is not. If it is true, then why shouldn’t belief in it be obligatory? Why should it be an ‘option’ any more than abortion is an ‘option’? Or on the other hand if it is not true, then shouldn’t the Church operate to prohibit or ban the doctrine or teaching?”
“There can be different senses of the word ‘truth’ as it applies to a revelation given to an individual. Such revelations can be conditioned by time, place, and the particular needs of the one to whom it is given, and are subject to the ordinary rules of historical criticism,” the Abbot replied. “But the fact that God gives a particular revelation to a particular person doesn’t make it a ‘universal’ vision. I feel that God directed me to join this monastery, for example, but that is hardly his direction for everyone. Similarly, God might give a particular vision of Heaven to, say, Hildegarde of Bingen, or Catherine of Sienna, but to attempt to apply this revelation in a general sense is going too far. Belief in even widely known revelations such as Lourdes and Fatima are not necessarily obligatory for Catholics, and much less purported appearances at Our Lady of Guadalupe, Medjugoree, and so on.”
“But why doesn’t the Church provide more details about the afterlife? If the Church is willing to answer questions such as, ‘Will my pet dog be in Heaven?’— to which I understand the Church’s answer is ‘No,’ since animals don’t have eternal souls—why can’t it answer a question such as, ‘Will I know my spouse, and will she still be my spouse when I am in Heaven?’ This seems like it would be a common question, particularly for Catholics who are taught the indissolubility of marriage. Why make such a big deal about prohibiting divorce on Earth, if we’re all just going to—in effect—be divorced once we’re in Heaven?”
The Abbot held up his hand, and said, “Slow down, Jobran; you need to give me time to answer, before you ask the next question.” He took a long sip from his wineglass, then finally said, “I’ve been attempting to give you the clearest answers that I know how, but I think that a part of the problem is that you just don’t like the answers that you are hearing. Nevertheless, there are many commonly-asked questions to which we don’t know the answers. In this life, we are only given the amount of details that it is necessary for our salvation for us to know.”
Jobran shot back, “But that’s why there is so much speculation about these matters: in writings of those such as those of Dante and Milton, paintings by Michaelangelo, and so on. We have a definite need for more information about these things, and since the Church is not providing it through ‘official’ channels, we naturally turn to ‘unofficial’ channels.” He stood up and went over to the well-stocked bookshelf, and picked out a book of paintings by Michaelangelo. After thumbing through it to find the painting he was looking for, he showed the picture to the Abbot, and said, “It’s one thing for the modern Church to say that Heaven doesn’t look the way that Michaelangelo depicted it in the Sistine Chapel—but then we naturally reply, ‘Well, then; how does it look?’ I mean, it must look like something!”
With an edge of impatience to his voice, the Abbot looked at his watch, then replied tersely, “I can’t tell you what Heaven looks like, Jobran. All I can tell you is that Heaven—our pursuit of it—should be the focus of our earthly lives.”
“But if Heaven exists, what is the purpose of our earthly lives? What is their point?”
In a practiced voice, the Abbot replied, “Your actions in this world determine your eternal destiny: Heaven or Hell. They also determine the degree of purification that you will require before being allowed into Heaven. Your position at the time of death is also of crucial importance.”
Jobran replied acidly, “Well, then, that’s part of the reason that Sophia’s family refuses to speak to me: they think it’s my fault that Sophia didn’t receive the Sacrament of Extreme Unction—or the Anointing of the Sick, I think you call it now—before she died.”
“In cases where the person was unable to receive the Sacrament—such as cases of martyrdom, or sudden death—God can grant us the equivalent by grace, if our lives were such that we were frequently imploring God for this gift,” the Abbot replied.
“But Sophia wasn’t martyred; nor was she, to my knowledge, frequently asking God for this gift,” Jobran replied. “Sophia wasn’t a ‘spiritual giant’—she was a devoted, pious, yet still basically ‘normal’ Catholic,” he added. When the Abbot did not respond immediately, Jobran continued, “So from what I have been able to find out about Catholic theology, Sophia is currently residing in Purgatory, enduring torments—similar if not identical to those experienced in Hell— intended to purge or expiate her of any unremitted sins, purifying her for her eventual heavenly abode.” Grimly, he added, “Not a pretty picture.”
With renewed energy, the Abbot said, “You might try to think of Purgatory in the context of, say, a mass murderer, such as a terrorist. Suppose a person killed several hundred people by planting a bomb in a building. This is a very grave sin, but all Christians teach strongly that even such a wicked person can repent—even at the very moment of death—and be saved. Such a person, however, is clearly not ready to go directly to Heaven, so the function of Purgatory is to get him ready. The only persons who can go directly to Heaven are canonized saints—and even some of them may spend at least some time in Purgatory.” Taking a large sip of wine, as if to renew his strength, he continued, “But you must remember that there are reportedly different levels within Purgatory, not to mention a wide variety of punishments; the greatest pain is probably the temporary separation from God, rather than something such as hellfire. Furthermore, since Purgatory is essentially occurring ‘outside time,’ it’s difficult to say that a person would spend a ‘long’ or a ‘short’ time in Purgatory. For all we know, a given individual’s time in Purgatory might be only a moment, as time is reckoned on Earth.”
“Or conversely,” Jobran said, “Its punishments might require millions of years, in Earth time.”
Somewhat sharply, the Abbot said, “If you are so concerned about the fate of your wife in Purgatory, then you should be focusing your attention on obtaining intercession on her behalf. As Scripture says (2 Maccabees 12:45), the faithful who are in Purgatory can be helped by the prayers of the living; they can even more be helped by offering the sacrifice of the Mass.”
Sarcastically, Jobran said, “And of course, I can have a Mass said on her behalf by offering a small monetary contribution, right? That will supposedly relieve her of some of her ‘temporal punishment’ in Purgatory. So while you can’t exactly ‘buy’ a Stairway to Heaven, by the same token, it follows that if you’re rich and can afford to pay to have a lot of Masses said, you’re better off than someone who was more virtuous but poor, who will have to serve out their full time in Purgatory yourself.”
The Abbot was growing increasingly frustrated, and said, “Indulgences are only given to persons who have performed the necessary acts of contrition and confession, and are in good standing with the Church. Moreover, money is hardly a requirement for obtaining most indulgences, w
hich depend upon performing acts of faith…”
Jobran interrupted, “And even leaving Purgatory aside, what about Limbo? The place where my unbaptized son supposedly went to? I believe that the Catholic Church holds out no hope for my wife and I ever being granted the simple human joy of being able to look at our child together, right?”
The Abbot shook his head, and said, “The Church has made no dogmatic pronouncements about Limbo.” Rising from the couch, he went over to the bookshelf, and took a thick volume down, and turned to the back of the book. Finding the reference he was looking for, he returned to the couch and read to Jobran, “In the new Catechism, under ‘Baptism, unbaptized infants,’ it says in Section #1261 that, ‘the Church can only entrust them to the mercy of God, as she does in her funeral rites for them.’ But it adds, ‘Jesus’ tenderness toward children…allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation for children who have died without baptism.’” Closing the book, he added, “God’s love may very well have made provision for such children, that is beyond our comprehension.”
Jobran spoke up sharply, “But this seems different from what the Church has taught for centuries; how can the doctrine of Limbo just be abandoned? Wasn’t it taught in the Baltimore Catechism, which was the English-language Catholic Catechism until the 1994 publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church?”
The Abbot looked a bit uncomfortable, and said, “There is a ‘Limbo of the Fathers,’ which is the place where the Old Testament Fathers such as Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were detained until after Jesus’ resurrection; after his resurrection, Jesus freed them, so that they could go to Heaven. This is also the place where Jesus went when he ‘descended into hell,’ as the Apostles’ Creed puts it. It is thought that either this place—or a place similar to it—is where unbaptized or stillborn babies go.”
“But it’s still thought to be neither Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory?” Jobran asked, pointedly.
“It is thought to be a perfect state of natural happiness, and free from personal suffering. Yet, while it is certainly preferable to eternal torment in Hell, it also lacks the beatific vision of Heaven,” he replied.
“And you can end up there simply by virtue of not having been baptized?”
The Abbot fidgeted, and said, “Well…yes. You see, the Church teaches the doctrine of Original Sin—and without the grace of Baptism, we are all born under the condemnation of the sin of Adam, since in Adam we are all guilty. Jesus himself taught in the 3rd chapter of John, verse five, the necessity of baptism for salvation.” He laughed, then added, “But frankly, Limbo is not emphasized today as strongly as it once was. I was raised in the 1950s, and there has been a large change in the emphases of the Church, particularly since Vatican II, in this area.”
Jobran asked pointedly, “So Limbo has been abandoned?”
The Abbot shook his head, and said, “No, it hasn’t been abandoned; but the term ‘Limbo’ is not mentioned—as such—in the new Catechism.” He sat up straight, and added, “But obviously, God makes provision for all persons who die without receiving the sacrament and grace of baptism—adults as well as children.”
Jobran asked, “If the doctrine of Limbo is true, doesn’t it mean that there are parents that will be forever separated from their infant children, if they hadn’t yet been able to have the child baptized? And why should stillborn babies go to Limbo? They couldn’t have been baptized, unless the Church wants to outdo the Mormons, and start a program of pre-natal baptism.”
The Abbot laughed at this, but then added in a serious tone, “The parents’ desire and intention to have the child baptized may be sufficient for situations where the child dies of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, or something like that— where the parents intended to have the child baptized, and had no reason to believe that it was ill.” He took a long, reflective sip from his wineglass, and added, “I have to admit that the question of stillborn babies—such as your son— gives me some trouble personally, however. We are taught that we should baptize even aborted children, if they are alive, but younger fetuses who aren’t alive at birth…well, that’s a question that I have, like I said.”
Jobran continued probing carefully, asking, “So the Catholic Church, which is so strongly of the opinion that abortion is ‘murder’ because the child has an eternal soul, believes that most aborted or stillborn children have no chance for salvation in Heaven, right?” Hearing no response, he added, “Isn’t that what Augustine and other fathers taught?”
The Abbot laughed, and relaxed a bit. “The older theologians taught quite a number of things on the subject, some of which the Church would now consider heretical.”
Jobran smiled as well, and said, “That’s one advantage I’ve found of reading the ‘old’ theologians—they dealt with such issues in a much more straightforward manner, and give straight answers to tough questions. Augustine is quite straightforward about believing that unbaptized babies go to Hell, for instance.”
The Abbot nodded glumly, and said, “At least, he thought that their sufferings in Hell were minimal.” They both laughed, then the Abbot added, “For my own part, I prefer to trust in the divine wisdom and provision.” He tapped gently on his own nearly empty glass of wine, and asked, “You’re sure you wouldn’t like a glass of wine?”
Jobran shook his head firmly. “No, thanks; I gave up drinking after Sophia died.”
“Too bad,” the Abbot said, draining the last of his own wine. “It might help to keep you from being so intense.” There was a moment of silence, and then the Abbot said, “Jobran, my friend: has it ever occurred to you that by asking so many questions, you may in fact be preventing yourself from finding the very peace that you claim to seek?”
Jobran gave a sly smile, and said, “If it hadn’t occurred to me, I’ve certainly had a number of people that have suggested it to me.”
“Do you think that it’s possible to ask too many questions?”
Jobran thought for a moment, then replied in a firm voice, “Anything’s possible, but quite frankly, I really don’t think I’m asking ‘too many questions.’ Now, if I was the kind of mocking skeptic that was just asking questions for the sake of asking questions, or to make fun of Catholic beliefs, then I might agree with that view, but I’m not: these are all honest questions that I have, and they’re ones that I’m passionately concerned about.”
“You’re right,” the Abbot said, gently patting Jobran’s shoulder. “You’re definitely a ‘first’ in my own experience.”
Jobran continued, “I’m also probably different from most people that you encounter here, in that I wasn’t raised in the Catholic tradition, nor have I formally converted. Most Catholics that have questions, once they receive a standard answer such as you’ve been giving me are probably satisfied, and think no more about it. It’s different for them, because they basically already believe in Catholicism, so they just want to hear ‘the Catholic answer’ to the question. In my case, however, I’m not already committed to Catholicism, and it just isn’t possible for me to simply ‘suspend’ my critical faculties when I have genuine and significant questions.”
With growing intensity, the Abbot said, “Jobran, not even the Pope is given in this life ‘absolute’ levels of certainty on every possible doctrinal issue. Why can’t you simply accept that as a ‘given,’ and live on, in trusting faith?”
Passionately, Jobran said, leaping to his feet, “I can’t, because I can’t take the risk that I might be wrong! If I make the wrong decision about religion, I might end up separated from Sophia for all of eternity.” He collapsed back in the couch, and said, “Even if I were in Heaven—as I said earlier: for me, eternal separation from Sophia would be Hell.”
“But Sophia was a loyal daughter of the Church. I have no doubts but that she will ultimately be in Heaven, and that even now, she is closer to Jesus than any of us here on Earth are,” the Abbot said. In a qu
ieter tone, he added, “In my opinion, you should be setting your sights on getting there with her, by following the same path she did.”
Glumly, Jobran said, “That’s what our parish priest, Father Sanchez, tried to tell me.”
“Sounds like good advice to me,” the Abbot replied. “Why don’t you take it?”
Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “The trouble is, Sophia herself never studied philosophy, or comparative religion; she never even looked into other religious traditions, such as Protestant—her family studiously avoided their Pentecostal relatives, for example, whenever possible. She was raised within a particular religious tradition, and that’s the tradition that she followed all her life; she would be the first to admit this. She never doubted or questioned it; it was simply a ‘given’ in her life.” Then, looking the Abbot directly in the eye, he added, “But I’ve been studying very hard since Sophia passed away, and I’m far less certain than she was that the path she followed is in fact the correct path.”
Earnestly, the Abbot asked, “What is the greatest single obstacle in your way? Apart from the doctrinal questions?”
Jobran scratched his chin for a moment, then finally said, “I guess I’m…disappointed that the Church can’t tell me more, and with a greater degree of certainty. My question isn’t, say, some new issue that just arose due to some innovative medical technique or procedure, or anything like that; people have been losing their spouses and their unborn children throughout the entire history of the Catholic Church. It’s not like the Church just came into existence a couple of months ago, and it’s not like you haven’t had first-rate minds applying themselves to these questions; I mean, the Church produces huge, detailed manuals on Moral Theology, Canon Law, and other topics. I guess I’m rather surprised that so many things are still ‘uncertain,’ from the Church’s perspective.”
Beyond Heaven and Earth Page 10