The following was first published for the most recent online version of the West River Catholic. I reproduce it here.
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From the very moment of creation, it has been the work of God to draw order from chaos. We are told in the very first verse of Genesis, “The earth was without form, and void.” As each day of creation progressed, God instilled an ever deepening order to existence. In doing so, he established a kind of law. The sun rises and sets in a predictable way. The planets move through the cosmos in accordance with a discernable and predictable set of rules. Acorns, under particular conditions, develop into oak trees, and only oak trees, as a result of an eternal law mandating that they should do so. From this view, every discipline that we would typically describe as “science” is the study of some body of law established by God at creation. The process of ordering the word did not conclude when God finished his work on the sixth day. It continued, even after man, by his sin, reintroduced chaos to God’s order. The whole of the Sacred Scriptures is the story of God’s order overwhelming the power and consequences of chaos that crescendos and reaches its zenith in the suffering, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus. By means of this mystery, the “law of love” triumphs over the chaos of sin and death. The Church, empowered by the Holy Spirit, continues the work of Jesus as the primary way in which he remains present to his people in a visible, tangible way. As a result, it is incumbent upon the Church to concern herself with the establishment of order, both among those who adhere to her as mother and teacher, and to a fallen world still writhing against the inescapable authority of the Pierced One.
All of which is to say, it is with good reason that the Church goes to great lengths to train lawyers to be experts in her own law. The body of law that the Church establishes to govern herself and her interaction with the rest of the world is that to which we refer when we use the term “canon law,” and it is this discipline I have been assigned to study for the next couple of years. For many, the term “law” conjures images of the scholars Jesus excoriates in the Gospels, fun-hating scolds who place obstacles between Christ and his people, or tally-book wielding disciplinarians concerned to mete out punishment for every broken rule. While I suppose these stereotypes must have some origin in the lived experience and memories of some Catholics, this approach to understanding canon law is largely the converse of what the law is genuinely meant to accomplish. Law and order (as concepts, not televised entertainment) function at the service of freedom. By way of analogy, a road is only useful to the extent that it is well-constructed, well-maintained, and free of obstacles. We have all had the miserable experience of driving on a road pocked with potholes and littered with debris, or of motorists endangering others by overdriving road conditions during a snow storm. Conditions such as these slow our progress toward our destination. Similarly, we all live lives oriented toward, or, as it were, on a road toward, eternal union with the Holy Trinity. Canon law points us in the right direction, erects road signs to direct us along the way, and constructs guard rails to prevent us from accidentally leaving the road where the slope on either side is steep. It establishes the system for repairing damage to the road and for removing debris. It guarantees qualified professionals to manage the traffic. It provides instruction for resolving situations in which motorists collide with one another, and it allows for reasonable recourse when one motorist does deliberate damage to another.
While it is the task of the bishops to ensure that all of this work is happening, it is the job of a canon lawyer to advise him of the law and, at times, to act in his place to make sure people are arriving in Heaven. This work involves real people who live real lives and face real difficulties. It demands that we take seriously the fact that Christians enjoy genuine rights and assume genuine obligations by virtue of the dignity we receive when we are first created and then re-created in baptism. Those responsible for overseeing the road must balance all of these things, demanding no more and requiring no less than is necessary for an orderly progression of creation toward progression, and the human race toward eternity. As a result, a period of intense study is necessary before presuming to engage in this effort. For these reasons, I find myself in our nation’s capital, and, along with about ten other priests from various dioceses across the nation, combing through the minutia of the Church’s law. In this first semester, we are learning the fundamental principles of interpreting law, we are familiarizing ourselves with the laws that govern the administration of the sacraments, we have undertaken a survey of the history of the development of law in the Church (as it turns out, God did not simply drop a book it from the heavens), and we are tracing the origins and nature of the sacrament of marriage in painstaking detail. Rounding out the semester, we are all studying Latin, which is necessary since the official text of the law is written in Latin and questions about the meaning of a law are often resolved by consulting the original Latin text. My life here is good, and the time I spend here will prove valuable to me and, in due time, to the Diocese of Rapid City.
An excerpt from an email I wrote to Bishop Bullock seems to summarize the experience of my first semester so far:
I find that I am truly enjoying both the academic environment and the content of my courses. I worried that I would struggle to re-enter this sort of lifestyle and mode of living. These concerns are largely unrealized. I think I have an aptitude for this kind of study and eventually work. My mind operates well within the well-established boundaries a legal system creates. Nevertheless, I miss the bucolic life of Bennett County and its missions, and I feel somewhat confined and untried, at least in a physical sense, without hundreds of miles of wide-open spaces to hurtle across every weekend and without a wonderfully full and diverse calendar of events and people requiring my attention. These aside, the challenges that do present themselves are of a more psychic, emotional, and intellectual character demanding a different mode of perseverance. Relying upon a certain amount of deliberate cognitive dissonance and with a modicum of imagination, I find most days I can almost believe I am in a pleasant neighborhood in West Rapid City, and forget that I currently live in a bustling metropolis. I hear confessions at the Basilica Shrine of the Immaculate Conception most weekends. This affords me a sense of utility, it keeps my pastoral senses a little sharper than would otherwise be the case, it prevents me from growing too comfortable in the classroom by virtue of refreshing my love for parish ministry, and mostly, it provides explicit moments wherein I sense Christ’s love for me. Though they remind me acutely of the parts of parish life that I miss, they are a grace-filled, life-giving outlet for my desire to exercise the ordinary, quotidian ministry of a parish priest. Jesus has brought me to Washington, D.C. and I know without doubt that my presence here is his will. Through this time of study and absence from all that is familiar to me, he is doing exactly as I need him to do right now for the good of my soul, my growth as a priest, and my eternal salvation. I am so grateful for the ways that he provides for me. But I can’t wait until providing for me includes going home.
