- Feb 5, 2002
- 183,053
- 66,432
- Country
- United States
- Gender
- Female
- Faith
- Catholic
- Marital Status
- Married
- Politics
- US-Others
All of us are converts, for all of us are being converted. Or should be. So stop using the term “converts” as an ideological stick.
There are several reasons for this strange gratitude. One of them is that I am able to see myself referenced as “Carl Orlson” and described as one of several converts bearing “baggage” that “has distorted their hermeneutic”; I am, according to Austen Ivereigh, writing for CRUX, one of several sorry creatures now “suffering from convert neurosis.” It is this, and not good health, which has kept me from the doctor, as I must be harboring a hidden fear the physician will stare into my soul and deliver the bad news:
“Mr. Orlson, you are neurotic—and apparently have been for over twenty years now.”
“Can it be cured, doctor? Am I beyond hope? Is there mercy enough for even me?”
“Your rigidity,” I imagine him sniffing with only slightly disguised disgust, “suggests you may be terminal—but perhaps a steady diet of ultramontanism will cure you.”
The horror. Anyhow, for several months now I have been slowly working on an editorial titled “Twenty Years a Catholic.” This is not that editorial, but it may as well be a short precursor, inspired by the growing specter of convertophobia, which has upset Michael Sean Winters and captured the imagination of Italian journalist Massimo Faggioli. The primary focus of these cries of alarm has been the young Matthew Schmitz, an editor at First Things, who has already responded, earlier today, to Ivereigh, Winters, and Faggioli, stating:
Continued below.
I am thankful I was born and raised a Fundamentalist.A convert is undeniably in favour with no party; he is looked at with distrust, contempt, and aversion by all. His former friends think him a good riddance, and his new friends are cold and strange; and as to the impartial public, their very first impulse is to impute the change to some eccentricity of character, or fickleness of mind, or tender attachment, or private interest. Their utmost praise is the reluctant confession that ‘doubtless he is very sincere.'” — John Henry Newman, “Private Judgment” (British Critic, July 1841)
“The Catholic, if he makes a serious attempt to convert you, is a proseltyzer; if he displays no particular interest in your conversion he is a Machiavellian Jesuit.” — Arnold Lunn, Now I See(Sheed & Ward, 1938)
There are several reasons for this strange gratitude. One of them is that I am able to see myself referenced as “Carl Orlson” and described as one of several converts bearing “baggage” that “has distorted their hermeneutic”; I am, according to Austen Ivereigh, writing for CRUX, one of several sorry creatures now “suffering from convert neurosis.” It is this, and not good health, which has kept me from the doctor, as I must be harboring a hidden fear the physician will stare into my soul and deliver the bad news:
“Mr. Orlson, you are neurotic—and apparently have been for over twenty years now.”
“Can it be cured, doctor? Am I beyond hope? Is there mercy enough for even me?”
“Your rigidity,” I imagine him sniffing with only slightly disguised disgust, “suggests you may be terminal—but perhaps a steady diet of ultramontanism will cure you.”
The horror. Anyhow, for several months now I have been slowly working on an editorial titled “Twenty Years a Catholic.” This is not that editorial, but it may as well be a short precursor, inspired by the growing specter of convertophobia, which has upset Michael Sean Winters and captured the imagination of Italian journalist Massimo Faggioli. The primary focus of these cries of alarm has been the young Matthew Schmitz, an editor at First Things, who has already responded, earlier today, to Ivereigh, Winters, and Faggioli, stating:
Faggioli speaks as though it were after-hours at the Catholic Church, and anyone trying to enter should be subjected to questioning. There is an ecclesial nativism in his rhetoric, as if we become one with Christ through birth and not baptism. Converts perhaps need to be checked for lice or put in quarantine. “They have not faced the same kind of scrutiny or lengthy test and evaluation” as, say, new religious orders do. They are “finding an easier welcome into a Church that they then go and criticize.”
Ecclesial nativism is certainly a good term for it; there is also a sort of crude tribalism, as if the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard has no bearing on today’s situation. But of course it does, as it always has, because the entire distinction between “cradle Catholics” and “converts” is mostly smoke and mirrors. It is a rather cynical, even politicized, construct for those wishing to isolate, dismiss, and even smear those who were not born into the tribe. But, as even Ivereigh notes, correctly, conversion is not a single, isolated event. As the Catechism notes, “Christ’s call to conversion continues to resound in the lives of Christians. This second conversion is an uninterrupted task for the whole Church who, ‘clasping sinners to her bosom, [is] at once holy and always in need of purification, [and] follows constantly the path of penance and renewal'” (par 1428).Austen Ivereigh echoes Faggioli in Crux. He writes that “Schmitz never actually said the pope wasn’t Catholic, but his narrative … adds up to something rather like it.” To support this assertion, Ivereigh quotes Ross Douthat saying something pungent about Pope Francis—though not, strangely, claiming that the pope is not Catholic. Let me see if I have this right: I did not actually say that the pope is not Catholic, but I as good as did, because Ross Douthat (and here I admit I lose the thread) also did not say that the pope is not Catholic. It is a game of thimblerig.
Continued below.