Becoming truer and more human

The most vocalized struggle for Catholics where restrictions on gatherings and mobility have been instituted in this time of pandemic is the inability to receive the Eucharist and participate in the liturgy. That desire has been partly addressed by various parishes by live streaming Masses, digital devotions and a noble, yet inevitably and admittedly insufficient, attempt to fill the void created by the physical deprivation of gathering as community.

This pandemic has also revealed that there is more for us to learn about the nature of the Church and what it means to “be together” and to share in the life of Christ in the Church. Fr. Luigi Giussani* highlights three “constituent factors” of the Church: that is, three elements that make up its nature and essence. It would serve us well to review these factors.

The first factor is perhaps the most obvious: it is a sociologically identifiable community. Throughout the Acts of the Apostles we see this community of believers manifesting itself in a visible way, for instance, on the steps of Solomon’s Portico in the Temple (Acts 5:12). It is a visible, living community “of one heart and soul” (Acts 4:32). The first Christian community was something one could run up against, encounter on the street and engage in conversation. It was not just a community that could be talked about as an idea, but as a community that could have been photographed and witnessed.

The second factor, says Giussani, is that Christian community is invested by a “strength from on high.” It was evident in those first Christians that they were aware that their being together was not merely the result of agreeing on certain things or because they had a natural affection for each other, but because they had been bound together by the person of Jesus Christ through the gift of the Spirit. They had been seized individually by Christ and formed into a people that could not speak of itself as existing for any reason other than Him. Romano Guardini writes, “Pentecost is the hour the Christian faith was born, the moment of being in Christ; not because of a mere ‘religious experience,’ but by the hand of the Holy Spirit.” It wasn’t their ability to hold on to Jesus or cling to a memory that bound them together, but the active and ever-present movement of the Holy Spirit.

The third factor is a “new type of life” that presented itself on the human stage. This new type of life was made possible by a single reason for living—Jesus Christ. In the words of Fr. Giussani, “If we share the meaning of life, we share all things in life.” This unity with Christ was not merely as an assent of the mind but was the ultimate reason for all their activity and gave order to their lives. It generated what is called koinonia or communion. Such a communion finds its expression fundamentally in hospitality, teaching and seeking out the truth, ritual celebrations, the hierarchy, missionary zeal and living in fruitful tension with Christ, called morality.

It is most natural for us to perceive of our identity as Christians on the sociological level, because it’s the most accessible. It is a specific place where there are particular people with whom we share our lives. In these days we find that the possibility of doing so has been temporarily hindered: to gather in large groups is illegal and dangerous in nearly all of the United States and in most parts of the world. The temptation is to attempt to maintain that sociological identity on the digital platform: to simply shift everything to that level because it is the level of belonging that is easiest to maintain.

Yet, how much do we miss if we do not allow our circumstances to shift our gaze to these other dimensions of the Church? It would benefit us greatly to beg for the gift of the Holy Spirit to provide a type of unity that isn’t possible even when we are together physically. It would be a fruitful exercise to examine our lives and ask if, in fact, Christ is our reason for living and how that finds daily expression in our lives. It could be a step of sanctification to consider how we use our time and how we bear the memory of Christ throughout the day. These are things that we take for granted when we are gathered together in our churches, sitting our pew, surrounding ourselves with people that we prefer, in a parish that we’ve chosen, at a time that is most convenient. If I may be bold, it is good for us to suffer this temporary loss because it shakes us from our torpor. It is good for us to feel the pain of not being able to be together or to receive the Eucharist. And it is good for us to allow that sadness to help us understand the full embrace of the Church.

After describing the above-mentioned elements of the Church, Fr. Giussani tells us that his reason for doing so is “so that today they will still inspire self-questioning, pushing us on to a personal comparison from which our lives will surely emerge richer and fuller, that is to say truer and more human.” Is this not an opportunity for such a comparison? Perhaps this pandemic provides us with the space we need to do such a work—the work of immersing ourselves more fully into the deep and profound life of the Church: all for the sake of becoming truer and more human.

*Hewitt, Viviane, translator. Why the Church?. By Luigi Giussani, McGill-Queens, 2001.