What You Need to Know About the New Vatican Rules on Supernatural Phenomena

On Friday, May 17th, the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith (or DDF) released a document titled Norms for Proceeding in the Discernment of Alleged Supernatural Phenomena.

Accompanying the document was a note by Card. Victor Fernandez—the head of the DDF—introducing it and explaining the reasons why it was written.

This document revised, replaced, and expanded a previous document issued by the then Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (or CDF) from 1978.

Apart from matters of detail, there are several notable shifts in the approach that the new document takes.

These include (1) the scope of the document, (2) a procedure of greater transparency, and (3) a new classification system for apparitions and other supernatural phenomena.

When it comes to scope, the 1978 document dealt only with “presumed apparitions and revelations,”

while the new one expands its coverage to phenomena “such as alleged apparitions, visions, interior or exterior locutions, writings or messages, phenomena related to religious images, and psychophysical phenomena” (n. 6).

These also include reported Eucharistic miracles.

The greater transparency is illustrated in two ways.

First, when the 1978 document was released, it was distributed on a confidential basis and was meant only for bishops and their associates.

However, it leaked (including on my website, jimmyakin.com), and it was only published in 2011—thirty-three years after it was originally released.

By contrast, the new document was immediately placed on the Vatican website and a press conference introducing it was held.

Second, when the 1978 document was in force, local bishops were invited to submit their findings and conclusions about apparitions to the CDF for review and approval before announcing them (4:2).

However, when the Congregation approved the bishop’s planned announcement, it would ask that its name be kept out of the matter,

presumably to keep people from exaggerating what the CDF had done and announcing the apparition as “Vatican approved” or “Vatican condemned.”

Henceforth there will be more transparency.

Cardinal Fernandez explains, “Now, when the bishop makes his decision public, it will be stated as ‘in agreement with the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith.’”

At the core of the new document is a new way of classifying supernatural events.

The list presented is not exhaustive, but the Church’s conclusions will be “usually expressed” in terms of six categories:

Category 1 is Nihil obstat (which means, “Nothing obstructs”):

It is used for phenomena that are connected with “many signs of the action of the Holy Spirit” and so far “no aspects that are particularly critical or risky have been detected” (n. 17).

Category 2 is Prae oculis habeatur (which means, “It should be held before the eyes”):

It is used for phenomena that have “important positive signs” but also “some aspects of confusion or potential risks.”

Consequently, “doctrinal clarification might be necessary” (n. 18).

Category 3 is Curatur (which means, “It is to be attended to”):

It is used for phenomena that have “various or significant critical elements”—meaning negative ones

but have nevertheless “spread widely” and are connected with “verifiable spiritual fruits.”

In these cases, the bishop is not to encourage the phenomena

and to “seek out alternative expressions of devotion and possibly reorient its spiritual and pastoral aspects” (n. 19).

Category 4 is Sub mandato (which means, “Under mandate”):

It is used for phenomena that are “rich in positive elements”

but that are being misused in some way, such as by “a person, a family, or a group.”

Misuse might involve financial gain, immoral acts, or defiance of the diocesan bishop (n. 20).

Category 5 is Prohibetur et obstruatur (which means, “Hindered and to be blocked”):

It is used for phenomena that have “some positive elements” but have very serious “critical issues and risks.”

The bishop is to “declare publicly that adherence to this phenomenon is not allowed” (n. 21).

And Category 6 is Declaratio de non supernaturalitate (which means, “Declaration of non-supernaturality”):

It is used for phenomena that the bishop has “found to be not supernatural” based on “facts and evidence that are concrete and proven,”

such as a visionary admitting they lied, witnesses detecting fraud, or mythomania (that is, an excessive tendency for lying or exaggeration) (n. 22).

You’ll notice that what’s missing from that list is a firm declaration that the phenomenon is supernatural.

Not even the nihil obstat implies that this is the case.

Under the new norms, a phenomenon can still be declared supernatural,

but it will require a special act of the pope (n. 23).

This has to do with the reasons for the new norms.

In his accompanying note, Cardinal Fernandez explains that the previous tendency to conclude that phenomena were either supernatural or not supernatural had undesired side-effects.

If phenomena were declared to be supernatural it—in his words—“effectively oriented the faithful to think they had to believe in these phenomena, which sometimes were valued more than the Gospel itself.”

And I’m sure we’ve all met apparition enthusiasts who are more excited about new Marian statements than they are about Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John

Fernandez said that the lack of public clarity also contributed to confusion about the status of apparitions,

and he noted that the need to establish that an apparition is supernatural in order to give it some form of approval caused extensive delays.

Before committing the Church—or even a local diocese—to the idea that an event has been established as supernatural, special precautions were needed.

Fernandez notes: “The expectation of receiving a declaration about the supernatural nature of the event resulted in very few cases ever reaching a clear determination.

In fact, since 1950, no more than six cases have been officially resolved,

even though such phenomena have often increased without clear guidance and with the involvement of people from many dioceses.

Therefore, one can assume that many other cases were either handled differently or just not handled at all.”

Which is pretty bluntly honest of the Cardinal.

The new Nihil obstat classification is meant to allow a more expeditious way to provide a form of approval for an event and recognize the action of the Holy Spirit in things connected with it,

“without expressing any certainty about the supernatural authenticity of the phenomenon itself” (n. 17),

and thus without implying to the faithful that they are obliged to believe it.

Of course, the declaration that an event is not supernatural still exists,

and it is the sixth category of the ones for regular use.

In addition, the four new categories reflect the complexity of the evidence regarding an event and the effects it is having in the Church.

Category two (Prae oculis habeatur) is for events that are favored by good evidence but with some reasons for concern,

so a full Nihil obstat isn’t warranted.

The opposite is category five (Prohibetur et obstruatur), where there are very serious problems and only a few positive elements,

yet a full decree of non-supernaturalness isn’t warranted.

In the middle are two categories for events where there is a difference between the event itself and the impact it is having in the Church.

In category four (Sub mandato), the event itself has a lot of positive elements,

but some particular group is misusing it.

The reverse is category three (Curatur), where there are significant problems with the event

but—despite that fact—the event has become widely popular so that “a ban that could upset the people of God is not recommended” but some kind of healthy reorientation is desired.

In addition to the things Cardinal Fernandez names as the reasons for the revision of the norms, I strongly suspect that the creation of this category was one.

In 2010, Benedict XVI instituted a commission to examine the popular but controversial Medjugorje apparitions, and the commission reported its results to Pope Francis in 2014.

In 2017, Pope Francis stated that the initial Medjugorje apparitions deserved further study but was doubtful about the later ones.

This meant that it was hard to give a “supernatural” or “not supernatural” evaluation of Medjugorje, and the Vatican has not made an official announcement in all the years since.

It thus would make sense to review and revise the categories used to classify events like Medjugorje, and the Curatur category sounds like it was designed for the conclusions that the Vatican reached about it.

Consequently, I suspect that an announcement about Medjugorje may finally be on the horizon.

It is important to note that the new norms do not change any classifications of apparitions that currently exist.

Those declared supernatural or non-supernatural still have the same status, though it is possible they could be revised at some point.

Without naming it, Cardinal Fernandez mentions how the status of the Ida Peerdeman, “Our Lady of All Nations” apparitions went back and forth, with a negative judgment finally being reaffirmed in 2020.

Further, the criteria for Nihil obstat note that particularly critical or risky things have not been detected “at least so far”—

implying that the ruling is a provisional one that could be changed if such things do emerge.

I think that—on balance—this new set of norms is promising.

It has a more sophisticated approach to the complex nature of reported supernatural phenomena, how the evidence can be mixed and change over time, and what their impact on the Church can be.

It also strikes me that it may encourage the faithful to have a more healthy appreciation of such phenomena that is open but discerning,

without automatically assuming that an event is obligatory for belief in all of its details or to be completely and utterly rejected.

Our Lady of Zeitoun (Egyptian Apparition, Coptic Church) – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

Christianity has a long and fruitful history in Egypt, and when witnesses reported apparitions of the Virgin Mary at a Coptic church in Cairo suburb of Zeitoun in 1968, thousands of people came to see. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli discuss what happened there and whether the apparitions were genuine.

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Was Mary Q?

It’s clear that there is a literary relationship between the three Synoptic Gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke have many passages in common—down to the level of individual words in Greek.

Most scholars have concluded that the majority of these passages are due to Matthew and Luke copying from Mark. In the process of doing so, they both abbreviate Mark’s accounts and polish his Greek style to make it better.

But setting aside the passages that all three Synoptic Gospels have in common, there are still 235 verses shared only by Matthew and Luke.

To explain these, many scholars have proposed that both Matthew and Luke are drawing on a hypothetical common source, which has been named “Q” (from the German word Quelle, which means source).

Recently, I encountered the suggestion that it was the Virgin Mary herself who was behind the Q source, and I was asked what I thought of this possibility.

A careful reading of Luke’s Gospel reveals that the Virgin Mary was one of his sources of information. Luke signals this twice in his “Infancy Narrative,” or account of the events leading up to Christ’s birth and what happened in his childhood.

The Gospels contain subtle cues about who the Evangelists were using as their sources, and these would have been more obvious to ancient readers than they are today.

One such cue is found in Luke 2:19. After recounting the events up to Jesus’ birth, Luke states: “But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.” That’s a signal that Mary was the source of Luke’s information for the material we have just read.

He may have interviewed her personally or he may have gotten the information by a chain of transmission leading back to Mary, but one way or another, she’s the source.

Luke then describes several incidents taking us down to the discovery of Jesus in the temple when he was twelve years old, and Luke says, “and his mother kept all these things in her heart” (Luke 2:21). That’s another signal that Mary was the source of the information we have just read—i.e., the reason Luke has this information is because Mary kept it in her heart, and that’s how Luke knows it.

The difficulty for the “Mary is Q” theory is that these passages occur in Luke’s Infancy Narrative, and that is not part of the 235 verses that Matthew and Luke have in common. In other words, it’s not part of the “Q material” that the two Gospels share.

Further, Luke only mentions Mary remembering things in these two passages, suggesting that she was not the source of later material in his Gospel.

So it appears that Mary was (directly or indirectly) one of Luke’s sources, but that she was not responsible for the 235 verses reckoned as part of Q.

What would explain those verses? Many scholars have proposed that there was a “Q document” that Matthew and Luke drew on, but we have no direct evidence that such a document existed, and I think there’s a simpler explanation: Matthew just copied from Luke.

Matthew clearly organizes material that is scattered in different places in Luke, and with the idea of Q being entirely speculative—rather than supported by evidence—it’s easier to explain the relationship by saying that Matthew was an organizer who sequenced material from Luke than it would be to explain why Luke smashed Matthew’s careful organization for no clear reason. As one scholar put it, Luke would have needed to unscramble the egg “with a vengeance.”

I thus conclude that—if there ever was a “Q document”—it was likely just a collection of notes Matthew took while reading Luke, and Luke was itself drawn from a variety of sources.

One of Luke’s sources was the Virgin Mary, though she was not behind the so-called “Q material.”

Our Lady of Kibeho and the Rwandan Genocide – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

In 1983, seers at Kibeho, Rwanda, received visions of a barbaric conflict and in the 1990s, almost 1 million people died in the genocide. Then in 2001, the apparitions received official Church approval. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli look at what happened, which visions were genuine, and their significance for us today.

https://youtu.be/cJm8j-ufktE

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Our Lady of Kibeho (Marian Apparition) – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

In 1981, a group of children in Rwanda began reporting visions of the Virgin Mary. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli discuss her assurances of God’s love and warnings of a terrible disaster; what the girls reported to have seen and heard; and the results of the Church’s investigations, including warnings for believers.

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Mysterious Headlines

This Episode is Brought to You By:
Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World is brought to you in part through the generous support of Amagara Marungi at AmagaraMarungi.com. Bringing a better life for homelands of missionaries sent to support the Church in the United States.

Aaron Vurgason Electric and Automation at AaronV.com. Making Connections for Life for your automation and smart home needs in north and central Florida.

Catechism Class, a dynamic weekly podcast journey through the Catechism of the Catholic Church by Greg and Jennifer Willits. It’s the best book club, coffee talk, and faith study group, all rolled into one. Find it in any podcast directory.

Fiorvento Law, PLLC, specializing in adult guardianships and conservatorships, probate and estate planning matters. Accepting clients throughout Michigan. Taking into account your individual, healthcare, financial and religious needs. Visit FiorventoLaw.com

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What Does the Church Actually Say About “Praying to the Saints”?

Any informed, English-speaking Catholic will tell you that the Church says it’s both permissible and beneficial to pray to the saints.

But is he right? Is that what the Church actually says?

The answer is not what you might expect.

 

Discussions with Protestants

The topic of “praying to the saints” most commonly comes up in dialogue with Protestant Christians.

In the older branches of Christianity—Catholicism, Orthodoxy, and other forms of Eastern Christianity—it is common to ask the saints in heaven for their intercession.

However, in the 1500s, the emerging Protestant movement rejected this practice, and it is still widely rejected in Protestant circles today.

One key argument goes like this:

  1. Prayer should be directed only to God.
  2. The saints are not God.
  3. Therefore, one should not pray to the saints.

The key premise in the argument is the first—that prayer should be directed only to God.

How might one support this?

 

A Biblical Argument

One way of supporting the premise would be to mount a biblical case, which might go something like this:

  1. When we look in the Bible, we find that the word “pray” is used in connection with God rather than the saints.
  2. We should model our language on the way the Bible uses language.
  3. Therefore, we should use the word “pray” in connection with God rather than the saints.

One thing we need to be careful about when evaluating the first premise of this argument is what language we are talking about.

Just checking to see what an English translation for the word “pray” isn’t enough. All that will tell you is how the English translators thought the word should be used, not how the biblical authors used the equivalent vocabulary.

We need to check the original languages—Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek—to see what language the biblical authors used, and how.

To keep this post short(ish), we’ll focus on the Greek. In biblical Greek, the main verb for “pray” is proseukhomai, which appears 102 times in the Greek Bible, and the equivalent noun for “prayer”—proseukhê—appears 61 times.

It so happens that in Greek, these words are used exclusively to refer to communication with God or the gods. They even have that meaning in the secular Greek of the period.

In this, the Greek is like contemporary American English, which also associates prayer exclusively with God or the gods.

The initial premise of this argument thus looks good!

What about the second? In other words . . .

 

How Closely Must Our Language Follow the Bible’s?

In general, I think it’s a good thing to model our language after the usages found in the Bible—at least when it comes to concepts related to the Christian faith.

I don’t think we have any obligation to follow Greek usage on other terms.

For example, color terms often vary significantly from one language to another, and in dialects of ancient Greek, honey could be described as “green” (khlôros), but I don’t think that creates an obligation for English-speakers to call honey green rather than yellow or golden.

However, it is generally a good idea to model the use of faith-related words to their biblical counterparts. Thus, we’re fortunate that the English word “God/god” broadly corresponds to the Greek word theos (it corresponds less well to the Hebrew word elohim, which can refer to things we wouldn’t call gods).

Despite my sympathy for the second premise, it has limits.

The fact that languages change over time is an unstoppable phenomenon, and even when Christians try to conform their usage to what’s in the Bible, terms inevitably take on new usages over the centuries.

If we had to model our religious vocabulary strictly on biblical usage, one term we’d have to eliminate immediately is “Bible.” The Greek term this is based on is biblion, which originally referred to a sheet of papyrus and then came to mean things like “letter,” “document,” and “scroll.”

In no case did biblion mean what we refer to as “the Bible.” That’s a post-biblical usage.

Similarly, every theological community has developed religious vocabulary that differs from biblical usage in various ways.

Thus, in both Catholic and Protestant circles, the term “the elect” has taken on a theological meaning that refers to “those people who will be saved on the last day,” despite the fact that this is not how the term is used in Scripture.

In Lutheran theology, the terms “Law” and “Gospel” have taken on technical meanings that differ significantly from the way these terms are used in Scripture. (To somewhat oversimplify, Law is conceived of as any divine command, while Gospel is understood as any divine promise; but in the New Testament the most prominent usage of “Law” is for the Mosaic Law or even the Old Testament more broadly, while “Gospel” is used for the message of what God has done through Jesus.)

One may regret that these usages have developed, but the fact is that they have—and that communities are using them.

Language change over time is inevitable. The question is what to do in response.

 

Avoiding Word Fights

On two occasions, St. Paul warns us against “quarreling about words”:

Remind them of these things, and charge them before God not to quarrel about words, which does no good, but only ruins the hearers (2 Tim. 2:14).

If anyone teaches a different doctrine and does not agree with the sound words of our Lord Jesus Christ and the teaching that accords with godliness, he is puffed up with conceit and understands nothing. He has an unhealthy craving for controversy and for quarrels about words, which produce envy, dissension, slander, evil suspicions, and constant friction among people who are depraved in mind and deprived of the truth, imagining that godliness is a means of gain (1 Tim. 6:3-5)

For St. Paul, the most important thing is what is true, not the language that is used to express it.

Therefore, when a community of Christians has developed a theological usage that differs from the biblical usage, one should not fight about the terminology itself.

Complaining about an established usage is not going to change that usage. It’s only going to generate heat rather than light.

Of course, it’s fair to point out that the usage differs from what’s in the Bible.

Pointing that out can actually be helpful! It can help people remember that they need to control for the fact their theological vocabulary is different and should not be read onto the biblical text.

But once the biblical text is correctly understood, we must allow each group of Christians to express that in the language that has become established in their community.

So what about English-speaking Catholics and “prayer to the saints”?

 

“Prayer” in English

Following the Norman conquest of England in 1066, numerous French words entered English, and one of them was what became “pray” in the early 1200s.

French is based on Latin, and so the term “pray” comes from Latin roots. Specifically, it comes from the verb precare.

Precare means things like “to ask,” “to beg,” “to implore,” “to entreat,” “to supplicate,” etc.

In Latin, it is used in religious contexts—like when you’re asking God or the gods for something—but it is also used when you’re asking human beings for something.

Both usages carried over into English. Prior to the Protestant Reformation, English-speaking Christians would use “pray” to refer to making requests of God and of other human beings—including the saints.

In the latter case, what they were doing was asking the saints to intercede with God on their behalf—to serve as their “prayer partners” in heaven.

When the Reformation occurred, English-speaking Protestants objected to asking the saints for their intercession, and so the verb “pray” came to be more associated with requests directed to God.

In colloquial American English among Protestants, “pray” came to refer exclusively to speech directed toward God.

Still, the other usage survived in British English. If you read Shakespeare or watch period dramas set as late as the early 20th century, you’ll see characters saying things to each other like, “I pray you,” and all they mean is “I ask you.”

So, if a young gentleman in a British drama says to a young lady, “I pray your hand in marriage,” what it means is that he’s asking her to marry him—not that he’s worshipping her as a deity.

This is also where the word “prithee” comes from. It’s a contraction of “I pray thee.”

The human-directed usage even survives in American English in at least two contexts.

One is in legal settings. If you have a lawyer file a motion with a court, the motion will contain language that says, “My client prays that the court will do thus-and-so.”

It doesn’t mean that the client is worshipping the court. It means that he’s asking the court to do something.

The other context in which the human-directed usage survives in American English is among Catholics.

They have simply retained a usage that was around before English-speaking Protestants started narrowing the verb to only God-directed communications.

Thus, it is natural for English-speaking Catholics to talk about “praying to the saints”—meaning asking for their intercession.

So, how should the two groups deal with this in conversation?

 

Back to the Word-Fight Issue

Per St. Paul’s dictum, we should not fight about the usage of the English word “pray” and whether it should be associated only with God-directed communications.

Words mean what communities use them to mean, and the English-speaking community originally used “pray” to mean “ask,” regardless of who was being asked.

Even though the Protestant influence on English has associated the verb exclusively with God-directed communication in many contexts, other established usages remain.

A Protestant might think it would be better for those to go away, but they remain for now, and spending time complaining about them will generate heat rather than light.

To generate light, we should recognize the different usages and what they mean and, having done that, talk about the underlying truths.

For example, a Protestant might say, “In my community, ‘prayer’ is a form of worship reserved to God. When you talk about praying to the saints, are you giving them more honor than they should have as human beings?”

Of course, an informed Catholic should say, “No, and here’s why . . .” The discussion might then turn to what kind of honor human beings—especially saintly ones—should have.

Or, a Catholic might say, “In my community, ‘praying to the saints’ means asking them for their intercession. We teach that this is both permissible and beneficial.”

And, rather than getting hung up on the word “pray,” the discussion might then turn to whether it is permissible and beneficial to ask the saints for their intercession.

(As a side note, we also shouldn’t quarrel about the word “saints.” In various biblical and post-biblical usages, it can refer to the holy angels, to all Jews, to all Christians, to those Christians who are especially holy, to those Christians who are in heaven, and to those Christians who have been canonized as being in heaven. As before, we shouldn’t fight about the usage of the word but correctly note which usage is being employed and continue the discussion on that basis.)

 

Responding to Our Two Initial Arguments

With all this in mind, we can respond to the two initial arguments that were made—and do so in a way that generates light rather than heat.

Concerning the biblical argument, it’s true that the Greek term proseukhomai was used exclusively for God-directed communications, but that doesn’t finally determine the way “pray” is used in English.

As a result, if you want to say—as in the first argument—that “Prayer should be directed only to God,” you’ll need to clarify what you mean by “prayer.”

“Praying” to the saints is an established usage among English-speaking Catholics that means asking for their intercession.

The real question is not the term but whether it’s permissible and beneficial to ask the saints for their intercession.

So much for discussions about the English verb “pray.”

But there’s a noteworthy fact that will surprise English-speakers, both Catholic and Protestant alike.

 

The Language the Catholic Church Actually Uses

This is the kind of thing that you won’t notice unless you really live and breathe Church documents and think carefully about the language they do and don’t use.

It took me a while to notice and then confirm it, but if you read the documents of the Catholic Church’s Magisterium, they don’t actually talk about “praying” to the saints.

Ever.

At least not in the documents that come from Rome. (I can’t answer for every individual bishop and what he might write.)

To illustrate this, here’s a screen cap of what you find when searching the Vatican web site for “prayer to the saints”:

And here’s what we find for “praying to the saints”:

In both cases, we get no results. Zero.

It turns out that these expressions are used by English-speaking Catholics, but they are not used in official Church documents, and when those documents are translated into English, the translators are careful enough not to use colloquial English expressions like “prayer to the saints” or “praying to the saints.”

So, what do they say instead?

One thing they do is speak of “the intercession of the saints,” where the key Latin verb is intercedere (“to intercede”).

Thus, in the sections of the Catechism of the Catholic Church that an English-speaking Catholic would turn to for information about “praying to the saints,” you don’t find that phrase. Instead, you find “intercession of the saints” (cf. CCC 956, 2683).

However, “intercession” refers to what they do for us. What language does the Church use for what we do with respect to them?

It speaks of “the invocation of the saints,” where the key Latin verb is invocare (“to invoke,” “to call upon,” “to appeal to”).

So, we invoke (appeal to) the saints to intercede (pray for us) with God.

That’s the language the Church actually uses. “Praying to the saints” is just something we say colloquially in English.

A logical next question is: What term does the Church use in its official documents for when we talk to God?

There can be a number of them, but the key ones are the verb orare (“to speak,” “to plead,” “to supplicate,” “to pray”) and the noun oratio (“speech,” “oration,” “prayer”). These are the words you’ll find if you look in the Latin edition of the Catechism in its section on prayer.

Interestingly, in Latin these terms don’t have to be used just for communications directed to God, but they are often used that way—especially in ecclesiastical (i.e., church) Latin.

It’s thus interesting that ecclesiastical language has a preferred set of terms for God-directed communications and a different set of terms for saint-directed communications.

In that respect, it’s similar to Protestant American English.

 

One Last Thing About Word Fights

Given this, it could be tempting for some from the Protestant community to tell Catholics, “Hey! Your own Magisterium has a separate term for prayer that is directed to God and doesn’t use ‘prayer’ with respect to the saints! You should change your usage to fit official ecclesiastical-speak!”

Except . . . if the Magisterium was concerned that this needed to happen, it would mandate the change, and it hasn’t.

The Magisterium recognizes the organic way languages change over time, and—per St. Paul—it’s not concerned about quarrelling over every linguistic usage.

The English “praying to the saints” is a historical usage with a long pedigree—going back to when the term “pray” first came into the English language, and the Vatican isn’t concerned about it.

On the other hand, it’s fair for Catholics—in discussing the overall issue with Protestants—to say, “You know, I understand why you might want to have a term for communications directed to God that’s different from those directed to others. Both biblical Greek and ecclesiastical Latin have similar usages. English is different. ‘To pray’ originally just meant ‘to ask,’ and English-speaking Catholics have preserved this usage when it comes to the saints. But rather than quibble about English terminology, let’s go to the real issue instead: Is it a good idea ask the saints in heaven to be our prayer partners? Let’s not quarrel about words, which does no good, but only ruins the hearers (2 Tim. 2:14).”

Our Lady of Akita – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

From 1973 to 1982, a Japanese religious sister reported receiving messages from an angel and the Virgin Mary as well as a series of miraculous events. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli examine the mystery of Our Lady of Akita, what happened, whether it was supernatural, and its connection to Fatima.

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Imprimaturs and Private Revelations

In recent years, imprimaturs have been granted to books connected with unapproved private revelations, and this has led to some confusion.

It has been argued that imprimaturs and nihil obstats are acts of the Magisterium, and therefore the faithful are obliged to give the religious submission of mind and will that they must to any other act of the Magisterium.

This argument has been made, for example, by some supporters of the non-Catholic mystic Vassula Ryden.

Is this true? Are imprimaturs and nihil obstats acts of the Magisterium? What implications do they have for the faithful and how they are to regard private revelations?

The Code of Canon Law does not use the terms imprimatur and nihil obstat, but they are often used by Catholic publishers.

A nihil obstat (Latin, “nothing obstructs”) is a written opinion issued by a censor that nothing obstructs the publication of a book in terms of faith or morals (can. 830 §3).

In issuing this opinion, the censor is bound “to consider only the doctrine of the Church concerning faith and morals as it is proposed by the ecclesiastical Magisterium” (830 §2). This means that the censor is not to base the opinion on whether he agrees with everything claimed in the work—only whether the book contains statements that contradict Church teaching.

Censors are not typically bishops, so there is no question of whether nihil obstats are acts of the Magisterium. The Church’s Magisterium can be exercised only by bishops teaching in communion with the pope, so unless a censor is a bishop, there is no possibility that an opinion issued by a censor could be an act of the Magisterium.

An imprimatur (Latin, “Let it be published”) is an authorization given by a local ordinary (typically a bishop) to publish a work. The U.S. bishops’ Committee on Doctrine notes:

In the Latin Catholic Church, there are two primary forms of ecclesiastical authorization for written works. These are identified in church law as “permission” (licentia) and “approval” (approbatio). Since these terms are not used consistently within the various authoritative documents, a consensus has not yet emerged among canonical experts as to whether the terms are interchangeable or whether there is, in fact, a precise and practical distinction between the two (n. 2).

However, these terms are given precise meanings in the Code of Canons for the Eastern Churches, which provides:

1. Ecclesiastical permission, expressed only with the word imprimatur, means that the work is free from errors regarding Catholic faith and morals.

2. Approval granted by competent authority shows that the text is accepted by the Church or that the work is in accordance with the authentic doctrine of the Church (can. 661).

Are imprimaturs acts of the Magisterium? It should be pointed out that imprimaturs are issued by “local ordinaries” (cf. can. 824 §1), and not all local ordinaries are bishops. For example, local ordinaries include vicars general and episcopal vicars (can. 134 §1).

The fact that non-bishops can issue imprimaturs is a significant sign that they are not acts of the Magisterium.

Further, to exercise his personal magisterium, a bishop must himself issue a teaching, but this is not what is happening when an imprimatur is granted. The bishop himself does not teach something; he authorizes someone else to do something—namely, to publish a work.

The situation is similar to when a bishop issues a mandate for a theologian to teach in a Catholic university (cf. can. 812). He’s giving permission for someone else to teach, but that does not make everything the theologian says part of the bishop’s personal magisterium.

Similarly, when a local ordinary—even a bishop—gives permission for a book to be published, it does not make everything the book says part of the bishop’s personal magisterium.

As the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith explains:

Ecclesiastical permission or approval . . . guarantees that the writing in question contains nothing contrary to the Church’s authentic magisterium on faith or morals (II:7:2; cf. II:8:3).

This is a negative guarantee. It means that the work does not contradict Church teaching. However, it is not a positive guarantee that all of the opinions found in the book are true. In fact, this is sometimes expressly pointed out in the notification printed for an imprimatur.

For example, G. Van Noort’s 1954 book Dogmatic Theology: Volume I carries this notification:

The nihil obstat and imprimatur are official declarations that a book or pamphlet is free of doctrinal and moral error. No implication is contained therein that those who have granted the nihil obstat and imprimatur agree with the opinions expressed.

What about private revelations and imprimaturs? In the 1917 Code of Canon Law, it was required that books of private revelations carry an imprimatur (cf. can. 1399 n. 5), however this is no longer required.

In fact, very few books today require imprimaturs or other forms of ecclesiastical permission. These include translations of Scripture (can. 825), liturgical books, liturgical translations, prayer books (can. 826), catechetical materials, religious textbooks used in Catholic schools, books sold or exhibited in churches (can. 827), and collections of official Church documents (can. 828).

Since comparatively few books require imprimaturs, this is why most books by Catholic publishers—including Catholic Answers—don’t carry them, and the same applies to books dealing with private revelations.

So, what does it mean if a book on an apparition gets an imprimatur? It does not mean that apparition is genuine. The Church has a separate process for investigating apparitions, and unless that process has been used, the apparition has not been approved as genuinely supernatural.

Even when the Church does approve an apparition, it does not mean that the faithful are required to accept it, only that they are authorized to accept it if it seems prudent. As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger explained when he was head of the CDF:

Ecclesiastical approval of a private revelation has three elements: the message contains nothing contrary to faith or morals; it is lawful to make it public; and the faithful are authorized to accept it with prudence

It’s also worth noting that, when the Church does investigate an apparition, it’s not just any bishop who can do so. Although the Vatican or the conference of bishops could intervene, the only local bishop with the authority to conduct such an investigation is the one where the apparition has been reported.

This means that an imprimatur issued by a bishop in another part of the world would be unrelated to the apparition approval process.

What an imprimatur would mean is that a bishop somewhere in the world has judged (based on the opinion that the censor gave him) that the work does not contain anything that contradicts Church teaching.

It may not even express itself well. It may have ambiguous statements that don’t necessarily contradict Church teaching but that could be understood in an erroneous way. It also may contain theological opinions that are false but that the Church has not (yet) condemned. And it may contain statements about non-religious matters that are inaccurate.

Of course, an individual bishop might favor the book—and the apparition on which it is based—and he might recommend them to others.

This would mean that he, personally, favors them, but his granting an imprimatur would not constitute an act of the Magisterium binding the faithful to give “religious submission of intellect and will” (Lumen Gentium 25) to the apparition or what it says.

Even if he were (very extraordinarily!) to issue a teaching document endorsing the apparition, it would at most bind only the faithful of his own diocese (can. 753), for an individual bishop cannot bind the faithful of another diocese by his personal magisterium. Such a bishop also would likely get in trouble with the Vatican for overstepping the apparitions approval process.

So the implications for an imprimatur being given to a book of private revelations are the same as they are for any other book. It’s a judgment by an individual bishop that the work does not contradict Catholic doctrine. Nothing more.

The Third Secret of Fatima Theories

In the second of a two-part discussion of the Third Secret of Fatima, Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli examine the theories about the secret, whether it was really released in full in 2000; what it really means; and whether it was fulfilled already.

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The Third Secret of Fatima – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

In 1917, the Virgin Mary appeared to three children in Fatima, Portugal, giving them a three-part secret. The third remained secret and speculation ran wild, until it was made public in 2000. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli talk about the history, the speculation, and the disputes.

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