Work of Love: A Theological Reconstruction of the Communion of Saints

Book info: Work of Love: A Theological Reconstruction of the Communion of Saints (Hardcover, 362 pages) – University of Notre Dame Press, 2017. Language: English.

The saints are good company. They are the heroes of the faith who blazed new and creative paths to holiness; they are the witnesses whose testimonies echo throughout the ages in the memory of the Church. Most Christians, and particularly Catholics, are likely to have their own favorite saints, those who inspire and “speak” to believers as they pray and struggle through the challenges of their own lives. Leonard DeLorenzo’s book addresses the idea of the communion of saints, rather than individual saints, with the conviction that what makes the saints holy and what forms them into a communion is one and the same. Work of Love investigates the issue of communication within the communio sanctorum and the fullness of Christian hope in the face of the meaning―or meaninglessness―of death. In an effort to revitalize a theological topic that for much of Catholic history has been an indelible part of the Catholic imaginary, DeLorenzo invokes the ideas of not only many theological figures (Rahner, Ratzinger, Balthasar, and de Lubac, among others) but also historians, philosophers (notably Heidegger and Nietzsche), and literary figures (Rilke and Dante) to create a rich tableau. By working across several disciplines, DeLorenzo argues for a vigorous renewal in the Christian imagination of the theological concept of the communion of saints. He concludes that the embodied witness of the saints themselves, as well as the liturgical and devotional movements of the Church at prayer, testifies to the central importance of the communion of saints as the eschatological hope and fulfillment of the promises of Christ.

The true quality of Christian hope springs from the faith that even though death is indeed the end of creaturely life, God’s communion with creation in the Passion, death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ turns this end into a new beginning. In the light of this new beginning, the meaning of history itself is definitively reinterpreted. The God who assumed even death in his own Word as the consequence of sin draws even creation’s God-forsakenness into the realm of mercy. God has dealt with death in utter seriousness; without taking death seriously, Christians cannot contemplate the fullness of hope that the Resurrection of Christ promises. Yet, as I argued especially in chapter 2, this forgetting of death is precisely what the social regimens of modern (Western) society typically dictate. The customs that guard this denial both lead to and are nurtured by the modern penchant for isolating individuals, whether ritualistically, philosophically, or otherwise. In addressing this defining characteristic of the modern milieu, I sought to confront two issues arising from the neglect of death. On the one side, there is the epistemological issue of treating death as a strict boundary for verifiable truth, which thereby restricts the confidence that faith seeks to provide for trusting in the promises of Christ. On the other side, there is the theological issue of the commonplace, insubstantial, and imprecise notions of God as hovering above modern man without any real point of contact. Rather than beginning with Christ who plumbed the depths of death and established the truth of creation through his actions, death has been permitted to delimit truth and push God out past the periphery. In pursuit of the communion that God creates among the living and the blessed dead who share in the life of Christ, I have thus sought to contribute to the revival of the Christian eschatological imagination by beginning with God, who establishes his own criterion in revelation. The seriousness of death is disclosed when the Word of God enters into and overcomes it. The practice of contemplating the mystery of what God has done in Christ heals the wounded mind and awakens the soporific spirit. The mystery of Christ’s person establishes the truth of human persons, created and redeemed for sanctification as one communal body.

The neglect of death and the alienation of the living from the dead go hand in hand, and together these are symptomatic of the narrowing of Christian hope for salvation to an almost exclusively individualistic concern. With a cautious assist from Rilke, I heeded the critique that modern religions too quickly allow the comfort of pious wishes to relieve the tension of holding communion with the dead. Ultimately, the consequences of this concern drive far deeper in Christianity than in Rilke’s thought since ignoring communion with the dead signals a break in the connection to and responsibility for the history of which the living are a part. The eschatological dimension of the Christian faith secures―rather than loosens―the belief in God’s love for this life, for this world, for this one beloved creation that will be made new at the end of the age. God remembers history in the Paschal Mystery―that is, God both recalls what has been and joins again what has been rent asunder. The freedom of man and his responsibility in the world are not erased with death; more profoundly, the eternal significance of man’s freedom is preserved in the memory of the crucified Lord, who bears the scourges of sin and communicates the healing mercy of God in his own body. In this glorious exchange, the history of suffering, pain, and loss is offered unto creation as the memory of forgiveness, liberation, and mercy. The saints are those who embrace this memory as the fulfillment of their deepest desire and who, in conformity with this blessed memory, communicate the mercy they receive as charity for the good of others. Sanctification of one member of Christ’s communion is inseparable from the desire for the eschatological consummation of the whole communion.

As I have presented the case, this is all a matter of memory. Memory is never neutral: at minimum, memory (Augustine’s memoria) beholds a judgment about history. Memory assents to some order―indeed, a logic―as true and it allows all things on which it touches to be rendered according to this order. The absolute priority of God’s memory is the heart of the communion of saints because the conferral of the sacred memory illumines all of creation in the redemption wrought in Christ. To assume this sacred memory as one’s own is to partake in the sanctification of the world as it turns mercy into praise all within the movement of charity. There is no neutral position here because the fundamental decision in regards to charity is a self-committing declaration about the truth of the world.

Charity is a logic unto itself. To enter into the way of charity is to humble oneself in order to be helped by others, to open oneself to the needs of others, and to allow the good of others to become one’s own good. This is a reckless way of being, one that is unwise by all manners of accounting, save one. Only in the foolishness of God that is Christ, who gives without need and beyond measure, is the economy of charity underwritten. Through his one complete action, Christ establishes the meaning of the world, and because of him the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us (Rom. 5:5; cf. 8:14–17, NAB). The saints wager themselves on this investment in word and in deed: their word is their witness to this truth, even unto death, and their deed is the efficacious desire to share this truth with the whole human body, in Christ. To profess belief in the communion of saints as intrinsic to the Christian faith is to begin to wager oneself not just in word but also in deed to the good of all unto the reunion of all in the communion of Christ. This logic of charity is always first given in God who re-members what he created and re-creates in order to call his creatures into the holiness of life in communion.

Why, then, should Christians venerate the saints and pray for the dead? Because the very meaning of our salvation in Christ is wrapped up in our communion with one another. And how do Christians exercise this communion? By entrusting our needs to the prayers of the saints and offering our own prayers for those in need, including the dead undergoing purgation; by accepting the charity of others and offering charity to others, all as an expression of the fundamental belief in the caritas of God as the foundation of life itself; and above all by participating in the body of the Church, convoked in the sacred memory of God in Christ, to whom the Spirit joins the saints in heaven with those still on pilgrimage.

(Excerpted from Conclusion)