I often wonder about Catholics who prefer the Latin Mass. I cannot help but think that they are saying, “Give me that old time religion.”

The problem is that Latin, while old, is not religion. It is neither sacred nor better than the current vernacular language. In fact, it was the vernacular language of the Roman Empire. While it continues to be read and profitably studied by classics scholars and taught in high schools and colleges, it is a dead language that is only spoken by a very small, and shrinking, number of people today.

It remains the official language of the Vatican, but try to find a bishop who speaks it. When official meetings at the Vatican are conducted in Latin, bishops scramble for their headsets for simultaneous translations. Vatican documents are issued in several languages so that Catholics can actually read them. The closest thing to a lingua franca today—like Latin in the Roman Empire—is English, so American Catholics should be grateful to be native speakers of the world language.

One of the ironies of the recent movement of a minority of Catholics to bring back the Latin Mass is that they pine for a liturgy (and an era) that the younger ones among these (and not a few) never knew. They must be listening to the stories of their parents’ or grandparents’ liturgical experience and wanting the same. The curious part of this is that most parents and grandparents do not want to return to the “good old days” of Latin Masses.

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It seems to me that the Vatican comments are aimed principally at Catholic theologians who may express an ecclesiology different from the one articulated by the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. The Introduction to the document reads:

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I doubt that there has ever been a saint or theologian who did not have doubts about faith. The list of doubters includes the Apostle Peter, Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, Julian of Norwich, Martin Luther, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Mother Teresa—not bad company for those who sometimes struggle with belief. After all, the claims that faith makes are rather grand: God created us; we have souls; God watches over us; God will judge us; there is an existence after this one; our actions in this world, at least in part, may determine our fate in the next; God has been revealed to us in texts, persons, and events.

It would be hard not to doubt some (or all) of these claims at some time during our lives. Those of us who take faith seriously and are critical thinkers in other aspects of our lives—for example, asking, Is the President lying to us? How do analysts predict the behavior of the stock market? Is it safe to trust technology?—naturally raise questions. Religious faith is not immune from such scrutiny. In fact, a little skepticism is a healthy thing. Those who think through their commitment to faith by raising critical questions can offer more than emotion, more than opinion, and more than personal history or indoctrination to explain their beliefs.

Given the choice between an uncritical and naïve appropriation of faith and Mother Teresa’s admitted struggles with her faith, I join the diminutive woman with wrinkles on her face and light in her eyes who, when asked by a journalist why, given her resources of a band of Sisters who owned only as much as the poor they served, she continued to struggle against poverty with virtually no chance of success, responded: “God, did not call me to be successful. God called me to be faithful.” Being faithful does not mean being uncritical, or mindless, or unwilling to question even our most deeply held convictions of faith. Mother Teresa persevered in faith despite her doubts. We, too, may doubt but have faith without fear that we are being untrue to our faith or to ourselves.

The Question: How should Barack Obama have responded to inflammatory remarks made by his former pastor, Dr. Jeremiah Wright? Are you responsible for what your spiritual leader says from the pulpit?

Certainly Barack Obama, or anyone else, is not “responsible” for what one’s spiritual leader says from the pulpit. However, as the forthcoming book by Gregory Smith, "Politics in the Parish: The Political Influence of Catholic Priests" (April 15, 2008 Georgetown University Press) indicates, people in the pews are influenced in their political thinking by what is said from the pulpit. In Senator Obama’s case, it is hard to believe that he did not know what was being preached, even if he did not agree with the views expressed. How could he not know when the pastor has been preaching for thirty-six years in the church Obama has attended for twenty years? As a public servant Obama should have distanced himself long ago from views of his pastor that he clearly does not share, but likely never anticipated the current uproar.

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The Question: What can Pope Benedict XVI say and do to repair the growing rifts between the Vatican, the clergy and the laity in America?

I hope and believe that Pope Benedict will acknowledge and express contrition for the church’s moral failings regarding the sexual abuse tragedy in the American church—a tragedy that has scarred victims, damaged the reputation of the priesthood, and cast doubt on the hierarchy’s leadership. Recognition of the gravity of the scandal and sincere contrition, at a minimum, are an important step towards repairing the damage done, knowing that for victims no acknowledgement or apology will fully restore their lives.

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