José Maria C.S. André
The Papal Encyclicals have changed a lot in recent centuries. They usually occupied one page; today they have a hundred or more pages. Previously, they often addressed specific international issues; today they deal mostly with our relationship with God or with the demands of Christian life. Fundamentally, the language of the Encyclicals have changed radically!
One immediately appreciates the change in the titles. Let me cite some examples.
Quam Aerumnosa (“How miserable,” Leo XII, 1888); Gravissimas (“Very serious,” Leo XIII, 1901); Acerbo nimis (“Intensely bitter,” Pius X, 1905); Vehementer Nos (“We state with all vigor,” Pius X, 1906); Gravissimo officii munere (“The serious duty of our mission” – on the persecution in France, Pius X, 1906); Une Fois Encore (“Again about the persecution in France,” Pius X, 1907); Iamdudum (“Now for a long time” – about the excesses and crimes committed in Portugal against the Church, Pius X, 1911); Lacrimabili statu (“In a situation that makes us cry,” Pius X, 1912); Iniquis afflictisque (“Distressing situation of iniquity,” Pius XI, 1926); Acerba animi (“With bitter soul,” Pius XI, 1932), Mit brennender Sorge (“With an ardent anxiety,” Pius XI, 1937); Ingravescentibus malis (“The evils that get worse by the day,” Pius XI, 1937); In multiplicibus curis (“Among the multiple concerns,” Pius XII, 1948); Ingruentium malorum (“In the face of rising evils,” Pius XII in 1951); Luctuosissimi eventus (“A tremendously deadly event,” Pius XII, 1956); Datis nuperrime (“Very recent letter” – on the persecution in Hungary, Pius XII, 1956).
By contrast, recent titles are usually an announcement of God’s goodness and an invitation to joy. Many examples can be given —from Gaudium et spes (“The joys and hopes,” Second Vatican Council, 1964) to John Paul II, Benedict XVI, or Pope Francis, but a few titles are enough to highlight the contrast: Deus caritas est (“God is love,” Benedict XVI, 2005); Spe salvi (“Saved in hope,” Benedict XVI, 2007); Caritas in veritate (“Love in truth,” Benedict XVI, 2009); Evangelii gaudium (“Joy of the Gospel,” Apostolic Exhortation, Francis, 2013); Lumen fidei (“The light of Faith,” Francis, 2013); Laudato si’ (“Praise be you,” Francis, 2015); Amoris laetitia (“The joy of love,” Apostolic Exhortation, Francis, 2016); Gaudete et exultate (“Rejoice and exult,” Apostolic Exhortation, Francis, 2018).
It is not necessary to complete the list to demonstrate the difference. The contrast in tone is all the more stark even as the content presented by the Church has remained the same. Of course, what has changed is above all the world in which we live.
It’s easy to find a parallel in Jesus’ life. We are often surprised by the kindness of his compassion when we would expect a critique of evil; in other occasions we are amazed at the severity of his words and his gestures, when we would expect a diplomatic tone.
This flexibility of style was confusing to the Pharisees: “Why is it that your disciples do not fast?” (Mt 9:14). The Gospels tell us of Jesus’ fasts, hard and lengthy, but also of the feasts he attended. To a Pharisee, this doesn’t make any sense.
Jesus Himself complained about those who could not keep up with the times:
“To what can I compare this generation? They are like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling out to others: ‘We played the pipe for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn!’ For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her deeds.” (Mt 11:16-19)
It’s not that there has never been joy and good news before, and now there’s nothing but joy. Nor is it necessary to follow the mainstream of the moment, nor the rhythm of the world’s neurotic crises. The Church does not have to be predictable and in fact, in this time of ours, she proposes a totally unexpected message: God loves us madly.
Perhaps our society is like the adulterous woman, completely disoriented in her life, caught in adultery, lying on the ground. Our Lord looks at her with tenderness, understands her and offers her an unforeseen novelty that changes everything: God forgives, defends her, He never stopped loving her. Regardless of what happened, it’s time to start over again.
Pope Francis prefers to compare our society to the tragedy of the wounded piled up after a battle: “I see the Church as a field hospital after a battle.” Perhaps this concept corresponds to the image of the adulterous woman, but tempered with the Pope’s holy sympathy.(Image: Lucas Cranach the Younger, Jesus and the Adulterous Woman (after 1532), Hermitage Museum. Source: Wikimedia Commons)
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