Abstract
‘A litany of indebtedness would take up too much space. But thanks to all those from Cracow to Chicago who have stayed up late to talk it over and shared the hope for the Church which makes faith possible.’ So wrote Peter Hebblethwaite in the foreword to his humdinger of a book on Vatican II, The Runaway Church. Hebblethwaite captures vividly the excitement and hope that Vatican II brought to a whole generation of Roman Catholics. Then, as now, the Council was remarkable in the earthquake it both caused and characterized in all churches at the time. This book, too, is a humdinger, for its eight short chapters capture not only the earthquake but also the after tremors still being felt. It does so rooting all in the excellent background material sketched by Blanchard and Bullivant.
The first chapter describes the nature of an ‘ecumenical council’ beginning with Nicaea and other synods of the patristic period. Of course, as we read on, not all reacted positively either then or since to the impact of the Council. The second chapter helpfully places all in context – reform did not come from nowhere. A series of ‘movements’ had swept the Catholic Church, and to some extent all churches, from the late nineteenth century onwards – these included liturgical, ecumenical, biblical and patristic movements. A key figure, whose name frequently recurs, is the recently canonized John Henry Newman. His seminal work on development provided one of the keywords of the Council, alongside aggiornamento (updating) and ressourcement (applying wisdom of the past – biblical and patristic – for reform in the present), although the word ‘reform’ was used very sparingly, as it had Protestant overtones that might scare many of the punters! The caretaker Pope John XXIII took people’s breath away by announcing the Council. Among other things, it formed the closure of Vatican I – closure had never formally been declared. This elderly Pope talked of ‘opening Vatican windows’.
From the beginning, two groupings emerged that are a key to the story set out in this book. Put simply, they were the ‘majority’ (those longing for change) and the minority, who to various degrees were cautious or against change – Cardinal Ottaviani, head of the Holy Office, was the effective and sharp spokesman for caution. Ratzinger, Frings and König led the vanguard for change, working with other theologians, crucial among whom were Yves Congar and Henri de Lubac. First promulgated here was Sacrosanctum Concilium on the liturgy – the tussle over vernacular usage was paramount. Here, too, was the beginning of liturgical deregulation and thus acculturation.
Next came Dei Verbum on divine inspiration of Scripture – at the heart of conciliar changes lay the biblical base and an all-embracing Christocentrism. Lumen Gentium, the constitution on the nature of the Church, followed, bringing with it some of the key phrases coined by the Council: ‘People of God’, ecumenism, Lay Apostolate, Pilgrim Church, Episcopal Collegiality and Koinonia (Communion). Thereafter, the reader is introduced to Gaudium et Spes, the constitution on Church and World. Gathered together too in this chapter is Inter Mirifica on the media and Nostra Aetate on the Church’s relationship with atheism, other faiths and, crucially, Judaism.
The final chapter looks at contrasting conciliar hermeneutics and disposes with some simplistic commentary on ecclesial conflicts. There is realism about decline and how the Council may have accelerated this. Finally follows an excellent analysis of the present Pope’s position, the first post-conciliar Pope, for whom ‘Vatican II Catholicism’ is the air that all Catholics now breathe. It would be churlish to end on a critical note, but more could be said of Pope Paul VI’s remarkable contribution – he effectively shaped the Council. This is an outstanding précis and analysis of an event that continues to help shape our present world.