Christmas has come and gone, and we have entered into deep winter. Here in the Northwest this means the gray season: earth, sea, and sky meld one into the other as our horizon collapses into a few hundred yards in the mist. That Mount Rainier still exists is every bit as much an act of faith as is the existence of heaven.
To travel in such weather can be more of an adventure than in sunnier climes. Landmarks disappear, and the traveler must know where he or she is headed, not only in general but in particular. Orienting oneself by means of a mountain range is not possible if the mountains have vanished. What is needed is a local knowledge of the terrain, supplied by one who knows it in all of its particularity. This is a different sort of knowledge than that of a geologist who could explain the natural history of the area, could he but see it. The knowledge that is required is experiential and intimate; it can only be supplied by one who has driven the roads and hiked through the fields. We need a lay man or woman.
This is the particular glory—and also the particular task—of the lay person: to know, not only the general lay of the land, but the particular nuances of a given endeavor. It is not enough to know our faith tradition in its essential elements (the general lay of the land). One must also know where the tradition is to be applied, and how to apply it (the local roads and foot paths). Society only rarely offers us sunny days, in which we are able to see a whole situation with clarity. We are more usually offered the gray of the Northwestern winter, where our judgments must rely upon our ability to navigate in the mist.
It is to the laity of our Church—those who know the lay of the land through their engagement with the world—that the Church must look if we are to find our way through all of the landscapes of contemporary society. Our faith tradition offers us the general landscape; the lay task is to map out its application. So, for example, a visitor to the Northwest in the winter may be unaware that following a local road will lead to a dead end at the foot of an impassable mountain, simply because the visitor cannot see the mountain. What is needed is a local guide to suggest an alternate route. The Christian knows that human life is sacred, because the Christian knows where human life is headed; to deny the sacredness of life will cause one to arrive at a personal dead end. But how to navigate all of the particulars of life requires a guide who not only is aware of the dead end, but who also knows the alternate routes.
This task applies to every facet of life in society. Our tradition insists that there are certain fundamental human rights, including, for example, the right to an education. But how is this right best achieved in the political and economic setting of the United States in 1999? Again, our bishops rightly speak of a "fundamental option for the poor" which must inform all of the common initiatives of government: those who are most vulnerable in society are those who require the greatest attention and care. But how is this care best realized in our local communities? If we are to live the Gospel we need more than a knowledge of the Gospel; we also need an intimate knowledge of the economy, of politics, of education, of diplomacy, of communication—and of every secular pursuit—in order to map the strategies which will achieve the relationships that the Gospel insists upon.
We must learn, in other words, to value and to trust secular expertise. This is obvious in simple things. If, for example, my car breaks down en route to a teaching engagement, it is not a sign from heaven that I ought not to be teaching on this particular occasion. It is a sign, rather, that I have neglected the care of my car. It is a sign that I ought to rely more frequently upon the expertise of my mechanic. We Christians can demean the value of secular expertise by attributing all things too directly to God.
We often find that secular expertise is undervalued not only in the Church, but in society at large. So, for example, I recently met a young doctor whose residency is threatened because she refuses to be forced to perform abortions. The directors of her program have assumed that abortion is the right of a patient (they do not see the moral landscape with clarity). But, interestingly, neither do they respect her particular judgment. Merely because a patient insists upon a medical procedure is of itself no indication that the medical procedure ought to be performed. I do not go to my doctor to diagnose myself or to prescribe my own treatment. I rely upon the judgment of my doctor both as to my condition and as to what should be done. But in this instance, the particular judgment of the doctor is overruled; her particular expertise, which is medicine, is sacrificed to a political objective, which is abortion on demand.
Most of our non-Catholic contemporaries do not think that the Church truly values secular expertise. The ironic truth of the matter is that it is only the Church that fully appreciates the value of secular expertise. Only in the Church is the sacred purpose and dignity of secular expertise clearly seen. Only in the Church is there the realization that life on earth is a life shrouded in mystery, rather like a drive on a wintry day in the Northwest. Therefore, only in the Church is there the realization that we require a guide who knows that part of the landscape that is visible in the light of the part of the landscape that is hidden. And you, dear reader, are called to be that guide.
-Fr. Michael Sweeney, O.P.