By Asia News in SperoNews
Seoul - Lay Catholics in Asia have been likened to a "sleeping giant", held back by too many commitments within the clerical structures. It is now time to awaken them to their specific mission, which is to live in the world like a leaven, transforming it, showing the diversity of their life of faith so as to arouse admiration and questions in those who are non-believers . This is a summary of the contents of discussions and conversations held today, the second day of the Congress of Asian Catholic laity here in Seoul which has stressed the present moment as one of transition to an all encompassing lay mission, in family life, the workplace, media in politics.
An authoritative support for this thrust towards the world was founding the intervention of Mgr. Josef Clemens, secretary of the Pontifical Council for the Laity. Thanks to his personal experience as a close collaborator of Josef Ratzinger until his election as Pope (he was his personal secretary), Mgr. Clemens highlighted many of Ratzinger's interventions in defense of a lay commitment "not in church structures, but as leaders in society", in contact with the world
He also outlined the continuing relevance of the Apostolic Exhortation Christifideles laici asking for its implementation, 22 years on from its promulgation.
But the contributions that have aroused most interest were those of the first two Asians to speak to the Congress.
The first, Mgr. Dao Dinh Duc, a professor at the Seminary in Xuan Loc (Vietnam) emphasized that any commitment of the Church that does not include the mission ad gentes (to non-Christians) is not a true ecclesial commitment. This commitment is borne mainly by lay people, who live in daily contact with the world. What is to be feared, he said, is to have lay people who "are only in the structures of the Church and are insignificant in society".
The mission in the world should not rely on abused slogans, but tend to enliven the faith in culture. For this, he added, it is not enough to "serve the poor": we must ensure that the Gospel reaches "even the rich, the powerful, the intellectuals, policy makers, university students because the fate of the poor also depends on them."
The second person, the first Asian layman to make an address, was Jess Estanislao, who was actively involved in the world of politics, as a member of the Philippine government and former entrepreneur. A member of Opus Dei, Estanislao presented the scope of lay mission: professionalism and perfection in the workplace, commitment to family and life (he still battles alongside the Filipino Church against the law to control population that the government in Manila would like to see approved); freedom and personal responsibility in social decisions, fighting so that priests do not engage directly in political life, friendship with all; cultivating friends in the media. In this regard, as an example, he spoke of how important it is to maintain good relations with the authors of the television soap operas in the Philippines, full of sex, ambiguity and ignorance towards Christianity. "Only through these friendships - he said - can we help these authors to change their work and fill it with new values."
Every intervention stressed the importance of formation of the laity, placing of value on study and understanding of the Catechism of the Catholic Church and the Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church.
Read the rest of the article at SperoNews.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Sandra Cassidy: It's an easy way of knowing you are doing penance
By Rebecca Hardy in Daily Mail
Sarah Cassidy is the sort of no-nonsense, capable woman you might expect to find as headmistress of a primary school. But Sarah doesn’t do children, and she doesn’t do husbands either.
No. Sarah is 43, single and celibate — and determined to remain so. Each night she fastens a wire chain, known as a cilice, around her upper thigh.
The device has sharp prongs that dig into the skin and flesh, though generally it does not draw blood. To most women, it sounds a peculiarly masochistic practice.
Yet Sarah says it serves a very different purpose: suppressing her desires and atoning for her sins.
Quite what those sins might be it is hard to imagine. For Sarah is not just good, but very, very good. She doesn’t drink, abhors drugs and has never had sex.
More than that, she is a senior female figure in Opus Dei, one of the most controversial forces in the Roman Catholic church. Portrayed as shadowy and sinister in Dan Brown’s international bestseller The Da Vinci Code, the group has been accused of obsessive secretiveness, elitism, misogyny and criticised for its methods of recruitment.
But it is the ‘mortification of the flesh’ — a ritualistic form of self-harming practised by many Opus Dei members — that has attracted most widespread condemnation.
Now, in a bid to correct false impressions, Sarah has agreed to meet me to discuss what it is that attracts women like her to what seems such an austere and, frankly, painful expression of faith. I meet her with fellow Opus Dei member Eileen Cole at the group’s £7 million London headquarters on Chelsea Embankment, where Sarah now lives.
First, though, some background. Opus Dei — Latin for ‘Work of God’ —was founded in Spain in 1928 by the Roman Catholic priest St Josemaria Escriva. Its doctrine focuses upon the lives of ordinary Catholics, who are neither priests, nuns nor monks yet who believe that everyone should aspire to be a saint.
Today, the organisation claims to have 87,000 members worldwide, about 60 per cent of whom live in Europe — among them, former Labour education minister Ruth Kelly.
Membership is divided into different categories.
About 70 per cent are so-called ‘supernumeraries’ — married men and women with normal careers. They contribute financially to Opus Dei, and though they are not formally required to practise ‘mortification’, many choose to do so.
The cilice is an easy way of knowing you’re doing penance. I wear mine above my thigh. If you go swimming, you don’t want to leave a mark from where it has been'
More committed, though, are ‘numeraries’ like Sarah and Eileen, who pledge to remain celibate, generally live in special Opus Dei houses scattered around the world, and often work directly for the organisation.
Mortification is part of their daily routine, including use of the cilice and periods of fasting.
So every evening, just before she does the washing up, Eileen, 51, straps her strand of barbed wire round her leg and leaves it there for two whole hours, scratching at her skin and digging into the flesh.
It sounds agony, but she insists it’s ‘less painful than a bikini wax’. And besides, pain is the whole point.
‘It’s an easy way of knowing you’re doing penance,’ says Eileen, who lives in an Opus Dei centre in Ealing, West London. ‘I wear mine above my thigh. If you go swimming, you don’t want to leave a mark from where it has been.
‘To be honest, it’s the fasting I find most difficult.’
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1308090/Shes-respectable-intelligent---does-Sarah-attach-painful-barbed-chain-leg-hours-day.html#ixzz0yKwVGusv
Sarah Cassidy is the sort of no-nonsense, capable woman you might expect to find as headmistress of a primary school. But Sarah doesn’t do children, and she doesn’t do husbands either.
No. Sarah is 43, single and celibate — and determined to remain so. Each night she fastens a wire chain, known as a cilice, around her upper thigh.
The device has sharp prongs that dig into the skin and flesh, though generally it does not draw blood. To most women, it sounds a peculiarly masochistic practice.
Yet Sarah says it serves a very different purpose: suppressing her desires and atoning for her sins.
Quite what those sins might be it is hard to imagine. For Sarah is not just good, but very, very good. She doesn’t drink, abhors drugs and has never had sex.
More than that, she is a senior female figure in Opus Dei, one of the most controversial forces in the Roman Catholic church. Portrayed as shadowy and sinister in Dan Brown’s international bestseller The Da Vinci Code, the group has been accused of obsessive secretiveness, elitism, misogyny and criticised for its methods of recruitment.
But it is the ‘mortification of the flesh’ — a ritualistic form of self-harming practised by many Opus Dei members — that has attracted most widespread condemnation.
Now, in a bid to correct false impressions, Sarah has agreed to meet me to discuss what it is that attracts women like her to what seems such an austere and, frankly, painful expression of faith. I meet her with fellow Opus Dei member Eileen Cole at the group’s £7 million London headquarters on Chelsea Embankment, where Sarah now lives.
First, though, some background. Opus Dei — Latin for ‘Work of God’ —was founded in Spain in 1928 by the Roman Catholic priest St Josemaria Escriva. Its doctrine focuses upon the lives of ordinary Catholics, who are neither priests, nuns nor monks yet who believe that everyone should aspire to be a saint.
Today, the organisation claims to have 87,000 members worldwide, about 60 per cent of whom live in Europe — among them, former Labour education minister Ruth Kelly.
Membership is divided into different categories.
About 70 per cent are so-called ‘supernumeraries’ — married men and women with normal careers. They contribute financially to Opus Dei, and though they are not formally required to practise ‘mortification’, many choose to do so.
The cilice is an easy way of knowing you’re doing penance. I wear mine above my thigh. If you go swimming, you don’t want to leave a mark from where it has been'
More committed, though, are ‘numeraries’ like Sarah and Eileen, who pledge to remain celibate, generally live in special Opus Dei houses scattered around the world, and often work directly for the organisation.
Mortification is part of their daily routine, including use of the cilice and periods of fasting.
So every evening, just before she does the washing up, Eileen, 51, straps her strand of barbed wire round her leg and leaves it there for two whole hours, scratching at her skin and digging into the flesh.
It sounds agony, but she insists it’s ‘less painful than a bikini wax’. And besides, pain is the whole point.
‘It’s an easy way of knowing you’re doing penance,’ says Eileen, who lives in an Opus Dei centre in Ealing, West London. ‘I wear mine above my thigh. If you go swimming, you don’t want to leave a mark from where it has been.
‘To be honest, it’s the fasting I find most difficult.’
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1308090/Shes-respectable-intelligent---does-Sarah-attach-painful-barbed-chain-leg-hours-day.html#ixzz0yKwVGusv
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