Perpetuity of the Church
Perpetuity, or uninterrupted duration until the end of time, is one of the most striking marks of the Church. By perpetuity is not meant merely that Christianity, in one form or another, was always to exist, but rather that the Church was to remain forever in her integrity, clothed with all those attributes which God bestowed upon her at the beginning.
For, if the Church were to lose any of her essential characteristics—such as her unity or sanctity, imparted by Our Lord at the moment of her divine institution—she could no longer be said to be perpetual. She would not remain the same Church; she would be a different and defective institution.
The unceasing duration of the Church of Christ is frequently foretold in Sacred Scripture. The Angel Gabriel announces to Mary that:
Our Saviour said to Peter:“He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” [101]
Our Blessed Lord clearly indicates here that the Church is destined always to be assailed, but never to be overcome.“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.” [102]
In the final words recorded of Our Redeemer in the Gospel of St Matthew, the same prophecy is powerfully reaffirmed, and the reason for the Church’s indefectibility is fully declared:
“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations… And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” [103]
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This sentence contains three important declarations:
First—The presence of Christ with His Church: “Behold, I am with you.”
Second—His constant presence, without the interruption of even a single day: “I am with you all days.”
Third—His perpetual presence until the end of the world, and consequently, the perpetual duration of the Church: “Even to the consummation of the world.”
Hence, it follows that the true Church must have existed from the beginning; it must never have known a single day's suspension of life, nor any separation from Christ, and it must continue to live until the end of time.
None of the Christian Communions outside the Catholic Church can lay any reasonable claim to Perpetuity, since, as demonstrated in the preceding chapter, they are all[104] of recent origin.
The indestructibility of the Catholic Church is truly marvellous, and well calculated to stir the admiration of every reflective mind, especially when one considers the number, variety, and formidable power of the enemies against whom she has had to contend—from her very birth until the present hour. This one fact alone places upon her brow the unmistakeable seal of divinity.
The Church has been continually engaged in a double warfare: one foreign, the other domestic. She has contended in foreign war against Paganism and infidelity, and in civil strife against heresy and schism, fomented [052] by her own rebellious children.
From the day of Pentecost until the victory of Constantine the Great over Maxentius, encompassing a period of about two hundred and eighty years, the Church endured a series of ten persecutions, unparalleled in atrocity within the annals of history.
Every form of torture that human malice could devise was deployed in the effort to extinguish every trace of Christianity.
“Christianos ad leones!”—“To the lions with the Christians!”—was the popular war-cry.
They were clothed in the skins of wild beasts and thus exposed to be devoured by dogs. They were covered with pitch and set on fire, serving as lamp-posts to illuminate the streets of Rome. To justify such atrocities and to suppress all sentiments of compassion, the persecutors falsely accused their innocent victims of the most appalling crimes.
For three centuries, Christians were compelled to worship God in the secrecy of their chambers, or in the Roman catacombs, which still endure today as solemn witnesses to the undying fortitude of the martyrs and the enormity of their sufferings.
And yet Pagan Rome—before whose standard the mightiest nations of the earth once trembled—was unable to crush the infant Church or even to arrest her progress. In a relatively short span, we behold this colossal empire crumbling into fragments, while the Head of the Catholic Church begins to dispense spiritual laws to Christendom from the very city in which the Imperial Cæsars had once promulgated their edicts against Christianity.
During the fifth and sixth centuries, the Goths and Vandals, the Huns, Visigoths, Lombards, and other immense Barbarian tribes descended like a torrent from the North, invading the fairest regions of Southern Europe. They dismembered the Roman Empire and swept away nearly every trace of old Roman civilisation. They plundered cities, razed churches, and left behind a trail of ruin and desolation.
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Yet, though they conquered for a time, they were themselves conquered—by submitting to the sweet yoke of the Gospel. Thus, as even the infidel Gibbon acknowledges:
“The progress of Christianity has been marked by two glorious and decisive victories: over the learned and luxurious citizens of the Roman Empire, and over the warlike Barbarians of Scythia and Germany, who subverted the Empire and embraced the religion of the Romans.”[105]
Mohammedanism took its rise in the seventh century in Arabia, and swiftly established its dominion over vast territories in Asia. By the fifteenth century, Constantinople had fallen into the hands of the followers of the false prophet, who even dared to threaten the subjugation of all Europe under their sway.
For nine centuries, Mohammedanism remained a standing menace to Christendom, until the final moment arrived when it was to be decided—once for all—whether Christianity and civilisation, or Mohammedanism and infidelity, should rule the destinies of Europe and the world.
At the earnest solicitation of the Pope, the kingdom of Spain and the republic of Venice united in an offensive alliance against the Turks, who were decisively defeated at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. If the Cross, rather than the Crescent, now surmounts the cities of Europe, we are indebted for that priceless blessing to the vigilance and steadfast leadership of the Roman Pontiffs.
Another adversary—more formidable and dangerous than those previously mentioned—threatened the overthrow of the Church in the fourth and fifth centuries. I speak of the great heresy of Arius,
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which was followed by the errors of Nestorius and Eutyches.
The Arian schism, soon after its inception, spread rapidly throughout Europe, Northern Africa, and parts of Asia. It gained the allegiance of vast multitudes, and, for a time, flourished under the favour and protection of several successive Emperors. Catholic Bishops were banished from their sees, and their positions usurped by Arian intruders. The Church, which had withstood the sword of Paganism, now seemed for a time to succumb to the poison of Arianism.
But after a brief period of apparent prosperity, that gigantic sect was weakened by internal divisions, and eventually swept away by other errors that followed swiftly in its wake.
You are already acquainted with the great religious revolution of the sixteenth century, which swept like a tornado across Northern Europe, threatening—if such were possible—to engulf the bark of Peter. More than half of Germany embraced the new Gospel of Martin Luther. Switzerland adopted the doctrines of Zuinglius. The Faith was lost in Sweden through the influence of its king, Gustavus Vasa.
Denmark conformed to the new creed through the intrigues of King Christian II. Catholicity was likewise crushed out in Norway, England, and Scotland. Calvinism in the sixteenth century, and Voltaireism in the eighteenth, gained such a foothold in France that the Faith of that glorious Catholic nation twice trembled in the balance. Ireland alone, of all the nations of Northern Europe, remained faithful to the Ancient Church.
Let us now calmly survey the field, after the din and smoke of battle have dissipated. Let us examine the condition of the old Church, after having endured those deadly conflicts. What do we behold?
We see her numerically stronger today than at any previous period [055] of her history. The losses sustained in the Old World have been more than compensated by her acquisitions in the New. She has already recovered a good portion of the ground that was wrested from her during the sixteenth century. She now numbers approximately three hundred million adherents.
She stands today not as an effete institution, but in the fullness of life and strength, with her organism unimpaired—more united, more compact, and more vigorous than ever before.
The so-called Reformation of the sixteenth century bears many points of resemblance to the great Arian heresy. Both schisms were originated by priests who were impatient of the yoke of the Gospel, enamoured with novelty, and ambitious for notoriety. Both were nurtured and sustained by reigning powers, and both were augmented by large accessions of proselytes.
Both spread, for a time, with the irresistible force of a hurricane, until their fury was spent. Both were subsequently subdivided into various bodies. The extinction of Protestantism would indeed complete the parallel.
In this connection, a remark of De Maistre is worth quoting:
Since, then, its name becomes continually truer, it must subsist until it perishes, just as an ulcer disappears with the last atom of the flesh which it has been eating away.¹⁰⁶“If Protestantism bears always the same name, though its belief has been perpetually shifting, it is because its name is purely negative and means only the denial of Catholicity; so that the less it believes, and the more it protests, the more consistently Protestant it will be.”
But similar causes will produce similar results. As both
[056] revolutions were the offspring of rebellion—as both have been marked by the same vigorous youth, the same precocious manhood, the same premature decay, and the same dismemberment of parts—we are not rash in predicting that the dissolution which long since visited the former is destined, sooner or later, to overtake the latter.
But the Catholic Church, because she is the work of God, is always “renewing her strength, like the eagle’s.”¹⁰⁷
You ask for a miracle—as the Jews once asked our Saviour for a sign. You ask the Church to prove her divine mission by miraculous agency. Is not her very survival the greatest of prodigies?
If you beheld a fair bride, possessing all the frailty of human nature, cast into a prison, starved, trampled upon, hacked, and tortured, her blood sprinkled upon the dungeon walls—and if you then saw her emerge again from that prison in all the bloom and freshness of youth, continuing to survive not only for years but for centuries beyond the usual span of mortal life, and still remaining the joyful mother of children—would you not call that scene a miracle?
And is not this a true picture of our Mother, the Church?
Has she not endured such vicissitudes? Has she not tasted the bitterness of prison in every age? Has not her blood been poured forth in every clime?
And yet, in her latter days, she remains as radiant as ever, still the nursing mother of children.
Are not civil governments and human institutions—like men themselves—subject to mortality? Why, then, should the Republic of the Church be an exception to the universal law of decay and death?
If this be not a miracle, I know not what a miracle is.
If Augustine, that profound Christian philosopher, could employ this argument in the fifth century, with how much more force may it be used today, fifteen hundred years after his time!
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But far be it from us to ascribe to any human cause this marvellous survival of the Church.
Her indestructibility is not due, as some suppose, to her wonderful organisation, or to the far-reaching policy of her Pontiffs, or to the learning and wisdom of her teachers. If she has endured, it is not because of human wisdom, but often in spite of human folly. Her permanence is due not to the arm of the flesh, but to the finger of God.
“Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to Thy name give glory.”
I would now pose this question to all who are hostile to the Catholic Church, and who are actively plotting her destruction:
What means will you employ to encompass her ruin?How can you hope to overturn an institution which, for more than nineteen centuries, has successfully resisted all the combined assaults of the world, of men, and of the powers of darkness?
I. Is it the power of Kings, and Emperors, and Prime Ministers?
They have tried—in vain—to crush her, from the days of the Roman Cæsars to those of the former Chancellor of Germany.
Many persons labour under the erroneous impression that the crowned heads of Europe have been the unvarying supporters of the Church, and that if their protection were withdrawn, she would soon collapse.
So far from the Church being sheltered behind earthly thrones, her worst enemies have been—with some honourable exceptions—so-called Christian Princes, who were nominal children of the Church. They chafed under her salutary discipline; they wished to be rid of her yoke, because she alone, in times of oppression, had the power and the courage to stand by the rights of the people, and to place her breast as a wall of brass against the encroachments of their rulers.
With calm confidence we can say with the Psalmist:
II. Can the immense resources and organised power of rival religious bodies succeed in absorbing the Church, or in bringing her to naught?“Why have the Gentiles raged,
and the people devised vain things?”
— Psalm 2:1, NRSVCE “The kings of the earth set themselves,
and the rulers take counsel together,
against the Lord and his anointed, saying,
‘Let us burst their bonds asunder,
and cast their cords from us.’
He who sits in the heavens laughs;
the Lord has them in derision.”
— Psalm 2:2–4, NRSVCE
I am not disposed to undervalue that power. Against any human institution, it would be irresistible. But—if the colossal strength and incomparable machinery of the Roman Empire could not prevent the establishment of the Church; if Arianism, Nestorianism, and Eutychianism could not check her development—how can modern organisations hope to stop her progress now, when she stands in the fulness of her strength?
It is easier to preserve what has been created than to create anew.
III. But we have been told:
How shallow this prophecy now appears! For more than seven centuries after the establishment of the Church, the Popes had no sovereign territorial jurisdiction. How, then, could she have outlived that period, if the temporal power were essential to her perpetuity?“Take from the Pope his temporal power and the Church is doomed to destruction. This is the secret of her strength; strip her of this, and, like Samson shorn of his hair, she will betray all the weakness of a poor mortal. Then this brilliant luminary will wax pale and sink below the horizon, never more to rise again.”
And even since 1870, the Pope has been deprived of his temporalities. This loss, however, has not etched a single wrinkle on the fair brow of the Church, nor has it retarded by one inch her onward march.
IV. Is she unable to cope with modern inventions and the mechanical progress of the nineteenth century?
We are often told so. But far from hiding her head, like the ostrich in the sand at the approach of these inventions, the Church hails them as messengers of God, and uses them as providential instruments for the further propagation of the Faith.
If we succeeded so well before—when we had no ships but frail canoes, no compass but our eyes; when we had no roads but eternal snows, virgin forests, and trackless deserts; when we had no guide save faith, and hope, and God—if even then we succeeded in carrying the Gospel to the confines of the earth, how much more may we accomplish now, aided by the marvels of modern ingenuity: the telegraph, steamships, and railroads?
Yes, O men of genius, we bless your inventions. We bless you, ye modern discoveries; and we will press you into the service of the Church and say:
The utility of modern inventions to the Church has lately been made manifest in a conspicuous manner. The Pope summoned a council of all the Bishops of the world. Without the aid of steam, it would have been almost impossible for them to assemble. By its aid, they were able to meet from the uttermost bounds of the earth.“Fire and heat, bless the Lord;
Lightning and clouds, bless the Lord;
All you works of the Lord, bless the Lord;
Praise and exalt him above all forever!”
— Daniel 3:66–68, 82 (NRSVCE)¹
V. But might not the light of the Church grow pale, and be extinguished before the intellectual blaze of the nineteenth century? Has she not much to fear from literature, the arts, and the sciences?
To this we answer—No. For the Church has ever been the patroness of literature, and the fostering mother of the arts and sciences. She founded and endowed nearly all the great universities of Europe.
Not to mention those of the Continent, a bare catalogue of which would occupy considerable space, we may point to the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge—the two most famous seats of learning in England—both established under Catholic auspices centuries before the Reformation.
The Church likewise founded three of the four universities now existing in Scotland—namely, St. Andrew's in 1411, Glasgow in 1450, and Aberdeen in 1494.
Without the Church, we should today be bereft of the priceless treasures of ancient literature. For, in preserving the languages of Greece and Rome from extinction, she rescued the classical writings of those civilisations from oblivion. Hallam rightly observes that, were it not for the diligent labours of the monks during the Middle Ages, our understanding of the histories of ancient Greece and Rome would now be as vague as our information regarding the Pyramids of Egypt.
And as for the works of art—there are more valuable monuments housed in the single museum of the Vatican than can be found in the entirety of our nation. Artists, even today, must travel to Rome to consult their finest models. Our churches are not merely temples of worship—they are repositories of sacred art.
Indeed, for our intellectual progress, we are indebted in no small measure to the much-maligned Middle Ages. Even Tyndall, a candid voice among men of science, admits: “The nineteenth century strikes its roots into the centuries gone by and draws nutriment from them.”¹¹⁰
VI. Is it liberty that shall destroy the Church?
Certainly not. The Church breathes most freely and expands with a giant’s strength wherever true liberty is found. She is always hampered in her operations wherever despotism casts its gloomy shadow. Nowhere does she enjoy more independence than here; nowhere is she more vigorous, more prosperous.
Children of the Church, fear nothing, whatever may befall her. Christ is with her, and therefore she cannot sink.
When Cæsar was crossing the Adriatic, he is reported to have said to the anxious oarsman, “Quid times? Cæsarem vehis”—“What dost thou fear? Thou bearest Cæsar.” What Cæsar spoke in presumption, Jesus Christ declares in truth: What fearest thou? Christ is in the ship.
Are we not certain that the sun shall rise tomorrow, and the next day, and each day until the end of time? Why? Because God so ordained it when He fixed it in the heavens—and because it has never once failed to fulfil its course since the beginning.
And has not Christ likewise promised that His Church shall always enlighten the world?
Has He not, thus far, fulfilled His promise concerning His Church? Has she not continued steadfastly on her course, amid storm and sunshine alike? The fulfilment of the past is the strongest assurance for the future.
Amid the continual changes of human institutions, she is the one institution that remains immutable. Amid the universal ruins of earthly monuments, she alone stands proudly pre-eminent. Not a single stone in her divine edifice has fallen to the ground. Amid the collapse of kingdoms, her kingdom has never been destroyed. Ever ancient, ever new—time writes no wrinkles upon her brow.
The Church has witnessed the birth of every European government, and it is by no means improbable that she shall also witness the death of them all, and chant their solemn requiem. She was already more than fourteen hundred years old when Columbus discovered our continent, and the founding of our Republic is but as yesterday to her.
She looked on with calm serenity while the Goths, the Visigoths, the Huns, and the Saxons swept like a deluge over Europe, toppling thrones and subverting dynasties. She has seen monarchies give way to republics, and republics transformed into empires—and all this has passed before her eyes, while her own divine constitution has remained untouched and unchanged.
Of her we may truly say, in the words of the Psalmist:
“They will perish, but you endure; they will all wear out like a garment. You change them like clothing, and they pass away; but you are the same, and your years have no end. The children of your servants shall live secure; their offspring shall be established in your presence.”
— *Psalm 102:26–28 (NRSV-CE)*¹¹¹
God forbid that we should attribute this marvellous endurance to any human cause. Her indestructibility is not, as some imagine, due to her admirable organisation, or to the far-seeing policy of her Pontiffs, or to the erudition and sagacity of her teachers. If she has endured, it is not because of human wisdom—but often in spite of human folly. Her permanence is owed not to the arm of the flesh, but to the finger of God.
In the brightest days of the Republic of pagan Rome, the citizen would exclaim with pride, “Civis Romanus sum”—“I am a Roman citizen.” That was the highest title he knew. He was proud of his Republic because of its antiquity, its power, and the reputed wisdom of its statesmen.
But what far greater glory is ours—to be citizens of the Republic of the Church, which has endured for nineteen centuries and shall remain till time shall be no more; which numbers her children by the millions across every continent and island; which counts her heroes and martyrs by the thousand; which binds us to the Apostles and the Saints!
“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.”
— *Ephesians 2:19–20 (NRSV-CE)*¹¹²
Though separated from earthly kindred, from parents and homeland, you need never be separated from her. She is always with us to console and sustain. She repeats to us the same words once spoken by her Divine Spouse to the Apostles:
“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
— *Matthew 28:20 (NRSV-CE)*¹¹³
101 Luke i. 32, 33.
102 Matt. xvi. 18.
103 Matt. xxviii. 20.
104 Except some Oriental sects dating back to the fifth and ninth centuries.
105 Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, ch. xxxvii, p. 450.
106 Du Pape, 1, 2, c. 5.
107 Psalm cii. 5.
108 Psalm ii. 1-4.
109 Daniel, iii.
110 Tyndall, Study of Physics.
111 Psalm ci. 27-29.
112 Eph. ii. 19, 20.
113 Matt. xxviii. 20.