Witnessing to Truth

Jesus Teaches in the Synagogue, by James Tissot (1896-1902).

The Vatican II declaration Nostra Aetate revolutionized the Catholic Church’s relations with non-Christian religions, especially Judaism. The fourth part of this short declaration marked a decisive shift in Catholic-Jewish relations, repudiating what French Jewish historian, Jules Isaac, once called an age-old “teaching of contempt.”¹ In the many centuries that preceded Nostra Aetate, many Christians had branded Jews as Christ killers, and followers of a dead, legalistic religion. Since the once chosen people had rejected Christ, the covenant with the Jews had been broken and superseded by the covenant with Christians. But in Nostra Aetate, the assembled Catholic bishops declared that the Jewish people were neither guilty of deicide nor rejected by God, implicitly recognizing that the Jewish covenant remained intact.

This declaration paralleled liturgical reforms, including the abrogation of the Good Friday prayer for the conversion of the “unbelieving Jews.” Nostra Aetate also created an imperative for ensuring that catechesis no longer denigrated Jews, and for establishing a Catholic-Jewish dialogue grounded in mutual respect. Interfaith dialogue received a special impetus during the pontificate of Saint John Paul II, who, as a young bishop, had participated in Vatican II. In his apostolic letter, Novo Millennio Inuente (2000), John Paul refers to “the great challenge of interreligious dialogue to which we shall be committed in the new millennium, in fidelity to the teachings of the Second Vatican Council.”²

Novo Millennio Inuente reiterates a call to the New Evangelization and admonishes Catholics to remember both their own sins, and those of their forefathers. Emphasizing the need for Christian atonement in the Jubilee Year, John Paul urges the faithful to “purify our vision for the contemplation of the mystery” of the Church’s relationship with the world. A Church rooted in the temporal must “recall the infidelities of so many of its children in the course of history, infidelities which cast a shadow over her countenance as the Bride of Christ.” In short, evangelization can only be pursued in the light of truth, an “examination of conscience.”³ This includes confronting painful aspects of the past, notably, centuries of anti-Judaism and the horror of the Holocaust.

The successors of John Paul II have continued to make what once would have been extraordinary gestures of reconciliation to those he called our “elder brothers.”⁴ Both pontiffs have recognized an enduring Jewish covenantal relationship with God, and continually reaffirmed the reconciliatory declarations of Vatican II. In 2009, Benedict described Nostra Aetate as “a milestone in the journey towards reconciliation (that) clearly outlined the principles that have governed the Church’s approach to Christian-Jewish relations ever since.”⁵ The following year, Jorge Cardinal Bergoglio, the future Pope Francis, stated: “The Church officially recognizes that the People of Israel continue to be the Chosen People. Nowhere does it say, ‘You lost the game, now it’s our turn.’ (…) That, I think is the most courageous thing from Vatican II on the subject.”⁶ Nostra Aetate’s repudiation of anti-Judaism continues to resonate in papal pronouncements on how the Church should speak to, and about, Jews.

At the same time, Benedict, and in turn Francis, have continued to proclaim what is now a 30-year call to the New Evangelization. These successive pontiffs have upheld what John Paul called the “urgency of missionary evangelization” based on the “permanent validity of the Church’s missionary mandate.”⁷ But how does this mandate affect the relations between Catholics and Jews that have gradually improved since 1965? Is acknowledging and atoning for the truth of a historically troubled relationship compatible with witnessing to the truth of the Catholic faith? Are Jews to be the striking exception to the missionary focus of the New Evangelization? And if so, what does this say about the salvation of Jews and Christians alike? Understanding historical trajectories, especially changes in Catholic attitudes toward Jews and Judaism over the last half century, can help put these questions into context.

The last half century of Catholic-Jewish dialogue and reconciliation comprises a very small part of a much longer and a less harmonious relationship. Within a few decades after the Crucifixion, the Church and the Synagogue parted ways; and by the end of the third century, the Adversus Judaeos tradition of Christian anti-Judaism had been established. In the late fourth century, St. John Chrysostom’s Homilies against the Jews helped set the tone for centuries of denigration of Jews and Judaism. Chrysostom referred to Jewish religious observance as an abomination: “The wicked and unclean fast of the Jews is now at our doors. Though it is a fast, do not wonder that I have called it unclean. What is done contrary to God’s purpose, be it sacrifice or fast, is the most abominable of all things.”⁸ In the context of Chrysostom’s time, this invective reflected, not only contempt for Judaism, but a fear that this older covenantal faith still could attract “Judaizers” among the Christian faithful.

Medieval anti-Judaism was a necessary, if not sufficient, prerequisite for the modern anti-Semitism that led to the Holocaust. During the Middle Ages, the Jews, considered to be cursed for the murder of Christ, suffered many forms of discrimination. The Wandering Jew was resented as a moneylender, and depicted as a poisoner of wells. But Christian prejudice did have limits. In the second century, the Church rejected Marcion’s call to de-Judaize the faith by excising the Old Testament from the canon. A little over two centuries later, St. Augustine set a somewhat better example, arguing that the Jews were a witness people, whose lives should be spared, whose abjection fulfilled Old Testament prophecies, and whose eventual conversion would herald the Second Coming.⁹

In the medieval period, though expulsions of Jews, and outbreaks of violence, were a continual threat, popes admonished the faithful not to force Jews to convert to Christianity (not always with success), and in some cases, even sought to dismantle popular prejudices. The 13th century Pope Gregory X rejected as both “silly” and “miserable” the blood libel charge.¹⁰ This widespread belief alleged that in order to use their blood to prepare Passover matzos, Jews kidnapped and murdered Christian children. But almost three centuries later, the Protestant reformer Martin Luther still could rail against Jews as children of the Devil, and demand that their synagogues be burned—ominous rhetoric in an emerging German nation. Modern racist anti-Semitism, shorn of many of its religious trappings, no longer contained the escape clause of Jewish redemption through Christian conversion. What the Nazis called the Eternal Jew would continue to crucify Gentiles in the modern world until physically eliminated, once and for all.

As Benedict XVI stated in his 2005 Christmas Address, Vatican II’s collected documents should be read within a “hermeneutic of reform,” rather than “discontinuity and rupture.”¹¹ Nonetheless, Nostra Aetate also represented a decisive break with the past. In the words of theologian Gregory Baum, a peritus, or expert, at the Council: “The Church’s recognition of the spiritual status of the Jewish people is the most dramatic example of a doctrinal turnabout in the age-old ‘magisterium ordinarium’ to occur at the Council.”¹² As Jacques Maritain had urged two decades earlier, the Church now revisited and embraced St. Paul’s theology of the “mystery of Israel.”¹³

Nostra Aetate drew on the Letter to the Romans in proclaiming that “the Jews remain most dear to God because of their fathers, for he does not repent of the gifts he makes, nor of the calls he issues” (Rom 11: 27-28).¹⁴ The drafters of this document included Msgr. John Oesterreicher, a convert from Judaism. He numbered among several “border transgressors” (to quote historian John Connelly) who helped the Church repudiate centuries of anti-Judaism.¹⁵ Nostra Aetate included the admonition that “Jews should not be presented as repudiated or cursed by God, as if such views followed from the holy Scriptures.”¹⁶ The declaration also deplored, though it did not condemn, anti-Semitism.

Innovation is not always the product of youth, for we can see in this ground-breaking declaration the work of three octogenarians. Succeeding Pope Pius XII in 1958, John XXIII, who called this unexpected ecumenical council, had facilitated the rescue of Jews during the war. Jules Isaac, the French Jewish historian who had lost his family at Auschwitz, implored the pope in a 1960 audience to include the Jewish question on the agenda. Cardinal Augustin Bea, the president of the Secretariat for Promoting Christian Unity, and officially responsible for ecumenism, received from the pope the assignment of drafting the Jewish document, in part to circumvent opposition within the Roman Curia. Only Bea lived to see the declaration promulgated in its final form in 1965.¹⁷ In the interim, the declaration itself almost died.

Nostra Aetate went through several drafts, sparked worldwide controversy, and was nearly scrapped altogether. Muslim and Christian leaders from the Middle East protested against what they saw as the political ramifications of a pro-Jewish statement by the Church. The new Pope Paul VI allowed members of the Curia to revise the document to include a reiteration of the hope for the “union of the Jewish people with the Church” which, in turn, provoked Jewish outrage. The final compromise draft of what was now a declaration on the Church’s relationship with all non-Christian religions met with the overwhelming approval of the assembled bishops in October 1965: 2,221 to 88 votes.¹⁸

The “Jewish document” that ultimately became the fourth part of Nostra Aetate thus underwent a number of changes, which involved compromises to build episcopal consensus, and ensure its survival. In this respect, the Church spoke more clearly in Nostra Aetate about orthopraxy than orthodoxy, neglecting the question of the relationship between Jews and Christ. Subsequent instructions on how to implement Nostra Aetate continued this trend, and, for decades, deferred thorny questions about covenant, mission, and salvation. In the meantime, though, the Church reflected on the significance of the Shoah, both in terms of framing Catholic-Jewish dialogue, and in purifying Christian conscience as a prelude to evangelization.

The 1974 document, Guidelines and Suggestions for Implementing the Conciliar Declaration “Nostra Aetate” (n. 4), took shape under the auspices of the newly created Commission for Religious Relations with the Jews. These short guidelines directed Catholics to approach interreligious dialogue with an awareness of the “widespread air of suspicion” among Jews “inspired by an unfortunate past” for which Christians bore much responsibility. A section on the liturgy asserted that commentary on the fulfillment, in Jesus’ time, of Old Testament promises should keep in mind that these promises “still await their perfect fulfillment in his glorious return at the end of time.” This proleptic, or “already-but-not-yet,” approach to the redemption of the world through Jesus Christ avoids the air of triumphalism that overshadowed Christian-Jewish relations for centuries. It stresses the need for humility in Catholic-Jewish dialogue. Further points in Guidelines about catechetical reforms, and joint social action, underline the practical aspects of achieving better relations between Catholics and Jews.¹⁹

In 1985, Notes on the Correct Way to Present the Jews and Judaism in Preaching and Catechesis in the Roman Catholic Church marked another step in implementing Nostra Aetate; despite the very practical title, it approached theological issues more explicitly than had the 1965 or 1974 documents. It admonished against simplistic typologies that depicted “the transition from the Old to the New Testament” as “a rupture,” and specifically noted the Church’s condemnation of “the attitude of Marcion” and “his dualism.” It also emphasized that the “mystery of Israel,” the question of God’s relationship with the Church and the Jewish people, will only be understood at the end of time: “(I)n underlining the eschatological dimension of Christianity, we shall reach a greater awareness that the people of God of the Old and the New Testament are tending toward a like end in the future: the coming or the return of the Messiah—even if they start from two different points of view.”²⁰

Within history, however, Christian-Jewish reconciliation required an acknowledgment of the sins committed by Christians against Jews. In 1998, in the Preface to We Remember: A Reflection on the Shoah, John Paul exhorted the faithful to prepare for the upcoming Jubilee, to reflect on history, to “purify their hearts, through repentance of past errors and infidelities.” Citing John Paul’s historic visit to the synagogue of Rome in 1986, in the old Roman ghetto, We Remember reiterated earlier statements about Christianity’s relationship with Judaism being “unlike the one she shares with any other religion.” The document forthrightly expressed deep regret about “the errors and failures of those sons and daughters of the Church” who failed to “raise their voices” about “the disappearance of their Jewish neighbors.”²¹ Two years later, John Paul offered a moving prayer of repentance at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. At the same time, We Remember drew criticism—and not just by Jews—for drawing hard-and-fast distinctions between religious anti-Judaism and racial anti-Semitism that denied historical continuity between these two phenomena.

Nostra Aetate rejected anti-Semitism, prompted reforms in catechesis, and laid the foundation for John Paul II’s conciliatory overtures to Jews. These important steps in improving Catholic-Jewish relations have cleared much ground, but left a significant theological obstacle in the way: how can one conceive of both the universality of salvation through Christ, and a continuing covenantal relationship between the Jewish people and God? The theological problem is complex, but two generalizations can be made. First, an ongoing Jewish covenant can be understood as one of two distinct covenants, though this leads to relativizing the Christian proclamation that Jesus is the way to salvation. Second, an insistence that the Jewish covenant is fulfilled in Christianity’s New Covenant can be seen as lingering supersessionism, or even a new call to conversion.

In the November 2005 issue of First Things magazine, the late Cardinal Avery Dulles observed that “the Second Vatican Council, while providing a solid and traditional framework for discussing Jewish-Christian relations … left open the question whether the Old Covenant is still in force today.” Dulles rejected taking any particular scriptural passages and using them as proof-texts, e.g., Hebrews, to demonstrate the abolition of the Law, or Romans, to demonstrate the permanent election of Israel. But he concluded, “it is unthinkable that in these chapters of Romans, Paul would be proposing salvation for Jews apart from Christ. … In the very passage in which he speaks of God’s abiding love for Israel, he confesses his great sorrow and anguish at Israel’s unbelief.”²² Dulles clearly rejects any kind of two-covenantal understanding of the soteriological question.

Supporting Dulles, Cardinal Christoph Schönborn adds that recognizing past Christian sins “does not mean that Christians, for their part, have abandoned the mandate to proclaim the Gospel ‘to the Jews first’ which the Apostles received from Christ, and which they passed on to the Church.”²³ But Cardinal Walter Kasper, until recently President of the Pontifical Commission for Religious Relations with the Jews, all but repudiates mission, insisting that “the Church believes that Judaism, i.e., the faithful response of the Jewish people to God’s irrevocable covenant, is salvific for them, because God is faithful to his promises.”²⁴ It is hard to argue that the Magisterium has spoken definitively on this issue. Practical conclusions again take precedence. Cardinal Kurt Koch, for example, distinguishes between “the rejection of an institutional mission to the Jews” and Christians “bearing witness to their faith in Jesus Christ … in a humble and unassuming manner, particularly in view of the great tragedy of the Shoah.”²⁵ Without entirely yielding the mission of conversion, Koch urges a post-Holocaust (and one might add, post-Nostra Aetate) sensitivity on the part of Catholics.

Over the past few decades, Jewish responses to Nostra Aetate and other Catholic statements have been mixed. These responses have to be understood in the context of a long embittered Jewish-Christian relationship that has only recently begun to show signs of improvement. Not only should the Holocaust appear an obvious historical reference point, but we should also remember the centuries long disputation tradition, in which Jews were forced into pseudo debates with Christian scholars before medieval audiences, contests in which it was not always advisable for the Jews to formulate strong arguments. That some Jews should be wary of dialogue—or even reject it—should not be surprising. When Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel reacted vehemently to proposed conversionist language in the Vatican II Jewish document—exclaiming that he stood “ready to go to Auschwitz any time, if faced with the alternative of conversion or death”²⁶—he spoke for many generations of Jews, some of whom during the Crusades had chosen death for themselves and their families rather than abandon the Jewish faith.

Jewish leaders have seen a certain “bipolarity of tendencies,” as Vatican II observer, Arthur Gilbert, put it, in Catholic thinking about Jews and the Jewish religion.²⁷ We have already examined the historical trajectory of unresolved issues regarding covenant and mission. Jewish voices have raised concern in the new millennium about the possible limits of Catholic philosemitism, or pro-Jewish sentiment. The 2000 document, Dominus Iesus, issued by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and bearing the signature of then Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, caused some consternation among Jews, including Dr. David Berger of the Rabbinical Council of America, who wrote: “In sum, we now have an official document of the Catholic Church, ‘ratified and confirmed’ by the Pope himself, declaring that a key purpose of interfaith dialogue is mission. There is overwhelming evidence that the author intended this to apply to Jews as well.”²⁸ Berger did not object to the Christian affirmation that faith in Jesus Christ is normative for salvation—religious dialogue can, and should, be based on difference of beliefs—but rather the mention of mission.

In a similar vein, the 2008 Good Friday prayer in the extraordinary—or Latin—rite sparked reactions with its restoration of pre-Vatican II language regarding Jews: “Let us also pray for the Jews: That our God and Lord may illuminate their hearts, that they acknowledge Jesus Christ is the Savior of all men.”²⁹ At the same time, Benedict’s pontificate marked a continuation of Catholic attempts to sustain mutual respect and interreligious dialogue. In a visit to the Roman synagogue in 2010, Benedict spoke of the Catholic Church’s “irrevocable commitment to pursue the path of dialogue, fraternity, and friendship,” and echoed the Catechism in stating: “It is in pondering her own mystery that the Church, the People of God of the New Covenant, discovers her own bond with the Jews, who were chosen before all others to receive his word.”³⁰ However, what a Catholic might see as paradox or mystery, a Jew might well perceive as bipolarity.

An examination of Catholic-Jewish relations, before and after Vatican II, points to noteworthy achievements and unfinished business. Nostra Aetate marked a new beginning in how Catholics view Jews, Judaism, and the Jewish roots of the Church. A “teaching of contempt” found itself displaced by a new emphasis on reverence, humility, and fraternal dialogue, particularly during the pontificate of John Paul II. In this regard, Popes Benedict XVI and Francis have expressed their unwavering commitment to perpetuating the legacy of Vatican II. In the process, Catholics have, not only changed the way they look at Jews, but also at their own faith, a faith begun by the Jewish disciples of Rabbi Yeshua, proclaimed to the nations as the Risen Christ.

The revitalization of Christian mission is a hallmark of both Vatican II and the New Evangelization. But mission is also a sore point, and one burdened by the historical legacy of the pain Christians have visited upon Jews. The question of covenant and mission—related inevitably to salvation itself—has entailed intense and unresolved debates about the nature and validity of the Jewish covenant with God. The eschatological aspect of this question may make it unresolvable.

But in this historical moment, this question poses a dilemma for the Catholic Church. Catholics should desire friendship with Jews, but should they also desire that their friends accept Christ? Faithful to the promise of the Gospel and the call of the New Evangelization, Catholics would be less than friends if they did not continually hold forth this invitation to Jews, and to all people. At the same time, Catholics should understand why Jews may look less at the Gospel message and more at the historic failures of Christians adequately to follow the goodness of Christ. Perhaps, this is the most crucial problem in Catholic-Jewish relations today.