Christo-Forming Grace and the Life of the Priest

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Christo-Forming Grace and the Life of the Priest

Bernhard Blankenhorn, O.P.

“When Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’ Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. And he fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterward he was hungry.” (RSV)

It is no accident that Jesus’ public ministry begins with his baptism. This event constitutes the first great revelation of the Trinity in the Gospel, with the manifestation of the Father’s voice and the dove as a sign of the Holy Spirit. Immediately, the same Spirit leads Jesus into the desert to be tempted for forty days. These passages teach us not only about the Trinity and Christ, but also about life in Christ. The very Spirit who filled the sacred humanity of Jesus also comes to us in our baptism, so as to lead us into a time of penance. Christ is the model of the spiritual life.

The Spirit that sanctifies and guides believers is the Spirit of Jesus. He fashions our minds, hearts and our whole being according to the image of Christ. For he comes from the Son and leads us on the path of Jesus’ pilgrimage on earth, from the baptism to the Cross and ultimately resurrection from the dead. Through the sacraments, we share in the perfect human love of Christ and his other virtues. The Spirit does in us what he does in Christ. The Spirit molds our minds and hearts according to the pattern or model of Christ’s humanity.

This beautiful biblical spirituality has found countless echoes in the history of Christian theology and preaching. One of the more beautiful echoes can be found in the Christology of St. Cyril of Alexandria, in the 5th century, the doctor who gave us the dogma of Mary as Mother of God. Eight centuries later, St. Thomas Aquinas appropriated and developed that doctrine of Cyril. Another seven centuries later, the Swiss Cardinal Charles Journet developed the same Christology even more. These theologians help us to read the Gospels in a deeper way, especially on the foundation of the great Councils of Ephesus (431) and Chalcedon (451), where we learn that Jesus is one divine person with two natures. On the basis of this Christology, we can recognize that the grace which is poured into our minds and hearts shapes our being in the image of Christ. These theologians help us to grasp the meaning of the phrase: “The Spirit of Jesus makes us like Jesus.”

Today, I will present the twin doctrines of Christ’s humanity as the instrument whereby God shares his life with us, and Christ’s humanity as the model or exemplar for our Christian lives. The second follows from the first. The first is a bit more abstract, the second more concrete. This approach to life in Christ is in some ways very metaphysical, but I will translate it into simple terms.

I. Christ as Instrument and Channel of Grace

All grace comes from God: he alone is its ultimate source. Yet God pours out a share in his life through the humanity of the Son, indeed, through Calvary and the Resurrection. This theological claim is ultimately biblical. In the present section, I set out in summary form the doctrine of St. Thomas Aquinas on Christ’s humanity as an efficacious instrument that brings us grace.

As a preface, I should mention what I mean by the term “grace.” Here, I do not simply refer to having peace with God or to being in right relationship with him. Nor do I primarily refer to of having our sins forgiven, even though all of these blessings are closely linked with grace. Rather, with the term “grace,” I want to signal the believer’s intrinsic transformation. As adopted sons and daughters of God, our very souls begin to resemble the adopting Father more than they did before. All human beings are God’s children, yet through baptism, our likeness to the divine Father grows. This likeness includes a renewal of mind, heart and even our passions. Through the sacraments and other moments of spiritual growth, various virtues such as faith, hope and charity are poured into our souls. These virtues are like spiritual muscles, a true strengthening of the soul that abides, as long as we remain faithful. The root that binds all of these virtues and gifts together is called grace. It is an interior, created, quasi-permanent modification of our deepest self, whereby we can begin to think and love as God does. So when I refer to grace, I especially refer to this interior, transformative gift, a gift whereby we dwell in communion with the Trinity.

I will be focusing on Christ’s humanity as a channel of grace. Here, we necessarily employ various analogies and metaphors to help us contemplate the great mystery of Christ’s person and saving work. The reality is too great to be grasped otherwise. I begin with the analogy of soul and body. St. Thomas Aquinas employed it in relation to Christ, following the teaching of the 4th century Egyptian bishop St. Athanasius and the 8th century Syrian monk St. John Damascene.

These saints tell us that Christ’s humanity is the instrument of his divinity somewhat as thehuman body is the instrument of the soul. Why is this analogy helpful? First, the body is intimately joined to the soul. In a similar way, Christ’s humanity is joined to his divinity, that is, joined to his divine person. This is what we call the hypostatic union: hypostasis is the Greek term for person. Second, when I act, my body and soul act together, in harmony. For example, when I seek to communicate, I have thoughts and intentions that I formed especially in my soul, because that is where my mind and heart reside. Mind and heart use my brain, my imaginative power and other bodily powers to form an intention, to form some idea, sentiment or message which I want to share. I share this idea or sentiment through the body. If my soul does not act, then any bodily motion would not communicate something that truly reflects my person. For example, I might mumble in my sleep, but I do not thereby utter a deep thought that I want to communicate. And yet, without the body, I could not communicate anything. The body is the soul’s instrument for communicating. So soul and body work together, each in its own way, each with something unique and essential to contribute. Now in Christ, we have a harmony or communion of operation between the divinity and humanity. They are not in tension or competition. Aquinas calls Christ’s humanity a “conjoined instrument” of his divinity, because his humanity is always linked or joined to his divinity. His divine power comes to us through his humanity. By contrast, the sacraments are “separate instruments” of Christ, more like the artist’s paintbrush which he can pick up and put down again, in contrast to the body, which is metaphysically joined to the soul (Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, book IV, chapter 41, no. 3798).

Aquinas insists that Christ’s humanity shares as an instrument in the act of giving grace. Thomas can make this claim because he firmly holds that, in this activity of pouring out grace, the humanity depends on the divinity for its causal power: “The human operation of Christ obtain a certain divine efficacy from the union of the divinity, just as the action of secondary [instrumental] agents obtains a certain efficacy from the principal agent …” (Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, book IV, chapter 36, no. 3748: translations are by the author). In other words, when grace is poured out, Christ’s humanity does not take the place of the divinity, nor operate without the divinity, nor does his humanity stand in competition with his divinity. In the background stands the teaching of the Council of Chalcedon: Christ’s two natures and two operations are distinct yet not separate. To go back to our analogy, we might say that the body obtains the power to communicate an intelligent, thoughtful, personal message from its union with the soul, including its union with the operation of mind and heart. Here, the body depends on the soul, much as Christ’s humanity depends on his divinity.

Consequently, Christ’s human action is elevated in a supernatural way, because his humanity is joined to his divine Person. This enables Christ’s humanity to share in the work of his divinity in an extraordinary way. So Christ as God purifies us of sins, enlightens our minds to cling to God with the trust that is faith, enflames our hearts with love and heals our passions. No creature could do any of this alone. Yet Christ’s humanity shares in this work as an instrument: “The human nature assumed in Christ is such that it operates instrumentally those things which are operations proper to God alone, such as to purify sins, to illumine minds through grace, and to lead someone to the perfection of eternal life” (Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, book IV, chapter 41, no. 3798). Here, the key word is “instrumentally.” Thus, it is correct to say that God saves, and that God alone is the source of salvation. Thus, Christ in his divinity saves. But this does not exclude the Son of God saving us through the operation of his humanity, since this humanity stands at the service of his divinity. In this context, the term “to save” has a specific sense: it signals the giving of grace to man, or pouring a share in divine life into our souls, and not other saving acts, such as Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross.

Following the Council of Chalcedon, Aquinas firmly maintains that each of Christ’s two natures remains integral in its being and operation (Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae III, question 19, article 1, corpus). In other words, Christ always remains fully divine and fully human, he continues to do divine things and human things. Each nature is a principle of operation. Here we have a technical term that I will explain: nature as a principle of operation. You and I can do certain things because of the nature that we have. We can think and love because we act by our human nature. Each nature shapes or specifies a range of possible actions. Thus, we cannot know the future with certainty, because our mode of knowing immersed in time, and can only predict with probability how today’s factors like the weather pattern will affect next week’s events, like next week’s weather pattern. Nor can we smell the piece of steak being cooked half a block away, but perhaps your dog can smell it, because of the capacities of his nature. In this life, you and I cannot think without using sense data, in contrast to the angels, who receive ideas directly from God, unlike human beings. In other words, each nature has an operation proportioned to it, has a fixed range of possible actions.

Furthermore, each nature has its proper operation. Here we have another technical term. For example, the proper operation of Christ’s humanity is not to give grace, but to think, talk, walk and sleep. The proper operation of his divinity is to be the source of grace and to resurrect dead bodies.

Now when Christ’s human nature becomes an instrument of the divine nature, that humanity’s instrumental act can exceed its merely human operative capacity. Now, he can do more than think, love, walk and talk as human beings do: he can save. Instrumentality means that a cause or acting being can have the range of its possible actions stretched beyond its normal capacities.

Let us take the following example. A paintbrush cannot paint by itself, and your body cannot communicate intelligent thoughts by itself. Thus, what you murmur in your sleep usually makes no sense, because your mind is not functioning. Rather, your brain recalls stored memories in a way that is beyond your control. But a principal cause with a higher nature (like the divine nature) can act through an instrumental cause, an instrument that has a lower nature (like Christ’s humanity). Your body communicates intelligent sounds because it is moved by your soul, but your body does so in a properly temporal way. That is the proper operation of your body.

By analogy, Christ’s humanity communicates grace, but it does so in a human way. His human nature continues to contribute something of its own, its “proper operation,” even when he saves. Thus, we have an operative synergy, so that Christ heals by his physical touch. The touch is a proper operation of his humanity, while the miraculous healing is proper to his divinity. But when Christ heals, his divinity and humanity work together. They do not function in parallel fashion. Rather, his divinity moves and heals through his humanity, through his body! Likewise, Christ’s saving activity belongs to both natures, yet in distinct modes: as source or as instrument, as principal cause or as a secondary, dependent cause.

This helps us to grasp in a clearer way how the Son of God brings us a share in divine life by his human actions sufferings. Thus, his humanity poses no obstacle or limitation to our salvation, rather, it opens the path to life. Some theologians think that Christ’s humanity cannot mediate grace to countless individuals, because his humanity is finite. They have misunderstood the Incarnation.

Now that we have the metaphysics of Christ’s humanity in mind, we can take another step in the doctrine: Christ saves us through particular, historical acts. Again, in this context, the term “to save” only refers to the actual giving of grace to believers. The point is that the flux of grace and divine life does not simply pass through the humanity of the glorified Christ in heaven. Nor does it come to us through Christ’s humanity as through a merely passive channel, like water flowing through a canal. Rather, the river of life flows down to us especially through his saving acts during his earthly pilgrimage, especially his Passion and Death, Resurrection and Ascension into heaven. Here, I will focus on the Cross, without intending to exclude the other saving events or mysteries of Christ.

The suffering Christ was the supreme instrument of God’s saving power. The notion of instrumentality tells us that the nature of the instrument leaves a trace of itself on the effect. When we closely study Michelangelo’s Moses, we can determine the kind of instruments he must have used in sculpting this statue, at least with some level of accuracy. Thomas holds that something similar happens in the particular events in Christ’s life: here, the disposition of his humanity, such as his suffering, but also the interior dispositions of his heart, leave a trace on the grace poured out. The instrument changes the outcome. This means that grace looks different because it comes from the Crucified Lord. The grace given is the grace that he possessed, the grace that filled his holy humanity. And the supernatural virtues we are given also resemble his virtues. This theme is in fact our second main topic: Christ as model or exemplar of grace. Before I take up that topic, we need to face a serious potential problem in this proposal about Christ’s suffering shaping the grace given to us.

The problem is this: How can Christ’s suffering 2000 years ago shape the gift that God gives me today? The Cross happened and is over. There is no time travel. Christ is now glorified in heaven. So how can the grace shaped in the past transcend time?

The event of the Cross, Christ’s suffering and dying, are indeed over. Yet the spiritual power to proceeds through his dying body moves through history. For his human suffering is joined to his divine power operative in him. Cardinal Journet proposes that we can think of the spiritual or divine flux passing through history, from Calvary to our day, by analogy with the light of a star. In this example (perfected by H. Bouëssé) the origin of light is a star. This star still exists, but it is hidden from our perception. The light of the star has refracted off of a planet that no longer exists, but this light continues to traverse the universe, and the light reaches down to planet earth. The star is like the divine power, the planet that no longer exists is like the past historical event of Calvary, and the light itself is like grace, the gift of God that still reaches us, it still moves through time. The light has been marked by the Cross, even though the event of the Cross was a moment in time that has ended. God’s light does not so much descend directly from heaven to us, but rather passes through Christ’s human acts and sufferings and then reaches us today. This light can transcend time because it is divine, it is God’s saving power, but it has been filtered through the suffering Christ (Charles Journet, L’église du Verbe Incarné: Essaie de Théologie Spéculative, vol. 2: Sa Structure Interne et Son Unité Catholique[SaintMaurice, Switzerland: Éditions Saint-Augustin, 1999], 334-35;Jean-Pierre Torrell,“La causalité salvifique de la résurrection du Christ selon saint Thomas,” in idem, Recherches thomasiennes,Bibliothèque Thomiste 52[Paris: Vrin, 2000], 235).