Preface and Precis: This is a sermon warning against false prophets. The Gospel of this TLM Mass (Matthew 7:15-21) is, inexplicably, not to be found on any Sunday or Solemnity in the Novus Ordo Mass. This sermon also offers a supplementary context and commentary: Our Lord’s admonition against corrupt leadership “matures” into warnings against the ultimate false prophet (2 Cor 11:14), the antichrist (1 John 2:22, 4:3; 2 John 1:7). All humans are sinners, having character flaws or “cracks” in desperate need of divine repair, even as our society invariably needs “course correction” based upon divine direction (Prv 14:12, Jer 6:16-17, Rom 1:21-32). Too often, though, supinely led by tyrants and charlatans, we permit (or even encourage) our personal or political flaws to become a “new normal”—a regnant banality of evil (to use Hannah Arendt’s term), in which vice is seen as virtue, evil is seen as good, and injustice is seen as benevolence (cf. Isaiah 5:20). The wolf then devours the sheep, and the Great Deceiver laughs (Psalm 10:3-11, Prv 1:26-27). The “sacramental mortar,” divinely offered to repair our cracks, waits and waits and waits (cf. John 1:10-11).
But false prophets also arose among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies . . . (2 Peter 2:1).
One of King David’s sons, Absalom, revolted against his father, leading to a great civil war, in which, finally, Absalom’s forces were defeated, and Absalom was himself killed. King David’s brilliant and loyal advisor, named Ahithophel (1 Chron 27:33, 2 Sam 16:23), had also deserted David, foolishly joining forces with Absalom. When Absalom was defeated, Ahithophel, despairing and reading the writing on the wall (cf. Dan 5:24-27), killed himself. The suicidal traitor Ahithophel is an adumbration, foreshadowing, or type, of Judas, who betrayed Our Lord and ended his life in despair (Mt 27:5; and see my article here.)
Psalm 55 is King David’s lament about being betrayed by his beloved son Absalom and his trusted counselor Ahithophel (55:12-15; cf. Psalm 41:9 and Luke 22:21). Consider also the formidable admonition of Jesus: “. . . woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that man if he had not been born” (Mt 26:24, Mk 14:21).
In this connection, Jesus plainly warns us that “a man’s foes will be those of his own household” (Mt 10:36; cf. Prv 11:29, Hosea 8:7). We know that there are incompetent and unethical politicians and military officers, doctors and lawyers, teachers and coaches. We find consolation in the realization that, thanks be to God, the great majority of our Catholic leaders are, and have been, men and women of intelligence, integrity, and industry. Still, our justified anger and immense sorrow are the bitter fruit of unqualified and unsavory priests, bishops, and popes, about whom history all too frequently tells us (Isaiah 10:1-2, Ezekiel 34:2-10, Micah 3:1-3).
That is precisely why our Gospel this Sunday—and throughout the centuries for the Seventh Sunday After Pentecost—is an explicit warning against “false prophets, who come to you in the clothing of sheep, but inwardly they are ravening wolves” (See also Acts 20:29, 1 Tim 1:3-7, Jude 1:3-5, and Rev 2:2.) If Ahithophel was a type of Judas, Judas, in turn, was a type of those Catholic leaders who have betrayed Jesus and His Church for reasons of pride, power, money (2 Peter 2:3), or lust (see Jeremiah 14:14). They are modern false prophets.
We Catholics are called to obedience (CCC #143-#144, #2087; Romans 1:5 and 16:26): we are summoned to hear and to follow the commands and counsel of our shepherds. It is no small matter, then, to challenge, to criticize, or to contravene the teaching of those entrusted with sacred offices, for we ourselves are certainly subject to error and to arrogance (See Psalm 19:12).
The customary, or ordinary, or standard attitude–the “default position”–for us is to accept with grace and gratitude the teaching of our spiritual leaders (CCC #1269; cf. #1900), much as St. Thomas Morenormally received the orders of King Henry VIII about 1530.When the King betrayed the teaching of the Church, though, Thomas More said that, although he was the king’s good servant, he was God’s first, and he disobeyed the king’s orders so that he could be faithful to Christ in the Church (See Acts 5:29).
If and when we are instructed to think or say or do things in ways that unquestionably, and even explosively, diverge[1] from historical, orthodox, regular, and traditional Catholic teaching, we must respectfully ask for clarification and explanation (see 1 John 4:1), humbly expecting such response to resolve any doubt or concerns (See Rev 2:2). This is known as the virtue of docility, a ready willingness to be taught.
Still, as one scholar teaches us, “it is not obedience that comes first, but truth and charity; and this is why obedience, rightly understood, is not blind” (Peter Kwasniewski, True Obedience in the Church, p. 7). Our Catholic faith insists that we always follow our conscience (CCC #1790, #1800), but that we must educate that conscience (#1783, #1791), not slavishly follow the carnal cravings of our guts or gonads. False prophets and failed priests are not merely historical; they are, sadly, ever present in our fallen world. Here, I am not referring to an honest mistake made in a written article or in a spoken sermon or in quiet counsel. I am referring to a deliberate pattern of deceit and deception—malevolent moral myopia—in distorting and defiling the Gospel of the Lord. (See 2 Cor 4:4.)
To follow such teaching or teachers is spiritually venomous (Gal 1:6-9, 2 Cor 11:13-15). As Pope St. Pius X warned us in 1907:
The partisans of error are to be sought not only among the Church’s open enemies; they lie hid, a thing to be deeply deplored and feared, in her very bosom and heart, and are the more mischievous, the less conspicuously they appear. We allude, Venerable Brethren, to many who belong to the Catholic laity, nay, and this is far more lamentable, to the ranks of the priesthood itself, who, feigning a love for the Church, lacking the firm protection of philosophy and theology, nay more, thoroughly imbued with the poisonous doctrines taught by the enemies of the Church, and lost to all sense of modesty, vaunt themselves as reformers of the Church; and, forming more boldly into line of attack, assail all that is most sacred in the work of Christ, not sparing even the person of the Divine Redeemer, whom, with sacrilegious daring, they reduce to a simple, mere man (Pascendi Dominici Gregis, #2).
We are not without a moral compass, lost in an ethical wilderness, in a situation of spiritual confusion (Col 2:8; Eph 4:11-14); if we have compelling reason to doubt the testimony or teaching of an ostensible shepherd, we still have this timeless counsel and consolation from the Church: we can and must inquire about such matters, basing our judgments on such strongpoints as these:
- What is the truth of Scripture, and the Analogy of Faith (CCC #114), meaning the coherence and integration of Biblical truth?
- What is the instruction of the Catechism of the Catholic Church?
- What is the safe, secure, and sound doctrine of the Church, and how does the teaching at hand compare to it or complement it (see 1 Tim 6:3, Titus 1:9)?
- What is the counsel of other eminently trustworthy priests and bishops?
- What is the obvious connection, if any, between what you hear that concerns you and permanent Catholic teaching about spiritual health and the salvation of souls? (See Romans 16:17.)
- What is the response of the mistaken shepherd when you privately question him? Does he promise a public correction of his error? Does he perhaps offer a full and fraternal explanation, revealing something that you may have misinterpreted or misunderstood?
One example may help us: Suppose there is a priest who insists that homosexual practice (see CCC #2357) or, perhaps, transgender surgery (see #2333), is, or should be, fully accepted in, and accommodated by, Catholic moral teaching (cf. Jude 1:17-23).[2]In fact, let us suppose, further, that this priest wants to celebrate these notions and mentions them favorably and frequently in his homilies, even suggesting that there are multiple genders (cf. Gen 1:27) and that biblical condemnations of homosexual behaviors must be understood only in their ancient cultural context (2 Peter 3:16). This is the preaching of a wolf in a chasuble. It is wrong; it is wrong-headed; and it is not of God (1 John 3:10). But it will, sadly, be attractive to some.[3] As St. Paul taught: “For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching but, having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own likings and will turn away from the truth . . .” (2 Tim 4:3-4; cf. Gal 1:6-9, 2 Thess 2:10). Our Catholic duty and our Catholic hope are given in Acts (3:19): “Repent, therefore, and turn to[ward] God so that your sins may be wiped out” (See also the warning in Jude 1:4[4]
This is why St. Paul tells us: “what you have heard from me . . . entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also” (2 Tim 2:2). This is why we must pray for our priests and bishops who resolutely govern, guard, and guide us (see Hebrews 13:17) with the Truth of the Faith which comes to us from the Apostles.
+ Deo Gratias. Thanks be to God. +
[2] See, for example, here and here and here. Also see John Grondelski’s recent CWR column.
[3] Which is exactly why the advice against following the (frenzied) crowd is sound. See Exodus 23:2 and Prv 1:10. Truth is not a prize won by popular acclaim (John 5:44, 12:43; Gal 1:10; 1 Thess 2:4).
[4] The idea of wolves in sheep’s clothing “matures” in the apocalyptic warning against the mysterious and fearful “man of lawlessness” (2 Thess 2:1-12). The Catechism, similarly, points to a “supreme religious deception” in which “man glorifies himself in place of God” (#675), idolatrously regarding a human leader as the architect of all glory (cf. Jer 17:5, Is 2:22, Pss 118:8-9 and 146:3). Monsignor Robert Hugh Benson’s 1907 dystopian novel Lord of the Universe is an artful presentation of this moral and political peril, ever lurking in human affairs.
St. Paul doesn’t use the word crack in Thessalonians, but the entire narrative arc of the Man of Lawlessness is one of catastrophic structural failure—a being whose character is not merely flawed, but fundamentally unsound. In fact, St. Paul does graphically describe our inner turmoil in Romans (7:13-25 and in Galatians (5:16-17; cf. Psalm 51:5-10)—and see also James (1:14-15). Monsignor James Shea sententiously explains the critical nature of this in his book The Religion of the Day (see pp.100-105). The idea of our inner turmoil is depicted below in the statue which is cracking under certain pressures. Just as society can be destroyed by fissures in its foundation (see Psalm 11:3), resulting from loss of belief in or confidence about the Creator with whose will the society ought to be in tune, so can individuals be “hollow men” (T.S. Eliot), whose moral emptiness is revealed by the slightest challenge or “crack.”
Were I (again) teaching this, I would repair to Isaiah, Chapter 59, which is a stunning poetical autopsy of evil, yet mingled with hope (vv. 20-21). The cracks which we all have (Ps 51:5, Rom 7:13-25) can be divinely repaired (Pss 34:18 and147:3). We see the idea of revealing (and horrifying) “cracks” in the false façade of humanitarianism in such novels as The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890, Oscar Wilde), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886, Robert Louis Stevenson), and even in A Christmas Carol (1843, Charles Dickens)—there is an “inner wolf” in all these characters—as there are fractured characters in Shakespeare’s Iago (Othello), Hawthorne’s Roger Chillingworth (The Scarlet Letter), Bronte’s Mr. Brocklehurst (Jane Eyre), or–my “favorite”–Dostoevsky’s Grand Inquisitor (The Brothers Karamazov). The problem lies in our normalizing the cracks or sins, in a casual and indifferent approach to vice and error, and in apathy in the face of personal or political wickedness (Rev 3:16, CCC #2733). “The education of conscience is a lifelong task” and our baptized and confirmed responsibility for infusing the Christian spirit “into the morality and mores, laws and structures of [our] communities” is, similarly, a deep-rooted duty (CCC #1784, #2105, #1303, #2044).
All this is again reminiscent of Our Lord’s admonition: “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” (Mt 7:15) which, in turn, reminds us that The Liar (see John 8:44) called God a liar (Gen 3:4), seductively and deceitfully promising divinity to man.
This perfidious eschatological promise is the heart of liberal/socialist/Marxist ideology. To “make all things new,” though, is a matter of divine power (Rev 21:5), not of human machination (as was, for instance, the Tower of Babel—and see the little-known allegory of the cedars [in Ezekiel 31]). Consider Isaiah 30:13, which tells us about the branch ready to fall: “This iniquity shall be to you like a break in a high wall, bulging out, and about to collapse [RSV-CE].” This verse uses the image of a cracked wall to describe the consequences of rebellious leadership and misplaced trust. The “break”–or breach–represents moral and spiritual instability that will collapse under pressure, which menacingly surrounds us. (See CCC #407-#409, #1707.)
Additionally, see Ezekiel 13:10-14, which also concerns whitewashed walls and cracks: “[False prophets] build a [flimsy] wall and [daub] it with whitewash; say to those who daub it with whitewash that it will fall; . . . and you shall perish in the midst of it [RSV-CE].”Here, false prophets are likened to builders who disguise structural flaws–cracks–with superficial fixes. The imagery critiques leaders who mask corruption with meretricious appearances of righteousness. The Man of Lawlessness may be the ultimate embodiment of that kind of spiritual and moral instability: he is duplicitously impressive on the outside, but he is doomed by internal fault lines–as reported in the admonitory testimony of so many biblical and literary witnesses. Evil always lurks at our door (Gen 4:7), and we may—we must—master it, with God’s help (known in Hebrew as Timshel; see Steinbeck’s East of Eden).
Failure to call what is wicked vicious, and failure to call what is unjust evil, leads to a complicit, craven, tolerance of sin which becomes the regnant banality of evil. Personal or political “character cracks” become the house made of straw or sticks which the wolf, of course, blows down—except that, in reality (if not in the old story), the straw and sticks are already rotten (Ezekiel 13:13 is sobering). When we jovially tolerate “cracks” or evil, we should recall Chesterton’s idea of tolerance: that it is “the virtue of the man without convictions.”
In Divini Redemptoris (1937), Pope Pius XI wrote that “Everything must crumble that is not grounded on the one cornerstone which is Christ Jesus” (#38).
We have, for decades now, produced thousands of Catholic college graduates who know nothing, or almost nothing, of the allusions I have made here, resulting in chaos in families, in politics, and in the Church. Their (and others’) spiritual illiteracy manifests itself in a corrosive ethical relativism which mocks the truth of our two wars against, first, “the world rulers of this present darkness” (Eph 6:12) and, second, against our own moral weaknesses—the cracks in our character, to be repaired only by the spiritual mortar of Christ and His Sacraments (see 1 Peter 2:11, James 14:15, and CCC #405-409, #1264, #1426, and #2752.)
