The Jesuit Spadaro insults Jesus gravely


Father Antonio Spadaro S.I.'s heretical blasphemies in il Fatto Quotidiano

The Treccani Vocabulary defines "blasphemy" as "insulting and irreverent expression against God and the saints and sacred things: blasphemy is outrageous speech against the Lord, and is directly contrary to divine praise [...]. Catholic theology distinguishes a heretical blasphemy, when it contains things contrary to the faith, a simple blasphemy, consisting of mere insult."

Father Antonio Spadaro S.I., director of the magazine La Civiltà Cattolica, published by the Society of Jesus, did not shy away from this in his weekly commentary on the Gospel (Mt. 15:21-28), published Sunday, Aug. 20, in the ultra-laicist daily Il Fatto Quotidiano.

Here, then, is one of Pope Francis' theologians of reference rereading the Gospel passage from a perspective that is no longer Catholic, but revised and corrected, indeed "illuminated" by the pseudo-catechism "Casa Santa Marta edition," of which the Jesuit theologian is an enthusiastic devotee and herald, ringing out - with clarity and a confidence that admits of no reply - the following attributes directed at Our Lord Jesus Christ:

- indifferent to suffering;

- stymied and insensitive;

- inscrutably harsh;

- unmerciful theologian;

- mocking and disrespectful toward the poor mother;

- with a fall in tone, style and humanity;

- blinded by nationalism and theological rigorism;

- rigid, confused and to be converted;

- sick and captive by the rigidity and dominant theological, political and cultural elements of his time;

- praiser of the pagan faith.

Of course, in the parts of Santa Marta all is silent about the heretical blasphemies of Father Antonio Spadaro S.I.

The article of Spadaro:

Seeds of revolution. Jesus praises the great faith of a pagan woman

Jesus is in Gennesaret, on the right shore of Lake Tiberias. The local people had recognized him and the news of his presence had spread throughout the region, from mouth to mouth. Many brought sick people to him, who were healed. It was a land where people had to welcome and understand him. His actions were effective. But the Master did not stop. Matthew (15:21-28)-who is writing for the Jews-tells us that he leaves toward the northwest, the area of Tyre and Sideron, that is, in the Phoenician, and therefore pagan, area.

But behold, shouts are heard. They are from a woman. She is Canaanite, that is, from that region inhabited by an idolatrous people whom Israel looked upon with contempt and enmity. The story pretended that Jesus and the woman were enemies, therefore. The woman cries out, "Have mercy on me, Lord, son of David! My daughter is greatly tormented by a demon." The body of this woman, her voice impose themselves erupting as if on the scene of a tragedy. Impossible for Jesus not to react before the chaos that abruptly interrupted the path.

But he did not. "But he did not even address a word to her," Matthew laconically writes.

Jesus remains indifferent. His disciples approach him and plead with him in amazement. The woman was moving those who also misjudged her! Her cries had broken the barrier of rancor. But Jesus did not care. "Exempt her, for she comes shouting after us!" his own plead with him, discreetly trying to use the card of her insistence and the annoyance her presence would give to the Master's chimney [sic!].

Silence is followed by Jesus' stymied and callous reply, "I was not sent except to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." The Master's harshness is unshakable. Now even Jesus plays the theologian: the mission received from God is limited to the children of Israel. So, no dice. Mercy is not for her. It is excluded. There is no question about it.

But the woman is stubborn. Her hope is desperate, knocking down not only all supposed tribal enmity, but also opportunity, her own dignity. She throws herself before him and pleads with him, "Lady, help me!" She calls him "Lord," that is, she acknowledges his authority and mission. What else can Jesus claim to act? Yet he responds mockingly and disrespectfully to the poor woman, "It is not good to take the children's bread and throw it to the little dogs," i.e., domestic dogs. A fall in tone, in style, in humanity. Jesus appears as if he was blinded by nationalism and theological rigor.

Anyone would have desisted. But the woman did not. She is determined: she wants her daughter healed. And she catches on the fly the one chink left open by Jesus' words, there where he had referred to domestic (and therefore not stray) pooches. They share the home of their masters, indeed. And so with a move that desperation makes cunning he says, "It is true, Lord, and yet the little dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." A few words, but well placed and such as to upset Jesus' rigidity, to conform him, to "convert" him to himself. Indeed, Jesus, without hesitation, replies, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it happen for you as you wish." And from that instant his daughter was healed. And Jesus, too, appears healed, and finally shows himself free, from the rigidity from the dominant theological, political d cultural elements of his time.

So what happened? Jesus, outside the land of Israel, healed the daughter of a pagan woman, despised for being a Canaanite. Not only that: he gives her reason and praises her great faith. Here is the seed of a revolution.