Since the thirteenth century, the Catholic Church has bestowed the title “doctor of the Church” (doctor ecclesiae) on thirty men and three women. What is the significance of that title, what is the selection process, and who were the first churchmen so named?
Doctor of the Church is a distinctive title awarded posthumously to the most eminent Christian teachers and writers who used their God-inspired gifts to illuminate the doctrines and dogmas of the Catholic faith. They not only explained the faith in a manner that has stood the test of time but, often at the risk of life, courageously defended the Church against the heresies and errors of their era. Each possessed a unique teaching magnetism that, like the Apostles, evolved from the Holy Spirit. It is remarkable that in every time and in every era, God has sent us such men and women.
In an interview for 60 Minutes in 1987, Sister Thea Bowman, FSPA, told Mike Wallace, “I think the difference between me and some other people is that I am content to do my little bit. Sometimes people think they have to do big things in order to make change. If each one of us would light the candle, we’ve got a tremendous light.”
Remaining true to those words, Sister Thea Bowman crowded a lot of “little bit” into her fifty-two years. In retrospect, much of what she did transcended the adjective little. She made decisions and faced situations that required a great deal of courage and influenced thousands. Part of her “little bit” philosophy was “to try.” Before she died in 1990, she said she hoped her tombstone inscription would read “She tried.” Her wish was later granted.
Many readers will remember with fondness Pope John XXIII, certainly one of the most loved popes of the twentieth century. Coming after the stern and aristocratic Eugenio Pacelli, Pope Pius XII, this roly-poly man with a smile on his face and a readiness for a joke was a breath of fresh air for many. In fact, that was the meaning he gave to the major project of his papacy, the convoking of the Second Vatican Council. John XXIII wanted the council to open windows that had been closed to let in some fresh air.
O King of Heaven! from starry throne descending,
Thou takest refuge in that wretched cave;
O God of bliss! I see Thee cold and trembling,
What pain it cost Thee fallen man to save!
Thou, of a thousand worlds the great Creator,
Dost now the pain of cold and want endure;
Thy poverty but makes Thee more endearing,
For well I know ’tis love has made Thee poor.
I see Thee leave Thy Heavenly Father’s bosom,
But whither has Thy love transported Thee?
Upon a little straw I see Thee lying;
Why suffer thus? ’Tis all for love of me.
But if it is Thy will for me to suffer,
And by these sufferings my heart to move,
Wherefore, my Jesus, do I see Thee weeping?
’Tis not for pain Thou weepest, but for love.
Thou weepest thus to see me so ungrateful;
My sins have pierced Thee to the very core;
I once despised Thy love, but now I love Thee,
I love but Thee; then, Jesus, weep no more.
Thou sleepest, Lord, but Thy heart ever watches,
No slumber can a heart so loving take;
But tell me, darling Child, of what Thou thinkest,
“I think,” he says, “of dying for Thy sake.”
Is it for me that Thou dost think of dying!
What, then, O Jesus! can I but love Thee?
Mary, my hope! If I love him too little-
Although his name is not listed on the official Church calendar for March 15 (also the feast of Saint Joseph, foster father of Jesus), Clement Mary Hofbauer is my choice for saint of the month.
One reason for this choice is that Saint Clement, born on December 26, 1751, in central Europe, became a Redemptorist priest, just as I did, so we are “family.” Second, I am presently living in Saint Clement Health Care Center, and I will soon need a benevolent promoter “on the other side.”
So even though we cannot celebrate him liturgically, we can recall some facts of his life that have caused him to be recognized as the “second founder” of the Redemptorists and the patron saint of Vienna.
In the Gospel story of the widow's mite, Jesus is unimpressed watching the rich put large offerings into the temple treasury. He praises instead the poor widow who put in only two copper coins. "I assure you," he said to his disciples, "this poor widow has put in more than all the rest."
Saint John Neumann reminds me of that poor widow. He was a short, shy, back-country immigrant priest. In the eyes of some he was an unimpressive, awkward little man; but in God's eyes John was peerless, and his mite was a priceless gift. All that he had and was he willingly offered to God.
In early June of 1883, the major superior of the Sisters of St. Francis in Syracuse, New York, received this letter from a priest assigned to the Catholic Mission in the Kingdom of Hawaii. He was desperately seeking her assistance: “I have passed twenty-nine years of my life as a missionary in the Sandwich Islands. At present I am in America. My bishop…requested by the King of the Archipelago and his government, sent me to this country to look for sisters who would take charge of our hospitals, and even of our schools….The King, remark it, and his counselors are Protestants.”
To further demonstrate the seriousness and urgency of his request, the priest also explained: “I deposited in the California Bank of San Francisco enough money to pay all traveling expenses of the sisters. One hospital is already built at Honolulu, the capital of the Islands; and arrangements are taken to build two others….Have pity, Reverend Mother, on our poor sick, help us,” he concluded.
Since the thirteenth century, the Catholic Church has bestowed the title “doctor of the Church” (doctor ecclesiae) on thirty men and three women. What is the significance of that title, what is the selection process, and who were the first churchmen so named?
In an interview for 60 Minutes in 1987, Sister Thea Bowman, FSPA, told Mike Wallace, “I think the difference between me and some other people is that I am content to do my little bit. Sometimes people think they have to do big things in order to make change. If each one of us would light the candle, we’ve got a tremendous light.”
In early June of 1883, the major superior of the Sisters of St. Francis in Syracuse, New York, received this letter from a priest assigned to the Catholic Mission in the Kingdom of Hawaii. He was desperately seeking her assistance: “I have passed twenty-nine years of my life as a missionary in the Sandwich Islands. At present I am in America. My bishop…requested by the King of the Archipelago and his government, sent me to this country to look for sisters who would take charge of our hospitals, and even of our schools….The King, remark it, and his counselors are Protestants.”
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