By Bishop Jaime Soto
When I was a young boy growing up in the Soto household, I had the naive impression that my mother was perpetually pregnant. As I have regularly reported to you, I was the oldest child in a family of seven children -- six boys and one girl. There is 10-year difference between my youngest brother and me. I’ll let you do the math.
I do not remember much fanfare about the announcement that my mother was expecting another child. There was a regular drill when the due date approached. Taking advantage of the tribal dimensions of a large extended Mexican family, we were all sent on “vacation” to the homes of uncles, aunts and cousins. After a week or so, our relatives would bring us back home for a party to celebrate a new invited guest, another sibling, who would stay with us after everyone else left. The house would be brimming with people, noise and food. We were escorted into my parents’ bedroom to meet the new recruit. There was a sense of whispered awe, wonder and learning a new name.
Another thrill upon returning from “vacation,” was different parts of the house and the yard had been painted or fixed. Sometimes there was new furniture. The explanation: My father took his vacation to get the house in shape while we were away. Certain tasks were easier without the usual family commotion.
These well-scheduled domestic rituals were possible because my mother had caesarian births for all seven children. I will not go into the reasons or the advisability of this practice. I only say that this was during the 1950s and early 1960s. We were Catholic, Mexican Catholics. There was no sense of heroism or apparent anxiety. When I was older, some of the drama regarding the birth of my youngest sibling did come to light.
Much later, as a young priest, I was having lunch with a small group. We fell into a conversation about families. I shared with them my weekly family visits every Sunday afternoon. After a busy rush of Sunday Masses and appointments, it was an oasis to cross the threshold of my parents’ home to be surrounded by brothers and sister, nephews and nieces. To my surprise, most of the lunch table group considered this a very stifling custom. Children should be free to live their own lives, unencumbered by such family tethers.
When our lunch meal ended and I walked away, I still preferred the tight tethers of family to the sterile prospects of freedom proposed by my hosts. So much of my self-understanding came from the daily family table. My understanding of the faith was as much nurtured from my seat at that table as it was seated in the pew of the parish church.
This was also my experience as priest working in a Hispanic (largely Mexican) immigrant parish. Adults seldom told me what they did for a living. (I might surmise this from the grit in their callous hands or the stuff stowed in the back of their trucks.) They eagerly told me about their families. For some, I never knew how they earned their living. That was not as important as knowing their children, their spouses and their insistence that I visit their homes.
These brief anecdotal reflections on the family are offered as a context for understanding the encyclical, Humanae Vitae, promulgated by Pope Paul VI in July 1968. We are marking 50 years since it was presented. Much of the continuing controversy regarding the teaching of Humanae Vitae tends to focus on the technological introduction of artificial contraception.
Today we live in a largely contraceptive culture. Arguments continue whether artificial methods of contraception are a cause or a symptom of this culture. Regardless of how one weighs in on this debate, contraception is the culturally accepted “default” position. Any contrary position, such as Humanae Vitae, is considered inadmissible. Still, there exists evidence to pause over pushing the “default” button.
A recent edition of 1843, a publication of The Economist (an avid promoter of global contraceptive policies), raised the following questions about the current culture state of affairs:
“The pill revolutionized women’s reproductive health: it transformed attitudes to sex and allowed women to take control of their bodies. But since its introduction, advances in contraceptive technology have stagnated while hormonal contraceptives continue to have significant shortcomings: side-effects include depression, weight gain, unpredictable bleeding and a higher risk of developing blood clots. Intrauterine devices (IUDs), an effective mechanical alternative to chemicals, can lead to perforation of the uterus and pelvic inflammatory disease.” (“No more period drama,” 1843, August/September 2017)
This was a surprisingly candid assessment of what is popularly promoted as a “risk-free” technological advancement for women. The article went on explore new technological advances that may make “natural family planning” more appealing. I leave the exploration of this to interested readers. My concern is the larger cultural understanding of the family that has been affected by this technology innovation and now accepts that innovation as the “default,” the new normal. In addition to the compromises to health brought on by artificial contraceptives, there are the moral compromises clearly anticipated by the encyclical of Pope Paul VI, published 50 years ago.
The role of the family in the creation and development of human life is defined largely by the impact on children of the simple, seemingly mundane domestic habits of family: meals at table, religious practice, conversation, courtesy, teaching, parental roles, as well as sexual relations. Artificial contraception is one area where the culture of technology has rearranged the family. There are other technological influences that have also intruded into the habits of the home: communications, education, agriculture, transportation, employment, and pharmaceutics, to name only a few. There is much good to be found in this age of rapid technological change, but not always for the good of the family.
Pope Francis, in his apostolic exhortation, Amoris Laetitia, challenges the illusions of technology. “Let us not fall into the sin of trying to replace the Creator. We are creatures and not omnipotent. Creation is prior to us and must be received as a gift. At the same time, we are called to protect our humanity, and this means, in the first place, accepting it and respecting it as it was created.” (AL, No. 56)
The infancy narratives of Jesus, in both Luke and Matthew, remind us how central the human family is to divine salvation. Every family is part of this divine innovation. The family is how each of us is created and how each of us will be saved. There is a science to this, but more importantly it is a grace. Our joy will be found in the latter.
Catholic Herald Issue