Covenant, Cultus, Culture: Walking by the Light of Christ
The fundamental law governing Christendom's growth, decay, and rebirth
As we learn in the Epistle to the Hebrews, our Lord Jesus Christ is the Mediator of a new covenant (Heb 9:15, 12:24). This means he is the Mediator of a new cultus, a Latin word referring to the act of worshiping God. And this implies that He is the Mediator of a new culture, for, as Christopher Dawson was famous for saying, every culture is built upon the foundation of divine worship and religious practice.
By a spontaneous and irresistible force, the practice of religion and the worship of God build up around themselves a clothing of fine arts, social conventions, familiar customs; they permeate the political order and spark intellectual endeavors. Indeed, they give a basis, direction, and momentum to all human endeavors.
Wherever Catholic Christianity takes root and flourishes, it gathers around itself, as a magnet gathers iron filings, all that is beautiful in the customs and arts of evangelized peoples, with everything unworthy of that attraction left behind. Eventually, truly great arts are born, as the Middle Ages demonstrate with such awesome grandeur—a grandeur combined with an unprecedented attention to detail.
The converse is no less true: where the influence of Christianity wanes, the quality and perfection of art decline, with accelerating diminishment as one unfaithful generation succeeds another. For a time, people can live off the crumbs of the former culture, but these stale crumbs run out, and people are left empty-handed, malnourished, with a gnawing hunger in their bellies. This leads to feelings of resentment, frustration, and alienation, which erupt in abstractionism, absurdism, nihilism, sensualism, obscenity, and violence.
There is no “quick fix” to the problem of a lost or wayward culture—it cannot be transformed overnight. There is only one way to fix it, and that is to make sure we address the foundation of it: the slow, patient, persistent sequela Christi, the following of Christ. We follow Him by embracing and handing down each and every truth He teaches us in His Church, and all her holy traditions. We follow Him by receiving His goodness in the form of natural goods and supernatural graces, and leading others to share in them. We follow Him by preserving the works of beauty He has inspired over centuries of faith-filled culture, adding new works in harmony with those that came before, to the best of our ability.
By doing these things—which are, when all is said and done, modest things that everyone can do, here and now—we will find out, when the last trump sounds, that we have played our part in the continuation and revitalization of Christian culture. After all, it was in the midst of a dying, decadent, and tyrannical pagan Roman Empire that the infant Church, lacking all political influence and as yet poor in cultural resources, grew up with irrepressible energy to become, in due course, the mighty tree of Christendom under the branches of which all the nations of the earth found shelter. Catholics accomplished this miracle by following with joyful determination Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The arm of the Lord is not shortened (cf. Is. 59:1); He can work wonders anew (cf. Hab. 3:2).
Compelling articulation of the cultus-to-culture progression. The observation that art quality declines with accelerating diminishment across unfaithful generations identifies a temporal dynamic often missed in static cultural analysis—decay isn't linear but exponential once the sacred foundation erodes. What's intriguing is how this mirrors biological systems where homeostatic mechanisms fail gradually then suddenly. The "clothing of fine arts and social conventions" metaphor works becuase it captures both the natural emergence and the protective function of cultural forms around worship. I've seen this pattern in communities attempting cultural revival without addressing the liturgical core.
Thanks you Peter. In trying to get this message out to as many as possible in these darkening times, you may have seen this already, but just in case you haven't:
The Sermon on the Mount, Excerpts from an Entrancing Analysis (Author Unknown)
Over 2,000 years ago, on a quiet hillside in Galilee, something happened that would echo across every generation. The wind stirred through the olive trees. A crowd gathered, restless, farmers, mothers, zealots, beggars, all drawn by rumors of a man unlike any other. Not a king, not a rabbi like the rest, not a soldier or a prophet calling for war, but a carpenter from Nazareth, a man who would speak, and the world quietly, irrevocably would begin to turn. And then he sat down. No throne, no platform, just a rock and a voice. And with that first word, blessed, the ground beneath the old world began to crack.
What followed became known as the sermon on the mount. But it was never meant to be just a sermon. It was a revolution of the heart, a collision between heaven's values and earth's assumptions. And if you really hear what Jesus said that day, it will challenge your ideas of strength, success, justice, even what it means to follow God. So why does this message still matter? Because in a world like ours filled with anxiety, division, betrayal, and noise, Jesus didn't just teach us how to live. He revealed the kind of people God calls blessed. And it's not the rich, the powerful, or the loud. It's the poor in spirit, the peacemakers, the ones who mourn, the merciful, the forgotten. You're about to see why Jesus said that the meek, not the dominant, will inherit the earth, and how that one phrase still breaks every rule the world believes about power. What Jesus taught on that hillside was meant for you right now. And the question is no longer whether you've heard his words, but whether you're ready to live them.
He opened his mouth and began to teach them, saying, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." With that one sentence, Jesus overturned everything the world thought it knew about blessing. In that moment, Matthew 5:3, Jesus wasn't just giving comfort. He was redefining reality because the crowd that stood before him had lived under Roman oppression. They had been taught that blessing looked like wealth, status, or religious perfection. But Jesus looked at the broken, the outcast, the humble, and called them blessed. Blessed are the poor in spirit, not the arrogant or self-sufficient, but those who recognize their deep need for God, the ones who come to the throne not with trophies, but with empty hands. Jesus says that's where the kingdom begins.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Matthew 5:5. Now, this is where the crowd likely froze because meekness was not a virtue in that world or in ours. It sounded like weakness. But in Jesus' kingdom, meekness is controlled strength. It's the waror trained to move only at its master's command. It's having the power to retaliate and choosing instead to love.
Then Jesus begins to describe the kind of people who not only receive grace but reflect it, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers. He paints a portrait of a kingdom citizen not defined by domination but by transformation, not by outward power, but by inward purity. And just when it seems like blessing means comfort and reward, Jesus drops the last line. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake. Matthew 5:10. Blessed not despite the persecution, but in it. Because when you live like this, you will not fit the world system. And that Jesus says is exactly where the kingdom begins to shine. ...
[And here he completes the Law of Moses]: You have heard that it was said to those of old, "You shall not murder." But I say to you, Matthew 5 21. Here it is, not a change in the law, but a piercing of the heart behind it. Jesus says that anger, the kind that simmers and stews, is the root of murder. That insults and bitterness are not lesser sins, but early signs of a life disconnected from love. In other words, it's not just about what your hands do. It's about what your heart harbors.
And he doesn't stop there. You have heard that it was said, "You shall not commit adultery." But I say to you. Matthew 5 27. Now he addresses lust. Not just the act, but the intent, the glance that lingers, the imagination that wanders. He isn't adding rules. He's revealing how deeply holiness reaches. not to restrict us but to set us free from the things that silently corrode our souls.
Jesus is peeling back the layers. And in doing so, he shows us that God's law was never meant to be just behavior management. It was always about love, love for God and love for people. That's why he says, "Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 5:20. That would have landed like thunder. Because the Pharisees were seen as the gold standard of righteousness. But Jesus is pointing to something higher. Not more rules, but more depth. Not stricter performance, but deeper surrender. This is not a heavier burden. It's a different kind of righteousness. The kind that only begins when we stop trying to impress God and start letting him transform us from the inside out.
Now Jesus says something that doesn't just stretch the mind, it confronts the heart. You have heard that it was said, "Love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Matthew 5:43-44. This isn't a metaphor. He means it. In a culture built on honor and revenge, where Roman soldiers could strike you with impunity and the Zealots dreamed of violent revolution, Jesus wasn't just challenging personal grudges. He was undermining the very system of retaliation that defined their world. and ours.
Because if we're honest, loving our enemies is still the command we avoid. It sounds beautiful until it costs something. Until the enemy has a name, a face, a memory, until forgiveness feels like injustice, until blessing the one who hurt you feels like betrayal.
But listen to what Jesus says next. That you may be children of your father in heaven. Matthew 5:45. This isn't about being nice. It's about becoming more like God. Because our father, the one we claim to follow, sends his reign on the righteous and the unrighteous. He gives breath to those who praise him and to those who curse his name. His love is not reactive. It's redemptive. And that's the model Jesus gives us. Not weakness, not silence in the face of abuse, but a love that refuses to mirror the hatred it receives.
A love that breaks the cycle of retaliation by choosing mercy instead of vengeance. Because anyone can love those who love them. Jesus says even the most corrupt people do that. But enemy love, that's divine.
Because Jesus isn't giving us suggestions. He's describing what kingdom people look like. And this is at the center of it. Not just loving our family or friends. Not just being kind to those who agree with us, but learning how to extend compassion where it's least deserved. Because that's exactly what God did for us.