Talk: "If It's Not Real Catholicism, To Hell With It"

 

I gave the following talk for the Archdiocese of Scranton's 11th Annual Men’s Conference this past Saturday in Wilkes Barre, PA. The men were solid and the event was well organized and attended, around 350 guys. The following is the transcript of my talk, which a number of people asked me to post, so here it is. 

“If It’s Not Real Catholicism, To Hell With It”

If anyone is familiar with the American Catholic writer Flannery O’Connor, they would be familiar with her famous quote, “If the Eucharist is just a symbol, then to hell with it.” Ms. O’Connor, as a Catholic living in the entrenched bible belt of the deep South, and writing her unique brand of dark “Southern Gothic” that was often lost (and sometimes seen as distasteful) on her audience, she occupied a niche space in the literary world of the mid-twentieth century. 

And yet her influence in the Catholic world both theologically and in literature has endured to this day along with the likes of Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, J.R.R. Tolkien and others. Why? Ms. O’Connor, who died of lupus at age 39, was an authentic Catholic whose vocation was found in the written word. She embraced that vocation with a dedication and purpose that dovetailed with the seriousness with which she approached the Christian life of discipleship. The themes she explored in her short stories–sin, grace, redemption–are universal themes which she explored with an incisive astuteness. In other words, only Flannery O’Connor could have written the words that Flannery O’Connor did because she embraced her vocation as both a writer and as a Catholic. For Flannery, the two were symbiotic and inseparable.

So why am I kicking off my talk at a men’s conference talking about a woman who lived almost a century ago, and a writer (when probably less than 1% of the general population are writers)? When I was drafting this talk (three days before the conference, since I was filling in for Brian Holdsworth at short notice), I knew I was a bit of a B-lister, rather than a headliner; an opener no one has heard of for the main band that everyone has paid good money to see. 

Although I have given talks to smaller audiences, a 400 man conference where I was expected to fill a 50 minute time slot is a first for me. But I think the reason I am here today is because the Holy Spirit has something to say, and I was the man He enlisted to say it. It could have been Brian. It could have been my friend Kevin Wells. These guys are varsity Catholics–faithful, insightful, smart and zealous. They love the Church and see the crisis more vividly than many. They have made it their vocation, like Flannery O’Connor, to speak the truth of the Faith in only a way Kevin Wells and Brian Holdsworth can. Sometimes it is irreverent, or shocking. But the point, as Kevin and Brian well know, is to wake your average pew-sitting Catholic from their slumber. By any means necessary.

And God does not do “accidents.” Brian is not here today because God had other plans for not only him and his family, but for you. Kevin is not here today because God needs him elsewhere. To quote some grandmother somewhere, “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.” And that Providence is EXACTLY what God intended for you today.

Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade talks about this “abandonment to Divine Providence” as “the Sacrament of the Present Moment.” It’s one of the few times when a secular adage like “everything happens for a reason” actually dovetails with a Catholic understanding of the divine economy.

And I will tell you why in God’s perfect plan you ended up with a B-lister Catholic speaker (aka, me) today. And that is because the Holy Spirit will not be silenced. He needs to speak in silent groanings. And like Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park observed, “life finds a way.” The Spirit MUST speak, because He will not be silenced. The Spirit finds a way.

In many respects I am not an ideal “first pick” speaker for a large men’s conference. I think with a right-side brain. I drive a Prius. I discern primarily through intuition rather than cold hard logic. 

Matt Walsh from the Daily Wire shot a documentary a couple years ago titled “What Is A Woman?” It was and is a fundamental question that can be, surprisingly, a hard one to answer. Is being a woman (or a man) a matter of biology? Of cultural expectations of how to act? Is a tomboy more girl or more boy? In many ways, the cultural gender confusion we are living through in the present age is a reflection of our inability to answer this one simple and fundamental question on which the whole of society hinges.

Although the character traits I mentioned earlier obviously do not disqualify me from being a man, there is an unspoken pressure to conform oneself to cultural standards. As comedian Dave Chappelle observed, “the hardest thing for anyone to do is go against their tribe.” Because the question “What is a man?” can be a nuanced one, there is a temptation to reduce it to the lowest common, universal denominator. And the result of that reduction is caricature. A man watches such and such sport. A man drives such and such vehicle. A man does not need other people (ie, a “one man wolfpack”).

There are some universal traits that we should aspire to as men: a sense of duty and sacrifice; an ability to defer gratification and eschew softness (‘mollis’--that is, yielding to touch); a desire to provide and protect. These are inherent traits based in nature and the divine order that are oriented towards the good, the complementary nature of men and women. But there is also a gradient or spectrum of how these traits manifest and are lived out from man to man. 

In the same way Flannery O’Connor was not your “typical” Catholic, not a caricature of what faith or belief is supposed to look like, there are men in the audience today who may be wondering how to answer that question “What is a man?” And more specifically, “What qualifies ME as one?”

Although I could extrapolate on that topic for the purposes of this talk I would like to instead focus on the question “What is a Catholic?” What makes someone a Catholic? And what does authentic Catholicism look like? Because as I’ve alluded to in the title of this talk, if you are not living an authentic Catholic life, you might as well say “to hell with it.”

Because we are exploring a fundamental question, let’s start with some fundamental assumptions concerning what makes a Catholic.

First, by our baptism, we are welcomed into the family of God. We are endowed with an indelible birthmark that can never be erased. We are marked men (and women) for God as His children. Although baptism by its nature confers grace and accomplishes this end even when it takes place outside a Catholic church (such as in a Protestant denomination, at a river, or even baptism by an atheist in times of war or emergency), a Catholic baptism is the welcoming into God’s family in His own house. The fundamentals are the same, but the character differs. Regardless, it is a prerequisite for Christian life.

In the early Church, many Christians would delay baptism til right before death because they took it so seriously, they didn’t want to mar the white garments of their freedom from Original Sin with personal sin. Today, obviously, people are baptized as infants even when their parents may not practice the faith. They at least have the spiritual good sense to recognize it as a good and not deprive their child of that sacramental grace.

We can point to political figures such as Joe BIden or Nancy Pelosi, whose public stances are at odds with Catholic teaching. Yet they are Catholics by nature of their baptism. They are only one good Confession away from coming back into communion with the Church. I may be signaling them out because of the public nature of their positions, but the fact is the percentage of baptized Catholics living contrary to their baptismal promises is high. And this is not only a scandal, but a perilous spiritual situation to find oneself in. Because they are leaning over the precipice of Hell without realizing what awaits them at the hour of their death.

So, Joe BIden, Nancy Pelosi and others living contrary to the Faith are still nonetheless Catholics (CINOs–Catholics in Name Only). Does this mean they are authentic Catholics? The evidence points to the contrary, despite the press’s insistence on President BIden being a “devout” Mass going Catholic.

The spiritual reality is that such Catholics not in a state of grace who approach the table of the Lord eat and drink condemnation upon themselves, as St. Paul warns.

I’m sure you have also heard of those who refer to themselves or others as “good Catholics.” This should be a bit of a red flag, for those who think themselves “good” are often “wise in their own eyes” as it says in Scripture, while those who recognize that “there is no good in me”  are often closer to the Kingdom of Heaven due to keeping their eyes lowered to the ground in humility and a recognition of their own sinfulness. It is part of the essential paradox that marks the Christian life, one that requires “eyes that see”--that one must die in order to live, serve rather than be served, forgive those who sin against us, etc. While the Our Father is a “complete protein,” a perfect prayer given to us by the Lord Himself, another one popular in the Jesus Prayer tradition of the Christian East is equally efficacious in its simplicity: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

This misguided mutation of authentic Catholic theology and spirituality reasons that “Good people go to Heaven” or, in another vein, that if we “do all the right things,” (serving on the parish council, volunteering with St. Vincent de Paul, participating in the KOC coat drive, going to Mass every Sunday, etc) we somehow merit or “earn” the “right” to reside there as well. When in fact, “no one is good, not one” as it says in Scripture, and that salvation is a matter of pure grace dependent on the mercy of God, not because of our merit. 

There is a third counterfeit form of Catholicism as well (and I should mention, all these scenarios have a grain of truth to them, but like all distortions of the truth, are not the full truth), and that is that of the so-called “cultural Catholic.” We often hear such Catholics justifying their positions by backing them up with “Well, I went to Catholic school from K-12” or “I went to Notre Dame/Fordham/Georgetown/insert CINO college here” or “My family is Irish Catholic, so…you know…” There is some residual value in the cultural traditions passed down via the various ethno-national branches of the Roman Catholic tree. The baptism scene in the movie The Godfather is a good example of this. 

But largely these things are artifacts of a bygone era, museum pieces that are meant to be admired rather than lived out. And this is because in the degenerate generation we live in, we cannot continue to drive the caravan of Catholicism on the fumes of an empty tank of cultural traditions devoid of authentic belief and practice. It is an impotent force against the hegemony of the cultural juggernaut  that makes victims of our children and erodes the roots of Christian culture cementing the dunes of society from washing into the sea. Cultural Catholicism is the cumbersome armor of Saul, when the particular demands of taking down Goliath depends on lightfootedness and the precision of a sling.

The scandal of Catholics professing the faith while living contrary to it; the self-righteousness of those who have the audacity to make a claim on Heaven’s throne because of their works; and the tired wheezing of riding the coattails of a cultural Catholicism that no longer exists in a post-Christian culture–these are three examples (among potential others) that miss the mark of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ today. 

In fact, I have found in my conversations with people regarding faith, belief and religion that I often refer to myself not as a Catholic, not as a Christian, but as a “disciple of Jesus Christ.” This feels like the most accurate way of describing what living the Catholic faith means to me and how it is the “whole armor of God” one dons when going to war with powers and principalities. Because of the scandal of the aforementioned Catholics, such a label has lost its meaning in the culture; indeed, even non-Catholic Christians are sometimes more bold and unapologetic in their witness despite not possessing the fullness of Truth, rightful authority, and the full quiver of sacramental grace. 

But by far the most deadly and abject state of being for a baptized Catholic today is given warning in the book of Revelation: “I wish you were hot or cold. But because you are lukewarm, I will vomit you from my mouth” (Rev 3:16). The violence of this rejection, this expulsion from the womb of God’s grace, is merited because God, in sending His only Son to die for our sins, is greeted with the most stinging of wounds–that of apathy. That God died for nothing, and that we yawn under the shower of the blood pouring from his pierced side on Calvary.  That we take this gift of life, the invitation to eternal life, for granted. 

As I may have mentioned earlier (or maybe it was in my speaker bio), I am a convert to the Catholic faith. I came into the Church when I was a freshman in college right before my nineteenth birthday. Though my father was a Byzantine Catholic and my mother an Episcopalian, my brothers and I were not raised with any faith. I never had the experience of being a cultural Catholic, going to Catholic school, or would have had any concept of what even constituted a “good” or “bad” Catholic. Although there were a lot of Catholics in my public high school, I did not know they were Catholic because nothing about their lives indicated that they were. They did not go to Mass. They did not speak about Jesus or their faith. They may have checked the “Catholic” box on a public census; but by all measures, they were baptized agnostics, a flaccid witness to what I would discover eventually to be a rich, vibrant, life giving faith that offers men the chance for redemption and salvation–which I was deeply in need of.

One of the hard things about becoming Catholic from a secular, hedonistic background was that the old man did not die easily. Like Augustine, my conversion was a “chastity, but not yet” scenario of steeling my nerve on the shores of continence to jump into the cold ocean of chaste and virtuous living, but having no one to imitate. I had come to belief and faith, but did not know how to act. Like St. James warns believers, I was a man “of two minds,” living between two worlds, trying to put new wine into old wineskins. The chasm between my old life and my new life in Christ was spreading and having one foot in each was simply putting pressure on my groin because I was reluctant to shed my old skin and take on the armor of Christ.  

I also did not know many faithful Catholics. I attended a Protestant bible study with good, faithful, solid men for six years because I couldn’t find a Catholic one that wasn’t at 10am on a Tuesday or some other time conducive to retired guys. I prayed a simple but sincere prayer in the spirit of St. Francis: “Lord, Send me some brothers.” And God answered that prayer by slowly, but steadily sending people into our lives that showed what a fruitful and authentic Catholic faith lived out looked like. 

And that’s the crux of the point I’m trying to get across to you today–heterodoxy, hypocrisy, and a benign cultural Catholicism is simply not sufficient to be a suitable witness in today’s world. I am a late Gen Xer, but Gen Z and Gen Alpha have an even stronger bs meter than my generation does. They can smell it from a mile away. On the flipside, however, is the fact that they respect and are attracted to authenticity. They also can be like spiritual “mystery shoppers” or “stealth applicants”--those who may discover the Catholic faith or Catholic teaching or witnesses by being fed it through their Youtube algorithm. It may begin with a curiosity, but can move into “gateway drug” territory where the more they learn about Catholicism and the more they witness people living out the faith in real time the more they are drawn to it, like a moth to the light. This is the work of grace, of the Holy Spirit of course; but it is also the work of evangelization, of men and women being salt and light in the world–of disciples of Jesus Christ drawing souls to Him like iron filaments to a magnet–slowly, quietly, and irresistibly. They do this not by playing a part, but being their authentic, unique selves with unique gifts and offering them for the sake of the kingdom.

We often outsource things to “experts.” My wife’s immigrant parents sent her and her siblings to Catholic school with the belief that they would be taught the faith there. This was in the late eighties and early nineties, a catechetical wasteland period in the Church which watered down the teachings of the Church in favor of social justice initiatives and “God is love” platitudes. My wife went to Catholic school for twelve years and never learned who Jesus was. 

The thing is, as a baptized Catholic sitting in this room today, you are given everything you need to not only live the Catholic faith, not only be sanctified by it, but to ascend to the heights of spiritual union with God and become a saint. That will not look the same for every man here, because you are all uniquely made in the image and likeness of God. But you were all made for holiness–it is your etiological end, the consummation of your experience as a man and human being. It is achievable not by your own efforts, but in cooperation with grace and aided by the sacraments. This is because God desires you to be saved, and will give you every means and tool to do so. Just as a chaste man is in control of his member–that is, strength through self-control, the man oriented to God is in possession of his reason and will and conforms them to God’s. The only thing preventing you from becoming a saint and leaving behind the snake skin of a tepid, lukewarm Catholicism is….you.

When Flannery O’Connor said, “If the Eucharist is only a symbol…to hell with it,” she was not being facetious, but uncovering a cultural reality with a poignant observation: there is no room for shells of realities, husk of the true–we must have meat, must dig for kernels in the midst of starvation. Anything less is dead weight and must be thrown overboard. Catholicism devoid of true faith and earnest belief is the lamest country club around. “Why do you call me Lord but do not do what I ask?” 

I realize, just as I mentioned earlier in this talk that there is not one mold or “type” of what makes a man, there are men present here today that are at different places in their faith journey. Some may be new converts, some may be cradle Catholics. For some the teachings of the faith are obvious, to others a revelation. Some may be coming back after years in the desert away from the sacraments, while some may be daily communicants and active members of their parish. But the fact remains that if you are taking time out of your busy schedules to attend a retreat like this on a Saturday in October, it’s not because you don’t have better things to do; it’s because you were moved to make the faith a priority in your life somehow. You want to be a better, more authentic Catholic and a more devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. You are ready for meat. 

I want to talk a little bit beyond the scope of “real” Catholicism and living an authentic Catholic life in general to hone in a little bit on the uniqueness of the male experience of faith. Because there is a degree of association with faith and religious practice with that of the female temperament–old ladies praying the rosary, or the women in scripture devoted to our Lord and serving him, or “church ladies” serving on the parish councils and various ministries in the church. Of course we know the life of faith and religious practice is not and should not be confined to female sensibilities–our Lord after all was a man, his disciples were men, heroic priests and religious throughout the centuries were men, and the Crusaders died defending Christendom from heretics were men. What happened to the Church? When did this shift take place that castrated the Church and effeminized it and turned otherwise willing men away from the practice of faith? When did the virility drain out through the grate?

The fallout from this is immeasurable. When the men go, they take everyone with them. Touchstone magazine years ago referenced a study that cited that when a father practices the Faith, it is much more effective in passing the Faith on to future generations than if a mother is faithful, or even if both parents are faithful. Men and fathers are the biggest influence when it comes to that transmission of faith through the family line.

Because of this fact, a few years ago I proposed a men’s group at our parish. In all honesty, I hadn’t had good experiences with men’s groups in the past, and my first article written for Crisis magazine a number of years ago went somewhat viral because it touched a nerve and a third rail. It was titled “Why Your Catholic Men’s Group Will Eventually Fold.” The basic premise was that men’s groups–necessary as they are, in my opinion–suffer from various universal deficiencies that make it hard to sustain a group long term. From needing a point person to lead, to the demands of work and family in one’s twenties and thirties, to lack of support from the parish, there are various challenges to having a successful men’s group that endures more than a year or two.

I called some guys from the parish together–some older, some younger, one of the deacons–and with the blessing of our pastor we had two informal meetings in which we hashed out a general idea of what we sought to accomplish. The “three legged stool” idea was that the once a month gathering should be limited in time (to respect family life and obligations), not require any kind of sign up or dues or bylaws or anything like that (so, informal or organic in nature), and appeal to male sensibilities–in other words, it should be founded on the three legs of prayer, formation, and fraternity. 

What it looked like when we started it a few years ago was that on the 4th Thursday of every month the church would be open for Exposition of the blessed sacrament. A man would lead the rosary during that time after 15 minutes or so of silent adoration, and men would take turns doing each mystery, so there was buy in and a sense of belonging and responsibility, no matter how seemingly insignificant. After that half hour to forty five minutes was up after Benediction, we would migrate to the basement for a talk on a topic relevant to our lives as Christian men–living the virtues, the lives of the saints, or some other theological or practical topic. Because our priest is stretched so thin, I didn’t want him to feel responsible for these talks, so I enlisted a different man each month to take up the challenge of choosing a topic and drafting a ten to fifteen minute talk to the guys. For some, this was an intimidating prospect, but the men took it seriously and there was buy-in and a sense of doing something challenging and uncomfortable. During the talk we would have wings or some other kind of food and beer and also non-alcoholic drinks. After the talk there is a fifteen minute period of discussion, and we then we wrap up. From start to finish, it’s an hour and a half once a month.

I have found that a few things help ensure the longevity of this enterprise, which consistently draws twenty to thirty guys each month. 

For one, consistency is important. Men know that on the 4th Thursday of every month, this is happening. I send a reminder email to those that put their name and email on a sign in sheet, but that’s about it. Because we are in the basement and men just kind of hear about it without any kind of formal advertising, I joke that it’s like Catholic Fight Club (without the fighting).

Secondly, there must be a value in coming. We ask guys to give up an hour and a half of their family time in the evening, so it better be worth their while. If nothing else, they get a solid period of prayer that they might not have otherwise, in the company of other men not ashamed to pray, then a meal and a good talk that challenges them to live out their faith and lead their families in virtue. It doesn’t ask men to sit around and share their feelings in a circle, or devolve into faux-masculine tropes of talking about sports or politics. We are focused on the fundamentals–prayer, fraternity, spiritual formation, in an informal setting. It is organic in the sense of coming from the bottom up, rather than the top down. The demands for the loose organizer (me) are minimal once it’s up and running–I supply the food with a coffee can for donations to cover cost, send a reminder email, solicit men to give the talks each month, and show up consistently.

Finally, it should not be complicated. KISS (keep it simple, silly), because men by nature are not especially complicated. The guys who come consistently appreciate that they know what to expect each month, that’s it's pretty much the same format from month to month, and there is no pressure to participate in discussion or get involved beyond just showing up. 

That’s it. It’s been relatively successful and gives men who may otherwise not have an opportunity for such fraternity the opportunity at the parish level. The more men can be formed into authentic witnesses to the faith, become stronger Christians and better husbands and fathers, the more I am convinced it is a necessary thing for the Church, and a small outlay of investment in exchange for big returns.

Because men especially appreciate tangible takeaways, what does it look like, practically speaking, to embrace authentic or “real” Catholicism? Like a kid going home from a birthday party that wouldn't be complete without some party favors, I’m going to send you on your way with a few suggestions that you can take or leave at your discretion:

Commit to 20 minutes of mental prayer a day. If you can’t do twenty, do 15. If you can’t do 15, do ten, and if you can’t do ten, do five to start. God gave his son’s life for you; your gift to Him is to give him your presence and you time. As St. Alphonus says, “He who prays will certainly be saved; he who does not pray is certainly damned.” You cannot live an authentic life of faith without prayer, and specifically, mental prayer. It is a non-negotiable. Because faith is a love affair, not an indentured servitude.

Speaking of prayer, pray specifically for a man, woman, or family to come into your life; or, if you are in a position to, be that man for others who are praying that “God send them some brothers.” As St. Paul says, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.” As Catholics, we understand that we are working out our salvation in fear and trembling not as individuals only, but as a corporal body–that is, the body of Christ, the universal Church militant. No man is an island; no man is a one man wolfpack. We need each other, but it is also true that faithful Catholics can serve as “vetting agents” to distill the voices in the Church we should be listening to, and those we should be wary of. Those who walk before us trod down a path for others to follow. 

Make frequent use of the sacraments. They are the tools in your toolbelt, the spiritual artillery in your armory. God graciously bestows these gifts to us through the Church the way he fed the Israelites in the desert not only with manna from Heaven, but meat in the form of foul as well. A good rule of thumb is Confession once a month (I usually time this with the First Friday and First Saturday devotion); and at the very least, Mass every Sunday and Holy Day of obligation. Remember–it is a mortal sin to miss Mass on Sundays and Holy Days of obligation without a sufficient reason (such as illness). If you can get to a daily Mass a few times a week or more, even better. I signed up for a 11pm Holy Hour slot at our local perpetual adoration chapel once a week, which makes me accountable and helps ensure I make the effort to put in some more extended “highway miles” in with the Lord.

Make charity a part of your life of faith. Charity means love, and this can manifest in a variety of ways beyond the typical serving in a soup kitchen or other ministries. Love is work, and it is hard work. Christian love especially, is the caritas that doesn't simply love our neighbor, but our enemies; it does give one’s cloak, but one’s tunic as well; it takes a beating and then gets up off the mat and offers the other side of the face as well. 

Incorporate fasting into your spiritual life. This is beneficial spiritually, obviously, but also on a natural level. In doing so, we “beat our bodies” as St. Paul coaches us to do to bring them into submission so that we are not ruled by our appetites. 

It should go without saying, but if you are in a state of mortal sin, you have to address this as a spiritual emergency, the way you would a 25% APR credit card balance. Repent internally and confess your sins in the Sacrament of Confession. Make restitution and a firm amendment. Confession is more powerful than an exorcism, as Fr. Amorth says. If you fall, get up. If you fall again, get up again. Keep getting up and making recourse to the God who forgives not seven times, but seventy times seven. Eventually if you persevere you will overcome the vice that enslaves you, by God’s grace, even when He allows you to struggle with it in order to purify you as gold in the refiner’s fire. “The just man falls seven times and rises again”

Make a habit of reading the Scriptures or praying the Liturgy of the Hours, and other spiritual reading, including the Catechism to educate yourself about the faith. Stick to the classics. Many can be obtained digitally for free, as they are in the public domain. I sometimes just play the New Testament on CD in my car while I am driving so that it seeps into my bones like water percolating through the soil. “Ignorance of Scripture is Ignorance of Christ” as St. Jerome said. Don’t let the Protestants be the only ones who know the Bible (They don’t even have all the Books!).

Be faithful in little things first, and God will entrust you with bigger things once you have proven yourself. As Mother Teresa said, “Do small things with great love.” This especially applies to married men with how we treat our wives. One little thing I try to do is always give my wife the dinner plate I would prefer myself (e.g., the one with the bigger pork chop or whatever) as a small exercise in self-deference. This life is training in preparation for the next, and no athlete goes from the couch to being a marathon runner without the consistent work of training. We are pupils in the school of love.

This one is a bit unconventional, but it relates to a Buddhist non sequitur or koan (riddle): “If you see the Buddha, kill him.” The idea being that we need to put to death our idea of God so that the lived reality of God can be experienced. The idea that we are “good” people, or that we can serve idols while professing faith in Christ. We must choose the reality of Christ–the resurrected, in-the-flesh Lord–over the illusions of a cicada-shell faith. For even Satan can manifest himself as an angel of light. There is another saying in the East: “One must seek after Enlightenment the way a drowning man seeks after air.” We must ask God for the grace to remain faithful, to preserve to the end, to run the race well. He will supply this grace if we ask in sincerity and humility.

Finally, profess Christ with your lips, for “if you deny him before men, he will deny you before his Heavenly Father.” For too long Catholics have been sheepish about internationally sharing Christ, the Good News of the Gospel, and the life giving teachings of the Church with others. We have ceded ground to Evangelicals, Pentecostals, Mormons and others who capitalize on this defection of duty to slip in and usurp from the sheepfold. Do not underestimate the power of an encounter, a bold stance, a selfless act, a sacrificial prayer. For the life you touch may touch a thousand others, multiplying your talent hundreds of folds over. For all of us, whether they realize it or not, the decision to follow Christ and be wed to his Bride, the Church, is a matter of life and death. Choose life. 

I realize I’m not a big name in the Catholic speaker world or anything like that, definitely on the B-list, but I thankfully don’t really care much about that kind of stuff. I know I was brought here today, providentially at the last minute, because the Holy Spirit anoints the ruddy brother and likewise made this appointment happen because He had something to say and for whatever reason, I was the guy to deliver the message. Don’t shoot the messenger, but even if you do, I can take it because I have learned to take a beating–something we as Christian men and disciples should learn to do in a very nuts and bolts way. “The world hates you because it hated me first,” Christ says. “If they persecuted me, they will persecute you.” “Do not think something strange is happening when you experience all kinds of trials” (1 Peter). The dark times, the storm we are entering into as a society and as a Church is only able to be weathered when we have our eyes firmly fixed on Christ. When we take our eyes off him, even for a second, we begin to sink, like Peter did while walking towards Christ on the water. But we were made for these times, and there is no sense in wishing we lived in some other time or place. God put you here this Saturday for a reason. Don’t squander the opportunity He has given you to die with Him so that you might be raised with Him on the last day.

To Live Again

I had lunch with a friend today. During the course of our conversation he said something by way of observation about how "hard" my life is. It sounded strange, but I know what he meant and what he was referring to. Although I am physically healthy, financially in good shape, and am doing well by all outward markers, the struggle to maintain mental and emotional equilibrium is indeed not easy. 

As someone with a mental..."handicap" let's call it...I work very hard to function in life. When my wife and I met for the first time, I joked that I always thought I would only be capable of "working" in a sheltered workshop, and that achieving anything beyond that was a bonus. When we would go to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) support meetings, those present commented that I seemed to be "high functioning;" that is, not done in by mental illness, not on disability, living independently and able to hold down a job. 

There was a time when I reasoned that it would be better not to bring life into this world if it meant passing down what I had to my progeny and subjecting them to that kind of suffering. I'm glad I didn't give into this fear-based reasoning and took a chance on children. It's been hugely rewarding, equally challenging, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But the extent to which I would consider not having children because of how serious my suffering is something I forget about until people like my friend comment on how "hard" my life can seem to be beneath the surface.

Just this past summer I would take walks in the woods near my parents house while visiting them and size up the trees. "This would be a good one (to hang myself from)", I would think to myself as if it were a normal observation. Rationally I know this is not normal or healthy, but in this head space beset by tempests of moods and dark mental clouds, it's hard to be convinced otherwise. 

It's not my first rodeo in dealing with these temptations towards suicidal ideation. Although I have made a non-negotiable pact with myself and my wife that "suicide is not an option" for me, I sometimes feel like Odysseus tied to the mast while the sirens call to my self-destruction and I tear at the bindings on my hands and feet to rush headlong towards them. The spiritual and mental coalesce in an indiscernible embrace where it becomes difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. 

But as I said, I work hard to stay level. I fight for life, even when I am exhausted. I had a priest friend over to bless the house and pray exorcism prayers over me, just to cover my bases. I abandoned the idea of going off my meds completely and made an appointment with my psychiatrist. I tried a new diet, doubled down on cutting out nicotine. My wife solicited prayers from our community for me. This was an especially aggressive bout of what felt like a mental auto-immune disease, where my mind was attacking itself, and seemed markedly different from the long-standing anhedonia (inability to feel or experience pleasure or interest in anything) I was suffering from over the winter. New battle, same grueling war. 

But slowly, things begin to shift. The new medication started to take positive effect, loosening up the detritus of darkness clogging up my neural pathways. My wife is also convinced of answered prayers. 

Eventually and all of a sudden, I went from wanting to die to actually enjoying being alive. I took up my old hobbies and interests--sewing, building and riding bikes, seeing friends, taking trips--and found myself experiencing pleasure in doing so. It was like a person numb to sexual desire for years suddenly able to experience the rush of an orgasm. I would find myself quietly praying during the course of the day "Lord, thank you for my life, for all you have gifted me." There's always a slight fear that comes along with "feeling good." Am I getting manic? I had more energy and my sleep was a little disrupted (awaking periodically in the middle of the night) on account of the virtually no-carb diet I was on, and was enjoying spending some money on little things here and there that I enjoyed, but I still felt balanced; the tell tale signs (hurried speech, reckless spending, racing thoughts, not sleeping, untempered exuberance, etc) of mania were not present. I was simply feeling....good. Weird, right?

It's strange and scary to think that our thoughts can be so real, feel so real, that the thought of killing oneself becomes not just a passing thought but a plan or fantasy. Yet, were one to just hang on for a little bit longer, there is no telling when the clouds might break and something shifts. If one can just push though, hang on, have hope when hope is an absent father, trust, believe, go through the motions--whatever it takes. Just don't end things prematurely. It might just get better. 

That doesn't mean it's going to stay in a static state of contentment forever. Contentment is fickle like that. But it does at least fortify an attitude of resilience. "You didn't kill yourself last year...you can stay alive this year too." Survival, coming through the other side, means setting up altars of remembrance that you turn back to as a testament, a reminder when things are hazy and like the Israelites, you forget. When you look back and see those cairns on the path, it is your reminder, your physical evidence that you have lived before and you will live again. 

Meat, Sex, and the Rosary

 

*Note: This is not clickbait and hopefully not scandalous to pious ears and eyes. Just something I've been thinking about. So read on in confidence; I'll get to the title point eventually!

One of the reasons I haven't posted in almost a month is I have been a little more preoccupied with my health and, more specifically, my diet (not that writing and such preoccupation have to be mutually exclusive like that, mind you). My blood pressure has been in the "pre-hypertension" range, and I am "overweight" according to my BMI by about 15-20 lbs. Glucose is normal, but I do tend to eat a lot of carbs and sweets. 

In any case, I've been exploring ways to lose weight and improve my health and energy, as nothing I've been doing seems to be working effectively. Two friends of mine have been having great results on the carnivore diet. My one friend has been on it for three years, and reportedly healed her lifelong IBS, psoriasis, and a whole range of other physical and mental health issues. Her total cholesterol was high, but from what she told me, demonizing cholesterol as a cause of heart disease may be misleading (more on that later), and she went ahead and got an artery scan to make sure they weren't blocked or anything, and they were all clear. My other friend is not strict carnivore, but meat heavy and says his anxiety has gone way down. He got a 172-point blood test done and everything came back healthy. Both have lost weight on it as well, fasting becomes way more sustainable, and hunger cravings subside. 

I am willing to give anything a try, but to be honest the thought of eating meat almost exclusively day in and day out makes me nauseous. I do really like meat, which is why I don't want to get tired of it by eating it all the time. But also, my inner skeptic was hard to quash, because it just sounds sooo unhealthy--fatty meats, heavy cream, butter, eggs, a little cheese, generous supplementation with salt, some fish like salmon. And that's pretty much it. No seed oils. No sugar or carbs. All of this food is high in saturated fat, which we have always been taught was dangerous to heart health, as well as sodium. I also was terrified of getting constipated, since there is virtually no fiber on such a diet. Everything about it just seems to go counter to mainstream nutrition and health science, as well as common sense. 

I know as a Christian, though, that viewing the teachings of Jesus through "mainstream" religious eyes (ie, that of the Pharisees and observant Jews of his day) makes absolutely no sense. Everything becomes paradox, flipped on its head, in order to work in the new divine economy. So I have faith that sometimes, maybe, things are not always as they seem. And the new "Way" that Jesus Christ espouses hinges on a few essential things without which it does not work: an abandonment to grace (rather than the Law); faith taking precedence over works; the cornerstone virtue of humility which admits it is powerless without God; and a charity which hurts (forgiving enemies, giving the cloak off your back, etc). So, I'm ok with paradox, willing to trust it if I trust the person leading.

I wanted to give this modified carnivore diet a go (even though in the back of my mind everything about it screams FAD DIET), and my friend talked me through a lot of my concerns and fears. I have been on the diet for almost two weeks and have lost almost a pound a day since starting, my blood pressure is for once in the "normal" range (120/80 or lower), I seem to have more energy (I've been working in the yard and biking almost every day without the need to take naps anymore) and mentally feel better as well. I don't feel constipated, yet only have a bowel movement once every three days or so (I used to be every day). This is because, apparently, your body has become so efficient at using your food for fuel that there is little waste left over. The diet is 80% fat calories, 20% protein, and virtually no carbohydrates. I also started reading the book The Big Fat Surprise by Nina Teicholz which makes the well-researched case that fats have been demonized due to flawed science, and that primitive cultures (like the Inuit, and other African tribes) have thrived on a high fat, animal based diet with almost no tooth decay or heart disease and cancer.

I think part of the lynchpin for the way this diet works is analogous to the way Christianity is rooted in paradox. The Holy Spirit will not rest on the proud, but only on the humble. You must die to live, be born again in order to see. The last will be first. God will not tolerate anything before him--you must leave mother and father to follow Christ exclusively, for no one who puts their hand to the plow and looks back is worthy to be a disciple. Likewise, this kind of fat-for-fuel incinerator works only when carbohydrates are strictly eliminated, because otherwise the system kind of breaks down and your body is not in a state of ketosis and so all that fat will then "stick" to you. In the same way a proud man or a man of two minds will not see the face of God, you have to play by these "new rules" somewhat strictly and consciously for the system to work. 

This was all a very roundabout and extended introduction to the fact that every day, I pretty much just eat meat (beef, lamb, chicken thighs, pork shoulder, bacon, etc), some eggs and cream and a bit of cheese, a little fish on Fridays, and electrolytes. Against all my thoughts to the contrary, this elimination diet has not burned me out yet--though there's no guarantee it won't in a few months time, provided I stay with it. 75% of the stuff in our pantry now I could probably throw out (beans, lentils, pasta, pastries, cereals, oils, flour, etc) though we keep it for the kids. It's just what I eat now. My wife is on board with me (though she is very low carb, she is not as strict on the carnivore piece).

+ + +

Speaking of my wife, we just celebrated our sixteenth wedding anniversary this summer. It's crazy when you think about that long-term commitment to one person (and we're just getting started!). Even monogamy in general seems like a novel concept to some of these B.C. male figures like King David and other biblical figures with their concubines and multiple wives. I do think there is something innate in men that, at a base level, craves sexual variety. But monogamy goes counter to that. It demands a strictness, an exclusivity, the elimination of all others. And that's not a bad thing, has its advantages, but only to say that man left to his own impulses would probably naturally choose to engage in relations with multiple women rather than just one if one is talking about strictly sexual gratification. Man wants salt and meat but also puff pastries and other sweets to gratify his palate. 

On a back-of-napkin calculation, assuming one has relations with their spouse twice a week, that's 8 times a month x 12 months a year x 16 years = 1,536 times you have engaged in the marital act with the same person over the course of one's marriage. The nature of the act changes over time, of course, and hopefully deepens as well. What becomes moments of unrestrained passion that can't be held back in the early years becomes scheduled "I'm not necessarily hungry but I'll eat" sessions. What they may sometimes lack in spontaneity they often make up for in intuitive self-giving; over many years, one learns how to please their spouse, the little touches and subtle caresses that gives them pleasure that may be lost on the same younger couple satiating their animalistic urges with each other's bodies. It is natural that sex, like eating, is an appetite. For some (like those who are single, priests and religious, consecrated virgins, etc) it is a perpetual fast that sublimates and draws its life-energy from other sources. One does not need sex to live, and these witnesses to celibacy prove that point. 

However, for married couples, St. Paul gives advice that one should be reticent to discount: one wife for one man (and vice versa) to prevent fornication (1 Cor 7:2); do not deprive each other except by mutual consent and for a time (1 Cor 7:5), and this for each other's benefit so that you are not tempted to infidelity. When you've been engaging in the marital act with the same person for decades, it seems natural that things might be a little...routine. Some couples may panic at this and as a result go to extremes to introduce some "spice" into their love lives by, perhaps, visiting a "Birds and Bees" type-boutique for some sex toys or role-playing outfits, or in more extreme cases, open up their relationship to others (swingers, threesomes, etc) or through mutual viewing of pornography. 

For the Christian, however, sex is more than just mutual gratification of the senses or the mechanics of manufacturing orgasms. It is a deep, abiding communion with another, a union of not only bodies, but souls. Just as God cannot get any closer to a human being's innermost self than He does in the reception of Holy Communion, man cannot get any closer to his wife when their marriage is consummated and they become not two but one flesh--not just figuratively, but spiritually.

Does this mean that every act of intercourse between spouses is a divine encounter of spiritual ecstasy that breaks open the seventh mansion of consummation in an earth-shattering rupture of heaven and earth? Of course it holds the potential for such experiences, but for those who have been married for any length of time, the mean is in the ordinary rather than the extra-ordinary. The spontaneous quickie before work has its place in a marriage as much as the dutiful living out of mutual submission through regularly scheduled intercourse after the kids go to bed. Both have the potential to be sinful, and both have the potential to be holy. But more often than not, routine sex in a marriage is the ordinary means of sanctification. 

And 'routine' is not a pejorative in this sense. Anyone knows that couples who go for months or even years without sex are starving each other--sometimes intentionally and vindictively, sometimes through neglect or prioritizing other things. Sex is a marital barometer. When one reaches old age, it is natural for things to cool and taper off as non-genital intimacy keeps the hearth of a marriage kindled. People who are married have more sex, more often, than those who are not married. And that's a good thing, because sex is a good thing! God made it "very good!" Regular sex in a marriage, even when it's not sublime or earth-shattering or uber-spiritual, is still a good even when it is the satisfying of an appetite. 

+ + +

Just as it's a little nauseating to think of how many pounds of meat I will be eating (provided I stay with this diet) over the next few months and, potentially, years, and just as (exhausting?) as the thought of having sex almost two thousand times over the course of our sixteen years of marriage is, the idea of praying the rosary every day (as Our Lady of Fatima exhorts us to do) has some parallels. The rosary is one of the most powerful meditative prayers in the arsenal of spiritual weapons we have as Catholics. As Fr. Amorth said, "Every Hail Mary is a blow to the Devil's head." It has the potential for deep insights into the life of our Lord and Our Lady that unfolds in scripture. It can bring healing of mind, body, and spirit. It can be meritorious for the souls in purgatory. Just as bringing a child (who may become a prophet, a scientist, a saint) into the world through the marital act can change the course of history, one rosary prayed with full devotion and unwavering belief can work miracles.

But let's be honest, here. When many of us who pray the rosary regularly do so, it's hard for it not to become rote. "Got my rosary in," or other type-A box checking can be akin to the joke my wife reminds me of ("err three days") when it comes to having relations. Sometimes you're just doing it because it's good to do, even if it is routine. I think Protestants especially see this "vain repetition" of the rosary and how many Catholics seem almost disconnected from it and think to themselves, "WORKS!" I think, like when it comes to a healthy, attentive, and unselfish sex life for married couples, there are things we can do to cultivate a more fruitful prayer life when it comes to the rosary. There are no shortage of spiritual books on the rosary that may give us new ways of looking at it, or entering more deeply into the Mysteries. We can slow down and, the way a cow chews it's cud, let each Hail Mary penetrate our senses and bring us right there into scripture, the way Lectio Divina bears its fruit. Of course, we might bang out a 15 minute rosary in the car on the way to work, or we might "go all night" in a marathon session where we pray the entire Psalter and find our flow.

But if you are praying the rosary every day, seven days a week for, say, fifty years, that's 18,250 rosaries, and close to one million Hail Marys during that span. Will they always be deeply meditative, deeply spiritual experiences? Is that even possible? Or is there a place for the benefit of "simply praying," "simply doing it," or "simply eating" your meat for its own sake? Perhaps we are transformed, slowly and infinitesimally, in virtue by the act of the regular work of prayer, the consistency of marital intimacy, the sticking to particular diets that keep us healthy (the jury is out on this one though) when our base urge is to hold up a Krispy Kreme at gunpoint. Sustainability and consistency, then, become the earmarks of a seasoned prayer and sex life, and a healthy diet that doesn't binge and purge. 

I'll admit although I aspire to pray the rosary every day, it's more usually the same frequency as my sex life. There's nothing keeping me from being daily about it other than laziness aversion. Same with daily Mass. Still, I'm a work in progress. Two to three days a week is better than once a month, or even once a year, and I'll take the win, though it's no merit or accomplishment of my own. Life is difficult; God gives us sex in marriage as a natural good, a respite, perk and boon that not only brings mutual physical gratification, but a cementing of the bond between husband and wife so that they can tackle, together, whatever life throws at them. Likewise, prayer should not be a chore, even when it becomes rote and routine, but is a solace where we can commune, for 15-20 minutes, with the Lord whose yoke is easy and burden light. We can rest, lay down our anxious and worried minds, and enter into the mysteries both mentally and physically through the tactile repetition of the prayers as our fingers knead over the beads. God is so good that He even gives His ungrateful and complaining children fowl, meat from the air when they grumble that they are tired of bread.

So eat the meat, enjoy the sex, don't fret about your rosary being rote. Take solace in the hidden graces of routine, especially during those times when life can get upended and chaotic. Our Lady would not have given us the gift of the rosary if it weren't for our benefit. Our Lord would not have given Adam his help mate if he was supposed to be self-sufficient. And even though God grew all them herbs on the earth, he preferred Abel's offering and also gave us to eat the creeping things, the fish and fowl, the hoofed animals, the clean and unclean and commanded us, like Peter, to "kill and eat!" 

A Man's Most Attractive Trait

Jesus Christ loved men. And men were attracted to Jesus Christ. 

But why? 

What was it about the man, Jesus the Nazarene, that drew men to himself so effortlessly, the way a magnet naturally draws iron filaments?

He worked miracles--healing the sick, raising the dead, casting out demons--sure. 

He was an advocate for the poor, the outcast, the disenfranchised, yes. 

He promised a greater reward in the next life than what was available to most common people of his time could expect in their present state.

But I think, on a natural level, there was something about Jesus of Nazareth that captivated both men and women alike, and that was this:

He was confident in who he was.

As anyone who has ever dated knows, women find confidence to be an overwhelmingly attractive trait in a man--with some qualifiers. Confidence that veers too far into bravado, or cockiness, has the opposite effect; it turns women off. A lack of confidence does the same. Confidence is like a spice--use it to season the dish, to give it that something flavor but without overpowering the food itself. 

Prostitutes were drawn to Jesus because they sensed he was not engaging with them with ulterior motives, or for the purpose of getting or taking something from them like most men they had transacted with. This man with a pure heart was innocence itself. When Jesus stepped between the mob and the woman caught in adultery, he didn't flinch but disarmed the men of their stones simply by a few words spoken while doodling in the dirt.

But men, too, were attracted to Jesus. Enough so that men would drop their livelihoods and leave their families before they even knew what they were doing. For his closest friends, it was more than the adulation of a prophet. It was love they felt towards him. Eventually, they were willing to die for Jesus, and he inspired their willingness to do so. All because of the confidence that came with knowing who he was, why he was sent, and from Whom he came was unwavering.  

This confidence, of course, is the confidence of divine Sonship. Jesus was only confident in himself because of the love of his Father, with whom there was no cognitive or spiritual separation. But it also comes out in his humanity. He is one who spoke and "taught with authority" (Mt 7:29); even when forgoing speech for silence, people were equally amazed (Lk 23:9). When he was alone and in duress, besieged by temptation, he doubled down on his confidence in his mission, his purpose, and his divine kinship (Lk 22:39-44; Mt 4:1-11). Even a man of authority, Pilate, "marveled" at Jesus' silent confidence before him while on trial (Mk 15:5).

Jesus' cousin John was equally a man who attracted crowds and followers, who inspired repentance, who was confident in the precision and force of the axe he wielded. Yet John recognized the prophecy of Isaiah that in Jesus the bruised reed would not be broken under his foot, nor would he snuff out the smoldering wick (Is 42:3). For "he is gentle, and humble of heart" (Mt 11:29). 

Jesus never went to war. He did not command armies and led no men into battle. He tempered the zealots and commanded unsheathed swords be put back in the scabbard. In the new economy of paradox, it is meekness that becomes strength. And yet it was this very confidence that inspired throngs of people to follow him for days into the wilderness just to hear him speak, to crowd into the temple to hear him speak, who would welcome him into Jerusalem as a king riding on a donkey, that put him on the radar of those who were not attracted to him, but were threatened by him. They ask him "By what authority do you do these things, and who gave you this authority?" (Mk 11:28). These were men who drew their authority from the Law--something outside of them--whereas Jesus claims his authority from above--an exclusive and blasphemous claim.

In the same way Jesus was confident that "I and the Father are One" (Jn 10:30), we can be confident as Christian men and women that we belong to Christ as brothers and sisters, friends, adopted children of the Father, that our labor is not in vain (1 Cor 15:58). This confidence is attractive to non-believers, I would wager, when they themselves possess a purity of heart in seeking the truth, even when they may not know where it lies and even when that purity of heart is not total. When they are not hardened by unbelief, but open to the possibility, confidence in our standing as Christians can serve as a potent attraction to a life of faith, and ultimately, to life in Christ himself.

The Halo: Seat of Wisdom

Years ago, when I was acquainted with a New Age friend and periodically worked in her crystal shop to pay off a debt, I was introduced to the esoteric concept of "Christ Consciousness." I would have considered myself a Christian syncretist during this period of my life, having already had an elementary foundation in Buddhism and Krishna-Consciousness prior to my conversion to Catholicism, and so this gnostic understanding of the divine Christ figure was attractive. I was reading Pierre Teilhard de Chardin's The Phenomenon of Man and Thich Nhat Hahn's Living Buddha, Living Christ at the time, was inspired by monastic figures like Bede Griffiths and Thomas Merton, and interested in the metaphysical as well as quantum physics and the idea of sub-atomic energy. I even traveled to a remote jungle monastery (wat) in Thailand to attend a 10-day Vipassana ("to see things as they are") meditation retreat in an attempt to train and fortify the mind against illusion. The shores of orthodoxy were very much a distant land.

One tangential concept I did ponder a lot during this flirtatious period was why iconography and artistic renderings of Christ and the saints portray them with a halo surrounding the head. On the surface, the question had a straight-forward answer: to signify the divine presence in that figure. But why the head and not, say, the heart? Or even the whole body?

 

My New Age friend had a seemingly convincing answer: the head or "Crown" Chakra (Sahasrāra) was considered the highest of the seven seats of energy in the body. The aura of the halo signified the divine consciousness, a oneness and non-dualistic cosmic connection with all things, and in art it was not only Christ who was represented with this halo surrounding his head, but Gautama Buddha as well, who had arrived through human effort to a place of ego-death, Nirvana, enlightenment. The way one cannot put a rainbow in a jar but can nonetheless witness it visually in the sky, the idea of a divine halo surrounding the head of a saintly, enlightened figure made the most sense in terms of a metaphysical or quantum energy.

Quentin Tarantino (of all people) cinematically portrays what this powerful aura of energy emanating from an almost semi-divine being looks like in his 2004 film, Kill Bill: Vol. 2. When the Bride (Uma Therman) ascends the steps of an ancient forest monastery to begin her kung-fu training and suddenly sees her new master, Pai Mei, sitting cross-legged before her at the top, she drops to her knees before him. Within a few moments of being in his presence she appears to be overtaken by the energy (chi?) emanating from his being, almost like a kind of cosmic radiation. More significantly, the frame is shot with the camera just behind Pai Mei's head as the Bride kneels in a subservient position before him as the sound of the cicadas whirring in the background intensify until it seems like the head of Pai Mei is literally buzzing with a supersonic consciousness. (Check it out from minute 1 to 1:30 in the clip from the film below if you want to see what I'm talking about). He goes on to berate her and in a duel, brings her to a point of helplessness as he threatens to break her arm. This state of being broken down and having the ego completely razed is necessary, however, in order to be formatively built back up under the precise and selfless tutelage of the Master. The cup must be emptied before it can be filled.

This kind of discipleship of student to master portrayed in the stories of the Far East is one of intense training, unrelenting focus, and supreme human effort to attain such a state of enlightened consciousness, the goal being to eventually step off the merry-go-round cycle of life, death, and rebirth (Samsara) and escape the grip of māyā, or illusion. Such religious traditions also may employ historically universal asceticism (such as fasting) to aid in their efforts of transcending the cycle of suffering. 

For Christian disciples, the idea of submission to the tutelage of a master looks differently, since salvation for the Christian is not a matter of human effort, but of grace and man's cooperation with it. Just as St. Paul encouraged followers of the Way to "be imitators of me, as I am of Christ" (1 Cor 11:1), so do those in the monastic tradition subvert themselves to living holy men and women who have trod down the grass of concupiscence and made a path towards Heaven here on earth for others to follow after them. Figures like St. Benedict, St. Anthony, St. Francis of Assisi and St. Clare, St. Mother Cabrini and others attracted followers who wanted to learn from them not how to train the mind necessarily but to learn how to excel in the School of Love. In the Christian East, the yuródivyy or "holy fool" seeks to upend the rational, commonplace behavior of polite society and in doing so, attracts those seeking wisdom, prayers and miracles from what appears to be a madman. 

But the formation of saints is not confined to that of monasteries and convents. Many saintly figures throughout history were given the grace to achieve holiness in their state of life without the support of a human master. St. Juan Diego, St. Benedict Joseph Labre, Ven. Matt Talbot, and even modern figures such as Servant of God Chiara Corbella Petrillo or St. Carlo Acutis are a few that come to mind. They have died in the state of sanctity and either are, or on the way, to being canonized as saints in the Church. The common thread in this diverse tapestry of believers, however, is Jesus Christ and their submission to him as the Son of God, and to his Bride, the Church.

But this doesn't answer the question of why the representation of Christian sanctity in art and iconography has always centered upon the head of the saint. If the trait that all Christian saints hold in common is the lived-out perfection of caritas, wouldn't it make more sense that a halo appear over, say, their heart, since this is the spiritual center of a Christian person? We see this outpouring of divine love and concern visually represented and personified in the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. And scripturally, the heart is the seat of not only the emotions, but of the intellect. But in hagiography, the representation of sanctity is always a halo surrounding the head.

St. Alphonsus wrote, "If you pray, you will be certainly saved; if you do not pray, you will be certainly damned."  Salvation is impossible without prayer, and prayer requires an effort on our part. But with what faculty do we pray? With the head? The heart? And is prayer a matter of words, or a "groaning in the spirit?" The path of salvation for, say, a cloistered Carthusian may look different than that of a Franciscan Tertiary or Missionary of Charity, as one may never leave his cell and in doing so never have the opportunity to exercise charity to his fellow man, while the other takes as her mantra the simple admonition to give Christ under guise of the poor a cup of cold water to slake his thirst.

In the words of St. Anselm, "I do not seek to understand in order that I may believe, but rather, I believe in order that I may understand." That is, the beginning of the path to union with God begins when the intellect is subsumed by a humble admission of its inadequacy. Belief then, is the vessel that carries the limp and destitute traveler to the shores of understanding. When they arrive, it is this faith born of belief that admits complete helplessness to sin and concupiscence and a clouded intellect. It is only then that the intellect can begin to build on these shores, forming one's conscience from the depositum fidei and the Logos--the Word in flesh and in holy scripture--not unlike how the Ethiopian eunuch was instructed and baptized by Philip in Acts 8:26-40). 

Prayer, then, is both the daily effort of setting bricks and mortar to build a solid house for one's soul to dwell (Mt 7:24-27) as well as the "faith seeking understanding" of bringing into alignment one's own consciousness with that of the mind of God. Because God's "thoughts are not our thoughts" and "as high as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are His ways" (Is 55:8-9), this is not possible apart from the incarnation of Christ, the human manifestation of God's presence on earth. But in Christ, we are given the grace to be able to "pray without ceasing," to never be separated from his mind, his heart, his Spirit, and his love. "For who can separate us from the love of Christ?" (Rom 8:35). It is only through our own volition that we turn the dial on the divine radio, disrupting the frequency and introducing static into our minds and hearts. During these periods of "dead air" we "seek him and do not find him" (Jn 7:34) and are susceptible to the pull of sin. 

In prayer, however, we cloak ourselves in the mantle of the Almighty and set up a rampart against the Father of Lies, the harbinger of illusion, the thief who comes only to break in, kill, and destroy the treasures of grace. We seek, through small daily efforts, to not only bring our will in alignment with God's will, but to make our will inseparable from His. This is the state of mystical contemplation that very few of us will ever achieve. But that does not mean we cannot hope to be saved, for salvation does not depend on man but on God; only that we will experience more disruption, more static, more confusion in our lives. Because in forgetting, in not being dialed in, we have forsaken our first love (Rev 2:4), the One we should love above all things and hold in our minds at all times.    

In the East, the breath is the anchor to consciousness--as long as you are breathing, you are alive, and so one can use the breath as a tool in meditation since it (the breath) is a constant. In doing so, one learns to empty the mind but also begin to see reality "as it is." Dukkha (suffering) is the result of this disjointed world view in which we do not perceive reality for what it truly is but instead hold on tightly to how we desire it to be. Just as fasting is not reserved for Christians alone but adopted by other religious traditions as well, so too the act of breathing is universal to all human beings. For the Buddhist, the anchoring of one's consciousness to the constant of breathing, simple a tool as it is, may be enough to lead one to a state of Enlightenment. 

For the Christian, obviously, noticing one's breath and using it as an anchor of focus is not enough to save one's soul (the concept of the soul being non-existent in Buddhism). However, one particular Christian attempt to bring into perpetual alignment their consciousness--their very being--with that of Christ comes from the Christian East, specifically in an anonymous work titled The Way of the Pilgrim. In this book, a Russian sojourner seeks to answer the question of how one may "pray without ceasing" and discovers the Jesus Prayer. 

I have practiced the Jesus Prayer on and off for many years after I was introduced to it by an Orthodox priest who sat next to me on a flight to New Mexico, where I was heading to spend a few weeks at a contemplative Benedictine monastery. He gave me a prayer rope--kind of the Eastern equivalent of a rosary--to assist in this prayer, which is, interestingly enough, tied to the breath. One breathes in Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God... and breathes out Have mercy on me, a sinner. The idea is that one can learn to almost "automate" this prayer so that it eventually, over many years, becomes as natural and commonplace as breathing itself. In doing so, one will eventually learn the secret of "praying without ceasing" and thus be always united with God sans separation. 

The Jesus Prayer, for all who adopt it, is a prayer of the heart. This particular prayer is meant as an ascetic nepsis, a spiritual broom used to sweep its chamber of the passions that disrupt it. In doing so, it both cleanses the heart of such disruptive passions and clears the mind to make fruitful contemplation possible. This would suggest, then, that there is a kind of spiritual runway existing between the heart and the mind. In being cleansed of its passions, the heart may soar in love, untethered from what binds it to earth. As it gains lift traveling this runway, it in turn elevates the wings of the mind to higher states of contemplation. Or perhaps it is a case of the mind being singularly focused in consciousness and united to the very Mind of God, a Mind which cannot be understood rationally but only approached on one's knees by emptying itself--of pride, of presuppositions, of activity and unruly frivolousness-- and in doing so, brings the heart into communion with that of Christ's own heart. Fides et ratio.

This conscioussness-based gnosis, however, holds the danger of being co-opted by syncretists and rendered sufficient in and of itself when it is severed from the heart. Love--charity, caritas--is inseparable from the life of the Christian disciple and from Christ himself. Does this love emanate from the mind or the heart? Perhaps this is a bit of a koan for the Christ-believer.  If the heart is the seat of the intellect, this dualistic thinking may, then, be a bit of a misnomer.  In Christ, there is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor freeman, male nor female. In Christ, then, perhaps there is no mind and no heart separate from one another. The deification of the individual, then, does not depend on one's breath or one's individual consciousness or single-handed efforts, but on the Incarnation of Christ who came to lay down his life for us. He gives us his very flesh to eat in order to enter into this life, and lends us his very back to traverse the chasm separating earth from heaven which he himself bridges.

St. Josemaria Escriva said once that "a saint is a sinner who keeps trying." In this he recognizes the effort--the trying--is necessary; a cooperation with the grace which preceded it. However, we can ascend by way of stairs, or, as St. Thérèse of Lisieux advocated, by way of an elevator. Or as Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade imagined, a simple "abandonment to Divine Providence" which consisted of an ever-present awareness and participation in the "sacrament of the present moment." This "paying attention" for the grace of opportunity God gives us to do His will at every moment of every day is akin to listening to that radio which is dialed in to a station. So too, the Jesus Prayer, and countless other tools Christian tradition offers to bring our will in alignment with His. When we lapse into forgetfulness, of failing to pay attention, failing to pray, of "missing the mark" through sin, we inadvertently and ever so slightly turn that knob and everything comes out of focus and becomes static in which we cannot hear His voice anymore. When we stay tuned in, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day and year by year through conscious awareness and submission to this sacrament of the present moment, we come closer to aligning our will with His.

If anything, the halo is a kind of metaphysical tattoo, a branding that there is something special about this individual--not because of any merit of their own, but because of their willingness to empty themselves of that which blocks the pathway between the head and the heart, between their will and God's. Even in periods of radio silence, when God does not speak and withholds His consolations, they do not turn the dial seeking another station but instead hold the unbearable tension of such silence, entering deeper and deeper with every passing moment into the cavern of such silence, seeking even the slightest whisper, a single word, a brushing of presence. Most of us do not experience this sustained degree of consciousness because we do not bother to clear out the tunnel between the mind and the heart, but instead fill it like a junked-up hallway with immaterial "things"--distractions, activities, busyness, noise, passions and striving--that prevent us from hearing. It also prevents us from performing miracles, from healing the sick, from raising the dead, not because God does not give us that opportunity, but because we have chosen the "lesser part" instead. 

Like all iconography and art, the depiction of the halo surrounding the head of "a sinner who keeps trying" is an articulation of a divine reality that can only be communicated imperfectly. Were one to photograph a living saint or walk next to him or her, this "aura" surrounding the head would, of course, not be visible.  I wonder if a man or woman who is, say, halfway there during their sojourn here on earth--not quite perfected, but growing closer every day--has a budding halo, or a dim, barely perceptible "50% holy" one. Or if such illumination only comes at the moment of their death, when they have definitively run the race and received the hallowed crown, no longer in danger of being pulled from the rings of the ladder of divine ascent and are secure in their salvation. 

Mary of Bethany was a true contemplative, forgoing all things to simply sit and gaze at the feet of Jesus in seemingly useless adoration. Her sister Martha loved the Lord through servicing Him, attending to the many needs before her, and yet in doing so was accused by the Lord of being "anxious and troubled about many things." Her sister, Jesus points out, "has chosen the better part," and not only that, but that "it will not be taken from her" (Lk 10:41-42). And yet both--St. Mary and St. Martha--are united with their brother Lazarus as saints in the heavenly kingdom. All three have won the race and earned the crown. All three wear the halo. They did not all arrive by the same path. But all were sanctified in the end.

I no longer put any stock in New Age Gnosticism, and have abandoned religious syncretism as an esoteric way to God. For better or worse, I have stripped down my practice of the faith to the basics of Christian orthodoxy--mental prayer, rosary, Mass, confession, reading the Scriptures, periodic fasting and abstinence, acts of charity, spiritual reading, etc--but sustaining focus in a world of distraction and as a layman makes the "deep work" of prayer difficult. I am no religious and under no physical tutelage or Rule. I have sold myself as a slave to Christ yet still run away from my Master periodically to indulge my own whims of fancy. He does not send out the dogs after me, but patiently waits for me to wake up, come to my senses, and start making my way back home. My prayer--that is, my focused gaze on the person of Christ, my tuning into the divine frequency found in silence and contemplation--comprises 1/100th of my day. And I wonder why it is I sin, stumble in the darkness, am unhappy and discontent. It is because I took my eyes off his, the way one takes their eyes off the road, their eyes off the ball, their eyes off the prize. It is at times like this when I lament the seemingly childish and outlandish desire to become a saint one day, to wear the halo like my heroes and models, those who have gone before and those who show me a way. Not an escape from a cycle of rebirth, but a transcendence to a divine communion not reserved for just a future Heaven but available now, here, on earth. If only I would listen, love, pray, relent, surrender...die. To my idea of how I want to live and instead "see things as they really are." That is, as God sees them. 

How, then, can I--or anyone for that matter--pray without ceasing, live in the mind of Christ, make my will his, exist in the divine consciousness and partake in the sacrament of the present moment every moment of every day? How can I clear the hallway and get past the static and simply remember my first love, rather than being like the man who sees his face and then goes away forgetting what he looks like (Ja 1:24)? Will it always be fits and starts, imperfect, falling out of the flow? Will I be a sinner who keeps trying but never quite gets it, or who gives up before he finishes his race, who forfeits my crown, who scoffs at the idea of halos and like a child who grows up too fast, can no longer see them illuminating the night from the heads of those who have not given up and given in? Will enlightenment--of metanoia, of understanding, of seeing--come in an instantaneous flash of Zen-like grace--perhaps through tragedy or loss--like cold water thrown in the face of deep slumber? Or will it be a slow, steady, imperceptible slog: two steps forward on the path of understanding and one step backwards, day after day, year after year, in cooperation with grace? Will my heart and my head eventually be as one, just as the Father and the Son are One? And is our halo reserved as a posthumous medal of honor for a life well lived, or a sign of mystical communion that can be seen in this life on earth as well as in heaven?

"For who has known the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ." (1 Cor 2:16)

The Problem With "Technology"

I'm currently reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. I may have read it in my twenties but I honestly don't remember, so it feels like the first time. The book holds a Guinness Book of World Records for being a best-seller (5 million copies sold) while having been initially rejected by 121 publishers. (Gives me hope for my own writing)

I can see why. It's a tough book to put in a category--it was shelved in the Non-fiction section at the library, though it reads like a novel, even though it's not. It's more like a fictionalized autobiography of a father and his 11 year old son who take a motorcycle trip from their home in Minnesota to San Francisco with a couple of friends. It's not really about Zen, and it's not really about motorcycle maintenance (specifically) either, but Pirsig's attempts to carve out a nice in the world of philosophy with his ponderings on the issue of Quality using the father-son trip as a platform on which to build his ideas. 

Interestingly, Pirsig wrote the novel in 1968, I believe, after his wife divorced him and he was committed to undergo shock therapy (ECT) to treat his schizophrenia. He went to college at 15, and had a 170 IQ, so he was a really smart guy. Which is kind of remarkable, because while the book is coherent, knowing his background you kind of wonder "should I really put much stock in these philosophical pinings? Is this the manifesto of a madman?" 

When I was in my twenties I owned a 1979 Yamaha XS750 motorcycle. I took it to class, used it to get around, though the longest trip I took was from Philly to Wildwood Crest, NJ, where it stalled out in a rainstorm. It was always breaking down on me and my neighbor in the apartment behind me would graciously pick me up when needed with his pickup truck. I didn't know anything about working on engines or motorcycles, had no way of transporting it, and was at the mercy of mechanics to diagnose problems. After I got a flat and the plates were stolen (and then it was subsequently towed outside my apartment due to not being tagged), I surrendered the title and was glad to be done with the whole thing. 

I've bicycled across the U.S. and it was a good way to see the country because you are going slow, yet aren't confined by the barrier of a car which separates you from the country side. When it's hot, you're hot. When it rains, you get wet. Still, I wouldn't have wanted to drive cross-country; I drive enough as it is these days. 

On a motorcycle, you're traveling the same speed as a car, but aren't framed in by one. You're still exposed to the elements, and limited in what you can carry. There are more mechanical parts to break down than on a bicycle. So I guess seeing the country the way Pirsig and his son did is a 'split-the-middle' between bicycle touring and car-touring.  

The book is a little on the dry side, and I think that's because Pirsig definitely falls into what he calls the "Classical" camps, which he contrasts with the "Romantic" camp. Think of it as left-brain vs right brain, where the author falls squarely into the left-brained (logical, analytical, mathematical, engineer-type) classification. He struggles to understand his riding partners, John and Sylvia, and their aversion to all things mechanical and (as we will see below, 'technological') because they are what he would consider "Romantics." In the context of the below passage, he is referencing the couple having a dripping faucet at home but not being inclined to fix it, nor are they inclined to work on their own motorcycles and know how they work. For the author, it's hard for him to relate to this non-technical, non-mechanical way of thinking. 

I realized I am much more like John and Sylvia in the book, and I get kind of annoyed at Pirsig's overly-technical, engineer-type brain pontificating, even when talking about Philosophy. 

When it comes to technology, I would consider myself a techno-pessimist. Which is why the following passage spoke to me for some reason, even though it was 1974 by the time it the book was published. Still, I think those feelings among many people like myself with our relationship to technology square with the passage below, even though they were written over half a century ago.

I know I will suffer for my antipathy towards technology. I know I will be left behind if I don't get on board. Which fills me with fear and anxiety, because not only do I not understand it or incompetent with regards to it, but I feel shut out from it. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I may become a serf rather than a vassal--one at the whim and control of a force more powerful than I am, that doesn't care for me or my petty resistance or ideals or objections. The data centers will go in despite protest, the AI will subsume us, and I will soon be an old man shouting at the clouds. All this fills me with dread, and it's not 'technology,' per se, but the absolute helplessness I feel in its looming shadow.  

Anyway, have a read and let me know what you think.

------------

"It's not the motorcycle maintenance, not the faucet. It's all of technology they can't take. And then all sorts of things started tumbling into place and I knew that was it. Sylvia's irritation at a friend who thought that computer programming was 'creative.' All their drawings and paintings and photographs without a technological thing in them. Of course she's not going to get mad at that faucet, I thought. You always suppress momentary anger at something you deeply and permanently hate. Of course John signs off every time the subject of cycle repair comes up, even when it is obvious he is suffering for it. That's technology. And sure, of course, obviously. It's so simple when you see it. To get away from technology out into the country in the fresh air and sunshine is why they are on the motorcycle in the first place. For me to bring it back to them just at the point and place where they think they have finally escaped it just frosts both of them, tremendously. That's why the conversation always breaks and freezes when the subject comes up.

Other things fit in too. They talk once in a while in as few pained words as possible about 'it' or 'it all' as in the sentence, 'There is just no escape from it.' And if I asked, 'From what?' the answer might be 'The whole thing,' or 'The whole organized bit,' or even 'The system.' Sylvia once said defensively, 'Well, you know how to cope with it,' which puffed me up so much at the time I was embarrassed to ask what 'it' was and so remained somewhat puzzled. I thought it was something more mysterious than technology. But now I see that the 'it' was mainly, if not entirely, technology. But that doesn't sound right either. The 'it' is a kind of force that gives rise to technology, something undefined, but inhuman, mechanical, lifeless, a blind monster, a death force. Something hideous they are running from but know they can never escape. I'm putting it way too heavily here but in a less emphatic and less defined way this is what it is. Somewhere there are people who understand it and run it but those are technologists, and they speak an inhuman language when describing what they do. It's all parts and relationships of unheard-of things that never make any sense no matter how often you hear about them. And their things, their monster keeps eating up land and polluting their air and lakes, and there is no way to strike back at it, and hardly any way to escape it.

That attitude is not hard to come to. You go through a heavy industrial area of a larger city and there is all is, the technology. In front of it are high barbed-wire fences, locked gates, signs saying NO TRESPASSING, and beyond, through sooty air, you see ugly strange shapes of metal and brick whose purpose is unknown, and whose masters you will never see. What it's for you don't know, and why it's there, there's no one to tell, and so all you can feel is alienated, estranged, as though you didn't belong there. Who owns and understands this doesn't want you around. All this technology has somehow made you a stranger in your own land. It's very shape and appearance and mysteriousness say, 'Get out.' You know there's an explanation for all this somewhere and what it's doing undoubtedly serves mankind in some indirect way but that isn't what you see. What you see is the NO TRESPASSING, KEEP OUT signs and not anything serving people but little people, like ants, serving these strange, incomprehensible shapes. And you think, even if I were a part of this, even if I were not a stranger, I would be just another ant serving the shapes. So the final feeling is hostile, and I think that's ultimately what's involved with this otherwise unexplainable attitude of John and Sylvia. Anything to do with valves and shafts and wrenches is a part of that dehumanized world, and they would rather not think about it. They don't want to get into it.

If this is so, they are not alone. There is no question that they have been following their natural feelings in this and not trying to imitate anyone. But many others are also following their natural feelings in this and not trying to imitate anyone and the natural feelings of very many people are similar on this matter; so that when you look at them collectively, as journalists do, you get the illusion of a mass movement, an antitechnological mass movement, and entire political antitechnological left emerging, looming up from apparently nowhere, saying 'Stop the technology. Have it somewhere else. Don't have it here.' It is still restrained by a thin web of logic that points out that without the factories there are no jobs or standard of living. But there are human forces stronger than logic. There always have been, and if they become strong enough in their hatred of technology that web can break.

Cliches and stereotypes such as 'beatnik' or 'hippie' have been invented for the antitechnologists, the anti system people, and will continue to be. But one does not convert individuals into mass people with the simple coining of a mass term. John and Sylvia are not mass people and neither are most of the others going their way. It is against being a mass person that they seem to be revolting. And they feel that technology has got a lot to do with the forces that are trying to turn them into mass people and they don't like it. So far it's still mostly a passive resistance, flights into the rural areas when they are possible and things like that, but it doesn't always have to be this passive.

I disagree with them about cycle maintenance, but not because I am out of sympathy with their feelings about technology. I just think that their flight from and hatred of technology is self-defeating. The Buddha, the Godhead, resides quite as comfortably in the circuits of a digital computer or the gears of a cycle transmission as he does as the top of a mountain or in the petals of a flower. To think otherwise is to demean the Buddha--which is to demean oneself. That is what I want to talk about in this Chautauqua." 

Robert Pirsig. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. William Morrow & Company, New York, 1974 (23-26).