Paul said something in our conversation about Courage being "the last domino" holding him in the Faith amidst a sea of gay-affirming ministries. At the conference, I got the impression that for many with SSA remaining Catholic, it was a lift raft amidst a world of damage that so easily draws people back. As he testifies to in the video he appeared in for Courage, he had everything and was deep in the gay world, both personally and professionally. He knew when he made the decision to appear in the film and give his testimony, he would lose it all, and there was no going back.
We reach a point in our lives when we get serious about the Faith where the Lord asks us if we are willing to be "marked" for His glory. The "hedging" we do when we are between two lives--the world/the flesh and the life of discipleship--is an uncomfortable one, and it should be, because it is not a place one can stay in for long. For Paul, initially he would drive to a church far from his home so no one he knew would see him, and was ashamed and would hide his watching of Mother Angelica on EWTN "the way you would hide a blowup doll."
It's an interesting conundrum--when you are living between two worlds (as I did for so long) you have no peace, but you can at least retain old friends, old habits, the privileges of life in the world. But when you become "marked" you can't claim those things anymore. As St. Augustine describes in Confessions about crossing over to the other side to Lady Continence, one foot must leave the shore and plant itself firmly on the other side, where Truth resides, in a horrifying moment of loss:
"The very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient mistresses, still held me; they plucked my fleshy garment, and whispered softly, "Dost thou cast us off? and from that moment shall we no more be with thee for ever? and from that moment shall not this or that be lawful for thee for ever?" And what was it which they suggested in that I said, "this or that," what did they suggest, O my God? Let Thy mercy turn it away from the soul of Thy servant. What defilements did they suggest! what shame! And now I much less than half heard them, and not openly showing themselves and contradicting me, but muttering as it were behind my back, and privily plucking me, as I was departing, but to look back on them. Yet they did retard me, so that I hesitated to burst and shake myself free from them, and to spring over whither I was called; a violent habit saying to me, "Thinkest thou, thou canst live without them?"" (Confessions, VIII)
When you cross over, there is no going back. And suddenly there is peace, there is some rest, but there is also loss, though they are no losses worth mourning for too long. But once you've lost, there's no way back...no way at all. You are a man without a map, because you now walk by faith, led by the Savior's hand, only able to see one foot in front of you at a time. You're in too deep. There's no way back...no way at all.
But we have all had our Peter moments, haven't we? When we are marked by association, recognized, and thrice deny:
"Then they seized him and led him away, bringing him into the high priest's house, and Peter was following at a distance. And when they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat down among them. Then a servant girl, seeing him as he sat in the light and looking closely at him, said, “This man also was with him.” But he denied it, saying, “Woman, I do not know him.” And a little later someone else saw him and said, “You also are one of them.” But Peter said, “Man, I am not.” And after an interval of about an hour still another insisted, saying, “Certainly this man also was with him, for he too is a Galilean.” But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about.” And immediately, while he was still speaking, the rooster crowed. And the Lord turned and looked at Peter. And Peter remembered the saying of the Lord, how he had said to him, “Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.” And he went out and wept bitterly." (Lk 22:54-62)
In many ways, we are pre-Pentecost people. We say, with Peter in those days, "Even if I have to die with you, I will not deny you!" (Mk 14:31) and yet we do, every time we sin. We prefer the allures of comfort to suffering, our own way to the narrow way, retaining our goods and going away sad.
But this was not Peter's defining moment. Human, yes; but legacy-worthy, no. For Peter's legacy came the day he stood up after Pentecost--fearless, confident, and fully committed. He was marked by the Spirit, and went to his death never to deny Christ again.
I always joke with friends who are thinking of having kids, "there's a no-return policy with kids. You can't push them back in once they come out." For my wife and I, turning our fertility over to the Lord has been an exercise in dying to self and acting in trust and obedience, and our children become reminders, "marks" of the fact that we do not belong to ourselves anymore, the fruit of obedience, that they exist because we trusted. I write publicly, I will be on EWTN next week, and I have enough evidence to convict me in a court of law if ever brought before a tribunal who accuse me of saying, "you are a Christian, you are one of his disciples!"
Should I apostatize and deny it all, I have no recourse. My back is against the wall; I'm in too deep. But the temptation to lose faith is a landmine of the Enemy's, the grenades he lobs into the cave where you are praying to drive you out of it, the trip-lines he sets up along the path.
You cannot let go of the Lord's hand in these states. It is too dangerous. The casualties of apostasy litter the ground everywhere around us today--fallen away Catholics, blasphemers, atheists and agnostics. Churchy people talk about prayer as a nice and pleasant thing to do, but the reality for me at this point is I cling to prayer in desperation just to survive. If I don't pray, I die, and I do not survive the fall from the cliffs. I pray for humility, I pray for perseverance, I pray for purity of heart like a desperate, embarrassing man. I simply cannot afford to lose sight of the Lord for a moment, because when I do I am so off-kilter that I know a fall is coming.
So, prayer is not a nice and pleasant thing for me to do. I pray to survive. I pray to persevere to the bitter end, for the grace to endure what is coming to me, my due for being marked, for my conviction in court, for the day I appear before Him praying that I am not a stranger He does not recognize; praying for forgiveness for my faults, praying to forgive myself and the people who make it impossible to forgive, praying for miracles and big big things, praying for strength and steadfastness, to continue to be open to life, for my children to make it out alive, to see my wife in Heaven, to please, please God don't let me fall.
Prayer is not a nice hobby when you're back is against the wall, when you've taken the step to the other side and the bridge has fallen into the ravine behind you, when you're backed into an alley with no way back; prayer in these instances is dirty grit, and pure survival to endure to the end.
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