Am I Really Pro Life?

When I became Catholic at the age of 18, it was in large part because I had encountered the Lord. He made Himself known to me in my poverty, and was real beyond a doubt. I keep going back to this time of encounter 25 years ago because it is my "Why," my "Who," my "What" of conversion.

I have not really had a similar experience in terms of personal impedance with regards to a genuine 'conversion' to the pro-life cause. I have known women who have had abortions and worked at abortion clinics, regretted it, and became pro-life advocates; those who have seen images as children of aborted babies that seared into their conscience and woke them up to the reality of the war being waged and lives being lost; men who lost their unborn children to the mills and who have a personal investment in what is at stake today; and those who just fight the good fight, day in and day out, because it is the right thing to do and one of the foremost battles of our time--the right to life.

I accepted the pro-life position because it is the Catholic position. Philosophically, theologically, intellectually, I know beyond a doubt that there can be no justification for the taking of innocent life in the womb. When it is said that the abortion genocide is not fundamentally different from the Holocaust, I can assent with my mind. But if that is the case, why am I doing the bare minimum?--voting, praying outside clinics from time to time, donating to pregnancy centers occasionally. It's like a person who reads Thomas Aquinas' Summa and says, "you know, I think there really is a God. This is absolutely true. I must become Catholic now." It is a kind of assent of the mind and the senses. But a conversion of the heart? I'm not sure.

When the Jews realized they had crucified Christ, they were "cut to the heart." They said to Peter and the other apostles, "Brothers, what shall we do?" To which Peter tells them, repent and be baptized (Acts 2:38). I have not been 'cut to the heart' over abortion. It has not affected me personally or directly in the way it has many people I know, who have used that motivation and memory to charge their batteries for the work that needs to be done to make it unthinkable in our lifetime. They are, from an outsider's perspective, somewhat "obsessed" with the issue at hand. But I think they are actually seeing without the veil, the actual horror taking place, the actual killings, and can't in conscience sit idly by while I, on the other hand, find myself doing just that--sitting idly by.

The fight against Abortion, the Pro-Life impetus, demands action. It does not live in ivory towers or intellectual circles or roundtable discussions--it takes place in the streets, in the legislature, in the hearts of those they enter into relationship with on the sidewalk outside the clinics. But action can be hard to sustain without a "What" a "Why" or a "Who." When I face my judgment and Christ demands of me an account: "Did you do all you could for the least of these?" Will I be able to face such a judgment when I know the answer is, for all intents and purposes, "no?" I can write on the subject, do the things, cast a ballot--but I have not been 'born again' for the unborn. And I don't know how that happens.

I realize, pragmatically, that our time is limited.  I know we have to 'pick our battles,' so to speak. As a husband and father I am working full time, raising a family, and have other commitments as well. But when I see those volunteers, sidewalk counselors, prayer warriors out in front of the clinics, lobbying, marching, in cold and heat, snow and rain, for the lives at stake, I'm filled with a kind of guilt and shame that I don't in fact do more, and that I haven't been fully converted to the cause that should be at the heart of every Catholic. Maybe in my head, but not in my heart. I have not 'done all I can do" for the unborn, the least of these.

This Weekend, Take Your Son To A Barbershop

Getting a haircut for a man is like painting a room in your home--it doesn't take much of an investment and it tends to pay good returns. You tend to feel fresh and confident, good traits to possess when going on a date or for a job interview. It's relaxing to just sit and let someone clean you up a bit. 

Now, full disclaimer, I usually cut my own hair because I'm cheap and do a decent job, and I cut my boys' hair too. But every now and then I feel like getting a cut and if I have a coupon I'll go to the local Hair-Cuttery type corporate place and get cleaned up. I stopped by this evening after work.

As I was waiting, a young boy about my son's age was with his mom. When it was his turn, he climbed up in the chair, at which point the mom proceeded to dictate how his hair was to be cut, and to critique the job along the way. This isn't out of the ordinary--usually when I see boys they are with their moms at these kinds of places. I studied the boy out of the corner of my eye. He seemed slightly embarrassed and powerless. It's not unreasonable, of course, for a mom to say how she wants her son's hair to look, even despite the controlling tone in her voice. It did, however, made me think how things would have been different if he would have been with his dad, and he would have been in a proper barber shop.

Male bonding seems like it has to be a camping or fishing trip, some major thing that happens infrequently. Really, though, there's always an opportunity for it even in the most mundane of things, like getting a haircut. For a boy of eight or nine years old, to be surrounded by other men--young, middle aged, and old--for a singular purpose (to get cleaned up and look good), in a place with distinct smells (talc, disinfectant, sandalwood) where he can FEEL like a man even at that young age, and to do it with his father, well--it doesn't take much in that instance to make some memories. These male only spaces are sacred space in a way, with unwritten codes of conduct and unspoken understandings. 

With my son, at the age he is at least, he wants to do everything I do. Because I fast twice a week, he has expressed a desire to fast. Because I take cold showers, he wants to too. That's a little extreme, but it goes to show how a father can model for his son in the most ordinary of things, and make some memories in the process. The currency is time. There are so few male-only spaces, but the old school barbershop is one of them. For a boy to get out from under the wing of his mother for an afternoon, and to be given a little reign to have his sideburns shorter or his nape trimmed straight across instead of a V...well, I think you'd be surprised how empowering it can be for a boy of eight to feel like a bonafide man for a half hour. When his dad is with him, how much more so. These rites of passage may be worth the twenty bucks plus tip, if anything to just be surrounded by other men for an an hour or so, even if it's just once every six months or so. 

So rather than send your son to the local salon with his mom, as a dad, try taking him to the barbershop this weekend with you. Get a cut, get your son a cut, and break him in to these kinds of things. You'll feel like a million bucks, your son will feel like a man, and your forty bucks or so will be well invested because you'll be supplying him with memories to keep on file when it was just "me and dad" at the barbershop, doing the ordinary things men do on a Saturday morning. Get some breakfast afterwards at a diner. Talk. Stop and pick up a gallon of milk. Do the ordinary things--just be sure to bring your son along for the ride. 

A Ransomed Love

The picture of the woman who lived a sinful life in Luke 7 has always moved me. There is something about the desperation of men and women who so badly need Jesus to work in their lives, and who drop pretension like a bathrobe as they push their way to him, that I love.

We see it a lot in Luke's gospel, the gospel of mercy:

In 8:43-48, a woman with an incurable flow of blood has the audacity to touch the garment of the Lord. In 18:38, a blind man in Jericho won't stop yelling out "Son of David, have mercy on me!" even when rebuked to be quiet. In 5:17-39, a paralytic is lowered in through a roof in Capernaum to be healed.

These were physical maladies to which the desperation to be healed thrust them forward. But it is the quiet picture of the sinful woman in chapter 7 that moves me. Her shame is palpable. She has no regard for the massive "waste" of perfume she lathers on Jesus' feet. Maybe it is hard to see through the flow of tears from her eyes as the memories of her sin play before her like a cinematic film. She knows her debt to sin is huge. The Lord, too, turns to Peter and says, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet.

Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. 

But whoever has been forgiven little loves little (Lk 7:44-47)

Sometimes, we don't know love until we know loss. We don't know what it is to be innocent until we have lost innocence. We don't know what it means to lose an inheritance until we're eating cornhusks in a famine.

You have been bought with a price, St. Paul says (1 Cor 6:20). "Come now, let us settle the matter," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool." (Is 1:18)

Try as we might to appreciate each day, live in the present, say I love you, not take things for granted...it's all an effort of sorts. But when you are taken ransom, or someone you love is, you realize the pricetag on your life. Not your networth. Not your accomplishments. "You pay with your life," as the saying goes, and are a slave to what you give yourself to. Everything becomes visceral and real and desperate. Minutes are rented; memories are clung to. The freedom to come and go as you please is a textbook theory, a distant memory of another life.

When you sin, you are a slave to sin (Jn 8:34). Slaves do not have rights. You forfeit them. The woman washing Jesus' feet with her hair and tears was so burdened by her slavery, and knew so intuitively that the man before her had the power to free her from the cell of captivity, to redeem her dignity, to raise her up, that she had no composure. She smashes the jar of perfume as it is were water during a rainstorm; she puts all her poise aside to weep before the one she knows can--and does--pay the ransom for sin.

Love is proportional to the debt. And our debts--even those who others may regard as holy or with few sins to confess--are insurmountable, for the debt is our very life. Who can know what living water tastes like except those who have drank from the rancid well of sin for so long? Who can manufacture a gratefulness to the one who bought you back sans tears?

No, love recognizes the debt. It covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8). It has no composure or tact or poise when one is gripped by it, but simply spills out like a smashed vessel on the floor. Charity is patient, charity is kind...but charity is desperate to consummate with the one who brought you back from the dead, paid for your life with theirs. You can never love such a benefactor enough, this one you owe your life to. This is true contrition, which waters the seedbed of ransomed love.

"Big Cooked Wieners": Why Tone Matters in Evangelization

I have a number of favorite poems that I have memorized, that have stayed with me over the years. One is William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow":

so much depends 

upon 

a red wheel 

barrow 

glazed with rain 

water 

beside the white 

chickens 

Another is from the 18th century haiku master Buson:

Pressing Sushi 

After a while 

A lonely feeling

But my all time favorite poem is one which is probably the most obscure, devoid of syntax, and written by a woman with a developmental disability who was living in a group home at the time it was composed.

Everybody 

by Shirley Nielson 

I was wearing a blue 

coat. it was cabbage and wieners. 

They were big cooked wieners, 

the smell was cabbage 

ah delicious smell of cabbage out not summer noise 

was running water in the kitchen somewhere.

Here's why I love it, why it is my most treasured poem of all time.

First, you are grabbed by the lapel and taken into the WTFness of the poem straight away. The author, the tour de force, is unapologetically wearing a blue coat. It is blue. Just so there is no doubt about what color it is. But wait, it is not just blue but CABBAGE AND WIENERS. A coat! Made from cabbage and wieners! What kind of world is this. I want to know.

So the coat is cabbage and wieners. And mind you, not just any wieners, but Big Cooked Wieners. You know the kind.  We've entered into the insanity, but it's a kind of safe house with nice smells. "The smell was cabbage." Cabbage isn't like lemon torts or cinnamon cloves, but notwithstanding it is the best thing going in this homey asylum

ah. delicious. smell.

Do you have any reason to doubt it? Shirley was wearing a blue coat, and she let you know it from the start. She establishes her credence in the Once Upon A Time setting of her wardrobe, moving into not just wieners and cabbage, but go-big-or-go-home wieners, and "the smell" was cabbage, as if there was no other smell in the world. Ah delicious smell. What is it about the smell of cabbage that transports her back, with you in the back seat of the Model T, to cabbage in the summer, in the quiet kitchen, the curtains waving and folding in the breeze. And all that can be heard is out not summer noise was running water in the kitchen somewhere.  

Why do I love this obscurely published poem written by a developmentally disabled women who lived in a group home so much? It does what great writing does: it takes me somewhere. It doesn't matter that the boat we're sailing on to get there is cabbage and wieners--what matters is they are big cooked wieners and there is confidence in a blue coat. The righteous formality of syntax has been left like a tailpipe and bumper at the station. I hear the water running. It is somewhere, not here. I am in the kitchen, and I have no idea why. But I'm there. 

The little children will inherit the earth. Syntax is the language of the Church, and it has it's place. But it's 'church speak.' If you don't know what a narthex is, or an alb, or a consecration--but you DO know coats and cabbages and the sound of water, somewhere, THAT is what you use to describe the transcendental reality of "Everybody." Not everyone speaks the language of academics; but then again, not everyone sees with the eyes of a child. You may not know what a vestment is, but you know you are wearing a blue coat. You may smell incense and be taken away to a heavenly realm, but you might also smell cabbage cooking and hear water running in the kitchen somewhere and remember your mother who passed away when you were twelve. Ah delicious smell. 

When we share the Good News of Jesus Christ with others, we would do well to offer them a ride rather than a tract. As a writer, this is what I try to do. I'm a story teller at heart. I love truth--not my truth, but capital T truth. Whether someone gets there by the lofty angelic proposals of Aquinas or the symbolism of Tolkien or the wit of Chesterton or the characters of O'Connor, all roads lead to Rome, to Christ, eventually. 

But that doesn't mean there aren't absurdities along the way. That's why I am utterly convinced that we need to laugh the laugh of blue coats and big cooked wieners from time to time, because the realm of the angelic is ordered by reason, but we here on earth can enjoy a little of the absurd grace we have experienced in how God has worked in our lives. That is a story in itself, and we all have them--whether you are mentally disabled and remembering your mother and throwing syntax out the window to bring her back, or you are an engineer who rationally reasoned his way into the Church by way of proofs and counter-points. Like our motto in our family when we have people over for dinner--we share what we have, and what we have, we give. 

I don't criticize tone too often in the work of evangelization, since everyone has their styles, but I do cringe slightly from time to time. Then again, I try to remember that St. Augustine was initially put off by the crudeness of the language of the written Bible that he was turned off by it....yet it won him over in the end, in all its coarseness. "We are not meant to be successful, but faithful" as Mother Teresa said. Successfully or not, swallowing red horsepills whole can get stuck in the throat if we're not careful--a little castor oil makes it go down a bit smoother.  

I can't help being sensitive to tone because I am a writer, have always been a writer, and will probably die a lousy writer, unable to shake the compulsion to communicate with words until my death which will release me from my final assignment. It takes years to hone tone. Though I appreciate gruffness, I get turned off by the Westboro Baptist Churches of the world, the Franklin Grahams, the utilitarian crassness and unrelenting dourness of certain strains of Catholicism. Not that I'm any affodicio, and maybe its a matter of preference--that what turns one off may turn another on to something greater, or wake them up when nuance might be shrugged off or disregarded. People are watching you. People are listening to you, and watching your tongue and who you are cutting down and who you are talking about. They watch from the shadows, taking in your actions through a straw. Speak the truth, but don't forget the charity.

Personally, I like stories. I like images. I like being moved by simple things like red wheel barrows and blue coats, or glazed rainwater and running faucets somewhere, or the moonlight loneliness of preparing to eat alone, and of what's real in this world as a way of pointing to the next: wine and bread, weddings, lamps, tears, funerals, friends, the smell of nard, the heartache of betrayal, the hope of restoration, miracles, paradox, and everything getting turned on its head. Blue coats. Cooked Wieners. The smell of cabbage. And out not summer noise running water in the kitchen somewhere

The Truth Will Make You Suffer

"I am very fond of truth, but not at all of martyrdom."

--Voltaire

Servant of God Fr. John Hardon writes about the "white martyrdom" of witness, a living martydom he experienced himself. He writes,

"Martyrdom is not an appendix to Christianity. It belongs to its essence. If we unite our sufferings for the faith with the Precious Blood of Christ, we shall be cooperating with Him in the redemption of the world.  

The secret is to love the cross. Why? Because our Love was crucified and we wish to be crucified with Him. Why? Because then we shall be glorified together with Him."

He goes on to explain this martyrdom of witness, violent in it's own regard:

"What do we mean by martyrdom of witness and how does it differ from the other two? It differs from them in that, even in the absence of active opposition--the imitation of Christ must always face passive opposition. From whom? From those who lack a clear vision of the Savior or who, having had it, lost their former commitment to Christ. All that we have seen about the martyrdom by violence applies here too, but the method of opposition is different. Here the firm believer in the Church's teaching authority; the devoted servant of the papacy; the convinced pastor who insists on sound doctrine to his flock; the dedicated religious who want to remain faithful to their vows of authentic poverty, honest chastity, and sincere obedience; the firm parents who are concerned about the religious and moral training of their children and are willing to sacrifice generously to build and care for a Christian family--natural or adopted--such persons will not be spared also active criticism and open opposition. But they must especially be ready to live in an atmosphere of coldness to their deepest beliefs.  

Sometimes they would almost wish the opposition were more overt and even persecution would be a welcome change. It is the studied indifference of people whom they know and love, of persons in their own natural or religious family, of men and women whose intelligence they respect and whose respect they cherish. 

This kind of apathy can be demoralizing and, unless it finds relief, can be devastating. To continue living a Christ-like life in this kind of environment is to practice the martyrdom of witness. Why witness? Because it means giving testimony to our deep religious convictions although all around us others are giving their own example to the contrary. It means giving witness twice over: once on our own behalf as the outward expression of what we internally believe and once again on behalf of others whose conduct is not only different from ours but contradicts it.  

Wherein lies the martyrdom? It lies in the deprivation of good example to us on the part of our contemporaries, and in the practice of Christian virtue in loneliness, because those who witness what we do are in the majority--numerically or psychologically--and we know they are being challenged and embarrassed by the testimony. We witness to them, indeed, but they are not pleased to witness who we are, what we stand for, what we say, or what we do."

When Christ was being brought before Annas the high priest and was struck he replied, “If I said something wrong,” Jesus replied, “testify as to what is wrong. But if I spoke the truth, why did you strike me?” (Jn 18:23) Later when brought before Pilate he testified that "the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me” (Jn 18:37) Pilate seems torn, when he responds, "What is truth?" the way a philosopher might. But Jesus is not a philosopher, but Truth itself (Jn 14:6), and can only testify to the truth and what is true.

How easy it is to lie by not telling the truth. But we should know that as Christians, we are bound to tell the truth, and this can put us in the some precarious situations in the secular arena when we face those who attempt to coerce us in affirming what is a lie. One quickly finds they can avoid the uncomfortable and sometimes searing indictments that come with affirming the true by sidestepping it. Like Peter, we may deny, with our heads down, that we ever knew the Truth. Just a pinch of incense, as the saying goes.

In the Western world, most of us will not die the death of a martyr, but we may live it. Good priests find themselves exiled or reprimanded for upholding God's law in the face of compromise; business owners are bullied into betraying their beliefs and by extension, their Christ. While the crowds affirm the emperor's nakedness, the child who shouts, "He has no clothes!" leaves everyone uncomfortably aghast. We pay the toll for driving in the wrong lane, for not playing by the world's rules.

We also face a kind of shedding, when we chafe up against the uncomfortable truths that we are not as good as we believe, not as charitable as we perceive ourselves to be, lacking integrity and courage by throwing our brothers and sisters under the bus by our silence and indifference. A man sees the truth about himself and tells the truth about the world, but a righteous man also suffers for it.

All things will be brought into the light on the Last Day. Until then, we must live by the truth and die by the truth, because we know what is true. If we don't yet know what is true, we must pray for wisdom, like Solomon, and for a clean heart, like David. For the truth cannot rest in an unclean heart, and wisdom cannot rest in fool's house. When we have come up against the truth, we will know, because the world will push back against it, or turn away in indifference. When we have to suffer for it, we should take it as our lot, not as something to be surprised by (1 Peter 4:12). And when we pray, we know God will give us the grace to persevere through such trials, as long as we do not turn away and abandon the race. You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free (Jn 8:32). But you may pay very dearly for it in the end.

"All truth passes through three stages.

First, it is ridiculed. 

Second, it is violently opposed. 

Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.."

--Arthur Schopenhauer

When You Hate To Be Alone...Be Alone

"All men's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone." 

- Blaise Pascal

Humorous memes float around the internet about the lack of alone time mother's experience and not being able to hear themselves think when their children are young. Whether it's a toddler's hand thrusting under the bedroom door, or a mother going to the bathroom with their kids on their laps, the sentiment is commonplace--"Can't I get a minute alone!" Even my wife and I had a funny marital exchange when I jokingly asked her, "Do you ever fantasize about me?" to which she replied, "I fantasize about being a hotel room by myself with no one needing anything from me." You get the idea.

For men, we often have the "luxury" of going to work each day and breaking out from the household. I'm sure at times our wives have envied the ease with which we can stroll out the door and leave our household responsibilities behind for 8 hours or so (while also realizing that none of it would be possible if we didn't work). Most men, I would imagine, work in jobs in which they interact with other people, or if they do work solo they still have labor they have to attend to. But intentional solitude is another thing altogether--and, especially, when it comes to time spend with our Creator in prayer.

Our Lord was very intentional when asked by his disciples how they ought to pray. He didn't give a lofty, enigmatic or parabolic answer: instead, he said, "When you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen" (Mt 6:6). And then he instructed them how they should pray--with the Lord's Prayer. It encompasses and distills the Christian life--justice, our needs, expectations, and desires--into a verbal prayer. When joined with a pure heart, it is a "complete protein" if you will. The Pater Noster is prayed during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass as a community with hearts joined to God. But it is interesting that Jesus joins this prayer with solitude: a room, a closed door, and all things unseen.

My son insisted on having his own "War Room" (to use the Protestant phrase) when he saw mine; he and I set apart for him by clearing out his closet. In it, he put pictures of saints, the Ten Commandments, a crucifix, holy water, a green scapular, and a tiny skull (memento mori) and a hand drawn piece of paper that says, simply, GOD LOVES ME. It's good for every house to have a devoted place to pray in solitude, if possible, as our Lord tells us.

Getting away for retreats seems like a luxury these days, though I went on retreat regularly in my twenties. As an imperfect concession to get some of this intentional, stripped away time in, I'm getting ready to do a kind of "house arrest" retreat this weekend. We have a larger-than-normal master bedroom with adjoining bathroom where I'm hoping to confine myself this weekend as I attempt to get off nicotine and leave it behind once and for all. I need three days for it to get out of my system, and I know I will be irritable; my wife agreed to take care of the kids and leave me to do what I need to do.

But when I think about it, it is so rare I am alone--even in my own house--that it's a slightly uncomfortable thought. What will come up when I'm alone with my thoughts? I've gotten more extroverted as I've gotten older, and like being around people. I like "doing" things. I hope to get out for a run each day and maybe work outside getting the garden ready for the Spring, but largely I will be spent in a kind of self-confinement or posh immurement for getting myself into the mess of attachment in the first place. The cure for attachment, is detachment.

Solitude is a healthy but often neglected aspect of the Christian life.  It's funny, though, when you do a quick google search of "being alone," the vast majority of things that come up are related to loneliness. While some people crave solitude, others are scared of it. I'm somewhere in between--its uncomfortable, but like eating vegetables and exercising, I know it's good for me periodically. I know I face things in solitude that get pushed down when I'm in the midst of friends, family, or co-workers. Things about myself. Things I don't like.

My father-in-law has recently, as he approaches the end of his life, been very fearful of being by himself. Family members will often have to spend the night because he gets panicky that he will die alone. The closer one gets to death, the more (or less) prepared one is to face Judgment becomes apparent and our insecurities become harder to hide. No one wants to die. But the stronger we are in our faith, the more prepared we are in ridding ourselves of vices, sins, and bad habits in this life, the more secure we will be in coming before the Throne and leaving this world behind and the less we have to fear. 

Christ was alone in the Garden of Gethsemane where he prayed (Mk 14:32). He retreated frequently to lonely places to pray (Lk 5:16). He went out into the desert to be tested for forty days (Mt 4:1). He was essentially alone on the Cross when he died. And when he died, he was entombed for three days and rose again. When I think of how little I have suffered compared to what Christ went through, and how little I can bear, I can't help being embarrassed. But I also know no suffering, no matter how little or seemingly insignificant, is wasted when joined with the sufferings of Christ. So, please pray for my upcoming immurement this weekend--I'm sure there will be some battles to be fought, some demons to wrestle with, and some discomfort in being (somewhat) alone. "But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Cor 15:57). To Christ be the victory. Amen.

The Indispensable Mother

I often talk about the father's influence in the life of faith. Touchstone has a good study with some stats here.

"In short, if a father does not go to church, no matter how faithful his wife’s devotions, only one child in 50 will become a regular worshipper. If a father does go regularly, regardless of the practice of the mother, between two-thirds and three-quarters of their children will become churchgoers (regular and irregular). If a father goes but irregularly to church, regardless of his wife’s devotion, between a half and two-thirds of their offspring will find themselves coming to church regularly or occasionally."

St. John Paul II mentioned an image of his father that stayed with him through the years of waking up in the middle of the night and finding his father kneeling in the dark, praying silently. Our son has started learning to serve at the Latin Mass, and I was even surprised that my wife mentioned he expressed wanting to fast and take cold showers, "like daddy." The model the father sets for the household--not only in word, but in deed--is essential, especially for sons.

If the father's influence in the life of faith is vital, what about the role of the mother in pretty much everything else? Again, especially during the early years, the mother's presence cannot be overstated.

In creating a "domestic monastery" in the home, I've found my wife to be the foundation. We have cut back on a lot of activities and things that just allow us more time at home as a family together, doing nothing but logging time together. And time has no substitution.

One thing that does take away from some of that time, albeit on a limited basis, is when my wife leaves the house for her weekend overnight shift. Thankfully, this is only a few times a month and occurs largely when the kids are sleeping and I am home. Ideally, she would not have to at all but it is the situation and arrangement we are in currently, though it may change in the future depending on finances. I notice, though, the nights when they know she is scheduled to go in, the kids are extra attached to her. It is pretty much the only time they are away from her, and they will crawl into my bed in the morning and ask, "when is mommy coming home?" prior to her returning. It's like they just can't get enough of being with her. Time is the currency they trade in.

But this is normal, especially when kids are young! Though it is disruptive in some sense, it is a manageable burden right now. I really feel for women who are forced to work by economic necessity and not wanting to. Daycare is in such cases a necessary and expensive necessity, but I think even mothers would admit it is not the ideal for them.

The argument in some Catholic circles is that women have always worked, and so working mothers should in the industrial age is a modern extension of this and should not be denigrated. Many women, as the claim goes, find fulfillment and purpose outside the home in their jobs. It can often be a vicious debate, because it is so personal. I have found, and speaking only from our experience (since we have been on both sides of it with my wife working full time and now largely at home), that children benefit from the presence of their mothers at home more than they do them being outside the home for extended periods of time.

Is this a 'privilege' that only those of economic means, who can live on the husband's income, are privy too? In some sense, but I think there are also budgetary choices that can be adjusted to make it more of a reality. The proverb comes to mind "Better a small serving of vegetables with love than a fattened calf with hatred" (Prov 15:17). A friend of mine has a good blog on many of these topics here. Women who have grown up in the wake of the feminist movement may not even realize there is an alternative, or know how to make it happen. She does a good job with 'nuts and bolts' things for those being moved in their hearts to make a change. It was a big help when we were making the shift as to the why. And grace came too, in large response to the prayers of my wife that God would give her the desires of her heart to make a way for her to be home. We're not a perfect model (is there really any perfect model), but things have vastly improved in the peace and stability of our home life with the change. Time is a currency with no substitution.

What You Live For: Drafting Your Death Wish

At First Friday Mass yesterday evening, our priest gave a brief homily on Servant of God Frank Parater, who was a seminarian from the Diocese of Richmond, Virginia. He died in Rome during his theological studies 100 years to the day, at the age of 22 from a rheumatic fever.

I have been doing the First Friday and First Saturday devotion--reparative devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, respectively--for the past six months. For those who are unfamiliar with it, Our Lord promises the following graces to those who receive Holy Communion on the first Friday of every month (for nine consecutive months) in honor and reparation to his Sacred Heart, as revealed to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque:

1. I will give them all the graces necessary for their state of life. 
2. I will give peace in their families. 
3. I will console them in all their troubles. 
4. I will be their refuge in life and especially in death. 
5. I will abundantly bless all their undertakings. 
6. Sinners shall find in my Heart the source and infinite ocean of mercy. 
7. Tepid souls shall become fervent. 
8. Fervent souls shall rise speedily to great perfection. 
9. I will bless those places wherein the image of my Sacred Heart shall be exposed and venerated. 
10. I will give to priests the power to touch the most hardened hearts.
11. Persons who propagate this devotion shall have their names eternally written in my Heart.
12. In the excess of the mercy of my heart, I promise you that my all powerful love will grant to all those who will receive Communion on the First Fridays, for nine consecutive months, the grace of final repentance: they will not die in my displeasure, nor without receiving the sacraments; and my Heart will be their secure refuge in that last hour.

Frank Parater, as a young man, composed the following letter prior to going to Rome, to be read in the event of his death should he pass, offering his life to the Sacred Heart of Jesus for the conversion of Virginia:

“I have nothing to leave or give but my life and this I have consecrated to the Sacred Heart to be used as He wills. I have offered my all for the conversion of non-Catholics in Virginia. This is what I live for and in case of death what I die for…Since my childhood, I have wanted to die for God and my neighbor. Shall I have this grace? I do not know, but if I go on living, I live for this same purpose; every action of my life here is offered to God for the spread and success of the Catholic Church in Virginia…I shall be of more service to my diocese in Heaven than I can ever be on earth.”

Though Parater was an excellent student and a model of charity, an Eagle Scout, and top in his class, but from outward appearance his was not a manifestly heroic virtue. I have always been attracted to those holy heroes and "big gun" saints--St. Augustine the major sinner turned saint; St. Francis Xavier; St. Anthony the Great; St. Teresa of Calcutta. But what I appreciated about Parater--who I had not known about prior to last night--was that he did not do anything outwardly extraordinary. His devotion to the Sacred Heart was fitting for a First Friday sermon. He recognized that his death was as if, if not more important than anything he could do in life. And he prepared for it, testified to in his writing. Not just for himself, but for the Church universal, as well as the Church local.

If you don't have a devotion to the Sacred Heart, maybe now is the time to start. Remember the graces promised to those who do. And if you don't have a death wish, maybe now is a good time to draft one. You never know when the Lord will take you, or how he will use, whether in this life or the next.

And I'm grateful to have found a new intercessor to petition a miracle from when I need it.

When Your Wife Doesn't Respect You

The longer you've been married, the more you tend to associate with married couples. The odd thing is, from the outside, we are largely unaware of the "aquifer of trouble" running through many marriages. People either tend to put on a happy face when in public or even among friends, or you may (as we have) just be sideswiped one day with the announcement of a divorce you never saw coming. The reasons are often repetitive: I'm not in love with him or her anymore. I'm tired. I just don't want to do this anymore. I've met someone else. This was never right from the beginning. Or sometimes people change, and they aren't the person they thought they married. 

As much as we try to nuance every last scenario today, and not confine people to boxes or predetermined roles, biology has a funny way of being stubborn. You try to push it down, and it springs back up the way it was meant to grow. This can often mean stereotyping, which can lead sometimes lead to good comedy fodder (such as Mark Gungor's "A Tale of Two Brains" on Youtube). It's funny because it's predictable and easy to relate to. 

There are two basic but vital aspects to a marriage that should come as no surprise, since they undergird the principals of many marriage counselors: Love and Respect. Before you think this is some secular humanist principals at work, keep in mind as Catholic Christians we rely on Scripture and Tradition to bring ourselves in alignment with God's plan for marriage and family, and not the other way around. And Scripture is clear: "Each of you must love his wife as himself, and the wife must respect her husband" (Eph 5:33)

Notice two things: Paul does not suggest that one love and offer respect. One MUST love his wife, and one MUST respect her husband. 

The other thing to note, is that the two terms are meant for their respective parties, and not meant to be interchangeable. Husbands must love their wives (as themselves) and wives must respect their husbands. 

This is so fundamental and basic but so easily forgotten in the day to day interchange between spouses. Maybe I will do another post on husbands loving their wives, and what that looks like, but for this post I would like to focus on what I see more commonly: the strife and division caused when wives do not respect their husbands. 

Now, before I start, I should say that respect (and authority) is one of those heavy handed words, especially in the context of a traditional community; some women may even get triggered by it because of abuses stemming from issues of respect and authority. Fr. Ripperger has some good points to make in some of his talk of the problem of such abuses within traditionalist communities--men shirking their responsibilities while simultaneously using a heavy hand to demand it or exert authority. If Christ is our model, we see he "humbled himself by becoming obedient to death," (Phil 2:8). Men in fact, as disciples of Christ, are called to love their wives in the way Christ loved the Church--to whom, of course, "he gave himself up for" (Eph 5:25).

How would your wife respond to you if you woke up one day and told her, "I don't love you?" Love is a deep seated need for all men, women, and children. Erik Erikson places it in the middle of his "Hierarchy of Needs" pyramid, but especially in familial context, I would place it much higher. Just as our Lord said that "man does not live on bread alone," (Mt 4:4) and just as love is tantamount to the Christian life, an unloved person (or even a person who feels unloved) will act according to this deficiency. Wives must not only be loved, but feel loved to thrive.

But it is like a Chinese finger trap, isn't it? The more a husband withholds love, or does not make it known (even should he possess it), the less the wife is inclined to offer what she knows he needs--namely, respect. It is easier to respect someone you love, and who you know loves you. But also we see in Scripture, "For rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though a good person someone might possible died for. But God demonstrated his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Rom 5:7-8). Love is not earned. It can't be earned. Love to be true must be freely given. Which is why we have the cross. 

But we also have the Cross in our own marriages, don't we? And that cross might just be your spouse themselves! Rather than emptying ourselves, as Christ did, we seek to get filled up. This is the paradox of Christian love, and especially so in marriage.

All that being said, if love is true because it is not earned, what about respect? Is respect earned? I would say respect should be earned, but sometimes a wife can help nurture the virtues in her husband by coaxing them the way the rays of the sun coax a seed out of it's shell. Often in marriage, we must act contract to our natural (fallen) inclinations in order to exact virtue from ourselves, and help to grow it in others. 

And the "feeling" part of it is even more acute when it comes to respect. A woman may know her husband loves her but may have trouble expressing it (though he should, even if not verbally). But a man who does not know that he is respected by his wife, and in fact doubts that, will usually find his suspicions confirmed. If a wife respects her husband, she is usually quick to express it (as women do). This could be in sex or praise or a gift or physical affection. And most women have no idea the power such affirmations hold, insignificant as they might seem on the surface. When a man is affirmed, even when he is failing, it is often what keeps him afloat or from seeking out someone else to affirm him, from leaving the family, or from withdrawing. When a man is affirmed, and he knows his wife supports him in everything he does and is trying to do, it is trans formative. It makes him want to be a better man. 

But the more conditions placed on such respect "I will only respect you if you love me," or "I will only respect you if you do such -and-such around the house," the more the husband learns that his wife's love is conditional. These are when the cracks start to develop in a marriage. The thing is, they can often be filled with simple exercises to reintroduce what a man needs most to flourish--love yes, but mostly: respect. 

The tongue is a powerful weapon, and women can cut their husbands down with it, whether directly (to him) or indirectly (to their friends, sisters, etc). Paul reminds us again, "Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that is will give grace to those who hear" (Eph 4:29)

To gain life, you must lose it. To be filled, you must empty yourself. This is the Christian paradox, and paradox is at the heart of the Christian life, the Christian mystery. Marriage itself is kind of mystery sometimes, too! But it's not super complicated either. It just takes an iron will and a lot of stubbornness to stay married in the barrage of storms that threaten it. But if I can make a suggestion to wives: find something--anything!--you respect about your husband, and let him know it--even if he doesn't deserve it! Do you "deserve" to be loved? You may be surprised you are thinking with this mind. You may also be surprised that a little yeast, a little respect, goes a long way in leavening the whole loaf.

The State of the Household: An Introduction

My name is not important. I am like many husbands and fathers, who are doing their best to raise their children and be faithful to my vows, to teach the Faith and pass it down through generations to come, to provide, and to live out my own vocation in my particular state of life. We have come a long way, and done many one-eighties to realign our lives with the life God wanted us to step into.

I had come into the Church at eighteen years old. For ten years, in my twenties, I thought I was going to be a monastic, "for it is better not to marry," as the Apostle writes. I was a late bloomer of sorts "in the world," because I had focused so much on leaving it behind once and for all. For as St. John says, "if the love of the world is in you, the love of the Father is not." (1 Jn 2:15). When I was rejected from a monastery after applying to be a postulant, and met my wife-to-be a year later, my vocation became clear. Prayers were answered in ways unexpected. The hand was put to the plow, and there was peace.

My salary working in social services (the only job I could find) was modest, but my wife had been doing well for years in the health profession. When she was promoted to the manager of a department at the hospital, she was making good money, though she paid for it in stress and busyness. At heart, she always wanted to be a wife and mother. We got working on the second part of that equation not long after we were married, having a son and a daughter in rapid succession. Our personal faith was strong, but we were far from orthodox in many aspects of the Faith. Contraception was a thorn in the side, because of my conscience (corrupted as it was by lousy catechesis and years of liberal Catholicism that I thought was normative), but I had no example of anyone not using it.


For dual income earners, two or three kids is usually the breaking point. Our daycare was costing us my salary, and "the hustle" of shuttling the infants to and from the center was, we figured, just what you did. I had shirked the idea of responsibility for most of my life, valuing freedom and autonomy above all things, and so the idea of a traditional model of my wife staying home and us living on my salary was not even on the radar. Of course she would work. Daycare (and later, a live in au pair) was budgeted for, and we figured was not forever, so we could manage it. But we had to put a cap on those kids. Originally we had planned to stay in the city and shell out for private Catholic schools, but figured it was a better financial move to relocate across state lines to a better school district and make use of the public schools. I had gone to public schools my whole life (my wife attended Catholic school for hers). It was just what you did. We bought a house we could afford in a "good" school district, and our son started kindergarten.


I wasn't quite a Mr. Mom, but I did try to do as much around the house as I could since my wife was in the more stressful position work wise. I cooked, I cleaned, I did laundry, I picked up the kids when she worked late. Something was not "as it should be," but we didn't know any different, the way a fish doesn't know it lives in water. When our kids were two and three, that was the hardest period. If we had another...well, let's just say we weren't sure we could handle it.

It's a long story I have told elsewhere, but when we found a Miraculous Medal in a pew on vacation, and my wife started wearing it, things started to change. The sacramental grace that was unleashed was like water wearing down a rock. My wife's mother died suddenly shortly after finding the medal. We had a miscarriage. Our sex life was white-knuckling trying to avoid pregnancy. It was all about control and "being responsible," which meant emulating the world that I had tried to spurn a decade ago.

Living a radical faith is easier when you see it done, so the Lord "sent us some brothers (and sisters) to show us the way and model for us what authentic Catholicism looks like. It started with a blog I stumbled on, as well as some lectures by Dr. Janet Smith ("Contraception, Why Not?") to prick our conscience. We began to give up control, make changes. We threw away the condoms. I was still adamant about sending the kids to "the good public schools," but then the transgender bathroom things started making the news, and something didn't seem right about that. My wife had a desire to homeschool, which was crazy considering it would be a waste of our high school tax privileges. I had just started a new job with a slightly higher salary and some good benefits. The Lord sent us some homeschooling families, and we saw the fruits with our own eyes. We had an au pair after our third (miracle) baby was born. But the whisper in our hearts was "trust Me." And so we began to. Our knuckles were not as white as they used to be.

When my wife made the decision to leave her full time high salary job a couple years ago, her heart was coming more in alignment with her favorite Psalm, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart" (Ps 37:4). We were making it work financially, with some graces and blessings to aid the transition. The baby came with some bread under his arm, as the saying goes. Our son had had some behavioral issues in kindergarten (manifesting when he got home from school, probably from the stress of being in a classroom setting), which began to dissipate the more things progressed with homeschooling.


My wife continued to work a few shifts a month at the hospital bedside, and a funny thing happened with the $60k loss of income--I started to step up. I picked up extra jobs, tightened our budget, and hustled. I became more invested in my own job, and took more pride in being the main provider, though the initial thought scared the hell out of me. I had my own issues as a result of struggling to hold down employment in the past on account of a mental illness, but miraculously--and largely in part thanks to the newfound stability found in marriage, despite the stressors--the symptoms I had suffered under for so many years began to disappear. I was stable, our household became more stable, and our marriage strengthened. Our sex life was healthy and natural and frequent, which solidified the bond between us. My wife tends towards submissiveness by nature, but in bringing things into 'right order,' it was like a natural puzzle piece that just found it's way to it's rightful place. She learned to cook. She tried to keep the house clean. It wasn't quite Leave It To Beaver, but it was trending that way. And we had more peace. Something was working.

We were still attending Mass at a local parish, but were introduced by a friend to the Traditional Latin Mass, which we attended one Sunday. I wasn't taken with it at first, but what became a more pressing concern for me was the transmission of the Faith to our children. I didn't see this happening in Novus Ordo parishes for the most part (with some exceptions, of course). I also taught 5th grade CCD and saw the fruit of it, which was largely useless. The foundation we were building on did not seem solid. So despite my liturgical ignorance and not being drawn to traditionalism initially, we started attending Mass in the Extraordinary Form once a month. Eventually the schizophrenia of switching between what seemed to be two totally different churches and Masses became too difficult, and we decided to hold our nose and jump to the TLM exclusively. The community we found ourselves in (again, by grace) was very welcoming, not cliquey, and largely "normal." It took about a year to feel comfortable, but now we can't image going back after, again, seeing the fruits. Our son is learning to serve at the Mass (all boys), and is enthusiastic about it even. The feminized nature of the liturgy in the N.O. was always a source of embarrassment for me without realizing, because I never knew there was an alternative. But now we found, there was, one suited to male sensibilities, who in turn umbrella their wives and children and make them want to lead, to take responsibility for the spiritual trajectory of the household. I found other men as well--again, "God sent me some brothers"--to practice the faith with in word and deed, and most have a more traditional model of leading their households than what we had initially.


A highlight of Catholicism is a synthesis of the subjective experience of the moving of the Holy Ghost with the objective foundation of Truth and doctrine to guide it. It is hard, which appeals to a man's sensibilities and makes him his best self, much like a good wife, a good marriage does. Right authority, right order...right living. Everything is hard while still falling into place, which produces peace as the byproduct, not the objective. Love deepens in the submission of the wife when her husband take seriously his charge to head his household. Children emulate their father in the faith, and grow close to their mother when they are afforded the time with the family unit.


I started this blog for both men and women, for they are the two lungs--like faith and reason--that lay the foundation for our world: the family, the building block of society. You start from the ground up, and build with the mortar of faith and the bricks of tradition. We have the blueprints from the Magisterium. We have the energy to run the machines from grace. We have the model of what "what it looks like" in the Holy Family. And we have the goal, the skyward building, in the celestial home we hope to make it to: Heaven. Is there anything more important?


"For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior." (Eph 5:23)