Synod'ing

 When I first heard about the Vatican's "Synod on Synodality", I thought it was a parody. When I later learned it was a real thing, and that our local Deanery would be hosting a "listening session" related to the Synod next month and extending the opportunity for parishioners to participate, I groaned. 

"Discussing." "Reflecting." "Sharing." "Journeying together." Who comes up with this stuff? As a normal forty year old man, father and husband, this holds zero attraction. And the artwork and typeset: how can anyone take this seriously? It's embarrassing. Lord, save your Church!

But, in the interest of lending some trad voice to the diocesan conversation, I figured I could swallow my pride and offer a few words as a representative of our parish. So I'm planning to attend in a couple weeks, with the understanding that I don't expect anything I say to change anything. Maybe it will also be a good opportunity to get out of my TLM bubble and see what is going on in the larger Catholic community at the diocesan level. I also hope to offer my contribution charitably and with a smile, while hoping to give voice to those of us who are a minority as a TLM community (probably 1% of the total number of Catholics in our diocese).

These are the questions we are being asked to answer during the "listening session": 

(1) How is this "journeying together" happening together in your local Church? 

(2) What steps does the Spirit invite us to take in order to grow in our "journeying together?"

And this is my written response, which I plan to use if I am selected to attend (I tried to keep it under 200 words, which was tough):

My name is Paul*, and I am a member of St. ____'s Latin Mass community. 

In the Gospel our Lord distills the Decalogue into two fundamental commandments: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Mt 22)

Jesus himself recognizes that the 1st--the commandment to love God above all else--is the greatest. And yet it cannot be divorced from the 2nd, which is like the first: to love neighbor. Anyone who says they love God but hate their brother is a liar (1 Jn 4:20).

How do we express our love for God? We do so through worship first and foremost. Lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi ("the law of what is prayed [is] what is believed [is] the law of what is lived"). At St. _____, my parish church, we take this to heart and the fruits of the Spirit are apparent for anyone to see in reverent liturgy, a diverse and welcoming community, an evangelistic ethos, and care and concern for the poor. 

Worship (expressed through the liturgy) points us to what we believe and helps us live it out. That is, when we learn to love God, we are given what we need by grace to truly love our neighbor, not as secular humanists, but as Spirit-filled Christians learning to die to self for the sake of others.

In the interest of brevity, I will be to the point: we must be saints. But we can only do so by the grace God gives us, aided by the sacramental gifts of the Spirit and the Church--baptism, confirmation, Confession, Eucharist, Annointing, matrimony and holy orders. We show God we love him by keeping his commandments (Jn 14:15). We do not do this alone, but by "journeying together" towards Heaven. Love God (through prayer and right worship), love neighbor (by self-sacrifice and willing their good). All the law and prophets hang on this.

*nom de plume

An Enduring Mercy

My father in law passed away this morning, drawing his last breath peacefully in bed with my wife by his side. He left the world with her reading to him from Psalms. Today was his 86th birthday.

When I entered his bedroom later in the afternoon it was, truth be told, the first time I had ever seen or been in the presence of a deceased body. His arms were folded on his chest in his bed, his speckled skin thin and taunt, his mouth ajar. It was strange to think that a few hours prior he was breathing and existing in time and space here on earth, and now his spirit had departed--there was no longer anything to compel movement or thought in him. He was, quite literally, no longer here. My wife and I made the sign of the cross, prayed together over his body, knowing that he was before the Lord at the great and terrible Judgment we all must face. "And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto myself." (Jn 12:32)

Two years ago I had discretely given my father in law a letter that I had hopes he would read, but was never sure if he did. I found a copy of it on my hard drive this evening:

Dear Dad,

D____ filled me in on the appointment, and your beginning dialysis. I know the next few months will be filled with lots of physical and medical changes, and will be difficult in lots of ways. I am glad you are undertaking it, and I hope it will help you feel better. You are in good hands with your children, who love you very much. As do I. 

Which is why I am writing this letter. Do you remember when I called you on the phone ten years ago, to ask your blessing to marry D? And you said to me, “I have to pull over, I am driving.” Haha. “We will go out to dinner,” you said, “we will do this in person.” Of course, for such a serious preparation for something that is for life, it is important that we do it the right way. You were right of course. We were preparing for life. 

Dad, I love you. Just as you prepared us for life together, I feel the need to write as you enter the final stages of your own. Deb said you have been experiencing a lot of anxiety with all the medical scares, and that it is hard to be alone. Of course, you know you are not alone, but that the Lord is always there beside you, holding you by the right hand. And you have been assigned a guardian angel at your baptism to watch over you and be your protector. 

“So then, banish anxiety from your heart. And cast off the troubles of your body.” (Eccl 11:10)

But no one can escape their end. It comes for us all. 

“All share a common destiny--the righteous and the wicked, the good and the bad, the clean and the unclean. Anyone who is among the living has hope--even a live dog is better off than a dead lion!

For the living know that they will die,

But the dead know nothing;

They have no further reward,” (Eccl 9:2, 4)

Dad, you have lived an amazing life. You have overcome hardship, made a life for yourself and your children in America, and been given “all good things” as a result of your hard work and tenacity. You leave a legacy. And none of it can you take with you. You know this. We all come before the Lord as naked and helpless as the day we are born.

The Lord loves you more than you will ever know. He loves you so much He sent He sent His Son, his only Son Jesus, to die for your sins. He sent us His Son to take the punishment due to our disobedience upon himself so that we might not suffer the fate of unbelievers. That means me, and that means you. If you were the only person in the world, God Himself would have sent His son to die, to redeem you, because by his death he conquered death. We need not fear death as believers, because we know it is not our final home. 

But we should not presume that Heaven is our due right. We are not “good people” in the eyes of God, for all have sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God (Rom 3:23). For there is no one who is righteous, no not one (Rom 3:10). One unconfessed mortal sin is enough to separate us from God forever. But we have a mighty Savior, for as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us (Ps 103:12).

The Church offers by the Sacrament of Confession the opportunity to reconcile with God in this life before we face the next. For after we die there is no confession, no opportunity to change. And no one knows the hour when that will happen. Christ gave his ministers--his priests--the power to forgive sins when we confess them, and the opportunity to be reconciled. All the dirt is washed away and we are made white as snow, though our sins be as scarlet. But we must confess with our tongue, and be honest with ourselves and before God, that we have fallen short and sinned against our Creator. 

Dad, you know I write this out of love. I don’t know anything about medicine, have been healthy most of my life, but know I can be taken from this life at any moment. Whether I am or not does not concern me, because this life is the veneer, a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. My hope is in Christ my Savior. I have made my confession, confessed my sin before Him who sees all things. 

Dad, I have included below an examination of conscience. Read through it slowly and carefully and search your heart. The Lord is merciful, and will pardon your sins, but you must confess them while you still have breath. We have priests on retainer who will hear your confession. There is nothing more important than Heaven. Please, please think about it. Of course you will be our daily prayers. You are not alone in this life, but ultimately you will face God alone and before Him at the Judgment Throne. Everything you have ever done in your life will be made known and is already known by the Lord. It is between you and God. But we only have this life to make amends. 

We love you dad.

R

For two years I prayed a lot that he would take the words in the letter to heart. He was a good and tender man, but was he ready in the "Memento Mori" sense? I even (subconsciously I think) asked Mary to "credit" him the graces promised from my First Fridays and First Saturdays, if this were possible. 

What graces? From our Lord to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, the 12th promise:

"I promise you in the excessive mercy of My Heart that My all-powerful love will grant all to those who communicate on the First Friday in nine consecutive months the grace of final penitence; they shall not die in My disgrace nor without receiving their sacraments; My Divine Heart shall be their safe refuge in this last moment."

And Our Lady to Lucia at Fatima:

"I promise to assist them at the hour of death with all the graces necessary for the salvation of their souls."

 

So many of these graces were manifested the past few weeks: The narrow window in which we were able to obtain a transport for him home from the hospital two weeks ago. The availability of our priest to hear his confession and administer last rites and the apostolic pardon that evening. To provide him with Holy Communion. To have his family around him, and to pass peacefully from this life to the next. Even as we sat around the kitchen table, my wife's brother and sisters and myself, there was peace and not acrimony. It was all the graces I had prayed for. And God in His infinite mercy, I believe, heard those prayers and honored them.

I texted a friend this afternoon: "I have to believe that perfect trust and confidence in God is His mercy is pleasing to Him. That is my oblation. Little Flower, pray for us!"

God's justice does not mitigate or undermine His mercy, or vice versa. As Scripture says,

“I will have mercy on whomever I have mercy, and I will show compassion to whomever I show compassion.” So then, it does not depend on the person who wants it nor the one who runs, but on God who has mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, “For this very reason I raised you up, in order to demonstrate My power in you, and that My name might be proclaimed throughout the earth.” So then He has mercy on whom He desires, and He hardens whom He desires." (Rom 9:15-18)

I believe God extended the divine mercy to my father in law in his last days. He gave him not only a full life for 86 years, but in the end He gave him the gift of time and preparation, the gift of family, and the gift of metanoia and the sacraments of Holy Mother Church. What more could we have asked for? As I mentioned to the same friend I had texted, "No need to be sorry--we are Christians, we are people of hope!" 

My wife and I "rediscovered" the Divine Mercy chaplet fairly recently, and so had been reciting it the past few days. It's easy to trad-scoff at the extension of mercy to others and preference for divine retribution...until you are the one in need of mercy. The opening prayer for the chaplet, from St. Faustina's diary, was moving in light of the mercy and consolations we personally witnessed. 

As Catholic Christians, we do not presume to know the mind of God, but we trust in His just judgement and His great mercy for sinners. "It is therefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins." (2 Macc 12:46). The grace and consolation that can only come from Him can not be overstated. As St. Anthony the Great said, "I no longer fear God, but I love Him." His mercy endures forever (Ps 136:1).

"O Jesus, eternal Truth, our Life, I call upon You and I beg Your mercy for poor sinners. O sweetest Heart of my Lord, full of pity and unfathomable mercy, I plead with You for poor sinners. O Most Sacred Heart, Fount of Mercy from which gush forth rays of inconceivable graces upon the entire human race, I beg of You light for poor sinners. O Jesus, be mindful of Your own bitter Passion and do not permit the loss of souls redeemed at so dear a price of Your most precious Blood. O Jesus, when I consider the great price of Your Blood, I rejoice at its immensity, for one drop alone would have been enough for the salvation of all sinners. Although sin is an abyss of wickedness and ingratitude, the price paid for us can never be equalled. Therefore, let every soul trust in the Passion of the Lord, and place its hope in His mercy. God will not deny His mercy to anyone. Heaven and earth may change, but God's mercy will never be exhausted. Oh, what immense joy burns in my heart when I contemplate Your incomprehensible goodness, O Jesus! I desire to bring all sinners to Your feet that they may glorify Your mercy throughout endless ages."  

Can People With Different Values Truly Be Friends?

This morning I texted an old friend of 15 years something I saw on the topic of bachelor vs. married life. My friend is not a Christian, but we've always stayed in touch and hung out. We spent our twenties and early thirties in the city, so I guess he just came to mind. I thought it was an interesting diatribe on the shallowness of material living (specifically, in this case, young urbanites) that is fun at first but gets lonelier as one ages if they stay in it. I thought it gave some food for thought. He responded that he thought it was judgmental, negative, and narrow minded. 

I don't have an issue with people being of different opinions about things. But it did give me pause, and made me kind of reflect on the life cycle of our friendship. What bound us together? Was it that we went to bars together and lived in the same geographic locale? Was there anything deeper? I kind of assumed there was, just by virtue of the years, but I'm not sure. We live near each other and we like riding bikes. Beyond that, I'm not sure.

It also made me think more fundamentally, "Well, what is a friend? What is friendship, really? What constitutes a friend?"

 As I may have mentioned previously, I am an Augustinian at heart. My conversion to the faith came by way of dissatisfaction with the temporal nature of the world--I wanted something true, something beautiful, something that would last. "Love is real, not fade away," as Jerry Garcia said. My friendships in high school were solid but, looking back, shallow and utilitarian; I wanted more than my friends could give, I think. One of my closest friends in particular I realized years later really didn't care about me, as close as we were. I was just someone to occupy time with. 

Years later, I would lose another good friend of many years (whom I recount in The Day That Cost Me My Friend) over the issue of gay marriage. I remember Jennifer Fulwiler when she still talked and wrote about Catholics things recounting this elephant in the room with one of her close (gay) friends when he asked her, "So, what do you think of gay marriage?"

"At the end of the evening — way too late, as always — we all exchanged hugs and promised that we’d do this more often. I watched Andrew and Tom walk away, holding hands, and prayed that I hadn’t done a totally terrible job of articulating my beliefs. I hoped that, if nothing else, he understood that there is no contradiction between me being a faithful Catholic and a close friend of his. I have converted to the religion of the crucifix, a belief system that promises joy in exchange for losing it all. Most people don’t want to sign up for that. I get that. I hope they consider it, for their own sake, since their lives would be better if they did — but it doesn’t change how I feel about them if they don’t. As the guys disappeared down the street, I hoped Andrew knew how much I loved him and Tom, and I hoped they still loved me too."

I'm not sure if "Andrew" is still in Jen's life, but I would be surprised if he was. Not that it's not possible. But at some point, there is a degree of eggshell naiveté the older we get when belief systems, race, class, religion, and politics are different. We tend to homogenize over time according to our values. My sophomore year of college I read a book Why Are All The Black Kids Sitting Together In The Cafeteria? by Beverly Tatum. The title alone suggests that it's not an uncommon sociological phenomenon. Race, like friendship, is complex. 

Hate to say it, but I'm no exception. I have no gay friends, no Muslim friends, no African American friends, no truly poor friends. It's not for lack of trying or desire. I consider myself pretty open minded. But it just seems like the natural state of things. If you're honest, you're probably in the same boat.

Friendship is complex and for some individuals (like those, I imagine, with Autism or social anxieties) it can be frustratingly elusive. Cicero defined friendship as "a perfect conformity of opinions upon all religious and civil subjects, united with the highest degree of mutual esteem an affection." Augustine adopted this pat definition early in his life as a rhetorician, but as he aged and matured the subject became for him more complex. Mike Aquilina of the St. Paul Center notes, 

"It's not the agreement of religious and civil subjects that makes friends. It's the grace God gives us that allows us to love others and become friends. That means the only real friendship is Christian friendship."

That's something, isn't it? "The only real friendship is Christian friendship." I'm at the point in my life when my time is in short supply and I have to make sure it's being utilized judiciously. Why waste time with what's not authentic? I want the real deal, and if that means that the only real friendships in my life are because they are built on a Christian foundation, then so be it. Some men don't have any friends, or maybe one or two....and sometimes by choice. It might not even bother them--their family and their job and their solitude may be enough for them. The Age of Social Media adds an additional layer of obfuscation. We were not meant to have 1k+ "friends." The term itself in this context is a misnomer.  

As for me, like the way our unhinged society is debating "What is a man? What is a woman?", I am wrestling with this question that is maybe bigger in my life than it should be: What constitutes a friend? Do I have any true friends? Why have so many people come into my life...and ultimately exited as well? Does anyone truly know my heart, is there for me unselfishly? Am I for them? What does it mean to love someone? To be a true friend?

If anyone has a "theology of friendship" they would care to share in the comments, please do.

Related: 

The Ins And Outs Of Male Friendship

All My Friends Will Soon Be Strangers

Arm In Arm

Those who know my wife know she is an extremely affable, kind, and just plain good soul--beautiful inside and out. I know this too, but I also know all the day-to-day foibles behind the scenes that also makes her human; this is my exclusive privilege as a husband, to know her in the flesh and in the spirit. 

One of the greatest gifts and graces of our marriage is that my wife and I have been walking together, serving the Lord, since our beginning. I know it can be a painful cross for many, including those I know, when they are 'unequally yoked' to either a lukewarm Christian or an unbeliever. But this is not our cross. 

In The Matter Of Life And Death, I wrote about my father in law in his final days. As those days are now drawing down to hours, I have been reflecting more about the role my wife is playing in my father-in-law's final chapter of life. She has always been a dutiful daughter, but her care for her father these past few weeks in his final decline has exemplified the life of a Christian. It is a period filled with grace and intimacy. Wiping and cleaning him up when he needs to be changed. Arranging appointments and coordinating care. Reading him the psalms as he sleeps. Attending to his every need. Living the Fourth Commandment as a witness to the man who gave her her life. 

I have done my best to hold down the fort while she's been away. I do a lousy job, and it's been a strain trying to work, watch kids, homeschool, and cook/clean/wash even for just a few days. Where my wife's sanctity excels, mine staggers in survival mode pettiness and an embarrassing self-centeredness. I can't do what she does on a daily basis, and it's glaringly apparent. 

The only thing I can figure in all this is to meditate on "the helpers" throughout scripture, the supporting cast, the sideliners: Simon of Cyrene, conscripted to help Jesus carry his cross when he had no strength to. Joanna the wife of Chuza, the manager of Herod’s household; Susanna; and many others who were helping to support them out of their own means. Silas, Priscilla and Aquila who aided Paul in his ministry. Simon Peter's mother-in-law. They didn't have a big role to play, but they did have a role. Even mighty Moses needed his arms held up by Aaron and Hur to win the battle against the Amalekites. 

Marriage is a school. You learn to love each other, but you also walk arm in arm--sometimes edging ahead, sometimes falling behind your lover. Sometimes you need them to pick you up, or sit with you in the mud on the side of the road. Sometimes you need to carry them on your shoulder. The important thing, though, is that you are facing the same direction.

The Lord saves, but we sit at his feet to learn how to love. Then we practice on each other in the most intimate and mundane of settings as husband and wife. We learn the subtle cues, the unspoken signals, the ways of forgiving, and how to support one another. We learn the depths of our own selifshness, the root of sin. Sometimes it is our spouse themselves who become our cross, the enemy that has dipped his hand in the cup with us, who betrays and denies us before men. 

But because we walk not eye to eye, but arm in arm to our Golgotha and new Jerusalem, we play a supporting role in each other's sanctification. In observing my wife living out her role as a daughter, I am strengthening my own vocation as a husband and father. In praying together with her at the kitchen table in the early morning before sunrise, her robe becomes perhaps a future relic that brushes up against my arm. 

For us married people, the witness of our faith can happen on our knees in the pew, but that's a fraction of it. It's more often than not at the kitchen table, the bedside, the bathroom, the hospital room. The places we visit in order to live out the love that has been poured into us from Christ himself in our marital sacrament. He has stooped down from Heaven to teach us how to stoop down ourselves. He humbled himself and opened not his mouth to show us what humility looks like in the flesh. He gave us our life so that we can pour it out for not only each other, but the world. The world right in front of us. The world we walk through together, arm in arm.

I know her secrets. I know her weaknesses. I know her little foibles. But I also know her love--for her Christ in the sky, and for her father in the bed before her whose muscles are atrophying and who can no longer swallow. She wipes his brow, holds his hand, consoles his heart for the passage ahead. She has given me and my children the privilege of witnessing it from the sidelines with the other helpers, teaching us what an ordinary holiness, and a commandment lived out, looks like in real time. 

Subversion Through Friendship

 Daryl Davis is a fascinating man...my kind of guy. The R&B musician who made a point of befriending members of the KKK as a way of coaxing the white hoods out of their grip said this,

"The most important thing I learned is that when you are actively learning about someone else you are passively teaching them about yourself. So if you have an adversary with an opposing point of view, give that person a platform. Allow them to air that point of view, regardless of how extreme it may be. And believe me, I’ve heard things so extreme at these rallies they’ll cut you to the bone.

Give them a platform.

You challenge them. But you don’t challenge them rudely or violently. You do it politely and intelligently. And when you do things that way chances are they will reciprocate and give you a platform. So he and I would sit down and listen to one another over a period of time. And the cement that held his ideas together began to get cracks in it. And then it began to crumble. And then it fell apart."

I've seen the Socratic method in action, mostly on social media and through those who are steeped in logic and love to debate (like Ben Shapiro). I'm sure it works to change minds on issue in some cases and there's a place for it. But most people steeped in ignorance are not thinking logically, not connecting on that level. It also belies the adage that I find to be true, "no one cares what you know until they know that you care." So, Davis' unorthodox approach to winning someone over is attractive to me, and after going into the lion's den and leading more than 200 Klansman away from their formerly racist life, it's hard to argue that it doesn't work. 

I think this approach could have potential in the work of pro-life activism. It's a different approach, for sure. Most of the time, the escorts and pro-abortion activists are dug in because they see us as the enemy. They are on the defensive. And we see their actions and ideology as abhorrent (which it is). But rarely do we 'cross the aisle' with an open mind--not to agree with what they believe, but to say, "you know, let's suspend that for a moment and just meet on a human level.' There would be many that wouldn't agree; you don't sit down with murderers or invite them into your home to share a meal. You hold up your signs and yell from the sidewalk in order to get your point across. In it, you make clear what side you are on.

There is one of Aesop's fables that speaks to this,

The North Wind and the Sun had a quarrel about which of them was the stronger. While they were disputing with much heat and bluster, a Traveler passed along the road wrapped in a cloak.

"Let us agree," said the Sun, "that he is the stronger who can strip that Traveler of his cloak."

"Very well," growled the North Wind, and at once sent a cold, howling blast against the Traveler.

With the first gust of wind the ends of the cloak whipped about the Traveler's body. But he immediately wrapped it closely around him, and the harder the Wind blew, the tighter he held it to him. The North Wind tore angrily at the cloak, but all his efforts were in vain.

Then the Sun began to shine. At first his beams were gentle, and in the pleasant warmth after the bitter cold of the North Wind, the Traveler unfastened his cloak and let it hang loosely from his shoulders. The Sun's rays grew warmer and warmer. The man took off his cap and mopped his brow. At last he became so heated that he pulled off his cloak, and, to escape the blazing sunshine, threw himself down in the welcome shade of a tree by the roadside.

 

What if we just suspended our disgust and did this kind of dirty work of risky engagement? I like Davis' out of the box thinking. He's not about the sides or the image or caring what team people think he's on or doing things just to be seen as putting in the effort: he's doing what he's doing to get results:

"I had one guy from an NAACP branch chew me up one side and down the other, saying, “You know, we’ve worked hard to get 10 steps forward. Here you are sitting down with the enemy having dinner, you’re putting us 20 steps back.”

I pull out my robes and hoods and say, “Look, this is what I’ve done to put a dent in racism. I’ve got robes and hoods hanging in my closet by people who’ve given up that belief because of my conversations sitting down to dinner. They gave it up. How many robes and hoods have you collected?” And then they shut up."

What can we learn from this kind of unorthodox method of converting those most 'out there?' Well, for one it seems to square with the Christian ethos of "Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." (Lk 6:27-28).  So it's a betrayal of nothing, except maybe what we are used to doing in conventional ways. Christ walked straight through Samaria. He picked up a woman from the dirt rather than stone her. He tells the parable of the Good Samaritan to illustrate the point of those who love the unlovable in spite of the convention that says not to. 

Two, it gives new meaning to the dirty word 'dialogue.' I don't think dialogue is necessarily a bad thing, except when it becomes masturbatory. Part of Davis' background as a child of foreign service workers was exposure to and being educated in different cultures from all over the world at an early age. So, there was a lot to learn from others. And the more extreme cases, the better it works. But, as Davis says, 

“There are a lot of well meaning white liberals. And a lot of well meaning black liberals,” he said. “But you know what? When all they do is sit around and preach to the choir it does absolutely no good. If you’re not a racist it doesn’t do any good for me to meet with you and sit around and talk about how bad racism is.”

Third, it challenges our faith in a way that gets us out of our bubbles and echo chambers. If you are strong in your faith, you don't have to fear. We are not given a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of sobriety (2 Tim 1:7). It gives us a missionary heart in our own wicked country. It allows us to work one by one in the work of converting the culture. Because you are putting yourself out there with the potential or embarrassment or failure, it tests your resolve. Then again, what do you really have to lose? If you invite a pro-abort to have coffee, or a rabid atheist over for dinner, the worst they can do is say 'no.' 

Finally, I think this kind of technique works well when you are very open minded, and not invested in the outcome, but willing to just ride the boat to wherever it drifts to. Not everyone is open to friendship or being openminded--but some may be. Some may be on the precipice of changing their mind about what they are involved in, but no one has extended a hand to them. That hand could be yours. Bubbles are safe, comfortable. We know what those in our bubbles believe, and you are 'let in' because of that. 

But walking into a lion's den filled with those who hate you, and extending your hand--there's something to that, something admirable. Something that requires not only Christian faith, but faith in humanity and a willingness to think outside the conventional box. I wouldn't believe it if Mr. Davis' didn't have the hoods to prove that it has potential. But he does. And so I do. 

Related: 

Say It With A Smile

If We Are Wrong, God Almighty Is Wrong

Christian Men, Take the Beating

How To Talk To Your Kids About Racism (Without Being a SJW)

A Check Up And Check In

Dear Friends,

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of COVID. I'm tired of debates about masks and vaccines, about government overreach and new world orders. I'm tired of news, of scandal after scandal. I'm tired of anything coming out of the Vatican. I'm tired of politics as usual. I'm tired of talking heads, of self-appointed 'experts,' I'm tired of podcasts, and I'm tired of not trusting anyone. I'm tired of division, of lack of civility, of tribal group-think, of the lack of creativity and critical thinking and open mindedness, of pride and hubris, of cancel culture and the death of humor and good will. I'm tired on a lot of fronts.

When I get in this head space--a kind of Kafkaesque existential paralysis and wearied nauseum--it is incredibly hard to write. With over five hundred posts on this blog, I feel like so much has already been said, and if not by me, then by someone else.

Since we are total slackers, we didn't do Christmas cards this year, but we received a ton and always enjoy getting them. Some came with 'family update' letters and so I thought as something a little different that I could take the time here to do a multi-level "update" for you, and personal/categorical inventory checkup for me.

Mental/Emotional

The time period between Christmas and Easter has always historically been a hard one for me, and this year is no exception. My wife notices it and remarks that I consistently struggle during this " vast no mans land" season year after year. I imagine it is a combination of lack of sunlight, lack of motivation, lack of things to look forward to. My affect drops and a kind of emotional listlessness sets in for these months. 

I mentioned in passing to one of the guys in my men's group that I happened to be bi-polar (type 1) and he was like, "wait, what?" He thought I was joking, couldn't believe it. Even for myself, I often forget, having been spared any major episodes of mania or major depression for over a decade, that it's something I live with. I'm sensitive to certain stimuli that trigger 'fight or flight' responses, and get in some normal funks from time to time, but nothing that can't be managed. It's like being in remission, I suppose, from a kind of mental cancer. But being in a state of grace and squashing various addictions, as well as minimizing self-induced stress where I can, has helped level out the extremes in moods and stymied the self-destructive tendencies. 

I had to be a self-advocate for myself years ago to convince my psychiatrist to titrate me down on my medications and reduce the number of medications I was on. At one point, I was on seven different psychotropic medications, with various degrees of side effects. Over the course of a year, under supervision, I weaned off one by one, until now I am only on one, with little to no noticeable side effects. I'm hesitant to go off that one, as I don't see it worth the risk given how much I have at stake. 

For a long time, I found an identity in my illness, much the way victims hold on to their victimhood to define themselves. It made me "special" and gave me a label I could pull out when I was acting like an asshole or headcase. As time went on, thankfully, it became just something I stopped glamorizing and instead was just aware of and managed; I didn't think too much about on a daily basis. I'd consider it a chronic condition, one that I have to be mindful of but that doesn't play a major role in my life. Thanks be to God, for their was much to be delivered and healed from.

Physical

I'll be forty-two in a month and a half; I'm probably at the age where I should be getting regular check-ups at my primary. My lower back has been giving me problems--I imagine those lubricating discs there are just drying out over time; I feel it especially when I kneel (which is a lot at the TLM). I don't see what I can do about it except live with the dull ache and pain of it.  I've cut my caffeine consumption in half, and have been sleeping well at night. I have been trying to exercise 1-2 times a week, either swimming at the Y or going for a run for a couple miles outside in the woods. I think Lent will be a good chance to fast more often (I'm praying about undertaking the standard fast every day of Lent, except Sundays). My blood pressure is normal, cholesterol normal, I'm probably five or ten pounds overweight but nothing major except for the dad-bod pouch. One thing I've noticed in my forties is that muscle mass really breaks down, and fat crowds in. You have to work that much harder to keep in shape. And I just haven't.

  

Marital

My wife and I will be married for twelve years this July. Things are good. We are not at the point when we are finishing each other's sentences but I can tell when she is mad by the way she closes a drawer, that kind of thing. It's neat. I'm looking forward to growing old with her; I lucked out. I trust my wife one hundred percent, and I think she feels the same about me, and that goes a long way. The worst day being married is still easier I think than being single. 

Social

This is probably the area I have been giving the most thought to lately. What does it mean to be a social animal? What is friendship, and what is it based on? Why don't friendships last? Why do we act the way we do, and how do the people in our sphere influence us in our decision making? Do I need a tribe to survive? 

I am an 'ambi-vert', an introvert with extroverted tendencies. I need people, while simultaneously feeling shame for not being able to be socially autonomous. I have also been working remotely for the past month, and it is starting to feel like groundhog day in my house. 

Financial

I am thankful I don't mind my job, and hope to be there til I retire. That's the plan, we'll see how it plays out, but there are incentives to stay. Although we don't have a strict budget, we just make sure more is coming in than going out. I have stopped flipping furniture on Craigslist, and also not getting reimbursed for work travel mileage anymore, so we've had to be a little more careful about watching our spending, since I don't have much potential to make more money. We are good at living within our means. We have been frontloading our retirement accounts, which is good, but leaves us breaking even on non-retirement savings. We also have not been giving as much this past year, apart from our parish and St. Vincent de Paul and a couple charities. Usually we earmark funds for people in need that we may know, but nothing has really come up this year. We are not doing any house projects or maintenance, so no major expenses there. The kids are getting braces though, so I had to earmark a few thousand dollars in my FSA for that. My wife continues to work four overnight shifts a month at the hospital, which is manageable for her and not overly taxing. 

Family

I can't imagine my life without my family. Our three children are now 10, 9 (almost), and 4. Homeschooling has been a blessing, and we have had a lot of time together with me working from home two days a week. Our oldest is quite the thespian, going on his fourth theater production (currently Julius Caesar), and playing basketball in our local youth league. Our daughter is becoming a beautiful young lady, very crafty with a good deal of quirkiness as well. She is a math wiz. The youngest has become my little buddy--we've been hanging out a lot lately, and I'm growing on him as his dad. I've been watching the kids more as my wife spends more time with my father in law.

Watching my wife care for her dying father has been humbling; she is very selfless, and realizes the gift of each day with him, even if she is cleaning him up after an accident or making sure he is comfortable sleeping. This is everyday sanctity. Having three siblings to share the task with is also a blessing. 

Spiritual

I saved the spiritual inventory for last, because the last shall be first as scripture says. It's, of course, always my primary preoccupation. But it's also the roughest road lately. For the first time in my twenty five years as a Catholic, little clouds of doubt have been drifting into my mind, things like "what is all this for?" and "what am I supposed to be doing?" I find myself, in contrast to years past, not really stepping out in faith intentionally. I'm not sure if it's because I'm just rationalizing that working and family life is "my way of serving the Lord." There's nothing extraordinary about that. Can a man become a saint in this way? By the every day? What about "heroic virtue?" I'm in a comfortable, static kind of space--doing all the right things, being in a state of grace, praying regularly, but plateauing. I find myself without fire, without consolation, and kind of in autopilot. Nothing is pulling me one way or another. I feel in some ways I have not given myself fully to the Lord; there's a kind of rationalization that my current state of life is enough. What if He wants more from me, though?

I also find this plateauing related to both a lack of drive/zeal and also a lack of guidance in spiritual matters. A friend at the Avila Institute is arranging for me to have a consult with a priest in a kind of abridged/non contractual spiritual direction. I'm hoping this may be cue me in on things to be aware of. But ongoing, my options are limited.

I think if I committed to an hour of mental prayer a day at least (instead of my sporadic and unpredictable periods of mental prayer and standard rosary), maybe I would have a better idea of what I'm supposed to be doing. I can dick around on internet and lay on the couch for hours, but I can't carve out an hour a day for prayer? Come on. I've really cut a lot out of my life in terms of activities, projects, distractions, etc; so it's not like I have a lack of time for it. 

I don't even know what religious pundits to 'follow' anymore. I watch random stuff on Youtube, but find everything so over-saturated that nothing feels really meaningful anymore. The only thing novel, really, is silence. And silence (and, by extension, a degree of boredom) is difficult to sit with. So I default into commentary, content consumption, digital distraction, etc because, well, silence is deafening and boredom insufferable. My light is dimming down; I'm finding it harder to be a cheerleader (or at least an evangelist) for the Church as a whole, and I don't regularly encounter people open to it either. But maybe I'm not bold enough, not willing to look foolish or go out there and get dirty and work for the Kingdom. How do you fake it to make it, keep smiling and preaching the good word when you're tank is on "E" and not feel inauthentic?

I want to say "YES" to God, give Him my Yes. But what would that look like? Are we called to domestic normalcy as a family, or something more radical? Are we called to expand our family by adoption, or accept what we already have? I don't feel strongly any tugs on my heart in any one direction; if anything, it feels like we've been in this holding pattern for a few years now, waiting on instructions. 

Mid-life Catholicism is hard. I feel like I haven't amounted to much--I'm coming to terms with that in my career, and okay with it. But in terms of my faith life, I don't have any wisdom (All I know is that I know very little); not much virtue to speak of; lacking in the kind of faith that moves mountains and works miracles; a tepid zeal; and so few people who have come to faith by way of me sharing the Good News with them. The desire to be a saint has not left me, but it feels so naive and sophomoric. In the stages of spiritual development, I'm probably somewhere on the second rung of the ladder. What can I possibly write about, then? What do I have to share? Everything has been done or said. Even the "movement" of traditionalism with all its prophets and spokesmen, if it is just another trend (like repackaging 1970's Charismatics for the 2020's) is already growing tiresome. Nothing new under the sun. Just swings of the pendulum from this side to that side. 

God bless you, and I thank you in advance for your prayers.

An Observation On "La Santa Misa," The Usus Antiquior, And Cultural Double Standards

When my wife was fresh in her reversion she was conscripted by an opportunistic priest to teach CCD to the Hispanic children at one of the local parishes in our area. Perhaps it was her Spanish last name (the Philippines was colonized by the Spanish) that led the priest to figure "close enough!" with regards to her credentials. In any case, my wife spent a few years teaching basic catechesis to these 1st generation Mexican-American children. Though most spoke English, their level of their knowledge of the faith was rudimentary and largely cultural. 

One thing my wife noticed was that the Spanish-speaking parishioners were not interested in and did not integrate with the "Anglos," despite the best efforts of the parish to encourage such multi-cultural integration. At our old Novus Ordo parish (different from the one my wife taught CCD at), there were "Spanish Masses" at certain times we would occasionally go to depending on our schedule, replete with Mariachi type music and Spanish spoken as the primary language in the liturgy. I also taught RCIA at a parish that was split between the Hispanics (who had their own Mass) and the "Anglos" so I saw this segregation myself. A lot of the white liberal minded parishoners I imagine had a desire to diversify their cultural pallet and mingle with the Hispanics--but the Hispanics themselves had no interest whatsoever in doing so. I don't think this is an isolated phenomenon. 

I mean, I can't really fault them. When I lived in the city, there were five or so Catholic churches in a mile radius or so that ran along ethnic fault lines--German, Italian, Polish, Eastern European, etc. Of course, that was back in the turn of the century where things were like that; not so much today. Now they are all just mostly dying Novus Ordo parishes struggling to keep the doors open. 

Where we live, mushroom country is a half hour drive, and is almost 50% Hispanic according to census data. The Hispanic Catholics in the area are tight-knit and wanted their own church, which they raised the funds for and had completed a few years ago, which is considered a "National Hispanic Catholic Church." I don't know any "Anglo" Catholics who would attend here; it's pretty clear it was founded "to serve the Hispanic community." 

I grew up going to the Divine Liturgy occasionally which was in Ukrainian. I have always struggled with these "national/ethnic parishes", and never felt at home there despite my nominal Eastern-European cultural heritage. That is one reason why I felt upon discovering the Traditional Latin Mass that it was a "great equalizer" that does not discriminate based on ethnic, nationalistic, or cultural fault-lines. Yes indeed, "All Are Welcome." Yes, the Mass is in Latin which is no one's "native tongue." But it is also the language of the Church, the One Holy Catholic (universal) and Apostolic Church. It is the liturgy, not the vernacular or the cultural appropriations necessarily that bind us together as a community. 

Do those who assist the Tridentine Mass "self-segregate?" Sure, why not. Many (though not all) of those in our community homeschool their children, also. They are intentional in their living out of the faith, catechize their children themselves, and many were drawn to the TLM because it provided fertile ground to live out the "faith of our fathers" among like-minded parishoners. In my mind, the Hispanic congregants wanting their own Masses and own personal parishes are doing the same thing. Fine. Big umbrella and all that. And yet traditionalists are the ones being signaled out and put in place with the papal iron fist. 

Msgr. Charles Pope, who I would consider a priest with a true pastor's heart but who is not necessarily a dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist, has some measured observations on the issuance of Traditionis Custodes as it relates to the sidelining and marginalization of those who wish to worship God according to the usus antiquior.  

"Who is to say that non-parochial settings such as personal parishes is the best location for the Traditional Latin Mass and for the other sacraments? In my own archdiocese we decided decades ago that the best policy was to incorporate the TLM into certain approved parish settings. We did not think it was healthy or wise to seclude traditional Catholics in specialized churches. It was our instinct to keep them close to the heart of the Church and under the care of a pastor who said both forms of the Mass. We do not have personal parishes run by the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter or other groups.

This is also the case in many other dioceses. And, given their size, a non-parochial setting may not be feasible to adequately supply the needed sites to assist the faithful. Hence, in dioceses such as mine, we consider it wise and practical to use the parish setting for the celebration of the TLM."

Priests today are encouraged to learn Spanish and be bi-lingual as a means of, I don't know, what would you say--multiculturalism? Pastoral-ism? And yet, if a seminarian desires to learn Latin, Holy Mother Church native, universal tongue--they are tagged as subversive or anti-conformists or whathaveyou. The Pope himself said the "phenomenon of young priests who after a month of ordination go to the bishop to ask to celebrate in Latin was an indication 'that we are going backward.'"

That being said, the accusations of the Holy Father in terms of those who "deny" Vatican II--I don't know who these people are. Most of us think it was kind of a sloppy and hot mess and a failed experiment in light of the fruits, but our submission to the Holy See is more in line with that of most Catholics than that of the sedevacantists or schismatics they paint us as. We are Catholic, and one with the Church. Like the Hispanics, the Ukrainians, the Ethiopians, etc. Why are we being signaled out and accused of "division," acting against "unity?" and relegated to liturgical Siberia? Why the double standard? At the very least Summa Pontificum gave us a degree of latitude to be Catholic according to the usus antiquior. To the degree we self-segregate, we do so no more than any other ethnic group wanting to worship according to their cultural sensibilities. 

Personally, I would love to see the Tridentine Mass be brought back not as the Extraordinary Form, but the "Ordinary" Form--that is, the default standard for what it means to be Catholic, liturgically speaking. I think it is the great unifier, with the common language of the Church (Latin), though I know this is a tough sell among most New Rite Catholicism in which it seems exotic and foreign and in some cases, threatening (to modernism). Hard to put the genie back in the bottle, I imagine. Truth be told, when I walk into a Novus Ordo parish today, it's hard not to feel the protestantization of the liturgy which, the more one reads and studies, was not unintentional.  I don't want to feel this way, but I do. It feels like another religion, hard to reconcile with what I know after having worshipped by way of the usus antiquior. It would certainly be easier were my eyes not opened to what came before it. 

See: "The Value of a Sacred Language" @ NLM

The Matter Of Life And Death

 Having a baby for new parents is an exciting and terrifying thing. So many variables! So much possible to go wrong! A baby being knit together in their mother's womb (Ps 139:13) is an assurance for Christian parents, for no matter what happens, God does not make mistakes. 

Having a baby is also a kind of ordinary miracle. It happens ALL THE TIME, and has been happening for millennium...in the African bush, in the Siberian tundra, in high tech hospitals and in dirt floored huts SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. Having babies is the most fundamental and natural thing in the world. And yet new life is always a kind of miracle in its own right. We always marvel when a baby is born. And yet, it's the most ordinary thing in the world as well.  

The older I get, the more I see life and all things come full circle. "Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither," as Job says (Job 1:21). We are born into the world helpless and, and many of us prepare to leave the world equally dependent on others for help. 

What I have trouble processing sometimes is that people are caught off guard by death. I think about it all. the. time. (death that is). "What man can live and never see death?" (Ps 89:48). I'm almost more confounded by those who seek to put all their stock in their material possessions or accomplishments, because death is the great equalizer--none of it means anything in the shadow of the judgement throne. I have trouble understanding how people can live as if they are not going to die. Granted it's not an easy thing to think about. But still, as Christians at least, we have great assurance in the hope of salvation and the grace of peace (hopefully) at our final hour. Memento Mori. 

You would think for the fact that it is coming for you, though we "know not the hour," we would be better prepared. But most people are not. It is hard to process. Maybe this is because death was introduced into the world because of sin. It wasn't supposed to be here. We marvel at new life, but are confounded by the harshness of death. It is not always beautiful, but cold and exacting, sometimes merciless and uncompromising. 

It strikes me too that it is our parents who give us life, but as we age and they do too, things flip and we are often the ones caring for them. Babies are born every day, and people die every day too, and the world keeps going on. But for those whom it affects, the reality of it can be jarring, emotional, and deeply personal.  We are not at the point, but it appears to be on the horizon with my father in law. I sometimes feel like an outsider among my wife's family, unsure of my role. If anything, I pray, I can minister to his spiritual needs and make the necessary arrangements in that sphere from the sidelines. It is so often neglected among everything else, and often forgotten until it is too late.

My wife "lives the Fourth (Commandment)” in a way that I am convinced is leading to her sanctification. It is not easy. My father-in-law's health has been precarious for decades, and that fact that he is now in his mid-eighties is no small miracle of modern medicine combined with an indwelling survival instinct born of his poor childhood growing up in a third world country. My wife's selfless concern and care for him is inspiring and humbling.

But we fear his time with us is coming close to an end. Only time will tell how many days or weeks we have with him, but at least he is hopefully coming home from the hospital today so he can be surrounded by his family and those who care about him. We have arranged for a priest to administer last rites, and continue to pray for God's grace to guide him in these hours we have with him. As a Christian, my confidence is in God's judgement and mercy; because we meditate so often (or should, at least) on the nature of death, it is not a foreigner for us. An enemy, yes, but one whom Christ has conquered, "conquering death by death." And so, though one may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, "we shall fear no evil" (Ps 23:4).

My father in law wrote his autobiography "Beating the Odds" around the same time my wife and I were married. I read it in amazement, the life he has lived and recounted in such detail--growing up in poverty in the Philippines, foraging for snails and coconuts while obtaining a scholarship to the University of the Philippines and graduating top of his class for medical school, immigrating to the United States and starting a practice in Gastroenterology. He was generous, with true concern for his patients, many whose debts he forgave. He supported others abroad in his home country as well. He has established an admirable legacy for years to come. 

I'd solicit your prayers for his state, that the good Lord will mercifully manifest Himself to my father in law and prepare his heart well; that my wife may be Christ to him, and a witness to others in caring for him. She will need prayers as well for the coming days. We don't know how long we have with him at this point, as there's nothing much more doctors can do for his condition. As Christians, my wife and I have the assurance of peace in the midst of death, and we pray for that grace and mercy to extend to him as well. In matters of life and death, the Lord Christ is sovereign. Though He slay us, we will trust Him still! (Job 13:15)

Outside The Wall

 "Tribalism, it's always worth remembering, is not one aspect of human experience. It's the default human experience. [And] one of the greatest attractions of tribalism is that you don't actually have to think very much. All you need to know on any given subject is which side you're on."

(Andrew Sullivan, "America Wasn't Built For Humans," New York Magazine)

A month or so ago, I prayed a nine day novena to Mary, Undoer of Knots, for deliverance "from the esteem and adulation of men,"  as well as for the grace to be extricated from social distraction and that which keeps me from being singularly-focused on the Lord. I realize this is kind of vague, and even when I felt compelled to ask for this grace, I didn't exactly know what it meant, only that things like pride and vainglory are a constant threat to my spiritual equilibrium. 

I believe Our Lady has honored that prayer and been gently pruning me limb from limb. The thing is, it is extremely painful. For the very thing I felt I needed, prayed for, and seemingly have received is the thing that puts me outside the wall of the very social comforts that have been making me spiritually uncomfortable. 

Today, for whatever reason, I felt this lack of established belonging so acutely in meditation that I found myself groaning, as it says in Psalm 5:1 "Give ear to my words, O Lord; consider my groaning." The Hebrew term hagah means to muse, growl, moan, utter. It is no surprise we find this term used in Jeremiah (the "weeping prophet") 48:31: "over the people of Kir-heres I moan." It made me realize how much I had been relying on men, on creatures (as Thomas a Kempis often cites), and that in having that being slowly peeled from my fingers produces the pain of detachment--the very thing I prayed for. 

When I go outside the walls of my home without leaving it, it is to enter into the place of prayer. This is literally the case, as my "hidden place"is actually between the inner and outer walls of our bathroom (the pipe closet). To enter into this place of prayer, one must get on one's hands and knees and enter through a small door about two feet wide by three feet high. It is adjacent to the toilet, so there is an extra layer of humiliation that is required to enter. It always reminds me of that Indiana Jones movie when the riddle "the penitent man will pass" requires the pilgrim to drop to his knees (and as a result, being saved from being decapitated by a booby trap). The pipe closet-slash-prayer mausoleum is freezing in the winter; since it a three foot by ten foot space outside the inner, insulated wall, I can often see my breath. So, it is uncomfortable to enter, uncomfortable to be in, and uncomfortable to spend much time in. And there is only room for one.

This is what being without a tribe feels like. There's a feeling of being in an uninsulated space, of being exposed, of not having the comfort or assurance of belonging, and the pain of literally going against what seems evolutionary hardwired in our nature. 

In many ways, this feels like the part 2 post to my post from two months ago, "The Hardest Thing For A Person To Do Is Go Against Their Tribe." On one level, one would think that being Catholic would solve this need for belonging, when in fact, Catholicism is anything but monolithic. It is tribes-within-a-tribe, and so it seems "We are all Catholic!" is a sentiment reserved for the wide-eyed and optimistic neophyte. 

It says in scripture that Jesus HAD to go through Samaria (Jn 4:4). But he didn't. He could have followed the other routes that pious Jews took in going east, crossing the Jordan, enter the region of Perea, heading north, recrossing the Jordan, and arriving in Galilee. But he doesn't do this. He took the direct route to meet the Samaritan woman at the well. These tribal boundaries didn't mean the same thing to him that it did to others. But this also was the same Lord who said, "foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head" (Mt 8:20). In following him, in imitating him, we can sometimes find ourselves outside the walls of our proverbial home and tribes without much company. The patristic eremites sought this out to enter into the solitude of the heart. St. Simeon lived on a pillar for Pete's sake. It wasn't that he hated men. It was that he could not enter into the place he was being called in their company.

My prayer for detachment from men was pure, but I don't think I realized the implications. If one of the strongest psychological tenants to our evolutionary survival is belonging to a tribe, and you find yourself outside whatever that state of belonging is for you, to what degree are we disadvantaging ourselves, especially when SHTF and things get rough and you find yourself without a tribe? I feel unsteady, uncomforted, unsure of myself, following God in the disorienting dark and just trying to focus on holding his right hand (Ps 18:35) to lead me. "I have become an outcast to my kindred, a stranger to my mother's children" (Ps 69:9). But I cannot say, "Zeal for your house has consumed me" (Ps 69:10), because it does not. I am between walls, in an uninsulated space. 

God, my God, lead me and do not let go of my hand. I am lost without you otherwise. 

In Vain Have I Kept My Heart Pure

 "But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled; my steps had nearly slipped,

Because I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.

Such, then, are the wicked, always carefree, increasing their wealth

Is it in vain that I have kept my heart pure, washed my hands in innocence?

For I am afflicted day after day, chastised every morning.

Had I thought, 'I will speak as they do,' I would have betrayed this generation of your children.

Though I tried to understand all this, it was too difficult for me,

Till I entered the sanctuary of God and came to understand their end." 

(Psalm 73:2-3,12-17)

Sometimes scripture speaks words into us more potently than the words we formulate for ourselves. This was the case tonight in praying the Psalms (69-73). I apologize I don't have anything more to write; I am feeling pretty hollowed out these days. I open my mouth and it is like a dry spigot. I put one foot in front of the other, will my devotion in the absence of feeling. Doubt is like a lapdog that won't leave me alone but is constantly running into my line of sight and nipping at me from afar. Like I said, the Psalmist spoke to my heart this evening, gave me the words I didn't have myself in desolation. I pray the Lord will sustain me. 

The Only Thing I Have Learned This Year Is That I Know Nothing At All

My Lord God,

My hope is in you. 

I hope with a hope that is beyond hope

And beyond desperation.

For I have sought you with all my heart;

I have traveled to the cities where I heard you dwelt

And searched for you in the alleys where rumor brought me

But I found myself alone among the discarded wrapping

I lost my caravan along the way

Three days I spent wandering the streets

Displaced from my friends, I walked

Peering in windows, resting in doorways

The more earnestly I sought you,

The more swiftly you hid your face

The discord in the streets followed me into my chamber;

The chamber of my heart you passed by

"Here he is," they said, and "There he lies,"

I ran into the street

But the cacophony of voices was babel to me

They carried me away like a tide out to sea

Drifting, the light of your face receded 

I became weary, I missed your smell

I thought I knew how to be holy

But I assumed too much 

Scoffers shared my bed

Laid up to me, they hoisted their words

"Hope has passed us by," they offered

"It's time we moved on from the Lord"

But how can I forget you,

Walk out on the one who gave me my life?

I am shrouded in a cloud of unknowing

Knowledge has failed me, and doubt has settled in like a fog

My Lord God, in this I know nothing

I know not holiness, and sin has become my neighbor

I erect a fence, he smiles at me 

through the planks he beckons for company

I will wait for you to return

I search for you from the window of my home

My poverty has caught up to me

I have nothing with which to pay my debtors

They come to reclaim my house

My household pines for you, my Deliverer

They condemn my patience

I have become foolish, with no recourse left

"Thou has rejected knowledge

And all the people perish"

When you levy the hearts of those who love you

Who will sing your praises in the streets?

I will give you my hand, my Lord

When you return for me and take my hand

To lead me through the fog

To the place I dread to go

I will lay those things I have acquired this year

At your feet, to be taken out to trash

For everything I have is dross

Everything I have is yours to burn