The Wisdom Of Christ's Woes To The Rich

 In conversation with a priest friend last week I was recounting a particular inter-personal struggle I was having with someone. I knew my inner-conflict of how I was grappling with how to love this particular person had more to do with me than them. My priest friend gave me a piece of advice that at first seemed condescending: "Pity him, the way Christ pitied those sheep without a shepherd."

His words stayed with me. We often super-impose our own backgrounds and way of doing things upon other people. "If so-and-so would just X," or "Why can't they just Y? Don't they see Z?" Etc. And then we get annoyed when they don't. 

The fact is God made all of us unique, with distinct characteristics set apart for particular missions and charisms. As St. Paul said, we are one body but many parts. The more I thought about it, and the more I did in fact pity this particular individual rather than get angry, offended, or put-off, the more my compassion developed for them, the more I prayed for them, and the more my heart softened and I felt, interiorly at least, that I was able to love them more. It wasn't condescending...it gave me an insight into the fact that there may be struggle and insecurities in this individual I just never bothered to see before.

Which brings me to the topic at hand.

I have my own struggles and insecurities, but having more money than I know what to do with is not one of them. We are solidly middle-class, but have also been afforded various privileges in life, as well as good health and good fortune, that have allowed us to have minimal debt and has afforded us a nice quality of life. We're far from poor--we have never gone hungry or lived with the insecurity of figuring out which bills need to be paid this month--while being unburdened from having a lot of money to invest (or divest). We live simply by choice, but also because there is not much we could buy or acquire that would increase our bottom-line happiness quotidient. There is plenty we could have, but there is little but that we find we actually want beyond what we already possess.

I realize upon reflection this is a very blessed place to be. As the wisdom of Solomon petitions, 

"give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, `Who is the LORD?' Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God" (Prov 30:7-9). 

As one therapist to the 1% confided,

"What could possibly be challenging about being a billionaire, you might ask. Well, what would it be like if you couldn’t trust those close to you? Or if you looked at any new person in your life with deep suspicion? I hear this from my clients all the time: “What do they want from me?”; or “How are they going to manipulate me?”; or “They are probably only friends with me because of my money." 

Most of the people I see are much more willing to talk about their sex lives or substance-misuse problems than their bank accounts. Money is seen as dirty and secret. Money is awkward to talk about. Money is wrapped up in guilt, shame, and fear. There is a perception that money can immunise you against mental-health problems when actually, I believe that wealth can make you – and the people closest to you – much more susceptible to them."

This is a pitiable state to find oneself in--hardened, suspicious, unempathetic, unhappy and unable to relate to 99% of the world. There is also something else that I have observed in addition to these characteristics: wealth tends to make a man effiminate. Granted many of the ultra-wealthy work long hours in their industries and endure a good deal of stress as the cost of doing business at the top. For this reason, I suspect, many have a "work hard, play hard" attitude. Exotic vacations, yachts, fine dining, second (and third, and fourth) homes, beauty treatments, hired help, etc...the more wealth one aquires, the more aclimated one becomes to the 'wants' becoming 'needs.' 

There is also this kind of effiminacy that comes with a total lack of perspective: "my steak was not cooked the way I like it," "this car has a scratch on it," "I need a manicure and massage today," "I can't live without an air conditioned pantry." Rather than building character through adversity, having everything one could possibly want at their fingertips erodes it. The funny thing is, the ultimate intended purpose of these things--to make one happy--often has the opposite effect. Many of the super-rich find happiness and contentment elusive, a kind of needle in a haystack that they are always hoping will turn up, but never does. Instead, as Jack Ma (the owner of Alibaba, who is worth about $25B) said simply, being rich is "a great pain."

Of course not all the 'rich' are like this, and there were wealthy men of God in the Bible as well. But I think it needs to be said--being rich is more of a danger and a burden that I think people realize.

This I know, for the Bible tells me so, as the old saying goes:

Hebrews 13:5: "Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have."

James 5:1-6: "Come now, you rich, weep and howl for the miseries that are coming upon you. Your riches have rotted and your garments are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have corroded, and their corrosion will be evidence against you and will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure in the last days. Behold, the wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, are crying out against you, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in self-indulgence. You have fattened your hearts in a day of slaughter"

1 Timothy 6:10: "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs."

Luke 6:24: “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation."

Proverbs 23:4-5: "Do not toil to acquire wealth; be discerning enough to desist. When your eyes light on it, it is gone, for suddenly it sprouts wings, flying like an eagle toward heaven."

1 Timothy 6:9: "But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction."

I could go on, as there are no shortages of warnings and admonitions in scripture concerning the lure and danger of riches. Part of the reason, from a strictly pragmatic perspective, is that acquiring (and maintaining) wealth requires much of one's time and energy, with little left over for spiritual cultivation. Of course, this prioritization is not quite right--Christ demands of his disciples not leftovers, but their whole mind, heart, strength, and soul, and that the secret to the Kingdom is to give up all one's possessions and give to the poor to obtain treasure in heaven. How many of us have done just that?

The problem is, so few of us have done this. And personally, I wrestle with what that means for men of average means (who nonetheless may be considered "rich" depending on what part of the world you live in) like myself. How much is too much? How much is enough? What do we keep to live and what do we give? What do we save up for rainy days in prudence, and what do we leave to the trust of Divine Providence? I think these are questions that are good to wrestle with, and there is no one-size-fits-all formula.

But the proportionate unhappiness that comes with acquiring wealth should be a canary in the cage for the large majority of us who are not in those situations. Rather than angry condemnation or aggressive Occupy Wallstreet type protesting, I find that pitying the lot of the rich is maybe a better response. For many, they are trapped, unhappy, untrusting, isolated, stressed out, suspicious, and spiritually empty. They will face a harsh judgement, as our Lord warns, and they didn't even have the consolation or being truly happy in this life either. I wouldn't want their life or their fate. Theirs is the "spiritual poverty" Mother Teresa observed in her visits to the U.S. Indeed, maybe this is why our Lord gives woes to them as a warning to everyone else. 

But our own economic standing should be a cause for reflection to make sure this hardness of heart and uncharity doesn't creep in either, whether we are making $40,000 a year or $40 million. If you have a house, a full stomach, minimal bills, two cars, good health insurance...depending on where you are standing, maybe you are the rich Christ is warning others about. We should always have a degree of self-accusation not born of guilt, but of suspicion of our motives and our attachments. 

When Nathan the prophet came to King David to recount the tale of the man who stole the sheep, King David's indignation burned white hot. "The man must die, and deserves no pity!" But then Nathan drops the mic on him: "YOU ARE THE MAN!" Not the man, like "you're awesome," but "the judgement with which you have judged you will now be judged by!" It's terrifying. We all need a Nathan in our lives like this to lead us to self-knowledge.

Maybe it's best to treat and regard our good fortune like a hot-potato, lest it burn our hands. If wealth is a tool, it's quite possible it can cut us to bleeding if we don't take the necessary precautions: charity, generosity, temperance, detachment, a strong prayer life, and most of all, putting God first before everything else so that it is not said of us, "For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked." (Rev 3:17). Best to heed our Lord's advice and be on guard against that which can lead our hearts away from him, lest we fall into temptation.

The Fix

 

When I first encountered the Psalms it was in a lonely shelter on the Appalachian Trail. The words of David spoke to me right then and there, as if they were written for me in that moment:

"I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand" (Ps 40:2)

I never forgot that Psalm, the first word of the Lord I had ever read. 

When my wife comes home in the morning from her overnight shift in the ER, she will sometimes recount the sad tales of the patients she treated the night before. Some are accidents and traumas, some are embarrasing injuries, but many are alcoholics being treated for withdrawal, and those addicted to drugs. Many of them have burned so many bridges they have no one to call, no one left to pick them up--no one in their life. One patient last night was twelve years sober, but started drinking again when he found himself unemployed. He was shaking so badly she had to give him 40mg of Valium (most patients get 5-10 every few hours) just to put him to sleep. 

"You should leave a prayer card with them, one of Ven. Matt Talbot. And if anyone is an opioid addict, of St. Mark Ji Tianxiang," I mentioned to her as we sat at the kitchen table.

"That's a great idea," she replied.

"You might be the only one in that moment to think to give them hope. Everyone needs a saint in heaven and an angel here on earth. You don't even have to say anything--just slip it i their hand, or lay in next to them in bed. If you don't do it, who will?" 

St. Ignatius was a competent soldier who only picked up the Lives of the Saints when his romances of chilvary reading was not available as he lay convalesent in bed after being struck by a cannonball. It was a fertile ground for conversion because he had nothing else to turn to in that moment. 

It's ok to be creative as Catholics, to seize upon little opportunities to share Christ with someone with your lips, to be Christ to someone with your kindness. Especially when the forgotten, the lost, the dejected and hurting who have no one else to turn to present themselves. St. Francis de Sales used to write his sermons on pieces of paper and slide them under the doors where Calvinists lived, as one example.

I once dated a super sweet girl, a Catholic with a good family, who I probably could have married. But the timing was never right. I was discerning a monastic vocation, and though we parted ways and even dated again briefly a few years later, it just never worked out. Timing is important, and everything happens in God's timing. We may read a piece of scripture one year during a productive time in our lives where it doesn't sink in--a year later we may be bankrupt and on the brink of divorce, and that same exact scripture suddenly speaks to us and takes root in our hearts. That is because God's Word is alive, not dead letters on a page. 

But we let these moments slip through our fingers often; we forget that we are called to make disciples of all nations (Mt 28:19-20). This doesn't have to be big, monumental exercises that draw attention to ourselves. We shouldn't forget that we are simply beggars showing other beggars where to get bread. 

I printed out the prayers and icons of Ven. Matt Talbot and St. Mark Ji, since I didn't have time to order prayer cards before my wife's shift this evening, and since we have a laminator it should be easy to make a few she can carry in her pocket, along with a Miraculous Medal. Given how common and pervasive drug and alcohol addiction are in our hurting and trauma-riddled culture, I have a feeling she won't be short on the opportunity, as she's treating their physical symptoms, to slip a spiritual lifeline to those tonight who find themselves mired in the pit with no one to pull them out. 

Ven. Matt Talbot, St. Mark Ji, pray for us!

"Let The Little Children Come To Me": The TLM And Kids' Behavior During Mass

 

For the past couple Sundays some friends of ours who have four rambunctious boys joined us for the 11am High Mass at our parish. Their usual go-to is your standard suburban Novus Ordo parish, with adjoining school. But my buddy's son just had his First Holy Communion recently, and the son of his own accord wanted to try out the "Irish Mass" (he meant the Latin Mass), since they had been there once before. 

I had always invited them previously but I think there was some hesitancy, and not without good reason, since their boys were a handful (my buddy would say the same, so this isn't a disparaging comment). It can be intimidating--the children in the pews at the TLM there seem to be "so good" and for new families there is a fear, I think, that their kids will act up or not be able to handle it. Plus it was a bit farther away, and of course there is that feeling that you have no idea what is going on during the liturgy when you are new to it.

But as I've seen play out with my own kids (when we came over from the Novus Ordo about four years ago) and with other families as well, that fear is largely mitigated when one arrives for Mass. I've often wondered if it is a chicken-and-egg situation: does the Latin Mass attract well-behaved little angels? Or is there something about the traditional liturgy that instills something that makes them less prone to acting out?

It doesn't seem on the surface that it would. During the confiteor and the prayers at the altar, they are often inaudible. There are longish periods of silence. One might not understand the language. But there is also something profoundly captivating, if even for the sake of curiosity, that comes with being humbled by "not knowing what is going on." There is also an emphasis placed on a reverent environment in which prayer can be cultivated. It has been a while since I have been to a Sunday Novus Ordo, but the last time I was there it was unnerving the chit-chat and the overall casualness of everything that always bothered me when I was attending, but felt even more acute after experiencing the alternative. 

During the liturgy, I didn't hear a peep from our friend's boys; in fact, I didn't even know they were there until afterwards when we saw them near the back. So, it made me think: what is it about the TLM that gets otherwise "badly behaved" kids (I'm including my own in that, at our previous parish) to fall in line? Here's a few thoughts:

1) "Everybody's doing it" 

As social creatures, we tend to adapt to our environment. No one wants to be the "tall poppy" (to coin an Australian phenomenon of being one who stands out). Call it a healthy peer pressure. Most parents will tell their kids "we don't chat or run up the aisles or hit each other" here. But kids are perceptive--I think it's really when children observe other kids behaving at Mass, they want to behave as well. They want to "do what the other kids are doing."

2) A Full-Body Experience

The Latin Mass is full-body. There is lots of kneeling and standing. It takes a little physical stamina to "participate" in the sacrifice of the Mass in this context, and especially for boys who don't sit still well, this works to their advantage. 

3) Ad Orientum Vs. Ad Populum

The traditional liturgy does not have the anthropocentric emphasis the Novus Ordo does. You are here to worship God. For some used to Mass ad populum (facing the people), this can be offputting for the "we are the church" crowd. But because the liturgy has this integrity of "right order," everything else flows and falls into place on account of that. There is time to socialize outside after Mass or in the basement over donuts, but during the liturgy and beforehand is not that time. 

4) A Sense of Reverence

It is sometimes criticized that God was "wholly other" in the Old Testament. But the pendulum has swung in modern times to a more casual approach to God that is equally off-base. We should have a healthy fear of God, and when we enter His temple (the church), we should recognize we are in the presence of something beyond this world while being firmly in the world as well. The environment should reflect that, and in most TLM parishes, it does, because people have their priorities in line with what is expected. If the liturgy is more casual, people will act more casually. If the liturgy is reverent and represents what is truly happening (Christ's sacrifice on Calvary), it is being true to it's nature. 

5) Servers

When boys in the pews see other boys serving, there is a respect there, and sometimes even a healthy desire to be up there one day as well. It inspires, and having only male servers is again true to the nature of the priesthood and his duties and those who may have a vocation. Female altar servers sows confusion among impressionable boys, and drastically changes the dynamics of the act of serving. One would hope this (serving) would cultivate vocations as well.

6) Judgement and Grace

We got more dirty looks from our naughty kids acting out at Mass at the Novus Ordo than we ever did at the Latin Mass. I think because there are more (and larger) families in the same boat, shaming is not a thing (I can only speak for our own parish, though). Crying babies can be a challenge, and are in a separate category than toddlers and pre-teen kids. One local TLM parish has an almost "no-tolerance" policy for crying babies and kids acting out, and I find that a bit much. Our parish, thankfully, is very gracious and understanding that babies--the future of the Church--cry, and most moms just stand in the back or take them outside if they are hungry or fussy, no big deal. 

7) Expectation

The TLM expects something from you. It demands something from you. Like the faith as a whole, you have to put the work in for your faith to be fruitful. It can seem on the surface that because "participation" by the laity is not as prevalent during the traditional liturgy as in the new Mass, that there is less expectation of those assisting. But I don't find that to be the case. It's not a low bar, "come as you are" attitude; the Latin Mass pushes you--it pushes your body, it pushes you out of your ego and sense that everything is about you, it pushes you beyond your comprehension sometimes by being in another language. Being pushed is healthy. It challenges us to be better, to grow in virtue and deepen one's prayer life. You don't get that by having a low bar set. I think this is less elitism than it is simply wanting to grow in holiness among those who are attracted to the Latin Mass. And it applies to the kids observing, as well as the parents, that this actually means something, that something truly other-worldly is happening during the liturgy.

It took six months of attending the Latin Mass before I even picked up a missal, because I just wanted to experience it and not get bogged down in flipping pages. In retrospect, this was a grace, because it taught me humility, that the liturgy is not about me, and instilled in me a desire to learn more. I know it can be intimidating at first to set foot into a Latin Mass if you have never been before, and if your kids can be challenging. But after seeing it play out again and again, I think there is something inherent in the traditional liturgy that is good not only for adults, but children, to experience. I would encourage any family to give it a try. Anything worth something takes time and a bit of investment. 

We Are All A Mess

 ...some of us are just better at masking it than others.

I was texting with a buddy tonight and he asked how I was. I responded that I am in a good place, but given that I am 60% pessimist / 40% realist, I figure it's just a matter of time before the other shoe drops and everything goes to pot. Let's hope not, but you never know. 

There have been times when I've been totally dependent on God and others to get me through just living day to day. It's at these times when you appreciate the Simons that are drawn out of the crowd to help you carry your cross, that you have someone else to ease your burden, if nothing else by just being there with you in the suffering. 

And there are other times, like now. where I feel like I'm on stable ground and can pay forward some of that mercy that was shown to me. 

It's a hard balance to strike at this stage in life to prevent being leveraged too severely with sports, activities, social events, work, and everything else. There is no shortage of "stuff" to keep us busy and our calendars covered with dots. The Devil loves idle hands, it is true. But to the degree we find ourselves so busy--sometimes by circumstance and sometimes by our own hand--that we don't have the bandwidth to absorb unplanned things that come up, enjoy time to take a walk or play, listen to a friend, or simply be unproductive, then maybe it's worth taking a look at what we can cull to make some space for life unscripted. 

We all have our preferred way of communicating with the Lord. Some guys I know feel they need their missal, the Office, and formal prayers to do that. Others prefer the rosary, novenas, and devotionals. These are all laudable practices, as long as it is what the Lord is asking of us and we are giving Him. 

But sometimes, we find ourselves a complete mess, and compensating for the chaos and lack of control in our lives by holding ever more tightly to 'adult' prayer that is respectable and well-presented. When what we really need to do is let ourselves be a mess, collapsing in the lap of the Lord.

My preferred place to do this above all the rest is at Adoration. Don't let the lack of line and form fool you--it's not easy to just 'be' for an hour with nothing to 'do.' It's not always easy to give up our well-guarded time. And believe it or not, it's not always easy to let yourself be loved as you are.

My dad will occasionally walk from his house at lunch time and sit on the bench outside my office. He'll text me to sit with him. I oblige him, but I'm always checking my watch or trying to think of things to talk about, when really, he's just content to be with me for as long as I will give him. "Easy for him, he's retired. He's got all the time in the world," I think to myself. But that's not it. When I think of all the time I piddle away on the things that don't love me back, and how little I give to the ones (and the One) who do nothing but love me, it's something that doesn't make sense in the Divine Economy. God doesn't ask for much. Just our whole heart, mind, strength, and soul. lol

I know quite a few people going through some very hard things right now. They find themselves a mess. One friend after Mass just burst into spontaneous tears from how hard life was for her at that moment. Others carry the burden more internally.

But what does our Lord long to communicate to us? "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart; and you will find rest. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Mt 11:25-30) 

I find the spiritual hot springs to find that rest is Adoration. It is in this space where we can stop pretending for a time; where we can lay down our egos and our defenses, and just. be. loved. I don't know if trads have a harder time with this than others, since it's kind of "squishy," but no matter. It is the Lord truly present--body, blood, soul, divinity--what can be more 'trad' than that? 

He is on the altar before us, in the humble form of bread. Were He not, it would be like staring at a solar eclipse with the naked eye. Have you ever noticed that as He sits on the altar before us, there is no room on the altar for us to offer our burnt offerings, our oblations, our sacrifices? Not here, because as David recognized,

"You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;

    you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.

 My sacrifice, O God, is[a] a broken spirit;

    a broken and contrite heart

    you, God, will not despise." 

(Ps 51:16-17)

Many of us are carrying around broken hearts, keeping it to (and for) ourselves. But the Lord wants it. And I find the place best to drop it beating and bruised before him is at the foot of that altar in Adoration. 

Here's the thing, though...it takes a little time for the engine to warm up. An hour is best, and I find that the first forty minutes of settling gives way to fruit that bears heavily in the remaining twenty minutes, when things have thawed and softened enough to hear Him speak, in the recesses of the heart. Some days you feel like you have to chain yourself to the pew, the chair, to keep from "doing something," anything, to distract you from...well, yourself. 

The Devil is well aware of this. He will convince you you have better things to do, more productive things not "wasted" in this way. That you should get up and leave because, "you know....things gotta get done. We can't sit around all day." It takes discipline and fortitude to just be, without an agenda, without a mask, sitting with your mess of a self, before the God of the Universe. 

This is what He wants. This is where He has made Himself available to you. And so in those moments, when you find yourself in the dimly lit chapel at 2am, or early in the morning, or after work, just say quietly, "this is where I'm to be. This is where He wants me for the next 60 minutes." If all you have is 30 minutes, give 30. If all you have is 15, give 15. But shoot for an hour. Highway miles are good for an engine. 

We think others have it all together. They don't. Everyone is carrying something they'd be better off laying down. But they don't always know how. Adoration teaches you how--without words, without instructions, to lay your burden down. It's a true grace to not have to pretend, to be offered rest and respite from everything we think is so important. We tend to forget from time to time, and slip back into our old ways. But the more we can set aside time to let ourselves be loved in this way, learn to let ourselves be loved, and trust that it's ok we don't have it all together, the more fertile ground our Lord will have to plant in. 

One hour in adoration. No agenda, no words, no self-judgment or condemnation. Just giving God the gift of time, and a broken mess of a heart. Give it a try. I guarantee we're all a mess. But before the Lord, there's no need to hide it.

The Faithful Bishop: A Meditation

 This afternoon was a little strange, in a hand-of-God kind of way. 

I had taken a day off from work, as we had a homeschool evaluation scheduled for our kids at 10 o'clock. I also had a call with a priest from the Avila Institute for spiritual direction at noon (which was scheduled back in January--a four month waiting list). 

The conversation with the priest was rather ordinary and commonplace. I gave him some of my background, a bit about my prayer life (how I struggle with discipline and consistency), and mentioned my negative experiences in spiritual direction in the past. He was a good listener, measured in his speech, and simply stressed the importance of regular mental prayer (half an hour per day) where we pray in silence and meditation, and converse with God. He discussed a little about the dangers of pride as well, and how we have to be faithful to our vocations (in my situation, to my wife and children). 

It was nothing I didn't already know, but that's actually what I found most fruitful about the half hour phone call/session--that the spiritual life for most of us is rather--well, uncomplicated and rather mundane. We may have particular struggles or issues during times of transition, but really the crux of his advice was "mental prayer at least a half hour per day," "be faithful to your vocation," and "be flexible" (meaning, have a plan B if your plan A for prayer is derailed). Most of us will never reach the precarious heights of spiritual perfection and ecstasy, and will struggle to advance beyond the first or second castle of the interior life (to use St. Theresa's terminology). But a lot of that largely is on our shoulders. Have I been doing a half hour of mental prayer a day? No. Am I surprised then that I have largely plateaued in my own spiritual life and advancement in virtue? 

So, after our session I figured, "well, no better time to start than now," and asked my four year old if he wanted to go with me to visit Jesus at the Adoration chapel, since my wife was taking the other two to their theater auditions. We left the house around 12:45 and pulled up and entered the chapel right around one o'clock. I saw a woman from our parish who was leaving at the time I came in, who thanked me profusely for my letter to the bishop, which had been making the rounds. I was a little embarrassed with the people who did the same after Mass on Sunday. Maybe it stuck a chord, said what others were thinking. I don't know. In any case my point in writing it was to encourage our bishop and be true to what I would say I would do: pray and fast for him, his intentions, his office, and the particular situation he finds himself currently with all eyes on him as the bishop overseeing the diocese in which the President of the United States attends Mass and calls home.

Though I had every intention of spending a half hour of personal mental prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, this was somewhat derailed by a handful of retirees starting a vocal devotional. So, it was on to my "plan B" and I decided to just roll with it and join them, figuring there was a reason we arrived when we did. What's funny is that it was an hour long prayer session specifically for priests. Bishops are priests, right? Hm.

I decided to devote the next hour of prayer to our bishop, specifically. One of the retirees hands me a book, devoted to praying for priests. Odd. We end up praying the Divine Mercy chaplet, reading the message of Fatima and the paricular Marian locutions in this book, and other prayers of petition. But we begin with the rosary, praying the Sorrowful Mysteries. As I meditated on each mystery, I called to mind our Lord, but also our bishop and the priests in our diocese standing in persona christi. What would happen were our bishop be moved by prayer and conscience to take a similar stance to that of the Archbishop of San Francisco, on the cusp of a possible overturning of Roe V. Wade, and forbid communion to politicans who advocate for abortion (which includes our President)?

He would find himself in the Garden, feeling as if he would sweat blood for fear of the choice before him--to take up his cross in order to be faithful to Christ, his Bride the Chuch, and his priestly office. Why was he in this position? Why did God put him in this diocese, at this particularly volatile and acrimonious point in history? Was it to maintain the status quo in an objectionable luke-warmness like his predecessor? Or was he being called to follow Christ on the road to Calvary? Couldn't someone take this chalice of decision-making from him, spare him from this fate? Couldn't he just live out his vocation in comfortable anonymity, rather than in the spotlight of public condemnation? Why, Lord, why? He would think in agony. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here. I don't want to make these decisions. When I followed you til now we enjoyed the palms being laid on the street, the mingling, the working miracles and helping people in service. But this? There is no one here. There is no one else here to make this choice. I am alone, and I am scared. I can feel the mob, the newspapers, the politicians, the angry people breathing down my neck. I can feel the eyes of the faithful on me; I want to be faithful, I want to follow you--but not to this. Please, take this chalice from me. 

After rising, he would be turned over and led to the blood soaked pillar in the public square. His hands would shake uncontrollably as they were bound with chains and his clerical garb stripped from his torso. You want to play dirty, do you? the politicians in the box seats above think to themselves, Well, we'll show you who rules this house. With a waive of the executive finger, they signal to the brutes below to commence with the scourging. Tax-Exempt status? Stripped. How many people were depending on me to not rock the boat?, the bishop winces to himself as the lashes paint stripes on his back. Who do you think you are? the Most Powerful Man In The World asks him incredulously. Don't you know I have the power to grant you your freedom or nail you to a tree? I'm a good Catholic. Just who do you think you are? The man of God endures lash after lash, scourge after scourge, until he can hardly stand under his own weight. If it weren't for his hands chained to the pillar, he would have slumped over to the ground after the first few blows. 

Every wound needs some salt, his executioners surmise. And so after his public lashing, the pain of humiliation begins. The press, the news outlets, start their digging. They're out for dirt. Who is this Bishop So-and-So. Didn't you ___ ten years ago? Isn't that a little hypocritical of you? Aren't you a Christian? The glaring flashes of the cameras, the microphones shoved in the face. Anything I say they will twist around, he thinks to himself, and recalls the scripture, "He opened not his mouth." They weave a mocking crown and press it firmly upon his bare head. The blood runs into his eyes, he grimaces while trying not to cry from the pain of humiliation and the piercing. I just want to do Confirmations and bless the CYO baseball games in my miter, he laments. But instead here I am, crowned with thorns of shame instead. And for what? For trying to be faithful to Christ. For being faithful to his office, his priestly calling, and the sheep in his care...including the one in office putting him through all this.

Next, he is paraded through the streets. He's not used to this. He spends much of his time in the chancery reading angry letters from parishioners who are upset at parish closures, and those requesting his presence at the KOC golf outing next weekend. Now the weight of the cross made custom for him is being laid on his shoulders and he is commanded: walk. He doesn't understand why this is happening. Hasn't he been faithful? Hasn't he been a good priest, a good (albiet, newly ordained) bishop in this new diocese? He puts one foot in front of the other, barely able to hold his head up. He hasn't had any water, his back is lacerated and he can hardly see from the blood from his head running into his eyes. From the jeering crowd a man steps out, proscripted by one of the agencies, to make sure he makes it to the final destination. Is he going to hit me too? the man of God thinks to himself. He recognized him though--one of his sheep. The man is embarrassed--embarrassed to be there, embarrassed to have to help this traitor to the state, this priest who thinks he is Christ incarnate. But in obedience to his conscriptors, he pushes a shoulder under the cross and takes the weight, if nothing else to get this thing over with. The man of God is relieved to avoid being crushed to death, and to not be alone in this ordeal. As they walk, the man from the crowd shakes his head incredulously, pierced by conscience. He had been a lukewarm Catholic all his life, and here is this priest, this bishop, literally living out the bible stories his mother had read to him as a child. He hadn't been to Mass in years; confession, decades. Step after plodding step, they say nothing, but as they make their way up the hill, his burning shame gives way to courage, to conviction, that what this man of God is enduring is worthy to be followed. 

When they arrive at the end of the long, winding road, the man of God can hardly stand. His limp hands are forcefully yanked, his knuckles hit the wood of the cross and his fingers are spread. When he sees the size of the nails, he almost faints...but instead, he begins to pray. Father, Father... It dawns on him the words of scripture, "You do not have many fathers." How many times have his flock called on him: Father, Father. And now he is calling on the Eternal Father, the one who has given him this privelege to suffer as his son suffered. He looks around from above the ground, in agony, as he is raised up with ropes. There is nothing but vicious hatred towards him, towards his Church, that has all of a sudden decided to take a stand for something. He looks for his friends, and finds only his own mother and a few faithful sheep praying their rosaries silently, mouthing prayers on his behalf. He is too weak to speak, to hold his head up, to pray even. This is not what I signed up for, he thinks in a moment of weakness. Isn't it? the words come to him in a haze. Is this not what you were called to--to follow my son wherever he is led, to be His hands, His feet. And now your hands and feet are united with his. The man of God prays only to endure to the end; his fate is sealed in the world, but his soul is still in limbo. The one who has been roaming the earth for the past hundred years, given free reign, is vying for him. I can make all this go away, he whispers. Just give him the bread, and tell your priests to do the same. It would be easier, wouldn't it? the man of God agonizes. And who am I to judge anyway. 

But in his final hour, he is filled with something, like a wind. He knows he only has a few breaths of life left in him. The wind speaks to him in silence; he is fortified. I come to do your will, he echoes the words he has read hundreds of times before, but now that will is costing him everything--his good name, his health, his retirement, his Church, and now his very life here on earth. He has made a mess of things, it seems. Father, he prays, please take my spirit. But when you do, let the spark of my life fall to the ground below and ignite your Church. Fill them with the fire of your love. Do not let my ecclesial death and my life as a priest be wasted. 

All I ever wanted was to be faithful, the man of God thinks to himself. All I wanted to be was a good priest. And as he closes his eyes, he is carried off by the quiet words of repose, 

Well done, good and faithful servant. You have fulfilled the vocation I have set out for you. Well done, good and faithful servant.

Beauty Will Not Save The World

Doestoevsky's famous line in The Idiot "Beauty will save the world" has been adopted by traditionalists as a subdued rallying cry to undo the damage of wreckovations, restore the liturgy, and Make Catholicism Great Again. I have been to some beautiful churches and cathedrals (like Sacré-Cœur, for one) and they indeed give testimony to the Psalmist's song, "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork." (Ps 91:1)

Unfortunately, many of our modern-day churches do not inspire such majestic awe. From the strictly utilitarian to the downright ugly and architechuraly banal, one finds themselves having to believe not because of their surroundings in these environments, but in spite of it.

I was listening to a convert recount her journey into the Church last night (start at min 35) who began her search for the Truth by way of philosophy as an atheist. She recounted her stumbling blocks to the faith, "I couldn't take my (intellectual) friends into the church and say, 'see how beautiful it is', because it wasn't. I couldn't take them to the Mass and say, 'see, isn't this transcendent?' because it wasn't." She mentioned that she was attracted to the Mass but at the same time repulsed because she could see those present at the Mass seemed not to believe any of it, as reflected in their dress, posture, and lack of reverance. It could be up for debate whether the modernist churches and the liturgy in this context failed to inspire faith in those worshipping there, or if they were built to simply reflect the existing faith (or lack of it) in the modern age.  

Like my own journey, however, it was in reading St. Augustine (Confessions, in this case) that this particular convert was led to pray for the first time and instilled in her the burning desire to be baptized. Perhaps it was because this convert (and I) read ourselves into Augustine's wrestling--that his problems and struggles were our problems and struggles as well--that made Confessions such a formidable part of our conversion.

One of those struggles for Augustine was having been exposed to eloquent rhetoric at an early age, he found the Christian scriptures not eloquent or flowery, but crudely written and uninspiring from a literary point of view. And yet it was not Cicero, but the Lord himself that captured the heart of the rhetorician through the living Word in order that he might rend it in two. Augustine reflects on his first encounter with the Bible, here, 

"I resolved, therefore, to direct my mind to the Holy Scriptures, that I might see what they were. And behold, I perceive something not comprehended by the proud, not disclosed to children, but lowly as you approach, sublime as you advance, and veiled in mysteries; and I was not of the number of those who could enter into it, or bend my neck to follow its steps. For not as when now I speak did I feel when I tuned towards those Scriptures, but they appeared to me to be unworthy to be compared with the dignity of Tully; for my inflated pride shunned their style, nor could the sharpness of my wit pierce their inner meaning. Yet, truly, were they such as would develope in little ones; but I scorned to be a little one, and, swollen with pride, I looked upon myself as a great one." (III, 5)

The "Beauty Argument" is one that makes sense intellectually--build it (beautiful), and they will come, to co-opt a line from Field of Dreams. Once people see the beauty of Catholicism, they will be unable to resist the allure of Truth. It's a wager being made when many other efforts to "revitalize" the Church--reform the liturgy, YouCat and World Youth Day, Bishop Barron's Catholicism--have fallen flat and failed to produce a wave of converts.

So, I'm making another wager in light of the world we live in--beauty will not save the Church. It is a worthy thing, and reflective of God's nature, but it's not enough. I think we are entering a new epoch in which our age is so blinded by delusion, so corrupted by modernism. so obstinate and stiff-necked in our pride and sin, that there is not going to be a raising but a razing; not a renaissance, but a decimation. Not a comfort, but a severe and unrelenting beating.

Our Lady has over and over again been trying to get our attention. Fatima, Akita, Quito, and others. And her message is direct and consistent: repent and do penance. Not eloquent, not flowery. Direct and crude.

Have we, though? Has she really gotten our attention? Have we taken it to heart and changed, amended our sinful lives? The evidence is to the contrary. Those who take the messages seriously may, but the majority of the world is asleep at the wheel. Men became so wicked that God had to do a "great reset" with the flood in Genesis. He promised to never again send a flood (Gen 9:11). 

And yet our Lady's message is consistent with that of her Son's:  “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish" (Lk 13:2-3). 

I think God is getting ready to get a big stick out to bring us home. I sent you saints, stigmatists, miracles.  You did not listen. My Mother tried to warn you, you would not listen. Now you're going to have the ears to hear, but only because everything you have held on to will be taken away from you and you will be unable to do otherwise. "And when he (the Holy Spirit) is come, he will convince the world of sin, and of justice, and of judgment" (Jn 16:8). 

I pray that when the Lord does come, he sears us with fire to burn away the dross of what covers us from seeing ourselves as we truly are--helpless sinners, completely depedent on the mercy of God. I pray that they churches--the ugly ones, the beautiful ones, the humble village churches and the great cathedrals alike--will be so filled not with tourists and admirers, but with sinners crawling there on their knees in tears. I pray that priests have the fortitude to withstand hours upon hours, almost prisoners in the confessionals, because the lines will stretch for miles with no end in sight. I pray that it will not be too late to repent--to see clearly--but that our Lord might give us one last chance to turn away from our sin and turn towards Him. 

In my opinion, beauty is the icing on the cake, the cap of perfection of Creation. But when a world is so blinded by sin and degenirate that they call what is beautiful ugly, and what is ugly beautiful, how can they be converted by beauty? Perhaps it is ugliness-the ugliness of seeing their sin not through a glass darkly, but face to face with eyes that cannot be closed--that will sear their conscience and move them not to admiration and swooning, but tears and rending their hearts before Him. 

Preventing The Scar Of Religious Trauma In Your Children

 

Mark Laita started his career as a professional photographer for some of the biggest corporate companies in the world, but left it to pursue a project called "Soft White Underbelly" in which he interviews prostitutes, drug addicts, PTSD survivors, corrupt NYPD cops, drifters, victims of incest and abuse--basically all the people we avoid in polite society--and gives them a platform to tell their story. I appreciate his interview style, as he has a deft way of interjecting when needed to advance the thread of someone's life while at other times simply sitting back and letting the story be told without interference. 

As someone who has lived with and ministered to prostitutes, criminals, gang members, drug addicts and dealers, those who are developmentally handicapped, and the mentally ill, I'm not easily scandalized by these types of interviews, and I appreciate his channel because of the perspective it affords. As a secularist, he's not pushing an agenda and he bears no judgement towards those whom he interviews, who have most likely been judged by society their entire lives. Some of the interviews are better than others, and some are simply amazing story-tellers who have suffered the butt-end of life with remarkable resilience.  

One particular interview I watched last night was with a woman named Chasya who grew up in a Hassidic/Ultra-Orthodox Jewish family in Brooklyn (please note that Chasya in the interview is dressed rather revealingly, so I would advise averting the eyes if you are a man planning to watch and simply listen to the audio, or maybe don't watch at all). Her family was "religious" in the strictest sense of the word--large family (8 children), severe discipline by her parents, and strict adherence to the Jewish law. It was also religion in the worst sense of the word--fear-based, no toleration for dissention or individual differences, in which she experienced a lack of love and a culture of abuse and protection of the community at all costs. 

For children growing up in such perceivingly insufferable circumstances, Chasya developed a kind of religious-PTSD. While I realize this is only one side of the story, she appears in the interview to be a head-strong but kind individual. She has no reason to make up things, and such abuse and protection/cover up of abuse is indeed an issue in many of these communities (the story of Rabbi Baruch Lebovits in Brooklyn is one disturbing example of a "protect the community at all costs" situation). This happens in Orthodox Jewish communities, it happens in Protestant churches, in religious cults, and yes, it happens in the Catholic Church as well. It is a scandal and a mar that will earn its millstone at the Final Judgement.

We are close with a family in our traditional Catholic circle in which our friend suffered a similar (though not abusive) scarring due to a fear-based religion (in this case, her parents' Traditional Catholicism). Our friend has a sensitivity to heavy-handed and sensationalist "end-times" portrayals of the faith because of her upbringing. And yet the way our friend is raising her children is one in which she has balanced keeping the Faith while infusing extra-helpings of love, kindness, and accceptance in her family. They are one of the most lovely, faithful, and--dare I say it, normal families we have the privilege of knowing.

I want to emphasize the "normal" thing for a moment, because that is something I have made a point of considering in the way my wife and I raise our own family. Traditional Catholicism can be a tough tightrope to walk. Some in traditional circles pride themselves on modest dress, veiling, and more-regimented family prayer. Because I grew up in an a-religious household, this always held a kind of mysitical quality for me, and I was attracted to it. But I imagine, given my particular temperament, were I to be raised this way, I may have rebelled and become a full-on Buddhist or secular humanist. 

Thankfully our particular traditional community is not cliquey or fringey; if it was, we probably wouldn't have been invested in it as long as we have been. 

My wife and I do discuss sometimes whether we are doing things the "right" way. On the way back from the beach yesterday, and other trips, we play secular music. I want to like Christian music, but I just don't. Our kids know who Post-Malone and Nas are. I encourage my daughter to veil, but don't force her. We pray the family rosary, but not ritualistically or every evening. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but we are not good at playing parts we are not made for. We try to not strain out gnats while letting camels through. Because I grew up drinking in high school, when I got to college I didn't go off the rails too much. I think that's something parents struggle with--how tight to keep the reigns and for how long. I saw more than one sheltered student go completely nuts when they were given the freedom college affords, and that's something, personally, I would like to avoid with my own kids by maybe bleeding the valve a little when they are younger. But that's for each individual couple to discern. 

Religion is a powerful force for good, but it can be perverted and weaponized as a menas of control, like all things. Our Lord was hard on the Pharisees, and yet Mary and Joseph, and apostles like Peter, were model Jews and adherants to the Law as well. Tradition melded with charity has a great potential for renewal of the Church. Christianity, especially, has the greatest potential for good because it holds love as the center hub that holds all the spokes; without it, we are resounding gongs, as St. Paul says. And true religion is carrying for widows and orphans, as St. James says, so it is not "religion" that is the enemy; religion is the exoskeleton that protects the heart and other internal organs of faith. Were we not to have a skeleton--the bones of structure and doctrine--we would be a blob of skin and blood unable to exercise our body and carry out the work of charity. 

I think it's important when we raise our children to make sure they always know they are loved and accepted for who they are. This can be hard if a child comes out as having same-sex attraction, for instance, because we must love them but cannot accept this particular lifestyle because of the tenants of our faith (this can apply to other situations as well, of course). That doesn't make us religious bigots, and takes great discernment when it comes to actually how to live out that love as a parent and, more importantly, communicate it to the child. And we should never weaponize religion as a tool for coersion or fear lest we inflict potential scars of religious trauma and encourage the association of religion with things contrary to love (remember, discipline is not contrary to love, but must be exacted appropriately). If we want our children to continue in the faith, we must live it ourselves and not succumb to religious hypocricy. It's ok to be super-trad, as long as you have love. It's ok to be more 'normy' as well, as long as you have love. Love is the greatest commandment, brothers with faith and hope, but the greatest of these (1 Cor13:13).

When we encounter those, like the woman in the interview I described above, who have suffered great religious trauma, we must be compassionate and sensitive to the deep scars such upbringings can inflict. We must model for our own children and the world what true religion looks like. We should consider tendencies to prophelitization in such circumstances, and consider whether a different approach--simply listening, not judging, etc--may be more approriate. Healing from such trauma can take a long time for many of these individuals. So we must not inflict further pain by our actions, but model true charity and the tenants of our religion as our Lord prescribed.

Spare Not The Rod: A Letter To Our Bishop Concerning Canon 915

Most Reverend William E. Koenig

Your Excellency,

It was a pleasure having the opportunity to meet you at your installation Mass last summer, as well as at the Diocesan synod meeting this Fall. My wife and I include you in our intentions in prayer every morning, and our local men's group does as well. We hope you are acclimating to the area, and are getting the chance to "smell the sheep" under your care through various pastoral visits and events.

I write to you today as a lay Catholic father and husband after reading the news of Archbishop Cordileone's recent instruction to House Speaker Pelosi that she is not to present herself to Holy Communion due to her persistent and long-standing advocacy for abortion. If I'm being quite honest, it was a glimmer of hope for me as someone who came into the Church 24 years ago who had been convicted that the Catholic Church possesses the fullness of Truth. That integrity (of the Church) has at times been tested by those who claim to live the faith and yet act in opposition to what She teaches. I couldn't understand it as an 18 year old, newly minted Catholic and I still struggle to believe it today. 

Nowhere is this more blatant and scandalous as it is with Catholic politicians baptized into the faith who advocate in direct contradiction to Church teaching. While this could encompass a myriad of issues, the clearest offense against the sanctity of human life, the Natural Law, and our future existence is abortion. 

For a new Catholic entering the Church today, they may wonder "Why has it taken this long?" to simply enforce, in spiritual charity, Canon 915 which states, "Those who have been excommunicated or interdicted after the imposition or declaration of the penalty and others obstinately persevering in manifest grave sin are not to be admitted to holy communion."  This canon is punitive but for the purpose of repentance and conversion of heart, which is a spiritual good. I don't know the interior motivation for Archbishop Cordileone's recent action, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt that it was made not as a political statement but for the good of Ms. Pelosi's soul, and the benefit of the faithful at large. It shows, for us on the ground, that maybe there is hope that we were not sold a bill of goods in coming into the Church, or persisting in believing in the wake of scandal after scandal. And it is truly a scandal that pro-abortion politicians (among others) present themselves so presumptuously to receive our Lord, eating and drinking condemnation upon themselves. 

As a father of three, I know that if I "spare the rod" (to speak proverbially) for my children because of the blowback I know I will get from them, it shows on my part a lack of love, as scripture says. As a father, I discipline because I love my children. I also know better than they do what is good for them at this young age. 

My vocation is not holy orders, but matrimony. But for those ordained, you also are fathers. And many like myself, lay Catholics trying to be faithful, trying to be good, fasting and praying, have often felt bereft, like wayward children without a spiritual father because we were not pushed and instructed sufficiently to live the faith in this godless age. We kind of learned on our own, many of us, and with the help of grace.

But what the Archbishop has done is set a jarring precedent that the Church actually stands for something, and that he will not "spare the rod" so to speak in this particular circumstance. This will have an undoubted ripple effect not only for the faithful, but the hierarchy and Church as a whole. And, your Excellency, as I'm sure you are well aware, you are at the epicenter of this political and spiritual storm, at an unprecedented moment in history. 

Our President--arguably the most politically powerful figure in the Western world--with many other Catholics like Ms. Pelosi who advocate for that which is contrary to the faith, present themselves (in this diocese) in the same sacrilegious manner, scandalizing the faithful, undermining the credibility of the Church, and damning their own souls. I am, of course, not unaware of the implications which such actions (the enforcement of Canon 915) would have. It would fill me with trepidation. But to the degree to which I fear men more than I fear God, I would have to question myself. "Who shall we fear?" King David writes, "The Lord is my light and my salvation." 

I am, of course, not in your shoes. It is not easy shoes to be in, to be quite honest. I may not envy you in this role, but I most certainly pray for you. Because with prayer, all things are possible, as it says in scripture. And certain demons are not driven out without prayer AND fasting. 

For that reason, I, my wife, and a contingent of those in our local men's group, will be doing so much more intentionally during this political firestorm that is certain to touch us all at some point or another. We often feel like "lambs led to slaughter" as faithful Catholics in this diocese and in the secular world at large. But we have faith, hope and charity! We can do all things in Christ who strengthen us. Whom should we fear?

I can see you are a man of faith and prayer. I would, in closing, ask you to pray for your fellow bishop, Archbishop Cordileone, and consider his example which gives courage to the lay faithful to live out the faith in an acrimonious culture. The Church will not be renewed without witness, and witness will not come without suffering. What better witness than to live out in each of our respective vocations, the teachings of Christ and his Church? What more honorable way to enter Heaven than covered in the stripes our Savior himself displayed out of love for his sheep? The enforcement of Canon 915 in this diocese will give you those lashes, undoubtedly. That is for your discernment, of course. Courage must be seen to be lived out by those in the pews. 

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter; I hope it will be received with the charity in which is was written. You will most certainly be in our prayers.

Sincerely in Christ,

RM

 

Family Charity And The Impending Recession

It seems pretty clear that we are heading towards an economic recession, which will affect the lives of Americans and our global neighbors of all social strata. But the most economically vulnerable always take the brunt of such weight. While some of my friends are getting into prepper mode, and others are buying up commodities, I find myself preparing from a less pragmatic angle: how do we serve and become a 'house of respite' as a family with what God has given us when SHTF?

When I read The Cure d'Ars a couple years ago, it was this passage about John Vianney's parents--rather than the saint's later life as a cure, edifying as it was to read of his commitment to the holy priesthood and the salvation of souls--that made an impression on me: 

"Love of the poor was the only rival love that divided his young heart with Jesus and His Blessed Mother. The child was, it is true, in a school where he could scarcely fail to learn to love the poor. Matthew Vianney's house was open to them like a wayside fountain. It was a common thing for as many as twenty poor people to turn in there of a night for food and shelter. In the summer time Matthew housed them in the barn ; but on winter nights he would light a great fire of fagots in the kitchen, set a big pot of potatoes on it, and when they were boiled serve them, and divide the meal between his children and the poor. When the last potato had disappeared he said night prayers aloud, and then conducted his guests to the hayloft, taking care that they were secure from the cold and wind, and as comfortable as his scant accommodation could make them. 

The Christian laborer entertained many an angel unawares, no doubt, amongst these strangers. One cold winter's night there knocked at his door a pilgrim who was destined one day to shine in the calendar of the Church. The traveller who tarries on his way through Dardilly is sure to hear, as of a great glory that lives in the tradition of the village, how, on his way to a neighboring shrine, Benedict Joseph Labre slept one night under the roof of Matthew Vianney." 

St. Benedict immediately gave away his inheritance and set off to be a hermit of the desert, while St. Katherine Drexel used her sizable family wealth in the direct service of the poor. Venerable Aloysius Schwartz had to wrestle with his desire to be a poor missionary priest in the slums of South Korea with God's will that he be used as an administrator to raise millions of dollars through a charitable non-profit to serve the poor there.

Matthew Vianney (the father of St. John Vianney), however, was a poor laborer rather than a man of means, a husband and father rather than a religious. In the wake of the French Revolution, a time of uncertainty and suffering for many in France, he did not stock up on canned beans and guns (well, who knows) and build a bunker, but instead with his wife opened up his humble homes to the poor flocking to the country side and shared the meager spread of their table with those who were hungry. 

This is not the kind of response most of us are accustomed to, especially as Americans. It almost requires a kind of 'reprogramming' to loosen the grips on what we possess materially during times of scarcity. Our natural, base response is typically to hoard and protect, or drop the crusts from our sandwiches of excess. This is not to judge those who (as one example) lived through and were scarred by the effects of the Great Depression. The instinct to survive changes a man in ways he may never know, and he may do things he always said he would never do. 

But it does give us the opportunity as Christians to reflect on the question, "what have I been given, and what am I being called to give in service of God and neighbor during times of great collective need?"

When we reflect on the words of our Lord in scripture, "What merit is it to you to love those who love you? Do not tax collectors do that?" (Mt 5:46) we can apply this admonition to love to our more typical approach of sharing from our excess and thinking we are admirable servants of charity. For the parents of John Vianney, what little they had, they shared in direct service.

I'll admit, it is often easier to cut a check. We have written mortgage payments and utility bills for struggling families (those who often fall through the gap with slightly-higher-than-poverty-level incomes who are not eligible for food stamps and public assistance), and donated to various charitable organizations, but I don't think this is enough. For one thing, it does not model visible, lived charity to our children. That is what struck me about the example of the Vianney's--their home was a "school of charity" which formed the character of the impressionable Jean. As St. Paul says, "be imitators of me" (1 Cor 4:15-16) and gave himself as a model of faith, hope and charity in the flesh. There is a reason students do not become nurses or doctors or teachers through online-only instruction--their profession dictates they learn their field through practicums, clinical rotations, student teaching, etc.--in other words, they need to "see how it's done" in real life. 

There is a part of me that is frugal by nature as a way of padding myself from the uncertainties of life. I take more comfort in a few extra thousand dollars in the bank than an RV or an expensive vacation. I don't mind working hard, and hustling on the side. Part of this is prudential stewardship, and part of it is a less admirable means of control and lack of trust in Divine Providence. I was never modeled charity as a child; my father, though generous with his children, felt that the government's job was to provide for those in need, not his, and that is why he pays taxes. Part of my "unlearning" as an adult Christian is how to truly trust that God will provide for our needs, and that we will be judged on our charity when we die. And that judgement may be harsh.

John Vianney is a model priest of spiritual charity. He spent hours and hours in the confessional and ran himself ragged to save souls. But where did he learn such charity? Maybe his father had something to do with that with his humble example of corporal family charity that addressed need in times of national hardship that gave not from excess, but from his meager allotment as a peasant. 

I get the feeling that we are in for a good world of hurt as a country in the ensuing few years, and who knows how long it will last. There will be no shortage of opportunities to be of service to the Lord, but it may not be by walling ourselves in church exclusively. It may involve the uncomfortable, active charity that the Lord is giving us the opportunity to cultivate as a means of growing in virtue and service. We may have to get creative as well, and think about our particular family circumstances and means in light of the needs of our neighbors. Charity may be hard to practice, but it's not rocket science to learn. The learning comes by doing.

We may even find ourselves on the receiving end of pink slips or economic misfortune. But I don't think even that excuses us from the need to serve. St Peter had no money but healed a crippled man (Acts 3:6). The holy St. John the Baptist told those who wanted to be saved, “The man who has two tunics is to share with him who has none; and he who has food is to do the same” (Lk 3:11). And our Lord put in the simplest terms possible, "And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward" (Mt 10:42). What is more important to us--a life of pleasant leisure, a padded bank account, a weekend boat in the driveway--or our eternal reward which demands we do more than just the minimum?

Perhaps it is a change of perspective as well, the way one may fail to quit an addiction by will-power alone, or through fear of health consequences. Perhaps he needs to see life on the other side not as deprivation from a substance, but of fulfillment through freedom from slavery. 

Likewise, when it comes to charity, God gives us so many daily opportunities to give, to empty ourselves, to grow in virtue, to serve our neighbor, to practice goodwill, to endure suffering and want as means to sanctification. We can be prudent and creative. We can be responsible and charitable. We can find pleasure not in some trivial recreation or object of desire, but in the opportunity to multiply our talents for the good of our neighbor and the advancement of the Kingdom. It is hard to do during unsettling times of national insecurity and economic disruption when the rubber hits the road. But we can have faith that that reward will not be lost in the spiritual economy, even for the smallest act done with love and concern for those most in need of it. God is not a liar. For our part, we must have faith as well that he was not being allegorical, but literal, when it comes the requirements of the discipleship of charity. 

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”

Work, Family, and the New Techno-Agrarianism

Like many people I know, my work has shifted, post-COVID, to a hybrid-remote setting. In a tight labor market, my largely brick-and-mortar employer realized that we were losing too much talent to corporate remote options that paid better. Last year, in an attempt to stem the tide, we were offered the option for a 3 days in the office / 2 days remote. Some of our team was offered a fully remote option, (which all but one who were offered it took). For summer, this increased to 1 day in, 4 days remote. It was considered a perk, offered conditionally provided we could continue to offer the same service and do our work just as effectively as when we are in the office.

It has been working well, it seems. For a largely traditional institution, we pivoted pretty quickly in March 2020 when we were all fully remote (due to COVID) by necessity. Our phone system shifted to our laptops, VPNs were added, and Zoom meetings became a regular thing. Though I missed seeing my co-workers from time to time, and occasionally felt isolated and disconnected, I found I was just as productive at home as I was in the office. The hybrid option seemed like the best of both worlds--it got me out of the house occasionally, while reducing my commute and allowing me to do things around the house on my lunch break.

It is not lost on me that this is a privilege of my particular strata in the workforce. Were I a bricklayer, or a cashier, or a daycare worker, such options would not be available to me and others who now find ourselves working primarily from the comfort of our home. But since it is my situation, and since workforce culture and employer understanding seems to be shifting, it has allowed me to observe the effect of this shift on family life.

I have a friend who thinks and writes about the family-unit prior to the Industrial Revolution. Not being a historical affodicio, I can only write in general terms. But it seems that prior to the late 18th century, society was largely agrarian, and populations localized in small towns. When Industrialization came about, men would leave their families and villages to seek employment in factories in largely urban areas. 

My friend noted that families prior to this era were together more by nature of the work they did. This seemed to be the case, and sometime I noticed, when viewing the film A Hidden Life (set in rural Austria) with my wife a few years back. There was a rhythm and cohesion to life, more localized economies, more sense of community. When the automobile became more commonplace, my friend lamented, this sense of place was further fractured as people were able to travel farther distances for both work and leisure. 

This is my first time working remotely in a job. But it's interesting, isn't it, that whereas low-wage agrarians two hundred-some years ago had the benefit of family cohesion and togetherness (but minimal opportunity), now it is tech-workers with higher commanding salaries that find themselves, well...at home. 

Because we also homeschool, we are together in proximity as a family much more than just a few years ago, when I would leave the house at 7 and get home around dinner time five days a week. Even when I am working upstairs, or on slower days with no meetings, in the kitchen, the kids are at the dining room table with my wife doing math and language arts. On my lunch break, we can eat together, or we can go to the adoration chapel together, or I can work in the garden. Because I don't have to leave or get up as early as in previous years, my wife and I begin our day with prayer and reading scripture at the kitchen table over coffee. When I log off at the end of the day, I'm already home. We could probably even give up one of our cars if we had to, since I tend to bike commute whenever I am able 

The days I am in the office and it is slower, I am literally staring at the wall in my office. I don't mind, but it just seems so--antiquated. The Corner Office used to be a sign of status and prestige, especially in law-firms and places like that. Now it just seems like an expensive waste of space and not something you would brag about the way a yuppie might in the nineteen-eighties.  I literally don't need anything to do my work--and more effectively and productively, mind you--than a flat space to put my laptop on.

Has technology improved our lives? There's something to be said about washing dishes by hand for nostalgia's sake, but I don't think any housewife is going to be giving up their dishwasher anytime soon. Same for the automobile, or air conditioning, or WiFi. We enjoy doing things old-school--baking bread, tilling a garden, writing a letter with a pen and paper--because we are recipients of the privilege of not having to do so. If we were forced to thresh wheat by hand for 16 hours a day, or canning all our produce to get through the winter, it might be a different story. We're kind of--"playing", if you will. It's quaint and pleasant. 

But agrarian life was not always quaint and pleasant. It was work, always work, and were one to mimic the sluggard in Proverbs, they would, well, die. But there was a hard simplicity to life, and I think that was in fact a good that is often neglected. Hard work is good for us, and we were not made for unbridled comfort, leisure, and security.

So it's an interesting swing of the pendulum--those at the higher socio-economic rungs are enjoying more efficiency, more time, better compensation, and yes, more leisure in this new post-industrialized tech-ocracy. For many, the laptop is the new scythe. 

For those working at lower-wage jobs that require in-person presence, it's quite the opposite. They are taken away from their families, often scrambling for child-care, while just trying to make ends meet and pay their bills. For many of these jobs, it's necessary. You can't "virtually" build a skyscraper or empty waste cans remotely. 

It is for this reason that I often reflect that despite my median-income, I am the rich man in the bible, afforded a position not of want or need, but of surplus. The bonus, however, which I am increasingly grateful for, is that I seem to have more time with my family (whom I actually like being around), even when I am working in the next room. 

It would be one thing if I wasn't able to work as well from home as in the office. But this new model has afforded us a curious new paradigm of family life in the midst of a sometimes godless technocratic world order, to make of it what we choose--for good or for evil. There is fruit there, and I don't want to squander it or take it for granted. This is not to condemn or succumb to privilege-guilt, but simply to cultivate gratitude as a matter of perspective (hot water! flush toilets!) and accept a responsibility of multiplying talents for the kingdom and the least of these with what we've been afforded. For those who are given much, much is expected.

The Lure of the Content Industrial Complex

When our first two kids were young, I had the great misfortune (in an momentary act of errant parental desperation, most likely) of stumbling upon "Ryan's Toy Review" on YouTube. They were instantly hooked and for me it was hate at first sight. "Why go through the effort of playing with your own toys, when you can watch some annoying kid on TV do it for you?" 

With over 48 billion views, and $30M a year in revenue, you could say this 10 year old "kidfluencer" (and his parents) have found their niche. None of it was enriching, but it was enrapturing. My wife and I had a few moments of parental peace, my kids had something to hold their attention for "free", the star of the show got to play with toys from sponsors for the camera, and his parents added a bucketful of zeros to their checking account. 

The thought of putting my kids on Youtube for public consumption is abhorrent to me. But for some families looking to cash in on their normal, everyday lives in the "Creator Economy," 

"Everything is content. The family has hired a video editor, a scriptwriter, and an assistant for Ramneek. The family is so popular that the kids often get recognized by fans at malls, and their classmates keep sending fan texts during online school. The family has received requests for selfies and autographs while sitting in their car at traffic signals. During a holiday, they were followed by a couple for more than 300 kilometers, from Mussoorie to Amritsar, to get a photograph for their child.

“Other families are very boring, they are always bored,” Anaanya said, “but we have something to do; we can make videos all day long.”

While this particular family was in India, American social media "influencers" looking to merge their real lives with their online personas are in no short supply. It seems like a dream life of sponsored products, travel, and remote, free-lance work that entreupeneurial Millenials are simply capitalizing on by hacking algorithms and churning out a seemingly endless supply of consumable content for an audience hungry for distraction.

Like those who used to flock to resource-rich coal and oil industrial sections of the country, a 19th century gold-rush, a 20th century "green"-rush (legalized cannabis), or even an opportune interview on Dr. Phil, sometimes you have to just ride the wave for all it's worth while it's cresting. While the content is "free" for viewers, the cost for these high-profile video producers can be steep:

"Mostly, though, he sees the extreme precarity that courses through every person, every thought, every action that occurs in the house. “Several times throughout my trip, I think I can see the toll this takes on them, a kind of pallid desperation that flickers across their faces,” he writes. “At one point, Brandon [one of the influencers] comes over and says, ‘The scary thing is you never know how long this is going to last, and I think that’s what eats a lot of us at night. It’s like, What’s next? How long can we entertain everyone for? How long before no one cares, and what if your life was worth nothing?’”

Just as those arriving at Staten Island eagerly sought to assimilate into American culture during the early 20th century waves of immigration, some Catholics today have asked themselves with regards to this use of modern media "why not us too?" Cashing in on YouTube monetization may not be their motivation; instead, they may see it as a golden opportunity to spread the Gospel and advance the Faith in a godless culture hungry for Truth. 

But in general, from what I have seen with the likes of figures my age like Brian Holdsworth, Matt Fradd, and other well-meaning Catholics, it happens something like this: You're working a full-time job, making some videos for fun on the side--either apologetics, interviews, or just musings on a variety of topics. You start to get some views, build some traction, and gain some subs.

Eventually, like all side hustle free-lancers and moonlighters, there are so many hours in a day and buoyed by the positive feedback of your viewers, you weigh the choice: "is God calling me to leave my job and dive in head first to this "thing?" Maybe the world needs what I have to give!" And so, after prayer and discernment, you cut the corporate cord and devote yourself full-time to producing high-quality monologues, booking guests for interviews, and addressing the pressing issues of the day in a digital format for the world to, well...

Consume. 

 My brother, who until recently had a semi-long tenure at Apple, used to lament that the personal satisfaction of completing a breakthrough project was superseded by deflation at the relentless corporate need to immediately move onto the next project. As Stringer Bell used to say in The Wire, you have to "move that product." 

At some point, you realize you are on now on a hamster wheel that is not so easy to get off of, churning out "product" (content) for an insatiable audience with a precariously short attention span interested not in deep pondering or gestating reflectively, but simply in being distracted in the moment from what's in front of them.

With your mortgage payments dependent on algorithms and clicks, reshares, and monetization, stepping off the wheel isn't a simple affair. Steve Skojec's recent disillusionment and leaving of One Peter Five (and the Faith) and Patrick Coffin's foray into--well, whatever it is he is foraying into these days--first queued me into this idea that maybe you shouldn't leave your day job as  a lay Catholic. For one thing, 

"YouTube brain, from the perspective of the YouTuber as opposed to the viewer, is what happens when you are both creatively and financially subject to the whims of other people’s attention spans for years at a time, weighed down by neverending demand for more content for dwindling returns."

Though I have toyed with the idea of starting a YouTube channel myself, my perspective lies squarely with that of "the viewer." And the crest of my interest in watching episodes of Pints With Aquinas or Sensus Fidelium has, I think, already peaked. Youtube is the only thing I have left--no Facebook, Twitter, (I wouldn't even know what to do on TikTok), but even that is waning. Like many people, I suspect, I've grown tired of content. After years of doing late night lines of digital dopamine here and there, I don't want to cross the line into full-blown addict. And so when it comes to consuming content, I've largely just...stopped.

For the content creator putting food on the table with each new upload, this is a startling and truly frightening prospect. If clicks=dollars, what do you do when you have a seven year gap in your resume aside from being a Catholic YouTuber if this "thing" doesn't work anymore? The kids still need shoes, tuition still needs to be paid. You are knee-deep in this thing now, but the interest just isn't there anymore from those pumping up your sub list. You're trapped. Sure, you could up the ante into more and more sensationalist topics to gain more fringey followers, but it's a wagered risk that may or may not pay off. And even that has diminishing returns. And I think this is about the point where a faithful, good-hearted, well-meaning Catholic in the dark night of his soul, sitting before his spare-room studio camera might stare into the lens and ask himself, "What have I done...and what do I do now?"

Personally, I think figures like Brian and Matt are creative, insightful guys with good, honest hearts; I would love to sit down with them for a beer or a scotch over a campfire. I just wonder if perhaps they are unwitting victims in this digital-zeitgeist-sausage-machine--the Content Industrial Complex (CIC)--age; Years from now, they are either going to have to pivot into the Next Catholic Thing, or will wake up and just push the hamster wheel off the table and starting filling out applications at the local Home Depot. At one point I was slightly envious of what they had going; but I'm not sure they would share that sentiment in their heart of hearts. I think subconsciously they are feeling the grind, halfway through the tunnel of Catholic manhood, with a long way still to go. 

Maybe it's my risk-averse nature, but I'm glad I never forayed into this on-line landscape of YouTube channels and attaining some kind of Catholic Influencer status; personally, I like working a normal secular job and being relatively anonymous. Does the world really have to hear what I have to say? And if it does, do I really need a full-time monetized channel to say it? Maybe I can just live my life in real time, and put my lamp on a hill for free to light the way for others.

The bigger question at hand, though, is if as Catholics we are all just as guilty of simply consuming product, consuming content (religious or otherwise), in the age of digital addiction and leaving spent-whore corpses by the side of the road in our wake? Is there a case to be made that we are the proverbial sweat-shop sneaker buyers...robbing our families of the attention they need from us through mindless Facebook scrolling, unwittingly feeding the vainglory of emerging TikTok stars, or fueling the digital rage of Twitter rabble-rousers by our digital content gluttony and addiction to distraction? 

Does the world need the Truth of the Gospel? Yes. Does it need the redemptive power of Jesus Christ and the life-giving Sacraments of His Church? Again, yes. Do we need more artfully-created Word on Fire, or personally-contrite hearts on fire? The jury may be out and only the future will tell if we've capitalized on a golden ticket bearing the fruits of repentence, or if we've all been taken for a ride on a questionable digital experiment that has only fed our addiction and left us as hungry and distracted as when we started.