Get Off My Island

 "The Island" is a 2006 Russian biographical film about a 20th century Eastern Orthodox monk. Pyotr Mamonov, who plays the lead character, formerly a rock musician in the USSR, converted to Eastern Orthodoxy in the 1990s and lives now in an isolated village. Film director Pavel Lungin said about him that "to a large extent, he played himself." Mamonov was first very hesitant to play in the film, but then was urged by his confessor to play the character. After the filming, one of the movie crew staff decided to stay on the island and live there as a hermit.

Here's a great scene (in stills) of the starets (the holy fool) giving some straight talk to a pregnant teen who seeks him out:

Some Thoughts On The Trades

I have worked in the field of higher education for the past twelve years. Like most people in the admissions and enrollment management field, I fell into it, transitioning out of social services and starting part time as a transcript processor and transfer credit evaluator at a community college, moving onto being a road warrior for undergraduate admissions, and for the past eight years have worked at the graduate level at a public institution. When I give admissions presentations, I talk about the "graduate wage premium"--that is, the ROI on investment when aggregated over the course of one's career earning potential. The institution where I work is reputable and competitive in terms of tuition rates. I don't feel like a used car salesman because the "product" I "sell" has value, which is nice. 

That being said, I fully believe not everyone should go to college. And that's perfectly okay. The skilled trades are a field I don't have much experience with personally, though my trajectory was set when I was 17 and I lost the battle with my father (I wanted to become a carpenter, he said I was going to the local state university). My parents are both college educated.

My neighbor across the street is a union carpenter in his mid-fifties. He hasn't been working much lately because of injuries, though he has been doing some side gigs after multiple surgeries and physical therapy. I also have a buddy who is a (non-union) electrician, who I was chatting with tonight. When I asked him, "what would you tell a kid who asked whether he should go to college or learn a trade?"

He said they should get some college, but that you can also make a good living in the trades. "It will be just that, though...a living." Meaning, you're going to work. "There's also a salary cap, unless you work for yourself." His father was a union electrician his whole life. "The pay is better, better wages, better retirement and benefits, but...you don't always work. A lot of times it's six (months) on, six off. You may be making much better wages, but there's always that possibility you're only working half the year. I do better than most electricians." But he's also had his shares of injury and joint replacements. He's 41, with 22 years in the field. "It takes its toll"

My kids can go to university for free if they choose to, so we have to take that into account when it comes to what they want to do and where their aptitudes lie. Community college in our area (if we didn't have that benefit) is also very affordable. It is an investment, of time and money. I've always told friends and people who ask that if you can, do the two years at cc and get your core and electives done, transfer to a four year and max out at 18 credits (you pay the same at the undergraduate level whether you are taking 12 or 18 credits). I graduated in three and a half years, taking a few summer classes at cc (my mom taught at a community college, so I could take them for free), and also maxing out my load during the academic year. The "college experience" today is overrated. If you can, commute and live at home. You have to be careful about student loans, but even if you do have to take them out, work your ass off to pay them off quickly. 

The joke of majoring in "Underwater Basket Weaving" or "Gender Studies" is a predictable joke, and not without merit. There are a lot of majors which are more indoctrination than education. But fields like accounting, engineering, statistics, computer science--these ain't that. But majors like English and Philosophy are not "useless." If you can learn to write, to reason, to think critically....these are transferrable skills. But again, this isn't everyone's cup of tea. If it is, and you can afford it or make it work, higher education may likely pay off for you in the long run.

Anyway, I digress. I found some interesting comments from various reddit threads that I thought were worth sharing. I don't share them to dissuade anyone from going into the trades. God knows we need them. But there are things you need to consider as well, that don't always get talked about: when your body gives out in your mid-forties, what are you going to do until you reach retirement age? Can you have a back up plan? What if you get injured, which is always a possibility?  What is the whole-picture of your total compensation? What if your industry gets outsourced? Can you retrain easily? Among other things. 

Here are the comments I found interesting, often coming from those in the trades themselves. I have nothing but respect for those in the skilled trades, but it's worth getting the whole picture. I share them without judgement, for consideration:

"Trades are notably evangelized by online "experts" who notably went to college and would never go into the trades themselves. The high wages promised are only obtained by the small subset who are able to start or acquire highly successful businesses (as opposed to the majority, who are employees or journeymen), continued employability is constantly threatened by minor changes in prevalent materials or equipment making skills obsolete, and retirement has to come early due to the strain trade work puts on one's body.

In short, people decide against going into the trades for the same reason they don't go into sports or entertainment, a knowledge that not everyone gets to be Clayton Kershaw or Beyonce and that even those two are on borrowed time.

————-

Maybe this is a good idea, but as someone who's dad was a plumber (who probably gave himself heart failure from having to work so damn hard to keep our house from being foreclosed on)* and who has himself worked with his hands until they bled, the blue collar LARPing so many Catholic intellectuals engage in really irritates me. They have no idea how privileged they are to be able to engage in manual labor (and pontificate about it) as a sort of hobby and they give no indication that they have any idea how hard life as a tradesman can be.**

*I think the best example of this was when he had a pacemaker put in on a Thursday and then was crawling around under people's houses on Monday, even though the doctors had told him he couldn't lift his arms above his chest because he might pull the leads out of his dying heart. He had to though, otherwise we wouldn't have eaten.

**Yes, I know being a tradesman is an important vocation and that college isn't for everyone. My complaint is only about the way certain Catholic intellectuals talk about manual labor.

—————

It's because reddit skews young.

It's very, very common for people between the age of 20 and 30 to question their career choices, to ask whether adulthood is what they expected (it usually isn't) and then whether adulthood could be different somehow. They're used to coming off of their adolescent and teen years where everything changed every few years, on a track, and when they first go into the open world without a track they question whether the track was the right on in the first place. It's a common quarter life crisis, and everyone deals with it in their own way.

Trades work allows for people to make money earlier with less up front commitment. Comparing a 25 year old with 5 years of work experience and no debt, versus a 25 year old with 2 years of work experience and six figures of debt, it's very easy to say "man college made that guy worse off."

But if you look at a longer time frame, people with college degrees tend to do better over time, because the income trajectory of college educated workers plateaus later and higher. Their credentials are also generally more marketable for switching industries mid-career, which gives them resilience against recessions and localized crashes, and allows them to jump onto the hot new industry. So somewhere around 30, most white-collar college degree holders pass up their blue-collar trades counterparts.

And then when health issues start kicking in, not necessarily from the job, but just growing old, blue collar workers find that they're not able to do the job as well. A car accident, a sports injury, or an ordinary slip and fall can take a blue collar worker out of work and put on disability coverage for a few weeks or months, whereas a white collar worker might just need an accommodation in the office. Throw in actual on-the-job injuries, or repetitive stress injuries, and you'll see that a lot of the older workers have to leave long before retirement age. And most of the time, disability insurance for blue collar workers comes through union CBAs, so non-union blue collar jobs actually bear a lot more risk of interrupted income. Through in the fact that a lot of the industries served by the trades are cyclical, and you might see that the typical tradesman spends more time unemployed between the ages of 20 and 40 than the typical office worker.

And so you might have former tradesmen who are making less at the age of 50 than they did at 30. That's less common among college educated office workers. And for those who line up cushy jobs and choose not to retire at 65, but instead keep extending it to 70 or 75 or even 80, those are usually very high paying jobs that can still be done by 60-somethings. The trades don't produce those types of jobs.

Blue collar work is great. There are actually a ton of blue collar jobs that require college degrees (stuff out in the field), and combine the idea of working with your hands with working with your brain. And union representation can get strong contractual protections and income and retirement for workers. But the actual trades versus college debate is a little bit different from that, and asking a 25-year-old which is better will often get a very different answer from a 35-year-old, a 45-year-old, or a 55-year-old."

 What do you think? Feel free to comment. This is a "safe space" lol.

The Two Lungs of the ProLife Movement

Pope St. John Paul II described the unity of the Church, saying, “The Church must breathe with her two lungs!” Here, he speaks of the mutual interdependence and healthy tension that should exist between the East and West so that the Church, as a whole, fully can benefit and her mission become more effective. In Fides et Ratio (1998), he spoke of faith and reason, which "are like two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of truth; and God has placed in the human heart a desire to know the truth—in a word, to know himself—so that, by knowing and loving God, men and women may also come to the fullness of truth about themselves" (cf. Ex 33:18; Ps 27:8-9; 63:2-3; Jn 14:8; 1 Jn 3:2).

The pro-life movement is in the spotlight now that RvW has been overturned; the truth is, the pro-life movement itself has these two lungs, two wings, in which the truth--the flowery truth that all life is sacred and begins at conception, and the unsavory truth that abortion is the taking of a human life--is communicated, often in trying and unfavorable circumstances.

I have friends who are fervently pro-life, but approach the "issue" of pro-life (issues are theoretical though, and not the best term to use when real lives are at stake) from different angles. I have friends who, on the one side, devote their time, energy, and resources to sidewalk counseling--attempting to change the minds and hearts of women seeking abortions ("Love them both") in a few precious moments before they walk into the mill. They offer literature, resources, love, encouragement, hope...anything to make them reconsider the tragic mistake they are about to make that will alter their lives irreparably forever. This is the model 40 Days for Life has adopted, and there have been many "saves" from their efforts (in rain, snow, and unbridled animosity hurled at them)--a baby that gets to live, and a mother who had the courage to give their child a chance to live it.

I also have friends who may from the outside be seen as a more "militant" wing. Their signs are gruesome and graphic, because abortion is gruesome and graphic, and they hope to counter the lies of the abortion industry that seeks to gloss over the reality of abortion. "Clumps of cells" do not have eyes, fingers, toes, and organs. Some "cross the [literal] line" and put themselves between the abortionist and the women, offering them roses (Red Rose Rescue), and doing anything within the power while risking arrest to save a life. Their work is admirable, if not without controversy in the press (which doesn't understand what is truly at stake from the vantage point of these pro-life warriors). They are branded as terrorists, agitators--whatever can be used to distract and deflect from what is actually taking place: a global holocaust of innocent life. 

These are battles in the war being waged, and each battle has its own tactics and merits. I am involved only peripherally with both camps, but part of my struggle is seeing as if one is "the right way" and one is not. In reality, though, I think they are two approaches that have merit and are needed. I may be inclined more towards one than the other based on temperament and personal discernment, but the only "wrong way" is to not do anything. Even if prayer is your weapon, use it. Even if you can't be on the sidewalk every day rain or shine, but can go once a month, go once a month. If you have other gifts (financial, talents, etc), use them rather than burying them. If you speak or write truth, you may mobilize a mind and heart that works for greater things years down the road.

One unfortunate thing (as an outside observer) is in-fighting. I can't speak to this, but I'm sure it happens. It happens with liturgy, it happens with politics, and I'm sure it happens in the pro-life movement. There is no "one way" to win this war. And Yahweh Sabaoth is the one who leads. We are simply the foot soldiers, taking orders and doing the brunt work. Some are generals, some are officers, some are ground troops. 

When I was in college, the "Williard Preacher" would stand outside the Williard building on campus and preach repentance. Rain or shine, cold weather or hot, day in and day out, for years. He was old school, but he was dedicated, which I'll give him credit for. I don't know how many hearts he changed, but if a person was "cut to the heart" hearing their need for repentance and turning away from sin and need for Jesus Christ, I would think that would be a win in Heaven. Maybe this is what the "graphic" sign holders who bring light to the holocaust are doing. How effective it was, I can't say. That's for God to judge. 

Also in college, there was a couple (the husband became a deacon, eventually) who befriended me, invited me to their home for dinner (I had only been Catholic for a year), encouraged me, etc. That also was a way to preach the Gospel and build up a person, one at a time. It wasn't any kind of official "ministry"--just kindness and encouragement. Maybe this is what sidewalk counseling is like. How effective it was, I can't say. That's for God to judge. 

If anything, RvW's overturn has knocked down the fence posts--there's no fence sitting anymore. Where someone stands on the fundamental issue of life will tell you a lot about a person. But that doesn't mean their hearts can't change. That's a grace in its own right, and it belongs to the Holy Spirit. 

But the agents, the soldiers on the ground doing the work of fighting for the right to life--rather than the right to end it--will at least have the scars of vitirol, arrest, and weariness covering their bodies from the battles waged here on earth when they come before the Lord. 

It's the lack of scars that should concern one getting ready to face their judgement. Something I need to pray about myself.

Why Do I Write?

There was a song in Good Will Hunting by Luscious Jackson titled "Why Do I Lie?" It's catchy, I like it, and I liked the movie when I saw it twenty years ago. It also reminds me of one of my favorite and meaty passages of scripture, Romans 7, where Paul asks "Why Do I Do That Which I Hate?" So apropros. 

It's good to take stock of why we do the things we do from time to time. A smoker might ask themselves "why do I smoke?" Or an over-eater why they overeat. Because I'm anti-social? Because I lack confidence? Because I need a bit of pleasure here and there through vice? Because I'm anxious? It helps us get to the root of our motivations, why we do the things we do. Most people go through life with little self-reflection, and so find themselves trapped in cycles of self-perpetuating habits.

Writing is no different. I was thinking about it this morning and came up with a few reasons as I reflected on them.

Charity

I try to write as an act of charity, first and foremost. My hope has always been to do the work of an an evangelist, but my writing has shifted over the years to also trying to fortify the people of God in their own walks. Not by prescribing anything, but as an act of solidarity from one sinner to another. To give witness to the love of God, and grace. As St. Paul says, "in preaching the gospel I may offer it free of charge, and so not make use of my rights in preaching it" (1 Cor 9:18). This is because I have been forgiven a debt, and the debt I must work to repay.

Penance

Writing is less a penance than something I just do--neither pleasurable nor painful. But as above, God has entrusted some kind of talent in me, that I'm apt to bury, but just can't. So, the goal is to multiply it for His glory. That means if any of it is about me, it is only as a subject, not a focus. Defer, deflect--all glory to God and the Gospel. I could think of worse penances. 

Compulsion

There could also be worse activities of compulsion: gambling, drug use, etc. Compulsion is a strong force; even when we want to stop, we can't sometimes except by a monumental act of the will. As Jeremiah lamented, "I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones" (Jer 20:9). This is what writing is for me. A shame and a glory. A fire and a scarring. A hot potato that needs to be passed to someone else, lest it burn your hands.  Paul said he was "compelled" to preach the Gospel (1 Cor 9:16). He fears if he does not. Maybe that is what I mean by compulsion.

Encouragement

I am not a good friend. But Sometimes I can be a cheerleader for the faithful of Jesus Christ, even though I get burdened myself. That's when it gets tough, and doubt creeps in. "What you have heard from me through many witnesses entrust to faithful people who will be able to teach oth­ers as well” (2 Tim 2:2). I don't sleep a whole lot, and think, chew cud, process, discern, and spit out. What's there is, I figure, maybe of use to others who may not have the time to digest the weighter matters of faith. 

Vanity

This is becoming less of an issue the older I get, but I did want my name out there for a while. This has faded, as Ecclesiastes notes, "all is vanity." So much vanity out there, a vice we're not often aware of. It goes back to that self-reflection: why do we do the things we do? Jesus says to not let our left hand know what our right is doing. This is good, because as I've said on more than one occasion: you're not that important. People can live without your insights. It keeps me in my place. Deo Gratias. But affirmation is my love language, so it's an ongoing struggle. 

Connection and Community

I also like to connect people together by way of degree. Maybe my writing can serve that purpose, string disparagent people in different isolated circles together. Seven degrees of Kevin Bacon and all that. Again, all for the sake of the Gospel. There is solace in knowing you are not alone--especially if you've felt the acute pain of loneliness, as I have, even in the midst of others. Feel free to use the blog as a well of sorts to meet and discuss. Comments are always open.

Education

I'm not an especially educated person, but I used to read (a lot!) and think about things, and there is so much to learn in the Church you will never plumb the depths. That is a great gift to have such a bottomless well of grace and tradition and history. I'm just scratching the surface and offering the flakes for others.

 Legacy and Remembering

I write to remember. For better or worse. I want to leave a legacy for my children. My wife has aleady threatened to print and compile all 600 of my blog posts from the past few years for them. I do it for me. For the Lord. But also for them. Lord, just let it be after I pass, though. It's too embarrassing otherwise. Let it be a kind of knit-blanket from their father they can keep to remember me.

Working Out My Demons

I write to process. I talk things out with my wife and friends, too, but writing is where I do it alone. It goes back to that question of "why do I do that which I do?" I have time to think and digest, and throw it up on a page for later. To go back to, maybe, to learn and more forward. Breadcrumbs for my family, and my own consciousness. I struggle sometimes, a lot. It's for me, not anyone else. But I'd rather it be used than sit rotting in a diary somewhere. I've benefitted greatly from the honest humanity of others. Maybe I can pay it back someday in the same way.

Glory to God

All glory belongs to God. I didn't ask for this. I don't know why I do it. But He does and he knows what He is about. Just use me Lord, as embarrassing as it is. Just don't let it be about me. Take it all and make it new.

On The Lack of Solace And Comfort

"It is not hard to spurn human consolation when we have the divine. It is, however, a very great thing indeed to be able to live without either divine or human comforting and for the honor of God willingly to endure this exile of heart, not to seek oneself in anything, and to think nothing of one’s own merit.

Does it matter much, if at the coming of grace, you are cheerful and devout? This is an hour desired by all, for he whom the grace of God sustains travels easily enough. What wonder if he feel no burden when borne up by the Almighty and led on by the Supreme Guide! For we are always glad to have something to comfort us, and only with difficulty does a man divest himself of self.

The holy martyr, Lawrence, with his priest, conquered the world because he despised everything in it that seemed pleasing to him, and for love of Christ patiently suffered the great high priest of God, Sixtus, whom he loved dearly, to be taken from him. Thus, by his love for the Creator he overcame the love of man, and chose instead of human consolation the good pleasure of God. So you, too, must learn to part with an intimate and much-needed friend for the love of God. Do not take it to heart when you are deserted by a friend, knowing that in the end we must all be parted from one another.

A man must fight long and bravely against himself before he learns to master himself fully and to direct all his affections toward God. When he trusts in himself, he easily takes to human consolation. The true lover of Christ, however, who sincerely pursues virtue, does not fall back upon consolations nor seek such pleasures of sense, but prefers severe trials and hard labors for the sake of Christ.

When, therefore, spiritual consolation is given by God, receive it gratefully, but understand that it is His gift and not your meriting. Do not exult, do not be overjoyed, do not be presumptuous, but be the humbler for the gift, more careful and wary in all your actions, for this hour will pass and temptation will come in its wake.

When consolation is taken away, do not at once despair but wait humbly and patiently for the heavenly visit, since God can restore to you more abundant solace.

This is neither new nor strange to one who knows God’s ways, for such change of fortune often visited the great saints and prophets of old. Thus there was one who, when grace was with him, declared: “In my prosperity I said: “˜ I shall never be moved.’” But when grace was taken away, he adds what he experienced in himself: “Thou didst hide Thy face, and I was troubled.” Meanwhile he does not despair; rather he prays more earnestly to the Lord, saying: “To Thee, O Lord, will I cry; and I will make supplication to my God.” At length, he receives the fruit of his prayer, and testifying that he was heard, says “The Lord hath heard, and hath had mercy on me: the Lord became my helper.” And how was he helped? “Thou hast turned,” he says, “my mourning into joy, and hast surrounded me with gladness.”15

If this is the case with great saints, we who are weak and poor ought not to despair because we are fervent at times and at other times cold, for the spirit comes and goes according to His will. Of this the blessed Job declared: “Thou visitest him early in the morning, and Thou provest him suddenly.”16

In what can I hope, then, or in whom ought I trust, save only in the great mercy of God and the hope of heavenly grace? For though I have with me good men, devout brethren, faithful friends, holy books, beautiful treatises, sweet songs and hymns, all these help and please but little when I am abandoned by grace and left to my poverty. At such times there is no better remedy than patience and resignation of self to the will of God.

I have never met a man so religious and devout that he has not experienced at some time a withdrawal of grace and felt a lessening of fervor. No saint was so sublimely rapt and enlightened as not to be tempted before and after. He, indeed, is not worthy of the sublime contemplation of God who has not been tried by some tribulation for the sake of God. For temptation is usually the sign preceding the consolation that is to follow, and heavenly consolation is promised to all those proved by temptation. “To him that overcometh,” says Christ, “I will give to eat of the Tree of Life.”17 Divine consolation, then, is given in order to make a man braver in enduring adversity, and temptation follows in order that he may not pride himself on the good he has done.

The devil does not sleep, nor is the flesh yet dead; therefore, you must never cease your preparation for battle, because on the right and on the left are enemies who never rest.

(Imitation of Christ, Book 2, Chapter 9)

Why Are You Here?

For some reason today I really felt the weariness of Elijah the man of God, in reading 1 Kings 17-19. 

In chapter 17, Elijah proclaims a drought on Yahweh's authority. This is set up in the shadow of King Ahab's coming to power, who "did what was evil in the Lord's sight more than any of his predecessors," marrying the wicked Jezebel and serving Baal (1 Kings 16:30-34). After proclaiming the drought, the Lord sustains him in the Wadi Cherith, where he drinks and ravens bring him bread and meat. When the wadi runs dry, he goes to Sidon at the Lord's command, and demands a widow with her last morsel of food make him a cake. This widow was fully planning to eat and drink her last pathetic meal, and then succumb to death. The Lord, however, worked through the Elijah to ensure her flour and oil did not go empty. When her son falls sick and dies, Elijah brings him back to life (17.22). 

In chapter 18, the mighty prophet Elijah proves his mettle in going toe to toe with the prophets of Baal. King Ahab claims Elijah is a "disturber of Israel" (a nation that has gotten comfortable with worshipping both Ball and the Lord of Hosts), and Elijah fires back unapolgetically that it is the King who disturbs Israel by following the Baals (18:18). He demands the 450 prophets of Baal be summoned to show these his people--these "fence sitters"--who is Lord and God. He works a fantastic miracle by God's power, deferring to the priests of Baal to arrange their bull themselves for holocaust, and drenching his own alatr in water. He embarasses the prophets of Baal by their impotence, and the fire of the Lord consumes Elijah's saturated offering, proving beyond doubt that the Lord is God, and there is no room for the abobination of idolatry in his midst. Then he rounds up and slaughters the priests of Baal. 

In chapter 19, Elijah is spent. The last remaining prophet of the Lord in a land of abomination (18.22), and having worked mighty miracles and standing up to King Ahab and the 450 pagan priests, you would think he would have been fortified. Instead, he fears at the words of Jezebel who sought his life. He prays for death. "Enough, Lord! Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors" (19.4). He rests a while, and eats and drinks the angelic rations provided to him; it is enough to strengthen him to make the 40 day trek to Mt. Horeb. When he arrives, he recountes all he has done for the righteousness of the Lord. And yet, the Lord asks him twice, 

Why are you here, Elijah?

Why are you here? I often pray the prayer of Samuel, "Here I am!" (1 Sam 3). It's short, to the point, and affirms a readiness to listen and serve. It affirms the zeal of Elijah, the last prophet standing, to do what is commanded.

But I'd be lying if I didn't have my moments where I also prayed the prayer of Elijah, the man of God: Lord, let me die. It is enough. You get weary. You get spent, discouraged, disgusted. There is the natural expiration of the widow--"let me eat my last meal and die" when her food runs out. But the longing for death by the prophet goes deeper: he is not let off the hook. Not permitted to expire while there is still work to do. He sees it as a respite, a temptation even. But then he shows up to the mountain, and the Lord asks him, Why are you here? Elijah, why. are. you. here?

This needs to be separated from the so called "dignity" of assisted suicide, in which a person desires to leave the earth by their own hand, to be the commander of their destiny, or to avoid the indignity of suffering and loss of bodily functions. Whatever the reason, a Catholic cannot follow this line of reasoning. The Lord is the author of life, and He determines when it ends. We cannot intentionally end our lives by suicide because it is not for us to decide. 

That being said, my wife and I have discussed if we were given a terminal diagnosis (cancer, say), is it permissible as a Catholic to refuse chemotherapy or other things that simply prolongue the inevitable? What is the right thing to do? This is why we have the Catechism but also bioethics to help explore and seek to answer these sometimes grey and complicated questions. I have caught myself on more than one occasion "Please Lord, if you want to take me, just take me. I love my wife and kids. But there's not much keeping me here except the work you need me to do. If you need to keep me around to do it, I will. But Lord, give me death, as long as I can be with you forever."

Why are you here? Speaking to myself: If it is to do the work of the Lord, then get back to it and quit your memento mori daydreaming. If you need a rest and a snack, so be it. But you're not going to get off easy. This is the weariness of the disciple, when he forgets the joy of following the precepts of the Lord and only tastes dryness and never ending expansiveness of the road. 

Why are you here? Lord please let me die. This world holds nothing for me, and it would just be so much to leave it behind. I'm tired. Take me how you choose, send what you will. Just let me not defect from your word. Lord I long for death, the respite from this life, but not my will but yours be done.

Why are you here? You worked miracles through Elijah, showed your mighty Hand, slaughtered the priests of Baal. I have done nothing, accomplished nothing, but I keep going out to the fields, your fields to do the work. Elijah calls down fire which consumes soaked wood. I pick grapes, one by one, fill my basket because you tell me to. I try not to complain, but then I find myself hot, thirsty, sunbruned...and the complaining finds me. When will the work end, Lord? How long, my life? Can't I be with you now? I don't know how. I seek you in this life and am covered with noise, blasphemies, and idolatry at every turn. I am here because I want to see your holy Face, do your will. How long do I have to stay here? How long, O Lord? 

If You've Never Seen Demons In The Flesh Before....

 ...You will soon. They're about to come out in full force.

Dig in. It's about to get real.

"Now the Spirit speaketh expressly that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits and doctrines of devils" (1 Tim 4:1)

Sunshine In A Bottle

 When I first came into the Church, I had a tough time with Mary, the Mother of God. Not for any theological reasons, but simply in a relational sense. One often hears of struggles people have with God as Father because of their wounds with their own father. For me it was the opposite--my father exemplified the unconditional love shown by the father to the prodigal son in Luke 15. But with Mary, it was an issue of her being peripheral. 

I have a good relationship with my mother and love her dearly, but I realize in sitting down tonight I don't mention or write about her much. And that's how I viewed Mary, the Mother of God, for a long time--not sure how she fits into the picture of my newfound faith. I learned to pray the rosary during those first years as a Catholic, but it was hardly my favorite prayer. My recitation of it seemed to stay on the surface of things above the depths, which now in hindsight, would be a good description of my relationship with my mother. 

My mom may quite possibly be one of the nicest and most pleasant people you will ever meet. I have described her to people who haven't met her as "literally, sunshine in a bottle." My brothers and I joke about her "permagrin"--that is, the fact that she is always smiling. I don't think it's superficial, either. She is a genuinely happy person.

But part of that happiness and effervescence is perhaps why I had trouble relating to her growing up as a broody teenager who thought about things deeply and was discontent with the supericial and fleeting nature of existence, and even today as an adult. My mom is a smart, educated woman, but she doesn't necessarily "go there" when a conversation gets too deep. She prefers to stay on the surface rather than stare into the sun with the naked eye, and will sometimes change the subject to something more essentially palatable if the discussion vears too existential. Maybe this is how she is able to maintain her positive outlook on life, by not staring straight into the abyss on the daily the way I tend to sometimes. 

I've put her through the ringer growing up, and between dealing with me and my dad and our mental health issues, she is stronger than I give her credit for. She also has a natural deference to my father's authority in most matters, though my father also recognizes how much he relies on her to complement his own deficiencies. Their marriage has withstood a lot in large part to this model, and I give her credit for it.

But there is also a degree of frustration on my part in expecting my mom to be someone she is not from time to time. For one thing, as much as I would love for her to come into the Church as a Catholic, she remains outside of it. It is not a negative in our relationship, and there is no antagonism, but I have trouble understanding people who do not consider the four Last Things: Death, Judgement, Heaven, and Hell. The impetus is not there. I want her to know herself the joy that is our hope, not the happiness tied to the externals or pleasures of this temporary life. But ultimately, these decisions to pick up our cross and follow the Truth wherever it leads must come from the individuals themselves.

It's hard to reconcile sometimes. How will the good Lord judge my mom when she comes before Him? Am I effectively living with the cognitive dissonance of trying to reconcile a modernist concept of your religion not mattering, of being a "nice person" (which my mom most certainly is!) with the exclusive claims of the Church, the necessity of the sacraments? Maybe it's why I trend towards throwing myself on God's mercy and fearing His just judgement in the same breath. I fear the hellfire myself, but I also fear it for my family.

Ultimately, the Mother of God broke into my and my wife's life and flooded us with grace and afforded us her protection (by way of the Miraculous Medal). She is no longer peripheral. We pray the rosary regularly and are indebted to her for that grace.

I still hold out that that same grace might break through in my relationship with my mom. I want her so badly to be Catholic, and she's not, and I don't know what to do with that. I respect her enough not to force the topic, but maybe I'm not doing enough either to make the prospect hard to resist. And it becomes hard when you know that the popular sentiment of "good people go to Heaven" and "being kind is the most important thing" is false when you know the people you love fall into that category. "Lord, who can be saved?" As He tells us, "with men, it is impossible. But with God, all things are possible" (Mt 19:26). 

Sit Not With Scoffers

Every now and then I will check on updates from former acquaintances in the faith who have since left it. Some are trying to figure out and reinvent themselves as former Christians. Some have simply transferred their former religious affiliations to a new flavor. Others have apologized for their former "hateful" way of life and like a college freshman coming home on Fall break, have done a 180 and love-is-lovingly embraced everything that was formerly counter to their religion. It's a cocktail of nuevo-kitch, tired predictability, and honest sadness. I'll sip the drink poolside in curiosity, but at the bottom of the glass it's just bitters.  I really need to stop following apostates.

Of the 150 psalms, the very first psalm, very first verse, begins: 

"Blessed is the man who hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stood in the way of sinners, nor sat in the chair of pestilence." (Ps 1:1, DRA)

Why would David begin his Psalter like this? And why does St Paul in 1 Cor 5:11 exhort: the brothers:

"But now I have written to you, not to keep company, if any man that is named a brother, be a fornicator, or covetous, or a server of idols, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner: with such a one, not so much as to eat." 

As St. Paul also notes, "a little leaven leavens the whole lump" (Gal 5:9). Or, as a popular adage goes, "you are the company you keep." Believers are not immune to immoral influence, and the sowing of the seeds of doubt and scorn can be absorbed through the skin over time. 

Maybe this is why David promises the believers who find their delight in the law of the Lord that they will be "like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither— whatever they do prospers" (Ps 1:3). The goal is not to become a religious person, a "devout Catholic," or an exemplar within the community, but a lover of God's law and one who does His will. 

I think at the root of many of these disillusioned apostates and former Catholics is a deep seated woundedness. There can be a sense that their new juvenile atheism or their fervent conversion to non-deonimationalism, Orthodoxy, or what have you is the cure for their wound, which was caused by the Church herself. In some cases, this is not without warrant. One friend was abused within the Church, and is right to hurt and distrustful. But his anger and disgust for the institutional Church consumes him. It is clear from the outside (though maybe not from where he sits) that his wounds have not healed. I pray he finds his peace. But I'd bet whatever the new religion du jour is, it will simply mask over things unresolved. Healing must take place at the root. 

For another, his antagonism is directed at the community of believers and the institution itself. But in all these years, I have never heard him speak of his relationship with Christ. That's not to say he didn't have one, just that he never spoke of it or made it known. From where I stand--of COURSE the community is going to let you down; of COURSE the Church is dysfunctional and the power players within it hardly worthy of trust. The peripheries are easy targets, but the core, the center which holds everything together which is Christ, is nary mentioned. 

Why do I follow these wounded trainwrecks and listen to anything they have to say? I would not emulate them, and I do not respect their character, so why would I allow myself to be influenced by them or feed their narcissism and need for an audience? I can pray for them, sure, and I do; I know their wounds run deep and can only be healed by Christ the Divine Physician. I do not feel they are open to (loving) reproach, either, but only see it as further salt on their scars. They seek to bleed the pain by venting and continually throwing light on all the dysfunctions and abuses within the Church for others to see. 

I don't know if it is cognitive dissonance on my part, but none of this shakes my faith in Christ, my healer and deliverer. It may shed light on things I already know, or was only maybe loosely aware of. They may even have valid things to say, which I can try to sift through and respect for what it's worth. Then again, maybe it's like reading a Richard Rohr book just because he mentions Christ once or twice in it.

Part of it is probably a sinful curiosity as well. I don't wish them ill, but I do see they have not only separated themselves from the Church, but have nothing but contempt for it now. I would not count them as enemies, but it's hard to remain friends with such people, as much for them as for me. 

What more can we do? Treat them as tax collectors, as our Lord tells us--that is, sinners worthy of love and forgiveness, ones that are extended the invitation to come follow Christ by Christ himself--even if they have given up their seat at the table for their own personal greener pastures. 

The Most Ordinary Things

There was this thing floating around social media a while back, this little inspirational insight geared towards women and their spirituality. It went something like this:

GOD COMES TO THE WOMEN

Have you ever noticed how in the scriptures men are always going up into the mountains to commune with the Lord?

Yet in the scriptures we hardly ever

hear of women going to the mountains,

and we know why — right?

Because the women were too busy

keeping life going;

they couldn’t abandon babies,

meals,

homes,

fires,

gardens,

and a thousand responsibilities to make the climb into the mountains!

I was talking to a friend the other day,

saying that as modern woman

I feel like I’m never “free” enough

from my responsibilities,

never in a quiet enough,

or holy enough spot

to have the type of communion

I want with God.

Her response floored me,

“That is why God comes to women.

Men have to climb the mountain to meet God, but God comes to women where ever they are.”

I have been pondering on her words for weeks and have searched my scriptures

to see that what she said is true.

God does in deed come to women

where they are,

when they are doing their ordinary,

everyday work.

He meets them at the wells

where they draw water for their families,

in their homes,

in their kitchens,

in their gardens.

He comes to them

as they sit beside sickbeds,

as they give birth,

care for the elderly,

and perform necessary mourning and burial rites.

Even at the empty tomb,

Mary was the first to witness Christ’s resurrection,

She was there because she was doing the womanly chore of properly preparing Christ’s body for burial.

In these seemingly mundane

and ordinary tasks,

these women of the scriptures found themselves face to face with divinity.

So if — like me — you ever start to bemoan the fact that you don’t have as much time to spend in the mountains with God as you would like. Remember, God comes to women. He knows where we are and the burdens we carry. He sees us, and if we open our eyes and our hearts we will see Him, even in the most ordinary places and in the most ordinary things.

It irked me then, and it irks me now. And I've been trying to figure out why. 

I mean, I get the point. It speaks to the busy Marthas who "find God in the dishes & diapers." Most moms can't go to the bathroom for thirty seconds in peace without a toddler jiggling the lock on the door, let alone find time to themselves the way men do. It's sometimes thrown in our faces as a kind of "double standard" (usually when our wives are tired and frustrated and running on empty).  

Our Lord makes this clear in the ordering of the Commandments--Love God (first), then you will be able to love neighbor as yourself. He makes it clear that Mary has "chosen the better part" in her otherwise useless adoring at Jesus' feet while her sister runs herself ragged with the deets. 

When I was in discernment with the Benedictines, ora et labora was everything. This included an attentiveness to the work at hand so that it was not done slovenly or carelessly. And yet, it was clear that the actual, primary work (in the monastery) was prayer (ie, "the work of God"). 

Cue the eye rolling. "Well, this is a home, not a monastery. And you are not a monk. And while you are at it, do some dishes!"

All true. But back to the mom-post at hand.

What exactly is being conveyed here? I think what it comes down to is that I am not a woman. I think what irks me about it is this subtle inversion that the domestic work is, in fact, the "real work," and that men "going up the mountain to commune with God" is somehow the secondary. It lists out and numerates all the domestic duties--babies, meals, homes, fires. SAHM: 16. Husband: 1. Not to mention the messaging obviously meant to convey a sense of solidarity: Women stay put; men run off. Men have to climb the mountain to meet God, but God comes to women where ever they are.” 

On one level, I can't relate to their domestic work anymore than I expect my wife to be out mowing the lawn and sweating in ninety degree heat every ten days, or taking the car in for inspection and oil changes, or taking out the trash. This is stuff I do, and I'm fine with it. But it's not my primary preoccupation. It doesn't define my identity or where I find my "tribe," and it's in addition to putting 40+ hours in outside the home. It's just stuff that has to get done.

My primary vocation, however, is to head my family--spiritually, financially, and corporally. And yes, that sometimes does necessitate "going up the mountain to commune with God." This isn't something to be scoffed at or dismissed as pie-in-the-sky spiritual idealism, pitting women's work against men's work. If I'm not doing that (and believe me, it's not as often as I would like), I'm not following the Lord's model as a man, Jesus "who often withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (Lk 5:16); who was tested (Mk 1:12); who "very early in the morning, while it was still dark, left the house and went to a solitary place where he prayed" (Mk 1:35).

I have no issues with women finding solidarity with one another in their domesticity, which often can be their own kind of "lonely place" where they feel isolated and disconnected. There can be a tendency to enshrine the home as their kind of domestic palace where they rule as Queen. And God bless them for it. Let's face it--most men don't know how to do this stuff with the same touch that women do. A monastery, maybe. But without our wives, we'd have a house, but not a home. We benefit from it, and we shouldn't forget it.

But women, for their part, shouldn't forget that it's that very "communing with God" which is what spiritually fortifies the home and makes it a sanctuary from the outside world. If we traded those early morning hours, or those times away "up the mountain," we trade away our spiritual fortitude and protection which comes from hearing the word of God in prayer and carrying it out in our vocation as husbands and fathers. Otherwise we don't grow, but stagnate in the here and now.  

My wife has plenty of opportunities to get up early and pray the Psalms, or meditate on the scriptures, or drive to the Adoration chapel. So do I, for that matter. We just trade these golden opportunities for inferior things--scrolling on our phones, lounging around, shuttling from here to there. We both de-prioritize what should be our top priority--God--we just do it in different ways. 

I think where the difference lies is that men need to carve out this time intentionally and seperated from others, whereas women, in my experience, enter into those culiminated little moments of divine encounter throughout their day, organically, and often in communion with other women. It is natural for me to get up early and "go to a lonely place" to pray with a degree of asceticism, whereas for my wife this may not be necessary. For my part, if all I did was wash dishes and change diapers and make lunches or whatever all day, and didn't work (see Fred The Fireman and the SAHD Dillema), I think I would want to kill myself. For my wife, she jokes that as hard as it is some days on the SAHM front, she's "living the dream." And she means it.

Men's spirituality and women's spirituality doesn't have to be pitted or scored against one another. We are different for a reason--"male and female He created them"--and find and serve God in different ways. Though I have many women saints I admire, my calling is to be a man, and be the best man God has made me to be. That means prayer and work--ora et labora--appropriate to my state in life. Not "my work is my prayer." Prayer AND work. And if I have to go up a mountain for a few days to live that out, then so be it.

We find God when we embrace what He has called us each to live out and who he has made us to be, as men and as women respectively. Mountain or no mountain. 

Not By Constraint

Boniface at Unam Sanctam Catholicam had a good post the other day on the current papal clamp-down on the creation of new traditional orders. I found myself nodding along when reading about the current leachfield which is the state of the Church, not with despair, but tipping my hat to his creative insight as to how traditionalists should approach the faith and living it out under this current pontificate. Remember, we are to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. A few snippets:

Point One: The Total Overthrow of Institutional Credibility

"The Church itself has continually debased its own institutional credibility since Vatican II by torrents of abuses gone too long unchecked, by the stream of garbled nonsense that is ceaselessly vomited out of the Vatican, and by unjust persecutions of Catholics whose only crime was to hold their tradition too dearly. The Church has spent a generation cultivating the mindset that the letter of the law doesn't ultimately matter; the "spirit" and the "signs of the times" are much more important. 

Thus, having worked so hard to enthrone the spirit, it is laughable that the Vatican now thinks it can rule by the letter; having spent a generation undermining the value of the letter, it now wishes to subvert the authority of every bishop by pen stroke. It is almost comedic. Liberals have long ignored the letter of the law; and Traditionalists have realized the implementation of the law is hopelessly stacked against them. The only ones still trying to square the circle are the naïve neo-Catholics, who have their heads so deep in the sand they can see Beijing. Traditionalism arose despite the letter of the law and it will not be crushed by the letter of the law—especially a law whose import has been eviscerated by decades of the Vatican's selective interpretation."

Point 2: Necessity of New Models of Organization

"But if no more traditional institutes are allowed to be erected by bishops on their own initiative, how shall we escape the letter of the law? The answer is simply that we will have recourse to organizational models not envisioned by the current canonical strictures. I refer you to an article called "Into the Woods" I wrote in 2018 in the aftermath of the Congregation for the Institutes of Consecrated Life document Cor Orans, which essentially revolutionized the way women's religious communities governed themselves. The gist of the essay is that as the institutional Church becomes more untrustworthy under the current zeitgeist, traditional movements will be more about living a certain lifestyle than obtaining any specific ecclesiastical status. The Vatican might regulate the episcopal erection of new religious institutes, but it can do nothing against a group of individuals living together and making their own private vows. It may prohibit the creation of a new priestly society dedicated to the Traditional Latin Mass, but it cannot prohibit priests who love the Traditional Latin Mass from organizing on their own outside of official channels. It may prohibit the Latin Mass being said in diocesan parishes, but it cannot prevent it being said in private venues. The Church can shove the NAB and the Liturgy of the Hours at me as much as they please, but they can't prevent me gathering with likeminded men to pray the traditional Divine Office in Latin. Whatever we want done, we are going to have to do it ourselves—not by going "against" ecclesiastical authority in any schismatic sense, but by merely operating in spheres where ecclesiastical authority has no say. This is how Christendom was built; St. Benedict had no episcopal letter when he clambered up the slopes of Mount Subiaco and wandered into a cave."

Point 3: Machiavellian Delegation and the Farce of Synodality

"In case anyone had any shred of doubt left, this should make it perfectly clear that Pope Francis's ideas about "decentralization" and "synodality" are farcical. The same pope who allegedly wants to allow local bishops' conferences to make true doctrinal judgments also wants to tell bishops what organizations they can and cannot erect in their own dioceses. This is the same pontificate that, in the explanatory letter after Traditionis Custodes, purported to tell individual parishes what they could and could not advertise on the parish website or in the parish bulletin. The same pontificate who has systematically dismantled the independence of various religious orders and trampled on their charisms. Decentralization and synodality indeed!

Francis does not, and has never wanted, decentralization. Rather, he believes in what I would call Machiavellian delegation. Actual decentralization is too risky. After all, bishops like Cordileone and Mutsaerts exist, and we can't risk allowing more space for their ideas. He lacks the testicular fortitude to throw the cards to the wind and see where they land. Actual administrative control must be centralized as much as possible. But, since Francis is the pope of the peripheries, he needs his more revolutionary bold-stroke changes to appear to come "from the people"; after all, if everything were imposed from top down, it would merely reinforce the caricature of Francis as a dictator pope. So certain things are strategically delegated to local churches where and when Francis knows they will return a result favorable to his overall agenda.  In this way the most radical changes can appear to have come "from the peripheries," their adoption being presented not as a bureaucratic fiat but as yielding to the vox populi that the God of surprises foists on us. It is a machination worthy of Pontius Pilate. To put it bluntly, power is centralized, but revolutionary change is outsourced.

It's all carefully crafted theater rigged to return pre-determined results."

I know some Catholics of tender conscience struggle when it comes to what and who we owe our obedience to with regard to Rome. Are we no better than dissenting liberal Catholics if the Pope says No Mas to the TLM? Shouldn't we just assent to whatever is coming from this cluster of a trainwreck that is Rome? It's something I struggle with and waffle on myself. I think Boniface has a good take on how to approach keeping the flame of tradition alive. 

(As an aside, the other day our family and I watched the 1973 film adaptation of Brian Moore's Catholics of a traditional hold-out order of monks in Ireland after the Second Vatican Council (second viewing for me). Martin Sheen plays one of the post-conciliar "new priests" sent from Rome to shut down the order and ban the Latin Mass. It's worth watching and relevant today, view it here. I reference some of the dialogue from the film in "I Was A Lefty Catholic and Other Tales," here)

As I was meditating on the readings this morning for the Feast of St. Silverius, St. Peter seemed to speak of this current situation we find ourselves in today:

"The ancients therefore that are among you, I beseech, who am myself also an ancient, and a witness of the sufferings of Christ: as also a partaker of that glory which is to be revealed in time to come: Feed the flock of God which is among you, taking care of it, not by constraint, but willingly, according to God: not for filthy lucre's sake, but voluntarily: Neither as lording it over the clergy, but being made a pattern of the flock from the heart. And when the prince of pastors shall appear, you shall receive a never fading crown of glory. But the God of all grace, who hath called us into his eternal glory in Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a little, will himself perfect you, and confirm you, and establish you.To him be glory and empire for ever and ever. Amen." (1 Peter 5:1-4, 10-11)

This pontificate will not last forever. Things may get worse before they get better, but what's going on in Rome for us here on the ground should not be our focus ad nauseum. We await the Prince of Pastors, after all.  

To All The Ordinary Dads

 My father was extraordinary, but only in hindsight. As an only child, and having lost his own father the week before my dad graduated from college, having his own children was especially meaningful for him. 

I don't have a photographic memory--quite the opposite. It's probably why I write so much, because I can't remember anything. My childhood is a series of snapshots, vignettes of moments. I idolized my father, and we were close. Most of those memories with my dad growing up, however, are ordinary ones. 

There was the time when I was around eight years old; he had just sealed the driveway at the house we grew up in, and pretended to be stuck to the tar, yelling for me for help. I still remember when I jumped out of our big blue Chevy van and ran over to pull him out, and he feigned relief and made me feel like a hero. 

When I was thirteen or so, we set off together to bike from Eastham to Provincetown, Massachusetts while on vacation. I was nervous--it was about fifty miles round trip, and I only had a Kmart mountain bike and my dad a Panasonic 10-speed. But he had confidence we could make it. When we made it to the tip of the Cape, we bought donuts and sat on a bench overlooking the ocean.

After I graduated high school and set off to hike the Appalachain Trail, I remember calling him from a payphone at a lonely general store in New York state; I wanted to come home. When he pulled up a few hours later, I'll never forget the hug he gave me; I didn't need to say a word.

There were times I pushed him away, too. In my early twenties, when he came to visit me in a rough part of Harrisburg where I was living and running a house of hospitality for men in recovery, I lectured him on the the realities of poverty and inner-city living. He listened quietly, nodded his head and let me talk. I knew everything, after all. 

When I introduced him and my mom to the woman who was to become my wife, he took me aside and bought me a cup of coffee and we sat outside a bakery on Germantown Avenue in Mount Airy. When I asked him how you know you've met "the one," he said "you'll know it's her when you are more yourself around her than with anyone else."

I could always be myself with my father. I could confide in him, and he encouraged that. He wasn't distant, and took an active role in the lives of my brothers and I. I felt like he entrusted a special trust and responsibility to me as well because I was the oldest, which could feel onerous at times. Even now, as my parents are aging, I know most of the responsibility for caring for them will fall to me. 

My dad was extraordinary in how he loved us unconditionally, sacrificed everything for our sakes, and taught us how to go through life. He wasn't without his flaws and shortcomings. But when I think back on growing up with a father, it was very much in the ordinary moments and snapshots of memories I retained that formed my mental portrait of him. Now that I have my own kids, I find myself conscious of that privilege and working from the model I had growing up that my father gave me. 

As a good buddy and father of eight told me, "Ninety percent of life is just showing up." For all the new fathers, and those with a few years under their belt--you don't have to do big things, heroic things, novel or spectacular things. Sometimes it's just about showing up. And I'll let you in on a little secret: there's no "World's Best Dad" contest to have to compete in. Most of what your kids are going to remember about you are going to be these little snapshots of moments, the everyday instances they'll catalog for years and reference later where you made the decision to step in and show up. It's the one place in life in which an otherwise ordinary dad can grow to be an extraordinary man.

You Are Not Untouchable

 

One of the most unnerving and wiley capital sins--if not the most--is pride. It is probably the sharpest arrow in the Devil's quiver because it was Satan's pride which was his ultimate downfall. Remember, Lucifer ("Light-bearer") was a seraphim, the highest choir of angels who see and adore God directly. In the beginning angels had free will, and Satan exercised it: "I will not serve." One-strike policy. 

Thanks be to God, by the gift of grace, we have the opportunity to repent and turn back to God in this life when we turn away by this gift given to the angels, that of free will, for "the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting" (Ps 100:5). 

To bring a soul down by pride--even would-be saints one ladder rung away from their salvatific repose--is one of Satan's greatest and most effective strategies (see the icon above depicting The Ladder of Divine Ascent). That's why it's so important to constantly employ and cultivate the virtue of humility, and pull up at the root even the tiny strands of pride which have the potential to give birth to sin, and ultimately, death (Ja 1:15). 

But there is another sin closely related to pride that is very damaging to the fortification of the soul as well, and that is presumption. The Devil leverages this sin early on in the Garden in a way ("Did God really say you must not eat the fruit? You will not surely die."). In a similar vein to his own demise, the one-strike policy applied to man before the Fall. Eve's disobedience was enough to banish them for all eternity, and though God never stopped loving and caring for them, they had forfeited their protected sanctuary in the Garden, and enmity was introduced.  

Presumption is predicated upon the belief in God's mercy apart from the exercise of the will to repent:

"It may be defined as the condition of a soul that, because of a badly regulated reliance on God’s mercy and power, hopes for salvation without doing anything to deserve it, or for pardon of his sins without repenting of them."

I want to take this in a different direction if I may. For the arrows of presumption on which Satan has leveled his bow seek to strike to the heart of creation itself, as St. Lucia of Fatima predicted, "The decisive battle between the Lord and the kingdom of Satan will be over marriage and the family.” 

Spiritual blindness is not limited to those in the secular world. Many "good Catholics" have had their intellects darkened and wills compromised by the smoke of Satan permeating throughout the culture and within the Church Herself. These are Sunday (sometimes even daily) Mass goers, those who cantor or lector, are on the parish council, homeschool, have large families, maybe have even evangelized publically or written books or apologetics on the faith...basically are checking all the boxes and living their best Catholic life from all external goalposts. 

And yet, nothing is off-limits for the Devil, and these folks can become prime targets in this decisive battle. Attack the family through confusion and disorder (dysphoria, sodomy, etc), strike at the heart of marriage through adultery and pervert the generative function through pornography, lust, and covettetness. It is a notch in the bedpost for Satan.

It's a predictable strategy, and we can't say we weren't warned (St. Lucia, Our Lady of Fatima, above). And yet, it's working. Those who felt secure in their marriages and families, and their Catholic identity, PRESUMING their spiritual security, seem to be inexplicably falling left and right. Marriages of ten, twenty, even thirty years, founded on a firm foundation, open to life and fruitful, sacramental) are being attacked and corrupted through a kind of spiritual tear-gas wafting through the cracks in the doorjamb. The Devil smokes us out, and then cuts us at the knees. Then he lifts them up and turns them upon their wives, their families, and the Church herself to deny and denigrate everything that came before their fall. He predicates this flanking upon his own fall from grace. 

The Ladder of Divine ascent is a worthy icon for meditation. It should fill us with a holy fear, that no man, no saint, is secure in this life until he rests in the bosom of the Savior and hears the words "well done, good and faithful servant." I once asked an old monk when I was a teenager, "Father, do we ever reach a point when we are not tempted by lust?" And he answered dryly, "Yes. When you die."

I have quoted it again and again, but the scripture is true: "Take heed, lest you fall" (1 Cor 10:12). You are not untouchable, you are not immune. The more beautiful and wholesome your family, the more the Devil wants to take you out and thwart your spiritual generation. 

This should fill us with a despairing fear ("Who then can be saved?" (Mt 19:25)), were it not for the fact that death has been conquered, and grace is greater than sin. This does not mean we cannot sin, but we cannot be compelled to sin apart from our will. When we step into the Devil (the chained dog)'s pervue, we become vulnerable to his bite. St. Paul says "FLEE from sexual immortality" (1 Cor 6:18). Presumption moseys and yawns and assumes the best; vigilance braces, constantly scanning til daybreak the horizon for the enemy, and prepares for the worst. 

I think it's worth noting that the Devil can also use scrupulosity (for those prone to it) against us in this battle. A man should be confident--not in Himself, but in Christ--not paranoid. He should be limber enough to pivot when he needs to, not so tense that he breaks in the slightest wind. The Devil hates common-sense, because common-sense is founded in reason and right order. Common sense says "maybe it is more prudent to eat alone than go out to lunch with a female colleague." Common sense says one should keep firm but healthy boundaries in place without being a legalist. Common sense says don't scratch an itch unless you want it to get harder to resist. The Devil loves legalism, which is what scrupulosity is rooted in. 

It is clear (but still unnerving) how many marriages are seemingly inexplicably falling apart as a result of sin and blindness. Perhaps we need to consider this sin of presumption in the context of our standing with God, but also within our marriage and families as well. You are not immune. You are not untouchable. But you do not have to live in fear, as long as you build your house on rock, not sand, and fortify your sanctuary (your home, your marriage, your family). Be vigilant, because the stakes are high the more you ascend, and the fall from those rungs will break more bones than just your own.

I'm Sorry, But No One Has Your Back

Our vacation last week was a nice reset--we swam at the local pond, cooked, lay in the hammock, read, and spent time together. Some friends and family came to visit a couple of the days, but largely we were removed from our normal work and social routine. It was overdue. And one of the surprising side-effects I found was that I didn't want to see, text, or talk to anyone even after we got home.

Please forgive my slightly cynical mood at the moment. I have been pouring myself out at work, with little regard or recognition. In the works of charity, this is the desired approach to build humility and merit; but at work, I get chaffy and resentful. I've felt similarly in other areas of my life, and other circles--I shouldn't be surprised at this point how quickly people can turn their backs on you, social relations can sour, and how our expectations of reciprocity are often frustrated. I'm  human, and am tired of pouring into things when I often feel empty myself. 

In Genesis 18, Abraham negotiates with Yahweh, who is looking for 50 righteous men to stem his wrath against Sodom and Gommorah. Abraham talks him down to 45, then 40, then 30, then 20, and they finally settle upon 10. He only needs to find ten righteous men to spare the city. In the end it doesn't matter, for by the time the perverts hit Lot's door and want debauchery, not hospitality and charity, Yahweh has prepared His arm to destroy it all. You can only take so much.

Ten men...not even ten righteous men in the city. I often think about the bishops, the men of God: "Give me ten righteous bishops," the Lord asks, and you realize you have trouble numbering them all on one hand. Sure, you might get a "bold" tweet or some kind of stand that should have been made fifty years ago; the bar is so low we are impressed by even a modicum of so-called bravery. And I guarantee that any of the faithful to put their neck out to pay the price on any issue would not get backed up by one of the bishops with anything other than a standard dicoesan statement on the matter. As has been proven time and time again, they'll often be the first to throw you under the bus.

Words are cheap. We see it in scripture as well: on Palm Sunday, when the crowds chanted Hosana to the King of Kings only to quickly change their tune before Pilate. We see Peter offering to die for Christ, and then disowning him. The disciples couldn't even stay awake for one hour in Jesus' greatest time of need, his most desolate hour. We see it at the Cross, when only his mother and a handful of others stay at his feet.

Christ's abandonment can be spoken of in two ways: his complete abandonment to the Father's will, and his being almost completely abandoned by men in his hour of need. He is stripped and scorned, with no human solace. His cry from the cross is a worthy meditation: Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? ("My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"). For the pain of abandonment had gone so deep as to echo David's cry that his own Father had left him. The cavalry isn't coming, because the Father willed that Christ go through, not around, the suffering and abandonment. Which, of course, is straight to the Cross, the loneliest of lonely sufferings and humiliations.

We don't often do the same. We seek human comfort and understanding, a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen to your lament. But the longer you are in the grind, the more you realize the establishment (from the Holy Father on down) is a in-name-only set of reinforcements. Maybe it's unrealistic to expect otherwise. The Church has been made weak and a laughingstock not to be taken seriously. Because the saints and those willing to pay the price of discipleship among them do not number in the 50, or 45, 40, 30, 20, or even 10. As the sheep are led to slaughter, those willing to lay their lives down for them can be counted on one hand; the rest are simply weak men and pious administrators. 

 You will have a few friends (hopefully) in your lifetime who will sit with you in the Garden when you are sweating blood, come to your Cross, and not leave when it's dinnertime. I haven't found those friends yet, and I haven't been one either, so I don't even blame them. One can't expect too much. 

Even family, as thick as it can be, is not absolute. Otherwise Christ would not have subjected the Fourth Commandment to the call to hate father, mother, wife, children, and breathren for the Gospel (Lk 14:26). Children turn on their parents, parents disown their children. Many converts know this pain, and it cuts absolutely deep. 

There is one who does have your back, though, and that is Christ, our God, our deliverer in whom we have our hope. Zion said, The Lord has forsaken me! And yet,

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me" (Is 49:15-16).  

I think entering into this sadness, this desolation, can be a fertile burial plot for our spirit. No one would choose it, but when we find ourselves feeling alone and abandoned, sucked dry and empty with nothing left, the love of the Lord has room to fill us, bathe us, and comfort us. Our spirits are often crowded with the coming and going of men, of engagements, of sweet encouragement and contingent affection. 

But at the end of the day, everyone goes home to their own house promising to come back in the morning, and the sweaty dark of night seeps into your cell from beneath the door jamb. We can meet Christ now, because he has now found room at the inn. When no one else has your back, when the reinforcements aren't coming, when you are hung out to dry and have no consolation and your tears become your bread...I think then you will taste a little bit of the loneliness of Christ, who had nowhere to lay his head in this world.