Close The Door

 There is a "prayer space" in the Student Union on the campus where I work. There are some meditation cushions on the floor, some paintings on the wall, etc. It is partitioned off by an open-wall, so it's easy enough to peer in and check out the space, as it is semi-exposed to the rest of the 3rd floor.

I could see our Muslim students using this space for salah, or orthodox Jewish students maybe, or a Buddhist-esque student doing some meditation here. There's nothing per se that would preclude a Christian from praying here either, as our God is here, there, and everywhere. 

For me personally, I have never prayed here. Mostly because it feels like a profane space, kind of like having one temple among many in ancient Rome set aside for Christians to engage in worship in. Don't cast your pearls before swine, our Lord tells us. Obviously for these kinds of secular prayer spaces they have to kind of reduce things to the lowest-common ecumenical denominator. 

But there's another reason as well--for the Christian, prayer is intimacy with God. The spousal comparisons in scripture are relevant here. In prayer, we commune with the Lord. Such intimacy is perhaps why Jesus admonishes his followers when they pray to "go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father who is unseen" (Mt 6:6). 

There was an awful movie with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman called Eyes Wide Shut, which was basically about these orgy parties for rich people where they would just have sex in big groups in front of everyone else. It's disturbing when you think about it--sexual intimacy should take place behind closed doors, between married people and no one else. 

Prayer is where we become intimate with God. Again, you can pray anywhere, but why does our Lord say to close the door? It is so we can strip down and expose our sinful nature, our naked need. That is one way in which Christian prayer is different--we are not communing with an unnamed deity or an indifferent Creator, but with a lover. 

Obviously there is a place for public prayer, and Christians can pray anywhere they feel called to--on the sidewalk outside of an abortion clinic, on a football field or in a locker room, at the cafeteria table, etc. But the kind of prayer in which the Lord Jesus felt inclined to withdraw to a lonely place to pray (Lk 5:16) away from prying eyes, and he could commune with the Father in secret. This is where "deep calls to deep"  (Ps 42:7), where one can strip and lie prostrate and naked before his Creator as the day he was born. 

Self-canonization And The Closed Feedback Loop

Everyone know what a strawman argument is. Basically it is a form of argument and an informal fallacy of having the impression of refuting an argument, whereas the real subject of the argument was not addressed or refuted, but instead replaced with a false one.

I’ve also seen a closely related phenomenon I’ll call “self-canonization”, for lack of a better term. It resembles the circular, self-reinforcing closed loop of the strawman in a way, with a splash of martyr-complex. It goes something like this:

One’s perceived righteousness is precipitated upon a particular stand taken. This could be any number of things: refusal to take “the jab” and enduring the fallout from that choice, or leaving the Church and having your former friends attack and alienate you for it. 

Because one is attacked and enduring a degree of perceived persecution, it reinforces a feeling that they are on the right path because of the resistance they are receiving, regardless of the nature of what is causing the blowback. So, you could have lost your assignment as a priest at a particular parish because your bishop is a liberal and you righteously preach the Truth on Church teaching. Or you could have been dismissed because of other reasons, and being an asshole and alienating people didn’t help your cause. 

And then it’s like a Chinese finger trap: the more resistance you get (whether or not you are actually “right” on x, y, z issue), the more convinced you are of your righteousness. You have become like St Thomas More or St John Chrysostom, the Golden Mouth of justice in the modern age. You double down like a Rottweiler with a bone. Deus Vult! It never occurs to you that you might be wrong, leading people astray, or simply an abrasive jerk. 

Then a kind of self-righteous blindness sets in. You are a Saul of Tarsus before he was knocked from his horse and his sight taken from him. Like Saul, you become a Pharisee of Pharisees, convinced of your own righteous stance in doing God’s will, and will not be told otherwise. In fact, if anyone does oppose you, it is clear they are on the “wrong side,” and an enemy of God. But you have plenty of followers to convince you you are on the right path. You do not enter into doubt or a dark night of conscience—to admit that you may be possibly wrong on a matter. Instead, you double down, and shut out anyone who raises questions about your holy crusade or mission.

Dom Scupoli in The Spiritual Combat lays the cornerstone of the spiritual life in distrust of self, which can sometimes be neglected when one is so convinced of the righteousness of their works or the pureness of their intentions:

“Distrust of self is so absolutely requisite in the spiritual combat, that without this virtue we cannot expect to defeat our weakest passions, much less gain a complete victory.  This important truth should be deeply embedded in our hearts; for, although in ourselves we are nothing, we are too apt to overestimate our own abilities and to conclude falsely that we are of some importance.”

Remember: just because you fancy yourself a John the Baptist type doesn’t mean you have charity, just because you’re being perceived as persecuted doesn’t make your actions necessarily righteous, and just because you talk like a jerk doesn’t necessarily make you a truth teller. While your righteousness must in fact exceed that of the Pharisees, if you don’t have charity you are nothing but a clanging gong, banging your own cymbal. We will be judged by our charity, and we can (and should) discern the sanctity of would-be saints and martyrs on theirs.

Fifty Shades Of Rage

 As an occasional consumer of online pornography in my twenties, I still remember the emotional/mental patterns and behavior that accompanied it.

First, the external use of pornography as a dopamine gorge was usually triggered by an inverse internal discontent—ie, you were stressed, bored, lonely, etc. That feeling is undesirable, so you are looking to counteract it with something else, a few byte-sized portions of virtual alternative.

Next you pull up a chair and sit down with the online menu in front of you and discern what fancies your palate that evening. The anticipation itself injects an excitement into your otherwise lackluster existence in that moment. Part of the excitement comes from the fact that you’re engaging in something you know is not very good for you. Hunger is the sweetest sauce, as they say. It’s titillating, and the fact that it’s wrong is just extra icing on the creme puff.

There’s an unspoken understanding as well between you, the consumer, and the unfaced supplier: you are looking for the eternal, while settling for the temporal. That’s okay—it’s written into the virtual contract. Each time you think to yourself, “maybe I’ll get more than I bargained for this time.” But each time you return to your own room, your own bed, your own self. You left for a bit…but you’re still here. 

And so you return tomorrow, or next week, to the buffet once more (just once more!), hungry again, excited again, hopeful again, disappointed again…hungry again. And so on and so forth.

So, the funny thing is that having broken out of this cycle by God’s grace twelve years ago and never having returned, I see there are a bunch of cousins of sexual pornography still hanging around. They are a bit more dressed up, with a higher perceived degree of righteous moral standing, a little younger. But they still behave in the same manner—they still peddle in dopamine hits, still capitalize on our inner strife and malcontent, still promise things without delivering, still leave us feeling a little bit…hungry.

Louis CK had this brilliant diatribe on Conan I saw a few years ago that I think just captures the essence of what I’m talking about here:

“I think these things are toxic, especially for kids...they don't look at people when they talk to them and they don't build empathy. You know, kids are mean, and it's 'cause they're trying it out. They look at a kid and they go, 'you're fat,' and then they see the kid's face scrunch up and they go, 'oh, that doesn't feel good to make a person do that.' But they got to start with doing the mean thing. But when they write 'you're fat,' then they just go, 'mmm, that was fun, I like that.'

You need to build an ability to just be yourself and not be doing something. That's what the phones are taking away, is the ability to just sit there. That's being a person. Because underneath everything in your life there is that thing, that empty—forever empty. That knowledge that it's all for nothing and that you're alone. It's down there.

And sometimes when things clear away, you're not watching anything, you're in your car, and you start going, 'oh no, here it comes. That I'm alone.' It's starts to visit on you. Just this sadness. Life is tremendously sad, just by being in it...

That's why we text and drive. I look around, pretty much 100 percent of the people driving are texting. And they're killing, everybody's murdering each other with their cars. But people are willing to risk taking a life and ruining their own because they don't want to be alone for a second because it's so hard.

And I go, 'oh, I'm getting sad, gotta get the phone and write "hi" to like 50 people'...then I said, 'you know what, don't. Just be sad. Just let the sadness, stand in the way of it, and let it hit you like a truck.'

And I let it come, and I just started to feel 'oh my God,'and I pulled over and I just cried like a bitch. I cried so much. And it was beautiful. Sadness is poetic. You're lucky to live sad moments.

And then I had happy feelings. Because when you let yourself feel sad, your body has antibodies, it has happiness that comes rushing in to meet the sadness. So I was grateful to feel sad, and then I met it with true, profound happiness. It was such a trip.

The thing is, because we don't want that first bit of sad, we push it away with a little phone or a jack-off or the food. You never feel completely sad or completely happy, you just feel kinda satisfied with your product, and then you die. So that's why I don't want to get a phone for my kids.”

I used to see this in myself while on social media, and in some of my online friends as well—this unsettled need to stoke fires, to fling words, to get reactions, to indict others, to stir the pot. As everyone knows, negative/tragic/scandalous posts gets more hits, likes, comments, etc than the good-Samaritan type tales. And while liberals seemed to have their share of it, I really think it’s those on the right that are hooked on the rage sauce, the righteous indignation….the outrage porn.

And there’s no shortage of things to get outraged about in the Church and the world. But like sexual pornography, attention-seeking outrage porn numbs you after a while. You may not even realize it, until, like habitual users of porn find out, you suddenly have ED at 28 years old. With outrage porn, you just become flaccid to real tragedies, real injustices in the world. Because you’ve been soaking your dopamine receptors for so long in it, it’s harder to get your ire up due to overuse. We weren’t meant to take in all the injustices and tragedies across the globe in online sittings day after day, just like we weren’t meant to see thousands of pictures of naked bodies in our lifetime. 

Outrage porn can be addicting, especially for people to reach beyond the walls of their homes. It’s kind of like a warm compress—you get a little bored with the tasks in front of you, the people in front of you, the sad in front of you, so you “push it away with a little bit of phone, a little (proverbial) jack-off, a little food.” Essentially, a little distraction from what’s in front of you. And because it’s righteous and kosher and sanctioned, even though you know you have that kind of guilty pleasure receptor going off in the midst of shit-posting, you do it anyway. The way you tell yourself this is the last time looking at porn online, but you know you’ll be right back to it next Friday night. 

At least with sexual pornography, it’s clear it’s wrong and there’s no excuse for it. With outrage posting, everybody’s feeding it, and everyone is seemingly righteous, so it doesn’t really seem like it’s harmful or disquieting to the soul. It promises to accomplish something, resolve something, bring justice. And sometimes, when it’s done appropriately and responsibly, it can and does. 

Edit: I just came across the clip of Liv Boeree speaking on Lex Fridman ("Social Media Is Dangerous", 25 Aug 2022), a few days after I wrote this post and she says it brilliantly, so it's not just me noticing this it seems. Minute 16:00-18:00:

"All everyone is trying to do within the system is to maximize what's getting them the most attention because they're just trying to make money in order to keep their thing going. And it's not just about attention on the internet, it's about engagement (comment, retweet, etc). And of all the seven main emotions, the emotion that happens to be the most useful for the internet is anger. Because anger is such an active emotion...if someone is disgusted or fearful, they're less likely to engage. But if they're enraged by something, it taps into that tribalism mentality. The attention economy [to feed this Moloch] is rage." 

Outrage never sleeps, is never sated, always needs willing participants. But it’s also subtle. If you’re getting off on the interaction, feeding it, dinging receptors in your brain every time you see a red “1” reaction, feeling like you should stop but the outrage feels good and righteous…maybe it’s time to pause and take stock of what you’re doing and why. 

When you consider leaving porn, like St Augustine’s sirens trying to keep him from the shores of Continence, you think you cannot possibly live without it. Then you leave it, and you’re still alive. I think people addicted to outrage porn can trust they can and will live (and thrive) without engaging in it anymore. And maybe find that elusive peace in the process.

"Your Thirst I Will Not Slake": A Meditation On Chastisement

 

These photos I've been seeing of Lake Mead in Nevada are startling. The reservoir on the Colorado River, which supplies water to Arizona, California, Nevada and parts of Mexico, has remained below full capacity since 1983 due to drought and increased water demand. It seems a combination of both natural and human causes. I don't live out in that part of the country, but if I did, I would be very concerned.

We take water for granted; that is, until we don't have it. When you don't, it can literally be a matter of life and death. Dying by thirst/dehydration is a horrible way to go as well. Water is also the element used in giving new spiritual life by baptism. Water is, literally, life. Without it, you can't grow crops (hunger/famine), can't bathe or wash (filth), can't baptize (damnation), can't live (thirst).

The Lord in His anger and mercy decided to wipe out humanity with a flood, save Noah and the Lord's chosen. It came over the course of forty days of rain, but Noah was given seven days warning. The waters stayed for one hundred and fifty days before receding. The Lord promised to never again destroy life and earth by the waters of flood (Gen 9:11).

But what if our coming chastisement was not a sudden washing away, but a terrible opposite--a slow and agonizing thirst for that which we have taken for granted--God, His grace and great mercy--in the form of the physical element of (lack of) water? What if we were to feel in physical thirst the terrible regret of failing to thirst for God, the way our Lord Christ thirsted for souls upon the cross in gasping, "I thirst" (Jn 19:28)

You can see how it played out in Num 20:2-11, in that "there was no water for the congregation, and they assembled themselves against Moses and Aaron," and that the Lord "brought water for you out of the rock of flint" (Deut 8:15). Yahweh sent plagues to Egypt to delivery the Israelites, the first being the turning of water into blood in Ex 7:14-24. And Our Lady has been warning us that in the end days "the survivors will find themselves so desolate that they will envy the dead" (Akita)

Men have turned away from God due to sin and self-love, self-indulgence, and failing to steward well. What if the Lord in his merciful way of beating us (He disciplines those He loves. Heb 12:6) and using whatever means necessary to bring us back to Him by way of conversion, simply suspends the rains and dries up the earth? It will not be long until we then realize that we cannot live even a day without water, and even a moment in time without God. 

Of course, this is all just speculation. No man knows the day nor the hour, or even how it will be in the end days, so we shouldn't spend too much time worrying or getting anxious about it. But we do need to heed the warnings, especially of Our Lady, to prepare spiritually. We have spilled out and wasted God's many graces and blessings, taken for granted His mercy and patience, presumed upon our guaranteed salvation in the most offensive of ways ("I'm a good person. I don't need to confess my sins. I'm going to Heaven when I die." Etc). Just the way those in the West just presumed there will always be water for them in the desert...until there isn't.

We should strive after the Lord the way a drowning man gasps for air, and search for Him the way a man dying of thirst seeks out a spring in the desert. Only then will we realize that without Christ, we are nothing and can do nothing apart from Christ, who is the true Vine.

The Place of Honor

 Since I was twelve years old, I have always worked. I started with a paper route, getting up every morning at 4:30am before school to deliver newpapers. Every summer I worked as well, in a variety of jobs. I portaged canoes, edited blue prints for an architecture firm, tested welds and repainted tanks in a propane factory, worked in greenhouses, did data entry, waiting tables in a restaurant, washed dishes...the list goes on and on.

I always thought I had a decent work ethic because of this, but one off-hand comment by an adult co-worker when I was nineteen stayed with me and cast doubt on that.

I was servicing swimming pools for the summer for a friend's father's local business. It was a small crew, a combination of seasonal staff like myself and the full-time guys. Most of the clients we serviced were rather wealthy, and we got an inside look at some rather opulent houses. I was taking a break sitting down on a tree stump when one of the full-time guys called me "lazy." He was a hard-working, blue collar guy. His comment stung, because it was mostly true. 

You see, my work wasn't by necessity. If I didn't work, I still ate. If I didn't work, I still had a place to sleep. It was a sort of "privelege work" to pad up my savings account and give me some spending money. 

But this isn't the crushing reality of the truly poor that most of us are rather removed from. The poor work not to build up their resume or network, or to pad anything, and certainly not as a "choice." They are working to simply survive, with a thin margin for error. 

Most, also, are not lazy, and most are not visibly panhandling on street corners. Many are largely hidden in plain sight right in front of us, stringing together an endless hamster wheel of low wage, low-skill jobs, cobbling together child care, and feeling like they are powerless to get ahead. These are the jobs that I may have taken when I was a teenager, but to consider them now would be ludicrous. 

This is the nature of my privilege, and for many of you readers, yours as well.

Now, I know many conservatives get triggered by the p-word used above. It does wrinkle the narrative of hard-working people changing their badly-dealt hand through tenacity and grit to become successful business owners or entrapenours. And that certainly does happen in some circumstances. Because of this narrative, the temptation is to place the onus for not getting ahead at the feet of those trapped in poverty. Their existence can sometimes feel like an indictment against ourselves. 

The collective poor in the scriptures appears with such regularity, however, that it cannot be simply ignored. The most damning and sober justice that appears in Matthew 25 ("I was hungry and you did not give me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink...") is also underscored by the parable of Lazarus and the rich man in Luke 16:19-31, when Lazarus is carried to the bosom of Abraham seemingly on account of his poverty, and the rich man to his damnation on account of his privelege. And our Lord says as well, "the rich he has sent away empty" (Lk 1:53) and "Woe to you who are full now, for ye shall hunger" (Lk 6:25). The Lord speaks to those of us who have never gone hungry in this way, and reminds us of our fate:

"Those who shut their ears to the cries of the poor will be ignored in their own time of need." (Prov 21:13)

I had an interesting experience that led me to think twice about what part of the Lord's table I was sitting at in regards to my disposition on this topic. I had driven out to mushroom farm country (the mushroom captial of the world), which is about a thirty minute drive from us, because I had scored a good deal on some organic avocados (the fact that I am buying organic avocados in the first place should be a tip off of my standing in the social order). Because it was a longish drive, I figured I would stock up while I was there at this random mushroom farm with a walk-in cooler and buy 14 boxes of avocados containing 40 each, for a total of 600 avocados. Since they are so expensive in the store, and we have a chest freezer, and my wife and I are trying to do the low-carb thing, this made perfect sense in my mind (ridiculous, I know). 

When I got home, though, and started quartering, pitting, and bagging the fruits, I realized I had perhaps overbought and it would take me several hours to get this task done. It was a Saturday evening, and so it was a race against the clock on two fronts--complete the task before the Sabbath, and before they over ripen. After doing this for a couple hours, I started thinking, "is this really worth my time?" As if preparing food was beneath me, meant for migrants (who do this work in mushroom country every day for 10-12 hours a day). My co-worker's words from over twenty years ago resurfaced: "you are lazy." I didn't feel like processing these avocados for storage. And so I went to bed around 2am, after only a few hours, with about nine boxes remaining. 

The thing is, I had that option....to take a break, walk away, choose to work on something, etc. The poor don't have that privilege. They work in factories, in hotels, on farms, in restaurants, doing the things we wouldn't want to do ourselves for more than a few hours, and get paid a fraction of what many of us middle-class skilled workers do for their efforts. Because, really, they have no bargaining chip. No power. No voice. This is the mark of the truly poor--those with no options, no rest, no hope for a better future in this life. And yet, God

"saves the needy from the sword in their mouth; he saves them from the clutches of the powerful. So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth" (Job 5:15).

It is sobering to realize we are not blessed Lazarus', but often the unnamed rich man setting off for perdition. That we are not the hungry dependent being filled with good things by Providence, but rich fools padding our nest eggs saying "You have plenty of grain laid up for many years...eat, drink, and be merry" (Lk 12:19). 

How does one learn radical dependence on God and charity to our neighbor when we are filled with good things in this life, to be sent away empty-handed in the next? What is our "privilege" (to use that word again) in having a voice, and how is it a spiritual liability? It is easy to write a check from our surplus, but to feel truly the pain, the helplessness, the dependence of the poor and the widow's mite--this is a grace from God if it does not allow us to ignore them. For again, there are thoes terrible words from scripture: "Those who shut their ears to the cries of the poor will be ignored in their own time of need." (Prov 21:13)

I will admit I am calloused to the poor...I get annoyed seeing them panhandling by the Home Depot, get righteous when I judge how they handle their money, get impatient when their EBT card declines in front of me at the supermarket, and get judgey when it comes to their uncoothness and language in public spaces. I am in my own world. I have gotten used to my place of honor, of stature, or not being in want for anything.

And sometimes, too, the Traditionalist blanket we wrap ourselves in to keep the outside world at bay as we recite our rosaries in church can close us off to these messy realities as well in our hearts, as if serving the poor directly was something "normie" Catholics do. Let it be a challenge, then, to surpass in charity the low bar we set for ourselves. Maybe these little instances of doing the tedious, thankless, tiring work of the poor every now and then--like pitting 600 avocados, or whatever--when it is their every day reality, be a reminder that we should not ignore them, lest we ourselves are ignored in our time of need. 

Trad Approved: Why We Use Linen Towels

 Last year I wrote a post, Trad Approved: Why We Use Cast Iron Cookware, to extol the benefits of cast iron. It's funny how with many of these things, what's old is new. 

Another one of those items that we have recently discovered is linen towels. Linen is spun from the flax plant (see a cool video on how it's made, here). It is a completely natural fiber that has been used for thousands of years, and requires much less water to grow than cotton. It is so durable that people in ancient times used to deed their linen undergarmets to family members in their wills! It is more expensive because it is a more labor intensive process to produce, but it will outlive cotton ten times over. 

Linen bath towels are a different experience. Linen is as absorbant as cotton, but it is a little "rougher" than terry cloth, so it's a different toweling experience--a little brisker, a little more physical. One nice thing is linen has natural anti-microbial properties and because of the weave, dries very quickly (which is why they are probably more popular in Europe, where they don't use driers, and where more flax is grown). Like merino wool (another natural fiber), it doesn't stink at all no matter how much you use it, unlike cotton towels. And it actually gets softer and more broken in with each wash. They fold down very small, taking up less space in the linen closet. They are also great for travel because of this too, and because of how quickly they dry.

I actually found a good deal from a supplier in New York, where it can be had for five dollars a yard, which is a very good price. It's easy to sew, which is how we made all our bath towels, hand towels, and tea towels for the kitchen. I sew a little loop of fabric in the middle which they hang by on a hook. I expect these towels to last thirty plus years, so like cast iron, they are a good investment in that sense. 

Like bidets (which we use as well), however, I know no one else who uses linen towels. Maybe it's one of those things where it's unheard of outside of Europe, but the benefits are numerous and maybe people just don't know about it? My wife and I are sold, though. It takes a little adjustment in lifestyle, but worth it, in my opinion.

Why I Will Never Own A Firearm

People have been sending me the silly article from The Atlantic (How Extremist Gun Culture Is Trying To Co-Opt The Rosary). I took a gander this evening and started reading, until the second paragraph when the author mentions good old Massimo Faggioli and then the gag reflex started kicking in. I'm not sure if he was anti-gun or anti-rosary, or both. I also don't think the writing of the article was completely unprompted and without grounds--there's always some truth in stereotypes. Funny too that the "extremist" culture the author is painting in the article is pretty much a picture of...most of my friends. 

While I support and see the Second Amendment as an integral part of how we as Americans understand freedom against tyranny, I'll confess I'm really not a gun guy and never got the allure. I have been to the range a handful of times, and while it's always good to learn and be open something new, I don't feel inclined to join the 75% of my friends who are gun-owners. Most of them cite self-defence, protection of their property and family against potential home invasion, feeling safer with a concealed carry, etc., as the reason they own guns. 

I was curious about how often, statistically speaking, one would find themselves in a situation in which a gun was used in self-defense or in the case of a home invasion. A quick search at the National Library of Medicine produced a study in which 626 shootings occurred in or around a residence. "This total included 54 unintentional shootings, 118 attempted or completed suicides, and 438 assaults/homicides. Thirteen shootings were legally justifiable or an act of self-defense, including three that involved law enforcement officers acting in the line of duty." 

This was the bit I was interested in and looking for:

"For every time a gun in the home was used in a self-defense or legally justifiable shooting, there were four unintentional shootings, seven criminal assaults or homicides, and 11 attempted or completed suicides."

Now, I know studies can be used in every which way to justify this or that conclusion. I'm not interested in that, or necessarily have a dog in this fight. But I will say it was that last figure "11 attempted or completed suicides for every one act of self defense" is at the root of my own, personal reason for not wanting a gun in my house. Those statistics don't fill me with confidence.

Although I have been symptom free for almost twelve years now from my bi-polar (type 1) illness, the memories of how close I had been to the abyss in years past has stayed with me. Sometimes I feel like while things are going well and I'm on solid ground mentally, I'm just one trauma away from returning to the edge, that point of no-return, in which you have to fight tooth and nail just to stay alive. I have written about the struggle to live here, here, here, here, and here. 

This isn't unique to my situation or diagnosis. Living is hard for everyone, and we all have our unique struggles and burdens. Given mine, however, owning or having a gun in the house, as responsible as I may be when in a healthy state of mine, does not seem prudent. During prolonged periods of depression (which have been few and far between, thank goodness, allowing me to live a more or less normal life), there is a darkening cloud that settles over the intellect and the emotions. Your cognitive abilities become compromised, and the lens through which you see becomes distorted. Paranoia and accusatory thoughts have the potential to assail you, and skew the way you think and view yourself and others. When things get bad enough, you start looking for relief. A firearm isn't an asset in my case, but rather a complete liability. 

As sick as it may sound to a healthy mind, being in possession of a firearm may have the potential to transform into that icon of relief--a promise of an easy end with the simple squeeze of a trigger. Of course my faith precludes such thoughts or actions as justifiable, and in the past it was pure grit 'n grace that got me thorough because I knew suicide was off the table. I don't want to be in any kind of position where I'm tempted to entertain such thoughts during these difficult times. 

I know gun culture is a thing, just like "traditional Catholicism" or "Christian Nationalism" or whatever is a  thing. And yes, sometimes they do overlap, as the author was feebly (but validly) attempting to point out in The Atlantic article. It's not my thing, but I guess more power to you if you feel such protection is warranted and you take precautions to minimize risk or injury. 

I don't fault anyone for those choices, and just because I don't fully understand it doesn't make it less valid. Just because I choose not to exercise that right doesn't mean we shouldn't have the right, either. Responsible gun ownership is not an oxymoron. And, I suppose, it's kind of like that prepper-mentality: you don't really need it....until you really need it. At least I have a few "extremist" friends who hopefully will have my unarmed back if that is the case. 

Keeping Hidden Things Hidden

 I joined a contemplative apostolate recently in the hopes of deepening my prayer life, growing in virtue, and becoming more charitable through the community. Maybe God is "preparing the soil" for a new vineyard to be planted in my life, and part of that new planting is pruning out some of the old that is taking up space.

One way I feel the Lord is calling me "into the deep" is through more solitude. I am pretty social by nature (an "extroverted introvert"), and though I discerned a contemplative monastic vocation for ten years in my twenties, it was clear that marriage and family was my calling. I have never doubted that decision, as the peace was apparent (unlike in discerning monastic life, where I likened it to finding a great shirt at a thrift store but it's a size too small, so it always chaffs under the arms and is just a little too tight around the chest; it just never quite fits right). So, I have to live out my calling as a married man and father, and balance that solitude with my family and work responsibilities, and I'm trying to figure out how to best do that in accordance with God's will.

Without a spiritual director, I try to K.I.S.S. (keep it simple) for the time being--attending Sunday Mass, daily rosary, half hour of mental prayer per day, reading scripture each morning, reading the works of the saints, regular confession, First Friday/Saturday, regularl Adoration, remaining in a state of grace, etc. I also try to go on a three day retreat in solitude once a year at a hermitage about three hours from us. I have to trust that God will provide the grace for those who desire to be united with Him, even if they don't have all the "resources" to attain the heights of perfection.

I find solitude can be a teacher, as it is said in the stories of the desert fathers, "sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything" (Abba Moses). But for most of living in the world, it is like a salt or seasoning--like our Lord who retired to a lonely place, but then was called back to the work of his ministry.

What I find in solitude is that there is no toleration for lying--eventually, you see yourself as you really are. This can be hard to bear. Even in our prayer life and spiritual life, sometimes in community we can compare ourselves to others, find fault with ourselves or others, or paint ourselves in a certain (best) light. We need holy friendships, but I find the words of Thomas a Kempis in the 20th chapter of The Imitation of Christ ring very true:

"The greatest Saints used to avoid the company of men (Heb.11:38) whenever they were able, and chose rather to serve God in solitude. A wise man once said `As often as I have been among men, I have returned home a lesser man. (Seneca,Epist.VII) We often share this experience, when we spend much time in conversation. It is easier to keep silence altogether than not to talk more than we should. It is easier to remain quietly at home than to keep due watch over ourselves in public. Therefore, whoever is resolved to live an inward and spiritual life must, with Jesus, withdraw from the crowds(Mark 6:31).

No man can live in the public eye without risk to his soul, unless he who would prefer to remain obscure. No man can safely speak unless he would gladly remain silent. No man can safely command, unless he has learned to obey well. No man can safely rejoice, unless he possesses the testimony of a good conscience."

And so, I'm balancing this need for spiritual (and physical) community with this growing need to withdraw, to stay hidden, to close the door and commune in the "secret place" more intentionally, yet without going astray in the process.

I call to mind an obscure American artist named James Hampton, who lived, worked, and died in obscurity as a janitor. His religiously-themed “The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations’ Millennium General Assembly” (photo below) took him a laborious 14 years to complete, and was created from...trash (scavaged aluminum foil and light bulbs, cardboard boxes and coffee cans, jelly jars and wood scraps, etc). His focus was not on being famous or being discovered, but on simply creating beautiful art. “The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations’ Millennium General Assembly” was discovered in a D.C. storage unit posthumously by his landlord and transferred to the Smithsonian. Hampton died from stomach cancer in 1964 in relative obscurity.

Although this is a secular example, it speaks of a single-minded purpose and a willingness to devote oneself, without cause for fanfare or recognition. I find some of the hardest lessons for me in my spiritual life is learning to listen rather than speak, finding comfort in solitude rather than chaffing, and dealing with the temptations towards vaniglory and spiritual envy that can sometimes come with community. I obviously have to do it within my state in life, but I find as hard as solitude is to bear sometimes, it is an exacting master that has a lot to impart when we make time for it.

I also have a lot to learn with keeping spiritual gifts hidden for the Lord's eyes only, not to show off to others or make a name for oneself or treat it like another type-A endeavor to master. We know the great saints like St. John Vianney who the Lord called to labor tirelessly in the public vineyard. But few of us have as great a devotion to the nameless peasant farmer John Vianney found in his church, whom we know nothing about; when the great saint asked the farmer what he does when he stared at the tabernacle, he replied "I look at him, and he looks at me." This is the essence of the hidden spiritual life I hope to grow in, may the Lord will it. I have a long way to go!

(photo credit, wikicommons: Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations' Millenium General Assembly, by James Hampton. Folk art in the Smithsonian American Art Museum (National Portrait Gallery), Washington, DC, USA.)

Useless

"There are many souls who close their ears against Him because they prefer to speak and hurry through vocal prayers as if a task had been set them to say a certain amount everyday. Do not imitate them. You are doing more by occasionally repeating a single petition of the Our Father than by repeating the whole of it many times in a hurry and not thinking [or willing] what you are saying." --St. Teresa of Avila

The contemplative life has always been attractive, yet intimating for me. I am not a Type-A Martha by nature, always needing to "do." And yet, in the past I had always found myself unable to sustain periods of solitude for more than a few days to a week. I do not feel like I am a "spiritual" person, nor do I fit in with people who are preoccupied with interior castles and locutions and this and that spiritual thing. And yet, when all is said and done, the spiritual life is all that really matters. 

 So, I'm in this kind of limbo--I'm a beginner in the interior life, but having the desire and will to grow in it for the soul purpose of growing closer in relationship to Christ. Lately, I have been doing that alone with regular visits to the Lord. I signed up for an 11pm slot to be an Adorer at our local chapel as well, so that I would be more systematic and accountable in my prayer life. 

I also joined an contemplative apostolate, which I was really on the fence about. If it weren't for the nudging of a woman who had been praying for me, apparently, I probably wouldn't have considered it. After all, I've been pulling back from my own men's group in favor of more time alone, and in more focused and intentional prayer. I feel like there is this gentle pull to go "into the deep" in order to grow in intimacy with God.

Since I run in largely traditionalist circles, there is this tendency to "check the boxes"--the vocal prayers in the Missal, the Office, the rosaries, etc. The objective litmus's of a robust prayer life that you can point to and ennumerate. 

But for anyone who has been in love, you know that the "doing" is merely a secondary byproduct of the "being." When you are in love, you could be walking along the beach or reading together or watching your beloved clip their fingernails and it would all be Heaven. Because the physical "doing" is merely a receptacle for the ethereal "being." In other words, it doesn't matter what you do--your time together is a "waste" by objective standards. And yet nothing could be more desirable or important to the lover.

For me, this is why the act of adoration fits well in my spiritual life. It's largely "useless" time spent, "wasted time," time where you are not "doing" anything. But the absence of activity, of distraction, of achieving or checking things off or mastering or completing...all this is really, well, the point. 

Everyone knows the story of the farmer St. John Vianney encountered who replied, when asked what he did in the church looking at the tabernacle, "I look at Him, and He looks at me." Could anything be more true, more to the point, and more essential? Love is not complicated. But the heart of love is not in the window dressing, the wrapping paper...it is in the gift of itself--that is, the gift itself. 

But adoration, through the eyes of the world, really is both an act of faith and an exercise in absurdity. A friend recently mentioned when he was in campus ministry at a Jesuit institution that even some of the priests scoffed at the "cracker worship" taking place. Sometimes I wonder myself, were the Lord in the monstrance replaced with an unconsecrated host, how it would change my prayer. If I couldn't tell the difference, what does that say about my prayer life, or even what we are willing to worship? It's a strange thought. You wonder how Isaac could have mistaken Jacob for Esau, or how Jacob could have mistaken Leah for Rachel? Does the power of our prayer in Adoration depend on our belief in True Presence, or the presence of the True Presence? It's something to ponder.

I have also been more intentional about "clearing out" a lot of activity that keeps me from spending this useless time in adoration; just as we have been trying to clear our physical house of "stuff" to make more "empty space" (a kind of minimalism-lite). There is value in the "white space" as any musician knows--the space between the notes is just as important as the notes themselves. 

Largely, though, the time spent in this kind of "useless prayer" in which I produce nothing, say nothing, sometimes even feel nothing is, I think, well spent. I hope to grow in my spiritual life, but not for its own sake, but only that I can draw closer to the Lord who remains hidden, small, and silent. I don't have that engineer type brain that needs to constantly be optimizing or quantifying. Sometimes it's enough to just be, and love, and accept love and confess love.

Not "Clown Masses" Nor "Golden Unicorns": The Truth of the N.O. Lies In The Liturgical Mean

 I think the mistake neo-conservative Catholics make is they point out the occasional "quasi-traditional" reverent Mass (ie, the "Golden Unicorn") as examples of the Novus Ordo done well, as if this was a representative example of most Catholic Churches.

On the other hand, you have other figures, such as Joseph Sciambra, pointing out every possible liturgical abuse, "gay Masses," liturgical dance, etc in fringe San Francisco and other lefty churches as if they were a representative example of most Catholic churches.

The problem, in my opinion, doesn't lie in the extremes of clown Masses or that the Novus Ordo has occasional reverent lipstick on. The truth is in the mean. And the fact of the mean is that the Novus Ordo commonly celebrated in the majority of parishes in the U.S. and abroad is objectively and comfortably lukewarm--neither liturgically hot nor cold. 

Let me give you an example. We have in our area about ten or so run-of-the-mill suburban Catholic parishes where I can attend daily Mass. I went to one this morning at 6:30am because of an evening conflict with the TLM I usually attend for First Friday. 

I've been to this church before, and it stacks pretty similarly to the other ten in our area. They are all cut pretty much from the same cloth, and the only reason someone would attend one over the other is because of schedule or parish loyalty. The aesthetics are one thing--not the be all end all, but not unimportant either: 1970's carpet, a cinderblock wall behind the altar, non-descript stained glass, circular configuration of the pews, music stands and instruments for the "music ministry," tabernacle off to the side, Eucharistic ministers and female lectors, sign of peace, congregation skews older, etc etc. 

The homilies are always safe and comfortable. The congregants seem to know what to expect, and the pastor delivers accordingly. The priests, of course, are older, near retirement age, at most of these parishes--change isn't easy for anyone, but the impetus to change the 1970's liturgical foundation is just not there. Too great a task, too much possible resistance, and not worth it when you are only a ten years away from retirement or death. Why bother. 

As soon as I step in to these churches, my demeanor changes, sinks kind of. I fall into line--I know the New Mass by heart, because for most of my life it's all I knew--and go through the motions. But everything about it feels...lukewarm. I don't know how else to describe it. "I wish you were either one of the other (hot or cold)!" (Rev 3:15) 

Now, maybe if I was in Nigeria or some other country where the faith burns hot at a Novus Ordo Mass it would be different--the orthodox faith of the fervent faithful would cover a multitude of liturgical shortcomings. But here, as St. John writes, "You say, "I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing." But you do not realize you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked" (Rev 3:17).

I hate feeling like this, this kind of perceived "liturgical snobbery," but it's hard to unsee what you've seen when your eyes have seen beauty and reverence, not as an overlay on a shaky experimental foundation, but on a rock of tested tradition (which is the Usus Antiquior). Like I said, the truth is not in the extremes, but in the representative means. I'd wager 90% of Catholic churches in the U.S. are like the church I attended this morning--not overtly abusive, not overly reverent. Just...meh. 

Which means that 90% of Catholics are shaped by this liturgy. It is a fantasy to think the Extraordinary Form will comprise 90% of Catholic Masses in the way the New Mass currently does. But what if it did? Would it transform Catholic culture? Lex orandi, lex credendi and all that. 

Many find sanctity and personal holiness in the Eucharist and personal devotions, and some do it in spite of the banality of the communal worship in the new rite, not because of it. For others, they might be comfortable in it because it's all they've known since 1962, never experienced it another way, and live out the beatitudes anyway. A saint the Latin Mass does not make on it's own, nor does the Novus Ordo necessarily preclude it. But I wonder if we did make the environment more conducive not to coolness or lukewarmness, but being hot so that we all might say, like it was said in prophecy of our Lord, "Zeal for your house has consumed me." (Jn 2:17)

Review: "Man Of God" (2021)

When I was in high school, before I became a Christian, I read a story from the Orient that stayed with me for years. It went like this:

 

The master Hakuin was praised by his neighbors as one living a pure life. 

A beautiful Japanese girl whose parents owned a food store lived near him. Suddenly, without any warning, he parents discovered she was with child.

This made her parents angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin. 

In great anger the parents went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say.

After the child was born it was brought to Hakuin. By this time he has lost his reputation, which did not trouble him, but he took very good care of the child. He obtained milk from his neighbors and everything else the little one needed.

A year later the girl-mother could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth--that the real father of the child was a young man who worked in the fishmarket.

The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask his forgiveness, to apologize at length, and to get the child back again. 

Hakuin was willing. In yielding the child, all he said was: "Is that so?"

Man of God follows a similar trajectory in recounting the tale of St. Nektarios, revered in the Orthodox church as a saint known for his piety, kindness, love for the poor, asceticism, and holy detachment in the face of detraction and slander. 

The false accusations leveled at him throughout the film--from the clergy who try to exile him from Egypt so he will not be a potential threat in the Episcopy, to the mother of a young nun under his care who accuses the holy man of impregnating her--are undertaken with a holy indfference. But it is also humanized in his character as one who feels the pain of being misunderstood, of losing his reputation and facing scorn from others. And yet, in the end, all that matters to St. Nektarios is the will of God, and alligning himself with that will.

The film (set in the late 19th century) was beautifully shot, and the acting was excellent. Alexander Petrov personifies the kind-hearted, gentle, and austere docility of the saint. He also has a John Vianney moment when he takes work as an itinerant preacher in a place no one else wants to go; he is reviled and ignored as he preaches to a group of disinterested local men. Eventually, he is left all alone, talking to the wind in the empty church walls..

There were some humorous parts too; as the principal of a secondary school, when he is confronted with misbehaving boys, he says, "You leave me no choice--I must punish...myself." Rather than inflict, he inspires, and in this instance undertakes a hunger strike until the conflict is resolved. The boys are impressed by his sincerity and authenticity, and many become ascetics modeling themselves after him. At one point, he secretly cleans the dormitory toilets because the janitor is ill and he knows he has a family to support. In other instances, he is seen clearing brush and hauling rocks to bring beauty to the grounds.

His companion--a boy from the school who floats his writings to publishers--carries with him the anger of the injustice in him not being elected Patriach. Nektarios is relieved to be free of the temptation to power and prestige, which he knows come with that vocation. He is content to be a priest who identifies with the poor, the outcasts, and those who hunger and thirst for the word of God. 

In the final scene, before his death, he is in a simple hospital room (which he shares with a poor man who fell from a cliff and is paralyzed, played by Mickey Rourke). He is drawing his last breaths, at in a moving vision, speaks his last words: "Are you speaking to me, my Lord?" And then with a few gasping breaths, enters into his repose. The saint's garment--which is laid on his companion during his passing--brings with it the blessings of a miraculous healing. 

I found Man of God to be a simple, inspiring, and very human film which painted a portrait of holy detachment and indifference, love of God and love of neighbor, and a willingness to bless those who revile. Very well done, and very much worth renting.   

The Evening Word

 Sometimes when visiting the Lord in the chapel in Adoration, I split my time in contemplation/adoration and reading/meditating on the Word of God in scripture. I figure if the Lord is there before me, and I in His presence, he speaks in both silence and through the inspiration of the Spirit through the Word. 

Both St. Francis and the Little Flower were known from time to time to pray before opening the scripture at random for the Lord to speak. It's a practice I have taken up as well. I figure there is nothing in Scripture that is not true, not wasted, or not inspired--it is all good. And also that when we put our trust in God, He can speak to us as He sees fit in that moment if we defer our judgement to His will in that moment. 

So, this evening during a Holy Hour when I was in the chapel alone, I prayed and openened the Scriptures to the Book of Micah. And I read it, and the Lord spoke. Maybe you will find some wisdom and solace in the scripture as well, or maybe it was just meant for me in that moment. Regardless, scripture is never wasted. Take from it what you will, and have a great evening.