A Year In Pictures

 I caught myself this morning scrolling through my Rolodex of pictures and images. Because I'm a right-brained person, I see the world through art, poetry, music, etc. The following are a collection of some of the saved images, art, and photographs I've saved over the past two years that I consider to be especially iconic of both faith and life in general. I have included a little synopsis for each image and why I included it here; some are personal, some are collective.

I hope you enjoy browsing them and that will inspire something in you to make 2023 an iconic year for you as well

I honestly do not know where I came across this photograph, but it is one of my absolute favorites. I believe it appeared during the pandemic, when priests who wanted to feed their sheep were getting creative with how they did so. This image speaks to me on a lot of levels--for the penitent, with his motorcycle behind him, as well as the sincerity in his face. The priest as well, listening intently, oblivious to the rain pouring down around them. It speaks to me of the unfathomable depths of God's mercy, the gift of the sacrament of Confession, and the heart of priests who long to serve in persona Christi.

This photograph as well I found very iconic; I believe it is a European teenager who stepped out alone to oppose a Pride parade. It typifies for me the cultural onslaught we face as Christians, and many who go alone armed with nothing but the Cross to oppose the zeitgeist. 

This is a longstanding favorite of mine, older than a few years old, but I believe this is a Chinese cardinal imprisoned by the CCP. Pray for the persecuted (underground) Church in China! 

This is a photograph by one of our local newspapers; it is my friend Moira unabashedly witnessing to the truth outside of the President's parish. 

This is another moving photograph that was making the rounds in 2020 I believe. A young (FSSP) priest in full cassock who witnessed a horrific accident in Pennsylvania during a storm, stepping out of his vehicle to administer last rites, I believe. Young men becoming priests today, I believe, are going in with a heart for God and for his people, not for any kind of status or adulation from the culture.

I don't know the origins of this photograph, but I believe it was when the churches shutdown during COVID. The faithful remnant, pining for the sacraments, doing penance on their knees. It is a striking contrast to see how small they seem in the shadow of the institutional church.

This is not a faith based photograph necessarily, but it always moved me. This man attempted to end his life by stepping off the bridge, while a police officer spoke with him for hours, gently urging him to reconsider his choice. The man was saved. God was working in that police officer, I believe. People are plagued today by hopelessness--a good reminder to exemplify the hope the world needs!

It was an eerie time at St. Peter's, when the Holy Father did benediction to a largely empty square. I believe I took this photograph from the livestream as our family watched it online. Surreal.

This is a bit of a random photograph, but it's a 'day after' shot post-Mardi Gras in New Orleans. To me, it typifies my past life, of what I left behind and was ransomed from--the hangover of sin.

"If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you."(Jn 15:18-20)  

The Son loves the Mother, and honors her as Queen of Heaven and Earth. The Mother loves and honors the Son, the King and Judge. She is the Mediatrix of all grace. 

This is a photograph of Servant of God Francis Houle, the Michigan stigmatist and father/grandfather, from the 1990's. We had Thanksgiving dinner with one of his sons a couple years ago; he told us people with cancer would come to Francis and he would lay his hands on them and they would be healed. Meanwhile at home, Francis' son told us he would hear his father getting sick in the bathroom, having taken on the effects of the person's chemotherapy to himself. He is one of our family's go-to intercessors, and he has already worked what we consider to be two miracles for our family and a friend.

The sorrowful Mother, the miracle of tears. How often has she tried to warn us, and we ignore her plea? 

I painted this self-portrait in my flat when I was living in New Zealand. It was one particular lonely afternoon, marked by deep depression, sin and disorder. The country itself was paradise. But I longed for a well that would never run dry.

This is a photograph of my son and I late one night at the kitchen table discussing theology, philosophy, and film. He was about 10 at the time. I pray my children will always feel comfortable coming to me to talk. I wrote about that evening here.

You may have noticed this image at the top of the blog. I don't know what it is called, but it is Mary and Joseph in Egypt, very striking. Joseph the protector, humble and silent. Pray for us!

My wife took this photograph on a family vacation. It reminds me of playing with my kids, but always the struggle of being a dad who is present to them.

This image hangs in our guest room. It is the child Jesus running to St. Therese the Little Flower. One of my favorites.

This photograph is called "Aid from the Padre", it was taken in Venezuela I believe and captures the true vocation of the priest, I think. I discussed it here.

None Righteous, No Not One

I really dislike it when people publicly refer to so-and-so as "a holy priest" or so and so is "holy" or "a saint," for a couple reasons.

First, I hold to the scriptures that "Everyone has turned away, all have become corrupt; there is no one who does good, not even one" (Ps 53:3; cf Rom 3:10-12). I also think that true sanctity proceeds from the inside out, not the outside in, as our Lord says, "But the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them. For out of the heart come evil thoughts—murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander. These are what defile a person" (Mt 15:18-20). 

And who can know the heart? The Lord alone. For “The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately wicked; Who can know it? I, the LORD, search the heart, I test the mind, Even to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his doings." (Jer 17:9-10)

There is a kind of "spiritual flattery" in this kind of "holiness" speech, whoever it is directed towards. It is not the flattery of the world, but akin to it. It elevates a person above where he should rise. At the spiritual banquet table, one assumes the state of the host and says, "Sit here." But our Lord says, "When you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, ‘Friend, move up to a better place.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all the other guests" (Lk 14:10). In saying, "this is our holy guest," he puts the man of God on the spot and in an awkward spot. He treats it as a compliment, but should the guest be truly holy he will feel the heat of his sins in his heart, and seek to shirk from view.

When we ascribe "holiness" to someone from our judgement seat, we despoil his hiding place, expose his spiritual pearls to swine, plunder his sanctuary, rob him of his beggar's cloak.“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our sons forever" (Deut 29:29) Truly holy people do not concern themselves with such tags. They desire their holiness to be hidden, and should it need to be revealed, that it is done so for the good of man, not their own elevation or vindication. 

Not only that, a man's holiness point-in-time is not his state in eternity, for it has not yet been secured. Like the iconography of the Ladder of Divine Ascent, saints on the last rung of the heavenly ladder are still liable to be picked off by demons by way of spiritual pride. Why would you, man of earth, speak heavenly praise to the servant of God and tickle his ears such temptation? Have you no charity? For he may echo your praise in his own mouth, "I am holy, for so-and-so attests to my holiness" and that is his end, his demise.

We do not think with the mind of God. Instead we are like Peter, blind to the heavenly trajectory. "But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men" (Mt 16:23). Even Christ when lauded as "good" deflects the flattery, saying "Why do you call me good? None is good but God alone" (Lk 18:19).

If a man be truly holy, save your tweets and spiritual judgments, for the truly holy know they are nothing but worms (Ps 22:6), and do not benefit from your flattery, for it impedes their progress and lays traps from them unnecessarily. For the true  man of God relishes in his low stature, his hidden state; he offers his beard to be plucked. His enemies become his way to sanctification, and his disgrace his badge of honor in the heavenly court. If they are holy, God will know it, and that is the only thing that matters. If they are not, then why would you speak as if you know a man's heart, casting his spiritual state in question for the world to see? It becomes like an oath, words that cannot be taken back, promised while retaining the risk of betrayal. Leave the state of a man's soul to God, and at the very least, reserve your judgments to the posthumous state. Instead, simply let your yes mean yes, and your no mean no (Mt 5:37). Anything beyond that is from the devil. 

Live Not By Lies

 We're still learning how to be Catholics. And sometimes we don't always get the memo.

As a convert to the faith, I have few religious traditions that were intentionally handed down to me as a child. Meanwhile all of our good Catholic friends seem to be steeped in them, from Jesse trees to putting out the shoes on the feast of St. Nicholas to various other traditions. We just got an advent wreath and candles this year. Better late than never, I suppose.

To boot, my wife and I also inherited a lot of secular "things you just do" as part of the season. Truth be told, there is a part of me that just wants to be in a cave somewhere this time of year to focus on the "reason for the season." But instead, I'm heading to my sister in laws for a dinner feast on Christmas Eve (when we should be fasting), having to run into Giant to search for the green peas we forgot at home, fighting traffic, and tiredly wrapping presents. I've grown to hate "the season" for these reasons, which in turn makes me feel guilty since it's supposed to be about peace, hope, and joy. 

One secular tradition we never gave much thought about but bequeathed to our children was the idea of Santa Claus. They leave out cookies for "Santa" (and carrots for his reindeer), and some presents are "from Santa", replete with different labels, handwriting, and wrapping paper. Of course, for us as parents, "Santa" is our Christmas altar ego--whether he is man, myth, or legend I do not know. All I know is my kids have bought into it all.

But something went awry this year. I suspect it was a wrapping paper mix up, but somehow my nine year old daughter put two and two together and discovered in tears, that "Santa wasn't real." She wasn't angry, she wasn't distraught--she was simply sad. My wife and I stood over her as she showed us how the jig was up, feeling like our hearts were breaking into a thousand pieces. Not because of the Santa thing per se, or even the loss of childhood innocence waking up to the idea that "it's all bullsh*t." 

Mostly, we realize we had been culpable for misleading and perpetuating an untruth, and our child was now suffering for it. We were "cut to the heart" as it said of the Jews in Acts. 

From an early age, I made a personal commitment to always tell the truth. This was partly pragmatic, since it made my life easier in some ways because I didn't have to remember to keep stories straight; eschewing lying when you have a bad memory just simplifies things--always tell the truth, don't hide things, be honest. 

Now that I realized it wasn't only my daughter feeling betrayed, but myself as well. Because "this was just what you do" during the secularized version of the "holiday season"--you buy presents. You get together with family. You leave cookies for "Santa." Etc.

The Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard's father once cursed God for his misfortunes. He tells us in his journal: "as a small boy tending sheep on the Jutland Heath, suffering many ills, famished and exhausted, stood up on a hill and cursed God! And that man was never able to forget it, not even at the age of 82." In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard retells the story of Abraham and Isaac from four vantage points. It is the first version that has always stayed with me: that Abraham convinces Isaac that he’s sacrificing him by his own will, not by God’s. This is a lie, but Abraham says to himself that he would rather have Isaac lose faith in his father than lose faith in God. 

I thought about this yesterday standing over my daughter. My biggest fear in this little "Santa" crisis is that she reasons "well, if Santa isn't real, maybe God isn't real as well. Maybe it's all a lie." It hurts my heart to think about--and that she would be mislead by her own parents about something so dumb and insignificant. I know I'm biased, but my daughter is an especially beautiful and innocent creature. I hated myself in that moment for unwittingly bringing the world into our home, rather than following the lead of our Catholic friends who refuse to do "the Santa thing." Now we know better. 

As much as this incident may stay with my daughter over the years, I pray it doesn't shake her faith in a loving, personal God who cares for her. She's not especially "religious" in the pious sense (none of our kids really are, if I'm being honest) but they are good, innocent, well-adjusted kids. And I realize they are not my own, that I am not in control like I think I am, that they have free-will. 

My indignation at the world and my unwitting betrayal of my own flesh rose up as a fury in my throat the other day. Fool me once, shame on you, as the saying goes; fool me twice, shame on me. Friendship with the world is enmity with God, as St. James says. 

The Lord does not say "unless you don't like your own kin, you cannot be my disciple." He says unless you hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters"(Lk 14:26). My hatred of the world and its lies had cooled, but this incident had rekindled a kind of holy hatred of the secular, the material, the lukewarm, the customary, the "this is just what you do" mentality of the world. Now we know better. 

The world can keep its Santa Claus and its pious secularism. We have the living God, the God who saves, Emmanuel. He is the way, the truth and the life, born poor in a manger, the antithesis of a worldly king. We live not by lies. Restore the innocence of the crestfallen and brokenhearted. Lord, teach me thy way, O Lord: I will walk in thy truth... (Psalm 86:11).

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If I had a patron saint for my writing, I think it would be St. Mary of Egypt. Prior to her conversion, she lived on the street of Alexandria as a prostitute, but was so consumed by her overwhelming lust and passion that she often did not even accept money from her clients. She was completely devoured by her desire for love, for fulfillment, which led her, she says, to the depths of depravity.

We think of prostitutes as being on the bottom rungs of society. But I think it is writers, in fact, who pitch their tents beneath the patios of their houses. Prostitutes, to their credit, at least take wages for their services. Writers such as myself bare themselves, like St. Mary of Egypt, largely without charge.

We think of writing as a therapeutic exercise, an outlet with a low barrier to entry. But this kind of OnlyFans outlet can also take its toll. Each chapter, each post we write, is like an offer extended for sexual services. I love writing so much that I give myself away, day after day, to strangers on the internet "so consumed by my overwhelming lust and passion..." Week after week, month after month, year and after, I write. I have no idea who reads the words, clicks the posts. I'm seasoned in this kind of anonymous pro-bono licentiousness. 

For those who do have the misfortune of being on the receiving end of familiarity, I spam out new posts by text, "completely devoured by my desire for love, for fulfillment..." Some rightfully never respond, recognizing before others do that my need to be buoyed with encouragement or gratitude is never sated. Shameful behavior it is. Shameful, these writers are.

The kids can be anything they want, I tell my wife, just make sure they do not become like me. Writing is a way to deal with self-loathing, I think. We convince ourselves that the currency of words is leaving a legacy for our kids, or for friends or strangers or johns. We don't want to be forgotten, and these digital brand marks on the rumps of cattle are our desperate attempts not to be forgotten. And we are forgotten anyway. A generation goes, a generation comes, as the Prophet says. All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.

As for the rest of things, St. Mary after the Lord Christ brought her out of her shame sent her to purify her body and soul in the desert for seventeen years. And then she died. She intercedes as the patron of converts and chastity. My patron. I hope to join her in those years of barrenness, doing penance for my bare-all shameful expositions on this blog and elsewhere. 

The archives will remain here. Please enjoy. I owe the Lord that much, at least.

May God be glorified, now and forever. And please pray for this pitiable, shameless whore of words. Amen.

When You Are About To Break

In March of 2021 a gigantic cargo ship got stuck in the Suez Canal in Egypt for a week. At least 367 vessels, carrying everything from crude oil to cattle, had backed up to wait to traverse the canal, halting $9 billion dollars of global trade for every day it was stuck. 

"Cheaper, better, faster" is the current underlying motto in global supply chain management. But that model really depends on thousands of factors and players operating under ideal conditions. The Suez incident illustrated just how one unforeseen event can throw off an entire global enterprise. 

Our healthcare industry is stretched to the breaking point. Most wait times in the ER are 5-6 hours just to be seen on a good night. People wanting to buy a car are finding it will take months for one they want to come in. Kids in school are so overscheduled that there is little time for 'boredom' which is a necessary ingredient for creativity. Millenials in the hustle culture monetize every spare minute they have. And most of us haven't learned how to not live beyond our means, either, creating financial stress that is palpable. More than half of Americans, for example, would not have the means to cover a thousand dollar emergency. Talk about being stretched to the breaking point. 

As families, we tend to sometimes structure our family lives like the global supply chain. Our time is leveraged to the hilt, and natural disruptions like sickness or injury can set us back and make life suddenly feel crazy. Sometimes this is unavoidable, and sometimes we bring it on ourselves.

This season, especially, we all are "so busy" that very few of seem to have a built in reserve of time and mental energy to attend to unexpected things lilke a family in need, or help at the church, or simply spending time with someone who needs it. 

White space is the natural elasticity of unstructured time that has the potential to absorb disruptions to the family supply chain. But it isn't valued in and of itself, so we tend not to work a lot of it into our schedules. It is the "time" equivalent of a financial emergency fund, which can be used to absorb disruptions to our budget due to house or car repairs, or medical emergencies, for example. 

We try to be conscious of both these things in our finances and our family schedule. Now, granted, we only have three kids who do a modest amount of activities (theater, sports, gymnastics). I make a median salary, but my work is not overly demanding either. Nonetheless, we typically undergo frugality in order to beef up emergency funds and savings so that when unexpected bills come up, we can avoid that stress. 

Part of this is conscious and calculated. As someone with a mental illness, I am more vulnerable to stress, and so I try to avoid or minimize it when at all possible. It's not always in your control, but sometimes it is; I always get us to Mass at least twenty minutes early, so we avoid the stress of running late, especially when my son is serving Mass. I figure we can pray the rosary or sit quietly during that twenty minutes.

But not overscheduling ourselves also gives an opportunity to serve. We've realized there is a real need at our parish soup kitchen and community outreach center, but they are also very hard up for volunteers. I don't know if that is because people are so busy they don't have time to, but it's come on my radar that since we are not caring for my father in law anymore after his passing, we have more time and respite. We can "fill this space" with "stuff" (activities, vacations, extracurriculars) or we can use it for other things, like serving, volunteering, or making ourselves available to those in need of time or attention. This can feel like a "privilege" of only having three children that may not work for those with larger families, but it's the principle that should be considered rather than the specifics. 

We think it is a matter of a hardened heart that the Levite crossed the road when he saw the Samaritan lying in a ditch. What if he didn't help, though, because his schedule was stretched too thin and "there was no time" to do so even if he wanted to? 

I think a lot of people during this season, but also in general, just feel like they are about to break; they don't have enough elasticity to bend instead--overworked, overscheduled, over committed. Is that a given? Do you have the ability to say 'no' and start slowly carving out and reclaiming time for Christ, time for your community, time for your family, and even time for the random stranger in need who may just need your ear for five minutes?

Advent itself is a 'waiting room' in which we watchfully anticipate the birth of Christ. Does the reality of our lives reflect that? Is the constant running from one thing to another during these short four weeks a given? Or do we have within us the power to say 'no' to some things in order to free up time and space in our hearts to say 'yes' to others--the better parts?

Is Ecumenism a Dirty Word?

We travel in a few different circles, our family. Our old homeschool co-op was Christian based, we have many non-denominational Christian friends locally, and our son plays in a Christian (rather than secular) basketball league now. But we are firmly planted in our own traditional Catholic parish community, our Catholic co-op, and various other Catholic social circles. Our interactions are most always respectful, positive, and mutually-supportive, even though we belong to different faith traditions.

But it's strange times we are living in, isn't it? The culture wars are raging all around us, and sometimes there are unlikely allies. We had a Catholic guys pub night last weekend, and one of the guys (a father of 9) brought up the Muslim parents joining forces with the Christian parents in Detroit in protest of the sexualizing of children at a school board meeting. He said, "I'd almost rather have an on-fire Muslim in the trenches with me than a lukewarm Catholic when it comes to this stuff."

 So, I had a thought at work this afternoon, and I proposed to following to a Christian friend of mine via text:

"I would love to have a Catholic--Protestant party. Get together some great minds to meet on our common ground on a variety of topics. Whiskey or tea, hors d'oeuvres, fire, and good old fashioned discussion about what matters. And for mutual learning and enrichment."

So, I'm flushing out the idea here (on this post) because it's as good a place as any to get the thoughts out. I have as my ideal a meeting of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, or Chesterton and...some other Christian intellectual heavyweight who enjoys good spirits. Here's what I was thinking:

-It would be by invitation only, and relatively small to start (8-10 individuals or couples); possibility of being a once-a-month get-togther.

-The 'topics for discussion' would be drafted ahead of time and presented with questions to aid the discussion.

-The bloc would consist of 50% Catholic participants and 50% Protestant.

-The purpose would be one of mutual-learning in a respectful manner (not aggressive conversion tactics). It would give opportunity for Catholics to present their beliefs as Catholics (hopefully to dispel prejudices) and give Protestant participants the opportunity to do so as well. 

-Each person present would have an opportunity to share with equal time; discussions would be informal, though would hopefully piggyback off more formal, prepared discussion topics.

It would also be important to lay down agreed-upon ground rules and set expectations ahead of time. The purpose of the time together would be:

-to learn about where our commonalities lie, so that we can join forces in the culture war

-to learn more about what others believe in their respective traditions to be well-rounded human beings. 

-to have robust philosophical and theological discussions over good food and drink, about the things that matter

-the topics would not be 'hot button' for the purpose of dissention, but challenging and nuanced enough to provide fruitful and intellectually stimulating discussion.

-the most important underlying quality that would have to be manifested among participants is listening, detachment, openness to learn, non-judgmental friendship, and respectful dialogue.

All that being said, does ecumenism have value? Is it something that should be cultivated or encouraged at all, by either Catholics or Protestants alike? Or is it just a hippy-dippy kumbaya ideal of the (Second Vatican) Council to encourage 'dialogue?'

I think the difference is if these people you are 'dialoguing' with are strangers or neighbors. I have a good friend, a faithful Christian man and dad, who is a mentor of sorts for me. We lean on each other in various capacities, and our interactions are always respectful. We sometimes are forced to navigate the precarious differences in our theology deftly, since our friendship feels greater than any theological differences we may have. In this case, Friendship>Theology

One of my favorite films is Of Gods And Men, the story of the Algerian Trappists who were kidnapped by Islamist terrorists in the 1990's (I believe), who lived among their Muslim neighbors. That, in my mind, is not religious syncretism and there is nothing hippy-dippy about it--just hard reality, and respectful co-existence. 

The past two years have been so crazy, maybe the vibe is right now to start something like this, very enjoyable and informal--just different friends coming together over a common purpose, when they may not have mixed together at all otherwise. Plus I need something to look forward to during the bleak days of winter after New Years!

Good idea? Bad idea? I'm willing to try anything once, as long as it is for the glory of Christ and the good of neighbor--Catholic, Protestant, or otherwise!

Permission To Serve

 There are two particular instances in Scripture that have always moved me, because I think they reflect the essence of charity:

The first is the Visitation. When Mary the Mother of Jesus visits Elizabeth, her cousin, both are pregnant. The journey from Nazareth to Hebron is over 80 miles as the crow flies, and Elizabeth was in her sixth month with John the Baptist in her womb. Mary almost immediately begins the journey (accompanied by Joseph) after the annunciation. This is a very moving scene when Mary arrives, since both women could likely use the mutual support in their curious pregnancies. 

What motivated Mary to make haste to Judea? I like to think of Mary as completely selfless in this regard; that she does so for Elizabeth's benefit. Pregnant herself, and faced with a sizable journey, she doesn't hesitate to put herself aside and offer herself in charity to her cousin.

The other instance in Scripture I find moving is found in St. Paul's first letter to the Corinthians. He writes, "Wherefore, if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend" (1 Cor 8:13). Paul has such regard for his brothers, those weak in the faith or scrupulous who would otherwise be scandalized in eating food sacrificed to idols. "Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block for to the weak" (1 Cor 8:9). 

Sometimes we think those we assist in charity must be ideologically aligned with our beliefs. We know that we should be like the Good Samaritan, eschewing convention in theory; but in practice, we often stay insulated in our safe zones, among 'our own kind.' 

The reality is that those in most need of Christian charity and understanding are those who fall outside of our religious purview. "Progressive" Christians and secular liberals do not have a monopoly on serving the poor, those with same sex attraction, those who are aligned with the LGBT movement, transvestites, drug users, those of other religions, indigents and yes, even our enemies of the Cross of Christ. Our charity must transcend our ideologies, it must be radical, and it must hurt. 

Can we admit to ourselves sometimes, as Catholics, that we can subconsciously adopt the attitude of the Levite who crosses over the road so as not to become unclean? 

I think sometimes there is a reticence to enter into this messy fray of need because we do not give ourselves permission to step outside of our ideologies. That listening in charity to someone who has different political views, or asking how we can serve someone who has a gay partner, or stooping down to sit with a person on the street largely ignored and abandoned, somehow makes us an accessory to their erroneous beliefs or sinful behavior. And yet, Christ affirms that "it is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick" (Lk 5:31)

So, if you need permission to put yourself aside in a spirit of charity in order to serve someone else--even an enemy--on their own terms...with no judgment, no accosting, no expectation...I'm happy to give it to you here. Go ahead and put yourself aside, for the least of these. 

Anatomy Of A Temptation

The other night I found myself at a Celebrate Recovery (CR) meeting. A friend had advertised it, and for whatever reason that night when I saw it I said, "you know, I really need a meeting tonight."

I had only been to one or two CR meetings before. For those not familiar with it, it's a Christian (12) step program, whereas AA and NA are more secular in nature; it is also a bit broader in scope than AA/NA. So, someone struggling with co-dependency, or rage for example could attend these meetings.

Even after six months of abstinence from my drug of choice,  every time I drive by my local bodega on the way home, I have to make a conscious choice not to pull over the car and drop a twenty on the counter. Some days are easier than others, and some days are harder. As long as I keep saying, "no," I'm okay. 

The funny thing is, my life is infinitely better and more manageable clean and sober from this drug than on it. I have less anxiety overall, more control of my emotions, am healthier physically, financially better off, and have higher self-esteem. Given all of that, you would think I would never have the desire to return to what would make me less free, more anxious, less financially secure, more sick, and think less of myself. I mean, rationally speaking, wouldn't you think so?

And yet, that's not the case. I still have the desire to go back to the mud where I used to sit with the swine in bondage.

Addiction and sin are like two cousins; You can have somewhat innocuous addictions like your phone or caffeine...or you could be addicted to meth, alcohol, or Oxy. You might not consider your morning cup of tea or four hours a day of scrolling sinful, whereas someone providing sexual services for a hit of base is another story. The anatomy and DNA of these two cousins is very similar, and they can operate in similar slippery ways.

 What prompts me to long for the fleshpots, is three-fold:

-We operate under faulty intelligence

-We minimize the threat

-We overestimate our own strength

Being fed false intelligence is one way in war to be thrown off by your enemy and a way for them to gain a tactical advantage. In terms of the longing for that which we have escaped from, it romanticizes the past, just as the Israelites did with their fleshpots in Egypt while glossing over the brutal realities of the situation which was endured. Part of it is the "devil you know" phenomenon as well--we'll often take comfort in an undesirable known than an uncomfortable unknown, even when the unknown is better for us. 

And yet, the uncomfortable unknown is usually the currency God pays the disciple in. He doesn't always give us a read into the future, or what our next steps are beyond what we need to know, though he may provide some signal graces to coax us forward. Idolatry becomes a temptation when we are paralyzed by this fear of the unknown and long to control our destiny ourselves. The Jews took empty comfort in dead statues made of wood and gold that could not save, even when the Living God, the God of the Universe, had adopted them as His own. But it was because they thought it promised something it did not, and could not. They were operating under faulty intelligence. 

Every time a nice day weather wise come about, I think "ah, wouldn't it be nice to sit out and have a smoke today?" And then the thought comes that even though I would be trading in all those positive life changes I have gained for a two minute stick of pleasure, I would be willing to do it because "I deserve it," or "it's okay" when I know better. Which brings me to the next point.

We also minimize the threat of that which had enslaved us. I often think "I can just have one" or "I can start clean tomorrow," knowing full well I can do this with other substances, but not this one in particular based on experience. No one has a gun to my head forcing me to buy a tin of dip or carton of cigarettes; those decisions comes from an active exercise of the will. But once we have stepped into that circle, our locus of control starts to erode pretty quickly. We start excusing ourselves and rationalizing our risky behaviors yet again. 

When it comes to sexual integrity, St. Paul says there should not be even a hint of sexual immorality among you (Eph 5:3). It needs to be a zero-tolerance policy. Why? Part of it is practical--it is so much harder to overcome sexual sin when you keep reintroducing it in your life in little ways. It is better to cut out the root from the ground then keep lobbing off shoots with clippers each Spring. 

When it comes to wandering into the rabid dog's circle of influence, we also tend to overestimate our own strength not to get bit. As it says in scripture, "Lean not on your own understanding" but trust in the Lord with all your heart (Prov 3:5). A man operating under his own strength and sense of direction in the moral life is doomed. But "In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths" (Prov 3:6). Again, in the context of sexual temptation, we are not to hold firm, but FLEE (1 Cor 6:18). Fleeing makes you look like a coward in the worldly sense, but this is your only hope with regards to this sin. 

One thing we really need to admit is that sin can only make itself attractive (in order to induce desire) by way of falsehood and deception. That may be through the faculty of memory in the mind (or the body), through lies and suggestion, or by "honey-traps" planted by the Enemy. We must be on guard against all of these tactics, and know our adversary, who prowls about like a roaring lion seeking to devour us (1 Pt 5:8). We must pray for the grace of wisdom to see past these deceptions. 

One interesting thing about St. Augustine and why he struggled with the nature of sexual temptation was because the desire (which is good) is not subject to reason. That is, our carnal appetite, even expressed bodily (involuntary erections, arousal, etc) has a way of being so powerful by nature that it can short-circuit our rational faculties and supersede them. Addiction can be powerful like this in way as well, sin that makes us "do that which we do not really want to do" (Rom 7:15) Who can understand this mystery? Why do we do that which we do not really want to do (when we admit the law is good)? Concupiscence, the nature of the Fall, our human weakness, God's grace, and the intersection of our will with His, is not easy to sort out. 

Better than my analysis on the anatomy of temptation, though, is to read and meditate on the Letter of St. James yourself. It's only four chapters, but is a dense manual for how sin deceives, how it is repopulated, and what it brings into the world. Here is a teaser, but read the whole letter yourself. Consider yourself forewarned that the Devil never sleeps, and will not spare any person, place, or thing to take you down and steal your soul. Have no fear, though...Christ your Savior has overcome the world, and will be your advocate to stand firm to the end!

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him" (Ja 1:12)

"Let no one say when he is tempted, 'I am being tempted by God,' for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one." (Ja 1:13)

"But each man is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire" (Ja 1:14)

"Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death" (Ja 1:15)

The Immolation of a Holy Oblation

As a Catholic being raised up almost exclusively in the New Rite from the age of eighteen to thirty-eight, I look back on those two decades with a few curious memories that pop up. As I have written here, I would have considered myself a "lefty Catholic" in terms of my prioritization of serving the poor and being committed to the works of social justice during that period. I experienced and took part in many egregious liturgical abuses that were simply commonplace in the circles I traveled in. Part of that I would chalk up to ignorance; you don't know what you don't know.

But there were two instances, even as a young, newly Confirmed left-learning Catholic, in which I remember being very put off by something the Novus Ordo as celebrated ad populum expressed. 

We had a priest in college who was very, let's just say, theatrical. The altar became a kind of 'center-stage' where he could be the center of attention, a performer if you will--in the gestures, the inflections, the homily, and just the overall focus. Looking back now, I remember this priest being somewhat flamboyant, but the "look at me" charades were really offputting to me at the time, when I should have been fine with it.

The second instance was similar to the first--I was living in the city after college, and this particular priest was not so much flamboyant as he was gregarious. He was a good preacher, and used the opportunity at the pulpit to try to instruct the faithful, which was admirable. But again, there was just the trigger in me that the Mass was not the place to make yourself known as a personality. I even wrote this priest an anonymous letter in which I complained about this (which I rightly or wrongly regarded as ego-centric). 

I wouldn't have been able to make sense why these 'priests on center stage' would bother me then, as I had no language to articulate it. But now, I think I do. 

Part of the problem, of course, is worship ad populum, versus ad orientum. This is the objective orientation of the priest towards the congregation in the Novus Ordo, versus with his face 'towards the East," to God (or, depending on one's perspective which would betray one's anthropological bias, "away from the people.")

I never really had any "golden unicorn" gateway drug of a "reverent Novus Ordo" to transition to Mass in the Extraordinary Form. We quit it cold turkey (at least on Sundays), and part of that was because my paradigm was starting to shift in seeing what the Mass really was: that is, front and center, it was a sacrifice. Not a "sacrifice to be there" (in terms of driving distance or longer Masses), mind you, but a sacrifice in way the Jews would understand it "the blood of oxen and goats" (Heb 10:4). In the usus antiquior, the emphasis is not on a communal meal, but a true sacrifice. 

Sacrifice is the highest form of religious worship, and true sacrfice requires three essentials: priest, victim, and immolation. "This absolute dependence of man upon his Creator is expressed in the destruction, or change, of the thing offered" [1] 

When we hear the term 'immolate' we think of those Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire in political protest in Vietnam or Tibet. They 'sacrifice' their bodies (by the unholy act of suicide) which are rendered to ashes, completely consumed by the flames of that act. There is nothing left. 

This act of immolation--the killing and utter destruction of the victim in the act of sacrifice--is largely obscured in the New Rite. I think this is what, at my core, chaffed against what worship should be, even when I experienced it as a liberal teenager and in the New Mass. The priest as victim should be immolated, be consumed into sacrifice and disappear if you will. But instead these priests took the opportunity to put themselves in front of the altar prancing around and gesticulating with their personalities center-stage. You couldn't not see them.

Contrast this to the priest's presence in the Extraordinary Form. He essentially disappears. A minimal amount of his personality comes through, held back by the rubrics of the Mass for the benefit of the faithful. He "prays the black and does the red," and any other priest who is trained to do so can step in seamlessly take his place were he not available. The lamb, the sacrificial victim, is killed and burned up--immolated. This is a worthy sacrifice and is fitting to worship. Because the four elements of this worship--priest, victim, altar, and sacrifice--are essentially inseparable, the priest mystically does so as well. 

For the faithful, we have the benefit of "seeing Christ" in this sacrifice, not seeing Fr. Bob or each other. We do not travel to hear an "awesome homily" as Protestants do or "see people and catch up", but to offer fitting sacrifice of ourselves in the sacrifice of Christ the Paschal Lamb in atonement for our sins. This can be a paradigm shift in how we think about the nature and purpose of sacrifice for those who may only know the New Mass. At least if was for me. When you do reorient yourself, though, you start to "see" with different eyes what is really taking place before you at the altar. Christ is the ultimate sacrifice pleasing to the Father. Sacrifice is the essential form of religion, and the immolation of the oblation reminds us that "God is a consuming fire" (Heb 12:29)

[1] The Latin Mass Explained (Moorman), 5, 15

Dead Already

 

Something I've been meditating on lately, and I'm not sure where I heard it: The only way to survive war is to think of yourself as already dead. 

I think part of this has to do with what we are willing to risk in order to live. In a recent documentary I watched on Elon Musk, the former head of NASA was describing the NASA culture after the Apollo disaster: Failure is not an option. While it sounds like a noble raison d'etre, this cultural attitude within the organization stymied innovation and a willingness to push boundaries; as a result, space exploration under the government agency plateaued into mediocrity.

Musk pushed back on this idea of risk-aversion if one wants to achieve great things in a limited amount of time. He reassured his employees at SpaceX: It's okay to fail here. That's an incredible thing to say, especially given that SpaceX's first three rocket launches failed--launches financed with millions of Musk's personal fortune--and they had only one shot left to make it work. The alternative was the company goes under. Astonishingly, the fourth attempt was a success. No risk, no reward.

Our Lord makes it clear in the Gospel that those who desire to follow him must lose their life in order to find it (Mt 10:39); you cannot follow Christ until you have died to yourself (1 Cor 15:31). 

St. Andrew (whose feast day was Wednesday) immediately dropped his nets, left his family and livelihood, in order to follow an itinerant preacher doing a "new thing" (Is 43:19). The Lord whom they followed promised that those who have left houses, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, or farms for him and the Gospel will receive a hundredfold and shall inherit everlasting life (Mt 19:29). But that's a big risk, a heavy wager. You could lose it all, and be left with nothing, if this new preacher can't make spiritual payroll. 

We often play things way too safe in the service of the Lord. There's a scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Indiana is on a precipice and takes a leap of faith; the bridge is largely invisible but he doesn't know that until he steps into the chasm and his foot lands on it. If it wasn't there...you fall to your death. If it is, you live and cross. But you don't do either until you take that step. On faith.

This is what it is like to surrender to God. Faith is not a guarantee. If it were, it would not be faith. There will always be that part of us, that tiny room in our minds and hearts, that fear and doubt: what if this is a lie? What if I'm being taken for a ride? What if there is nothing beyond this world? During this times, we can want to hold back, play it safe, and stick to what we know. The way NASA did with "Failure is not an option."

But the Christian life is staking our lives on Christ and his promises, and potentially losing big--that is, losing everything. But are those things we have--our lives, our goods, our family--really worth anything if it keeps us stuck in mediocrity? Or as Henry David Thoreau wrote, "men living lives of quiet desperation." 

It's not just our goods, either. In living the Christian life in its truest sense, or becoming a disciple of Jesus Christ, we risk looking foolish, risk our reputations, our good name and potential to live "normal" lives. We expose ourselves to ridicule and denigration in becoming "fools for Christ." 

To be a fool for Christ, however, is the only thing worthy of admiration in the eyes of the saints. They understand the foolishness--the willingness to lose it all, sacrifice everything, for the one we should love above all things. 

The hardest thing to give up, though, is our very lives. Be it survivor's instinct, or simply fear, our death grip on retaining our physical lives is strong. Christ offers a compelling case to risk it all for him, but there is still that part of us that holds back in order retain a sliver of autonomy. Unfortunately, we cannot be "99% disciples." It is an all-or-nothing, zero-sum game: We play and win, or we play and lose. But we cannot not play. 

We are taught that to be "conservative" is to act prudently, rationally, weighing all options and taking calculated approaches. It is strange, isn't it, that the Church herself is "conservative" in word and deed, falling back on slow deliberation, old ways of doing things, and judicious reasoning? But in terms of what the Lord asks of us, he demands that we have no Plan B, that we leave cart and farm and kin with no questions asked to become disciples of his, with only a promise of recompense in another life. 

I'm currently reading about the life of Servant of God Father Emil Kapaun, a military chaplain who fearlessly served his flock in war in whatever way he could by routinely running into the bullet-chewed fray. A man, a soldier, cannot undertake such valiancy without risk to his life; were he to regard himself as "dead already," and in fact does have his life taken from him in such service, he is simply fulfilling that destiny. If by some miracle he comes out alive, it is as if he is given a new lease on life.

In Christ, we are "lost, but now found" as sung in the hymn, Amazing Grace. It is grace that "saves a wretch like me." We were dead in our sin, but now live in Christ (Rom 6:11). The disciple of Christ risks everything for Christ in order to reap the reward he promises. There is no in-between in the Christian life (Rev 3:16). If we are not running into the fray as Christian men considering ourselves 'dead already' to this world in order to save others, we are cowering in our foxholes, fearfully guarding our lives which are not fully lived. 

Faithful To The End

 I have been at my current job for almost ten years now. I think it suits me well, I've found my groove, and I'm relatively competent in it. Dare I say, I like what I do. 

But over the course of the past ten years, our department has undergone tremendous upheaval and endured a lack of stability for years on end. I have had six different bosses during that time, and have been pushed to the brink during COVID with the implementation of a new system and having to cover multiple jobs while people were out on leave. There were times when I perused LinkedIn to see what else was out there, as I was generally feeling unappreciated and unhappy. 

My dad was a public school teacher for thirty years. It was his only professional job, and in those last few years, it was a real grind for him. He personally benefited from staying in that position, and I have incentives to stay in mine that other people may not have. For some people, it may make sense to hop around in order to move up the career ladder, or try new things. 

I've heard that "people don't quit jobs, they quit bosses." There's a lot of truth to that. In my situation, I liked my job but experienced a degree of professional PTSD in which what seemed normal to myself my colleagues was actually pretty dysfunctional and unhealthy. For a number of years and during these periods, I just put my head down and grinded it out.

I think the 'grass is greener' mentality is a real thing--that this or that job will be better than my current one--but it isn’t always telling the whole truth. The same way depression says "it will never get better," or you become convinced in your marriage that the only way to happiness is by leaving it.

In my situation, I was glad I stayed and rode out those periods. I got a new director and new dean this year who are great, my colleagues returned from leave and I went back to just doing one job, and we seem to be stabilizing the ship. Even though things were awful, they got better. That's not to say they can't get worse. But even if they do, my intention is to still, hopefully, put my head down and grind it out. 

For many Catholics, remaining in the Church can be trying. The Church, for all intents and purposes, appears to be completely dysfunctional, mismanaged, and corrupt beyond belief. The captain comes across as abusive and vindictive, and demoralizes those most devoted to the mission of the organization. Things appear to have no rhyme or reason; it's as if She has forgotten what she stands for. 

Does anyone else feel this way? I certainly do.

But I also love being Catholic. I am grateful for my ransoming and redemption by Christ the Savior, grateful for the corporal body of the local church, indebted to her timeless teaching, and my life is infinitely better because of my faith and religion. That doesn't mean its all roses and level paths. But were I to "quit" the Church because of the "bad boss" or the drama or dysfunction, I would be infinitely worse off.

Now, a job is not a faith, and there is nothing wrong with job hopping. I only use the example analogously. I have also made the case to "stick it out" in faith and marriage here and here. When all seems lost, that is when the forgotten seed of resurrection sprouts. As Peter asked when people were leaving Christ on account of his teaching, "To whom should we go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life." (Jn 6:68). 

Bad popes come and go. So do good popes. God will reveal all things at the end of the age, and our salvation depends on our own faith and perseverance, not the state of the Vatican or the Church. If anything, when things are most dysfunctional and a source of embarrassment, Christ gives us the great opportunity to rise up and be fools for the Kingdom, to do the work of restoration and in doing so earn our heavenly reward. 

But you don't gain that when you defect, just as those who divorce after decades will never experience the Golden Years of married life. Yes, there may be the allure of "great community" in your local mega-Church, or beautiful liturgy in Orthodoxy, or what have you. The Church is going through a great trial, and as scripture says, even the elect will be deceived during this period, were that even possible (Mt 24:24). But only those who remain faithful to the end will be saved (Mt 24:13). You don't earn the crown by quitting the race.

Darkness comes before dawn. We must remain vigilant and watchful. That is the spirit of Advent, especially, so it is apropos to do so now and not wait. No matter how bad or dysfunctional things get in the Church, nothing can separate us from the love of Christ Jesus. 

Nothing.

Do The Hard Thing

 "Suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning."

--Victor Frankl (neurologist, psychiatrist, philosopher, author, Holocaust survivor)

Wim Hof, colloquially known as "The Iceman," has climbed Mount Everest in shorts and sandals, run a half marathon barefoot in the Artic Circle, and been submerged in ice for almost two hours. But for the sixty-two year old Dutchman, these cold weather endurance feats are the least painful of what he has endured. “I can do it all," he notes "because compared to a grieving heart, it is nothing.”

His wife (who suffered from schizophrenia) took her life in 1995 by throwing herself from an eight story building, leaving Hof--a young father of four at the time--to pick up the pieces. Between the grief of losing the love of his life, and being forced to continue living and providing for his children, Hof had no consolation, no answers to deal with the pain and no recourse to relief. He was paralyzed with fear, gripped by anxiety, and swallowed up in emotional agony...and nothing alleviated it.

Until he disrobed and slipped into a freezing lake one Sunday morning.

While his body was gripped and paralyzed by the cold, his fear, grief, and anxiety melted away.

"Instead of being guided by my broken emotions, the cold water led me to stillness and gave my broken heart a chance to rest, restore, rehabilitate."

"The only thing that gave me peace," he recalls, "was the cold."

While I am not a devoted follower of the so-called "Hof method," I have been employing the relatively simple habit of turning my thermostat down in my house to 55 degrees, and taking cold showers every morning for the past few months. It is both the worst part of my day...and the best. The worst, because the shooting pain of ice water stinging your frigid body with no place to hide from it is akin to a mild form of torture. The best, because it did not kill me and I live to see another day.

The author Natalie Goldberg, when she was going through a divorce, approached her roshi (Zen master) and asked him, "Roshi, will I get used to loneliness?"

"No, you don't get used to it," he said, "I take a cold shower every morning and every morning it shocks me, but I continue to stand up in the shower. Loneliness always has a bite, but learn to stand up in it and not be tossed away."

The jury is still out in the scientific community as to the verifiable health benefits of cold therapy and ice baths. Anecdotally, I feel more alert, more alive, and suspect that there are more endorphins flowing through my body after emerging from the shower.

But there is something else, though, beyond the positive physiological effects.

I know the emotional agony and sense of darkness Hof experienced when he lost his wife. But in my case, I was the one standing on the proverbial ledge eight stories up, unable to find a way to escape. The moral guardrail of my religious faith restrained my desire to meet the same fate as Hof's wife, to escape a jet-black depression that seemed like it would never end. In the darkest clutches of depression, the things that would most benefit mental wellbeing--exercise, friends and family, prayer--are the most aversive.

But what if we could will our bodies away from atrophy--doing the exact hard thing we have no desire to do?

If we are convinced we can't survive two minutes in an icy lake, and we jump in anyway, what do we have to lose if we want to die in that moment anyway? If we die, we obtain the wish of our distorted mind. But if we come out of the experience, panting and shivering but very much alive and with a new lease on life...what if that was the spark needed to ignite the will to live again?

Indeed, in the city of Yukutsk, Siberia--the coldest city in the world--men routinely remove their clothes when it is minus 50 degrees Farhenheit to take ice baths outside. Their bodies are acclimated to the cold, and they rarely get sick. And in Russia and Ukraine, the Orthodox faithful celebrate the Feast of Ephiphany in January by plunging into icy lakes. "Epiphany is purification," one congregant of the ritual observes, "My soul is cleansed and I'm charged with a good mood for the whole year ahead."

There is no denying that Hof has attained a level of physical transcendence of the limitations of the body by the power of the mind that is remarkable. But he maintains that he is not unique, and that anyone can push themselves farther than they thought possible and gain mental clarity and emotional control, simply by doing the harder thing.

"As humanity has evolved and developed ways to make our lives more and more comfortable, we have lost our ability not only to survive but to thrive in extreme environments," the Iceman notes. "The things we have built to make our lives easier have actually made us weaker."

Though I'm still soft in a lot of ways, I've grown to love my morning cold shower. I mean, I hate it. But I love it. Every time I step into the stall, I know what is waiting for me: cold, hard pain. And every time I turn the shower handle as far to the right as it will go and pull it back, there is a part of me that feels like I am going to die as soon as those thousands of icy needles fly the wall and strike my naked torso.

But then, I don't. I yelp, and curse, and cry a little. But I don't die. A few minutes, and it's over. I'm still here. I continue to stand up. And I will not be tossed away.

This Advent, Become The Saint You Were Made To Be

 One of the great mysteries of the Catholic life and spiritual economy is that God, in the great dignity he bestows on us as men with free will, predestines us to be cooperators with grace. That is why the predeterministic theology of Calivin (so called "double predestination") is such an affront to human (and Divine) dignity: God, in His infinite love and goodness, did not pre-destine man for death and damnation, but life and eternal salvation. It is by our free choice that we accept the invitation to be saved, and by our lives that we cooperate with grace to achieve it. We actually do play a part in the divine economy, and what we do in this life matters.

I was reminded of this while watching (for the first time!) with my family last night It's A Wonderful Life, which we rented from the library. I was initially a little snarky about it when it came to the quirky theology ("every angel gets his wings"), but in looking past those shortcomings, found it to be a wonderful, feel-good movie, especially for the start of the Advent season.

It spoke to me especially in that I had had similar thoughts in my twenties and thirties to that of George Bailey's, that "It would be better that I had not been born." This is the distorted thinking of depression that the Devil leverages against us. I wrote a little about my experience with this battle against the demonic here, here, and here. The holidays can also be hard for people who struggle in this way. "No one is a failure who has friends," was one line in the movie, and I realize I am very rich in that regard. But many people suffer from such an acute loneliness that is felt around the holidays because they may lack the gift of friendship, and feel like if they were taken out of existence, no one would even notice. This is the great poverty Mother Teresa spoke about--of being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. 

But God has chosen each and every one of us for a purpose, not always apparent on the surface. Lately around campus and while driving, I will see these lawn signs pop up: "You are loved," "You matter," "Don't Give Up." As if there is a spirit in the air in our present age in which many people feel the opposite, and need to be reminded. It's a noble effort, but for the person questioning their continued existence, they can come across as platitudes. "I am loved by whom? I matter to whom? Why should I not give up?" The secular world does its best to answer these questions, but often unconvincingly. That there is a divine appointment in It's A Wonderful Life--an second-class angel named Clarence sent from Heaven to intercede when George Bailey is tempted to end his life--that would be anathema to the present age of filmmaking. 

But for Christians, these questions are easily answered, though we can sometimes take them for granted: God loves me, I matter to Him, and I should not give up because I have a job to do for the Kingdom. It doesn't just happen, either: George admits he is not a "praying man" but is "at the end of his rope" and admits he needs help in his dire predicament. Essentially, his prayer is simple and sincere, and God hears him and sends Clarence to teach him a lesson. God intercedes, and George co-operates, to change the course of his family, his community, and the lives of countless people.

Christians can sometimes fall into the trap of thinking they need to be the next Mother Teresa, or St. Francis, or what have you, when really, we are being called to be the saint for our age. You were born for a purpose, set apart to fulfill a destiny, without any real idea of how many people's lives you may change. George Bailey was given a second lease on life when he was shown what life would have been like had he gotten his ill-fated wish of "never having been born." His world, his community, was not better off--in fact, it was the opposite! 

The great mystery in the predestination we believe in as Catholics is that God is ominpotent and knows when we will reject him, but respects our free will so much that He does not interfere with those choices to willfully say "no thank you" to grace. He does not impose Himself, but stands ready at the door for our hearts to turn to Him with even the slightest posture of openness. When we knock, He opens. When we ask, He gives.  

Mary the Mother of God, is our model of this humble deferance to the invitation to change the course of human history. In the Annunciation, the angel Gabriel announces the Incarnation to Mary, and Mary in turn offers her fiat--her declaration of willing assent to co-operate in this magnaimous work of grace. We are given a new lease on life because of her "Yes." 

Have you ever considered, then, how much hinges on your own "yes" to grace? How many people God has set in your path and who are depending on you to be holy? When we say "no" to God's invitation to carry out the divine will, to cooperate with grace, we are men rich in worldly treasures going away sad (Mk 10:22). When we arrive home, our "good things" fail to fill the hole of purpose. But when we say "yes," leaving all we have to follow Christ wherever he goes, we too find a new lease on life, a purpose, which surpasses all worldly wealth. "My bread," says our Lord, "is to do the will of Him who sent me and to complete His work" (Jn 4:34). 

Our Lord is calling you, and your brothers and sisters in this world are depending on you. He has given you everything you need to become a saint. The bread of grace is filling; the well of eternal life slakes even the deepest thirst. We need a revolution of saints. Do not listen to the lies of the enemy who hates you and seeks to deceive you into turning down the invitation to grace. He has no power over you...but you will have power in Christ to change the course of history with your fiat, your "yes." 

This Advent, become the saint you were made to be.