Dear Peter,
I wanted to thank you again for your email, in response to my post Long Live Pope Francis which I wrote on the fly while in St. Louis a few days ago. I wasn't expecting to receive it, as I was surprised you even read the post, but have been thinking about it the past couple days. I promised you two things: to read your article which you asked I read, and that I would wait until after I had prayed at my 11pm holy hour this evening before responding; I have made good on both of those promises.
You began your email with "I couldn't disagree more," (which is of course fair) but I should have sought clarification in our back and forth the essence of your disagreement with my post. I made a few points for consideration: accusing myself, first and foremost, of rash judgment, lack of charity, and sins of the tongue in general, and also in regards to the Holy Father; my inability to suffer well and endure trails patiently; my low-standing in the Church as a common layman and sinner; the ability of God to bring good out of evil circumstances.
Just as a Carthusian will not have the same religious charism or calling as a Franciscan, or a Jesuit, or a Carmelite, so too I try to accept that I am simply one side of a prism trying to reflect the light of Christ back into the world. I am not an intellectual. Though I sometimes wade into the waters of ecclesiastical politics, I mostly write with a more personal focus: faith, family, manhood, marriage, etc. I rarely spend more than half an hour per post, given my other responsibilities in my state of life. I am a horrible editor, and was never trained or learned to write apart from the act of simply giving it a go for the past thirty years. Apart from a few priest friends, I'm not particularly "in the know" about Catholic insider baseball outside of what I glean from those with more connections and clout. I am certainly a small fish in a vast pond. But I have to trust that God can still work through that, for some whom He deigns to read it.
And so, it's intimidating for me to write any kind of refutation or defense of something I wrote to someone such as yourself who is a heavyweight in this realm. As the prophet protested, "I do not know how to speak; I am too young" (Jer 1:6).
A few weeks ago I attended a week-long Ignatian silent retreat, guided by a Benedictine abbot, who flew in from Tasmania. It was water in a desert for me--daily Latin Mass, solid spiritual direction each day, meaty discourses, and ample time for prayer and meditation. No web-surfing, no news of the outside world. Although there were twenty four other men present, I never spoke to them or learned their names--silence was maintained at all times (outside of spiritual direction). Even then, I found myself struggling with assumptions, judgments, and annoyances--this guy seems like the pious type. This guy is aloof. This guy is such a Boomer. Etc.
At one point in spiritual direction, I mentioned that I sometimes pray, like David, "Who can discern his own errors? Clear thou me from hidden faults" (Ps 19:12): spiritual blind spots, if you will. The Dom pointed out a prayer in our book for the Spiritual Exercises, and encouraged me to pray sincerely and ask the Mother of God for this grace--that of weeping for our sins. In the chapel, with about an hour to prepare for Confession, the Lord afforded me this grace, that of true contrition.
What was at the root beneath that rotten stump? The sins beneath the surface of my spiritual veneer--pride, vanity, lack of charity, and unwillingness to suffer. Personal things, which I often write about. Nothing out of the ordinary, but again, they were spiritual blind spots for me.
Driving back from Ohio that Friday, I made the mistake of committing to an invitation to attend a men's conference for a day back home; I was given a free ticket by the organizer, who had reached out to me after reading my article Why Your Catholic Men's Group Will Eventually Fold that Crisis had published a few months ago, since he wanted to meet me in person. Coming straight off my retreat, the contrast was jarring--instead of silence and traditional sensibilities, I found myself amidst constant chatter and discourse. Whereas the Dom had disappeared during the holy sacrifice of the Mass while on retreat, the "celebrity priest" at this conference made a show of himself versus populum with the altar as his stage. The fruit of silence was sweet and natural, and now I was being pumped full of aspartame. The Latin Mass was an exotic fruit I had been feasting on, and I was suddenly in the cafeteria eating Aramark fare. The contrast could not be more striking.
I write all this because I went on this retreat to learn in the school of charity--how to pray better, how to listen better, how to love better. If St. Ignatius was a soldier, he knew how to fight, and wanted to train others not to obtain the perishable crown, but the imperishable. I was not gifted with a formidable intellect, skills in rhetoric and debate, or overwhelming charity. But I do have faith and pray, and in that God can accomplish what otherwise seems impossible given my deficiencies and ignorance. "My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast" (Ps 57:7).
You had mentioned in your article "ecclesiastical quietism," the idea that "all circumstances and situations would be relative, equally opportunities for accepting God’s will and then suffering whatever He sends." It is interesting, because I am reminded of the 17th century Spanish priest Miguel de Molinos, who was jailed in 1685 on the orders of the Inquisition in Rome for preaching the heresy of Quietism. As a Jesuit and contemporary of Molinos, Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade's theology of "the Sacrament of the present moment" seemed to flirt dangerously close to this heresy. And yet, his message was that everything in life is to be welcomed as the expression of the will of God, and that we must "accept what we very often cannot avoid, and endure with love and resignation things which could cause us weariness and disgust." This, in his words, is what holiness means. In this, he shares the practical wisdom of St. Francis de Sales, the childlike trust and simplicity of St. Therese, and the profound mysticism of St. John of the Cross and St. Theresa of Avila.
I mention this because what you wrote in your email--that the line between 'be obedient' and 'put up with being abused, gaslit, led astray' is "razor sharp" in today's church--and in that you are quite correct. As I mentioned, sometimes the posts I write are a tough needle to thread. And I don't always get it right either.
I often wonder if I was in a personal audience before the Holy Father, knowing that I would fall into the camp of those he classifies as a "rosary counter," "self-absorbed, Promethean Neo-Pelagian," "vain, pagaent Christians" what I would say to him. And I recall the words of the Lord in scripture, "the insults of those who insult you fall on me (Ps 69:9). And so perhaps I would smile in deference, and keep silence as the best recourse in imitation of our Master, who when he was oppressed and afflicted, opened not his mouth (Is 53:7), as well as the words of St. Paul, "we are reviled, and we bless; we are persecuted, and we suffer it" (1 Cor. 4:9-14).
But being right, for me, was not the point of the post which prompted your email. It was not a call to action, or any kind of repudiation of traditionalism in favor of the shores of ultramontanism or hyperpapalism, but simply trying to thread this needle as a common layman of the honor and deference due to the Holy Father as a Catholic in the shade of the seeming cacophony of criticisms against him. As St. Athanasius said, "Our speech is the image of the Word, Who is the Son of God" (Orat. ii. cont. Arian, n. 78).
In his treatise Sins of the Tongue, Monseigneur Landriot, Archbishop of Rheims, wrote something that gave me somber pause when I read it,
"Now listen to the counsels of religion. True piety will lead you to meditate often on your own misery and weakness, and without causing sadness of discouragement, it will teach you to have a thorough distrust of yourself; to know your own defects; to take every means of correcting them; to consult serious and experienced men; and to consult them in such a manner as to show them that you are sincere in your desire to be told the truth. After some months, perhaps some years, of this constant watchfulness over yourself, you will have humbled your pride; and, though you may not have entirely rooted it out, it will be no longer visible, and each day will lessen the number of its numerous offshoots. Then your tongue will lose the habit of talking perpetually about your own concerns. You will neither talk of them yourself, nor draw others into talking about them. You will cease making yourself the centre of conversation; you will not go about throwing ridicule, disdain, and discredit on every person who does not happen to suit you, because, without knowing it, they cast you into the shade, and are an obstacle to your pretensions. Both grave and trivial attacks on our neighbor have very often no other source than wounded vanity, and that self-love which is ever seeking to raise itself on the ruins of everything which excites its envy. If you follow these counsels you will avoid numerous sins against charity, while, at the same time, your conduct will be in accordance with the dictates of prudence and practical wisdom...Therefore does the Holy Ghost, after having said that 'in the multitude of words there shall not want sin,' add, 'but he that refraineth his lips is most wise;' as if to show us that the gifts of prudence and knowledge of the world are the accompaniments of virtue." (p. 47-48)
And that, really was the poorly-executed point of my post: that, personally, I would do better to refrain from a critical spirit--whether that be towards my brother or the Holy Father himself--for the sake of my own Judgment. Nor does it mean remaining in a state of ignorance, as I'm quite aware of how bad things are in the Church. It was less about obedience and more about prudence, given that I am not qualified to exercise such criticisms, nor do I gain anything by it, and so the trade off for me is not worth it. That does not mean an overly-pious passivity, or an omission of holy anger when warranted or encouraging spiritual Stockholm syndrome--only that in my own discernment, I have decided to try exercising more prudence in both speech and written word. It's a work in progress.
In closing, this evening during my Holy Hour I prayed for a word from the Lord in Scripture that might speak to this conversation we are having and given that I am indebted to all your good works in defense of tradition and our spiritual patrimony. When I read that St. Francis and St. Therese were in the habit of opening the scriptures through divine inspiration and accepting what they read as inspired, I adopted the same habit each time I am in the presence of the Lord. And so I opened the scripture, and read from Jeremias:
"For this city hath been to me a provocation and indignation from the day that they built it, until this day, in which it shall be taken out of my sight.
Because of all the evil of the children of Israel, and of the children of Juda, which they have done, provoking me to wrath, they and their kings, their princes, and their priests, and their prophets, the men of Juda, and the inhabitants of Jerusalem.
And they have turned their backs to me, and not their faces: when I taught them early in the morning, and instructed them, and they would not hearken to receive instruction.
And they have set their idols in the house, in which my name is called upon, to defile it.
And they have built the high places of Baal, which are in the valley of the son of Ennom, to consecrate their sons and their daughters to Moloch: which I commanded them not, neither entered it into my heart, that they should do this abomination, and cause Juda to sin.
And now, therefore, thus saith the Lord the God of Israel to this city, whereof you say that it shall be delivered into the hands of the king of Babylon by the sword, and by famine, and by pestilence:
Behold I will gather them together out of all the lands to which I have cast them out in my anger, and in my wrath, and in my great indignation: and I will bring them again into this place, and will cause them to dwell securely.
And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.
And I will give them one heart, and one way, that they may fear me all days: and that it may be well with them, and with their children after them.
And I will make an everlasting covenant with them, and will not cease to do them good: and I will give my fear in their heart, that they may not revolt from me.
And I will rejoice over them, when I shall do them good: and I will plant them in this land in truth, with my whole heart, and with all my soul.
For thus saith the Lord: As I have brought upon this people all this great evil: so will I bring upon them all the good that I now speak to them."
(Jer 32:31-42)
These are strange times in the Church, and I know for myself I will only be able to walk that razor edge of discerning in the dark and confusion when I am hidden in the silent mantle of Our Lady. I have great hope for renewal.
In Gratitude,
Rob
We hope with you, Friend
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