"Just Catholic"

We've all probably overheard a Christian of the evangelical persuasion describe themselves matter-of-factly as being "just Christian." The innuendo, of course, is that denominational distinctions are an unnecessary and distracting dressing from the real work of following Jesus. Thus there is a sort of proud (not necessarily bad) self-satisfaction that the "just Christian" is above such trappings; whether one is a Methodist or a Presbyterian or a Baptist isn't concerning to the so-called non-denominational Christian. Even the qualifier "just" in "Just Christian" of evangelical Protestant reductionism is essentially a form of unapologetic (Christian) Minimalism. 

For traditional Catholics, this Christian Minimalism is a foreign concept. Although some modern(ist) Catholic churches and architectural styles have sought to borrow from this kind of Christian essentialism and distilled the liturgical space to only what it deems "necessary," historical Catholicism makes no apology for it's opulence and adornment as a point of pride. To hell with minimalism--we are Maximalists the core. 

Architecture and liturgy do not exist in a vacuum, though. They reflect and manifest the law of belief in every gilded leaf and marble cherub. One may be able to distill Christianity into one great law, as our Lord did: Love God, love neighbor. But to attempt to apply the same principal to a religion as rich, deep, and theologically layered as Catholicism would be insultingly simplistic. Evangelical Protestants may be able to get away with this kind of distillation, because it is congruent with their low-church, anti-intellectual ethos. But there is a lot more to Catholic history, theology, spirituality, and liturgy than meets the eye.

That's why I smile a little when Catholics themselves use this kind of nomenclature. "I'm Just Catholic," they might say. I don't think we always realize just how much of the Protestant ethos we have absorbed as Catholics in not only our modern liturgy, but our worldview. This tends to manifest itself in comments like, "Jesus in the Eucharist is what matters," or "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," or "I'm involved in my parish," etc. 

To be honest, though, there's a kind of innocence (or willful ignorance, depending on the person) that seems...nice. The way you want to go back to a kind of Stand By Me childhood when things weren't so contentious and complicated and you could just walk for days on a railroad track looking for a dead body with your friends. When you could be "just Catholic" and qualifiers like being a "Pope Francis Catholic" or a "JPII Catholic" or a "Trad Catholic" weren't necessary. 

I envy that innocence a little, lamenting that I can't unsee all that I've uncovered as a Catholic digging for the truth of things for the past twenty five years. One of the worst parts of that is the kind of caste-system many of us have developed--whether consciously or subconsciously--as it relates to the other members of our corporal body; that is, each other.

If you're reading this as a trad Catholic, and you're honest with yourself, you probably look at yourself and your branch of the Church Militant as a kind of elite fighting force, not unlike the Marines. The ARMY, by extension, just Aint Ready (to be a) Marine Yet. Even within your own branch, there's the rank-banter. Like, "whose tougher, the MARINES or the SEALS?" Or you have people acting like top-brass while not even realizing or caring that the Merchant Marine or U.S. Coast Guard exist.

We don't always make these biases known, but we tend to have a kind of Maslow Hierarchy of Needs for our personal Catholic liturgical life. A lot of people were forced to take a look at their liturgical values and do a needs assessment during COVID when churches shut down and Traditionis Custodes was dropped on us. People were exposed to curious oddities in their youtube searches like the Canons Regular of St. John Cantius in Chicago, or found their local Society chapel open for business. 

As a result, we often unconsciously size up people, not as fellow "Just Catholic"s, but in a kind of liturgical caste system. I know you know what I'm talking about, because I unfortunately do it too. And if you don't, let me try to illustrate what it looks like using Microsoft Paint on my computer. Ah, here we go:

 

Now, this is just one hypothetical example I came up with, and may look different depending on your vantage point. You might be the "I'd rather die than participate in the New Mass" type and so you may have the SSPX at the summit and all the other limp-wristed modernists under your spike-studded thurible. Or you may be an Eastern-rite Catholic smirking at the fact that many Latin-loving Catholics don't even know there are 23 other rites beyond their own in the Church. Or you may be a patriotic American Catholic who has no issues with guitars at Mass as long as the priest gives a good homily. Or you might not ever want to set foot in a TLM because you "heard those people were 'not nice'." Whatever, you get my point. 

The thing is, this is such insider baseball, and I feel like I'm seeing more people in the Church who are getting so-called "red pilled" who are majoring in the minors and getting tunnel vision. I'm glad I traveled when I was younger, both across the U.S. and abroad, because it was good for me to see there was more to the world than outside my state or local community. But we also know people who have never left the town they grew up in, and have strong opinions about lots of things but not always the larger-scale ability to see outside their own walls. 

Whether you travel or never leave the state is kind of besides the point, though. Both are completely valid ways of approaching life. The issue is more when the globe-trotter comes home from Kathmandu and looks their nose down on their local community for being "ignorant," or when the local community shuts out an outsider simply because "he's not from around here."  Both are examples of the way we have trouble seeing outside our own bubbles.  

I really try not to have this kind of special-forces attitude attached to any kind of liturgical preference. Because we will not be judged (by God) on what liturgy we attend, but on the degree to which we sought to become holy in this life given the circumstances we find ourselves in. Not everybody has a FSSP, SSPX, and diocesan TLM within half an hour of them the way we do. I realize that colors my perspective, and belies my ignorance. Some people are lucky to have a mission chapel or even just a standard fare N.O parish within an hour or them if they are really rural. To feel that you cannot be saved unless you find a TLM is, I don't know...it just seems off base. 

I know many people who not only don't give much thought to the TLM, but are content to stay in their local Novus Ordo parish. For them it's not a matter of Aint Ready to Marine Yet, but being proud to be ARMY. And to be honest, a lot of these folks put me to shame in their personal piety, sanctity, and charity to others. I could use a little bit of that humble innocence. When did things get so complicated, anyway? 

All this being said, we are going to be down at the beach this weekend and I find myself in the First Friday/First Saturday conundrum. Do I go to the local casual vacation Novus Ordo and just put my head down and swallow my....pride? Do I drive an hour and a half four times to attend the TLM back in the city? Do I look up the SSPX RESISTANCE rogue "independent" priest down there for Communion (I'm not inclined to do this, just using it as an example of the complications we find ourselves in these days)? 

Some days, I find myself looking back longingly on my early days as a Catholic, when I didn't know any better that there was anything beyond being "Just Catholic." But those days I wept softly in my hands before Communion, whereas now my heart has scabbed over more and there are more layers to chip away at. Those days I read voraciously--the Catechism, the Fathers, the spiritual classics. Now I'm lucky if I pick up a book and make it through more than a chapter, so lazy and complacent I have become. Back then, I was excited to meet other Catholics in public and on the street--fellow pilgrims! Kindred souls!. Now I size people up, vet, view with suspicion: well, just what kind of Catholic are you now? 

There's something to be said to the awe and wonder of a new Catholic who hasn't had too much weight placed on their shoulders yet, whose innocence has been preserved--not from sin and a sordid past, but from the toxic in-fighting and lack of charity in our own ranks. Who recognize their ransom debt is stamped PAID and can think of nothing else but how grateful they are, like the Samaritan leper in today's Gospel who returns to give glory and worship to Christ while the other nine can't be bothered to.

I would love to go back to those early days to visit, get some perspective, feel a little more virgin and a little less jaded. Where the Mass was not something to scoff at or force yourself to stomach, but a pearl of great price you run home to sell everything you have to buy. Where I was more concerned with working out my salvation in fear and trembling than I was with what category of Catholic I am. If you figure out how I can reclaim this beginner's heart, please let me know. I do miss it.