A Just Man Fall and Riseth Again

 

I'm not usually one to follow celebrity news, but I heard about Matthew Perry (from the hit sitcom Friends)'s death recently and have been thinking about it the past couple days. The actor was introduced to the painkiller Vicodin after an injury and, like many people, discovered it made him feel good. What ensued from that initial exposure was a lifetime battle with addiction. 

And it was a battle. Perry did fifteen stints in rehab (costing him over $9 million dollars trying to get clean), had fourteen surgeries due to the effects of alcohol and drug abuse, and relapsed more than sixty times. That last part was the one that stuck with me. He wanted to get sober. He wanted to break this vicious cycle. He did everything in his power to do so. He knew he needed help, and sought it out. Every time he relapsed, he got back up and on the horse. Though the autopsy is still undergoing, I wouldn't be surprised if this was simply a battle he didn't win.

For anyone without experience with addiction, it's hard to overestimate it's power. There are a lot of factors at play as well--there is genetic susceptibility (in the case of alcoholism), the incredible power of habit, the chemical dependency component, behavioral reinforcement, and yes, spiritual forces at work. As anyone who has experienced it, addiction is akin to enslavement. There is nothing like those initial highs, but when they wear off and are taken up again and again, feeding the beast over time becomes less about seeking out pleasure and more about avoiding the pain of withdrawal. Even when you want to get off the train at your hometown stop, the train of addiction speeds right by it and locks the doors. At some point, you can't get off even if you want to. 

There are a lot of spiritual parallels here we would be wise to pay attention to. The Devil is the nefarious "pusher," and will supply you with an array of products to suit your pallet and accomplish his purposes, which is to make you a slave. He can use innocuous means (like your smartphone) to lure you away from the good of say, regular prayer. He can disguise things and dress them up to appear as something they are not (like justifying gossip or sloth or wealth or notoriety). He sometimes sends bad influences into our life to influence us (bad company corrupts good morals). He can slip images and clips that tantalize our senses into our purview to try to corrupt our sexual integrity (racy pictures or soft-porn). His intelligence and knowledge of our weaknesses is supreme. 

But the Devil, like addiction, is also boring. He may be smart, but he is also unoriginal. Something Matthew Perry said in an interview about his daily life as an addict stuck with me, "When you're a drug addict, it's all math." You calculate how many pills you need to keep you from "the sickness" in this scenario; how many you need to last you to the end of the week; how many you need to score to last you to this event, and how much money you need to acquire it. For most people, math is boring!

Sometimes, too, you miscalculate. This picture is 2mg of fentanyl next to a penny. 2mg of fentanyl will kill you; it's that potent. That's pretty scary.

The thing is, fentanyl is usually laced and cut into a lot of drugs, and you might not even know it's there. It's both addicting and potentially lethal. 

The Devil, too, will 'cut' our supply and lace good spiritual impulses with impurities. He will slip in lies among the truth like tares among wheat, heresy among orthodoxy, pride in the wake of piety. Sobriety for alcoholics and addicts doesn't work on a sliding scale-- it demands total abstinence. As St. Paul writes, "But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God's holy people" (Eph 5:3). 

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul works his exhortation about the need for vigilance against false teaching ("a little yeast works through the whole batch of dough") in the context of freedom and slavery at the beginning of the 5th chapter of his epistle. Freedom, truth, and holy abstinence depend upon one another in order to work, for "all sin is slavery" (Jn 8:34). Christ set us free from the yoke of bondage so that we might have life and life abundant (Jn 10:10). "For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another" (Gal 5:13). 

When you are a slave, you are no longer the in control of your own destiny; another owns you life, tells you where to go and what to do. This is the nature of addiction, the character of slavery. And the Devil is an exacting slave master that does not easily let his people go. 

There is a misconception about the rite of exorcism, that is a 'one and done' thing. As any exorcist will tell you, when demons have a foothold in someone, they do not always go easily. Oftentimes they require multiple sessions of deliverance, week after week (sometimes for years) and needs to be seen through to the end lest one clean the house and find it overtaken and in even a worse state than before (Mt 12:43-45). 

What struck me about Perry's situation was that he kept getting up after his falls. He wanted to live and didn't stop fighting for his life. He went to tens of thousands of AA meetings. He sought help, and even as a non-believer cried out to God for it.  He also wanted to help others, opening up his own rehab for addicts after he had gotten clean for a period of time. Addiction is powerful and heartbreaking. 

In the ER, my wife encounters patient after patient who struggles with alcoholism addiction, suffering under the yoke of their slavery. She carries with her prayer cards of  Ven Matt Talbot (who beat his alcoholism with the help of grace) and St. Mark Ji Tianxiang (who never kicked his opium addiction, but was nonetheless canonized as a martyr during the Boxer revolution in China) to give to these suffering patients at the hospital as a spiritual lifeline in the black ocean of addiction and prays for them. People in NA and AA know the equation for sobriety does not work apart from God. It necessitates the exercise of the will (which has been compromised, but not snuffed out completely), and a daily commitment not to drink or use (which entails suffering). But the stronghold of addiction is so forceful, those who ultimately get clean know they cannot do it under their own power alone. 

And so it is with sin. We must be vigilant and watchful, because the Devil prowls like a roaring lion seeking those whom he may devour (1 Pt 5:8). Sin is the snare, fentanyl the lethal hook, and damnation the end game.  We cannot outsmart the Devil. We cannot out-fast him. We cannot trick or out run him. Our only hope to escape the yoke of slavery is complete surrender to God in the safehouse of Divine grace. Christ is our ransomer who hears our cries from the depths of the drug den and rescues us from the miry pit of destruction and despair (Ps 40:2). When we are delivered, we are instructed never to go back there, never to flirt with that which enslaved us in the first place, for our own good lest we encounter demons seven times stronger than the first. When we confess our sins in the Sacrament of Confession, we must remember the resolution to firm amendment of life, for this is our commitment to heed Christ's warning. 

Do not flirt with sin, for it is a matter of life and death. Attune your nose to the sulfuric odor of heterodoxy lest you be corrupted. Keep your inner circle uncorrupted, and your mind pure. You are weak by nature, made susceptible to falls by concupiscence. It is the mark of a future saint to persevere with fortitude in the face of his weakness. "For a just man fall seven times and riseth up again" (Prov 24:16). Just don't let your most recent fall be your last.

Lessons From the Titanic for the Synodal Church

In Why Did The Titanic Sink?, writer Sarah Pruitt puts forth seven possible reasons why this tragedy took place in April of 1912. I'd like to briefly outline these seven reasons and offer a corresponding analogous warning for each one as it pertains to the "synodal Church" preparing to set sail from the port of Rome currently. 

It was traveling too fast. The Titanic was traveling at 22 knots through iceberg-heavy waters; some speculate the skipper was trying to best a speed record.

The wireless radio operator dismissed a key iceberg warning. When a nearby ship (the Californian) radioed the Titanic to warn the crew about the ice, they dismissed the warning because they considered it "non-urgent" and did not necessitate a direct acknowledgment because it lacked the prefix MSG (Master's Service Gram).

It may have taken a fatal wrong turn. One of the crew members became confused--perhaps owing to the fact that ships at the time operated on two different steering order systems--when told to turn the ship starboard and instead of turning away from the iceberg, went directly into it

The Titanic’s builders tried to cut costs. The more than 3 million rivets holding the hull's steel plates together contained a high concentration of low-grade "slag," causing the hull to break apart on impact.

Mirages and hazy horizons were created by weather conditions. One British historian claims that an atmospheric condition known as "super refraction" took place on the night of the Titanic sinking, creating mirages or optical illusions that prevented the lookouts from seeing the iceberg clearly.

The lookouts had no binoculars with which to see icebergs; a simple but overlooked precaution.

There weren’t enough lifeboats. The civil servant who inspected the Titanic felt that the ship needed at least 50% more lifeboats than it had, but gave the ship the go ahead anyway for fear of losing his job should he have delayed the go-ahead.

Regarding the speed at which the Titanic was traveling as it relates to the synodal Church, it is a common cry from so-called "reformers" that change cannot happen fast enough. Whether that is women's ordination, a blessing of same-sex unions, or even defining what the mission of the Church is, what we see during this ram-shod Synod on Synodality convening is an eschewing of Tradition, and racing towards a new horizon. Whether this is motivated by the Holy Father's own desire to exact this change in his lifetime, or those of his inner-circle I cannot speculate on.

Regarding the dismissal of warnings, we can look to the dubia questions presented to the Holy Father by Cardinals Brandmüller, Burke, Zen Ze-Kiun, Sandoval Íñiguez, and Sarah as the concerns for the direction the Church is heading under the guise of "synodality." While the Holy Father did respond to the dubia (somewhat nebulously) put forth by these prelates, their "conservative" reputation and outlier status seems to be grounds for not taking their concerns to heart, much like the lack of the "MSG" prefix that accompanied the warning from the Californian to the Titanic.

Regarding the confusion of the crewmembers with which direction to steer the ship, one may point to the perception of "two parallel liturgical rites" within the Roman Church--the "ordinary" and the "extraordinary" form of the Mass, as Pope Benedict XVI referred to them. Many bishops--acting as crew members--are being ordered to celebrate one and suppress the other, causing confusion for their priests. When all signs point to a renewal in the Church by way of a return to tradition to dodge the icebergs of modernity, many are being ordered (or are simply confused) to turn the other direction--away from the "rigidity" of traditional practices and towards the novel and nouveu in the wake of Traditionis Custodes.

Regarding the cutting of costs and the use of low-grade "slag," the de-emphasis of the vertical axis of worship in favor of the horizontal/anthropological has broken apart the hull of faith for countless Catholics. Is the Church the Barque of true faith? Or is it merely a charitable religious NGO? Faith is not always dismantled in one fatal crash; but the cheaping-out on millions of rivits (with the watering down of divine truth) will over time weaken the vessel and make it susceptible to destruction. 

Regarding the mirages caused by super-refraction, we can see this all around us: the mirage of a global utopia and "bending" of truth by Satan himself roaming to and fro on the earth to convince Catholics that an adherence to the law of God is optional, or that those who believe what the Church teaches or do adhere to this divine law are somehow "rigid" and "backwards looking." 

Regarding the lack of binoculars, traditional Catholics know the power of sacramentals--the brown scapular, the Miraculous Medal and St. Benedict medal, blessed and exorcised salt and holy water, relics, etc. These are accessible to anyone who wants more tools in their spiritual toolbox to navigate the minefield of demonic icebergs in the sea, but as sacramentals they only have spiritual effect when activated by faith. There is no emphasis or elevation of such things in a synodal Church--in fact, the de-emphasis of such "superstitions" is more the norm. Instead, we have traded our spiritual binoculars for "dialogue" and "inclusivity."

Regarding the lack of lifeboats, the Church, like the Titanic, is thought to be "unsinkable." Of course we know the promise of our Lord that the gates of Hell will not prevail against Her--but that doesn't mean She can't run aground. And that seems to be precisely what the Church (and those steering the vessel) under this guise of "synodality" is seeking to do. Catholics who care about their faith and seek to preserve it and save their children from this wicked generation are building their own lifeboats when the Church fails to stock them--intentional communities, vibrant traditional parishes (or alternative enclaves of refuge, when those communities have been stripped away by their bishops), faithful priests delivering meaty exhortations from the pulpit, and solid sources of catechesis are just a few examples. They are not finding these life-saving measures stocked in the storerooms of the nouveu-Church. So they are banding together to chip in to buy (or build) their own.

When the Titanic struck a massive iceberg on that fateful April night, these seven factors may have caused it's demise. Many perished that night, but it would have been much more were it not for the valiant and determined deployment of the RMS Carpathia to rescue those who had not succumbed yet to hypothermia or drowning. It was not an opulent ship (there were no first-class accommodations), but when the distress call came in from the Titanic on April 15th, Captain Arthur Henry Rostron (a pious man of faith and devout Christian believer) pushed the vessel at 17 knots through ice-berg choked waters and rescued 705 passengers from the Titanic. Asked later how he performed such a feat, he simply replied, "I can only conclude another hand than mine was on the helm."   

The unfolding story of the Church in our epoch cannot be told apart from the story of the Carpathia. For every prelate cloaked in a blanket of corruption and every lukewarm priest and unbelieving bishop, there is a faithful lay Catholic man and woman eschewing the hubris of titanic overconfidence and quietly preparing his lifeboat. For the icebergs of destruction on the horizon are emerging into full view, and they know they must suffer in cold and hunger, and cling to their faith in the black sea of faithlessness. They are laborers, evangelists, hold-outs pulling each other aboard as rescuers. They are diligently getting up at dawn, day after day, to pull in the harvest before it rots on the vine while the landowner dialogues with his friends miles away. They draw their strength to do so not from perishable provisions, but from deep wells of faith and the fine manna of trust. For their faith is in Christ, the Rock of salvation; anyone who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces and anyone on whom it falls will be crushed.

While the call goes out for more "involvement" of the laity, they don't happen to hear it because they are immersed in work--seeds to sow, children to rear, lessons to teach, faith to transmit, churches to build, bodies to carry. The harvest is great, and the workers are few. And so they pray to the Lord of the harvest to send out more workers to join them in the rescue, pulling bodies from the sea one by one; not willing for any to perish, but for all to come to repentance. 

Your Dreams Are Like Love and Love Lies

 

Well, maybe not lies outright. But dreams, like love, bends the light of truth on the prism of expectation.

As I get older and crankier, I'm less inclined to stay out late, hold my tongue, or indulge fantasies about how my life could or should look. That last part is important. Accepting your state in life and your mid-life/mid-career expectations can be an excuse for ennui and complacency via resignation. But it can also be a lens that you view life through based on cold, hard experience. I'll never be an NBA all-star. I'll never make partner. I'll never have the boat. When you know that's the truth--not a concession of defeat--it frees you up to focus on where you're at and make the best of it--the game of pick-up with your forty-five year old buddies (my knee!), the riding out your career as an run-of-the-mill attorney, going to the Poconos to rent a yurt for a weekend. Etc.

My dreams have always had a way of not turning out how I expected; that's why they are called dreams! "Dreamer" is used as a sweet pejorative, not something to aspire to. 

Some people do actualize their dreams, just as some guys make it into the NBA. Some write the best-seller, score the trophy wife, land the six-figure salary, build a family business. But most will tell you, there's a lot of blood, sweat, and stress behind the scenes. Instagram is a dreamer's paradise where anything is possible; Reddit is a refuge camp for the disillusioned to share the r:/harshrealities of living them out.

What the hell am I talking about? Well, by way of example, I always wanted to build my own house. I didn't have land, money, or skill, so I bought a school bus instead. This was when the #tinyhouse movement was just budding, and I got in on the ground floor. I broke my lease on my awesome 1 bedroom apartment, plopped down $1,500, and drove away with a green Eagles-tailgating shorty skoolie. I ripped out all the seats, floored and painted it, installed cabinetry, a bed, sink, and yes, the infamous "bucket toilet." I was living the dream!

But now I had no permanent address, no roots, no land or parking spot, my friends started to drift away, and I was faced with the prospect of number-twoing in a bucket (which I also had to find a place to empty). Like I said, living the dream!

I tell myself I had to find out for myself--I had to go through that disillusionment that what I expected and what I endured did not square. I could then put it out of my mind and for a brief time and say yes, I followed my dream. I wanted to do something all my life and I did it. Carpe Diem. 

If people would ask me practical questions like, where do you poop? or where do you park? I would kind of brush them off. "That stuff will work itself out." But then you're on day one of your homeless adventure, and realize that they were right--you do actually have to deal with these things. 

I have so many of these stories I could write a book; failure makes for good stories. 

Listen, I don't want to make a business of shooting down the dreams of dreamers until they are belly up in the water. Like falling in love, you're not seeing clearly, and that's ok! We are human beings, not Perfectly Logical Rational-bots. When you're in love, it's a variation of narcissism--the other person reflects back to you the idealized version of yourself. And you elevate them to an ideal as well. That's how we're tricked by divine nature and hormones to sign on the dotted line for LIFE and the propagation of the species.  If you said to someone: "Look, she's going to gain 20 lbs, you're going to sleep 5 hours a night on average, you'll have no money, the flame will die, you can't do what you want when you want, and you have to pay taxes every year until you die" people will say "Er, no thanks" and then we are DONE as a species. So, we need love and we need dreams and we need emotions to accomplish what God wants--to be fruitful and multiply.

There's a funny thing about getting what you want, though. The hungry man who eats his fill of ribeye suddenly pushes his plate away and can't look at it. Amnon was obsessed with Tamar and satiates his desire forcefully, only to hate and despise her afterwards. Actors get a lead role in a coveted film, and yet their being propelled to fame leads to loneliness and the allure of drugs. Lottery winners become paranoid and go broke within a few years. 

What can this teach us? No life is perfect, and Instagram is a witch's brew. "Bloom where you are planted" is not a kitschy as it sounds. We can grow from our perceived failed indicatives. It's good to dream and there is nothing in the world like falling in love. If you're a dreamer, leave a little room for the words of some old curmudgeons, which might spare you some headache at some point. And if you're an old curmudgeon, don't stamp on people's dream with too much force in your heel; the dreamers may not rule the world the way cold hard pragmatists will...but I'll be damned if I want to live in a world without them!

The Wisdom In The Mean

 "You're kind of an...extreme personality, aren't you?" my wife said to me one morning as I was frying up a skillet full of bacon and eggs. It was day two of my trial run on a modified "carnivore diet" which I had adopted to try to lose a few pounds and damp down some inflammation. The science seemed to make sense (from the limited amount I had read)--you starve your body of carbohydrates and enter into the Nirvana of ketosis by eating like a savage caveman coming home from the bar and you magically burn fat stores like a Pakistani incinerator. Bacon, eggs, steak, sardines--everything is free game as long as it's (primarily) meat and has zero carbs.

"You're not wrong," I replied. "And I'm willing to try anything once." 

Two days in, though, and I'm already not feeling super hot. It seems like the curse of "too much of a good thing," and my biggest lingering fear is that meat (which I love) will become something I have trouble looking at if this goes on for more than a few weeks. It could have been a case of keto-flu, but something about this particular diet touted by the likes of Joe Rogan and Jordan Peterson seems, I don't know...unbalanced. Extreme, if you will. Plus, truth be told--it's kind of boring!

The problem came in when I went out to eat with a priest friend and had some pita bread with my gyro and four french-fries; that handful of carbs jacked my stomach up something fierce. A diet like carnivore/paleo/caveman necessitates rigid discipline, and rigid discipline is not my forte. 

I know it was short lived, but I think it was better to come to the realization earlier than later before I stock my chest freezer with a butchered half-cow from Lancaster county. Wouldn't a more sensible approach, perhaps, be to, say, simply cut out pasta/rice/potatoes/bread and refined sugars instead of just eating nothing but three pounds of meat a day? Or going back to intermittent fasting? My body my choice. 

Why must we always be driven to these polarized extremes--not just in diets but in politics, in policy, in ideology, in rhetoric and communications? I used to think bi-partisan political moderates were a good thing, but the DT era changed all that. They became the Rev 3:16 candidates--lukewarm, salt without saltiness, good for nothing but the dung pile. 

You see it too in this big push for all-electric cars. The gas-electric hybrid--which always seemed to make the most sense to me from a pragmatic standpoint and which industry leaders like Toyota had by now perfected and have stood the test of time--became a kind of feeble leper overshadowed by the Telsa revolution. But no--we need to outlaw all ICE vehicles by 2025 or whatever California is doing. Never mind our dilapidated and already-strained U.S. electrical grid which struggles to keep up with people running their AC in the summer. Forward march! 

And sad to say, the liturgical equivalent is there too. While St. John Cantius in Chicago appeared on many people's radar during the COVID era--the reverent Novus Ordo done ad orientum in Latin with chant--this is still, from a liturgical purist point of view, an inferior hybrid; ie, lipstick on a pig. 

But where does virtue lie? According to Aristotle--who of course influenced the likes of Augustine and Aquinas--virtue is a mean between two extremes; the midpoint between an excess and a deficit. By way of example, a deficient of courage might be cowardliness and an excess is foolhardiness. Neither is desirable, but the middle is where the magic (and wisdom) is.

I'll grant that I probably didn't give enough time for this particular diet to get broken in, so any benefits from it that may have come after a month or so may not have been realized. But our diets--like our politics, our liturgical preferences, the cars we drive, etc--often depend upon our personalities. Even though like my wife noticed, I may have "extreme" tendencies, I do realize for myself that that is not where virtue finds a home. It may make for likable posts or click-baity articles, and may even feed into a subconscious desire to be unique or special. At the end of the day, for me, balance always seems a less sexy but more reasonable (not to mention sustainable) way forward.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some prunes to eat.

Is Your Old Man Really Dead?

I have a confession: I love watching stand-up comedy. It's become one of my favorite past times. I love to laugh. 

Here's the thing, though: funny people are not always easy to come by. Stand-up is truly an art and I imagine harder than anyone would ever think possible. In fact, I once spoke with a guy at a party who was an amateur comedian in that he had a knack for telling jokes and making people laugh. But when he did open-mic stand-up for the first time, he said it was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Five minutes on stage feels like five hours anywhere else. It is like the brutal simplicity of track and field--just you, a mic, and stage to prove your raw talent with no excuses.

But I find myself in a conundrum: The "clean" comedy I'm supposed to like as a Catholic (Jim Gaffigan, Jennifer Fulwiler, Laura Horn, etc) I just don't connect with or find especially funny. I mean, I'll chuckle at some things, but when I am watching comedy I want to hurt--cramped sides, short of breath, floor slapping, can't talk ROFL'ing. There are a few clean-ish comedians I find clever and funny--Sebastian Maniscalco and Jerry Seinfeld, come to mind, and I wish there were more. On the flip side, there are a lot of raunchy comedians I find over compensate for their lack of talent with non stop cursing and filthy scenarios they use for shock value, which ends up coming off overplayed and tired. I also do not find women comedians funny. Sorry not sorry.

The comedy I really find nails it for me just happens to fall into the 'unclean' camp. Dave Chappelle and Bill Burr are two of my favorites. Say what you want about their language or content, these two guys are professionals and masters of their craft who have been in the game a long time. As a comedian you have one fundamental job--to make people laugh--and that is not always an easy task. Sometimes it is by any means necessary. 

The thing about Chappelle and Burr, for me at least, is they don't rely on cheap tricks or techniques. They have their finger on the pulse of the culture, and they are not afraid to say the things everyone is secretly thinking but afraid to admit out loud. Their genius lies in that but also in their incisive insight, tempo, and delivery. Chappelle takes his time and is more measured, reflective--philosophical almost--and comes across almost as a story teller in his stand up. Burr, on the other side, comes out of the gate in epic rant fashion, punching and sprinting and doesn't let up until the finish line. Both use course language and vulgarity as tools in their toolbox and to accomplish the task at hand. I'd rather have a skilled plumber, a skilled therapist, a skilled surgeon who is a secular expert than an amateur who happens to be Catholic and who I am patronizing simply because of that fact. 

There's no Catholic lesson or moral to these confessions here. I watch comedy to split my sides, and these two men in particular do the job. Of course, my kids can't be around when we are watching this kind of stand up, and most good Catholics and serious people of faith would be scandalized by the things they talk about. It's the fact that I'm not which gives me pause.

When I was visiting a monastery in New Mexico as an Observer, one of the younger monks and I would go hiking in the foothills in the Chama canyon in between work and the Divine Office. One day I asked him about his life before taking vows, and he was elusive and seemed uncomfortable. I found this common over the years--when one becomes a monk, he buries the old man and takes on a new name, new family, new life in Christ. It is stark and deliberate. Your old life is no more. 

As a convert to the Faith, I have a past life. I get jokes, music, slang and references that sometimes go over the heads of my good Catholic friends raised in the faith from birth and who are living it out. Because of this character trait of innocence, I sometimes feel inclined to tell them, "you shouldn't hang around with me." There is a lot I have left behind that I have no desire to take up again, and even putting those things to death wasn't an overnight process. But there are things, too, from having been immersed in the world for half my life, that have stuck around and clung stubbornly to my leg. I want to be clean, I want to be innocent. But I also don't want to pretend to like things for the sake of appearances, or act a certain way because that's what I'm supposed to do.

I heard Jason Evert talking with Matt Fradd on Pints With Aquinas about purity and modesty, and I liked what he said. It was something to the effect of "modesty is a matter of the heart." Meaning, I think, it's more than just what you wear or how you act. As it says in Scripture, "For from the heart come forth evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false testimonies, blasphemies" (Mt 15:19). And “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness" (Mt 6:22-23).

I'm not trying to justify my liking unclean comedy; like I said, it is more of a confession than any kind of promotion. In Ephesians 5:4, Paul admonishes believers": “neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor coarse jesting, which are not fitting, but rather giving of thanks.” And in Colossians 3:8, “But now you yourselves are to put off all these: anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy language out of your mouth.” Even though I'm not one for much cursing myself, I'm indulging in it by proxy and deriving pleasure from it. 

I can only think this is because my heart is not pure, not complete, not fully healed from my past. My old man lives, poking up fingers from the grave at times like this. I don't just want to stop watching or listening to things not befitting of a Christian--I want to want to do so. 

So, I'm a work in progress. There are things from my past I am not proud of that I'm glad are dead and buried. Other things I'm still working on. I still pray, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and a steadfast spirit put within me" (Ps 51:10). 

Shards of Daylight In A Saccharine World of Darkness

Deep. Popular. Christian. 

In the music industry, you can have two out of three. But you can't claim them all.

There's no shortage of popular Christian contemporary music (CCM) on the airwaves today which is a mile long and an inch deep. I take one for the family team and sometimes turn on the radio to our local K-Love station when my kids are in the car with me. I can only usually last ten minutes with it or so, though, before I start rolling my eyes and groaning. I don't know what is worse for my kids--being scandalized by bad messaging on the secular airwaves or bad (ie, shallow/cookie-cutter) music on the Christian station.

There's also the occasional deep-and-Christian song that surfaces every now and then in unlikely places. I'm thinking Ben Harper's I Shall Not Walk Alone or Three Days Grace's Never Too Late. But these songs are more underground than typically chart-toppers, and are few and far between.

Then there's the deep/introspective and popular songs that rise up in the secular music industry across genres. Luke Comb's cover of Tracy Chapman's 1988 Fast Car is one that has been getting a lot of air play, and there are a lot of layers to the lyrics themselves (I appreciated this analysis of Comb's latest hit in Crisis, here). These are non-formulaic songs that hit you in the feels while also making you think, massage nostalgia, or deliver a subtle note of inspiration when you weren't paying attention. 

I came across a song on the radio recently, however, that does seem to have the rare privilege of claiming all three qualifiers--deep, popular, and Christian--and that is Daylight by 23 year old singer-songwriter David Kushner. The song hit number 33 on the US Billboard Hot 100, and has been getting a lot of airplay lately on the (secular) radio. 

It doesn't follow the usual pop-music formula, and to boot it's a deep, earthy, throaty ballad to the mystery of concupiscence and our fallen human nature, while offering the hope of redemption at the end of the dark tunnel of sin. The lyrics could have been pulled from Paul's epistle to the Romans in a contemporary context:

"Telling myself I won't go there

Oh, but I know that I won't care

Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt

This lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

There's darkness in the distance

From the way that I've been livin'

But I know I can't resist it

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Tellin' myself it's the last time

Can you spare any mercy that you might find

If I'm down on my knees again?

Deep down, way down, Lord, I try

Try to follow your light, but it's night time

Please, don't leave me in the end

There's darkness in the distance

I'm beggin' for forgiveness (ooh)

But I know I might resist it, oh

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time" 

Now, it could be riding on the coattails of Hozier's 2013 release Take Me To Church, since the lyrical style is mimicked in Daylight. But Take Me To Church, while uniquely styled and catchy, is an ode to homosexual love and an admitted condemnation of organized religion that stands against it (specifically the Catholic Church, as Hozier has said in interviews). Kushner admitted as well that Hozier was one of his musical influences, and their deep bass voices sound similar; but nothing in Daylight resembles the targeted anti-church preaching in Take Me To Church. Though Kushner is young, his way of integrating Christian-themed messaging that emanates from the miry pit of suffering without being overt or kitschy reminds me of the ethos of Flannery O'Connor, albeit in the musical world.

What I liked about Daylight when I first heard it is that it was all over secular radio--but strangely absent from Christian radio (at least on our local affiliate). Whether this was a serendipitous infiltration or happenstance, or if it was because the themes were general and human enough to get through security, I don't know. But we need more music, art, and writing that doesn't sequester itself to the "Christian music/art/novel" ghetto, but goes forth into the messy and antagonistic culture to make its mark. In the culture dying for lack of fresh air and meat that hasn't turned rancid, here it can stir sinners steeped in sin to repentance, the hopeless downtrodden to hope, and the lazy agnostic to consider the meat of existence that lives hidden behind the veil. 

There's nothing wrong per-se with Christian Praise and Worship and pop music. It's fun. It's catchy. It's "positive, encouraging." But to the extent all you eat is cereal or Kraft macaroni and cheese, you don't have a balanced diet. Sometimes you need some roughage, fiber, red meat. We need the Flannery O'Connors and the Graham Greenes and the Evyln Waughs and the Shusaku Endos to round us out and push us to get out of our pat religious boxes. 

As long as music, art, and writing pegs and markets itself as "Christian music," "Christian art" or "Christian writing," it doesn't have the circumspection necessary to deftly spread its seed in a hostile culture, but instead chooses to play paddy cake in the sandbox with its fellow cadre of believers. I commend the young songwriter Kushner for attempting to duck under the barbed wire of the secular Music Industrial Complex with Daylight; may it bring souls to question the husks they are eating with the pigs, and pull out a chair for them at the banquet feast of the Bridegroom.

Related: 

"Christian" Art or Christian "Art?"

What Makes An Artist An Artist?

When Your Wife Is Your Best Friend

 I have some crosses in my life, but my marriage is not one of them. If anything, my wife is my Simon of Cyrene helping me shoulder them.

I feel for people married to someone they don't like, let alone love. It doesn't give an excuse to look beyond the name on your marriage certificate to seek out the person "you're supposed to be with," but it does make life infinitely more burdensome. Even more so when you don't share a faith--not just the faith, but a common faith in something. If anything, liking the person you are married to--and continuing to do so decades into a marriage--almost trumps love in the hierarchy of needs, given how much time we spend with them. 

The chemistry of 'like' is different from the chemistry of love as well. When we fall in love, it is an inebriation of the senses, a temporary blindness to faults and imperfections, and an animalistic drive to mate. But the chemistry of like is much less tribal, more subtle. It operates on a wider swatch of synapses of factors to manage--what is your comfort level around them? Can you be yourself? Can you be honest? Can you laugh and have fun? Is it forced? Do you have to talk yourself into putting time in with them? Do you miss them when they're gone? Do you feel like you're missing a limb when they're absent? Whereas love is a conscious practice and an act of the will, like is an exercise in intuition, as well as a great and unexpeted grace. 

I like my wife, and she likes me. I don't want to go through life without her. As the sage says, "It is better therefore that two should be together, than one: for they have the advantage of their society: If one fall he shall be supported by the other: woe to him that is alone, for when he falleth, he hath none to lift him up" (Ecc 4:9-10). It is so very hard to be alone, and we should be conscious of this with those in our communities and parishes who have no one to pick them up, no one to call when their car breaks down, no one to talk about their day with. We should not bury our talents of companionship, but seek to compound them in charity. 

My wife and I have had the talk of what to do if something were to happen to either of us unexpectedly. "I want you to get remarried," my wife told me one night as we lay in bed together. "I will intercede for you from Heaven to find you a nice new wife."

"Agreed," I said. "No one will ever be able to replace you, of course. But I don't want to be alone, and we need to think of the kids as well."

"And I don't plan to remarry if anything happens to you," she said.

"Good, okay. I don't want you to get remarried anyway."

My wife and I got married later in life. I was twenty-eight when we met; she was thirty-five. We had both been in long-term relationships, were more or less established in life, and were on similar trajectories in regards to our faith. We got engaged after five months of dating, and were married a year later. My wife said she knew I was "the one" after the first date. I think it took me two or three weeks. 

When we were going through our Pre-Cana weekend, one of the activities was to stand under a sign that represented something that was most important to you. We were the only couple standing under the sign that read "PRAYER." Thankfully, that brick in the foundation has served us well. Each morning when we wake up, we go down to the kitchen table, put on a pot of coffee, and chat for a bit. Then we light a candle, bless ourselves with holy water, and pray--first with a morning offering of consecration, and then for the needs and intentions of those we know, for our priests, bishop, and the Holy Father, for our children, our marriage, and our day. We then read a short chapter from a book (usually The Imitation of Christ), and sometimes the readings for the day, followed by an Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be. Then we start our day. 

When my wife is not around, I do feel a sense of incompleteness. Not in a co-dependent type of way, but that I am a player short on my team. I'm a spaz on my own, and my wife needs a push oftentimes when left to herself, but when we are together I feel whole--like we can do all things in Christ who strengthens us. 

I have been in relationships when you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for things to turn sour or fizzle out. That's not the case with my wife. The sacrament of Matrimony is like the activator for the epoxy--like the wind, you can't really point to it but you know that without it your foundation would start to crack without that infused grace. Marriage is a natural good, but a sacramental marriage has the goods to be an impenetrable rock of grace.

We sometimes hurt each other, but never intentionally, and usually out of tiredness or selfishness. Selfishness is the root sin in a marriage from which all the saplings of marital vice emerge. When those sprigs emerge in the soil, we usually are quick to sit down and identify them, pluck them out, and throw them in the compost before they take root too deeply. "Bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if any have a complaint against another: even as the Lord hath forgiven you, so do you also" (Col 3:13). Forgiveness in a marriage is the practice and exercise of charity in faith.

There's a touching line in As Good As It Gets when Jack Nicholson tells Helen Hunt on a dinner date, "you make me want to be a better man." That's what it means to be married to a good woman, a best friend. You want to be a better husband, a better father, a better lover, a better man because of them.

One thing I really appreciate about my wife is she's content to just be. She's a good be-er, very Type B. Our favorite thing to do together is lie in bed and talk and laugh. Sometimes we get coffee, sometimes we watch a movie, but these are ancillary activities and not necessary. I haven't gotten tired of her yet after fourteen years of marriage, and vice versa. This is proof that God is a god of miracles. 

I am also the oldest of my siblings, and she is the youngest of hers. This can create some interesting conflicts and frustrations between us, but also is a good complementary dynamic, since I take the weight of the world on my shoulders while she is used to being taken care of. So much of marriage is being willing to care for the other--in riches and poverty, in health and sickness, for better or worse. You need to be ready for that in marriage, because nothing is promised to us--not our health, not the days, not even each other's faithfulness. 

Just as Adam was charged with being the caretaker of the garden of Eden, so too when Eve was formed he was charged with being her caretaker as well. Adam and Eve were both banished from the Garden, unable to ever return--perhaps it would have been a crueler fate were one to be banished and the other remaining in Paradise. They suffered and toiled in exile, but they suffered and toiled together. How much greater then is our redemption in Christ and the restoration of our friendship with God together through the Sacrament of Baptism and Matrimony together?

Life is very hard. Marriage can make it even harder depending on who you are yoked to, but it can also be the means by which we shoulder the burdens of life in solidarity together, making them bearable. I consider this a great unmerited grace, like having a job you enjoy as well as a good boss, or the benefits of health or wealth. You're not required to like your spouse to be married...but I'm so glad I do. 

Do We Need A 'Catholic Identity'?

T.S. Elliot once famously said, "Good writers borrow. Great writers steal." All budding writers start out borrowing from their favorite authors, parroting and trying on different styles and voices. The end goal (usually after years of trial) is to find your own voice that is distinctly yours, giving homage to your influences but no longer feeling the need to draw from them anymore. Writers are famously insecure at their core, craving affirmation and simultaneously guarding themselves while tenuously putting their most intimate thoughts and emotions on full display. I'm not sure if writers ever fully transcend that feeling of insecurity ("Am I good? Am I worthy? Do I matter? Tell me I'm good, that I'm worthy, that I matter!"). But if one does, you can be sure they are not far from the Kingdom of God.

Half the battle of being human is knowing who we truly are, not who we purport to be. But the other part of the equation as, unique to those who are Christian believers, is knowing who we are in Christ. For "in Him we live, and move, and have our being" (Acts 17:28). In the early stages of conversion, we are "putting on the new man" and shedding our old lives as a snake sheds its skin; then, we are figuring out not what to live for, but how to live. For those who have grown up with the faith of their parents passed on to them, it is a variation of this metamorphosis that involves finding one's own faith and claiming it as one's own. 

Catholics are not a homogeneous group, but there is some shared commonality in what we believe (credo), the language we use, and how we conduct ourselves. This is the social/cultural component of religious affiliation that secularists are not privy to. There is also a lot of room for a diversity of individual thought and expression, which is why I love our Faith--it respects who we are while anchoring us to something beyond ourselves.

Have you ever met someone who didn't seem to be comfortable in their own skin? There's always that humorous example of the guy who drives the big truck who may be, er, compensating for shortages in other areas. Or someone who drinks too much and talks loudly with bravado to cover up the emptiness and fear they feel in social situations. In any case, it's always a little awkward to be around, because people should, in theory, be who they are and accepted for it. But the social element of being human is a strong current, and sometimes dictates we conform rather than stand out (See my post, The Hardest Thing For A Person To Do Is Go Against Their Tribe, 18 November 2021)

We often flex what kind of Catholic we are in little ways. It's a good case study in religious anthropology.It could come out in saying "the Holy Ghost" instead of "the Holy Spirit," or calling the pope Bergoglio, instead of Francis, or in the shows one allows their children to watch on TV (or shunning entertainment altogether). Oftentimes this is just because people make conscious choices about how they want to live their lives or express their faith which is perfectly legitimate, but sometimes it's also to fit in and fold themselves in to the social current. 

These are the external adornments and expressions of our faith, in both primary and secondary matters. It's often objective and clearly defined. What can be harder, though, is tapping the well of the inner spirit where God dwells and translating the whispers (1 Kings 19:11-13). This is the realm of the subjective--the soul, the conscience, intuition, the sanctuary (where we abide in mental prayer), the commands of God that are decreed with wordless words and expected to be carried out unique to our circumstances. 

When we don't spend time in prayer, we don't spend time with the Lord. Period. And one cannot know Him or be saved who does not pray. 

But it is not enough to just pray--we must learn how to love--we can only love because He first loved us (1 Jn 4:19), and we can only love Him by the grace of the Holy Spirit. Then we are expected to love others as Christ loved us (Jn 13:24), which must be carried out in word and deed (1 Jn 4:20). We can know God because of the Incarnation. But we come to know Him through devoted time in personal prayer and immersing ourselves in his Word.

Just as God issued the primary Commandment to love God with all one's heart, soul, and mind (Mt 22: 36-40), so too must our primary identity as Catholics be in Christ and Christ alone. For Catholics, the understanding is that Christ is inseparable from his Bride, the Church, and so to imagine a "personal relationship with Jesus Christ" apart from the Church is untranslatable. The relationship of the Catholic Christian to the Church should not be as a member of an exclusive country club. As in today's reading, we are expected to be wearing garments suited to the wedding feast lest we be thrown out (Mt 22:1-14). 

But that should not be our primary preoccupation--the external trappings of our religious heritage. Instead, our focus should be intimacy with Christ, forging our identity in the furnace of personal prayer, purgation, and penance. In this kiln, we come to know who God is, what He wants from us, and how to carry it out. This is the realm of conformity to the Divine Will, not imitation of others for the purposes of fitting in with a religious bloc. If we keep our focus in this realm, it will inspire a great grace, and that is confidence. 

Any woman knows that a man with confidence fans the flames of attraction and commands response. And any man knows that a woman who knows her true, inalienable inner worth is a beauty to behold. These qualities, however, cannot be cheaply imitated any more than you can force-feed a flower chemical fertilizer in order to get it to bloom faster. When a Christian has confidence in God and his standing before God, he knows he answers only to Him. He lowers his eyes before the majesty of God, yet raises them steadfastly before men. He knows he will be judged on the state of his heart as well as his deeds, not on the length of his proverbial phylacteries or his temple offerings. 

And so his preoccupation is not on fitting in to a Catholic club, but on pleasing God and doing His will at every moment. He does not overcompensate, because he doesn't have to; he was nothing to prove, because his deeds are beyond reproach (1 Tim 3:2) and his contrition sincere. Being Catholic should be as natural as breathing.

God inspires confidence because He is trustworthy. Likewise, the confident Christian inspires others because he simply reflects that confidence of his standing before God into the world; not as a man wearing a cheap, ill-fitting shirt that doesn't belong to him, but one who wears a tasteful, tailored suit that was custom designed for him by a master of his craft. 

When we lack in this confidence in ourselves (that is, who we are in Christ), we tend to latch on and attach to a need for a Catholic or Christian identity to prove (either consciously or unconsciously) how "Catholic" or “Christian” we are to others. This may satisfy a social need, or come from a place of insecurity or overcompensation when we are unsure of who we are as Catholics/Christians. And so we seek out the affirmation in the externals, rather than entering into the cold, quiet cell of our hearts where the real work takes place, the way someone would read books about prayer rather than praying, or be preoccupied with the right cleats and gloves instead of spending hours in the batting cage. 

Remember--we will be judged on one thing and one thing alone: our charity--to God, and likewise to others, especially the most vulnerable. And we will be judged alone, apart from our communities and parishes, where nothing will be hidden and all will be revealed. The Divine Judge will see straight into our hearts at that time so piercingly that we will feel our nakedness with an unrivaled acuteness. And the love with which He does so will be so pure, so unfiltered that it will completely undo any of our feeble defenses that we were so preoccupied in keeping up in this life. We will know who we are once and for all, and see ourselves in that moment as Christ always saw us. Our true identity as adopted children of God will then be the only thing that matters. There will be nothing left to try to prove or compensate for--only Love to accept and embrace. 

Travelogues (Day 5): Wayfarers and Outposts

 

The Visitation is one my favorite mysteries of the rosary. I’m not sure why; I think because it displays the deep charity of our Lady—fourteen and pregnant, she hastens (presumably with St Joseph) on an arduous 80 mile, five day journey to visit Elizabeth, who is also pregnant with John the Baptist. Though there was probably a part of Mary who desired the unspoken understanding of her cousin when no one else would understand her calling—the communing of kin with child—there is also a part of her that wanted to help and serve as well for the three months duration she was there.

When Mary and Joseph found themselves in Bethlehem, they were wayfarers—travelers on foot. Though they were only offered rough accommodations in the stable of the inn, it was probably a relief and respite to at least have somewhere to lay their heads for the historical event. It was no accident God, in His Providence, provided for their needs. 

I have found on this two-wheeled sojourn I am on a similar gratefulness for these support outposts along the way. Today was pretty grueling—85 miles over daunting elevation gains. But mile by mile, hour by hour, like an ant making his way across a table, I made it from the foothills of New York to Scranton. This time I was staying with a Catholic family—friends of friends—who fed me and set me up in their basement. I was beyond grateful—and thoroughly exhausted when I pulled off the road close to sundown. I didn’t deserve the graces; but He showers them upon us despite our unworthiness.

Along the way, God provided for me as well. A charging outlet here, a friendly coffee shop owner there, a random backroads shrine, and amenable weather to boot. 

It would have been just as easy for me to get a motel room or Airbnb but like I said, in a previous post, the opportunity to be a blessing, and to present the opportunity to obtain blessing for those practicing the works of corporal mercy has its own merit. And to be among other Catholics—spiritual pilgrims alike in this life—is the proverbial icing on the cake, especially after two days of solitude in the woods.

May we all exercise charity when given the opportunity, and may we all have the humility to ask for it when needed.

Travelogues (Day 4): “Everyone Goes Home in October”

 Ever since I read The Dharma Bums and On The Road in high school, I’ve wanted to travel, “get kicks” as the Beats called it. Over the years I’ve hitchhiked throughout the U.S., traveled abroad, and explored off-the-beaten-path places on foot. I’ve slept in public bathrooms on the beach in New Zealand, rented rooms in forlorn towns in Maine in the middle of winter, and spent nights in lonely trail side shelters on the AT, deportation shelters in Mexico, and $12 motels in Southeast Asia. 

But the thing about being a “vagrant traveler” in this way is there is an air of loneliness that tinges all the adventure and breathtaking scenery. Though it is a generalization, most people “on the road” are running from something—either in their personal lives or in themselves. They may not have a home to go home to. Or if they do, there is abuse and neglect. Some are homeless by choice, others by circumstance. But typically, most are running from something that haunts them.

The retreat has been restful and peaceful so far, and the warm Autumn weather a blessing. I leave tomorrow at sunrise, and two days was just the right amount of time.

As I took a walk this morning and sat down to pray my rosary in an Adirondack chair by a pond on the property overlooking the valley, I thought how blessed I am to have a home to go home to. When I’m on the road, I’m no better than a vagrant on two wheels with a credit card. But back home, I am a King. I have a devoted wife and great kids. As I sat down with an empty chair next to me, it made me miss my wife, but also made me grateful that I hope to grow old with her sitting and looking out over the same valley one day.

Our Lord, as it says in scripture, had no where to lay his head. He also went up to lonely places to get away and pray, and I think that is why I do these things to try to imitate him more fully. So hermits like Saint Simeon of the Stylites left alone removed from society that is not my calling. But these periods of removing oneself from what is comfortable is not a bad thing to do periodically as well. It reminds us of what we have and what awaits us back home.

Please pray for me tomorrow on my 3 day ride back home as the mornings are quite foggy and the descents steep. I have a lot of miles to log. As Jack Kerouac once famously wrote, “the bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everyone goes home in October.

Travelogues (Day 3): Small town America, and the Power of One

 I just crossed into New York and am at a truck stop gas station about 15 miles from the hermitage. Mike D thankfully drove me part of the way up the fog covered mountain early this morning on the way to one of his painting jobs, and dropped me off at the Harford exit off I-81. This shaved off about thirty miles and 2,000 feet of elevation gain, and I was thankful because it meant I could take my time and mosey though the country side. I stopped at a local diner and had breakfast—the proprietor had no issue with me charging my battery while I ate. The locals and old timers talked about the weather and local happenings at the table next to me. 

I had some anxiety about charging along the way but it hasn’t been an issue. All you need is one outlet and sometime. 110v outlets are standard ad ubiquitous, even in the most rural parts of the country like this. It’s like in life—you just need to meet one woman, one friend, one mentor, who might save you or change the course of your life with a pointed word or an act of kindness at the right moment. I’ve charged my battery for an hour or two at diners, laundromats, gas stations, coffee shops. It forces me to have built in breaks, and only costs a nickel. I leave good tips, or buy something from the establishment.

Pennsylvania has more small towns than any state in the U.S. Bicycling is a great way to slow down and experience out great country. When I biked from San Francisco to Washington DC twenty years ago, I experienced small towns in Nevada, Utah, Kansas, and Ohio where the kindness of strangers buoyed my faith in humanity. This trip is not as extended, but it’s still neat to travel slowly through some of these forgotten towns where people still live, work, and have community. 

Leaving the friary Thursday at sunrise is an almost 100 mile leg through the mountains back to Scranton, so pray for me for safe travels. Long way from home at this point. I will be spending time in my hermitage praying and reading the scriptures, and mass with the friars. I will pray for you.

People can be good. God is good. St Joseph and my guardian angel have been watching over me. Thank you for your prayers!

Travelogues: Grace and Human Capital

 Christianity among all religions is unique because it is (as far as I am aware) the only faith tradition in which the human founder claimed to also be God. Because of this fusion of the Divine with the earthy humus (human), adherents of this religion must follow in their Mast’s footsteps: birth, suffering, transcendence, redemption. Christians cannot be so ethereal that they betray or become forgetful of their human nature and condition; nor can they be so chained to the world that the wings of flight become clipped. Training to be a Christian means learning how to accept our humanness without being limited by it. Learning this complicated waltz involves recognizing both our radical dependence on grace and Providence, but also that that grace is actuated in the interdependence we have with members of our human race.

I was reminded of this when I set off yesterday on the two-wheeled pilgrimage/journey I alluded to in my previous post. Though I’m not in the habit of quoting Thomas Merton, I think his often-quoted prayer from Thoughts In Solitude is fitting here:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. 

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

Though I have been thinking about and planning this solo retreat for a couple months, I found that the valley I have to pass though to get to the mountain top (figuratively and literally) involves a lot of my fellow human beings.

I set off at sunrise on Sunday on my electric bicycle, with a goal to reach Allentown (my first night’s destination) before sunset. I stopped for an 8am low Mass 25 miles from home at an FSSP parish, charging my battery next to a statue of (St Francis? St Philip Neri?) in the vestibule, assuring a few bystanders not to worry, “It’s not a bomb.” [nervous laughter]. I went to confession before Mass, accidentally butting in the front of the line without realizing it. I offered to go to the back of the long line when I embarrassingly learned my mistake, but the man next to me insisted I stay. Grace.

After Mass, I realize there is a bike path 500 yards from the church that takes me all the way to my next stop (20 miles away), my friend Russ from high school who offered me his home while he was away to charge my battery, eat, and nap. Grace.

After I recharge, I have another 40 miles to ride, through rolling Lehigh Valley farmland on backroads. I stop at a pizza shop after nervously running low on juice, and grateful the owner has no problem with me charging my bike outside while I eat. Grace.

As the sun starts to make its way to the horizon, and as I weave my way through the city, I arrive a little before dusk to the house of Joe—a friend of a friend who I have never met, but who graciously opens his home to me for the night. Over lasagna, Joe and I get to know each other, and though it is a little trying at times (Joe is deaf), I’m grateful for the mutually-beneficial arrangement. I log a solid nights sleep, and an out the door at sunrise again…but not without breakfast from my host. Grace.

I had a couple possible routes, but decided to take the D&L trail from Catasaqua to Scranton (90 miles), which was yet another grace-inspired circumstance. Hard-packed gravel, no cars, essentially flat with only gradual elevation gain, and towns along the way to stop and refuel/charge, it was longer but much more enjoyable with extended sections through the woods. I pass a bench dedicated to someone’s dad that has an inscription: “Sit and talk awhile,” and I get teary-eyed thinking of my own dad.

 Lehigh Gorge and Jim Thorpe were beautiful, especially with the Fall foliage. I stop in Slatington at a laundromat to charge my battery, then on to White Haven where I stop for coffee at a Dunkin Donuts with plenty of outlets. A man in the parking lot even gives me a couple eclairs leftover from the church bake sale. Grace.

Leaving town now, I connect with my friend Mike D from college. I still have a long haul from White Haven to North Scranton, but Mike ends work early and offers to meet me at the town of Mountain Top, PA, shaving off a good twenty miles for me (which was good, because I was running out of daylight). He buys me dinner and beers, and we stop by his buddy Paul’s auto shop to check out the progress being made on Mike’s Chevy’s heat coil replacement. 

Paul impresses me because he is a true master of his craft, refusing to take short cuts or do a hack job, even though it involves removing the entire steering column. He also talks with pride about his new air compressor, and I consider it an insider lesson in this blue-collar world I’m not usually privy to as a guy who lives in a white collar world. 

Mike and I talk til midnight on his porch about life, stoicism, and being INFJs. He’s a truly unique guy, and again, the arrangement is mutually fulfilling. He agrees to drive me up the mountain, again shaving another 15 miles off a 80 mile day til I finally reach the hermitage (God willing) tomorrow. Grace.

And so you see, no man is an island, no man self-sufficient. There is grace in the receiving, and grace in being the opportunity for others to give (and being blessed for it, ie Mt 25)

The Holy family took refuge in a inn stable. Our Lord spent time at Lazarus’ house, and asked for a drink from the woman at Jacob’s well. We all need each other, our human family, to make life work.

That’s it for today. Long leg tomorrow, but hope to arrive at the Friary by nightfall. Goodnight and God bless.