Let Not The Son Go Down On Your Anger

 Like all families, we have our share of happy moments as well as struggles and discord. And like many families, I more often than not selectively highlight the good things while tucking the less-than-noble ones in the back corner out of sight. We all display our best side more often than not.

Last night was one of those perfect storms of frustration and anger which opened up the sky as soon as I arrived home. Feuding siblings throughout the day as well as other derailments had my wife emotionally exhausted and frustrated, nursing the sting of perceived failure as a homeschooling mom.  She started verbally unpacking everything on my lap as soon as I walked in the door at 8pm (which, to her credit, she doesn't do all that often). 

I was wrestling with my own frustrations, having just gotten out of my first class of the semester--a graduate writing class which I was initially looking forward to but now made me question the value of the entire system of higher education. I had decided to drop the class (which I was taking as a non-degree student for personal enrichment at the public university), but wanted to talk it over with my wife but who also had no bandwidth to deal with "something else" at the moment. I unloaded the groceries and we sat down at the kitchen table so she could vent about her day.

I try to be cognizant of respecting my children's right to privacy and so I don't write about them much here on this blog. Suffice it to say that as we were discussing the matter my wife's frustrations at the kitchen table were made well known, and on the tail end of my own frustrations in the classroom that evening, I contributed something to the effect of "well, at the rate he (my son) is going with school, college many not be in the cards anyway." I knew as soon as I said it, I shouldn't have (whether or not it was true or not), even if I meant it in the context that he might be better off anyway given how left-leaning the universities are. Unbeknownst to us, my son was eavesdropping in the next room and heard every word. 

We moved into damage control mode and sat him down at the dining room table, while the two of us continued to wrestle with our own feelings of failure and dejection--both with our children and with one another. We know that only a father who disciplines, loves (Heb 12:6) and so while owning what we said and standing behind it apart from the poorly-spoken comment about college (knowing he had heard every word and heard it as he was not capable of getting into college), we took away certain privileges and told him he needed to start doing his work. We exacted this punishment without a heavy hand, but were firm and for his benefit. He kept his head on the table, and said nothing but if I can surmise, all he heard in translation was "I'm bad. I'm stupid. I'm unloved." 

After he went to his room, my wife collapsed into the living room armchair and attended to various text messages that needed responding to. Not having the chance to discuss the matter, or my own day, I waited five or ten minutes for her to look up. When she didn't, and figuring she was done for the day and checked out (and as many husbands may feel, that I was going to get nothing but leftovers anyway from what little mental or emotional energy she still had left), I put on my boots and headed out for my scheduled 11pm holy hour, inadvertently slamming the door a little too hard on the way out. As I was getting in the car the front door swung open and words were...said. I pulled out and a series of texts coming from a place of frustration and hurt started hitting my phone as I was driving to the church. I ignored them, on purpose, but they seared the heart.

As I entered the chapel a half hour early, I dropped to both knees, turned off all the lights, and took a seat in the back, not feeling worthy to do so up front or even hold my head raised before the Lord.  The large stained glass of the young Virgin was illuminated by candlelight and rose up behind her Son exposed on the altar. I couldn't offer my heart on there because of not only the irreconciliation with my son, but now my wife. "So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift" (Mt 5:23-24). I prayed the rosary asking for help but feeling soiled, and after a half hour or so then lay on the row of chairs and closed my eyes.

As I drifted off to sleep, an image of the Virgin materialized. She was clothed in white and lay submerged face up in water reminiscent of Hamlet's Ophelia in Sir John Everett Millais' painting of the same name. As she sat up from the sea as if from sleep, the light rose with her and her arms extended into the air as if at the Presentation. She was releasing the radiant infant Jesus from her chest into the air at a sixty degree angle. 

As the babe was assumed higher and with each cubit away from her, he aged year by year: from a baby to a boy, to a young man and then a man. All the while, he was extending his arms as if preparing to hug his mother. In the vision, the slow gravitational pull which separated him slowly from her slowed to a halt on the ascent. 

The Virgin, now separated from her child having handed him over to the Heavens, watches as two sets of arms materialize and grab the wrists of her son's extended arms. To her utter and knowing heartbreak, she sees they are not to draw him higher home, but to stake them to this earth. They stretch the right limb taunt and secure his quivering and noble hand to the plank and strike a nail, then move to do the same with to the left. The Virgin is sitting up at the waist on the surface of the sea, unmoving yet keeping her arms extended to embrace her son miles away as he suffers and cries upon the cross. But he is miles away; all she can do is watch. She presented her son as a babe at his birth to the Father in the Temple, and now witnesses him as a man embracing his destiny, writhing in full display above the distant shore. 

I rise from sleep around midnight, my arm asleep and my shoulders sore from the wood of the chairs. My 12am replacement has come to relieve me, and I make my way outside from the chapel into the cool night air. I am hungover from the gall of unforgiveness still in my heart and in the smoldering hearth of those asleep at home. We let the sun go down on our anger, and now it has set in stone for the night. I climb into an empty twin bed in one of the kid's rooms and go to sleep.

When I wake up in the morning, I make coffee and a feeble morning offering. I go to the living room, sit in the armchair; my wife comes down a half hour later, the air tense and in stalemate. Eventually things thaw slowly and we start the cold engine of communication. One by one, we rebuild the broken pillars of miscommunication, of anger, of things said and unsaid. We melt closer, forgive by exercise of the will, and get ready for the day.

When my son came down, I thought all would be well. He would be sorrowful, contrite. I waited for him at the bottom of the stairs to embrace him, make things good. But instead, it was if I was a ghost of Christmas past; invisible, not really there. There was no overt anger on his part as he rounds the corner into the kitchen...just memory. 

As the family makes lunches for the day and go over the scenes from Plutarch on the day's agenda, I feel a sense of great inversion. How many times have I ignored and turned my back in spite, brushed by the Lord on the way here and there, who waited for me there in the armchair to make all things new. And now, as the father who both sinned and was sinned against wanting to make things right but having to relinquish my son to his own timing, his own destiny, I remembered the puncturing of the Virgin of the Sea's heart watching the film of salvation history play out, alone in the theater with no one to turn to in her sorrow. I prepared my heart to accept this restitution as my family gathered their bags to leave; the home felt colder inside than out.

I set up my laptop at the kitchen table, a statue of the Virgin with outstretched arms on the bay window mantle in front of me, resigned to spend the day working under the heavy blanket of matters unhealed for the next eight hours. When I turned to get some more coffee, my son was there at my left side. "I'm sorry, dad" he said. 

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said what I said." 

"It's okay. I know."

And that was that. Forgiveness exchanged, the balm of healing applied. I told him to have a good day and that I would see him when he got home. The front door, still shuttering from being slammed so forcefully last night, clicked closed quietly. The sun that had set in indignity was the same sun that rose this morning and the pall that was cast by the sower of tares had been thrown off. Even though the sun hid under the thin grey blanket of clouds and a warm January fog had set in, everything seemed white as the snow.

Housekeeping

 

Since I've been getting some new readers to the blog after the release of my book Wisdom and Folly: Essays on Faith, Life, and Everything in Between (Cruachan Hill Press, 2024), I thought it might be helpful to do a little introduction to myself, my blog, and highlight some general housekeeping and navigation items that readers may benefit from.

Firstly, I have had some questions about why the Blogger profile for Pater Familias refers to the author as "Paul." "Who is Paul?" some people ask, "I thought your name was Rob." Paul is my moniker here; it is both my middle name and in the spirit of the Apostle. I originally adopted this pseudonym to allow myself a degree of anonymity; I sometimes write on contentious issues while maintaining a degree of freedom to do so. I do not work for the Church or a diocese, have no social media presence, and also work my day job in a fairly liberal environment. 

Alas, the anonymity has not really been possible as more of my writing has been published at places like Crisis magazine, Catholic World Report, One Peter Five, and other Catholic publications, and all my author bios link to this blog. Not to mention the publication of my recent book. Nevertheless, I have prayed and thought about it and have decided to keep my Paul pseudonym to if nothing else give me the inner freedom and patchwork detachment of myself from my writing. Hard to explain, but I think it works. 

If you benefit from the content here, I invite you to make yourself at home. If it's not your cup of tea, there is no shortage of other Catholic content and commentary out there. I would like to think, however, that I offer something of value here; or at least some spiritual food for thought.

Secondly, a technical note. Blogger mobile (access from smartphone or tablet) is a different interface than the web (desktop/laptop) version of this blog. Unfortunately, some of the features on the desktop version that I really like do not carry over to the mobile version. 

What this means is that if you are accessing the blog from your computer, You will be able to see topical organization of posts (there are over 800!) which aids in navigation. I write pretty consistently, 2-3 posts per week with some periods of downtime when the Spirit wants me to rest.

Also, there is a "Get Posts By Email" option on the far right column where you can get each post delivered to your email. For people who don't check the blog regularly, this is helpful for many people so they don't miss new posts. Just enter your email and you'll get new posts delivered right to your inbox. Easy! Unfortunately, this feature doesn't appear on mobile, so if you want to get email posts, fire up your laptop and knock it out there. Same goes for the contact form--it only appears on desktop, not mobile. But you can always access the web version on mobile by going to the bottom of the page on mobile and clicking 'view web version' to access these features. 

Thirdly, I don't monetize this blog. No ads, no monetary revenue. Everything is free. "Freely you have received, freely give," our Lord says. I value the freedom to write what the Spirit leads me to write over anything I may earn from my writing or hawking to an audience; that is a personal decision I have peace with. There's nothing wrong with a writer earning his keep, but I have a day job and our family is doing fine so I don't find it is something I am compelled to leverage for the almighty dollar. So, enjoy freely, and freely share.

Lastly, for those who are new, welcome. I write from the Northeast U.S. I am in my early forties, a happily married husband and father of three. I love my wife, my best friend. I am also a convert to Catholicism, though Byzantine by rite. My conversion story on EWTN can be found here. I write primarily about faith, prayer, family, marriage, chastity, manhood and fatherhood, evangelization, the state of the Church, liturgy, and discipleship. My family and I have been attending the Traditional Latin Mass for the past five years, but I do not necessarily consider myself a traditionalist in the strict sense of the word. I will take grace wherever I can get it and wherever God chooses to give it and not spurn it. I consider myself a kind of beggar in that sense, like Lazarus at the foot of the table. I'm not a doom-and-gloomer; I maintain much hope for a renewal in the Church. But it will take deep faith, prayer, and work. 

I value orthodoxy of belief, charity of discourse, earnestness in prayer, generosity in service, and reverence in worship. I value comments to the blog, and encourage you to not be afraid to comment on posts as long as it is charitable and in good faith; I try to respond to them all. We all need one another. I appreciate you being here and taking the time to read. 

Finally, if you do end up purchasing the book, please consider leaving a five star review on Amazon if you enjoyed it after reading. That would be a big help. For a little background on why I wrote it, click here for this interview at my friend Susan's blog.

God bless, and enjoy!

What It's Like To Be An INFJ Catholic

I take all things with a grain of salt, including personality type indicators such as the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. But I do find them interesting and somewhat helpful, the way someone with various mysterious ailments would find a medical diagnosis helpful in explaining why they do the things they do or feel the way they do. Hippocrates put forth the idea of the Four Temperaments in the 5th century BC and many Catholics find this useful in regards to their spiritual life. So using a personality type indicator for personal insight and self knowledge is not at odds with our faith, provided we regard it as a servant and not a master. 

The MBTI identifies 16 personality "types" using the following identifiers:

I/E (introverted/extroverted)

S/N (sensing/intuition)

T/F (thinking/feeling)

J/P (judging/perceiving)

I took a test years ago and as it ends up I was an INFJ (introverted-intuitive-feeling-judging). From what I understand, this personality type comprises 2-3% of the general population, which can be a challenge sometimes. I saw a comment once that seemed accurate: "They understand everyone...but no one understand them. The INFJ personality truly is a major gift that comes at a major price." Some of the more peculiar character traits of this type are:

-All-or-Nothing syndrome

-inability to settle

-perfectionism (this isn't a big one for me)

-solitude vs friendship

-contradiction

-writers not talkers

-seeing both the big picture and the details

-empathetic/compassionate visionaries and doers

God made us all different for a reason, and we all have gifts and talents to share with the world; being cognizant of our weaknesses while capitalizing on our strengths can help with that, in my opinion. 

I won't go through point by point on these particular INFJ traits for myself, but I've noticed a few things worth mentioning with how it relates to my prayer and community life, as well as how I relate to God.

First off, I think the more we understand the energy aspects of introversion vs extroversion the more experts are recognizing it is not a binary distinction, but rather a spectrum. Personally, I have an introverted core with an extroverted shell, what my wife calls an "extroverted introvert" or ambivert. This actually can come in quite handy because I like talking with new people and being social, but get very turned off by small talk and typically do hone in on one person in large groups to talk to (ideally, about something meaningful). My social battery also does need to be recharged with solitude, with is necessary in the creative process. But I do tend to vacillate between the two: shorter periods (1-3 days) of prayer and solitude are great, but more than that and I'm climbing over the monastery walls; I miss people when I'm around them, but then when I am can get my fill very quickly and desire the solitude again. It's....complicated, haha.

The All or Nothing syndrome is accurate. One silly example is when I was doing the Carnivore diet briefly for a couple days I was already looking up where to buy a whole butchered cow (thankfully, I pumped the brakes since that diet didn't last long). What's helpful to realize, spiritually speaking, is that virtue is the wisdom between extremes. It can also be a challenge because if I'm going to do something, I want to do it completely and well; otherwise, in my mind, it's not worth doing at all. Maybe that's where the perfectionism trait comes in (though I would hardly consider myself a perfectionist in strict terms).

The contradiction trait is probably the hardest one for me--not so much for myself, but because I feel very misunderstood and lonely a lot because it is hard to understand where I'm coming from, or what I really mean when I write. I feel like I'm threading a needle a lot of times with holding this string of tension together, sometimes with two seemingly incongruent ideas (that do relate to one another, however). 

I do get very annoyed with people who have lofty ideas but don't carry things out; this is interesting, because I feel like I have both. My wife is a 100% "be-er" and I, by contrast, am a "do-er." I'm as much pragmatic as I am idealistic. When I started a men's prayer and fraternity group at our parish, I had a vision for it, but was very clear with the other men that I started it with that it needs to have structure and consistency to work. We got it off the ground pretty quickly, and it's been going strong for a year now. So, I'm as much concerned with the "forest" big picture as I am about the practical details ("the trees").

In terms of prayer, I think my personality type does lend itself to Adoration, particularly. I'm with my best friend, the Lord, in Adoration, 1:1, in a "feeling" capacity where I don't have to think or be structured. It's a mystical-bent, but very practical as well in terms of the hour spent in this kind of prayer. 

I trust my gut. A lot. I don't analyze things like an engineer or a data scientist, but go with intuition 99 times out of 100 with regard to decisions. Also, I have a strange ability to get "vibes" from people within a few moments of meeting them: whether that's a "bad man" vibe or a positive one that draws me in. I've learned to trust this, and it has not let me down often. It can be a little weird sometimes though, because I've had instances when I really get to know someone quickly and they don't even realize it, so you can sometimes anticipate the things they are feeling or are going to say without them always knowing it. 

With regards to writing, it is as much a burden and curse as it is a blessing. It is how I feel most comfortable expressing myself and working out my thoughts on things, because I have time to think about what I want to say and can articulate it; I am ok in interviews, but I would never host a podcast or anything like that. So I just try to use it for God's glory and as an oblation, rather than navel-gazing or strictly journaling. 

In terms of career, I'm grateful I fell into the field I did because it tends to suit my personality well. I do a lot of data/practical things, but also have a counseling and marketing role, so this adaptability in introversion/extraversion is an asset there. I do a lot of different things each day, which I like (inability to settle, maybe?) I have to feel people out when I'm speaking to them about their programs of interest, where intuition is a boon, as well as the ability to listen rather than speak. And my job is a combination of solitude and interaction, which I like, as well as mission-driven (rather than corporate). So, I'm thankful for all that. 

Knowing ourselves is not the end-goal--we know ourselves so we know who we are in Christ and how we can best serve him given the way we were fearfully and wonderfully made. Not to mention understanding others not as "bad" or "difficult," but simply endowed with different personality traits. And we compliment each other as well when we are different--whether that's in a marriage, a friendship, the workplace, or our parishes. God knew what he was doing when He created us! As St. Francis de Sales said, "Be who you are, and be that well."

Thomas a Kempis and the Modern Devotion

The Imitation of Christ is the most widely read and best-loved religious books in the world, aside from the Bible. As early as 1450, more than 250 manuscript copies had been produced; by 1779, no less than 1,800 editions and translations and today, it is inestimable how many have been circulated.

A #2 all-time spot in history (behind only the Bible, no less) for a book that is six hundred years old is nothing to sneeze at. But what makes a spiritual classic such as The Imitation so timeless and enduring? Even more curious is that while we typically vet works through their authorship (St. Thomas with the Summa, St. Augustine with his Confessions, St. Teresa with the The Interior Castle, etc), Thomas à Kempis is a rather obscure figure in history and his religious monument in The Imitation seems to stand confidently on its own two feet apart from his authorship. He is not recognized as a canonized saint--and yet his insight into and expositions on the Christian spiritual life has formed countless others who have been crowned with glory in the Church Triumphant. "That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should," as prayed in the Litany of Humility.

Born in Kempen, Germany, Thomas Haemerken entered religious life at the monastery of Mount St. Agnes near Zwolle in 1406 and was ordained a priest seven years later at the age of forty-three. But prior to this period he had, as a young boy of twelve, become associated with a community of believers known as "The Brothers of the Common Life," followers of what was referred to as the modern devotion. This was not a religious order, but an association of the faithful determined to live their lives in imitation of the the lives of the early Christians; followers lived in their own homes and their chief aim was to deepen the religious life and promote sound learning as a cure for the religious laxity of the day. They also referred to their way of life as the "modern devotion" to distinguish it from a the pretentious mysticism adopted by many during this period. 

In some interesting parallels, religious life and culture in Germany in the 15th century was not too different from our own today--confusing, tumultuous, and rife with dissensions both in the Church replete with anti-Popes and the monasteries alike. Utrecht was under interdict by Pope Martin V because of episcopal appointment disputes between the citizenry and the Holy See. Thomas' order chose exile rather than disobedience to the Pope and relocated to Harlingen in 1429.    

The influence of the modern devotion of Thomas a Kempis was not without criticism. Though approved by Pope St. Gregory XI in 1376, they were regarded as dangerous reformers by some who were threatened by their sincere way of life. It is also reminiscent of the situation of Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade, who in the early 18th century seemed to flirt dangerously close in Abandonment to Divine Providence with the heresy of Quietism concerning his idea of the "sacrament of the present moment." The potential for censure of Caussade's writing was compounded by the fact that the Jesuit Miguel de Molinos wrote The Spiritual Guide in a similar vein a few decades prior, and yet actually did fall into this error (unlike de Caussade) and was jailed by the Inquisition for practicing heretical doctrines.      

Others saw the vision and way of life of the Brotherhood of modern devotion as overemphasizing piety while downplaying doctrine and even intellectualism, so that there was, as Fr. Philip Hughes notes in History of the Church "nothing specifically, necessarily, Catholic" about this piety. He goes on to add,

"Once the direction of so delicate a thing as the devotio moderna passes into the hands of those unlearned in theology, all manner of deviation is possible. It can become a cult of what is merely naturally good, a thing no worse--but no more spiritual--than, say, the cult of kindness, courtesy, tidiness and the like. And what the master, unwittingly, is soon really teaching is himself; he is the hero his disciples are worshipping."

Perhaps this is the grace given to à Kempis, for The Imitation of Christ is far from elevating the self or the teaching of the author above the work. If anything, the fact that everyone knows The Imitation but so few know anything about its author is perhaps a testament to this divine shrouding from a cult of personality. It may also be why The Imitation has such widespread appeal to religious believers of all walks of faith--though thoroughly Catholic (and written for monks, by a monk), the intentional emphasis is on distrust of self, piety and devotion, and backed up with over 850 scriptural passages rather than a narrow doctrinal or overtly Catholic framework. Like Abandonment to Divine Providence and its practical, every day mysticism, The Imitation of Christ places its emphasis on the fundamentals at the expense of other things that are no less important but yet are not given primacy of place. This does not make it less Catholic or less orthodox, though one could critique it on those grounds. 

I'm sometimes criticized in my writing for either being too trad-centric or not traditional enough. I find that like a Kempis and Caussade, it can be a tenuous needle to thread and a tough tightrope to walk in the current culture in the Church today where you can get dangerously close to the edge of an abyss. Many in our own day and age, otherwise good and orthodox Catholics, have inadvertently fallen into heresy and error when it comes to what they espouse about the the pope, the papacy, and authority. Others have gone overboard in mystical and apparitional deception, while others have just straight up walked away from the Faith. It's not the 14th century, and our circumstances and challenges may be different, but they are no less difficult to navigate; and not just for me, but all of us.

We have to remember that the vast majority of believers in the Church today are not theologians or professional religious or mystics. They are lay folks trying to navigate during confusing times in both the world and the Church when both orthodoxy and Catholic identity is in crisis. We need a kind of modern devotion for our age which does not center on cults of personalities or esoteric movements but gets to the heart and root of things, which is not beyond any of us--a devoted prayer life, the Sacraments, works of charity, scriptural reading, reverent worship, deep trust, and bold witness. It is modern because we live in the modern world while living out an ancient faith and imitation. It is devotional because of the One we serve.  

The Imitation of Christ and Abandonment to Divine Providence are different spiritual classics, obviously, but written with a similar ethos. If I could only have two books on my book shelf, it would be these two because more than any other works, they speak to me in my state of life and there is a reason why I go back to both of these books again and again. I'm just a common layperson here on the ground, but I know the hope of Heaven is not beyond me. They also help to remind me more, in my own writing, to try to get out of the way as much as possible. I'm not always good about that, but I'm learning and trying hard. After all, the work is what endures and becomes the monument, even after the author has passed away. 

Related: an interview in which I talk about why I wrote Wisdom and Folly and my vision for a "Third Way" of living out the Faith (just so I don't have to write a separate post)

An Exciting Announcement

I've been writing since I was fourteen years old--thirty years now. I started publishing my writing for public consumption on the now-defunct MySpace in the early 2000s, and this blog (Pater Familias) exists now as the third edition iteration of two previous blogs: Rob's Fobs (May 2006-June 2011), and Wisdom and Folly (Dec 2015-). In totality, I've written and published over 1,400 digital essays on faith, life, and everything in between in the past eighteen years. It's been for me as much as it has been for you, my readers.

As St. John says in scripture, "this world is passing away...but the one who does the will of God lives forever" (1 Jn 2:17). I think the same can be said about our enamored relationship with the digital landscape. The medium is accessible, cheap, easy, convenient, and far reaching with a low bar of entry. It allows one to shovel the coal furnace with the fodder of content en perpetua, in a kind of Sisyphean fashion with no beginning and no real end. But it has reached the point where--at the decades long (loving) nagging of my wife--the need to ensconce that pile of digital literary coal in the tangible amber of a fossil has arisen. The TLDR version of all this, in the words of my wife: "I want a book....and you're going to write it."

A testament can be defined as a tangible proof or tribute, an expression of conviction, or an act by which a person determines the disposition of his or her property after death. And so after many years, and eight months of compiling and editing, I'm happy to announce that this testament has fossilized in the publication of Wisdom and Folly: Essays on Faith, Life, and Everything in Between (Cruachan Hill Press). For anyone who is interested, you can order from Amazon here.

The 389 page volume is a compilation of eighty-six of my very best essays written over the last eight years, divided into nine topical sections: On Friendship, On Discipleship, On Marriage, On Family, On Manhood, On Faith, On Prayer, On the Church, and On Writing. Each essay is easily digestible and able to be read independently of one another, with plenty of "meat on the bone" for meditation sans fluff and filler. You'll definitely get your money's worth.

A little teaser from the Foreword, written by my friend Kevin Wells:

"For those unfamiliar with Marco and the countless hundreds of articles and blogs he’s written, you’re in safe hands. Why? Each of these essays stems from where the Holy Spirit led him in prayer. Marco is intensely devoted to meditative prayer, scripture, spiritual reading, and ordered living. He is the least arrogant man you will ever meet, the kind of neighbor who seems to sit in wait for you to ask for a cup of sugar or a stick of butter. Those who know him say he is a happy old soul with an unbudging devotion to Christ and His Church.

This book will lift you into the richness of storytelling and into the soul of a man with a zeal for God. His unique perspectives on modern Catholic life and the jarring manner of his candor will stick to the ribs of your memory and conscience. My advice, as one who has read Marco for years now, take in an essay or two with your morning or evening prayer, close your eyes, and meditate on where the Lord “took you” through Marco’s words. In time, you might see where a particular essay/s in Wisdom and Folly has become a personal invitation from your Heavenly Father to see a blind spot, convert, and to come to know Him in a more intimate way."

You may be a faithful reader of Pater Familias for years now, or you may just be discovering this blog. Either way, for those of you who pine for something tangible, something meaty, something beyond the digital content of the age which is here today and forgotten tomorrow, I'd encourage you to consider ordering a copy and sharing either this blog post, or the order link, with others.

More importantly, if you do so and enjoy the book, I would be grateful if you would be willing to write and submit a 5-star review on Amazon, as reviews carry a lot of weight (especially for those unfamiliar with the work). My hope is that this compilation will fortify Catholics in their faith, lead unbelievers to question their trajectory, and in all things glorify God for His goodness and the gift of faith He extends to all who seek it with earnest and humble hearts. My hope is simply that God will use this work of heart for His purposes. 

I'd also like to thank those who have faithfully read this blog over the years. I will continue to write here weekly, as I always have. I have never monetized it, nor sought anything except to glorify God and do the work of a disciple of Jesus Christ investing the meager talent he has afforded me rather than burying it in the field (which, admittedly, I have been tempted to do from time to time). I desire to stay true to that purpose, and appreciate your prayers for purity of heart and intention. I hope this book will be a testament to that work for years to come. 

"If I Die, I Die": The Illusion of Safety

I have always been fascinated by the church in China. But many Americans may not be aware of the unique circumstances of Christianity under the CCP. For one, there are over 57,000 state-sponsored churches in China as part of the "Three Self Patriotic Movement" (TSPM). These are essentially Communist-controlled puppet churches, counterfeits that hold the State above the Kingdom of God. Meanwhile, those who refuse to submit to the CCP and live out the true faith are ruthlessly monitored, interrogated, tortured and jailed. The former are considered "safe" churches; the latter, undoubtedly "unsafe."

Here in America, we are familiar with the slogan "Be safe." It was the mantra of our government during the COVID era, when safety became our golden calf. It can be argued there was a degree of prudence and uncertainty among the citizenry and local authorities early on when we weren't sure what way this was going to go; I'm not here to judge that or play Monday morning quarterback.  

A few years ago I read the book The Heavenly Man about evangelist Brother Yun witnessing to the Gospel in Communist China. It was one of the most inspiring books I have ever read, and his unwavering faith in Christ and the power of the Gospel is truly remarkable. It shouldn't be, for he is simply a believing Christian who lives out his belief (and is willing to be jailed, beaten, and tortured for it) as we all should. And that belief wields power--the power of the Gospel and the miracles promised to those who believe.

In trying to learn more about the plight of underground Christians in China during that time, I came across a sermon online by another inspiring witness to Christ, Pastor Wang Yi. Pastor Yi was sentenced to nine years in prison for "inciting subversion of state power." Unlike the church in America, which is able to pontificate about intellectual, theological, and abstract concepts, the Church in China is afforded no such luxury. What they are concerned with is, for one, the practicalities of how to take a beating for the faith.

What I found so powerful about this literal believer in Christ was how he inverted this idea of "safety" in one of his sermons (How I Approach Police Interrogations 面对询问时我会怎么做), which I have transcribed below. As you will see, he is less concerned about his physical or worldly safety, and more concerned with what he calls his "spiritual safety":

"I once told a few brothers and sisters that in my early Christian years, every time I entered the police station I was afraid. But I said I learned something that I wanted to share with them. I want to share it with you all, too. I don't know whether or not you'll find it helpful.

Do you know what I've learned? When I'm being interrogated at the police station, I put myself in a spiritually safe situation. 

What do I mean by a spiritually safe situation? I mean I put myself in a physically unsafe situation. This sounds kind of abstract. What I mean is that when I'm in the police station, for the sake of safety, I say everything upfront. I immediately arrive at the point of no retreat. Unless you beat me, unless you arrest me, we have nothing more to talk about.

If I discuss things with them little by little, if I prolonged our conversation, I will be influenced by them. I will feel spiritually unsafe. They will get to my head through some roundabout ways. Then my spirit will weaken, and many of their words and actions will affect me. I don't want to be in this kind of spiritual danger. So in the very beginning, I clearly and directly address the point of conflict in the starkest possible terms so that there is nothing more to discuss. Then there are no more questions left for them to ask me. All they can do is beat me or arrest me. 

I say to them very clearly, 'If I'm arrested today, I'm prepared to stay here. Unless you want to charge me with a crime and arrest me, I have nothing more to say. I don't dispute the Communist Party's rule over this country. But Communism is evil. This is what I believe. 'Do what you want to me.' 

As soon as I say this, there is no turning back. I've discovered that this puts you in more physical danger. But it also comes with a great benefit: it increases your spiritual safety. So this is what I do every time. When I do this, I know that I'm spiritually safe.

Jesus also did this. Jesus often, through one word, forced all of Israel, all of the Sanhedrin, all of the Pharisees into a position where they had to kill him. Either they had to believe in him or they had to kill him. As C.S. Lewis said, you must either fall at his feet and call him Lord, or you must kill him. Because there is no middle ground, no safe zone.

So let me encourage you all, brothers and sisters: When you are facing persecution, when you are facing pressure because of your faith, don't give yourself too much wiggle room. Articulate the most controversial point as early as possible, and then, with Esther, say, 'If I die, I die.' It is often those who say, 'If I die, I die," who live in the end."

As Christians who are comfortable waxing about liturgical nuances online or ranting about the vax or extolling the lofty ideals of Thomistic philosophy or complaining about this or that, I think it's important to be brought down to earth from time to time by witnesses such as Pastor Yi and countless other Christians outside the U.S. who are not afforded the "safety" of freedom of religion and freedom of speech, but who nevertheless count the cost and take their beatings singing in a gospel simplicity that, quite simply, should put our faith to shame. Theirs is not a theoretical but a fundamental faith...not an abstract cost, but a real and painful one. But it is not in vain, either. For Christ truly promises life to those willing to lose it...and these Christians are indeed willing. 

When we hold on so tightly to the illusion of safety--especially when it comes to staying safe in our faith--it's like dousing the charcoal with lighter fluid and never striking a match. And persecution for these Christians is the flint that ignites their faith; a deep faith that becomes immovable, unshakable, even against Goliaths like the CCP. These are the men and women, brothers and sisters, we should be seeking to emulate. To say with them in deed, spirit, and solidarity, and without theological embellishment, "If I die, I die." For it is those who profess and embrace that death in paradox who truly do live in the end.

The Clean and Empty Stable

I've been working from home since Christmas, though I'm going back to the office next week. Call me old fashioned, but I'm not into the 100% remote thing. I need some balance; thankfully I have a 3/2 schedule (3 days in, 2 days remote) which is the sweet spot, in my opinion. Gets me out of the house and also gives me some flexibility on my WFH days. Of course, working remotely has its perks but is not without its challenges, especially when kids are young and can be wild and crazy when you have meetings and things. The house is also a mess and hard to keep clean consistently.

Still, I can't fathom at this point in my life the mentality of those DINKs that have been in the news a lot--Dual Income, No Kids (typically Millennials) who choose intentional sterility and financial leveraging over any kind of inconvenience children may bring into their lives. A true short-sighted and self-centered poverty and social contagion that has the aura of health and wealth. Reminds me of the proverb: “Where no oxen are, the trough is clean; but increase comes by the strength of an ox.” (Prov 14:4). Exhibit A, your Honor, and Exhibit B. I'm not gagging, you're gagging.

The silence when the kids leave the house with my wife is a nice little respite sometimes; but after an hour or so, the silent noise of emptiness begins to crescendo. On the flip side, when I am downstairs working and I hear the kids upstairs with their mom all piled on the bed laughing and talking--it's a sweet white noise to know there is life in this house, the currency of family. I try to soak it in, hold on to it as a cached memory for the times in our future when it will get quiet, empty, and yes, a little lonely. 

Sure, it gets crazy at times now. We may have more money in our checking account if we had forgone them kids. But the cutting, icy burn of that emptiness when you have prioritized things over people I imagine would catch up to you. No wonder we are such a lonely society. 

Here's the truth: you can never really "afford" kids and while I can sympathize with these Millennials who are finding it hard to live in the current economy, I also suspect that even if all the economic factors were in their favor, many would still choose not to have children, or limit them. Because we are an anti-life society of consumers. Not just here in the U.S., but globally. 

These DINKs are supposedly living their best life. Contraception, of course, has made this familial derth possible; a harbinger of the kind of dystopian future that we are reaping with our rejection of the natural and moral law of fruitfulness and right order and self-deference. The DINKs seem to have it all. Peace and quiet. A clean house. Complete autonomy. A perfectly planned life. 

What a pity, what a poverty, to never hear that song of children playing upstairs, of a home filled with messy life and expensive laughter and costly love. "As the sound of the playgrounds faded," she said, "the despair set in. Very odd what happens in a world without children's voices."

Infidelity

I have always written about my relationship with the Church as a marriage. When I "walked down the aisle" at the age of eighteen to be wed to the Bride of Christ, I knew even then that it was for life, for better or for worse. Receiving the Eucharist for the first time in that sleepy Byzantine church in the country was a sweet virgin consummation of that union. When I have betrayed the Lord and defiled the spirit of God within me, he always took me back as a Gomer to his breast in the Sacrament of Penance and forgiven my sins. I have told countless people about my love for the Bride, how She helped me to live my best life and made me want to be a better person. And not just a better person, but a saint.

I've been in this marriage for over twenty five years now and I have to tell you, it's not always an easy one. I never thought I'd get to a point in my relationship with the Church where I feel like a battered spouse who has been lied to, beaten, gaslighted and infected with an STD while still remaining faithful. My shame when I go to market, where I hear secondhand of yet another instance of disgrace, has become something I have sadly become numb to and now expect. 

This can't go on much longer. Lord, how long? (Ps 13:1). I have been faithful. I have maintained my joy even in my shame. I have told everyone about you and where your Truth may be found. I have not thought of leaving or trading up. But I'm getting worn down. And yet leaving is not an option. Til death do us part.

One of my favorite parts of being a father is seeing the innocence of my kids maintained. Sure, they have their own sins and shortcomings, but like Christ to Nathaniel, I can look at them and say, "behold, a child in which there is no guile" (Jn 1:47). How I long to say the same about my bride, my Church. And yet I cannot. Day after day, morning after morning, I am faced with a new revealing and uncovering--of guile, of deceit, of duplicity, or perversity, of things done in the dark when I have been out in the fields laboring and extoling the virtue of my spiritual spouse. Remaining faithful has become not an impetus of desire, but a sheer act of the will through gritted teeth. I remain faithful not because I am beaming with pride with regards to my first love, but because I am willing love and fidelity when it does not come naturally. I have even wondered at times if I am fitting that definition of insanity, to do things over and over again expecting a different result--that my spouse will change.

But I know I cannot change the Church; I can only change myself. I feel like that abandoned husband who takes his kids to Mass every Sunday while his wife spits vitriol at me on the way out the door. Sitting in the pew, week after week, expecting to hear from the pulpit of Rome a different message, an encouragement, a modicum of authentic repentance for her sins, that I am not alone or a fool for remaining faithful. But I do not. What I do, to stay faithful to my vows, is seek out other abandoned spouses trying to make sense of their marriage to the Church and grinding it out. I even try to be a cheerleader at times for my brethren, telling them to tie themselves to the mast of their faith, stay faithful, offer their bodies up in prayer and pious deference and sacrifice, tithe their hard earned pay to the family checking account even while their spouse squanders it all in dissolution and sordid payoffs. What else can I do but be that smiling spouse--knowing what is happening but trying to hold it all together for the sake of the family, telling the kids their Mother will be home soon while knowing full well where She is. "I may be faithful, but don't take me for a fool." 

When I was dropping my son off to basketball practice around 5:30 last night, all was dark. This is typical for the long, cold month of January of course, but it always takes a degree of endurance to gear up for the months ahead where it is more of the same, day after day. It becomes harder to get up day after day and keep your spirits up, so maybe this post is as much a reflection of the season as it is of my spirit. 

Last week I was chatting with a young man who had decided to give up on his marriage and had separated from his wife, the mother of his three children. It was sidewalk-counseling for marriage, and as anyone who has done pro-life counseling knows, it is a real, heartbreaking grind, and the definition of "work." 

He had his reasons, some valid and some questionable. But what it came down to was a typical settling response: "I don't love her anymore. And I want out." He saw himself as better off without her than with her. The thought of enduring what seemed like insurmountable obstacles for years was nothing but darkness, with no light at the end of the tunnel. Never mind the effect such a divorce would have on his children, or the financial consequences, or the betraying of vows. He did not want to be a part of this team anymore, and there seemed to be nothing I could tell him otherwise to get him to reconsider.

Because what does that reconsideration mean? It means a lot of work, a lot of faith in someone who has betrayed your trust, and a lot of trust that that flame of "first love" was still there somewhere, flickering and struggling not to be extinguished. When you have not only lost faith in your spouse, but faith in the institution and sacramental power of marriage, there's not much keeping that thread from snapping and cutting your lifeboat free from the ship. 

To answer the question, "Why should I stay married?" is not too different from "Why should I remain in the Church?" Was I crazy, misinformed, blinded when I first made those vows? If I would have known what was in store, would I still have made them? And so you start to think, by way of wily temptation, that you have been tricked, the terms of the contract withheld from you. "You deceived me, LORD, and I was deceived; you overpowered me and prevailed. I am ridiculed all day long; everyone mocks me. Whenever I speak, I cry out proclaiming violence and destruction. So the word of the LORD has brought me insult and reproach all day long" (Jer 20:7-8). Your faith has done an inter-departmental transfer to preserve the company: I no longer have faith in you, but I have put my faith in those vows if nothing else. Even though you have been unfaithful and appear to no longer stand for what you once stood for, I will remain faithful. I will honor those vows.

The Catholic can not divorce Christ from his Bride, the Church--such a faith is nonsensical. And yet it demands an incredible amount of trust and fortitude that they are mystically intertwined and to divorce one is to divorce the other. For Christ is the innocent, the first love, the pure intention, the immovable rock at the heart of the Church. And though we are wed as Catholics to the Church, we are also the cells that comprise Her Body--which is consummated to Christ. We have Her sins held up to our face day after day, have our noses rubbed in it by the world and by her vicars alike, all while enduring her abuse. We look at the floor and burn with shame at the dishonor brought into this marriage, struggling to hold our heads up. The worst part is not the sins and failing, or the lack of remorse--the worst part is that She seems to not even believe in her first love anymore.

And yet the power of this mystical sacramentality, this grace of pure faith, allows us to see through her stained veil, through the soot of her many sins defacing the purity of her mantle, to Christ who remains hidden in her folds. For Christ and his Church, like man and wife, are indeed "one flesh" that can endure no separation. Each day, we recommit our faith to Christ pure and undefiled, hidden and besmirched under such sordid sheets, to consummate ourselves to his sacred heart. Even when the Bride no longer reflects the glory of the Bridegroom, we trust that he will make all things new if we remain faithful and endure to the end. As in a marriage, because we do not have a legitimate out, but only rationalizations for unfaithfulness, we are forced to find a way through even when we are brought to the brink of not having any options. "If we are unfaithful, he remains faithful, since he cannot deny himself" (2 Tim 2:13). 

Christ has called us "friends," friends he has laid his life down for. But we are not friends with the Church, for friendship is always conditional. Our lives as Catholics and our relationship to the Church is one of spousal union, marriage, even when she has disfigured herself.  The Church will hurt you. But to cut ourselves free from this union is to set ourselves adrift, like a man who leaves his wife and enjoys a short-lived reprieve from suffering and shame in perceived bachelorhood. But the apostate, the man who abandons his spouse, will always be a haunted man. And so we stay. And suffer. And endure the shame of infidelity. Praying for the grace to be faithful...til death do us part. 

A Catholic Venn Diagram

 Just having a little fun last night thinking about the relationship between the three "types" of Catholics in the Church today and the curious overlaps between them. Not sure if it works well, since I don't have a mathematical/statistical brain so it was the best I could do.

Comments are open, and I'm happy to engage!

Catechizing My Father

It began with a text on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception:

“Dad, don’t forget to go to Mass today. It’s a Holy Day of Obligation. There is a noon Mass at St. Jude’s, FYI. Remember, intentionally missing Mass on a HDO is a mortal sin.”

Four hours later, my father responded, 

“Just got back…it was packed and I arrived with a minute to spare, but one of the ushers found me a seat. I feel good thanks to going. 

Question, though: Is missing a Holy Day of Obligation a mortal sin if you are aware of it and choose to ignore it or a venial sin otherwise (not knowing it and missing it)? Analogous to not knowing a law and breaking one is cause for arrest”

I took a breath and said a quick prayer for pecking out a reply,

“Grave offense, but mortal sin depends on three conditions: 1) grave matter; 2) full knowledge; 3) deliberate consent. If it’s serious, you know, and do it anyway, it’s a mortal sin.”

A few moments later, he responded again:

“A lot of these words are subject to interpretation. I would like to meet you sometime privately and discuss the topic further.” 

Five days later, my mom, wife, and daughter caught an early morning bus to New York City for the day and my dad asked if he could stop by to see my two boys and drop something off for me. “Of course,” I said, “come on by.”

He arrived smiling, recounting almost getting in an accident with an 18-wheeler on the drive over to my home, and gave his grandsons hugs. “Have a seat, dad” I told him in between firing off work emails, “I’ll put some coffee on.”

We went into the kitchen, just the two of us, and he laid his copy of the Baltimore Catechism that I had sent him over the summer on the table, as well as a frayed black prayer book the size of an index card. 

“My dad gave me this prayer book,” he said reflectively, fingering through the yellowed pages.

“Yeah?” I asked, and then inquired about his religious upbringing as a child. Did he go to CCD? Did his father teach him the faith? 

“Well, my father would go to the Divine Liturgy in the city on Sundays,” he began “but he never took me for some reason. There was a boy in our neighborhood who I knew, and I would go to his Episcopalian…what would you call it...Sunday school to, you know, learn the basics. It wasn’t until I turned twelve that we had a Ukrainian Catholic chapel in Roxborough. So after that I started going there with my dad and a priest there would give lessons.”

I knew my grandfather died right before my dad graduated college at age twenty-one, and that always left a hole in his heart that was never really filled. My grandmother--who was Russian Orthodox--struggled with depression and my father was an only child, so I had to assume that he stopped going to church around that time. Like my grandfather and grandmother, my parents’ marriage was one of mixed-faith: my mother was a life-long cultural Episcopalian, my father a baptized-but-uncatechized Eastern-rite Catholic. You can’t give what you don’t have, and so it was no surprise that my brothers and I were left to our own devices when it came to religion: we had no CCD, some sporadic Sunday school and baptism in the Episcopal church as infants…and knew nothing really about the person of Christ of Christian doctrine. Nor were we forced to go to church…and so we usually didn’t. It was only at the age of eighteen, after years of living as a secularist that gave way to a dramatic conversion at the hand of grace, that I came to know Jesus and came into the Catholic Church of my own volition.  

I was piecing together the fragments of my father’s religious childhood formation, and things were starting to make a little more sense in the current context of our text exchange. I decided that rather than shoot the breeze and talk about what was more comfortable (the weather, the stock market, car maintenance, etc), I’d cut to the chase and talk about the only thing that really matters. I asked him if we could say a quick prayer together, to which he obliged, and begged the Holy Spirit to give us the grace to guide our conversation, confident in Christ’s promise that “where two or more are gathered in my Name, there I am in their midst.” 

I could see, at 73 years old, that he was essentially an infant when it came to faith formation. “I was always taught,” he said with a far-off look in his eyes, “that good people go to Heaven, and that bad people go to Hell.” I winced a little. It wasn’t uncommon—I know lots of people of my father’s generation who hold the same erroneous thinking. He went on to say that he was taught (presumably, by the priest as a child), that mortal sin was “heinous, serious”—but never anything more than that. I think what followed is that mortal sin was equated with bank robbers and murderers, and that since my father wasn’t either of those two things, he was in the clear. Things like neglecting to attend Mass, and other sins of commission and omission were never even on the radar.

“You know, dad, it says in the bible that ‘there is no one who is good, not one.’ I don’t know how to say this, but what you were taught is…it’s not right. At least not completely.” For the next two hours, as my father sat quietly listening, I explained the basics of justification: that we are born into sin, washed clean in baptism, and saved by grace through Christ’s redemptive work on the Cross. That it is not in faith alone that we are saved (as sola fide Protestants maintain), that we need works to accompany that faith (for faith without works is dead, as St. James writes), and how mortal sin severs friendship with God and the life of grace within us and is easier to commit than one may think. 

At one point he got a concerned look on his face. “I mean, how can one get to Heaven when there are so many sins one could commit? No one is perfect.” I gently told him about the great mercy extended to us in the Sacrament of Penance, that mortal sin severs that friendship with God and must be restored through Confession and that as long as we have breath in us we can always turn to God in repentance. He fingered an Examination of Conscience pamphlet I had given him a few months ago. “See,” I pointed, “if you are unsure what may be grave matter, this will help you examine your conscience and serve as a guide.” We went through the Baltimore Catechism together, or at least one section of it (on sin).

“Ok, then what is purgatory?” he asked. Purgatory, I told him, is purification after death, and it hurts like hell but is not forever; that it is also a great mercy of God extended to us sinners so that “none are lost.” “All this is a lot to take in,” he said somberly, his voice a little unsteady. “I’m seventy-three years old, and it’s not easy to change, especially when you’ve been thinking and believing a certain way all your life.”

“Dad,” I said to him softly, “I want you to be saved. I want you to be with us in Heaven. God can supply the grace to change. He gives to all who ask. Look at the Good Thief on the cross. He was able to join Jesus in Paradise, given the grace of final penitence. As long as you’re still alive, there is still time. But once you’re dead…that’s it. Game over. No re-dos. There is a Heaven and there is a Hell, and we get to choose, through our free will, what path we want to walk. It’s impossible for us, but all things are possible with God. And Hell isn’t just for the Hitlers and Salins.”

I pulled the Miraculous Medal I wear around my neck out of my shirt. “This is called a sacramental. The Church gives us these various sacramentals as a conduit of grace to help us do the impossible by faith.” I recounted to him how my wife and I were converted away from the mortal sin of using contraception by way of the Miraculous Medal, and how the Mother of God poured out graces from her Son to help us change course. “I have some extras in the dining room…I’ll give you one before you leave. It may be just the help you need.” 

I knew it was a lot to take in all at once—that the Church in the 1960’s through now had kind of dropped the catechetical ball and left men like my father in a sea of subjective theological heterodoxy and catechetical ambiguity; I reassured my dad that he was not alone or unique, but that many people of his generation simply weren’t taught the faith well, that bad teaching and fluffy filler got mixed into the mortar to weaken the foundation. “But it’s never too late to learn, dad.” He nodded thoughtfully.

When my five year old came in to tug on grandpa’s sleeve so that he would watch him ride his bike, that was our signal that I had to get back to work and my dad had to get back to, well, whatever retired people do with their days. “One more thing, dad.”  He turned. “Just like you can’t have a healthy marriage with mom without talking and listening and spending time with her, you can’t have a relationship with God without prayer. Can you commit to taking an hour out of your busy schedule some time in the next couple weeks to spend before the Lord in Adoration? You don’t have to do anything or say anything…just give God the hour. Can you do that?” 

“I can do that.” 

Great, I said. The church down the street from you has it on Wednesdays from 8:30am-8pm.

“What’s today?” he asked. He never knew what day it was.

“Today is Tuesday,” I noted. “How about I join you tomorrow, say eleven o’clock? The church is right down the street from my office. I can go there on my lunch break.” 

“Okay,” he responded. “Eleven o’clock.” 

“Great. It’s a date.” 

As I walked my dad to the door, he told me a story of praying to St. Jude when he was twenty-one years old and completely despondent after graduating college at unable to find a teaching job, despite sending out applications everywhere. He took out a taped and folded prayer card of the saint to show me. “I had prayed that prayer in the car when I was out, and when I returned home my mother told me someone had called wanting to bring me in for an interview. I was so…happy. I couldn’t believe it.”

“That’s awesome,” I said smiling, adding, “Dad, if God can answer prayers like that for your material well-being, think how much more He can do for your spiritual well-being, which matters even more? Ask and you shall receive; knock and the door will be opened for you. It’s the only thing that really matters in the end.”  

“Okay, then” he nodded as we got to his car in the driveway. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. Eleven o’clock. See you there.” I hugged him, and he hugged me back tightly.

I’ll see you there, dad.

Shaken, Not Affirmed

About fifteen years ago I was driving to work and came inches from being sideswiped at an intersection. I'm sure my Guardian Angel was working a double that day. When I got into my office it took me an hour or so to calm down--I was visibly shook up from almost being T-boned; my day could have looked very different were something not have stopped me at that intersection before pulling out. Death smelled my cologne, but I was still here. Everything seemed brighter that day.

It occurred to me  that I can't for the life of me remember the last time I came out of Mass feeling that way. And that's an indictment, not a positive. I have never heard a homily from the pulpit that stayed with me, that I couldn't shake, that kept me up at night. Most of what we hear every Sunday and Holy Day is safely forgettable. Why waste your time reading an easily forgettable book; you want one that you throw across the room. 

I don't know why that is apart from the fact that it is easier to deliver middle-road sermons--just enough to make us pause for a moment while still allowing us off the hook so that we don't have to actually change when we leave Mass, all the while avoiding any blow back from parishioners that might not like what you have to say.  

I remember a friend and fellow member of our parish telling me he went to a retreat that Fr. Isaac Mary Relyea was doing at the local Society chapel. He went because his wife told him he should go. He hadn't been to Confession in over thirty years, and yet the opportunity presented itself at this retreat and he moseyed into the confessional. Fr. Isaac reemed him a new one--and it was precisely what he needed to be awoken from his self-assured slumber. He's straight on the narrow now. He got shaken, not affirmed.

In the car on the way home from a friend's house today I had the scriptures on audio as I do when I'm driving. I was listening to the Letter to the Hebrews and the Lord spoke thus,

 

For whom the Lord loveth, he chastiseth; and he scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.

Persevere under discipline. God dealeth with you as with his sons; for what son is there, whom the father doth not correct?

But if you be without chastisement, whereof all are made partakers, then are you bastards, and not sons.

Moreover we have had fathers of our flesh, for instructors, and we reverenced them: shall we not much more obey the Father of spirits, and live?

And they indeed for a few days, according to their own pleasure, instructed us: but he, for our profit, that we might receive his sanctification.

Now all chastisement for the present indeed seemeth not to bring with it joy, but sorrow: but afterwards it will yield, to them that are exercised by it, the most peaceable fruit of justice.

Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees,

And make straight steps with your feet: that no one, halting, may go out of the way; but rather be healed. 

(Heb 12:7-13, DRV)

And verses 26-28 (in the KJV version, which is all the library had for the NT):

Whose voice then shook the earth: but now he hath promised, saying, Yet once more I shake not the earth only, but also heaven.

And this word, Yet once more, signifieth the removing of those things that are shaken, as of things that are made, that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.

Wherefore we receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved, let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear:

When Christ expired, the temple was shaken and torn in two. This is what should happen to our souls and consciences at the Holy Sacrifice, by the nature of the sacrifice and the Word, but also by the sermon from the pulpit which is usually nothing but a wasted opportunity to burn and sear the sheep. 

Priests typically see their flock for an hour once a week, and they have ten minutes within that hour to reset a wayward trajectory--and 99% of the time, they let it fall fallow. They let the hands of the parishioners stay comfortably in the lap, rather than shake them so that their hands drop and their knees go feeble (v. 12). Without chastisement, you have no true father--you are a bastard (v. 8). 

I don't care what it is, use it--the sin of contraception, fornication, co-habitation, presumption, receiving Communion in a state of mortal sin, lack of Confession, gossip--there's no shortage of comfortable sins 90% of Catholics are sitting like babies in a warm pool in. Most of your flock are affirmed and gently cajoled and asleep at the wheel careening off a spiritual cliff getting ready to be ejected from the mouth of the Lord (Rev 3:16). For God's sake, use that ten minutes to shake and beat them like a true father. If they are walking out the same way they came in, you are not doing your job, or at least not all of it. 

I make the analogy that since so many people are blind and asleep, you need to throw cold water in their face to shock them, then split em open. When the temple is torn in two, lob the seed of the Gospel in with the might of your arm so that it drops down in a deep recess. When they come to and are sewn back up by the world, that seed is going to sprout from somewhere deep--it may not be that day or that year, but when God calls it forth. Your job is not to sprout the seed--it's to rototill with your sermon, split the earth and sow in the furrow. 

Be a father; don't tell them what they want to hear, or what won't rock the boat, or what will keep the donations flowing. Split them open, shake the hell out of them, let them leave. We get enough affirmation from the world, we don't need it from the pulpit. You shake them now so that they will not be shaken later. For the Lord will remove those things that are shaken, that those things that can not be shaken will remain (Heb 12:27).