No One Is Putting Money On Me

It's been a couple months since my first book was published. My publisher and I did as much promotion as we could, running the circuit online and getting the word out and reviews procured. Here's a sampling of reviews and mentions: 

Stumbling in the Footsteps of Christ: Rob Marco's Wisdom and Folly (Kevin Wells, National Catholic Register)

What Is A Man? What Is A Good Man? What Is A Hero? (Patti Armstrong, National Catholic Register)

Wisdom and Folly: An Interview with Author Rob Marco (Susan Skinner, Veil of Veronica)

A Radical Third Way of Discipleship (Guest: Rob Marco) (Eric Sammons, CrisisPoint podcast)

Wisdom and Folly: Everyday Thoughts of an Ordinary Catholic (Roxane Salonen, CatholicMom.com)

Wisdom and Folly by Rob Marco (Phillip Campbell, Unam Sanctam Catholicam)

The last I checked with my publisher, the book has sold about a hundred copies. Not a hundred thousand. 100. And that is mostly friends and family, I imagine. No body has even bothered to write a review yet, though at almost 400 pages some people may still be trying to finish the book, haha. How anyone ekes out a living writing is beyond me. I know of nothing that demands so much of a person and compensates so little in return. 

I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly was a reality check to know that despite writing a quality book that speaks to people's hearts, is relatable and honest, appeals to both men and women, and seemed timely and pertinent, it was truly a failure to launch. I'm ok with that, since I think in my heart of hearts I have never wanted to be "big" in anyway. I prefer a close circle and degrees of anonymity and freedom over prestige and compensation. So, I pretty much got what I have always wanted. 

Still, it's a little embarrassing to pour so much of yourself into your kind of opus, have it be well written and relevant, do some national marketing and exposure, and STILL not get any traction in a wider audience. 

I heard Louis CK, in reflecting on his comedy career, tell Theo Von recently: 

"A lot of it is just...you caught a wave it was good timing. There's some people who are incredible but they weren't *that* at the right time. that's one of the biggest challenges in comedy is just staying good when nobody is paying attention and continuing to progress, because it's like this search light that maybe finds you sometime, and if every time it finds you you're getting better and better, then somebody in the world will go, 'this guy's a good bet.' They'll start putting money on you."

I think that's just the reality. I never caught that lucky wave, and it's quite apparent that no one is putting money on me and saying "this guy's a good bet." Or maybe it's just the nature of the democratization of voices that the internet has produced--so many hundreds of thousands of good writers that there are no real long-lasting standouts. 

Again, I'm ok with this. I am a rich man already in friends, family, faith, and purpose in my life, in want of nothing. But I just think it's kind of a fools errand to think it's ALL just hard work and talent and dedication and grinding to "make it" big (whatever that means). If you never hit that wave, you're just another drop in the ocean that gets drowned out in the noise. Sheer luck and timing plays a part, whether we want to admit it or not. 

Again, all okay. Writing is my little hobby, nothing more, and if I set myself up to believe otherwise, the disappointment would be more acute I think. The book was mostly a legacy endeavor for my wife and children anyway. I'm sure a lot of "famous" people would envy the anonymity and freedom to go where and do what I want I have as an essential nobody in the media world. I'll thank God for that, then!

Our Death Penalty

I have been permanently trying to kick my addition to nicotine for over two decades. I know it says in scripture that a just man falls seven times and rises again, and that is true, but it is also indicative of the kind of stronghold such pernicious habits can have on us. Matthew Perry, the Friends actor who died recently, spent over $9 million dollars on his recovery and was in and out of rehab fifteen times. That is a testament both to a relentless desire to be free and an indication of just how deep the claws of addition can sink into one's spirit. 

Nicotine addiction is relatively innocuous in the grand scheme of things. It isn't psychedelically compromising and doesn't typically lead to succumbing to a life of breaking-and-entering. I know guys who use smokeless nicotine to hone their concentration and give them a little carrot during their workday. Some are able to keep it at 3mg a few times a day; I was never able to regulate with that kind of self-control. I was regularly ingesting over 100mg/day however I could get it in my system. 

I always hated the effeminacy of this chain of addiction, like a baby who can't live without his paci to soothe him. I also took to heart over the years the words of St. John of the Cross who related our attachments to a string--even the thinnest of threads--that keeps a bird from flight. I knew when SHTF during the end times, I did not want to be chained via detachment, because as Fr. Ripperger notes, it is our attachments during the Chastisement that will brutalize us when everything is taken away from us. 

It's always an interesting interplay between the work of grace and the effort of the will when it comes to these attachments to the world, the flesh, and the devil. St. Augustine countered the Pelagians, who downplayed the role of grace, on this very topic in the 4th century. I knew I wanted to be free of this habit and chemical dependency, but I didn't know how; I had fallen so many times--even when I had gotten free of it for upwards of a year--and always fell back into it one way or another. So, my will was resolved, but I needed grace to make it stick. Thanks be to God, I was able to go cold turkey two months ago off the drug and haven't been back to it since. It was brutal, not something I want to repeat, ever. Each day I have to not smoke, not dip, not chew--that is the will at work. But it was grace that saved me. Unfortunately, our memory of our slavery often fades the farther out from the fleshpots we find ourselves. Which is why we pray for our daily, not our weekly or yearly, bread.

I cite the chain of addiction during this holiest of holy weeks to highlight the fundamentals of our Christian faith during this season: our death sentence due to the Fall, our irreconcilable separation from God due to that disobedience;  the necessity of Christ's death on the Cross as atonement for our sin; his ransoming and redeeming of our fallen nature. 

It's hard to really comprehend that for those years from the Fall to the Resurrection, our ancestors were in a great darkness. There was no light, for the light had not yet come into the world. There was hope, but it was just that--hope that the Mashiach would return to bridge that divide and redeem Israel. It was a true slavery to the virus of sin which had not yet received it's antidote. 

If you know what it feels like to be enslaved--whether that is to a substance, a behavior or habit, or even literally as a human being--you know that your being saved comes from outside the self, for you literally cannot free yourself from your bondage--whether because of the strength of your captives or the weakness of your own nature. It is easy to lose hope, and to give in to the overdoses because, well, you will never be free, the Devil whispers to you. There are stoics among us, and the human spirit has an incredible capacity for perseverance, but even the most resolute of will have their natural and supernatural limitations.

Christ was not bound by such limitations, nor by the bonds of death. He subjected himself to the bounds of human flesh, humiliation and subjugation, but it was by Christ and only Christ alone who could be our "Superman," our savior, on whose divine integrity and human will the fate of all humanity depended. We were dead in our sin, with no hope--NO HOPE--of being reconciled back to the Father apart from Christ. That kind of debt, that Christ paid with his blood, can never be repaid. All you can do is marvel, shudder, and weep at the gift of a new lease on life that has been given you. 

Easter is the triumph of the cross, but it can only be arrived at via Golgotha. When you know the depths of your depravity, and the tenuous thin line that keeps you from the worm that never dies, you learn to lean on the strongman who conquered death by death, rather than your own strength. That is faith, prayer, trust in the God who does the impossible, who stooped so low to enter into our dark prison and take our place to free us, who paid our ransom with the highest cost of his life. We had no hope apart from him, for there is no other name under which we are saved. Christ came into the world, and we know how the story ends. That is the substance of our faith, one we have to go back to again and again to tell the wonderful story of our redemption.

But that story is not over. We are always walking that tenuous path, dodging thistles and arrows and traps to derail us from the narrow path. We have to keep our blinders on to see the Cross, always, or we are completely lost in the dark. We have been set free, but it is US who often wander back to our prison cells out of curiosity or longing. The horror of the door clicking locked behind us can lead a man to despair...but it is the WILL which we must exercise to continue to say YES to God, and NO to sin. Sin is slavery and death. The law of God is light and life, and a life that God desires us to have in abundance. 

This Holy Week, remember your death, your slavery, and the ransom paid for you to have life. Do not forget, but constantly recall the slavery you were saved from and which constantly calls you back to itself. Your Easter will be that much sweeter for it when you remember the dankness of the cell that held you. 

Lent For Losers

When I was around seventeen years old, I was competing in a multi-day stage bicycle race. I was a fairly competitive cyclist as a junior, but I'll never forget cresting one particularly grueling climb and seeing my dad on the sidelines. I pulled over briefly and told him I was having a heck of a time staying motivated to push through, both in this race and my cycling career in general. "Well, if it's too hard, you can always just quit," my dad told me reassuringly, or something to that effect. That was all the invitation I needed. We went home together that day, and the relief I felt washed over me like an ocean. 

I love my dad and how he is always there for me, like the father of the prodigal son. But my wife and I joke about that formative scene in my youth and how it set the stage for future folds. "Well, if it's too hard, just quit," we often joke in various scenarios we encounter. It's funny but kind of embarrassing as well. I want my kids to know they're loved and supported, but I don't want my kids to be quitters necessarily.  

I've noticed some of the greatest "achievers" in life were those who got the least affirmation when young. Elon Musk as one example has this kind of super-human ability to create and execute, but like many top-level achievers, I suspect it comes from a father-hole or a need to compensate or prove someone wrong. When Musk returned home after being hospitalised, his father Errol Musk berated him for getting beaten up by bullies. Errol Musk called his son a “loser” and took the side of the bully who beat him up. We all have those instances from our adolescence that shape us, for better or worse. 

I've written before that I believe the character trait of stubbornness will greatly aid a Christian in his spiritual life, especially were should he be faced with martyrdom. I'm not a stubborn person; I cede easily, so it's something I need to learn or develop. One inspiring saint in this regard is St. Eulalia, who was born in the 3rd century in Spain. At twelve years old, stubborn and bull-headed, she would sneak out of her parent's house in the middle of the night in search of pagans to defy. She would spit at their idols and defy their threats of torture in order to gain the red crown. Or St. Crispina, who refused to sacrifice to idols, was called stubborn and insolent by the proconsul, and was martyred.

One of my favorite modern disciples (hopefully on the path to sainthood) is Fr. Walter Ciszek, who grew up in the hard-scrabble coal country of Pennsylvania and had a tough-as-nails character. This character would serve him well as a priest. However, when he joined the Jesuits and found himself in a Siberian prison after sneaking into Russia to minister to Catholics there, he similarly learned a lesson in relying on his own strength when he was put to the test. From WAU:

"Initially, Fr. Ciszek wasn’t too worried. He was innocent, after all. And he had "a great deal of confidence" in his ability to stand firm against any interrogator.

His strength, discipline, and habits of prayer certainly helped. But Lubianka wore him down with its constant hunger and isolation and the all-night interrogations, with their mind games and agonizing afterthoughts. After a year—brutalized, drugged, threatened with death—Ciszek did what he had been sure he would never do: He signed papers that gave the impression he had been spying for the Vatican.

Afterward, burning with shame and guilt for being "nowhere near the man I thought I was," he finally faced the truth.

'I had asked for God’s help but had really believed in my ability to avoid evil and to meet every challenge. . . . I had been thanking God all the while that I was not like the rest of men. . . . I had relied almost completely on myself in this most critical test—and I had failed.'

The interrogations continued, and Ciszek fell into black despair. Terrified, he threw himself on God, pleading his utter helplessness. Then, in a moment of blinding light, he was able to see "the grace God had been offering me all my life."

'I knew that I must abandon myself completely to the will of the Father and live from now on in this spirit of self-abandonment to God. And I did it. I can only describe the experience as a sense of "letting go," giving over totally my last effort or even any will to guide the reins of my own life. It is all too simply said, yet that one decision has affected every subsequent moment of my life. I have to call it a conversion. . . . It was at once a death and a resurrection.'

We are now entering into Holy Week on the eve of Palm Sunday, it is no accident that we see the weakness of the flesh highlighted in Matthew's Gospel. If you are like me, you find strong affinity with St. Peter in the courtyard, who of course was just prior to his thrice denial of Christ was brazenly cutting off the ear of those who opposed him in the garden. This has not been an especially fruitful Lent for me--I'm not necessarily failing spectacularly, but I am certainly eating crow in "adjusting" my various personal Lenten observances--quite frankly, because I found them too demanding. Like my father at the bike race, we lovingly reassure ourselves all is well and all is well and all will be well, while we quietly slip out of our hair shirts a few weeks early and go off in search of some soft foods. "I will die (to self) with you!" we proudly profess on Ash Wednesday. When Palm Sunday comes, we self-consciously look around to see who heard us.

One of the most disconcerting parts of lost opportunity when your Lent is more or less a failure is that we fail in loving God more. "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God" (Ps 42:1) David waxes. Isn't this the purpose of our observances of the three Lenten pillars--to intensify that longing, that panting for God: in our prayer, in our hunger, and in the poor? 

But even when we have cut corners left and right, we can still finish strong. We should recognize, however, when it comes to the grace of final perseverance at our death, this is complete grace and depends nothing on our merit--even that merit we pride ourselves of obtaining during these sacrificial periods of penance and testing.

What happens when you miserably fail that test? You throw yourself on the mercy of grace, since this is what your salvation depends upon. We don't obtain perseverance through the will alone, but as St. Alphonsus notes, "All those who are in heaven are there for this one reason: They prayed, they asked for perseverance. All those who are in hell are there for this one reason: They did not pray and they did not ask the Lord for the grace of final perseverance." If nothing else, it reminds us that we do not save ourselves of our own merits, and how truly weak we are--helpless without grace.

If you're like me, you are salvaging what's remaining of your Lent to try to finish strong, while realizing it's all a kind of child's play compared to what our Lord endured in his Passion: our little successes, our massive fails, our meager penances, all the while accompanied by complaining and rationalizations for the slightest of discomforts. But we must remember that our Lord never held Peter's sin of denial over his head: it was a setback but not the sum of his discipleship, and one Peter never forgot either since it was the antidote to his brazen bravado.  

If you're having an excellent and fruitful Lent, I commend you; give thanks to God for the grace. If you're like me and having a less-than-stellar month of lost opportunity full of lackluster prayer and feeble fasts, I feel you. Let's try to recognize that in our Christian faith, we do not earn the love of the Father through our works and accomplishments--it is freely given and freely received, an unmerited grace. That doesn't mean we shouldn't push ourselves to pray more, fast more, give more....but even when you haven't, God doesn't love you any less. If anything, he is close to the brokenhearted and rich in mercy for the weak and helpless.

You may have bitten off more than you can chew a month ago, but you still have a week before the darkness-turned-dawn of Easter. Recommit yourself to the Lord, as the just man falls seven times and rises again (Prov 24:16).  Embrace your failures because they are your teacher--teaching you not to rely on your own merits, but on grace. And give yourself a little grace too--if you ate the chocolate or the burger or whatever. You're not a loser, just a human being. God still loves you. He forgives you, runs out to meet you and interrupts your rehearsed script to throw a robe and ring on you. He wants you to die with him, and die well, so that you may live. Final perseverance does not depend on you, but rests with a very competent and loving God who wants to shower you with that grace. 

Let him.

The Passion in Light of the Annunciation

 There is a moving scene in The Passion of the Christ when Mary, the mother of Jesus is walking in the Praetorium while her son is chained in prison below ground. At a certain point she pauses, almost with a kind of mother's sixth sense, and drops to her knees while resting her ear on the cold stone floor. The camera pans down, and we see Jesus chained to a pillar, raising his eyes sensing his mother directly above. If children are tied to their mothers, who bore them and gave them life, in a natural sense, how much more so would the Mother of our Lord have a supernatural bond with her son even when separated by physical time or space?  

As we begin to round the corner out of Lent and enter into Holy Week, I would like to propose a concurrent meditation--that of Christ's terrible Passion on Holy Thursday in the Garden of Gethsemane with his holy mother's Annunciation thirty-three years prior. For in both scenes, we see the fate of humanity hinging on two fiats--one human, one divine--but manifested uniquely in each historical setting.

Catholic tradition maintains that the Annunciation--the announcement by the angel Gabriel to Mary that she would conceive and bear the Christ--took place in Nazareth in Mary's home (it is interesting to note that the Eastern Orthodox tradition places Mary at the town well in Nazareth for this event, but for the purpose of this meditation we will maintain the Catholic tradition). For women, the home is the heart and sanctuary of a mother. We can see in Proverbs 7 that the tempestuous woman goes out from the house, "not bearing to be quiet, not able to abide still at home; Now abroad, now in the streets, now lying in wait near the corners (v. 11-12). When the angel Gabriel appears to Mary in the sanctuary of her home in Luke's gospel, he startles her with the proclamation, "Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you." And she was "greatly troubled" (Lk 1:29). The angel, in turn, assures her not to be afraid.

When women find out they are with child, there can be a mix of emotions--from overwhelming joy and hope to trepidation and fear. Now, we know Mary was conceived without Original Sin, but the general consensus among theologians is that as a human, she did not possess the Beatific Vision that her son had. The great and holy virtue of the Mother of God lies, I believe, in her unwavering faith and trust in God. But that faith and trust did not answer all of life's questions for her. In fact, after the angel makes the announcement and drops that bomb on her to which she offers up her fiat of faith and trust in that which she does not understand, he departs (Lk 1:38). 

In the garden of her home, and in the arena of her heart, I am inclined to believe that she wrestled with the implications of this divine assignment--what does this mean? What do I do now? How will this work? How is this even possible? She must have been cognizant of her low stature and standing, for in her canticle which follows her visit to her cousin Elizabeth, she proclaims in great faith her own lowliness (Lk 1:48), and that the mighty will be cast from their thrones and the likes of those lowly will be lifted on high (v. 52). Her trust in God, who reveals His plan to her not in advance but on account of her faith with only that which she needs to know at each moment, is the secret to her preservation from sin. God with us--Emmanuel--is her living reality, her nine month perpetual communion, in which the Messiah homes in the refuge of her womb until his appointed time. During that time, the Christ is nourished by her human body and Mary in turn feeds off the spiritual communion her son growing in her belly provides. There is not a moment in which she is separated from him--physically or spiritually--while pregnant.  For the alcoholic in recovery, he knows his only chance of sobriety can at times depend on seconds or minutes, not months or years. If he looks too much beyond those small steps, the temptation to wilt under the weight of the long road stretching before him becomes too much. I have to think that Mary, recognizing the great weight of her divine assignment while not fully understanding it, similarly takes these small steps in faith and trust the way a car on a dark road illuminated by headlights only sees the three feet at a time in front of it. It is in the present, not the future, that faith lives. Faith waits for instructions, faith assents, faith obeys and trusts. 

When we see the anxiety of Mary on the return to Jerusalem when Jesus is separated from the caravan. This is a natural, human emotion for a mother who has lost her son; but it would also lend credence to this idea that Mary is not a kind of omnipotent, all-knowing creature able to keep cool detachment in all circumstances. Just as she was "greatly troubled" at the annunciation and also experienced anxiety at losing her son, so too I think Mary wrestled in her home after the Annunciation against the natural factions of her mind--the "what ifs," the doubts, the questions, the not-knowing. She counters all of these 'demons' in a sense in the way her lowliness gains the highest stature in the divine economy: absolute, unwavering faith and trust in God. Her verbal fiat is her human "yes," though it was not as if the angel Gabriel led with a question "Do you assent to be the Mother of God?." Her ongoing fiat until she is taken up is that unwavering faith and trust in God that must re-assent each moment in the darkness--in the cloud of unknowing. 

Now let us turn our meditation to that of her son in the Garden of Gethsemane during his Passion on Holy Thursday. Jesus is confined in a semi-private space in the grove he enters into of his own accord "to pray" (Luke 22:41). Whereas his mother was greeted in her sanctuary with the words of Annunciation by an angel, and we can presume her monthly bleeding at that time stopped, Christ instead is subjected to the brutal test he tells his friends with him to pray to be spared from and his mental anguish is so intense that he sweats blood, a seemingly impossible scenario for a man. He is only comforted by an angel after the qualified fiat--"Not my will, but yours be done" is preceded by his heartbreaking admission of not wanting to go through what has been preordained for him before the beginning of time: to drink the chalice of redemptive torment. 

Whereas Mary has the comfort of kin in her cousin Elizabeth in their miraculous respective pregnancies, Christ's friends fail him at his hour of need. The women embrace and commune; the man Christ finds his company asleep from grief. He is alone with the Father who ordains the very weight that threatens to break his back: is the Father there? Does he provide the comfort Jesus seeks? For hours he seeps blood from his pores in a gripping fearfulness, an anxiety not of unknowing as when his mother sought him, but of KNOWING what awaits him. His Passion is not in the questioning of "what does this mean?" or "how can this be possible?" but of knowing EXACTLY what needs to be done to accomplish the divine will by nature of the beatific vision. 

We can almost imagine the hero Mashiach, in a moment of complete and gripping human fear, wanting to be back in the womb of his mother--with her and nourished by her and spared from such suffering. For he knows--by the Beatific Vision--his fate, which causes such agony. And so there is a kind of hypostatic union in his prayer to the Father: Take this cup from me; but Your will be done. For it is the great temptation of man--much different from the temptation of woman--to run from his destiny and seek refuge in the womb while armies go to war. The man goes out to meet death, while woman stays hidden to nurture life. 

In meditating on the Annunciation and the Agony in the Garden in this kind of parallel, we can then direct our thoughts to our own placement as human victims of sin and ransomed prisoners wholly dependent on grace. We are as helpless to save our selves as infants are dependent on their mothers. We do not have the benefit of an Immaculate Conception, and yet we are washed from the effects of Original Sin by baptism. Remember that Jesus' baptism in Matthew 3 was proceeded by his immediate 'going out' into the wilderness to be subjected to temptation. And we also do not have the benefit of the Beatific Vision, and so our spiritual sobriety rests on the faith and trust of Mary--moment by moment, step by step, nurtured by prayer without ceasing. When we fail to do so, or are distracted by sin and carelessness, we step off the path in the night without the lamp of grace and cry out in the dark for help. 

Men of faith cannot avoid going to war--against the world, the flesh, and the devil--and cannot avoid suffering in resisting the concupiscence which blinds us. Meanwhile St. Paul writes that "women, however, will be saved by childbearing" (1 Tim 2:15). What does the Apostle mean by this? In imitating our Holy Mother, whose fiat or "yes" saved us from darkness and death, so too does humanity depend on women not going out to the desert to wage war with the self as men do, but in bringing forth life from the sanctuary of the home like the Theotokos. 

While we may not have the beatific vision to know exactly how we are being used by God in the divine economy, that is by God's plan to keep us hidden. Faith is born in darkness and refined by fire and only after it has been tested can it bring forth light to others. This Holy Week, do not shy from that suffering in the dark, and resist the temptation to crawl back in the womb when you start to bleed. Cry out to your Mother from your personal cross that she might strengthen you with faith and trust to endure what you need to endure and not fail the test. If you are wracked by the "Why me?" of doubt or the seemingly merciless effects of tragedy in your personal passion, look to your Mother who rests her ear to the ground just above your prison cell, whose own heart was pierced by a sword and who knows more pain than you can ever imagine. Jesus, I trust in you. 

*This article was published on March 7, 2024 at Catholic Spiritual Direction (spiritualdirection.com)

Friendship in Christ: A conversation about chastity and same-sex attraction

 My latest article at Catholic World Report, here.

Read and Weep: What Contemporary Christians "Think" About Divorce and Remarriage

 For all the charges leveled against the Catholic Church about being Pharisaical and obsessed with rules, it can't hold a candle to the absolute chaos of sola scriptura "bible-based" Christianity. 

Exhibit A: My wife came across a post by the well-known Christian radio program Focus on the Family in her feed recently, which posed the question to their audience: 

Do you think it's okay to get remarried after a divorce? 

Let us know what you think! #marriage #remarried

 She told me the comments were driving her absolutely crazy, and that I had to see for myself. So I took a look and sure enough, she was right. I took a little sampling of screen shots to show you what I mean, which I think serves as a decent litmus for the Christian culture at large. 

Now granted, I don't think cultural Catholics are much better if the question had been posed to them. So this isn't necessarily to indict Evangelicals specifically, since the majority of Catholics can be just as theologically ignorant of both the Bible and exegesis in general. But I will say that in this particular dim sum sampling of responses the glaring deficiency of "scripture alone" private interpretation can easily be used to justify sin in direct contradiction to the literal words of Jesus in Scripture. I will provide some commentary for each of these randomly selected screenshot comments on the post to try to back up my point. 

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I have to give this first commenter credit: just a straight up, "Yes" to the question "is it ok to divorce and remarry?" 

Now, for those who may not be familiar with the scriptures or who may have glossed over the particular passage in which this very question is posed to our Lord in Matthew 19:9: "I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another woman commits adultery.” Adultery is a serious sin worthy of damnation. And because it will appear in the comments again and again, the "exception clause" that Protestants will typically ascribe to the translation of "sexual immortality" means "in cases of adultery." But this is not accurate, as Jimmy Akin points out here. 

Another interesting trend I noticed was the "insertion" of extra-biblical justifications for remarriage after divorce, such as above in cases of adultery "or abandonment." Mm, kay? For "Where Is That In The Bible?" Christians, I find that curious as "abandonment" appears nowhere in scripture as grounds for remarriage. 

I find the above line of thinking pretty permissive as well: "Yes, according to God's will" and the subsequent convoluted reasoning of "seeking guidance from God for permission to marry or remarry" which sounds pious but is really only self-serving and deluded, since it justifies sin. Of course, it is followed up by "only between one man and one woman" as a kind of orthodoxy chaser after the shot.

This comment above refers to justifying remarriage if "Christ wasn't at the center" of the first marriage. This could be a case of "being yoked to an unbeliever," but nowhere is that grounds for remarriage after divorce (adultery). 

The line of thinking above that "I don't believe God called us to be alone if divorced" is a common one, and that "God will not punish anyone that gets remarried?" How do you know that? "I don't believe" that God would do such and such is not a solid source when you are wagering your eternal salvation. And where is the cross in all this? Yes, being alone can be a burden. So can being celibate and "posessing your vessel" in integrity, as Paul exhorts one to do in 1 Thes 4. That does not give us a license to sin. I can't even. 

Here's someone who thinks the question is obviously a stupid one because OF COURSE IT IS!

This individual claims that "all sins are forgiven," presumably as a "get out of jail free" card using Christ's death on the cross as license. Maybe they forgot Paul's words in Romans 6:2, "shall I continue in sin so that grace may abound? Certainly not!" "There is no condemnation in Christ Jesus" is trotted out a lot when these situations make one uncomfortable with their lifestyle choices, and I think that is what is happening here as well. 

Here's someone above who states that "it depends on the circumstances." Again, there is no justification for divorce, and yet time and time again people will try to get out from under their vows doing exactly that.

This person states that "it's between the couple and God," which is line with the private interpretation/personal relationship ethos of Protestant Christianity. This very much neglects the fact that marriage is a public good and is witnessed to publicly as well. The "it's about consent between the two parties only" is what paved the way for gay marriage and further warped people's understanding of the proper means and ends of marriage. 

Again with the 'abandonment' reasoning, with an extra does of "abuse" as grounds for divorce and remarriage--neither of which are in the bible. 

It sucks that people get divorced. It sucks that people end up alone. It sucks that people get sick, become disabled, die. "People should have 2nd chances at love" doesn't want to accept the cross. Because we shouldn't have to suffer. 

Abuse. Adultery. Again, these are used as 'outs' in lieu of any authoritative teaching body (Magisterium) that is absent in Protestant Christianity. Anything goes when the interpretation of what God wills is up to you.

Again, sorry...abuse is not a biblically sanctioned event for remarriage after a divorce. 

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Is it any wonder that Satan--the great Deceiver--would wage his final battle on the field of marriage and family, as St. Lucia of Fatima predicted? Is it any wonder that Satan blinds people so they cannot see clearly and repeats his temptation in the Garden "Did God REALLY say?..." Again, I'm not signaling out Evangelicals specifically here, (as Catholics are just as guilty) only that they are just another canary in the cage for Christendom in the West and this particular thing online was cannon fodder. The justification of sin here baffles me, as our Lord's words could not be more clear. It is no wonder our Lord said the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few" (Mt 7:13-14).

Marriage may be hard, but it's not terribly complicated: One man. One woman. Open to Life. Freely consented to. Until death do you part. Anything else is not of the Spirit...and the Spirit does not deceive.  

"Woman is the Glory of Man": A (Critical) Film Review of 'Cabrini'

Once while visiting downtown Detroit to do some street evangelization I prayed to St. Frances Xavier Cabrini because I heard she was the patron saint for finding parking. In an unfamiliar city with a rough reputation, I figured it was a long shot to employ her for this little favor (which seemed big at the time). Low and behold, as soon as I got downtown near our set-up corners, a car pulled out from a spot right in front of me and I was able to slide in. Grazie, Madre! Truth be told, though, I didn't know much about St. Cabrini's life beyond that little tidbit of info, and that little mini-miracle she worked for me.

So I decided on a whim this afternoon to go to a matinee screening of Cabrini, because I like to give things a fair shake, not to mention think and make determinations for myself rather than second-hand. I say that because it seems people who have seen the film (or those who have not yet feel moved to comment on it anyway) seem to be of two minds about it. I have made it known in over fifteen reviews on this blog (see here) that I am a film snob, and try to go beyond the "I loved it!" or "I didn't care for it" reactions to get to the objective reasons why I either loved a film or didn't. I was also surprised to see the theater about three quarters full, which was kind of cool.

I'll say from the outset Cabrini did nothing for me, either as a Catholic or as a movie-goer in general and I found myself checking my watch during the duration of the movie on numerous occasions. The acting is acceptable, the lighting and cinematography check all the right boxes, but I was absolutely not invested in these characters. It's not that they were two-dimensional or anything--they just did not give me a reason to care about them; and that includes Mother Cabrini herself. 

I also couldn't help feeling a bit force-fed, as well. Those who were critical of the downplaying or absence of faith and prayer in a story about a Catholic saint, and the upsell of strong-willed empowerment messaging were, I think, right to be. It kind of felt like a modern Marvel movie in that sense masquerading as a religious film. The humanist innuendo didn't hit you over the head, but it was definitely there, glorifying the human dimensions of what should have been reserved for the Divine. What seemed like a massive disappointment was the missed opportunity to underscore that the massive wagers and scope of work that Mother Cabrini undertook simply would not have been possible were it not for Divine Providence. It's as if the currency of the spiritual held no value in this particular producer's economy. 

Now, I know Catholics are our own worst enemy, but honestly why do producers keep missing the mark, again and again, when trying to appeal to mass audiences on matters of faith? This seemed to be the case with the new Padre Pio movie as well. However, there have also been some very well done films (A Hidden Life, about the life of Blessed Franz Jägerstätter, and Man of God about the life of the Orthodox Saint Nektarios of Aegina as two examples) in the past few years showing what is possible. 

Cabrini is neither a beautiful film nor a convincing one. I did not care about any of the characters, and it felt like a mild lecture one had to endure rather than something that draws you in of your own volition. All of Mother Cabrini's sisters seemed to be akin to NPCs (Non-Player Characters) in a video game, though the relationship Mother has with the former prostitute who has entered into their community seems to have some slight inter-personal development. 

The battles and obstacles in the film were all external, outside the person--this seemed like a huge lost opportunity to delve beneath the skin of a formidable character to the spiritual dimension. It almost seemed like a foreign script to the producers that they scrapped in favor of the tangible and easily explainable, as if the biblical scholars of the Jesus Seminar of the 1980's got together to try their hand at film and focused on the historical Jesus devoid of his miracles. Sorry, the feeding of the five thousand wasn't because "sharing is caring." Hard pass.

I don't quite know what the agenda of Cabrini was, if there was one. Was it to inspire? And if so, inspire to what? Curiosity? Piety? Humanitarianism? Deeper faith? Female empowerment? Was there a reason it was touted as premiering on "International Women's Day?" Or the emphasis on immigration during a border crisis and election year? I don't know, and I don't really care to speculate. Because nothing about Cabrini made me care at all, because...well, why should I care about something I wasn't invested in. And that is where it fails as a film. I don't owe Angel Studios anything. If anything, my $11.50 put to rest my suspicion of the critics of this film, because I can say they were right to hold the film itself in suspicion.

Phillip Campbell has a much more thorough (and favorable) review over at Unam Sanctam Catholicam. We both saw Cabrini on the same day and were texting back and forth about it and decided to publish our reviews simultaneously.

Who Are "The Poor" Anyway?

Our Lenten observance during this penitential season rests on three pillars--prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. They often seem to come in that order for us, with focus and pride of place being devoted to the first two while the third--almsgiving--tends to trail a little. 

I don't believe this is because we willfully wish to neglect this most pious and ancient practice, but because we don't actually know how to go about it properly. We learn the secrets of mental prayer from the Fathers and the saints and the concrete laws of the fast from the Church, but with regards to almsgiving we are sometimes left to our own devices to figure out how to subjectively put it into practice, or rely on the cardboard CRS "ricebowl" to stuff our weekly dollar bills in fulfillment of this precept.

For conservative Catholics, there can perhaps also be an unconscious fear of aligning ourselves too much with a "redistribution of wealth" mindset with those who did not work or earn it, or with the mindset of so-called Social Justice Warriors who prioritize corporal works over the spiritual. Or we may simply struggle with the idea of a "deserving versus undeserving" poor, and fear feeding addictions or bad habits with our alms. Lastly, we can sometimes feel the pressure of manipulation to give as we are approached on the street with oftentimes fabricated stories of someone needing bus money to get to where they are going, or panhandlers who are sometimes known to strategically exploit those with tender hearts, and so our alms are not always freely given in these cases, but extorted in a sense.

It would be helpful to lead off with the teaching that almsgiving is first and foremost of act of mercy, as St. Thomas notes “the motive for giving alms is to relieve one who is in need” (S.T. II-II q32 a1). We can see the terror of the debtor who is being threatened with being sold with his family into slavery in Matthew 18:23-25 when he cannot pay back what he owes. When the man begs for mercy, the master takes pity and cancels the debt in full; however, the man forgiven does not apply the same mercy to one who owes him a much smaller sum, and when the master hears about he punishes him severely. Our Lord relates this physical act of mercy to forgiveness of grievances, but it is clear from the parable that relieving the burden of need from our brothers as an act of charity is tied closely with the exercise of mercy. 

We can also see the eternal consequences of neglecting charity with regards to the rich man and Lazarus--the poor man who is intentionally ignored in his need. When they both meet their ends, the rich man goes to Hell specifically on account of his callous neglect. When we meditate on Hell, we often confine our thoughts and guilt to our sins of commission, rarely ascribing ourselves to the place of the rich man and sitting in his seat feasting. St. James makes a similar point with regards to the "work" of charity,

"Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?" (James 2:15-16)

Just as God cannot be outdone in mercy and by our penance, we attempt (but never can fully accomplish) the act of repaying all the Lord has done for us in ransoming us from sin and death (Ps 116:12). And so we know there are also spiritual benefits to exercising mercy in imitation of our Lord who forgives seventy times seven:

'Give alms out of thy substance, and turn not away thy face from any poor person: for so it shall come to pass that the face of the Lord shall not be turned from thee.

According to thy ability be merciful. If thou have much, give abundantly; if thou have little, take care even so to bestow willingly a little.

But do not hesitate to give alms; for thus thou storest up to thyself a good reward for the day of necessity.

For alms deliver from all sin, and from death, and will not suffer the soul to go into darkness.

Alms shall be a great confidence before the most high God, to all them that give it.'

(Tobias 4:7-12)

Charity does not bind anyone to employ extraordinary means in order to safeguard his own life (St. Alphonsus, op. cit., III, no. 31). As a guide, St. Alphonsus offers a tangible outlay corresponding to "two per cent of temporalities superfluous to social prestige suffices to satisfy the obligation." This may be helpful to us when we are tempted to either give too much imprudently or too little in letting ourselves off the hook of our obligation to the needy, and assuage scrupulous consciences. Furthermore, St. Thomas states that we cannot help all, but only those close to us as “we are not bound to relieve all who are in need, but only those who could not be succored if we not did not succor them” (II-II q32 a5). 

Likewise, well-meaning Christians can sometimes struggle with exercising the prudence required of being a steward of wealth, in making concrete determinations of where and to whom to give. They should keep in mind the teachings of the Apostolic Constitutions that discretion is required in such circumstances and that "alms must not be given to the malicious, the intemperate, or the lazy; lest a premium should be set on vice" (Const. Apost., ii, 1-63; iii, 4-6).

As Christians, we can sometimes elevate "the poor" to a kind of ethereal status, in the same way we might speak of "the Communists" as a specter of threat--out there, but not knowing where they really live or who qualifies as "poor." Because our brains often rely on stereotypes to reduce complexity and avoid cognitive overload (known as heuristics), we construct what a poor person is based on physical or environmental circumstances--the disheveled man on the street, or the migrant with children living in a shelter, or the elderly person subsisting on cat food and tap water. 

But what about the head of household who makes a six figure salary and who through poor choices finds himself leveraged by debt with no emergency savings and a negative net worth? Is he and his family "poor," despite their ample means? What about the family with a median household income, who nevertheless live in an extreme high cost of living area in which they cannot afford adequate housing? The poor are not always the indigent, and sometimes they are hidden in plain sight but in non-stereotypical circumstances. Nevertheless, these can be difficult, subjective situation to discern.

So what does almsgiving look like, practically speaking--both for the giver and the recipient? Before answering that question it may be helpful to look to scripture of the disposition of the rich young ruler who approaches Jesus asking what he must do to gain eternal life in Mark 10:17-27. The man prides himself on his "doing"--that is, on fulfilling the Commandments. When our Lord takes it a step farther with another action item--to sell all that he has and to give it to the poor, and follow him--the young man cannot bring himself to take that step. If he could fulfill all the commandments of the Law, why could he not also fulfill this command? What was stopping him from doing so? Was the man going away damned like the rich man with Lazarus at his feet? Or was he simply forfeiting a higher calling to be "perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect," (Mt 5:48) prioritizing his locus of control over the more volatile future of complete dependance on Divine Providence and as a result "settling for less?" As St. John of the Cross wrote, "It makes little difference whether a bird is tied by a thin thread or by a cord. Even if it is tied by a thread, the bird will be held bound… it will be impeded from flying as long as it does not break the thread.” Christ has called us to freedom, and while we hate to admit it, sometimes wealth (even modest wealth) and security can be that very thin string that binds us to this world.

For married men like myself, we know sainthood is possible, that is, made possible by Christ's redemption and our free will. But we are also reminded of St. Paul's words that "it is better not to marry" (1 Cor7:8), and that in accepting our state of life and necessarily being "of the world" we make a hard thing harder--impossible with men, but still possible with God. If we were forced to categorize ourselves as middle-class Americans as either "rich" or "poor", comparatively to the world, we would undoubtedly be considered the former. And that means as rich people, comparatively speaking, it is harder for us to enter Heaven than it is for a camel to enter through the eye of a needle (Mt 19:24). Again, impossible for men, but possible with God. To whom much has been given, much will be required (Lk 12:48). Almsgiving is as much for our spiritual benefit and fire protection as it is for its beneficiaries. 

As "wealthy" people we are stewards, and as such we have the freedom of discretion in how much and in what ways we give alms. The Church herself does not exact a strict 10% tithe on Catholics, but rather uses this a suggested guide (5% to the poor, 5% to the Church). Likewise, we have freedom for how we as Catholics are privileged to exercise mercy through giving--some may prefer established charities, either close to home or abroad, others through direct service of time and treasure. Fr. Thomas Dubay in his book Happy Are You Poor presses in on this challenge to remind us that “Having wealth is damaging to the pursuit of the kingdom because the very having does something to one's inner life, one's very ability to love God for his own goodness and others in and for him.” Almsgiving is our Lord and the Church's proscription for our spiritual malaise. 

For our family, we have gone the route of mainly prioritizing supporting individuals and families over established charities. In this economy, there is no shortage of those who are quietly struggling but may make too much to qualify for public assistance. We have PayPal-ed funds to indigents abroad (who were vetted by a trusted friend), as well as written checks to cover mortgage and utility payments for large families in which the husband has lost his job or suffered health issues. Other times, it was simply someone in need who came into our path who was an answer to prayer, and we were able to alleviate some of their financial burden. In all these circumstances, I try to write a check with my right hand while the left hand is kept in the dark. We are not saviors, for there is only one Savior--we are merely stewards, and given the privilege of exercising the spiritual mercy shown to us by the Lord to others in corporal need. Rather, we recognize that while we cannot do everything to relieve the burdens of others, we can most certainly do something. 

"The poor" are not caricatures, though for those who like to flex virtue it would be more convenient if they were. For the poor can surprise us by their demureness, their hiddenness. They may be our neighbor in Christ, our neighbor of another faith, or our literal neighbor languishing behind closed doors next to us. And since the poor we will have with us always, there will be never not be an opportunity to exercise the muscle of charity during Lent and beyond it. The harder work, when we regard ourselves like the rich young ruler, is settling for less, shortchanging ourselves by prioritizing the pleasures of trifles and temporal distractions over the gift of charity, and keeping our hearts from becoming calloused. We would be wise to recall the words of St. Ambrose as a reality check when considering those in need: "You are not making a gift of your possessions to the poor person. You are handing over to him what is his. For what has been given in common for the use of all, you have arrogated to yourself. The world is given to all, and not only to the rich."

The Slow Lane

 It rained all night and all day. The front yard was like a kitchen sponge that just couldn't take in any more water as little lakes formed in the low areas. I could have taken the car to First Saturday Mass. But what's a little rain?

I opened up the garage door and stepped out of the rain into my little space; when we moved into this house nine years ago I had laid vinyl flooring, painted the walls a pale yellow, hung free-cycled cabinets on the studs. It was a nice little room that served no purpose; no one was going to be living in the garage but I did it anyway. Just like the shed two years ago, with the caving in roof and oil stained plywood floor and the world ending and everything. Bought jelly rolls of fiberglass insulation and stacks of 4x8 birch paneling and gave it a Trading Spaces worthy makeover. Installed solar panels, a sink, composting toilet in the framed out back room, counters and futon. My wife refuses to go back there--"The rat bird," she says, that lives in between the walls. I built this for you. Didn't I? For me? I don't know. It doesn't matter. All is vanity. 

My thirties were so...busy. The kids were pop-pop-popping and spaces felt outgrown. I was always pimping out my time. Craigslist runs to Jersey. Lunch-hour writing side hustles. Building this or that thing. Trying to make everything work. Trying to be a good provider. We had good memories--walks with the stroller after dinner in our old 'hood. Drives to the beach when the babies never stopped crying. Thai food at the gun shop. Skin to skin.

I still have a lot of bikes, too many for one person. I can't help myself I suppose. Everybody has a thing. The trendy grey-wood vinyl laminate is curling up now at the edge of the garage where it gets wet underneath, cracking and tearing in some areas. Not as pliable as it used to be. The cabinets and wall paintings are gone. The only thing that remains is an oval portrait of my great grandmother because well why not--she deserves to be remembered, somewhere somehow. It's something, a home among the bikes. 

I was doom-scrolling at the office yesterday and Jordan Peterson was ranting about the 'war on cars' in Toronto: "the bloody bike lanes everywhere and what are you going to do when it's negative twenty degrees out and you're a seventy year old lady with her groceries--its utterly preposterous. The only people who bike from November to March are deluded twenty four year old men who think they've saving the planet with their goddamned bicycles..." And I'm nodding "yaas, yas" he's right, and he is. I didn't buy a car until a year before I got married; once when I was a twenty-four year old man I biked down Kelly Drive to pick up a drafting table at a Staples in Center City and hoisted it on my back, and biked the ten miles back up to Manayunk carrying it while riding one handed on a single-speed up an 8% incline. Normal people don't do such things. I didn't care about saving the planet so much as I liked riding my bike. But I don't want my seventy-six year old mother having to.

And I still do, strangely. I've got a whole cadre of bitties living here in my garage to choose from--a couple of e-bikes, which are great and practical; a sleek drop bar racing bike, a single speed track bike, a mountain bike, and my simple seven-speed cruiser replete with fenders and mustache bars which is my ride of choice this morning. 

It would be easier to drive to Mass, but I need a reason to live during these dark days of winter and so I get my raingear together--a lightweight jacket with a form-fitting hood I sewed years ago, rainpants, mitts, waterpoof shoes (all my shoes are waterproof). Seems like a lot of hassle but it's really just like dressing up your morning oatmeal with salt and dates and butter. And we've dodged a lot of snow the past few years so I'm able to ride almost all year round it feels like. 

When I biked two hundred miles to the hermitage in New York state this past Fall to go on retreat, it was more advantageous to extend the range on my battery to slow it down. Upright bikes are not especially aerodynamic, and racing bikes only marginally more so, so above fifteen miles per hour you expend a disproportionate amount of energy just to overcome wind resistance. So, on an e-bike, it's a matter of economy: you can cover fifty miles on a full charge, with pedaling, at 15 miles per hour, or half of that distance at 20 miles per hour. But since you're body is an engine too, it "pays" to go slower on a regular pedal bike like I was doing this morning. 

And I like how I can work on them, fix anything that goes wrong, myself. It's cheap to maintain--a couple hundred bucks a year, tops. It's something to have that kind of empowerment. There's theoretically nothing to keep me from going from here to there except myself.  

Part of why I wanted to bike in the pissing rain is the same reason I take cold showers. My wife took one before her night-shift this evening to shock herself out of sleep, and said "I don't know how you do this every morning." The truth is, I don't know either. But everything is a choice really. I can choose to go back to bed, or turn the showerhandle to H. But I don't. Some days I drive to where I need to be, but today I wanted to kill myself a little so I made a different choice. 

When I rolled out my cruiser with the mustache bars out the driveway in the pelting rain, I gave myself plenty of time to cover the ten miles to church. On an ebike it's easier to dress because you're not working your body as hard--the battery and motor does it for you. Less work=no sweat. But I wanted to work this morning to give me something to live for, and that means with rain gear the danger of getting sweaty. A good way to do that is to slow down and just take your time. And that's a nice thing about the bike over the car anyway--slowing down. It's crazy when I look at a map seeing some of the routes I've traveled over the years on two wheels, crazy distances. But it's just mile by mile, stroke by stroke. They fall by the wayside like the years, like the cherry petals that will soon fall along Kelly Drive.

I'll be forty-four next week. I've spent a lot of time on the living room couch the past couple months by the big bay window. I don't read. I don't do much of anything; Not 'optimizing'. Anti-hustle. Naps and staring at the ceiling. When I slip into the confessional this morning I confess to sloth, laziness, acedia. But is it? What if I'm just slowing down, riding in the slow lane and realizing all is vanity and chasing after wind? I've heard it said that King Solomon wrote Song of Songs in his youth, Proverbs in his middle years, and Ecclesiastes near the end of his life. This makes sense. Song of Songs is passionate, poetic, erotic, full of youth and vigor. Proverbs is a solid compilation of practical wisdom concerned with the nuts and bolts of living. And Ecclesiastes is the legacy capstone of the wisest man who ever lived and has experienced everything life has to offer and realizes in the end that it is all completely meaningless.

I'm not trying to save the planet by riding by bike. This world is going to burn whether I ride a bike or drive a car or lie on the couch or make an extra grand or play with my kids or spend time in the garage monkeying around with my mistresses. Nobody's saving anything. We're spending our time and years in the fast lane fooling ourselves we're doing something noble, burning the engine fighting the wind. It's a slow burn at twilight. 

The funny thing about the ride to church--once I was wet, I couldn't get much wetter. So you just kind of lean into and accept it. Like stepping into the shower stall when you want to die and turning the handle to straight "C" and then stepping out a man awake, alive. Because I had fenders and some fitting clothing, I wasn't miserable, and because I was taking my time, I wasn't sweating. It was, dare I say, pleasant. No one else was out on a bike, of course--because it's an utterly preposterous thing to do. And yet there I was. Stroke by stroke, mile by slow mile.