"Just Catholic"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is Ecumenism a Dirty Word?

We travel in a few different circles, our family. Our old homeschool co-op was Christian based, we have many non-denominational Christian friends locally, and our son plays in a Christian (rather than secular) basketball league now. But we are firmly planted in our own traditional Catholic parish community, our Catholic co-op, and various other Catholic social circles. Our interactions are most always respectful, positive, and mutually-supportive, even though we belong to different faith traditions.

But it's strange times we are living in, isn't it? The culture wars are raging all around us, and sometimes there are unlikely allies. We had a Catholic guys pub night last weekend, and one of the guys (a father of 9) brought up the Muslim parents joining forces with the Christian parents in Detroit in protest of the sexualizing of children at a school board meeting. He said, "I'd almost rather have an on-fire Muslim in the trenches with me than a lukewarm Catholic when it comes to this stuff."

 So, I had a thought at work this afternoon, and I proposed to following to a Christian friend of mine via text:

"I would love to have a Catholic--Protestant party. Get together some great minds to meet on our common ground on a variety of topics. Whiskey or tea, hors d'oeuvres, fire, and good old fashioned discussion about what matters. And for mutual learning and enrichment."

So, I'm flushing out the idea here (on this post) because it's as good a place as any to get the thoughts out. I have as my ideal a meeting of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, or Chesterton and...some other Christian intellectual heavyweight who enjoys good spirits. Here's what I was thinking:

-It would be by invitation only, and relatively small to start (8-10 individuals or couples); possibility of being a once-a-month get-togther.

-The 'topics for discussion' would be drafted ahead of time and presented with questions to aid the discussion.

-The bloc would consist of 50% Catholic participants and 50% Protestant.

-The purpose would be one of mutual-learning in a respectful manner (not aggressive conversion tactics). It would give opportunity for Catholics to present their beliefs as Catholics (hopefully to dispel prejudices) and give Protestant participants the opportunity to do so as well. 

-Each person present would have an opportunity to share with equal time; discussions would be informal, though would hopefully piggyback off more formal, prepared discussion topics.

It would also be important to lay down agreed-upon ground rules and set expectations ahead of time. The purpose of the time together would be:

-to learn about where our commonalities lie, so that we can join forces in the culture war

-to learn more about what others believe in their respective traditions to be well-rounded human beings. 

-to have robust philosophical and theological discussions over good food and drink, about the things that matter

-the topics would not be 'hot button' for the purpose of dissention, but challenging and nuanced enough to provide fruitful and intellectually stimulating discussion.

-the most important underlying quality that would have to be manifested among participants is listening, detachment, openness to learn, non-judgmental friendship, and respectful dialogue.

All that being said, does ecumenism have value? Is it something that should be cultivated or encouraged at all, by either Catholics or Protestants alike? Or is it just a hippy-dippy kumbaya ideal of the (Second Vatican) Council to encourage 'dialogue?'

I think the difference is if these people you are 'dialoguing' with are strangers or neighbors. I have a good friend, a faithful Christian man and dad, who is a mentor of sorts for me. We lean on each other in various capacities, and our interactions are always respectful. We sometimes are forced to navigate the precarious differences in our theology deftly, since our friendship feels greater than any theological differences we may have. In this case, Friendship>Theology

One of my favorite films is Of Gods And Men, the story of the Algerian Trappists who were kidnapped by Islamist terrorists in the 1990's (I believe), who lived among their Muslim neighbors. That, in my mind, is not religious syncretism and there is nothing hippy-dippy about it--just hard reality, and respectful co-existence. 

The past two years have been so crazy, maybe the vibe is right now to start something like this, very enjoyable and informal--just different friends coming together over a common purpose, when they may not have mixed together at all otherwise. Plus I need something to look forward to during the bleak days of winter after New Years!

Good idea? Bad idea? I'm willing to try anything once, as long as it is for the glory of Christ and the good of neighbor--Catholic, Protestant, or otherwise!

The "Wide Net" of Modern Media Protestantism

 I have often said that our Christian brethren do four things admirably: they lean heavily of the Word on God in scripture as they understand it and in prayer; they take fellowship seriously; they evangelize boldly and care for the vulnerable; they often tithe generously.

It's not hard to see why: we have met and are friends with many Protestant Christians who love Christ and intentionally work on cultivating a personal relationship with Him. Everything they do flows from that love and relationship. They are generous and often joyful, and not afraid to talk to you about Jesus and give you an ear to listen with or a shoulder to cry on. They make themselves approachable and want work to bring the reality of God's Kingdom to life. In short, they want everyone to know the joy of Christ, and they are not afraid to share it.

My wife and I were talking last night, though, about the curious tendency of many Protestant Christians to essentially 'erase' the existence of the many, many saints throughout history (both before and after the Reformation) who have also done just what I mentioned above: immersed themselves in scripture, taken the need for community seriously, evangelized boldly, cared for the sick, dying, poor, and orphaned, and given away not just ten percent, but all they had to follow Christ. In a Protestant classroom or Sunday school lesson, it's as if they never existed.

This isn't all, of course. We consider all our Christian friends "brothers and sisters in Christ," by nature of our common baptism. We often engage in overlapping efforts to protect life, strengthen families, fight a corrosive cultural climate, and ensure our Judeo-Christian heritage. But again, when it comes to the nuts and bolts of what those moral issues are, or how to interpret the Bible, or how one should respond to challenges to the Faith, we Catholics have a blueprint and map that has withstood two thousand years and is as relevant today as it was when Christ founded his Church on the Rock; it is watertight! When one knows his Catholic faith and lives it out, it’s only his lack of will (not an absence of grace) that keeps him from joining the ranks of those saints throughout history we read about in books. 

Modern Evangelicalism has built up its ranks on the mass of now ex-Catholics (walk into any evangelical Church and you'll find a sizable number of this populace, guaranteed) who were the opposite--who didn't know their faith or what it stood for, who viewed Catholicism as nothing but a "bunch of rules, and who really did desire fellowship and a "personal" relationship with God that wasn't satisfied with the way their religion was passed on to them. 

How does it do this? Like I said earlier, Protestants don't have doctrine, the Sacraments, or a magisterial and intellectual/theological framework as part of the core of their faith, so what they do have in that absence, they tend to do well. Catholicism is a kind of robust 'maximalism' that leaves no tool unavailable in our toolbox to attain sanctity; Protestantism, in contrast, is a kind of religious 'minimalism' that works with what it has. When you only have three shirts, two pants, and one pair or shoes in your wardrobe, you want to make sure it's of the highest quality!

That's something else my wife and I were discussing last night--why many of the 'themes' in Christian preaching (especially among female evangelical influencers and ministries) seem so repetitive and tend to 'dilute and diffuse' anything with meat into what I call the "wide-net" hypothesis. It goes something like this: 

You take a common theme that any human being (but especially women) can relate to: we are all broken. We all crave love and acceptance. We have all made mistakes. None of us likes to be judged. Etc. 

Then you offer the affirmation, by way of support, acceptance, and yes, even spiritual platitudes that can apply to a wide range of personal situations, and tap into one's emotional response to these deep human needs. Nothing controversial, nothing you can really pin down. You're not looking to divide, but bring people in.

Finally, you show how the Bible, and the God of the Bible, is a way of addressing those desires of the heart. And you welcome them in to the fellowship of believers with open arms.

Here's a good example I found online from a social media post by a popular Christian woman/influencer that gets at this "wide-net" approach:

"When I pray, I position my heart to see and receive what God is already doing. 

God is not absent.

But when I deafen my ears with my own thoughts and opinions and stiffen my neck by only looking in the direction of what I think should be happening, I miss Him. 

And I think He’s not moving. So I kick it into high gear. I wear my body ragged and my emotions into a tangled fray. 

I just need to stop trying to fix, control, and achieve what God wants me to slow down enough to receive. 

He has the answer. He is the solution. And I can rest in these truths."

Of course, none of this is necessarily wrong. As a Catholic who does read scripture pretty regularly, though, I also find another approach that our Lord gave us when his disciples requested of Him, "Teach us how to pray." Jesus responded, 

"When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation." 

(Lk 11:2-4 DR) 

The Lord's Prayer (the Our Father) is a more or less formulaic prayer, but it is also a "complete protein" and "the perfect prayer" that would not be very common at a (non-mainline) Protestant worship service, which gives more credence to the spontaneous and unscripted way of praying. What I find interesting from my experience of it, is this type of unscripted "reinvent-the-wheel" prayer often ends up being somewhat counter to our Lord's instructions of "When you pray, do not babble like the heathen, since they think that they will be heard because of their many words" (Mt 6:7 EHV). 

Of course, as Catholics in our rich spiritual heritage, we have many different types of prayer, including ejaculatory prayers similar to this. But it's not our only way of praying. Like I said, we are a religion of "Maximalism," not minimalism.

Maybe it's also because of our rich heritage of the employment of the faculty of reason (which also informs our moral choices and gives them a foundation to be built on) which complements faith as a set of "two lungs" that sees as somewhat shallow the front-row-emotionalism present in many evangelical churches. Again, Catholics are playing the long game, and recognize that any faith steeped in an overly-weighted ratio of emotive response does not have the fortitude to stand the test of time. Emotions are not bad or wrong (and of course, many of the saints have been known to weep over their sins and experienced the ecstasy of God's love in their prayer), but by their very nature are fickle and fleeting--not the kind of stone you want to build a house on! 

But reason was held suspect, I suppose, during the Reformation and seen as overly-scholastic. In throwing the baby out with the bathwater, Protestants now find themselves not only without a magisterial body to interpret scripture with God's authority, but without any substance to articulate why a particular moral act is "against the bible." The Bible clearly states that divorce and remarriage is adultery, but we find many Christians justifying this very act using the Bible itself! Of course, Catholics divorce and remarry as well, and we have our own issues with this, but at least the teaching body of the Church has a methodology (the rota) for determining whether a marriage was in fact sacramental and binding so that if one still chooses to go this route, they are at least not ignorant and are subsequently culpable. 

All this being said, as Catholic Maximalists, we really do "have it all." The Catholic Church and our faith as Catholics has formidable intellectual clout, a rich history, and is theologically and scripturally sound. We have a testament of saints who had a true "personal relationship with Christ" to show that living it out and being "saved" is possible, a robust liturgy to ground the heavenly here on earth, a guidebook for the tough moral issues of our day that are not based in one particular preacher or teacher, is one of the biggest charitable organizations in the world, and the tangible sacraments to aid us with grace. Protestants may cast a "wide-net" by appealing to the lowest-common-denominator with the things that were handed to them and that they retained (from Catholicism, no less!), but Catholics know that the Way is narrow, and few find it. Why dump out the tools in your box in preparation for such an arduous journey when we need (and have been given by the Lord Himself!) everything we can get?

When Catholics pray for unity in the Church, we also pray for our "separated brethren" because we have experienced the fullness of  the Christian faith, the cup of grace which is filled to overflowing. We want them to know not just the Truth, but the Way and the Life as well! Catholicism is the farthest thing from reductionism...we want it all! God wants to give us all "so that our joy may be complete" (Jn 15:11) and the means to enter into life with every possible grace. He does that through the Holy Spirit, and through the Church guided by that same Spirit, as much today as on the day of Pentecost. 

We can learn a lot from our Protestant brothers and sisters who love Jesus and the Bible and live lives of faith and moral uprightness. Let's offer them just as much, as Catholics, in return, by using everything we have been given for the glory of God--to the max!