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."

Those Who Walked In Darkness Have Seen a Great Light

 

I was really happy to have come across an interview that the adorable and hilariously off-the-wall comedian Theo Von did on his podcast "This Past Weekend" with the newly baptized former tattoo artist Kat Von D. Here's a short clip of the two hour interview interview to give some context:

I knew Theo from his comedy, but wasn't familiar with Ms. Von D until I came across some news on Yahoo or something that she was baptized and had become a Christian. I appreciated the interview with Ms. Von D as a baby Christian, and Theo as just a truly authentic, non-judgmental guy. Ms. Von D mentioned that she was expecting to get hate from all sides for her decision to turn away from her former life and to give her life to Christ; but she was surprised that most of that animosity came from Christians themselves who thought that a "Christian should look a certain way", and not her fan base (who were largely supportive and understanding).  

Judgement (especially when it comes to externals) is one of the ugliest sweaters a Christian can don. It ferments hypocrisy, smolders charity, and thwarts evangelism. It should have no place in the Christian life of a believer--and yet it does. As someone who was previously engaged to a woman who was tattooed from head to toe, and who was featured in tattoo magazines (but who have none myself), I know I don't always fit the part myself. 

The funny thing is, converts like Ms. Von D probably have the power, by the Holy Ghost, to lead more souls to Christ who have been lost to the culture--souls that many of us laboring in the field have trouble reaching. If you doubt what God can do with those who don't fit the mold of what a believer should look like, you'd better call Saul (Paul). 

I know I haven't posted much about the liturgical season of Advent we are now in, which is usually my habit--if you want Advent reflections, you're probably better off hopping over to the National Catholic Register or Catholic Digest. But I think there is an Advent message in here somewhere, and it goes back to Isaiah the prophet:

"The people that walked in darkness, have seen a great light: to them that dwelt in the region of the shadow of death, light is risen." (Is 9:2)

Baptism is a shared sacrament among Christians of all denominations (as any convert knows, you are not "re-baptized" when you come into the Church because your baptism in the Lutheran, Episcopal, or non-denominational church conferred grace, provided it was done with water and "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit"). So, I always celebrate when someone is washed free of Original Sin in baptism, but even more so when they are closer to the grave than they were when they were infants. Do I wish and hope Ms. Von D to find the fullness of truth in the Catholic Church some day? Of course. But we all have to start somewhere, and "we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose" (Rom 8:28).

Ms. Von D also seems sincere in her conviction. She threw out her books on witchcraft, covered the majority of her tattoos in blank ink, sold off her shares in her namesake beauty brand, closed her famous tattoo shop, and listed her $12 million California mansion for sale. It seems she has taken to heart the words of another questionable convert, St. Paul, to heart: "Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. For he that is dead is freed from sin" (Rom 6:6-7). 

We often forget as Christians that "look and play the part" (not to mention being guilty of "majoring in the minors" in our Catholic safe spaces) that the Gospel is branded as "good news for the poor" (Lk 4:14-22). Christ did not come to save the righteous, but sinners (Lk 5:31-32); for it is not the healthy that need a doctor, but the sick. This is also the message of Advent, as well--while most of us are baking Christmas cookies and cozying up around the fire with eggnog and carols and shopping for presents to give to our loved ones, the world outside is steeped in darkness without a light. It is the nature of God in Christ to seek out the lost, to lift them out of the miry pit. Christ spoke in no uncertain terms about those that "wash the outside of the cup while the inside is filled while the insides is filled with greed and self-indulgence" (Mt 23:25-29). 

The poor disrupt our comfort, our spiritual equilibrium--they do not live predictable lives and do not always act in predictable ways. I commend this pastor who taught a valuable lesson to his congregation when he disguised himself as a homeless man and showed up at his own church only to be mistreated. 

But it is for the poor, the lost, those who walk in darkness that Christ has shined the light of salvation on. He became poor among the poor--poor in spirit and humble in means. We really cannot afford to forget that as Christians who make claim to the throne when we should be trying more to be like children. The mantle of the door to Heaven is not high off the ground--only those who are low to the ground will enter through it. 

My heart really swelled to hear Ms. Von D's turning away from the darkness and into the light. May God continue to guide her into the fullness of Truth, and use her for His purposes to bring others home. 

The Goodness of Nature

I just arrived home from a three day work conference which was held at a resort. Because there was an indoor water park and other family-friendly amenities, I brought my wife and my kids with me, which was nice since I find staying by myself in corporate hotel rooms depressing. While I was presenting, going to receptions, eating and drinking and networking with colleagues, the rest of my family entertained themselves.

By the second day, however, we were all starting to feel a little...hungover. For our summer family vacation, we rent a modest cottage on the Cape, which has been spared much chain commercialization. We spend our days going to a fresh water pond and the bay, riding bikes on the rail trails, laying in the hammock, and cooking in the small kitchen, occasionally going out to get fish and chips. The most important thing is being together as a family, but it's also in a more natural environment which is more in line with our values. So, the setting we found ourselves this past week seemed great at first, but slowly felt like it was corroding our souls. When we emerged from the commercial tomb and stepped out into the 16 degree air on the third day to go home, we all breathed a frosty sense of relief.

Because everyone is different, this is not a judgment piece. Some people really enjoy places like Disney World and Six Flags, but I personally do not (and that's a restrained statement), nor (we all realized after this week) do my wife and kids. Maybe this is because while I'm not an environmentalist per se, I think there is something special and sacred, not to mention psychologically and spiritually healthy about the natural environment. It was where I first encountered God. It was where I continue to return to when I need to be refreshed and re-center my prayer life. I can appreciate the spirit of conservationists like Emerson and the naturalists like Thoreau. The natural world humbles us, inspires poetry, and inspires awe at the magnificent handiwork of God. That he has entrusted us to be stewards of the earth which He created is a great and privileged responsibility.

When I find myself in these kind of artificial environments, however, I feel my spirit struggling to bloom as if I were an orchid planted in a can of spent potting soil in the middle of a prison yard. Mother Teresa, of course, found Christ and his radiant glory in the worst slums of Calcutta and among the most forgotten poorest of the poor. The task of the Christian is to put things in their proper place in relation to God, but in doing so is given the gift and subsequent burden of having eyes to see. And sometimes the world in which we live and have constructed for ourselves does not in fact reflect God's handiwork, but the elevation of man in all his self-centeredness and forgetfulness of his Creator. 

What I really struggle with most in these commercialized environments--besides the price gouging, the sterility and lack of anything beautiful, the difficulty in praying, the plastic kitschy commercialization, and the frenzied over-stimulation--is that they exist to indulge, pamper and serve the self. For the Christian, we strive to find our joy in God alone, and to find life by emptying ourselves in service to others. We mortify our senses to gain what money can't buy--joy, detachment, inner freedom. When your heart has been captured by the true, the beautiful, and the good, the counterfeits are akin to dead wooden idols before the power of the Living God.

We are blessed in this vast and diverse country to have access to at least little pockets of natural environments. Even the city dweller living in mid-town can escape to the Poconos or the shore to get little bite-sized respites of the natural world outside the concrete jungles. Those blessed to live in states like Montana or Alaska may even take such untamed environments for granted, since they are in their backyards. It's good and natural to take periodic respite in nature--good for the soul, for the mind, good for the body--away from the digital sea we soak in daily, away from the commerce and money changers taking up house in the Temple--to be with ourselves and our God. 

Speaking of the Temple, it was there in that dramatic scene in Mt 21:12-12 where Christ's anger burned and consumed him, and where he drove them out from that place that should have stood undefiled but had been corrupted by the self-interest of those trying to turn a profit and make debt-slaves out of unsuspecting people.

There is also something healing about nature, something which allows us to draw from a deep spring rather than being cajoled to open and empty our purses for the promise of a drink of water which will only make us thirst again. It gives us time to rest, to bandage the wounds inflicted upon us, to fast from self-indulgence and satisfying our every whim and desire and experience hunger--the hunger of the soul. Ironically, when we return to our homes, we feel refreshingly full; whereas coming home from this kind of commercialized vacation, I felt unfulfilled and even a little empty.

Nature at its most pristine and untouched reflects the majesty of God which cannot be captured, commodified, domesticated and exploited. It is a reflection of the wild autonomy of the Creator and the terrible firmament of justice, which can only be tamed and made hospitable with the grace of His mercy. God answers to no man, and yet nature and the laws of nature--as stark and majestic and cruel as it can be--are subject to Him, for "our God is in the Heavens; he hath done whatever He hath pleased" (Ps 115:3). 

Paper Thin

 I used to marvel at people online who could take hits like Mike Tyson and let it roll off like water off a duck's back. As a budding writer and a generally conflict-avoidant person, I was much more sensitive to saying the wrong thing and getting push back for it. I never went looking for a fight but sometimes I found myself in one. My skin was paper thin.

One of the advantages of getting older is that I'm now finding myself less and less susceptible to the opinions of others, whether I'm liked or not someone's cup of tea. The more I write and the more I try new things, the more inclined I am to shrug my shoulders--if something works or sticks, great. If it doesn't, no big deal. You can't please everyone, nor should you try to. 

I also find myself trying to simplify my life more. One of the reasons I started taking cold showers every morning was because the hot water would take forever to reach our upstairs bathroom. So now I just turn it on to the coldest setting every morning and step in. It hurts, but it's not complicated.

Because I'm not catering my writing to this group or that group, I write what I feel God is leading me to write and let the chips and seeds fall where they do. If people glean something useful from it, great. If not, there's no shortage of other content out there. Negative comments I just kind of shrug off, which I would never have done in the past. I had someone reply in all caps (I assume, to underscore the point) UNSUBSCRIBE when I sent out a yearly personalized email to those who subscribe to this blog, which is fine as well. I've learned to trust my voice, something I never thought would happen. I've seen some fruit, but not an overwhelming harvest, but maybe at some point my day will come. In the meantime, we have to keep doing the work--the hard work of mercy.

Recently I had to do something very hard for me, something I didn't want to do, when it would have been easier and less troublesome to keep my mouth shut. I realized that keeping silent would have been easier, but my conscience kept nagging me, even when the consequences may potentially be losing a good friendship. I turned it over to God, tried to trust my instincts, and was given the grace of indifference and detachment--if it cost me the friendship, so be it. In a marriage or a friendship, in public office or in ministry, it's best to be transparent with nothing to hide, since our secrets can eat us alive. If nothing else, for simplicity's sake.

It's honestly refreshing to not care too much what people think--if you are a writer, you're probably in the wrong business if you're too susceptible to it anyway, since there will always be critics and detractors. In a friendship, if you can't be honest and truthful in charity with someone, even when it's hard to do, what is that friendship based on? 

Because our time is our most valuable currency as we age, we learn to be more discerning with it. More energy spent worrying about the opinions of others, or people who don't agree with us, is just wasted time. I've gotten a little crankier too--more patient in some things, and less in others--and so I'm more inclined to say what I think though I could do a better job doing so in a spirit of charity. If people are pruned from our lives, maybe it's because God is doing something in and for us that we can't do ourselves, and for a purpose we can't see. 

In any case, I'll continue the slog, continue trying to be truthful, continue trying to learn charity and not be so preoccupied with the opinion of others. As St. John Vianney said, "You cannot please both God and the world at the same time.  They are utterly opposed to each other in their thoughts, their desires, and their actions."

As my skin gets tougher (not a bad thing), I pray it is always seasoned with truth, but tenderized with charity. 

Is Your Old Man Really Dead?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shards of Daylight In A Saccharine World of Darkness

Deep. Popular. Christian. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Telling myself I won't go there

Oh, but I know that I won't care

Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt

This lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

There's darkness in the distance

From the way that I've been livin'

But I know I can't resist it

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

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

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

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

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

Tellin' myself it's the last time

Can you spare any mercy that you might find

If I'm down on my knees again?

Deep down, way down, Lord, I try

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

Please, don't leave me in the end

There's darkness in the distance

I'm beggin' for forgiveness (ooh)

But I know I might resist it, oh

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

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

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

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

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

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

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

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

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

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

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

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

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

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

Related: 

"Christian" Art or Christian "Art?"

What Makes An Artist An Artist?

Do We Need A 'Catholic Identity'?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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.  

Why I Don't Force My Daughter To Veil

 

We have been attending the Traditional Latin Mass for about five years now, and my son has been serving Low Mass for the past year or so. We have a great, pretty main-stream community, which includes both those who attend the English Mass, and of course the TLM crowd. 

When we first started attending, my daughter had just turned five, I think. Wanting to fit in with the crowd, I began wearing a blazer and tie, and we bought some lace from Walmart for veils for the girls--black for my wife, white for my daughter. She looked adorable, a little cherub.

But as a dad who knows his daughter, I can tell she isn't especially "religious" in the pious sense. She is a good, sweet, innocent girl, but now that she is a little older she doesn't feel the need to 'play the part.' She prays the family rosary with us, goes to Confession when we go as a family, but part of this is a little bit of 'going through the motions.' She may be 'religious' in her own way, but she is private and introverted, so it's not on display if she is. 

A few years ago she conveniently lost her veil. Initially, I would get a little perturbed, and insist she find it and wear it. But it was clear she wasn't especially wedded to it. She also has extremely long legs, and her dresses were always a little on the shorter side (at the knee). Eventually, I stopped making a point of it, feeling like I was forcing something that had the potential to turn her off completely from the trappings of religion (that are not bad things, mind you).

The family that invited us to our first Latin Mass at our current parish five years ago are special to us. They have a large, beautiful family; the husband is a lawyer, super pleasant and also a little brusk at the same time. When we were at dinner, while we still attended Mass a different (non-TLM) parish, he asked me as soon as we sat down, I think: "So, why do you attend the Novus Ordo?" He said it with a sincere smile, so even though the question was direct it wasn't meant to be mean-spirited. The honest truth is I didn't really have a reason why--I stammered something about having started an apostolate at that parish, that it's near my parents, yadda yadda. The fact is, I didn't really know there was an alternative to what we were doing. 

So, a few months later, they took us out to lunch, and invited us to attend their parish (where we currently attend). The wife is as sweet and gentle as can be. As I learned later, she had grown up in a very strict, very end-times focused traditional family, and had a bit of trauma I suspect from that. Her husband, for his part, had some very negative experiences with the Novus Ordo and a particular religious order. None of this was enough to drive them from the Church. But I will say if I had to describe them, they are very joyful, beautiful, balanced, common-sense people who are doing a wonderful job of raising faithful, happy, beautiful kids.

I mention this because I think of them a lot when it comes to the temptation to 'force' religion with regards to my own children. My son has a beautifully sensitive conscience, without being scrupulous. He knows what it means to be contrite, is affectionate, knows right from wrong. My daughter, too, has an innocent faith that she keeps private. My five year old will go to the butter knife drawer when he gets angry at his siblings and attempt to exact retribution on them with silverware, but we will deal with him when the time comes to meet with his probation officer, haha (I jest).  

I've had conversation with our friend (the wife) about a fear-based religious upbringing, and my impression is that she is raising her kids intentionally antithetical to that. The emphasis is on love, mercy, forgiveness, gentleness. It shows in the light that shines from within them. Her two girls now veil, but I think there was a time when she and her girls did not. I suspect they didn't feel they had anything to prove. They were a large, faithful, homeschooling Catholic family whose children all held the faith. They certainly didn't have to act more pious than anyone else, because they were confident in their identity as Catholics. 

Like our friends, my wife and I have nothing to prove, nothing to show-off; we are secure in our identity in Christ. We love God, love the Church...we're not perfect, but we do have faith. My dad, for all his faults, raised me to not care what people think (as he does not care what people think of him). 

I've kind of resigned to the fact that my daughter at this point in her life simply doesn't want to veil for whatever reason. No one in our parish is shaming her, especially not her father (me). We do not have the "veils of shame" basket in our particular parish, and no one ever says anything to any woman who doesn't. I am very averse to any whiff of cultish behavior, and I can confidently say as a more mainstream diocesan TLM parish, that's not really an issue. If it was, we might not be there. 

St. Antony the Great had a saying, "I no longer fear God...but I love him." I have that icon of him with those words at my prayer station. I think that is the spirit of our friends, as well. Fear, shaming, coercing...these are the things that tend to have the opposite effect when it comes to religion: it pushes people away rather than than draws them in. What does draw people in is gentleness, charity, not judging (all qualities St. Paul admonishes believers in Christ to exhibit). 

I can appreciate objectively the desire for women to veil, as long as it comes from a willing, modest, sincere spirit. My wife has taken to the habit, of her own, though it took a little while to get to that point. Why does she veil? I couldn't tell you. Part of it seems religious-cultural. Yes, the Apostle talks about it as well in scripture, that women should cover their heads. Yes, it is a matter of modesty. But it's also a bit of an "extra-catholica" issue, ancillary in my mind. 

So, I have decided I will respect my daughter's decision not to veil at Mass, because I respect my daughter and want her to choose this for herself out of devotion at the proper time (which doesn't seem to be now). She is a beautiful girl, inside and out, and I don't want to subject her to any degree of religious trauma, however remote. I want my kids to love God and love each other, and know that God loves them as well. The basics, the essentials. As we catechize them, we do so gently, encouragingly, making clear it is okay to ask questions. 

There is a tale in Aesop's fables that might illustrate my position here better than I can:

"The North Wind and the Sun had a quarrel about which of them was the stronger. While they were disputing with much heat and bluster, a Traveler passed along the road wrapped in a cloak.

"Let us agree," said the Sun, "that he is the stronger who can strip that Traveler of his cloak."

"Very well," growled the North Wind, and at once sent a cold, howling blast against the Traveler.

With the first gust of wind the ends of the cloak whipped about the Traveler's body. But he immediately wrapped it closely around him, and the harder the Wind blew, the tighter he held it to him. The North Wind tore angrily at the cloak, but all his efforts were in vain.

Then the Sun began to shine. At first his beams were gentle, and in the pleasant warmth after the bitter cold of the North Wind, the Traveler unfastened his cloak and let it hang loosely from his shoulders. The Sun's rays grew warmer and warmer. The man took off his cap and mopped his brow. At last he became so heated that he pulled off his cloak, and, to escape the blazing sunshine, threw himself down in the welcome shade of a tree by the roadside."

What Should A Catholic Family Look Like?

 

Occasionally I get slightly self-conscious because although we are Catholic through and through, and our faith is the most important thing in our life, we don't always comes across as the most "Catholic" of families. We have been known to have family dance parties in the kitchen to top-40 pop songs from the radio. We don't pray the rosary consistently every night as a family (though my wife and I do make every effort to pray it daily on our own). My youngest wears urban hand-me-downs I got from a black family in Philly, and my daughter refuses to wear long dresses. My humor is sometimes off-color.

On the flipside, we home school, my oldest son serves the Latin Mass, we say grace before meals, and we have Catholic books, art and crucifixes throughout the house. We love the Lord, we love our faith, and we try to live it out where it matters. 

We are heading to our monthly poetry recitation after Mass this morning with our co-op, and I was joking around with my wife that I should recite Gregory Corso's beat poem Marriage (published in 1960), which begins: Should I get married? Should I be good? Even though I didn't live through that time period, the Beats were a huge influence in my life growing up--for better or worse. I wanted to write like Jack Kerouac, who threw syntax and conventional form out the window and banged out his epic novel On The Road in 1957 on a single scroll of typewriter paper. The Beats were critical of post-war American conformity, typified by jobs, marriages, and suburban domesticity, and I shared Kerouac's affinity that "the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!""

But Kerouac died un-enlightened, suffering a massive abdominal hemorrhage at the age of 47. The New York Times obit interviewed his wife the day after, who told reporters, "He had been drinking heavily for the past few days. He was a very lonely man."

"I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic," Kerouac used to make a point of telling reporters. And he was. The late 1950's and 1960's were marked by an upheaval of conventional social mores, and Kerouac was no exception to being swept up in this wave of throwing off shackles--of syntax, of dogma, of sexual morality, of what was expected of a good American citizen.

And yet the irony is that as huge an influence as Kerouac and the Beats were on my teenage and young adult years, I saw the writing on the wall: no one was happier, no one was enlightened, and their sexual forays didn't bear fruit worthy of eating. When I met my wife and ultimately got married, I wasn't asking the question "Should I get married? Should I be good?" or feeling like I was succumbing to social convention based on the expectations of others. Rather, I said to myself, "I want to get married, because this is good."  And it truly has been.

I do from time to time get a case of the shoulds, mostly related to how we look "on the outside" as Catholics while other homeschool parents are living out the liturgical year with little crafts for their kids, and families are going to Catholic Family Land, etc. But as the saying goes, "comparison is the thief of joy." I certainly don't want to give scandal by doing anything contrary to the faith or in morals, and I think we're good there--because if we weren't, none of the externals matter. 

But is there a 'typology' or what a Catholic family should look like? I don't think so, and I'm not going to make some bullet point list of things you can do to look more Catholic as a family, either. To be honest, I think the bigger problem is that for many American families who are Catholic and may even go to Mass every Sunday, they are largely indistinguishable from the culture at large. 

So, what should a Catholic family look like to those on the outside? I think first and foremost, as we see in today's Epistle from 1 Peter, "Before all things have a constant mutual charity among yourselves; for charity covereth a multitude of sins. Using hospitality one toward another, without murmuring...that in all things God may be honored through Jesus Christ, our Lord." (1 Pt 4:7-11) Catholic families should have charity as their mark, and joy as the plate it is served on. 

I do remember that when I was in high school and before I was Catholic going to a friend's house and noticing a picture of the Sacred Heart on the wall. I thought to myself, "What's that?" but it always stuck with me…and I came into the Church a few years later.  So, Catholic art is a good thing, and can be an external mark as well that has the potential to lead others to curiosity, and perhaps ultimately, salvation through grace. Saying grace before meals in public, or praying the rosary on the train, can be good things if it does the same .

I do think some people get it in their heads that they have to "dress the part" or use churchy language all the time, or any other number of things in order to stake out their Catholic identity especially if one is trying to figure out "how to be Catholic" and what that looks like externally. That's all fine and good, but to the degree it comes from a spirit of comparison or even a kind of spiritual covetousness, it would be better to eschew those externals and focus on inner conversion, prayer, and charity and let the rest eventually take care of itself. We don't wash the outside of the cup first, but the inside (Mt 23:25). 

Writers try to find their voice by borrowing from other writers and trying on their style, as I did with Kerouac. But over time, my confidence in both my identity as a Catholic, a husband, and a writer grew, and I found I didn't need to try to sound like x, or write like y, or dress like z. I could just be myself, and be that well, as St. Francis de Sales was so fond of exhorting. 

 A true Catholic identity is more like a blush that subtly highlights rather than a bright red lipstick meant to draw attention to itself. So, to the extent you are loving the Lord, honoring him in worship, being charitable to your neighbor and the poor, and raising up your children to do the same, you're most likely on a good track.

Made Up

Have you ever noticed that with MtF transitioners, there is much energy and attention put into the external adornments of their new perceived identify? This should be obvious, but even for those who have undergone surgery to snuff out the last vestiges of their maleness, they still make a point of designer lipstick, eyeshadow, jewelry, clothing, color schemes, hairstyles, etc.?

And yet, St. Peter exhorts bonafide women that 

"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. For this is the way the holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to adorn themselves" (1 Pt 3:3-5)

Why does he say this? Is this a reflection of the culture at the time? Or is there something more here?

Those who claim to be trans, like all men, are children of God and as such have an inherent dignity. But because of their dysphoria and attempt to change their unchanging nature, they compensate their lack of inherent feminity in the same fashion that St. Peter describes above: with external adornment. They do not see their inner self as gentle, quiet, and of unfading beauty; instead, it is inner-turmoil, discord, confusion, unrest. And so the make up becomes the mask.

If you've ever met a holy woman, a good woman, a beautiful woman, you are struck because their inner nature (which is gentle, quiet, and of unfading beauty) is "worn" and accentuated externally without kitchy adornment. A man attempting to adopt this tender poise which is not of his nature will naturally come off as gaudy and counterfeit, no matter the grade of lipstick or shade of the blush he uses to try to mask his inner tortured nature. 

I learned a lot from this (long) podcast with Jason Evert and it is clear he is doing good work with a heart of compassion in this area of speaking the Truth in love to those with gender dysphoria. One of the things that really impresses me is he takes the time to affirm the personhood of to those who claim to be trans and says, "tell me your story," and gives them his full attention. He also asks the right questions to get to the heart of the matter. They often share their hurts, their struggles, and their fears with him in those moments--because let's face it, many of us just don't do this, either because of lack of exposure to this population, or because we don't care to do the hard work it takes to love there. 

The fact that male transitioners adopt this kind of external mimicking of what they think a woman is and how she should look should underscore for women the words of St. Peter to be wary of such overt adornment.

I want to make the point that St. Peter is not speaking to this modern population in his epistle, but to the women of the church, with his admonishment. This is because, like the pearl of great price which is the Gospel (Mt 13:46), and the kingdom of heaven which is within (Lk 17:21) the pearl of a woman comes from the inside out. It is more precious than gold (Ps 19:10; Prov 13:15), and those who see that inner beauty are the ones worthy of it.  

On the contrary, when a woman has not taken into herself the seed of the Gospel, external adornment becomes necessary in most circumstances as a means of masking or compensation. When a woman of God uses a pinch of blush or a bit of lipstick, it is to highlight her inherent femininity, not try to convince you of it--because she doesn't have to. She is confident in her standing as a child of God, a vessel of life, and a pearl of great price. 

This is what women should strive to develop, and to learn from other women of such standing how to do so. For it is a of great worth in God's sight, and also for the man who has the eyes to see such beauty. In contrast to those beauty aids which seek to conceal and mask, any such external adornments a woman employs should be used as a subtle highlight to reflect that beauty within.

You Are The Man

 

When our oldest son was born, my wife and I chose as his namesake two men who I always felt a close affinity to: David, from the Old Testament, and Peter, from the New Testament. Both men had a burning love for God that is intimate and shamelessly authentic; both were chosen and anointed by God for a special mission. Both were great men but also fell victim to great sin, and the fact that these two things were not in contradiction was not lost on me.  

As we head into Good Friday and the final few days of Holy Week, I am just always struck, year after year, with the story of Peter's denial of Christ. I will confess that I struggle with a degree of "Catholic self-worth" which usually comes up in proximity to the other Catholics in our circle--the ones who seem to have the liturgical seasons down pat, their kids on a good catechized schedule, their lives in order, and who just exemplify what it is to be a good Catholic. I feel like a scandal to my own self, unworthy of emulation because of my bad example. I am full of strong bravado that blows up in the first few miles of the marathon and then leaves me limping the remaining miles, or taking shortcuts. I have gone from embracing my cross to now trying to shirk it off at every turn.  I eat in the middle of the night. I find excuses not to pray. I indulge in this or that excess. 

Of course I am not above human weakness more than the next man. The burning shame I feel when what I do (and don't do) does not square with what I profess seems to be amplified by that fact that I truly love the Lord, and yet I can't back up that love with action worthy of its degree. I don't understand it.

But then all I have to do is look at Peter.

Just as David's murderous plot, adultery, and cover up was grave, Peter's sin is nothing to sneeze at either:

He lies.

He curses and swears an oath.

He betrays the confidence of his closest friend.

He denies God.

As Christ falls carrying his own cross three times on the way to Calvary, Peter seeks to get out from under his not once, not twice, but three times. Feeding his denial is a sensitivity to the outlook and talk of others. We see in Paul's letter to the Galatians that this does not completely leave him either after the Resurrection, since Paul accuses Peter of not eating with the Gentiles because they are uncircumsized, even though he knows it is not right to do so. 

But like David, who is shown his sin by the prophet Nathan and is brought to recognition and repentance with the words "You are the man!," Peter is cut to the heart with sorrow when he hears the cock crow and recalls the prophetic words of his friend and Savior foretelling his denial. He, as well, is the man--not "the man" that everyone wants to be, but the man who stands accused and has no more room to deny. 

When he realizes this and the shadow of shame is cast over him, he weeps bitterly. Like Judas, in a way, Peter has traded in his closest friend for pieces of silver--the silver of blending in with the crowd, of not being a standout, of the world. But unlike Judas, Peter lets the glance from the Lord in that moment cut through him with love. Though he is taken out at the knees and brought low, he does not abandon or forsake his love for Jesus. He will recover his name, and his weakness will be perfected in strength...but now is the time for tears.

Lent is an utter humiliation for me, and typically nearing the end of it I am reminded of how much Christ endured...and how little I have. As he takes flog after flog at the pillar, I complain about a blister on my heel. As he staggers with exhaustion under the tree from which he will hang,  I snack on crumpets and count down to my next meal. As he bears the weight of sin, I continue to stack my own on his shoulders. When being a disciple is worthy of praise I'm all about it--when it becomes the scorn of the crowd, I, like Peter, look to instead join a winning team. I am a worm and no man. 

But I am, in fact, the man. The man who denies Christ to his face to save face myself. The man who chooses comfort and good name again and again over being maligned and counted as one of his disciples. The man who is not a good friend, who is a liar, who swears and curses and abandons. And as I stagger out of the courtyard during these final hours of Lent, all I can do is lower my head and say, God, be merciful to me a sinner! 

Lost In Translation

"A perfect mortification is to avoid speaking without having to, for that is a great fault in a Christian soul. We must fear, we must avoid useless conversations because of the sins we commit in them and the time we waste in them."

St. Teresa of Avila

I currently got hooked on a bit of synth-pop via Mr. Kitty's "After Dark" dubbed over splices of the 2003 film Lost in Translation. Though this musical genre is new to me, it's been an ethereal meditation personally, syncing with my own feelings of loneliness, disconnect, and isolation as of late. The film itself (which I saw years ago) is an artfully done "romantic melancholy" working within the confines of emotional (rather than sexual) intimacy between two American strangers in Tokyo--poignant scraps of connection in a modern day world of disconnection. 

A look, a gesture, a touch--all sans words in the music video--are akin to the economics of words within poetry, all while eliciting a cogent sense of presence and longing, the lingering taste of the hangover of loneliness. In the words of Ezra Pound, "use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation." 

I started writing thirty years ago inspired by the poetry of the 17th century Japanese haiku masters--Buson, Basho, Issa. Haiku is the poetry of the real, as the saying goes. Within the confines of a 3 line, 5-7-5 sylable structure, the poet has no words to waste. But because the essence of haiku is experiential, the words themselves must become wordless--the pure translation of experience. Time, too, is transcended in a moment of presence. Take for instance this haiku of Yosa Buson (1716-84), which has stayed with me to this day from when I read it decades ago:

Pressing sushi;

After a while,

A lonely feeling

In the context of the Faith, we can experience this transcendence in the reception of the Eucharist, the direct, subjective, poetic experience of the Divine, within the established and objective 5-7-5 rubrics of the Mass. We are transported from our present state to Calvary, to the Upper Room, to the bosom of the Lord with St. John...that is, when we are paying attention and enter into the reality we consume--when we become what we eat.

This wordless communion, and the silence therein, has led me to reflect on this neglected bit of scripture, the words of our Lord, 

"But I say unto you, that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall render an account for it in the day of judgment" (Mt 12:36).

Every idle word. Were I to take a true, honest inventory of the words I expel daily so carelessly...well, it is an indictment. The more I reflect on it, the more I want to sanctify not just my thoughts and actions, but the words which I speak. They should be korban, "something which draws close," not fodder for conversation, caloric filler to take up space in the atmosphere, or random texts sent to distract me from my present state of being. More often then not, our words are spoken in order to choke the silence rather than sanctify the air.

It is very difficult to intentionally starve our environment of words so that we mindfully use only what is necessary to convey a point, a direction, a salutation, an experience. But I'm going to make it a New Years resolution of sorts to try.

Not speaking at all (a "vow of silence") is not especially practical, but I do think I could cut the amount of words I speak and texts I send in a day by 75% and still function and communicate effectively. In our daily life, we deflate our currency with the frivolity of our barrage of ill-conceived words the way the Fed prints money. It's going to take some thoughtfulness, and pausing to think first. It may involve some discomforting periods of letting verbal fields lay fallow. Like the haiku artist, each word must serve a function--to be charitable, intentional, meaningful, and fruitful. 

But I'd like to undertake this challenge--to re-frame my loneliness as a power rather than a weakness, imbibing meaning in each word spoken rather than diffusing it through frivolous manners of simply talking for its own sake. To listen first, and speak second. To say only what needs to be said, text only what needs to be texted, and nothing more. To respect the role of meditation in daily life, painting with minimal strokes on the canvas of silence. To respect the Lord who oppressed and afflicted "opened not his mouth" (Is 53:7). To be mindful of my judgment. "Keep silence," writes St. Paul of the Cross, "like a golden cross destined to preserve the treasure of the other virtues. Whoever keeps his tongue, keeps his soul." 

I don't want my words to be used against me in the heavenly court. "For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned" (Mt 12:37). I cannot take back the torrent of trifles that have spilled from my mouth over the decades, rendering judgment, causing scandal, breaking down rather than building up, decaying the enamel of how many souls, polluting my environment with excess of language. But I can repent and turn off the faucet starting today to be judicious, thoughtful, sober, tempered with regards to my words. No one is owed any of them. 

The Art of Communication

I was getting down on myself the other day for not succeeding in life, at least in terms of career. Now, granted, I don't think this is a fair assessment, as I feel very fortunate to have a loving wife, a great family, good friends, and a supportive community. In many ways, I feel like a rich man. 

But comparison is a trap, and I don't even think it's fair that I was feeling inferior in terms of career status--there are lots of guys who do much better than me, and I'm sure some that are about the same level or struggling. In many ways, my career suits me because it plays to my strengths, none of which include anything to do with IQ and analytical abilities. Most of my "skillset" is soft, that is, soft skills like "effective communication" and "being a team player." I don't have much of an IQ (intelligence quotient) to speak of, but I do pride myself as perhaps having a higher EQ (emotional quotient) than many. That is, until I realized that high EQ doesn't really lend itself to succeeding "in the world" after coming across a compelling case against the overstated value of emotional intelligence in Inc from a Redditor in a AMA (Ask Me Anything) subreddit responding to a question posed on this topic:

"This is an interesting concept, but I gotta be honest," began the Redditor. "I'm an [expletive], and that's helped me more in my career than caring about people's emotions or anything like that.

In my industry, I focus on the work (really stressful medical clinical trials) and doing the best I can. Becoming an expert in my field is what matters to anyone I work with, because I can help companies save millions of dollars. I quit jobs if I'm not paid enough, negotiate for salaries more than twice as high as the industry average, and leave jobs if I get a better offer somewhere else. I'm great to work with, if I'm paid enough. After I leave a company, I often get a higher offer to come back.

I guess my question is, why should I care about "emotional intelligence"? How will it be a better usage of my time than just continuing to be an expert and outsmarting/outwitting my peers?"

He makes some salient points. Is emotional intelligence, then, a liability or an asset? Does it depend on the environment one works in? If I was in court, I would want my lawyer to be a bulldog in representing me.   

A few weeks ago I came across an "expose" by Church Militant on the Wyoming Carmelites (aka, the "Mystic Monk Coffee" monks) and alleged abuses. It came across as a real hit piece. I rarely listen to CM and though I suppose they fill a function in Church media, I consider their journalism sloppy. Michael Voris is a bulldog, much like Bill Donahue (of the Catholic League) who goes after those who they want to spotlight and doesn't back down. I had a friend who was interviewed by Church Militant for something, and they completely misquoted and took her words out of context. Of course many news outlets are guilty of this, but I still find it off-putting. They often have a kind of pre-scripted agenda that they contort the content to fit. Again, this is true of most media outlets. 

That's why I find the emergence of the Joe Rogan Experience so interesting, and refreshing. Rogan is not a journalist. He's neither a scientist nor a medical professional, not a theologian nor an academic. He's also not a provocateur. His career includes stints in standup comedy, narrating UFC fights, and hosting Fear Factor.  

And yet, he has an incredible talent for attracting and engaging an incredibly diverse palate of guests (too many to list) on his podcast. I would wager that Rogan has an especially high emotional quotient, defined as "ability to understand, use, and manage your own emotions in positive ways to relieve stress, communicate effectively, empathize with others, overcome challenges and defuse conflict." 

He's also comes across as patriotic and an ordinary guy while being authentic, empathetic, attentive, cool, and incredibly curious yet measured in his thought process. He doesn't appear to prejudge especially harshly, and gives a platform to his guests while enjoying the freedom of not having to interject his own thoughts or steer the conversation towards a pre-determined narrative. This looks seamless and easy on camera, but I believe it takes a good amount of skill and deftness. He listens well and is interested in what is being discussed, which can not be said of most people (who are simply waiting for their turn to talk). He's not afraid to take things further into uncomfortable territory, and yet he seems like the opposite of a Michael Voris-type: self-confident, open to new ideas, and respectfully attentive. 

I think what attracts a lot of people to his podcast is that it invites you into these intimate, stimulating conversations with these varied high profile guests that span the socio-political spectrum. It's not combative or stressful, but interesting and engaging without a real agenda. He can ground even the most esoteric guest. It gives the opportunity for curious people to be exposed to a different set of beliefs they may not have had otherwise. Whether that narrative is accurate or right may not be settled. 

Yes, his language is coarse and sometimes vulgar. Yes, he sometimes smokes weed on the show with his guests. If you can look past those things, it can be a fascinating watch to see how an ordinary joe (pun intended) has mastered the art of communication and respectfully engages, actively listens, withholds judgment, and is genuinely curious about things he may not understand (but desires to). It also gives me hope that even though I don't have much of an IQ or any marketable skills in the workforce, maybe my EQ and everything that comes with it isn't a total waste after all. 

In some ways, Rogan is like a Pilate, asking in his secular oratory of sorts "What Is Truth?" and being willing to interview anyone without exception if they have something to contribute to get to the heart of that question. I don't get the feeling he is willing to follow the Truth wherever it leads, is open to it, or that he even believes in objective truth. But he's willing to listen and guide the questions. There's something to that. It feels like it's a glimmer of hope that maybe we can someday as a country get back to a restoration of mutual respect and intellectual curiosity among those who have something to offer to the conversation.   

Related:

Radical Authenticity

Why People Are Drawn to Authenticity    

What Happened When I Put My Phone Down, Took a Deep Breath, and Started A Conversation With A Total Stranger