Talk: "If It's Not Real Catholicism, To Hell With It"

 

I gave the following talk for the Archdiocese of Scranton's 11th Annual Men’s Conference this past Saturday in Wilkes Barre, PA. The men were solid and the event was well organized and attended, around 350 guys. The following is the transcript of my talk, which a number of people asked me to post, so here it is. 

“If It’s Not Real Catholicism, To Hell With It”

If anyone is familiar with the American Catholic writer Flannery O’Connor, they would be familiar with her famous quote, “If the Eucharist is just a symbol, then to hell with it.” Ms. O’Connor, as a Catholic living in the entrenched bible belt of the deep South, and writing her unique brand of dark “Southern Gothic” that was often lost (and sometimes seen as distasteful) on her audience, she occupied a niche space in the literary world of the mid-twentieth century. 

And yet her influence in the Catholic world both theologically and in literature has endured to this day along with the likes of Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, J.R.R. Tolkien and others. Why? Ms. O’Connor, who died of lupus at age 39, was an authentic Catholic whose vocation was found in the written word. She embraced that vocation with a dedication and purpose that dovetailed with the seriousness with which she approached the Christian life of discipleship. The themes she explored in her short stories–sin, grace, redemption–are universal themes which she explored with an incisive astuteness. In other words, only Flannery O’Connor could have written the words that Flannery O’Connor did because she embraced her vocation as both a writer and as a Catholic. For Flannery, the two were symbiotic and inseparable.

So why am I kicking off my talk at a men’s conference talking about a woman who lived almost a century ago, and a writer (when probably less than 1% of the general population are writers)? When I was drafting this talk (three days before the conference, since I was filling in for Brian Holdsworth at short notice), I knew I was a bit of a B-lister, rather than a headliner; an opener no one has heard of for the main band that everyone has paid good money to see. 

Although I have given talks to smaller audiences, a 400 man conference where I was expected to fill a 50 minute time slot is a first for me. But I think the reason I am here today is because the Holy Spirit has something to say, and I was the man He enlisted to say it. It could have been Brian. It could have been my friend Kevin Wells. These guys are varsity Catholics–faithful, insightful, smart and zealous. They love the Church and see the crisis more vividly than many. They have made it their vocation, like Flannery O’Connor, to speak the truth of the Faith in only a way Kevin Wells and Brian Holdsworth can. Sometimes it is irreverent, or shocking. But the point, as Kevin and Brian well know, is to wake your average pew-sitting Catholic from their slumber. By any means necessary.

And God does not do “accidents.” Brian is not here today because God had other plans for not only him and his family, but for you. Kevin is not here today because God needs him elsewhere. To quote some grandmother somewhere, “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.” And that Providence is EXACTLY what God intended for you today.

Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade talks about this “abandonment to Divine Providence” as “the Sacrament of the Present Moment.” It’s one of the few times when a secular adage like “everything happens for a reason” actually dovetails with a Catholic understanding of the divine economy.

And I will tell you why in God’s perfect plan you ended up with a B-lister Catholic speaker (aka, me) today. And that is because the Holy Spirit will not be silenced. He needs to speak in silent groanings. And like Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park observed, “life finds a way.” The Spirit MUST speak, because He will not be silenced. The Spirit finds a way.

In many respects I am not an ideal “first pick” speaker for a large men’s conference. I think with a right-side brain. I drive a Prius. I discern primarily through intuition rather than cold hard logic. 

Matt Walsh from the Daily Wire shot a documentary a couple years ago titled “What Is A Woman?” It was and is a fundamental question that can be, surprisingly, a hard one to answer. Is being a woman (or a man) a matter of biology? Of cultural expectations of how to act? Is a tomboy more girl or more boy? In many ways, the cultural gender confusion we are living through in the present age is a reflection of our inability to answer this one simple and fundamental question on which the whole of society hinges.

Although the character traits I mentioned earlier obviously do not disqualify me from being a man, there is an unspoken pressure to conform oneself to cultural standards. As comedian Dave Chappelle observed, “the hardest thing for anyone to do is go against their tribe.” Because the question “What is a man?” can be a nuanced one, there is a temptation to reduce it to the lowest common, universal denominator. And the result of that reduction is caricature. A man watches such and such sport. A man drives such and such vehicle. A man does not need other people (ie, a “one man wolfpack”).

There are some universal traits that we should aspire to as men: a sense of duty and sacrifice; an ability to defer gratification and eschew softness (‘mollis’--that is, yielding to touch); a desire to provide and protect. These are inherent traits based in nature and the divine order that are oriented towards the good, the complementary nature of men and women. But there is also a gradient or spectrum of how these traits manifest and are lived out from man to man. 

In the same way Flannery O’Connor was not your “typical” Catholic, not a caricature of what faith or belief is supposed to look like, there are men in the audience today who may be wondering how to answer that question “What is a man?” And more specifically, “What qualifies ME as one?”

Although I could extrapolate on that topic for the purposes of this talk I would like to instead focus on the question “What is a Catholic?” What makes someone a Catholic? And what does authentic Catholicism look like? Because as I’ve alluded to in the title of this talk, if you are not living an authentic Catholic life, you might as well say “to hell with it.”

Because we are exploring a fundamental question, let’s start with some fundamental assumptions concerning what makes a Catholic.

First, by our baptism, we are welcomed into the family of God. We are endowed with an indelible birthmark that can never be erased. We are marked men (and women) for God as His children. Although baptism by its nature confers grace and accomplishes this end even when it takes place outside a Catholic church (such as in a Protestant denomination, at a river, or even baptism by an atheist in times of war or emergency), a Catholic baptism is the welcoming into God’s family in His own house. The fundamentals are the same, but the character differs. Regardless, it is a prerequisite for Christian life.

In the early Church, many Christians would delay baptism til right before death because they took it so seriously, they didn’t want to mar the white garments of their freedom from Original Sin with personal sin. Today, obviously, people are baptized as infants even when their parents may not practice the faith. They at least have the spiritual good sense to recognize it as a good and not deprive their child of that sacramental grace.

We can point to political figures such as Joe BIden or Nancy Pelosi, whose public stances are at odds with Catholic teaching. Yet they are Catholics by nature of their baptism. They are only one good Confession away from coming back into communion with the Church. I may be signaling them out because of the public nature of their positions, but the fact is the percentage of baptized Catholics living contrary to their baptismal promises is high. And this is not only a scandal, but a perilous spiritual situation to find oneself in. Because they are leaning over the precipice of Hell without realizing what awaits them at the hour of their death.

So, Joe BIden, Nancy Pelosi and others living contrary to the Faith are still nonetheless Catholics (CINOs–Catholics in Name Only). Does this mean they are authentic Catholics? The evidence points to the contrary, despite the press’s insistence on President BIden being a “devout” Mass going Catholic.

The spiritual reality is that such Catholics not in a state of grace who approach the table of the Lord eat and drink condemnation upon themselves, as St. Paul warns.

I’m sure you have also heard of those who refer to themselves or others as “good Catholics.” This should be a bit of a red flag, for those who think themselves “good” are often “wise in their own eyes” as it says in Scripture, while those who recognize that “there is no good in me”  are often closer to the Kingdom of Heaven due to keeping their eyes lowered to the ground in humility and a recognition of their own sinfulness. It is part of the essential paradox that marks the Christian life, one that requires “eyes that see”--that one must die in order to live, serve rather than be served, forgive those who sin against us, etc. While the Our Father is a “complete protein,” a perfect prayer given to us by the Lord Himself, another one popular in the Jesus Prayer tradition of the Christian East is equally efficacious in its simplicity: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

This misguided mutation of authentic Catholic theology and spirituality reasons that “Good people go to Heaven” or, in another vein, that if we “do all the right things,” (serving on the parish council, volunteering with St. Vincent de Paul, participating in the KOC coat drive, going to Mass every Sunday, etc) we somehow merit or “earn” the “right” to reside there as well. When in fact, “no one is good, not one” as it says in Scripture, and that salvation is a matter of pure grace dependent on the mercy of God, not because of our merit. 

There is a third counterfeit form of Catholicism as well (and I should mention, all these scenarios have a grain of truth to them, but like all distortions of the truth, are not the full truth), and that is that of the so-called “cultural Catholic.” We often hear such Catholics justifying their positions by backing them up with “Well, I went to Catholic school from K-12” or “I went to Notre Dame/Fordham/Georgetown/insert CINO college here” or “My family is Irish Catholic, so…you know…” There is some residual value in the cultural traditions passed down via the various ethno-national branches of the Roman Catholic tree. The baptism scene in the movie The Godfather is a good example of this. 

But largely these things are artifacts of a bygone era, museum pieces that are meant to be admired rather than lived out. And this is because in the degenerate generation we live in, we cannot continue to drive the caravan of Catholicism on the fumes of an empty tank of cultural traditions devoid of authentic belief and practice. It is an impotent force against the hegemony of the cultural juggernaut  that makes victims of our children and erodes the roots of Christian culture cementing the dunes of society from washing into the sea. Cultural Catholicism is the cumbersome armor of Saul, when the particular demands of taking down Goliath depends on lightfootedness and the precision of a sling.

The scandal of Catholics professing the faith while living contrary to it; the self-righteousness of those who have the audacity to make a claim on Heaven’s throne because of their works; and the tired wheezing of riding the coattails of a cultural Catholicism that no longer exists in a post-Christian culture–these are three examples (among potential others) that miss the mark of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ today. 

In fact, I have found in my conversations with people regarding faith, belief and religion that I often refer to myself not as a Catholic, not as a Christian, but as a “disciple of Jesus Christ.” This feels like the most accurate way of describing what living the Catholic faith means to me and how it is the “whole armor of God” one dons when going to war with powers and principalities. Because of the scandal of the aforementioned Catholics, such a label has lost its meaning in the culture; indeed, even non-Catholic Christians are sometimes more bold and unapologetic in their witness despite not possessing the fullness of Truth, rightful authority, and the full quiver of sacramental grace. 

But by far the most deadly and abject state of being for a baptized Catholic today is given warning in the book of Revelation: “I wish you were hot or cold. But because you are lukewarm, I will vomit you from my mouth” (Rev 3:16). The violence of this rejection, this expulsion from the womb of God’s grace, is merited because God, in sending His only Son to die for our sins, is greeted with the most stinging of wounds–that of apathy. That God died for nothing, and that we yawn under the shower of the blood pouring from his pierced side on Calvary.  That we take this gift of life, the invitation to eternal life, for granted. 

As I may have mentioned earlier (or maybe it was in my speaker bio), I am a convert to the Catholic faith. I came into the Church when I was a freshman in college right before my nineteenth birthday. Though my father was a Byzantine Catholic and my mother an Episcopalian, my brothers and I were not raised with any faith. I never had the experience of being a cultural Catholic, going to Catholic school, or would have had any concept of what even constituted a “good” or “bad” Catholic. Although there were a lot of Catholics in my public high school, I did not know they were Catholic because nothing about their lives indicated that they were. They did not go to Mass. They did not speak about Jesus or their faith. They may have checked the “Catholic” box on a public census; but by all measures, they were baptized agnostics, a flaccid witness to what I would discover eventually to be a rich, vibrant, life giving faith that offers men the chance for redemption and salvation–which I was deeply in need of.

One of the hard things about becoming Catholic from a secular, hedonistic background was that the old man did not die easily. Like Augustine, my conversion was a “chastity, but not yet” scenario of steeling my nerve on the shores of continence to jump into the cold ocean of chaste and virtuous living, but having no one to imitate. I had come to belief and faith, but did not know how to act. Like St. James warns believers, I was a man “of two minds,” living between two worlds, trying to put new wine into old wineskins. The chasm between my old life and my new life in Christ was spreading and having one foot in each was simply putting pressure on my groin because I was reluctant to shed my old skin and take on the armor of Christ.  

I also did not know many faithful Catholics. I attended a Protestant bible study with good, faithful, solid men for six years because I couldn’t find a Catholic one that wasn’t at 10am on a Tuesday or some other time conducive to retired guys. I prayed a simple but sincere prayer in the spirit of St. Francis: “Lord, Send me some brothers.” And God answered that prayer by slowly, but steadily sending people into our lives that showed what a fruitful and authentic Catholic faith lived out looked like. 

And that’s the crux of the point I’m trying to get across to you today–heterodoxy, hypocrisy, and a benign cultural Catholicism is simply not sufficient to be a suitable witness in today’s world. I am a late Gen Xer, but Gen Z and Gen Alpha have an even stronger bs meter than my generation does. They can smell it from a mile away. On the flipside, however, is the fact that they respect and are attracted to authenticity. They also can be like spiritual “mystery shoppers” or “stealth applicants”--those who may discover the Catholic faith or Catholic teaching or witnesses by being fed it through their Youtube algorithm. It may begin with a curiosity, but can move into “gateway drug” territory where the more they learn about Catholicism and the more they witness people living out the faith in real time the more they are drawn to it, like a moth to the light. This is the work of grace, of the Holy Spirit of course; but it is also the work of evangelization, of men and women being salt and light in the world–of disciples of Jesus Christ drawing souls to Him like iron filaments to a magnet–slowly, quietly, and irresistibly. They do this not by playing a part, but being their authentic, unique selves with unique gifts and offering them for the sake of the kingdom.

We often outsource things to “experts.” My wife’s immigrant parents sent her and her siblings to Catholic school with the belief that they would be taught the faith there. This was in the late eighties and early nineties, a catechetical wasteland period in the Church which watered down the teachings of the Church in favor of social justice initiatives and “God is love” platitudes. My wife went to Catholic school for twelve years and never learned who Jesus was. 

The thing is, as a baptized Catholic sitting in this room today, you are given everything you need to not only live the Catholic faith, not only be sanctified by it, but to ascend to the heights of spiritual union with God and become a saint. That will not look the same for every man here, because you are all uniquely made in the image and likeness of God. But you were all made for holiness–it is your etiological end, the consummation of your experience as a man and human being. It is achievable not by your own efforts, but in cooperation with grace and aided by the sacraments. This is because God desires you to be saved, and will give you every means and tool to do so. Just as a chaste man is in control of his member–that is, strength through self-control, the man oriented to God is in possession of his reason and will and conforms them to God’s. The only thing preventing you from becoming a saint and leaving behind the snake skin of a tepid, lukewarm Catholicism is….you.

When Flannery O’Connor said, “If the Eucharist is only a symbol…to hell with it,” she was not being facetious, but uncovering a cultural reality with a poignant observation: there is no room for shells of realities, husk of the true–we must have meat, must dig for kernels in the midst of starvation. Anything less is dead weight and must be thrown overboard. Catholicism devoid of true faith and earnest belief is the lamest country club around. “Why do you call me Lord but do not do what I ask?” 

I realize, just as I mentioned earlier in this talk that there is not one mold or “type” of what makes a man, there are men present here today that are at different places in their faith journey. Some may be new converts, some may be cradle Catholics. For some the teachings of the faith are obvious, to others a revelation. Some may be coming back after years in the desert away from the sacraments, while some may be daily communicants and active members of their parish. But the fact remains that if you are taking time out of your busy schedules to attend a retreat like this on a Saturday in October, it’s not because you don’t have better things to do; it’s because you were moved to make the faith a priority in your life somehow. You want to be a better, more authentic Catholic and a more devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. You are ready for meat. 

I want to talk a little bit beyond the scope of “real” Catholicism and living an authentic Catholic life in general to hone in a little bit on the uniqueness of the male experience of faith. Because there is a degree of association with faith and religious practice with that of the female temperament–old ladies praying the rosary, or the women in scripture devoted to our Lord and serving him, or “church ladies” serving on the parish councils and various ministries in the church. Of course we know the life of faith and religious practice is not and should not be confined to female sensibilities–our Lord after all was a man, his disciples were men, heroic priests and religious throughout the centuries were men, and the Crusaders died defending Christendom from heretics were men. What happened to the Church? When did this shift take place that castrated the Church and effeminized it and turned otherwise willing men away from the practice of faith? When did the virility drain out through the grate?

The fallout from this is immeasurable. When the men go, they take everyone with them. Touchstone magazine years ago referenced a study that cited that when a father practices the Faith, it is much more effective in passing the Faith on to future generations than if a mother is faithful, or even if both parents are faithful. Men and fathers are the biggest influence when it comes to that transmission of faith through the family line.

Because of this fact, a few years ago I proposed a men’s group at our parish. In all honesty, I hadn’t had good experiences with men’s groups in the past, and my first article written for Crisis magazine a number of years ago went somewhat viral because it touched a nerve and a third rail. It was titled “Why Your Catholic Men’s Group Will Eventually Fold.” The basic premise was that men’s groups–necessary as they are, in my opinion–suffer from various universal deficiencies that make it hard to sustain a group long term. From needing a point person to lead, to the demands of work and family in one’s twenties and thirties, to lack of support from the parish, there are various challenges to having a successful men’s group that endures more than a year or two.

I called some guys from the parish together–some older, some younger, one of the deacons–and with the blessing of our pastor we had two informal meetings in which we hashed out a general idea of what we sought to accomplish. The “three legged stool” idea was that the once a month gathering should be limited in time (to respect family life and obligations), not require any kind of sign up or dues or bylaws or anything like that (so, informal or organic in nature), and appeal to male sensibilities–in other words, it should be founded on the three legs of prayer, formation, and fraternity. 

What it looked like when we started it a few years ago was that on the 4th Thursday of every month the church would be open for Exposition of the blessed sacrament. A man would lead the rosary during that time after 15 minutes or so of silent adoration, and men would take turns doing each mystery, so there was buy in and a sense of belonging and responsibility, no matter how seemingly insignificant. After that half hour to forty five minutes was up after Benediction, we would migrate to the basement for a talk on a topic relevant to our lives as Christian men–living the virtues, the lives of the saints, or some other theological or practical topic. Because our priest is stretched so thin, I didn’t want him to feel responsible for these talks, so I enlisted a different man each month to take up the challenge of choosing a topic and drafting a ten to fifteen minute talk to the guys. For some, this was an intimidating prospect, but the men took it seriously and there was buy-in and a sense of doing something challenging and uncomfortable. During the talk we would have wings or some other kind of food and beer and also non-alcoholic drinks. After the talk there is a fifteen minute period of discussion, and we then we wrap up. From start to finish, it’s an hour and a half once a month.

I have found that a few things help ensure the longevity of this enterprise, which consistently draws twenty to thirty guys each month. 

For one, consistency is important. Men know that on the 4th Thursday of every month, this is happening. I send a reminder email to those that put their name and email on a sign in sheet, but that’s about it. Because we are in the basement and men just kind of hear about it without any kind of formal advertising, I joke that it’s like Catholic Fight Club (without the fighting).

Secondly, there must be a value in coming. We ask guys to give up an hour and a half of their family time in the evening, so it better be worth their while. If nothing else, they get a solid period of prayer that they might not have otherwise, in the company of other men not ashamed to pray, then a meal and a good talk that challenges them to live out their faith and lead their families in virtue. It doesn’t ask men to sit around and share their feelings in a circle, or devolve into faux-masculine tropes of talking about sports or politics. We are focused on the fundamentals–prayer, fraternity, spiritual formation, in an informal setting. It is organic in the sense of coming from the bottom up, rather than the top down. The demands for the loose organizer (me) are minimal once it’s up and running–I supply the food with a coffee can for donations to cover cost, send a reminder email, solicit men to give the talks each month, and show up consistently.

Finally, it should not be complicated. KISS (keep it simple, silly), because men by nature are not especially complicated. The guys who come consistently appreciate that they know what to expect each month, that’s it's pretty much the same format from month to month, and there is no pressure to participate in discussion or get involved beyond just showing up. 

That’s it. It’s been relatively successful and gives men who may otherwise not have an opportunity for such fraternity the opportunity at the parish level. The more men can be formed into authentic witnesses to the faith, become stronger Christians and better husbands and fathers, the more I am convinced it is a necessary thing for the Church, and a small outlay of investment in exchange for big returns.

Because men especially appreciate tangible takeaways, what does it look like, practically speaking, to embrace authentic or “real” Catholicism? Like a kid going home from a birthday party that wouldn't be complete without some party favors, I’m going to send you on your way with a few suggestions that you can take or leave at your discretion:

Commit to 20 minutes of mental prayer a day. If you can’t do twenty, do 15. If you can’t do 15, do ten, and if you can’t do ten, do five to start. God gave his son’s life for you; your gift to Him is to give him your presence and you time. As St. Alphonus says, “He who prays will certainly be saved; he who does not pray is certainly damned.” You cannot live an authentic life of faith without prayer, and specifically, mental prayer. It is a non-negotiable. Because faith is a love affair, not an indentured servitude.

Speaking of prayer, pray specifically for a man, woman, or family to come into your life; or, if you are in a position to, be that man for others who are praying that “God send them some brothers.” As St. Paul says, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.” As Catholics, we understand that we are working out our salvation in fear and trembling not as individuals only, but as a corporal body–that is, the body of Christ, the universal Church militant. No man is an island; no man is a one man wolfpack. We need each other, but it is also true that faithful Catholics can serve as “vetting agents” to distill the voices in the Church we should be listening to, and those we should be wary of. Those who walk before us trod down a path for others to follow. 

Make frequent use of the sacraments. They are the tools in your toolbelt, the spiritual artillery in your armory. God graciously bestows these gifts to us through the Church the way he fed the Israelites in the desert not only with manna from Heaven, but meat in the form of foul as well. A good rule of thumb is Confession once a month (I usually time this with the First Friday and First Saturday devotion); and at the very least, Mass every Sunday and Holy Day of obligation. Remember–it is a mortal sin to miss Mass on Sundays and Holy Days of obligation without a sufficient reason (such as illness). If you can get to a daily Mass a few times a week or more, even better. I signed up for a 11pm Holy Hour slot at our local perpetual adoration chapel once a week, which makes me accountable and helps ensure I make the effort to put in some more extended “highway miles” in with the Lord.

Make charity a part of your life of faith. Charity means love, and this can manifest in a variety of ways beyond the typical serving in a soup kitchen or other ministries. Love is work, and it is hard work. Christian love especially, is the charitas that doesnt simply love our neighbor, but our enemies; it does give one’s cloak, but one’s tunic as well; it takes a beating and then gets up off the mat and offers the other side of the face as well. 

Incorporate fasting into your spiritual life. This is beneficial spiritually, obviously, but also on a natural level. In doing so, we “beat our bodies” as St. Paul coaches us to do to bring them into submission so that we are not ruled by our appetites. 

It should go without saying, but if you are in a state of mortal sin, you have to address this as a spiritual emergency, the way you would a 25% APR credit card balance. Repent internally and confess your sins in the Sacrament of Confession. Make restitution and a firm amendment. Confession is more powerful than an exorcism, as Fr. Amorth says. If you fall, get up. If you fall again, get up again. Keep getting up and making recourse to the God who forgives not seven times, but seventy times seven. Eventually if you persevere you will overcome the vice that enslaves you, by God’s grace, even when He allows you to struggle with it in order to purify you as gold in the refiner’s fire. “The just man falls seven times and rises again”

Make a habit of reading the Scriptures or praying the Liturgy of the Hours, and other spiritual reading, including the Catechism to educate yourself about the faith. Stick to the classics. Many can be obtained digitally for free, as they are in the public domain. I sometimes just play the New Testament on CD in my car while I am driving so that it seeps into my bones like water percolating through the soil. “Ignorance of Scripture is Ignorance of Christ” as St. Jerome said. Don’t let the Protestants be the only ones who know the BIble (They don’t even have all the Books!).

Be faithful in little things first, and God will entrust you with bigger things once you have proven yourself. As Mother Teresa said, “Do small things with great love.” This especially applies to married men with how we treat our wives. One little thing I try to do is always give my wife the dinner plate I would prefer myself (e.g., the one with the bigger pork chop or whatever) as a small exercise in self-deference. This life is training in preparation for the next, and no athlete goes from the couch to being a marathon runner without the consistent work of training. We are pupils in the school of love.

This one is a bit unconventional, but it relates to a Buddhist non sequitur or koan (riddle): “If you see the Buddha, kill him.” The idea being that we need to put to death our idea of God so that the lived reality of God can be experienced. The idea that we are “good” people, or that we can serve idols while professing faith in Christ. We must choose the reality of Christ–the resurrected, in-the-flesh Lord–over the illusions of a cicada-shell faith. For even Satan can manifest himself as an angel of light. There is another saying in the East: “One must seek after Enlightenment the way a drowning man seeks after air.” We must ask God for the grace to remain faithful, to preserve to the end, to run the race well. He will supply this grace if we ask in sincerity and humility.

Finally, profess Christ with your lips, for “if you deny him before men, he will deny you before his Heavenly Father.” For too long Catholics have been sheepish about internationally sharing Christ, the Good News of the Gospel, and the life giving teachings of the Church with others. We have ceded ground to Evangelicals, Pentecostals, Mormons and others who capitalize on this defection of duty to slip in and usurp from the sheepfold. Do not underestimate the power of an encounter, a bold stance, a selfless act, a sacrificial prayer. For the life you touch may touch a thousand others, multiplying your talent hundreds of folds over. For all of us, whether they realize it or not, the decision to follow Christ and be wed to his Bride, the Church, is a matter of life and death. Choose life. 

I realize I’m not a big name in the Catholic speaker world or anything like that, definitely on the B-list, but I thankfully don’t really care much about that kind of stuff. I know I was brought here today, providentially at the last minute, because the Holy Spirit annoints the ruddy brother and likewise made this appointment happen because He had something to say and for whatever reason, I was the guy to deliver the message. Don’t shoot the messenger, but even if you do, I can take it because I have learned to take a beating–something we as Christian men and disciples should learn to do in a very nuts and bolts way. “The world hates you because it hated me first,” Christ says. “If they persecuted me, they will persecute you.” “Do not think something strange is happening when you experience all kinds of trials” (1 Peter). The dark times, the storm we are entering into as a society and as a Church is only able to be weathered when we have our eyes firmly fixed on Christ. When we take our eyes off him, even for a second, we begin to sink, like Peter did while walking towards Christ on the water. But we were made for these times, and there is no sense in wishing we lived in some other time or place. God put you here this Saturday for a reason. Don’t squander the opportunity He has given you to die with HIm so that you might be raised with Him on the last day.

When You Don't Feel The Love

Since Easter, I have been going through the motions in my faith life. Sunday Mass, daily morning offering, weekly holy hour, monthly Confession. But I feel like I'm on autopilot. I feel nothing. The truth of the matter is, I am suffering from the consequences of the sin of indifference. It doesn't seem like it should be, but I'm pretty sure this is a deadly sin. For why else would the Lord vomit the lukewarm from his mouth, and say "I wish you were either hot or cold" (Rev 3:16)?

As a largely emotional person, I recognize the danger in being beholden to one's emotional flux. This is where I think left-brained people have a slight advantage by shelving how they "feel" about something and just doing it--either by force of habit or simple logic. 

The Devil is wily, and has certainly been working on me lately by a thousand cuts. I've been feeling burnt out, out of step with the Catholic "scene," having little to draw from for writing, feeling neglected, cynical, distracted, worldly, and a host of other little things that make it easy to snip away at the hair-like roots holding the spiritual dunes together and erosion at bay. It reminds me of a story of the late Fr. Benedict Groeschel, who 

fostered a paternal love for priests, men worn out by the ministry, men fallen on hard times, addicted to alcohol or other vices, and then the most despised of all: priests who had abused. In a Church where the ministry of priests is taken for granted and many are forgotten, left to their work, not cared for, Fr Benedict was one who reached out to them to rebuild and restore what had crumbled through years of neglect, fatigue and loneliness. He said that often when burnt-out priests arrived to speak to him, or those who were considering leaving the ministry, the first question he asked them was: "When did you stop praying?" Inevitably all of them had abandoned prayer, and Fr Benedict's first piece of advice was to begin praying again. No priest can live without prayer, no priest can work without prayer, no priest can be a priest without prayer. 

It is not just priests that cannot live without prayer, but lay disciples like you and I who can admittedly take the work of prayer for granted...until you let it fall by the wayside and realize how far you have the potential to drift without it. And admittedly, it's not just that one stops praying one day...just as one drifts from their spouse a little bit at a time, day after day, until they find themselves in a bed far from their own. Divorce lawyer James Sexton related an insightful little story on Rogan to illustrate this point:

The problem is these little disconnections. This woman, my client, we were sitting outside the courtroom...late thirties, very attractive. And I said to her, "Was there a moment when you realized the marriage was over?" And she said "Yes," 

"There was this granola I liked, and they only sold it at a particular grocery store. And I liked to put it in my yogurt. Whenever I'd be running low on it, I'd just open the thing and a new bag would be there. And it made me feel so loved. I didn't have to ask, he didn't want credit for it. He would just do this thing...and it would always make me smile. 

"And one day, the granola ran out. And I thought that's weird, maybe he didn't see it. So I left the bag in there, because I thought at some point I figured he would notice.  And he didn't notice. So I took the bag out. And I waited. And he didn't get a new bag. And I thought, "Okay, this thing's going down..."

We all have these little 'canaries in the cage' in our marriages, our friendships, our work, and yes, our spiritual lives. They start slowly and innocuously but create little divots in the turf that over time create an indentation deep enough to get your car stuck in the mud. 

For me, it's usually my daily rosary that falls by the wayside. Missing one day turns into two or three per week, which is curiously when other sins and temptations start to sneak under the fence, ones that wouldn't have bothered or tempted me otherwise. Then it becomes easier for the Devil to discharge the demons of sloth, acedia, and hatred of all spiritual things. All because, little by little, I dropped my defenses of prayer which kept them at bay.

The thing is, I know the response I would give--either to myself or a close friend--were he to say "I just don't feel the love anymore," or "I just don't love him/her anymore." The response?:

"So? Who cares? Get back to work."

The work, of course, is the work of love. We show love by our devotion, not our emotion. And, sadly, many of us in the spiritual life fail the tests that the Lord subjects us to to test our faith: when we don't feel the love of the Lord, when He has hidden himself from us (Is 45:15), we lose our incentive and impetus to pray, adore, and sacrifice. We feel like the fool who says, "there is no God" because we do not feel His presence (Ps 14:1). And yet, you made a vow....you're not going anywhere son. 

What we really need to do is get our butts in the chapel pew, double down, and give God the time even when it feels completely wasted. If you're being tested, it's not the time to dial back off the gas. The thing is, we usually realize how much we've taken our loves for granted too late. In a marriage that depends on two fallible people, that can lead to rifts difficult to repair. With the Lord, however, we are only one confession away from healing. We are the ones that veer off into the night--the Lord is a constant (Heb 13:8) waiting for us to return. 

Continue your prayer routine, even when you have seemingly nothing to give, when everything is dry and seems meaningless.  Quit making shallow excuses. Your tinder offering is a worthy oblation because it's divorced from what you "get out of it." When you don't feel the love, stay the course, double down on the work, and keep your butt in the marriage and the pew.

An Observable Proof of the Fewness of the Saved

 

“Enter ye in at the narrow gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction, and many there are who go in thereat. How narrow is the gate, and strait is the way that leadeth to life: and few there are that find it!" 

(Mt 7:13-14)

If Sensus Fidelium videos are any kind of litmus, I find traditional Catholics generally amenable to the idea of the "fewness of the saved." You have websites like this one devoted entirely to the idea, and a plethora of historical quotes from the saints on the topic, such as St. Louis de Montfort's sobering observation: "The number of the elect is so small — so small — that, were we to know how small it is, we would faint away with grief: one here and there, scattered up and down the world." 

Of course, like many Calvinists and their view of the Elect who are predeterminately saved, Catholics who hold that few are saved may generally count themselves among those on the path to salvation. For why would a good Presbyterian bother attending church every Sunday if he was helplessly reprobate? Similarly, a Catholic who espouses the fewness of the saved: a) recognizes he is on the right path, and at the very least will be saved by the fires of purgatory, or b) if he thinks he is indeed damned by his way of life, at least he has the integrity to support the correct soteriology.

Then, of course, we have theologians and other figures on the other end of the spectrum (including the holy pontiff) who hold the optimistic hope that hell will be empty. This is a tenuous wager, since it does not seem to have the support of scripture, tradition, or the spiritual insight of the saints. It seems in the same line of thinking as the justifications for adultery through divorce and remarriage: our Lord was very clear in Scripture regarding this teaching, but we don't like the answer so we do theological acrobats to try to justify one more to our liking. Thus we take comfort in this life by way of these justifications, but may wake up one day on the other side of eternity in a less settled state of mind by minimizing the words of our Lord and listening instead to men.

All that being said, if I had to wager with my own spiritual currency, I am more apt to believe the words of the Lord in Matthew 7:13-14: the way to hell is wide, and many meet their fate by way of that path, says the Lord. Those who find the true path to life are few. This would seem to support the idea of the "fewness of the saved," sober as that "pessimistic" soteriological view is. 

And here is why I would wager, through general observation, that we underestimate our own sinfulness, and overestimate the number of the saved when in fact it is the opposite: we are much more sinful in the Lord's eyes than we ourselves see, and much more apt to be traversing through life on the wide path that leads to destruction.

Take any worldly event--be that a presential Trump rally, or a Taylor Swift concert, or free Rita's water ice, or the launch of the latest iPhone 20--and you will generally see sizable queues, packed stadiums, and/or a lot of "buzz" around the event. Parking lots may be jammed, admission prices may be gouging, and seating limited. 

Now, visit your local Adoration chapel where the King of the Universe sits on His glorious throne, in quiet repose, waiting for people to come and give due worship. There is no admission cost, no parking issues, no onerous travel requirements, no barriers to entry, no fighting for room in the pew. 

And yet when you enter, you will generally not find a packed house or limited seating--in fact, you may be the only person there. And this would track pretty similarly no matter where you were in the country, what town or church: the proportion of people outside that adoration chapel to those inside of it, I would wager, would track pretty closely the proportion of the damned to those who will find themselves in the heavenly court at death.

What does this say about us and our priorities? Well, for one thing it shows that "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" (Rom 3:23) because we have failed to live out the first and most fundamental Commandment, which is to love the Lord thy God with all one's heart and soul and strength and mind. (Lk 10:27). For if one truly believes that the Lord God is present in one of these chapels, what horse or guard could keep the ardent man from adoring his savior? No, the fact is, we are not ardent, and have put other priorities (idols) on the altar of our hearts, violating this most fundamental Commandment. And thus have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

We pay nothing for the ticket to Heaven, and yet it costs us everything. Were we able to truly see, and not through a glass darkly (1 Cor 13:12), we would lament every wasted opportunity to fall at our knees in worship and adoration in this life when we prioritized the most trivial of trifles over a private audience with the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords...and then only too late. The fact that when we do make time to be with Him in the flesh that there are so few there kneeling with us is, I think, reasonable proof that Hell will not, in fact, be empty as some wish to believe. That we do not, in fact, love God with our whole heart, soul, strength, and mind means we, too, are in need of purification after death assuming we fall asleep in His friendship and not cast out as one He never knew. That love can grow weary, grow cold over time and need periodic renewal. Similarly, even when we have found the narrow way that leads to life, we sometimes get sidetracked and detoured by temptation--to shortcuts, easier routes, wider ways--and need to be brought back in line by grace. 

Rather than lead us to despair, this general observable "proof" of the fewness of the saved should encourage us to keep vigilant, taunt, sober and awake. Take the words of St. Leonard of Port Maurice to heart:

"Brothers, I want to send all of you away comforted today. So if you ask me my sentiment on the number of those who are saved, here it is: Whether there are many or few that are saved, I say that whoever wants to be saved, will be saved; and that no one can be damned if he does not want to be. And if it is true that few are saved, it is because there are few who live well.

What is the use of knowing whether few or many are saved? Saint Peter says to us, "Strive by good works to make your election sure." When Saint Thomas Aquinas's sister asked him what she must do to go to heaven, he said, "You will be saved if you want to be." I say the same thing to you, and here is proof of my declaration. No one is damned unless he commits mortal sin: that is of faith. And no one commits mortal sin unless he wants to: that is an undeniable theological proposition. Therefore, no one goes to hell unless he wants to; the consequence is obvious. Does that not suffice to comfort you? Weep over past sins, make a good confession, sin no more in the future, and you will all be saved. Why torment yourself so? For it is certain that you have to commit mortal sin to go to hell, and that to commit mortal sin you must want to, and that consequently no one goes to hell unless he wants to. That is not just an opinion, it is an undeniable and very comforting truth; may God give you to understand it, and may He bless you. Amen.

Attaining Heaven has little to do with "earning" entrance and so much to do rather with the desire to enter. Remember St. Thomas' words: You will be saved if you want to be. And the Little Flower's confidence that "when we love, we can't go there" (ie, Purgatory). The question is, do you really want to be saved? Or do you prefer your trifles to the Kingdom?

When you look around in the chapel during times of worship and wonder where everyone else is, be reminded that the wide road is a well-advertised toll highway, and the path to life one that is not so obvious and generally requires the help of a local (the saints) to find with directions (scripture and tradition) and four wheel drive (virtue and the grace of final perseverance). You are in good company in that lonely pew wasting away the hours at the feet of the King, contributing nothing and needing everything. For if you spend enough time there learning how to love you will, eventually, find your way home.

Lessons From the Titanic for the Synodal Church

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Cast Iron Cookware Can Teach Us About Faith And Life

A couple years ago I wrote a post on why we use cast iron to cook with. This was kind of a strange post for this blog, given the home-maker nature of the topic (I also wrote one about linen towels). But I'm going to double down and extol the virtues of this time-tested cookware once again, but scratch a little deeper beneath the surface of the kitchen into the foundation of the house. 

First things first--I'm the primary cook in our home. I hate cleaning (which my wife doesn't mind, thank goodness because I make a mess of things), but I don't mind making meals, so it's just where the chips fell in our marriage. Being that this is my primary domain for the majority of meals, I get to choose what I want to use. And I've used everything in terms of cookware--stainless steel, aluminum, Teflon. I don't know how I got turned on to trying out cast iron (it may have been when I purchased a stand-alone induction burner), but I'm glad I did because I've grown to love it.

The thing about tradition and traditional things is they are time-tested. They're not always flashy or sexy or nuevo, but they get the job done. Sometimes there are better ways of doing things which technology can benefit--I like having fuel injectors in my car rather than carburetors; I appreciate laptops versus desktops or typewriters. But let's be honest here--the time of craftsmanship has gone away. If you've ever watched new construction homes being built, they are slapped up with pine 2x4's and OSB, clad in cheap vinyl, with no thought to anything but maximizing profit and minimizing cost. Homes over one hundred years old were built much more solid. Churches, no contest. And, yes, planned obsolescence is a real thing. So, I'm not a curmudgeon, but I think there's something to be said for the lost-arts when people built things to last and took pride in their craft.

I think cast-iron falls into this category, which is why I considered it "Trad-approved." But there are some parallels to traditional cookware and a traditional faith and life. I'm not interested in virtue signaling or needing to trad-flex for Instagram. I'm tend to be pretty pragmatic when it comes to these things. Does a more traditional faith or Mass help to ensure the transmission of our religion to our children? Then count me in. Does it foster reverence, piety, a fear of God? That works for me. 

But enough with the philosophizing. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty with the random topic at hand: what cast iron cookware can teach us about faith and life.

Built on rock, not sand

In scripture, our Lord says the one who hears Christ's words and heeds them is like a man who built his house on rock, rather than sand (Mt 7:24-27; cf Lk 6:48)). He names Cephas Peter, "Rock." David refers to the Lord as his "rock, his deliver" (Ps 18:31). Rocks are solid, unbreakable, built to last. 

You can beat the hell out of cast iron and it can take the abuse. Heck, you can beat hell out of someone with cast iron, and do some real cranial damage. It doesn't scratch. It doesn't bend or break. If you drop it on your tile floor, you'll probably need to replace some tiles. 

It's doesn't waste heat, but is resourceful like the woman of worth

In Proverbs 31, we see a woman, a wife, of noble character and great worth. She works hard and is resourceful. "Charm is deceptive, and beauty fleeting," says the King, "but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised" (Prov 31:30). In other words, she brings benefit to her husband and family--she gives and creates and multiplies, rather than taking and squandering. 

What's neat about cast iron is it holds heat incredibly well. And that heat that is held is used for its purpose--to cook food. When I cook rice, I turn the stove on (yes, I have an electric stove, and no, I don't worry about the government turning it off remotely on me) for about five or ten minutes, and then turn it off. The rice continues to cook for a good half hour unsupervised. It doesn't scald. It radiates nice and evenly--almost like a crock post or a radiator. Which brings me to my next point.

Patience

Cooking with cast iron takes an adjustment of our expectations. Cooks in 5-star restaurants need to run over meals quickly, but in the home we have more time (usually) and can enjoy the process. Because it is so heavy, cast iron heats up slowly and holds heat. This can mean sometimes longer cook times, if you want to fry a quick egg or boil water (unless you are using induction). Is that such a bad thing? Cooking can be a chore, but it can also be a way to be together, enjoy doing simple and fundamental things, and take our time. 

It's like Mass. We can "git r done," or we can enter into the experience as part of life, not something we "have to do," but something we get to do. If a solemn high mass with a schola takes an extra half hour of our time, is this time we are robbed of? Of course not. 

You have to care for it

Cast iron is not without some drawbacks. If you soak it for a while or leave it outside, it will develop rust. It's non-stick properties can rival Teflon, but you have to heat it in the oven or stove-top, and season it periodically with vegetable oil. 

Like our faith, which we need to nurture and work at. Daily mental prayer, adoration, exercise of charity, rooting out hidden faults, reception of the sacraments, examination of conscience are all part of living our faith. It takes extra work, just as you prune and fertilize a tree to maximize fruit production. 

It's overlooked and cleans up well

Cast iron pots can be found at thrift stores for ten dollars and last a lifetime. Sometimes they are rusty, but the "bones" are good, and the rust is easily cleaned off with vinegar or lemon juice. 

In scripture, we see the man who finds a pearl of great price and runs home to sell everything he has in order to buy it. He knows it's worth. He also sees its potential. God, too, does not see our rust and neglect and trauma, but our heart. He pulls us out of the miry pit and sets us on a firm foundation (Ps 40:2). He washes us of our sin with his own blood, makes our garments white as snow (Is 1:18). And once it's cleaned up and set aright, it has the potential to prepare hundred of thousands of meals for the rest of it's life. It will never wear out, never run dry (Jn 4:1-26). 

It eschews the disposable mindset

Like I said, you will rarely see cast iron on an As Seen On Tv ad. It's not meant to be thrown out, but passed down through generations. When we are young, poor and unsettled it's tempting to buy the cheapest non-stick cookware at Walmart, the way you buy Ikea furniture. But in the end, the things that last come out cheaper in the long run. Even just having one or two nice pots or knives is better (in my opinion) than having an arsenal of low-grade equipment.  

Additionally, the Faith is not meant to peter out after it becomes passe or unfashionable, but to endure from generation to generation (Ecc 1:4). That means it needs to be true to its nature, focused on it's eternal worth, and not prone to whims or trends. Even if it does find itself neglected or abused, a wipe down with an acid and a sheen of oil will restore it to its former glory--just like the worst sinner is only one confession away from a restored friendship with his creator.

I hope you enjoyed this random post. The next time you go to Goodwill, check the shelves for a rusty old cast iron pot or skillet and see for yourself what I mean. As the Lord says, "Test me in this." (Mal 3:10). 

The Novus Ordo Made Me A Stronger Catholic. Here's Why

 

I periodically attend a weekly virtual meet-up with converts through The Coming Home network. Many come from Protestant backgrounds, and while some may have had negative experiences in their respective denominations, many speak warmly and charitably of the tradition they were raised up in, recounting a love of the Bible and being embraced by the community.

But as the saying goes, "Weak Catholics become Protestants and strong Protestants become Catholic." 

When I came into the Church in the 1990's, the Novus Ordo was the standard menu fare. Although I was confirmed in the Byzantine rite, most of my experience and formation on campus during those formative years was in the context of the New Mass. I simply didn't know there was an "Old" (Tridentine) Mass.

And for all practical purposes, there wasn't, at least not in my sphere of influence. The 1984 indult granted by Pope John Paul II was before my time, and Summa Pontificum wasn't promulgated until 2007 (nine years after I came into the Church). This squishy middle period in history was where God decreed I land. I was beyond grateful, and with the Psalmist I gave thanks: "You lifted me up from the miry pit, and set my feet upon a rock" (Ps 40:2).

I never fell in love with the Mass--growing up going to the Divine Liturgy with my father, it was not the incense-imbued novelty for me it is with many Latin Catholics. Nor did the New Mass exactly inspire. I felt like there was a lot I had to overlook in it, though like a child, I didn't have the language to articulate the shortcomings (which today, are clear as day). 

Instead, the Mass was where I went to meet the Lord who had ransomed me and whom I encountered personally. It was there I placed on the plain, unadorned altar my own inadequate worship through the corporeal body. 

The idea then was "it's enough that they (the students) just come." Come as you are. Like the fasting requirements of the universal (Latin) Church during Lent, it was a pretty low bar. And, presumably, whatever it takes to keep people out of mortal sin. 

But that was enough for me. Times after Communion were sweet, intimate. The Lord, I felt, had endowed me with the gift of tears during those years, because I often wept over my sins as they contrasted to His divine goodness, Him whom I had just received under guise of bread. 

I also found a subset of more serious and well-formed Catholics through various clubs and the Newman Center with whom I could live out my faith in prayer and worship, retreats, and service to the poor.  But I think I sensed early on there was more to the Church than the standard fare, a deeper aquifer beneath the surface. When our chaplain invited myself and a handful of other guys out for a vocation weekend at the nearby Benedictine monastery, I thought I had found my calling. This was a true and authentic expression of how the Catholic faith could be lived out. Not that it should be lived out this way, for God does not call all men to the consecrated life. Maybe, though, he would make an exception with me. 

Monasticism emerged as a counter-movement to the perceived laxity of post-Constantinian Catholicism in the West. When it was becoming harder to die for the faith as a martyr, those wanting to live out their faith in a more intentional and sincere manner would instead die to self in the desert. I spent part of the summer after my freshman year, six months a Catholic now, in a discernment program at a contemplative (also Benedictine) community in New York state trying to emulate those early Cennobites. Pray, work, study---this was my rented life for five weeks, and I loved it. Or at least, I wanted to love it. But no matter how many monasteries I visited and discerned with over the next ten years, it always fit like a shirt one size too small--chaffing under the arms, and a little too tight in the chest. 

If the monastic life didn't fit (even if the idea of being a monk did in my mind), the prospect of marriage didn't seem to be fitting either. I chalked that up to not wanting or having a vocation to the married life. But part of it could have been not having met the right person to be married to. I was content to be alone, but I was simultaneously lonely. The solitary life, attractive as it was, was also a shirt one size too small. My petition to be accepted as a postulant at a monastery in New Mexico was charitably declined, and I was starting to despair that I simply had no vocation at all. 

My conversion was not intellectual, but personal. Christ had ransomed me, as in the woods years ago the scripture for me was fulfilled:  "For I, the LORD your God, will hold your right hand, saying to you, 'Fear not, I will help you.' (Is 41:13). I fell in love, and the love was not in the adornments, but with the person of Christ himself. In making known that love to me by a kind of personal Transfiguration, Christ revealed his true nature as Redeemer and Sanctifier--his true self. 

Because of these revelatory experiences and where they took place for me, I thought Christ made his home in the wilderness, since that was where I encountered him. I wanted to pitch my tent with him on Mount Tabor. But instead, I had to descend to the campus auditorium on Sundays to share him with a crowd of students who didn't seem to care if He showed up. What do I have to do with these people? I thought it was you and me? I would pray. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands (Acts 17:24-25). I had fallen in love and had never wanted the honeymoon to end. But the day after the wedding feast, you have to move in and get about to the task of being married day after day.

When I was in discernment, I was (in between visits to different communities as an Observer) dating a sweet, wonderful Catholic girl who would have made a great spouse. But the timing just never worked out. And timing is never an accident. When you meet someone is as important as anything else and it doesn't happen apart from God's will. 

But what if I had met her at a different time--when I was more settled, ready to get married? I did reach that point in my life eventually, but it ended up being with a different person. Again, this did not happen apart from God's will and for His intended purpose. His way is perfect, and all things work for the good for those who love him (Ps 18:30; Rom 8:28))

I think about that in the context of the Latin Mass. Like many people who have discovered it, you think "Where have you been all my life?"  But were it God's will that I found it when I first came into the Church, would it have been an adornment that could, God forbid, be taken off like a robe? What if it were the Mass itself that attracted me, rather than the One who was on the altar there? I was fed and sustained with my daily manna in the New Rite without fail during this long liturgical sojourn. When I grumbled unknowingly in my heart about the manna He sustained me by, he sent meat by way of the Latin Mass (Ex 16:12).

But it was grace that saved me, not the Mass. It was God who found me, not the other way around. And He that was born in a unadorned and uninspiring stable willed that I have my upbringing be under this roof. I cannot change that any more that I can change when or how I met my wife, or the parents I was born to. For if the course of that history had changed by my will rather than His, I might never have met her, and might never had been born at all.

God has given me the grace of sustained faith over the past twenty five years not because of the (New) Mass but, oftentimes, in spite of it. Because for the majority of that time, I did not have the benefit of beautiful churches or always-reverent liturgies. I was not in the company of Navy Seal Catholics, but often the opposite. I could not rest on the laurels of orthodox teaching, so I had to learn discernment. In this marriage, I really had to work at it to stay married. And it forced me to dig deep and keep at the forefront of my mind just Who it was I was married to. To do otherwise was to risk sinking into the sea of unbelief (Mt 14:22-23). 

I realize that this experience is my own, but I don't think I am alone in it. Even Moses had an affinity for his kin though he was raised up as an Egyptian (Ex 2). Most of us (some more than others) have a degree of trauma from our childhoods, whether we realize it or not. Even though many of us who attend the TLM act like enlightened college freshmen coming back home after their first semester of college, telling our parents how wrong and stupid they are about basically everything, they are still the ones who raised us, fed us, educated us, and did the best they could for us. They made you who you are today, even though you are not the same person now that you were then.  You be grateful for that, and give thanks that you, too, have been born from and ransomed by this hand. 

The Last Pillar

If there is any testament to the work of grace, it is that people remain in the Catholic Church. 

Now, if one comes at this from a strictly sociological perspective, one could argue that it is not grace that keeps one in the Church, but a kind of spiritual Stockholm Syndrome. This phenomenon occurs when hostages or abuse victims bond with their captors or abusers and develop psychological connections over the course of the days, weeks, months, or even years of captivity or abuse and may come to sympathize with their captors. Then, even if one had the opportunity to escape, they may choose to stay instead.

Or, if one were to think of the faith as a "job" of sorts, why would one pledge loyalty to such a dysfunctional institution which is both spiritually and financially in the red, with a CEO that is cold and vindictive, where one lives under threat of being "canceled" at any moment? Is it cognitive dissonance to continue to devote one's life and talent to a post-conciliar Church which, as my friend Boniface aptly points out, flees from its call not because it fears failure, but because it fears success? 

This simple statement is perhaps the only one which makes sense to me at this point. Why else would we as the laity have our hands slapped for daring to proselytize, being gaslit with confusion for having the audacity to believe what the Church professes, or threatened with eradication by possessing the gall of desiring our spiritual and liturgical patrimony? If a secular company was abusing its employees and constantly shooting itself in the foot, hemorrhaging accounts and failing to grow capital, having company meetings modeled of this laughable "synodality" model, it would find itself six feet under at the end of the fiscal year. The Church is dysfunctional, inept, and rife with corruption. And yet She survives. Why?

When I reflect on Mother Teresa's words, "God has called us not to be successful, but to be faithful," I am in the habit of attributing that message to our individual lives as Christians. But perhaps it applies to the Church as a whole as well. Granted, the Church is not a business or an IPO, and the more She entangles herself with these worldly endeavors, the more She loses sight of her mission which is (or at least, should be) the salvation of souls. 

It's embarrassing to be a on a losing team. Look how the Pentecostals are swallowing up Latin America. Look how the Orthodox are manly and have liturgical integrity. Look how the Muslims are outbreeding the infidels. Why haven't we cut our losses and switched up sides when it's so obvious how limp wristed and socially retarded the Church of today is?

Unlike Protestants, we cannot think of our faith outside of the institutional Church. For better or worse we are wedded to the Bride of Christ as members of His body, that bride to whom He has consummated his very self in a divine covenant. Without the Bread of Life, we risk dying of hunger. Without the waters of baptism, we have no share in His inheritance. Without Confession, we are liars (1 Jn 1:8). 

The other day I was reading from the ninth chapter of Ezekiel. It's like something out of a horror movie:

Then I heard him call out in a loud voice, “Bring near those who are appointed to execute judgment on the city, each with a weapon in his hand.” And I saw six men coming from the direction of the upper gate, which faces north, each with a deadly weapon in his hand. With them was a man clothed in linen who had a writing kit at his side. They came in and stood beside the bronze altar.

Now the glory of the God of Israel went up from above the cherubim, where it had been, and moved to the threshold of the temple. Then the Lord called to the man clothed in linen who had the writing kit at his side and said to him, “Go throughout the city of Jerusalem and put a mark on the foreheads of those who grieve and lament over all the detestable things that are done in it.”

As I listened, he said to the others, “Follow him through the city and kill, without showing pity or compassion. Slaughter the old men, the young men and women, the mothers and children, but do not touch anyone who has the mark. Begin at my sanctuary.” So they began with the old men who were in front of the temple.

Then he said to them, “Defile the temple and fill the courts with the slain. Go!” So they went out and began killing throughout the city. While they were killing and I was left alone, I fell facedown, crying out, “Alas, Sovereign Lord! Are you going to destroy the entire remnant of Israel in this outpouring of your wrath on Jerusalem?”

He answered me, “The sin of the people of Israel and Judah is exceedingly great; the land is full of bloodshed and the city is full of injustice. They say, ‘The Lord has forsaken the land; the Lord does not see.’ So I will not look on them with pity or spare them, but I will bring down on their own heads what they have done.”

Then the man in linen with the writing kit at his side brought back word, saying, “I have done as you commanded.”

In this passage, only those who grieve and lament over all the detestable things done in the temple will be marked and spared. As Abraham negotiated with Yahweh in Genesis 18 over the fate of Sodom ("Will you wipe away the righteous with the wicked?"), he realizes he may lose the bargain if the terms are set at fifty righteous men. He talks the Lord down to ten--if ten righteous men can be found, the Lord will relent. And he still loses the wager, and Sodom is burned up in the Lord's wrath. Lot is a man who laments the wickedness of the perverts who visit his house; he is marked, and escapes the destruction.

The angels of the Lord are brandishing their knives. The words of the Baptist as well serve as warning, "His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire." This winnowing is a separation of the empty husks from the grain of the wheat--the wheat is tossed in the air and the chaff is blown away, while the grain falls and is collected. The grace of God is present in this refinement and striping down of all things until only the pure ore of faith remains. Anything we are holding on tightly to will be ripped from our hands in exchange for the passover mark. 

Our attachment to the Church as we know it will be stripped from us. This may be the shuttering of our local parish where we had our children baptized and family marriages. Or it may simply be the illusions we have that the Church as a whole is committed to its mission of saving souls, or our affinity for this or that Holy Father. 

Our attachment to the identity of being Catholic as we know it will be stripped from us. Those of us who enjoyed the good name of a respected cultural affiliation will now find ourselves religious minorities as true believers, like Jews wandering in Egypt. 

Our attachment to the Sacraments and the Holy Mass, which we have for so long taken for granted, will be stripped from us. We may find ourselves parched and spiritually adrift for periods of time, and lament how many times we could have gone to Mass and didn't, or confessed our sins to a priest, and didn't. 

Our attachment to the comfort of our country as we know it and the "religious liberty" we hold dear will be stripped from us. We may find ourselves as lambs among wolves, believers among pagans. Even so-called "conservative" idols we have set up and mingled with our faith will be smashed and burned.

Our attachment to our particular faith communities will be stripped from us. As our little Catholic bubbles pop, we may find ourselves in a dark night of loneliness, in which those we broke bread with leave the faith, or fail to be there for us in our times of need, or simply let us down. "Even my close friend, someone I trusted, one who shared my bread, has turned against me" (Ps 41:9)

Our attachment to our celebrity idols, those online talking heads and commentators feeding us with opinion after opinion on this or that, will be stripped from us. The plug will be pulled, and we will find ourselves in the proverbial dark--with no one to turn to for advice or guidance, we will have to learn to trust in the dark and take responsibility for our own decisions. "It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God" (Heb 10:31). 

Eventually, the whole temple of our Church, our community, our country, our identity, our pious clothes, our idols--it will all be torn in two, until not one stone will be left standing upon another (Mt 24:2) until one only thing is left for our faith to cling to, and that is Christ alone. Let it be a rebuke you take to heart for the salvation of your soul. This is the great and terrible grace of God working--that same grace that keeps us in the baroque of Peter despite all temptations to jump ship, despite all the abuse, the embarrassment of the hierarchy. Because it is not the Pope who steers the ship, nor the cardinals, nor your local priest, but CHRIST ALONE who commands our faith. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved" (Acts 16:31).

I am not Catholic because it's rewarding, or edifying, or encouraging, or conservative, or fun, or inclusive. I am Catholic because I have become a slave--not of the Church, not of the Pope, not of my community--but of Christ. And were it not for the grace of Christ, I would not remain. When everything is crumbling around you, the last pillar standing is Christ, in whom I have my faith. 

Faithful To The End

 I have been at my current job for almost ten years now. I think it suits me well, I've found my groove, and I'm relatively competent in it. Dare I say, I like what I do. 

But over the course of the past ten years, our department has undergone tremendous upheaval and endured a lack of stability for years on end. I have had six different bosses during that time, and have been pushed to the brink during COVID with the implementation of a new system and having to cover multiple jobs while people were out on leave. There were times when I perused LinkedIn to see what else was out there, as I was generally feeling unappreciated and unhappy. 

My dad was a public school teacher for thirty years. It was his only professional job, and in those last few years, it was a real grind for him. He personally benefited from staying in that position, and I have incentives to stay in mine that other people may not have. For some people, it may make sense to hop around in order to move up the career ladder, or try new things. 

I've heard that "people don't quit jobs, they quit bosses." There's a lot of truth to that. In my situation, I liked my job but experienced a degree of professional PTSD in which what seemed normal to myself my colleagues was actually pretty dysfunctional and unhealthy. For a number of years and during these periods, I just put my head down and grinded it out.

I think the 'grass is greener' mentality is a real thing--that this or that job will be better than my current one--but it isn’t always telling the whole truth. The same way depression says "it will never get better," or you become convinced in your marriage that the only way to happiness is by leaving it.

In my situation, I was glad I stayed and rode out those periods. I got a new director and new dean this year who are great, my colleagues returned from leave and I went back to just doing one job, and we seem to be stabilizing the ship. Even though things were awful, they got better. That's not to say they can't get worse. But even if they do, my intention is to still, hopefully, put my head down and grind it out. 

For many Catholics, remaining in the Church can be trying. The Church, for all intents and purposes, appears to be completely dysfunctional, mismanaged, and corrupt beyond belief. The captain comes across as abusive and vindictive, and demoralizes those most devoted to the mission of the organization. Things appear to have no rhyme or reason; it's as if She has forgotten what she stands for. 

Does anyone else feel this way? I certainly do.

But I also love being Catholic. I am grateful for my ransoming and redemption by Christ the Savior, grateful for the corporal body of the local church, indebted to her timeless teaching, and my life is infinitely better because of my faith and religion. That doesn't mean its all roses and level paths. But were I to "quit" the Church because of the "bad boss" or the drama or dysfunction, I would be infinitely worse off.

Now, a job is not a faith, and there is nothing wrong with job hopping. I only use the example analogously. I have also made the case to "stick it out" in faith and marriage here and here. When all seems lost, that is when the forgotten seed of resurrection sprouts. As Peter asked when people were leaving Christ on account of his teaching, "To whom should we go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life." (Jn 6:68). 

Bad popes come and go. So do good popes. God will reveal all things at the end of the age, and our salvation depends on our own faith and perseverance, not the state of the Vatican or the Church. If anything, when things are most dysfunctional and a source of embarrassment, Christ gives us the great opportunity to rise up and be fools for the Kingdom, to do the work of restoration and in doing so earn our heavenly reward. 

But you don't gain that when you defect, just as those who divorce after decades will never experience the Golden Years of married life. Yes, there may be the allure of "great community" in your local mega-Church, or beautiful liturgy in Orthodoxy, or what have you. The Church is going through a great trial, and as scripture says, even the elect will be deceived during this period, were that even possible (Mt 24:24). But only those who remain faithful to the end will be saved (Mt 24:13). You don't earn the crown by quitting the race.

Darkness comes before dawn. We must remain vigilant and watchful. That is the spirit of Advent, especially, so it is apropos to do so now and not wait. No matter how bad or dysfunctional things get in the Church, nothing can separate us from the love of Christ Jesus. 

Nothing.

Religion Is Not A Dirty Word

 One of the things I love most about Catholicism is the "both/and" (rather than "either/or") approach to things. Faith and works do not stand in contradiction, as it is written "Do you see that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only?" (Ja 2:24). Likewise, faith and reason "are like two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of truth" (Fides et Ratio). Great doctors of the Church like Augustine and Aquinas did not shed the philosophies of old completely but baptized them in Christ. We fast and we feast. We abstain and we imbibe. 

So, when I see Protty reductionist posturing like this, I can't help but roll my eyes a bit:

It smacks of the upcoming generations of young adults in Europe and even here in America who do not see the legal and sacramental bonds of marriage as a necessary pre-requisite for a life-long partnership with another person or for having children. In these instances, the attitude is "I don't need a peace of paper (a certificate of marriage) to prove my love for so-and-so. We know in our hearts we are committed to one another." And so on.

But the fact is, you do need vows to sustain a relationship, you do need legal recognition as marriage is a common good, and you need public witness in addition to private commitments. 

Like many anti-reason, anti-intellectual, and anti-works Protestant lines of thinking, the "It's a relationship, not a religion" is the either/or, reductionist approach to faith. It sees "religion" as a sullied thing, a dirty word, unworthy to be yoked to the Savior's redeeming cross. And it downplays St. Paul's admonition to the Thessalonians to "stand fast; and hold the traditions which you have learned, whether by word, or by our epistle" (2 Thess 2:15)

I have used this example many times, but can you imagine a body that was "all heart" or "all head" without the benefit of a skeleton? There would be no structure, no form, not ability to move. The body would puddle on the ground in a pile of skin and organs. The skeleton provides the necessary protection of organs, form for the muscles to operate in, and the ability to move about. If "relationship" is entering into the heart of God, religion is that composition of bones which protects it.

In fact, in the first part of the second epistle to the Thessalonians, Paul preaches against the "Man of Lawlessness" (2 Thess 2:1-12). What is a man of lawlessness but one who lives by his own standard, his own canon, deceiving with disorder and anarchy against the law which has been established by God (the natural law and the moral law)? Like Satan, he says, "I will not serve," I will not abide by a standard which is not my own. Like the sarabaites that St. Benedict spoke of so detestably in his Rule, "Their law is what they like to do, whatever strikes their fancy. Anything they believe in and choose, they call holy; anything they dislike, they consider forbidden." (Rule Ch 1.6-9)

Protestantism is reactionary in its founding. It reacted against the abuses within the Church by throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Christians who attempt to do the same with regards to holy religion set themselves up as holy sarabaites with no need for the law of God beyond what they interpret themselves apart from tradition. 

Of course, we should not be like "white washed tombs" that our Lord warns about, washing the outside of the cup while the inside remains filthy--the detestability of empty religion. And yes, we must work for justice for the widows and orphans, to hold the "true religion" St. James speaks about (Ja 1:27).

But to live the Christian faith--especially when doctrine is challenged and defrauded by the coming man of lawlessness and in times of persecution--necessitates holding fast to tradition (ie, the religion of our fathers) and it's holy doctrine. It becomes too easy to justify stepping on the fumie, renouncing the faith, when we reason "God will forgive me...after all, we are in relationship. He will understand." Religion is like a vow--it protects the hearts of the treatise holders, it is the rope binding us to the mast, it allows us to live with integrity when we are clouded by doubt of what is true and right--a compass in a tempest. 

Why would anyone other than a fool throw religion overboard in a storm? Holding to religion and being in relationship with Christ are not mutually exclusive things. Like a marriage contract, a legal vow, a covenant between man and wife, it protects and gives form to the essence of that bond--the love and commitment rooted in the vow to be true til death. 

No, religion is not a dirty word; don't let any well meaning evangelical with no tradition to stand on and no fathers in the faith convince you otherwise.