It's Okay To Hug Your Son

 

I once had a conversation with a man with same-sex attraction (SSA) about his childhood. His parents were immigrants from Sicily; his father had a vineyard and worked hard. Like most men of his generation, he was the strong, silent type. He loved his son, but never showed it physically through any kind of affection or affirmation: no, "I love you's" or "I'm proud of you." It was clear as this man recounted his childhood that he has a deep and unfulfilled yearning for those things which were never received. 

It's not appropriate to put this man's decision to dive headlong into the gay lifestyle on the shoulder of his father, and there were probably other factors at play; but it seemed clear that the things he most wanted from his father that went unrequited he sought in the arms of male strangers in bathhouses and BDSM lairs. 

I grew up in an affectionate household. We're not Italian, so it wasn't loud and expressive necessarily; but my father was not stingy with displays of affection for my brothers and I. Hugs and talking (not just about the weather and external things) were common. My grandfather died when my dad was just getting ready to graduate college, so I think that left a deep and painful hole for him. My grandmother struggled with depression and my father was an only child. When my dad had his own children, it was clear we were the most important thing in his life, and he let us know it.

The "Silent Generation" had their own post-war ghosts and the trauma of the Great Depression to deal with; we all do the best we can under the circumstances. But we live in different times now. The Millennial dads I see seem to all pride themselves on taking an active role in their kid's lives. They unabashedly change diapers and help with housework (typically), and take their kids to playgrounds and such. They are "active dads." 

As a Gen X'er, I tend towards these things as well, but am a little more hands-off with my kids, though. One thing I do make a habit of, though, is hugging my sons (and daughter, of course) and telling them I love them, often. Maybe it's because of how I was raised by my dad, but it seems healthy to do so. I probably am lacking in the discipline and follow-through department (though we haven't spared the wooden spoon when they were younger), but they seem to be pretty well-adjusted. 

One of the things I hate most about the gay-everything lifestyle it has completely quashed the potential for healthy heterosexual fraternal displays of affection between men. Homosexuality makes a sexualized idol of the male ethos, a thing of fantasy and an object of desire. It makes it harder for heterosexual men to have a deep and abiding relationship with one another that isn't tainted with that gay specter that has made it's way like MSG into everything. 

But anyway, back to the title of this post. Yes, it's okay to hug your son. It's good and healthy. It's good to tell them you love them and are proud of them, even if you are the strong silent type; in fact, such words probably carry more weight if you are, since you might use your words sparingly and the ones you do use mean something, Probably one of the most painful things about losing a parent or a child is that you can't physically experience them anymore--the hug you might long for simply isn't possible anymore, and that can be felt acutely. 

So while your kids are still young (or even if they're older), go ahead and hug them. Tell them you love them. You never know how long they'll be around to experience it.

Live Not By Lies

 We're still learning how to be Catholics. And sometimes we don't always get the memo.

As a convert to the faith, I have few religious traditions that were intentionally handed down to me as a child. Meanwhile all of our good Catholic friends seem to be steeped in them, from Jesse trees to putting out the shoes on the feast of St. Nicholas to various other traditions. We just got an advent wreath and candles this year. Better late than never, I suppose.

To boot, my wife and I also inherited a lot of secular "things you just do" as part of the season. Truth be told, there is a part of me that just wants to be in a cave somewhere this time of year to focus on the "reason for the season." But instead, I'm heading to my sister in laws for a dinner feast on Christmas Eve (when we should be fasting), having to run into Giant to search for the green peas we forgot at home, fighting traffic, and tiredly wrapping presents. I've grown to hate "the season" for these reasons, which in turn makes me feel guilty since it's supposed to be about peace, hope, and joy. 

One secular tradition we never gave much thought about but bequeathed to our children was the idea of Santa Claus. They leave out cookies for "Santa" (and carrots for his reindeer), and some presents are "from Santa", replete with different labels, handwriting, and wrapping paper. Of course, for us as parents, "Santa" is our Christmas altar ego--whether he is man, myth, or legend I do not know. All I know is my kids have bought into it all.

But something went awry this year. I suspect it was a wrapping paper mix up, but somehow my nine year old daughter put two and two together and discovered in tears, that "Santa wasn't real." She wasn't angry, she wasn't distraught--she was simply sad. My wife and I stood over her as she showed us how the jig was up, feeling like our hearts were breaking into a thousand pieces. Not because of the Santa thing per se, or even the loss of childhood innocence waking up to the idea that "it's all bullsh*t." 

Mostly, we realize we had been culpable for misleading and perpetuating an untruth, and our child was now suffering for it. We were "cut to the heart" as it said of the Jews in Acts. 

From an early age, I made a personal commitment to always tell the truth. This was partly pragmatic, since it made my life easier in some ways because I didn't have to remember to keep stories straight; eschewing lying when you have a bad memory just simplifies things--always tell the truth, don't hide things, be honest. 

Now that I realized it wasn't only my daughter feeling betrayed, but myself as well. Because "this was just what you do" during the secularized version of the "holiday season"--you buy presents. You get together with family. You leave cookies for "Santa." Etc.

The Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard's father once cursed God for his misfortunes. He tells us in his journal: "as a small boy tending sheep on the Jutland Heath, suffering many ills, famished and exhausted, stood up on a hill and cursed God! And that man was never able to forget it, not even at the age of 82." In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard retells the story of Abraham and Isaac from four vantage points. It is the first version that has always stayed with me: that Abraham convinces Isaac that he’s sacrificing him by his own will, not by God’s. This is a lie, but Abraham says to himself that he would rather have Isaac lose faith in his father than lose faith in God. 

I thought about this yesterday standing over my daughter. My biggest fear in this little "Santa" crisis is that she reasons "well, if Santa isn't real, maybe God isn't real as well. Maybe it's all a lie." It hurts my heart to think about--and that she would be mislead by her own parents about something so dumb and insignificant. I know I'm biased, but my daughter is an especially beautiful and innocent creature. I hated myself in that moment for unwittingly bringing the world into our home, rather than following the lead of our Catholic friends who refuse to do "the Santa thing." Now we know better. 

As much as this incident may stay with my daughter over the years, I pray it doesn't shake her faith in a loving, personal God who cares for her. She's not especially "religious" in the pious sense (none of our kids really are, if I'm being honest) but they are good, innocent, well-adjusted kids. And I realize they are not my own, that I am not in control like I think I am, that they have free-will. 

My indignation at the world and my unwitting betrayal of my own flesh rose up as a fury in my throat the other day. Fool me once, shame on you, as the saying goes; fool me twice, shame on me. Friendship with the world is enmity with God, as St. James says. 

The Lord does not say "unless you don't like your own kin, you cannot be my disciple." He says unless you hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters"(Lk 14:26). My hatred of the world and its lies had cooled, but this incident had rekindled a kind of holy hatred of the secular, the material, the lukewarm, the customary, the "this is just what you do" mentality of the world. Now we know better. 

The world can keep its Santa Claus and its pious secularism. We have the living God, the God who saves, Emmanuel. He is the way, the truth and the life, born poor in a manger, the antithesis of a worldly king. We live not by lies. Restore the innocence of the crestfallen and brokenhearted. Lord, teach me thy way, O Lord: I will walk in thy truth... (Psalm 86:11).

The Laying On Of Hands And The Sins Of The Father

One of the great challenges for new Catholics and those coming back to the faith is the kind of cognitive dissonant tightrope one has to walk to reconcile seemingly disparagent elements of the faith. For the early Christians, especially during the Arian controversy, it was Christological: how can Christ be both man and God? In the post-Constantine era, it was "how are Christians to live as servants of God and subjects of the State?" In our present generation, the tension often comes down to the question of "how can the Church be called Holy when Her body is a rotting quagmire of corruption and filth?" Such a proposal is not only offensive for those who have been touched by the sullied cloth personally, but can often create a visceral gagging on the bone of hypocrisy. 

Once when I was doing street evangelization, I encountered a man who held nothing but contempt for the fact that we were out there, trying to spread the Good News of the gospel. It wasn't the Good News, of course, but the fact that we were regarded as agents of the Church, peddling rotten sacks of potatoes as healthy nourishment. It became clear after a few minutes of vitirol that his objections to our being there (and the Church as a whole) were not objective or theoretical in nature, but deeply personal. Although he didn't state it outright, I would wager this was a man who was himself Catholic and who was deeply wounded and scandalized by the abuse crisis within the Church and could not reconcile the reality of this abuse with anything good coming from it. I would even wager he may have been a victim of abuse himself at the hands of the Church. 

There is a saying that goes something like this, "Satan takes what is beautiful and tries to make it ugly. God takes what is ugly and makes it beautiful." I see so much beauty in the cleansing power of Christ to forgive sins, to restore our dignity as men, and to welcome us into his Kingdom. And yet, this often comes in the guise of having to look past the abject corruption oozing out of seemingly every pore in the Body of Christ, His Bride the Church here on earth. 

This is one of those posts where I'm reticent to "go there," in bringing something to light that may be best hidden or unspoken. I hope to do so delicately, but I may fail in that to convey the point. And the point is this: the smoke of Satan which has infiltrated the Church over the last century has mingled with the filth of the world to the degree that even the most beautiful aspects of Her mission has the potential to be corrupted in the minds of the faithful. Perhaps this is just me, some psychological perversion that I would be wise to keep to myself. For the more innocent among us, it may scandalize. For that, I will apologize in advance and perhaps even warn you not to read further. 

The thing people don't realize about the sins of the flesh beyond the obvious is that it perverts our vision of what is true, what is beautiful, and what is real even subconsciously. This is why it's hard to stomach what people like Joseph Sciambra try to convey in graphic detail about gayness--that beyond the Will & Grace persona, homosexuality is an ugly, painful, unnatural, and messy affair. It is also why, when I was evangelizing with him at the Pride festival in San Francisco a few years back, there was an overt religious ethos among the half-naked men gyrating on floats while wearing angel wings next to drag queens dressed as nuns (the so-called "Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence"). Satan loves to take what is holy and beautiful and make it ugly and profane. 

Because of the sexual abuse within the Church, and the atrocities commited by clergy in terms of pederasty and pedophilia, there has been a kind of spiritual and psychic-searing, the way one's eyelids may be fused shut if they get too close to an nine hundred degree oven. In those who have suffered such abuse at the hands of clergy, there is only one word that can qualify it: spiritual murder. It is the death of the soul, because it is a kind of death when one is raped or abused, but at the hands of clergy, it is not only a death but a deformation. How can anyone who has suffered like this be expected to show up for Mass next Sunday and sit through a homily by a man of the cloth without becoming physically ill (which is what Joseph has described experiencing).

This excerpt from Nikos Kazantzakis' Zorba the Greek has stayed with me after reading it decades ago, and may help illustrate this picture of deformation:

"I recalled one dawn when I had chanced upon a butterfly’s cocoon in a pine tree at the very moment when the husk was breaking and the inner soul was preparing to emerge. I kept waiting and waiting; it was slow and I was in a hurry. Leaning over it, I began to warm it with my breath. I kept warming it impatiently until the miracle commenced to unfold before my eyes at an unnatural speed. The husk opened completely; the butterfly came out. But never shall I forget my horror: its wings remained curled inward, not unfolded. The whole of its minuscule body shook as it struggled to spread the wings outward. But it could not. As for me, I struggled to aid it with my breath. In vain. What it needed was to ripen and unfold patiently in sunlight. Now it was too late. My breath had forced the butterfly to emerge ahead of time, crumpled and premature. It came out undeveloped, shook desperately, and soon died in my palm.

This butterfly’s fluffy corpse is, I believe, the greatest weight I carry on my conscience. What I understood deeply on that day was this: to hasten eternal rules is a mortal sin. One’s duty is confidently to follow nature’s everlasting rhythm."

The sin here is not actually in forcing something to "emerge ahead of time," but that it should never have been forced at all. When innocence is stolen, it can never be brought back to life. It is eternally crippled, and can only be healed by the divine hand who created it in the first place. I don't think the weight of such sin can be overstated. It is why our Lord uses the imagery of a millstone. Millstones are giant. Were it to be tied around one's neck on their way to the bottom of the sea, it wouldn't just be a swift trip down. It would snap your neck like a twig in the first second due to the weight. And that quick death would be a merciful fate when compared to the judgement being rendered after death.

If the priesthood is the image of Christ as servant, it is to be holy. When it is not holy, not true to its calling, it perverts the image of Christ in the minds of the innocent. Such a weight of responsibility should make every man shudder, but especially God's chosen--his priests. The good ones recognize this, and in prayer and fasting, do their best to live out their calling in integrity. But like I said, Satan loves to make what is beautiful and holy, ugly and profane. 

Which is why when I witness the humble beauty of the laying on of hands during an ordination, I want to see what is true, what is humbling, what is beautiful and full of grace. But there is also the fallen part of me, all too familiar with our fallen world and the perversity of the flesh, that experiences a flash of what the abuse within the Church has wrought.

Because that very act of the ancient rite of laying on of hands in consecration has been abused and perverted in the laying on of hands of young men and young women, of children by way of the most heinous act of sodomy, which cries to Heaven for vengence.

You don't have to be a father of young children as I am to be repulsed by even the thought of such abuse, whether it occurs in the sacristy, the confessional, or some sordid bath or beach house. And if I were a more innocent person--one who had never swam in the rank waters of pornographic websites and voluntarily viewed things I can never unsee--this kind of flash imagry might not come to mind. I take ownership of that sin, and write about it now not because of how uncommon or rare it is, but of how pervasive and commonplace, how pernicious and virulent. Were I a more innocent person, I may not be so uncomfortable when I see a young priest kneeling before a bishop as the elder lays his hands atop his head at waist level. Were I more ignorant of the sordid realities of what happens in some seminaries, in some chanceries, in some diocesan retreat houses, the thought might never cross my mind.

But I read. I read about the McCarricks--one among many who have taken the image of Christ the High Priest and desecrated it by their lurid acts of sacrilege. And maybe it's better I don't read, keep my head in the sand like an ostrich. So that when I see a laying on of hands in an ordination, I don't "go there," if even for a moment, in my imagination. Can I say there's no grounds for such imaginations? These wolves in sheeps clothing have not only made the unthinkable a reality, but they even deny that they have commited the worst sacrilege--spiritual murder--compounded by their seeming lack of repentence or compunction. They shift blame, or deflect to protect assets. When in reality, they are perverts no parent of good conscience would leave their children with for even a second. 

I think it goes without saying that I am blessed to know many good priests, men of honor and integrity that would hold as abhorrent such stains upon the Church just as I do. And many of them know too that as priests, they have a target on their back--not by the culture, or the media, but by Satan himself.  They realize that if they are not fortified in prayer and fasting, continually living lives of virtue and accountability, they too may find themselves compromised if not careful. The spiritual war being waged against priests by the agents of evil is a reality. Even good men fall, when they never thought they would. It is no joke. Listen to what Our Lady (of Good Success) warns:

"The devil will work to persecute the ministers of the Lord in every way, working with baneful cunning to destroy the spirit of their vocation and corrupting many. Those who will thus scandalize the Christian flock will bring upon all priests the hatred of bad Christians and the enemies of the One, Holy, Roman Catholic, and Apostolic Church. This apparent triumph of Satan will cause enormous suffering to the good pastors of the Church…and to the Supreme Pastor and Vicar of Christ on earth who, a prisoner in the Vatican, will shed secret and bitter tears in the presence of God Our Lord, asking for light, sanctity, and perfection for all the clergy of the world, to whom he is King and Father.”

“Unhappy times will come wherein those who should fearlessly defend the rights of the Church will instead, blinded despite the light, give their hand to the Church’s enemies and do their bidding. But when [evil] seems triumphant and when authority abuses its power, committing all manner of injustice and oppressing the weak, their ruin shall be near. They will fall and crash to the ground.

“In those times the atmosphere will be saturated with the spirit of impurity which, like a filthy sea, will engulf the streets and public places with incredible license.… Innocence will scarcely be found in children."

As a married man, every act of intimacy with my wife demands chastity of mind, body, and heart. To the extent I am running through fantasies in my mind with strangers, playing things out I have viewed online in the past, I am in sin and sinning against my own flesh--that is, my wife, whom I have vowed to be true and faithful to til death. As a married man, I am called to complete and total chastity. This conversion of heart and mind is hard, but it is not impossible. The Lord can heal our memories. He can keep us present in the marital act. We can cooperate with grace by the exercise of the will with regards to chastity. 

For the priest, he must overcome not only his own sins, but must surpass the sins and failings of his predecessors. As the Lord says, "your righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees" (Mt 5:20). “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach" (Mt 23:2-3). "Woe to the world because of scandals. For it must needs be that scandals come: but nevertheless woe to that man by whom the scandal cometh" (Mt 18:7). 

What does a good father say when his child is in danger. Don't you lay a hand on him! What does a good Father do when the Lord wishes to multiply his spiritual progeny? He lays hands on him in the rite. What does a spiritual and physical abuser, when he is a man of the cloth, do to corrupt a youth, an innocent. He does just that--lays hands on him. How confusing it must be, how much torment must that innocent endure, to try to reconcile these violations by consecrated hands to keep his spirit in tact! Truly, it is almost beyond one's strength, were it not for the potential for divine healing by the Man whose integrity was never in question--Christ himself--who can make all things new, heal the brokenhearted, and restore dignity to those who have been robbed of it. 

Shame on this perverse generation. Shame on the men of God who have been corrupted by Satan and plundered the innocent. I pray they receive their due in God's just Judgement. 

But shame on us men, too, who perpetuate this seemingly unending roll of digital film through secret indulgence, through hidden sin. There is no victimless crime, no untouched region of the mind and body when it comes to unchastity. We wonder why not only the world, but the Church is in the state it is in. The smoke of Satan has entered. The only antidote is complete and total chastity, and the development of an absolute abhorrence of sin, as St. Paul says, "let there not be even a HINT of sexual immorality among you" (Eph 5:3). 

Heal our minds, Lord, and restore our innocence, so that we do not give what is holy to the dogs. Restore your priesthood, so that we see what is beautiful and holy for what it is, with innocence of heart. Restore our hearts and minds, rip up the soiled carpet of our hidden transgressions, so that we might repent of our misdeeds and perversity rather than burying them and buidling churches upon graveyard of inequity.  Let our righteousness exceed those of the scribes and Pharisees, and may our penance atone for their  sordid abominations, for the sake of our children, and our priests to come.

To All The Ordinary Dads

 My father was extraordinary, but only in hindsight. As an only child, and having lost his own father the week before my dad graduated from college, having his own children was especially meaningful for him. 

I don't have a photographic memory--quite the opposite. It's probably why I write so much, because I can't remember anything. My childhood is a series of snapshots, vignettes of moments. I idolized my father, and we were close. Most of those memories with my dad growing up, however, are ordinary ones. 

There was the time when I was around eight years old; he had just sealed the driveway at the house we grew up in, and pretended to be stuck to the tar, yelling for me for help. I still remember when I jumped out of our big blue Chevy van and ran over to pull him out, and he feigned relief and made me feel like a hero. 

When I was thirteen or so, we set off together to bike from Eastham to Provincetown, Massachusetts while on vacation. I was nervous--it was about fifty miles round trip, and I only had a Kmart mountain bike and my dad a Panasonic 10-speed. But he had confidence we could make it. When we made it to the tip of the Cape, we bought donuts and sat on a bench overlooking the ocean.

After I graduated high school and set off to hike the Appalachain Trail, I remember calling him from a payphone at a lonely general store in New York state; I wanted to come home. When he pulled up a few hours later, I'll never forget the hug he gave me; I didn't need to say a word.

There were times I pushed him away, too. In my early twenties, when he came to visit me in a rough part of Harrisburg where I was living and running a house of hospitality for men in recovery, I lectured him on the the realities of poverty and inner-city living. He listened quietly, nodded his head and let me talk. I knew everything, after all. 

When I introduced him and my mom to the woman who was to become my wife, he took me aside and bought me a cup of coffee and we sat outside a bakery on Germantown Avenue in Mount Airy. When I asked him how you know you've met "the one," he said "you'll know it's her when you are more yourself around her than with anyone else."

I could always be myself with my father. I could confide in him, and he encouraged that. He wasn't distant, and took an active role in the lives of my brothers and I. I felt like he entrusted a special trust and responsibility to me as well because I was the oldest, which could feel onerous at times. Even now, as my parents are aging, I know most of the responsibility for caring for them will fall to me. 

My dad was extraordinary in how he loved us unconditionally, sacrificed everything for our sakes, and taught us how to go through life. He wasn't without his flaws and shortcomings. But when I think back on growing up with a father, it was very much in the ordinary moments and snapshots of memories I retained that formed my mental portrait of him. Now that I have my own kids, I find myself conscious of that privilege and working from the model I had growing up that my father gave me. 

As a good buddy and father of eight told me, "Ninety percent of life is just showing up." For all the new fathers, and those with a few years under their belt--you don't have to do big things, heroic things, novel or spectacular things. Sometimes it's just about showing up. And I'll let you in on a little secret: there's no "World's Best Dad" contest to have to compete in. Most of what your kids are going to remember about you are going to be these little snapshots of moments, the everyday instances they'll catalog for years and reference later where you made the decision to step in and show up. It's the one place in life in which an otherwise ordinary dad can grow to be an extraordinary man.

A Father's Eye View of Motherhood

On September 8, 2008, a 66 year old father was working outside with his 20 year old son when the son fell into the septic tank on their property. The father immediately jumped into the tank and for fifteen minutes held his son's head above the sewage while he himself remained submerged until help arrived. The son was hospitalized, but lived; the father did not.

There are many layers to this story, and when laid one upon another made it hard for me not to be moved when I heard this account of seeming misfortune. For one, the son (the youngest of seven) had Down's Syndrome; at no point did the father weigh the pros and cons or merit of that fact in his decision to dive into the cesspool after him. Nor did he hesitate to offer his own body as a buoy so that his son might have a chance of surviving the noxious submersion. He simply fulfilled what a father, by nature of his vocation, is called to--namely, to sacrifice. It was a noble and memorable example of the depths fathers are willing to condescend to in order that they might give life to their seed.

How I live out my vocation as a parent is refracted through the prism of being a man, a son, and a father. But parenting as a father is not a complete protein. The complementary of this vocation is accomplished in partnership--that is, namely, with my wife, the mother of my children.

From the very beginning, when your child is still incubating in the womb of their mother, there is a latent sense among fathers of being ill-equipped for many of the vital tasks demanded of by children. The bond at that point in development is more psychic than physical--at no point are they attached to or dependent on your body for sustenance in the way they are their mothers. When the child is born, we become late-night waterboys for our quarterback wives during the act of breastfeeding. 

As they grow older and are weened, they still instinctually cling and find their way to their mother who provides the comfort and innate nurturing that we can only fabricate. Whereas I was back to work after a week of each of my kids being born, my wife spent every waking hour with them for months, learning their unique needs and temperaments. I would receive this data from her second-hand and store it in my mental repository just in case I needed to corroborate for a doctor or an inquisitive bystander that they were indeed my own children and I knew enough insider information about them to prove it.

One of the "privileges" of fatherhood as a married man (much to the chagrin of many a wife) is that I can periodically "check out"--either physically or mentally--and grab a beer at the pub with a buddy, shop for a new circular saw at Home Depot unencumbered, or simply go to sleep uninterrupted. I'm "needed"--but not in any kind of primal, dependent way. Whereas in the Genesis account woman is created from man to be his helpmate in their single state, the roles are reversed in parenthood--man becomes the helper of woman, who is the source of life, the wellspring of Eden, and the eve of creation. 

It is a fashionable parody in modern media to portray fathers as hapless gomers with their hands in their pockets when it comes to the rearing of children. As any father involved in the life of his children knows, we play a vital and irreplaceable role in their formation and developmental well-being. But there is something about a mother that goes deeper, like an aquifer. Whereas men of virtue will sacrifice themselves to provide, to protect, and yes, even give their lives for their children (and their mother), a mother will literally pour herself out for her children. This applies to married women, single mothers, those who adopt, and widows alike. You cannot gestate an entirely genetically-autonomous being for nine months, birth them into the outside world, and feed them with your very body without incurring the status of a...well, a kind of queen.

And that is how we should treat the mothers of our children, and the debt to which we should recall when it comes to our own mothers. We remember it with a day in May with cards and flowers, and maybe breakfast in bed. But really, we owe the existence of the entire human race to those called to the most primal and ordinary vocation--that of motherhood. This is why even the most hardened criminal will put you up against a wall for a sleight-of-hand comment about his "mama" and an orphan will have a hole in their heart that may scab over but never completely heal.

It can be a strong temptation for married mothers to put their children above all else, and at first glance the nobility in this seems apparent. But in fact, just as the birth of a child is preceded by it's coital conception, and it's conception preceded by it's eternal predestination, the order of things matter. For the married mother to overcome this temptation of seemingly noble self-deference to put her children before all else, she must in fact subsume this tendency to a hierarchical ordering and prioritization: God first, her husband second, and her children third. In doing so, she will align her vocation with the natural order that makes everything work--for the glory of God for God's own sake, for the honor of her husband, and for the benefit of her children. 

In the Gospel of John it is recounted, "Jesus also did many other things. If they were all written down, I suppose the whole world could not contain the books that would be written." These words sometimes come to mind while observing my wife carrying out her everyday duties as a mother, much of which I would be hard-pressed to undertake for even twenty-four hours. I think if anyone were to do the same, they would echo the apostle's words and say of mothers "she also did many other things...if they were all written down, I suppose the whole world could not contain the books that would be written."

My Son Where Have You Gone

Whenever I have reflected on the parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15, my focus has been on the younger son. We are presented with two sons, of course, but my life experience has always tracked with the prodigal; the elder son became a kind of peripheral character. 

But there is a third figure in this story, and that is the father himself. For the past decade my kids have been little, so our lives revolved around diapers, tantrums, and keeping them from whacking their heads. I was a father, sure, but in that initial stage of fatherhood. 

Now that my son is ten going on eighteen, I'm beginning to wrestle with different issues now--the difficulty in relating to him, connecting with him, navigating the moodiness and sometimes disrespect, and sensing a growing distance between us that I struggle to address. I don't think it's anything out of the ordinary for a parent, but it still weighs on me. I'm proud of him in so many ways--he is an accomplished thespian and serves at Mass, among other things--and feel I tell him that I love him and am proud of him often. But suddenly, that archetype of being a runaway son has shifted and I am now sitting in the father's seat bracing for the day my son wishes I was dead already and slams the front door behind him on his way out.

In our circle of orthodox, solid, Catholic homeschooling families I think there can be this temptation that our children are a reflection of us as parents that gets held up in the community. If our kids are "good," we're doing something right--teaching, catechizing, and raising them well, a badge of honor. If one of our kids go off the rails, there's not only the pain of estrangement and feeling helpless, but the shame of what it looks like to those in our circles. 

I think this is a projected fear--of being judged or whispered about--that is overstated. Most of the inner shame of our failings as parents is seen in scarlet through our own eyes, and the regret can be bitter, "If only I had spent more time with him. If only I had been more intentional about catechizing her. If only I hadn't yelled so much, lost my temper so easily. If only I had been a better dad." 

I have a buddy who I get beers with every now and again; I can tell when he needs some encouragement because he feels the weight of his four boys trying behavior and the self-imposed feeling that it reflects poorly on him as a father, that he's doing something wrong. When he loses his patience with them, is forced to discipline them out of love and concern, when he's told them to do something a hundred times and they just don't listen, he says "this is how God must feel with me." 

A friend told me a story of someone he knew back in the UK who had gone to Thailand on a trip as a twenty-something and got into drugs; he was in all aspects, a true prodigal living dissolute among the swine. His father had no idea where he was, but his care and concern prompted him to fly halfway around the world to set off and find him. He carried his picture around the streets of Bangkok, asking people if they had seen him, until one opportune moment led him to a drug den where lo and behold, his filthy, sick, strung out son was. He gathered him up, and took him home.

You don't know the love and sacrifice you are capable of until you become a parent, the fruit of your vocation. 

For the father in the Lord's parable, his nobility and tender character would seem to lend itself to the belief that his legacy was good stock. He gave his sons everything, was a good father to them, and still one goes off the rails and the other seethes in resentment. What went wrong? How bitter the recollection of the prophet Isaias' words in his mind, “All your children will be taught by the Lord, and great will be their peace.” (54:13) How the townsfolk must have talked when he went into the village. 

None of that matters, of course, to the father. He searches the horizon day after day, and is willing to gird his loins and run in such an undignified manner to meet his returning son when he sees him in the distance--the son who had no regard for his dignity or respect for his authority--embracing him and showering him with the great good of his household. He had every right to turn from him and disown him, as the son recognizes in his rehearsed speech, "Treat me as one of your hired hands." (Lk 15:19). 

The father was not a tyrant-turned-empath. His character was one of compassion, devotion, and paternal love from the beginning. It would seem that one could not blame the father for "failures" of parenting that drove his son away. The father did everything in his power, and still his heritage turned against him and made him the object of murmur within the community. The parable is as much a story of the exercise of free-will as it is of fervent love, longing, and forgiveness. 

As fathers and mothers, we all have a heightened sensitivity to our parental failures. We also are subject to the temptation to comparison: "So-and-so has such good kids. They're all doing so well. And look at us." 

Part of the added temptation of traditional Catholicism, I think, is "if one simply does X, Y results." Because the liturgy is constant and unchanging, and the rubrics a protection against abuse, I suspect that there may be a tendency to internalize this and apply it to our children. "If we attend the Latin Mass every Sunday, if we don't fraternize with pagans, if we homeschool, etc., our children will not turn away." And for some, that may be the case. 

And yet when I reflect on the good father in the parable, he seemed to have done everything right, and his son(s) still strayed...and not only in slight, but in complete dissolution. Is the father the one to blame for the sons indiscretions? Did he spare the rod and pay the price for this dereliction of duty? Was he emotionally distant? Too protective? Not protective enough?

Or is it simply the exercise of that awesome and fearful gift of freewill that God entrusts each of us? That gift that we can use against Him, just as our children may use against us one day despite our best efforts to keep them on the straight and narrow? It's uncomfortable to think that our control as parents is in many ways, illusionary. We set boundaries, we do our best without a Missal for Parents, and still sometimes the rubrics aren't enough and our children stray for whatever reason. I would ratchet it as one of life's great and tragic mysteries that can even lead some parents to the brink of despair. Parenting is not an "A+B=C" affair. There are a lot of unaccounted for variables.

My darkest nights as a parent are when everything seems to be drifting, and I don't know how to reign it back to the way it was. I experience a loss of control and am driving in the dark with no headlights. I miss my son; I don't want to lose him. In these times, my faith in the paternal love of God is all I have.

Our lives as Christians are founded on the hope of resurrection and ultimate redemption. We know no son or daughter is beyond God's mercy and saving grace, no matter how lost or fargone. As parents, it is our job to never lose that hope, to always be scanning the horizon in prayerful anticipation of that homecoming, to run out and embrace when they are still a long way off, and relish the miraculous joy of the dead coming back to life.   

Saint Joseph's Pain

 Fr. Calloway has done a great service to the Church in promoting devotion to Saint Joseph during this year of the great saint. As he mentions in his book, Saint Joseph lived much of his life in the shadows. Sometimes, though, the greatest witnesses are those hidden from view. 

Many pious women have lauded Fr. Calloway's book and devotion to the saint, and laudably so. A man by his nature will never know the discomfort of carrying a child in their body the way a woman can, or the pain that gives way to joy in birth but can only admire it from afar. But for the man carrying his burden, trying to do the right thing, protect and provide for children, and do what the Lord is calling him to, Saint Joseph reserves a place to enter into his hidden life in a way which, I suspect, may be hard for a woman to fully experience. 

As I reflect on St. Matthew's gospel account of the Annunciation, I imagine Saint Joseph being in the Divine shadow from the beginning. Bestowed with special graces, and an essential figure in the Holy Family, he was nonetheless a human being--unlike Mary, in that he was not spared from Original Sin; and unlike Jesus, his foster son, not Divine. And yet his quiet obedience was unparalleled. His fiat was expressed wordlessly and in deed, "being aroused from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him and took him his wife" (Mt 1:24).

Just prior to his dream and the angel's proclamation, however, he must contend with (if I can speculate) the pain of misunderstanding. Perhaps he didn't care what people thought, or how they talked. But that his wife "was found with child," a child not his own, he is faced with the decision of what to do according to the law, which called for Mary to be "put away." Again, in obedience, he sets off to do so, though "secretly" so as not to exposure her to public example. What was in his heart? A mere man, could he not have felt what he could only have perceived as betrayal, at least initially and if only for an instant? And when it was revealed that Mary was with child "by the Holy Spirit," how to explain such a thing? 

We can see that what others think and any preoccupation with it is not mentioned in scripture; he does only what he is called to do. But his burden (which is, in fact, great privilege) is to not only endure the whispers and the pain of such misunderstanding among his own people and kin, but to bring up and provide a child not his own. 

The dangers magnify when the holy family takes flight into Egypt to escape King Herod, as he is charged with protecting not only the child Jesus, but his holy mother as well. What provisions could they have had? Where might they have had to sleep? How many sleepless nights did he endure in living out his role as foster father of the Redeemer in a foreign land not his own? Not long after, the wails of the mothers for their dead children echoed through the land--massacred, every last one (Jer 31:15). The literal future of the human race hinged on the protection afforded the child by grace and deed in St. Joseph's obedience.  

We do see in Matthew 2:22 that Joseph was "afraid" to go to Judea under the reign of Archaiaus, and again heeds the guidance of the angel to turn aside into Galilee to Nazareth. It is here, as we see in Luke's gospel, that the boy Jesus "grew and became strong." It is fathers who raise their sons in such a way, and while Jesus "increased in wisdom and stature" it is no doubt Saint Joseph formed him as he was called to do, and as if he were his own flesh and blood. Though his son was the God made man whom Joseph served, Joseph was the spiritual head of his household as scripture says, "he was subject to them" (Lk 2:40). 

What does it mean to be the spiritual head? The responsibility can not be overstated. Were St. Joseph to trust his own judgment, rather than listen to God; were he to doubt or falter to the point of saying "this is too much; I can't do this," we may not have the inheritance of the son. It is not easy to follow God's will when we do not understand. 

Let me repeat that: it is not easy to follow God's will when we do not understand. As any father knows, there is a burden we shoulder, often alone, even when willingly undertaken, that is the birthing ground for faith. Because we know what is at stake in raising a family, in heading a household. How many targets we have on our back, the value of the cargo we are charged in protecting. If we rely on our own power and intellect to make the decision which affect our family's well being, we are vulnerable to error. This is what we often fall back on in times of fear and doubt. 

And yet Saint Joseph by his silent witness and deep well of trust in being led paved a way for us as fathers today to do what is right by God first, for the benefit of our family, even when we do not understand what is going on. We need to tell ourselves this, remind ourselves of it, for Saint Joseph even in these scant passages in scripture, gives us the example of what it means to truly be led by God when you can't see two feet in front of you; when you only have faith to guide you. 

We all go through this, as fathers--doubting our abilities, facing our failures and imperfections, second guessing our calling. Tonight was one of those nights for me, when I needed (and obtained) the comfort of Saint Joseph's silent standing by my bedside when I lamented "I don't know what I'm doing. Saint Joseph, help!"

Thankfully, he always comes to our aid. This is why consecration to Saint Joseph is a medium of grace one would be foolish to leave on the nightstand.  He leaves us breadcrumbs in the desert to follow when we are leading our own family in the dead of night. He affords us powerful protection against our enemies, both human and spiritual, as the Terror of Demons. When we trust him and enter into his long night watch, we enter into a place where we learn what it means to walk by faith, what it means to be a father of the family, and what it means to hold safe the precious cargo entrusted to us in Christ.

Happy Father's Day (And A Quick Note)

You would think a blog titled Father Of The Family would have a significant post on Father's Day. But I'm going to enjoy the day with my family rather than writing, and if you're a dad, you should too (rather than reading this blog!)

But if you do decide to spend your well-deserved day reading, then more power to you. Best ten cent piece of advice I can give as a father to fathers: if you want to be a good dad, let your kids see you love your wife and mom well! 

Here's a Father's Day Roundup of past posts on the subject of fatherhood I hope you will enjoy:

You Do Not Have Many Fathers

Waiting For Your Son

Fatherhood in the Age of Witness

In The Middle of the Night

Lost And Found

*To PF readers, a quick note: If you have signed up/subscribed to receive past posts by email, I had to switch to a new delivery system since Google is retiring Feedburner. It's called Feed.it, and you may have received yesterday's post this morning by email if you were a past subscriber and your email was imported. Please be sure to click the link in the email you receive (at the top, in green) to ensure you receive future posts by email. And if you haven't already and would like to, please enter your email in the "Get New Posts By Email" widget on the top right of the blog (NOTE: it only shows up on the web version for some  reason, so if you are viewing the blog on mobile please click 'view web version' at the bottom and do so from the web version on your computer.

Enjoy your well-deserved day! St. Joseph, pray for us!

The Stay At Home Dad Dilemma, Revisited

One of my first posts on my old blog was titled Fred The Fireman and the SAHD Dilemma. It was a admittedly confessional piece I wrote five years ago when we were a two-income family with my wife as the main breadwinner, and our kids were in daycare. Though I wasn't a stay at home dad, whenever I was home with my young kids for extended periods of times, I felt like I got a taste of it...and hated it.

Now, I love my kids, and I love spending time with them, especially now that they are older. We have made a lot of changes over the years--my wife leaving full time employment and being a stay at home mom, ditching daycare, and homeschooling. Everyone is happier. We have less money but a sense that we are not going against our inner-currents. During those years, things just didn't feel right, but we didn't know why. I was always open minded about gender roles, but sometimes nature wants a say too when it comes to the order of things.

I remember years ago actually spending an afternoon at a playground with an actual stay at home dad at a local church. He was a young guy, maybe early thirties like me, wife had a good job and he didn't, and confessed to me how hard it was--not the taking care of the kids or cutting the crusts off sandwiches, but having any kind of relationships with other men and being able to relate to them (and vice versa). He seemed so...isolated and lonely. I confess, I couldn't really relate either. I did get his phone number out of a sense of empathy, but never called him to hang out.

My kids were watching a movie a few weeks ago called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Jennifer Garner is the mom working in a high-level position at a publishing house in L.A., and Steve Carell, the dad, is recently unemployed and has been looking for work for seven months. It appears to be a temporary situation, as he is actively looking for employment. While doing so, he attends play groups with the baby; when his son speaks his first word, "He called me FOMMY!" (father-mommy), Carell beams with delight, as the other moms applaud.

There's something about progressivism that tries to erase--erase our nature, erase established social norms, erase biology, erase fertility, erase shame, erase God and His precepts. After it has finished erasing, it tries to reinvent--that things don't always have to be this way, that we can write our own destiny script, that traditional values are outdated and based in ignorance. It takes down a fence without knowing or bothering to find out what it was erected for, to paraphrase Chesterton.

Here's the thing--there's nothing inherently wrong in a wife bringing home the bacon and a husband raising the children. Sometimes it makes the most sense on a surface level, and sometimes it is due to survival and necessity. I say inherently, because it's the exception not the norm for a reason. And I think it's safe to say that the aquifer with which the roots of this family dynamic draws its water from is feminism--a carcinogenic ideology. 

In my SAHD Dilemma post, "Fred" (a fireman) responds with frustrated honesty to a Dear-Abbey type column revolving around a woman having issues in her marriage and the women commenters saying "he needs to see a doctor," "He's depressed," etc. I think it shows what most men in these situations think and feel deep down inside--that this kind of household setup goes against their very nature as men:

"I disagree with pretty much all the advice given in this article and with the armchair psychologists replying. I am a full-time firefighter as well as the primary caregiver for my two little girls. I can tell you that I found this article by googling “being a stay at home dad sucks.” Due to my work shifts, I am able to be home, on average, four days during the week with the kids while my wife works her 9-5. I work with several men who do the same thing I do while their wives work (although a vast majority chose to work a second job instead of being home). 

After 4 years of this I can tell you that very few men are cut out for the stay-at-home-dad role. This has been my own experience as well as the experience of every other guy I work with that does the same thing I do. The same issues that stay-at-home-moms face (isolation, lack of stimulating activity) are even worse for men because there are just fewer dad’s out there than moms and really no other adults around to hang out with. Dad’s don’t go on “play dates” with their kids during the day because, lets face it, the other husbands in the neighborhood aren’t going to want some other guy hanging out with their wife while the kids play together. I wouldn’t want that either. The husband in this letter is probably depressed but he doesn’t need medication, a professional, or anything else suggested. HE NEEDS TO GET THE H**L OUT OF THE HOUSE AND GO BACK TO WORK. End of story. The guy feels completely trapped in his situation with no end in sight. Put the kids in daycare before this poor man loses his marbles or decides to take a nap in the garage with the doors closed and the car running. 

He is not a failure, he doesn’t have a mental condition, he’s a man who needs to get out and provide for his family for his own sanity. The days I am able to get out and work during the week are the only thing that keep me sane. I get to interact with other adults and solve real problems. I could not imagine having to be home 5 days a week with no way to stimulate my brain for years to come. I don’t care what anyone says, (most) men are not cut out to stay home with the kids and I’m not at all ashamed to say that I can’t wait until my kids start school so I can work more and do the other things I used to enjoy during the day. Every guy I work with in the same situation says the same exact thing."

At this point in our lives, if we were hard up for money, I would rather take on two extra jobs than be in this situation. My wife was never really happy working full-time in a manager role, and I felt guilty about not providing more. Daycare and everything that goes with it was a kind of trap to justify her high income. I for my part was able to rest on my laurels and wasn't pushed to make more or seek out additional opportunities to support my family. Our kids hated being away from their mom when they were young, and they weren't pining for me either. 

I know there are families, even conservative families where the wife has a high-profile career, who maybe could make this kind of arrangement work. I think they are the exception rather than the norm, though. I think the vast majority of women really want to be home, and the vast majority of men, if given the opportunity, want to work. It just seems to be part of our nature and right order, and when we go against it, we feel the chaffing. 

In a two-income setup, you can get pretty used to things how they are. You get used to that extra income, and you build your lives around it--you buy maybe more house than you would otherwise, finance your cars, do more convenience shopping than you would otherwise, take vacations to get away from the stress of work. Elizabeth Warren (of all people) wrote about this in her book, The Two Income Trap.

A buddy called me the other day--he's not a stay at home dad, but is relatively low on the totem pole in his career. His wife works part time to help supplement their income and makes decent money doing so (they have six kids), but has been starting to feel like she doesn't want to anymore. He confessed how he didn't see how it would work financially if that income went away, and the pressure and unlikelihood of making more money in his current position.

I really, really sympathized with his situation. It was very familiar. I try not to avoid, "This worked for us, so it will work for you too" advice. And I think what's scary is there really is a stepping out in faith that one has to make in trusting that God will provide, even when you don't see a way, when we seek to honor Him and put things in right order. Again, there is nothing wrong with a woman working part-time or trying to be a Proverbs 23 wife for her family; it can even be laudable. But to the extent that it is causing marital and family stress and discord, one may want to take a deeper dive and reassess the causes of the malaise. 

These kinds of difficult situations can also require some belt-tightening and sacrifices, careful budgeting, and an honest assessment of priorities and what is most important. Many times the "We can't..." doesn't actually mean one can't, but that one is making choices that wouldn't make a new situation work. There is also the trust issue--do we trust God to make a way when we don't see one and when the numbers don't add up? Do we go all in on (not recklessly, but with confidence) or are we a "man of two minds," as St. James says? These are questions for personal discernment, not external judgement. I have always been a proponent of "do what works," but if something is not working as a result of not being in the current of God's plan for us, it may be worth re-examining in prayer.

One note--men who experience unemployment (especially when prolonged) inevitably experience depression riding its coattails. Men were made to work, and when men (especially young men) can't or don't, it comes out in some not-to-good ways, both individually and in society. A wife who can help during these times are a source of grace; this is not what this post is about. Sometimes you have to do what you have to to survive. But when the roles and dynamics are switched and push against our nature--as much as a progressive might tell you there's no difference between male and female, that a dad can substitute for a mom (or two two dads or two moms), that the fruit of feminism is progress...well, you may want to examine the fruit of their claims by digging down a few layers to see how it's all playing out.

A final note--this year of St. Joseph has been pivotal for us. He has been a true patron for our family, and after our family consecration, we experienced great grace (especially in my role with work). So if you haven't undertaken it, I would highly suggest it. St. Joseph is the model par excellence for men and fathers--a worker, a provider, a protector. He was no "Fommy." He was a husband, father, and man, through and through--a true model for men both then and now.

Looking In From The Outside

This morning my three year old son came down stairs as I was on the couch attempting to read and pray. His mother was at work on her overnight shift and hadn't come home yet. I was looking forward to him crawling up on the couch with me and nestling in. He took one look at me and asked, "Where's mom?" After telling him she wasn't home yet, but would be soon, his face dropped and he immediately began to cry. I was the consolation prize. 

Moments like these have been kind of demoralizing to me as a dad. Like most dads, my weekdays are spent working. On weekends like this one, when my wife is working her shifts, I'm spent at the end of the week, and don't have much energy for doing things with the kids. Truth be told, they spend most of their time with their mom during the week homeschooling, and as a result are very close to her.

It can be a challenge these days to find my role as a father beyond just providing a roof over everyone's heads. Mothers provide something all kids need--time and attention, nurturing and instruction. As a father, I know I have a role to play in all that as well, and things their mom can't provide. But I've been defecting more. I go out to the garage to wrench around; I sit on the couch while my son plays Minecraft, not knowing how to interact with him. I feel like I'm losing them and squandering opportunities. The COVID era doesn't make it easier, but it's not an excuse either. 

Middle age is a tough time for dad. You're so focused on your career and managing things that time is at a premium. I try to balance having time for myself (time that my wife usually doesn't have as a luxury, admittedly), time with other men, time with my parents, time with my wife, time with my kids, time writing, and time in prayer.  

My wife was chastising me a bit last night for not being present with my kids when I have the opportunity. She's not wrong. She is a 'be-er' and I'm a 'do-er.' Every time I do have the opportunity to just 'be' I end up 'doing' something instead. Everyone knows that you can't substitute time together with other things and expect to have a healthy marriage. And the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to know them, and want to spend time with them. I feel like my kids pick up on that I am not as present with them as their mom is, and so they turn to other 'things' to fill the vacuum that I could be filling if I was more present.

The less time I spend in prayer, the farther I feel from God. The same applies to my kids. I'm in a funky season right now, where my biggest sins and temptations come from a spirit of sloth and acedia, and it can be very hard to counter. I'm somewhere between a post-war father who detaches and a Millenial who is an 'active, involved father.' My wife and I have a more or less traditional delineation of duties where she teaches and cleans, picks up toys and shuttles kids to appointments, and attends to household duties, and I work full time (though I do cook) so that she can stay home for the majority of her time. I'm not emotionally distant, and I think I do spend time with them when I am able, and do help out around the house. But I have the 'dad-disposition' of having a role, and not knowing exactly how it is supposed to play out.

What my wife does naturally--being with the kids, being present, etc--does not come naturally to me. The older my kids get, the more I realize my laziness as a father is costing me opportunities to connect with them. Time is a currency, and I'm spending it on frivolous things rather then what's important. It's no wonder my three year old doesn't want to crawl up on the couch with me, and collapses in dejection when he realizes he's stuck with me rather than his mom. Or maybe it's just a natural season at his age, and I shouldn't be so hard on myself.

A movie I watched years ago that I found strangely moving (to tears) was The Wrestler, with Mickey Rourke. There's a scene where he's trying to reconnect with his adult daughter after years of not being there for her. "I'm just a broken down piece of meat, and I'm alone," he says to her. "And I deserve to be alone." 

There's an image I have, when I go out on the patio for some time to myself, of looking from the outside in while the rest of my family is inside. I've chosen to take time for myself, but I would be horrified if I tried to come back in the house and it was locked for some reason. Then you realize the place you really want to be more than anywhere, with your family, you're barred from, because of what you've chosen instead. I know it's just a moment but I don't want it to project as a future reality. Moments add up to days, and days to years, and before you know it if you're not careful, you can become a stranger in your own house.

Fatherhood In The Age Of Witness

Of all the modern (hopefully, soon-to-be) saints, Fr. Hardon speaks to me the most about the perils of the modern age and the witness of what he calls the Martyrdom of Witness (ie, "White Martyrdom"). He knew from personal experience.

On Father's Day, every man who provides for his family knows the dangers wrought of taking on such a role--to provide, to protect, and to live by his convictions so that his children might live this witness in his footsteps. He knows words are cheap, and catechism means nothing without its lived-out expression in a life of faith.

The Lord Christ prepares and exhorts us to count the cost.

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’

“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples." (Lk 14:28-33)

The loss of employment by way of white martyrdom may seem like a first-world problem, but it is a real martyrdom nonetheless, especially under the temptation to offer "just a pinch of incense." We must be wise as serpents and innocent as doves, and live our lives in a way that gives no scandal or ammunition to those who would have us stand accused.

Probably the most trying part of such martyrdom of witness is that it seems to be for naught, to stand for something and accept the punishment of injustice for doing what is right--for not lying, not conceding to falsehood, for standing firm against a tide of humiliation and accusation when it is met with a shrug by onlookers, or quickly forgotten and to be written off as a fool. There is real suffering involved, and it is most pertinently felt by men and fathers who bear the weight of and responsibility for their family's livelihood. While 99 turn and shrug as termination papers are drawn up, there may be 1 that sees such a stand for what is right and is moved by it to wonder, at least, the cause for such conviction.

Of course, one does not take such stands lightly, and certainly not to be cast in any kind of limelight for accolades among allies. But simply, they take such stands because they can do not other but what is right, and witness to the truth of things no matter what the cost. They do so in the pall shadow of eternity, for they know the tribunals they face in their places of employment in this life will be turned to dust in a matter of decades, whereas the choices to concede to falsehood, or betray their children's confidence in what is right at any and all times, will set them up for eternal damnation by the Judge who will sit on his throne until the end of time.

If wives and children want to give a true and lasting gift this Father's Day, it would be to stand with their husbands and fathers during these inevitable times of trial, when men will be put to the test, and share in the cost of such a witness should it arise--for they themselves, if what they value is vacations and trinkets and the things which a salary can provide, can weaken his resolve. But if he knows his family will stand behind him--in poverty, in sickness, in the loss of security we have grown so accustomed to--they become his Veronica, wiping his face on the way to his personal Calvary to pay the price for the wager of faith. If a man has the love and support of his wife and children, and the assurance of doing what is right, and the grace of perseverance, he can endure almost anything.

"Not all the faithful who suffer for Christ also die for Christ. Opposition to the Christian faith and way of life does not always end in violent death for the persecuted victims.

Consequently, it is well to distinguish between what may be called martyrdom of blood and martyrdom of opposition, which is bloodless indeed, but no less--and sometimes more--painful to endure.

Not all the victims of persecution die at the hands of a godless government. Millions more are ostensibly free to walk the streets and live in a home. Yet they are, in effect, deprived of every human liberty to practice their religion and to serve Christ according to their Faith. If they teach their children catechism, the parents are prevented from enjoying such privileges as decent living quarters or any kind of skilled job. If they are seen attending church, they are first warned, then threatened, and finally penalized – even to the loss of their possessions.

So the sorry tale goes on, and has been going on for years, in spite of the conspiracy of silence in our American press.

But that is not the whole picture. We need to shake ourselves into awareness that our country is going through persecution. It is no less real for being subtle, and no less painful for being perpetrated in the name of democracy.

What do I mean? I mean that any priest or religious, any married or single person in America who wishes to sincerely and fully live up to his Catholic commitment, finds countless obstacles in his way and experiences innumerable difficulties that accumulatively demand heroic fortitude to overcome and withstand.

All we have to do is place the eight beatitudes in one column and the eight corresponding attitudes of our culture in another column, and compare the two. Where Christ advocates poverty, the world despises the poor and canonizes the rich. Where Christ praises gentleness, the world belittles meekness and extols those who succeed by crushing anyone who stands in their way. Where Christ encourages mourning and sorrow for sin, the world revels in pleasure and the noise of empty laughter. Where Christ promises joy only to those who seek justice and holiness, the world offers satisfaction in the enjoyment of sin. Where Christ bids us forgive and show mercy to those who have offended us, the world seeks vengeance and its law courts are filled with demands for retribution. Where Christ blesses those who are pure of heart, the world scoffs at chastity and makes a god of sex. Where Christ tells the peaceful that they shall be rewarded, the world teaches just the opposite in constant rebellion and violence and massive preparation for war. And where Christ teaches the incredible doctrine of accepting persecution with patience and resignation to God's will, the world dreads nothing more than criticism and rejection; and human respect which means acceptance by society, is the moral norm.

On the bloody side, our century has had more Christians who were martyred for Christ than in all the centuries from Calvary to nineteen hundred included. I should know because not a few of my own relatives behind the iron curtain have shed their blood for Christ rather than deny their Catholic Faith.

To this day, innumerable Catholics are dying for their faith at the hands of Muslims who are told by the Koran to either convert Christians from their idolatry of adoring the man Jesus as though he were God, or put them to death.

But my focus here is on our own country. Call it an unbloody martyrdom. But have no doubt that to live an authentic Catholic life in America today is to live a martyr's life.

This is my fiftieth year in the priesthood, and I can testify to every syllable of the following sentence: Only heroic bishops and heroic priests, heroic religious, heroic fathers and mothers, heroic faithful, will survive the massive persecution of the Catholic Church in our country today. We call ourselves the Land of Liberty. But the only liberty that is given freedom is the liberty to do your own will. Pro-choice is not just a clever phrase. It is the hallmark of a culture in which millions have chosen to do what they want and make life humanly impossible for those who choose to do what God wants.

Martyrdom of Witness We still have one more type of martyrdom to reflect on, and it is, in a way, the most pervasive of all because no follower of Christ can escape it. This is the martyrdom of witness.

What do we mean by martyrdom of witness and how does it differ from the other two? It differs from them in that, even in the absence of active opposition--the imitation of Christ must always face passive opposition. From whom? From those who lack a clear vision of the Savior or who, having had it, lost their former commitment to Christ. All that we have seen about the martyrdom by violence applies here too, but the method of opposition is different. Here the firm believer in the Church's teaching authority; the devoted servant of the papacy; the convinced pastor who insists on sound doctrine to his flock; the dedicated religious who want to remain faithful to their vows of authentic poverty, honest chastity, and sincere obedience; the firm parents who are concerned about the religious and moral training of their children and are willing to sacrifice generously to build and care for a Christian family--natural or adopted--such persons will not be spared also active criticism and open opposition. But they must especially be ready to live in an atmosphere of coldness to their deepest beliefs.

Sometimes they would almost wish the opposition were more overt and even persecution would be a welcome change. It is the studied indifference of people whom they know and love, of persons in their own natural or religious family, of men and women whose intelligence they respect and whose respect they cherish.

This kind of apathy can be demoralizing and, unless it finds relief, can be devastating.

To continue living a Christ-like life in this kind of environment is to practice the martyrdom of witness. Why witness? Because it means giving testimony to our deep religious convictions although all around us others are giving their own example to the contrary.

It means giving witness twice over: once on our own behalf as the outward expression of what we internally believe and once again on behalf of others whose conduct is not only different from ours but contradicts it.

Wherein lies the martyrdom? It lies in the deprivation of good example to us on the part of our contemporaries, and in the practice of Christian virtue in loneliness, because those who witness what we do are in the majority--numerically or psychologically--and we know they are being challenged and embarrassed by the testimony. We witness to them, indeed, but they are not pleased to witness who we are, what we stand for, what we say, or what we do.

Notwithstanding all of this, however, it behooves us to look at the positive side of the picture. We must remind ourselves that this witness of ours is not so sterile as we may suppose; quite the contrary. Although we may be, or at least feel, often quite alone, we are not alone at all. Not infrequently our severest critics can become our strongest admirers. In any case, witness that we give by living up to the conviction of our Faith is surely demanding on human nature. That is why we call it martyrdom. But it is a witness to the truth and God's grace is always active in the hearts of everyone whose path we cross.

If we would know the power of this martyrdom of witness we have only to read the annals of the early Church. The handful of believers whom Peter baptized on Pentecost Sunday were as a drop in the immense culture surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. Yet see what happened. This small group of convinced faithful were able, in less than three hundred years, to turn the tide of paganism in the Roman Empire. For a long time they were deprived even of the basic civil rights accorded other citizens. They were often hunted like animals, and the catacombs tell us that they had to hide when celebrating the Liturgy and hide the tombs of their revered dead.

But their patience and meekness finally prevailed. Yes, but only because it was supported by unbounded courage, born not of their own strength, but of the power that Christ promised to give all His followers that shall witness to His name everywhere. This promise is just as true today. All that we need is to trust in the Spirit Whom we possess, and never grow weary in giving testimony to the grace we received.

This is what Christ was talking about when He told us not to hide our virtues but to allow them to be publicly seen, like a candle on a candlestick or a city on a mountaintop. We should not be afraid that by such evidence of our good works we shall be protected from vainglory by the cost in humiliation that witnessing to a holy life inevitably brings. There will have to be enough death to self and enough ignoring of human respect to keep us from getting proud in our well-doing. God will see to that. On our part, we must be willing to pay the price of suffering in doing good, which is another name for being a living martyr, that is, a courageous witness to the life of Christ in the world today."

--Fr. John Hardon, SJ

The Indispensable Mother

I often talk about the father's influence in the life of faith. Touchstone has a good study with some stats here.

"In short, if a father does not go to church, no matter how faithful his wife’s devotions, only one child in 50 will become a regular worshipper. If a father does go regularly, regardless of the practice of the mother, between two-thirds and three-quarters of their children will become churchgoers (regular and irregular). If a father goes but irregularly to church, regardless of his wife’s devotion, between a half and two-thirds of their offspring will find themselves coming to church regularly or occasionally."

St. John Paul II mentioned an image of his father that stayed with him through the years of waking up in the middle of the night and finding his father kneeling in the dark, praying silently. Our son has started learning to serve at the Latin Mass, and I was even surprised that my wife mentioned he expressed wanting to fast and take cold showers, "like daddy." The model the father sets for the household--not only in word, but in deed--is essential, especially for sons.

If the father's influence in the life of faith is vital, what about the role of the mother in pretty much everything else? Again, especially during the early years, the mother's presence cannot be overstated.

In creating a "domestic monastery" in the home, I've found my wife to be the foundation. We have cut back on a lot of activities and things that just allow us more time at home as a family together, doing nothing but logging time together. And time has no substitution.

One thing that does take away from some of that time, albeit on a limited basis, is when my wife leaves the house for her weekend overnight shift. Thankfully, this is only a few times a month and occurs largely when the kids are sleeping and I am home. Ideally, she would not have to at all but it is the situation and arrangement we are in currently, though it may change in the future depending on finances. I notice, though, the nights when they know she is scheduled to go in, the kids are extra attached to her. It is pretty much the only time they are away from her, and they will crawl into my bed in the morning and ask, "when is mommy coming home?" prior to her returning. It's like they just can't get enough of being with her. Time is the currency they trade in.

But this is normal, especially when kids are young! Though it is disruptive in some sense, it is a manageable burden right now. I really feel for women who are forced to work by economic necessity and not wanting to. Daycare is in such cases a necessary and expensive necessity, but I think even mothers would admit it is not the ideal for them.

The argument in some Catholic circles is that women have always worked, and so working mothers should in the industrial age is a modern extension of this and should not be denigrated. Many women, as the claim goes, find fulfillment and purpose outside the home in their jobs. It can often be a vicious debate, because it is so personal. I have found, and speaking only from our experience (since we have been on both sides of it with my wife working full time and now largely at home), that children benefit from the presence of their mothers at home more than they do them being outside the home for extended periods of time.

Is this a 'privilege' that only those of economic means, who can live on the husband's income, are privy too? In some sense, but I think there are also budgetary choices that can be adjusted to make it more of a reality. The proverb comes to mind "Better a small serving of vegetables with love than a fattened calf with hatred" (Prov 15:17). A friend of mine has a good blog on many of these topics here. Women who have grown up in the wake of the feminist movement may not even realize there is an alternative, or know how to make it happen. She does a good job with 'nuts and bolts' things for those being moved in their hearts to make a change. It was a big help when we were making the shift as to the why. And grace came too, in large response to the prayers of my wife that God would give her the desires of her heart to make a way for her to be home. We're not a perfect model (is there really any perfect model), but things have vastly improved in the peace and stability of our home life with the change. Time is a currency with no substitution.

A Wallet Full Of Memories

As parents of three kids, my wife and I try to be intentional about carving out one on one time with our kids. Some wise Christian friends told us not to waste those little moments of running errands or being out and about--take a kid with you.

I decided to do this with my oldest this past Monday. I had stayed home from work because my wife was sick, and was going a little stir crazy near the end of the day. I decided to take my son to return some pants, stop by Lowes, and make a visit to the Adoration chapel to pray. He's been wanting to do everything dad does lately: wearing aftershave, hammering nails into wood, and asking about girls. If she could handle the other two kids for an hour, I would take the oldest out.

Everything was going great. We made an impromptu stop for ice cream. There were two other dads with their sons, which he noticed. It was "our place" and we shared a cone, and spun around on the bar stools. When we finished up, we headed to return the pants, but in the store things started to get derailed when he saw a toy he wanted and I said we couldn't get it. He got huffy, and then when we also emerged empty handed from Lowes, he started feeling like it was a wasted trip. When we got to the Adoration Chapel, he was upset and sulky. We both kneeled down to pray, him reluctantly at first. He started to blame God for things--He's not really there, He never answers my prayers, etc. I don't pray enough for my kids, but I prayed for him there, very intentionally, that he should never fall away from the Lord.

When we left the chapel, the waterworks began. He was upset because the memories we were making in the beginning of the afternoon, he loved them. "And then you had to RUIN EVERYTHING!" It wasn't what he expected. I knelt down to his level and tried to console him but he wasn't having it.

"You know D, we can make memories from anything. That's what's great about having an imagination. Anything can be a memory!"

He stopped crying for a moment and looked up, curious.

"Listen, I have an idea. Let's make a memory, something to remember between me and you, right now. Do you want to be my race car co-pilot? Yeah? Well, let's go."

I strapped him in, and started the car. "Okay, now listen, there's going to be a lot of drivers chasing us, so you have to have the smoke bombs ready. I'll try to lose them, but I'll need your  help."

He was listening, getting excited. "Okay."

We pulled out of the church parking lot and made a left to the highway. Soon enough, a car with headlights emerged in my rearview mirror. "Oh boy, D. Here we go."

"What?"

"Get the smoke bombs ready. I'll try to lose him."

I sped up. "We're losing him!" he cried. "Yeah, but there's a red light ahead. Get the smoke bomb ready!"

He was bouncing in his seat, excited. "Okay, bombs away!" He turned in his seat and threw an imaginary distraction at the guy behind us.

"We lost him!" I yelled, when the driver turned right and we turned left.

We continued to race and lose cars, throwing bombs all the way home. It was a silly game that boys love, that I loved growing up on vacation. I remembered it today, even with my lousy memory. By the time we got home, he was all smiles and told his mom and sister excitedly about everything we did. We managed to salvage a potential disaster with the power of imagination glued together with a few hours of borrowed time. It didn't cost us anything, and wasn't scheduled.

When we lose people we love, their memories sustain us. Memories are bonded to time, and they take place in real life, cached in the mind. They can also sear the heart, because we can never repeat them, only replay them. It's a kind of metaphysical currency we deal in. For a boy who has lost his dad, all he has of him are memories and mementos. If my kids ever lose me, I want them to have good ones that are worth their weight in gold.