Acedia and Ennui: The Cousins of Mid-Life Manhood

 A few years ago I ran across a light-hearted little meme with a solidly truthful and existential nougat core. It’s a smiling little cartoon guy in a series of pictographic scenarios: Shop for a new tie. Make macaroni. Do Cardio.

[Don’t Let The Existential Dread Set In]

DON’T LET IT SET IN.

Vacuum the rug.

I still chuckle at it (uncomfortably) today. We live out our lives as Christians trying to synthesize the meaning of our life in Christ with the reality of suffering, the seeming futility of making meaningful change in the world, and the fact that we are going to die at some point. I’m not a fatalist nor a pessimist, but those moments of questioning what it is all for and what one’s life has amounted to will hit from time to time. I’d like to think I’m not the only one.

Perhaps this is coincidental with the post-Christmas season and turning forty-four in a few months. In reflecting on the life of our Savior, I think it gets overlooked for a lot of people that Christ began his public ministry at the age of thirty, and died at the age of thirty-three. He was, for all intents and purposes, in the prime of his life—peak manhood. And since there are no accidents in the spiritual economy, perhaps this is why the Father chose that period for his son, who was to be a choice offering, an unblemished lamb—a worthy sacrifice. It meant something because it cost everything.

The solution in the modern economy is to sidestep malaise, or hop over it. If one is anxious and looking for a way to address the root causes of their anxiety, they are often advised instead to pop a Xanax twice a day as if that was a solution. If we are uneasy with periods of boredom, there’s no shortage of food, phones, or content to distract us and get us out of that moment temporarily. 

Mid-life for men is a kind of predictable malaise that can’t be sidestepped or hopped over, however; you have to go through it on your way to old age, disease and death. It could have something to do with lowering testosterone levels. It could start in your late thirties or not hit until your early fifties. It’s not quite depression, though there can be some symptomatic overlap. It’s not quite doubt at the things we’ve committed ourselves to: marriage, family, faith, work. Mid-life seems to be its own unique thing, even when we’re not conscious we are experiencing it. 

That recalibration “halfway through the tunnel” can often play out in stereotypical ways: the Corvette, the affair, the career switch or the moving to a homestead in the country. But like the Xanax, these are the pills we pop to try to make the problem “go away.” Many men do not seem to even have the capacity for introspection, but instead (again, stereotypically) relegate this nebulous malaise to externals; to mansplain it, it is a matter of externals, a “problem to be solved.”

The Devil, to his credit, will not let any good crisis go to waste. And so he flanks our defenses from all exposed angles. He may plant the tares of doubt about our marriage vows, for one: Is your marriage really valid? Were you really in the right state of mind to make such a commitment? Does God really expect you to live the next forty years with the same woman? What if you just…left? Or he could capitalize on our boredom and general comfortability. You get the idea. 

In secular nomenclature, ennui is a kind of feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement. It seems to go hand in hand with mid-life for men and can be hard to put a finger on. In the spiritual life, acedia is a close spiritual relative—a kind of mental sloth or apathy which, ironically, strikes the solider of God often at the mid-life of the day (which is why it is sometimes referred to as the “Noonday Demon”). St. John Cassian, in his treatise from the Philokalia (“On The Eight Vices”) lays out both the diagnosis and the remedy for this form of spiritual attack,

"Our sixth struggle is against the demon of listlessness, who works hand in hand with the demon of dejection. This is a harsh, terrible demon, always attacking the monk, falling upon him at the sixth hour (mid-day), making him slack and fall of fear, inspiring him with hatred for his monastery, his fellow monks, for work of any kind, and even for the reading of Holy Scripture. He suggests to the monk that he should go elsewhere and that, if he does not, all his effort and time will be wasted. In addition to all this, tie produces in him at around the sixth hour a hunger such as he would not normally have after fasting for three days, or after a long journey or the heaviest labor. Then he makes him think that he will not be able to rid himself of this grievous sickness, except by sallying forth frequently to visit his brethren, ostensibly to help them and to tend them if they are unwell. When he cannot lead him astray in this manner, he puts him into the deepest sleep. In short, his attacks become stronger and more violent, and he cannot be beaten off except through prayer, through avoiding useless speech, through the study.”

For a monastic under a superior and a rule, the solution is simple: stay in your cell and fight your wayward nature by staying put and not abandoning your post. Not easy, but simple at least. Stay and fight.

Perhaps my mid-life malaise at the age of forty-four does have a spiritual taproot: Ennui driving the ‘Vette, with its spiritual cousin Acedia in the passenger seat coming along for the ride. St. John Cassian gives sound counsel for dealing with the latter, but the former in my opinion can be a tougher nut to crack; a kind of tension that needs to be uncomfortably sat with and stared down, or wrestled with the way Jacob wrestled with the angel of the Lord. To pay attention to that heart and meaning-shaped hole rather than going out to shop for a new tie or pumping some reps, while not staring so deep into the abyss that we are overtaken by it and fall in. Navel-gazing is a weak currency, but prayer for the Christian exacts change—even when it feels futile and even when it feels like those prayers eviscerate into the ether. 

Because we were hit with a storm recently, I had a small downed tree to deal with. I had no desire in this state of ennui-inspired apathy to do so, but forced myself to grab and axe and saw and get to work; it wasn’t going to move itself, and laying there in the yard seemed like a taunt. It seemed pointless and tiring to even think about, like everything else in my mind. Chopping a tree seemed as futile a distraction as cooking macaroni, or vacuuming the rug. 

After an hour or so of sweating and straining, though, I came in the house to find that Abba Moses, quoted in Cassian’s treatise, had it right: patience, prayer, and manual labor worked to dispel the noonday demon, at least for today. That doesn’t mean he won’t return, either tomorrow or next year when I’m forty-five. But at least for today, this patristic trifecta of armory was enough to help me find meaning enough to get up, get serious, and get to work.

The State Of Catholic Manhood

 

I will be giving a talk at a retreat for college-aged men this evening. I would ask for your prayers that I am simply a mouthpiece for the Holy Spirit. 

It is not easy being or becoming a man today, mostly because we have no idea what it's supposed to look like. Weak community bonds mean rites of passage are an artifact of a bygone era. Men are given conflicting messages from our culture and women in general: Don't be toxic. Don't hold the door. You're expendable. And there is a gaping father wound to deal with as well.

24 million children (34%) live absent their biological father. Nearly 20 million children (27%) live in single-parent homes. 43% of first marriages dissolve within fifteen years; about 60% of divorcing couples have children; and approximately one million children each year experience the divorce of their parents. This has a huge effect on young men today, because as St. Paul said "be imitators of me, as I am of Christ" (1 Cor 11:1). Figures like Jordan Peterson (okay) and Andrew Tate (best to be avoided) are trying to step in to plug this hole and provide guidance and an archetype in the online space, but this is a poor substitute for the real-life modeling of fathers, priests, and tribes of men to learn from and emulate in real time. 

There's also the leaching of feminism into the culture at large that affects both men and women. If there is an innate and biological desire to protect, provide, and be needed, feminism undermines all of these things. Men are nearly twice as likely to have mental health problems due to being unemployed than women. Young, single, idle men in developing countries are prime candidates for radical extremist groups to recruit. Men simply languish when they feel they are not contributing to anything, when they have no purpose or are unnecessary. 

Even young Catholic women often have unrealistic expectations of a Catholic man to marry. They come with their lists of qualities and attributes and if they are not all checked in their entirety, they take a pass. Young men, as well, have imbibed the passivity and docility that feminism inadvertently encourages, and so struggle to approach or initiate any kind of courting. It's a recipe for frustration.

There's two sides to this pendulum: in a post-modern society, there are no archetypes, no models, no established and time-tested norms for anything, let alone what makes a man. In a pre-modern society, however, there was no room for deviation. If a man showed the least sign of gentleness or perceived effeminacy,  he was cast out. This would include men who struggle with SSA, or are simply wired differently with less masculine traits. 

I look to Christ as the model of the perfect, quintessential man. He synthesized the best of both male and female, as God made us. He endured suffering and faced hardship like a man. He had no guile, and was a model of integrity. He did not shy away from speaking the truth. He mobilized a band of brothers as disciples. He flipped over the tables of injustice in righteous anger. He laid down his life for his friends. But he also wept, had a tenderness to towards sinners and the oppressed, spoke as easily to women as he did to men. Jesus' masculinity was not "toxic," but nor was it haughty or warped. He knew who he was. He was the model of confidence--and that confidence rested in his standing with the Father and the Father's love for him. 

Nature abhors a vacuum. The internet is a good place to learn how to fix a finicky furnace or how to skin a deer, but it's a poor substitute for how to live like a man among men. The Catholic world is replete with men in their mid-twenties pecking away in comboxes with avatars of knights and warriors, but deep down there is an insecurity that belies their online bravado. This is because online communities are not real communities partly, but also because there is no real accountability or apprentice model of taking a young man under one's wings and being a father-figure to him in real-time. At the root of that insecurity is not wanting to admit that they do not know what it means to be a man, how to be a man, or even if there is such a thing in the wake of postmodernity. Porn, video games, social media--this is the white sugar of men's diets today.

The fact is, however, that these are not unhealable wounds. God the Father through the incarnation of His son shows us the quintessential archetype of manhood in the person of Christ. A good husband does not sit back in his recliner expecting to be waited on hand and foot by his wife. A good father does not shy away from disciplining his children and modeling love by how he treats his wife. A good man of faith does not shirk away from the hard work of prayer and penance. A good man of God does not project confidence in his own righteousness, but knows his dependence on Christ and his grace for all that is good. 

Like learning what it means to be a Catholic, or how to live as a Catholic family, there is a place for a diversity of living out one's manhood. There is a place for men who (like me) think with a "female brain;" there is a place for men with SSA who strive to live chaste lives and follow Christ; men who don't happen to like sports or beer or cigars or whatever; men who are short in stature or who have soft voices. Because these aren't the things that make a man anymore than going to Mass or praying the rosary makes you a Catholic. 

It's human nature to over-swing the pendulum to correct the errors of the past. The Church is too modern? Tradition is the answer. Feminism has run amuck? So-called "toxic" masculinity will step in to take it's place. Liberalism has taken hold of everything? Conservativism will be our savior. Etc. As always, the truth is in the mean, because this is where virtue lives. And this applies to archetype of manhood as well, Catholic or otherwise. 

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.

The Dignity Of Men

I'd like to solicit your prayers if I may; this Thursday is the first of a monthly series at our parish for men. Like men, it's not complicated: a half hour of adoration and rosary as a collective in the church, followed by a talk on one of the virtues in the basement with discussion and fraternity to follow over beer and wings. In my mind, it's a good formula: there is an active "doing" as a collective (adoration/rosary); there is a practical and tangible outcomes-focused objective (cultivating the virtues); and there is food and drink. 

I've always believed that when you build up men, you build up the family, and when you build up the family, you can begin to rebuild the Church. Surprisingly, we didn't have anything like this at our parish, so I proposed the idea first to a small group of men, then to our pastor, both of whom affirmed the need and supported the idea. I also feel a bit of pressure since it has the potential to be a big crowd, and I want it to be a worthwhile thing for all involved.

 What I like about this idea is that it's a low bar of entry: if you are a man, you can come--whether retired or teenager, blue collar or academic, single or married, trad or not, black or white, from the city or the suburbs. The Church is not, nor should it be, a country-club clique. She is Mother to all men.

My wife and I went to a mid-day holy hour last week while visiting New Orleans, and what struck me was that the half a dozen adorers in the church were all men. In the front pew, a young African American man sat motionless before the Lord; a few rows behind him, a Hispanic construction worker also prayed, with his head resting on his hands. To the left of him, a professional looking man in his thirties in a blue suit knelt before the Lord, presumably on his lunch break. All men, all different walks of life, all there for the same reason: to seek consolation and offer worship. 

This isn't some forced DEI exercise, but the natural response to a Lord who does not discriminate in his call. Neither Jew nor Greek, bond nor free, but all one in Christ Jesus (Gal 3:28). For the Lord does not see as men see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart (1 Sam 16:7). 

Men's ministry can be tough; it can sometimes play to caricatures, or as my friend Boniface calls it, engage in "man-pandering." Men have their own language and code, and you need to learn to speak to that in order to get buy-in as well as earn respect. 

But unlike women, men are not mysterious. Wives are often amazed to realize how uncomplicated it can be to please their husbands: feed him, satisfy him, and respect him. That should take care of 99% of the problems in your marriage. 

The universality of faith, expressed in Catholicism, is the glue that binds us as baptized believers. It isn't based on where you come from, your caste or color, your job or your personality.  St. Paul exemplifies this image of Christ by becoming "all things to all men" so that some might be saved (1 Cor 9:22). We have dignity as men because our dignity comes from Christ, the perfect man who died for all men. 

Do The Hard Thing

 "Suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning."

--Victor Frankl (neurologist, psychiatrist, philosopher, author, Holocaust survivor)

Wim Hof, colloquially known as "The Iceman," has climbed Mount Everest in shorts and sandals, run a half marathon barefoot in the Artic Circle, and been submerged in ice for almost two hours. But for the sixty-two year old Dutchman, these cold weather endurance feats are the least painful of what he has endured. “I can do it all," he notes "because compared to a grieving heart, it is nothing.”

His wife (who suffered from schizophrenia) took her life in 1995 by throwing herself from an eight story building, leaving Hof--a young father of four at the time--to pick up the pieces. Between the grief of losing the love of his life, and being forced to continue living and providing for his children, Hof had no consolation, no answers to deal with the pain and no recourse to relief. He was paralyzed with fear, gripped by anxiety, and swallowed up in emotional agony...and nothing alleviated it.

Until he disrobed and slipped into a freezing lake one Sunday morning.

While his body was gripped and paralyzed by the cold, his fear, grief, and anxiety melted away.

"Instead of being guided by my broken emotions, the cold water led me to stillness and gave my broken heart a chance to rest, restore, rehabilitate."

"The only thing that gave me peace," he recalls, "was the cold."

While I am not a devoted follower of the so-called "Hof method," I have been employing the relatively simple habit of turning my thermostat down in my house to 55 degrees, and taking cold showers every morning for the past few months. It is both the worst part of my day...and the best. The worst, because the shooting pain of ice water stinging your frigid body with no place to hide from it is akin to a mild form of torture. The best, because it did not kill me and I live to see another day.

The author Natalie Goldberg, when she was going through a divorce, approached her roshi (Zen master) and asked him, "Roshi, will I get used to loneliness?"

"No, you don't get used to it," he said, "I take a cold shower every morning and every morning it shocks me, but I continue to stand up in the shower. Loneliness always has a bite, but learn to stand up in it and not be tossed away."

The jury is still out in the scientific community as to the verifiable health benefits of cold therapy and ice baths. Anecdotally, I feel more alert, more alive, and suspect that there are more endorphins flowing through my body after emerging from the shower.

But there is something else, though, beyond the positive physiological effects.

I know the emotional agony and sense of darkness Hof experienced when he lost his wife. But in my case, I was the one standing on the proverbial ledge eight stories up, unable to find a way to escape. The moral guardrail of my religious faith restrained my desire to meet the same fate as Hof's wife, to escape a jet-black depression that seemed like it would never end. In the darkest clutches of depression, the things that would most benefit mental wellbeing--exercise, friends and family, prayer--are the most aversive.

But what if we could will our bodies away from atrophy--doing the exact hard thing we have no desire to do?

If we are convinced we can't survive two minutes in an icy lake, and we jump in anyway, what do we have to lose if we want to die in that moment anyway? If we die, we obtain the wish of our distorted mind. But if we come out of the experience, panting and shivering but very much alive and with a new lease on life...what if that was the spark needed to ignite the will to live again?

Indeed, in the city of Yukutsk, Siberia--the coldest city in the world--men routinely remove their clothes when it is minus 50 degrees Farhenheit to take ice baths outside. Their bodies are acclimated to the cold, and they rarely get sick. And in Russia and Ukraine, the Orthodox faithful celebrate the Feast of Ephiphany in January by plunging into icy lakes. "Epiphany is purification," one congregant of the ritual observes, "My soul is cleansed and I'm charged with a good mood for the whole year ahead."

There is no denying that Hof has attained a level of physical transcendence of the limitations of the body by the power of the mind that is remarkable. But he maintains that he is not unique, and that anyone can push themselves farther than they thought possible and gain mental clarity and emotional control, simply by doing the harder thing.

"As humanity has evolved and developed ways to make our lives more and more comfortable, we have lost our ability not only to survive but to thrive in extreme environments," the Iceman notes. "The things we have built to make our lives easier have actually made us weaker."

Though I'm still soft in a lot of ways, I've grown to love my morning cold shower. I mean, I hate it. But I love it. Every time I step into the stall, I know what is waiting for me: cold, hard pain. And every time I turn the shower handle as far to the right as it will go and pull it back, there is a part of me that feels like I am going to die as soon as those thousands of icy needles fly the wall and strike my naked torso.

But then, I don't. I yelp, and curse, and cry a little. But I don't die. A few minutes, and it's over. I'm still here. I continue to stand up. And I will not be tossed away.

How Not To Be Soft

 Now that winter is peeking it's frosty head around the corner, I am going into full-on dad mode. Some of it is playing the part, some of it is for our bills, and some of it is because there really is a tough-love part of me that does not want my family (or myself) getting too soft. 

There's a strain of this kind of neo-Stoicism on the internet in the wake of influencers like Jordan Peterson ("make your damn bed!") and Pete Adeney (aka, Mr. Money Mustache). The idea is basically that Doing The Hard Thing is something to be pursued, not shirked, as it is beneficially for you on multiple levels. There is truth in the saying: 

Hard times makes strong men; 

strong men make good times; 

good times create weak men.

But here's the thing--as Catholics, we are not Stoics in the classical sense; we don't do the hard thing for the sake of doing the hard thing. We can pursue the difficult path without being masochists, and have some balance and purpose in this undertaking for not only our spiritual, but our coroporal benefit. But nothing is wasted in the spiritual economy. This is why we do penance in this life--for our own souls to make restitution now rather than later, and for the benefit of those suffering in purgatory.

I was thinking about this idea of how having a more ascetical mindset is good preparation for an uncertain future. It takes some 'training' or practice, so to speak, but can also have residual practical benefits. Four areas in particular that came to mind:

Body temperature

Human beings are warm-blooded creatures, so we need to maintain a certain range of internal temperature. However, the human body also has an amazing ability to adapt and acclimate to changes in the immediate environment (within reason). 

Part of the reason I keep the heat low in our house is because we have very expensive (at least this season) fuel oil as our source. Thankfully, my wife is a true team player and doesn't give me too much grief about it; our kids also seem to be hot-blooded, so they are not suffering unduly. 

It's always a little harder in the beginning of the heating season but once we acclimate, stepping into someone's home who keeps it at 70 degrees F or above feels like a sauna. I wouldn't say we're completely comfortable in our house, and we make a point to wear warm socks, sweaters, etc. People act as if this is a major hardship, but really it's just thermodynamic common sense: heat the person, not the space. And since when did being perpetually comfortable become the be all end all?

I still take cold showers, even in winter. I know that is somewhat extreme, (and part of it is simply because it takes forever for the hot water to get to the showerhead in our upstairs bedroom) but there are some health benefits (as people who do icebath plunges realize) and it definitely wakes you up in the morning and makes you more alert. It's uncomfortable. I offer it up. Ironically, it also makes it easier to step out of the shower into a coldish room, since the delta is not as high. 

House size

I have a bit of a minimalist mindset. Part of this is for the preservation of mental health--more "stuff" equals more clutter, which translates to seemingly more anxiety. We are in a Goldilocks situation with our current house--for our family, it is neither too small nor too big, but feels just right in terms of square footage. 

It's ironic, too, that in our area at least, many of the large houses correspond with less children, and many of the large families we know have small to medium sized houses. 

There is probably a happy medium, but I also think it's worth pointing out that for many people, "the stuff fills the space." That is, if you are in a 1,500 square foot home and you upgrade to a 3,000 square foot home, you simply accumulate more things (furniture, accoutrements, etc) to fill in the difference. 

There's nothing more or less noble about living in a smaller space, and there are practical concerns when a family is on top of each other and may be able to benefit from an extra bedroom or a basement. But for the most part, extra space is often a luxury, rather than a necessity, since most families with smaller houses just make it work with bunk beds, multi-use rooms, space saving devices, etc. So, a "bigger house" may or may not be a necessity, depending on your circumstances. And getting rid of junk and clutter can be freeing as well, which may allow you to free up space in your existing house.

Salary and spending

Like housing size, there is a happy medium in terms of salary. I have heard $85,000/yr household income is the 'sweet spot' where basic needs can be met but additional income does not necessarily make one "happier." As Solomon says, "Give me neither riches nor poverty" (Prov 30:8). This is the ideal, but we don't live in an ideal world, and families don't always experience ideal circumstances.

Also like housing size, we tend to "fill the space" with increased spending as salary increases. What were once "wants" now become "needs." This is why so many athletes and celebrities go broke, because they cannot sustain their lifestyles after their careers plateau. It's good to learn how to live on one income, even if both spouses are working, to give a financial cushion for the unexpected and emergencies. To the extent you over-leverage your budgetary margin call, it puts you in a stressful and precarious financial situation that may even make you less happy despite having a higher salary.  The common sense approach is to live within your means: spend, save, invest, and give proportionally. But if you can learn to live on less, you are training yourself better for lean times, even if you have a lot of financial "fat" in your budget currently.

Fasting

Fasting is a good practice for spiritual and physical health. It can be as simple as skipping a meal a few times a week, or not snacking. To the three points above, there is also a tendency for our stomachs to expand the more we eat, so that it takes more food for us to feel full when we overeat beyond what is necessary to our bodies. 

When we limit caloric intake, our stomach shrinks a bit in response, and our baseline of what is needed to sustain ourselves is lowered as well. We can offer up our fasting for the conversion of sinners, for our own selves, or some intention. We can also train our bodies in this way to "do without" when traveling or faced with hard times so that we are not ruled by our stomach. 

Fasting can also be beyond food--like phone/technology fasts, for instance. It's just good to do to work on breaking this dependency...but it is very hard!

All in all, things like exercising, chopping wood, working hard, delaying gratification, and suffering a little helps us not be such butterballs, especially as men. There is a kind of effeminacy in needing to be perpetually comfortable. But we should have balance in all things. Weightlifters know that you get stronger by pushing your muscles beyond their baseline, but then allowing for them to recover as well. These are just four points I was thinking of the other day, there may be more. Feel free to comment to continue the conversation!

Letter To Boniface

Boniface,

I hope it's ok I write to you--not related to writing or Catholicism directly, but just as one early-forties Catholic guy to another. I don't know why I thought you might be able to relate or understand, but taking a chance you might.

By the way, I read the Matt Foley piece you had on USC, and it almost moved me to tears as well. I grew up in the nineties on SNL in it's heyday and loved Chris Farley and had a soft-spot for him, but mostly it touched me because of the gritty struggle; addiction is such a tenacious mf; having a 25 year nicotine addiction myself, which I just recently stopped cold turkey a month ago (not the first time, but hopefully the last), I know that feeling of shame, dejection, and feeling like maybe you're never really in the clear. I have always recognized how dependent I am on grace, and take to heart the words of St. Paul to the Corinthians, "take heed, lest you fall." I come from a sinful past, not the grittiest but not the prettiest either; in any case, it doesn't matter much how it compares to others. We are all slaves bought with blood, ransomed when we had no power to lift ourselves from the miry well we had fallen in.

One thing I have been struggling with is a bubbling over, frothing disgust almost which lately the devil seems to be capitalizing on. Beneath the surface, I think, is disappointment--feeling like no matter what I do in the faith, my kids will cede to the culture and apostatize. That no matter how lonely I am in my faith walk, no amount of friendships will plug that hole (which is reserved for God alone). And even just the disappointment with my men's group, and how my expectations for things that last are maybe the cause, when in most cases they just can't sustain themselves over the years and fade away. I have a very Augustinian heart, and find that even as my faith and prayer life is deepening, that my disgust with the world and the things in it has been increasing. I find myself wearied by life, and praying for a swift and early death.

But, I cannot hate my brother(s) and still love God, as scripture says; for I would be a liar. I feel in my bones this tension of needing community, social things, being able to lean on people, and being disgusted with this need, seeing it as a kind of weakness. And yet, solitude which may be deepening for my prayer life and faith, is hard to bear for long periods of time. In this limbo, there's tension rather than peace, like I'm on a kind of rack where my limbs get stretched til they pop their sockets. 

Part of that disgust bleeds over into my own trad circle--a kind of self-righteousness and insularity that doesn't go outside itself. I find I have this calling, it seems, to do the corporal as well as the spiritual works of mercy, as it is what we will be judged on (our charity): feeding the poor, clothing the naked, visiting the sick. I used to do all these things as a "normie" Catholic (I have been trying to get back to the prison where I ministered to inmates, but the prison used COVID as an excuse to continue to close things down to visitors), and yet I see none of this intentionally spoken about or prioritized by the traditionalists in my circle. Maybe they do, and I just don't see it. But I'm afraid of how I will be sentenced at the judgment for my resting on the "well, trads don't do that stuff, that's for SJW normie Catholics, we pray our rosary and attend the TLM which is more efficacious" mentality. 

When I think of my judgment, in fact, I shudder, and I'm not even being dramatic. I'm doing all the "right things"--daily rosary, half hour mental prayer a day, First Friday/First Saturday, Mass, adoration, spiritual reading, etc. And yet I know that kind of perfection of the saints is a long way off due to my selfish nature, unwillingness to suffer, lack of charity to my neighbor, self-love, sins of the tongue, etc. I have no hope but by grace, and I'm not even joking. 

I am so incredibly lonely, despite the fact that I have lots of friends and a great wife and family. I realize, too, I don't really have the grounds to complain about being lonely either given all that. But there's just something gnawing at me, a kind of sadness at this constant liminality of the relationships I do have. I have been hoping this longing would lead me into a greater depth of prayer, but again, it foments into disgust with the world, and yet lacking the sweet consolation of the spiritual. I just have this tension, and sense of loss, and disgust with myself and the fact that what I want from others I can't even actualize in myself for their sake--that is, selflessness, and being there for others when they most need it.

I realize my disposition is more of a female nature--again, it goes back to this disgust at this seeming need to have connection with other people, to share deeply, to love and be loved fraternally...and yet for most of the guys I interact with, this just isn't a thing or a need for them. Most are content to just work and be with their families, and I should be too as a man. But I'm not, for whatever reason. Maybe that longing for the things that will never be in this world is what keeps pushing us closer to God, who can and does satisfy these unfillable longings, and THAT is their purpose. I can't connect with women (because it's not appropriate to my state in life) and I can't connect with men (because of this deficiency in need) and so I try to connect with God in this deep, strange sadness and it's just...silence. The dark silent host that doesn't speak, doesn't affirm, but just IS.

I've gone on long enough. Apologies in advance for laying this on you. I just thought maybe you might understand some of this "wrestling with the angel" and having your hip popped out of socket. 

God bless you, and take care.

R

Sex Is The Snare

A Commentary on Proverbs 7, on my twelfth wedding anniversary.

 [1] My son, keep my words, and lay up my precepts with thee. Son, [2] Keep my commandments, and thou shalt live: and my law as the apple of thy eye: [3] Bind it upon thy fingers, write it upon the tables of thy heart. [4] Say to wisdom: Thou art my sister: and call prudence thy friend, [5] That she may keep thee from the woman that is not thine, and from the stranger who sweeteneth her words.

Notice the "who" and the "what" in v 1-5. An elder is giving exhortation to a younger. He has traveled longer, farther, and seen the end and where it leads. Like a seasoned scout, he admonishes the younger to "keep my words." Notice the "what" as well. What should be the "apple of one's eye?" This is typically a moniker for one's beloved. But what should be the apple of one's eye? Their spouse? No, "my law." It is wisdom which should be one's first love, the captivator--not as a lover here, but as a sister. Of the wife: "may her breasts satisfy you always, may you ever be intoxicated with her love" (Prov 5:19). But like a sister, "wisdom is sweet to the soul" (Prov 24:14). 

[6] For I look out of the window of my house through the lattice, [7] And I see little ones, I behold a foolish young man, [8] Who passeth through the street by the corner, and goeth nigh the way of her house. [9] In the dark, when it grows late, in the darkness and obscurity of the night, [10] And behold a woman meeteth him in harlot's attire prepared to deceive souls; talkative and wandering,

Married lovers can communicate, after a number of years, with wordless words. They speak with deft gestures, looks, and the silence of what is not said. A fool, on the other hand, multiplies words (Ecc 10:14). The woman here, provocatively dressing her line as a fisherman ties his lure to bait ignorant fish, is "talkative," multiplying her words. She has "her [own] house," and yet is out looking to "deceive" by being out and about, "wandering." The young man's first mistake was "going nigh the way of her house." And not during the day, when there is accountability and witnesses in bystanders, but under cloak of night, "when it grows late."

The foolish harlot uses her many words to capture the hearts and loins of the young men, because she cannot stand silence, or staying put. The dutiful wife speaks to her beloved's heart in silence, as the years go on in their marriage, because words become extraneous and unnecessary in this communion. In contrast, the harlot hasn't the peace of silence, and is instead agitated by it. She is like a gyrovague, "who spend their entire lives drifting from region to region, staying as guests for three or four days in different monasteries. Always on the move, they never settle down, and are slaves to their own wills and gross appetites." (Rule of St. Benedict, Ch 1:10-11). 

[11] Not bearing to be quiet, not able to abide still at home, [12] Now abroad, now in the streets, now lying in wait near the corners. [13] And catching the young man, she kisseth him, and with an impudent face, flattereth, saying: [14] I vowed victims for prosperity, this day I have paid my vows. [15] Therefore I am come out to meet thee, desirous to see thee, and I have found thee.

The trap of adultery is the bait set in the jaws of narcissism. For even for young lovers, their love is full of ego--they love to be loved. As married couples age, they realize this intoxication of "falling in love" is a lure of the Lord, for were they to know the difficulties of the road and years ahead, they may never have married. "Lord, you tricked me, and I was tricked. You overpowered me and won" (Jer 20:7). 

And so the wayward woman sharpens and weaponizes the irons of her words, nuget covered barbs, but not before "catching" the young man and making him drunk with the tantalizing kiss which promises "more where that came from." She disarms his reason with a flaming arrow of what would normally be reserved for the altar. She even entices with a play on words, "vowing victims for prosperity...paying my vows." Were he not disarmed by a kiss, he may have remembered his own vows, but she has gone on the cunning offensive before he has a chance. 

See, too, the bait of narcissism. "You have come out to meet ME? Desirous to see ME? Found ME?" The young man is suddenly a willful object of desire, in his mind. Flattery baits the trap, for "pleasant words are a honeycomb" (Prov 16:24). 

[16] I have woven my bed with cords, I have covered it with painted tapestry, brought from Egypt. [17] I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. [18] Come, let us be inebriated with the breasts, and let us enjoy the desired embraces, till the day appear. [19] For my husband is not at home, he is gone a very long journey. [20] He took with him a bag of money: he will return home the day of the full moon.

The words continue, now painting pictures of enticement in the mind of the brute. His mind is enthralled with the details of fantasy: "a woven bed, painted tapestry, perfumed." In his body, he is enraptured by her arms and mired in her kiss, but in his mind, he is transported beyond the streets to a exotic country, an intimate foreign chamber devoid of witnesses. For "even her husband is not home," and even the day of his return is set, "the day of the full moon" to allay the anxiety of an unexpected discovery. He is given a set window of opportunity, and he can't believe his fortune. A marathon of night-long inebriated passion. At this point, not only his mind swells with the opportunistic prospect. 

[21] She entangled him with many words, and drew him away with the flattery of her lips. [22] Immediately he followeth her as an ox led to be a victim, and as a lamb playing the wanton, and not knowing that he is drawn like a fool to bonds, [23] Till the arrow pierce his liver: as if a bird should make haste to the snare, and knoweth not that his life is in danger. [24] Now therefore, my son, hear me, and attend to the words of my mouth. [25] Let not thy mind be drawn away in her ways: neither be thou deceived with her paths.

Many words. Flattery. "Deceived by the flattery of fools" (Ecc 7:5). "Immediately" he follows her, his reason bludgeoned, any potential protest muzzled. He begins to be led like an ox to slaughter, captivated as Peter, Andrew, James, John, and Matthew were captivated and as in a trance, followed Christ to their ultimate death. "Immediately, they left the ship with their father, and followed him" (Mt 4:22). And yet it is not wisdom, or grace, or the precepts of the Lord that draw the young man away as his father's words recede in the background of his mind, but desire, inpropriety...the flesh. 

[26] For she hath cast down many wounded, and the strongest have been slain by her. [27] Her house is the way to hell, reaching even to the inner chambers of death.

But unlike the disciples--the followers of Christ who were led from their earthly ties and died for gain--the young victim is led to his spiritual deathbed by the earthly, the temporal, the honey-soaked poison, never to rise again. "The mighty are cast from their thrones" (Lk 1:52). And here the harlot, the temptor casts down the wounded--wounded reason, wounded conviction, wounded temperance. She has wounded virtue and sound mind with her arrows, "piercing his liver" like a bird. He joins the army of corpses, among them even "the strongest." For strength is impotent before desire, for desire disarms and dethrones a man from within. In the post-coital bed, the sheer drapes of fantasy dissolve and the "house, the inner chamber" which brought him here has become his prison, his hell, his death. 

"For as wisdom is a defence, so money is a defence : but learning and wisdom excel in this, that they give life to him that possesseth them" 

(Ecc 7:12)

Do Men Need Other Men?

Every now and then I will hear a story of an old lady who lives alone who passes away. Sometimes it is days or weeks before the super gets wind of it or anyone notices, and when they open the apartment, it's a dreadful smell of weeks-old death. I hate hearing stories like this, and yet I think it's more common than we think. 

I'll confess to feeling a bit of resentment sometimes when my mind gets to speculating. I feel like I'm always checking in with people, but people rarely check in with me. Aside from my family, if I passed away in my room, how long before anyone would notice?

 One of my personal Achilles' Heel is being a relational person. Whereas most Catholic men are content to just be with their families and go to work, I feel I benefit from outside relationships. This often makes me feel like a defective archetype, a "less-than" man, and a shameful weakness. It's not normal to be like this. It's kind of womanly.

There was a helpful article I came across in Catholic Exchange on this topic. I'll quote a bit of it, as the author and I seem to be on the same frustrated page:

“Do men, Catholic men, need the support of other Catholic men?”

A few years ago, I asked this question of my friend, and fellow parishioner, Jack. “Of course they do,” he replied. “I couldn’t get my job done at work without the support of the men in my department. And I’d go crazy from all the stress I’m under if I didn’t go out every Sunday with my buddies from St. Mary’s and play golf. You know, ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull guy.’”

“I see your point, Jack,” I responded. “But that’s not what I mean. Do Catholic men need to share their lives with other men on a personal level? Do men need to be part of a group in which they can build close relationships by sharing their personal and common struggles, pray for one another, support one another, and hold one another accountable to live an authentic Catholic Christian life of integrity?”

“Well, now you’re talking about a whole new ball game,” Jack replied. “What you’re describing goes against the whole grain of who we are as men. By nature, men are created to be individualistic, strong, independent, self-reliant, self-sufficient, and guarded. We keep our distance from other men. We have to. Remember, men have always been the protectors of their family. Why, the highest compliment a man can receive is to be called a ‘self-made man.’”

“I agree with you, Jack, that men have certain God-given characteristics so they can fulfill their roles as protectors and providers of their family. But let me ask you a couple of questions: Have there been times in your life when you felt helpless or lacked the power or wisdom to change things? I’m talking about destructive behavior in one of your kids, grave disagreements with your wife, or a splintered relationship with a family member. Have you ever felt powerless to fight certain temptations or sinful habits?”

At this point Jack got very quiet. Then he said, “How about the playoffs so far. I don’t think the Yankees or Red Sox are going to make it. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Jack is not alone in believing that when it comes to our personal lives, men are not called to share them with other men. Yet, if we are honest with ourselves, we all know how difficult it is for men and their families to thrive in today’s culture. The ever-increasing demands on men’s time and energies and the collapse of traditional values and support structures underscore this challenge. Yet, I do not believe that God intended for Catholic men to live out their faith on their own.

Times have indeed changed. We’re working harder, our schedules are tight, and what little time we have is often used for television, sports, or activities that help us unwind. This has led to men having even more superficial relationships with other men. In spite of this, I do not think most Catholic men even consider that they need to be part of a group that prays together, or to have committed brothers in Christ who could offer prayer and sound advice to help them through difficult circumstances."

I will confess to feeling frustration with my local men's group, but it's not their fault--I find we connect well over "things"--events, shooting guns, worship events, bible study, social things, etc. But rarely do any of us get "real" enough to share our struggles with one another. We struggle alone. Part of me understands this, and part of my frustration bubbles up in saying, "well, what's the point of this, then?" 

Years ago there was a guy from our old parish, a few years younger then me with a large family who had some struggles with the common sins for men, as well as scruples. He was a blue collar guy, but sensitive enough to reach out and share a degree of vulnerability. I was doing my best to give him support and some guidance, sharing resources, etc, but eventually like a rubber band the relationship snapped back into the "I only need my family and not other men" mode. And I never heard from him again. 

I think all this goes back to that issue of expecting more of people than they may be willing to give. Just because I find I need support and relationships with other people, doesn't mean other men do. Part of me gets in this "well, screw this" mode and retreats, trying to be more like them--self-contained, not reaching out when struggling, keeping to oneself, etc--but it's just not how I'm wired. So I end up getting resentful--both that I'm not more like the other guys, and part that they're not more like me (and that I'm able to relate to someone on the same level). 

Augustine writes beautifully on the need for friendship, and that Christian friendship is the highest ideal. The love between two men is a beautiful thing, but many men are uncomfortable with it because it feels gay and too vulnerable. But Augustine had this with Alypius (as he recounts in Confesssions), and that love was not superficial or surface-y. But today, this is a rare thing indeed, and I have not found it.

So, the question remains--do men really need other men? Their wives might say, "yes, totally." And maybe a man might even think deep down inside he could benefit from it. But I rarely find a man willing to say, "I need a brother in Christ to help me be accountable, help carry my cross, push me, etc". We have these group things like Exodus 90, etc. where there's this warrior/knight/soldier archetype which is kind of generic and works for a lot of guys, but I find I just don't operate that way. I have a lot of guys I know--but not "one good friend" who I feel I can confide in, or if I can, that he would feel the same way. Like the U2 song goes, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

The Most Ordinary Things

There was this thing floating around social media a while back, this little inspirational insight geared towards women and their spirituality. It went something like this:

GOD COMES TO THE WOMEN

Have you ever noticed how in the scriptures men are always going up into the mountains to commune with the Lord?

Yet in the scriptures we hardly ever

hear of women going to the mountains,

and we know why — right?

Because the women were too busy

keeping life going;

they couldn’t abandon babies,

meals,

homes,

fires,

gardens,

and a thousand responsibilities to make the climb into the mountains!

I was talking to a friend the other day,

saying that as modern woman

I feel like I’m never “free” enough

from my responsibilities,

never in a quiet enough,

or holy enough spot

to have the type of communion

I want with God.

Her response floored me,

“That is why God comes to women.

Men have to climb the mountain to meet God, but God comes to women where ever they are.”

I have been pondering on her words for weeks and have searched my scriptures

to see that what she said is true.

God does in deed come to women

where they are,

when they are doing their ordinary,

everyday work.

He meets them at the wells

where they draw water for their families,

in their homes,

in their kitchens,

in their gardens.

He comes to them

as they sit beside sickbeds,

as they give birth,

care for the elderly,

and perform necessary mourning and burial rites.

Even at the empty tomb,

Mary was the first to witness Christ’s resurrection,

She was there because she was doing the womanly chore of properly preparing Christ’s body for burial.

In these seemingly mundane

and ordinary tasks,

these women of the scriptures found themselves face to face with divinity.

So if — like me — you ever start to bemoan the fact that you don’t have as much time to spend in the mountains with God as you would like. Remember, God comes to women. He knows where we are and the burdens we carry. He sees us, and if we open our eyes and our hearts we will see Him, even in the most ordinary places and in the most ordinary things.

It irked me then, and it irks me now. And I've been trying to figure out why. 

I mean, I get the point. It speaks to the busy Marthas who "find God in the dishes & diapers." Most moms can't go to the bathroom for thirty seconds in peace without a toddler jiggling the lock on the door, let alone find time to themselves the way men do. It's sometimes thrown in our faces as a kind of "double standard" (usually when our wives are tired and frustrated and running on empty).  

Our Lord makes this clear in the ordering of the Commandments--Love God (first), then you will be able to love neighbor as yourself. He makes it clear that Mary has "chosen the better part" in her otherwise useless adoring at Jesus' feet while her sister runs herself ragged with the deets. 

When I was in discernment with the Benedictines, ora et labora was everything. This included an attentiveness to the work at hand so that it was not done slovenly or carelessly. And yet, it was clear that the actual, primary work (in the monastery) was prayer (ie, "the work of God"). 

Cue the eye rolling. "Well, this is a home, not a monastery. And you are not a monk. And while you are at it, do some dishes!"

All true. But back to the mom-post at hand.

What exactly is being conveyed here? I think what it comes down to is that I am not a woman. I think what irks me about it is this subtle inversion that the domestic work is, in fact, the "real work," and that men "going up the mountain to commune with God" is somehow the secondary. It lists out and numerates all the domestic duties--babies, meals, homes, fires. SAHM: 16. Husband: 1. Not to mention the messaging obviously meant to convey a sense of solidarity: Women stay put; men run off. Men have to climb the mountain to meet God, but God comes to women where ever they are.” 

On one level, I can't relate to their domestic work anymore than I expect my wife to be out mowing the lawn and sweating in ninety degree heat every ten days, or taking the car in for inspection and oil changes, or taking out the trash. This is stuff I do, and I'm fine with it. But it's not my primary preoccupation. It doesn't define my identity or where I find my "tribe," and it's in addition to putting 40+ hours in outside the home. It's just stuff that has to get done.

My primary vocation, however, is to head my family--spiritually, financially, and corporally. And yes, that sometimes does necessitate "going up the mountain to commune with God." This isn't something to be scoffed at or dismissed as pie-in-the-sky spiritual idealism, pitting women's work against men's work. If I'm not doing that (and believe me, it's not as often as I would like), I'm not following the Lord's model as a man, Jesus "who often withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (Lk 5:16); who was tested (Mk 1:12); who "very early in the morning, while it was still dark, left the house and went to a solitary place where he prayed" (Mk 1:35).

I have no issues with women finding solidarity with one another in their domesticity, which often can be their own kind of "lonely place" where they feel isolated and disconnected. There can be a tendency to enshrine the home as their kind of domestic palace where they rule as Queen. And God bless them for it. Let's face it--most men don't know how to do this stuff with the same touch that women do. A monastery, maybe. But without our wives, we'd have a house, but not a home. We benefit from it, and we shouldn't forget it.

But women, for their part, shouldn't forget that it's that very "communing with God" which is what spiritually fortifies the home and makes it a sanctuary from the outside world. If we traded those early morning hours, or those times away "up the mountain," we trade away our spiritual fortitude and protection which comes from hearing the word of God in prayer and carrying it out in our vocation as husbands and fathers. Otherwise we don't grow, but stagnate in the here and now.  

My wife has plenty of opportunities to get up early and pray the Psalms, or meditate on the scriptures, or drive to the Adoration chapel. So do I, for that matter. We just trade these golden opportunities for inferior things--scrolling on our phones, lounging around, shuttling from here to there. We both de-prioritize what should be our top priority--God--we just do it in different ways. 

I think where the difference lies is that men need to carve out this time intentionally and seperated from others, whereas women, in my experience, enter into those culiminated little moments of divine encounter throughout their day, organically, and often in communion with other women. It is natural for me to get up early and "go to a lonely place" to pray with a degree of asceticism, whereas for my wife this may not be necessary. For my part, if all I did was wash dishes and change diapers and make lunches or whatever all day, and didn't work (see Fred The Fireman and the SAHD Dillema), I think I would want to kill myself. For my wife, she jokes that as hard as it is some days on the SAHM front, she's "living the dream." And she means it.

Men's spirituality and women's spirituality doesn't have to be pitted or scored against one another. We are different for a reason--"male and female He created them"--and find and serve God in different ways. Though I have many women saints I admire, my calling is to be a man, and be the best man God has made me to be. That means prayer and work--ora et labora--appropriate to my state in life. Not "my work is my prayer." Prayer AND work. And if I have to go up a mountain for a few days to live that out, then so be it.

We find God when we embrace what He has called us each to live out and who he has made us to be, as men and as women respectively. Mountain or no mountain. 

On Avoiding True Friends

One thing I receive periodically in the mail that I have grown to appreciate is a print edition of Sword & Spade, a publication of Fraternus, a Catholic apostolate dedicated to mentoring boys into virtuous Catholic men. Fraternus was founded by Jason Craig, who runs father/son retreats at his St. Joseph's Farm in South Carolina. My son is a couple years too young for the retreats, but I've connected with Jason a few times on the phone and he's a genuine guy who much prefers real life encounters and getting dirt under his finger nails to the mirage of social media presence.  

One of the articles in the magazine this month was "Talking At Each Other" by Tommy Killackey, who  touches on something important on the topic of friendship:

"Friendships of virtue, by contrast, require a much deeper commitment and investment than those of utility of pleasure. The facade of the screen might not just limit things like physical encounter, but it also helps us avoid the vulnerability required of true friendship. [Roger] Scruton [in Confessions of a Heretic] again helps us here:

"By placing a screen between yourself and the friend, while retaining ultimate control over what appears on that screen, you also hide from the real encounter--forbidding to the other the power and freedom to challenge you in your deeper nature and to call on you here and now to take responsibility for yourself and for him" (Scruton, 96).

Put simply, intimacy and control cannot coexist. Social media always renders us in complete control, and whether we choose to click, scroll, watch, reply, like, or close our tab, we individually always have the power within our fingertips. Scruton goes on to say, 

"Risk avoidance in human relations means the avoidance of accountability, the refusal to stand judged in another's eyes, to come face to face with another person, to live yourself in whatever measure to him or her, and so to run the risk of rejection" (Ibid, 108). 

We might call this Scruton's warning against the risk of avoiding risk. The "risky" friendships that "call us out of ourselves [to] take up our crosses" were not built online, nor could they exist there exclusively. We may still interact online, but the soul of virtuous friendship where we risk encountering another can only occur offline. 

Friendships of utility may exist on LinkedIn, friendships of pleasure may exist in double-tapping our friend's latest post on Instagram, but as long as we maintain perfect control over the encounter, we cannot truly share life, encounter, risk, accompany, and be with anyone behind a screen, full stop."

I think this is what I find social media so offensive: I value friendship so much, and online "friendships" are a kind of counterfeit for the reasons outlined above (that we may not even be cognizant of). Even in high school (before social media existed), before my conversion, I had such high regard for true friendships that never seemed to hit the mark, and always left me disappointed and disillusioned. As the author notes, "intimacy and control cannot coexist [and] social media always renders us in complete control." What we are left with, then, is utility but a lack of intimacy. And we wonder why we are such a lonely society. 

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.

The Dangers of the TLM Fight Club

I'm not a film buff, per se, but I do like movies that make you think outside the box. I can't always recommend them in good conscience, but at one point I was willing to look past the undesirable and objectionable parts if it was unique. Films like The Matrix, Kill Bill, Constantine, I Heart Huckabees--at least they got me thinking. Again, I can't recommend any of them because of their content, as I don't think the positives outweigh the potential negatives, but I'll give them credit for being unique. 

Fight Club was in this kind of cult category. I saw it maybe twenty years ago (I'm a huge Brad Pitt and Edward Norton fan as well). It's a hard movie to give a synopsis for but I'll try: The unnamed Narrator (Edward Norton) leads a life of emasculated, quiet desperation as a cog in the corporate wheel (essentially "a consumer," as he seeks to describe his existence and evidenced by his obsession with "completion" by way of his IKEA-manicured condo and soul-sucking business trips replete with "single serving" encounters). He's basically alive, but dead inside, not to mention suffering from insomnia.

The Narrator's alter-ego--the confident, virile, and violent hyper-masculine Tyler Durden--is everything the narrator is not. The Narrator likes control--Tyler tells him to "stop trying to control everything." He teaches him "rock bottom" lessons (like letting go of the steering wheel in the car and stepping on the gas, I presume to show him you can survive more than you think you can after they barrel roll over a median, blowing up the Narrator's condo (detachment) and pouring lye on his hands as a kind of pain-tolerance test).

Fight Club is the kind-of secret, underground after-hours movement that develops as a way for other emasculated men to come together and get out their repressed aggression--bare-knuckled fighting in basements. For the first time, they feel alive. This would be one thing, but Tyler sees it as a movement to free men from the drudgery of consumerism and founds Project Mayhem, a kind of domestic terror group spring from Fight Club with the ultimate goal of dismantling capitalism by blowing up the credit card companies. The movement grows; recruits stand outside the dilapidated mansion, which serves as home base in the sketchy outskirts of the city, without food or water and subject to hazing for three days to prove their meddle. Tyler becomes a kind of charismatic, fascist dictator in the process of taking things, well, a little too far. 

What does any of this have to do with the Traditional Latin Mass and the growing movement towards traditionalism in the Church, especially among young men? 

I'll grant that it might be an unorthodox way of developing parallelism, but I see a couple of cautionary points worth considering, if you're willing to think outside the box a little.

One: The post-conciliar Church is largely feminized and emasculated. This was my experience in the Novus Ordo, one I couldn't put my finger on for a long time. You can cite female lectors and EMs or overbearing Music Directors, or a ceding of paternal control to a largely female lay parish committee, or the hymns or the hand holding...the list goes on. What it boils down to is that, from my observations, the N.O. does not appeal to male sensibilities. 

Two: The vacuum will be filled one way or another. Either people leave the Church, with men leading the way out, or they will be brought back in by what appeals to those primal sensibilities. The rise of figures like Jordan Peterson and Fr. Ripperger are mobilizers in a way, to bring things back into right order and out of the chaos of the rubble when the Natural Law has been eschewed and inverted for decades.

At the TLM, the focus is not anthropocentric, but theocentric. The physicality and precision with which the sacrifice (the immolation of the Lamb, not a 'shared meal') is offered has a kind of military precision to it. It is unapologetic and uncompromising. In essence: it's not about you. And that is, I think, appealing to men. 

Three: It has the potential to go too far, when not tempered by virtue. When I attend monthly holy hour at the FSSP parish near us, fifty or sixty guys are praying the rosary and worshiping Christ. We gather in the basement afterwards for wings and beer, and a talk by the priest. It has a "Fight Club" type feel, without the Fighting. But this is because the priest is a sensible and level-headed shepherd that encourages virtue and discourages fringe-extremism. I think this is important. A charismatic but reckless priest has as much potential to lead men astray (by capitalizing on point #2, above) when his vision of the Church and holiness conflicts with the laws of the Church, prudence, temperance, and the other virtues, and/or ignores human freedom in favor of a kind of cult-like following. 

I have a real aversion to cults and cult-like thinking. I think cultish-traditionalism is as dangerous as hyper-emasculation. Younger men, especially those without temperance, wisdom, or good formation from their fathers, may be more susceptible to extremism. One young man who attended the TLM at our parish (which had nothing to do with our holy priest at the time, who unfortunately passed away from cancer two years ago, or our particular parish), spray-painted DEUS VULT and hurled a molotov cocktail at the local Planned Parenthood in an attempt to burn it down. I don't know what motivated him, but I think this is a unstable kind of zeal when it's not tempered. 

There's a way that men can get together and build one another up--even if it's in underground fashion in church basements in the sketchy part of town--without going completely Fight Club. Right Order=Right Worship, which is why I have hope that the traditionalist movement has potential to renew the Church, as long as it doesn't devolve into something antithetical to true Christian charity and the true nature of Christ as fully man, in all the best ways. We don't need Fight Clubs (nor do you need to watch the movie (please don't))--we need wisdom, prayer, and virtue, as well as priests to guide us without becoming cult-leaders--so that we can step into the roles we are called to as men, husbands, and fathers and lead our domestic churches in the home and renew the Church from the inside out and bottom up.

Don't Fear The Heart

I think there is a tendency for men to eschew the heart in favor of the mind, because the heart has feminine connotations. "The heart of the home," "I feel in my heart," etc. Men hold aloft great intellects, great minds, but the heart makes us...squirmy. We're afraid if we talk about it too much we might end up like a Henri Nouwen or something.

The heart goes beyond feelings and intuitions, though. The Dominican Fr. Thomas Joseph White said that the “heart and intelligence go together. The mind is reason’s instrument, but the heart its seat.” We know that to love is to will the good of another. We don't simply send "positive thoughts and prayers," but exercise love concretely in acts.

'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind" our Lord exhorts us in Mt 22:37. Love him with all your heart. Love him with all your soul. Love him with all your mind.

Being human is an exercise in synthesis. We are not all heart, or all mind, or all soul, but all things through the one who created us. We have a skeleton to hold up the body and give us form (right doctrine); we have blood to carry oxygen to our organs (prayer); we have muscles (the will); we have organs themselves that all serve a function for the body (gifts of the Holy Spirit); we have a brain, but beyond the physical organ, the metaphysical--the mind; we have a soul. To be human is one of the most remarkable things, the crowning achievement of God's creation.

One should have a lifetime of contemplations in the Incarnation of Christ, and never run dry. For the God of the Universe to take on flesh, to be given a human heart, a mind, and to debase himself to function as we do: eating food, using the latrine, needing sleep. To have infinite love for man constrained by skin. When his heart was pierced by a lance, it could not help but gush forth the life within it.

"I will give them a new heart," says the Lord God. (Ez 36:26). On this Feast of the Sacred Heart, we must learn how to love as our Savior loved. He died for all men and all women. He lived as a man, but embodied the tenderness of a mother (Mt 23:37) and the strong protection of a father (Jn 2:13-16). He was both strong and tender, unafraid to weep when moved by emotion (Jn 11:35) but stoic in the face of temptation (Mt 4:1-11).

It is not effeminate to feel, to be bruised, to make oneself vulnerable, anymore than it is not too masculine to use logic and reason to temper emotionalism. It is a healthy, whole human being who can embody heart, mind, and soul and direct it to love of God and neighbor.

The Sacred Heart teaches us to temper a cold, removed intellectualism--of doing "all the right things" like the older brother--with the love of a father rejoicing over his lost son who has been found. It sheds its cloak and runs undignified out to meet him in order to forget all things. It embraces and slaughters with abandon, it cloaks and hides faults in itself. This heart burns with love, in order that all men be drawn to himself (Jn 12:32). It sears everything it touches.

When we learn to love as Jesus loved, when we conform our heart and model it on the Sacred Heart, we find soon that such love cannot be contained. It must go out from itself, be pierced, and drench the ones who foist the lance with the blood and water of redemptive love. It must love. It can do no other.