When You Don't Feel The Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Observable Proof of the Fewness of the Saved

 

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

(Mt 7:13-14)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Close The Door

 There is a "prayer space" in the Student Union on the campus where I work. There are some meditation cushions on the floor, some paintings on the wall, etc. It is partitioned off by an open-wall, so it's easy enough to peer in and check out the space, as it is semi-exposed to the rest of the 3rd floor.

I could see our Muslim students using this space for salah, or orthodox Jewish students maybe, or a Buddhist-esque student doing some meditation here. There's nothing per se that would preclude a Christian from praying here either, as our God is here, there, and everywhere. 

For me personally, I have never prayed here. Mostly because it feels like a profane space, kind of like having one temple among many in ancient Rome set aside for Christians to engage in worship in. Don't cast your pearls before swine, our Lord tells us. Obviously for these kinds of secular prayer spaces they have to kind of reduce things to the lowest-common ecumenical denominator. 

But there's another reason as well--for the Christian, prayer is intimacy with God. The spousal comparisons in scripture are relevant here. In prayer, we commune with the Lord. Such intimacy is perhaps why Jesus admonishes his followers when they pray to "go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father who is unseen" (Mt 6:6). 

There was an awful movie with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman called Eyes Wide Shut, which was basically about these orgy parties for rich people where they would just have sex in big groups in front of everyone else. It's disturbing when you think about it--sexual intimacy should take place behind closed doors, between married people and no one else. 

Prayer is where we become intimate with God. Again, you can pray anywhere, but why does our Lord say to close the door? It is so we can strip down and expose our sinful nature, our naked need. That is one way in which Christian prayer is different--we are not communing with an unnamed deity or an indifferent Creator, but with a lover. 

Obviously there is a place for public prayer, and Christians can pray anywhere they feel called to--on the sidewalk outside of an abortion clinic, on a football field or in a locker room, at the cafeteria table, etc. But the kind of prayer in which the Lord Jesus felt inclined to withdraw to a lonely place to pray (Lk 5:16) away from prying eyes, and he could commune with the Father in secret. This is where "deep calls to deep"  (Ps 42:7), where one can strip and lie prostrate and naked before his Creator as the day he was born. 

Prayer Is A Muscle

Typically at home my wife and I will wake up the same time around 6 or 6:30am at home. We will do a morning offering at the kitchen table, meditate on the traditional readings for the day, read a chapter from The Imitation of Christ or Divine Intimacy, and then pray a rosary or intentions. Since I've been working from home most of the summer, it's been our morning routine. I'll try to hit up daily Mass once or twice a week, and the same for Adoration.

 The past few days we have been on vacation, and out of routine. I haven't been as intentional about this prayer routine, and to be quite honest, haven't prayed much at all. It's only been three days, and I already feel out of sorts and not in the best frame of mind. I know I could have gotten up early and found a quiet spot in the house to meditate on the readings, but I just haven't. It's like I took a "vacation" from prayer. I even ended up eating meat on Friday, and neglecting to pray for the people who I had asked me for prayers. 

I wrote about these potential "holes in the fence" where the Devil will capitalize on your lack of prayer in Bring Me My Weapon. It starts slowly, innocuously. My son and I took a kayak out on the bay yesterday, and you don't really realize how far out from shore you are until you look back. But it happens one paddle stroke at a time. Even now a number of months after Lent, I have put back on the twelve pounds I lost, simply from not fasting and not exercising regularly. 

Protestants are sometimes critical of Catholics for their "rote" prayers, but they shouldn't be. Prayer is a habit, and these so-called "rote" prayers can keep us in the practice rather than leaving it up to inspiration. Monastics know this, as they call it "the work of prayer." Prayer doesn't always just happen, just like acts of love in a marriage don't always just happen on their own--sometimes we do have to work at it. If prayer is a muscle, like our bodies, we can neglect to exercise it.

I'm looking forward to going home today and getting back into routine, but also as a reminder to take more responsibility for my prayer life and not leave it to the externals. It's hard when you're in vacation-mode, but we shouldn't take a vacation from our spiritual lives. Outside of it, t's nothing but emptiness and wordly stimulation that promises contentment but doesn't deliver. I've been lazy, negligent, and I can already feel the effects. Don't be the same!

Success And Failure In the Christian Life

 People often wonder why those with "everything" in this worldly life--money, success, recognition--would end their lives, or fall into depression or loneliness, or turn to drugs or alcohol. These are sometimes seen as "first world problems" by those who struggle with things like putting enough food on the table, or political instability, or violence. 

For the Christian, this should be obvious--we were not made for this world, and as St. Augustine famously said, "our hearts are restless, until they rest in you" (ie, the "God-shaped hole"). It's why I am deeply suspicious of and find offensive the "health and wealth" prosperity gospel, as well as, to a degree, Christian Nationalism. "God alone" should be our anthem, and all else secondary and subject to the first clause. 

Erik Erikson is the oft-quoted psychologist who laid out our human needs in eight fundamental stages (Theory of Psycho-Social Development). Interestingly, each stage of human development is judged in terms of "success" and "failure," and advancement to subsequent stages is predicated upon "success" in each stage. If an infant "fails" to develop trust in the early years of development, this will thwart their ability to be move on and be "successful" in the next stage (Autonomy/Shame) and harbor fear and axiety in the present stage of psycho-social retardation. 

In the Christian life, this development is somewhat inverted. When we put God first, and turn ourselves over completely to His divine will (loving God with our whole heart, mind, strength, and soul), our human needs for affirmation, bodily fulfillment, and industry are subjugated. We find ourselves able to not only endure loneliness, hunger, and poverty, but thrive and find joy despite these earthly misfortunes. We do not find God by setting ourselves up in comfort and security, having all our needs met at which point we can seek Him. We are essentially working backwards by putting "first things first," first of which is God. 

Of course, this first "stage" of abandonment can only take place by the virtue of humility (which comes by way of unmerited grace), the bedrock and cornerstone for all other virtues to build upon. What does humility entail? Admitting that we have "failed" to be masters of our own destiny; failed to find happiness in this life; failed to overcome concupisence and be "good" on our own.

Of course complete abandonment to the Divine Will (the Unitive) does not happen in the initial stages of Christian spiritual development. It is hardly achieved by even the most ardent Christians here on earth in this life, even after years of prayer and mortification of the senses. As long as we live, we will be continually falling and failing. We may have momentary periods of virtue or fortitude, but we are quickly snapped back like a rubberband into lives of selfishness and egotism. We can get stuck in this "purgative" stage, for years even, when we know what we ought to do, but find our will weak and unformed. 

For those who do learn self-mastery, the "illumantive" stage that follows is one marked by trial and testing, demanding continual growth and eschewing resting on one's laurels. Detachment, prayer, mortification...these are not easy things to maintain. It is called the "exercise" of the will for a reason, and this period of testing of one's intentions and motivations to move closer to God is not always uniform. We are aided along the way by grace, via consolations, but may also experience great desolations as a means of testing before advancement to the final stage, that of the "unitive" stage.

We sometimes neglect to realize that prayer, and the practice of virtue, are really habits. The more one habituates to discomfort, to prayer, to solitude and contemplation, to charity, the more it becomes second-nature. The unitive stage is marked by this "habit" which was developed in the Illumanative stage, and results in a continuous union in which one is not pre-occupied with their suffering, but transformed by it in light of the Divine Presence. This is not easily achieved, and is the mark of saints.

We have to ask ourselves "why?" though. Why do so few achieve this state, the most natural state of being for creatures created by God. The Lord certainly gives freely to all who ask for the grace to live totally for him, who knock in order to find Him (Mt 7:8). He bestows on us aid through the Sacraments, and arms us with sacramentals to fight against our selfish-nature and transcend our mortal senses and deficiencies. Grace is transformative, but it does depend on the co-operation of the will, and faith. This is why Christ could not work many miracles in Nazareth, because of the people's unbelief (Mt 13:58). If we do not become saints, we must be honest--it is because we did not wish to bad enough, or we lacked the faith that God could make it possible for us.

This is why the Cross is the ultimate sign of contradiction to the world. Christian perfection demands it, that we take up our own cross in order to follow him (Mt 16:24). It is also why the crucifixion is the ultimate "failure" in the lower order, the world--it failed to achieve the immediate restoration of Israel; it failed to spare Christ from bodily death; it failed to ensure that his followers would be spared from suffering and death themselves. 

Even today, the Cross does not promise "health and wealth." It does not promise to make sure all of our worldly needs are met. In fact, it often ensures that they are not, for if they were, we "may have too much and disown you and say, `Who is the LORD?'" (Prov 30:9). The Cross is truly "foolishness to those who are perishing." But to those who are being saved, it is the power of God (1 Cor 1:18).

This is why only those who persevere to the end will be saved (Mt 24:13). It does not mean we will not fall, not fail, as we make our way on the road carrying our tree. The weeds grow with the wheat, and a rolling stone gathers no moss, as the saying goes. But if the Enemy convinces us that we are only the sum total of our failures, he ceases our steps, and we do not advance but become stagnant and complacent, seeking fleeting bodily comfort, security, and the assurance of others. And then he wins. 

 It is not easy getting up time and time again after failures and setbacks in the spiritual life. It is hard, and often tiring. But isn't that the point? If sainthood was easy, everyone would achieve it. But the way to life is narrow, and few find it (Mt 7:14). As St Paul says, "to live is Christ, and to die is gain" (Phil 1:12). 

Our development as Christians is not about satisfying our own human needs or on achieving external milestones, but continually dying to self and living for Christ so that he might live in us. It does not depend completely on our own self-determination, but works in co-operation with grace, a grace freely given when asked for. The Lord did not, and will not, leave us orphans. Our failures in the world should always be seen in the light of Christ, and in the shadow cast by the cross. The fools who live for Christ will be the ones laughing in Heaven when this world has come to pass. 

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. 

The Spiritual Investment In Your Marriage

 One of the blessings of now being able to work remote two days a week is my morning time with my wife. We usually both get up around 6am or so (a little bit earlier on my office days), while the kids are still sleeping. Sometimes one of us is up before the other and has some quiet time to themselves. 

Whoever is up first will put the coffee on, and we convene at the kitchen table, our defacto 'domestic community chapel.' There we have our Lady of Guadalupe candle, blessed salt and epiphany water, a couple of rosaries, and a 1st class relic of St. Maria Goretti. 

Depending on the day, we will sip our coffee and catch up on things either before or after prayer for about half an hour. We talk about the kids, the day-to-day stuff and to-do items, but also anything that needs to be discussed as it pertains to our marriage. It's time 'set aside.' 

When we pray, we bless ourselves with holy water, make a morning offering, and read a chapter of the Carmelite book of meditations, Divine Intimacy. If we have time, we will pray our daily rosary together as well, and then do intentions and pray for those who have asked for prayers. 

One of the greatest blessings in my marriage has been my wife as a partner in faith; that we are walking together shoulder to shoulder. But like other aspects of marriage, it requires continual fertilizing and attention. Daily life with a family can get so busy that it's easy to neglect the time set aside to pay attention and connect on the nuts-and-bolts stuff, but also the deeper issues of goals, where we are at individually and collectively, and being open to (and recognizing) grace working in our marriage. 

Growing up, there was a framed photograph in my parent's bedroom of a Colorado river, with the words "Nothing is ours, but time." Time is hard to substitute. God asks everything of us--our whole heart, mind, strength, and soul--but you can't enter into that relationship without giving him that precious resource. 

In our married lives, time is the exercise of love. Because of the busyness of life, it needs to be intentional, set aside. It's always an unsexy shocker to newly married couples when they hear of people who have married for a while "scheduling" intimacy. But that's another example of investment in you marriage. Hard to believe for newlyweds, but you can get so busy sometimes that you neglect or sometimes forget about sex. Sex is the oil in the engine or marriage...and you can't run an engine for long without oil. To the degree you are investing the time in your marriage, your sexual relationship will act as the barometer. So it's good to keep an eye on the gauge. 

Marriage is multi-layered: it's emotional, intellectual, physical, pragmatic, and not the least of all, sacramental and spiritual. For some people, especially if one of the other of the couple is not on the same page, prayer together can be an awkward thing and is sometimes avoided. Like, what do we do? Because my wife and I are on similar pages with our faith, it's relatively natural for us. 

But even when it's not, and it feels awkward to pray together, it's still good to do, and pleasing to God. God gives grace to the simple and humble, so make your prayer mirror that characteristic. Set aside time, preferably in the morning for one another, and the evenings for family prayer. Remember the words of scripture, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me" (Rev 3:20). 

If you and your spouse reserve time and make a place for Him at the kitchen table, He will honor your request.     

Life By A Thousand Aspirations

Years ago I read a small book, The Way of The Pilgrim, an Eastern spiritual classic in which a man wanders throughout Russia seeking the answer to the question of how one might "pray without ceasing" (1 Thes 5:17). In discovering the Jesus Prayer, he finds sweetness for his soul, and recites it day and night. On a plane ride to New Mexico when I was 19, I sat next to an Orthodox priest who gifted me with a prayer rope, and he taught me the prayer and the breathing to accompany it: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner." I have prayed it often over the years. Like the Pater Noster, it is a "complete protein" of a prayer, efficacious to contemplation.

When I write these days, I often have to do so in spits and spurts, fitting in posts and articles in between work and family responsibilities. I often do not spend more than an hour at most on any one piece. But when I look back at the volumes of what I have written and published, it's not insignificant. This should be a testament to the ability not to waste moments, and take to heart the words of St. Teresa of Calcutta, "we cannot all do great things. But we can do small things with great love."

We all have heard the expression, "death by a thousand cuts," by which it is meant that seemingly insignificant injurious effects can bring a man down over time. In the spiritual life, we know that venial sin--which is far from insignificant, but nonetheless is not death-dealing (1 Jn 5:17)--can coat the soul with soot over time and weaken the resolve against mortal sin. For this reason it is good that they be confessed in the Sacrament of Penance so that we never predispose ourselves to the sin that leads to death. 

If a thousand small cuts can rob a man of his breath, it should follow that the so-called ejaculations of praise, petition, adoration, and thanksgiving for a Christian can help lead a man to life. 

"The great work of our perfection," writes St. Francis de Sales, "is born, grows, and maintains its life by means of two small but precious exercises--aspirations and spiritual retirement." And the 16th century Abbott Bl Louis de Blois wrote, 

"The diligent darting forth of aspirations and prayers of ejaculation and fervent desires to God, joined with true mortification and self-denial, is the most certain as well as the shortest way by which a soul can easily and quickly come to perfection."

What do we mean by ejaculatory prayer? The Latin iaculum ('a dart') connotates arrows being shot from a bow. These are short, concise, uncomplicated prayers to aid us in times of temptation, offer God due praise, and lend themselves to petition. I have often relied on ejaculatory prayers as the brickwork in my spiritual life. Often, I get down on myself for not spending hours in contemplation and so accuse myself (sometimes in Confession) of "not praying." The fact is, though, that these seemingly insignificant prayers are uttered throughout the day on many occasions, such that the "left hand does not know what the right hand is doing" (Mt 6:3). Example of some of my favorite and more common aspirations include:

"Jesus! Mercy!"

"My Lord and my God!" (Jn 20:28)

"Come Lord Jesus." (Rev 22:20)

"I love you Jesus."

 "Lord, save me!" (Mt 14:30)

"God, be merciful to me a sinner" (Lk 18:13)

"Help me, Lord."

"I believe. Help my unbelief." (Mk 9:24)

These are just a few. They do not take much time at all, they come from the heart, and they can be prayed anywhere throughout the day to help us learn to "pray without ceasing" (1 Thes 5:17)

In my next post, I will be writing about Contrition of Charity, that is, making an act of perfect contrition and how efficacious this practice is. While it is the work of grace ultimately, we can dispose ourselves towards it through learning to love God more so that when we offend him, we are "cut to the heart" (Acts 2:37). We grieve because we have injured our Lord "whom we should love above all things," and not only because of the fear of Hell which we incur by our sins. I believe frequent ejaculations help build this simple love of God and trust in His infinite mercy, and that He will not spurn these fiery darts of love, the "arrows that wound God's heart," as St. Pio said. 

Recipe For A Fruitful Retreat

 As a married father of three, it can sometimes feel like a guilty luxury to get away to attend to your spiritual needs. If anyone asks me how I manage it, my answer is always the same: "I have an awesome wife." Much like in a marriage, the months and years can go by and your spiritual landscaping needs weeding, pruning, and attention. Anyone who has been married for more than a few years knows a periodic "date night" does a marriage good. The same kind of intentional time set aside for one's lover equally applies to our relationship with the Lord. Especially when you are called to lead your family as the spiritual head of house.

The truth is, it has been at least a few years since I have had any kind of retreat. The fact that men even feel compelled to "go up a mountain" to "find God" is almost offensive to women running a household who feel they don't even have two seconds to themselves to go to the bathroom in peace. Nevertheless, we see our Lord in scripture doing just this, "And having dismissed the multitude, he went into a mountain alone to pray. And when it was evening, he was there alone" (Mt 14:23). He also regards the "better portion" as belonging to Mary, who eschews her sister Martha's preoccupation with doing in order to sit at the feet of Jesus in contemplation (Lk 10:38-42).  Whereas busy mothers may be compelled by necessity to find God in the everyday tasks before them, fathers may equally feel pushed to go out alone to tend to their spiritual garden, especially when it has become overgrown with weeds and brush.

Thankfully, I had such an opportunity to disconnect and spend some intentional time in silence, solitude, and prayer for the past few days at a hermitage upstate. I had a small cabin to myself with electricity and an outhouse but no running water. There was no formal schedule, as it was not a guided retreat, but there was the opportunity for Mass and Adoration at the chapel with the four friars who lived on site, and a few other guests. It was time well spent, and I would encourage anyone interested in deepening their prayer and spiritual life to find a monastery or retreat center to get away once a year if possible. It also helps the religious communities with their monetary needs when you patronize them in this way. 

What makes for a fruitful retreat? I'm no expert, but from this experience and past ones, a few qualities which came to mind that I thought I would expound upon for anyone else looking to "go alone to a quiet place and rest awhile" (Mk 6:31).

Nature

There was something very therapeutic about being in nature the past few days--the rolling woodland and ponds, the gravel paths, the expansive night sky, and the falling leaves which were changing color majestically as Fall was getting underway. Maybe it is because I first experienced God in the natural environment prior to my conversion, so it feels like a honeymoon or sorts. Or maybe it is that nature is bigger than us and inspires a kind of fear and awe that mirrors how we should feel before our Creator. There is a reason why most contemplative communities are removed from the bustling streets of urban areas. Regardless, the natural environment lends itself to contemplation, well, naturally.  "When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them? LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!" (Ps 8:3-4, 9). 

Silence

I found the past few days a good opportunity to re-read Cardinal Sarah's The Power Of Silence while in my cabin. The subtitle says it all: Against The Dictatorship of Noise. "Today," he writes, "many people are drunk of speaking, always agitated, incapable of silence or respect for others...the conquest of silence has the bitter taste of ascetical battles, but God willed this combat, which is within the reach of human effort."

It is amazing when you stop to think of it how little silence we experience in our daily life. When I used to live in the inner city and would take the neighborhood boys camping, away from the gang and drug-fueled streets of the city, they were not only not used to the silence of nature, but intimidated and frightened by it. Even for myself, often the only time I typically experience silence is driving to work, or settling in for bed. "Keeping quiet by mastering one's lips and tongue is a difficult, blazing, and arid work," Cardinal Sarah exhorts the man of God. He is one hundred percent correct. Undertaking this retreat was intimidating in some ways, because I have grown so attached to the noise and dings of my daily life that silence has become an unnerving and intimidating stranger I needed to get reacquainted with. Which brings me to my next point.

Detachment

One of the first challenges in this "difficult, blazing, and arid work" of entering into more fruitful contemplation was burying my phone somewhere. I am as guilty as the next man of being too habitually accustomed to responding like one of Pavlov's dogs to every ding and vibration emanating from this near-appendage instinctual. Without a doubt, it is one of my biggest challenges in modern life. 

So I made a conscious choice to turn it off and lock it in my car for the duration of my retreat. Our devices have become like the modern-day trifles which command our attention which St. Augustine describes in Confessions, "the very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my old mistresses, still enthralled me; they shook my fleshly garment, and whispered softly, Do you part with us? And from that moment shall we no more be with you for ever? And from that moment shall not this or that be lawful for you for ever?'" (Confessions, VIII, 26)

And what was the result? Well, for one thing, I slept unbelievably soundly. And I didn't really miss that much--no emergencies, a few emails and notifications, some texts that could wait. It was a good practice (one I hope to continue). I even had to pick up a wristwatch on the drive there to keep time with, and I ended up really liking having it on my wrist! St. John of the Cross noted that a bird is tethered to the earth whether with a small string or with a large rope (Ascent, Chapter 11, #4). In essence, any attachment, no matter how small, will hinder our flight to God and so we must actively work on detachment. We attach to such things because we feel God is not enough. Of course, this is a lie from the Enemy meant to keep us tethered to this earth and the things of it. The reality is that "friendship with the world is enmity with God" (James 4:4).

Simplicity

Our lives, even the most impoverished of people, are generally lives replete with unrecognized luxuries. Indoor plumbing, hot water on demand, grocery stores, internet and television sets...the list goes on. I find that a retreat is often an opportunity to simplify and escape this common luxury of the senses. In stripping it down as a kind of novelty, we discover that much of what we think we need to exist is superfluous and unnecessary. There is a reason #minimalism is a strongly trending keyword these days; people are drowning in the complicated mountains of products and experiences they have ensconced themselves in, and desire an escape. In the natural environment, in silence, in detachment, we find a simplicity of the senses which is as refreshing as a cool spring. We don't need much to live--simple food to eat and water to drink, books to read, a place to sleep. Everything else we can enjoy for free from God's hand. "So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Mt 6:31-33).

Schedule

Having a set daily schedule can be a helpful method of structuring one's day when most of the superfluous  distractions have been stripped away. Rising early and making a morning offering, reading the scripture for the day, attending Mass, reciting the Angelus, the Liturgy of the Hours, and an examination of conscience before bed are good general ways to structure one's day either while on retreat or even in the midst of daily life in the world. It helps us from lounging around and falling into sloth, as Solomon writes, "How long will you lie there, you sluggard? When will you get up from your sleep?" (Prov 6:9) This takes some discipline, but no one's spiritual life is worth anything without discipline in any case. So any opportunity to live it out, take advantage of it. 

Direction

Good spiritual direction is not always easy to come by; sometimes a good confession and reading orthodox, generalized spiritual books are as close as you are going to get. Having suffered under malignant spiritual direction in the past, I would rather at this point have no spiritual director than one that is suspect. But regardless, if spiritual direction is available to you as part of a guided retreat, take advantage of it. 

Prayer

It should go without saying, but prayer--our lifeline to God--should be at the heart of any spiritual retreat. As St. Alphonsus' warning of this spiritual priority is succinct: "If you pray, you will be certainly saved; if you do not pray, you will be certainly damned." Whether it is formal prayer from a breviary, the rhythm of the monastic Hours, quiet contemplation or Adoration, a walking rosary, or reading Scripture, there is no shortage of opportunities to pray while on retreat. It is the raison d'etre of any Catholic "time away." 

We deepen our relationship with God through prayer, and improve our prayer lives by stripping away the things that prevent us from undertaking it. It doesn't have to be monumentous or heroic. If anything, is a kind of "mountaintop" experience that we are not meant to stay in. In being afforded the "luxury" of retreat, we are really being charged as missionary disciples of the Lord Jesus. We must become "contemplatives in action," taking what we have learned under the tutelage of Silence and bringing it back to a world which so desperately needs peace and solace in its midst. 

Like I said, I'm thankful for the time away to "honeymoon" with the Lord, even if it was only a few days. The natural setting, the silence, the opportunity to detach and simplify, living by a schedule under spiritual direction, and deepening my prayer life were all highly beneficial and I would recommend to anyone able to undertake it. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take the garbage out, pick up dinner, and basically make up for the time I was away. Happy wife, happy life!

The Pet Project of Spirituality Without Mortification

 This will be a quick and dirty post, since I’m in the great state of Texas for a few days and pecking away on my phone rather than my laptop for this post.)

If we are using the saints as our guides and models for how to get to Heaven in this life, I think you’d be hard pressed to find one that didn’t believe penance and mortification of the senses was an essential part of the equation.

There’s something about people (largely women) who are attracted to “spiritual things” and treat spirituality as “their thing.” Like some people are really into professional baseball, some people are really into politics, some liturgy, some volunteering, etc. These love love retreats and talks and quiet and relish reading books about all things “spiritual.” There’s nothing wrong with this on the surface, but we can sometimes approach the spiritual life as a pet hobby sometimes, and even get satisfaction out of it to the point where we pursue it for its own sake.

My wife often rolls her eyes when she takes the kids to the local library and the librarians there get all flustered by having to check out their books or do something in the children’s section and interact with actual people. I’m sure they’d much prefer to be cataloging or stacking shelves somewhere in the quiet amidst the comforting smell of books, but the fact is their idealized version of the job doesn’t always line up with the realities of serving the actual clientele (kids included). 

In the context of the Christian life, love of spiritual things can sometimes be an indication of holiness, but can also reflect a kind of immaturity and miss the trees for the forest. 

There’s also the danger of “loving the wrong things.” For monastics, learning obedience (which is “better than sacrifice,” as scripture notes) can be hard, and they need to pushed out of their comfort zones from time to time. Those monastery toilets don’t scrub themselves. 

I always go back to a story I heard about St Alyosius that has stayed with me over the years. When he entered the Jesuits at the age of 17, Alyosius Gonzaga was appointed a spiritual director, St. Robert Bellarmine. Level-headed and patient, Bellarmine listened to Aloysius describe his extreme schedule of individual religious practice, then ordered him to cease it. He was assigned instead to work at a local hospital tending to the sick and infirmed. Squeamish, he was repulsed by the work, and he disliked people, which is probably why he was initially inclined to his private devotions and mortifications. When the plague hit Rome in January 1591, the sick and dying were everywhere, overwhelming the hospitals, and Alyosius had to dig deep and draw on that Italian stubbornness and bulldog-like willpower to stomach the work. He died carrying for them and was canonized in 1726 AD.

What’s my point? Well, it’s two-fold. 

First, we don’t attain spiritual perfection by obtaining PhDs or licentures in spirituality, but by applied application. This can mean the sometimes dirty work of serving the needs of the Church and the poor, or even denying or at least balancing good spiritual things so that we don’t neglect the household or service due to our spouses. 

Secondly, it’s natural to want to “pitch tents” on the mountaintop after the Transfiguration. Like St Peter, we tell Christ, “it is good that we are here!” But what does Jesus tell Peter to do to show his love for Christ? Three times he tells him, “feed my sheep.”

We must pray, as St Pio says, “those who do not pray are lost.” But we must also do the things Christ calls us to even when we don’t necessarily want too or are repulsed by it. One mans mortification may be another man’s comfort, and vice versa. As our Lord tells St Peter, “Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.”

Chesterton said, “don’t be so open minded that your brain falls out.” In the same vein I’d say don’t be so “spiritual” that you forget what it means to love God. To love God consists in one thing—to do His will. If we’re not doing that, no amount of talks or retreats or spiritual reading will amount to anything. Mortification is meant to keep us from getting too comfortable in the things we prefer. Sometimes we just need to do the work, and believe me, there’s a lot of work that needs doing.

The Catholic Underground

 If COVID brought out anything good in our populace, it was that many of us found our little "inner prepper" to varying degrees. Society stocked up on toilet paper. In our family's case, we did a little extra emergency food prep, buying bulk dried beans, split peas, and lentils. Though one can easily go overboard, it doesn't hurt to be prepared for things and look ahead a little. 

One of my big projects last year while I was working from home was renovating our shed. The shed was a mess, but the structure itself was in good shape, and it was huge by shed standards (12'x24'). I don't know what I had in mind exactly--I didn't need the space to work, but it would be nice to have a functional retreat house on the property. I insulated and paneled the walls and roof, laid flooring, and installed a small writing desk, a countertop, and a nice futon and sitting chair. I had a propane heater, a handwashing sink, and framed out the back third for storage (which I eventually shiplapped and carpeted) and installed solar panels and an inverter for electric. 

I also made a devoted space for an altar in the event we were consigned to have de-facto "underground" Masses if the churches remained shut down. At that point in COVID-time, no one really knew which way this thing was going to go. When my son started serving Mass at the beginning of COVID, we asked our priest to provide "papers" in case we were stopped crossing state lines (which we have to do to reach our parish). It was kind of surreal. 

Of course, as anyone who has lived in Communist-bloc countries knows, the underground Church is not a play-scenario, but a daily reality when freedom of worship is restricted. The underground Church has become the true Church in these countries. (For some background on the sham State-sponsored puppet churches controlled by the Communist party in China, see my post "Subversion.")

The Church has gone through such periods throughout its history throughout the world. In Ireland in the 17th century, for example, this kind of underground Church took place in the woods. From Wikipedia:

"A Mass rock (Carraig an Aifrinn in Irish) was a rock used as an altar in mid-17th century Ireland as a location for Catholic Mass. Isolated locations were sought to hold religious ceremonies, as observing the Catholic Mass was a matter of difficulty and danger at the time as a result of both Cromwell's campaign against the Irish, and the Penal Law of 1695. Bishops were banished and priests had to register to preach under the 1704 Registration Act. Priest hunters were employed to arrest unregistered priests and Presbyterian preachers under an Act of 1709.

In many instances a stone would be taken from a church ruin, and relocated to a rural area, with a simple cross carved on its top. Because the activity was illegal, the services were not scheduled and parishioners would be obliged to spread the word of them informally. By the late 17th century worship generally moved to thatched Mass houses."

I figured it didn't hurt to have something like this with our shed for our faithful friends should the need ever arise. We know priests who would be willing to offer Mass and the Sacraments in this way, though it seems extreme at this point while churches are opening back up and restrictions are being relaxed. We could fit about 30 or so people in the shed for Mass given it's size. Like I said, kind of a last-resort and just trying to make concessions for future scenarios. 

What got me thinking from the situation in 17th century Ireland was "services were not scheduled and parishoners would be obliged to spread the word of them informally." We saw snippets of this during COVID, at least in our circles--word of mouth in trying to locate priests and churches who would baptize, hear confessions, and offer Mass, or even where to obtain some blessed and exorcised salt. Those who were more cultural Catholics were happy with livestreaming Masses or not attending Mass at all. But for those who were hungry for spiritual bread, these kinds of networks developed.

I think it's important to have a strong, informal Catholic network outside the parish bounds. We will be hosting a gathering of Catholics in the area this week at our home to study one of the lives of the saints, pray, and have fellowship. I was surprised by how many people ended up saying they were coming; it was encouraging, but it was, again, this kind of informal network my wife and I feel called to develop. There are a lot of disconnected Catholics out there, like little islands, and we believe there is strength in numbers in such support networks. It is relatively easy to do by email, and though I'm not on social media anymore, that could be a medium.

But I remember growing up in the 80's and 90's before the internet and cellphones, we had things like 'zines that were printed by hand. I had a small wallet-sized notebook of phone numbers of friends and family. Basement shows were advertised by black and white fliers and word of mouth of who was playing when and where. If there was a party at someone's house, people just knew about it one way or another. The internet has brought us together and isolated us at the same time. It's like the Matrix--it feels so real, and yet it's not really real. There's a part of me that misses the simplicity of that era in getting the word out through these kind of informal networks and word of mouth. 

I once had a lot of hope in the "New Evangelization" and the internet as a medium to spread the Faith and evangelize to the masses. Now I think the opposite is true--online "virtual" keyboard Catholicism is too easy; it isn't intentional, and it isn't really real. Combox warriors are in their own little world, far removed from intentional community and often by choice, and often bring out an ugly incestuous side of Catholicism unattractive to observant outsiders. We don't need more parish programs or conferences--we need flesh and blood Catholic community as a means of survival.

The people who want to make these real life connections will find a way, if given the word-of-mouth opportunity. There will always be a place for online apologetics like Catholic Answers for those curious about the claims of the faith. But if you want community, you have to build community, and that's what we are trying to do as a family with what we've been given. It takes some effort, and sometimes it can be messy and take you out of your comfort zone, but depending on how the future of worship trends, it may also prove to be invaluable for those who are truly seeking it out. 

All I Hear Is Silence

I came to Adoration a little late this evening. Whether it's a beige carpeted Novus Ordo parish or an opulent historical church, my posture is always the same--dropping to both knees, bowing my head to the ground, and coming before the Lord of Lords as a beggar before his King. For I know my transgressions and my sin, as David wrote, is ever before me.

I have had moments in my life where the Holy Spirit has cut through me like an electric knife, and what the Lord was asking me in that moment was clear as the sky. I know better than to hesitate or delay, and grace has always followed those little acts of obedience to make the way possible. 

Other times, and more often now, it is the silence of the Lord that meets me. This is not Endo's Silence--the non-response of the Almighty in the face of seeming futility and the absurdity of faith in suffering that precipitates a crisis of faith and meaning. Nor is it a silent balm that heals wounds when words cannot do pain justice. 

It is not the thundering silence of the saints, who like Elijah hear the Lord in the quiet whisper. It is likewise not the uncomfortable silence of simply an absence of noise, wondering if there is anyone on the other end of the receiver or if one is simply talking to one's self in one-way conversation.

True, communicative silence is a rarity. Think about the places you can go to achieve it. Podcasters retreat to the sealed capsule of their car to escape the chaos of their homes. You can get silence in the middle of the night as you lie in bed staring at the ceiling when everyone is asleep. But other than that, we are followed by noise like a lapdog. 

When we come before the Lord in Adoration, the silence before--and from--the throne is a respite from the savagery of the outside world. Not all of us have inner-silence, which must be cultivated and procured over time, the thing of contemplatives. 

When the beloved disciple reclined and laid his head in the bosom of our Lord, his posture was as intimate as one could get. And this is often the inner-posture I adopt in adoration--not physically, but in my spirit. When I come before Him, my defenses drop, for I know He sees me as I really am. I have nothing to bring, nothing to show for myself, nothing to brag about. All I have is brokenness and failure. This is the intimacy of a King to His servant; we are not slaves or indentured servants, but friends. 

But our words fail. Nor does He waste words on us, lest we die. His silence in the Host, where deep calls to deep, is not maddening, not futile, not absurd except on the surface. His silence is a gift, for nowhere in the savagery of the outside world can we enter into not Emptiness of the Void, but fullness of life. It does not arm us with pep-talks, but disarms us of the illusions we have about ourselves and our abilities. 

It has been a long time since I have 'heard' the Lord speak to my spirit in definitive ways in which I respond, "Yes! This is what I must do, the answer to the unasked question!" Where I have asked, "What should I do, Lord?" and He tells me. 

No. Instead, silence is all I hear. I have no clarity, no monk-like inner-peace, but like standing on the shore before an ocean of such magnitude and mass, all I experience is my own nothingness and smallness. In the crashing of wave after wave, waiting for a response, all I hear is silence. Not enough to question "why am I here? Why do I drop to my knees before this bread?" but in faith I continue to come to Him as if He could answer me and maybe one day, will. 

I continue to come prostrate before the throne, not even sure what to say or ask, but just to offer myself as a sometimes-barely breathing oblation of sacrifice which I have to trust is pleasing to Him. If He wants my heart, I will give it to Him. But not all of it, for I am not perfect, not made in perfection, but piece by piece, trading parts of myself for these portions of silence in return. 

Perhaps I should rage more often. But I have not been subject to real tragedy--not had my children ripped from the land of the living or been subjected to financial or existential ruin or had my back against a wall. Perhaps I should make more demands: "Why won't you speak!?" Perhaps it's a sign of my own luke-warmness and lack of trust, that I do not put Him to the test, as the Lord says, "Test me in this" (Mal 3:10), not having put anything of substance on the line. Perhaps I am too comfortable. The silence feels neutral--not healing, not consoling, not disheartening. Just like--putting the time in, waiting, for when something--anything--will come to pass. 

At ten til midnight as i type, the house is quiet. I am surrounded by my sleeping family. But the silence of the Lord when I am before Him is different. I know He is there, sitting in His monstrance, judging the nations and waiting to take all men to Himself. As St. John Vianney asked an old farmer what he did before the Lord in the tabernacle, maybe all I can say is to echo his words: "Nothing. I look at him, and he looks at me."

 

Let's Be Honest: You're Just Not That Into Him

Joe Rogan has a great channel on YouTube I'm really enjoying (aside from the cursing)--he interviews interesting semi-famous people and just has conversations with them. I've watched a number of them, one being an interview with a former professional race car driver Danica Patrick titled "What Women Don't Understand About Men." 

It got me thinking about that film/book that was popular a few years ago, He's Just Not That Into You and how these women in the dating world don't understand why a guy isn't calling them back, and it basically boils down to a few uncomplicated points that is for the most part summed up in the title: "he's just not that into you." Because if he was, he would find a way to be with you. 

Though I didn't read the book, I think I saw the movie with my wife at some point, and there were some choice quotes that seemed to hit the nail on the uncomplicated head. 

Here's the thing: This doesn't just apply to men and women and the interactions between the sexes. It pertains to the relationship between man and his God. If you think I'm being too soft, maybe I can temper the wine spritzer with a stiff shot of Chesterton: "Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair."

Love affairs are a kind of dance, a courting, a pursuit, and a haunting. We see it in the erotic Hebrew canticles like Song of Songs, Francis Thompson's The Hound of Heaven, and the poetic pursuit of divine intimacy in saints like John of the Cross. We see how God courts us with sweet consolations early in our walk with Him, blinding us with the intoxication of divine love; once He has us, He withdraws Himself when we have moved from milk to meat so as to strengthen and refine us. Our drink may turn from wine and honey to gall and crosses, but if the love one has for the Lord has matured in "good soil," it does not wither or uproot easily, and one can pass through these desolations eventually into a love for Him where "deep calls unto deep" (Ps 42:7)

So, it's not unreasonable or gay to think of the relationship one has with the Lord in an intimate manner. But such a relationship is only as deep or intimate as one gives; the Lord's depths are infinite, and His longing for us without bounds, so it is only reasonable to conclude that when we don't "know" the Lord more intimately, it is not because of the Lord being aloof, but because, well, "we're just not that into Him."

I pulled a few quotes from Goodreads for the aforementioned book, and though these quotes are in the context of dating in the secular world, use it to reflect on your relationship with the Lord, which is really the extent of your prayer life (knowing and conversing with the Lord in an intimate manner):

“If you can find him, then he can find you. If he wants to find you, he will.”

“If a man is really into you, nothing will stop him from being with you - including a fear of intimacy.”

“Alone also means available for someone outstanding.”

“If he’s not calling you, it’s because you are not on his mind."

"The word "busy" is the relationship Weapon of Mass Destruction. It seems like a good excuse, but in fact in every silo you uncover, all you're going to find is a man who didn't care enough to call. Remember men are never to busy to get what they want.”

That last one kind of hit home: we make time for the things we care about. When we claim to be so busy that we don't have time to pray, or it's an afterthought, what we're really saying is "it's not that important." Prayer is how we get to know the Lord--what His will is for our life, what He wants from us, what He desires and what pleases Him, and how we learn the sound of His voice. It's akin to spending time with your wife as the bare minimum maintenance measure for a marriage. You simply cannot please the Lord without faith (Heb 11:6), and you can't deepen your faith without prayer. 

So, what we are saying when we prioritize twenty minutes in the morning of scrolling around on Youtube or watching the news or checking the stock reports instead of closing our door and praying in silence before the Lord isn't that we don't have time, but that the time we have we don't want to spend with the One we claim to love. And what is the First and Primary Commandment, lest we forget: "You shall love the Lord with all your heart, soul, and mind" (Mk 12:30). 

The Lord uses the word know frequently in scripture. "Then I will tell them, 'I never knew you! Depart from me, you lawbreakers! (Mt 7:23) to those He casts out into outer darkness. To 'know' someone in the biblical sense is also a kind of physical consummation, such as in when Joseph "knew Mary not" in Mt 1:25. 

Let's just be honest about it: It's not that we're "too busy"--it's that spending our time in this way doesn't excite us or please our sensory appetites.  We are willfully choosing something else over the something more. In the dating world, this would be called settling. We are settling for less. And as in a marriage that has the potential to grow stale and subject to the test, when we don't spend time with our love, we "know" them less and less--physically and emotionally. When we wake up years later and feel as if "I don't even feel like i know you anymore," we can ask ourselves, "well, why is that?" 

Though it is true that people can drift apart or grow at different speeds that may not always match and align with one another, the thing about prayer and knowing the Lord in an intimate way is the deficiencies always lie with us. God pours out everything He has to those who earnestly seek Him: there is no lack, and no limit or bottom to the depth of His Mind. When we choose this-over-that, we are saying, "I value this thing over that thing." And how often does the One who should be our first love get the short stick, leftovers, and castoffs. 

If there's a simple maxim in the dating world as to why you're not getting callbacks from that guy you're interested in, it may be that "he's just not that into you." If your spiritual life is coming up short, the answer is probably the least complicated: "you're just not into Him." How can you tell? You're not giving your time, or your giving it away to other things. You're not speaking, and you're not listening. Instead of asking, "How can I serve you? How can I please you today? What do you want me to do?" You're going your own way, doing your own thing, and consulting the Lord as an afterthought. And all this is not complicated--it happens in prayer, and if you're not praying or making time for prayer, it shouldn't be a surprise that you know the Lord less than you would otherwise. 

The solution, too, is not complicated: make the time. Trade out the items in your time-budget so that prayer gets first seat and other things fill in around it, rather than the other way around. If all you have is early mornings for uninterrupted time, make the time then. If you're able to spare fifteen or twenty minutes, perhaps your priorities are out of whack, and you admittedly do not feel that prayer is time well spent. I know if I'm honest with myself, this is really what I'm saying when I choose to piddle opportunities away, or give into that inner-resistance (which the devil capitalizes on) that says I'd rather be doing x,y,z--anything really--then pray. And do it in the humility (that foundational virtue) that admits that you have failed to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind--that pre-eminent Commandment with which we cannot know--and thus love--either God or our neighbor or even ourselves. 

So if you're not praying that much, of you've put it on the back burner as I have, maybe it's worth being honest with the self-admonition that "I'm just not that into Him." That's ok, as long as you don't stay there. As anyone who has been married a while knows, you can "fall back in love" through a renewal of that first love time and time again throughout the course of a marriage--but it often takes time, work, and a reorientation of the heart.

Do you really want to be one of those foolish virgins to whom the Lord said He "never knew?"  Start making the time, shifting your priorities to get them back in line; right order has a way of keeping things from getting out of whack so that we keep first things first, and secondary things second. If you find yourself alone and uncomfortable, ask yourself why. Like the author said above, “Alone also means available for someone outstanding.” We know who that "someone outstanding" is--Jesus, our first love, whom we have neglected and shelved so often and on so many occasions when all he really wanted was our time and our heart. But it's never too late to get reacquainted.