An Homage To Saint Martha

The beginning of the semester is always a very busy time for me at work. Part of my responsibilities in my role is coordinating events, and I'll be the first to admit it's not my favorite. As anyone who has, say, planned a wedding in a professional or hired capacity knows it can be stressful with a lot of logistics, planning, coordination, and moving parts. As someone who suffers from anxiety to boot, it's an especially burdensome task. 

The weird thing is, I'm actually pretty well-suited for it despite the stress. I'm organized, plan and pull people together well, leverage contacts, and am time-conscious. I do get anxious about the things I can't control, but the things I can I do a pretty good job with. As with many things, sometimes the anticipation and the unknowns leading up the event are worse than the event itself, and the past couple months for me has been no exception. And like a wedding, no one really remembers that the centerpieces were missing a bow, or you ran out of plates. All they remember is they had a good time. 

And that's what happened tonight. Thankfully the months of planning and keeping things organized on my end helped, even when there were a few unforeseen glitches. There was a lot of running around and coordination. But in the end, everything went smoothly and it was a positive and memorable night for those we served.

What's strange is I found myself over the past day or two for the intercession of a new (O.G.) saint in my spiritual Rolodex, and that was St. Martha. 

Martha, like Thomas and Nathanael, aren't always portrayed in the most flattering light in Scripture. They are kind of like the supporting actors in Hollywood; not your typical go-to for casting calls. 

In Luke's Gospel, we see the busy Martha contrasted with her serene sister Mary, who sits at the feet of Christ as he visits their home. Martha is somewhat indignant that Mary is not pulling her weight in the service department, but Jesus lovingly admonishes her,

"As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." (Lk 10:38-42)

Clearly there is a "better part" here, and Martha has settled for bronze. But I think she was just being who she was. One has to wonder how different the two sisters personalities may have been. It's also likely Martha was the older sister. It's always interesting when it comes to my wife and I how much birth order factors into our marriage; my wife is the youngest of four, and I am the oldest of three. As the oldest, I always felt a weight of responsibility--burden if you will--to "worry" about things that my brothers never gave thought to. My wife, by contrast, never worries about anything, and is used to just being "taken care of." 

The thing is, (needless) worry never really accomplishes anything; it's kind of like the mirage of social media where you think you are doing something noble and worthwhile and getting close to people, but you're really just wasting time in an echo chamber with internet strangers positing as friends. We spend a lot of energy worrying about the bad things that never end up happening, which falsely reinforces it's value in a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy: I worried--the bad thing didn't happen--worrying helped. It's not true. But it can be a real struggle to overcome that fallacy mentally. 

I'm not saying Martha of Bethany did this, but the always-perceptive Jesus is the one who says, she is "worried and upset about many things." Maybe she was concerned the bread was not rising fast enough, or that there wasn't enough wine, or the house was a mess, and all this was going through her mind in the other room while her sister, without a care in the world, took the privileged place on the floor at Jesus' feet. Mary is living in the world of the primary and macro, while Martha concerns herself with the secondary and micro.

Sometimes we want to be "the other sister." We may be a Martha that longs to be more contemplative, while a dreamy Mary might wish she had more practical skills in the kitchen. Personality wise, I have a "doer" shell while I think my core is in the realm of "being." I have a woman's brain but live in a man's body. I'm an introvert at heart, with strongly extroverted tendencies. 

But my work these past few months (and especially this evening at the actual event) had me solely in Martha's world. I was "worried and upset" about many (little) things. And so I found a soft-spot in my heart for St. Martha, for Christ loved her for who she was and sainthood was not beyond her. I thought she may understand my struggles, my anxious anguish, and could help me. So I prayed and asked for her intercession specifically. That's what's so great about the saints specifically, and Catholicism in general--there is a friend in Heaven for every occasion, every plight, every particular struggle and miracle needed. And I feel like she really came through in the clutch for me, because everything could not have gone better tonight.

So, this is my homage to the virgin Martha, whose less than flattering appearance in holy scripture is nonetheless honored and counted among the saints in Heaven and who had the privilege of serving the Lord Christ himself in her lifetime. We need Peters and Pauls. We need Teresas of Calcutta and Teresas of Avila. And we need Marthas in this life as much as Marys. 

Because, let's admit it: that food ain't going to cook itself.  

When to Follow the Crowd...and When Not To

When I was in high school, and before I was a Christian myself, I remember driving by the local Catholic church with my father one day. Mass must have just been getting out, as people were leaving the church en masse and walking to their cars. "Sheep," I muttered under my breath. "They're all sheep." As a general non-conformist and angsty punk-rock teenager who was ignorant of religion, it was a predictable response. But I remember it being visceral as well, a kind of disgust of "the masses" blindly following social norms and conforming themselves to something "good people did" (which was going to church). The fact that I remember using the term "sheep" was curious in itself, given the scriptural foundation for followers of Jesus. The reaction from my father--himself a Catholic, though one who left my brothers and I to our own discernment regarding religion--was swift, a kind of "How dare you" response. 

Curious also was my feeling of being conflicted over the scene and the competing emotions. I scoffed at groups of people all doing and thinking the same thing in uniformity, pitying them in a sense. But there was also a part of me that envied them. I wrestled with the human and religious questions as a teenager--why are we here? what is the purpose of life?, where do we go when we die?, how can I be happy?--but I was like an explorer without a map. Here were people honoring a prescribed mandate (to keep holy the Sabbath), and they knew where to go to do that (in this case, Our Lady of Mt. Carmel parish). 

Like many of the teachings of Christ, The Way is paradoxical--God gave us the Law through Moses and the fulfillment of the Law He gave to us in His son. Those who were once in darkness have seen a great light, for they now have a way back to God: through Christ. 

W.C. Fields said, "A dead fish can float downstream, but it takes a live one to stream upstream." We fight against our own concupiscence, as well as the allure of the world, the flesh, and the Devil. And as the Lord Christ makes clear in his teaching, “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it" (Mt 7:13-14). 

If we follow the ways of the world, we can be assured we are not on the narrow road. And so we are expected to follow Christ, who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and conform our life to his. As Catholics, we know we are meant to travel this road as a corporal body, not as individuals divorced from it. We account for our lives before the just Judge alone, but we do not get before the Throne on our own.

There are times when it is good practice to follow the herd, for sometimes it is for good reason. If you are driving on the highway and everyone is merging to the right lane because of construction, we would do well to follow suite. We all know that guy who insists on doing the opposite and then finds himself stuck with his turn signal on at the last moment, trying to make his way in to avoid the barriers. 

Likewise in the liturgy. As Catholics, we sit, kneel, stand at prescribed times, respond in unison at the appropriate times. It is not the place for following one's whims, or improv-ing with raised hands or free-wheeling vocal prayer. Were one to do so, they would not be praying with the mind of the Church in this context. 

And yet, even within the Church we are sometimes faced with scenarios in which we are called to swim upstream. When you look around you and everyone is receiving Communion in the hand, for instance, one may think this is what they should do so as not to stand out. But sometimes conscience dictates we do otherwise--either through refraining from receiving at all, or doing so by kneeling and receiving on the tongue. If you are blessed with a Latin Mass parish, this is a non-issue, as Communion in the hand is not given (which is how it should be). In this sense, conformity with established norms and practices is a light yoke, since it removes the tension and burden of having to buck the trend by being an outlier.

The Asch "Line Experiments" in the 1950's were an interesting case study, where 75% of 123 college-aged males answered a relatively simple question incorrectly when influenced by the majority. In the control group (not exposed to majority influence), the rate was 1%. "That intelligent, well-meaning, young people are willing to call white black is a matter of concern," he noted. 

In "The Hardest Thing For A Person To Do Is Go Against Their Tribe," I made reference to an Atlantic article from 2017 in which the author wrote,

“A man with a conviction is a hard man to change,” Festinger, Henry Riecken, and Stanley Schacter wrote in When Prophecy Fails, their 1957 book about this study. “Tell him you disagree and he turns away. Show him facts or figures and he questions your sources. Appeal to logic and he fails to see your point … Suppose that he is presented with evidence, unequivocal and undeniable evidence, that his belief is wrong: what will happen? The individual will frequently emerge, not only unshaken, but even more convinced of the truth of his beliefs than ever before.

“You spread stories because you know that they’re likely to be a kind of litmus test, and the way people react will show whether they’re prepared to side with you or not,” Boyer says. “Having social support, from an evolutionary standpoint, is far more important than knowing the truth about some facts that do not directly impinge on your life.” The meditation and sense of belonging that Daniel Shaw got from Siddha Yoga, for example, was at one time more important to his life than the alleged misdeeds of the gurus who led the group.

Shaw describes the motivated reasoning that happens in these groups: “You’re in a position of defending your choices no matter what information is presented,” he says, “because if you don’t, it means that you lose your membership in this group that’s become so important to you.” Though cults are an intense example, Shaw says people act the same way with regard to their families or other groups that are important to them.

The inference of conformity to the state of the world should be obvious. But it gets a little more gray when it comes to our duty as Christians within the Church. The strongest Christians are usually those who have weighed the evidence, determined the stakes, and discerned the costs of following Christ and do so anyway. This can include those who have a strong non-conformist personality but who nonetheless discern the truth of Catholicism. The weakest are those who go to Mass or believe "because I was raised this way," or "I don't know, it's just what we do" unreflexively.

And yet, in relation to Christ, he still refers to his flock as sheep--those who follow a voice they know, who act unthinkingly in a herd, who have an innocent desire to simply follow. The wolf, by contrast, is one who breaks in to the pen to cause carnage--instinctual, prowling, aggressive, and led by no one. 

In Matthew 10:16, Christ admonishes us to be "wise as serpents, and innocent as doves," and commends shrewdness as well (Lk 16:1-15). He tells his disciples regarding the Pharisees, "do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach" (Mt 23:23). Again, there is this uncomfortable paradox: we are not to conform ourselves to the ways of the world, but to Christ and his teachings, which should be obvious. Less obvious is how we should conform our behavior of our fellow Christians within the Church.

As in many instances, the saints give us the example, as St. Paul gave to the Corinthians to "be imitators of me" (1 Cor 11:1). Were St. Thomas More or St. John Fisher to conform themselves to their fellow bishops during their time, they would have found themselves on the road to perdition. Were St. Teresa of Avila not to have urged Pope Gregory XI to return to Rome from Avignon, we may have a very different Church today. Even modern day followers of Christ like Fr. Benedict Groeschel found it necessary to establish a new religious order (the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal) to get back to the roots of their charism of poverty, though it would have been 'easier' to stay with the Capuchins. 

In all these instances, this was not a matter of conformity, but conscience. As Cardinal John Henry Newman wrote so eloquently, 

"The rule and measure of duty is not utility, nor expedience, nor the happiness of the greatest number, nor State convenience, nor fitness, order, and the pulchrum. Conscience is not a long-sighted selfishness, nor a desire to be consistent with oneself; but it is a messenger from Him, who, both in nature and in grace, speaks to us behind a veil, and teaches and rules us by His representatives."

And therein lies the paradox: that Christ speaks to us behind a veil, and yet teaches and rules us by His representatives, just as he commanded his disciples to do everything the Pharisees told them, but not to do what they do. And so we conform in the macro, and discern in the micro. 

My personality as a non-conformist has not changed over the years; it is both surprising and unsurprising that I became a Catholic twenty-five years ago as a teenager, and have remained so to this day by God's grace. In doing so, I have sought to conform my will to Christ's, and my life to the teachings of his Church. I follow the same road as those who have gone before me, rather than bushwhacking and getting lost in the forest. In that, I am a sheep.

But if it is God's will I be a saint, there may come a time in which conforming my life to that of those around me within Her walls and resting in that comfort is not enough, as our Lord told St. Peter, "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" (Jn 21:18). This applies to all who wish to follow Christ and be baptized into his death. For the saint must walk alone. 

The Safe House

 

*Note: I am back from retreat. Thank you for your prayers, they were efficacious. Many graces, and one small miracle as well. I am still letting things digest, and as we spent five days keeping silence and meditating often on the nature of the Mother of God, I would like to just imitate our Mother in the way she "kept all these words, and pondered them in her heart" (Lk 2:19-20 DRV). 

I am indebted to Dom Pius Mary Noonan, OSB, who flew over from Australia to offer this retreat for men, offered the Latin Mass daily, and made himself available for spiritual direction throughout the week to the 24 men who were there to "be broken apart, and put back together again" in the Lord's school of charity. The monk's budding monastery, Notre Dame Priory in Tasmania, is a traditional order of Benedictines very much worth supporting if you are able and feel called to do so, as they could truly use the financial help; if inclined, you may donate here. 

While I'm going to keep the particulars of my retreat to myself (for now, at least), I would like to share a little bit about something tangential I experienced this past week:

Off country road 274 in western Ohio two Churches converge. Not two local parishes, nor two physical structures even, but the meeting of the universal Church Militant and the Church Triumphant. The day I arrived to the Relic Chapel in the unincorporated town of Maria Stein, I was the only one representing the Church Militant--alone among the remains of 500+ friends who has walked the same path I found myself on, and who have won the crown of victory in the heavenly court (1 Cor 9:25).

I had driven six hundred miles to attend a retreat in the middle of corn and soybean fields near the Indiana border for the week and wasn't even aware that a quarter mile walk from where I was staying would take me to the second largest collection of holy relics in the United States. I really do think I was being led there by the Holy Spirit, as I was sitting outside on a bench in the middle of a clearing, struggling with something particular to my spiritual battle and feeling besieged by the Devil (who probably wasn't happy I was there), and just felt like wandering over to what I thought was just a church down the way to kill time in between sessions.

When I came to the brick church, there was a sign that said Relic Chapel, and the heavy wooden door was ajar. I curiously opened it and walked inside and was completely blown away. 

The space itself was small, maybe 30' by 30' but it was packed with the bones, clothing, and other remnants of literally almost every single holy heavy hitter in the course of Church history: 1,200 in all, including fragments of the True Cross. I had never been to something with holiness so...concentrated before. 

I knelt down on the wood floor and got to work on asking each saint represented there, by name, for special favors for those who needed them. There as an alphabetical guide of all the saints' relics that were represented, so I started with the "A's" and ended with the "Z's". It took me 20 minutes or so all in all to ask every single one for these intentions, just to cover my bases: "St. Abdon, martyr, pray for us. St. Abinius, pray for us. St. Abundus, pray for us...and so on and so on."

Now, I hate museums, and I'm not big on books either. But holy scripture is not dead letters on a page, but God alive in the Word. And this was no 'museum' in the secular sense, but a powerhouse of living holiness, if felt like. The relics of all my favs were here: St. Agnes, St. Benedict Joseph Labre, St. Antony, St. Benedict, St. Charbel...you'd be harder pressed to find a holy man or woman in history who wasn't represented or present. Because Satan was working hard on me over the past week, pummeling me at night and during the days, this chapel felt like a safe house of sorts, where he literally couldn't stand to be because my holy friends were protecting and surrounding me.  

What was strange was I was so excited, like I found an unclaimed treasure chest that washed up while at the beach for the weekend--and the place was empty! Why? Why weren't there busloads of pilgrims, people flying in from all over the country and world, to venerate and pray here? Did they not know it existed? 

In holy scripture, we see the sick and suffering healed who merely fell within Peter's shadow passing by (Acts 5:15). To expect that these friends in Heaven can and do want to intercede for us through divine favor is not only biblical, but congruent with one's faith in God, His saints, and His Church. I just couldn't believe it wasn't standing room only. What a divine privilege to be there alone, among so many friends and heroes. 

But then, why should I be surprised? This is human nature. We have the privilege of keeping watch with our Lord in Eucharistic Adoration less than ten minutes from our homes, and rather than being standing room only, there are empty hours. The Lord's best friends fell asleep on him in his hour of need, and all those who yelled Hosanna! on Palm Sunday have left him alone or lost interest. The road of discipleship can be so sparsely traveled that you get excited when you meet another disciple on the way, one who gets it, who has a burning heart to talk with zeal about the Messiah and the salvation of mankind (Lk 24:13-35).

I feel like an elementary school kid in these situations--I take Christ as his word, that anyone who prays and does not doubt can throw mountains into the sea, raise the dead, experience the same miracles that were happening 2,000 years ago when he walked the earth before he ascended into Heaven, leaving us these breadcrumbs of the fallen soldiers mowed down by the Romans or other hostile empires. It's like a secret nobody gets or cares about--yes, a pearl of great price that you find and run home to withdraw everything you have in the bank to buy it. 

I went back each day of my retreat, and each day I was the only one there. I spent the twenty minutes praying A-Z each saint by name for favors, for faith, for friends, for miracles so that the world might know that Jesus Christ is King and Lord, and LIVES (Col 1:17). Yes, work a miracle brothers and sisters for the glory of Christ's name. 

When you think about it, though, it can sometimes be easier to travel 10 hours by car to some random chapel in the middle of cornfields, or to fly to Lourdes seeking a healing, or touch the glove of Padre Pio, than it may be to cultivate the faith living in our hearts and commune with the Lord made truly present in the Eucharist at our local parish at holy Mass or in Eucharistic adoration. The relics we venerate are holy because Christ is holy, and the bones and scraps of fabric connect us to him. But we are in not shortage of opportunities to be intimate not in the 2nd or 3rd degree with Christ, but every time we receive Holy Communion is a pilgrimage of the heart. You literally cannot get any closer and more intimate with the Lord than you do when you receive him into your body. You can visit him in the flesh anytime at your local adoration chapel as well. 

Relics are awesome, like visiting old friends. It's more than just a museum, but a safe house where you can talk shop with your friends. But the Lord has not hidden himself. He is in plain view, in ordinary guise--bread and wine--just down the street from you. 

We think spiritual direction with a wise director is something complicated or in-depth. Often, it's the opposite. Over the course of five days, when I would meet daily with the Abbot Father, I would pour out the consolations and struggle mightily under the desolation. I would dig deep and scour the corners of my soul to bring the dust into the light, only to be met with rather ordinary and commonplace advice/direction: "ask Our Lady to help you;" "pray to your guardian angel;" "commit to mental prayer." Because I'm only at the lower rungs of the ladder of divine ascent, it's not spiritual brain surgery here. But the Dom's advice was spot on. I prayed sincerely for a particular grace (because he told me to), and the Lord unequivocally and unmistakably provided it. I asked Our Lady to help me conquer a vice, and lo and behold, the vice was conquered. Just like that. 

Faith is simple; we make it more complicated than it has to be. It is a gift, freely given when asked for in humility and without doubting. The week on retreat with these twenty three other guys was like being a schoolchild, an inmate, a cadet, and a novice all at once. We were doing the hard work of discipline under the deft guidance of the Dom for a limited amount of time, so we can learn to love better, pray better, serve better, and become holy. 

If we do not become saints it is not because the Lord withholds anything from us to make that possible. It's because we do not will it and want it enough.And what else is there in this life than to become a saint? Nothing! It is only thing that matters. We have evidence--in the relics we venerate, in the stories we read--that men and women just like us have gone before and received the crown. So, the only thing stopping us from joining them is not God, nor our sin, nor our weakness or past, nor the Devil, nor our family. It is ourselves! 

When I got home my wife told me the sad story of the billionaires that recently went on a $250,000 submarine ride to see the remnants of the Titanic, and all died. Tragic. All I could think of when she told me was, "all that money, and they still died like anyone else, albeit in the middle of the ocean." It wasn't able to help one as much as you might think it could, I suppose. And they too, like many of us, will be soon forgotten. For the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten (Eccl 9:5). May God have mercy on them, as they are now coming before the throne at their particular judgment and like all of us, will give an account of their lives (Lk 16:19-31)

So commit to Christ, to the work, to the suffering which is not without joy, that maybe one day a piece of our tee-shirts or a fragment of our fingernail might hang on a wall in some obscure church somewhere, to help give encouragement and friendship and favor to the next wave of cadets in the Lord's school of charity. The only thing stopping you from joining the alphabetical list of saints, is you.

Cultus

I'm of the "I'll take grace wherever I can get it" camp, but I'll admit that when I heard of the news of Pope Paul VI's canonization a few years ago, I was a little perplexed. It seemed that throughout history, there was a kind of local cult that sprang up when news of a particular person's sanctity spread. In other words, saints were privately venerated from the "bottom up" by way of the cultus, and then vetted canonically and rubber stamped by Rome once sufficient investigation had been carried out. Maybe Paul VI had this at the local level in Italy (or beyond), those 'on the ground' recognizing his personal sanctity and witness to heroic virtue and petitioning that he formally be recognized a saint, and now now now. If he did, I didn't hear much about it. So, the next thing I know he's a canonized saint and I'm like, "where did this come from?" Seemed like it came "from the top down." I don't understand it.

Contrast this with the recent veneration of Sr. Wilhelmina, a nun from a traditional order who died in 2019 and whose body was found to be incorrupt when exhumed four years later. I had two sets of friends text me photos during those first few days (before word was spreading much) of their families praying at the foot of her body. It was quite remarkable, and seemed to develop a cultus of faithful quite organically. As word has spread, the small country convent has become the center of a national fascination with this obscure nun and her order, her history, and her personal sanctity. Heck, I would have set off myself for the 14 hour drive if I would have heard about it a bit earlier!

This seems like the more normal process--God does something in history to speak to us; the sensus fidelium recognize it from the ground, and the cultus forms. Of course the Church has the final authority to determine whether such figures are worthy of public veneration, which comes with time and investigation and verified miracles. But it's from the 'bottom up' versus from the 'top down.' It's not the Church saying "behold your Pope-Saint! Pray away!" It's Her doing Her due diligence to vet those traditionally put forth by the cultus, over time, so that they have the assurance that nothing the would-be saint is opposed to the faith and morals, did indeed exercise heroic virtue, and that the miracles attributed to them have no natural explanation. 

I'm not making a statement here about the process of canonization, the politics of canonization, or to cast shade on anyone who is truly devoted to, say Paul VI, as an intercessor. Just that I thought it was curious that this week we have what seems to be a truly organic process and development of a cultus happening in our lifetime which seems to be genuine and baffling to scientific explanation. The fact that Sr. Whilhemina was previously unknown beyond the walls of the convent and lived a hidden life, is American, is Black/African American, and comes from a traditional order....well, it's all very exciting. 

You have to wonder: God is trying to speak to us in our lifetime and make Himself known with these more frequent Eucharistic miracles, Marian apparitions, and now this. He is not keeping hidden the work of grace that can't always be explained naturally or scientifically. I wonder if we will get to a point in which He is literally pouring out his grace so profusely to prepare us from the final siege that is to come by the forces of Darkness that we almost take them for granted. 

God is raising up great saints and courageous men and women in our lifetime, pouring out to overflowing His great grace to prepare us with what we need to endure. In any case, it is a very exciting time to become Catholic, and to see what God is doing here on the ground. 

Getting On Base

 

I re-watched MoneyBall the other night. It's based on a true story of a former ball player-turned-MLB scout and General Manager of the Oakland A's, Billy Beane (played by Brad Pitt), who attempts to rebuild the "runt of the litter" A's on a limited budget. He recognizes major league baseball is an "unfair game" where there are rich teams and poor teams, and they are the poorest of the poor. 

Billy knows it's either business as usual of managing the decline and keeping things status quo, or "thinking differently" with an unconventional approach. He takes a chance on Peter Brand (played by Jonah Hill), a young statistician with a degree in Economics from Yale and pilfers him from the unappreciative Cleveland Indians so he can run numbers for him. "Baseball thinking is medieval," Brand tells Billy, "They are asking all the wrong questions. And if I say it to anyone, I'm ostracized, I'm a leper." It takes a lot of calculated risk on Billy's part, putting his faith in a different way of doing things (statistical analysis) and in Pete himself. If Billy fails, he fails big and can be easily written off with his "little experiment." But in reality, he has little to lose...because they are losing already.

You can see this "medieval thinking" in a great scene with Billy in the board room with all the scouts trying to replace three of their top players. As his managers go around the table trading their insights about players and potential, Billy knows nothing is going to change because his old-school colleagues are acting as if it's business as usual. In fact, they don't even see the problem.

"You guys are just talking. Talking. Lalalala. Like this is business as usual. It's not."

"We're trying to solve the problem, Billy."

"Not like this you're not. You're not even looking at the problem."

"Okay, what's the problem?"

"Look Billy, we all understand what the problem is, we..."

"Okay, good. What's the problem?"

"The problem is we have to replace three key players in our lineup..."

"Nope. What's the problem?" 

"Same as it's ever been. We've got to replace with what we have existing...."

"Nope. What's the problem?"

"We need 38 home runs, 120 RBIs, and...."

"Wrong. The problem we are trying to solve is there are rich teams and there are poor teams. Then there's 50 feet of crap. And then there's us. It's an unfair game. And now we've been gutted, organ donors for the rich. Boston's taken our kidneys, Yankee's taken our heart, and you guys are sitting around talking the same old good body nonsense like we're selling jeans, like we're looking for Fabio. We've got to think differently." 

Billy sees the potential to rebuild in "cheap players;" that is, undervalued players with various defects who have been passed over by everyone else who nevertheless have potential to do one thing: Get on base. He doesn't care if they are walked or whatever; their on-base percentage is all that matters to him. Getting on base eventually translates to runs, which means wins...and Billy wants to win, not just manage a mediocre decline to maintain the status quo. 

He meets resistance from his managers, scouts, and team at every turn, and for a while their initial losing streak seems to prove the inevitable: that the experiment has failed. But Billy sticks to his plan while he's "taking it in the teeth" from everyone, and little by little, base by base, things start to turn around. It's a big gamble...but it pays off in the end, and fundamentally changed the game of baseball.

In a way, the Church--from the individual parish to the KOC to the Bishops themselves--is like those old guys in the board room: they might recognize but can't answer the question "what's the problem?", and when they try to, they use the same line of thinking that worked fifty years ago.

The Church today is like the Oakland A's in MoneyBall. There have been a few players willing to "try something new." One is Church of the Nativity in Timoninum, Maryland, where the pastor there took a playbook from Rick Warren and attempted to overlay what worked with Protestant pastoral initiatives on a Catholic framework. Whether that is appropriate or not to do is up for debate. My family and I were curious about it a number of years ago after reading the book Rebuilt, which details the parish's transformation. It was kind of a Protestant-Catholic fusion which was unconventional to say the least. It was a novel "success" in the sense of bringing more people into an otherwise dying parish in an bold manner, and I at least give the pastor and his team credit for at least doing something beyond "business as usual." 

We see the Holy Father taking initiatives to "make a mess" of things. We see a Synod on Synodality trying to democratize the Church. We see the Knights re-doing their regalia. All in the hopes of "bringing people in." 

I'm just a guy on the ground. But I have to be honest, I think they are are not seeing the problem in it's entirety, because they are not asking the right questions. And if they are, we must admit, many are not willing to break out of the mold to address it because "business as usual" is not working--but anything else is simply too risky to "how we have always done things." And so it is Band-Aids on a nicked aorta. 

So, what is the problem? 

Is it we don't have enough parish programs? That we need more youth ministry?

Nope. What's the problem?

Is it the laity need more of a voice? More participation of women? 

Nope. What's the problem?

Is it culture? That we need to "get with the times" and be more inclusive?

Nope. What's the problem?

Is it that people are leaving Catholicism for Orthodoxy, or their local mega church? Are we not hardcore enough? Not welcoming enough?

Nope. What's the problem?

What's the problem?

What. Is. The. Problem.

We're asking the wrong questions, and I believe the problem is we have lost faith. We have lost faith in the Church, Her apostles, and the hierarchy. We have lost faith in the supernatural, in grace, in miracles. We have lost faith in the ability to transform the culture, because we are losing the battle for culture. 

But here's the thing--we have everything we need; the solution to "the problem" is right under our noses. 

We have the Truth. We have the promises of Christ to never abandon his Church. We know how the story ends, that He conquered death by death. We have the power of the sacraments, and the example of the saints--who were the moneyballers throughout history, who thought differently and were willing to suffer and labor and be ostracized because of their unfailing faith in the promises of the savior (Lk 9:1-25). 

Our Lord sent the disciples out one by one to "get on base." He didn't discount Saul because he was persecuting the Church, but chose him as His appointed messenger (Acts 9:1-25). We can see Paul opposing Peter's reticence to eat with the uncircumcised (Gal 2:11-14), which was a radical departure from everything Peter ever knew. But the New Covenant does not work while still holding on to the Old, for no one puts new wine in old wineskins (Lk 5:37). For the Lord Christ is "doing a new thing" (Is 43:19).

In order to get base runs, we need to do the hard, risky work of thinking differently. We can't be saying to ourselves, "I'm a good Catholic," or "I go to Mass on Sundays," or "I write checks and volunteer at my local parish." These are all good things, but they are the wrong questions. The question we should be asking is, "Why am I not a saint? Why am I not trusting the Lord when he promises we will work miracles in his name?" (Lk 10:9). 

We do not think big because we do not have faith. And even if we have faith, we must be willing to go out into the vineyard and do the work. Otherwise we become like the brother who says to the father  "I will go" and does not (Mt 21:28-32).

At the end of MoneyBall, Billy is recruited to be the new General Manager of the Boston Redsox, because their owner believes in what Beane is doing and that the "business as usual" dinosaur of MLB thinking needs to change. While tempted, Billy ultimately declines the $12.5M offer (and the chance to become the highest paid GM in history), and stays with the A's. The Sox ultimately go on to win big that season using Billy's "Moneyball" approach, but Billy has no regrets. He has already won the ultimate game. But he didn't get there with a "business as usual" approach.

We can often feel like we're on a losing team remaining in the Church. We are a laughing stock to the world, and the hierarchy is full of hypocrisy and cronyism. We are hemorrhaging believers from the pew, and our priests are aging out. We might be tempted towards Eastern Orthodoxy, or non-demoninationalism, or atheism, or something altogether. For those who remain, it can sometimes feel like the band of misfit players on the Oakland A's. But as the story ends, those players know the wins are in them; they just need someone to inspire them to dig deep and find them.

Wars are won battle by battle. And as any general knows, you have to think differently to win. Runs are scored base by base. It doesn't matter if you get on base by a walk or a home run. We need to start thinking differently as Catholics--we need to do the work of becoming saints not to be an all-star, but because by doing so we inspire our teammates to greatness, to be their best selves--who God made them to be. Some are pitchers, some are catchers, some play left-field. Some are lefties, some are righties. But we get to Heaven together as Catholics--every player matters.

As a Church, we need to get on base. We need to take the risk of looking like fools, of getting out of our comfort zones, of believing with everything we have, and of sacrificing for those who are lost. We get on base, we score runs. We score runs, we win. Maybe not in the eyes of the world, but we're not playing for them. We must think big, not mediocre. We are competing for the crown which never fades.  And we must run our race to win (1 Cor 9:24). 

The Glorious Servant St. Martin de Porres

 

On my A-list Rolodex of saints is St. Martin de Porres. Born in the 16th century in Peru, he was abandoned by his father and endured discrimination on account of his being mixed-race. He was not permitted orders initially with the Dominicans, but was accepted as a volunteer to perform menial tasks around the monastery. 

I have admired St. Martin since I became Catholic for his meekness, patience, and care for the poor and sick. In our family we try to emulate and learn from his charity and generosity, which he exercised with great abandonment. He accepted poverty for himself, but whenever he received any sum of money or goods, he immediately gave it to those in need, sometimes getting a beating for it in exchange for being so "reckless."

We have a relic of St. Martin which we recently lent to a friend who faced a strange but potentially life-threatening infection in her thumb. The doctors, our friend's husband informed us, were sure the infection was bad enough that it would require amputation. She abandoned herself to St. Martin and prayed with the relic over her thumb, and her husband did as well. We prayed at home for the glorious servant's intercession as well. 

Wouldn't you know, the husband texted me not long after, saying that the techs at the doctor's office said her hand was healing so well they thought they were witnessing a miracle. The wife brought the relic to the office and showed it to the staff. Her thumb has now almost completely healed. A miracle of faith, in our minds at least.

Deo Gratias, glorious servant St. Martin de Porres!

"Everything I Count As Joy"

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time nare not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us." 

(Rom 8:18)

 

This afternoon I called a friend, and was given a great gift in exchange: the gift of joy in witnessing the reception of Truth. My friend, who identifies as a Protestant Christian, went to a Latin High Mass with his two kids at our local FSSP parish out of curiosity (he told me that when he heard some Latin Mass communities were being monitored by the FBI, "I had to check it out." I got a kick out of that). He said he was blown away, and moved to tears. "That's the real deal, man," he told me. "It just felt...holy." His kids were riveted as well. Even more surprisingly, he relayed that he is all in and inquiring about coming into the Church. As soon as possible.

If that seems rash and impetuous, please allow me the liberty to tease this out a little, as there are a number of layers to peel back in this story. It begins with an impromptu exposure to the Mass of the Ages, but it doesn't end there and is not the focal point; in fact, that is just the beginning. But I promise you--hope and joy is at the center of it all. 

My friend (who is my age) has a stubborn and aggressive form of bladder cancer. He gets it removed, it comes back; more tumors taken out, more come back. At this point, due to a series of delays in treatment for various reasons, it has moved to some of his muscle, and so the prospect of having to have his bladder removed is on the table. This is his life, but he carries it as a manageable reality. After all, dinner still needs to be made, kids need to be attended to, house maintenance needs to be done; life doesn't stop when you are sick. 

He's hopeful and enthusiastic about alternative treatments, but also realizing their limitations, I think. Physicians can treat the body, but not the soul. He and his family are essentially homeless nomads, spiritually speaking. They don't have a regular church, and he recognizes that many of the Protestant congregations they have visited don't have the substance to sustain a dark night like the one he may soon be entering with his upcoming surgery. My friend is a voracious consumer of information, and I think he is realizing that in fact the Catholic Church, the church founded by Christ, is "the real deal." 

He was out shopping for suits for his son and himself tonight so they can be well dressed for Mass when I called. When he got home, I drove over and brought him a "starter pack" arsenal to begin his journey with: A book on the Latin Mass for beginners, a detailed Examination of Conscience put out by the FSSP, a copy of the Baltimore Catechism, and an anthology of saints. I also included blessed and exorcised salt, a bottle of Epiphany Water, a Miraculous Medal and St. Benedict medal on a chain, and a rosary. 

It's hard not to overwhelm people with Catholic "stuff," because you share in their excitement and enthusiasm for their newfound discovering of the faith. You want to dive right in with them straight away. But we don't eat a lifetime of meals in one sitting, nor are we expected to. We have to pump the brakes and learn the hard virtues of prudence and temperance, even with spiritual things (I think the NC Register had a good article on that recently here). 

But it's good to have these kinds of resources on hand for these kinds of occasions. As I mentioned, nothing gives me greater joy than witnessing people come to faith, witnessing conversion flowering and grace flowing like a river. It doesn't always pan out or blossom, but that is God's prerogative. As the saying goes, we are simply beggars telling other hungry beggars where to find bread--a great privelege.

Part of my friend's sense of urgency too, though, is the realization that his mortal body is in a vulnerable and fragile state. Most of us really do take our health for granted; that is, until you're not healthy. Even though our body is not all there is to our person, we can't live without it. And so, we are tasked with taking care of it as a temple of the Holy Spirit as best we can. Health is not an absolute; it is not even a pre-requisite when it comes to living a fruitful spiritual life. Many of the greatest saints in the history of the Church battled with infirmity, and some (like St. Ignatius) found faith while injured/incapacitated and confined to bed.

What's so cool about being a Catholic is you are often afforded behind the scenes footage of the stories unfolding--you don't know how they are going to end, but you know the Divine Director has everything under control. You are right where you need to be and where He has you placed at this moment in time, and not a moment sooner. The same applies to my friend. 

But it's also exciting because while faith is blossoming in his spirit, and God is orchestrating the details and setting the stage for a masterpiece to be written, we really don't know what direction the story is going to go. 

On the one hand, I have faith in the power of grace, and the intercession of the saints. Personally, I am praying and asking for the intercession of Servant of God Francis Houle to heal my friend of his bladder cancer (I have written about SOG Francis Houle, who was a grandfather and stigmatist and whose son we had Thanksgiving dinner with before, here). Francis' son relayed to us that crowds of people would come to their home so that his father could lay hands on them; in once instance, his son found him sick in the backroom throwing up, as he had taken on the toxic effects of chemotherapy to himself from someone who had come to him seeking healing. If I can make a request, I would ask you join me in prayer in asking for his intercession in this case--for the healing of my friend, but also for the glory of God that a literal miracle might take place leading to Francis' formal canonization.  

On the other hand, God is sovereign in Heaven, and He does as He pleases (Ps 115:3). The healing of the body comes secondary to the elevation of the spirit, and if God chooses not to heal my friend, but by way of his cancer bring him to salvation through His Son and His Bride, the Church, then that too is an outcome worthy of joy. For as Christians, we do not fear those who want to kill the body...for they cannot kill the soul. Instead, we should fear him which is able to destroy both body and soul (Mt 10:28). In this, my friend is preparing himself spiritually through the inculcation of unmerited grace, bolstered by the prayers of mine and yours, to prepare his temple. Whether it is preserved in this life, or destroyed and raised up again in the next, is God's will and concern. 

Can He heal him? Yes, He can. God is a big God--nothing is too big or difficult or beyond hope for Him--Christ His son the worker of miracles for those who believe (1 Cor 2:9). Should He chose to do so, we must be sure not to waste the opportunity afforded us to give his holy name glory for the conversion of others.

Can He use his illness for that same glory? Yes, He can. For Christ is preparing a place for my friend, for He has many mansions and He goes ahead to prepare a place for him (Jn 14:2-6)--whether next week, or twenty years from now. The time and hour is not important or our concern when we live by faith; what is our concern--and what my friend has right--is that we prepare our own hearts to accept him, repent, and believe with a sober urgency. This is grace moving the will, and is not accidental. 

As Christians, we participate in Christ's death through suffering, and offering it up redemptively; we can do this for ourselves, as well as others. But because we are composed of both body and spirit, we are called to serve in charity the corporal needs of widows, orphans, the hungry, the imprisoned, and the infirmed. It can be as simple as bringing someone a meal or offering to rake their leaves, or it can be to hold a hand to comfort during a time of need. Our hidden sacrifices we can offer as an oblation on behalf of others; they are not meaningless, not wasted. This is how we witness to our faith in joy--a joy that should be a contagion, not a lab specimen. For we are people of hope--the hope of the resurrection of the dead, and faith without works is dead (James 2:26); 1 Thes 4:13-18). 

I am so excited to see what God has in store for my friend, and am privileged to witness it. If I died tonight, I could die happy, if only knowing I was able to participate in it for even a short time. Please, reader, pray for my friend, his wife and children, his healing if it be God's will, and his eternal salvation. And in all things, to God be the glory.

You Are The Man

 

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

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

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

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

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

He lies.

He curses and swears an oath.

He betrays the confidence of his closest friend.

He denies God.

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

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

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

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

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

Dead Already

 

Something I've been meditating on lately, and I'm not sure where I heard it: The only way to survive war is to think of yourself as already dead. 

I think part of this has to do with what we are willing to risk in order to live. In a recent documentary I watched on Elon Musk, the former head of NASA was describing the NASA culture after the Apollo disaster: Failure is not an option. While it sounds like a noble raison d'etre, this cultural attitude within the organization stymied innovation and a willingness to push boundaries; as a result, space exploration under the government agency plateaued into mediocrity.

Musk pushed back on this idea of risk-aversion if one wants to achieve great things in a limited amount of time. He reassured his employees at SpaceX: It's okay to fail here. That's an incredible thing to say, especially given that SpaceX's first three rocket launches failed--launches financed with millions of Musk's personal fortune--and they had only one shot left to make it work. The alternative was the company goes under. Astonishingly, the fourth attempt was a success. No risk, no reward.

Our Lord makes it clear in the Gospel that those who desire to follow him must lose their life in order to find it (Mt 10:39); you cannot follow Christ until you have died to yourself (1 Cor 15:31). 

St. Andrew (whose feast day was Wednesday) immediately dropped his nets, left his family and livelihood, in order to follow an itinerant preacher doing a "new thing" (Is 43:19). The Lord whom they followed promised that those who have left houses, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, or farms for him and the Gospel will receive a hundredfold and shall inherit everlasting life (Mt 19:29). But that's a big risk, a heavy wager. You could lose it all, and be left with nothing, if this new preacher can't make spiritual payroll. 

We often play things way too safe in the service of the Lord. There's a scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Indiana is on a precipice and takes a leap of faith; the bridge is largely invisible but he doesn't know that until he steps into the chasm and his foot lands on it. If it wasn't there...you fall to your death. If it is, you live and cross. But you don't do either until you take that step. On faith.

This is what it is like to surrender to God. Faith is not a guarantee. If it were, it would not be faith. There will always be that part of us, that tiny room in our minds and hearts, that fear and doubt: what if this is a lie? What if I'm being taken for a ride? What if there is nothing beyond this world? During this times, we can want to hold back, play it safe, and stick to what we know. The way NASA did with "Failure is not an option."

But the Christian life is staking our lives on Christ and his promises, and potentially losing big--that is, losing everything. But are those things we have--our lives, our goods, our family--really worth anything if it keeps us stuck in mediocrity? Or as Henry David Thoreau wrote, "men living lives of quiet desperation." 

It's not just our goods, either. In living the Christian life in its truest sense, or becoming a disciple of Jesus Christ, we risk looking foolish, risk our reputations, our good name and potential to live "normal" lives. We expose ourselves to ridicule and denigration in becoming "fools for Christ." 

To be a fool for Christ, however, is the only thing worthy of admiration in the eyes of the saints. They understand the foolishness--the willingness to lose it all, sacrifice everything, for the one we should love above all things. 

The hardest thing to give up, though, is our very lives. Be it survivor's instinct, or simply fear, our death grip on retaining our physical lives is strong. Christ offers a compelling case to risk it all for him, but there is still that part of us that holds back in order retain a sliver of autonomy. Unfortunately, we cannot be "99% disciples." It is an all-or-nothing, zero-sum game: We play and win, or we play and lose. But we cannot not play. 

We are taught that to be "conservative" is to act prudently, rationally, weighing all options and taking calculated approaches. It is strange, isn't it, that the Church herself is "conservative" in word and deed, falling back on slow deliberation, old ways of doing things, and judicious reasoning? But in terms of what the Lord asks of us, he demands that we have no Plan B, that we leave cart and farm and kin with no questions asked to become disciples of his, with only a promise of recompense in another life. 

I'm currently reading about the life of Servant of God Father Emil Kapaun, a military chaplain who fearlessly served his flock in war in whatever way he could by routinely running into the bullet-chewed fray. A man, a soldier, cannot undertake such valiancy without risk to his life; were he to regard himself as "dead already," and in fact does have his life taken from him in such service, he is simply fulfilling that destiny. If by some miracle he comes out alive, it is as if he is given a new lease on life.

In Christ, we are "lost, but now found" as sung in the hymn, Amazing Grace. It is grace that "saves a wretch like me." We were dead in our sin, but now live in Christ (Rom 6:11). The disciple of Christ risks everything for Christ in order to reap the reward he promises. There is no in-between in the Christian life (Rev 3:16). If we are not running into the fray as Christian men considering ourselves 'dead already' to this world in order to save others, we are cowering in our foxholes, fearfully guarding our lives which are not fully lived. 

The Novus Ordo May One Day Save Your Life

 One of the struggles I have as a traditionally-minded Catholic is to be on guard as David was when he prayed, “Who can discern his errors? Forgive my hidden faults. Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me. Then will I be blameless, innocent of great transgression" (Ps 19:12-14). Catholics who have such dispositions towards Tradition may find themselves on the high ground in some areas, while completely blindsided by others. I think this is especially the case when it comes to a critical spirit, and pride--dangerous and pernicious sins that burr into the crevices of our spirit and make a home without us even realizing it. 

While I believe the Holy Father's inquisition against Traditionalists is unjust and targeted, it is similar to the way stereotypes operate--there is always a degree of truth in the broad-brushing. Are Traditionalists one-hundred percent "Triumphalist, self-absorbed, Promethean neo-Pelagians?" as Pope Francis has uncharitably referred to them? Of course not. Are there degrees and elements of this in many of them? For sure. Are traditionalists greater saints than the rest of us? God only knows.

I find myself slipping into this kind of subtle nose-snubbing, sometimes without even realizing it, separating traditional Priests and congregants from N.O. priests and congregants in a kind of unconscious "A-list" and "B-list", Marines vs. Army, etc. I think part of that is that I am using the wrong canon (ruler) to measure with. While I believe that the Extraordinary Form is as a matter of objectivity more beautiful, more reverent, and more fitting liturgy for worship than the Ordinary Form, this is not a silver bullet for transforming oneself or one's family into saints on it's own. The canon in this sense for us should not be "which liturgy is more reverent" or "which group of congregants has it right," but "to what degree am I being made holy myself?" 

I have written before about various reasons why, were push come to shove as it relates to the implementation of Traditionis Custodes, assisting at the SSPX is off the table for us. This is a personal decision that every individual and head of household needs to discern for themselves, what line they will and will not cross were the Latin Mass to be taken from them. I have wrestled a lot with this, and do not take these matters lightly. While educating myself on the history, their canonical status and Archbishop Lefebvre himself, I have grown more sympathetic and understanding towards the Society. 

But there are still elements which give me pause, despite those who seem to gloss over such issues. I've already written about the marriage issue here. But there is another more general disposition being that many Society priests will provide council against attendance at the New Mass, even when there is no traditional Mass available:

"When it comes to attendance at the Novus Ordo Mass, SSPX priests do not hesitate to tell faithful that they should not attend that Mass under any circumstances, even on a Sunday and in a place where no traditional Mass is available. It is a very clear and straightforward matter. 

The purpose of attending Mass is to give glory to God and to sanctify one’s soul. But we hold that the New Mass is not pleasing to God and so dishonors Him. As such, to attend the Novus Ordo Mass is to go against the very purpose for going to Mass. Instead of honoring God by attending Mass, one is dishonoring God by doing so. "

If one takes this matter of not fulfilling their Sunday obligation lightly, they should prayerfully reconsider what is at stake here. For this counsel no longer becomes one of preference or objective reverence, but elevates a beautiful and reverent illicit Mass above a potentially banal and unedifying Mass which is nevertheless both valid and licit. In other words, in the example of when one is traveling, there is no excuse to forgo Sunday Mass even when there is no Traditional Latin Mass and the Novus Ordo is the only option. Canon 844.2 states:

§2. Whenever necessity requires it or true spiritual advantage suggests it, and provided that danger of error or of indifferentism is avoided, the Christian faithful for whom it is physically or morally impossible to approach a Catholic minister are permitted to receive the sacraments of penance, Eucharist, and anointing of the sick from non-Catholic ministers in whose Churches these sacraments are valid.

There is no doubt or argument that the sacrament of Holy Eucharist is valid when confected in Society chapels. There is also no doubt that whenever necessity requires it, the Church permits the faithful to receive these valid Sacraments. I think the issue here is the license the faithful take with "as true spiritual advantage suggests." That is, the argument being made is that the Novus Ordo is so egregiously offensive to God and so spiritually damaging to the formation of faith, that this constitutes justification for the regularization outside of emergency situations to take refuge in a SSPX chapel. In other words, the exception is now made the norm. In my own humble opinion, this is a tenuous reasoning that carries with it spiritual perils that may not be immediately apparent.  

Society priests were truly worthy of admiration during COVID when chapels were kept open as some diocesan churches shuttered in response to the virus; they recognized the "essential nature" of spiritual nourishment, whereas many diocesan parishes may have regarded it otherwise. Of course, this statement is easy to make in retrospect, when the reality is that two years ago was that no one really knew the degree of threat which the virus posed and how it was transmitted; pastors were making best judgments with limited information. To that end, a little grace would go a long way.

And yet, some saw this valiant witness of the SSPX during this time and took up a home there. Some (as one young father I am loosely acquainted with) even seemed to adopt a semi-Donatist mindset of regarding Novus Ordo priests who shut down churches and withheld sacraments during this period as apostates.  

All this being said, it is wishful thinking that the New Mass (which comprises over 98.5% of Masses celebrated in the United States) will go by the wayside. The reality on the ground is, most of your sacramental exposure--for better or for worse--will be proxy to a so-called "Novus Ordo priest."

I wrote in The Hunger Years that,

"A time is coming when people will seek absolution for their sins and find, not a priest unwilling to open the door, but no priest at all. A time is coming when people will notice they are hungry for the Eucharist, for the Holy Mass, for a blessing—the very things we take for granted today—and they will go away hungry because there is no priest to feed them. Faithful Catholics will want to have their children baptized, want to get married, and will find waiting lists months long. The churches they knew from their youth will be museums. Those in mortal sin will beg for a priest to hear their confession and will not be able to find one. Those possessed by demons will have no recourse, and exorcists will be so overwhelmed they will have no choice but to turn people away.

We are entering the mission era of the Church in the United States. You would be wise to prepare yourself now with spiritual food for the journey, with the Eucharist, daily Mass, Confession—because the hunger years are around the corner. Avoid mortal sin like the plague. Fast and pray for the Lord to call up mighty warrior priests who are not afraid to go into the fray. Get your own house in order so you can evangelize as a living example to others. Be open to life and welcoming of children. Instruct them well and be intentional about passing on the Faith and living it out. Encourage your sons to become priests if it is God’s will for them. Catholicism is not like other Christian denominations. No priests means no Mass. No Mass means no Eucharist. No Eucharist means no life within you."

When I get kind of liturgically and spiritually snobby without realizing it, I'm sometimes reminded that the vast majority of people in need of grace do not have ideological dogs in the fight. For some, they may have been away from the Church for decades and are just one confession away from salvation. For others, they may be Christians of a another denomination and have an insatiable appetite for the Lord's flesh and blood. Others may be on their deathbed and desire the grace of Extreme Unction to find a final resting place. Or, they might simply be like my Latin Mass attending friend who was going through a hard time in her life. I curtly tried to spare her one night when she asked where she could attend Mass in our area on a Tuesday, but was humbled at her response; "No TLM tonight; just the Novus Ordo," I said. She told me plainly in response, "Friend, I need Jesus."

There is an incredibly moving scene in Padre Pio: Miracle Man (1:47-1:51 for the particular scene) in which Padre Pio faces his Vatican persecutor during his final hours and illuminates the priest to a memory in which he closes the door on a soldier seeking absolution; the priest acted in fear and dereliction of duty, and the soldier was killed, unconfessed. The hardened priest is filled with shame, yet Padre Pio reassures him, "I absolved him for you," (by way of the miracle of bilocation). Not only that, but the saintly Padre Pio humbles himself before this priest to seek absolution at his hands in his final hours of life. Two priests--one saint, one sinner--embracing through the grace of the Sacrament.

I am relying on grace to preserve my family should our diocesan Latin Mass no longer be an option in the future, and I pray for discernment. It is not easy, nor is it easy to defer in a spirit of obedience our preferences when we are more inclined to dig our heels in in a spirit of defiance. I don't know what the right answer is, and continue to wrestle with it. But I do believe that God is faithful and will not abandon those who seek him with a pure heart. He will give us the grace we need on the day we need it, the way He provided daily manna for the wandering Israelites, even if it doesn't come in the form we expect. If we have the gift of the liturgy in the Extraordinary Form, thanks be to God. If God provides grace by way of the Novus Ordo, I do not want to spurn that grace. 

Take my life, Lord. Take my preferences and melt them in the refining fire of your love. Take my pride and my understanding and purify it for your glory. Take the impurities in my intentions and siphon them out, so that I am left with nothing but a contrite soul wholly dependent on you to live. Filter out a critical spirit and supplant it with pure gratefulness. Give me no more than my daily bread, that I may not curse you in hunger, nor forget you in satiation. Do not abandon me to the netherworld, but unite me with your servant so that I may pray, "Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me" (Ps 51:10).  

You Ain't No Saint (But One Day You May Be)

I remember my first spiritual "high" as a newly minted Catholic. It was after the first retreat I attended as a college freshman on campus. So many new friends! God's love, so palpable! On FIRE for the Lord! And then Monday morning you get back to "real life," and the mountaintop experience slowly but surely fades, and getting down to the real work of discipleship and Christian living begins.

When I was on retreat last weekend, I fully expected to be sorely subjected to temptation and spiritual battle; instead, the Devil in large part left me alone. What I was left with was an experience of undiluted prayer, penitence, and solitude. I felt that my spiritual life had integrity and my will was in alignment. It was an environment in which, to mimic the words of Peter Maurin, it was "easy to be good."

And then I returned home, and the Devil got to work undoing everything.

It didn't happen all at once. My wife and I were scheduled to attend a black tie event that evening. After eating nothing but a dense bread for three days, I was all of a sudden feasting like a king on bacon-wrapped scallops, shrimp and oysters, and filet mignon for dinner, coupled with an open bar. Whereas St. John Cassian says we should "stop eating while still hungry and do not continue until you are satisfied," I ended up...well, not doing that. I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol and haven't gotten drunk in years, but still ended up drinking more that I probably could or should have despite that.  

Worse than these physical gratifications, however, was a more-or-less intolerance with certain people. Rash judgement, complaining, thinking ill-thoughts, lack of patience...it was all there. I also became somewhat short with my family over the ensuing days as well. Ram Dass once said, "If you think you're enlightened, spend a week with your family." I find that pretty astute and accurate.

Whereas I was praying and reading a lot and for concentrated periods over the weekend, I all of a sudden clammed up and developed a vague aversion to the work of prayer. I was not devout, not devoted, but lethargic and slothful, easily irritated, and neglectful. 

Amazing! On literally every branch I found myself perching just days before, I was perfunctorily knocked with head-spinning swiftness from them one by one. After spending a few days soaking in the novel hot springs of spiritual fortitude, I was now flailing in the riptide which is concupiscence. How weak is the spirit of man! How tender the flesh, and how much we need God!

We should not fear the Devil, but we should also not underestimate his supreme intelligence. It is perhaps in God's omnipotent grace that as soon as we catch ourselves thinking, "I got this," he notches us down from the perch of pride and confidence in ourselves with various embarrassing thorns. Pride goes before the fall. 

Of course, my vocation is one that is in the world, and so time in the wood living as a would-be monk will always be a novel endeavor. So maybe my landing back home was a bit due to overcompensation. The truth is always in the mean, not the extremes. 

It was the feast day in the new calendar the other day of the young saint Carlo Acutis. He was born in 1991 and died in 2006....a millennial, a self-described "computer geek" from the present age that now smiles down at us from heaven. There is a part of me that looks on him with a tinge of envy--he died of leukemia at the young age of 15--and a tinge of incredulity, as it seemed in his nature to be "good." When I look at myself and my inconstancy, my turpitude, my criticalness, it is hard not to turn away in disgust. It's hard not to despair at how little progress I have made, how little love has been enkindled, and low little work I have accomplished for the kingdom. How far I am from home.

One thing is for sure--I ain't no monk, no saint, not now and probably not next year. But maybe, by God's grace, eventually.

"Thy Damnation Comes From Thee"

"[St. Vincent Ferrer] relates that an archdeacon in Lyons gave up his charge and retreated into a desert place to do penance, and that he died the same day and hour as Saint Bernard. After his death, he appeared to his bishop and said to him, "Know, Monsignor, that at the very hour I passed away, thirty-three thousand people also died. Out of this number, Bernard and myself went up to heaven without delay, three went to purgatory, and all the others fell into Hell" 

(from the sermon "The Little Number of Those Who Are Saved" by St. Leonard of Port Maurice)

A few years ago I saw a neat couple videos to give some perspective on our place in the universe and our time on earth in relation to eternity. Sometimes these visuals can help drive home how insignificant our lives are in the grand scheme of things. And yet, despite the relatively small role we play here on earth, our choices carry with them consequences of immeasurable effect. They mean the difference between an eternity of loving peace or tormented suffering and unending regret.

I know some people of sensitive composition get shook up by the reality of the fewness of the saved in both Scripture and Catholic doctrine. But it is something we have to face as a reality, not because of the holy fear and trembling it should rightfully inspire, but because God gives us no shortage of opportunities to repent (and grace, for those who ask) and be saved because He wants us to be saved. 

I don't really think about it until we venture out in a crowd among the general public, but we truly are in a little Catholic bubble here (I'm referring to our family, and families like ours). Consider these rough statistics:

• In a crowd of 1,000 people here in America, 210 of those people would self-identify as Catholic (Pew).
• Of those 210 Catholics,  43 attend Mass weekly (CARA).
• Of those 43, 4 believe the use of contraception is wrong (versus 39 who use and/or approve of it) (LiturgyGuy/Pew) 

I could keep drilling down, but you soon run into percentages of a person. The point, however, stands--if you had to put down a wager,  it should be a given that more souls are lost than are saved. Scripture supports the view; St. Peter for one: "And if the just man shall scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" (1 Pt 4:18). 

"What do you think?," asks St. John Chrysostom, "How many of the inhabitants of this city may perhaps be saved? What I am about to tell you is very terrible, yet I will not conceal it from you. Out of this thickly populated city with its thousands of inhabitants not one hundred people will be saved. I even doubt whether there will be as many as that!" 

St. Jerome is even less optimistic: “Out of one hundred thousand sinners who continue in sin until death, scarcely one will be saved.” 

There is no shortage of quotes by the saints affirming the same (my friend A.G., here, for one).

But what is St. Leonard the great preacher trying to instill in us--defeat and despair at our sinfulness, and a loss of hope that salvation is even possible, no less probable? No! The words of our Lord:

"Those interior inspirations, that clear knowledge, that constant remorse of conscience, would you dare to deny them? All of these were so many aids of My grace, because I wanted to save you. I refused to give them to many others, and I gave them to you because I loved you tenderly. My son, My son, if I spoke to them as tenderly as I am speaking to you today, how many others souls return to the right path! And you... you turn your back on Me. Listen to what I am going to tell you, for these are My last words: You have cost Me My blood; if you want to be damned in spite of the blood I shed for you, do not blame Me, you have only yourself to accuse; and throughout all eternity, do not forget that if you are damned in spite of Me, you are damned because you want to be damned: 'Thy damnation comes from thee.' "

To think of souls "falling into hell like snowflakes," to use the words of Our Lady and St. Teresa of Avila, should fill us with horror and sadness at those lost, but we should also not be scandalized, for God is a just judge. "Will He be angry every day?" (Ps 7:11). "As a father has mercy on sons, the Lord has mercy on those who fear Him." (Ps 103:13). "The eye of the Lord is on those who fear Him, on those who hope in His mercy" (Ps 33:18). "The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear him: and in them that hope in his mercy" (Ps 147:11). See a theme here?

Fr. Ripperger recently said in an interview that there were only two times he was scared as an exorcist: the first time he performed one, and during one exorcism in which he asked God to punish a particular demon "in a way he had never been punished before" and God manifested the power of his justice. "The fear wasn't in relation to the demons, since they are on a short leash. What I was looking at was the severity of God's punishment for those who don't obey him and reject him." 

"And if that doesn't strike the fear of God in you...nothing will."

Does this mean our chances of being saved are in the ballpark of becoming a pro-athlete, maybe .0001%? Becoming a professional athlete depends on a lot of things: natural ability, skill, hard work, training, ability to suffer, and luck, to name a few. 

But our ability to become a saint depends on one thing one thing only: our love of God and neighbor, and our trust in Him. It doesn't take skill, it doesn't mean having a reserved spot on the A-list. It is within the natural realm of all the baptized! God does not make himself out to be a hoity Manhatten director or judge on America's Got Talent trying to weed out the losers as fast as possible. He is trying to bring in as many people under His roof as possible--but nobody is listening! They are all just going their own way, choosing to drown rather than grab the hand of grace which is being extended to them. Is that God's fault, or ours?

To quote someone somewhere, "if we do not become a saint, it is because we did not want to become one." It's true, saying Yes to God in order to achieve that salvific vision necessitates saying "no" to other things--like the world, the flesh, and the devil and all his empty promises. And yes, you must be part of God's family (ie, baptized) to enter into that conduit channel of grace that makes salvation possible. 

But aside from that, YOU CAN BE SAVED, and our good and merciful God ACTUALLY DESIRES IT. He MAKES IT POSSIBLE in the bloodbath His Son cleanses us by. When you know love, you will know the fear of God. And when you fear God, you will rightly love Him. And when you love Him, you will never want to be apart from him as a slave to sin. For "if the Son sets you free,

you will be free indeed" (Jn 8:36)