In Desperate Need Of A Friend

Each morning my wife and I have been praying and reading Carmelite meditations on the interior life. Since the Feast of Corpus Christi, the meditations have been focused on the Real Presence and the Eucharist miracle.

It was on Monday early this week that I realized the little chapel near us--a historic mission church, the oldest in our state--had Perpetual Adoration on Mondays. We had just gotten home from the beach that day, where we were blessed with the opportunity to have a similar kind of "mission Mass" at the home of a couple downstate in the country on Sunday not unlike this first mission near our house that was started at a family's home in the 18th century. A priest came to offer Mass and a handful of faithful families attended. It was good to be around our people, and we had a potluck afterwards as the kids ran around teasing the sheep in the adjacent field. The weekend prior I was in St. Louis and got to attend High Mass three days in a row for First Friday, First Saturday, and Trinity Sunday at the magnificent St. Francis de Sale Oratory. I felt spoiled almost, this being the first time since the pandemic I had been able to freely attend Mass. Whether we are in a magnificent cathedral or worshiping with other families on a sheep farm, Jesus is truly present in the most Blessed Sacrament of the Altar.

But it had been months since I was able to go to Adoration, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Would the chapel be overflowing with people who had so desperately missed being near our Lord and able to gaze on His Face that there would be no available pews? Would parking be an issue? Surely the months of being separated from Him physically would have created in people a hunger for spiritual bread with the need to be sated.

I should have laughed at my idealism. When I arrived at the small chapel, it was completely empty save for one woman in a pew. I entered through the back, and dropped to both knees at the sight of the Lord in the monstrance on the altar. I took a seat in a pew where I would spend the next hour.

Adoration is my favorite type of prayer, because I am not scripted by nature. To be able to be myself, with all my sighing and gesticulations and to be able to collapse and be myself before the Lord of Hosts is a great source of comfort. When I lived in Philly and would visit the Lord in Adoration in my poverty of spirit, I would lie on the pew, though completely undignified, since I would spend sometimes the better half of a day there. I was once taken for a vagrant. "I look at him, He looks at me," as St. John Vianney recalled a peasant telling him. This is the essence of Eucharistic Adoration, distilled.

When the only other person present left after about twenty minutes and I was now alone in the church, I moved to the Prie Dieu near the altar, a few feet from the Lord, to get closer to him. I couldn't believe the privilege--a private audience with the King of Kings, undisturbed before His Majesty, with no one around or waiting even to take my place.

And then I became sad thinking of the Lord left alone were I not there.

For more than three months, we have hardly had access to the sacraments apart from a few exceptions. Where are all the people? After the French Revolution had gutted the life of faith in France in the 18th and 19th century, the Cure d'Ars upon arriving in his new assignment found the little church "cold and empty as the hearts of the worshipers." Has the pandemic made our hearts cold? Fearful? Has Satan sifted us even now? Even after taking for granted what we have had for so long within our means, there was no line to get in the church, no overflow or standing-room-only. I was alone in a church with the Lord in his poverty.

As a newly assigned parish priest, St. Manuel González García dreamed of how welcoming and communal the experience of being a pastor on his first assignment would be, “of having a Church full of souls eager to listen to his sermons, of people fervently praying the Rosary with him each day, and of organizing a beautiful procession in the streets. He pictured crowds hastening to Sunday Mass.”

The reality when he arrived, was a Church poorly attended, where only those getting married or baptizing their children came, and a population that was not a community, but a cluster of human beings who worked side by side, and never invested in the Church or each other. The building itself was dirty, almost abandoned, and the altar cloths torn and burnt. The neglect included the tabernacle covered in dust and cobwebs. He considered begging for a different assignment, fleeing. He wondered how he could fulfil a mission, any mission in such a place, but kneeling before the tabernacle, pondering how impossible the task before him, he felt someone looking at him “in desperate need of a friend.”

He writes,

"The Evangelists are the ones who taught me the word “abandonment.” I decided to use this word, not to speak of the hatred, envy, or persecution of the enemies of Jesus, but rather in reference to the disloyalty, coldness, ingratitude, inconstancy, insensitivity, indelicacy, and cowardice that Jesus experiences from his friends. This leaving him at the moment when they should all have been with him, this failure to assist him with their presence and their unconditional loyalty when he needed it most is what the Evangelists call abandonment and flight. “And they all forsook him, and fled” (Mark 14:50). 

There are two ways in which the tabernacle is abandoned. One, exterior: the habitual and voluntary absence of Catholics who know Jesus but do not visit him. I am not speaking of unbelievers, or of the irreligious, or of uncatechized Catholics, from whom Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament will feel persecuted, hated, slandered, or unrecognized, rather than abandoned. I am speaking of Catholics who believe and know that Our Lord Jesus Christ, true God and true Man is really present and alive in the Blessed Sacrament. But they do not receive him in Holy Communion, nor visit him, nor have a friendly relationship with him—even though they live close to a Church, and otherwise have time and energy for recreational activities. 

The second way is by interior abandonment. It is to go to him but not to really be with him. It is to receive him with the body, but not with the heart. It is to go to him saying words, bowing our heads, kneeling down, but not performing these acts of piety with our hearts. It is when we do not meditate on what we are receiving. It is when we do not prepare ourselves to receive him with a clean heart and with great spiritual hunger. It is when we do not taste and give thanks for the Food we have received. It is when we do not talk to or listen to the Guest who is visiting us. It is when we are not open to receive and keep the graces he brings us, the warnings he gives us, the example he teaches us, the desires he reveals to us, the love he shares with us. How many times will the Master have to repeat to some communicants and visitors to the Blessed Sacrament: “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me” (Mt 15:8). 

Jesus, alone, abandoned in the hearts of his friends! Jesus visits souls and lives in the “homes” of his friends (through Holy Communion) without being understood or listened to or assisted or asked his opinion or even taken into account! This interior abandonment is repeated in alarmingly great proportions."

The empty church, the foot of the cross at his death, the garden in which he sweat drops of blood--these are the places his friends go to meet him. The masses jeer before his trial and drop branches of palms upon his entry into Jerusalem and are nowhere to be found in his hour of need. And yet for these masses He came too, longing to gather them under his wings..."and you were not willing" (Mt 23:37).

Will the many be saved? How few the saved. How empty the churches when men's heart grow cold in those last days. It is these moments when I am alone with the Lord offering this small gift of an hour when I cannot hide anything, that I recognize my own poverty. I have nothing to bring, nothing to give, but a contrite heart and a broken spirit.

We must console the heart of Jesus. Our audience before the Lord is an unspeakable privilege, one that we even now can do at all hours and days. If we cannot, we can make a tabernacle for him in our hearts upon receiving Holy Communion--room at the inn for him to dwell in our impoverishment. We can come to him, see him, whenever we want. And yet we don't. We find something of more importance. But "The time is coming when you will long to see one of the days of the Son of Man, but you will not see it" (Lk 17:22). Go while you can, to sit at his feet, to learn his commands, to listen in the privileged silence of empty churches and neglected tabernacles. Console him while he is still able to be found.

The Church Will Hurt You

If there's any spectre that haunts me to my core, that fills me with a putrid horror and an unspeakable sadness, it is the act of apostasy.

Lucifer fell from Heaven, and he is working overtime to bring down as many people from the ladder of divine ascent with him as possible.

In "Apostasy And The Casualties Of War" I wrote:

"I was thinking about apostasy, the spectre that seems to hide in every closet, every corner, under every lampstand I encounter these days. The smell is nauseating and unnerving; it gets in your clothes like cigarette smoke. Faith in this age is under siege, and I'm not even talking about the collective faith of Catholics or Christians in America; in the heart of each and every man, his faith is under fire. Someone or something is seeking to wrench it from his being, cause him to lose heart or strip him of faith or consolation, hope and fortitude. My buddies and people I know are lying all around me, getting picked off by snipers, getting legs blown off, getting mowed down by machine guns, losing their souls one skipped prayer, one missed Mass, one self-justifying excuse, one innocent click at a time.  

Why do people abandon the Faith? Who will endure to the end? Is it just a matter of time before I join their ranks? Will I lose my children to the age? A friend of mine, a once faithful Catholic and family man, stopped going to Mass. Family members too. People experiencing loss and suffering, instead of doubling down and tying themselves to the mast, gradually stop praying altogether and simply drift away or run aground. For some it's a sin they can't let go of, or a past, or a trauma, or a hurt, or a betrayal, or seeing too much of how the sausage is made. For some it's the old question of why bad things happen to 'good people,' or why God would allow someone they love to suffer, or some earnest but unanswered prayers. I feel like the guys to my left and to my right and in front of me and behind me are just being shredded by machine gun fire, and whose to say I'm not next, my family, my children."

This evening I stumbled across a public post of a couple leaving the Catholic Church. As I read it, I picked up on a similar theme and common thread to the public posts of other Christian apostates. Joshua Harris--who wrote the best-seller "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" (which I read in college)--made a public announcement on his Instagram account:

"My heart is full of gratitude. I wish you could see all the messages people sent me after the announcement of my divorce. They are expressions of love though they are saddened or even strongly disapprove of the decision.⁣⁣ 

⁣⁣ I am learning that no group has the market cornered on grace. This week I’ve received grace from Christians, atheists, evangelicals, exvangelicals, straight people, LGBTQ people, and everyone in-between. Of course there have also been strong words of rebuke from religious people. While not always pleasant, I know they are seeking to love me. (There have also been spiteful, hateful comments that angered and hurt me.)⁣⁣ 

⁣⁣ The information that was left out of our announcement is that I have undergone a massive shift in regard to my faith in Jesus. The popular phrase for this is “deconstruction,” the biblical phrase is “falling away.” By all the measurements that I have for defining a Christian, I am not a Christian. Many people tell me that there is a different way to practice faith and I want to remain open to this, but I’m not there now.⁣⁣ 

⁣⁣ Martin Luther said that the entire life of believers should be repentance. There’s beauty in that sentiment regardless of your view of God. I have lived in repentance for the past several years—repenting of my self-righteousness, my fear-based approach to life, the teaching of my books, my views of women in the church, and my approach to parenting to name a few. But I specifically want to add to this list now: to the LGBTQ+ community, I want to say that I am sorry for the views that I taught in my books and as a pastor regarding sexuality. I regret standing against marriage equality, for not affirming you and your place in the church, and for any ways that my writing and speaking contributed to a culture of exclusion and bigotry. I hope you can forgive me.⁣⁣ 

⁣⁣ To my Christians friends, I am grateful for your prayers. Don’t take it personally if I don’t immediately return calls. I can’t join in your mourning. I don’t view this moment negatively. I feel very much alive, and awake, and surprisingly hopeful. I believe with my sister Julian that, “All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”"

Another popular Christian band singer:

"I’ve been terrified to post this for a while-- but it feels like it’s time for me to be honest. "After growing up in a Christian home, being a pastor’s kid, playing and singing in a Christian band, and having the word ‘Christian’ in front of most of the things in my life — I am now finding that I no longer believe in God."

And a long time listener of a Christian radio ministry:

“Over many years I have been blessed to receive free tapes, CDs, and books from your ministry. Thank you. At those times, I really appreciated them. Now I no longer believe in the God of the Bible or in Jesus Christ. Ten years of full-time ministry proved to me that there is no God, and that the God of the Bible does not care. I now reject Christianity and have come to peace.

“What was at first a great loss has now turned to joy, peace, and freedom. I did not leave the faith because of some extreme sin. I left because the God of the Bible, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit are all a fantasy. I’m happy I now live in the real world. I only feel guilt about the many people whom I led to Christ and exposed them to the lies of Christianity. I’m not mad at Christians; I’m not mad at you. However, I am mad at myself for not being a more critical thinker. I won’t make this mistake again.

“Again, thank you for the many years of help and teaching you all shared with me. I do appreciate what you all are trying to do with the knowledge you have. Please remove me from your mailing list. Save the money, don’t waste it on an apostate like me. I was just giving your CDs away. But now my conscience no longer can tolerate the further spread of a false hope and disappointment."


As someone who has had periods of having to fight tooth and nail to stay alive by my own hand during periods in which death seemed a welcome respite, I see a few things worth noting in the loss of faith (spiritual suicide) and the loss of life by one's own hand (actual suicide).

There comes a point when one considers leaving this world; when the pain, darkness, and tumult reach fever pitch--where everything becomes quiet and calm, like the eye of a hurricane. When the salesman of death shows up at the door with his offer, the fog kind of clears and a lucidity sets in. "I could really do this. All this could go away." Yes, he affirms, and hands you a razor blade. When the end is near, the light at the end of the tunnel comes into view, there's a kind of false peace and enchantment as one considers the possibilities of a world in which hurt no longer exists.

Of course it is all a lie. The Devil sells lemons. As soon as the check is cashed he is no where to be found. Until its times to collect the collateral, which is your soul.

But here's what happens and what it looks like:

"Stage 3 (the final stage) begins when the suicidal person makes the decision to suicide. The moment the decision is made, it goes “unconscious” and the person goes on what we call “auto-pilot.” People in Stage 3 are imminently lethal; however, they seem more “normal” than they have seemed in a long time. At this point, the depression seems to suddenly lift because the person has made the decision to die and is no longer wrestling with the decision. Unfortunately, most mental health professionals and family members are not trained to recognize “auto-pilot,” and they breathe a sigh of relief because their patient seems so much better, not realizing that he/she is on a collision course with suicide. People on “auto-pilot” typically attempt suicide within the next 48 hours. Be alert when a depressed patient who doesn’t seem to improve after months of intervention suddenly seems to get better. Instead of relaxing, we should become more vigilant when we see a sudden, overnight improvement. We should listen closely to any indication that the individual has decided to end their life and mobilize support among family, friends, and medical/behavioral health providers."

Like those in the wake of suicide--those badly shaken family and friends--the desire to know "Why?" is both overpowering and natural. We want a reason, to make sense of things, since we were robbed of that sense by a senseless act. The most unnerving thing, the existential Doubt, though, comes when we realize that sometimes, there is no reason, nothing to pin the tail on. This shakes us to our core. We build houses, take shelter, because we were not meant to live out of doors as civilized people. And suddenly we are in the great plains under expansive skies, with nary a blanket to shield us from Nature herself in all her terrible glory.

Whether or not one can point to this or that, one thing is undeniable: the Devil has gotten what he came for, what he exists for. He exists to draw men from the Way, the Truth, the Light. He throws a blanket of darkness over our shoulders and wraps us tightly. And he often disguises himself as an angel of light to do it so that we don't smell the sulfur.

Like divorce, or a metastasized cancer, the warning signs often come too late. Those "perfect couples" that seem to have it all together and then the next thing you know they are sharing their little "announcement" of parting ways.

What the hell is going on behind closed doors? Sometimes, its true--it's not a heinous sin, or a betrayal--it could be boredom, or a desire for something new, or just an unwillingness to try (to fight even!) anymore.

For anyone who gets news like this from close friends--of suicide, of divorce, of apostasy--it can shake you pretty good. Because, if them...why not you?

After all, they may have gone to church every Sunday, prayed together as a family, did "all the right things" and still find themselves as newly minted apostates (by their own admission) outside the Ark. But there is that false-lucidity: "My heart is full of gratitude," "I'm waking up to reality," "We've found peace," Etc.

I could understand if one was leaving a cult, the sense of relief. But the Church--the Bride of Christ--is not a cult.

In reading this particular public profession of leaving the Church that I had stumbled upon, someone made a comment and mentioned that the best piece of advice he had gotten as a new convert was a jarring, almost cryptic statement from a priest: "The Church Will Hurt You." As a new convert, I remember going to Mass in spite of those around me, not because of them. Not that I had anything against my fellow men, my fellow Catholics, but they weren't the raison d'etre. I think that perspective has helped shield me in some ways from disappointment and betrayal, because I always just kind of expected it.

Something else I think the Lord, in His Providence, shielded me from by slamming doors in my face, is never having worked for the Church. It wasn't for lack of trying. I got a Masters in Theology so I could serve the Church in some capacity. I applied for jobs in Youth Ministry--nada. Campus Ministry--"we've gone with someone else." Director of Faith Formation--thank you for your interest. I didn't even realize at the time what He was preserving me from, by grace. But it may have just saved by faith, by grace. I like sausage--then again, I don't work in a sausage factory.

The Church will hurt you. Whether you live in an intentional community, whether you're a Trad or a Charismatic, a Catholic or a Christian, a homeschooling parent of many and a picture perfect believer--you will at some point get disillusioned. "Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save." (Ps 146:3). You have to believe and fight for your belief with tooth and nail, you have to be a stubborn S.O.B., a dumb ox almost, a Rottweiler with a stick that refuses to let go. "It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in humans." (Ps 118:8)

It may very well be a mystery why people defect from the Ark while claiming they are so much happier and more at peace with their new lives and newly-affirming host of non-judgers. But there is no lasting peace apart from Christ. Divorce from the Bride--the Church--is a tragedy of eternal consequence. It shakes believers--the ones who have also been betrayed by such flagrant, self-assured apostasy--to the core, as much as good friends getting divorced after thirty years of marriage do. Satan is having his field day. He has been given the reins. The only thing you can do is tie yourself to that mast, and

Don't

Let

Go.

Be Not Ye Damned

A few days ago a friend called me because he wanted to talk about belief. We got reacquainted after his daughter began asking the "big questions" about faith and religion, questions to which he did not have answers. Although he was raised in a mainline Protestant denomination, when I asked him where he and his family worshiped he said they did not currently attend church.

I tend to tread somewhat slowly and carefully in speaking with people who have a natural curiosity about faith and religion, specifically Christianity and more specifically, Catholicism. After discussing some commonalities, and me sharing some of the basic tenants of Christian belief--which he wasn't unfamiliar with--the issue of baptism came up.

He confessed his struggle to reconcile how those in far parts of the world who, through no fault of their own had not been exposed to the teachings of Christ, could be damned. He also admitted to disagreeing when I stated that baptism is what grafts us into God's family, and that it is necessary for salvation. I said that Christian missionaries throughout history left homeland, comfort, and security to carry out the Great Commission--the command (not suggestion) of Christ to "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit" (Mt 28:19); that "No one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit, and that "Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved" (Mk 16:16). While stressing that God is not bound by the Sacraments and can save whomever He wishes, I also said as clearly as I could so there was no mistaking its importance: "Baptism is necessary for salvation."

In the Catholic faith, the sacraments are efficacious and act ex opere operato ("by the work worked"). "From the moment that a sacrament is celebrated in accordance with the intention of the Church, the power of Christ and his Spirit acts in and through it, independently of the personal holiness of the minister. Nevertheless, the fruits of the sacraments also depend on the disposition of the one who receives them." (CCC 1128) This is why we baptize infants, much to the dismay and/or consternation of Protestants who stress the "personal affirmation of faith."

But baptism confers real grace. You cannot be saved without it, and you are wholly hindered in the battle against the forces of darkness without that grace.

As I tried to expound on the relationship to the internal modus of belief and the external witness of water baptism (exemplified in the words of Jesus to Nicodemus that one must be born again--that is, born of water and the spirit (Jn 3:3, 5), it was the nature of water that came to mind:

"When you come to belief," I told him, "you are transformed so that you are a new creation in Christ. The old man is left behind and you are an entirely new man. This is the response of the will moved by grace.

"But this belief is made manifest explicitly in baptism--you are not longer sitting dry on land, but you are immersed. You cannot be "a little wet" in such a state. You are either wet, or dry. Baptism leaves an indelible mark on the soul, which can never be erased or undone."

Ven. Fulton Sheen makes this point as well when he says "Water very often is the natural boundary between city and city, state and state, nation and nation, continent and continent, tribe and tribe. Those who live on one side of water are “separated” from those who live on the other. In the early days, before rapid communication, it was a dramatic experience to pass from one territory to another. This symbolism, therefore, was well fitted for the Divine Master to indicate the separation of the Christian from the world, as the water which was divided in the Red Sea, was a symbol of the separation of Israel from the slavery of Egypt."

When I go into the local prison to share the Good News I always make it clear, in no uncertain terms:

REPENT AND BE BAPTIZED

BAPTISM IS NECESSARY FOR SALVATION

FOR YOU KNOW NOT THE HOUR OF YOUR DEATH

I tell the men there every time, in case they think it unimportant or ancillary. You want to be a new man? You want to resist the devil? You had better repent. And you had better get baptized.

We have our little photo ops and family luncheons when children are baptized. But in many parts of the world, (adult) baptism marks an intentional grafting from one family to another, and, often, a complete severing. Baptism is the outward sign of this inward severing from sin and death that has very real repercussions. For what believer would profess Christ and refuse to be baptized? Some may for fear of reprisal, but even that drives home the point that it is significant and a definitive crossing of a line in the sand. It is the mark of a Christian, a true believer and follower of Christ.

The gifts the Spirit pours out makes the impossible, possible--unattainable forgiveness, unexplainable miracles, supernatural faith, and yes, love. One Islamic leader stated at a large conference of Muslim clerics "Do not allow your people to have close contact with Christians because if you do the Christians will love your people into their faith."

In Baptism, the Holy Spirit makes his home in a man. "Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit" (Acts 2:38). When one receives the Holy Spirit, he then has, by grace, the opportunity to be moved by the Spirit. "But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come" (Jn 16:13).

Laugh Your Way To Heaven

My wife told me once about a friend of hers who had gotten a new Mini Cooper. After fifteen or twenty thousand miles she took it into the mechanic when it was making a funny noise. "When was the last time you had an oil change?" he asked. "What's an oil change?" she replied. Lesson learned.

A car runs on gasoline, but it won't run long without oil for the engine. Humor is the oil that lubricates the cylinders, keeps things running efficiently, and keeps the engine from overheating. Both my wife and I had our "lists" prior to getting engaged of what we were looking for in a potential spouse.

But it wasn't until about half way through our marriage that I realized that I had neglected to include a sense of humor on the list. It has proven, in fact, to be one of the top three things I appreciate about my wife. I'd also venture to say, it is an important part to marriage as a whole. Thankfully, as I found out not too longer into dating, my wife has a good sense of humor.

Another underestimated thing is liking your spouse. Anyone can will themselves to love another, but liking spending time with them and being around them--that's not always a natural occurrence. So, if you like your spouse and like being around them, count yourself blessed, since not everyone does.

The thing is, if you can laugh together, you will usually like being around one another too, so the two compliment one another and make your marriage not only easier, but more enjoyable. Laughing with your partner, though--who probably knows you better than anyone--starts with being able to laugh at yourself.

Being able to laugh in a marriage, especially during times of stress and tension, is like a bleed valve on a boiler that prevents explosions. In "letting off steam" with a hearty guffaw at one's own expense can break tension in a healthy way and stave off blowups.

Knowing how to playfully poke fun without hurting feelings, can be a discerning art, though. We always have to act in love, even in jest, and respect our spouses feelings and those hidden parts which might be regarded as "no-go" zones. But self-deprecation can be disarming--its why comedians always lead with it. Hey, if I can laugh at me, I give you permission too. If I'm laughing and you're laughing--well, let's all have a laugh. “He who dwells in Heaven is laughing at their threats; the Lord makes light of them” (Ps. 2:4)

Humor should be tasteful, though, always gentle and mindful. Essentially, it comes down to not taking things too seriously. As the great St. Philip Neri noted, “Nothing in this world is to be taken seriously, nothing except the salvation of a soul.” When Heaven is your goal, everything else falls into its proper place as, ultimately, not that important in the grand scheme of things.

My wife knows all my nonsense, my idiosyncrasies and neurosis. I know what of hers I can laugh at as well. When we laugh together (often at each other), it's often followed by some hand holding or a reconciling if we have been fighting.

I don't know if you can teach humor, as in having a sense of one, but if you just remember not to take things too seriously, not wear the dour expressions of a pharisee, and be okay with making fun of yourself from time to time (and inviting your spouse to as well), you may just get a good bit of mileage out of your marriage.

I Will See You There

A year or so ago my 7 year old son fell from a not-insignificant height. It was the kind of fall on the playground where all the kids (and adults) turn and hold their breath, when time stands still for a few split seconds.

I was driving home from work when my wife called me. She was on her way to the hospital with our son, who seemed physically okay and not in pain, but who kept repeating the same questions over and over.

Not knowing the full extent of the fall apart from the few brief words my wife shared over the phone, and fearing a brain injury, I hung up, and opened up my mental rolodex of holy men and women I hold “on retainer” when I need them most.

Though I have my more established and well-known entourage of saints who have intercede for us in powerful ways--St. Catherine Laboure, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, St. Jude, to name a new--I have a special place in my life for those holy men and women who have not yet been formally canonized. My hope is that one day, in our time of need, they will work a needed miracle for us and in turn give witness to the mighty power of God

There is Servant of God Fr. Walter Ciszek, whose grainy portrait from a Siberian gulag hangs in our kitchen with the hard-scrabble caption underneath: “Give God your lousy best.”

There is Servant of God Fr. John Hardon, whose archives of talks and writings I have bookmarked when I need courage and clarity in the midst of my personal (and feeble) “white martyrdoms;”

And there is Servant of God Frank Parater, a seminarian from the diocese of Richmond, Virginia who died at the age of 22 in Rome of rheumatic fever and who offered his death for the conversion of non-Catholics in Virginia. His “death wish” was an inspiration to me that nothing be wasted, not even our retirement from this earthly life.

As my mind flipped through these holy figures and more, by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, one man came to mind whose story I had heard about somewhere. His name was Francis Houle.

Irving “Francis” Houle was a father of five and grandfather of seven who lived in Michigan, was a fourth-degree Knight of Columbus...and received the stigmata in 1993 at the age of 67. I remembered reading about him, and that he had fallen from a horse as a child and suffered near fatal injuries but was healed when an army of nuns prayed for him.

Whenever I rely on “friends in high places” for help, I try to call upon those who I feel would understand or have a special affinity for our particular situation based on their life or charism. In this case, I felt Francis Houle, the stigmatist from Michigan who lived in my lifetime, would understand and help my son. The who drive, I kept saying over and over, simply, “Francis, help!”

When I arrived at the hospital, my son was still confused and stuck in a ‘loop’ of questioning where he was and how he had gotten there. My greatest fear was short or long-term memory loss, as I had never dealt with head injuries before. The doctor who evaluated him, thankfully, determined he was suffering from a concussion but noted that he was very lucky in that he hit a hard part of his skull; if he would have fallen at just a slightly different angle, the potential for lasting damage would have been much more probable.

My son’s memory returned over the next few days, and his concussion subsided. Though this probably would not have counted as a miracle in the formal sense, I felt indebted to someone I at least knew understood and no doubt worked in some way to come to our aid, this married father, grandfather, and great grandfather from Michigan who bore the wounds of Christ and healed countless people who he prayed over. He was humble and unassuming. After all, he had children himself.

Not long after that event, we ended up having Thanksgiving dinner at a family member’s house where one of Francis Houle’s sons joined us as a guest. We recounted the incident to him, and he shared stories of all the people who would come to see his father. Though we didn’t discuss personal faith, I got the impression it was overwhelming at times for him and his mother, Francis’ wife. He recounted one particular instance in which his father was getting sick in the bathroom, and it was only realized later that he had, in praying over a cancer patient, taken on the poisonous effects of the chemotherapy himself.

As a husband and father of three, it is my greatest hope that I will see the glory of Heaven one day, and that my wife and family will join me there. It is what I live for, and what I hope to die for, God willing.

But when I thumb through that old mental rolodex of those on the roster in the Church Triumphant, I often wish there were more models I can relate to and emulate in my state of life--that is, as a husband and father. Sure, there are married canonized saints throughout history, some together (like Louis and Zelle Martin, parents of St. Therese of Lisieux), and some canonized separately. But for the most part, those canonized are primarily religious.

There are probably a multiplicity of reasons for this beyond the scope of this article, both religious and political. Not for a second do I doubt my calling to be a husband and father, nor do I question whether this is what God has chosen for me as my path to sanctification, which I am responsible for carrying out. But when I look around, can those “friends in high places” relate to this state when they themselves have chosen “the better part,” a higher calling, a renunciation of marriage and family for the sake of the Kingdom?

How does one live out the sacrament of marriage--not just to be healthy and happy, in love and old age, but for the purpose of attaining sainthood, for oneself and for one’s spouse? What does it look like? How do we exercise patience, chastity, temperance, when the floor is strewn with Legos, we’re tired from work and childrearing, and we lose our temper so easily?

I was always taught that the saints exercised heroic virtue. What is heroic about raising a family? Working a job? Taking vacations? Going to Mass on Sundays and praying the rosary in the evening? What worthiness is there for others to emulate, were we to be canonized some day? “Oh look, she did the dishes in love,” or “he worked hard to provide.” Yes, I know there is sanctification in the ordinary, humdrumness of life when done with love. But it is that very ordinariness, that part that is not, in fact, ‘set apart,’ that makes me wonder if this is, in fact, why there seem to be so few married canonized saints.

Of course, marriage and family life is a daily “dying to self” when done for Christ’s sake, because he set the example for us to follow in washing his disciple’s feet and offering his life to save theirs. It may in fact be harder to achieve the same level of sanctity as a religious given the unique burdens of our state in life. It does not make us exempt from the universal call to holiness. It just means we need to adapt our circumstances to make it our sole focus, while still maintaining and setting to the responsibilities of our state.

The ‘hidden life’ inside the walls of the domestic church is largely just that--hidden. And for good reason. Individual families--though they may be holy and worthy of emulation--do their duties quietly. People may hear about them ‘through the grapevine’ and want to be near them for their ordinary sanctity and warm charity. But they may not have a diocese or a large public gathering lobbying for a husband or wife’s cause to be considered, though they may already be wearing the crown of righteousness in Heaven, official title or not.

The process of canonization is careful and methodical for good reason, and it is also for the benefit of us, the Church Militant because we are the ones who need the saints, not the other way around. Though I do worry if I ever, by some miracle, achieve such a state and have church officials combing through my emails and text messages and interviewing my friends and family what they will find out about me.

We know from St. Paul’s words to the church in Corinth that the married man is divided and not free from concern as is the unmarried man (1 Cor 7:32, 34). Can a married man be saved? Can he wear the crown of righteousness? We know if can be done, for nothing is impossible with God.

“If ye be perfect,” says the Lord. But we are not perfect, and any perfect person in marriage or parenthood is, for all intents and purposes, probably not of the human species. And yet, the call is there. We are called to be perfect, as our Heavenly Father is perfect. But it is not by being a St. Francis or a St. Catherine of Siena or even a Francis Houle. It is by being YOU. God made you like no other, and if you are married and a father or mother, he destined you to live out your life as such.

You may not be doing hard time in a Siberian labor camp but if you are loving and forgiving your spouse when everything in you screams to lord their faults over them, and there is no one around to see you do it, you are not only living the beatitudes, dying to self, and doing so in secret...you are fulfilling the Greatest Commandments.

When you give your wife the bigger pork chop because it’s the one you want, and you do it day after day, meal and after meal, decade after decade, until your last supper on earth...are you not acting in the same way as a wise virgin trimming her lamp and holding her oil for the day the bridegroom comes?

When you live the virtues for your children to see, and set a hedge of protection around your hearth and home to keep out the things that harm--are you not setting yourself as a human shield, weaving a fence of thorns which you wrap and mend with your own bloodied hands to protect those little lambs whom Christ himself died for? Is your fatherhood, though temporal, not spiritual in the legacy it builds brick by brick, virtue by virtue, sacrifice by little sacrifice?

Whether or not we are formally recognized on earth among men for our sanctity matters very little when you have run the race and are wearing the crown. Our crosses are custom built for our backs, and the weight of all the family affairs we bear as well make it a unique burden and an unlikely joy as well. We are made whole through sacrifice, through suffering, through the school of charity which is the domestic church in which we learn the hard way how to love, how to forgive, and how to hope. There is no use wishing you were a priest or a nun. You have all you need for your journey. God has made you a mother, a father, a spouse. He has made you, YOU. He has to start somewhere today. He may as well start with you.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

The dawn of the internet has given rise to a host of unique opportunities to change the face of work. We're seeing this in the midst of a global quarantine with many both out of work, and many minimally disrupted and able to leverage technology to continue their jobs from home.

The internet has also opened the door to a kind of monetization that wouldn't have been possible a couple decades ago. When my kids were younger we surfed YouTube a bit, since we didn't have cable or TV, and my wife and I noticed these channels that consisted of a kid literally just opening up toys getting millions of views. Somebody (somebody's parents, that is) must have seen a golden opportunity and cashed in on it.

You see this phenomenon in the Catholic media world as well of people carving out a kind of entrepreneurial niche and gradually building up a sizable following. As popularity gains momentum and the time constraints of working a 9-5 while moonlighting as a Catholic-whatever gets to be too much, they take a leap of faith and step out into what might regarded as a true passion (or calling). Their bread and butter, for better or for worse, is now largely dependent on an audience to receive the message.

There seem to be a few dangers (ie, traps) here that become apparent as time goes on.

One is that you have to contend with the alarmingly short half-life of the American content-consuming attention span. The baby needs to be fed, like a panda in a zoo needs his supply of bamboo. Since you're not actually charging for a service that people can get more or less for free, web-traffic more or less dictates your salary.

How do you balance providing what you see as an essential and needed message and service while resisting the need to prostitute it? It's a kind of content-porn--you have to creatively keep people tuning in, entertained, fed, while maintaining novelty in perpetuum. The more you push the envelope to generate the clicks/shares/likes, the harder it is to take down from wherever you peg that notch. Or in the dealer's lexicon, once you do crack, it's hard to go back.

When my dad was a waiter in Atlantic City in his twenties, he had a distinct memory of the maitre d saying, "push the drinks...it's where we make our money." This would ensure that growing up, my brothers and I were never allowed to order sodas or milk with our meals, frugal as he was.

Same thing with content. "Controversy sells." You see it in journalism, you see it in headlines, you see it with clickbait, and celebrity Catholics of course are not immune. It is a great temptation that's hard to resist when you know it's what stands between you and your family's monthly grocery bill.

There is also an illusion of brand loyalty. Nobody pays for anything when you can get it for free, unless you have a good deal of value-oriented buy-in. For better of worse, the delivered message does not exist in a vacuum, and is tied to the mouth that speaketh it forth. As anyone who has fallen from grace in the blogosphere knows, one misplaced heterodox statement or an inadvertent step from the party platform can result in a banishment outside the doors of the feudal kingdom, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. It's a precarious position to be in when you're livelihood more or less depends on your status and good name.

There's nothing wrong with looking to make a living or being creative, and there are definitely messages that need to get out there. As a provider, however, I personally would be reticent about putting all my eggs in one basket with something as precarious as a faith-based monetizer.

What's the answer to the problem, then, of men who assume these roles and find themselves trapped? And if they don't do it, how will The Message get out? Well, it may be a little late at that point to suggest the old adage, "don't quit your day job," but if anyone asked I would suggest just that.

Maybe it's just me, and not that I have the opportunity to do so, but I would be reticent to conflate my faith and work. I find myself having the luxury and desire to write about faith, etc, mostly because it is not my work, but a respite from it. Sure, I don't have a big audience, but I have found some people have benefitted from the little tidbits here and there I'm able to launch into internet-space for public consumption. I appreciate my work even more because it stands on its own and provides a myriad of benefits and intangibles that gives me the mental bandwith to leave it on the table at quitting time. I like having a garden, but I like it because it's not my job to grow food. I find I have a freedom to write about what I want to write about as it relates to faith because there's no hand that feeds me to accidentally bite. I'm grateful for my day job.

I'm sure there's a place for the Catholic celebrity, but personally I wouldn't want to be one. It must be so hard--I mean, not ditch digging or pipe laying hard, which gives a degree of satisfaction because it is so strictly work, necessary work, tiring work, and provides one's daily bread. I mean hard in the sense of the anxiety of always having to up the game, or the slog of providing content for the long haul, or simply the volatility of the public tastes and issues du jour and being constantly on guard against the cult of personality and thinking you are more important than you really are. Regardless, there is dignity in work, it is a gift from God and one not to be taken for granted in these times of pandemic. Do what God calls you to in your state of life and you will have peace even when you suffer, as long as you are doing it for the right reasons.

We've Taken "White Space" For Granted

I start work in twenty minutes, so this is going to be a short post.

There is a kind of secular parable I have thought about from time to time, as it has stayed with me:

"An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, “only a little while. The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. The American then asked, “but what do you do with the rest of your time?” The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.” The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.” The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?” To which the American replied, “15 – 20 years.” “But what then?” Asked the Mexican. The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!” “Millions – then what?” The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”"

I read a lot of personal finance blogs, most of the FIRE (Financial Independence, Retire Early) authors came of age during the Great Recession and so are all about monetizing every last moment for financial gain. We know many families (or at least used to) who have their schedules at 98% capacity with sports, activities, work, and other things. If time is currency, they are living lean. Not faulting, just mentioning.

And our jobs, for most Americans, are structured to have no fat, maximum efficiency. I suppose this is part of Capitalism and the Protestant work ethic. Not faulting, just mentioning.

I have also read studies that most Americans do not have $1,000 cash on hand to cover an emergency should emerge. Many are one job loss from missing a mortgage payment. Many are simply living to paycheck to paycheck. Not faulting, just mentioning.

The reality of this Coronavirus pandemic is starting to set in. Everything is shut down. We are moving into recession territory. And we realize just how little margin we have given ourselves in the quest for maximum efficiency.

I am a big proponent of the idea of 'white space' that is often seen as "useless." God gave us the Sabbath to rest, because He rested on the 7th day of creation. He was strict about it--Sabbath is for rest and worship. What many families are realizing--on both a positive and negative note--is being quarantined is forcing us into that "useless" space of time. Time is a commodity many people don't have because leisure is oftentimes equated with laziness in a hyper-efficient culture that doesn't naturally build such buffers in. I'm a proponent of hard work, the value of work, Capitalism as an economic system, and making good use of time for what is important. As devastating as the fallout from this illness is going to be on all fronts, if anything maybe we can be grateful for the gift of time--for family, for self-reflection, for spiritual renewal--and not take it for granted for those of us in quarantine. Make good use of it, and always try to look at the good in even the worst situations.

"The Spirit of God Left Him:" When Mental Illness and Demonic Obsession Meet

Last night as I was helping my son prepare for his first Confession, and we were going through an examination of conscience in his St. Joseph First Communion book, I realized I have been a little sloppy in my own EOCs. I have a bad memory, and yet I don't write my sins down typically. I go through a general Examination of Conscience in my head, but not in fine detail. When I do go to Confession, I don't withhold anything intentionally, but cover myself with "for all these sins and those sins I can't remember, I humbly beg pardon, penance, and absolution" on account of my forgetfulness.

But last night I decided to join my son in writing down my sins, and using a more thorough Examination of Conscience. I said we would burn the papers in the outdoor fireplace together after we finished making our Confessions and received absolution (which we did). There is something about writing down sins, and confessing them with the lips, that makes it real in a way, something I think many Protestants miss out on without the benefit of the Sacrament. The taste of holy shame on our lips as the words are spoken, like a burning crimson ember, turns to sweetness when the Lord extinguishes it with a breath in absolution. Then we are filled with the Holy Spirit to begin our lives anew, white robes and all, ready to die and ready to live.

In digging deeper last night than I normally might, I unearthed some sins that I may have confessed and been forgiven of, but which still haunted me because I did not perhaps lay them out in as much detail as was warranted, given how shameful they were (I should mention that I do not struggle with scrupulosity, OCD, or feeling unforgiven).

Of course, those sins are for the Lord's eyes only, and I do not plan to go into detail about them. But it was from a chapter in my life in which, I believe, I actually went through a mild form of demonic obsession that coincided with a period of acute diagnosed mental illness. In fact, I speculate that it was not being in a state of grace that opened up a spiritual wound which got infected, and my mind was leveraged against me during this period by demonic forces.

I am very careful in sharing my own testimonies of God's grace and redemption, my particular struggles, and trying to do so for the glory of God. Not because I am afraid to share some personal things, but because I don't want to generalize what I have experienced as a proscription for others. My situation is unique in some ways and ordinary in others; I would hope relatable on some fronts, and maybe particular to my circumstances on others.

This can be a very difficult area in which to tread because of symptomatic overlap. It needs to be stated that mental illness is usually in its own diagnostic category (psychiatric) and that spiritual issues should be dealt with spiritually (via the sacraments, confession, consultation with clergy and spiritual directors, etc).

It is when spiritual malaise and mental malaise intersect in a kind of Venn diagram of illness that it can be very difficult to discern root causes and treatments. Some fundamentalists will put forth that mental illness is a sin problem, not a mind problem; Psychiatric professionals would purport that there is no spiritual element to strictly neurological or psychiatric conditions. I think both are not entirely accurate. There are spiritual elements at play, as well as biological/neurological/psychiatric. The intersection is where it gets muddy.

A passage from scripture that has always stayed with me because of it's frightful imagery appears in 1 Samuel 16:14

"Now the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the Lord terrorized him." 

And later in 1 Sam 19:9-10:

"But an evil spirit from the Lord came on Saul as he was sitting in his house with his spear in his hand. While David was playing the lyre, Saul tried to pin him to the wall with his spear, but David eluded him as Saul drove the spear into the wall."

We know, that when we commit moral sin, the spirit of God departs from us, as it did to Saul. We are spiritually naked and out in the wind, so to speak, vulnerable and in danger of damnation. I was very much in a state of mortal sin prior to the onset of my first severe psychiatric episode. When the episode itself hit like a tidal wave (acute mania followed by psychosis), the spiritual vulnerability was leveraged in obsessive religiosity.

But it was not the holy kind. In fact, there were unmentionable instances of blatant blasphemy that I was driven to, not unlike Saul being driven by an evil spirit to pin David to the wall with a spear. I cannot use the illness itself to release me from the hook, though it may have mitigated culpability to an extent. But because I was not in a state of grace (my choice, my will, my volition), I had made a home for demons to dwell and force my hand against the Lord God, my Savior himself. Part of me would say today, "I did not know what I was doing." But that was the scary part. Who was moving my will? Who was forcing my hand? Who was throwing the spear? There was no grace in me--I was spiritually dead. And so in that vacuum, a nest was made.

In recounting my past sins of such blasphemy--which I had confessed before but which now seemed so grievous that I'm not sure I confessed them in the amount of detail that should have been warranted--I was able to verbalize in shame, feeling the burn, and rooting out the vestiges of straw and bark from the nest itself. I may not have been in my right mind, but I was not in a right spirit either, and that I had brought on myself through disobedience. The danger was acute. I was driven to the brink of suicide in the ensuing crash following these psychic highs, in which I had visions of "a black man, a shadow figure, a faceless one, wearing a hat and calling me to another side" from which only God's merciful grace (of which I had not merit to) kept me from crossing over to.

Part of "tripping into" this state of moral desolation in which the spirit of God is not living within a person (mortal sin) is so commonplace today, I fear for the vulnerability of the mind of those going through it, including my own. Which is why I am so careful, and so grateful, to have been shown (by grace) what needs to be avoided, and what needs to be embraced, to be in a state of grace. Because I truly believe that a state of grace is what fortifies my mind against unwelcome guests, the same spirits that afflicted Saul and drove him mad. I have had no symptoms of psychiatric malaise, despite a severe and verified clinical diagnosis, in almost ten years, and I attribute this in part due to that indwelling grace that was not killed off by mortal sin.

But I am acutely aware, too, that I need to be vigilant about the scummy buildup of venial sins on my soul that can make me and others more susceptible to mortal sin. Again, this is not a matter of obsession or scrupulosity, but tempered periodic soul scrubbing by the Divine Physician himself every few weeks in the Church's gift of the Sacrament of Confession. As I have stated in past conversations and writings, I still attend to the psychiatric preconditions necessary to stay healthy (medication, exercise, diet, sleep, doctor's visits, etc) to keep that "control group" in check. If I'm psychologically healthy and spiritually in trouble, the one can affect the other. Both are within my power, to a degree, due to the grace of baptism (the will) and knowledge (knowing what I need to do to stay healthy) so we don't have a repeat episode of what happened fifteen years ago. I don't every want to go through that again, while never wanting to forget the abomination of desolation that was my soul when not in a state of grace, and a nest of demons living in my inner being compelling me to act contrary to the virtues by the forcing and misappropriation of my mind and will. It is so very dangerous to give them any footing in the soul, which is why I try to be vigilant in staying close under the mantle of Our Lady and with the Cross every before my eyes. I know what's at stake, and the mind is an existential battleground where war is waged, a war against my very self, which I am not strong enough to withstand on my own. Without grace, I am doomed. If the Spirit of God leaves me, I am indeed a mad man in the making, hunting down the pious servants of God with deranged eyes, seeking to pin them to the wall with jagged spears, to crucify the saints and betray Christ himself. I can't afford that. So, I hope you will forgive me for treating the stakes very high in this battlefield of the mind. May God be praised, may His Holy Name be praised, that He extinguishes the burning ember of shame and we might taste the sweet fragrance of divine forgiveness, and be welcomed back into His friendship, restored to a right spirit, and a sound mind.

On Tattoos

In visiting men in prison and reading the Gospel to them once a month for the past couple years, I have seen a lot of tattoos. It's interesting, actually--almost every man who I greet when they start to file in the chapel, all fifty of them or so...almost all of them have various tattoos on their body. Now, this is not a causation/correlation observation, but just an observation that stands on its own: a lot of these guys in prison have tattoos.

At one point I had briefly thought about a tattoo in my twenties. I was kind of a "go big or go home" guy, so I thought about something like an oak tree across the back. But I could never really decide or commit to something, anything, I wanted on my body for the rest of my life. My tastes and interests change too much and too frequently, and I have also been known to have a regret or two. In fact, I know grace is real because there is no way I could have sustained 20+ years of religious practice and devotion if it weren't for God's grace in it, the reason for my belief in the first place. It never would have sustained itself beyond a passing fad without it. I'm simply too fickle, or maybe just am interested in too many things.

Again, another observation: many of the pious people I know do not have tattoos. Not that a pious person can't have them, but in many cases the tattoos came before a major conversion and so are a fleshly reminder of a past life. I don't know too many people who have come to Christ in a major way and end up getting tatted after the fact. Not to say it can't happen, I just haven't seen it.

I don't know if there are arguments against tattooing from a Christian point of view. I see it is as kind of neutral. I know Leviticus states you shall not put tattoo marks on your body (19:28). Matt Fradd at Catholic Answers writes a little bit and seems to share my view here. I'm not here to write about the morality of tattoos.

What I did want to write about it why, despite that an outsider would call me "pretty religious," I would not consider getting any kind of religious tattoo as a reflection of that faith or piety. This is me speaking personally, not making blanket statements. And as I have been reflecting on it, I think it ties into Romans 7, where Paul speaks about the law and sin:

"What shall we say, then? Is the law sinful? Certainly not! Nevertheless, I would not have known what sin was had it not been for the law. For I would not have known what coveting really was if the law had not said, “You shall not covet.” But sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, produced in me every kind of coveting. For apart from the law, sin was dead. Once I was alive apart from the law; but when the commandment came, sin sprang to life and I died. I found that the very commandment that was intended to bring life actually brought death. For sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, deceived me, and through the commandment put me to death. So then, the law is holy, and the commandment is holy, righteous and good." (Rom 7:7-12)

On Ash Wednesday, we Christians are "marked" more of less with the conspicuous sign of the cross in black ash on our foreheads, but for a day. But then we wash it off and get down to business: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. We do this in a way that does not let the right hand know what the left hand is doing.

Here's my fear in getting something like a tattoo of our Lord and Savior on the cross, or Jesus wearing a crown of thorns, or our Blessed Mother, tattooed on my arm or back or wherever--that when I would do that, like the law, sin would seize the opportunity afforded by this kind of bodily "oath" to produce in me every kind of impiety. When our Lord says, "Let your yes be yes and your no be no; everything else is from the evil one" (Mt 5:37), for myself I apply this reasoning to any kind of religious tattoo. A tattoo is a kind of oath--its something you commit to having on your body and displaying until you are lying in your coffin. It speaks about you to others, whether you want it to or not, particular to whatever the image is that is being reflected from your skin. People typically get things tattooed on their bodies that are meaningful or important to them--it may be their children's names or images; a loved one; a particular verse of poetry; or a meaningful flower. Whatever it is, unless you have it removed by laser, it is with you for life.

I think about women I have had relations with in my past via fornication--women I tattooed and more or less bound my spirit to--that I am not (obviously) with today. I was so sure I was in love. I was so sure it was ok because we were committed. Of course the Church's prohibitions did not apply to me given these feelings? And yet I live with the tattoos of regret for having sinned against the Lord and made an oath with my body that was obviously broken. The Lord has forgiven my sin and I have done penance--he has used the laser of his precious blood blot out my offense. But knowing what I know about myself, a tattoo is reminiscent of these kinds of poor decisions and rationalizations of a kind of permanence that I cannot commit to.

I have seen some beautiful artwork of our Savior and our Lady in ink. But, personally, I think these are best served on canvas, or paper, or icons, than on bodies. When we sin, when these living icons of holy images are fused onto our skin, and we become visible apostates to the Holy Face. Does a religious tattoos--no matter how committed we are to our faith--make us more holy, more pious? I would have my doubts. And if not, then would be willing to question why it is we would consider making our skin this kind of canvas, were it not to aid in piety or devotion? If you are robbing a liquor store or fornicating with an image of our Lord on your shoulder or arm, are you not bringing shame and scandal to the faith and the holy images of the One who died to forgive the very sins you are committing?

Again, this is not to make judgments. But I know for myself, were I to get such a holy image tattooed on my body, I would feel sin would be right there as the day in which the law was birthed (Rom 7). I would rather have a blank canvas of a body, let my yes mean yes and my no mean no, do charity unnoticed, mortify the senses in secret, and venerate images in churches and private chapels, then be a walking billboard of hypocrisy, given my great sins which bring tears to the Savior's cheeks.

Am I Really Pro Life?

When I became Catholic at the age of 18, it was in large part because I had encountered the Lord. He made Himself known to me in my poverty, and was real beyond a doubt. I keep going back to this time of encounter 25 years ago because it is my "Why," my "Who," my "What" of conversion.

I have not really had a similar experience in terms of personal impedance with regards to a genuine 'conversion' to the pro-life cause. I have known women who have had abortions and worked at abortion clinics, regretted it, and became pro-life advocates; those who have seen images as children of aborted babies that seared into their conscience and woke them up to the reality of the war being waged and lives being lost; men who lost their unborn children to the mills and who have a personal investment in what is at stake today; and those who just fight the good fight, day in and day out, because it is the right thing to do and one of the foremost battles of our time--the right to life.

I accepted the pro-life position because it is the Catholic position. Philosophically, theologically, intellectually, I know beyond a doubt that there can be no justification for the taking of innocent life in the womb. When it is said that the abortion genocide is not fundamentally different from the Holocaust, I can assent with my mind. But if that is the case, why am I doing the bare minimum?--voting, praying outside clinics from time to time, donating to pregnancy centers occasionally. It's like a person who reads Thomas Aquinas' Summa and says, "you know, I think there really is a God. This is absolutely true. I must become Catholic now." It is a kind of assent of the mind and the senses. But a conversion of the heart? I'm not sure.

When the Jews realized they had crucified Christ, they were "cut to the heart." They said to Peter and the other apostles, "Brothers, what shall we do?" To which Peter tells them, repent and be baptized (Acts 2:38). I have not been 'cut to the heart' over abortion. It has not affected me personally or directly in the way it has many people I know, who have used that motivation and memory to charge their batteries for the work that needs to be done to make it unthinkable in our lifetime. They are, from an outsider's perspective, somewhat "obsessed" with the issue at hand. But I think they are actually seeing without the veil, the actual horror taking place, the actual killings, and can't in conscience sit idly by while I, on the other hand, find myself doing just that--sitting idly by.

The fight against Abortion, the Pro-Life impetus, demands action. It does not live in ivory towers or intellectual circles or roundtable discussions--it takes place in the streets, in the legislature, in the hearts of those they enter into relationship with on the sidewalk outside the clinics. But action can be hard to sustain without a "What" a "Why" or a "Who." When I face my judgment and Christ demands of me an account: "Did you do all you could for the least of these?" Will I be able to face such a judgment when I know the answer is, for all intents and purposes, "no?" I can write on the subject, do the things, cast a ballot--but I have not been 'born again' for the unborn. And I don't know how that happens.

I realize, pragmatically, that our time is limited.  I know we have to 'pick our battles,' so to speak. As a husband and father I am working full time, raising a family, and have other commitments as well. But when I see those volunteers, sidewalk counselors, prayer warriors out in front of the clinics, lobbying, marching, in cold and heat, snow and rain, for the lives at stake, I'm filled with a kind of guilt and shame that I don't in fact do more, and that I haven't been fully converted to the cause that should be at the heart of every Catholic. Maybe in my head, but not in my heart. I have not 'done all I can do" for the unborn, the least of these.