Beauty Will Not Save The World

Doestoevsky's famous line in The Idiot "Beauty will save the world" has been adopted by traditionalists as a subdued rallying cry to undo the damage of wreckovations, restore the liturgy, and Make Catholicism Great Again. I have been to some beautiful churches and cathedrals (like Sacré-Cœur, for one) and they indeed give testimony to the Psalmist's song, "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork." (Ps 91:1)

Unfortunately, many of our modern-day churches do not inspire such majestic awe. From the strictly utilitarian to the downright ugly and architechuraly banal, one finds themselves having to believe not because of their surroundings in these environments, but in spite of it.

I was listening to a convert recount her journey into the Church last night (start at min 35) who began her search for the Truth by way of philosophy as an atheist. She recounted her stumbling blocks to the faith, "I couldn't take my (intellectual) friends into the church and say, 'see how beautiful it is', because it wasn't. I couldn't take them to the Mass and say, 'see, isn't this transcendent?' because it wasn't." She mentioned that she was attracted to the Mass but at the same time repulsed because she could see those present at the Mass seemed not to believe any of it, as reflected in their dress, posture, and lack of reverance. It could be up for debate whether the modernist churches and the liturgy in this context failed to inspire faith in those worshipping there, or if they were built to simply reflect the existing faith (or lack of it) in the modern age.  

Like my own journey, however, it was in reading St. Augustine (Confessions, in this case) that this particular convert was led to pray for the first time and instilled in her the burning desire to be baptized. Perhaps it was because this convert (and I) read ourselves into Augustine's wrestling--that his problems and struggles were our problems and struggles as well--that made Confessions such a formidable part of our conversion.

One of those struggles for Augustine was having been exposed to eloquent rhetoric at an early age, he found the Christian scriptures not eloquent or flowery, but crudely written and uninspiring from a literary point of view. And yet it was not Cicero, but the Lord himself that captured the heart of the rhetorician through the living Word in order that he might rend it in two. Augustine reflects on his first encounter with the Bible, here, 

"I resolved, therefore, to direct my mind to the Holy Scriptures, that I might see what they were. And behold, I perceive something not comprehended by the proud, not disclosed to children, but lowly as you approach, sublime as you advance, and veiled in mysteries; and I was not of the number of those who could enter into it, or bend my neck to follow its steps. For not as when now I speak did I feel when I tuned towards those Scriptures, but they appeared to me to be unworthy to be compared with the dignity of Tully; for my inflated pride shunned their style, nor could the sharpness of my wit pierce their inner meaning. Yet, truly, were they such as would develope in little ones; but I scorned to be a little one, and, swollen with pride, I looked upon myself as a great one." (III, 5)

The "Beauty Argument" is one that makes sense intellectually--build it (beautiful), and they will come, to co-opt a line from Field of Dreams. Once people see the beauty of Catholicism, they will be unable to resist the allure of Truth. It's a wager being made when many other efforts to "revitalize" the Church--reform the liturgy, YouCat and World Youth Day, Bishop Barron's Catholicism--have fallen flat and failed to produce a wave of converts.

So, I'm making another wager in light of the world we live in--beauty will not save the Church. It is a worthy thing, and reflective of God's nature, but it's not enough. I think we are entering a new epoch in which our age is so blinded by delusion, so corrupted by modernism. so obstinate and stiff-necked in our pride and sin, that there is not going to be a raising but a razing; not a renaissance, but a decimation. Not a comfort, but a severe and unrelenting beating.

Our Lady has over and over again been trying to get our attention. Fatima, Akita, Quito, and others. And her message is direct and consistent: repent and do penance. Not eloquent, not flowery. Direct and crude.

Have we, though? Has she really gotten our attention? Have we taken it to heart and changed, amended our sinful lives? The evidence is to the contrary. Those who take the messages seriously may, but the majority of the world is asleep at the wheel. Men became so wicked that God had to do a "great reset" with the flood in Genesis. He promised to never again send a flood (Gen 9:11). 

And yet our Lady's message is consistent with that of her Son's:  “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish" (Lk 13:2-3). 

I think God is getting ready to get a big stick out to bring us home. I sent you saints, stigmatists, miracles.  You did not listen. My Mother tried to warn you, you would not listen. Now you're going to have the ears to hear, but only because everything you have held on to will be taken away from you and you will be unable to do otherwise. "And when he (the Holy Spirit) is come, he will convince the world of sin, and of justice, and of judgment" (Jn 16:8). 

I pray that when the Lord does come, he sears us with fire to burn away the dross of what covers us from seeing ourselves as we truly are--helpless sinners, completely depedent on the mercy of God. I pray that they churches--the ugly ones, the beautiful ones, the humble village churches and the great cathedrals alike--will be so filled not with tourists and admirers, but with sinners crawling there on their knees in tears. I pray that priests have the fortitude to withstand hours upon hours, almost prisoners in the confessionals, because the lines will stretch for miles with no end in sight. I pray that it will not be too late to repent--to see clearly--but that our Lord might give us one last chance to turn away from our sin and turn towards Him. 

In my opinion, beauty is the icing on the cake, the cap of perfection of Creation. But when a world is so blinded by sin and degenirate that they call what is beautiful ugly, and what is ugly beautiful, how can they be converted by beauty? Perhaps it is ugliness-the ugliness of seeing their sin not through a glass darkly, but face to face with eyes that cannot be closed--that will sear their conscience and move them not to admiration and swooning, but tears and rending their hearts before Him. 

Preventing The Scar Of Religious Trauma In Your Children

 

Mark Laita started his career as a professional photographer for some of the biggest corporate companies in the world, but left it to pursue a project called "Soft White Underbelly" in which he interviews prostitutes, drug addicts, PTSD survivors, corrupt NYPD cops, drifters, victims of incest and abuse--basically all the people we avoid in polite society--and gives them a platform to tell their story. I appreciate his interview style, as he has a deft way of interjecting when needed to advance the thread of someone's life while at other times simply sitting back and letting the story be told without interference. 

As someone who has lived with and ministered to prostitutes, criminals, gang members, drug addicts and dealers, those who are developmentally handicapped, and the mentally ill, I'm not easily scandalized by these types of interviews, and I appreciate his channel because of the perspective it affords. As a secularist, he's not pushing an agenda and he bears no judgement towards those whom he interviews, who have most likely been judged by society their entire lives. Some of the interviews are better than others, and some are simply amazing story-tellers who have suffered the butt-end of life with remarkable resilience.  

One particular interview I watched last night was with a woman named Chasya who grew up in a Hassidic/Ultra-Orthodox Jewish family in Brooklyn (please note that Chasya in the interview is dressed rather revealingly, so I would advise averting the eyes if you are a man planning to watch and simply listen to the audio, or maybe don't watch at all). Her family was "religious" in the strictest sense of the word--large family (8 children), severe discipline by her parents, and strict adherence to the Jewish law. It was also religion in the worst sense of the word--fear-based, no toleration for dissention or individual differences, in which she experienced a lack of love and a culture of abuse and protection of the community at all costs. 

For children growing up in such perceivingly insufferable circumstances, Chasya developed a kind of religious-PTSD. While I realize this is only one side of the story, she appears in the interview to be a head-strong but kind individual. She has no reason to make up things, and such abuse and protection/cover up of abuse is indeed an issue in many of these communities (the story of Rabbi Baruch Lebovits in Brooklyn is one disturbing example of a "protect the community at all costs" situation). This happens in Orthodox Jewish communities, it happens in Protestant churches, in religious cults, and yes, it happens in the Catholic Church as well. It is a scandal and a mar that will earn its millstone at the Final Judgement.

We are close with a family in our traditional Catholic circle in which our friend suffered a similar (though not abusive) scarring due to a fear-based religion (in this case, her parents' Traditional Catholicism). Our friend has a sensitivity to heavy-handed and sensationalist "end-times" portrayals of the faith because of her upbringing. And yet the way our friend is raising her children is one in which she has balanced keeping the Faith while infusing extra-helpings of love, kindness, and accceptance in her family. They are one of the most lovely, faithful, and--dare I say it, normal families we have the privilege of knowing.

I want to emphasize the "normal" thing for a moment, because that is something I have made a point of considering in the way my wife and I raise our own family. Traditional Catholicism can be a tough tightrope to walk. Some in traditional circles pride themselves on modest dress, veiling, and more-regimented family prayer. Because I grew up in an a-religious household, this always held a kind of mysitical quality for me, and I was attracted to it. But I imagine, given my particular temperament, were I to be raised this way, I may have rebelled and become a full-on Buddhist or secular humanist. 

Thankfully our particular traditional community is not cliquey or fringey; if it was, we probably wouldn't have been invested in it as long as we have been. 

My wife and I do discuss sometimes whether we are doing things the "right" way. On the way back from the beach yesterday, and other trips, we play secular music. I want to like Christian music, but I just don't. Our kids know who Post-Malone and Nas are. I encourage my daughter to veil, but don't force her. We pray the family rosary, but not ritualistically or every evening. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but we are not good at playing parts we are not made for. We try to not strain out gnats while letting camels through. Because I grew up drinking in high school, when I got to college I didn't go off the rails too much. I think that's something parents struggle with--how tight to keep the reigns and for how long. I saw more than one sheltered student go completely nuts when they were given the freedom college affords, and that's something, personally, I would like to avoid with my own kids by maybe bleeding the valve a little when they are younger. But that's for each individual couple to discern. 

Religion is a powerful force for good, but it can be perverted and weaponized as a menas of control, like all things. Our Lord was hard on the Pharisees, and yet Mary and Joseph, and apostles like Peter, were model Jews and adherants to the Law as well. Tradition melded with charity has a great potential for renewal of the Church. Christianity, especially, has the greatest potential for good because it holds love as the center hub that holds all the spokes; without it, we are resounding gongs, as St. Paul says. And true religion is carrying for widows and orphans, as St. James says, so it is not "religion" that is the enemy; religion is the exoskeleton that protects the heart and other internal organs of faith. Were we not to have a skeleton--the bones of structure and doctrine--we would be a blob of skin and blood unable to exercise our body and carry out the work of charity. 

I think it's important when we raise our children to make sure they always know they are loved and accepted for who they are. This can be hard if a child comes out as having same-sex attraction, for instance, because we must love them but cannot accept this particular lifestyle because of the tenants of our faith (this can apply to other situations as well, of course). That doesn't make us religious bigots, and takes great discernment when it comes to actually how to live out that love as a parent and, more importantly, communicate it to the child. And we should never weaponize religion as a tool for coersion or fear lest we inflict potential scars of religious trauma and encourage the association of religion with things contrary to love (remember, discipline is not contrary to love, but must be exacted appropriately). If we want our children to continue in the faith, we must live it ourselves and not succumb to religious hypocricy. It's ok to be super-trad, as long as you have love. It's ok to be more 'normy' as well, as long as you have love. Love is the greatest commandment, brothers with faith and hope, but the greatest of these (1 Cor13:13).

When we encounter those, like the woman in the interview I described above, who have suffered great religious trauma, we must be compassionate and sensitive to the deep scars such upbringings can inflict. We must model for our own children and the world what true religion looks like. We should consider tendencies to prophelitization in such circumstances, and consider whether a different approach--simply listening, not judging, etc--may be more approriate. Healing from such trauma can take a long time for many of these individuals. So we must not inflict further pain by our actions, but model true charity and the tenants of our religion as our Lord prescribed.

Spare Not The Rod: A Letter To Our Bishop Concerning Canon 915

Most Reverend William E. Koenig

Your Excellency,

It was a pleasure having the opportunity to meet you at your installation Mass last summer, as well as at the Diocesan synod meeting this Fall. My wife and I include you in our intentions in prayer every morning, and our local men's group does as well. We hope you are acclimating to the area, and are getting the chance to "smell the sheep" under your care through various pastoral visits and events.

I write to you today as a lay Catholic father and husband after reading the news of Archbishop Cordileone's recent instruction to House Speaker Pelosi that she is not to present herself to Holy Communion due to her persistent and long-standing advocacy for abortion. If I'm being quite honest, it was a glimmer of hope for me as someone who came into the Church 24 years ago who had been convicted that the Catholic Church possesses the fullness of Truth. That integrity (of the Church) has at times been tested by those who claim to live the faith and yet act in opposition to what She teaches. I couldn't understand it as an 18 year old, newly minted Catholic and I still struggle to believe it today. 

Nowhere is this more blatant and scandalous as it is with Catholic politicians baptized into the faith who advocate in direct contradiction to Church teaching. While this could encompass a myriad of issues, the clearest offense against the sanctity of human life, the Natural Law, and our future existence is abortion. 

For a new Catholic entering the Church today, they may wonder "Why has it taken this long?" to simply enforce, in spiritual charity, Canon 915 which states, "Those who have been excommunicated or interdicted after the imposition or declaration of the penalty and others obstinately persevering in manifest grave sin are not to be admitted to holy communion."  This canon is punitive but for the purpose of repentance and conversion of heart, which is a spiritual good. I don't know the interior motivation for Archbishop Cordileone's recent action, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt that it was made not as a political statement but for the good of Ms. Pelosi's soul, and the benefit of the faithful at large. It shows, for us on the ground, that maybe there is hope that we were not sold a bill of goods in coming into the Church, or persisting in believing in the wake of scandal after scandal. And it is truly a scandal that pro-abortion politicians (among others) present themselves so presumptuously to receive our Lord, eating and drinking condemnation upon themselves. 

As a father of three, I know that if I "spare the rod" (to speak proverbially) for my children because of the blowback I know I will get from them, it shows on my part a lack of love, as scripture says. As a father, I discipline because I love my children. I also know better than they do what is good for them at this young age. 

My vocation is not holy orders, but matrimony. But for those ordained, you also are fathers. And many like myself, lay Catholics trying to be faithful, trying to be good, fasting and praying, have often felt bereft, like wayward children without a spiritual father because we were not pushed and instructed sufficiently to live the faith in this godless age. We kind of learned on our own, many of us, and with the help of grace.

But what the Archbishop has done is set a jarring precedent that the Church actually stands for something, and that he will not "spare the rod" so to speak in this particular circumstance. This will have an undoubted ripple effect not only for the faithful, but the hierarchy and Church as a whole. And, your Excellency, as I'm sure you are well aware, you are at the epicenter of this political and spiritual storm, at an unprecedented moment in history. 

Our President--arguably the most politically powerful figure in the Western world--with many other Catholics like Ms. Pelosi who advocate for that which is contrary to the faith, present themselves (in this diocese) in the same sacrilegious manner, scandalizing the faithful, undermining the credibility of the Church, and damning their own souls. I am, of course, not unaware of the implications which such actions (the enforcement of Canon 915) would have. It would fill me with trepidation. But to the degree to which I fear men more than I fear God, I would have to question myself. "Who shall we fear?" King David writes, "The Lord is my light and my salvation." 

I am, of course, not in your shoes. It is not easy shoes to be in, to be quite honest. I may not envy you in this role, but I most certainly pray for you. Because with prayer, all things are possible, as it says in scripture. And certain demons are not driven out without prayer AND fasting. 

For that reason, I, my wife, and a contingent of those in our local men's group, will be doing so much more intentionally during this political firestorm that is certain to touch us all at some point or another. We often feel like "lambs led to slaughter" as faithful Catholics in this diocese and in the secular world at large. But we have faith, hope and charity! We can do all things in Christ who strengthen us. Whom should we fear?

I can see you are a man of faith and prayer. I would, in closing, ask you to pray for your fellow bishop, Archbishop Cordileone, and consider his example which gives courage to the lay faithful to live out the faith in an acrimonious culture. The Church will not be renewed without witness, and witness will not come without suffering. What better witness than to live out in each of our respective vocations, the teachings of Christ and his Church? What more honorable way to enter Heaven than covered in the stripes our Savior himself displayed out of love for his sheep? The enforcement of Canon 915 in this diocese will give you those lashes, undoubtedly. That is for your discernment, of course. Courage must be seen to be lived out by those in the pews. 

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter; I hope it will be received with the charity in which is was written. You will most certainly be in our prayers.

Sincerely in Christ,

RM

 

Family Charity And The Impending Recession

It seems pretty clear that we are heading towards an economic recession, which will affect the lives of Americans and our global neighbors of all social strata. But the most economically vulnerable always take the brunt of such weight. While some of my friends are getting into prepper mode, and others are buying up commodities, I find myself preparing from a less pragmatic angle: how do we serve and become a 'house of respite' as a family with what God has given us when SHTF?

When I read The Cure d'Ars a couple years ago, it was this passage about John Vianney's parents--rather than the saint's later life as a cure, edifying as it was to read of his commitment to the holy priesthood and the salvation of souls--that made an impression on me: 

"Love of the poor was the only rival love that divided his young heart with Jesus and His Blessed Mother. The child was, it is true, in a school where he could scarcely fail to learn to love the poor. Matthew Vianney's house was open to them like a wayside fountain. It was a common thing for as many as twenty poor people to turn in there of a night for food and shelter. In the summer time Matthew housed them in the barn ; but on winter nights he would light a great fire of fagots in the kitchen, set a big pot of potatoes on it, and when they were boiled serve them, and divide the meal between his children and the poor. When the last potato had disappeared he said night prayers aloud, and then conducted his guests to the hayloft, taking care that they were secure from the cold and wind, and as comfortable as his scant accommodation could make them. 

The Christian laborer entertained many an angel unawares, no doubt, amongst these strangers. One cold winter's night there knocked at his door a pilgrim who was destined one day to shine in the calendar of the Church. The traveller who tarries on his way through Dardilly is sure to hear, as of a great glory that lives in the tradition of the village, how, on his way to a neighboring shrine, Benedict Joseph Labre slept one night under the roof of Matthew Vianney." 

St. Benedict immediately gave away his inheritance and set off to be a hermit of the desert, while St. Katherine Drexel used her sizable family wealth in the direct service of the poor. Venerable Aloysius Schwartz had to wrestle with his desire to be a poor missionary priest in the slums of South Korea with God's will that he be used as an administrator to raise millions of dollars through a charitable non-profit to serve the poor there.

Matthew Vianney (the father of St. John Vianney), however, was a poor laborer rather than a man of means, a husband and father rather than a religious. In the wake of the French Revolution, a time of uncertainty and suffering for many in France, he did not stock up on canned beans and guns (well, who knows) and build a bunker, but instead with his wife opened up his humble homes to the poor flocking to the country side and shared the meager spread of their table with those who were hungry. 

This is not the kind of response most of us are accustomed to, especially as Americans. It almost requires a kind of 'reprogramming' to loosen the grips on what we possess materially during times of scarcity. Our natural, base response is typically to hoard and protect, or drop the crusts from our sandwiches of excess. This is not to judge those who (as one example) lived through and were scarred by the effects of the Great Depression. The instinct to survive changes a man in ways he may never know, and he may do things he always said he would never do. 

But it does give us the opportunity as Christians to reflect on the question, "what have I been given, and what am I being called to give in service of God and neighbor during times of great collective need?"

When we reflect on the words of our Lord in scripture, "What merit is it to you to love those who love you? Do not tax collectors do that?" (Mt 5:46) we can apply this admonition to love to our more typical approach of sharing from our excess and thinking we are admirable servants of charity. For the parents of John Vianney, what little they had, they shared in direct service.

I'll admit, it is often easier to cut a check. We have written mortgage payments and utility bills for struggling families (those who often fall through the gap with slightly-higher-than-poverty-level incomes who are not eligible for food stamps and public assistance), and donated to various charitable organizations, but I don't think this is enough. For one thing, it does not model visible, lived charity to our children. That is what struck me about the example of the Vianney's--their home was a "school of charity" which formed the character of the impressionable Jean. As St. Paul says, "be imitators of me" (1 Cor 4:15-16) and gave himself as a model of faith, hope and charity in the flesh. There is a reason students do not become nurses or doctors or teachers through online-only instruction--their profession dictates they learn their field through practicums, clinical rotations, student teaching, etc.--in other words, they need to "see how it's done" in real life. 

There is a part of me that is frugal by nature as a way of padding myself from the uncertainties of life. I take more comfort in a few extra thousand dollars in the bank than an RV or an expensive vacation. I don't mind working hard, and hustling on the side. Part of this is prudential stewardship, and part of it is a less admirable means of control and lack of trust in Divine Providence. I was never modeled charity as a child; my father, though generous with his children, felt that the government's job was to provide for those in need, not his, and that is why he pays taxes. Part of my "unlearning" as an adult Christian is how to truly trust that God will provide for our needs, and that we will be judged on our charity when we die. And that judgement may be harsh.

John Vianney is a model priest of spiritual charity. He spent hours and hours in the confessional and ran himself ragged to save souls. But where did he learn such charity? Maybe his father had something to do with that with his humble example of corporal family charity that addressed need in times of national hardship that gave not from excess, but from his meager allotment as a peasant. 

I get the feeling that we are in for a good world of hurt as a country in the ensuing few years, and who knows how long it will last. There will be no shortage of opportunities to be of service to the Lord, but it may not be by walling ourselves in church exclusively. It may involve the uncomfortable, active charity that the Lord is giving us the opportunity to cultivate as a means of growing in virtue and service. We may have to get creative as well, and think about our particular family circumstances and means in light of the needs of our neighbors. Charity may be hard to practice, but it's not rocket science to learn. The learning comes by doing.

We may even find ourselves on the receiving end of pink slips or economic misfortune. But I don't think even that excuses us from the need to serve. St Peter had no money but healed a crippled man (Acts 3:6). The holy St. John the Baptist told those who wanted to be saved, “The man who has two tunics is to share with him who has none; and he who has food is to do the same” (Lk 3:11). And our Lord put in the simplest terms possible, "And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward" (Mt 10:42). What is more important to us--a life of pleasant leisure, a padded bank account, a weekend boat in the driveway--or our eternal reward which demands we do more than just the minimum?

Perhaps it is a change of perspective as well, the way one may fail to quit an addiction by will-power alone, or through fear of health consequences. Perhaps he needs to see life on the other side not as deprivation from a substance, but of fulfillment through freedom from slavery. 

Likewise, when it comes to charity, God gives us so many daily opportunities to give, to empty ourselves, to grow in virtue, to serve our neighbor, to practice goodwill, to endure suffering and want as means to sanctification. We can be prudent and creative. We can be responsible and charitable. We can find pleasure not in some trivial recreation or object of desire, but in the opportunity to multiply our talents for the good of our neighbor and the advancement of the Kingdom. It is hard to do during unsettling times of national insecurity and economic disruption when the rubber hits the road. But we can have faith that that reward will not be lost in the spiritual economy, even for the smallest act done with love and concern for those most in need of it. God is not a liar. For our part, we must have faith as well that he was not being allegorical, but literal, when it comes the requirements of the discipleship of charity. 

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”

Work, Family, and the New Techno-Agrarianism

Like many people I know, my work has shifted, post-COVID, to a hybrid-remote setting. In a tight labor market, my largely brick-and-mortar employer realized that we were losing too much talent to corporate remote options that paid better. Last year, in an attempt to stem the tide, we were offered the option for a 3 days in the office / 2 days remote. Some of our team was offered a fully remote option, (which all but one who were offered it took). For summer, this increased to 1 day in, 4 days remote. It was considered a perk, offered conditionally provided we could continue to offer the same service and do our work just as effectively as when we are in the office.

It has been working well, it seems. For a largely traditional institution, we pivoted pretty quickly in March 2020 when we were all fully remote (due to COVID) by necessity. Our phone system shifted to our laptops, VPNs were added, and Zoom meetings became a regular thing. Though I missed seeing my co-workers from time to time, and occasionally felt isolated and disconnected, I found I was just as productive at home as I was in the office. The hybrid option seemed like the best of both worlds--it got me out of the house occasionally, while reducing my commute and allowing me to do things around the house on my lunch break.

It is not lost on me that this is a privilege of my particular strata in the workforce. Were I a bricklayer, or a cashier, or a daycare worker, such options would not be available to me and others who now find ourselves working primarily from the comfort of our home. But since it is my situation, and since workforce culture and employer understanding seems to be shifting, it has allowed me to observe the effect of this shift on family life.

I have a friend who thinks and writes about the family-unit prior to the Industrial Revolution. Not being a historical affodicio, I can only write in general terms. But it seems that prior to the late 18th century, society was largely agrarian, and populations localized in small towns. When Industrialization came about, men would leave their families and villages to seek employment in factories in largely urban areas. 

My friend noted that families prior to this era were together more by nature of the work they did. This seemed to be the case, and sometime I noticed, when viewing the film A Hidden Life (set in rural Austria) with my wife a few years back. There was a rhythm and cohesion to life, more localized economies, more sense of community. When the automobile became more commonplace, my friend lamented, this sense of place was further fractured as people were able to travel farther distances for both work and leisure. 

This is my first time working remotely in a job. But it's interesting, isn't it, that whereas low-wage agrarians two hundred-some years ago had the benefit of family cohesion and togetherness (but minimal opportunity), now it is tech-workers with higher commanding salaries that find themselves, well...at home. 

Because we also homeschool, we are together in proximity as a family much more than just a few years ago, when I would leave the house at 7 and get home around dinner time five days a week. Even when I am working upstairs, or on slower days with no meetings, in the kitchen, the kids are at the dining room table with my wife doing math and language arts. On my lunch break, we can eat together, or we can go to the adoration chapel together, or I can work in the garden. Because I don't have to leave or get up as early as in previous years, my wife and I begin our day with prayer and reading scripture at the kitchen table over coffee. When I log off at the end of the day, I'm already home. We could probably even give up one of our cars if we had to, since I tend to bike commute whenever I am able 

The days I am in the office and it is slower, I am literally staring at the wall in my office. I don't mind, but it just seems so--antiquated. The Corner Office used to be a sign of status and prestige, especially in law-firms and places like that. Now it just seems like an expensive waste of space and not something you would brag about the way a yuppie might in the nineteen-eighties.  I literally don't need anything to do my work--and more effectively and productively, mind you--than a flat space to put my laptop on.

Has technology improved our lives? There's something to be said about washing dishes by hand for nostalgia's sake, but I don't think any housewife is going to be giving up their dishwasher anytime soon. Same for the automobile, or air conditioning, or WiFi. We enjoy doing things old-school--baking bread, tilling a garden, writing a letter with a pen and paper--because we are recipients of the privilege of not having to do so. If we were forced to thresh wheat by hand for 16 hours a day, or canning all our produce to get through the winter, it might be a different story. We're kind of--"playing", if you will. It's quaint and pleasant. 

But agrarian life was not always quaint and pleasant. It was work, always work, and were one to mimic the sluggard in Proverbs, they would, well, die. But there was a hard simplicity to life, and I think that was in fact a good that is often neglected. Hard work is good for us, and we were not made for unbridled comfort, leisure, and security.

So it's an interesting swing of the pendulum--those at the higher socio-economic rungs are enjoying more efficiency, more time, better compensation, and yes, more leisure in this new post-industrialized tech-ocracy. For many, the laptop is the new scythe. 

For those working at lower-wage jobs that require in-person presence, it's quite the opposite. They are taken away from their families, often scrambling for child-care, while just trying to make ends meet and pay their bills. For many of these jobs, it's necessary. You can't "virtually" build a skyscraper or empty waste cans remotely. 

It is for this reason that I often reflect that despite my median-income, I am the rich man in the bible, afforded a position not of want or need, but of surplus. The bonus, however, which I am increasingly grateful for, is that I seem to have more time with my family (whom I actually like being around), even when I am working in the next room. 

It would be one thing if I wasn't able to work as well from home as in the office. But this new model has afforded us a curious new paradigm of family life in the midst of a sometimes godless technocratic world order, to make of it what we choose--for good or for evil. There is fruit there, and I don't want to squander it or take it for granted. This is not to condemn or succumb to privilege-guilt, but simply to cultivate gratitude as a matter of perspective (hot water! flush toilets!) and accept a responsibility of multiplying talents for the kingdom and the least of these with what we've been afforded. For those who are given much, much is expected.

The Lure of the Content Industrial Complex

When our first two kids were young, I had the great misfortune (in an momentary act of errant parental desperation, most likely) of stumbling upon "Ryan's Toy Review" on YouTube. They were instantly hooked and for me it was hate at first sight. "Why go through the effort of playing with your own toys, when you can watch some annoying kid on TV do it for you?" 

With over 48 billion views, and $30M a year in revenue, you could say this 10 year old "kidfluencer" (and his parents) have found their niche. None of it was enriching, but it was enrapturing. My wife and I had a few moments of parental peace, my kids had something to hold their attention for "free", the star of the show got to play with toys from sponsors for the camera, and his parents added a bucketful of zeros to their checking account. 

The thought of putting my kids on Youtube for public consumption is abhorrent to me. But for some families looking to cash in on their normal, everyday lives in the "Creator Economy," 

"Everything is content. The family has hired a video editor, a scriptwriter, and an assistant for Ramneek. The family is so popular that the kids often get recognized by fans at malls, and their classmates keep sending fan texts during online school. The family has received requests for selfies and autographs while sitting in their car at traffic signals. During a holiday, they were followed by a couple for more than 300 kilometers, from Mussoorie to Amritsar, to get a photograph for their child.

“Other families are very boring, they are always bored,” Anaanya said, “but we have something to do; we can make videos all day long.”

While this particular family was in India, American social media "influencers" looking to merge their real lives with their online personas are in no short supply. It seems like a dream life of sponsored products, travel, and remote, free-lance work that entreupeneurial Millenials are simply capitalizing on by hacking algorithms and churning out a seemingly endless supply of consumable content for an audience hungry for distraction.

Like those who used to flock to resource-rich coal and oil industrial sections of the country, a 19th century gold-rush, a 20th century "green"-rush (legalized cannabis), or even an opportune interview on Dr. Phil, sometimes you have to just ride the wave for all it's worth while it's cresting. While the content is "free" for viewers, the cost for these high-profile video producers can be steep:

"Mostly, though, he sees the extreme precarity that courses through every person, every thought, every action that occurs in the house. “Several times throughout my trip, I think I can see the toll this takes on them, a kind of pallid desperation that flickers across their faces,” he writes. “At one point, Brandon [one of the influencers] comes over and says, ‘The scary thing is you never know how long this is going to last, and I think that’s what eats a lot of us at night. It’s like, What’s next? How long can we entertain everyone for? How long before no one cares, and what if your life was worth nothing?’”

Just as those arriving at Staten Island eagerly sought to assimilate into American culture during the early 20th century waves of immigration, some Catholics today have asked themselves with regards to this use of modern media "why not us too?" Cashing in on YouTube monetization may not be their motivation; instead, they may see it as a golden opportunity to spread the Gospel and advance the Faith in a godless culture hungry for Truth. 

But in general, from what I have seen with the likes of figures my age like Brian Holdsworth, Matt Fradd, and other well-meaning Catholics, it happens something like this: You're working a full-time job, making some videos for fun on the side--either apologetics, interviews, or just musings on a variety of topics. You start to get some views, build some traction, and gain some subs.

Eventually, like all side hustle free-lancers and moonlighters, there are so many hours in a day and buoyed by the positive feedback of your viewers, you weigh the choice: "is God calling me to leave my job and dive in head first to this "thing?" Maybe the world needs what I have to give!" And so, after prayer and discernment, you cut the corporate cord and devote yourself full-time to producing high-quality monologues, booking guests for interviews, and addressing the pressing issues of the day in a digital format for the world to, well...

Consume. 

 My brother, who until recently had a semi-long tenure at Apple, used to lament that the personal satisfaction of completing a breakthrough project was superseded by deflation at the relentless corporate need to immediately move onto the next project. As Stringer Bell used to say in The Wire, you have to "move that product." 

At some point, you realize you are on now on a hamster wheel that is not so easy to get off of, churning out "product" (content) for an insatiable audience with a precariously short attention span interested not in deep pondering or gestating reflectively, but simply in being distracted in the moment from what's in front of them.

With your mortgage payments dependent on algorithms and clicks, reshares, and monetization, stepping off the wheel isn't a simple affair. Steve Skojec's recent disillusionment and leaving of One Peter Five (and the Faith) and Patrick Coffin's foray into--well, whatever it is he is foraying into these days--first queued me into this idea that maybe you shouldn't leave your day job as  a lay Catholic. For one thing, 

"YouTube brain, from the perspective of the YouTuber as opposed to the viewer, is what happens when you are both creatively and financially subject to the whims of other people’s attention spans for years at a time, weighed down by neverending demand for more content for dwindling returns."

Though I have toyed with the idea of starting a YouTube channel myself, my perspective lies squarely with that of "the viewer." And the crest of my interest in watching episodes of Pints With Aquinas or Sensus Fidelium has, I think, already peaked. Youtube is the only thing I have left--no Facebook, Twitter, (I wouldn't even know what to do on TikTok), but even that is waning. Like many people, I suspect, I've grown tired of content. After years of doing late night lines of digital dopamine here and there, I don't want to cross the line into full-blown addict. And so when it comes to consuming content, I've largely just...stopped.

For the content creator putting food on the table with each new upload, this is a startling and truly frightening prospect. If clicks=dollars, what do you do when you have a seven year gap in your resume aside from being a Catholic YouTuber if this "thing" doesn't work anymore? The kids still need shoes, tuition still needs to be paid. You are knee-deep in this thing now, but the interest just isn't there anymore from those pumping up your sub list. You're trapped. Sure, you could up the ante into more and more sensationalist topics to gain more fringey followers, but it's a wagered risk that may or may not pay off. And even that has diminishing returns. And I think this is about the point where a faithful, good-hearted, well-meaning Catholic in the dark night of his soul, sitting before his spare-room studio camera might stare into the lens and ask himself, "What have I done...and what do I do now?"

Personally, I think figures like Brian and Matt are creative, insightful guys with good, honest hearts; I would love to sit down with them for a beer or a scotch over a campfire. I just wonder if perhaps they are unwitting victims in this digital-zeitgeist-sausage-machine--the Content Industrial Complex (CIC)--age; Years from now, they are either going to have to pivot into the Next Catholic Thing, or will wake up and just push the hamster wheel off the table and starting filling out applications at the local Home Depot. At one point I was slightly envious of what they had going; but I'm not sure they would share that sentiment in their heart of hearts. I think subconsciously they are feeling the grind, halfway through the tunnel of Catholic manhood, with a long way still to go. 

Maybe it's my risk-averse nature, but I'm glad I never forayed into this on-line landscape of YouTube channels and attaining some kind of Catholic Influencer status; personally, I like working a normal secular job and being relatively anonymous. Does the world really have to hear what I have to say? And if it does, do I really need a full-time monetized channel to say it? Maybe I can just live my life in real time, and put my lamp on a hill for free to light the way for others.

The bigger question at hand, though, is if as Catholics we are all just as guilty of simply consuming product, consuming content (religious or otherwise), in the age of digital addiction and leaving spent-whore corpses by the side of the road in our wake? Is there a case to be made that we are the proverbial sweat-shop sneaker buyers...robbing our families of the attention they need from us through mindless Facebook scrolling, unwittingly feeding the vainglory of emerging TikTok stars, or fueling the digital rage of Twitter rabble-rousers by our digital content gluttony and addiction to distraction? 

Does the world need the Truth of the Gospel? Yes. Does it need the redemptive power of Jesus Christ and the life-giving Sacraments of His Church? Again, yes. Do we need more artfully-created Word on Fire, or personally-contrite hearts on fire? The jury may be out and only the future will tell if we've capitalized on a golden ticket bearing the fruits of repentence, or if we've all been taken for a ride on a questionable digital experiment that has only fed our addiction and left us as hungry and distracted as when we started.

The Offense of Religious Hypocrisy

In the Gospels our Lord makes repeated reference to the call of disciples to be a light to the world (Mt 5:14-16). He speaks of salt which, when it loses its saltiness, is not even worthy of the dunghill (Mt 5:13). Those in the world who are not believers may be blind, but they are not dumb, and Jesus affords them this merit, "for the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light" (Lk 16:8). He calls followers of the Way to perfection (Mt 5:48).

People hate what they do not know. The world hates the Faith not because it is false, but because there is a latent suspicion that it is, in fact, true. But for those in the world who suspect and can admit that it may, in fact, be true, the Faith is also despised when it does not live up to what it claims to be. This is the essence of religious hypocrisy, which deserves the scorn it earns for itself in the eyes of believers and non-believers alike. Why?

The Pharisees of Jesus' day exemplified this religious hypocrisy in that they sit on the chair of Moses but "they say and do not do" (Mt 23:3). Jesus' entire life was one of spiritual integrity, as he was not compromised by sin, which scandalizes the Church, as well as believer and non-believers alike. "Woe to the world because of scandals. For it must needs be that scandals come: but nevertheless woe to that man by whom the scandal cometh" (Mt 18:7)

What does it mean for a believer to live with integrity? They stand behind their word; their yes means yes, and their no means no (Mt 5:37). For those who believe, they act as if they believe. It is the challenge to "be perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect."

And yet the tension exists that we are in fact not perfect. Religious hypocrisy is made manifest when Christians claim to be good but do not in fact live up the standard they profess. Spiritual integrity, on the other hand "delights in weakness, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties" because it is in this that God's glory is made known (2 Cor 12:9). Those who claim to be perfect and sinless are liars and make the Lord a liar (1 Jn 1:10). But those who know their weakness and yet strive for perfection against the bonds of concupiscence at least have integrity in the admission of faults. The solution to religious hypocrisy is humility, the cornerstone of all virtues, and integrity of word and deed.

You can tell someone has integrity when you look them in the eye. When a believer stands on conviction, they are not a "man of two minds, who doubts" (Ja 1:8), but one who is willing to go his death unwavering, even when challenged. He is steadfast and firm, speaking the truth in love, regardless of the cost. Even among non-believers, this can earn respect.

Religious hypocrisy, on the other hand, deserves no respect. It is inconsistent, inauthentic, hollow. It permits figures like Ghandi to be able to proclaim, "I like your Christ, but not your Christianity." 

When Christians claim to serve a God of love but do not love others themselves, they fuel the animus and provide evidence to the prosecutors that Christianity, in fact, cannot be true. When they claim moral superiority in sexual ethics and fail to live up to them themselves, they fill those who view their actions (and who are sometimes victims themselves at their hand) with disgust and revulsion. When we get drunk on Saturday night and sit with hands folded in the pew on Sunday morning, what does that say to those outside the church looking in who we ourselves are judging? When Jesus calls us to love and serve the poor and we live high on the hog ourselves, we fail to do as he commands and cause non-believers to doubt our motives. 

Religious hypocrisy and lukewarmness are bedfellows. And what does the scripture say of the lukewarm, those neither hot nor cold? "He vomits them from his mouth" (Rev 3:16). He would rather us be one or the other! (Rev 3:15). 

As the abortion debate ramps up, Christians will have the opportunity to speak the truth in charity, and suffer for it. They will have the opportunity to put their money where their mouth is. The worst thing he can do in those instances is be mealy-mouthed or tepid. But he must also rise above the animus of the world, the demonic vitriol which coats his face with the flecks of bloodthirstiness, and take his beating as Christ did at the pillar and in the shadow of the judgement before the Sanhedrin. Do not give ammunition to the ungodly. He must not be intimidated, but give witness. 

Can you blame the world for not being converted when we ourselves fail so often to live out our calling? "When he comes, he will convict the world of its sin" (Jn 16:8). No one escapes this terrible judgement except those who repent, cast themselves on the mercy of God, and amend their lives, producing for the divine court the evidence of their scars which the world will inflict upon them for the sake of the Truth.

A Father's Eye View of Motherhood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Letter To An Aspiring Writer

 

Someone reached out to me today via LinkedIn seeking advice and constructive feedback on getting started as a writer, specifically as a Catholic writer. I imagine they came across one of my published articles on-line and were wondering where to get published, where to connect with other writers, and how to obtain feedback on their own work. This is not the first time someone has reached out in this way. 

I haven't responded, though I thought it would be a good opportunity to kill a few birds with one stone with a blog post on the topic in the form of a letter to said inquirer.

Dear _______,

Thank you for reaching out. No need for academic salutations; I am not a Professor, and am not an instructor. To be honest, I don't even consider myself a proper writer. I've never learned the discipline in a formal sense, aside from high school English and a couple of Creative Writing classes in college. As I find myself saying often, I'm just a guy who writes some things every now and then. 

I may or may not be of any help to you when it comes to your inquiry. Though I have a few published articles, essays, and poetry floating out there on-line, it is for the most part incidental that they exist. I have been writing for as long as I can remember, try as I might to hang it up for good. Every attempt to do so invokes the deep, resigned sighs of Jeremiah the Prophet, "But if I say, “I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot" (Jer 20:9)

For novice writers (as you describe yourself), having your work published (whether in periodicals, books, or other mediums) seems at first to be the pen-ultimate validation. No one says, "I want to wander in the desert for forty years." They say, "I want to reach the Promised Land."

But wandering in the desert in search of something for years, decades on end, even, is more in line with the vocation of a writer. There is no Promised Land, no resting ground where one can say "I've made it." There is only the mirage of oasis after pit-stop oasis.

The Israelites would frequently erect altars of remembrance  to remember what Yahweh had done for them as a people (see Genesis 28, 33, 35; Exodus 17, 24; Joshua 4). Writing is not unlike this. Because my short and long-term memory is so poor, writing is a way for me (and anyone really) to remember. It is also a way to find out who we were, who we are, and who we are to become. People often journal for this reason.

But journaling is not what you are seeking advice on, if I can speculate. A person who journals writes for themselves and themselves alone; a writer is, alas, burdened with the compulsive need to have his words read by someone other than himself. Whereas a journaler would be aghast were someone sneak into their room and read their diary, a writer would not put it past himself to leave such written accounts out in the plain sight of day in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will discover it.

It's curious, isn't it. Is this vain-glory, exhibitionism? I have wrestled with this over the years, the need to be acknowledged. I have even prayed novenas to Our Lady petitioning for the grace to be untethered from "the praise and adulation of men." My blog is a diary of sorts, but if I were the only one able to view it, I would have shut it down years ago. It's an outlet of sorts, yes. But the burning need for it to be given over to someone (anyone) somewhere (anywhere!) accompanies it. 

I gave up coffee for Lent. In a sense, being published is like that first sip of coffee after a month and a half of tea. You'd been anticipating the day when you can have it. And then you do. And then it's done. You are still yourself; it's now just a little harder to hide.

I joke with my wife (half joking, quarter joking, not really joking) that our kids can be whatever they want when they grow up. They just can't be writers. In thirty years of writing, I could probably pay for a month's worth of groceries from Aldi with what I've been paid for my "labor." And that's ok; I'm not a writer anyway. But if I were, as I say to my wife, "it's a cruel fate indeed." 

I like to garden; but I wouldn't want to be a landscaper. I like to monkey on bikes in my garage, but I would never want to be a professional mechanic. I love my Catholic faith, but the day I pay my mortgage with YouTube apologetic videos or podcast musings would be the death knell of zeal. 

Writing is like this. My father, pragmatic as he was and is, was right: hobbies are good, and writing for me really is a hobby, and maybe a little more. It's a way to live--to make sense of life--but it's no way to make a living. I'm not sure if that is/was your intention in reaching out (I'm speculating), to see about how to make a living or side-income from writing and/or publishing. Forgive me for assumptions. But I can think of no other endeavor that bleeds so much out of you for so little given in restitution. 

Which brings me to my next point. In meditating on Christ writhing in agony on the Cross, it can sometimes cross one's mind to ask, "Why would anyone endure such a thing?" Why would anyone literally bleed out, crushed by the weight of unrequited love, poured out as an unbibed drink offering, abandoned and alone in his final hour with the echoes of "Hosanna!" ringing in his ear? Only a fool would give himself over to such a fate. Only a fool would die for love. 

And yet we are fools following Christ, the God of redeemed folly. "God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe" (1 Cor 1:21)."

Think of publishing as your Palm Sunday, while remitting your true opus as a writer to the cross. Because if you want to be a Catholic writer with anything to offer the world, this is where you nail up your work. Naked and uncovered, on full frontal display, with only your mother and a close friend as your final faithful audience. Those palm-laying masses? They are retiring in their home. Your disciples and friends? Denying they even knew you. You're not even sure your own Father is there to acknowledge your offering.

But here's the difference: when you give freely of what you've been given, the gift multiplies. When charity has been perfected, it is no longer self-seeking (1 Cor 13:5). It gives, and it gives. If I can say anything truthfully, this is what I have always tried to do as a "writer." Sure it starts out like a freshman nursing student who enters into the profession because she wants to "help people." Over time, that naivite becomes calloused over with the scars of rejection after rejection, the seeming pointlessness of tapping away on a keyboard at 3am ("for what?"), the slight-of-hand critical remarks on your syntax that you take to heart and die over. But it becomes a burning ember, not a flickering flame. If you can retain the heat of pure intention--to write in order that you might give--you can continue in your vocation. 

Speaking of vocation, I have tried not to curse what God has given me, though not always successfully. "Do not call unclean what God has called clean" (Acts 11:9). It's not easy. Writers are minor prophets--warning, admonishing, lamenting, praising. To be good you have to know your place and your calling, where it is you fill in the cracks with the mortar of your spilled ink. 

Do you want to write for yourself? Buy a diary. Do you want to be recognized? Start a TikTok channel. Do you want to coax depressives off a ledge, inspire the young, give fortitude to the weak, console the heartbroken, speak the Truth, fill the hopeless with hope, the faithless with faith? Then do that, with the tools God has entrusted you with--the pen (or keyboard, as it were). You may never get paid for it and may never be recognized on the street.  But consider those the upsides rather than drawbacks. If God has given you a gift, He expects it to be used, not buried (Mt 25:14-30). The safest place for your talents is with the banker, not in the ground.      

Do I have any closing advice for you with regards to writing? I'll give you the advice that was given to me: just write. And I'll add my own: make yourself and your words a gift to the world, given freely and without charge. If you do that, I suspect you'll never be disappointed. Because in the end, you may die a fool...but you'll die hanging on a tree with the best of them.

A Tale Of Two Parties

Twice a year we try to host a big outdoor gathering of Catholic families in our area. We travel in some different Catholic circles, so it's a good opportunity for other Catholics to eat, connect, and enjoy some fellowship for those whose paths might not cross otherwise. We figured God blessed us with this house and a bit of land, so it's up to us to give some of it back in offering. 

I have always loved to party, ever since high school (before I became a Christian). As an extroverted-introvert (an introvert with extroverted tendencies), it makes for an interesting dynamic, though. I do need my alone time, but too much of it and I start to get itchy to engage socially. Even after deciding to follow Christ, though, I didn't hang up my beer-pong cups. From college through my time living in Philly and beyond, I would try to throw the biggest parties, inviting anybody and everybody I knew, to fill the house to capacity. But it took a while to straighten out and do it soberly, enjoying the fruits of friendship and fellowship while avoiding sin and it's occasion.

As we were cleaning up after this Spring's event (we call it the bi-annual Catholic Family Fellowship) this afternoon, I was reflecting on how it is a marked difference when people of faith get together versus non-believers, even when 100+ people gather to, well, eat drink and be merry.

In "I Don't Belong Here Anymore," I recounted a bachelor party I attended about six years ago years ago:

"It was the summer of 2016, and I was in Colorado for a bachelor party. Now, ever since high school I have loved to party, and even as a new Catholic I never stopped. I went to parties, threw parties, and would party into the morning with friends. I never had a drinking problem, but temperance was a virtue I had trouble developing. I prayed, went to Mass every Sunday, read spiritual books, but was 'friends with the world" (John 15:19), trying to have my cake and eat it too.

This particular bachelor party I was not really looking forward to attending, but I had to, for various reasons. The guys were younger, and I knew they partied hard; I was getting older, but still susceptible to influence. The first day I tried to not partake in any of the revelry, but concupiscence and appetites are a funny thing, and by day 2 I was crushing the opposition in drinking games. I found myself mirroring Paul's words, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do" (Rom 7:15)

At one point near the end of the weekend I went in my room in the mountain house the crew had rented, and sat on the bed. I wasn't in full on praying mode, but I was really hoping God could get me out of being there. No body else there seemed to have any pangs of conscience or problem with going full tilt since they weren't believers, and yet here I was, feeling the tension of having one foot in the world and one foot in the Church, not living as a good example as a Christian, and not be able to go in with full abandon either.

I always carried a small Gideon bible with me whenever I traveled. I took it out and sat on the bed and prayed a quick prayer for help. I remember to this day, I opened it and the first thing I read was

"Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must rid yourself of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and you have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator." (Col 3:5-10)

I was struck dumb. I recalled the story of St. Augustine in the garden, picking up the scriptures at the words he heard from a child, "Take up and read, take up and read." What he read was this:

"Not in carousing and drunkenness, not in sexual excess and lust, not in quarreling and jealousy. Rather, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the desires of the flesh." (Rom 13: 13-14)

I called a Christian friend back home, a man of integrity, and told him what had happened when I opened the scripture, what I landed upon, and how it cut to the heart and left me exposed to my inconsistency. He was encouraging, but in that room I felt alone in a crowd. I didn't belong there anymore."

What I enjoy about spending time with people of faith is we are all on the same page, and the temptation to drink to excess, engage in idle gossip, or frivolous conversation is greatly diminished. God gave us food, drink, and each other to enjoy in virtue, not for the sake of sin or indulgence. There is an underlying sense of wanting the good for one another in Christian charity in the bonds of our Catholic faith. Not that non-believers can't live virtuously or wholesomely, but as One Body there is something sacramental that builds up, rather than exists without purpose or meaning or happenstance. 

The other thing that was great was there were tons of kids. We had the space for them to run around and play games like hide and seek, sports and cornhole. Part of the purpose of these gatherings we host is for the kids to get the chance to build up friendships in a safe environment while sharing the communal elements of their faith. Two local priests also graced us with their presence, and given how busy they are these days, that was a nice bonus. The weather was looking a bit iffy beforehand, so my wife and I prayed for the intercession of St. Medard ten minutes prior to people coming over, and the forecast went from 90% chance of rain to 50% to zero in a matter of a half hour. Thank you St. Medard!

When my wife and had our first son, I had to ask a friend from college to be his godfather, because we had so few Catholic friends. Most of our partying/gathering back then were with my secular friends back in Philly, and we weren't plugged in with any Catholics, especially those with big families that considered it normal to have more than three or four kids. I still remember the pray I prayed in the spirit of St. Francis, "Lord, send me some brothers!" And He did! He also provided devout Catholic women our age for my wife as well.  

Part of Christian charity is learning to live in a way that doesn't always ask, "What can I get out of this or that?" but "What can I give?" Living out the virtues cultivates the hard-fought battle to learn selflessness, but when you are all doing it together and building one another up, it becomes easier. Even Jesus needed the women to wipe his face and Simon to help carry his cross on the way to Calvary. As Christians, and especially as Catholics, our road to Heaven is corporal, not individual. For families like ours and others, though, it helps when you are able to have a little fun and fellowship along the way.