"Just" Catholic

 

I was presenting today at a professional conference. I keep my religion fairly private, as I don't have the benefit of working amongst people of faith. I suppose as a "religious person" I could technically fall under the umbrella of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion and be welcomed as one thread in the beautiful tapestry of what makes us all different. 

But in my industry, if you are a believing Christian, it's best practice to be wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove when talking openly about the faith, lest the specter of cancel culture overshadow you. That doesn't mean I shy away from it should the topic of personal faith or religion come up; I just don't throw my pearls before swine injudiciously. 

I have, however, thought a lot about the nomenclature one uses to describe themselves and their religious affiliation in a secular or professional environment. This is one of the struggles in our current fractured Church as well, but that is a different arena altogether. In the faith circles, it's no longer enough to just refer to yourself as "Catholic." What kind of Catholic are you, you might wonder? Are you a 'traditional' Catholic? A 'conservative' Catholic? An 'orthodox' Catholic? A 'progressive' Catholic? An Eastern Catholic? A JP2 Catholic? A LGBT Catholic? For better or worse, we resort to these qualifiers because, it seems, being "just Catholic" is no longer enough. 

Then you have those--both in and outside of those faith circles, but also in the world at large--who will refer to themselves as 'Catholic' because it was the faith they were raised in, or what they mark on a census form under 'religion', or because they were baptized, or perhaps because it is part of their culture. It all these instances it is accurate to call oneself Catholic, but it doesn't tell us much. Do you go to Mass on Sundays? Do you believe what the Church teaches? Do you live it out? 

So it is relatively safe to refer to yourself as I'm Catholic in the workplace or social circles because that could hide you under the accepted cloak of Catholic apostates who do not believe at all, 'wink-wink/nod-nod' Catholics who disregard Church teaching, cultural heritages ("Irish/Italian/Mexican Catholic", etc). 

But if you are an intentional Catholic willing to live by faith and die for it, that categorization seems...inadequate.

When you get marched into the HR office because you used the wrong pronoun at work, I could see one answering why they did that with "I'm Catholic" and the HR Director saying, "Well, I know lots of Catholics and they don't have a problem calling Sam a she." You get the idea.  

When I look at the evangelical world, I associate those who take a stand for something and proclaim "I am a Christian" as the reason for their particular actions with a degree of intentionality that is lacking in the 'Catholic' label. While the Baptists and other fundamentalists would vehemently disagree, Catholics are, in fact, Christians. We are the O.G. disciples, after all. 

That is one potential and appropriate way of referring to ourselves, if we do in fact hold to what the Church, the Bride of Christ, teaches and live out our faith: I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. A disciple is a follower, one who has left everything to put himself under the tutelage of a master. It does not imply passivity and is unconcerned with a label, for his actions of subjugation speak for themselves. 

But it seems awkward, and overly distracting. You're a what now? I just meant what is your religion? We could use the intentional term 'I am a Christian'  and that would be accurate in the umbrella sense or world religions. Or we could resort to saying 'I am a Catholic' and leave it at that.

But what I've finally settled on for myself personally, should the topic of my religion ever come up in a secular environment, is that I am a "Catholic Christian." The "Catholic" qualifies the "Christian," and the "Christian" underscores the intentionality of the "Catholic." That it is more than a census category or a cultural identifier, but a matter of true belief and a willingness to live it out which doesn't concern itself with insider-baseball ("Traditional Catholic," "Conservative Catholic," etc) or political affiliation ("Right-wing Catholic," "Catholic Republican," etc). 

It's a shame we can't all be "just" Catholic as a unified body, and that be enough. But this is nothing new. The heresies of today aren't Christological (Arianism, Modalism, etc) or matters of discipline or rigor (Jansenism, Donatism); no, the heresies of today are the iron fist we all live under: Relativism, Wokeism, Indifferentism, and we need a more nuanced religious nomenclature that is both intentional and succinctly communicative to account for this.

So, while it may not be perfect, Catholic Christian I am. No trademark necessary--borrow at will if you have the same struggles I do in this sphere.

Why I Don't Force My Daughter To Veil

 

We have been attending the Traditional Latin Mass for about five years now, and my son has been serving Low Mass for the past year or so. We have a great, pretty main-stream community, which includes both those who attend the English Mass, and of course the TLM crowd. 

When we first started attending, my daughter had just turned five, I think. Wanting to fit in with the crowd, I began wearing a blazer and tie, and we bought some lace from Walmart for veils for the girls--black for my wife, white for my daughter. She looked adorable, a little cherub.

But as a dad who knows his daughter, I can tell she isn't especially "religious" in the pious sense. She is a good, sweet, innocent girl, but now that she is a little older she doesn't feel the need to 'play the part.' She prays the family rosary with us, goes to Confession when we go as a family, but part of this is a little bit of 'going through the motions.' She may be 'religious' in her own way, but she is private and introverted, so it's not on display if she is. 

A few years ago she conveniently lost her veil. Initially, I would get a little perturbed, and insist she find it and wear it. But it was clear she wasn't especially wedded to it. She also has extremely long legs, and her dresses were always a little on the shorter side (at the knee). Eventually, I stopped making a point of it, feeling like I was forcing something that had the potential to turn her off completely from the trappings of religion (that are not bad things, mind you).

The family that invited us to our first Latin Mass at our current parish five years ago are special to us. They have a large, beautiful family; the husband is a lawyer, super pleasant and also a little brusk at the same time. When we were at dinner, while we still attended Mass a different (non-TLM) parish, he asked me as soon as we sat down, I think: "So, why do you attend the Novus Ordo?" He said it with a sincere smile, so even though the question was direct it wasn't meant to be mean-spirited. The honest truth is I didn't really have a reason why--I stammered something about having started an apostolate at that parish, that it's near my parents, yadda yadda. The fact is, I didn't really know there was an alternative to what we were doing. 

So, a few months later, they took us out to lunch, and invited us to attend their parish (where we currently attend). The wife is as sweet and gentle as can be. As I learned later, she had grown up in a very strict, very end-times focused traditional family, and had a bit of trauma I suspect from that. Her husband, for his part, had some very negative experiences with the Novus Ordo and a particular religious order. None of this was enough to drive them from the Church. But I will say if I had to describe them, they are very joyful, beautiful, balanced, common-sense people who are doing a wonderful job of raising faithful, happy, beautiful kids.

I mention this because I think of them a lot when it comes to the temptation to 'force' religion with regards to my own children. My son has a beautifully sensitive conscience, without being scrupulous. He knows what it means to be contrite, is affectionate, knows right from wrong. My daughter, too, has an innocent faith that she keeps private. My five year old will go to the butter knife drawer when he gets angry at his siblings and attempt to exact retribution on them with silverware, but we will deal with him when the time comes to meet with his probation officer, haha (I jest).  

I've had conversation with our friend (the wife) about a fear-based religious upbringing, and my impression is that she is raising her kids intentionally antithetical to that. The emphasis is on love, mercy, forgiveness, gentleness. It shows in the light that shines from within them. Her two girls now veil, but I think there was a time when she and her girls did not. I suspect they didn't feel they had anything to prove. They were a large, faithful, homeschooling Catholic family whose children all held the faith. They certainly didn't have to act more pious than anyone else, because they were confident in their identity as Catholics. 

Like our friends, my wife and I have nothing to prove, nothing to show-off; we are secure in our identity in Christ. We love God, love the Church...we're not perfect, but we do have faith. My dad, for all his faults, raised me to not care what people think (as he does not care what people think of him). 

I've kind of resigned to the fact that my daughter at this point in her life simply doesn't want to veil for whatever reason. No one in our parish is shaming her, especially not her father (me). We do not have the "veils of shame" basket in our particular parish, and no one ever says anything to any woman who doesn't. I am very averse to any whiff of cultish behavior, and I can confidently say as a more mainstream diocesan TLM parish, that's not really an issue. If it was, we might not be there. 

St. Antony the Great had a saying, "I no longer fear God...but I love him." I have that icon of him with those words at my prayer station. I think that is the spirit of our friends, as well. Fear, shaming, coercing...these are the things that tend to have the opposite effect when it comes to religion: it pushes people away rather than than draws them in. What does draw people in is gentleness, charity, not judging (all qualities St. Paul admonishes believers in Christ to exhibit). 

I can appreciate objectively the desire for women to veil, as long as it comes from a willing, modest, sincere spirit. My wife has taken to the habit, of her own, though it took a little while to get to that point. Why does she veil? I couldn't tell you. Part of it seems religious-cultural. Yes, the Apostle talks about it as well in scripture, that women should cover their heads. Yes, it is a matter of modesty. But it's also a bit of an "extra-catholica" issue, ancillary in my mind. 

So, I have decided I will respect my daughter's decision not to veil at Mass, because I respect my daughter and want her to choose this for herself out of devotion at the proper time (which doesn't seem to be now). She is a beautiful girl, inside and out, and I don't want to subject her to any degree of religious trauma, however remote. I want my kids to love God and love each other, and know that God loves them as well. The basics, the essentials. As we catechize them, we do so gently, encouragingly, making clear it is okay to ask questions. 

There is a tale in Aesop's fables that might illustrate my position here better than I can:

"The North Wind and the Sun had a quarrel about which of them was the stronger. While they were disputing with much heat and bluster, a Traveler passed along the road wrapped in a cloak.

"Let us agree," said the Sun, "that he is the stronger who can strip that Traveler of his cloak."

"Very well," growled the North Wind, and at once sent a cold, howling blast against the Traveler.

With the first gust of wind the ends of the cloak whipped about the Traveler's body. But he immediately wrapped it closely around him, and the harder the Wind blew, the tighter he held it to him. The North Wind tore angrily at the cloak, but all his efforts were in vain.

Then the Sun began to shine. At first his beams were gentle, and in the pleasant warmth after the bitter cold of the North Wind, the Traveler unfastened his cloak and let it hang loosely from his shoulders. The Sun's rays grew warmer and warmer. The man took off his cap and mopped his brow. At last he became so heated that he pulled off his cloak, and, to escape the blazing sunshine, threw himself down in the welcome shade of a tree by the roadside."

Your Secrets Will Eat You Alive

 

For all my many faults and sinfulness, one thing I hope I cannot be accused of is being dishonest. This is as much an issue of pragmatism for me as it is morality--I simply cannot keep a secret. Part of that is due to having a horrible short-term memory, and not being able to remember things; to compensate, I respond to emails and texts right away lest I forget, and have to rely on my wife to let me know events of even a day or two ago. I would be horrible on the stand during a trial. "Where were on the night of June 12, yesterday?" I don't remember! Ha.

Knowing this about myself, however, I have always tried to tell the truth, even from a young age. I still remember when I was caught in a white lie, when I was around eleven years old and my parents asked me if I was on the phone with a girl and I told them I wasn't when I was. I was so eaten up by it I probably vowed from that point on just to always tell the truth about things to make my life not easier, but simpler.

A few years before my wife and I met, she was in a relationship with a compulsive liar. He would lie about even the most trivial of things, in a pathological fashion. I also had a friend years ago who was also involved with a pathological liar. The thought of having to keep that complex web of stories and scenarios straight wearies me just thinking about it.

I think it was on my second date with my now-wife that I confessed a secret to her--not one of a moral nature, but deeply embarrassing (to me). It was much too forward for a second date, but in my mind I discerned that she was completely trustworthy (my instincts were right on that one) and I wanted her to know that I had no intentions of keeping things from her should our relationship progress more seriously. I think she was both amused and touched. 

While I strive to be a trustworthy person as a matter of personal integrity, and it affects me deeply in the heart when I feel I fall short of that or even remotely betray trust, I also hold that regard for those I meet. 

This weekend we were at a social function, and a man whom we had been acquainted with a few years ago was there. I recounted this initial encounter in my post You Are Being Used from a couple years ago:

I'll never forget my wife being approached by a friendly young woman our age at our former parish who wanted to "connect." We were new to the parish and were happy to make some friends; that is, until we realized she was connecting with us as part of her network to sell essential oils. 

The same thing happened to us when a man from my bible study invited my wife and I out to coffee with him and his wife. So friendly, took an interest in us, asked us questions about our faith and family. After the second meeting (which we had gotten a baby sitter for, and driven half an hour to meet them), I surmised from the vagueness of his talk about his "mentor" and "opportunities for growth" and "financial security," that something was off. It turned out to be an Amway pyramid-scheme pitch. I felt completely used, and foolish. 

I remembered the man, and instantly felt unease in my gut. He was very pleasant and smiled a lot, but I still avoided him remembering this encounter. I don't even know if it even registered for him; perhaps he did not feel like he did anything wrong, that his motivations were pure or whatever. But I imagine if our radars did not go off and we dropped a few grand on this "opportunity" and were left holding the bag, if I would have felt even more betrayed. Thankfully, I listen to my gut and intuition when things seem 'off.' To be trite, I can forgive such things, but that doesn't mean you forget. 

With the news of Fr. Jackson's sentencing, and in the wake of other clerical predators like McCarrick et al, I'm reminded again of the awful spectre of skeletons in one's closet. I could never run for public office given my past (I'd be raked over the coals by the press), but even for those who seem squeaky-clean, there is always a part of us we keep tucked away from sight--not only the embarrassing, but the immoral. This is why the sacrament of Confession is so healing and psychologically healthy--we were not meant to live double lives. 

Even the noble, though, fall and can also be accused of duplicity to boot. Think of King David--before Nathan called him out for his sinful transgressions against Uriah, was he striding around the palace as if he did nothing wrong? Was he unaware, and/or rationalized it? Would he have kept his sins hidden as long as possible before the Lord sent the prophet to accuse him?

To a degree, we all keep some secrets. We cannot and should not be a completely open book to all those we meet. But I don't know how people walk around and go about their lives with such heinous sins hidden and still be able to function. It is almost a kind of cognitive dissonance and pathology.

Even when some religiously noble and high ranking folks fall, they think, "This can't get out--what will people think? The reputation of the [family/order/party] will be compromised." There are so few who are honest enough to confess and apologize publically, and the temptation to stuff things away out of view is so strong. 

We watched a French film (didn't finish it, but got about halfway through) called Les Innocents (2016), about a group of cloistered nuns who were raped by Soviet soldiers in Poland during World War II and subsequently found themselves pregnant. They were not culpable for this crime, obviously, but whether out of shame or pragmatism, the Mother Superior ordered the event be kept a secret, that the sisters go on with their daily lives, and even stories made up when the babies were given up. While not judging the circumstances of her decision, the weight of this secret takes its toll on the community, leading to a loss of faith, suicide, and other unfortunate outcomes. The trauma is bad enough from such an egregious act, but the weight of keeping it hidden can be psychologically even heavier. 

If you demand honesty from others, you must live honestly yourself. We don't have to walk around without a filter, telling everyone what we think of them even when it is hurtful. The truth doesn't always have to delivered cold and brash; it must be tempered with the herbs and garnish of charity. 

And one must have a degree of sensitivity and incisive intuition, to pay attention to the gut when 'bad man' signals go off. Even that, however, is no guarantee. The fact that so many degenerate predators could play the act and charismatically gain the trust of so many despite their double lives speaks to how intricately pathological liars and men of duplicity will keep their skeletons hidden, and the lengths to which they will go to conceal sins. 

The only antidote I can see, as much as I can see, is to prioritize honesty and trustworthiness, even at the expense of reputation or stature. Act like an oncology surgeon with your sins, lest they mestasise, turning them over to the Lord and making restitution publically. Better, though, is as St. Peter says to keep, "a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil" (1 Pt 3:16-17).

Your secrets will eat you alive if you are not careful. Even though man does not see, God sees all things, and all things hidden will be brought into the light, if not in this world, in the next (Lk 8:17). Walk in the light, as children of light, and shun the works of darkness (Eph 5:8)

Trending: The Obsession With 'Demons'

Let me first preface this by saying I do not put the word demons in the title of this post in quotes because I don't believe in them. Quite the contrary. I know they exist, that they hate God and they hate us because we are His creation. Like most of us who are trying to make it to Heaven one day, I have suffered spiritual attack at the hands of the Enemy (read compilation with imbedded links here). 

Let me also preface this post by saying as a person who has been diagnosed with a mental illness, I am sensitive to the fact that in my life and in the lives of others who suffer under such crosses, one needs to be especially discerning with being able to differentiate ordinary temptations and even obsessions from the defects of the mind wounded by mental illness. Not everything is purely psychological, but nor is everything ill-fated event initiated by a henchman of Satan. Over the past twenty years of treatment and ordinary spiritual practice (Mass attendance, rosary, Confession, etc), I have largely learned to distinguish what comes from my own mind and what comes from outside of it.

This is not always easy. In my past life, my mental illness contributed to sinful behavior, which in turn took me outside of the protection of divine grace (mortal sin), which in turn probably made me more susceptible to diabolical influence. There have also been times when I was fortified in faith and prayer and was still besieged by thoughts and temptations that went beyond melancholic ruminating and clearly came from "outside the self." 

For one thing, the Diagnostic Statistical Manual (DSM) specifies that one must experience symptoms of depression for at least two weeks for a diagnosis to be given. In my case, as least, I have lived through months of depression (as well as shorter but prolonged periods of mania) which "checked all the boxes." However, during times in which my mind was being leveraged against me by what I felt were forces foreign to it (I'm not talking about schizo-affective thoughts, but normal diabolic temptation), it was more akin to a sudden thunderstorm that came out of nowhere--fierce and violent, but dispelled rather quickly with intercessory and personal prayer. Depression tends to roll in slowly like a settling fog, and is not always dispelled so quickly, but is usually helped by medication and therapy like CBT. And clinical depression is NOT a "dark night of the soul" (which 99% of us non-mystics will probably never experience viz-a-viz St. John of the Cross)

I write all this as a precursor because I have noticed a trend in the past couple years of a kind of over-emphasis on the work of demons. You can't open up Catholic media or YouTube today without hearing an exorcist talk about them (obviously, because that is their line of work); but the fact that we are seeing movies about Exorcists and possession, weekly "Exorcist Diary" columns, and podcasts with exorcists seems like a kind of pendulum swing. For years, modernist theologians have been downplaying and poo-pooing the reality of evil and the demonic as literal forces in the world; now we seem to have gone the opposite extreme: demons are everywhere, and we need to bring these stories to light.

I don't think is a bad thing, per se. But it does make me pause and wonder why these topics on the demonic are generating so much interest. Is it a chicken-and-egg scenario that such content is being produced because there is an unmet need to bring it to light? Or is it because talk about demons are the content du jour. After all, the analytics don't lie, and if "GOOGLE:DEMONS" is getting mad hits, than why not capitalize on the interest?

Columnist John Clark made an interesting observation about this phenomenon which I stumbled upon tonight in his NC Register article:

"...As far as I know, no movie has ever been made — nor has any popular book been written — about the minor exorcism that occurs before baptism. Why not? If it is exorcism itself that attracts our interest, why aren’t more Catholics routinely attending baptisms?"

Which brings me to an interesting observation from my armchair, which is this: during my time on social media. the Facebook posts that generated the most "buzz" were not the quote-unquote "boring" posts on prayer, the sacraments, theology, instances of charity, etc. They were the spiritually salacious ones posted to stir controversy, incite a misguided zeal or "rouse the troops" (See my post Fifty Shades of Rage). These were the posts with 200+ comments, the ones that made bored Catholics say "Oooo, I wonder what's going on here?" and then add to the pile. 

These back-and-forth exchanges were rarely spiritually edifying, stoked unnecessary curiosity, encouraged juvenile sound-offs, incited pride and vanity and attention-seeking, and contributed to wasted time and energy that would have been better spent in the, yes, boring work of prayer or spiritual reading. I should know, because I often posted and took part in such things myself. It's one of the reasons why I eventually cut the cord with my engagement on social media: I didn't like the wolf I was feeding, in myself first and foremost, but also what I was contributing in the world of online Catholic culture.

When I hear someone say, "my AV equipment wasn't working because DEMON" or "I got a flat tire because...DEMON!", I don't discount that Satan can disrupt our lives and attempt to derail the good in these ways. Like I said, I've had times when both grace was apparent and undeniable (though from a skeptic's perspective, could have just been a matter of luck or timing), as well as instances of diabolic interference.  

But I also don't want to give the Devil more than his due. I like what Saint John of the Cross reassuringly says here:

"When the soul is clothed in faith the devil is ignorant of how to hinder it, neither is he successful in his efforts, for faith gives the soul strong protection against the devil, who is the mightiest and most astute enemy."

We don't spend a lot of time here in our household thinking or talking about demons. Especially for children, it is not always good to give undue emphasis to these things, given their impressionable imaginations and the potential susceptibility towards scruples. Yes, we have blessed salt and Epiphany water handy, and I have my copy of Deliverance Prayers for the Laity at my prayer station, and have found it effective in more than one instance with both myself and my children. But that was not because of the presence of demons, but the power of faith and grace. And remember--sacramentals are activated by faith. When our Lord couldn't work miracles in his hometown, it was due to a lack of faith. 

Faith, like a marriage, is grace...but it is also hard work. You have to tie yourself to the mast sometimes and just hold on in the dark night, not succumbing to the temptations to flee or violate your vows or throw in the towel. The ordinary things of marriage--the cleaning up after yourself, the being faithful, the deferring your preferences for your spouses' sake--these are the things that go unnoticed and uncommented on, which don't generate the viral hits but which constitute the daily instances of dying to self: the brick-by-brick foundation which is built up over time. 

When your faith is fortified because it has not been built on the whims of sand and curiosity or trends, you shouldn't fear the devil because, as St. John of the Cross says, faith gives strong protection against the devil. This is true even when the devil is the mightiest and most astute enemy and you are....well, you. That is because we do not rest on our own power, but in the mantle of the Theotokis and sanctifying grace which comes from God, who has the Devil on a leash. 

Daily prayer, daily rosary, regular confession, reading of holy scripture, reception of the Eucharist...these are the "boring basics" we should be concentrating on building brick-by-brick into the foundation of our faith lives. It's not glamorous. It's not podcast worthy. It doesn't get the hits. But it doesn't mean we can't learn about how to engage in battle with the Enemy. Read The Spiritual Combat (Dom Scupoli), or Discernment of Spirits (St. Ignatius) for starters. Read the lives of the saints who have the scars and have come out on the other side. 

To the degree an interview with an exorcists aids one's building brick-by-brick the foundation of faith, then okay. But when it becomes simply an opportunity for content creation, or a 2nd-party revenue stream riding the coattails of cultural curiosity, then maybe that focus would be better spent getting "back to basics." 

The Aspirin In The Applesauce

 

My family and I found ourselves subjects in an interesting liturgical experiment last night on the Feast of Corpus Christi. 

We attended a Latin Mass last Sunday at a mission chapel while on vacation. The chapel is associated with a larger, multi-cultural parish that offers Masses in English, Spanish, and Portuguese. When we were at the mission chapel on Sunday for High Mass (Trinity Sunday), an announcement was made that the bishop of the diocese gave permission for the Latin Mass to be celebrated in the "mother church" (I don't know what you would call it) that the mission chapel is associated with for the feast of Corpus Christi, and encouraged those in the Latin Mass community to show their support by attending. Since we are here on the Cape until tomorrow, we decided to attend as well.

The church was pretty full, and I'd say it was comprised of one-third Latin Mass people, one-third Spanish parishioners, and one third (Novus Ordo) English. I don't know how many people read the bulletin or were expecting the Mass to be in the Extraordinary Form, but the pastor of the church made an announcement prior to the start of Mass to let them know that "the Mass that your grandparents probably attended, and which has been celebrated largely unchanged for the past five hundred or more years" was what they were going to be witness to this evening. He explained that it was a little more 'precise' in mannerisms, and that no action within the Mass was extraneous or wasted; it all had meaning. Also, that Communion would be given on the tongue and kneeling. 

In any case, there were no protests and no one walked out. I suppose one could be accused of a kind of liturgical "bait and switch", but the congregation were more like docile, curious school children with a new substitute teacher for the day. It was a High Mass, and there weren't enough missals to go around (and, I would think, most would not know how to follow it either if it was it was their first TLM). 

Here's what was neat, though--it just kind of worked. People stood at the correct times when others stood, and knelt when they knelt. It was if the congregation was being catechized by osmosis. The homily was given in both Spanish and English. Despite the different cultures, there seemed to be unity. It was certainly foreign to some people, and I don't know how many were 'turned off,' but it didn't seem to be that way, even if it wasn't what they were expecting. For some, I imagine, it may have been like taking an Into To Liturgy 101 course during freshman year of college--you either have your mind opened up to another world you never knew existed, or you kind of just write your papers and take your tests to get through the class.

It was interesting in the sense that most people I know who attend the Latin Mass search it out, willingly attend and are drawn to the reverence and sense of the sacred. So, it's true it is a kind of "self-selecting" group in that sense. The New Rite, though, seems to have introduced a kind of 'liturgical preferancing' that in a strange twist, makes Traditionalists the ones who are accused of being preferential (for preferring the Latin Mass). 

This was a different population--the majority population of Mass goers of whom the New Mass is all they have ever known. They may even prefer it, or prefer the Mass in their own language, so I wonder if this liturgical "field trip" was unwelcome. But it didn't seem that way, at least from my place in the pews. I give the pastor credit for being willing to do a "Mass of exposure" to those who may not have otherwise knew it existed. We couldn't stay for the Eucharistic procession (it was/ late and the kids were getting rammy), but I would have loved to talk to people over refreshments after Mass to see what they thought. 

It's not likely the Latin Mass will supplant the Novus Ordo as the standard anytime soon given how invested it seems Rome is in the New Rite. And let's be frank: not everyone wants or prefers it. But were it the only option on the menu, I wonder if it would be one of those things where it would be good for the Church, the way a parent gives medicine to their children, or withholds a diet of sugary food for their family, for their long term benefit. How that works in ecclesial policy practice, I do not know. But I give the pastor of this church credit for introducing his culturally diverse congregation, at the very least, to the option for the Mass of the Ages by way of what for some might be their first exposure to it. 

A Tale Of Two Retreats

 

I'm getting ready to go on a five day silent Ignatian retreat in a couple weeks. Some traditional Benedictine monks are flying to Ohio from Tasmania (Australia) to offer it; in addition to daily Latin Mass, there is guided spiritual direction and Confession, as well as meditations on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. Because it can be hard to find a solid retreat, I have to travel a bit for this one (20 hours total of driving). I feel fortunate I am able to attend, and I'd solicit your prayers for a fruitful experience.

Part of my desire to go on periodic retreats is to receive training, be pushed by those more advanced in the interior life, experience silence apart from my every day life, and grow closer to Christ in my spiritual practice. 

There was a time, years ago, when I was willing to travel anywhere in order to sit at the feet of a teacher under tutelage. At that time, my mind was my enemy--a rabid raccoon I couldn't trust. Who can teach me to train it? I wasn't plugged in to any kind of orthodox Catholicism at the time, and so I went East. In scripture, the Lord God says "As far as the East is from the West..." (Ps 103:12). Eastern thought is not that of the West, and religious syncretism is something I discovered later is not a boon, but a liability in the spiritual life of a Catholic (which I wrote about here). I don't recommend this for any sincere, practicing Catholic, but it was part of my journey at the time, and led me to reflect on it this morning.

In 2007 I traveled to Southern Thailand to make an eleven day vipassana ("to see things as they are") retreat at a monastery founded by the late Nguam Panitch (b 1906, d 1993). In 1926, Panitch left the wats (temples) of Bangkok and founded Suan Mokkhabalarama in the forest to practice what he believed to be a purer and less encumbered form of Buddhism. He adopted the name Buddhadassa Bhikkhu, which translates 'Slave of the Buddha' and lived out his life as a monk seeking liberation, and teaching others who sought the same.

There was no "signing up" or registering for this retreat; I just had to show up at the monastery gates and hope the monks let you in. It was over 700km from Bangkok to the province of Surat Thani in the far southern part of the country, where the monastery was located in the jungle. 

By combination of bus and tuk-tuk (a three-wheeled auto rickshaw) over the course of a day, I eventually arrived. The monks let me in.

The days began at 4am with meditation. We ate simple vegetarian meals, washed our clothes in a cistern and used a lantern to illuminate the path through the forest for talks. We did about six hours of meditation a day. I had a small cell with a concrete bed and bamboo mat, and a wooden block for a pillow. 

Two monks game the talks on the dharma each day, Tan Dhammaviddu and Tan Medhi. Tan Dhammaviddu was an English monk who had lived in a cave until recently; he was pale and never smiled, but was frank and serious and strived after enlightenment "the way a drowning man seeks air," as Bhuddhadassa Bhikku used to say; Tan Medhi was a pleasant native Thai monk who would smile and laugh. Sometimes the monks would go into the jungle to meditate for days where they knew the lions and other wild animals were present; being so close to potential death-by-mauling heightened their awareness, I was told. 

I didn't talk for eleven days, nor did any of the other participants, and I couldn't write. We were also forbidden to kill, as a precept, which meant enduring the mosquitos which in a state of meditation you would feel land on your skin and insert their stinger, drawing your blood.

About fifty men and fifty women from all over the world started the retreat, and a good number could not stand the intensity and left. One night I heard crying in the cell next to mine; it was a pimply kid from England who I imagined was homesick. We each had our own assigned meditation cushion; one morning the young man from Ireland who usually sat next to me didn't show up. I learned later, after the retreat, that he ran away in the middle of the night, climbing over the monastery gates, never to be heard of again. 

Thai Buddhism is largely based in the Theravada ("School of the Elders") tradition, which is old-school, strict Buddhism. In the Christian tradition, it would be akin to the "traditionalist" camps. There are different schools of Buddhism: Mayahana is a kind of reform school which places the enlightenment of all sentient beings as their primary end. Mayahana Buddhists refer to the Theravada school pejoratively as the "lesser vehicle," since Theravada Buddhists focus on liberation of the self. There is also Tibetan Buddhism, and Zen (Rinzai and Soto) Buddhism. The goal in Buddhism is to realize the non-duality of all things: there is no self, which is only a construct. Suffering arises from attachment to desire, which the Buddhist seeks to annihilate. Most Buddhists believe in karma and reincarnation--subsequent lives in which one continues to try to escape from the cycle of rebirth if you don't achieve it in your lifetime.

When I flew back to America, I did not come home enlightened, but I did undergo some serious discipline during that week and a half. Again, this is not something I would recommend to any Christian seeking Christ, as it is not necessary or good practice. I only share it because in my journey, God wrote with crooked lines. 

If you desire God, seek Christ and learn from a teacher in the school of charity. Pray to the God who loves you, don't meditate and seek answers from the Void. Rather than seek the annihilation of the self, subjugate it in order to become a slave of Christ, as the Apostle and all the disciples did.  The Gospel and the Dharma are not one and the same. Be willing to sell all you have for the Pearl of Great Price. Seek out discipline in the school of Tradition and orthodoxy, and learn from the Saints who have gone before you. Otherwise you will have a lot of 'un-learning' to do. If you are tempted towards religious syncretism, I would like to spare you from all that. 

"That's The Good Stuff"

I saw this image the other night and it hit me right in the feels. It said very succinctly, in a kind of koan-type fashion, exactly what I have thought on many occasions, and how easy it is not be be present to the blessings right in front of you. 

 

In Looking In From The Outside, I wrote:

Middle age is a tough time for dad. You're so focused on your career and managing things that time is at a premium. I try to balance having time for myself (time that my wife usually doesn't have as a luxury, admittedly), time with other men, time with my parents, time with my wife, time with my kids, time writing, and time in prayer.  

My wife was chastising me a bit last night for not being present with my kids when I have the opportunity. She's not wrong. She is a 'be-er' and I'm a 'do-er.' Every time I do have the opportunity to just 'be' I end up 'doing' something instead. Everyone knows that you can't substitute time together with other things and expect to have a healthy marriage. And the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to know them, and want to spend time with them. I feel like my kids pick up on that I am not as present with them as their mom is, and so they turn to other 'things' to fill the vacuum that I could be filling if I was more present.

There's an image I have, when I go out on the patio for some time to myself, of looking from the outside in while the rest of my family is inside. I've chosen to take time for myself, but I would be horrified if I tried to come back in the house and it was locked for some reason. Then you realize the place you really want to be more than anywhere, with your family, you're barred from, because of what you've chosen instead. I know it's just a moment but I don't want it to project as a future reality. Moments add up to days, and days to years, and before you know it if you're not careful, you can become a stranger in your own house.

My wife was telling me something she heard from Leila Lawler, some erudite wisdom on homemaking and childrearing, along the lines of "You don't 'make memories' for your children. They make their own memories." I don't know the exact context of what she was saying, but from what I surmised "the trip to Disney World," or "the birthday party" or whatever is often not the true memory. The memories are those snippets, those scraps of tapestry, that the children make for themselves. It could be the smell of the salt air, a song heard on the radio, laying on the couch with mom, or the salted caramel ice cream cone your dad treated you to.

We played a round of miniature golf yesterday, and walked over to the Wendy's afterwards to treat the kids to some frosties and things. It was "a great day" for them, and it wasn't because of the mini golf or the burgers or any one thing, but because we were together as a family. I don't make much money and I don't have any real professional status or standing. But I realized many people would kill to have what I have. My 'new core memory' as a dad that day was seeing them at the table as I ordered food, and realizing I am not a poor man, but instead very, very rich.

Robbin Williams has a great monologue in Good Will Hunting (part of which I heard was unscripted) when he's talking to the young Will about his deceased wife. 

"My wife used to fart when she was nervous. She had all sorts of wonderful idiosyncrasies. She used to fart in her sleep. One night it was so loud it woke the dog up. She woke up and went like "oh was that you?" I'd say yeah...I didn't have the heart to tell her...Oh God...[laughing]

Will: She woke herself up?

Sean: Yesssss....aahhh. But, Will, she's been dead two years and that's the shit I remember. Wonderful stuff, you know, little things like that. Ah, but, those are the things I miss the most. The little idiosyncrasies that only I knew about. That's what made her my wife. Oh, and she had the goods on me, too, she knew all my little peccadillos. People call these things imperfections, but they're not, aw, that's the good stuff." 

We are coming up on our thirteenth year of marriage, and I have plenty of those memories of my wife--the things that make her my wife. The time she dozed off looking at her phone and dropped it on her head; the particular sigh she makes which distinguishes whether she is angry or just tired, which would be lost on anyone but me; when she laughs and then accidentally snorts at the same time. I try not to take them for granted, either, to recognize and give thanks for that privileged place. 

There's a saying I'm fond of, when it comes to your life in Christ as a Catholic:

You have all that you need.

You have the grace of your baptism; the heavenly manna of Christ's flesh in the Eucharist; the opportunity to confess your sins to a priest; a community of fellow pilgrims and those who have gone before you, the saints; the solace of prayer and silence; the assurance of the promise of salvation; the opportunity to become a saint. We are rich in faith, every single one of us. And if we're not careful, there will come a time when you would give all you have to have that again and not find it. You will remember the heavy smell of incense, the flicker of an offering candle bouncing light of the stained glass windows, the solidness of the oak pews where so many hands have been placed, the unlocked door that allowed you to sneak in for a few moments of quiet. 

Same goes for our families, or marriages. These are great graces which we can build up, invest in, and recognize them for what they are: moments stitched together in time, moments not promised that can be taken away from us at any moment as the Lord wills. Each moment can be sacred, can be sanctified, especially while the kids are young--if we are paying attention and not letting it pass us by. This is what makes a man rich, establishes a legacy. You have all that you need.

Your Gay Neighbor

 

We are on vacation--it was 46 degrees last night; unseasonably cool for the beginning of June. We rent a little (and I mean little) cottage earlier in vacation season (one of the advantages of homeschooling) so we can get the off-peak rate. This area has resisted a lot of commercialization, and it hasn't changed much honestly since I was a kid. We love it here.

The guy we have been renting from the past few years has been really nice to deal with. He's accommodating, and has offered some perks (like a free night this year) that are very much appreciated since we are on a budget. We had my wife's niece paint a picture of the cottage last year (she is a graphic designer/artist) as a gift to him in appreciation for renting to us. He was appreciative of that as well.

I also surmised he is a gay man given a few magazines (not the explicit kind, just culture stuff!) we found around the cottage, the tasteful interior design and decor...and the Human Rights Campaign sticker on the front door. Of course that's an assumption. Gayness (or our family's religious affiliation) is a non-issue in our particular tenant/renter relationship. I reserve our week, send him a check, and communicate as needed via email or text. We're grateful he's so accommodating and easy to work with.

It's a similar situation at work. A good number of the faculty members I work with are gay, and they are also very nice to work with and pleasant individuals for the most part. Of course they have particular quirks, like all people do; that's normal. But again, that aspect of their lives doesn't come up a whole lot, at least in my interactions with them. I've worked with many of them for almost a decade now; never had any issues or complaints.

One of the things I liked most in Of Gods And Men is how the film showed the way the Trappist monks lived and worked among their Muslim neighbors. Even when their lives were being threatened by Islamic extremists, the Christian monks did not turn on their Muslim neighbors or caricature them as 'the enemy.' They were their neighbors, whom they have co-existed peaceably with for years and with whom there was mutual trust and the foundations of relationships. When you have to live with someone by circumstance for years on end, it can be akin to a kind of marriage--you just have to find a way to compromise, live together, and work things out, assuming there is mutual respect between parties.

"The first part of the film is idyllic, reflecting a decade of leadership by Father Christian (Lambert Wilson). The son of a distinguished French military family, he had been raised in Algeria and had fought in the Algerian war of independence on the French side. After entering the Cistercians, he dedicated his life to establishing a strong relationship with Muslims. Before joining the monastery in Tibhirine, Christian studied with the White Fathers in Rome, an order devoted to both African conversion and Christian–Muslim reconciliation. He often invited their Muslim neighbors to share meals and discuss their religious beliefs at the monastery. A student of the Quran, which is seen prominently on his desk, he noted that devout Muslims identify with the monks because they both had ritual daily prayers. He was often critical of his co-religionists, something that probably had its roots in his familiarity with prejudiced elites in France and Algeria. In addition, his great great aunt had been a member of the order of the Society of Helpers in the 1880s. Serving the sick poor and outcasts especially blacks in New York City and St. Louis, they fought against religious prejudice in the Church at the time (Kiser 2002). By the same token, many of his colleagues thought that he was too “sensitive” and loathe to criticize Muslims or the Quran." [1]

We would be naive and woefully misguided if we thought there were no orthodox men and women in the Church today who may happen to be same-sex attracted. Being an orthodox Catholic isn't a kind of litmus test where we stop people at the door to make sure they meet the qualifications to worship in the house of God; we are all sinners saved by grace. Orthodox means right belief. And belief comes from the individual themselves. So, to the degree with which their beliefs conform to that of the Church and they are sincerely trying to align their lives with that right belief, that is orthopraxis.

Case in point--we drove 30 minutes or so down the Cape this morning to attend a High Mass for Trinity Sunday at a small, simple wooden mission chapel. I'm at the point where I would drive three times that distance to worship in the usus antiquior, and especially while traveling. We have re-routed our already long drives in the past to hit up a ICKSP for First Saturday or Corpus Christi, and it is always worth the extra effort. I say that without feeling the need to denigrate the Novus Ordo. But the reality is I have developed a kind of liturgical anxiety when it comes to the random N.O. parish, because I never know what kind of situation I am walking into. With the traditional Latin Mass, there are no real surprises, and no nonsense. For the benefit of my family, and as the spiritual head of my household, this is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make to spare my children from the potential for unforeseen liturgical scandals. 

What's cool is that even though the Traditional Latin Mass is more or less uniform, there is still diversity within it. I loved seeing African Americans, altar boys with Downs Syndrome, young families and old timers. Even though we were travelers and guests at this particular parish community, we were neighbors in spirit and liturgy.

I also noticed at this particular Mass that two men around my age came in together just before Mass and sat in the pew in front of us. They were dressed similarly--white button downs and khakis. They could have been brothers, they could have been friends or military. But it's very possible they could have been a couple as well. From outward appearance, it seemed that they were unfamiliar with the Latin Mass, though they followed along well--kneeling when the congregation knelt, standing when they stood, etc. I'm always curious (not just with these two men) what people's "stories" are. But the fact of the matter is, it was none of my business. 

When it came time for communion, I noticed neither of them went up to receive. Again, that is none of my business, and could have been for a myriad of reasons--from potentially not even being Catholic but simply "curious", to not being in a state of grace, to simply not feeling disposed by conscience to receiving. They, like all of us, were there to worship God in a fitting manner. They disappeared quietly to their car after Mass. Not knowing their story, I prayed for their intentions and journey. 

Priests like Fr. James Martin do a great disservice to the Church and fellow Christians by their obfuscation and untruth--that the Church (or church) should and will change to accommodate those Catholics in the LGBT community. He--and those who abet such "accompaniment" when it is not grounded in the truth of the Church's teaching--fail to love them enough to tell them the truth. Must like our President, about whom my priest friend notes, "It's sad that no one ever loved him (the President) enough to tell him the truth (about his sacrilegious communions, among other things)." 

And yet, when we think about our gay neighbors, how do we accompany them with the lantern of truth? Being neighbor to them (as we are neighbor to anyone) precludes being high-horse, self-righteous jerks--judging, assuming, condemning, patronizing. In this Pope Francis is correct that the Church should be a "field hospital" for sinners, where we bring those in most need of grace to the font of Love and the source of Grace itself. We don't "make ourselves good" before we approach the Lord, or else no one would be worthy to approach Him, ever. And yet, there is something to be said to having the humility to know when we are invited to the wedding but aren't wearing the appropriate garments to enter (Mt 22:11-12). The story of St. Mary of Egypt is one such example. A public sinner, the lascivious harlot once brazenly tried to enter a local church when she heard a relic of the true Cross was being venerated, and was unable to do so by a mysterious (miraculous) force, which led to her contrite metanoia and a subsequent lifetime of penance.  

It is interesting that in Luke's Gospel, the 'expert in the law' who seeks eternal life and initially answers Jesus' question about the Greatest Commandment correctly is affirmed by Jesus by his answer. Yet the Evangelist describes the man as "seeking to justify himself" when he takes it a step further, asking "Who is my neighbor?" And it is here the Lord tells the parable of the Good Samaritan. The beaten man is passed over by a priest and a Levite, but a Samaritan becomes neighbor to him by caring for him and bringing him back to health and wholeness. "Who was neighbor to him?" the Lord asks. Being neighbor is not about slogans or our personal sense of cleanness, but action.  

I try to stress the point with my kids. Even today as we were driving in the car, and my son was asking about rainbow flags, I reiterated that we are called to "hate the sin, and love the sinner." That same-sex attraction is not part-and-parcel the same as lived homosexuality. That we are called as Christians to love, but not through pat, untruthful slogans ("love is love", etc) as those ideologically opposed to us spout to justify sin, but though preaching the Gospel in truth and charity. The reality of living in a fallen world, under a corrupt government, and among a diversity of people (atheists, Jews, Muslims, pagans, etc) was no strange thing to Jesus during his time. We are to give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's (Mk 12:17), to love our enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you (Lk 6:27-28). That can take some discernment in how that looks in real time and circumstances. But neighbor we must be.

There is a point when we must turn over to Satan for the destruction of their flesh those so blinded by their corruption for the good of their souls (1 Cor 5:5). But love also does not cross over to the other side of the street. Love is without deceit (Rom 12:9). Love does not judge the heart, which cannot be seen or known by man (Jer 17:9). Love is compelled by Truth. 

Sometimes people self-segregate (Chinatown, the "gayborhood," Crown Heights, Little Italy, etc) to be neighbors among those they share an affinity or culture with, and there's nothing wrong with that. But to the degree that we find ourselves as neighbors among different people who don't share our religious values should not be a reason to move necessarily, but an opportunity to witness in love, integrity, and truth. It is hard work, as all years-long relationships are.  

The Collapse of Trust

 I'm watching the Daily Wire What Is A Woman? documentary on Twitter while it's available for free (ending soon). If you see this post in time, you may still be able to watch it. 

I wasn't going to at first. I'll be the first to admit I'm not a huge Matt Walsh fan, but he did a really good job with this piece. He was respectful and not inflammatory, and the production was well done. Just asking fundamental questions (ie, the title of the documentary) which people seem to have trouble answering. Because like Pilate, it comes back to the issue: What Is Truth? What is reality? Is there an objective reality? Objective truth? 

Something weird is going on in Western civ. I especially liked the part when he flew to Kenya to visit an African tribe. They laughed and laughed at the bizarre questions  "Can a man become a woman, or a woman become a man?" as if it were a mistranslation, and answered his question of What Is A Woman? very matter-of-factly with simple common sense.

I think COVID really blew the floor out of the house.  We are all being institutionally lied to, and you don't have to be a "conspiracy theorist" to believe that. Not just COVID though. From the AMA to the APA to the NCAA to the U.S. of A., it is clear we cannot and should not blindly trust institutions that should be in the service of the common good. If you don't have common sense, how can you know what the common good is?

There are good agents in every field, people who want to tell the Emperor he is naked. But they get smothered and drowned out. I think Matt Walsh, given his temperament, is telling him plainly--not in a hysterical manner, but calmly and rationally. Of course all documentaries are slanted, but nothing is neutral today anyway.

In some ways, this is nothing new. But it just seems to be accelerating. 

When we get in a car, we trust other drivers on the road to have the competency to be behind the wheel. We can be as careful as we can be, and yet still be broadsided by a distracted or drunk driver; our lives, for better or worse, are in the hands of others. 

If we can't trust the government, our therapist, our doctors, the pharmaceutical industry, our institutions of higher education--or if that trust has been compromised with even just little turds in the carboy--then that is a foreboding sign for our society as a whole (as you'll get a taste of, if you watch Matt's documentary)

Like abortion, one can make oppositional claims against abortion and trans ideology without appeal to religious reasoning, though the Natural Law, philosophy, and theology can inform that truth. Christians do not (or should not) oppose trans ideology not because of hate or being bigoted or fear, but because we must tell the truth. That truth comes with a cost, as it always does for those who choose not to live by lies. 

Either/Or

 

In my first Systematic Theology course in grad school, my professor introduced himself as a "filthy Thomist." I didn't know what a Thomist was, but as a sinner saved by grace I knew what it meant to be filthy, and putting two and two together the implication was that he was a respected member of the largely left-leaning faculty but a bit of an outlier because of his Neo-Scholastic foundations. 

It's not hard to see why Neo-Thomism is hardly the leper-in-the-room in orthodox Catholic circles today, but rather given pride of place. If you're a twenty-something traditionalist, your sharpest chisel in the pouch to carve a name for yourself is the Summa. Want to get mad subs as a YouTuber? Start a channel called "Pints With Aquinas." Want to get blotted? Take a shot with your buddies every time Fr. Ripperger begins a sentence with "St. Thomas says..." in one of his conferences and you'll be wishing you chose a different drinking game before the night is over. 

It's not hard to see the appeal of classical Thomism. The world is a mess, confusion reigns, relativism is King, and the air of post-modernity is what we all breathe. For Catholics who seek clarity and truth in a world gone mad, why wouldn't you turn to the reigning heavyweight champion of the Christian intellectual tradition, the Angelic Doctor himself? 

I'll be the first to admit that I have never read the Summa, never identified with Neo-Scholasticism, and would never identify as a Thomist. Not because I don't respect the formidable intellectual tradition or the good saint Thomas himself, but because I would be nothing but a complete poser for even wading into these deep waters and purporting that I knew what I was talking about.  I'll leave that work to groups like the Thomistic Institute, who are doing fantastic work in forming and exercising the intellectual muscle of ordinary Catholics with their engaging and accessible videos and workshops. 

I'll also admit in full discloser that the biggest influence in my ruddy spiritual and theological formation and writing was not even a Catholic, but a melancholic 19th century Danish philosopher named Søren Kierkegaard who personified a kind of anti-Thomism. 

Whereas objectivity epitomized St. Thomas' thought and work, Kierkegaard was a staunch subjectivist, for "Subjectivity is truth, and truth is subjectivity" (Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments). While St. Thomas wrote categorically, illuminated by the lamp of reason, Kierkegaard bore his conjectures from under the shade of existential doubt. 

For St. Thomas, one could know the Truth because it could be observed outside of man; for Kierkegaard, the only truth worth knowing came from within. St. Thomas' scholasticism promises formulaic understanding and assurance. Kierkegaard sacrifices such divine assurance on the Abrahamic altar of the absurd, with no possibility of redemption until, by faith, one fully commits to burying his knife to the hilt in the heart of one's proverbial only son.

These two men are not equal in standing. St. Thomas' theological, philosophical, and intellectual history is near-timeless. He stands as a Doctor of the Universal Church, and his personal sanctity is beyond reproach. 

Kierkegaard, on the other hand, never transcended the sickness unto death. He was a gaunt, awkward melancholic who fixated obsessively on an unrequited earthly love. His personality inspired no one and his work was largely only recognized posthumously. His legacy as the "father" of existentialism was earned, but rather than raising up saints it bore the atheistic step-children of Absurdists like Camus and Nihilists like Nietzsche. Whereas in Holy Scripture we read that justice and peace shall kiss (Ps 85:10), in the world of Kierkegaard it is faith and doubt that live in eternal and tormented embrace, for "doubt is conquered by faith, just as it is faith which has brought doubt into the world" (Journals and Papers, p. 399)

While I respected my "filthy Thomist" professor in grad school, I could never sit down and wax about the Summa with him, or talk classical theology, because I was out of my depth, though I do wish I had more of a foundation in theological scholasticism the way Picasso trained as a formidable Realist before immersing himself in the world of abstractionism.

When I sat with my ex-girlfriend's father (who was a Philosophy professor at a small Catholic college and who wrote his dissertation on Kierkegaard) on his back porch, though, it felt like an ocean of potential conversation. What is faith? How do we exercise it? What do we risk to live a life of integrity? What do we do with doubt? If we are called to give up everything to follow Christ, doesn't that entail what we believe about him--that is, the roles we assign him as earthly king and victor? It's as if the scholastic theologians lived in the light and assurance of the historical and soteriological Resurrection, while Christian existentialists endure the unbearable tension of the three days in the tomb between hope and despair, triumphalism and abject failure.

Of course, I wouldn't have become Catholic if I weren't at least on some level indebted to the scholasticism of St. Thomas and invested in its magisterial legacy--a solid rock on which to build an objective faith. But there is a part of me that is also wary of the "x plus y always equals z" approach to faith and reason lived out, and that everything always has an answer or makes sense. 

That is why I can appreciate novels like Shūsaku Endō's Silence or Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory. It's why I love the book of Job, the righteous man of God who rejects the pat reasoning of his friends Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. It's why Abraham Lincoln was my favorite President, because the weight of his melancholy and subjective suffering did not break him, but instead transformed a nation. It's why I try to enter into the mystery of paradox in scripture, which is the thread Christ uses to weave the tapestry of his public ministry, and why the yuródivyy (holy foolishness) asceticism of the Orthodox makes room for mystery in how faith is lived out with divine integrity--even when it looks absurd to the world.

Like everyone, I'm tempted to make sense of my suffering, and I want to know beyond a doubt that God exists and prove it to all my friends. I want to have a left-brained faith that is neat and tidy and ordered and objective and watertight, and envy people who do. I want to be an eternal optimist, a cheery idealist. I wouldn't mind being an intellectual heavy-weight. 

Instead, my scales tend to weight in favor of the subjective. I know God because I have experienced Him, not because I read a proof of His existence. I am obnoxiously right-brained--emotive, messy, vacillating, despairing while simultaneously bursting with hope. I have had to fight to live and trust in Love to keep breathing. I can't prove anything-in fact, the longer I live, the less I feel like I know for sure. That doesn't threaten or undermine my faith in Christ or his Church. But it does bring me closer to Him in the sepulcher when I'm not sure if my all-chips-in wager is going to pay off. 

In a postmodern world, we crave certainty and the assurance of knowing our faith, because the lived alternative to this point has been, let's face it, cacophonic. Black and White, like cheap grace, is in high demand today; shades of grey, passé. But Reason is a good. The Natural Law is a good. God is an objective reality, testified to by faith. 

But faith is also a wager, and grace is not cheap and tidy. Presumption is an ever-present temptation and snare of the elect. And doubt is not necessarily the death-knell of belief, a line destined to snap. Instead, it holds tension that to lose life is to find it (Mt 16:25); to die is to gain (Phil 1:21); the kingdom of God is within us (Lk 17:21); and to lean not on our own understanding (Prov 3:5-6). It cries out in anguish with the Son to the Father who holds back His arm and remains silent: ‘Eloi Eloi Lama Sabachthani’…”My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I'm not a mystic, nor a theologian, and not a Thomist either. I think, though, the more we learn to live with this tension, the more we enter into the dark night of true faith, holding the hand of the Savior to guide us even as we don't know where we are going, or by what way, or to what fate--that's enough for me to go on right now. This sickness will not end in death (Jn 11:4).