What Is A Bishop?

 My latest article at Crisis, What Is A Bishop?

When To Be A Legalist, And When Not To Be

I was listening to Paul's letter to the Galatians this morning on the way to work. It's a great, short epistle with a lot of meat on the bones.

In Chapter 2, Paul recounts his "calling out" Peter at Antioch over Peter's inconsistency and hypocrisy in not eating with the uncircumcised brethren for fear of being judged by the circumcised. One may recall Peter's initial strong faith in walking to Jesus on the water (Mt 14:29) but which lead to a kind of second-guessing and which causes him to start to sink (14:30). Peter of course recognizes the radical saving power of grace through Christ's passion, death, and resurrection, and yet I think there is perhaps a part of him that still finds it hard to let go of his identity as a member of the Jewish faithful and adherence to the Law. I would wager there is an element of that here in Acts 2: Peter "second-guessing" that he is truly no longer under the Law, but grace. 

Paul, ironically, has no issues preaching the radical grace of Christ and his resurrection. Of course, Paul was a "Hebrew of Hebrews" (Phil 3:5) and a Pharisee, no stranger to the Law and a stringent adherent to it. Just as much as Saul is knocked from his horse and immediately does a one-eighty from persecuting Christians to becoming one, with no second guessing whatsoever (radical obedience), he also immediately and unabashedly throws off the yoke of the Torah (taking on the yoke of the Torah was the mark of a true Pharisee) and takes on the yoke of Christ. For he recognizes that one can not be subject to the one while claiming the other, for "a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ...because by works of the law no one will be justified" (Gal 2:16).

But Peter was almost a bystander in this instance, for Titus (a Gentile), Paul's traveling companion was the one whom "false brothers" (2:4) were trying to convince must be circumcised according to the Law. These Jewish Christians and their false gospel (Gal 1:6) were working counter to Paul's message of radical grace, and Paul has no problem confronting Peter and holding him up as an example of how not to conduct oneself as a Jewish Christian towards the Gentile Christians. 

It may help also to have some background on the Pharisees themselves. The Pharisees were so concerned with not violating the Commandments (a noble sentiment) that they enacted 613 prohibitions drawn from the Mosaic law, and 1,500 additional "fence laws" which served as a kind of outer protective hedge around the aforementioned 613. They were extremely religious, to say the least--again, a noble sentiment--praying the Shemoneh ‘esreh, the eighteen prescribed prayers prayed three times a day. But it was also distinct from the Sadducee sect, as it was geared more towards the faith of ordinary (versus priestly) Jews. The word Pharisee means "set apart, separated." As a Temple-sect of Judaism, after the destruction of the Temple the interpretation of the Law began to crowd out and take on almost more significance than the Law itself. This is why Jesus took such issue with the Pharisees and their crushingly burdensome yoke of interpretation.

It's fashionable to speak of Traditional Catholics today as "Pharisees." But to be honest, all stereotypes have a degree of truth. Nuevo-traditionalists (as opposed to those who with the whole Church simply practiced the traditional faith prior to the reforms of the Second Vatican Council) do often see themselves as "set apart, separated" (from "normie" Catholics and those who attend the Novus Ordo). Some can be suspicious of any kind of expressive or ejaculatory prayer, but are devoted to their missals for reciting prescribed prayers. Many on the extreme end in their religiosity see the New Mass as a kind of defilement, the way the circumcised would not eat with the uncircumcised as we see at Antioch in Gal 2:11-14. 

What does Paul say to Peter there? "If you, though a Jew, are living like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?" Peter's pretense ("hypocrisy") is a kind of play-acting in which he claims the radical grace of God while acting as if he were still under the Law. A kind of "fence law" around grace which prevents one from accepting it without reserve. Ironic, since it was Paul who was the Pharisee of Pharisees, and yet who (rightfully) has thrown himself unabashedly on the law of justification by faith (Gal 2:16) and held nothing back. 

There is also a temptation towards creating our own Catholic "fence laws" around the core of faith, lay interpretations that get weighted disproportionately and zealously defended (and sometimes with a fair amount of rancor). What do I mean? I spoke about this a little in my post Extra-Catholica, but it also comes up over things like praying the Luminous Mysteries, the necessity of veiling at Mass or dress length, and neo-Jansenist tendencies. The self-appointed interpreters of the Law (of the Church) have moved into pride-of-place in certain Catholic circles so much so that "ordinary Catholics" (just like ordinary Jews in the time of the Pharisees) look to them before they look to the heart of the Church.

However, it is not hypocritical for a faithful Catholic to hold fervently as well to legal proscriptions when they fundamentally matter. This may be related to making sure one fasts for at least one hour (if not more) before receiving Holy Communion and should refrain from reception if they have failed to keep this fast. One must also sacramentally confess at least once a year as well (CCC 1457). The Church in her rightful authority requires, for instance, that the species used in the consecration be unleavened (bread) and (wine) free from impurities. If not, a valid consecration did not take place. If one were to not say the name of the individual, and not use the Trinitarian formula ("I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit" and use a substance other than water, the baptism is likewise not valid. These things do matter. In this sense, legalism is a good for the protection of the integrity of the particular sacraments. No Catholic should feel "bad" for insisting on an assurance of such integrity. 

Jesus admonished the Pharisees not because they were religious, but because their "fences" and interpretations became the focus of their piety; they became as religious pagans washing the outside of the cup while neglecting the inside (Mt 23:25), as the scripture says, "they changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshiped and served the creature more than the Creator" (Rom 1:25). 

Just as the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath (Mk 2:27), so too should our hearts be the core, infused with grace and pulsing with faith, while the fences of our piety and our holy religion stand as a bulwark against all that would threaten it. A fence must be solid and thoroughly secured to serve its function. But to the degree we find ourselves overly-busy with sanding, painting, heightening, adorning, barbed-wiring, and leaning on it while our heart languishes within its confines, it may be worth questioning whether one's piety has found its rightful home.  

If You Want To Get, You Have To Give

 

The past few months I've been feeling especially lonely. Although I'm not one for big groups, I like one:one interactions and connecting with people, both old and new. But it's a busy time of life for everyone, so sometimes these interactions are few and far between. 

As a writer (or rather, "one who writes a lot"), one of my favorite past times is letter writing. Before email, I would write letters to friends from wherever I was traveling in the world, or from home. I have a box full of letters received from people in my life in the attic. But like developing film, it's a past time that has gone by the wayside. I can't remember the last time I got a letter from someone in the mail, or even written one myself. Sometimes I'll get an email correspondence, but even that is getting rarer.  

Then it occurred to me: I was feeling sorry for myself, but it didn't need to stay that way. I could do something about it. So I found a Catholic organization in Texas that connects death row inmates with pen pals. I had corresponded and visited inmates at the state prison years ago, and would go into the county prison before COVID to read the bible to a group of about forty inmates once a month. But they never re opened after COVID, and so I just kind of forgot about it.

The Texas organization never got back to me (I don't know if it's still active), but the Order of Malta also runs a prison pen pal program, and they did respond to my inquiry and set me up with a prison in Montana to write to guys who are incarcerated. I sent off my first letter today to a young man who is doing five years in state prison for assaulting a police officer. I'll share my letter to him below.

Sometimes we think we need to do big things for God; but we often neglect the 'low hanging fruit' that is within our reach. Anybody can write as a corporal work of mercy. You can do it from the comfort of your home, all for the cost of a stamp. When I thought about how nice it might be for me to get a letter in the mail, how much more so for a man who has no family (this man's father is in jail, and his mother was killed) and no freedom? 

I realized that if you want to get grace (or forgiveness, or comfort, or love), sometimes you have to give it too. So that's what I'm doing. Thank you, Lord, for the grace and opportunity!

Dear D___,

How are you? Thanks for corresponding with me, and I hope this letter finds you well. I also wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to pray for you, and I hope you will do the same for me. 

Although I have been a Catholic for about twenty five years now, it was not always this way. I came into the Church at the age of eighteen, when God “adopted” me as his son through friendship with Jesus Christ, God’s own Son, when I was alone in the wilderness on a backpacking trip at the age of seventeen. Before that I had led a sinful life with various struggles and did not have peace, joy, or know how I could find the key to happiness. I explored Buddhism, Hare Krishna, and other esoteric religions. But it was God revealing Himself in Christ and in the scriptures (the Bible) that made me realize there was hope for me too, and that it is only in Christ that we are saved, for Jesus, it says in scripture, is “the way, the truth, and the life” (Jn 14:6).

I don’t know if you have any religious faith or not, but maybe we can talk about that in future correspondence if you feel comfortable doing so. I did want to share something with you from St. Paul’s letter to the Phillippians, which shows that despite one’s circumstances, the man of God can find peace and freedom. “I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength” (Phil 4:11-13). St. Paul was shipwrecked, thrown in prison, beaten, accosted, starved…but he maintained his peace and joy. Because, as he says, “What can separate us from the love of God? For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 38:39). 

What’s interesting is that St. Paul was at first a persecutor of Christians, ordering them to be murdered. But Jesus appeared to him and chose him to spread the Gospel as an Apostle. Moses, likewise, was a murderer who assaulted and killed an Egyptian and was a fugitive on the run after the did. Yet God used him as well. King David was an adulterer and ordered a man to be killed as well. God can use any of us, despite our pasts. As King David prayed to God in the Psalms, “Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” (Ps 51:7). 

Although I am married with three children, God must always come first in a man’s life. Because if he is not right with God, nothing else will fall into place correctly. Just as in recovery, one must turn himself over to a Higher Power (God) and admit he is not in control before sobriety can happen. 

I look forward to writing you in the future if you are able to write back. I will be praying for you as well. St. Dismas (the Good Thief) is a powerful intercessor. Here is a prayer you can pray for grace: 

“Glorious Saint Dismas, you alone of all the great Penitent Saints were directly canonized by Christ Himself; you were assured of a place in Heaven with Him "this day" because of the sincere confession of your sins to Him in the tribunal of Calvary and your true sorrow for them as you hung beside Him in that open confessional; you who by the direct sword thrust of your love and repentance did open the Heart of Jesus in mercy and forgiveness even before the centurion's spear tore it asunder; you whose face was closer to that of Jesus in His last agony, to offer Him a word of comfort, closer even than that of His Beloved Mother, Mary; you who knew so well how to pray, teach me the words to say to Him to gain pardon and the grace of perseverance; and you who are so close to Him now in Heaven, as you were during His last moments on earth, pray to Him for me that I shall never again desert Him, but that at the close of my life I may hear from Him the words He addressed to you: "This day thou shalt be with Me in Paradise."

I hope to hear from you soon. 

In Christ,

R

All Hail King ALDI

When I was growing up, my dad always did the grocery shopping for our family. This was not very conventional, but then again my dad was not a very conventional man.

I continued this tradition in my own family, for whatever reason. Unlike my father (who I think cooked a Taylor pork roll for himself back in the 1970's but was never known to prepare dinner for us; that was my mom's domain), I do about 80% of the cooking in our household, which I don't mind. I think it's because as a teenager I was up at 4am delivering newspapers, then school, then track or wrestling practice and by the time I got home I was starving. But we always ate late because my mom worked. So I probably subconsciously vowed when I grew up that I would take dinner-matters into my own hands.

I don't mind grocery shopping. At least now I don't, thanks in large part to a German grocery chain called Aldi. It wasn't always this way. I used to shop at the old-school, 1980's era supermarkets like Acme and Giant because they were close by and it was the bane of my existence. Prices were not competitive, lines were long and annoying, selection was sub-par, and the whole experience just sucked. Wegman's was a nice shopping experience (and Catholic owned), but it started to hurt the wallet; which is unfortunate because it was on my home from work). I don't mind picking up a loaf of bread or gallon of milk from Walmart, but I don't want to do all my grocery shopping there.

When I discovered Aldi, everything changed. It has literally been a godsend for our family, and I'm going to tell you why. But first a little history about the chain. 

The first Aldi store was opened in Germany in 1913, and came to the U.S. in the mid-seventies. “In the aftermath of the war, "scarcity and necessary frugality demanded the avoidance of waste," Dieter and Nils Brandes wrote in their book "Bare Essentials: The Aldi Success Story." "The principle was: less is better than too much. This applied to capital, personnel, size of stores." It sounds like the founding brothers were rather ruthless in their efficiency mind-set. 

The secret of the current Aldi model is in the details and mission, which squares with my own. I grocery shop with the same mindset I buy and use a car: to get from point A to point B cheaply, reliably, and efficiently.  I know a lot of big families swear by Costco, but after having shopped there a couple times with a borrowed membership card, I'm not sold (you buy in bulk, and the quality of food and meats is good, but the unit prices are not as competitive as you might think. I also hate the "mega-mart" warehouse feel) 

For those who may have shopped at Aldi, you may notice:

1) There are no "cart boys," since it's self-service. You pop a quarter into a cart to unlock it, and get it back when you return it. No biggy. 

2) The aisles are wide and relatively spacious. This is related to the next point, which is

3) Choice and brand selection is limited. I'd say 95% of items are Aldi brand. I have yet to buy something that was sub-par or lacking in quality, and that includes produce and meats. And I actually love the limited choice options for brands and things, since it's less I have to think about or mull over. Studies have proven that 'decision-fatigue' is a real thing. 

4) There are maybe two to three employees working in the entire store at any one given time, and that includes the check out people. They are expected to do many different jobs in the store, but from what I hear the pay is competitive and the working conditions are not too bad.

5) The check out people sit when they check you out, rather than stand. They are pleasant but don't make chit-chat, they just scan your dang groceries like lightening. 

6) There are hardly any lines, and if there are, they move very quickly. It's efficient, which I love. I have never waited in line for more than a couple minutes.

7) Everything gets placed in a cart, and you move over to an area where you bag your own groceries (I usually bring my own bags as well). 

8) I consistently spend almost 40-50% less on groceries than I would anywhere else. And no freaking coupons needed.

Grocery shopping is no longer an onerous, dreaded thing for me. It's in-and-out, with minimal wasted time, no choice-fatigue, no coupon-clipping or sales to think about. And I'm often coming in at less than $100 per trip for a trunk load of groceries (I usually go once a week or so). 

I'm glad Aldi gets people like me. We can afford to eat healthy and well. When you're on a budget, it's the little wins you're grateful for!

Three Days Grace: A Meditation On The Finding Of The Child Jesus In The Temple

 As anyone who undertakes the First Saturday devotion knows, Our Lady asks us to spend an additional fifteen minutes keeping her company while meditating (meditation being "prolonged reasoning with the understanding," according to St. Teresa) on the mysteries of the rosary. I have taken this to mean one can meditate on all five of the Joyful mysteries of that day, or focus on one in particular. I usually opt for the latter, and usually receive some insights by the Holy Spirit during that time that I may not have had otherwise. 

Yesterday (Saturday) I felt led to meditate on the fifth Joyful Mystery, the Finding of the Child Jesus in the Temple. I'm sure none of these insights are novel, as someone more learned than myself may have illuminated them already, but for me it was fruitful.

In Luke's gospel, we see the Holy Family returning home via caravan from Jerusalem after the Passover. They had already gone a day before they realized the twelve year old Jesus was not with them (Lk 2:44). Doubling back, they returned to Jerusalem where the scripture says they "found him after three days" (2:46). 

This in itself comprised the bulk of my meditation. As a parent of a soon-to-be twelve year old boy myself, I would be beside myself. Now twelve year old boys two thousand years ago were probably more self-sufficient than today, and parents probably didn't have as much of the helicopter-like and exhausting vigilance they do today, but I nevertheless tried to put myself in the mind of St. Joseph in particular. 

As protector and provider, what must have been going through his mind: He was the foster father of the Messiah--no pressure or anything! He was the strong, silent type, never saying a word in scripture. What was going through his head? It was probably hard enough feeling that Jesus was not related to him by blood, but adopted, per se. Yes, he was chosen by God to be the husband of the Mother of God, but he was also charged with this responsibility. Did Jesus (who was under his watch) disappearing undermine his own confidence in his ability to carry out this role? What if something happened to the boy? And who do you pray to when the son of God himself is missing? "Jesus, help me find...you?!" Poor St. Joseph!

And poor Mary. If St. Joseph was grieved, the twenty-six year old Mary, who bore the Savior and was closer to him than any person on earth, must have been even more troubled on a purely maternal level. But as my meditation went further into her heart, I witnessed what I felt was a precursor to twenty one years later, when she once again would be separated from her beloved son for an additional three days. Did she know he would rise from the dead, that this was not an end but a test of faith and patient endurance? What were those three days like--both when he was a boy separated from her, and then as a man separated from the land of the living?

As I kept our Lady company, I tried to console her with seemingly empty words I wasn't sure I believed myself "Don't worry my Lady, we'll find him" and "I'm sure he's okay." Like someone trying to comfort a grieving friend when you don't know what to possibly say. She took my hand in hers as if I was the one in need of faith and consoling, and squeezed it gently. I had a vision of Jesus, years later asleep in the stern on a pillow, quietly napping as his disciples thought they were perishing (Mk 4:38). He knew they would not meet their demise. 

But did Mary know Jesus would ever be found again? Was she walking in darkness, while the whereabout of her boy were unknown and also while he lay lifeless as a man in a tomb. When a woman is pregnant, she knows she cannot stay pregnant forever, that the baby will come and it is just a matter of days, weeks, or months. But for Mary in these instances, what if she wasn't sure he would ever be found, or live again? How great that darkness, that silence, that vast ocean black as night! But perhaps God is impregnating us with faith, hope, patience during this desolate incubation.

When we finally find the boy in the Temple sitting among the teachers of the Law, a wave of joy washes over me upon seeing my boy Lord. But also a rush of relief, that this Good Friday ordeal and unbearable tension is finally over. For the past three days, nothing has mattered except WE MUST FIND JESUS, the way nothing matters to a drowning man except air. I'm beside myself; what was lost is now found.

But when I look over at Our Lady, she has a kind of...tiredness. Not annoyance, but a kind of weighty perplexion. In fact, both her and St. Joseph were "astonished," as she says, "Child, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have searching for you in great anxiety" (Lk 2:48). (In the Douay-Rheims translation, they had been searching for the boy "sorrowing." In the RSV, the NASB, the NIV, it was "anxiously" or "in great anxiety")

Now I love St. Francis de Sales and his pragmatic wisdom. But there is one saying of his that I've always struggled with, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. It is this:

"Anxiety is the greatest evil that can befall a soul, except sin. God commands you to pray, but He forbids you to worry." 

As someone who suffers from anxiety clinically, this is a heavy admonition to shoulder. I mean, I don't like it myself, and yet I fall into the worry-trap during stressful situations in which my anxiety gets away from me. To be accused of sin on top of it is even worse. 

But what is often left out when this quote is taken at face-value is in the preceding verse in Introduction To The Devout Life, where St. Francis says this:

"If any one strives to be delivered from his troubles out of love of God, he will strive patiently, gently, humbly and calmly, looking for deliverance rather to God’s Goodness and Providence than to his own industry or efforts; but if self-love is the prevailing object he will grow hot and eager in seeking relief, as though all depended more upon himself than upon God. I do not say that the person thinks so, but he acts eagerly as though he did think it. Then if he does not find what he wants at once, he becomes exceedingly impatient and troubled, which does not mend matters, but on the contrary makes them worse, and so he gets into an unreasonable state of anxiety and distress, till he begins to fancy that there is no cure for his trouble. Thus you see how a disturbance, which was right at the outset, begets anxiety, and anxiety goes on into an excessive distress, which is exceedingly dangerous" (XI).

Does Mary seem like the self-love type? The fretful type? One who rests on her own power and might of will? Not to me she doesn't. And so, her anxiety at not knowing where her son was was experienced as any human mother would experience it, yet buoyed by her supreme trust and confidence in God, not the kind of needless worry or anxiety St. Francis de Sales talks about. Were she not to have responded in the way she did--as if she was a Buddha from another planet, or unconcerned, it would not only undermine her humanity but our confidence in her as well as one we can turn to when we face similar trials. In the same way Christ, because he himself has suffered when tempted is able to help those who are being tempted (Heb 2:18). 

No, the "anxiety" of Mary was not the needless or useless kind that we in our imperfections subject ourselves to when we fall short in trust, faith, and confidence. The Greek term ὀδυνώμενοι used in Luke 2:48 can also be translated as to grieve, to be in agony.  

This is not your run of the mill anxiety, but the anguish of a mother being separated from her beloved son. But what if it was to prepare her for what was to come years later, not a mistake of human negligence but as a component of divine formula? Just as when he was in the tomb, she suffered the grief and agony of his death--not because it should not have happened, but because as someone so closely united to him she was resigned to it and entered full into the grieving and agony of that desolation of separation. She knew she had found her son once, three days after being separated from him; perhaps after his death, then, she knew in the silent, grieving astonishment of her heart that she would see him again.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But if it is God's will I be a saint, there may come a time in which conforming my life to that of those around me within Her walls and resting in that comfort is not enough, as our Lord told St. Peter, "when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go" (Jn 21:18). This applies to all who wish to follow Christ and be baptized into his death. For the saint must walk alone. 

It Is Only For Your Love Alone That The Poor Will Forgive You The Bread You Give Them

This morning some guys and I are going to head downtown to do some homeless outreach and ministry on the streets. This is nothing organized or pre-scripted: to be honest, we're just kind of winging it and praying to be used by the Holy Spirit. Last night my daughter and I made sandwiches and made up some care packages with granola bars, some snacks, toiletries, a Miraculous Medal and Ven Matt Talbot prayer cards. I stuffed the freezer with bottles of water, since it's been in the mid-nineties this week and especially hot and humid. 

I wrote an article recently on some practical ideas of how to practice the works of mercy, both spiritual and corporal. There are many different ways to do this work, and this just compiled a few. What we are doing this morning is pretty basic, but of course goes to our Lord's command in Matthew 25:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink" (Mt 25:35)

In The Key That Opens The Door To Paradise, I wrote about the act of Perfect Contrition, that is, contrition motivated by the love of God rather than the fear of Hell. From the Catechism:

When it arises from a love by which God is loved above all else, contrition is called “perfect.” Such contrition remits venial sins; it also obtains forgiveness of mortal sins if it includes the firm resolution to have recourse to sacramental confession as soon as possible.

The contrition called “imperfect” is also a gift of God, a prompting of the Holy Spirit. It is born of the consideration of sin’s ugliness or the fear of eternal damnation and the other penalties threatening the sinner. Such a stirring of conscience can initiate an interior process which, under the prompting of grace, will be brought to completion by sacramental absolution. By itself however, imperfect contrition cannot obtain the forgiveness of grave sins, but it disposes one to obtain forgiveness in the sacrament of Penance. (CCC 1452-53), 

What came to me in prayer this morning was that in the act of charity, there is also a kind of perfect and imperfect charity. I imagined that when we arrive on the streets near the train station this morning, walking around with our bags of food and cold water, and are asked, "Why are you doing this? Why are you out there," one could reply in two ways:

"We are doing this because our Lord commanded it." (Mt. 25) "So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty. '” (Lk 17:10). And this is a perfectly acceptable way of responding.

But there is also another way, when you encounter someone laying on the street, sweating and hungry, and they ask "Why are you here? Why are you doing this?" to respond:

"Because you are hungry. Because it's hot, and you thirst."

This is the charity motivated not by duty, but by love. When we pray for grace and feel the loneliness, the hunger, the thirst of our brothers and sisters in need, and wish to alleviate that suffering in some small way, this is the motivation of a more perfect charity not bound by duty but by love. We can also only feel it and enter it it when we have felt it ourselves. As St. Mother Teresa observed,

“The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty -- it is not only a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There's a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God.”

We should remember that in "doing our duty," we are also given the great privilege of grace in service. I want to tell the guys too before we set out, "It's ok to give someone you meet today a hug. Ask their name. Tell them they are loved. It might be awkward, but think about the last time someone may have afforded them such comfort. Be prudent, be careful, but don't harden your heart." 

St. John Chrysostom was known to preach such uncomfortable sermons, not in removed, lofty and theological discourses, but earthy and convicting:

"Do you wish to honor the Body of the Savior? Do not despise him when he is naked. Do not honor him in church with silk vestments while outside he is naked and numb with cold. He who said, “This is my body,” and made it so by his word, is the same that said, “You saw me hungry and you gave me no food. As you did it not to the least of these, you did it not to me.” Honor him then by sharing your property with the poor. For what God needs is not golden chalices but golden souls.

…It is such a slight thing I beg…nothing very expensive…bread, a roof, words of comfort. [If the rewards I promised hold no appeal for you] then show at least a natural compassion when you see me naked, and remember the nakedness I endured for you on the cross…I fasted for you then, and I suffer for you now; I was thirsty when I hung on the cross, and I thirst still in the poor, in both ways to draw you to myself to make you humane for your own salvation." (Homily 50 on Matthew)

And St. Vincent de Paul,

"You will find out that Charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the full basket. But you will keep your gentleness and your smile. It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting master you will see. And the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them."

I think it's good to "get your hands dirty" in the trenches on the regular if possible, to bring us down from our safe and removed theological perches. Not because we have to (we do), but because we get to. Not because we make any lasting impact, for the "poor you will have with you always;" but because in doing so our hearts soften, become amenable to grace and the realization of our own dependence and wretched state. We also have to remember we are guests in their home, even if that home is the streets. This is where they live, and many have wounds we cannot see from lifetimes of trauma or neglect. We have to tread lightly, respectfully, not as personal messiahs but only as guests doing small things with, hopefully, great love.

 The Lord affords us the opportunity to make sure our faith is not a dead faith, as St. James says, one that manifests in works for our salvation but also in the physical manifestation of the small alleviation of suffering to those in need. It is the practice of mercy that perfects charity, and we can't do that while we remain holed up with our wagons circled in our safe spaces. The work is not for the poor, but for us.

I don't have a script this morning, or a real plan. I'm hoping the Holy Spirit will just guide and protect us, and send those neglected Christs to those whom we are meant to encounter, and that me and the guys too get some training in humility and service in the school of charity. So your prayers are very much appreciated. Thanks in advance. 

It's Not Easy Being Perfect

Apart from the $1 scratch offs my mom gives us every Christmas, I've never played the lottery. But the convenience store down the street from us just sold three Powerball tickets totaling $1.4 million. And I heard a Skid Row bodega sold the winning $1 billion Powerball ticket. Irony of ironies. 

In 2002, when businessman Jack Whittaker won a record-setting $315 million Powerball ticket, he was already a self-made millionaire. But he, like many others before him, was beset by the "lottery curse"--drinking, gambling, strip clubs, overspending, death, divorce, violence, bankruptcy etc as a result of the fast infusion of wealth. He admitted later, "I wish I had torn the ticket up."

I'm giving a talk on virtue of prudence next week, so have been thinking about how this virtue applies particularly in finances. Prudence is the intellectual virtue which rightly directs particular human acts, through rectitude of the appetite, toward a good end.As a moral virtue, it is a habit that makes its possessor good. You don’t just know the good, you DO the good. You behave well.

Obviously there were wealthy and blessed men in the scriptures (Abraham, Job, Zacchaeus, Joseph of Arimathea, to name a few), but that didn't keep Christ from preaching on the danger of riches:

“He who trusts in his riches will fall, but the righteous will flourish like the green leaf.” (Prov 11:28)

“Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!” (Mk 10:23)

“No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Mk 6:24)

“And the one on whom seed was sown among the thorns, this is the man who hears the word, and the worry of the world and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, and it becomes unfruitful.” (Mt 13:22)

“When you have eaten and are satisfied, you shall bless the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you. Beware that you do not forget the Lord your God by not keeping His commandments and His ordinances and His statutes which I am commanding you today; otherwise, when you have eaten and are satisfied, and have built good houses and lived in them, and when your herds and your flocks multiply, and your silver and gold multiply, and all that you have multiplies, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God who brought you out from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.” (Dt 8:10-14)

“If we have food and covering, with these we shall be content. But those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a snare and many foolish and harmful desires which plunge men into ruin and destruction.” (1 Tim 6:8-9)

“Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” (Lk 12:15)

On the topic of wealth, it's often the mean that gets missed when we speak in extremes. I made this point in my post "Not 'Clown Masses' Nor 'Golden Unicorns': The Truth of the N.O. Lies In the Liturgical Mean;" when it comes to liturgy, people point out the ideals of the reverent Novus Ordo (ad orientum, chant, Latin, etc) and the existence of things like liturgical dance and other cringe abuses while neglecting the fact that 80% of Masses in the New Rite are simply beige and banal. To the degree that one moves toward reverence in liturgy is the right trajectory; to the degree that one moves towards "Gospel simplicity" we'll call it (in terms of material goods) is the right trajectory as well.

The same may be said for the false binary of the "1%" versus the homeless on the street or minimum wage workers just trying to get by (who also may be homeless!). Of course we see this example in the sixteenth chapter of Luke's gospel with Lazarus and the rich man. 

"Child, remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner bad things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish." (Lk 16:25)

What we neglect to realize is that we, too, have stepped over those lying in destitution on the way to our jobs, or driven quickly past at intersections, just as the rich man neglected to share his bread with Lazarus even though he would have been content with the crumbs from his table. If we had to identify with one man or the other, which one would it be?

Though we are what you would call "middle-class", rarely a day goes by in which I experience the pangs of hunger, and even when I do (by fasting), it is self-imposed not because of circumstance. I feast sumptuously every day (3 squares a day, from Aldi), and am dressed in clothes that I have chosen and bought myself, even if they were from Goodwill or Walmart. 

"Woe to you that are filled; for you shall hunger." (Lk 6:25)

Not only that, but I am not dependent on buses or rideshares, but own not one, but two cars. And not hoopties either! My children can play in our yard and street safely...they are not confined to inside due to violence. Even if they were, though, they have plenty of space, and even their own bedrooms! It's hot, we turn on the central air. It's cold, we fill up the oil tank. An appliance breaks, we buy a new one. 

If that weren't enough, we have a degree of choice and control over our lives because we are debt free. And not only that, but we contribute to retirement and savings each month from our paycheck, and take a yearly vacation as well.

"And he told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’ But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” (Lk 12:16-21). 

I even have health insurance through work, so we don't have to worry necessarily about being blindsided by massive medical bills in this broken U.S. healthcare system. We are in good health for the most part, though...another mark of good fortune.

Though we are what you would call "middle-class", and I make a median salary, which man do you think I share more in common with? To whom is Christ speaking his admonitions? When Nathan brought the scales down from the indignant King David's eyes, it was with the words: YOU ARE THE MAN! (2 Sam 12 7:14).

And that's the thing with regards to my point above--most of America is not in the extremes but in the mean. The 1% are in their own (gated) worlds, and the truly poor theirs. Even though the middle class is shrinking in the U.S., many of us are still quite comfortable and deal more with wants than needs. 

One of the more challenging books I have read in recent years is Fr. Thomas Dubay's Happy Are You Poor. It’s one of those books you want to throw across the room. I think the reason it is challenging is because it was written for people like myself who are have our needs met but who wouldn't consider ourselves "rich" and so give ourselves a pass while clinging to the power and security that wealth--even if it is modest--provides. Fr Dubay does not give an out, never takes his gentle foot of the gas--his tone is not one of condemnation or judgment, but simply a challenge to "be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Mt 5:48). And what does our Lord say to the good, earnest young man asking about eternal life? "If ye wish to be perfect, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in Heaven" (Mt 19:21). 

I'm going to share something personal here: for the first time, I had a real seizing fear of my parents passing one day. Not because of their deaths, but that all that my father had accumulated in this lifetime in terms of wealth is earmarked for my brothers and I. And while I had always been grateful for that sense of security and future safety net, all of a sudden the other night, that thought of a sudden influx of wealth made me very, very apprehensive.

It's not that I'm not a responsible, prudent, financially literate person. But as Francis Chan said once in a sermon, "Money does weird things to us. You're rich. I'm rich. And that puts us at a very serious disadvantage spiritually."  Knowing this, my first temptation would be to treat that inheritance as a kind of hot-potato, and give it away in a way that provides for the Church and those in need right away in an abundance of spiritual caution. But would that be dishonoring my father? Foolish? Imprudent? If so, on what would I spend it? I literally feel like a rich man already, and have everything I need (even if those needs are admittedly modest). 

A study came out in 2010 saying that happiness doesn't increase much above a $75,000/yr salary (adjusted for inflation, I'd say $100,000/yr would be appropriate). Now a new study out of Penn puts that number at $500,000/yr. I don't know where they get these numbers, or what criteria they use to determine happiness. It's not really about the actual numbers per se, and happiness is also a matter of perspective as well. I think its reasonable to say that once one's basic need are met, things above and beyond do have the potential to plateau. 

Compared to the riches of the Gospel, and the invitation to eternal life, riches in this life pale in comparison. Even if He were to liquidate my savings, my home, take my family from me...nothing can separate us from the love of Christ (Rom 8:37-39). And that is true treasure. 

Fr. Dubay makes the point that "sensible people do not choose emptiness for the sake of emptiness. Of itself, negation has no value. It is literally nothing is worth nothing. Reality is made to be and to be be full. The value of negative things derives, must derive, from something positive, something they make possible" (54). This is what he calls the "radical readiness" of the disciple for the kingdom. And I realized that the fear I experienced the other night could be viewed as a threat to that readiness, that girding of loins, if it ever got to the point that I was clinging to not only what I have now, but what is promised to me in inheritance. "Having wealth is damaging to the pursuit of the kingdom because the very having does something to one's inner life, one's very ability to love God for his own goodness and others in and for him. The more we possess, the more we are--in our own minds" (59).   

Robert Couse-Baker, on his blog devoted to Fr. Dubay's work, makes a good point: much of the unhappiness we experience as a result of wealth is tied up with the unfortunate American ideal of individualism divorced from community: 

"The platitudes about trusting in God...can all come across as very patronizing to the poor. In reaction to this, he advocates a certain kind of self-reliance and self-sufficiency. Both positions miss a fundamental point. Jesus didn’t come to give humanity a code of ethics that individuals could adopt at will; rather, he came to found the community of the Church. Within that community, we’re supposed to be as tightly joined to one another as the members of a physical body. For an isolated individual or family, poverty entails a damaging lack of security. The only way to attain security as an individual is through the accumulation of wealth.

The pursuit of such individual security is harshly condemned by the Gospel. What is often missed, however, is that Christians are called to replace the individual security based on accumulating wealth with the security that comes from being part of a loving community. The rich fool with his barns was condemned, while the first Christian communities described in Acts shared their goods to such an extent that “there was no needy person among them”. (Acts 4:34) If we’re going to tell the poor to trust in God, then we have to get busy and ensure that their trust is not in vain. We have to act as the agents of God’s providence; otherwise, as St. James tells us, our faith is dead." (James 2:14-17)

I realized that much of my current state of contentment is that my family and I already possess the pearl of great price--the assurance of salvation in Christ. I have meaning and purpose in my life because I actively try to conform my life and will to His, and meaning and purpose are two major ingredients for happiness. Cultivating gratitude as well, which we do by recalling our blessings and all God has given us. We have a good, caring community of other Catholics. We help those in need financially. We are not alone, and have one another as well. What more could I ask for? 

But the Devil is wiley. He was working in Ananias and Sapphira, whom Peter harshly admonished for holding back part of the money intended for the Apostles for themselves (Acts 5:1-11), while they themselves were struck dead. I think the greatest hurdle to overcome myself is that 'holding back', not trusting completely the Lord God who says, "Test me in this, and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it" (Mal 3:10). 

What is a work-in-progress is the way of perfection, and perfection is--well, perfected--the closer we move towards confidence in God and not individual reliance. To the degree that confidence is strengthened , those things which strengthen it should be pursued and the things which threaten it should be kept guard against. 

To circle back to the issue of the virtue of prudence: prudence applies universal principals to particular situations. Whereas the WEF dictates the universal to the particular: "you will own nothing and be happy," the Christian realizes that private property is a right and good, "pre-eminently in conformity with human nature" (Pope Leo XIII). And yet when we give the poor to alleviate their destitution or want, as St. James indicts us regarding (Jas 2:14-17), we "are handing over to him what is his. For what has been given in common for the use of all you have arrogated to yourself" (Populorum progressio, no. 23). 

I think one thing that is worth remembering is if all things are a gift from God to be used in His service, it is a great privilege to use wealth--should we be afforded it--in the service of others rather than on our own amusement, diversion, or accumulation of goods. The change in perspective fulfills what St. Paul writes: God loves a cheerful giver (2 Cor 9:7). The opportunity to give, then, becomes the gift. This does not even depend on wealth per se, but the heart. For the widow's mite had infinitely more value because it was given not out of abundance but out of need, even though its value was minuscule. Despite the fact that the parents of St. John Vianney were not rich, they practiced great hospitality toward the poor and needy. Evening after evening a number of poor and needy wayfarers were set at table at the the family meal. Many times the elder Vianney would bestow his own share upon some belated arrival. This noble example made a profound impression upon the boy’s pious disposition.

How we carry out this charge we have been tasked with as Christians rests on this virtue of prudence to apply these universal principals (charity) to particular situations. In the manner or to the degree we do so depends on our individual or family circumstances and state in life; but that we do so as a universal injunction we cannot excuse ourselves from.

"The Razor's Edge": A Response To Dr. Peter Kwasniewski

 Dear Peter,

I wanted to thank you again for your email, in response to my post Long Live Pope Francis which I wrote on the fly while in St. Louis a few days ago.  I wasn't expecting to receive it, as I was surprised you even read the post, but have been thinking about it the past couple days. I promised you two things: to read your article which you asked I read, and that I would wait until after I had prayed at my 11pm holy hour this evening before responding; I have made good on both of those promises.

You began your email with "I couldn't disagree more," (which is of course fair) but I should have sought clarification in our back and forth the essence of your disagreement with my post. I made a few points for consideration: accusing myself, first and foremost, of rash judgment, lack of charity, and sins of the tongue in general, and also in regards to the Holy Father; my inability to suffer well and endure trails patiently; my low-standing in the Church as a common layman and sinner; the ability of God to bring good out of evil circumstances.   

Just as a Carthusian will not have the same religious charism or calling as a Franciscan, or a Jesuit, or a Carmelite, so too I try to accept that I am simply one side of a prism trying to reflect the light of Christ back into the world. I am not an intellectual. Though I sometimes wade into the waters of ecclesiastical politics, I mostly write with a more personal focus: faith, family, manhood, marriage, etc. I rarely spend more than half an hour per post, given my other responsibilities in my state of life. I am a horrible editor, and was never trained or learned to write apart from the act of simply giving it a go for the past thirty years. Apart from a few priest friends, I'm not particularly "in the know" about Catholic insider baseball outside of what I glean from those with more connections and clout. I am certainly a small fish in a vast pond. But I have to trust that God can still work through that, for some whom He deigns to read it.

And so, it's intimidating for me to write any kind of refutation or defense of something I wrote to someone such as yourself who is a heavyweight in this realm. As the prophet protested, "I do not know how to speak; I am too young" (Jer 1:6). 

A few weeks ago I attended a week-long Ignatian silent retreat, guided by a Benedictine abbot, who flew in from Tasmania. It was water in a desert for me--daily Latin Mass, solid spiritual direction each day, meaty discourses, and ample time for prayer and meditation. No web-surfing, no news of the outside world. Although there were twenty four other men present, I never spoke to them or learned their names--silence was maintained at all times (outside of spiritual direction). Even then, I found myself struggling with assumptions, judgments, and annoyances--this guy seems like the pious type. This guy is aloof. This guy is such a Boomer. Etc. 

At one point in spiritual direction, I mentioned that I sometimes pray, like David, "Who can discern his own errors? Clear thou me from hidden faults" (Ps 19:12): spiritual blind spots, if you will. The Dom pointed out a prayer in our book for the Spiritual Exercises, and encouraged me to pray sincerely and ask the Mother of God for this grace--that of weeping for our sins. In the chapel, with about an hour to prepare for Confession, the Lord afforded me this grace, that of true contrition.

What was at the root beneath that rotten stump? The sins beneath the surface of my spiritual veneer--pride, vanity, lack of charity, and unwillingness to suffer. Personal things, which I often write about. Nothing out of the ordinary, but again, they were spiritual blind spots for me. 

Driving back from Ohio that Friday, I made the mistake of committing to an invitation to attend a men's conference for a day back home; I was given a free ticket by the organizer, who had reached out to me after reading my article Why Your Catholic Men's Group Will Eventually Fold that Crisis had published a few months ago, since he wanted to meet me in person. Coming straight off my retreat, the contrast was jarring--instead of silence and traditional sensibilities, I found myself amidst constant chatter and discourse. Whereas the Dom had disappeared during the holy sacrifice of the Mass while on retreat, the "celebrity priest" at this conference made a show of himself versus populum with the altar as his stage. The fruit of silence was sweet and natural, and now I was being pumped full of aspartame. The Latin Mass was an exotic fruit I had been feasting on, and I was suddenly in the cafeteria eating Aramark fare. The contrast could not be more striking.

I write all this because I went on this retreat to learn in the school of charity--how to pray better, how to listen better, how to love better. If St. Ignatius was a soldier, he knew how to fight, and wanted to train others not to obtain the perishable crown, but the imperishable. I was not gifted with a formidable intellect, skills in rhetoric and debate, or overwhelming charity. But I do have faith and pray, and in that God can accomplish what otherwise seems impossible given my deficiencies and ignorance. "My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast" (Ps 57:7).

You had mentioned in your article "ecclesiastical quietism," the idea that "all circumstances and situations would be relative, equally opportunities for accepting God’s will and then suffering whatever He sends." It is interesting, because I am reminded of the 17th century Spanish priest Miguel de Molinos, who was jailed in 1685 on the orders of the Inquisition in Rome for preaching the heresy of Quietism. As a Jesuit and contemporary of Molinos, Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade's theology of "the Sacrament of the present moment" seemed to flirt dangerously close to this heresy. And yet, his message was that everything in life is to be welcomed as the expression of the will of God, and that we must "accept what we very often cannot avoid, and endure with love and resignation things which could cause us weariness and disgust." This, in his words, is what holiness means. In this, he shares the practical wisdom of St. Francis de Sales, the childlike trust and simplicity of St. Therese, and the profound mysticism of St. John of the Cross and St. Theresa of Avila.

I mention this because what you wrote in your email--that the line between 'be obedient' and 'put up with being abused, gaslit, led astray' is "razor sharp" in today's church--and in that you are quite correct. As I mentioned, sometimes the posts I write are a tough needle to thread. And I don't always get it right either. 

I often wonder if I was in a personal audience before the Holy Father, knowing that I would fall into the camp of those he classifies as a "rosary counter," "self-absorbed, Promethean Neo-Pelagian," "vain, pagaent Christians" what I would say to him. And I recall the words of the Lord in scripture, "the insults of those who insult you fall on me (Ps 69:9). And so perhaps I would smile in deference, and keep silence as the best recourse in imitation of our Master, who when he was oppressed and afflicted, opened not his mouth (Is 53:7), as well as the words of St. Paul, "we are reviled, and we bless; we are persecuted, and we suffer it" (1 Cor. 4:9-14).

But being right, for me, was not the point of the post which prompted your email. It was not a call to action, or any kind of repudiation of traditionalism in favor of the shores of ultramontanism or hyperpapalism, but simply trying to thread this needle as a common layman of the honor and deference due to the Holy Father as a Catholic in the shade of the seeming cacophony of criticisms against him. As St. Athanasius said, "Our speech is the image of the Word, Who is the Son of God" (Orat. ii. cont. Arian, n. 78).   

In his treatise Sins of the Tongue, Monseigneur Landriot, Archbishop of Rheims, wrote something that gave me somber pause when I read it, 

"Now listen to the counsels of religion. True piety will lead you to meditate often on your own misery and weakness, and without causing sadness of discouragement, it will teach you to have a thorough distrust of yourself; to know your own defects; to take every means of correcting them; to consult serious and experienced men; and to consult them in such a manner as to show them that you are sincere in your desire to be told the truth. After some months, perhaps some years, of this constant watchfulness over yourself, you will have humbled your pride; and, though you may not have entirely rooted it out, it will be no longer visible, and each day will lessen the number of its numerous offshoots. Then your tongue will lose the habit of talking perpetually about your own concerns. You will neither talk of them yourself, nor draw others into talking about them. You will cease making yourself the centre of conversation; you will not go about throwing ridicule, disdain, and discredit on every person who does not happen to suit you, because, without knowing it, they cast you into the shade, and are an obstacle to your pretensions. Both grave and trivial attacks on our neighbor have very often no other source than wounded vanity, and that self-love which is ever seeking to raise itself on the ruins of everything which excites its envy. If you follow these counsels you will avoid numerous sins against charity, while, at the same time, your conduct will be in accordance with the dictates of prudence and practical wisdom...Therefore does the Holy Ghost, after having said that 'in the multitude of words there shall not want sin,' add, 'but he that refraineth his lips is most wise;' as if to show us that the gifts of prudence and knowledge of the world are the accompaniments of virtue." (p. 47-48)

And that, really was the poorly-executed point of my post: that, personally, I would do better to refrain from a critical spirit--whether that be towards my brother or the Holy Father himself--for the sake of my own Judgment. Nor does it mean remaining in a state of ignorance, as I'm quite aware of how bad things are in the Church. It was less about obedience and more about prudence, given that I am not qualified to exercise such criticisms, nor do I gain anything by it, and so the trade off for me is not worth it. That does not mean an overly-pious passivity, or an omission of holy anger when warranted or encouraging spiritual Stockholm syndrome--only that in my own discernment, I have decided to try exercising more prudence in both speech and written word. It's a work in progress. 

In closing, this evening during my Holy Hour I prayed for a word from the Lord in Scripture that might speak to this conversation we are having and given that I am indebted to all your good works in defense of tradition and our spiritual patrimony. When I read that St. Francis and St. Therese were in the habit of opening the scriptures through divine inspiration and accepting what they read as inspired, I adopted the same habit each time I am in the presence of the Lord. And so I opened the scripture, and read from Jeremias:

"For this city hath been to me a provocation and indignation from the day that they built it, until this day, in which it shall be taken out of my sight.

Because of all the evil of the children of Israel, and of the children of Juda, which they have done, provoking me to wrath, they and their kings, their princes, and their priests, and their prophets, the men of Juda, and the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

And they have turned their backs to me, and not their faces: when I taught them early in the morning, and instructed them, and they would not hearken to receive instruction.

And they have set their idols in the house, in which my name is called upon, to defile it.

And they have built the high places of Baal, which are in the valley of the son of Ennom, to consecrate their sons and their daughters to Moloch: which I commanded them not, neither entered it into my heart, that they should do this abomination, and cause Juda to sin.

And now, therefore, thus saith the Lord the God of Israel to this city, whereof you say that it shall be delivered into the hands of the king of Babylon by the sword, and by famine, and by pestilence:

Behold I will gather them together out of all the lands to which I have cast them out in my anger, and in my wrath, and in my great indignation: and I will bring them again into this place, and will cause them to dwell securely.

And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.

And I will give them one heart, and one way, that they may fear me all days: and that it may be well with them, and with their children after them.

And I will make an everlasting covenant with them, and will not cease to do them good: and I will give my fear in their heart, that they may not revolt from me.

And I will rejoice over them, when I shall do them good: and I will plant them in this land in truth, with my whole heart, and with all my soul.

For thus saith the Lord: As I have brought upon this people all this great evil: so will I bring upon them all the good that I now speak to them." 

(Jer 32:31-42)

These are strange times in the Church, and I know for myself I will only be able to walk that razor edge of discerning in the dark and confusion when I am hidden in the silent mantle of Our Lady. I have great hope for renewal.

In Gratitude,

Rob

Long Live Pope Francis

 “But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.” (Mt 12:36-37)

I fear my judgment. Of all the things I fear most, it is the idle and thoughtless words, the “Racas” both spoken and written, that I will be held to account on. Though I have confessed them, I doubt my penance in this life will ever make sufficient retribution.

I was convicted this morning while reading the life of Padre Pio and his saintly example of docility and obedience of my own culpability here. Obviously I am not a religious and under no vow apart from that to my spouse. But my example is a far cry from this son of the Church. 

One area that convicted me was Padre Pio’s great love for and devotion to the Supreme Pontiff, Christ’s vicar, who in his life was Paul VI. His filial obedience was so deep that he chaffed at even the slightest criticism of the Pope, even when it was in his own defense:

“Padre Pio was very severe with those who attacked authority because they felt unjust restrictions had been placed on him. Doctor Festa, in his book, Mysteries of Science and the Light of Faith, had written irreverent words about the Father General and accused him of not having taken Padre Pio's defense. Padre Pio wrote Dr. Festa a letter in which he begged him to leave out these words and even threatening him with divine punishments. 

The mayor of San Giovanni Rotondo also learned something about this persecution and had prepared a white paper which he intended to have printed in defense of Padre Pio. But when Padre Pio read it, he took the author by his neck and shouted at him in one of his outbursts of sacred fury: "Satan, go and throw yourself at the feet of the Church instead of writing this foolishness. Don't oppose your mother"

Padre Pio did not protest or dissent, which is so much in fashion today. He did not judge his superiors actions. He bowed his head and Obeyed.”

—Padre Pio: The Wonder Worker, FFI, p.63

I will readily admit I struggle as a Catholic under the current pontificate. I let my hurt and frustration come out from time to time, and I do not suffer well. But my “sufferings” as a traditionally minded Catholic absolutely pale in comparison to what Padre Pio endured at the hands of the Church. And how did he respond to this unjust persecution?

“During the two years of his trial Padre Pio didn't make the slightest complaint. He was always docile, humble, obedient, and patient with everyone. Those who tried to comfort him in some way never heard a complaint or the slightest criticism of authority. For him this was God's will. He would say, "The hand of the Church is gentle even when it strikes us because it is our mother's hand." And he bore his imprisonment, as he called it, with strength and faith. He recognized the will of God in it more and more. And he wanted to fulfill His Will and he did so willingly.“

Are we better than this saint? No, we are much worse in fact. At the slightest inconvenience we are quick to complain and air our grievances publicly for anyone to hear. We consider ourselves as martyrs when our preferences are not met. We take to the press and make loud lamentations. We trade our crosses for lighter ones more pleasing to our sensibilities.

If we follow these promptings, indulging our will like a dog that licks his sores, we find that we are now no better than dogs. We are not victims, but rather centurions with the mallets in our hands. We protest to Pilate that they have the wrong man, that our King should not suffer and die, but live and reign so that dignity might be restored to Israel.

But Christ accepted his scourges, shame, and sentence with docility, like a lamb led to slaughter. He “opened not his mouth.” He offered his beard to be plucked. Because he knew there was no atonement without sacrifice.

I may not “like” much less love our current pontiff. But who am I? Why should God hear my sighs and petty complaints? His Vicar sits on His throne, and the Lord is not in the business of accidentals. His Will is sovereign. He uses who He wills to accomplish His purposes. Our idle complaints do not go unheard. But that should fill us with compunction and fear, not satisfaction.

“And he said unto his men, The LORD forbid that I should do this thing unto my master, the LORD's anointed, to stretch forth mine hand against him, seeing he is the anointed of the LORD.” (1 Sam 24:6)

May God have mercy on me, a sinner. Let us say with our Mother, “I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be done to me according to thy word.” And long live the vicar of Christ.