The Offense of Religious Hypocrisy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Father's Eye View of Motherhood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Letter To An Aspiring Writer

 

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

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

Dear _______,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Tale Of Two Parties

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Review: "Father Stu"

 

In a 2017 interview with Aleteia, filmaker Barbara Nicolosi gives an astute insider perspective on the state of the Christian movie industry:

"What happened was that the Evangelical world started guerrilla filmmaking for itself and found a way to turn a profit doing it. By comparison with mainstream movies, the numbers are generally small, but the studios noticed and have been very happy to distribute the films to the Christians and make a few bucks in that space. Every studio now pretty much has a faith division where they’re looking for content for that niche market. This is good and bad. The good part is the mainstream industry is talking to people of faith instead of thinking of us as what’s wrong with the world. The bad part is that it’s ghetto-ized us.

They’re trying to find the political spot that makes a movie something the Christian audience will rally around, as opposed to trying to make something beautiful. The truth is we don’t need a rally, we need to experience compunction ourselves, and we need to attract people who don’t believe that we believe."

I respect Ms. Nicolosi because she is striving within a bottom-line, often godless industry to "make something beautiful." That is art, or at least should be one of the ends of (good) art. 

Films like The Passion of the Christ straddled that line between film as film and film as art. It was a moving, powerful cinematic project that grossed well and made cinematic history in the modern age. While not without some controversy, it's objective was to stir the spirit of man on the screen by depicting the graphic reality of Christ's torture and death on the cross. To that end, I believe it accomplished it's purpose.

Father Stu, starring Mark Wahlburg, is not art. But it is also not a ghettoized, low-brow Christian film turning fifty-cent tricks, or a Formed-worthy porcelain portrayal of the sanctity of the priestly calling you watch with your kids for movie night. It is something else entirely, and may have come onto the mainstream movie scene at an opportune time. When a worldly audience not yet redeemed hungers for purpose, redemption, and God Himself but finds overtly faith-based films unpalatable, it may have just found a curious niche.

Father Stu tells the true story of the life, redemption, and eventual grace-inspired ordination of Fr. Stuart Long, who as his mother says of her son, doesn't do anything half-heartedly. 

When his past-prime boxing career fails to pan out and his foray into acting falls flat, Stuart struggles to find his purpose. He is passionate and unrefined, rough and hard scrabble, which comes out in his fighting (both in bars and in the ring). At his core, he carries a deep father wound as a result of the lack of affirmation from his own father (played by Mel Gibson), which brings with it the experience of anger towards God, especially in the shadow of his younger brother's unexpected (and seemingly unfair) death at the age of five.

While working in the meat department of a local grocery store, Stuart is smitten with the beautiful Carmen (played by Teresa Ruiz), who he discovers is a devout and evangelistic Catholic and Sunday school volunteer. In his willingness to do anything to capture her affections, he agrees to be baptized and enters into R.C.I.A (the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults). He's trying--hard--to be "good," though shortly after his baptism he goes to the bar, gets drunk, and brushes up against death's door when he T-bones a car on his motorcycle. Through an (unconvincing, in my opinion) encounter with the Virgin Mary while lying bloodied on the pavement, he appears to receive the much-needed grace to eventually turn away from the sins of his past life and give himself to God in service.

While his seemingly impulsive "discernment" to become a priest as a means of carrying out this purpose appears at first to be just another one of his half-cocked fancies, his tenacity in exercising the will and not letting anything stand in his way actually works to his advantage to overcome obstacles. But as saints like Augustine know, the Pelagian "will alone" does not in itself suffice one to become good and holy; it must be aided by grace. And that grace comes in the form of his unexpected diagnosis with a muscular-disease (similar to Lou Gehrig's). Suffering is the teacher of all teachers, and when it comes to learning humility and dependence, is effective at exacting the lessons for its subject. Although initially reticent to carry out his ordination as Stuart's illness progresses and he is confined to a wheelchair, the bishop is persuaded and Stuart does become "Father Stu." He visits men in prison, hears confessions, and eventually dies at age fifty "a priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek" (Heb 7:17; Ps 110:4).

As the Angelic Doctor, St. Thomas Aquinas notes, "grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it." A film is lost on its audience if it's characters are not believable, especially when they are asked to step outside their comfort zone in viewing it. Thankfully authenticity (aided by competent acting) is not lacking in the film. I think the film does over-compensate a bit in the excessive use of coarse language (and use of the Lord's name in vain), which can be jarring and unnecessary at times to those with more sensitive consciences. Again, this isn't the type of movie you would watch on Formed, and it's R rating is appropriate. If you can look past these callouses, the underlying story of God making smooth stones with coarse rock has a redemptive and inspiring element that those of us with sinful pasts can well relate to.

Every sinner has a past, something we as Catholics sometimes forget--what it's like to sit in the back pew like a publican, not knowing when to sit and when to stand, offending others with our ignorance; what it's like to stumble while trying to find our footing after being washed clean in the waters of baptism...in essence, when we "become good" (by grace), we can sometimes get--well, religiously uppity. 

Father Stu as a film has the potential to bring "good" Catholics back down to the gritty earth, while also inspiring those ignorant of the faith to look beyond the porcelain veneer of two dimensional church-goers and unrelateable clergy. At the heart of the universal salvation story present in Father Stu is the meaty center of what it means to be a fallen man ransomed and redeemed, transformed by the gift of suffering, and called by God into the vocation prepared for him.

Indeed He Is Risen!

 Christ is Risen! Indeed He is Risen!

It has been 40-some days since I have posted. If you're still around, welcome, and I hope you had a fruitful Lenten season.

Over the past forty days, as Catholics, we have prayed, fasted, and gave alms. Hopefully we have focused our prayer lives, denied our bodily needs in order to mortify the flesh, and acted in charity towards our neighbor. 

But Lent always reminds me of our good intentions coupled with our human weakness, like the disciples falling asleep overcome by the flesh at Jesus' hour of need in Gethsemane, or Peter's bravado-turned-shame in denying Christ three times when he said he would go to his death for him.

I ran across an incisive adage by St. Moses the Black:

"You fast, but Satan does not eat. You labor fervently, but Satan never sleeps. The only dimension with which you can outperform Satan is by acquiring humility, for Satan has no humility."

This Lent was actually a fairly fruitful one for me. I lost 12 pounds in fasting (a pleasant and much needed byproduct), and we were able to increase our giving. I could have set aside more time for prayer and spiritual reading, but overall it was a time of recollection and stillness, which was part of my reason for pausing my writing during that time. I'm not sure if it worked or not, but I think I needed a break anyway. 

Part of the benefits and necessity of denial and mortification is that when it is time to feast, we can truly appreciate what God has given us in food, drink, and company. It's part of the reason I like going camping periodically--a hot shower and a Domino's pizza never tasted so good when you get off the trail! And I fully plan to enjoy my long awaited Wawa latte after Mass to the fullest extent!

Dostoevsky in Notes from the Underground said that if you gave people everything they wanted..they had nothing to eat but cake, and nothing to do but sit in warm pools and busy themselves with the continuation of the species...the first thing they would do after a week or so would go half insane and smash everything up just so that something they didn't expect would happen so they would have something interesting to do. 

It is not appropriate to fast when the Bridegroom is present, and now He is truly present in our midst, risen from the grave. We live in the joy of the Resurrection, but the resurrection has meaning because of the horror of the crucifixion and the painful uncertainty of whether that is the end of the story. As Christians, we are people of hope because we know by faith that the story does not end at Calvary. 

In the midst of war, political uncertainty, and the rising costs of necessary goods, Christ gives us the example of a man perfectly at peace in all things, asleep on a pillow during a tempest. This can be a difficult example to follow when fear and anxiety grips us. But the message is clear: "In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world." (Jn 16:33)

One thing pausing writing during this period has taught me is that I'm not that important. We can get wrapped up in our own cosmos, thinking we are very important and that what we say and get wrapped up in has great importance. But as St. Thomas the Angelic Doctor, in his wisdom noted, “I can write no more. All that I have written seems like straw.” The world goes on without you. The dead are forgotten over time and their legacies fade.

But Christ remains. Christ endures. It is not faith, hope, and charity that have had their day, but Death, which has been conquered once and for all. The captives have been set free. Poor sinners like myself, who were ensnared in the miry pit, now have hope that they can rise above their past darkness and enslavement. 

If you had a lousy Lent, let the reminder of your human weakness make you cling to Christ all the more and lead you to humility, which is the crown of all virtues. If you had a great Lent, enjoy the fruits of your mortification, but always remember to "take heed, lest you fall." (1 Cor 10:12). And if you are reading and are not Catholic or Christian, may you be filled with a holy curiosity and hopefully observe the curious actions of Christians worldwide who live in the joy of the Resurrection through Christ, who is our hope.

Christus resurrexit

Vere resurrexit!

 As we enter into the upcoming penitential season, I’ve discerned that the Lord is calling me into the night of faith to focus on my own need for reflection, purification, and detachment. There is simply too much noise and public commentary and I am only adding to it by my words.

To that end I will be taking an extended break during Lent to listen rather than speak (write), to pray, fast and do penance. The road is long and I am only at the beginning, with nothing to offer the Lord but my own weakness, brokenness, and sinfulness. As one commenter noted, I am nothing but a naive and ignorant little boy. He’s not wrong.

Please keep my family in your prayers and I will pray for you as well. May Our Lady keep us all cloaked in her mantle. 

“For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.” (Ps 51:3)

The Signs Of The Times

"And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places." 

(Mt 24:6-7)

I try not to be overly-apocalyptic in my personal life and on this blog. I really do. I try not to be intentionally sensationalist or alarmist.

But I've been dealing with a sense of malaise and dis-ease all day over Russia's invasion of Ukraine. I am not well-informed in geopolitics, but I do have a basic understanding of Mariology and hermeuneutical eschatology. 

For those who don't, here's some basics (from Wiki, for brevity):

"The Consecration of Russia to the Immaculate Heart of Mary by a specific act of a reigning Pope along with all the other Catholic bishops of the world was ordered in a Marian apparition by Our Lady of Fátima in 13 July 1917. Sister Lúcia dos Santos, one of the three visionaries publicly stated that at different times the Virgin Mary had given her a message of promise, that the consecration of Russia (as a country) would usher in a period of world peace.

The Vatican stated that Sister Lúcia declared to them in private correspondence during the 1980s that the consecration offered by Pope John Paul II in Saint Peter's Square on 25 March 1984 had been properly accomplished and was “accepted in Heaven”.

The authenticity of this is vehemently rejected by some traditionalist Catholics, including those at Fatima Centre, namely Father Nicholas Gruner, Christopher Ferrara, the SSPX, among others, who support claims of parallelism to the Marian apparitions of Our Lady of Akita in 1973."

For those unfamiliar with Akita (Japan), one of the messages from Our Lady there:

“As I told you, if men do not repent and better themselves, the Father will inflict a terrible punishment on all humanity. It will be a punishment greater than the deluge, such as one will never have seen before. Fire will fall from the sky and will wipe out a great part of humanity, the good as well as the bad, sparing neither priests nor faithful. The survivors will find themselves so desolate that they will envy the dead. The only arms which will remain for you will be the Rosary and the Sign left by My Son. Each day recite the prayers of the Rosary. With the Rosary, pray for the Pope, the bishops and priests”

I've always interpreted this (don't hold me to it) "fire from the sky" as nuclear annihilation. I guess we'll have to stay tuned to see how things play out. 

No one could say that there was no demonic element in Hitler. You don't just exterminate millions of God's chosen people on a whim. Exorcist Fr. Gabriele Amorth: "If one thinks of what was committed by people like Stalin or Hitler, certainly they were possessed by the devil. This is seen in their actions, in their behavior and in the horrors they committed."

Would it be a stretch to presuppose Satan, during his 100 year reign, couldn't make use of Putin in similar fashion? World War II began with Germany's invasion of Poland; are we on the brink of World War III with Russia's invasion of Ukraine? Is it mere coincidence that the "errors of Russia" be made manifest in our lifetime? If Communist China allies with Russia to realign the axis of geo-hegemony and unseat the U.S. as a global superpower...why would we be surprised? Alexander Tytler: 

“The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.”

There's natural and geo-political reasons for Russia's invasion of Ukraine, of course; maybe Putin smelled weakness and incompetency in the U.S. presidential cabinet and simply capitalized on timing. Maybe there was an element of humiliation since the fall of the USSR that is goading him on. Perhaps the temptation of laying claim to the breadbasket of Europe was too great to pass up. 

But I have to believe there are supernatural forces at work as well. Our Lady has been appearing with such frequency these past few hundred years to warn us; have we listened? Have we heeded her call to repentance, fervent prayer, and penance? Or have we doubled down on our woke delusions, murderous appetite, and attachments to sinful disorder? I think the answer is obvious. 

“If it is hard for the righteous to be saved, what will become of the ungodly and the sinner?” (1 Peter 4:18) The words of St. Peter ring in my ear. The living will envy the dead. 

I will admit, lest I think myself more detached and spiritual then I am, when the news first broke about Russia's invasion of Ukraine, my first thoughts were purely material: "how will I heat my house?" "What about cyber attacks?" "Will we be able to afford a long drive vacation this summer?" "What about the markets? The supply chain?" "What if WE are attacked?" Etc. 

These are reasonable questions for a worldly person, but they should be secondary for a Christian, who should have no worry about what he is to eat and drink and wear (Mt 6:25) and who would concern himself in charity for the welfare of those truly suffering (especially our Eastern Catholic brethren) through this in the affected countries. It's embarrassing. 

Adding insult to injury, is the echoing of St. Francis de Sales words in my ear as well, "Anxiety is the greatest evil that can befall a soul, except sin. God commands you to to pray, but He forbids you to worry." And experiencing anxiety and worrying is all I've been doing all day. Oh Jesus, how did you sleep on a pillow in a tempest? How? Lord, grant me peace. And yet,

"How dreadful it will be in those days for pregnant women and nursing mothers! 18 Pray that this will not take place in winter, because those will be days of distress unequaled from the beginning, when God created the world, until now—and never to be equaled again." (Mark 13:17-19). 

A friend gave me a few morsels of solace in that if one has been faithful to the First Friday and First Saturday devotions, he should not worry. I have to hope and pray that God will give us the grace to endure whatever it is one is called to endure for those who remain faithful to Him. “If the Lord had not cut short those days, no one would survive. But for the sake of the elect, whom he has chosen, he has shortened them....People will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken." (Mark 13:20; Luke 21:26).

Even if this isn't the end (and it may very well not be), our Lord admonishes us to read the signs of the times. 

Lord, I trust that you are working. I know we are deserving of the chastisement you send us, because we have forgotten you. We pray for the people of Ukraine suffering at the hands of unlawful oppressors, but also for the world that is under your dominion and judgement. Lord, do not let us perish! And if you are to wipe us away from your sight, give us grace to endure the lashes and not deny you while writhing upon our crosses. Lord save your people, and bless your inheritance.  

Amen.

My Son Where Have You Gone

Whenever I have reflected on the parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15, my focus has been on the younger son. We are presented with two sons, of course, but my life experience has always tracked with the prodigal; the elder son became a kind of peripheral character. 

But there is a third figure in this story, and that is the father himself. For the past decade my kids have been little, so our lives revolved around diapers, tantrums, and keeping them from whacking their heads. I was a father, sure, but in that initial stage of fatherhood. 

Now that my son is ten going on eighteen, I'm beginning to wrestle with different issues now--the difficulty in relating to him, connecting with him, navigating the moodiness and sometimes disrespect, and sensing a growing distance between us that I struggle to address. I don't think it's anything out of the ordinary for a parent, but it still weighs on me. I'm proud of him in so many ways--he is an accomplished thespian and serves at Mass, among other things--and feel I tell him that I love him and am proud of him often. But suddenly, that archetype of being a runaway son has shifted and I am now sitting in the father's seat bracing for the day my son wishes I was dead already and slams the front door behind him on his way out.

In our circle of orthodox, solid, Catholic homeschooling families I think there can be this temptation that our children are a reflection of us as parents that gets held up in the community. If our kids are "good," we're doing something right--teaching, catechizing, and raising them well, a badge of honor. If one of our kids go off the rails, there's not only the pain of estrangement and feeling helpless, but the shame of what it looks like to those in our circles. 

I think this is a projected fear--of being judged or whispered about--that is overstated. Most of the inner shame of our failings as parents is seen in scarlet through our own eyes, and the regret can be bitter, "If only I had spent more time with him. If only I had been more intentional about catechizing her. If only I hadn't yelled so much, lost my temper so easily. If only I had been a better dad." 

I have a buddy who I get beers with every now and again; I can tell when he needs some encouragement because he feels the weight of his four boys trying behavior and the self-imposed feeling that it reflects poorly on him as a father, that he's doing something wrong. When he loses his patience with them, is forced to discipline them out of love and concern, when he's told them to do something a hundred times and they just don't listen, he says "this is how God must feel with me." 

A friend told me a story of someone he knew back in the UK who had gone to Thailand on a trip as a twenty-something and got into drugs; he was in all aspects, a true prodigal living dissolute among the swine. His father had no idea where he was, but his care and concern prompted him to fly halfway around the world to set off and find him. He carried his picture around the streets of Bangkok, asking people if they had seen him, until one opportune moment led him to a drug den where lo and behold, his filthy, sick, strung out son was. He gathered him up, and took him home.

You don't know the love and sacrifice you are capable of until you become a parent, the fruit of your vocation. 

For the father in the Lord's parable, his nobility and tender character would seem to lend itself to the belief that his legacy was good stock. He gave his sons everything, was a good father to them, and still one goes off the rails and the other seethes in resentment. What went wrong? How bitter the recollection of the prophet Isaias' words in his mind, “All your children will be taught by the Lord, and great will be their peace.” (54:13) How the townsfolk must have talked when he went into the village. 

None of that matters, of course, to the father. He searches the horizon day after day, and is willing to gird his loins and run in such an undignified manner to meet his returning son when he sees him in the distance--the son who had no regard for his dignity or respect for his authority--embracing him and showering him with the great good of his household. He had every right to turn from him and disown him, as the son recognizes in his rehearsed speech, "Treat me as one of your hired hands." (Lk 15:19). 

The father was not a tyrant-turned-empath. His character was one of compassion, devotion, and paternal love from the beginning. It would seem that one could not blame the father for "failures" of parenting that drove his son away. The father did everything in his power, and still his heritage turned against him and made him the object of murmur within the community. The parable is as much a story of the exercise of free-will as it is of fervent love, longing, and forgiveness. 

As fathers and mothers, we all have a heightened sensitivity to our parental failures. We also are subject to the temptation to comparison: "So-and-so has such good kids. They're all doing so well. And look at us." 

Part of the added temptation of traditional Catholicism, I think, is "if one simply does X, Y results." Because the liturgy is constant and unchanging, and the rubrics a protection against abuse, I suspect that there may be a tendency to internalize this and apply it to our children. "If we attend the Latin Mass every Sunday, if we don't fraternize with pagans, if we homeschool, etc., our children will not turn away." And for some, that may be the case. 

And yet when I reflect on the good father in the parable, he seemed to have done everything right, and his son(s) still strayed...and not only in slight, but in complete dissolution. Is the father the one to blame for the sons indiscretions? Did he spare the rod and pay the price for this dereliction of duty? Was he emotionally distant? Too protective? Not protective enough?

Or is it simply the exercise of that awesome and fearful gift of freewill that God entrusts each of us? That gift that we can use against Him, just as our children may use against us one day despite our best efforts to keep them on the straight and narrow? It's uncomfortable to think that our control as parents is in many ways, illusionary. We set boundaries, we do our best without a Missal for Parents, and still sometimes the rubrics aren't enough and our children stray for whatever reason. I would ratchet it as one of life's great and tragic mysteries that can even lead some parents to the brink of despair. Parenting is not an "A+B=C" affair. There are a lot of unaccounted for variables.

My darkest nights as a parent are when everything seems to be drifting, and I don't know how to reign it back to the way it was. I experience a loss of control and am driving in the dark with no headlights. I miss my son; I don't want to lose him. In these times, my faith in the paternal love of God is all I have.

Our lives as Christians are founded on the hope of resurrection and ultimate redemption. We know no son or daughter is beyond God's mercy and saving grace, no matter how lost or fargone. As parents, it is our job to never lose that hope, to always be scanning the horizon in prayerful anticipation of that homecoming, to run out and embrace when they are still a long way off, and relish the miraculous joy of the dead coming back to life.   

The Tender Favor of Indulgences

In the summer of 2017, during the centennial anniversary of Our Lady of Fatima, we made a local pilgrimage as a family for the purpose of obtaining a plenary indulgence for my mother-in-law who had passed away the year prior. Being intentional about this spiritual work of mercy (praying for the dead) was relatively new for us and so when we heard that we could obtain the remission of temporal punishment due to sin for one being purified in purgatory by way of indulgence (Latin: indulgentia, to be kind or tender), we did so for the benefit of my mother-in-law.

When my father-in-law passed away last month, I started digging around in the treasure chest of gifts the Church provides for the faithful to assist us as we "work out our salvation in fear and trembling" (Phil 2:12). What I discovered was that the gaining of a plenary indulgence wasn't just reserved for special jubilee years, but that they were available to the faithful year round through a variety of means. 

Think about it for a moment. Christ through his Holy Church gives us so many gifts already. He washes away the pernicious stain of Original Sin with the waters of Baptism, something we could never under our own power do ourselves, and strengthens our witness in Confirmation. He gives us the gift of his body and blood in the Holy Eucharist so that we might never go spiritually hungry. He gives us the grace and solace of undeniable forgiveness through his ministers in the Sacrament of Confession, and when it is not available to us in emergencies He grants absolution by way of Perfect Contrition. He gives the sick and those in danger of death the Sacrament of Anointing and Extreme Unction. He sanctifies our vocations, whether that is in Holy Orders or Holy Matrimony. 

Beyond the seven sacraments, He also gives us divine Revelation in the Holy Scriptures that is accessible to anyone so that we might know his Divine character. We have the lives of the saints to show us the way of those who have gone before us in holiness. He provides us with additional grace by way of sacramentals such as the scapular, holy water and blessed salt, the Miraculous Medal, and various other "weapons in our arsenal" for spiritual battle.  

As if that weren't enough, belief in indulgences and Her authority to grant them is an infallible teaching of the Church. We can have full confidence that God WANTS TO SAVE US and gives us every possible grace so that we might be with him in Paradise, including the remission of temporal punishment due to sin for the indulged, whether it be for ourselves or for a deceased member of the Church Suffering. This is a supreme gift, which Christ through His Church has the authority to grant us and chooses to do so for our benefit and the benefit of those we love.

What I found when doing a little research was that the gaining of indulgences, whether plenary or partial, can be an everyday act of charity, not just a once a year thing. 

How so? Well for one thing, one can obtain a plenary indulgence--that is, the complete remission of temporal punishment due to sin, for ourselves or one who has died and is in Purgatory--by the following:

-reading or listening to Holy Scripture for half an hour;

-praying before the Blessed Sacrament for half an hour;

-making the Stations of the Cross in an approved manner;

-reciting the rosary alone in a church, or communally with others outside of a church.

These are not onerous tasks! Besides being edifying for our own spiritual lives, they give us the opportunity to cooperate with grace to be a tender favor for the dead being purified, especially those with no one to pray for them. Take advantage of them!

Of course it goes without saying that the usual conditions for an indulgence apply: being in a state of grace, receiving Holy Communion (1 per indulgence), sacramental Confession (which can satisfy several indulgences), prayers for the Holy Father (an Our Father and Hail Mary suffice), and the detachment from all sin, including venial sin.

How many lost opportunities to pray for the dead and obtain favor them we let pass through our fingers!  But we can remedy that by being intentional in our spiritual charity, especially as we move into the penitential season. 

Why not obtain a Old Testament and New Testament on disk, or mp3, and listen on the way to work? I have a thirty minute commute, so this is what I do. Then after work, I go to Mass, pray for the pope, receive communion, and make an act of the will to be detached from sin. The next day, lead your family in the rosary at home. Go to Adoration for half an hour a few times a week. Go to Confession regularly as needed (for me it is once a month or so on average). In doing so, you can literally help free a soul completely from their torment and see them welcomed into happy repose every day. 

You may run out of deceased relatives or loved ones to pray and obtain indulgences for if you do this every day. No matter. Continue to fulfill the conditions and offer them to Mary to dispense the graces to whomever she chooses; she probably knows better than you do who needs them. And it is ok to obtain them for yourself as well (remember, an indulgence can only be applied to a deceased or oneself, not another living person)

You may get hung up on the needing to be completely detached from sin, even venial sin. Remember, such intentions rests in the will, not the emotions. We can express this desire of the will in a heartfelt recitation of an Act of Contrition. Of course, one must be in a state of grace, but God does not command the impossible. Remember how much grace he pours out on us because he wants us to take advantage of those graces. He wants men to be saved.  

One final word--strangely, it can sometimes be difficult to trust that God (and by extension, Holy Church) would offer such mercy to sinners; surely we must do more. It is not easy to become a saint--if it was, we would have many more! Although it is not easy, it is not complicated. The way of the Little Flower is an example of "taking the elevator" to Heaven by way of complete trust in God as Father. And so, when we fulfill the conditions and trust in charity that God will apply it to a soul in need, we should not second guess "that was too easy, it should be harder, maybe it didn't work," etc., nor should we second-guess this infallible teaching of Holy Church. Though the abuses of indulgences was right to be criticized, Martin Luther truly threw the baby out with the bathwater when he broke from Christ's One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.

Remember: God truly desires that all men be saved (1 Tim 2:4). He does not command the impossible, but gives us the grace necessary to carry out our duties (Jas 4:6). Praying for the dead is a spiritual work of mercy (2 Macc 12:39-46). We here on earth have the luxury of time. It is not forever, but what we do have should be spent to prepare ourselves and aid those being purified who have gone before us. 

This supreme act of charity God will not fail to repay.