Request for Prayer

 Hello everyone,

I'm writing to request prayers for divine protection. As some of you regular readers might be aware of, every October for the past few years I go on retreat in New York state at a hermitage in the woods for time to pray, read the scriptures, attend Mass with the Friars, experience silence, and digitally detox. Of course any normal person would drive the four hours one way, but this year I wanted to make a two wheel pilgrimage on my electric bike. 

The journey will take me over 500 miles round trip, and I plan to ride up in three days, and back in three days, making stops to sleep at the houses of friends and friends-of-friends in Allentown and Scranton. I plan to ride from sun up to sun down each day, stopping to charge my battery at coffee shops, diners, etc. Once I arrive (God willing), I will be at the hermitage for two days, and then make the trek back home. 

I will try to post little travelogue blog posts from my phone at the end of each day (of the ride, not while on retreat), as it might be fun to do. I'd just ask your prayers for my guardian angel to protect me on the roads and that I don't experience any mechanical failures, ensure a safe arrival. and watch over my family while I am gone. The weather is looking gorgeous so far from the predicted forecast (high 70s, low 50s), so that's a real blessing. One of the nice things about being prepared to die at any moment is you don't live in fear of death.

I probably won't write any new blog posts until then for the next week and a half, as I have some things to get done around the house before I leave. 

Thanks in advance for your spiritual generosity. 

What Cast Iron Cookware Can Teach Us About Faith And Life

A couple years ago I wrote a post on why we use cast iron to cook with. This was kind of a strange post for this blog, given the home-maker nature of the topic (I also wrote one about linen towels). But I'm going to double down and extol the virtues of this time-tested cookware once again, but scratch a little deeper beneath the surface of the kitchen into the foundation of the house. 

First things first--I'm the primary cook in our home. I hate cleaning (which my wife doesn't mind, thank goodness because I make a mess of things), but I don't mind making meals, so it's just where the chips fell in our marriage. Being that this is my primary domain for the majority of meals, I get to choose what I want to use. And I've used everything in terms of cookware--stainless steel, aluminum, Teflon. I don't know how I got turned on to trying out cast iron (it may have been when I purchased a stand-alone induction burner), but I'm glad I did because I've grown to love it.

The thing about tradition and traditional things is they are time-tested. They're not always flashy or sexy or nuevo, but they get the job done. Sometimes there are better ways of doing things which technology can benefit--I like having fuel injectors in my car rather than carburetors; I appreciate laptops versus desktops or typewriters. But let's be honest here--the time of craftsmanship has gone away. If you've ever watched new construction homes being built, they are slapped up with pine 2x4's and OSB, clad in cheap vinyl, with no thought to anything but maximizing profit and minimizing cost. Homes over one hundred years old were built much more solid. Churches, no contest. And, yes, planned obsolescence is a real thing. So, I'm not a curmudgeon, but I think there's something to be said for the lost-arts when people built things to last and took pride in their craft.

I think cast-iron falls into this category, which is why I considered it "Trad-approved." But there are some parallels to traditional cookware and a traditional faith and life. I'm not interested in virtue signaling or needing to trad-flex for Instagram. I'm tend to be pretty pragmatic when it comes to these things. Does a more traditional faith or Mass help to ensure the transmission of our religion to our children? Then count me in. Does it foster reverence, piety, a fear of God? That works for me. 

But enough with the philosophizing. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty with the random topic at hand: what cast iron cookware can teach us about faith and life.

Built on rock, not sand

In scripture, our Lord says the one who hears Christ's words and heeds them is like a man who built his house on rock, rather than sand (Mt 7:24-27; cf Lk 6:48)). He names Cephas Peter, "Rock." David refers to the Lord as his "rock, his deliver" (Ps 18:31). Rocks are solid, unbreakable, built to last. 

You can beat the hell out of cast iron and it can take the abuse. Heck, you can beat hell out of someone with cast iron, and do some real cranial damage. It doesn't scratch. It doesn't bend or break. If you drop it on your tile floor, you'll probably need to replace some tiles. 

It's doesn't waste heat, but is resourceful like the woman of worth

In Proverbs 31, we see a woman, a wife, of noble character and great worth. She works hard and is resourceful. "Charm is deceptive, and beauty fleeting," says the King, "but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised" (Prov 31:30). In other words, she brings benefit to her husband and family--she gives and creates and multiplies, rather than taking and squandering. 

What's neat about cast iron is it holds heat incredibly well. And that heat that is held is used for its purpose--to cook food. When I cook rice, I turn the stove on (yes, I have an electric stove, and no, I don't worry about the government turning it off remotely on me) for about five or ten minutes, and then turn it off. The rice continues to cook for a good half hour unsupervised. It doesn't scald. It radiates nice and evenly--almost like a crock post or a radiator. Which brings me to my next point.

Patience

Cooking with cast iron takes an adjustment of our expectations. Cooks in 5-star restaurants need to run over meals quickly, but in the home we have more time (usually) and can enjoy the process. Because it is so heavy, cast iron heats up slowly and holds heat. This can mean sometimes longer cook times, if you want to fry a quick egg or boil water (unless you are using induction). Is that such a bad thing? Cooking can be a chore, but it can also be a way to be together, enjoy doing simple and fundamental things, and take our time. 

It's like Mass. We can "git r done," or we can enter into the experience as part of life, not something we "have to do," but something we get to do. If a solemn high mass with a schola takes an extra half hour of our time, is this time we are robbed of? Of course not. 

You have to care for it

Cast iron is not without some drawbacks. If you soak it for a while or leave it outside, it will develop rust. It's non-stick properties can rival Teflon, but you have to heat it in the oven or stove-top, and season it periodically with vegetable oil. 

Like our faith, which we need to nurture and work at. Daily mental prayer, adoration, exercise of charity, rooting out hidden faults, reception of the sacraments, examination of conscience are all part of living our faith. It takes extra work, just as you prune and fertilize a tree to maximize fruit production. 

It's overlooked and cleans up well

Cast iron pots can be found at thrift stores for ten dollars and last a lifetime. Sometimes they are rusty, but the "bones" are good, and the rust is easily cleaned off with vinegar or lemon juice. 

In scripture, we see the man who finds a pearl of great price and runs home to sell everything he has in order to buy it. He knows it's worth. He also sees its potential. God, too, does not see our rust and neglect and trauma, but our heart. He pulls us out of the miry pit and sets us on a firm foundation (Ps 40:2). He washes us of our sin with his own blood, makes our garments white as snow (Is 1:18). And once it's cleaned up and set aright, it has the potential to prepare hundred of thousands of meals for the rest of it's life. It will never wear out, never run dry (Jn 4:1-26). 

It eschews the disposable mindset

Like I said, you will rarely see cast iron on an As Seen On Tv ad. It's not meant to be thrown out, but passed down through generations. When we are young, poor and unsettled it's tempting to buy the cheapest non-stick cookware at Walmart, the way you buy Ikea furniture. But in the end, the things that last come out cheaper in the long run. Even just having one or two nice pots or knives is better (in my opinion) than having an arsenal of low-grade equipment.  

Additionally, the Faith is not meant to peter out after it becomes passe or unfashionable, but to endure from generation to generation (Ecc 1:4). That means it needs to be true to its nature, focused on it's eternal worth, and not prone to whims or trends. Even if it does find itself neglected or abused, a wipe down with an acid and a sheen of oil will restore it to its former glory--just like the worst sinner is only one confession away from a restored friendship with his creator.

I hope you enjoyed this random post. The next time you go to Goodwill, check the shelves for a rusty old cast iron pot or skillet and see for yourself what I mean. As the Lord says, "Test me in this." (Mal 3:10). 

Hunger Is The Sweetest Sauce

 Last weekend my son and I went backpacking for a weekend on the Appalachian Trail. The AT will always hold a unique place in my personal salvation history; seventeen, alone and homesick in a forlorn shelter on a two week section hike across Pennsylvania, I encountered the living Word while reading the Psalms for the first time. When I would set off each day for yet another 18-20 mile day, I would leave my right hand free at my side, and the Lord would take it in His own. And not realizing at the time, the scripture was fulfilled in doing so, "Yet I still belong to you; you hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, leading me to a glorious destiny" (Ps 73:23).

So, I keep going back, now taking my son, hoping to make some memories, just as I still remember the first backpacking trip to Mt. Minsi that I took with my dad. The funny thing is, as much hiking and camping I have done, I don't actually enjoy it all that much. It's not novel; and I find walking/hiking actually quite boring. The older I get, the less I enjoy sleeping on the ground. 

When my son and I set off, parking our car in a little trail lot off in the rusty town of Marysville, near Duncannon, I didn't expect the section we had chosen to be as rough as it was; it had been over twenty five years since I had been on that part of the trail. It was hot, and the air was thick with humidity. We crossed through some open pasture, giant swiss-rolls of hay squatting standoffish throughout the fields. When we entered the woods, it was rocks, rocks everywhere (the PA section of the Trail is where thru-hikers famously state, "boots go to die."). We gained a surprising amount of elevation, but without the views--just trees, rocks, and my chaffing pack straps. 

I hadn't brought a map with me, as it was only a few miles to the shelter and spring where we had planned to spend the night. When you're tired, hungry and cranky, the mind seems to play curious psychological tricks on you with regards to the concept of time' when you think your destination is just around the bend...it's not. You start to second guess yourself and your bearings. 

We eventually hit a yellow-blazed spur trail, and weren't sure if that was the path to the shelter since there were no signs. We hiked down a ways, then back up when no shelter seemed to be in sight. My son was starting to fade a little, and I could feel a blister starting to develop on my big toe. We prayed the Sorrowful Mysteries together, hoping that we weren't wasting our energy and asking for the hand of God who led me when I was lost in the wilderness as a teenager to once again lead us on the right path.

Finally, after winding up a few modest switchbacks, we heard some voices at the crest--the first humans we had seen all day--and a blue-blaze. My son was relieved, and I was too. A few hundred yards later, we had dropped our packs on the mossy picnic table outside the three-sided Adirondack shelter, relished in the accomplishment, and got to cooking dinner and settling in.

Many of the early conservationists in our country felt that time in nature was an indispensable part of the human experience. I would agree, both for transcendental reasons, but also because it is a lesson in contrasts: The natural world is vast, and you are small. Nature is unforgiving, unbending, governed by unchanging laws; we are weak, fickle, in need of mercy. Nature speaks in silence; silence is foreign to us. Nature cares nothing for comfort, and we are addicted to it. 

After our one-pot meal of box mac n cheese (sans milk and butter) cooked over a small alcohol stove, we cleaned up and then were utterly...bored. We still had a couple hours of daylight, and set up the tent in a small clearing. When we settled in, it was around 6:30 pm and we dozed off to sleep. We both would subsequently wake up every few hours in the middle of the pitch-black night, waiting for sunrise so we could make our way back down and back to civilization. When we finally did the next day, we felt good, proud, elated, accomplished. We had only hiked around six miles total with less than a thousand feet elevation gain, but in coming back to the land of the living, everything had a sheen, a sweet glaze. We hopped in the car and set up for an Amish smorgasbord in Lancaster an hour away. 

My wife thinks I'm crazy for rarely using the central A/C in summer and setting the thermostat at 85, and for taking cold showers year round, even when it's fifty-five degrees in the house in winter. It sucks hard, but strangely it also makes me feel...alive. In my post,  Do the Hard Thing, I quote Wim Hof, aka "The Iceman" who found healing from the searing emotional pain of losing his wife in the numbing physical discomfort of outdoor plunges in freezing temperatures. His point is true,

"As humanity has evolved and developed ways to make our lives more and more comfortable, we have lost our ability not only to survive but to thrive in extreme environments," the Iceman notes. "The things we have built to make our lives easier have actually made us weaker."

Even Jordan Peterson, who has made a living telling young men to "make their damn bed," gets it: periodic deprivation keeps us from getting too soft and going insane.  I quote him in my post, We're Not Adapted for Security and Utopia, who for his part simply quotes Dostoevsky, that astute observer of human nature,

"Dostoevsky said that in Notes from the Underground...and I love this..he was an early critic of the notion of a political utopia. He said, 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. We're not adapted for security and utopia!" 

The fathers in the faith knew the power of fasting, the power of mortification, the power of The Discipline, because it puts us face to face with our need--our mal-adapted need for food, comfort and security, but also (and even greater), our need for God and His grace. Because we are prone to forget, and because sin is wily, we start to edge dangerously close to following in the footsteps of King David, who lapsed into adultery with Bathsheba as he lounged in the robe of comfort and idleness when he should have been at war and sleeping on the ground with his men.

We are a climate-controlled society. We take solace in our portfolios rather than relying on Providence for our daily bread. We rely on artificial contraception rather than periodic abstinence because we falsely believe man cannot live in the bosom of continence. We kill babies rather than welcome them when it threatens to derail our carefully curated plans. The thought of skipping a meal comes as a monumental penance, and we have a 60% obesity rate to show for it. 

There's a reason the Lord warns against riches--not because wealth is evil in and of itself, but because it gives us everything we may want. And the Divine Physician knows that material tumor has the potential to metastasize if we're not mindful. The pre-req for the course on freedom that our Lord schools is Renunciation, and those unwilling to turn their back on their homeland are unworthy to have a seat in its lecture hall. You cannot find your life until you are willing to lose it. 

I'll probably periodically keep going back to the Trail, both alone and with my son from time to time--not because I love spending time this way, but because I don't. It has a way of making me appreciate my family, my kitchen sink and table, my pantry more when I return, something I grow forgetful of when I'm too attached to it. For hunger, indeed, is the sweetest sauce. 

AboutFace

There is a saying in the preaching world: "A good example is the best sermon."

As Christians, we are taught to be good. The Church is not of this world, but as a system of spiritual machination, the goal is to produce saints, as it says in scripture "Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints" (Ps 116:15). As we know from history, in the saints She has produced (or, rather, recognized) there was great diversity in their modes of sanctity. The goal of Christian life is not uniformity, but conformity--that is, conforming our hearts, wills, and lives to that of our master Christ. 

It is human nature to want to choose the way we serve God; we have a consumer heart, whether we realize it or not, and even if we give up 98% of our lives to Christ, that precious 2% we often reserve the way Ananias and Sapphira held back some of their offering (Acts 5:1-11). Even St. Peter perhaps had this mind when he was given fair warning by our Lord that "Very truly I tell you, 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). 

And so, we learn to piece together our spiritual and corporal lives in ways that are largely presentable within the Church: feeding the poor, attending Mass, making Holy Hours, being kind and forgiving one another, honoring our religious superiors and authorities, tithing. These are great stories for the local diocesan newspaper or issues of Catholic Digest because they make us feel good. They are what a good Catholic is supposed to do. Because a good example is the best sermon.

But what happens when a Catholic becomes what seems to be a bad example, when they do things that step out of the uniform "good" line and start to make people feel uncomfortable? Our good Lord set the example which he expected us to follow; he began his public ministry helping an embarrassed party with wedding details, cured sick folks, blessed children, and miraculously fed thousands in one sitting. But somewhere along the way, he started making people (namely, the religious authorities and by extension, the Romans) a little nervous. He did things that were 'illegal,' in violation of law and custom. This itinerant preacher's following was starting to swell, and those charged with maintaining order (both religious and civic) were starting to notice, as we see in scripture,

“What are we accomplishing?” they [the chief priests and Pharisees] asked. “Here is this man performing many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our temple and our nation.”

Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.” (Jn 11:48-50)

Our Lord's precedent was not that we become good Jews or good people to gain eternal life, but that we share in his baptism of death (Rom 6:3) to accomplish that purpose. Whether we experience that death literally (in martyrdom) or spiritually (in various desolations and privations), none of us can become united to the risen Christ without drinking the cup of his passion. God does not call all to the witness of physical martyrdom, but to some, he does. We all have our own cross tailor made for us, and we we sin by omission when we attempt to shirk it as he lays it on our shoulders.

Speaking of the cross, it is such a ubiquitous symbol in our religious faith as Catholics that we can become numb to it, a kind of iconoclastic white noise meant for walls and background or necklace chains. It's slightly unbecoming to have actual blood stains in the sanctuary carpet, after all, and hard to raise one's hands in song and praise when you have nails in them that have shattered your second and third metacarpal.

In our faith, we often complain about the people who don't seem to really believe "all this stuff," meaning the articles of faith that inform how we live our lives. Whether you call them cultural Catholics or cafeteria Catholics or what have you, we convince ourselves that because we do believe and profess everything the Church teaches--as opposed to those who don't--we stand justified. We are like the "good Jews" who don't associate with the uncircumcised or eat unclean foods. We want to bathe Christ's whole body when he gives us his soiled feet to wash instead. We make bold proclamations of dying before denying him, but then when a simple servant girl notices our association with him, we denounce him. These are tough lessons, and if you didn't notice, St. Peter had to learn all those aforementioned the hard way. And so do we.

Back to the cross. Christ, by his death on the cross, rebranded it so we could enjoy it's spiritual fruits. Of course Christ was not the first or last to undergo this method of torture and death. But what was the cross a symbol of prior to his resurrection? Who were the ones who were crucified, and why? 

"Crucifixion was fairly broadly practiced in the ancient world, but the Romans used this particularly brutal form of execution as a means of producing social conformity. It was, the Roman politician Cicero says, the “most cruel and hideous of tortures.” The bodies of the condemned would remain on crosses for days. 

Once dead, some were allowed to rot in public, others were taken down and thrown to wild animals, while others were buried. By maximizing the public display of torture the message to onlookers was quite clear: undermine the empire and the same thing could happen to you." [1]

 

Bart Ehrman takes this a step further on the topic of why Romans crucified people and who crucifixion was reserved for:

"The crucifixion was not invented by the Romans, but they used it a lot.  It was thought of as the most horrible, painful, tortuous, and humiliating form of execution possible.   If Romans wanted simply to kill someone without a fuss, there were plenty of other means available – for example, beheading.

But there were lots of special cases.  Two of the most common were low-life criminals and enemies of the state.   These are two very different matters – they are not the same thing.  Low-life criminals would include, for example, slaves who had escaped from their masters and committed a crime.   If caught, a slave could be crucified.   There were two reasons they were subjected to such a tortuous, slow, and humiliating death.

They were receiving the “ultimate” punishment for their crime.  But possibly more important, they were used as a spectacle to warn any other slave who was thinking about escaping or committing crimes about what could happen to *them*.

Worse than escaping as a slave or stealing a horse –very much worse – was opposing the Roman state itself.  This is something the Romans WOULD NOT tolerate.  Enemies of the state were shown what the power of the state was.  And crucifixion was how it was done.   If you were a resistor to Roman military action – crucified.  If you were caught attacking Roman troops – crucified.  If you plotted to overthrow the local Roman government – crucified.

Crucifixion was a particularly poignant statement when it came to enemies of the state.  Those who were opposed to Rome. I don’t mean those who didn’t much like the Romans running the show, those who wished things were different, or even those who hoped something better would come along. But instead, those who actively sought to oppose the state, or at least were *thought* by the Roman authorities to seek to oppose the state.

They were unceremoniously condemned to be crucified precisely in order to show how absolutely HELPLESS anyone is who thinks they can oppose the power of Rome.

Roman power was very real, very tangible, and very palpable.  And it was played out on the bodies of those who tried to oppose it.  Crucifixion was the perfect mode of execution for anyone engaging in, supporting, or endorsing violent opposition to the Roman state.  Do you think you can oppose US?  Well then, this is what we’ll do to YOU to show you how powerful you really are.

Your hands and feet are nailed securely to wood and you are left to hang in a position where you cannot fend for yourself.   You are not able to move your body, wave off the scavenging birds or kick away the roaming dogs.  Powerless to lift a finger to help yourself.  We can do this for you.  And if you oppose our power, this *is* what we will do to you.

Crucifixion was not merely death by torture.  It was a symbolic statement that WE are Roman power and YOU are nothing.  And if you oppose us, we will prove it, by rendering you absolutely, completely powerless, while we wrack your body with pain and make you scream."

I've been thinking about all this in the context of the pro-life witnesses who were recently sentenced on charges of violation of the FACE (Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances) Act. For those who aren't aware of this law here in the U.S., 

The Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act (FACE or the Access Act, Pub. L. No. 103-259, 108 Stat. 694) (May 26, 1994, 18 U.S.C. § 248) is a United States law that was signed by President Bill Clinton in May 1994, which prohibits the following three things: (1) the use of physical force, threat of physical force, or physical obstruction to intentionally injure, intimidate, interfere with or attempt to injure, intimidate or interfere with any person who is obtaining an abortion, (2) the use of physical force, threat of physical force, or physical obstruction to intentionally injure, intimidate, interfere with or attempt to injure, intimidate or interfere with any person who is exercising or trying to exercise their First Amendment right of religious freedom at a place of religious worship, (3) the intentional damage or destruction of a reproductive health care facility or a place of worship. [2]

When I wrote earlier about the gradients of Catholics--from those who "believe all this stuff" to those who don't to those who take it literally and attempt to live it--that same mindset applies to those in the pro-life movement. There are gradients of activism: from 40 Days for Life and sidewalk counseling to the more seemingly "extreme" like Red Rose Rescue who seek to physically "stand in" for the helpless and oppressed by non-violent direct action. What this entails, however, is literally doing so by blocking access to abortion centers and as a result, violating (whether intentionally or unintentionally) the FACE Act (I should note that I find it strangely ironic that articles 2) and 3) group "reproductive health care facilities" with "places of worship"). 

(Edit: from Monica Miller: (Red Rose Rescuers do not block anything during the rescue. That's why we have never been charged with FACE. Also. The 11 years is because these Rescuers were slapped with the additional charge of conspiracy to interfere with civil rights.)

Rescuers might be the pro-life equivalent of St. Anthony at the age of eighteen hearing the Gospel of Matthew (19:21) being read in church about selling all you have in order to be perfect and then....selling everything he had. Or St. Francis standing buck naked in public after removing all his clothes and giving them back to his father, renouncing his hereditary rights. These are pro-lifers who really do not just believe that abortion is the killing of innocent life (as most of us "good Catholics" do), but who also feel that they cannot stand idly by while those innocents are slaughtered. They're not making memes and doing fundraisers. They are simply exercising the logical and compelling action of such truths. Say anything you want about their methods--they are not hypocrites.  

In doing so, however, they stand not just as a witness to the unborn, but a source of discomfort to those (like many of us) who "believe" but do not act (Ja 2:17-18), who would rather venerate the plastic corpus on the wall so as not stain the sanctuary carpet with our own blood. Getting sentenced to 11 years in prison for such an act is not only painful, but humiliating. Because the Church no longer stands against the State (who defends and upholds the legality of such slaughter of innocent life by abortion and who is in bed with the abortion industry) but abets it, one has become not only a literal criminal in the eyes of the state, but a "bad" (ie, 'radical'; ie, one who believes and acts) Catholic, a proper leper among polite Catholic society. 

And when it comes to FACE and the five defendants, that's exactly the point. To alienate, humiliate, and publicly make an example of anyone who may also be considering such sedition against the State (and, by extension, the abortion industry) in the same way crucifixion made an example of criminals and insurrectionists. 

Roman (read: governmental) power was very real, very tangible, and very palpable.  And it was played out on the bodies of those who tried to oppose it.  Crucifixion was the perfect mode of execution for anyone engaging in, supporting, or endorsing violent opposition to the Roman (read: U.S.) state.  Do you think you can oppose US?  Well then, this is what we’ll do to YOU to show you how powerful you really are.

All that being said, I do maintain that just as not all are called to the same martyrdom (or called to physical martyrdom at all), not all are called to be Rescuers. When Christ asks James and John if they can drink the cup he is going to drink, they answer affirmatively, to which Jesus responds "You will indeed drink from my cup" (Mt 20:23). We all must drink the cup of suffering as Christians and we all must heed our consciences always and without exception as well, but that will look different for each person and will only be in accordance with the will of the Father when it is discerned accurately. God gave to James the Greater the cup of beheading while James the Lesser was thrown from the Temple and stoned. Thomas was speared, Phillip was impaled by iron hooks. They were not all Zealots, but one out of the twelve was (Simon). Yet all died following and professing Christ even when they were not afforded a share in his particular method of torture, which was crucifixion. And so likewise there is a place for Rescuers, even if we are not all Rescuers.

Legal crucifixion is the weapon of choice in our country, and the Five are being hung out as "bad examples"--'domestic terrorists', 'insurrectionists', 'criminals,' 'zealots' for all to see...including those in our own religious ranks. I pray they share in Christ's own strong cup of humiliation and his alienation from his own people, from the "good Jews" of his day, that at their trial when they stand alone before the One True Judge, they receive their just reward.

"Just Catholic"

We've all probably overheard a Christian of the evangelical persuasion describe themselves matter-of-factly as being "just Christian." The innuendo, of course, is that denominational distinctions are an unnecessary and distracting dressing from the real work of following Jesus. Thus there is a sort of proud (not necessarily bad) self-satisfaction that the "just Christian" is above such trappings; whether one is a Methodist or a Presbyterian or a Baptist isn't concerning to the so-called non-denominational Christian. Even the qualifier "just" in "Just Christian" of evangelical Protestant reductionism is essentially a form of unapologetic (Christian) Minimalism. 

For traditional Catholics, this Christian Minimalism is a foreign concept. Although some modern(ist) Catholic churches and architectural styles have sought to borrow from this kind of Christian essentialism and distilled the liturgical space to only what it deems "necessary," historical Catholicism makes no apology for it's opulence and adornment as a point of pride. To hell with minimalism--we are Maximalists the core. 

Architecture and liturgy do not exist in a vacuum, though. They reflect and manifest the law of belief in every gilded leaf and marble cherub. One may be able to distill Christianity into one great law, as our Lord did: Love God, love neighbor. But to attempt to apply the same principal to a religion as rich, deep, and theologically layered as Catholicism would be insultingly simplistic. Evangelical Protestants may be able to get away with this kind of distillation, because it is congruent with their low-church, anti-intellectual ethos. But there is a lot more to Catholic history, theology, spirituality, and liturgy than meets the eye.

That's why I smile a little when Catholics themselves use this kind of nomenclature. "I'm Just Catholic," they might say. I don't think we always realize just how much of the Protestant ethos we have absorbed as Catholics in not only our modern liturgy, but our worldview. This tends to manifest itself in comments like, "Jesus in the Eucharist is what matters," or "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," or "I'm involved in my parish," etc. 

To be honest, though, there's a kind of innocence (or willful ignorance, depending on the person) that seems...nice. The way you want to go back to a kind of Stand By Me childhood when things weren't so contentious and complicated and you could just walk for days on a railroad track looking for a dead body with your friends. When you could be "just Catholic" and qualifiers like being a "Pope Francis Catholic" or a "JPII Catholic" or a "Trad Catholic" weren't necessary. 

I envy that innocence a little, lamenting that I can't unsee all that I've uncovered as a Catholic digging for the truth of things for the past twenty five years. One of the worst parts of that is the kind of caste-system many of us have developed--whether consciously or subconsciously--as it relates to the other members of our corporal body; that is, each other.

If you're reading this as a trad Catholic, and you're honest with yourself, you probably look at yourself and your branch of the Church Militant as a kind of elite fighting force, not unlike the Marines. The ARMY, by extension, just Aint Ready (to be a) Marine Yet. Even within your own branch, there's the rank-banter. Like, "whose tougher, the MARINES or the SEALS?" Or you have people acting like top-brass while not even realizing or caring that the Merchant Marine or U.S. Coast Guard exist.

We don't always make these biases known, but we tend to have a kind of Maslow Hierarchy of Needs for our personal Catholic liturgical life. A lot of people were forced to take a look at their liturgical values and do a needs assessment during COVID when churches shut down and Traditionis Custodes was dropped on us. People were exposed to curious oddities in their youtube searches like the Canons Regular of St. John Cantius in Chicago, or found their local Society chapel open for business. 

As a result, we often unconsciously size up people, not as fellow "Just Catholic"s, but in a kind of liturgical caste system. I know you know what I'm talking about, because I unfortunately do it too. And if you don't, let me try to illustrate what it looks like using Microsoft Paint on my computer. Ah, here we go:

 

Now, this is just one hypothetical example I came up with, and may look different depending on your vantage point. You might be the "I'd rather die than participate in the New Mass" type and so you may have the SSPX at the summit and all the other limp-wristed modernists under your spike-studded thurible. Or you may be an Eastern-rite Catholic smirking at the fact that many Latin-loving Catholics don't even know there are 23 other rites beyond their own in the Church. Or you may be a patriotic American Catholic who has no issues with guitars at Mass as long as the priest gives a good homily. Or you might not ever want to set foot in a TLM because you "heard those people were 'not nice'." Whatever, you get my point. 

The thing is, this is such insider baseball, and I feel like I'm seeing more people in the Church who are getting so-called "red pilled" who are majoring in the minors and getting tunnel vision. I'm glad I traveled when I was younger, both across the U.S. and abroad, because it was good for me to see there was more to the world than outside my state or local community. But we also know people who have never left the town they grew up in, and have strong opinions about lots of things but not always the larger-scale ability to see outside their own walls. 

Whether you travel or never leave the state is kind of besides the point, though. Both are completely valid ways of approaching life. The issue is more when the globe-trotter comes home from Kathmandu and looks their nose down on their local community for being "ignorant," or when the local community shuts out an outsider simply because "he's not from around here."  Both are examples of the way we have trouble seeing outside our own bubbles.  

I really try not to have this kind of special-forces attitude attached to any kind of liturgical preference. Because we will not be judged (by God) on what liturgy we attend, but on the degree to which we sought to become holy in this life given the circumstances we find ourselves in. Not everybody has a FSSP, SSPX, and diocesan TLM within half an hour of them the way we do. I realize that colors my perspective, and belies my ignorance. Some people are lucky to have a mission chapel or even just a standard fare N.O parish within an hour or them if they are really rural. To feel that you cannot be saved unless you find a TLM is, I don't know...it just seems off base. 

I know many people who not only don't give much thought to the TLM, but are content to stay in their local Novus Ordo parish. For them it's not a matter of Aint Ready to Marine Yet, but being proud to be ARMY. And to be honest, a lot of these folks put me to shame in their personal piety, sanctity, and charity to others. I could use a little bit of that humble innocence. When did things get so complicated, anyway? 

All this being said, we are going to be down at the beach this weekend and I find myself in the First Friday/First Saturday conundrum. Do I go to the local casual vacation Novus Ordo and just put my head down and swallow my....pride? Do I drive an hour and a half four times to attend the TLM back in the city? Do I look up the SSPX RESISTANCE rogue "independent" priest down there for Communion (I'm not inclined to do this, just using it as an example of the complications we find ourselves in these days)? 

Some days, I find myself looking back longingly on my early days as a Catholic, when I didn't know any better that there was anything beyond being "Just Catholic." But those days I wept softly in my hands before Communion, whereas now my heart has scabbed over more and there are more layers to chip away at. Those days I read voraciously--the Catechism, the Fathers, the spiritual classics. Now I'm lucky if I pick up a book and make it through more than a chapter, so lazy and complacent I have become. Back then, I was excited to meet other Catholics in public and on the street--fellow pilgrims! Kindred souls!. Now I size people up, vet, view with suspicion: well, just what kind of Catholic are you now? 

There's something to be said to the awe and wonder of a new Catholic who hasn't had too much weight placed on their shoulders yet, whose innocence has been preserved--not from sin and a sordid past, but from the toxic in-fighting and lack of charity in our own ranks. Who recognize their ransom debt is stamped PAID and can think of nothing else but how grateful they are, like the Samaritan leper in today's Gospel who returns to give glory and worship to Christ while the other nine can't be bothered to.

I would love to go back to those early days to visit, get some perspective, feel a little more virgin and a little less jaded. Where the Mass was not something to scoff at or force yourself to stomach, but a pearl of great price you run home to sell everything you have to buy. Where I was more concerned with working out my salvation in fear and trembling than I was with what category of Catholic I am. If you figure out how I can reclaim this beginner's heart, please let me know. I do miss it.  

An Homage To Saint Martha

The beginning of the semester is always a very busy time for me at work. Part of my responsibilities in my role is coordinating events, and I'll be the first to admit it's not my favorite. As anyone who has, say, planned a wedding in a professional or hired capacity knows it can be stressful with a lot of logistics, planning, coordination, and moving parts. As someone who suffers from anxiety to boot, it's an especially burdensome task. 

The weird thing is, I'm actually pretty well-suited for it despite the stress. I'm organized, plan and pull people together well, leverage contacts, and am time-conscious. I do get anxious about the things I can't control, but the things I can I do a pretty good job with. As with many things, sometimes the anticipation and the unknowns leading up the event are worse than the event itself, and the past couple months for me has been no exception. And like a wedding, no one really remembers that the centerpieces were missing a bow, or you ran out of plates. All they remember is they had a good time. 

And that's what happened tonight. Thankfully the months of planning and keeping things organized on my end helped, even when there were a few unforeseen glitches. There was a lot of running around and coordination. But in the end, everything went smoothly and it was a positive and memorable night for those we served.

What's strange is I found myself over the past day or two for the intercession of a new (O.G.) saint in my spiritual Rolodex, and that was St. Martha. 

Martha, like Thomas and Nathanael, aren't always portrayed in the most flattering light in Scripture. They are kind of like the supporting actors in Hollywood; not your typical go-to for casting calls. 

In Luke's Gospel, we see the busy Martha contrasted with her serene sister Mary, who sits at the feet of Christ as he visits their home. Martha is somewhat indignant that Mary is not pulling her weight in the service department, but Jesus lovingly admonishes her,

"As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." (Lk 10:38-42)

Clearly there is a "better part" here, and Martha has settled for bronze. But I think she was just being who she was. One has to wonder how different the two sisters personalities may have been. It's also likely Martha was the older sister. It's always interesting when it comes to my wife and I how much birth order factors into our marriage; my wife is the youngest of four, and I am the oldest of three. As the oldest, I always felt a weight of responsibility--burden if you will--to "worry" about things that my brothers never gave thought to. My wife, by contrast, never worries about anything, and is used to just being "taken care of." 

The thing is, (needless) worry never really accomplishes anything; it's kind of like the mirage of social media where you think you are doing something noble and worthwhile and getting close to people, but you're really just wasting time in an echo chamber with internet strangers positing as friends. We spend a lot of energy worrying about the bad things that never end up happening, which falsely reinforces it's value in a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy: I worried--the bad thing didn't happen--worrying helped. It's not true. But it can be a real struggle to overcome that fallacy mentally. 

I'm not saying Martha of Bethany did this, but the always-perceptive Jesus is the one who says, she is "worried and upset about many things." Maybe she was concerned the bread was not rising fast enough, or that there wasn't enough wine, or the house was a mess, and all this was going through her mind in the other room while her sister, without a care in the world, took the privileged place on the floor at Jesus' feet. Mary is living in the world of the primary and macro, while Martha concerns herself with the secondary and micro.

Sometimes we want to be "the other sister." We may be a Martha that longs to be more contemplative, while a dreamy Mary might wish she had more practical skills in the kitchen. Personality wise, I have a "doer" shell while I think my core is in the realm of "being." I have a woman's brain but live in a man's body. I'm an introvert at heart, with strongly extroverted tendencies. 

But my work these past few months (and especially this evening at the actual event) had me solely in Martha's world. I was "worried and upset" about many (little) things. And so I found a soft-spot in my heart for St. Martha, for Christ loved her for who she was and sainthood was not beyond her. I thought she may understand my struggles, my anxious anguish, and could help me. So I prayed and asked for her intercession specifically. That's what's so great about the saints specifically, and Catholicism in general--there is a friend in Heaven for every occasion, every plight, every particular struggle and miracle needed. And I feel like she really came through in the clutch for me, because everything could not have gone better tonight.

So, this is my homage to the virgin Martha, whose less than flattering appearance in holy scripture is nonetheless honored and counted among the saints in Heaven and who had the privilege of serving the Lord Christ himself in her lifetime. We need Peters and Pauls. We need Teresas of Calcutta and Teresas of Avila. And we need Marthas in this life as much as Marys. 

Because, let's admit it: that food ain't going to cook itself.  

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!