The Justly Condemned

Today is Good Friday, the day on which we recall more vividly than usual the suffering of Christ.  With Passion Walks, Living Stations, and re-runs of Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ,” we reflect upon Jesus’ agony in the Garden, His unjust death sentence, and His tortuous walk up Calvary.  My day today was not very different from that of most other Catholics; I found myself at a reenactment of Jesus’ trial, walk to Golgotha, and Crucifixion, and then at the usual 3:00pm service.  However, today, unlike other Good Fridays before, I found myself mediating continually upon one specific part of the Passion:  Jesus’ Condemnation to death.

 

When I hear of the First Station, I typically hear of it from two different viewpoints.  The first is that of compassion, or pity.  I read about Jesus, the innocent man condemned to death.  Jesus, the meek Lamb being led to an underserved slaughter.  The second is that of guilt, the mentality that whispers, “It is I who should have died, not Him.”  Today, I began with a bit of both.  I imagined myself looking at Jesus as I peered at the actor who played Him, and was disturbed at the thought of an innocent Man being condemned (aren’t we always?).  Then I transitioned into the common second, and was simultaneously horrified and touched at the thought that He took this condemnation from and for me. 

 

 But then, ever so suddenly and ever so subtly, the scene in my mind shifted, and instead of me looking at Jesus, it was He Who was looking at me. 

 

It was a slight shift, but at the same time a very large one.  No longer was I looking at Jesus, the innocent Man.  Nor was I looking upon myself, and feeling the guilt.  No longer was it me doing the looking and the thinking; it was Jesus.  Instead of me thinking of Jesus, or me thinking of myself, it was me thinking of Jesus thinking of me. 

 

Maybe others do it all the time and I am just weird, but this was a whole new viewpoint for me.  I was taken aback, because suddenly I was faced with a scenario that I’d never been confronted with before, not in this context.  No longer was I the guilty man staring at the innocent one; I was the innocent man, staring at the guilty one.

 

This forced me to reflect upon my idea of compassion, and the extent of my charity and love of others. 

 

It is very easy to feel compassion for the unjustly condemned.  We see people affected by an earthquake, a hurricane, cancer, some natural disaster that they could never have brought upon themselves, and we want to help them.  Who among us would not weep to find that a man put on death row for murder had been framed, and was totally innocent?  It is natural and easy to help innocent people unjustly condemned.  Not so for the justly condemned.

 

Not very long ago, there was a man who beat a two year old to death.  It was on the news, and naturally it was on facebook.  So many statuses and comments I read, even those of church-going, highly-involved, Catholic adults, ranted.  “He is evil,” they said. 

“He should be beaten.”

“He should get the death penalty.”

A great many ill-wishes were brought upon him.  Not once did I see a suggestion of prayer for the man, a request for his conversion, an expressed desire to see him in heaven instead of in prison or in a grave. 

 

It is hard to refrain from condemning the justly condemned.

 

I once invited a drug addict to hang out with me and my friends.  I knew that he could change. I knew that there were not many people in his life who would encourage him to do so.  I thought to myself, “If the only thing keeping him from heaven is a lack of good influence in his life, then I am certainly not going to deprive him of such an influence.”  I knew all this.  But he was so rough, had so many problems, had gotten himself into so much trouble, and was just so not the kind of person that I usually hung out with that it was incredibly difficult to invite him along with us.  I did not want to be seen in public with him.  I did not enjoy having him along. 

 

Another time, I brought a roadside beggar and his girlfriend to eat at a restaurant with me.  I sat across from them and talked with them as they ate.  The guy spent the next thirty minutes complaining about all his problems.  I obviously won’t go into detail about what they were, but I will say that they were all “his fault”.  He was one of those young, naïve, rebellious kids (he was just a kid, little older than myself) who makes stupid decisions and gets into trouble.  It was very difficult not to think this as I listened to him talk.  When they finished eating, I left.  You know that good feeling you get when you help someone?  Well, I didn’t have it.   

 

It is so difficult to feel sympathy for people who appear to deserve their situation.  It is so easy to condemn the condemnable, to say, “It’s your problem, you fix it.  You got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out of it.”  It is terribly difficult to help someone who doesn’t realize they need help, to sacrifice yourself, your time and money and emotion and effort, for something that was 100% preventable, for someone who won’t appreciate it. 

 

We hear all the time about Saint Jude’s, children’s shelters, Food for the Poor.  Most of us probably give to organizations like these on a semi-regular basis.  But who donates to AA?* Visit a nursing home, sure, but a prison?  A drug rehabilitation center?  As proven above, I am not a good, sympathetic person.  Maybe people do this all the time, and I just don’t hear about it because it is the last thing on my mind.  I don’t want to help the justly condemned.  I’m not at all like Christ.

 

I think I need to look at Him looking at me a bit more often than I do. 

 

 

*If you are like me, you didn't even know that AA doesn't accept donations.

United with Christ

When we unite ourselves with Christ on the Cross, our tears become jewels with which we can decorate our mansions or pay the debts of others.

Otherwise, they are just tears.

Living Radically

We Catholics adore the radical. We thrive on extreme examples of faith; on stories of saints who were crucified, roasted alive, caught deadly diseases in the line of priestly duty; on tales of saints who floated and bi-located, had mystical visions, foretold the future, and ordered around kings and Popes. This should not be cause for astonishment. When you love someone, you want to serve them radically. When you love something, you want to throw yourself heart and soul into it until there is either nothing left to throw, or nothing left to throw at. And I would certainly hope that we Catholics love Christ and our Faith!

Yet, even as we are attracted to this radical love of God, we are often frightened by it. Is it surprising that, in the face of the holiness and extraordinariness of Padre Pio, my mother declared that he made her feel scared, because she could never be that holy? Is it any wonder that a forum friend of mine did not wish to read about Mother Teresa, because then she might feel obliged to make such a great sacrifice…and she did not think she could handle that? Sometimes, we stand in awe and admiration of the Radical Love and lives of the saints. At other times, we run away; not unlike Jonah. Often, it moves us to despair that we will ever be “so holy,” and we feel this way whether we gave up at the mere thought of being radical, or put forth a good effort and still failed to begin a Mother Teresa-like movement.

If you guessed that this is not a good thing, congratulations. You have a brain. While it is only fitting to admire complete, total, radical self-gift, we must not fall into a very common mistake.

We must not confuse radical with big, or vice versa.

We all too often do this, and in the face of obvious radicalness, we come to see small, everyday acts as lesser. Would Saint Gianna Molla mean as much to us if she had not died (despite the fact that her choice for Life was technically completely unrelated to her cause of death, anyway)? Probably not. Her death adds drama her story, the apparent radicalness we Catholics like. A surgery—no matter how risky—is not quite as interesting as dying. Thus we hear more about her death than we do about her life (which, in my opinion, was rather more a testament to her faith and charity). We look at Mother Teresa, all the people she touched and the movement she began, and Saint Therese of the Little Flower seems to pale in comparison.

I think that we need to remind ourselves that it is not the drama which made the saints great. It was their love shown in the little things. Even Mother Teresa’s life was not big. We see her actions as one unified whole, something big and grand. Yet this is not so. We only see it this way because we are on the outside looking in. To Mother Teresa, every poor person, every hug, every look, every word was individual. It was a small everyday thing. Small things just piled up to a point where they looked like something big. Her life was one, long, Little Way. She is no different from Saint Therese. She realized what we so often forget:

There are no great things. There are simply bunches of small things. There are only repetitive, every day, ordinary things done with repetitive, every day, extraordinary love.

I think we should remember this next time the fire we have to go out and “convert all the peoples” dies down and we find that we have seemingly done nothing big. I think we should remember this when we cower before the greatness of Padre Pio and despair that we will ever be that holy. I know I need to remember:

When we make all the little things radical, only then can we really live our faith radically. Only by bringing the little, everyday things in our lives to God can we bring our entire lives to Him.

Radical is Small.

Missionaries of Charity

The Missionaries of Charity

What does the name even mean? A missionary is someone who brings God to those who do not have him. Long ago missionaries came to evangelize those living in both North and South America. They risked their lives (and very often lost them) to bring God to those people. Charity is also called love. So the missionaries of charity are, by their name, people who bring God to others through love. Mother Teresa once said that all are called to be missionaries of charity, and I am inclined to agree.

All people have a vocation. We are all here for a purpose which God has given to us. When we find it we must give everything we are to fulfill this vocation. This complete gift of self is love, and therefore a vocation is in and of itself love. Because of this we all have the base vocation to love. If we work at it and become a loving person, we will desire to spread this love of God to others. We will not be able to keep it to ourselves and therefore we must spread love of God to every person we can. So by finding our vocation and becoming a loving person, we will become a “missionary of charity” by necessity. No matter our vocation, whether it be priesthood, religious life, married life, or single life, we are all called to be missionaries of Charity, to bring God into the world through His love. We are called to be, “missionaries of charity.”

Teach the Lesson You Want Learned

When I heard about the shooting in Connecticut, and about the shooter, I thought, “That young man is a genius, and he learned well.”

For the past year, we have screamed, “Birth control! Birth control!” as though preventing the existence of children is the single most important concern of our lives. Oh, the assertion that contraceptives must be had or else women will be completely and utterly useless has been around for quite some time—about eighty years now. However, people have been particularly vocal about it recently. It does not matter why the discussion began anew or who began it. The assertion is clearly there, and it always has been: that preventing the existence of children is a wonderful thing and we are proud to be able to do it.

For the past fifty years, we have been saying that if we fail to prevent the existence of new human life, we should kill it; with certain restrictions, of course—the main one being that we can only do it if we have no sense of emotional attachment to aforementioned human life. We go so far as to call an unborn child a child when we want it and a “blob of tissue” when we don’t.

And if these new human individuals, these blobs of cells, happen to defy this attempt to make certain they are never born, we give them comfort rooms. We are proud of the fact that we helped them die among blankets and flowers, and conveniently ignore the fact that we did nothing to help them live. Some say that this doesn’t happen and no one wants that. Yet I have had long discussions with more than one individual who said that we should not put forth any effort to save infants who have survived abortions, even if they are viable. “Imagine the emotional trauma that would put a woman through, knowing that she wanted an abortion and it failed and the child is out there living in the world!” one woman said. Another man stated that it would be “too expensive” to try to save the infants “no one wants anyway”.

We told this mother that she should have killed her son before he was born, simply because he was born blind. We tell something similar to mothers whose children have Down Syndrome, and boast of the fact that about 80-95% of human individuals with Down Syndrome never see the light of day. I guess caring for them would be “too expensive”.

When we saw that two disabled adults had been in homes since they were ten, when we heard their mother say that they had no joy, we did not have the bright idea of trying to bring them some joy. Instead, 90% of us cried, “Yes! Kill them!” Many of us are advocating that we make it happen, legally and frequently. Why keep a human individual alive through “extraordinary measures” when it is cheaper to let them starve? Why put forth effort to bring them joy when we can prevent their suffering by killing them?

We are good at finding reasons not to want human individuals. We are equally good at doing mental gymnastics to prove that these reasons justify getting rid of these human individuals, or that they make it impossible for such human individuals to, in fact, be human individuals.

For a good half-century and longer, we have done just about everything in our power to prove—in word and deed—that we do not value the lives of human individuals…unless we happen to want them. And then we have the audacity to act surprised and horrified when one of our children comes along and actually puts that philosophy into practice.

That young man was a genius, and he learned well. He learned the lesson that we as a society have been preaching for so very long, and we are hypocrites if we condemn him for it. We are hypocrites and idiots if we tell a young man with a disorder that inhibits him from connecting to other human beings that it is wrong to kill them, and then turn around and argue we can kill other human beings because it is impossible to establish a connection with them*.

From Here

People are looking at the tragedy that occurred at Sandy Hook, and asking, “How could this happen? Why did this happen?” Some assert that it is the fault of guns. Others postulate that it happened because of violent video games. Still others accuse mental illness. I say that it is our fault. Your fault. My fault.

We did it.

It happened because we teach our children that the lives of human individuals do not matter and have no value, and we have proven via our actions that we stand by this belief.

It happened because we made it happen. Because we taught that it should.

And the only way to prevent it from happening again, is to change. Change the way we think about our fellow human beings. Begin valuing lives; not just the ones we naturally are inclined to want, but every human life. Every single one. Everywhere.

That young man was a genius, and he learned well. We have a great power to teach. Now, let’s change the lesson.

*I am NOT saying that those with Asberger's are naturally violent, or that it was autism that caused the shooter to do what he did. I am merely pointing out that he validly had the same excuse we use to defend ourselves: lack of empathy with those human individuals we want to kill.

Music is the Language of Heaven

I have heard this saying before by many, many people. A casual Google search did not reveal to me who first said it, but I like the quote just the same. It is very easy to see--or rather, hear--why music would be the language of heaven. It has some magnetic attraction to it; there is not a single culture in the history of the entire world that did not have music as a part of its fabric. There is also something otherworldly about it; it has the power to move us, lift us, bring us to our knees or to our feet. Yes, there is something great and grand about music that makes it a fitting tongue for the angels. I think that music touches our soul because it reveals to us who and what we are supposed to be; it speaks to us of an eschatological reality. That is, the communion of saints.

(Commence random, rambling reflection)

We all struggle with finding the meaning of difference, with balancing our desire to be accepted, to have a place and a purpose, with our desire to be recognized as individuals with individual value. Some of us, in our struggle to be accepted, deny that there is any difference between us. We are all the same, with the same purpose and meaning. The remainder of us are so focused on the fact that we are ourselves, that we are individuals, that we deny there is any purpose or place for us in the larger scheme of humanity. Balance so easily escapes us, yet we long for it. We long for it because we were made in the image of Communion, the image of the Trinity. Our nature reflects that of an indivisible whole with distinct parts: One God and Three Persons. We humans are just such an organism; distinct, but not separate; together, but not un-individual.

Music captures this aspect of our humanity better than anything else I can think of. Each note is distinct; no one would ever argue that they are the same. Yet, they are equal, and all play a part in the composition. The highest, softest C makes the song just as much as the lowest staccato G#. The beginning of a sonata is no less or more important than the end. By themselves each note is equal and pretty, certainly. But together…they make something beyond beautiful. And the composition would not be the same if a single one were missing. In losing themselves in the entirety of the composition, they find their own individual, distinct beauty.

We are each music notes in the communion of saints. Each pretty, each distinct, and altogether ineffably magnificent. Music captures the essence of communion; the essence of human nature. Music is what we are. Music is the language of humanity.

(Now, listen to THIS)

Reflection on the Imitation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus

“Learn of Me because I am meek and humble of heart’ and ye shall find rest for your souls.” We should Learn of Jesus. We should imitate him because by doing so we can hope to attain eternal life with God. By doing so we shall pass the perishable wealth of this finite world and inherit the eternal wealth of God, our infinite creator. All that Jesus taught is contained in this lesson, of learning of Him and imitating him, as he practiced his teachings before he taught them. This lesson is all we need and the first step towards learning it is prayer. We must then see what we must fix in our lives so that we will be imitating Jesus. Finally we must practice what we have learnt. To do so we must become “meek and humble of heart” in what we both say and do.

If we learn the lesson then we sill receive the promised reward, rest for our souls. We will be resting in God, He who has created us for this very purpose. He loves us so much that he wants to share himself entirely with us.

As we gain this rest we will be making our way towards our end, eternal union with God. This end that we are destined and made for is the reason that people are always searching for something to complete themselves. Unfortunately these people often look on earth for these things. Even more unfortunate is the fact that people often look for these things in sin which has the appearance of happiness but will in the end cause only pain. Nothing of this world will last, and nothing of this world will give us the unceasing happiness that we so desire. The only person who can provide us with the eternal rest and happiness which we desire is God. So in this light can there be any more honorable and worthwhile task for us to do than to imitate the Sacred Heart of Jesus? ~Jacen Marx

Grace Before Reading...and Watching...and Listening

Being Catholic is not about going to church on Sunday.  It is not about knowing the Catechism.  It is not about how much money you give, people you help, or incense you burn.  Do not misunderstand me; these things are very important, and necessary.  But if you think that that is what being a Catholic is all about, you are gravely mistaken.  Being Catholic is about living Catholic.  Your Faith is not something you do; it is something you ARE.  You do not have Catholic; you ARE Catholic. 

Therefore, Catholicism is not something just for Sundays, any more than my being Tally is just for Sundays.  Catholicism is not something that I have, do, or experience only at this time, or in this place.  It is an inseparable part of me, and is always there.  Every single part of my life, every breath I take and moment I live, should be colored by my Faith.  One should see and do everything in light of Christ and the Church He founded. 

One of the most important places to begin coloring our thoughts with Christ is the media, because our entire world today is media.  The vast majority of what we learn is brought to us by television, music, the internet, and books.  That in itself is not a bad thing.  The media in all its various forms is a useful tool.  However, like all tools, it needs to be used properly; when it isn’t, it can harm us.  So, the media should have the same focus and end that everything else in our lives has: to bring us closer to Christ.  Our media should be as Catholic as we are. 

I can practically hear what you are thinking right now...

“You mean you want us to condemn ourselves to cheesy saint movies and repetitive Christian songs?”

"No more Hunger Games?!?"

"Your blog sucks and I am not listening to you."

No, no; I can assure you, that idea is as nightmarish to me as it is to you.  I merely mean to say that if we see everything through our Faith and truly live Catholicism, we are going to critically analyze what we see, hear, and read in light of our Faith.  We are going to try to find Jesus in what we listen to and view.  Just as a lukewarm Catholic only sees Jesus in Church, it is a less-than-ideal Catholic that only sees Him in the Bible.  If you live Catholic you will be able to find Him in just about anything.  If it isn’t Catholic, you will be able to make it Catholic.

My old youth director used to give his students a challenge: pick a song that is not Christian, was not meant to be Christian, and find within it a Christian message.  By the time we were done with the challenge, even Rod Steward, Roxette, Taylor Swift, and an awful lot of rap had Jesus in it.  There were very few songs that we were not able to find Christ in.

So, I would like to give you the same challenge that my old youth director gave to me.  I challenge you to find Jesus in an unexpected place; a song, a book, a movie.  Do you see just a story, a pastime; do you just hear a beat?  Or do you find Christ in it?  And, are there any ways in which what you hear/see/read contradicts your Faith?  Does it teach a value that goes against Church teaching?  Does it promote anything—explicitly or implicitly—that drags you—however minutely—away from Christ?  Or does it encourage you in holiness, bring you closer to Him?

Rev. John Simmons (1910) wrote a short essay entitles “Grace Before Reading” that spoke of the necessity of reading critically in light of Faith.  Today, we are exposed to more influences than just books.  Media in all its forms plays a big part in our lives.  So does our Catholic Faith.  How are you going to make those two fit? 

….I plan to begin a little series about how I have found Christian/Catholic messages in secular art and media (because, you know, all my plans for this blog totally work out, lol).  If you would like to share how you have seen Christ in the media, feel free to drop me an email, or comment.  I'd be happy to have you write a guest post!

If Wishing Worked... Oh, Wait!

(a post by Ana Marx)

I can't tell you how many times my mama told me, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." For a wide-eyed and self-proclaimed (unfortunately for my homework) chronic daydreamer, it's a terrible thing to be told that just because you wish for something to happen doesn't mean it's gonna happen. Let's be honest. Unless you know a host of talking mice, are frequently mistreated by your step-family, or enjoy singing to reflections of yourself in bubbles, wishing for something isn't a sure-fire way of getting what you want.
Calm down, Cinderella, I just said it's typically not a dependable way of going about doing things. Most people would tell you that hard work, sweat, and even ruthless bribery in the form of freshly baked cookies is the only way you'll get what you want out of life. But as is so often in our fallen world, sometimes not even cookies can get us what we really wish for. Nothing is certain when it comes to wishes. Unless, of course, you know the secret to wishing.

It’s not that difficult to find out. Unlike the answer to life, the
universe, and everything, it doesn’t take a computer millions of
years to compute. It’s really quite simple. It’s extraordinary. It’s
revolutionary. I would drag this out longer, but I can already see
the fickle people heading out the back door, thinking, “Why did I
even stay this long?” The secret to wishing is: You just got to
make sure that whatever it is you’re wishing for is what God’s
wishing for you too.

Wait! don't leave yet! I know that you think you've heard this a million times. I know you're looking a bit like my lovely friend here, but hear me out. (If it weren't for Lent, I'd offer you a freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie, but as it is, here's a coupon for one on Sunday.

But back to the point! Seriously, if all God wants for you is to be happy with Him forever in heaven, it only makes sense that He wants you to be reasonably happy during your time on earth, too. So how are we supposed to know what He's wishing for us? I mean, it's not like any of us are mind-readers.

Okay, well, not ALL of us are mind readers. But even if these guys could read minds, they didn't need to read God's mind to figure out His will for each of them. No, sir, the saints figured that out through a complicated method so foreign to modern society that I couldn't find a picture to illustrate it. Instead, I will describe to you the four steps required to complete the knowledge-bestowing, ancient, and mystical process to gaining exactly what will make you happiest.

1.Get in your car.
2.Drive to your nearest Catholic church.
3.Kneel in front of the Tabernacle.
4.Talk to Him.

You don't have to be holy; you don't have to know what you're saying. Heck, you dont even have to really be open to His will yet. The only requirement you have to fulfill is a wanting for your own happiness. (And if you're a selfish human being as I am, that shouldn't be too hard to muster.) Just talk to Him about what's going on in your life. Your hopes, your dreams, and, yes, your wishes, too. You might just be surprised to hear how many of your opinions match up with His. This technique is to be repeated as often as can be, but as it is a dangerous activity, I will leave you with this warning:

The more often you visit Him, the sooner you start to sound like this guy.

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

It’s Ash Wednesday! This should be a little boy’s favorite time of the year—Christmas aside—because it is the one day everyone goes about looking as though they just finished having a nice roll in the dirt (if you have a sloppy pastor who just slathers the stuff on, you know what I mean). Toddlers should be thrilled, because now everyone looks like they do. Who needs a bath?

(^This is not my pastor!)

However, for me, it hearkens the dreaded I Can’t Have My Favorite Thing for Forty Days period. I used to spend the week before Ash Wednesday wondering what I could live without, and what my family and friends could live with me living without (it’s not coffee), and how grumpy I’d be by the end of the 4x10 days. The only highlight was being able to tell my friends I did it, when it was all over with (in case you are wondering, no, I did not listen to today’s reading (Matthew, Chapter 6: 1-6, 16-18)). Of course, I completely missed the entire purpose of Lent. I’ll be presumptuous and assume I’m not the only one.

Lent revolves around acknowledging that we all have faults. Giving something up is essential, because in doing so we acknowledge that Whatever We Gave Up On was impeding us in our relationship with God. Lent is about losing the Loser is us. And, as is usual with God, we lose to gain and gain by losing: Lent is all about the second purpose of pain. It focuses on the idea that, through the suffering of sacrifice, we gain virtues. We learn to depend more on God and less on whatever mundane thing we have come to depend upon. We learn prudence instead of greed, humility instead of pride, charity instead of selfishness, etc. “What are you giving up for Lent?” can just as easily be said “What are you getting in Lent?” The goal of Lent is to become a better person.

I'll admit here that I like to resolve to DO something in addition to abstaining, however. We are Catholic, after all, and defined just as much by our action as our lack of.

This Lent I have resolved to pray for forty people—one per day—and their special intentions. I have a few people on the list, but there is still quite a bit of room. If you have an intention and would like for me to pray for you this Lent, please send me an email at shbapologetix@gmail.com or comment in the comment section below.

I’ve also resolved to meditate on the Stations every day. I did this last year, and it was a disaster, because I am not very contemplative and am, frankly, bad at praying (please pray for me about that). If however, I come up with a good reflection, I might, maybe (probably not) post it here (I don’t think that would violate Matthew 6 because no one reads SHB anyway).

That all said, this is just the beginning of Lent. Today is the day where everyone is still fresh in their resolutions; their expectations for success are still high. That level will drop by the mid Lent. That’s when it feels like you have been coffee- or whatnot- deprived forever, and that you have infinity to go before you get it. Be doubly good, and offer that suffering up for a poor soul in Purgatory. If you do give in, don't beat yourself up over it. Remember that if you hadn't been so severely tempted, it wasn't much of a sacrifice to begin with. And acknowledging the need to Lose is the first step to gaining.

So, I’ll be praying for you this Lent—whoever you are—that you can find your Gift in your Giving, and that you can stick to your resolution. Good luck!

What I Gave for Christmas

I do not know if a study has ever been done, or if it is even possible to conduct such a one, but I truly wish that we could have a poll to determine the most common Christmas phrase, counting all the way through to the twelfth day. I would be willing to bet, from my own personal experience, that it is not “Merry Christmas,” or even all of its equivalents combined. No, I think the most frequently heard greeting during the Christmas season is, “What did you get?”

Whenever I meet my cousins at Christmas day lunch, their first question is inevitably, “What did you get from Santa?” To which I respond with all the cool things I received, listing the best first with a proper flourish, before returning the inquiry. Whenever I meet my friends in the eleven days following, at some point in the beginning of the conversation, they are bound to ask, “Hey, Tally! What did you get for Christmas?” Then we compare gifts, swap them temporarily, and each admire what the other got. I have heard this question monotonously spouted from some of the staunchest Keep Christ-in-Christmassers, and one year I began to think. Why is everyone so focused on what they received? One is not supposed to be preoccupied with what they got. And though perhaps the question is only asked to share in the newfound delights of your loved ones, why shift their focus to what they got for Christmas?

I propose a new and lesser heard Christmas phrase. “What did you give for Christmas?”

I have posed this inquiry several times with varying and interesting responses. The best are from little children who worked hard to make Mommy’s painting and are as proud to tell you of it as if they had received a million dollars and an Xbox Live. I love to watch their ecstatic expressions as they innocently tell of their selfless accomplishments. Of course, there is the risk of developing pride. This, however, is easily remedied. Just ask the question to someone who gave something really big for Christmas—like Christ. Your puny sweater will collapse beneath the weight of their response and your pride with it.

I think the perfect Christmas conversation should begin with an acknowledgement of the season (“Merry Christmas!”) then gratitude for what we received (“What did you get?”) and then a return to the true purpose of Christmas—giving (“What did you give?”). Maybe someday I’ll meet someone who, along with the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, responds that they gave Christ for Christmas. Maybe someday I’ll be able to respond that I gave Christ for Christmas. At any rate, next year, I hope to make my conversation run something along those lines, and not along this year’s:

“Hey, Tally, what did you get for Christmas?”
“I’m more concerned with what I gave, Jake.”
“Okay…so what did you give for Christmas?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m concerned.”

Thanksgiving

As if it is not pathetic enough that we only have one day out of the entire year set aside for feeling grateful, our society seems intent on trying to forget even this measly twenty-four hours. Thus the scary Halloween props give way to joyful and slightly absurd Christmas decorations with nary a mention of Gratitude-Day. I have met more people holding a religious fervor for Black Friday than I have those who give thanks on Thanksgiving. Therefore, to be completely counter-cultural and completely in the spirit of perpetual gratitude to Our Lord, I write this blog post the day after Thanksgiving.

There are a million and three things that I can thank God for this year. I can thank him for my health, my family, my friends, my house, my truck, my career, and my education. And finding that there is an awful lot of “my”s in there, I can express a deeper, less mundane thankfulness for my life, for His forgiveness, and for my Faith. However, I think the greatest thing I can thank God for, as a Catholic—other than being Catholic in the first place, of course—is the Eucharist. Think about it.

God not only created us, He loved us so much He died for us. And not only did He die for us, but He allows us to be present, right here, right now, at that greatest moment in history. The Mass is an Immortal Moment. During it, God picks us all up, transcends time, and places us at the foot of Calvary. Jesus’ redeeming death was not some event that happened a long time ago and which is now gone. We witness it every Sunday. WE ARE THERE. And we actively participate in it. Just as the Passover sacrifice was not complete until the Paschal lamb was consumed, so is consuming the New Paschal Lamb an integral part of Jesus’ Sacrifice. This, friends, is the Eucharist. It would be the greatest blasphemy of all time if God Himself had not sanctioned and commanded it. (No wonder the Protestants are up in arms, eh?) Catholics eat God. There you have it, plain and simple. We consume Jesus. Don’t cringe! If a mother pelican feeds her babies her own flesh to keep them from starving, how much greater will God’s love be for us? Is it so strange, in the light of Love and History, for the Eucharist to be…well, the Eucharist? Not at all.

This Thanksgiving, I thank God for the Eucharist. Thank You, Jesus, for allowing us to actively participate in Your Testament of Love for us. Thank You for being with us—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity—in every Tabernacle throughout the world. Thank You for loving us more than pelicans do their chicks. It must be a long and lonely wait there in the cold, with few souls willing to visit You, our Divine Prisoner. Thank you for your Immortal Sacrifice, and please help me to fully understand and appreciate it. Amen.

(…Are you grateful? Do you ever visit the Perpetual Adoration chapel, or visit Jesus outside of Mass? Please join me spiritually, my brothers and sisters in Christ, before Jesus in the Tabernacle today. And if you can’t, pray for me on Sunday. I’ll be praying for you!)

Feed the Hungry

We are all obliged to do it. Do you do it? If so (or if not...) then check out Fish Out Of Water's upcoming magazine. Entertainment, job prospects, and Food for the Poor. Do I need another reason to support this project? Nope! So, if you want to read more of my writing, subscribe to

Patchwork!

Princess Lessons

In a break from the subject of Feminism, I present to you a post by Ana Marx. Enjoy!

“The traditional princesses are bad role models! The only thing your daughter
will learn from watching princess movies/reading fairy tales is that she must be
pretty, complacent, and catch her a nice hunk of man-meat before she turns 20 if
she wants to accomplish anything.”

I can't tell you how many times I've heard that. To tell the truth, I'm quite sick of it. I don't understand why it's such a terrible thing to be virtuous now. Why is it a modern sin to be patient, long-suffering, or obedient? These are put on the same level as smoking, drunk driving, and violent intolerance, if you think about it. But let's leave that alone, because I know it's just too radical to cite virtues as, well, virtues. But I digress.

I've learned some quite radical lessons - aside from those unspeakable virtues - about dating and life in general from these "poor, oppressed women." You know what else? Princess stories don't just apply to girls, but they have pretty good tips for guys too, as you'll see.

(*A note of warning, these are the REAL princesses; not Disney's oft-times really messed up Princesses.)

Belle

Supposedly teaches: Abusive relationships are awesome!

Real lessons: Girls, happiness is a choice, whether you live in a hovel or a castle. Guys, chicks dig gentlemen, and even if you're ugly as sin, you'll have a pretty good chance with the ladies if you keep that in mind.

Snow White

Supposedly teaches: Cohabitation is where it's at.

Real lessons: Girls, beauty is only skin-deep. The Queen was beautiful too, but the only thing anyone remembers about her was that she was an evil witch. Guys, living in a pig sty isn't good for your love life. Did Snow White marry one of the dwarfs? That's right, she didn't.

The Little Mermaid

Supposedly teaches: Plastic surgery is a great way to get someone's attention.

Real lessons: Girls, if you can't get a guy to love you for who you are, no amount of change on your part is really gonna make him fall for you. Because if you change, he's falling for the imaginary girl that you've created. Besides, he's not worth your time if there's a chance you'll turn into sea-foam. Guys, pretty girls are just as capable of lying as the next guy. Try to keep that in mind the next time someone claims to have saved your life.

Cinderella

Supposedly teaches: You will never escape your boring life without Prince Charming.

Real lessons: Girls, don't be afraid to break a few rules to get what you want. Just remember that everything has consequences, and you've gotta deal with them like an adult if you're gonna break 'em in the first place. Guys, finding someone by their shoe size is not a good idea. 'Nough said.

Rapunzel

Supposedly teaches: You should always marry the first guy you set eyes on.

Real lessons: Girls, if a guy doesn't stick around when the going gets tough, he's a big waste of your time. Guys, sometimes you gotta deal with some terrible things to get the girl of your dreams. But don't worry! Unlike this prince, you probably won't get your eyes gauged out. Probably.

Sins of Omission

Okay, so it’s Saturday afternoon, and I am examining my conscience to make certain that I don’t need to go to Confession before Mass tomorrow. Like always, I go through the Ten Commandments. “No, I have not used God’s Name in vain. No, I haven’t murdered anybody. No, I haven’t been sassy to my parents…” After going through the entire examination of conscience booklet and responding “no” to all the little questions, I begin to think I have been doing pretty well. I haven’t done anything very bad or even anything sort of bad. In fact, I haven’t done anything at all. At that moment, I remember hearing once or twice that odd little phrase: Sins of Omission. Uh-oh.

Sins of Omission, in case you are unaware, are all those things which we should have done, but didn’t do. It means—as I so often need to be reminded—that ours is not a faith of passivity but of activity. The Commandments aren’t a list of “Thou shalt nots.” There are those in there which obviously call us, not to refrain from bad things, but to do good things. “Honor thy mother and father,” is not just a command to not lie to them, or not steal from them, or to not argue with them. Even those which say “No” are merely another way of saying “Yes.” To not bear false witness against our neighbor doesn’t mean to simply refrain from deceiving them; it obliges us to provide them with the truth in all things, to educate them, and to be fair in all our dealings with them. In short, it means to love them. In fact, Love is the ultimate calling of us all. And Love isn’t passive. It is a verb.



I hope I’m the only Catholic who needs to be reminded of this, because that would mean the rest of Catholics are fairly well off; but I seriously doubt that I am. See, there are a lot of Protestants out there, and even Catholic apologists, apparently, can be affected by sola fide. Yes, I think Catholics are affected by sola fide—that Lutheran belief that claims works do not matter for your salvation, but only your faith. If you have faith, these non-Catholics say, you are fine. And whether you are a second Mother Theresa or a lazy Refrainer, it doesn’t make a difference. Yet, Faith is not listed as the greatest of the virtues—Love is. We are called to Love. That four letter verb means action! It means to get off our duff and work! If you truly love your wife, or your husband, are you going to simply entertain warm fuzzy emotions about them? Or are you going to show them your love by doing things for them? If you truly love your children, are you going to stop at not abusing them? Or are you going to hug them, hold them, and try to give them the world? To Love means to go about visiting the people in prison, to feed the hungry, to take care of the sick, to teach children to read, and to donate clothes to people who can’t afford any of their own (sound familiar?). In fact, if we don’t do these things—if we merely sit on our duff pondering a general good will toward our fellow man—we will be rejected by Christ with the rest of the goats. These works are not a side-effect of Love. They are not physical evidence of Love. They are Love. Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not saying (as some would accuse me of) that we work our way to heaven by our lonesome. Hardly. That we can Love God at all is—with our sinful, selfish, fallen natures—a miraculous act of the Lord. What I am saying is that our work is our Love, and our Love is our Faith, and that without these verbs we are goners.

“But I do do things,” we automatically cry in our defense. “I mean, I go to Mass every Sunday, and give 10% of my income to the Church, and I go to Confession and Communion at least once a year. I do do things!” But, there’s a flaw here, because we are doing the bare minimum. Would you do the bare minimum to help your kids? No. If you loved them, you’d try to give them the world. Then why do we take this “bare-minimum” stance in our relationship with God? If we truly Love God with all our heart mind and souls, then every moment of our lives is going to be a work in His service. If you haven’t had a conversion of heart—if your life isn’t one giant work for the Lord by being a long series of small works for Him—then your Love and your Faith are imperfect. You’ve misunderstood the meaning of a “verb”. And you really need to confess all those sins of omission! So, that is all for now. I’m off to Confession.





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Note to Readers: I use the word "Protestant," here and elsewhere in a very general way. I know there is no one set of beliefs that Protestants uniformly believe, and that they differ on a million little points. So, I use the word to describe any non-Catholic Christian who disagrees on such-and-such point with the Church. Please forgive the imprecise terminology, or my perhaps imperfect pairing of beliefs with the word "Protestant." It might not apply to you specifically... but it does apply to some Protestants.

Saint Francis Wasn't Vegan

Today is October 4th, the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi and so, being a Franciscan at heart, I just had to write blog post about him. Everyone, I think, is familiar with Saint Francis; common iconography depicts the friar in a brown robe, looking gentle and sweet, as doves flock around him. Stories are told of how he preached to his feathered friends and tamed a wild wolf. He is portrayed merely as a quiet and simple man who loved animals and nature. As an eighth grade catechism booklet I had the misfortune of picking up once said: he’s the patron saint of Environmentalism… right? No. Yet, to my immense disappointment, this seems to be an impression not at all rare. Lots of people miss the entire “point” of Saint Francis. Hence, this blog post.


Saint Francis was born in Assisi in 1182 and was named Giovanni Bernardone by his mother, after Saint John the Baptist. However, his father, Peter Bernardone, was a wealthy cloth merchant who despised his son being named after a wandering hermit in rags. Therefore, little Giovanni was granted the nickname “Francesco,” after the country in which Peter made his fortune— France.

Francesco was a very materialistic young man, and was encouraged in this by his father. However, one day while pursuing a worldly dream of obtaining glory in battle, Francesco was subject to a vision. He heard a voice ask him where he intended to go. As Francesco began to describe his grandiose plans, the voice interrupted him.

“Who can do more good for you—the master or the servant?”
“The master,” Francesco replied.
“Then why are you abandoning the master for the servant, the patron for the client?”
“Sir, what do you want me to do?”
“Go back to your own home and you will be told what to do. You must understand in another way the vision you had.”

Another marvelous exchange followed the first, and while the young man was praying in a dilapidated church known as San Damiano the crucifix above the abandoned altar came alive. The crucified Christ spoke to the twenty three year old, saying. "Francesco, don’t you see that my house is being destroyed? Go, then, and rebuild it for me."
Taking this literally, Francesco began a somewhat eccentric mission to do just that, taking and selling some of his father's cloth to raise money for San Damiano. Tension within the family grew as Peter Bernardone became increasingly angry with his son, whom he considered a thief and whose religious fervor he viewed as an embarrassment. To abbreviate a lengthy series of events, I’ll only say that it ended with Francesco disinheriting himself. There is no evidence that Francesco was ever reconciled with his family.


Thus began the second life of Francesco Bernardone, the life of a holy beggar. And thus we see the first virtue worthy of imitation in Francis: poverty.
Possessionless and content that way, he wore a plain brown robe with no shoes. He did not own anything, even the smallest shelter, but slept in doorways and under the starry sky. When other men began to follow him and it became necessary to find a more permanent place to sleep, even then did Francesco insist that the buildings and land not be theirs. His followers--known as the Friars Minor--were not permitted to beg for more than what they would require for that day. The life of these missionaries was a life of extreme poverty. I would like to think that I could live that way (though I probably couldn't) because there is so much to gain from owning nothing. We cannot rely on our own material wealth, but are forced to depend on God for our daily bread. The poor must trust in the Lord much more than the rich! Also, we are free from distractions--like facebook and television and worry--and have more time for Our Lord. Francesco would often remove himself from the world to meditate and to pray. How holy would we be if we could leave behind work and family to spend time in Adoration each day and night? Francesco also practiced poverty of education. Though he was more learned than most in his time, he was never well educated. He also did not permit his Friars to own books and, according to tradition, did not wish to join the Friars Minors with the Order of Preachers because he did not want his Brothers to be very educated. Education is a sore temptation. Oh, yes, God gave us our minds and our reason, and we most certainly should use them. However, education can be a grave hindrance to one’s spiritual well being. Here’s my logic: if one is extremely educated, they may come to believe that they know everything there is to know. A person who is used to knowing everything will be hard-pressed to admit that they are wrong, or that there is something they are ignorant of. Can you see how trust in God would be difficult, then? Perhaps that is why so many atheists seem such educated men: their education has led to a pride which keeps them from admitting that they do not know all and that there could be certain mysteries they will never understand.





Francesco was not only a model of poverty; he was a model of suffering. Self-imposed suffering, like that of poverty and fasting and being exposed to the elements, were everyday trials for him. In addition, he was often struck down by recurrent bouts of malaria, chronic gastritis, a gastric ulcer that refused to heal, a terrible eye infection and bad eyesight, and, some say, leprosy. He also had the Stigmata—and for those of you who don’t know what that is, it is the wounds of Christ in one’s hands, feet, and side. Saint Padre Pio had the Stigmata as well, and since he lived more recently, we have pictures:


Saint Francesco, like Padre Pio, received his Stigmata during a vision, in 1224. Some accounts say he not only bore the wounds of Christ in his feet, but also the nails themselves. Saint Francis lived with the Stigmata for two years, until his death at the age of 44. His suffering provides us with other examples of holiness and virtue. The first is patience. A man who is ill-burdened in life, weighted down by his personal cross, must be patient in order to endure. The second is humility. This is most obvious in illnesses which, like Francesco's as the end, require one to be cared for by others. This dependency shows us how weak we truly are as human beings, and helps us to learn dependency on God as well. Suffering also provides the cross-bearer with sympathy for his fellow man, the weak, and the struggling. Finally, the best part of suffering as Saint Francis did is that one is able to teach others these virtues. And if people don't pay attention? No matter. Offer the graces up for the souls in Purgatory, women considering abortions, priests, the conversion of sinners, etc. How many people one can help by giving to others the graces they have earned! From Saint Francis, we can learn to suffer well. If we do as he did, we will learn the above virtues, too!

Now, is the point of this post to say that Saint Francis didn't really like animals? No, not at all. I'm sure he did. But I think it would be wrong to say that he loved animals for their sake. Francesco liked animals because they were God’s creatures. Just as an artist reveals himself through his artwork, so does God reveal Himself through His Creation. One can come to know certain aspects of God by studying the animals, then, and trees, and bugs, etc. Francesco also used the animals to make a point. When the people wouldn’t listen to him, he’d turn to the animals and preach. “See! Even the dumb birds know their Creator and praise Him! Why don’t you?” So, the animals weren’t valuable in themselves; they were valuable insofar as they taught human beings about God, and I maintain that view today. There was very little tree-hugging in Francesco’s day, and Saint Francis wasn’t vegan. That is the point of this post. There is so much to learn from Saint Francis that it would be silly to know him as only the effeminate dude who talked to the birdies.



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If you’d like to know more about Saint Francis, I suggest:
“The perfect Joy of Saint Francis,” by Felix Timmermans
“Reluctant Saint,” by Daniel Spoto
“Novena,” by Barbara Calamari & Sandra DiPasqua
And of course “The Rule of Saint Francis,” by the man himself