Waiting on the World to Change

It’s so easy to complain about this year. But look at any time and you can find the signs of the end times: natural disasters, corrupt leaders, war, violence, disease, poverty, loneliness. The world always has suffering. And when you’re in the middle of it, it seems like it will never end. The pain will never go away. The victim will never see justice. The dawn will never come.

Hope is the tiny light in the night, promising that good will prevail in the end. The wait might be long, but victory is just ahead. We are to prepare and hold on through night.

The presents are wrapped. We wait for Christmas.

The votes are counted. We wait for inauguration.

The vaccine is ready. We wait for immunization.

The laws are written. We wait for justice.

The lamps are filled with oil. We wait for the bridegroom.

The prophecy is fulfilled. We wait for the Messiah’s return.

Advent is about being in the present while looking to the future. There is hope, resolution, salvation. But not yet. But the assurance and the anticipation keep us going through the dark nights. God has made a promise to us. All will be well.

St. Emma of Lesum

St. Emma (also known as Hemma) was born in what is now Bremen, Germany in the late 10th century to the Immedinger family, a noble Saxon family who fought against Charlemagne. She married a Saxon duke and they had one son, who would go on to be bishop of Paderborn. 

It was said that she had a violent temper when she was young.  But in 1011, Emma’s husband travelled to Russia, where he fell ill and eventually died. Following his death, Emma grew in her faith. She donated to several churches including the Bremen Cathedral and established new parishes. She became known for her charity to the poor.

Following in her death in 1038 she was buried in the cathedral. It was later discovered that her body had decayed except for her intact right hand—the hand used to give her gifts and charity.

Her feast day is December 3.

Thankful Thursday

It’s so easy to be thankful this year. Because it’s been a hell of a year. But in the chaos you really see the value of each blessing. I’m extra thankful now.

For health
easy access to food
a warm, safe shelter
a job
family
the rare embrace of a hug
friends
information and ability to make sound decisions
the right to vote
access to the sacraments
books
friends’ cute babies
bubble baths.

Untied Rituals

Over the past few weeks I’ve become more and more concerned about the divide in America. It is no longer a division of ideologies but of truth itself. Malicious disinformation is creating a separate culture. We have no agreed upon facts, no agreed upon history, no agreed upon reality. There is a sizable portion of the country who doesn’t believe in the result of the election, who think multiple counties and states and voting machines and poll workers and judges are all coordinated against them. They believe, after years of packing the courts, that some court decision will sweep in and save them from the election results (though as of now, 34 cases have dismissed for lack of evidence). They call themselves patriots, but they want their king over democracy. How can a democratic republic operate if a sizable group refuses to acknowledge the will of the people and doesn’t respect such fundamental values as the Constitution, voting, and the transfer of power? We can’t even get to arguing about issues if the entire system for peacefully finding resolutions is broken.  

I think one problem lending to this mess is the lack of ritual in our lives. We have no shared culture, no shared understanding of sacred ties that bind. We seek out what we please, and bind ourselves to those identities. We need a shared foundation of what we, as a people, value.

I’m not talking about whitewashed American history or patriotic propaganda, but I am talking about holding up the values we want to strive for, even if we have failed to live up to them in the past: freedom, justice, liberty, democracy.

The peaceful transfer of power is a benchmark for how stable a democracy is. The first peaceful transfer of power in a new democracy is hailed as a milestone in democratization and a sign of a functioning civil society. It is the norm in America, but dozens of countries have never had a successful peaceful transition of power. Just because it has been the norm does not mean we can’t lose it. It must be instilled and defended, as any other value.

Since 1801, presidents have peacefully transferred power to a new president of a differing party. It was an early test of the great experiment. A leader of a nation was not a king or a tyrant who held on to power. It did not take assassination or revolt to overthrow him. The people spoke, and he willing handed over his role to his rival. Because the country and democracy was more important than one man or even one party. (And the 1800 election was incredibly close.) Over time the transition became more bureaucratic and more ritualized. There are the behind-the-scenes details like security clearances and Cabinet picks and budgets. But the rituals are for the public, to reassure them that the government is strong enough to continue through a peaceful transition, that we can change out our leaders without chaos and violence.

There is an election. The loser calls the winner to concede and congratulate. The winner calls for post-election unity. The outgoing administration helps the incoming administration with resources and logistics. On the first Monday after the second Wednesday in December, the electoral college votes, finalizing the election period. Then on January 20, at noon (so each term is exactly the same length), the new president is sworn in, often with the former president there to support him. Then the former administration leaves peacefully for the new administration to take over.

Seeing these rituals are important. They teach us, as any ritual does. The process is more important than one party. The people are more powerful than one person. We are a nation capable of peacefully choosing our leaders. Those fundamentals matter. And the rituals don’t seem that important under you see the fundamentals start to disappear. Doubt and discord threaten our peacefulness. We start seeing how easy it all falls apart if we can’t agree to work together. The tie that binds is untied.

Our hold on any value or tradition is always less than a generation away of being lost. We must not be complacent and expect that everything will always remain the same and stable. Times will change, and we must conscientiously carry our values on through. Rituals remind us of what matters, teaches us who we are as a people, and instills our values in each repetition.

St. Martin de Porres

St. Martin de Porres in 1579 in Lima, Peru. His father was a Spanish nobleman and his mother was a freed slave of African and native decent. His parents weren’t married, and after his sister was born two years later, his father abandoned the family. He grew up in poverty.

Under Peruvian law, those of African and native decent were not allowed to become full members of religious orders. At 15, Martin asked the local Dominicans to accept him as a “donado,” a lay volunteer/servant who worked in the monastery in return for living with the community and wearing their habit. He did kitchen work, laundry, and cleaning. In 1603, the prior decided to ignore the law and allowed Martin to take vows as a third order Dominican. While the prior showed him kindness, other brothers mocked him for being mulatto, illegitimate, and descended from slaves.

He was assigned to the infirmary, where he cared for the sick and became known for his (sometimes miraculous) healing and patience. He also ministered to the sick outside of the monastery and showed no distinction between status or race.

He lived an austere life beyond the rule of the Dominicans. He did not eat meat and begged for alms to feed the poor. He also founded a residence for orphans and abandoned children and raised dowries for poor girls. He was beloved in Lima, and it was said he was gifted with many miracles, including bilocation, instant cures, miraculous knowledge, and an ability to communicate with animals.

St. Martin de Porres died on Nov. 3, 1639 after suffering almost a year of illness. His feast day is (appropriately this year) Nov. 3. He is the patron of mixed-race people, innkeepers, public health workers, public schools, social justice, and those seeking racial harmony.

Wait for It

Time has gone a little wonky in 2020. Since March, we’ve all experienced differing phases of lockdown. Events are postponed. We’re told to wait. Wait for the numbers to dip before going out. Wait for a vaccine before resuming public life.

Last week was even more waiting. Wait for the votes to be counted. Wait for the call to be made. Wait for our future to be declared. The country waited, if impatiently. Sleepless nights. Doom scrolling. Constant text messages from our pandemic isolations. Any news? Any signs? Praying for the best; bracing for the worse. Trying to keep up hope without getting our hopes up. No deadline. Perpetual March. Perpetual Tuesday.

It’s been a test of patience, prudence, and charity. Learning to live in the waiting and appreciate the wait. Working to do the right thing at the right time. Trying to love those who oppose you, who refuse the wait, and who work actively against the common good.

Advent begins in a few weeks, but this whole year has been an advent. Something is coming. We do not know the day or hour. But we must be patient. We must be ready.

The reading this past Sunday was the parable of the ten virgins. It reminds us to stay vigilant and ready. Something is coming. We can get fatigued in our exile. We can get turned off by the bombardment of distractions and lies. In the parable both the wise and foolish virgins fall asleep. That’s inevitable. But we must be prepared at all times so when we are called, we can wake up and answer. Change doesn’t come when we want it or when we expect it. Healing, justice, and the Messiah is coming. Just wait for it. 

Vocationem ad Suffragium part 2

In Forming Consciences for Faithful in Citizenship, the bishops address the four principles of Catholic Social Teaching, which serve as “primary and fundamental parameters of reference for interpreting and evaluating social phenomena (Evangelii Gaudium, 221).” These principles form the moral framework to properly forming our consciousnesses and making informed choices in the social sphere.

1. Dignity of the Human Person. Life is sacred and must be preserved. It does not always look like opposing violence (though it does include that); it includes opposing euthanasia (“death with dignity”), abortion (“choice”), in vitro fertilization, racism, human trafficking, and poverty. War is a step of absolute last resort, done to save human lives. Every single person is made in the image of God and deserves life.

2. Subsidiarity. As Forming Consciences for Faithful in Citizenship says, “The human person is not only sacred but also social. Full human development takes place in relationship with others (46).” Showing dignity for a person is more than “all lives matter” platitudes; it includes concern for the person’s families, groups, associations and “for that aggregate of economic, social, cultural, sports-oriented, recreational, professional and political expressions to which people spontaneously give life and which make it possible for them to achieve effective social growth (45).” A human does not exist in a vacuum and concern for her familial bonds and social environment which allow her to be her best person is necessary for giving her true dignity of life.

3. The common good. The common good is “the sum total of social conditions which allow people, either as groups or as individuals, to reach their fulfilment more fully and more easily (Gaudium et Spes, 26).” The common good includes a person’s rights to life, food, shelter, education, employment, healthcare, family, and freedom of religion. In exchange, each person has duties to support the common good, such as feeding the hungry, protecting workers’ rights, and caring for creation.

4. Solidary. “We are one human family, whatever our national, racial, ethnic, economic, and ideological differences. We are our brothers' and sisters' keepers, wherever they may be (Forming Consciences for Faithful in Citizenship, 52).” While respecting our cultural, ethnic, or social differences, we first and foremost must see each other as equal in dignity and together in the goal of the common good. Solidarity calls us to promote peace and pursue justice. Solidarity also emphasizes the Church’s (and Jesus’) preferential option for the poor—what helps the weak, vulnerable, and needy must be prioritized.

While the bishops lay these principles out in Forming Consciences for Faithful in Citizenship, they should be applied more broadly than in the voting booth. Are we respecting all life, at every stage, in every condition? Are we actively participating in shaping a society that supports the well-being for everyone? Are we making choices which reflect care for workers and care for the earth? Are we doing charity directed toward the poor, sick, or needy? Our politics should reflect our larger moral framework, rooted in charity and justice. 

Vocationem ad Suffragium part 1

It’s been nasty these past few weeks. There was a blissful time this summer when a global pandemic and economic crash pushed the election from the headlines. But now the pandemic is ignored (as the second wave rises) and the election is days away. And it’s nasty. Not just in the news and online chats. In person. In public. In the pulpit.

I watch as people I respected make excuses for supporting evil. I’m told who is and isn’t a good Christian is defined by their vote. I’m told who is and isn’t Christian at all is defined by their vote. And I don’t understand why we speak so militantly to one another, so self-assured, so confident that the other is not worth compassion or not gaining salvation. It's not changing anyone's politics, but I'm afraid it's losing souls. 

No American party is morally pure. No Catholic can find a candidate who is 100% aligned with Church teachings. Compromises are made. Some denominations found that compromises are inexcusable. It is a strong Anabaptist belief that politics is antithetical to a life devoted to God. God is your sovereign. You may in a world governed by politics, but you are not part of it. You do not endorse candidates that only partially align with your beliefs. Rather than lifting someone up, you make political change with your right actions. You do not fight wars. You do not vote. You nonviolently protest. You feed the poor. You tend to the sick. You love radically.

Maybe it’s the Anabaptist blood in me. But that makes sense. Voting is not a biblical command. We don’t have to do it at all, and most Christians throughout time would never have even considered it a choice, much less had opportunity to use it.

But it is an opportunity. One that men have fought for. One that women have been tortured and starved for. One that communities continue to diligently try to preserve. It is one way of many of having your voice heard, your opinion noted, and, if enough agree, your desires reflected in how the country functions. We are a society, and we can fight to make it a moral one. The Catechism says we have an obligation to our civic duties rooted in our baptismal commitment to bear witness to Christ. “It is necessary that all participate…in promoting the common good. This obligation is inherent in the dignity of the human person…As far as possible citizens should take an active part in public life (CCC 1913-1915).”

The USCCB’s Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship was written to guide Americans in how to make faithful decisions when stepping into the stressful, click-baity, mud-slinging world of political elections. We are called to use our opportunity to represent Christ, to uphold the sanctity for human life in all forms:

“Similarly [to abortion and euthanasia], human cloning, destructive research on human embryos, and other acts that directly violate the sanctity and dignity of human life are also intrinsically evil. These must always be opposed. Other direct assaults on innocent human life, such as genocide, torture, and the targeting of noncombatants in acts of terror or war, can never be justified. Nor can violations of human dignity, such as acts of racism, treating workers as mere means to an end, deliberately subjecting workers to subhuman living conditions, treating the poor as disposable, or redefining marriage to deny its essential meaning, ever be justified (23).” 

Furthermore, respect for life is linked to our human rights and need for safety, justice, and a healthy environment. The document continues, “All the life issues are connected, for erosion of respect for the life of any individual or group in society necessarily diminishes respect for all life. The moral imperative to respond to the needs of our neighbors-basic needs such as food, shelter, health care, education, and meaningful work-is universally binding on our consciences and may be legitimately fulfilled by a variety of means (25).” How we go about achieving those in a society can be different and result in differences of political opinion, but they must always be weighed into how we form our consciences when we vote.

As I said before, often voting leads to compromising, for there is no purity in modern politics. The bishops say this is understood. Our intentions and our goals must remain pure, even if the candidates, party platforms, or election processes are not. We can vote for a candidate to only promises incremental change (32). We can vote for a candidate who promotes an intrinsic evil (such as abortion or racism) as long as we are not voting for that candidate because of that issue but on other moral grounds (34). And, of course, we have the right to not participate and not vote at all (36). If we took so much care to form a moral conscience in our civic duties, maybe we wouldn't fall prey to being weighted down by propaganda and hatred. 

There is rarely moral purity in politics. A democracy is citizens coming together to shape the society they desire. There is power in the vote. There is responsibility. There is debate and compromise and stress. Because we’re human. But we try and fight and hope for something better. Because we’re made by God. We strive for a better world and try to reflect it back on this earth.

St. Adjutor

St. Adjutor was born into a noble Norman family in 1073 in Vernon, France. He served as a knight in the First Crusade in 1095. He was captured by Muslims who tried to force him to recant his faith. He escaped by jumping into nearby water and swimming to safety.

One legend says he swam all the way back to France. Another legend says angels or Mary Magdalene appeared and freed him from captivity and saw him safely home.

However he got there, when he returned to France he spent the rest of his life as a hermit with the Benedictines.

St. Adjutor died on June 30, 1131. He is the patron of swimmers, boaters, and drowning victims. His feast day is April 30.

Matter Matters

A Pew study last year showed that 69% of all self-identified Catholics said they believed the bread and wine used at Mass are not Jesus, but instead “symbols of the body and blood of Jesus Christ.” The other 31% believed in the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, known as transubstantiation.

“Still, one in five Catholics — 22% — reject the idea of transubstantiation, even though they know about the church’s teaching,” Smith said. 43% of Catholics believe that the bread and wine are symbolic and also that this reflects the position of the Church.Hispanic Catholics believe in it less than whites, and women believe in it less than men.

In a 1994 article in The New York Times, religion correspondent Peter Steinfels reported the following: “Yet when a representative sample of American Catholics were asked which statement came closest to ‘what you believe takes place at mass,’ only 1 out of 3 chose ‘the bread and wine are changed into Christ’s body and blood’.” In other words, the percentage of U.S. Catholics who expressed a belief in the Eucharist that entirely lines up with the Catholic Church’s teaching on transubstantiation has not changed at all in a quarter of a century.

How can someone sit in the pew week after week and never know what we believe is happening right in front of us? I’ve heard how religious ed can sometimes be a joke, but for people to not even know the basics of the faith is beyond neglect. Then some even know what the Church teaches, rejects it, and receives the Eucharist. At least they are aware, though that puts them in a more morally precarious spot.

It saddens me to think of the hundreds of people in my own parish who probably don’t believe. They might come out of habit or old social obligation. They might think that it doesn’t matter. They might pridefully think the Church is wrong but will “come around.” They might be fully sincere and ignorant. The Church might be failing them by not evangelizing properly. They might be failing the Church by faking belief.

As Flannery O’Conner said, “If it’s a symbol, to hell with it.” The Eucharist is the center of our worship. “This is my body,” Jesus said. “Hoc est corpus.” The Incarnation brought God physically into His creation, and the Mass sustains His physical presence here with us. 

Other denominations have communion that is memorial—it still has meaning, of remembrance, of community, of participation in faith. But those communion services do not make the claims the Mass does, because they do not do what the Mass does. If I thought Catholics just had symbols of Jesus like so many other churches, I’d be at another church.

It is a Mystery—you can’t see or smell or taste His presence. Under the species of bread of wine, He is not detectable to the senses. But there is so much beyond the senses. There is testimony and faith and heart. There is a calling I didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.

There is a rushing wind in the interior self, striking you down on your knees. The senses and rationality don’t go away, but they find their proper place in the face of the greatness of God.You can believe in God without believing in the Eucharist. You can love Christ without believing He is present in the host and chalice. But there is so much more to believe. So much more to experience. So much more to consume. Don’t sell the faith short. Go and meet Him. He’s there.

Where Were You? There.

The top story on the morning shows before school was something about Michael Jordon.
It was second period geography.
My first period teacher interrupted class and said to turn on the news. “A plane hit the World Trade Center.”
I didn’t know what that was.
I saw the next plane hit.
I watched them cut to the explosion at the Pentagon. Kids beside me knelt on the ground and prayed.
Third period. Spanish. We were told to turn off the TVs and continue the school day as if nothing was happening.
Rumors came from students who could get in the office and pick up stories from the tv in the teachers lounge. The White House?. The Capitol? Some plane shot down in Pennsylvania?  
The buildings fell around 4 p.m.

They didn’t, really, but it took me years before I realized that. I just didn’t see the footage until after school, and my memory remembers it as live. Because I was there that day; I saw it, just like we all did.

Memory is imperfect. But we cherish it. It’s important that I remember where I was when I heard the news. “Where were you?” every year. “Where were you?” because it’s important to know you’re tied to this event too. It binds us. We were all there. We were all affected. We share this. “Where were you?” because not remembering seems impossible.

Boomers in school on Nov. 22, 1963.
Gen X in school on Jan. 28, 1986.
Millennials in school on Sept. 11, 2001.

Our generation defined by our school-age national tragedy. Our Americanness defined by our shared trauma. I wasn’t in New York or Washington. I wasn’t covered in dust and ash. I didn’t know anyone affected. I wasn’t worriedly calling loved ones. But I was there, with everyone, glued to the TVs, knowing our lives had shifted, but yet not sure how. I was a witness, from my small town and with my middle school understanding. Breaking news shifted from sports to geopolitical terrorism in a matter of minutes. Childhood was over. I was there. “Where were you?” I have an answer.

Collective memory binds us. To know we share a history defines a community. You show you belong to the group by acknowledging this shared memory, even if you weren’t actually there, even if you weren’t born. But you share the memory because the event is important, because it shapes the group you are a part of, and thus, it affects you. Yes, I saw the president shot. Yes, I saw shuttle explode. Yes, I saw the buildings fall. Yes, yes, I was there. Not physically, but as part of the group that was affected.

Throughout the liturgical year, we bare witness to Christ’s life. We proclaim the Incarnation, witness to God becoming man. We celebrate the Nativity, witness to His coming into the world. We join in the Last Supper, we walk to Calvary, we see the water and blood spill from His side, we feel the earth tremble as He gives up His spirit. We are witnesses of His sacrifice and victory. I was there on the hill. I was there at the tomb. I was there on the mountain top. I remember. I remember with you. Because it’s important to know you’re tied to this event too. It binds us. We were all there. We were all affected. We share this. “Where were you?” because not remembering seems impossible.

There aren't Windows in the Panic Room

I love house layouts. When I was a kid, I’d use building blocks to make custom homes for my Polly Pockets and constantly rearrange the furniture in my doll house. If bored, I’ll sketch out my dream estate layout, which includes a house of hidden rooms and secret passageways and supporting structures of a self-sufficient farm. On my “if I win the lottery list” is buying an old house and customizing each room.

There is something so alluring about creating that perfect space. The indoors was created to keep out the weather and predators. But now we can customize our indoors spaces to control the air quality, temperature, humidity, sunlight, noise, lights, etc. We can design for our specific desires. Rooms, houses, whole neighborhoods—custom-made to keep out whatever needs keeping out.

But even while I fantasize about my manor with a hidden bunker behind the wine cellar, I know that no design would ever completely eliminate danger. I can prepare to be safer, but I can’t completely keep the world at bay.

Some have tried. There are plenty of examples of people going off to form their own communities, to reject the world and build their utopia. The Puritans came to America to establish their “city upon a hill,” away from heathen, tainted Europe. The goals of segregating always sound pure: live according to our rules, uninfluenced by competing ideas, safe from those that oppose us. It’s about safety—physical and ideological.

But that quickly devolves. Who is pure enough to stay in the perfect place? Will a child raised in this utopian community be kicked out if she believes something different? Will the poor, black man down the road be allowed in?

How do you love your neighbors when you’re locked inside your panic room? How do you evangelize when the only people you interact with are prescreened and hand-selected? Maybe you survive the bomb or the virus, but what values did you preserve?

A few years ago, The Benedict Option was quite popular in certain crowds. Admittingly, I haven’t read the book, but I’ve read a lot of responses (positive and negative) thinking on this idea of creating community. Christians should be intentional about forming communities; parishes should be family, not just a place to use on Wednesdays and Sundays. We should cultivate our social circles with people that will edify us. Yet when we lay people begin to cloister off, I feel it’s not for the pure goals of a “city upon a hill.” I think it’s a rebuke on the world, writing it off as unsavable, undeserving of our efforts. We have our security and salvation; the rest can perish.

When the pandemic first started hitting New York, there were stories of rich New Yorkers fleeing to their second homes. Villagers in these small, rural places were pleading them not to, for they could bring the virus to an area with very little medical resources to spare. Yet the rich wanted to feel safe, and they had the means to retreat. Now, as the virus continues nation-wide but schools are resuming, upper and middle class families with the means are creating their own pods—small groups that can self-contain and educate their children away from school. Families who have prepped rural retreats can simply step away from the virus and riots and contention the year has brought.

How much is safety and how much is neglecting our neighbors?

The perfect space does not exist, because the world isn't perfect. We must strive for perfection within this imperfect world, We all need to be safe. Walls, roofs, locks, and masks, are all prudent. But there is no security system, wall, moat, maze, or bunker that will eliminate every threat. At some point, they may even eliminate compassion, charity, and empathy. Open the door. There’s a whole world out there.

St. Camillus de Lellis

Camillus de Lellis was born in 1550 in the Kingdom of Naples. His parents were older, and after his mother’s death in 1562, he was taken care of my family members who often neglected him. At age 16 he joined the Venetian army. After his regiment disbanded in 1575, he gambled away everything he had. He took a job at a Capuchian friary. He continued to gamble excessively and suffer from a leg injury he received in the army. He was known for having an aggressive temper.

Yet a friar worked to bring out Camillus’ better side. Eventually Camillus had a religious conversion and entered the novitiate there. However, he was denied admission because of his leg wound. He went to Rome and entered the San Giacomo Hospital for incurable diseases. He also worked as a caregiver for others there. He followed an ascetic lifestyle, and St. Philip Neri served as his spiritual director and confessor.

Camillus worked for the sick to receive better attention and care, inviting pious men he met at Neri’s Oratory to come care for patients at the hospital. He felt called to start a religious order to care for the sick. Neri helped him receive funding to go to seminary and get ordained. He became a priest on Pentecost 1584. He established the Order of Clerks Regular, Minister of the Infirm, called Camillians. They wore red crosses on their cassocks as a symbol of their service. They took a vow to “serve the sick, even with danger to one’s own life.”

Charity to patients was of first concern, but they also worked to make hospitals clean and make sure people received proper burial. The order served soldiers in battle and victims of bubonic plague. The order spread throughout Italy. The pope assigned them the Church of St. Mary Magdalene in Rome (whose feast is today), which the order still operates. 

St. Camillus continued to suffer from his leg injury as he traveled and served the sick. He died in Rome in 1614 and was entombed at the Church of St. Mary Magdalene. He is the patron of the sick, hospitals, doctors, and gamblers. His feast day (in the old calendar and still in the US) is July 18.

The Person Behind the Mask

I’m so tired. More than ever the hatred I see from people online is wearing on me. People I’ve known my own life spouting dangerous conspiracy theories. Friends I sit beside in church supporting racist, sexist, fascist ideologies. Pride and ignorance flaunting health precautions. Fear and arrogance claiming false propaganda as truth. There is so much wrong in the minds of these acquaintances that it hurts.

I’m struggling so hard to love. I know I should respond in compassion and charity. Arguments don’t work; they will just dig in deeper. You can’t logic your way out of something you didn’t logic your way into. To them, I am part of the evil globalist state, a brainwashed coward capitulating to fear. My words have no weight in argument. So what can I possibly say?

In most cases, I have decided it is not my fight to fight. I do not want to stay silent, but I must choose my battles, especially when they wear on me so. I’m not crusading in the forums, patiently laying out facts and data and expert opinions that will just be ignored. But in each brief interaction, each scroll through, each time I click “read more,” I open myself to danger.

I judge. Quickly, harshly. How can they be so stupid? Why can’t they see the truth? Where is their compassion? But where is mine? I struggle to separate the person from his toxic, dangerous mindset, to see the scared, lost child of God behind the racist comment and anti-mask meme. I think of the dangers their ideology has in affecting society, but I also need to remember to dangers their ideology has in their hearts. They are victims of their own toxic ideas too. It’s rotting their hearts and keeping them from loving their neighbors.

How do you show compassion to someone threatening society? How do you love someone promoting hate? How do you forgive someone who does not apologize or change their ways? Arguing won’t persuade them. And maybe loving them won’t either. But love will help me. My attitude matters, even if I’m the only one affected by it as I silently scroll and judge.

God has not abandoned me when I have fallen so, so short. He loves me when I’m arrogant, ignorant, dangerously wrong, and quick to judge. Redemption cannot happen without love. And we all can be redeemed.

Our leaders have chosen hate and contempt. Dividing the people into strongly defined camps. It is “us” good guys versus “them” bad guys who want to control you. Even our church leaders taut this divide. We’re warriors in a culture war; “they” are the enemy to defeat.

But they aren’t the enemy. They are children of God, caught up in just as much fear. Their ideologies deserve contempt. Their policies deserve push back. The fight is against ignorance and immorality, not people. And it’s so, so hard to love people who are wishing me ill, who are saying lies about me, who are dismissing my words as harmful. Yet we are not called to love those who it is easy to love; we are called to love our enemies, to see the human behind the ideology as a brother.

It is a dark, scary time. And I’m shaken and stressed at how many people I know refuse medical advice or dismiss violence or promote conspiracies or laud tyrants. I do not understand. I have tried to understand and failed. It is so easy to judge and hate. But I cannot descend into dark anger like them. I may not convince them to change, but I can try to change my reaction. I can try to forgive. I can try to love. And when I fail, I can ask God for His grace and try again.

Blessed Alan the Great of Lille

Blessed Alan the Great of Lille was born in Lille, Flanders (now France), around 1120.

He was a philosopher and theologian who wrote a number of books as well as poetry. His books addressed philosophy, nature, sin, and preaching. He wrote against sexual sins and heresies. He taught in Paris and Montpellier. He was well known for his intelligence and called Doctor Universalis.

He attended the Third Lateran Council in 1179. His writings on sin and penance are said to have influenced members of the Fourth Lateran Council thirty years later. Though an academic, he followed an eclectic scholasticism that included both rationalism and mysticism.

He joined the Cistercian order and lived the rest of his life as a monk in Citeaux, where he died of natural causes in 1202. His feast day is July 6 or July 16, depending on the calendar.

Ordering Time

It’s the long stretch to Advent. Ordinary Time takes up half of the year, and I find it the most difficult to celebrate. The other seasons have specified traditions and pass quickly (well, maybe not Lent), and then there’s just months of green and parables and an occasional feast day.

While churches have opened up here, I have been hesitant to return. It’s still too many people for my comfort, especially as cases are spiking. So I’m left to my domestic church of one, trying to maintain a rhythm to my prayer life without the pulse of a community helping along.

The Church has no shortage of suggestions on how to pray; one thing I love about the Church is her full toolbox of various devotions, something to help everyone. I’m not a regular rosary pray-er, but I like the chaplet of divine mercy. I struggle to do morning prayer each day, but lately I’ve been praying evening prayer. I won’t go back to the adoration chapel yet, but I have plenty of spiritual books. It’s the discipline and routine I have to supply on my own, and, like Lysol wipes, they are hard to come by these days.

Yet Ordinary Time gets its name because it is orderly. It is a time for spiritual growth. Without the focus of holidays and short seasons, you can slow down—to go deeper, not stop. A full half of the year to keep the faith at the steady pace; it is a practice of discipline of routine.

The readings focus on Jesus’ ministry, but also, as it follows Pentecost, the season reflects the growth of the Church. We are the Church, still growing, currently between the Ascension and the Second Coming. What will we do with that time? Will we be ready for Christ the King (Sunday)?

So much of this time is spent in uncertainty. What are the new numbers? When can we gather with friends? What’s the best time to go to the store? How will life look in November? It’s easy to hide away at home, bury my head from the news, and retreat into books or movies or other distractions. And some days that’s needed self-care. But I can’t do that indefinitely. Life has to go on. Living needs purpose. It needs order.

This time may look different than it did last year or 10 years ago. I hope it looks different next year. Ordinary Time is less about annual traditions and seasonal devotions and more about attitude. Be discipline and keep the routine. Integrate faith into daily living. Hold on.

Freedom's Ring

Last month, before the BLM protests arose, protests popped up demanding for loosening of pandemic restrictions; people wanted to go to work, go to the park, go shopping, get haircuts, have sit down dining. Being told to stay home is an infringement of rights, they claim. It’s an authoritarian power grab. So they clustered together and carried their guns into public buildings and yelled in the faces of cops and nurses. For freedom.

And as some places opened up, the same people continued to complain. Being told to wear a mask in a shop is trampling on their rights. Churches reducing congregation size to 50% is a capitulation of the church to the authoritarian state. Although a vaccine is at least a year away, there are already exclamations to refuse vaccination. Their very freedom is under an attack under the guise of a virus.

They freely share their grievances. They freely gather to protest (breaking quarantine orders but facing no consequence). They freely form groups and petitions and gatherings to discuss the restrictions on their freedom of open shops and not wearing masks and not being vaccinated against a pandemic. They do care about lives, they say. But one’s freedom is more important.

Then a man died after a cop knelt on his neck for almost nine minutes. And the world saw. And the world knew it was just another case of in a long line of injustice. And different protests broke out. Masses of people marching in the street—no guns, wearing masks. They were protesting injustice (and having curfews in place and protests broken up). They demanded that police not kill people. That being killed without trial for petty violations infringes on their rights. Can a black person walk down the street in peace? Can she sleep in her bed in peace? Being fearful of violent cops restricts their freedom. They live in fear of authoritarian overreach. They want justice and equal freedom.

Comparing the two protests feels like night and day. But they were only a week or so apart, and both claimed to be about the foundation of American values. So it’s made me ask: What is freedom?

Broadly, freedom is the power to act, speak, or think as one wants without restraint. Freedom is the state of not being subject to another. When we say America was founded on freedom, we mean freedom from a king, freedom from England’s laws, freedom of religion, speech, press, assembly, and petition. To be free is to do whatever one wants without repercussion.

Taken to the extreme, it’s easy to see the danger in broad freedom. Doing whatever we want without restraint leads to hedonism. Even “do no harm” is seen as authoritarian and restricting when fulfilling desires is the idea of freedom.

It also leads to the most powerful consolidating that freedom. Those will the power or force to do what they want to others can and will, while the rest must restrict their movements out of fear and self-preservation.

The idea of “do what I want” is not freedom. It is not true freedom to be a slave to our desires and impulses. We can make ourselves slaves to drugs, sex, food, power, or money. True freedom is the ability to become our best selves, to have our will and potential unstrained and our desires properly ordered.

St. John Paul II said, “Every generation of Americans needs to know that freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right to do what we ought.”

Freedom is not an ends; it is a means to do good. The catechism says, “There is no true freedom except in the service of what is good and just. The choice to disobey and do evil is an abuse of freedom and leads to ‘the slavery of sin’ (CCC 1733).”

Are our actions impulses, are they harming others, are they encouraging sin? Are we free if give ourselves over to selfishness, violence, and anger? Freedom lies in our choices, and our ability to make that choice in our society.

Today is Juneteenth. For white people, it’s something we either never learned about or just vaguely heard of. It doesn’t celebrate the freeing the of the slaves; they had been declared free months before. It celebrates enslaved people learning of their freedom and thus, truly becoming free. They couldn’t be free until they knew it and could act accordingly. They suffered attempts at restricting that freedom and having their rights infringed. It’s a continuing battle.

This year, as we celebrate July 4th, maybe we should celebrate true freedom. Not separation from the British or our right to brandish weapons and not wear masks, but our ability to protest, to speak out for what is right, and to continue to choose to do what we ought.

Blessed Father Charles de Foucauld

Blessed Father Charles de Foucauld was born on Sept. 15, 1858 in Strasbourg to French nobility. He was orphaned when he was six and raised by his maternal grandparents. At school, he was disillusioned by the different philosophers and became agnostic by 15.

In 1876, he was accepted into the Saint-Cyr Military Academy as one of its youngest students. He came into a large inheritance after his grandfather’s death and lived an extravagant lifestyle as he graduated the academy and went to French cavalry school. He was posted to Algeria but when he was not allowed to bring his mistress with him, he grew bored with his assignment and quit the service. He travelled around to Morocco, the Sahara, and Palestine.

He returned to live a social life in Paris but began studying the cultures of Morocco and Algeria. Inspired by the faith of the Jews and Muslims he had met on his travels, he resumed his Catholic faith. Slowly the practice led to an interior change and his conversion of belief.

In 1890, Charles joined a Cistercian order in France, then on the Syrian-Turkish border. He left it in 1897 to go to Nazareth, still seeking some unspecified path. He returned to France in 1901 to be ordained a priest and then returned to the Sahara. He built a hermitage near the Moroccan border. He wanted to found a community that was open to Christians, Muslims, Jews, or people of no religion, but he gained no companions in his remote location.

He moved yet again to live closer to the Tuareg people in southern Algeria. He studied their customs and language, working on developing volumes on dictionary and grammar. He also formulated a plan to found a new religious institute centered on the Eucharist. He wanted to bring Jesus to the farthest parts of the desert, and he wanted to present Christ in a way that would convert Muslim nations.

On Dec. 1 1916, a group of raiders took Father Charles from his hermitage. They intended to kidnap him but when they unexpectedly ran across two members of the French Camel Corps, they shot them along with Father Charles in the head. A former slave, Paul Embarek, who was a sacristan being instructed by Father Charles, witnessed the event.

The French authorities searched for the bandits for years. In 1944, leader of the group El Madani ag Soba and apprehended and executed.

Blessed Charles de Foucauld is considered by many as both a mystic and a martyr. Pope Francis has announced that Father Charles will be declared a saint later this year. His feast day is Dec. 1.

A Violent Wind

“When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting” (Acts 2:1-2)

When I think of Pentecost, I picture fire. The flames descending on the disciples. Doves and fire are often symbols of the Holy Spirit. The churches are decorated in red; many people wear red. Pentecost is fiery. 

But Pentecost is also loud. The sound like the blowing of violent wind announced the Holy Spirit’s presence to the disciples. The Holy Spirit is also often described as wind or breath; it is spirit after all. In the Eastern traditions, the color of Pentecost is green for the life-giving breath of God.

Christian Murdock/The Gazette

Breath has become forefront in national debates these days. COVID-19 takes your breath, forcing patients onto ventilators. People complain that they can’t breathe in the mandated masks. The heart-wrenching video of George Floyd’s death—a cop with his hands in his pockets presses his knee into Floyd’s neck for nine minutes as two other cops sit on him after he’s handcuffed. “I can’t breathe,” Floyd says. “I’m going to die…Mama…” Protests break out across the nation as people risk COVID-19 to speak out against the injustice of yet another brutal murder of a black man from cops. The protesters are met with rubber bullets and pepper spray. The nights are full of the smoke of pepper spray and the fires of riots. 

It is a scary and stressful time. There are too many hardened hearts. There are no simple solutions.This year is offering little chance to stop and take a breath. 

The beginning of the Church came with the blowing of a violent wind and the descending of flame. With disciples, moved by the Spirit, stepping outside and declaring the truth. They were met with hostility, violence, and death. This is the heritage of the Church. The truth is not safe. At times it is hard to breathe. But maintain the truth on your lips and trust God to give you breath when you need it and receive you into His arms after you take your last.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,

Fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,

Until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will one will,

To do and to endure.

Sts. Corona and Victor

Over the past couple of months, there has been a circulating story of St. Corona, patroness against epidemics. What are the odds that a Roman martyr named Corona would be there ready to pray for our protection against a virus of the same name?

It is true there is a saint Corona. She is also called Stephanie. Each means “crown” in Latin and Greek, respectfully, for the vision she had. She was born in the Roman Empire in the second century. At a young age she married a soldier.

One day she witnessed another soldier (though some suggest it was her husband), Victor, being tortured for his Christian beliefs. She immediately had a vision of two crowns falling from the sky, one for him and the other for her. When she announced her vision and said that Victor was a blessed man, she was also condemned.

Both were martyred. Victor was victorious in death. Corona received her crown. Their feast day is May 14.

While their story is mostly legend, there is no record of them being patrons of plague or epidemics until this year. St. Corona has traditionally been a patron of fortune, called upon for gambling or treasure hunting. Yet most patron of plague or disease gained that patronage as plagues spread through regions, and people called upon more and more saints for protection. So Corona may be taking up a new cause as people learn her and Victor’s story and ask for her intercession against the current coronavirus and the economic fallout.

Heading Outside to an Empty Tomb

Obviously, it was a different kind of Holy Week and Easter Week this year. There were empty pews and prayers at home. Jesus still rose, but the fanfare was missing.

On Holy Saturday, I often wonder what I’m supposed to do. It’s not as solemn as Good Friday; we’re not instructed to fast. And yet, Christ is dead and buried. There is nothing to do but wait for the Vigil and feasting to begin.

The waiting. I think that’s what I’m supposed to do on Holy Saturday. Wait for whatever happens next. That’s what the disciples were doing. Trying to get through a very different Passover. Hiding in their rooms wondering if they would be arrested next. The women waiting for the Sabbath to pass so they could prepare the body. Waiting, unsure of what to do.

That’s what a lot of us are feeling right now, at home, waiting for restrictions to lift, wondering what happens next. Does this pass and we return to normal, or has everything changed?

On Easter morning, we usually gather in large groups and celebrate boldly. But this year, I’ve been reflecting more on the earliest hours of Easter morning. Men staying inside for safety, women quietly walking to a tomb to do a necessary job, Jesus telling Mary Magdalene that she cannot touch him. We want to focus on the earth quaking and the glow of angels and the ripping of the veil, but there are so many small, mundane movements in the account of the Resurrection. Because the disciples were just human. They struggled to maintain normalcy and routine and safety in the face of the extraordinary. They didn’t know what was coming. They had hope, but they didn’t have a blueprint.

The feeling of this Long Lent continues. The waiting of Holy Saturday continues. I don’t know when we’ll get the news that the waiting is over, that the world will be different, better, now. But Christ is still risen. No restrictions or shut downs or guards at a tomb can stop that. We can rejoice in our rooms. It may not feel like a normal Easter, but the disciples didn’t think it felt like a normal Passover. Our feelings don’t stop the calendar. Our fears won’t stop the Resurrection. He is risen, and all shall be well. Alleluia!

These 40 Days

As Lent is coming to an end, it doesn’t feel like Holy Week. I am not logging hours at church. In fact, I haven’t entered a church in weeks, probably for the longest time in my life. I haven’t received any sacraments in a month. The build-up to Easter hasn’t been there, because the “long Lent” continues after Sunday.

Lent is supposed to be 40 days of penance before Easter. The word comes from Old Saxon, lentin, which means lengthen, as in the lengthening of days. In Spanish it is called Cuaresma; you can see the Latin root of this word alluding to 40. In Latin, Lent is Quadragesima, “the fortieth part.”

Forty days appears over and over again in the Bible as a time of patience, waiting, preparation, and penance. Noah and his family were on the ark for 40 days of rain and then waited 40 days before releasing the bird. Goliath challenged David for 40 days before David slew him. Moses spent 40 days on Mt. Sinai. Jesus spent 40 days fasting in the desert before beginning his ministry.

There is another, more secular, period of 40 days: quarantine. In 1377, as plague crept through Europe (after the major wave in the 1340s), Italy began keeping ships suspected of carrying disease in isolation for a period of time, 40 days. This gave time for any latent cases on board to reveal themselves and kept the port city from becoming infected. In Italian it was called quaranta giorni, “space of 40 days.” It was a period of waiting, waiting to see if the ship was infected, waiting to see if the sailors would be allowed onshore, waiting to see if disease was coming.

Now we’re effectively in quarantine too. The virus has a long incubation period, so after every interaction begins a waiting game—Was I infected? Is the disease already here? When will this period end? When does life return to normal?

This quarantine will go beyond Easter Sunday. It may go beyond 40 days. We will continue to wait, to prepare, to practice patience and penance. It is a slowed time, when doing less is called for. The days are lengthening, stretching out before us. Close your door. Travel inwardly. Wait for the Resurrection.

It's Not About You

When the first restriction for Mass where put in place, the bishop requested we not use the chalice, we not shake/hold hands, and we not receive on the tongue. This was a hard guidance for many who feel touching the host in their hands to be profane. Some tried to argue that they had a canonical right. Some insisted they would not offer their hands. Some said they wouldn’t receive at all during this time. I admit it was hard for me too. And I doubt which way is actually more sanitary.

But this wasn’t about my understanding of sanitary or canon law. Nor anyone else’s who was making public protestations. It’s a matter of obedience. The laity is placed under the care of their bishop. It is his responsibility to lead and protect. Some fail. Some fail spectacularly. But sometimes the laity fail too—fail to listen to their bishop when he says things they don’t already agree with, fail obey the rules he has placed, fail to follow where he leads.

And now the rule is don’t go to Mass. It’s hard to imagine a bishop telling his flock to not go to Mass, but hundreds of bishops around the world are making the same heartbreaking decision. For the safety of the community, stay home. The priests will continue the sacrifice of the Mass in private. The laity are expected to pray at home until we can gather again. Will we hold up our end?

I don’t want to watch Mass online and pray along in my living room. I want the familiar faces and my regular pew and the schola music. I want to receive the Eucharist and know exactly when confession is available. But I can’t have what I want. So I must do what I can. I can obey. I can wait. I can pray.