Bethlehem: thank goodness it's not Hollywood

I was thinking about Christmas the other day, and it occurred to me what a fantastic, beautiful, unique story God created when He was born in a manger. The smell of the manger, the shepherds coming at night, Mary wrapping Jesus in swaddling clothes: all of these elements combine to create a beautiful synthesis of peace, joy, and love. It's a story that almost everyone in the world knows, and for millions of Christians it's a story that inspires us to love God through His Son, Jesus Christ.

However, sometimes familiarity causes us to overlook exactly how extraordinary something can be. As I thought more about Christmas, I realized how extraordinary the story of Bethlehem really is. Quite literally, it is out of the ordinary. The story of Bethlehem, after all, is not simply the story of a little baby boy who would grow up to become a rather famous moral teacher. No, it is the story of the Creator of the universe, the Infinite Being who stands as the source of all creation, coming into that creation so as to banish all darkness and bring about a new creation. Looked at in this light, I don't think any of us, or for that matter any of the highly paid story writers in Hollywood, would have come up with Bethlehem as the setting for God's coming.

It's interesting to think what Hollywood might have done with the story of the Incarnation. Try this mental experiment: picture a group of Hollywood script writers trying to come up with a movie about an infinitely powerful Being coming to our planet so as to conquer His enemies and liberate the people He has loved since the beginning of time. What sort of plots would the writers come up with? How would such an event have occurred if human beings had been in charge of bringing it about? Personally, if Hollywood had been in charge, I think we would have ended up with the Christ riding some sort of fiery asteroid down to earth, wearing brilliantly white enchanted armor, waving a thousand foot sword over his head, and flinging lightning at all who opposed him. Oh, and if Michael Bay were in charge, the angels would have probably been mutating alien robots (see the "Transformers" movies for this reference. On second thought, don't see them.)

Had man been in charge of this whole Christmas phenomenon, it probably would have looked a lot different. The people of Jesus's time surely thought the coming of the Messiah would be something akin to what I described above (though perhaps less dramatic). They were hoping that the Messiah would come as a glorious king who would abolish Roman rule and reinstitute the Jewish state. They hoped for grandiose fireworks of a temporal and political nature. Instead, they got a baby boy born in a manger who lived in Nazareth until He was 30. In response to this plan of God's, many responded "Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works? Is not this the carpenter's son? Is not his mother called Mary?" Mt 13: 54-55. They held so dearly to their view of the Messiah's temporal glory that  in the end they would cynically mock Him while still looking for miracles: "He is the King of Israel; let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him." Mt 27: 42.

Even today, many Christians hope and look for the establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth, even though Christ teaches us His "kingship is not of this world." Indeed, there are many Christians who wish Jesus was a conquering hero smiting his enemies wherever they appear. However, this is not the story that God wrote. Instead of coming as the conquering king, He came as a Babe in Mary's arms. Rather than ascending a throne of glory, He ascended onto the cross. Instead of rising to the apex of political power, He rose from the dead on the Third day.

And this version of the story, God's version, is much more incredible than anything man had, or could have, envisioned. Had He come in splendor and glory He would have taken away man's ability to freely choose Him. After all, who would possibly turn away from a king riding a flaming asteroid, flinging lightning around? All would have been impressed with him and would have submitted to his rule. But He didn't come to submit mankind to Himself; He came "that they may have life, and have it abundantly" Jn 10:10. Rather than making us citizens of a heavenly temporal politic, He wished to make us members of His Body. He came to draw us into a relationship with Himself, and He knew that the best way to do this was to come in humility, teaching us how to empty out ourselves so the He could fill us with love.

The story of Bethlehem was the beginning of God's grandest concerto, and it was certainly an unexpected beginning. It set the tone for the rest of His story, and in turn the stories of every Christian life thereafter. Coming in the quiet of night to a carpenter and his wife, with angels singing "Gloria" to shepherds and not kings, God told man "I have come to love you, not to dominate you. I want to fill you to the brim with my love and bring you close to My Heart. Only thus will you find true happiness." Even though we're familiar with the story of Bethlehem, we should always try to remember why it is such an amazing story. It is the story of a God who loved us, and who knew us better than we knew ourselves. He knew what we needed, and He knew how He had to give it to us. As it turned out, what we needed was different than what we expected. Thankfully, God was creative enough to come up with the story of Bethlehem.

This Christmas, may God come into your heart and the hearts of all men as He came that Bethlehem night: quietly and with great love. May we who seek Him like those mysterious magi not be afraid to look amongst the mangers and poor of this world. From my family to yours, Merry Christmas, and God Bless.

Christmas - the story of His parents

I've come to a surprising realization about myself over the past couple of weeks, a realization that has really caused me to sit back and reorient my priorities. Fittingly, I would even call it an epiphany of sorts. Since Thanksgiving, I have realized that I am most definitely a Christmas person. Sure, Christmas is a special holiday for most Christians, and many non-Christians as well, but I have come to the conclusion that the importance of the holiday for me goes beyond many others. For me, Advent and Christmas have always been this mystical time of the year where reality truly becomes fantastic, where the ordinary world becomes extraordinary. Simply put, it's a time when the Incarnation bursts forth into daily life with the splendor and vigor it truly deserves.

The colors. The music. The lights. The trees. The presents. The wrapping paper. The cookies and treats. Since I was a little boy, all of these things have captured my imagination. All the beautiful trappings and pleasures of this time of the year stand as a reminder of the generosity and love of the Father. And, since my senses play perhaps an all too important part of my life, the pleasures of Christmas captivate me. I'm sure my wife Liz will tell you how different I've become. Normally, I'm the one to say "well, we have to think of the budget." However, during the past few weeks, my dear wife has found herself in that unexpected role, trying to rein in the Christmas-fueled frenzy of her husband. Now I say, "Are you sure we got him enough toys for Christmas?" To which my wife responds, "Honey, he's seven months old, he'll be happy with anything."

So, for the last few weeks we've been running hither, thither, and yon enjoying all the glories this time of year brings with itself. We've gone Christmas shopping together and stopped and gotten Starbucks holiday drinks. We've gone and picked out a Christmas tree and gotten it set up in the apartment. Liz has been to several Christmas parties, and I spent last Saturday attending the Army-Navy game with my aunt and cousins. We've had friends over and gone out with friends. We've been running, running, running in an attempt to enjoy all that Christmas has to offer.

And, in the process of criss-crossing the town of Front Royal a dozen times, I also realized that all this hustle and bustle could make me miss the story of Christmas, a tragedy that goes against being a Christmas person. The consistent sensational nature of Christmas can make us miss out on the most beautiful part of Christmas: the Person who laid in a manger, and then hung upon a Cross. All the pleasures and beauties of the season are there to remind us of this Person; they are meant to be a means by which our minds contemplate the Goodness that became man. Often, though, they become distractions because of our own weakness and unwillingness to transcend the material world.

It occurred to me, then, that if I'm going to celebrate Christmas properly I have to find a way to focus on the story that's being told, and what better way to take interest in a Child's birth than to ask the parents about it. One of the most unique and beautiful things about Christmas is that the actors in this story are all people we can know. With a fictional story, we are merely third party observers looking down on a world that will never see us, but with Christmas, we are continually told the story by those who were there.

Mary and Joseph can tell us of the trepidation of being refused at the door of the inn. They can share with us the hope and trust they had in God as they wandered through the dark night searching for a place to bring this Child into the world. They can describe to us the humbling experience of finally settling down next to animals in a manger, recognizing that God had already humbled Himself far greater in taking on human nature. And finally they can relate to us the joy of hearing that Babe cry, seeing His eyes for the first time, holding Love Himself in their arms as angels sang and shepherds watched. Most importantly, we can be sure that Mary and Joseph want to tell us these things. Like many parents I've met, they are eager to share the story of when their lives became so enriched, and they are only waiting for ears willing to listen.

As we run around during the next week and prepare for the big day, let us recognize all the opportunities we have to listen to these paradigms of motherhood and fatherhood. As we search for those perfect presents, which are opportunities to show our love, let us think of the parents of Jesus lovingly searching for a place in which their son could be born. As we travel to be with family, let us think of Joseph and Mary traveling for the census. And as we enjoy all the presents and treats that will greet us as the time draws near, let us think of the joy Mary and Joseph experienced upon receiving God's Present to them and to ourselves. No matter what happens, let's not forget to listen to the story these holy parents have to share.

When God says "No"

Last week I wrote about the need for trust in God. I spoke about how we should confidently ask God for what we want, trusting that He will grant our prayers. Of course, I skirted around the issue of God saying "no," the issue of not always getting what we want. For us prideful men, this is the main stumbling block to trusting in God. How do we trust God when we ask Him for something and we don't receive it? Of course, this often happens, and it's often a sticking point for those outside of Christianity. They see followers of Christ asking for this and that, and it seems that fate often treats Christians the same way as other people.

So, how do we deal with this dilemma? Well, first Jesus's promise of "Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you" (Mt. 7:7) is not an unconditional promise in the sense that He always gives us exactly what we ask for. If it were, Jesus would be bound to give us things that would harm us. What if we prayed for a nuclear bomb so that we could blow up a city? Or, what if we prayed that someone we hate undergo torture? Evil things are not what Christ promises to us. He promises us good things. He goes on to say, "what man of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" Mt. 7:9-11

However, sometimes we ask for truly good things, and the answer is still no. Similarly, children often ask for things that are good in themselves, but not necessarily good for them. For instance, when Liz and I sit at the dinner table, Alan sometimes sits on our laps. When he does this, he is very close to our food, and so he does what he does when he sees anything - he reaches for it and tries to put it in his mouth. However, right now he can't really handle Chicken Parmigiana; he's too young. He can do crackers, rice cereal, bananas but not unprocessed meat. He only has 5 teeth; it's just not going to work. When he grows, when he gets more teeth, we'll give him Chick Parmigiana, but not now.

Of course, this is the position we often find ourselves in with regards to God's will. Like my son Alan, we believe we are far more capable of receiving good things than we actually are. We reach for things we are not yet ready for. And, like Alan, when we are told no we often become upset that we didn't get what we want. We believe we know what's good for us, and yet we cannot see that we only have 5 teeth. To trust in God, though, depends on realizing how little we are. We must recognize that we have only 5 teeth, and if God says we are not ready for something, then we are not ready for it. He loves us; He's guiding us, and when we are told "no" it is because He knows how to "give good things to those who ask him."

But what about asking God for things in confidence? How can we confidently ask Him for something and yet recognize that what we're asking for may not be good for us? This strikes at the heart of the dilemma and is the single hardest thing about prayer. Recognizing our finitude leads us to trust in God, and yet it can also cause us to distrust our own vision.

The only way to do this is to trust in God so completely that we become like little children who ask confidently and yet trust their parents implicitly. "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Mt 18: 3. To do this requires great humility. We have to let go of the idea that we are in control. We have to let things happen to us, instead of trying to constantly make things happen the way we see fit. To put simply, we have to go with the flow the way a child does. The more we do this, the more God will draw us closer to Himself and show us His will. And the more we know His will, the more we can watch it be accomplished in the world. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is heaven."

Don't trust me, trust Him

Throughout our lives, there are so many instances where we are called to trust God, and to trust that He really does know what He's doing. Whether it be in the smallest details of the everyday or the momentous life-defining occasions, He asks us to place our trust in Him. Strictly speaking, this should be easy. We are often confronted by how small and powerless we are. Circumstances arise in our lives that remind us that we don't have the ability to control everything. Though it seems like we can do so much for ourselves, in reality we can do very little.

These concrete encounters with our finitude should remind us of who is in control, but interestingly, they often don't. Rather than calling our mind to God's divine providence, unforeseen trials often cause us to turn in on ourselves. It seems to be human instinct to try to control everything on your own. When we're suffering, we just want to have that one thing we can control, that one area of our lives where we're in charge. Instead of turning outward to God, we turn inwards, trusting in our own powers of control. Part of the reason for this is that it's easier for us to see those things that we control, but more difficult to acknowledge God's control over things. We see how we work, play, sleep, plan with our own senses, but we can only see God's planning with the aid of our intellect. It's so easy for fallen man to never move beyond his senses.

The instinct to seize control is not necessarily a bad thing. Indeed, God does not ask us to simply throw our hands in the air and say "Alright, I'm going to sit on the couch, you take care of it." That isn't what He asks of His disciples. Trusting in God does not imply or require inaction on our part. It would not benefit man if God simply did everything for him, for what truly benefits man is what brings him closer to God, and what truly brings him closer to God is working in unison with God. We grow closer to God by working with Him actively, but always understanding that He sees everything, where as we see only a small part of things.

The type of work I'm talking about, though, is often not understood in the world of assembly lines and cubicles. Today, working "together" means having a meeting so that everybody can then go off and do their own jobs. So many jobs today are focused on allowing each person to work relatively alone for most of the day, only coming together occasionally to talk about the work being done separately. To work with God, though, is more similar to the way people used to work together. People used to work side by side with their family, their neighbors, trusting them to carry the load. Trust was a huge part of the work, trusting that each person would help the others not out of a sense of "duty" but out of loyalty to the others. Similarly, we must work side by side with God, trusting that he will help us, and seeking to perform acts of love for Him out of devotion and loyalty.

A necessary part of this trusting "work" relationship is that we must be comfortable and confident when asking God for things, and we must also remember when we've asked Him for something. So often I find in my prayer life that I am only halfheartedly asking God for something. I will ask Him for something, and then I'll sort of sit to wait to see if it happens. St. Therese, though, says that we should be so confident when petitioning God that we should immediately thank Him for granting our prayers. Every petition to God should include a thanksgiving to Him. Every time we ask God to help us, we must have confidence that He will help us. We must have confidence that He is listening.

To help us with this confidence, we must also remember what we ask for from God. Often times we have a short memory span when it comes to our petitions. We ask God for something, and when we receive it, we are so excited that we forget that we asked for it. We must begin to recognize when our prayers our answered, for then we will see that He really is worthy of our meager trust. If we are on the lookout for His answers, we will discover how truly generous He is. Ultimately, this process of trust, confidence, and thanksgiving will increase our love for God. We'll begin to see that before we ever trusted Him, He loved us.

Distractions, Advent and fire: No this isn't about altar servering

The goodness of this world can be a very alluring thing. As Catholics, we believe that creation and its Creator are both good, and they should both be loved in an ordered fashion. It's that "ordered fashion" part that's the tricky thing. That means we're supposed to love God, whom we know through the eyes of faith, greater than the goodness of created things we directly experience with our eyes, ears, noses, mouths and hands.

Of course, we were made to do this. We were designed so that we'd experience the goodness of created things and through this experience ascend to knowledge of Uncreated Goodness. And then that whole original sin thing happened, and now it's become much more difficult than it ought to be. Rather than submitting to our intellect, the senses and the passions now vie for our attention and try to distract us from God and His Love. We've become disorderly inclined to focus on creation, on the pleasures that surround us. 

Because of this disorder in creation, the "world" has traditionally been listed as a source of temptation. Throughout man's history, the culture around him has always provided sources of pleasure that are promised to be the source of true fulfillment (see those famous Egyptian fleshpots). These pleasures have been promoted as ultimate so as to replace God as man's end. Today, through TV and internet, the world makes it very easy for man to become distracted. It makes it so that man can now just sit down and be "entertained" at any time of the day or night and so be distracted from God and those things that truly matter. However, even the higher goods in life, such as providing for a family, can become distractions. 

One of the many beauties of Christianity, though, is that we need not be distracted from God for very long. He is always there waiting for us, beckoning us to come closer to Him. At every moment of every day we have the ability to love and serve Him. We can turn our minds away from the distractions and He will run out to us like the father in the story of the prodigal son. All we have to do is turn His direction; or in a word, we must convert.

God, in turn, has given us ways to subdue the senses through acts of penance. By giving up some of the pleasures we are used to, or by turning away from those things that distract us most, we become more able to turn our attention and our heart to love of Jesus. And, providentially, the Church gives us times of the year that are devoted to such efforts. While penances should have a permanent place in our spiritual lives, she gives us the times of Advent and Lent to particularly focus on mortifying our senses so as to turn towards God. This mortification of the senses, though, does not requires us to scourge ourselves or anything of the like. We don't have to go all The Scarlet Letter in order to do penance. Rather, we can simply give up small things. Thirsty at work and want a coke? How about a water instead. Looking for that late night snack of candy? Why not have a simple peace of bread. Don't get me wrong, coke and candy are both goods. But, by giving up these goods, we gain a mastery over the senses that will allow us to turn ourselves more thoroughly to God.

Of course, once we start doing these things, Jesus will pour out his love on us in even greater amounts. St. Therese of Lisieux once compared this process to a small child building a fire with his or her father. In the story, the small child is us, the fire is our love of Jesus, and the father is God. She said that when a child and its father build a fire, it's not uncommon to see the child bring in twigs and very small branches to put in the fire. The child thinks it is helping quite a bit, but of course its twigs are very quickly consumed and don't produce that much heat. However, upon seeing the child bring in twigs, the father, wishing to please the child, heaps large pieces of wood on the fire so that the flames grow large, and the heat is great. He does this out of love for the child, wishing to do more for the child than the child can do for itself. 

This Advent, let's gather twigs for the fire.

Same ol' same ol' - Holiday edition

Routine is an interesting phenomenon. For people like Liz and I, routine is something necessary. We like having certain days where we do certain things. We enjoy knowing pretty much what we're going to be doing and when. It's a source of comfort in an ever changing world. It allows us to stop worrying so much about all the changes going on around us, and instead focus on the more important, more lasting things. Indeed, never changing routine is a reminder to man of the eternal destination that awaits him in Heaven. Scores of monks and nuns have lived their lives behind the never changing walls of cloisters. They have spent their lives doing very nearly the same thing, at the same time, day in and day out for years. They do these things "routinely" so that their minds and hearts no longer cling to this changeable world, but instead reside in a changeless life to come.

While Liz and I definitely do not have the same routines of monks and nuns, we do have certain things we do on a regular basis. We go to mass at 7:30 in the morning and then come back and have breakfast. Then it's off to work, only to meet up for lunch at 12:45. Then to work again and home again at 5:00. When I get home I feed Alan his rice cereal, and Liz and I have dinner. Then the little guy goes to bed at 6:30 or so, and Liz and I have the rest of the evening to ourselves. This pattern is repeated often, with the occasional break-up, such as dinner on Thursday nights with Walter and the gang.

So, it is a little crazy to be thrown off this routine, something that is certainly very common starting with Thanksgiving, running through Advent and past Christmas and the New Year. This time of year is a time when routine is thrown right out the window, and we are asked to pack an incredible amount of meaningful activities into a very short period of time. And thus it's begun, starting with this past week when we drove 13 hours out to Illinois for Thanksgiving with my family, during which time we had two relaxing days of just playing with Alan and two more days of lots of visiting with family. During this time, we had no chance for 7:30 mass, lunch at 12:45, or any of the rest of the schedule (not to mention what a big trip can do to a 7 month old's schedule, though in fairness it didn't really affect him much until after we got back).

Having gotten back on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday have mainly been about trying to recuperate and get back into the routine. In trying to get back into our normal routine, it has struck me exactly how beautiful routine is. Over the weekend I realized routine is valuable not just for those times when you are living it, but also for those times when it's impossible to live routinely. For, when you're 13 hours away and visiting family, the impulses of routine still work on you. Having become ingrained in your soul, they still draw you to the permanent truths, the higher things.

By living routinely, we cultivate a soul in which the habits of drawing our minds to God can be firmly implanted. During the craziness of the holidays, it is so easy for us to lose sight of these habits. With so much earthly goodness, i.e. family, friends, food, presents, etc..., we can forget to draw our minds to God. Since we our out of routine, we lose those times when we would normally pray and talk to Him. However, if we're living out a regular routine outside of these crazy times, we will have impulses that we carry with us when we're out of our routine. We'll recognize when we're not drawing our hearts to God, and we'll miss it. We'll want to draw our hearts to God.

The challenge for us during this time of Advent and Christmas is to answer that call of the routine. No matter how busy things get, we must let our normal daily prayer lives make their demands on us. We must try to live out our routines as much as possible, but when it becomes impossible we must still answer the spirit of those same routines. The spirit of our routines, being deeply ingrained in us, are there to draw our minds back to God. This calling, this impulse, is a gift God gives to us to remind us of Himself during hectic times. This season, we must be docile to this calling, and no matter what is going on, we must raise our minds to God.

The Autumn and the Fall of Leaves - by Hilaire Belloc

I couldn't describe this time of year, this phenomenon, any better than Belloc does. Enjoy!

* * * * * 

It is not true that the close of a life which ends in a natural fashion--life which is permitted to put on the pomp of death and to go out in glory--inclines the mind to repose. It is not true of a day ending nor the passing of the year, nor of the fall of leaves. Whatever permanent, uneasy question is native to men, comes forward most insistent and most loud at such times.

There is a house in my own county which is built of stone, whose gardens are fitted to the autumn. It has level alleys standing high and banked with stone. Their ornaments were carved under the influence of that restraint which marked the Stuarts. They stand above old ponds, and are strewn at this moment with the leaves of elms. These walks are like the Mailles of the Flemish cities, the walls of the French towns or the terraces of the Loire. They are enjoyed to-day by whoever has seen all our time go racing by; they are the proper resting-places of the aged, and their spirit is felt especially in the fall of leaves.

At this season a sky which is of so delicate and faint a blue as to contain something of gentle mockery, and certainly more of tenderness, presides at the fall of leaves. There is no air, no breath at all. The leaves are so light that they sidle on their going downward, hesitating in that which is not void to them, and touching at last so imperceptibly the earth with which they are to mingle, that the gesture is much gentler than a salutation, and even more discreet than a discreet caress.

They make a little sound, less than the least of sounds. No bird at night in the marshes rustles so slightly; no man, though men are the subtlest of living beings, put so evanescent a stress upon their sacred whispers or their prayers. The leaves are hardly heard, but they are heard just so much that men also, who are destined at the end to grow glorious and to die, look up and hear them falling.

* * * * *

With what a pageantry of every sort is not that troubling symbol surrounded! The scent of life is never fuller in the woods than now, for the ground is yielding up its memories. The spring when it comes will not restore this fullness, nor these deep and ample recollections of the earth. For the earth seems now to remember the drive of the ploughshare and its harrying; the seed, and the full bursting of it, the swelling and the completion of the harvest. Up to the edge of the woods throughout the weald the earth has borne fruit; the barns are full, and the wheat is standing stacked in the fields, and there are orchards all around. It is upon such a mood of parentage and of fruition that the dead leaves fall.

The colour is not a mere splendour: it is intricate. The same unbounded power, never at fault and never in calculation, which comprehends all the landscape, and which has made the woods, has worked in each one separate leaf as well; they are inconceivably varied. Take up one leaf and see. How many kinds of boundary are there here between the stain which ends in a sharp edge against the gold, and the sweep in which the purple and red mingle more evenly than they do in shot-silk or in flames? Nor are the boundaries to be measured only by degrees of definition. They have also their characters of line. Here in this leaf are boundaries intermittent, boundaries rugged, boundaries curved, and boundaries broken. Nor do shape and definition ever begin to exhaust the list. For there are softness and hardness too: the agreement and disagreement with the scheme of veins; the grotesque and the simple in line; the sharp and the broad, the smooth, and raised in boundaries. So in this one matter of boundaries might you discover for ever new things; there is no end to them. Their qualities are infinite. And beside boundaries you have hues and tints, shades also, varying thicknesses of stuff, and endless choice of surface; that list also is infinite, and the divisions of each item in it are infinite; nor is it of any use to analyse the thing, for everywhere the depth and the meaning of so much creation are beyond our powers. And all this is true of but one dead leaf; and yet every dead leaf will differ from its fellow.

That which has delighted to excel in boundlessness within the bounds of this one leaf, has also transformed the whole forest. There is no number to the particular colour of the one leaf. The forest is like a thing so changeful of its nature that change clings to it as a quality, apparent even during the glance of a moment. This forest makes a picture which is designed, but not seizable. It is a scheme, but a scheme you cannot set down. It is of those things which can best be retained by mere copying with a pencil or a brush. It is of those things which a man cannot fully receive, and which he cannot fully re-express to other men.

It is no wonder, then, that at this peculiar time, this week (or moment) of the year, the desires which if they do not prove at least demand--perhaps remember--our destiny, come strongest. They are proper to the time of autumn, and all men feel them. The air is at once new and old; the morning (if one rises early enough to welcome its leisurely advance) contains something in it of profound reminiscence. The evenings hardly yet suggest (as they soon will) friends and security, and the fires of home. The thoughts awakened in us by their bands of light fading along the downs are thoughts which go with loneliness and prepare me for the isolation of the soul.

It is on this account that tradition has set, at the entering of autumn, for a watch at the gate of the season, the Archangel; and at its close the day and the night of All-Hallows on which the dead return.

The joy of ... not having money?

Money is on the mind of a lot of people these days. With the downturn of the economy have come a number of movements claiming to have the solution to all of our financial woes. The Tea Party states that what we need to do is deregulate, and then anybody that works hard enough and wants to be rich can be. Occupy Wall Street seems to think the way to financial comfort is by taking from those who already have it. Both movements are agreed upon the end, greater wealth; they just seem to disagree on the means.

But what if the end we should be concerned about isn't wealth? What if the goal of our lives is something beyond the green stuff? Then neither of these movements is really addressing the questions that matter. In fact, they're doing quite the opposite: they're putting up a big fuss about something that, in the end, doesn't matter as much as they'd like to think. And, by putting up such a big fuss, they're distracting others from focusing on the things that really matter, like God, family, and friends.

We Christians can become distracted by this talk as well; I know, as I've been distracted by them recently. For a couple of days now, I've been worried about our financial status. Liz and I aren't on the brink of destruction or anything like that. We know we're very well off: I have a job, we have food on the table and a roof over our heads. We can even afford luxuries like going out to eat with friends once a week. We're what I like to think of as "comfortably tight." There are a number of people in the world who are worse off than we are, but that doesn't mean we don't worry about making the ends meet.

Truthfully, this week hasn't been much different from all the times before. We're trying to save here and there so that we can put some money away for a rainy day. We take two steps forward and one step back. The problem comes when we simply want to run forward, something that I've been trying too hard to do recently. I get in trouble when I want all our debt to be gone now so that I can be saving everything we make. Then, I hear the words, "Fool! This night your soul is required of you; and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?'" Lk 12:20.

Of course, I don't just want to save up money so that I have a nice looking balance on the bank account. I want to save so that my family can have a good future, so Liz and I can buy a house and help our children go to college. These desires are ultimately good. However, to truly give my children a good future, a good life, I cannot be focused on giving them a wealthy one. Rather, my focus should be on giving them a Christian life, for that is what will ultimately make them happy.

And in the end, the Christian life, the living out of a relationship with Jesus, is what ultimately makes all of us happy. This is something that the disordered concern with money makes us loose sight of. We don't have to be incredibly wealthy to be happy. We can be "comfortably tight" and still live good, happy lives. This is a lesson Liz and I need to learn as we look to the future. If we're committed to me being a high school teacher at some point, and she being a stay at home mom, then we're probably never going to move much beyond comfortably tight.

In fact, wealth can often be a hindrance to living out the relationship with Jesus, though it's a hindrance that can be overcome. Christ says "Truly, I say to you, it will be hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." Mt. 19: 24-25. Money, though in itself a good, often distracts us from God because of our fallen human nature. Our sin throughout time has been to wish to do things on our own apart from God, and money allows for a number of material pleasures we can experience apart from God. It provides man with the ability to do whatever he wants and feeds the multiplication of his desires. Lack of money, on the other hand, quickly narrows his desires so that he must be happy with what he can always have, namely God.

In the end, life is not about money. It's about love; it's about Faith, Hope, and Charity in Jesus Christ. What is all the money in the world really worth if we don't know Jesus's mercy? So, we'll go on living comfortably tight. That doesn't mean money will never stress us out again, I'm sure it will. Hopefully, though, through God's grace, we can always come back to what matters most: God, family, and friends.

Dryness

There are certain times in our relationship with Christ when we are called to live out a period of dryness. This lack of sensation is something that the saints have commonly talked about. They say that it is a chance for the soul to grow closer to Christ, a chance for the individual to choose Jesus out of love and not because Jesus makes him feel good. Indeed, many people choose Jesus for just that reason, because He provides them with an emotional rush. The true test for a Christian, though, comes when that rush fades away.

Everybody struggles with this to one degree or another. It is so easy for us to become attached to how Christianity makes us feel. We become attached to the results of the relationship and begin to lose sight of Who we must have a relationship with. So, at certain times, God withdraws His presence from us so as to give us the opportunity to choose Him more freely. He makes it possible for us to choose Him for His own sake, and not simply for how He makes us feel.

These times of dryness are not a sign of holiness, nor are they something that should be sought after. How God makes us feel should not be the object of our religion. How we feel is totally determined by His Divine Providence, and it is done so as to lead us closer to Himself. Sometimes, He wishes us to feel His presence, and at other times He withdraws so that we might feel our littleness and draw closer to Him. That's why these times of dryness are not a sign of any type of holiness; they are an emphasis on how dependent we are on God. We begin to recognize how attached to His consolations we are. When the security blanket of good feeling is withdrawn, we begin to see that we have used Christianity as a way to live happily in this present life. We have lost sight of Who it is we seek to love, now and forever.

This recognition of our littleness, of our dependence, is only complete, though, if we respond in Faith, Hope, and Charity. What good is it to simply know how small and weak we are? If this were the only part of periods of dryness, they would end in despair. However, our littleness and weakness cries out for a Savior, for one who will come and augment our injured being. He does this by working miracles of Faith, Hope, and Charity in our lives. He gives the strength to believe in Him, even if we cannot see. He becomes the object of our hope, so that we make Him the goal of all our actions. He fills our soul with His love, so that we do not become lost in self-pity over our weakness.

We cannot be afraid of these times of dryness, for they are times that are gifts to us from God. We must believe that. We must trust the God knows where He is taking us down this road. He knows how to woo our souls, for He was the one who made them. If we can trust Him to give us these periods of dryness, then we will begin to move beyond how we feel. It will begin to make less of difference if we are receiving consolations or not, and instead we will be focused on Love Himself.

It is my prayer that all of us, as we continue to live this relationship with Christ, might abandon our paths to His control. May we always trust that He knows how to woo us, and may we always respond with the docility of Mary. May we say with her, "Let it be done unto me according to thy word."

What it's really all about

I have been incredibly blessed to be a Catholic throughout my life. Growing up in the Church, being educated at both a Catholic high school and a Catholic college, I have been given the opportunity to see all the riches the Church has to offer. I've seen the beauty of her cultural impacts in art, music, literature, theater and poetry. She's captivated my intellect with her many theological and philosophical contributions. She has overawed me with her beautiful collection of religious orders, teachers, and friends.

We Catholics have a beautiful treasury of tradition that is ours to give to the world. We have small symbols, such as the sign of the Cross, that mean so much. Most of the time when I talk to other people about the state the world is in today, we talk about how we can make these things prominent again. We wonder why Gregorian chant is not more common in the liturgy, or we rail against the effects of immodesty in our culture. We talk about how we can once again bring about a "Catholic culture" in the world, and often times our minds go back to the Middle Ages when Catholicism was in every fabric of societal life.

Well, sort of. In the end, what we end up doing is romanticizing the Middle Ages and forgetting what Catholicism truly is. We look at the art, the music, the buildings but we forget the people of the Middle Ages. We brush over in our minds the fact that so many priests kept mistresses, that there was rampant corruption among the bishops and cardinals of the Church, and that even the papacy was often occupied by less than reputable characters. We forget that the philosophy and theology so widespread throughout the laity of today were not available to the peasants of the Middle Ages. Yes, the Church was everywhere, but the majority of those within the hierarchy were not living as disciples of Christ. The Middle Ages had all the trappings of a Catholic culture, so why wasn't it perfect? Why was corruption in the hierarchy of the Church so rampant?

It's an age old error found within the Church; we begin to equate Catholicism with its effects. We begin to think of Catholicism as simply a system for organizing all human life, including culture, morality, intellectual endeavors and government. However, Catholicism loses its core meaning when it becomes solely a source of temporal salvation and well being. Its core meaning is not to organize the world, but to draw souls into a relationship with the Creator of the world. Pope Benedict XVI said it best when he said:

 "Christianity is not a new philosophy or a new morality. We are only Christians if we encounter Christ...Only in this personal relationship with Christ, only in this encounter with the Risen One do we truly become Christians." Sept. 3, 2008 Wednesday Address

Catholicism, then, is not ultimately about the music, art, or literature. Catholicism is first and foremost about a relationship with a person, THE Person. It is about living out a love story with Jesus. All the music, art, and literature find their meaning in how they lead the soul into a more intimate knowledge of the Savior. The cultural influences of the Church only derive their goodness from how they lead people closer to Jesus.

Many in the Middle Ages lost this understanding of Catholicism. They began to see the Church as simply a means to organize a world in chaos after the fall of the Roman Empire. What made the great saints of the Middle Ages saints, such as Sts. Francis, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, Bonaventure, Teresa of Avila, and Catherine of Sienna, was that they were in love with Christ, and they wanted to make other people fall in love with Him as well. Yes, they made their contributions to culture, but only in order to bring souls to Jesus. St. Thomas never sought to revolutionize philosophical thought simply to make it more "Catholic," his goal was to introduce others to the Truth. St. Theresa of Avila didn't just want to reform the Carmelites because they made the Church look bad, she wanted to reform them so that they could come closer to Jesus.

These saints also understood another thing: Jesus's kingdom is not of this world. Despite the best intentions of Catholics throughout history, this world will never become the New Jerusalem until the end of time, and then it will not be brought about by the efforts of man. True Catholicism, the living out of a relationship with Jesus, has never been popular, even during the supposedly "Catholic" Middle Ages. Yes, the Church was prominent, but that didn't mean that St. Theresa of Avila was popular. When she began her reforms of the Carmelites, many were angry with her.

Jesus promised us, "If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you" Jn 15:9. As Catholics, we must strive to love Jesus, to live out this relationship with him. We cannot become distracted by trying to make this world into a Catholic paradise. Rather, all the things we do to bring about a Catholic culture must be done out of a true desire to introduce others to the Love we already know ourselves. We should expect the world to hate us, because it hated Him. We have become and are sojourners in a foreign country. In turn, let us then run all the more towards Jesus, focusing on the Person of Christ more and temporal welfare less. This is one of the great themes of Benedict XVI's papacy: to be a Christian is fundamentally to be in a relationship with Christ, nothing more and nothing less.

Snow days: Ruined work or a chance for leisure?

This past Saturday, Virginia received snow. The leaves aren't even off all the trees yet, but on Saturday we received a good three or four inches of the white stuff. It made the day feel like January instead of October, and it definitely threw a wrench into our plans for the weekend. We had been planning to go out and run several errands (including, ironically, getting Alan a snowsuit). However, as the thick stuff continued to fall we decided to call it a day in. We got in comfortable clothes, made warm drinks, and holed up for the day.

As time went on, though, I began to feel a little cooped up in our one bedroom apartment. I began to notice how the snow was lessening, and how the roads looked a little bit better outside. The temperature outside was starting to rise above freezing, and the snow just wasn't going to be an issue going out any more. Maybe, after all, I could get out to run some errands after all.

Of course, my wife Liz could immediately tell what was going on in my mind. She saw my quick glances outside at the road and noted my ever so casual comments about the good state of the roads. After lunch, I think I might have been beginning to pace because she finally said, "Are you going to go crazy staying in all day?" That's when it hit me, I WAS going crazy staying in all day. I was beginning to fidget from not getting something done, from not going out.

However, being of a contemplative bent, I realized this wasn't good at all. We had made the decision at the beginning of the day to stay inside, and I knew Liz was looking forward to having me home all day. We were having fun watching movies, reading our books, and playing with Alan. So why was I itching to get outside? Where did I really have to go that was so important?

Several times on this blog I have mentioned how important it is to work. I've talked about the necessity of doing the daily duties out of love for God, and about the importance of focusing on the details in work. However, on Saturday I was confronted with the fact that work can also be a temptation - the temptation to constantly accomplish something so as to feel good about yourself. Instead of taking a day of rest with my family, I wanted to get something done simply so that I could say that I did. I was faced with the choice between work and leisure, and my impulse was moving me towards work.

Work, though, means nothing without leisure. Joseph Pieper talks about how leisure and work have gotten totally confused in today's world. Many people view leisure as a time to "reenergize" so that they can work more. Work has become the end of life, the purpose for existing for many people. All human beings suffer from this temptation to one degree or another. However, it is not work that is our end, but rest, leisure. We should be working so that we might have leisure. Without leisure, work becomes a sort of slavery that drives us day in and day out, even when we don't really want it to. What truly constitutes leisure is, of course, of the utmost importance, and our current culture often gets it wrong. It's a rich concept, one that involves the praise of God through the experience of the goodness of His creation. However, my primary topic of this blog post is not what constitutes leisure, but the fact that work is subservient to leisure.

So, on Saturday, after Liz asked "Are you going to go crazy staying in all day?" I finally responded, "No, honey, I'm not going anywhere." Thus, I spent the rest of the day reading the Brothers Karamazov, practicing banjo, and talking with my wife. As I lay down to sleep that night, I realized that my day had been far more fruitful staying in than it would have been had I gone out. Instead of going crazy, I had indeed become more sane. My priorities had been refocused, and I had gained a greater appreciation for the good things in my life. While we human beings can't give up work totally, it is good from time to time to step back and give up work, especially on a snow day.

The great, unknown future

One of the most radical changes in "growing up" is that, at a certain point, you stop having your life completely mapped out for you. As a kid, you have elementary school, then middle school, then high school, then college and, for some, then grad school. Your life is pretty much mapped out so that every four years you move to the next level, take on different things and have a change of scenery. It's a nice system, you don't really worry very much about the future because you know "in x years I'll be moving on." Then, quite suddenly one day it stops. There are no more definite road markers in your future that delineate when your life is going to change. Life changes, especially the big ones, start to come at you when you least expect it.

Indeed, this change from a planned to an unplanned future is one of the hardest things about growing up. I can remember when I graduated from college (way back in 2009) that this particular thing was one of the scariest for me. It frightened me that I no longer had a concrete date for when I would move on. Suddenly I realized exactly how vast and unplanned the future was. Talking to other college graduates since then, I've heard the same thing from them. They've talked about how unsettling it is to no longer have that concrete goal. Some have expressed how lost they feel because they don't have this tangible end to look forward to.

This mental transition is probably one of the most difficult and yet most rewarding things a person has to go through in life. It requires an acceptance of "not knowing", something that goes against the grain for man. It requires that one accept the fact that the future cannot be known and that all we have is the present. However, once someone can do this, there comes an incredible joy in not knowing. Liz and I don't know where are lives will take us. We have hopes, we have dreams, but we don't know. Anything could change in a minute. So, all we're left with is the present.

It is a joy to me to know that, God willing, in twenty years my life will probably be similar to the one I'm living now. My days will most likely still consist of prayer, work, play and loved ones. I probably won't be living in any dorms, and I won't be reverting back to the four year model. I'll be trying to make ends meet, and I'm happy with that. Various things in my life may change, especially things that definitely do change. In the next 20 years there will be joys and sorrows, dying and living. I'll probably lose loved ones, but then hopefully I will also gain some also.

Of course, I may be completely off base. God may call me to Himself at some point in the next 20 years, and that's something I have to be ready for as well. Thus, I don't really know what to expect, but I do know that God and joy will be a part of it, and that's enough for me. I also recognize that if I still had the "four year mentality" that wouldn't be enough. Sometimes, knowing the future is the worst possible thing for man. If we know the future, then we tend to try to live in the future. We wonder what it will be like when this or that happens, instead of dwelling in and enjoying the present.

On Wednesday, I talked about how focusing on the future was focusing on a dream reality. In truth, though, the future is really a great unknown that should only lead us to joy in the present. It should show us that all we have is the present, the day to day. All we have is this moment, this chance for life. The only place and time to meet God, to live out the Christian life, are the here and the now. The chance to leave the "four year mentality" is the chance to encounter God in the closest thing we have to eternity, the present.

Daily gratitude

One of the greatest temptations we face in our lives is to be over concerned about the future or the past at the expense of the present. C.S. Lewis talks about this in his book The Screwtape Letters. In the book, the demon Screwtape, the master tempter, instructs his nephew Wormwood, who is only a novice tempter, to distract his human from focusing on the present. He encourages Wormwood to turn his human's mind to the future, because then the human will be focusing on things that aren't real, things that are purely imaginative.

Unfortunately, it's a temptation to which we are all too susceptible, and it's a temptation that steals away so much of the beauty of life. When man is solely focused on the future, everything loses it's meaning. What's the point of looking forward to future events if you can't enjoy the present? Won't you end up just looking forward to something else when what you've been looking forward to happens?

It's a trap that we all fall in - as human beings we have dreams and aspirations. In fact, it's a good thing to have goals and to not be too complacent about how things currently are. However, we can't take it too far either and end up missing out on the present. What we can especially miss out on is a sense of gratitude for everything God has given us. By looking forward, we miss out on the gift of the present.

This loss of gratitude is something I've been thinking a lot about recently, especially as I try, and sometimes fail, to live in the present moment. It's a daily struggle, and when I'm not living in the present I definitely notice that I suddenly lose a lot of the gratitude that makes the day worthwhile. If I'm too focused on where life might be heading, or what might lie in the future for my young family and myself, I forget to be thankful that I even have a young family. I begin to take for granted all the beautiful things around me in my quest for those things I don't currently have.

A true gratitude for all the blessings in our life and an over emphasis on the future cannot coexist with one another; one of these sentiments will be victorious in our souls and the other will fall to the wayside. Either we recognize the beauty of things we have now, or we lose sight of the present in order to live in a dreamworld called the future. Gratitude assumes the appreciation of a thing already possessed; we can't be grateful for something that we don't have. The future, though, is by its very nature made up of things that are not yet ours. Thus, if we are to be grateful for what we have then we have to sacrifice the dreamworld that we often create for ourselves. We must reach beyond our fixation with the future, and we must live in the present.

Gratitude is a beautiful gift given to us by God. The ability to rejoice in the fact that He loves us, to rejoice in the many evidences of His love is something specifically reserved for men (and angels). It is a beautiful part of life to be able to appreciate and offer up thanks for all the good things in life. Indeed, it would be terrible to have no one to give thanks to, to live a life where there was not a benevolent God that was the source of all our blessings, and the object of all our thanks. For, how could we offer thanks if we were not thanking someone?

However, we do have a God to whom we can offer thanks. We can take the opportunities throughout the day to offer up thanks to him in our hearts for all the blessings He's given us. We just need to get our minds out of the future and into the present to do so.

A fault for all times

Sometimes I amazed that more people aren't part of the Church. With all the evil in the world today, the majority of people seem to recognize that something is terribly wrong. Even if they don't specifically call it original sin, they know its effect. They look around and see so much suffering from divorce, murder, abortion, hunger, poverty, lies, and they assume that "that's just the way things are." They recognize that these evils shouldn't have a permanent place in this world, but for some reason they do. They are unconsciously seeing that man is fallen.

However, instead of turning to Christ, the true solution, they turn to a number of other things to distract themselves. They turn to physical pleasures, chiefly sex, to try to drown out the misery of the outside world. Or, they turn to ideologies that promise them a utopia, whether it be the socialism demanded by the Occupy Wall Street protesters or the laissez-faire capitalism so prevalent within the Tea Party. Both of these ideologies promise material salvation if only the right economic environment were present. Or, people turn to materialism, trying to ignore the evils of the world by enjoying fine food, fine clothes, the newest iPhone and the best video games.

Why isn't the love of Christ more obvious to them? Why does the infinite mercy of God not stand out to them in the midst of this worldly desert as an oasis of refreshment? Simple, it's something that's been with creation since the very beginning, since Lucifer turned towards his Heavenly Father and said "Non Serviam." Pride has always been present, and it continues to rear it's ugly head in our culture. Convincing arguments can be made that pride is at the root of all sin as it involves a fundamental rejection of God in favor of one's own self. If indeed pride is at the root of all sin, then we can also say that Christ came primarily to eliminate pride. Everything about Christ preaches humility, from the very idea that God would become man, to the fact that He would in turn die as an outlaw in order to save man. St. Paul says it best:

"Though he was in the form of God, (he) did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped,but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross." Philippians 2:6-8

Today, pride once again stands between man and God, between the world and the Church. It's pride that keeps so many from admitting they are wrong, from seeking God's mercy. So many people today will freely admit, "I'm not perfect" but then can't handle it when someone points out to them that they are sinning. They say that to call this or that a sin is to judge a person. They don't recognize that to call a sin a sin is simply to say they have done something wrong, and they need God's mercy like the rest of us. Even if they are "born this way" it simply means they are born with the propensity to sin, exactly as the Catholic Church teaches. Why then is it bad to say "you are sinner" when the statement "we all are sinners" is a commonly held fact?

However, the pride that hinders the conversion of those outside the Church is primarily the pride that is found amongst the members of the Church, especially the attitude of "I'm right and you're wrong." The reason people can't accept a Christian telling them "you are a sinner" is because they often get a hint of "and I'm a saint" from the Christian. The possession of the truth is something that leads many followers of Christ into a mindset of "I'm saved and you're not, unless you become like me." This type of pride blocks the non-Christian from seeing the mercy of God especially when Christians take a matter of discipline and elevate it to the matter of doctrine. They encounter a fellow sinner who uses Christianity as a prop for ego, rather than as a call to humility.

If we're going to convert the culture, then, we as Christians must be humble. We must learn from the words of Jesus, "Take up my yoke upon you, and learn of me, because I am meek, and humble of heart: and you shall find rest to your souls." Mt. 11: 29. If we focus on Christ, if we return to the most basic tenets of our Faith and hold true to them, we'll begin to realize how many barriers our pride puts up to those outside the Church. If we can learn humility from Christ, then others will be able learn humility as well, and in turn open themselves up to Jesus' mercy.

The moment of opportunity

For those of you who know me, you know I've been getting into the sport of rugby during the past couple of months. It's a difficult sport to get into, because its not readily available on American TV. Most of the time, I'm consigned to watching highlights on-line. However, during the Rugby World Cup, which is currently in its last week, I've tried to make an effort to find opportunities to watch more full-length games.

One of these opportunities came up this past weekend when Liz and I were able to go over to our friend Walter's house to watch one of the semi-finals in the world cup (Walter randomly had this very obscure channel, so it was very providential we were able to watch it). The semi-final was between New Zealand and Australia. For those of you who don't follow rugby, or haven't heard me rant about it, this was a match-up of the number 1 team in the world (New Zealand) and number 2 team (Australia). New Zealand is a rugby mad nation, with the sport occupying a pretty central place in the culture of the country. When the Rugby World Cup was started in 1987, New Zealand won the very first tournament as expected. However, since then, they have always come up short despite being consistently billed to be the favorites at every tournament.

So, to put it mildly, the country and the team are desperate to win this time around, and on Sunday night they showed it. They played with an intensity I've never really seen any team of any sport play with. For 80 minutes, they gave everything they had, and because of that, they're now in the final this coming weekend against France, with the opportunity to win their first World Cup since 1987. On Sunday night, against their greatest rivals, New Zealand's desire to win led them to a dominant victory over their opponents. Their intensity on the field really struck me, not just for the amazing rugby it brought about, but for its example as a situation when desire was the determining factor.

New Zealand's quest for a World Cup reminded me of St. Paul's words:

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners compete, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. " 1 Cor. 9: 24-25

These men I watched on Sunday have trained their whole lives for these moments. They have denied themselves legitimate goods, disciplined their bodies, suffered injuries, and fought through pain just for a shot at this temporal glory. And it leads me to wonder, how serious am I in my quest for eternal glory?

That rugby game on Sunday made me realize how focused we should be on Christ, on gaining heaven. So often we slack off and believe we are doing "good enough." We don't strive for much more than where we are, we don't try to grow any closer to Christ. But what is our reward if we do? We become closer to He who loves us beyond all others. And, unlike the New Zealand rugby team, we are not alone in our quest for Glory. Whereas they must go through their workouts and challenge themselves on their own, we have the company of Christ. If we make the slightest increase in our efforts to become closer to Christ, He will pick us up and take us further into His Heart than we could have imagined.

All it takes is that we try, that we rely on His Mercy more and more each day. And though New Zealand now has a once in a life time shot at glory, we have a daily, hourly, minutely shot at Glory. Every moment of every day we're able to become closer to Christ, if we only really desired it. Each moment is our moment of opportunity, but our lack of desire keeps us from taking advantage of these opportunities. We lose sight of the great opportunity for love we have because these moments of opportunity are so repetitious. Because we are constantly presented with the opportunity to love God, we figure we'll do it at some other point!

However, if we truly desired the Glory the comes from loving Christ, then we would recognize every moment as another opportunity, one more chance, to love Jesus. Like New Zealand, we would rise to the occasion, give each moment 100%, and be victorious in our quest for Christ. We must ask Christ to give us this desire, we must rely on Him to inflame us with a determination to run the race to the end. After all, if a group of men can be so determined to gain a rugby championship, shouldn't we be exponentially more determined to gain the crown Christ wishes to give us?

Same ol', same ol'

Often times on this blog I try to write about particular themes that various circumstances in my life have caused me to think about. I've written about the active life, work, family life, community, and a number of other things. Indeed, sometimes I worry that I begin to harp on the same old things over and over again. In fact, as I've been thinking about what to write today, I had been planning to write a very similar post to "God is in the Details".

However, I hesitated because I've already written about the necessity of faithfulness in the small things. I've already given my thoughts about how important the nitty gritty details are. This may be what I am thinking about right now, but I already wrote about it in July, so shouldn't I give my readers a break? Shouldn't I write about something new in order to prove how intelligent and witty I am?

It struck me as funny, though, this impulsive instinct to try to write on something new. I supposed it's a result of being on the internet constantly, where new material is continuously being produced on the websites I visit. However, as I began to think more about this phenomenon, it occurred to me that that wasn't what I wanted to do at all. I don't want to constantly be producing new ideas, since it's the new ideas that tend to get you in trouble. Rather, safety lies in the old ideas.

As a culture, we have a genuine obsession with the new, the different, and the unique. But what about enjoying the familiar? Why must something be left behind when it becomes familiar? Indeed, it is often the most familiar of things that have the most profound depths for us to explore. For instance, what could possibly be more familiar than sunrises and sunsets? These two things happen every single day, one at the beginning and one at the end. Yet, we often still remark about the appearance and disappearance of the sun. The beauty of such a natural phenomenon regularly takes our breath away. If anything, we gain more appreciation for sunrises and sunsets as time goes on because they become reminders for us that there is something beyond the daily turmoil of life. Their consistency becomes a thread that ties together so many times in our lives. The repetition becomes a foretaste of the eternal consistency of heaven.

New things certainly have a beauty all their own; the enjoyment of a new hobby, the excitement of a new relationship, or the mystery of a new life. But the old things deserve their enjoyment as well. So, I don't want to give you a constant stream of new topics, dear reader. No, be sure to expect that often you will find me talking about the active life, work, family life, community, and a number of other things. They'll be the same ol' things, but perhaps with a different light on them. They are the things worth talking about, the things worth revisiting. They are the things in life that matter the most and that make life worth living. Indeed, this is the main reason the Faith is fundamentally a relationship with Christ, it is something that should be consistently lived out over one's life time. Yes, there are deathbed conversions, but those are extraordinary and are not meant to be the ordinary way of living. Rather, we are called to consistently live out and think about the same truths over and over again through our lives.

Of course, there is a little bit of irony in this post as I did end up writing about a totally new topic, namely that we shouldn't always be writing about new topics. But it's an important point to make: rich topics deserve revisiting. We shouldn't be seeking after the new just to become popular. Don't take my word for it, though. Listen to the Pope. I'll leave you with his words from his address on the 45th World Communications Day:

"The task of witnessing to the Gospel in the digital era calls for everyone to be particularly attentive to the aspects of that message which can challenge some of the ways of thinking typical of the web. First of all, we must be aware that the truth which we long to share does not derive its worth from its “popularity” or from the amount of attention it receives. We must make it known in its integrity, instead of seeking to make it acceptable or diluting it. It must become daily nourishment and not a fleeting attraction. The truth of the Gospel is not something to be consumed or used superficially; rather it is a gift that calls for a free response." 

A different kind of life

"Live as free men, yet without using your freedom as a pretext for evil; but live as servants of God." 1 Peter 2: 16

Sometimes in my life it really strikes how weird it is to be a Christian. Ways of thinking begin to change when you follow Jesus Christ, and they often change so subtly that you only realize you are different when you suddenly run into someone who believes the prevailing opinion of the day, and they just can't understand you.

This happened to me last week as I was getting my hair cut, of all things. While not normally a setting for extended intellectual conversation, I found that this particular time the conversation with the woman cutting my hair did turn to philosophical topics. I suppose this is natural considering the simple question "What do you do?" immediately leads into a discussion of the abortion debate. However, as we conversed, the topic slowly turned to the liberal arts, philosophy, teaching, and the meaning of life in general. I kid you not, we did end up discussing what should be important in our lives. This came about because she asked about my education, and she couldn't understand how someone could go to college for four years to get a degree that wouldn't automatically land them a job. In fact, she went so far as to say it was "irresponsible" for someone to spend all that time and money to get a degree that would not return the investment of money.

It was at this point in the conversation that I realized exactly how far apart we were, and it made me think of why I had gone and gotten a degree in Philosophy with a minor in Theology. She was right, of course, that these two degrees don't exactly scream "high paying job just out of college." So, why was it that I had chosen to study the liberal arts? As I sat in the chair, I thought about the term "irresponsible" that she had used. Was it "irresponsible" of me to take on debt my family and I would have to pay back when the degree I got for that debt wouldn't pay for itself?

Of course, it would have been irresponsible of me to do this if the sole goal of a father was to provide for the material well being of his children. Fortunately for me, I believe a father is a lot more than that. A father's most important duties include introducing his children to Jesus Christ, forming their imaginations and intellect so they love and appreciate the Creator and His creation, and teaching them right from wrong so that they might live good lives. The financial consideration is second to all this. And there was my answer: I had not gone to college in order to provide for my children materially, but I had gone to college to provide for my children spiritually.

When I told the woman this, I believe she was very confused to say the least. She was quiet for a while, and then she said to me, "Well, that's a completely different way of thinking about things." Indeed, she was right, not many people think like this. When you're a Christian, the priorities should and do shift. This means that we must come to value things based on the value they have in the spiritual world and not the value they have here in the material. Now, I'm not saying I'm perfect and always value the spiritual over the material; I can assure you there are still plenty of material comforts I am attached to. What I am saying is that to be Christians, we must experience at least the beginnings of this fundamental shift in worldview. As disciples of Jesus, we are called to put aside worldly things, and "live as servants of God" as St. Peter says.

The scary thing is that this call of Christ has drastic practical implications. We cannot be Christians on Sunday and live the rest of our lives as non-Christians. Christianity, the living out of a relationship with Jesus Christ, is something that relies on and affects every aspect of our existence. This means that we must be disciples of Christ in our work, in our leisure, in our relationships with other people, in the managing of our finances, in the raising of our children and in our reflecting upon the world. We are called to a great calling; we are called to become fully immersed in Christ. By necessity, this will make us different from others.

Where are you from? A discussion on place

It's an interesting question: Where are you from? It seems to be a question that most people ask in order to establish some sort of connection. Often I hear the question "Where are you from?" followed by some sort of variation "Oh, I've been there before" or "I have an (insert relative, no matter how distant) who lives there." It's something natural, we all wish to have an immediate connection with new people. Since place is such an intimate part of who we are, the quickest way to establish that connection is to establish a link between you and the place where they're from.

In today's modern world, though, it is becoming harder and harder to really pin down where we are from. For many people, the place they grew up is different from the place they are now, creating a sort of disconnect that occurs between different parts of their lives. They have legitimate connections in both places, but it does seem that most identify with either one or the other, not both. So what determines how people think about "where they are from?" What does it mean to be "from" somewhere?

To a large extent, I believe being "from" somewhere ultimately means being tied in with a particular community located in a specific local. I use this language because today we have so many "communities" that exist without people being in the same location. However, nobody says they are from Facebook, but they say they are from a town, a state, or a country. What makes a place part of a person is the community of other people that person lives, works, plays, and prays in. The community we are a part of determines the place, and in return the place determines a lot about our own identity. This is why "where you are from" can change throughout a persons life. Perhaps for years you find that you answer with where you grow up, but after putting down roots in another community you find you begin to change your answer to where you currently live.

Ultimately, though, in order for a person to really have a place they need to stay in one location for a period of time. They need to spend years, if not decades, in the same community in order for it to really take a hold of them. Sure, we can experience a sort of attachment after many years, but its not the same as a lifetime spent in the midst of a community. Think of those many Irish immigrants who came oversees to America. For years afterwards they identified themselves as Irish because they were the result of centuries of living in one place. They had such a strong identity not just because they were in a new world and trying to preserve their culture, but rather because their parents, grand parents, great grandparents, and great great grandparents lived and breathed that placed called Ireland for centuries.

Indeed, this introduces another aspect of the question "where are you from" that is often lost on us Americans. "Where are you from" can be concerned not just with the history of this particular individual, but it can also refer to a trans-generational aspect of place. What I mean is that the place a person identifies himself with can also be determined by the history of his family. This is something rare in America because of the propensity, present since the beginning of our country, for Americans to move. However, if you ask members of French families where they are from, I can guarantee you that the place they answer is rooted in their family history. I saw this firsthand this summer when one of Liz and I's friends got married to a gentleman from Toulouse, France. You could tell that the place of Toulouse was deeply rooted in his family history, and he and all his relatives surely had a deep connection to the place.

This multi-generational aspect of place is something seen in Americans as well, but in an awkward distant sort of way. Almost all Americans identify themselves as some sort of nationality that may be generations removed, such as Irish, Italian, Spanish, German or Scottish. This connection through the generations is a testament to two things: 1) how strongly ties are established to a place once a family has lived there for generations and 2) how deeply man longs for the stability such a multi-generational place provides. Indeed, though my family has not lived in Ireland for 4 or 5 generations now, we still identify ourselves as Irish. Why do we do this? Because for the most part the family has not yet put down roots since leaving Ireland, opting instead for moving around many different regions. So, since we do not have the same roots we look to where we once were completely stable.

I bring all this up because if we are ever hoping to have a Christian culture again, like Ireland once did, we must respect the demands of place. We must recognize that we cannot move around endlessly, but we must work to establish ourselves in a specific locale and then devote ourselves to that place. If people stop moving, and we begin to establish real communities, how long until some of these communities become Christian in nature? And once they are Christian in nature, won't the Christian aspect of these communities seep into the non-Christians as a part of their person, because of their connection to the place? If it does, won't that person be much more likely to come closer to Christ?

So, let's raise a glass to both the old country and the new country. Here's to our ancestors and to ourselves, might we learn the permanence of place they once knew, so that we can hand it on to our children as it has been handed on to us.

Children in Mass: a lesson by Life

Since marrying Elizabeth a year ago, life has become an entirely different type of teacher than it was when I was a single man. When I was single, most of my lessons in charity, for instance, came from reading Scripture, lives of the Saints, theological treatises and the like. These are all great sources of information, but I used to wonder how much these "lessons in charity" were actually sinking in. Of course, none of us can really know exactly how charitable we are (that's not really the point of being charitable,) but I do think we have some sense of whether a lesson in charity is sinking in or not. And, I believe I can safely say these lessons have been sinking in a lot more over the past year.

For instance, Liz and I have recently started going to mass in the mornings again at Christendom. This was a habit we had formed before Alan came along, but since his birth it has been very hard to make the 7:30 a.m. mass time. However, Alan is now 5 months old, and he is starting to get on a better schedule that allows us to wake up in time for mass. As part of this going to mass in the mornings, we have also started switching out holding Alan in the back (he can't stay quiet if he's in Church where the echos magnify his voice for him.) Up until this point, Liz has taken care of him most of the time in Church since he was needing to eat frequently, so taking care of a baby in the back of Church is a very new experience for me.

This brings me to the other morning as I was holding Alan in the back and Liz was in Church praying. This particular morning Alan was being more fussy than usual, and as a result he did not want to sit still. I kept having to switch from standing with him, to sitting with him standing on my lap, to sitting with him sitting on my knees, to kneeling with him standing on the floor, etc. As a result, I started becoming annoyed that I wasn't able to focus on the mass. I began to grumble a little bit saying things in my head like, "If I'm going to have a spiritual life, I need quiet to pray. Liz is so good with Alan, why doesn't she just take care of him all the time?"

Of course, I realized that all of this was grumbling and didn't take it too seriously. As mass went on, though, it got me thinking: what is it I'm really owed? I mean, am I really owed a nice quite morning mass? Or, is it something I'm just used to, and now with a baby I just won't be able to have that? It occurred to me that there are many times in my life that I become upset when something doesn't go my way, feeling that I have been denied something I'm owed. I can become upset when someone makes fun of me, feeling that they have not given me the respect I am "owed." Or, I get upset when the car breaks down, because by gosh that car "owes" it to me to keep running. Or, at its most absurd, I get upset at the weather outside when its gray, because I'm owed sunny days.

My point is, that it occurred to me that so many times in life, we become used to a routine and when the routine is interrupted we are upset because we feel like we are owed something. Standing there in the back of Church, I realized that much of what I feel I am "owed" are actually blessings I have only been able to routinely enjoy, and instead of becoming indignant when these blessing are taken away, I need to be thankful for the blessing I currently have. For, Christ surely must have also intended the Church for parents with young children, so there must be a way to pray while taking care of a baby.  Instead of learning this new type of prayer, though, I was becoming solely focused on what I was supposedly "owed."

Marriage and family life have begun to teach me the lesson that what I am owed is not nearly as important as what I am given by God. Indeed, this is a fundamental lesson of living in community. By living in a community, the individual agrees to abandon his own way and join his path to that of the community. He is called to make sacrifices for others, chief among which is the sacrifice of his time, that one thing he feels he is owed no matter what.

This was a lesson, an understanding I never would have come to without the concrete community that is marriage and family. This is why concrete community is so necessary for the well being of man. It is a school for man to learn the truths of who he is, and in this case, what he is really "owed." "It is not good for man to be alone." If he were, man might come to think he is owed such things as sunny days.