Another Beautiful Conversion Story

"I have come that they may have life, and have it more abundantly."

                                                                                    Gospel of John 10:10

As I've grown deeper in the faith, I've marveled at how the Catholic faith completes the whole person: it quenches all of our deepest longings and provides a purpose for every moment and season of our lives.  That is the genius of the faith, and the surest proof that it has a divine origin.  This is sometimes obscure to those born into the faith, but it is easily noticed by converts from other faith traditions (with the exception of the Orthodox, who enjoy the same grace) .  The late Fr. Hugh Thwaites SJ noticed this when he was a prisoner of war in East Asia, and Philip Trower delightfully explores these divine "hints" in his conversion from a lapsed Anglican.

I warmly recommend Philip Trower's corpus of writings, but especially his charming conversion story.  It starts off a bit slow with a fussy introduction, but then he begins to drop juicy bits of insight as we step into his life in 1930s England.  He was blessed with a Catholic nanny and "Auntie" who both possessed "a holy light-heartedness".  He had a child's wisdom and recognized what most adults miss: that there is something different about devout Catholics, they "have something which gives them brighter more shining eyes than other people."  I noticed this myself when I first began to join the 40 Days for Life vigils outside of Planned Parenthood.  It's an often thankless ministry, a time of the cross, yet many of the regulars had a supernatural light in their eyes.  This should not be surprising, for as young Philip learned, "self-giving love is the very heart of Christianity." Just as the heart brims with love, so does it spill out into the eyes.

Philip was also impressed that Catholics embrace the cross as well as great feasts.  There is no contradiction there, but only completeness.  Thus, "after mass the people were allowed to enjoy themselves...they could eat, drink, dance or play games together before going home."  There is something natural and effortless about this, it suits our very being.

The same can be said of expressing the faith through communal processions, material symbols and images or even dropping by a church any day of the week.  As a young man, Philip was impressed at seeing a lonely chapel on a hike on the Matterhorn.

One of the chapels at the base of the Matterhorn

It seemed such a natural thing to worship God on such a rugged site, and so fitting to enter and rest from his journey. Inside he saw two peasant women peacefully praying the rosary, just as their ancestors had done centuries before.

The Catholic faith seemed to have a fitting response for every situation--even amidst the madness of the Second World War.  Philip witnessed the Catholic soldiers kneeling for confession right before entering battle.  Why didn't the Protestant chaplains exercise such a ministry?  Protestants seemed to have a knack for the care of the body, but the Catholics knew how to care for the soul.  This was confirmed in a hospital ward after an officer died in the night.  The Italian cleaning ladies noticed his death and put off their duties.  With a "childlike naturalness and spontaneity", they knelt and prayed for his soul.  By contrast, the British staff draped a flag over the deceased and efficiently disposed of his body.

Philip was also taken by the different churches he found in Italy.  Many of them were simultaneously "pretty and homely". They captured a feeling that Jesus must have known in the "home of Martha and Mary at Bethany".  Then there was also the grand spectacle of cathedrals, a fitting worship for Christ as the King of Kings.  But Philip realized the cathedrals also served another purpose: the "great works of art, architecture, painting and sculpture are available to all, the poorest of the poor included.  There was a populist dimension to Catholicism..."

The most profound truth in the story comes from the lips of an Oxford don with deep Catholic sympathies.  It was a prophetic statement, and true for each of us in our own way:

"You will never find love until you find it in the tabernacle."

All of us are still trying to embrace that love, so enormous and so pure.

I've already revealed too much of the story, and so I encourage you to read the rest over there.  The author is an endearing man, and has a sparkling mind even into his 90s.  I especially liked the remark that he wanted to be a famous novelist but God spared him from that since he was "too naturally weak and vain to have survived such a test."  Amen! Me too!

Something Worth Watching

It's not often that I'm really "wowed" by something on the Catholic internet, and when it happens I'm compelled to share. Here is Jay Sardino's absorbing conversion story from a recent episode of The Journey Home.

In some ways it's a familiar tale, and it's even my own story: a young man is raised in a lukewarm Catholic milieu, and is never offered the clear truth and beauty of Christ and his Church.  He embraces the club scene with its exhilarating music, easy women, booze/drugs, while he fashions his career and fitness into an idol.  Then the Lord takes it all away and he faces the ugly emptiness of his own life.

Yet Jay's witness is more compelling than usual.  Why is that?  For one thing, Jay speaks with conviction.  Like St. Paul, this is a serious man, yet he's also a man of depth and warmth.  For another, he exposes the "naked emperor" of contemporary christianity: suffering is not our real enemy, but is often an opportunity of grace.  In fact, it is sin that is our real foe.  Mother Theresa and all of the saints testify that "pain, sorrow, suffering are but the kiss of Jesus--a sign that you have come so close to him that he can kiss you."  It is in welcoming this kiss that we become "another Christ, a little Christ".

Jay is also a witness to the truth that we are called to offer ourselves for sinners, just as Christ did.  Jay recognizes that sacrifice is the very heart, the real purpose of the Christian life.  He is captivated by the Divine Mercy and the story of St. Faustina Kowalska.  He hears the call of the Crucified One to Sr. Faustina: "immerse yourself with all the sinners you can, and bring them to me".  This is the perennial call of Jesus, and it is also the call of this street apostolate.  While we walk the streets to be of service to everyone, we especially wait for the sinner who straddles the edge between the abyss and conversion.  We especially need men like Jay, men who have straddled that edge, to go out and be a beacon for lost sinners.  May the Lord do great things through Jay!

Reflecting on Two Years of Street Evangelization

Two years ago I put on the tunic for the first time and walked the streets.  It was kind of a disaster (as you can read about here), or at least it felt that way at the time. Many things have changed since then (a new baby, many new friends, I've grown deeper in Christ), but the apostolate is largely the same. My approach hasn't changed--even as I've made small adjustments here and there--but they bear greater fruit now. It's not about a technique or a method, it's a matter of becoming a "new creation in Christ", a "man fully alive" (as St. Ireneaus put it).  After all, as the spiritual life goes, so goes the apostolate.

My tunic has held up surprisingly well.  The rain gives it a good wash, and then I shake off the water like I'm whipping a rug.  I was hoping it would last ten years, and I think it will.  I still have an extra tunic to give away, but there haven't been any takers.  Several men have had interest in joining the apostolate, but they have balked at the last minute in deference to other duties or interests.  Happily, I now count them as friends, and so that goal of the apostolate has been fulfilled. Deo gratias!  Josh in Louisville is expecting another baby (his fifth child!), and so he'll have to walk the streets while he can.  That's one thing I've learned: evangelize when the time presents itself, because you never know what's around the corner.

The first time I walked the streets was on January 23, 2014.

As a good Catholic, my imagination is kindled by symbolism, and so I made sure that I hit the streets on the last day of 2015 and then again to begin the New Year.  It was an attempt to sanctify the closing year, and then "Christen" the coming year.  This is especially apt given that we are in the Jubilee Year of Mercy.  Please take the Jubilee seriously.  God is always keen to grant graces through his Church, and our forebears once traveled by the millions to observe Rome's jubilees.  St. Philip Neri, the Apostle of Rome, dedicated himself to the material and spiritual needs of some of the two million pilgrims in the 1575 Jubilee.  We also happen to be in the 500 year Jubilee of St. Philip's birth, so visit an oratory to receive extra graces.  St. Philip Neri has become a friend of the apostolate, and I'll write more about him in a future post.

One thing that has changed is that I've begun to bring saint relics with me as I walk.  I became convinced of the efficacy of relics after I had a remarkable experience at Holy Rosary Priory.  It was the feast day of the parish, and parishioners filed in line to kiss the reliquary holding a fragment of the veil of the Virgin Mary.  I was skeptical, but reluctantly followed in line so as not to stand-out and seem impious.  When I knelt and kissed the relic I was instantly overcome with a sweet sorrow, and began weeping.  There was something to this relic stuff!  I shouldn't have been surprised.  It's a tradition--like so many others--that has been largely cast aside even though it dates back to the ancient Israelites (carrying the bones of the prophets, the Ark of the Covenant).  If countless generations were sanctified by such practices, then who are we to think we know better?

Many are embarrassed by Catholic devotion to relics because some of the relics are of dubious origin.  For example, I don't believe I kissed an actual piece of Mary's veil.  In fact, in past centuries it was common for bishops who issued relics to sanction the use of veils from miraculous statues of the Virgin Mary.  Well, God does not stand on historical accuracy, just as a good parent doesn't correct his toddler when the child gives him a flower that "came from heaven".  God seeks to shower his graces upon us through every crack in our lives (that's the topic of a future post!), and sometimes he even uses shabby means like dubious relics, scandalous clergy and great sinners.  God is not proud, he is simply holy and of immeasurable love.

I was hoping to obtain some threads from a cassock of Blessed Charles de Foucauld, and sew them under the Jesus Caritas heart on all of the tunics.  Blessed Charles could then accompany our walks in a material fashion, and frankly, we need his intercession.  A good priest, Fr. Jon Buffington, asked the postulator of the canonization cause if he was still issuing such relics, but alas, he was not.  So then I followed the lead of several good priests I know and took to Ebay to "rescue" some relics.  Unfortunately I still haven't spotted a relic from Blessed Charles's cause, but I now bring with me little relics of Sts. Jean Vianney, Philip Neri, Francis Xavier, etc.  I also bought saint relics after the name-sakes of my children, Clara and Gabriel, to have in the home.  Now our home feels even more Catholic--that subtle sense of communion between heaven and earth.  My only sorrow is that many of these items are for sale because of the loss of faith in Europe--especially from the Low Countries.

Hard Sayings, Part III: "I am in anguish in this flame"

"The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham's bosom.  The rich man also died and was buried; and in Hades, being in torment...he called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy upon me, and send Lazarus [the poor man] to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame.'"
                                                                                                                                        Luke 16: 22-23


I have a great deal of affection for the late Fr. Hugh Thwaites SJ.  Though I never met him, he used to lull me to sleep every night as I laid listening to his audio recordings.  He artfully explained the faith, and he taught me to mix-in a dollop of honey whenever discussing the more challenging teachings of Christ.  In this, he was a great follower of St. Frances de Sales, though he always remained a Jesuit.  In fact, he was the "poor man" among the British Jesuits, an antique or embarrassment to most of his peers, blithely recalcitrant and unwilling to get with the times.  For all that, conversions followed him wherever he went (even in rough and tumble Brixton), and many who knew him thought he was a saint. When he passed in 2012, he was graced with a final jewel in his crown: his order refused to honor his request for a traditional Latin requiem mass. Many observers saw it an an outrage, a petty settling of scores, but to God it was one more glory for the "poor man", the good and faithful servant.  Read this story here for a delightful example of his humility.

Fr. Thwaites SJ, ora pro nobis.
I was delighted when Fr. John Boyle of St. Stephens'
told me that he used to serve as Fr. Thwaites's altar boy!

By contrast, a famous, influential catholic died some years back, and his funeral was attended by an impressive cross-section of politicians, sports heroes and music and movie stars.  His funeral mass was even presided over by a cardinal of the Church--an extraordinary honor.  There was only one problem: the deceased had spent his public and private life ushering in what St. John Paul II described as "the culture of death".  He was a key player in all of the excesses of the sexual revolution, and few contemporary men have done more to build up St. Augustine's "City of Man", a worldly order marked by the love of self, even to the contempt of God.

Young girls all over the globe want to be like these "rich women"

At the time of the funeral I was still young in the faith, one of Jesus' "little ones" (Luke 17:2), and so especially sensitive to scandal and confusion.  That day was the first and only time my faith began to totter and sway, nearing to despair, and I know that I wasn't the only one.  Perhaps that's why our Lord warned against the man who "relaxes one of the least of these commandments, and teaches men so", for he "shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 5:18-19)

Up to that time, God had given me the gift of faith (as a wise woman once told me), but in a moment of anguish I began to question.  I remember standing in the kitchen, thinking, "Sure there's God and demons, but what's the point of it all?  Nobody acts like any of this stuff matters anymore--even this cardinal.  Who am I to resist it all and insist that I've got it right?"  Then I was instantly and briefly absorbed by an interior vision.  The face of the the deceased, the "rich man", was alone in a great black cloud.  His eyes and mouth fixed in horror and despair.  He was frozen in shock, like a parent who had just witnessed their child run over by a car.  It was a face I will never forget.  It also seemed to sag, as though it was melting from heat.  Afterwards I couldn't wait to tell somebody.  My poor wife listened to my animated story, and when I declared that so-and-so was in hell, I was given a strong spiritual rebuke.  Perhaps my guardian angel had sternly interrupted my tale since it was not my place to make an assumption about his eternal salvation.  The point of the vision was that those who stubbornly live according to their own law--and teach others to do the same--will face the pains of divine justice.  St. Bernadette Soubirous knew this and greatly feared for "bad catholics" (as Monsignor Pope tells us).  It's especially fearful when the obstinate sinner presumes to receive holy communion and the other sacraments, thus piling guilt upon guilt. We should also fear for the clergy who are abetting such mockery and sacrilege, their zeal grown cold.

Even leaving aside the prospect of hell, in purgatory the first pains of purification can be horrifying as the person loses all of his self-protections under the gaze of divine love.  The soul is naked before God, and the fire of divine love then "burns up" all excuses, honors, comforts and conceits.  In short, whatever is not of God.  I once experienced something like this four years ago after blowing up at my in-laws (my dear father-in law likes to mock religion).  Afterwards, I laid face down on the bed trying to pray the rosary, sobbing, seeing my bare soul under the still gaze of Christ.  The sorrow was agonizing, and it took me two hours to pray a single rosary.  Jesus was not pleased at my mis-guided jealousy for his honor, a crusade with so little love.  Like I said, there are no conceits before God.

The only banner we should carry

If the "rich man" of our story was mercifully delivered to purgatory, it was doubtless because of his innumerable small acts of charity.  After his death, many people came forward and described how he took a personal interest in their plight, and used his influence to aid them.  This was done without fanfare and publicity.  As the saints have told us, many "big sinners" have been saved by one small act of love, even those who carried the banner of the devil.  In the first throes of purgatory, the rich man's little kindnesses are small consolation, but as he is purified, as he moves closer to the source of the divine flames, they will become a great consolation.  He will delight in them, because they are of God, and God is now his great desire.  For those who'd like to read more about purgatory, please check out Hungry Souls by Gerard Van Den Ardweg.  It is a spiritually deep and detailed book, and gives the reader a sense of the different stages of purgation.

Shake Off The Illusion

"His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire."
                                                                                                 Gospel of John 3:12

St. John the Baptist plainly states the inevitable fate of us all, for good or ill, but is any one listening anymore?  So much of the Church seems asleep, content with the comforts of modern life.  It takes a Herculean effort to resist the heavy dew of complacency.  The dew is nearly palpable.  The world, the flesh and the devil combine to lure us to shrug off everything into God's hands, and just get along with the world.  But the world is sick and needs it's Savior, and the Savior is looking to us.  So just take up the banner and walk, and you will win your crown and many will come with you.

Merry Christmas!

"Everything I have to give, is yours."

Two thousand years after his birth, and Jesus Christ will not be outdone in generosity. We seek to pay him some small homage, and he wants to honor us with everything. His love and solicitude are unfathomable.  Just run the race and you shall see!

Hard Sayings, Part II: Do We Walk With Angels or Demons?

"Such is the choice I set before you this day. blessing or curse.  A blessing, if you will obey the commands I now give you from the Lord your God; a curse, if you disobey those commands, and forsake the path I am showing you."

                                                                    --Deuteronomy 11: 26-28

One reason I evangelize and share the truths of the faith is because I know what it is like to live without God, and even worse, in opposition to Christ, divine truth himself.  Some people live as virtuous pagans--mindful of the basics of natural law even without faith.  That is itself a grace (though they don't know it).  My wife was a "virtuous pagan" (not even baptized!) until she came to faith with me.  I'm also thinking of people like Jennifer Fulwiler before her conversion, or more illustrious persons like Aristotle and Socrates.  It is quite another thing to walk in grave sin, because you are essentially walking with devils.  That person is vicariously taking part in the curse of the fallen angels because demons have an affinity for persons and places devoted to grave sin.  St. Francis saw this in a vision when he saw a cloud of demons descended on Arezzo, a city torn by civil war.

Arezzo, a city full of devils

That's why places like strip clubs, drug houses, abortion clinics and prisons have a strange pall about them, and why many people insist that there are haunted houses.  There is something heavy and oppressive in the air that produces disquiet, and that is the presence of demons.  Some people even bring a host of demons with them wherever they go (as my conversion experience suggests).  Once while entering a local church I sensed a pall, the heavy oppression of demons.  I turned to my wife and said, "Something's wrong.  I don't think Father Slider's here today."  Sure enough, there was a substitute priest, a long-standing heretic on basic questions of Christology (he denied that Jesus was the son of God) as well as the usual dissent from moral issues.  The light, consoling presence of angels had been replaced by demons.  The poor priest even wore it on his perpetually worn face and heavy shoulders. I was once like that.  The spiritual had revealed itself in the natural, and even colors had lost their luster.  In fact, after my conversion the whole world literally brightened and sparkled,  as though I had an eye operation!  May the poor priest enjoy the grace of conversion, and become a priest for Christ as we hear in Fr. Scheier's remarkable testimony.

Conversely, there are those persons and places that glow with the peace and light of Christ.  We've all felt this in devout parishes and in deeply Catholic homes of friends and relatives.  They are the "resting places" of angels, or at least, angels show their delight by their presence.  Demons don't like to be in close proximity to the things and people of God, and so they usually do their work at a distance.  That is why St. Paul describes the temptations of demons upon the faithful as "arrows" (Ephesians 6:16)--because they have to be launched from afar.  Demons still relish the opportunity (granted by God) to assail the saints in close combat, but they soon leave for more agreeable company.

The saints have often made their mark by descending into the territory of demons and letting Christ shine through them. We think of the martyrs of the Roman circus, St. Patrick against the Druids, Sts. Thomas More and Bishop John Fisher in the dungeon for the sanctity of marriage (like John the Baptist before them), or Fr. Damien amidst the incest and despair of the Molokai leper colony.  St. Maximillian Kolbe was even described by a death camp-survivor as "a great shaft of light" in the darkness of Auschwitz.

As the world continues to darken by pursuing man-made lights (these are more agreeable gods since we fashion them ourselves!), all followers of Christ must brighten by reflecting the true source of light.  That is what I pray for my future, for those who take up the apostolate and for all street evangelists.  For now I'd like to recall an episode from five years ago that bears on some of these matters.

A Weekend at Duke University

Part I: The Blessings of Life

"I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly."  

                                                         Gospel of John, 10:10

In October 2010 I travelled to North Carolina to visit my best friend who was working on post-graduate studies at Duke in surgical medicine.  Dunya, a Chaldean Catholic, has always had an intrepid streak.  Before my conversion she once declared to me during an argument, "Scott, you need to find Jesus!  Jesus is the way, the truth and the light!"  I responded with uproarious laughter.  Less than a year later I converted and she got the last laugh.

Not long after I arrived at Duke, we sat on her couch chatting about her dating life.  Dunya had longed for marriage and children, but she was always attending other people's weddings.  She mentioned that a Coptic Christian named "Raphael" had expressed interest in her through her "Catholic Match"  online profile.  She hadn't responded back and she wondered what I thought of him.  She passed me her laptop and I was delighted to take a look.  Then something strange happened.  When I looked at Raphael's photo, it was as though I was seeing him through the loving gaze of Christ.  I experienced Christ's delight, and a supernatural warmth flowed from Raphael's smile.  I thought he must be a holy man.

I continued to examine the photo with great interest.  In the photo, Raphael had turned for a moment as he hiked up a hill. His posture shown in a supernatural light and beckoned to Dunya, "Come follow me."  My eyes grew wide and I blurted out, "This is your husband!"  I repeated it several times in a state of disbelief.  Then I explained that she needed to follow him, and said in our joking way, "We all know how strong-willed you are--make sure you let him be the man!"  Dunya's moods alternated between eagerness and alarm--she had never even met or spoken to Raphael.  Nevertheless, a couple years later they were married in the Church (after some dust-ups and storms--it was a match that only grace could secure), and now they are deeply in love and grateful for each other.

Raphael had appeared in the photo that day as brimming with supernatural life, as though he walked in the light of angels, because his fundamental orientation is toward Christ, the very well-spring of life and light.  He had his battles with God, including feelings of resentment, abandonment and frustration at God's ways.  He wasn't as conformed to Christ as I had assumed, but he and Dunya have enjoyed the blessings of God because they persist in walking after Christ in faith.

Part II: The Curse of Rebellion

"You belong to your father the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desires...When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies."

                                                                            Gospel of John. 8:44

The next day I followed Dunya down to the Duke campus for a little tour.  There was an unmistakable stir on campus, and it was clear that there was a popular event taking place.  As we entered the student union, an anxious security guard stopped us and asked us if we were here for the book-signing.  We said "No" in bewildered tones, and he replied that he was just trying to screen-out protesters.  Then he explained, "Richard Dawkins is here promoting The God Delusion.  A local church said they're going to come out and have their say."  As soon the guard uttered Dawkins's name, two things simultaneously happened.  I was immediately aware that there were thousands of demons (not ten, not a hundred, but several thousand) in the air about us.  They were seemingly "guarding" Dawkins or at least the event.  The other thing that happened was that I felt my chest moderately compressed by an exterior force; my breath was short and my heart rate increased.  Dunya began pacing back and forth saying, "Oh my God, oh my God, what are going to do?  My heart is beating like crazy."  For Dunya, someone like Dawkins is a kind of boogeyman, and she felt she needed to be up at arms and do something, preferably something confrontational.  Yet Dawkins is just another secular humanist academic (a dime a dozen), albeit more vocal, and more accomplished in his particular field (evolutionary biology).  Before my conversion, I had even read chapters from The Selfish Gene in a doctoral class, "Evolutionary Theories of Morality".  Dawkins wasn't so different than the professors I knew, and I regarded many of those professors with affection.

Dunya and I moved over to the railing to pray, and like a good Chaldean Catholic she produced a rosary from her pocket. The security guard eyed us warily, and we turned our backs to the hubbub, and tried to pray.  But the demons redoubled their efforts, and our minds were restless and scattered.  We felt a prompting to kneel, and found a quiet spot on a lower level to pray in reparation.  As soon as we went downstairs the demons left us in peace, satisfied by our departure.  After prayer, I decided that I wanted to see Mr. Dawkins up close since it would be easier to pray for him in the future if I could bring his face to mind.  As soon as we returned to the signing the demons descended upon us--especially since there was a momentary lull in the line.  I walked over and saw him seated behind the table.  He was unremarkable, oblivious that he was guarded by thousands of demons.  I must have watched him like a zoo animal because he looked back at me with a curious expression.  I asked God if I should approach him and offer him a word or something, but was given no indication.  Then we left, thinking that if we had been saints we could have made a difference.

I took this photo of the chapel tower on the day of the book signing

We noticed outside that the Duke Atheist Association (they had t-shirts for sale!) had set up shop next to the Duke chapel tower.  I let my eyes follow the high rise of the tower into the blue sky and tufts of clouds.  I could sense God's solidity and his abiding presence.  He is always there, always faithful, even while he is casually mocked by his beloved creation immediately below.  Frankly, the Dawkins devotees (and Dawkins himself) would fall off a horse if they suddenly knew there was a God, and that Jesus was their savior,  the Eternal Word made flesh.

We watched the event-goers arrive and leave with great anticipation and satisfaction, as though they had received some grace, though it was an "anti-grace", the fruit of sin.  They even clutched their newly signed books as a new convert grips his Bible.  The crowds roughly fell into three groups.  The largest contingent was composed of prideful nerds: the intellectually hungry and imperious types that show up in Dostoevsky novels (always lean, spare and envious--as Shakespeare warns against in "Julius Caesar"!).  In past centuries they formed the backbone of the radical socialist/Marxist movements in Russia and the West.  The next group were high-achieving wastrels; denizens of the Duke hook-up culture who worshipped physical beauty, sensuality and status.  They had sleek bodies, a trendy appearance and a secondary concern for social issues.  The last group wrenched my heart: they were the freaks and rejects, physically repulsive or even handicapped.  One of these beamed with pride at having met his hero, while his face was scorched from a fire or industrial accident, leaving scars where his hair should be.  Christ had come especially for these, but they spurned hope and self-giving love for resentment and self-assertion.  Mercifully, we know this is just a snapshot in time, and all is not lost.  In the final post of this series ("A Tender Saying"), I will reflect on how our Savior tries to lure us back through every twist and turn of our life.

Our Choices Matter

It's no small thing to spend your life against Christ.  St. John XXIII described the fruits of our choices at the opening of Vatican Council II (as Cardinal Sarah pointed out in God or Nothing): "Men are either with Him and His Church, and then they enjoy light, goodness, order, and peace.  Or else they are without Him, or against Him, and deliberately opposed to His Church, and then they experience confusion, bitterness in human relations, and the dangers of fratricidal wars."  While St. John focused here on the earthly fruits of our fundamental orientation, we also know that these choices reverberate into eternity.  I will (thankfully) conclude this series of "Hard Sayings" with some thoughts on divine judgment and the hereafter.

Hard Sayings, Part I: What Is Man That You Should Remember Him?

"For if any man think himself to be something, whereas he is nothing, he deceiveth himself."
                                                                                                           --Galatians 6:3

As I mentioned in the last post, I'll be trotting out some experiences from my past that vindicated some of the more difficult and implausible aspects of our faith.  These experiences have led me to love that "Old Time Religion" (as the Protestant tune has it), that strangely wonderful, ancient and deep faith of the saints.  Since these experiences were of a supernatural order, I think it's best to say a few things about such encounters.

Perhaps the most important thing to keep in mind, is that God often gives such graces to the wretched--precisely because they need them!  These often occur at the beginning of a poor sinner's conversion, and then taper off and even end as the person's soul turns more and more to Christ.  In our own times, many conversions have happened this way: including Roy Schoeman, Marino Restrepo, Dawn Eden, David Moss, Terry Nelson, Sally Read, Roger Dubin, Joseph Sciambra, John Carmichael, Fr. Calloway MIC.  [It seems like God is creating a small brigade for our difficult times!]  The other point is that God bestows these graces because the poor sinner needs them in order to pursue the specific tasks that God has fore-ordained.  Every Christian is called to play a crucial part in the vast plan of salvation, though some need a little more help to get the job done.

The next point is that these graces are understood as graces because they strike the mind as uniquely true and real.  I wrote about this in the last part of my conversion story here.  On the other hand, sometimes God gives us supernatural experiences that are less certain (like the experiences I wrote about here last week), and sometimes they are even the product of demons (which characteristically produce anxiety and confusion).  In any event, there is always something to be gleaned from such experiences--even if it's just a better understanding of how demons interact with us.

Finally, in past eras of the Church where the culture was thoroughly leavened by the faith, it was sometimes customary to keep these experiences private--especially in monasteries and convents.  Since we no longer live in anything remotely like a rich Christian culture, and since many of these truths are only half-believed, I've decided to share them.  These Hard Sayings have always been a part of the faith, and Christ always (and especially!) points back to them in trying times.

Our Wedding Day

The first experience occurred 6 1/2 years ago on our wedding day.  Amidst all of the photo-taking, conversations and last minute details, I was very keen to keep my mind directed to God.  He had the place of honor in my heart--especially since I would have been too stupid to marry my dear wife without the gift of conversion.  The wedding sacrament was full of tears and we trembled with joy before the altar as we exchanged rings.  Then the holy sacrifice was offered and we received communion.

Upon receiving the host I began to feel an inkling of the immensity of God.  I knelt at a prie-dieu next to my wife and looked up at a statue of Mary.  I immediately felt her tangible presence, like the quick embrace of a friend.  Then I looked up at the broad, muscular crucifix that hung overhead.  As I looked upon the image of Christ, the immense presence of God began to well-up from the consumed host, gathering force like a carefully controlled hurricane.  It began in my soul and then reverberated out into my body.  I lowered my head to grit my teeth, bracing my body against the ever-expanding presence of God.  It was not comfortable; it was not leavened with divine love and sweet consolations.  It was simply a tiny glimpse, or a tiny blast of God's raw being.  I began to hope for the experience to end--how much more could I take? Just as my soul and body felt ready to burst, the divine hurricane began to recede and finally vanish.  I was grateful to return my gaze to my wife, basking in thanksgiving and hope for the future.

When I reflected on the episode later, I was immediately struck by the contrast between the modest presence of Mary and the unfathomably massive being of God.  Even the Queen of Angels is nothing compared to her son!  Then I marveled that God had "interrupted" my wedding day to teach me a lesson, an uncomfortable truth.  While I was grateful for a sign of God's presence on my wedding day (and through the awesome reality of the eucharist), the real lesson was the inconceivable magnitude of God and the tiny reality of us, his beloved creatures. While the sheer enormity of God should feed our hope for the grandeur and perfection of Heaven, it should also serve as a needle to prick our inflated sense of self.  We are often so protective of our own prerogatives and desires, secretly sure that we matter more than our brothers and sisters.  At least that's how we often keep our own counsel as we go about the day. By contrast, the great saints put no store by themselves and we're happy to say they were of no account.

St. Margaret of Cortona was once a high-flying beauty

This experience was particularly telling, because in our day weddings have become tainted by a sense of individualism and self-assertion.  Recall the familiar phrase of brides: "This is MY day", and it's not just "bridezillas" who adopt this mindset.  When I was younger, I tended bar for at least a hundred weddings, and I would watch the bride and her retinue inspect the grounds as we set-up the reception.  I could take a fair guess at which marriages would endure based on what I saw behind closed-doors.  Priests have their own stories to tell if you like black humor.  Even in their relationship, the couples propel forward through a shared narcissism, a shared hedonism that lasts as long as the pleasures continue to flow.  God responds to all of this with a bucket of cold water, "It's not about you!  You hardly even know who and what you are, so small and so wretched."  God is neither nice nor polite (read how often Jesus rebuked the apostles).  Imagine if an attendee at the wedding had the gall to point out such things?  By our lights, God is impudent, but the truth is he loves us too much to respect our comfort zones.

We Come As Penitents

A few months back I approached the altar rail for communion, and knelt, waiting for the good Dominican friars of Holy Rosary Priory to pass by with the sacred hosts.  By a grace, I was aware of the utter transcendence and perfection of God.  Christ's sacrifice for us struck me as so singular, so incomprehensible that I would never understand it this side of Heaven.  At the same time, I saw myself approaching the sacrificial banquet as a penitent, so lowly and needful. Afterwards I took a step back from things, including this blog for a couple months.  After all, what was there to say?

If we come to God as anything other than life-long penitents, than we are deceived.  While God wants to give us everything (by giving us himself), we can only claim our divine inheritance by being willing to lose everything.  God has sent us many recent witnesses to this fact: Padre Pio, Brother Andre, St. Sharbel, Fr. Solanus Casey, Mother Theresa, and our own patron, Blessed Charles de Foucauld.  Happily, several prominent cardinals and bishops have begun calling for a return to the Church's ascetic or penitential traditions, and we continue to say at every mass (and three times in the old mass):

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, 

but only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

Tomorrow is the first day of Advent, a penitential season of the Church that has been described as a "mini-Lent".  If you're unsure of what a penitential spirit is, then watch one of my favorite movies, The Island.  It's about a cowardly sailor who becomes a penitent at a Russian Orthodox monastery.  The man clings to his penance even while God showers him with supernatural gifts.  The once-cowardly man reluctantly becomes another Padre Pio or Brother Andre.

The monk from the film was holy because he was a penitent