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  The light, consoling presence of angels had been replaced by demons.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

The Past is Also Our Future

One of the gifts of a true conversion (of a metanoia, "a turning around") is that the new believer begins to order his life according to the mind and plan of God.  This brings a great deal of relief and peace as his life finally begins to form a coherent, cohesive whole.  He also comes to understand himself truly for the first time, or rather, to recover who he once was before sin set him on another course.  For example, I realized just the other day that as a child on the playground I often sought out the friendless, the awkward, the outcast--just as I do now while walking the streets.  It was always meant to be so.  As a child I gravitated to the schoolyard oddballs by a natural instinct, a grace really.  Then as I grew into a teenager I became ashamed of these oddballs.  I wanted to be one of the cool kids, and the outsiders were holding me back.  So I abandoned them, and spoke like St. Peter, "I never knew the man".  Since the outsiders were often kicked in the teeth, they only resisted with a hesitant word, or a look of loss and gentle reproach, the docile eyes of a cow.  I burned with shame and learned to look past them as though they weren't there.  It was a necessary evil, or so I told myself.  But now decades later things have come full circle.  I'm grateful to be at home again with the oddballs--as I was always meant to be--thanks in part to the street apostolate.

A Return to Old Gifts

God has given all of us certain gifts, experiences and character traits, and he means that we use them for the glory of his kingdom.  Sometimes certain gifts and passions take a backseat, but the arc of our life is long, and these gifts will return to prominence at the providential time.

In the past year or two, as I focused more and more on the street apostolate, I began to presume that my old philosophical passions were mostly a thing of the past.  After all, when you do street evangelization in hard-scrabble areas, the conversations typically revolve around the other person's current struggles and a few basic Christian truths. There is rarely a need to take a deep dive into the truth of things.  The world of books and ideas--of right belief--seem very far away, and the focus is on compassion and friendship--a meeting of hearts.

In recent times, there has been a movement to pit the life of the heart against the life of the mind, or at least to downplay the importance of truth, of right belief.  This is a mistake.  As the great Dominican theologian, Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, put it, "Mercy and rigor of teaching can only exist together."  The two things are inseparable, if it is to be true mercy and true teaching.  The life of the mind and the life of the heart should be intertwined, and this fusion is what gives us the genius of the saints.  Even (or especially!) the most humble, ignorant saints had a crystal clear understanding of who God was and who we are.  I fear in recent times we've lost a clear image of God, and thus we are losing a clear picture of ourselves.  This was evident at the recent Synod on the Family when many cardinals and bishops sought to blithely sweep aside the plain teachings of Jesus Christ and his ancient Church.  In most parishes in the West in my lifetime, priests and laity have dodged the "hard sayings" of Christ like a child running away from his medicine.  This has only been possible because there has been a "loss of a sense of sin" (which Pope Pius XII described as the great tragedy of our era), one of the rotten fruits of the loss of faith.

One senior priest recently told a group of us that a two-tier church is emerging: one of believers who embrace the full historic teachings of the Church, and then a much larger body who mix in a thick dollop of the spirit of the age.  Another priest told me last week that the church hasn't been this sick since the Renaissance.  He wasn't referring to corruption or nepotism, but a crisis of faith: a mistrust in the radical power of grace, and a mistrust in our patrimony of scripture and tradition (the basis of right belief).  Some leaders in the Church think it's unimportant to align your mind with the eternal Church, with the saints throughout the ages, and the boldest openly profess the emergence of a "New Church" after the Second Vatican Council.  We know they are wrong because the Church is the mystical Body of Christ and "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever" [Hebrews 13:8].

In my own process of conversion, I can attest that our Lord has a solicitous care for right belief, for the truths of the faith. Several years back, when I was still scrambling to transition my mind and heart to the Christian worldview after an instantaneous conversion, God mercifully walked with me, and at key moments he gave me supernatural glimpses of the divine order of things.  These experiences were often corrections, a gentle rap by the Good Shepherd, and they always pointed backward to what holy men and women have always known (including seeming curiosities like the fact that demons hate Latin).  I've written about some of these past experiences in earlier posts here, here, here, and here.

Now for the next two months I've decided to return to some old treasures, and write about personal experiences that I still reflect on in order to center and strengthen my own faith.  I will be "emptying out" my spiritual diary (really just a short collection of notes), and share three posts on the "Hard Sayings" of Christ, and then end with a "Tender Saying".   Some of the stories I will share are regrettably fantastic, but after all, God is not boring, nor is our destiny inconsequential.  If you doubt this, read about the life of today's saint, St. Columban, a well-traveled Irish monk.  His life has the makings of a great movie--though all of our lives are astounding when seen from the spiritual point of view.

I'm Not A Prophet, Nor Was Meant To Be

Please note: This post is meant to be thought-provoking rather than prophetic (Well ok, I'll stop playing coy.  The Cardinal Sarah bit is a prophecy).  The two episodes below were so unusual that I wanted to write about them in order to think them through.


Last night was a very strange night.  Before I drifted off to sleep after saying Night Prayer, a very persuasive notion struck me from out-of-the blue.  I had the distinct conviction that Pope Francis would soon pass on ('soon' by God's standards, not ours), and that he would be replaced by Cardinal Robert Sarah.  This thought was accompanied by a consolation, a sweet peaceful sensation and the knowledge that everything was in the hands of God and that Cardinal Sarah would admirably steer and strengthen the Church.  The experience wasn't about Pope Francis per se, but was really about Cardinal Sarah.  He was an anointed of the Lord, a great gift to the Church.  [UPDATE: Archbishop Ganswein recently captured a related thought in an interview: "In this hour, Cardinal Sarah arises, prophetically."]

[MORE UPDATES:  John Allen, a well-known progressive reporter, just wrote a piece on who might succeed  Pope Francis.  He characterized  Cardinal Sarah as "a touch extreme" and wrote that "he's been in Rome too long to be in touch with life in the trenches."  Well, that made me laugh.  The Kingdom of Heaven is more than a touch extreme, and that's where the real warriors for the Lord make their home, where the real trenches are manned.  May God give us more "extreme" cardinals!  I also noticed that an author on the website of the German Bishops' Conference condescendingly described Cardinal Sarah as offering "simple answers to difficult questions"--an approach that only works where there are "low education levels".  However, simplicity is a hallmark of the Kingdom of Heaven.  God is simple because God is love, and the demands of love are wonderfully clear.  Only sin makes things complicated!

I guess I better read this book!

After that I had the Mother of All Dreams.  In the dream I was simply going about my day in a crowd of people.  All of a sudden everything went black and disappeared.  I stared out into the billowing purple blackness as several seconds passed.  I understood that our Lord had done this, and that he was using the blackness to prepare my mind for what would come next.  Sort of like how a movie starts with a black screen before the real action begins.  In a flash the blackness gave way to a deep blue and the enormous figure of our Lord appeared.  At that moment I was given the knowledge that every person alive was simultaneously having the same experience.  The din and commerce of the world had halted, and each person stood alone before the Lord.  They looked upon Christ, and in doing so they saw themselves as the Lord saw them.  It was an illumination of conscience, a merciful foreshadow of each person's particular judgment. That great and terrible day (as the Dies Irae tells it)!

I was aware that I was in the midst of the greatest miracle since our Lord walked the earth.  Then a thought flashed through my mind, "I always thought the 'worldwide illumination of conscience' prophecy was bunk.  It's too stupendous! Our God is the hidden one of Nazareth, the baby in the barn."  Then as I looked upon Jesus' eyes, his oval face and thick hair, I had another thought, "The Lord's going to show me how wretched I am.  I can't bear it, but here it comes..." But as He deepened his gaze, the dreaded moment did not come.  I was already a penitent and he had a different message. He looked away as if turning to the world and simply reigned as the Incarnate Word, as the Crucified King. Then the encounter ended and I found myself back amidst the crowd of people.  My mind burned with curiosity, "How would people change after such an experience?  Would the world now be completely different?"

But then I awoke amidst great comfort and smiles.  I kept thinking silly things, "God is SO awesome!  I LOVE IT. Absolutely love it!  I wish I had that dream every night."  I tried to hold on to the joy for as long as I could before I was re-taken by sleep.

On a day when Islamic terrorists attacked Paris and dominated the world's attention, the message was simple.  The Lord reigns.  He has conquered.  He knows his own, and he is always with us.

Something Worth Reading

Apologies to my regular readers for my extended absence.  I've had to focus all of my time and energy on keeping my domestic church happy.  In the meantime, I'd like to direct your attention to a conversion story that is currently making the rounds: Drunks and Monks by John Carmichael.

As the book commences, the author seems to have done well for himself.  He's young, has a million dollar home off the ocean in Southern California, and represents media celebrities at an entertainment law firm.  He married an attractive woman--his college sweet heart--and other people envy and idealize their marriage.  But it's all tenuous since it's not grounded on Christ.  In fact, the last time he attended mass was at his own wedding some years before.  His life finally begins to crumble when his wife asks for a separation.  He abruptly quits his job and takes his first drink at thirty-four.  He had sworn off alcohol at an early age after enduring his mother's alcoholism, but now liquor strikes him like a revelation. He takes to booze like a greedy new convert.

He endures much suffering and family strife, but God continues to lure him forward.  Finally, through an amusing act of providence he gets lost and discovers a Buddhist Monastery.  But the path is blocked by an enormous bull that has escaped from a local ranch and so he continues down the road until he reaches a Norbertine Abbey.  After some fits and starts, a new man emerges, the new creation in Christ.  At the end of the book he writes to his father, "The Catholic Faith truly must be the Pearl of Great Price, because it cost me everything I had to get it."

I'm always gratified by a good conversion story.  Such stories offer grace made visible, the living faith moving in lines across a page.  Please check it out.  The book resounds with the Holy Spirit, and is so much more worthy than what we typically read.

Which Kingdom Will You Choose?

For the past week I've been haunted by an encounter I had on the streets with a sixty year old, homeless black man. I've encountered him in the past, and in each case he's greeted my smile with an icy reception.  But this time he extended a long, beckoning finger as he sat on a parking curb, and so I happily crouched down to hear what he had to say.  He began with a long story about how he had lost his dog, a miniature Pinscher, and was now looking to kill the people responsible.  He talked about his gun (I doubt he actually had one), and then talked about other people with whom he was angry.  He was fascinated with violence and drank hatred like water.  He wouldn't give me his name; not even a fake one.  I was relieved when he began to talk abut his shoes and other items.  Finally he asked if I had a credit card or money.  I lied and said "No."  He looked at me in disgust and replied,  "Then what good are you?"  I touched the Jesus Caritas heart/cross and said, "Friendship, prayer."   He sneered and said he didn't like "white people", and then transitioned into a rant against the police.  He ended the conversation abruptly with a demand, "Get out of here.  Go on!" After I had walked fifty yards I glanced over my shoulder and was surprised that he had gathered his things amidst the cool shade and was walking away in the 100 degree heat.  He didn't want to remain in that spot.  It was now tainted by his ugly words, even if it was a cool quiet spot.

I stopped to watch him pass out of sight.  He was tall with a broad form, and wore black from his do-rag to shoes.  He looked like a great shadow passing though the land.  As I prayed I began to guess how he had come to be the man he was.  A broken home.  Abuse and neglect by one or both parents.  Physical abuse by the older boys, perhaps sexual abuse by a neighbor or relative.  Early drug use and petty criminality.  Racial discrimination.  High school drop-out. Juvenile hall.  Abuse of women.  Creeping depression.  Alienation from the workforce.  More intense drug and alcohol abuse.  Multiple stints in jail and prison.  Anxiety.  Increasing isolation.  Permanent homelessness.

I have known many men and women who have tread a similar path, but they have held onto their humor and compassion.  They have suffered greatly--at first by another's hand, and then later mostly through their own sins.  But this man was different.  He was burned up, consumed with rage.  He seemed keenly aware of his imposing presence; perhaps his power and might had always been his trump card, his refuge in life, but it had only left him increasingly isolated and now his strength had faded with age and substance abuse.

A Similar Life

I once knew another homeless black man who doubtless had a similar upbringing and adulthood, but chose gentleness and patience in his later years.  He was a slight man and could never have been tempted to rely on his physical prowess and presence.  In fact, he was the most fragile and forgettable creature imaginable.  Twenty-three years ago I was chained to him on a prison bus when I was shipped from one county jail to another.  It was only a ninety minute bus ride but I couldn't overcome a fierce drowsiness, and fell asleep right onto his shoulder.  Although I didn't know it at the time, it was God's grace that put me to sleep that day.  I had begun to fancy myself as better than the other inmates, and resented being chained to an old "wino".  I thought I was brighter, had committed more sophisticated crimes, and most of all, was more physically impressive and tough.  My personal gospel was strength and toughness in body and mind.  You see, I wasn't that different from the first man--the raging one.  But then I fell asleep like a baby on the little man.  When I awoke with a start, a gritty convict on the other side snorted and looked at me with amused contempt.  Real tough guy, sleeping on an old wino.  I looked at the small man and he politely gazed ahead with a peaceful smile.  Apparently a shoulder was a small thing to offer, and he was glad to give it if I needed a nap.  Every other man on the chain bus would have given me a rude awakening if I had dozed on them.  I watched the little man closely after that, trying to understand what made him tick.  I also wondered at the mysterious bout of sleepiness.  Maybe he wasn't so pathetic after all, and maybe I wasn't so tough.

Which Kingdom Do We Inhabit?

As we pass through life we are lured by two different kingdoms: the Kingdom of Heaven and the Kingdom of Hell.  The first kingdom is the home for those who ultimately hunger after peace, compassion, faith, wonder, simplicity, and self-giving love; the other kingdom is the permanent dwelling place of malice, lust, self-assertion, self-protection and ultimately, perfect despair.  Some of us begin life in healthy families that reflect the kingdom of Heaven, and then we discover the power of wrath and the triumph of lust, and have a conversion (of sorts) to evil.  Other people begin life in a mad antechamber of hell, and follow the light of grace into Heaven.  There are rare people like the Little Flower, St. Therese of Lisieux, who began in a heavenly family and remain there until a holy death, and there are those who are born into malice and disorder and drink it up until their death.

Most of us don't fully belong to either kingdom.  Holy people, those who have conformed their will to Christ, are rare, and so are those who put on the mind of devils.  Most of us resist being converted one way or the other: we accept a little faith but with a counter-dose of self-assertion; we move forward to love but with a reserve of self-protection; we enjoy peace and then yearn after the thrill latent in filthy things.  We know we don't want the wages of hell--that's obvious enough--but we don't really want Heaven either.  What we really want is a third kingdom: the glory of man, the kingdom of Now (so long as we don't have to get old or sick).  That kingdom, the Kingdom of Man, was once "nasty, brutish and short" (according to Hobbes, a 17th century philosopher), but with radical advances in medicine, hygiene, infrastructure, food production and distribution, mass production of cheap goods of all kinds, it's become increasingly more attractive. Now progressives in my neighborhood even have cartoonish bumper stickers that proclaim, "Life is good".  In past centuries people could only say in thanksgiving, "God is good", and there was nothing cartoonish about it.

Once when I was in wealthy Marin County outside of San Francisco, I was given a supernatural glimpse of the ascendant Kingdom of Man.  The sun was shining in early May as noon approached.  Everything had a subtle gleam: tank tops and yoga pants, the well-manicured sidewalks and bike paths, the shining faces of the young women, and the youthful confidence of the men.  Even the toys of the baby boomers sparkled: motorhomes, convertibles, Harleys and European racing bicycles.  But behind the gleam there was nothing; it was a mirage because it lacked the "one thing necessary".  There wasn't an ounce of real faith amongst the passers-by, and the life-giving presence of Christ was not wanted there.  The scene had appeared so glorious and promising--so different from the streets that our two homeless men had known--but it was actually an occasion of sorrow.  In fact, there was more glory in the humble heart of the old "wino", a petty thief who had suffered much, and had finally lost all conceit.