Private Revelations & Patience

Over the past year, some of the best Catholics I know started to wonder at the apocalyptic prophecies of a Colorado man named Charlie Johnston.  When he came to Portland on a speaking tour, they were in attendance, and my contact in the archdiocese (for the street apostolate) even wrote of his private support in a circulated e-mail.  I opted not to attend (even though I had peeked in on Charlie's blog over the years), and instead watched his archived talk from Birmingham, Alabama.  I came away skeptical, and his home Archdiocese of Denver has recently released a letter "strongly" advising their caution.

While most Catholics simply ignore contemporary private revelations, and others have an understandable aversion to them, there is something afoot when prayerful, servants of Christ are pulled in that direction.  Fr. Mitch Pacwa attended the Birmingham talk, and Patrick Madrid later hosted Charlie Johnston on his radio show.  Neither offered their support, but it is remarkable that each thought it was worthwhile to give him a hearing.  It is clear that many faithful Catholics have begun to fear that the esalating rebellion from God has finally gone too far.  Like the ancient Israelites, they mourn the eclipse of God among their own people.  They fear that national disaster will follow sin (as it inevitably does in our individual lives), and yet they also hope for divine rescue.  Charlie Johnston's prophecies have piqued both their fear and their hope.  He has prophesied global civil wars and economic collapse by 2017, and the disruption of the upcoming electoral cycle.  Then in late 2017, he claims that God will reach down in mercy and rescue his weary people through the Immaculate Heart of Mary.  There will follow a re-unification among Christians, as well as a lengthy period of peace and prosperity.

Charlie's prophecies seem too incredible to be true.  But then again, events like the Russian Revolution, the rise of the obscure Nazi party to near world domination, the mass killings of the Khmer Rouge etc. also defy our good judgment. Just listen to those who lived through those times--such events were unthinkable even a decade before.  While Charlie's political and economic predictions are highly improbable, where he really loses me is in his understanding of the action of God. Our God is meek and humble of heart, and unlike demons, he is reticent in displaying his power.  He favors being born in a stable, dying abandoned on the cross, and most of all, he takes pleasure in working through us.  He delights in seeing his glory manifested through us, especially the most humble, wretched and unknown of his people.  When we need rescuing, he sends us a St. Francis with his army of beggar-saints, or he soothes his wounded heart through the hidden sufferings of young nuns: St. Bernadette Soubirous, St. Therese of  Lisieux, Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity, Blessed Marie-Celine of the Visitation, St. Faustina, St. Mariam Baouardy and more.  These holy women were near contemporaries of each other.  That's extraordinary!

Blessed Elizabeth will soon be canonized a saint.

In our own troubled days, God will send us our own saints.  In recent posts I have pointed to men that have been favored by the Holy Spirit, and some have even advanced along the road to sanctity.  Fr. Jacques Philippe has the wisdom and love of the Holy Spirit, and Cardinal Sarah will have a lengthy, consequential reign as our next pope.  He will bring clarity and unity of purpose even as the world prefers her false gods.  The Church will regain her spiritual strength and vision, birthing new saints and martyrs, amidst "The Long Defeat" (Tolkien's lovely phrase) leading to the Second Coming.  That's my prophecy anyway. It isn't sexy, it doesn't satisfy our outrage or our cry for God's stupendous intervention, but it is the way of the Lord.  Our task now is to simply follow Him in patience, and grow in faith, hope and love.

The Catholic Herald tweets his "unstoppable rise" :-)

Laughter & Fervor of Spirit

I heartily recommend a trip to the theater to see the movie Risen.  Many viewers have described it as the best Christian film since The Passion of the Christ.   It may not rise to the level of The Island or Ida but it's certainly the best English language faith film in a decade.  There are many moments in the film where I was impressed by the filmmakers dramatic timing, insights into character, faithfulness to historical detail, but it can't quite sustain this excellence throughout.   Yet it had enough artistic merit  to shake me out of the cold/flu season doldrums.

It's usually best to watch such films alone, and without any distraction.  Just as you go on a retreat to be alone with yourself and your God, so will worthy Christian art benefit from a quiet, open soul.  If you allow the Holy Spirit to work, a good Christian film or story will leave you in a raw heap.  While watching Risen, I was shaken by the pettiness of my own life in contrast to Christ's sacrifice and the dramatic first days of the Church.  I am easily absorbed by minor problems, distracted by sins and imperfections.  It's so easy to lose site of the big picture: namely, Jesus is risen, he has made us his brothers, and we are to "die" for others as he has died for us.

I think we always feel like lousy Christians when we watch Christ walk with his apostles amidst miracles and brotherly love.  We marvel at the revolutionary fervor of the kingdom of heaven made visibly present, and contrast it with our own dullness of spirit.  We often lack the wonder, boldness and great hope of the first disciples or even the early Franciscans, Dominicans and Jesuits.  Some critics of Risen have objected to the giddy joy of the character Barnabas.  But as I can attest, that is the normal response of an encounter with the Living God, of witnessing Christ's triumph over sin.  This ecstatic joy has it's time and place, but it needs to give way to a harder-won joy.

Christ doesn't want us to be strong in the Spirit through miracles or extraordinary graces.  That would be the Spirit on-the-cheap, or easy grace.  The path to the Kingdom of Heaven is an arduous ascent, as depicted in this famous 12th century icon.

St. Peter Chrysologus reminds us in a sermon from the Office of Readings, that holiness comes from the fruitful union of prayer, fasting and acts of mercy.  He writes, "Prayer knocks at the door, fasting obtains, mercy receives.  Prayer, mercy and fasting: these three are one, and they give life to each other."  That may not sound enticing, but it is the means to a joy that is even more irrepressible.

The other day I saw this joy in the person of Fr. Jacques Philippe.  He is a well-known author and retreat-master who has a hush-hush reputation as a mystic and walking saint.  Fr. Philippe would be horrified at the description, but that's the scuttlebutt.  Some of our local priests, fresh out of seminary, were giddy like Barnabas to host him for a Lenten retreat at a Portland parish, and the nearby Maronite monks knew a blessing when they saw it.  On the second day of the retreat, as I watched his small figure in a brown Carmelite habit, I was utterly convinced that he would be raised to the altars one day. As he spoke, my soul glided along the cadence of his words, but my focus was on his person and his irrepressible laughter.  It was as though St. Peter of Alcantara or St. John Joseph of the Cross stood before us, and in fact, he is united with them in Christ's mystical body.  Fr. Philippe couldn't speak of God without little laughs and smiles, letting us in on his secret even as he spoke in French.  After one of the talks I asked for his blessing for this apostolate, and afterwards he gave me one of those smiles.  A smile of Christ who loves his children, a smile between two Christians who know something the world will never understand.

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!