Catholic Husband

Our core identity is as children of God, in an intimate relationship with our Creator and bearing His image and likeness. When we reject, or choose to ignore, our identity, chaos steps in to fill the void. How much more lost can you be in the world than not even knowing who you are?

Our identity is also a paradox. The things that we naturally desire, for the most part, are the things that are injurious to us. I used to believe that animals were rational beings in that can only act in their self-interest. My theory went out the window when our family dog ate a towel.

The Baltimore Catechism beautifully articulates the purpose of our lives: to know, love and serve God in this life, and to be happy with Him forever in the next. The first two parts of that proposition are easy to accept. The natural law confers a right to a child to know their parents, if God is our father, we ought to have knowledge of and be in relationship with Him. We do not exist in a vacuum; our identity exists within the context of the human family. We are relational beings, solitude is one of the gravest threats to our emotional and mental wellbeing.

Next, we are to love God. This, too, is easy to accept when considered in broader terms. The Creator of the universe, source of truth, king of kings, love itself offers us His love and invites us to accept the gift. The proposal is not derived from our merits or because of anything we’ve done, but because of who we are. Accepting and returning that love, as a child does for their parent, is also good and holy.

The third purpose, however, can be a stumbling block. As we know from Angelology, service was the purpose that made St. Michael the most powerful warrior and cast untold numbers of angels into Hell. This is no small principle.

The word, serve, carries with it a negative, but undeserved, negative connotation. It’s the right word to express this role, but a wrongful interpretation could equate it with enslavement. We are bound to God by the nature of our existence, but God’s nature does not allow Him to impose His love upon us. How can true love come only on the point of the sword? To serve God is not to have our free will stolen from us, but rather our willing donation of it to His greater purpose. Our lives and our actions are intended to be an extension of His saving work. Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. This meant to bring the Gospel to a world starving to know who they were, but it also meant for me to make my kids breakfast. The corporal works of mercy are daily expressed within the family, even in the little things.

Service is a noble purpose that pulls us out of our orbit and obsession with the things that draw us inward and turns us into an extension of Love. There’s a reason people always feel better after some act of volunteerism, why we oddly feel better after an hour of picking up trash on the side of the road than we do after an hour of watching TV. We give of ourselves for the sake of others. When we serve, we become part of something greater.

The paradox of surrender, of service, is that we give up that which hurts us in exchange for that which heals. It is easy to know and to love God, the right and natural next step is to serve Him by serving those around us.

The prayers of the Church are always with us. In our private and communal prayer, the words we pray find their origin in Scripture and tradition, echoing through our lives. It’s not uncommon for a word or phrase so familiar to us to strike us, at a particular time and place, in an entirely new way.

During the Eucharistic Prayer at every Mass, the formula that Jesus spoke at the first Mass is prayed by the priest. Before the host is elevated, after the Holy Spirit has been called down, the words are spoken: “This is My Body, given up for you.”

The Eucharist is offered for the whole Church and for all people throughout time and space, but the word that Jesus chose was “you.” It is a sacrifice given for all generally, yet at the same time given specifically for “you.”

God, the author of life and source of true love and joy, designed a plan of salvation centered on saving me; it was all done not for me as part of the general population, but for me as an individual. It was not done for who I am, but because of whose I am. His body was given up so that I might live.

In many ways, God is an enigma, a mystery of unimaginable depth and complexity. What mind can truly comprehend pure love? Yet in His magnificent intricacy, enough was revealed for me to know in my heart that I am His, that I am loved, and that my greatest end is to know, love, and serve Him. In the moments when I feel faint, I can always reach back to those words I hear every week: “This is My Body, given up for you.”

Life was never simple; it was never easy. Our parents, grandparents, and great parents endured generational struggles. The American revolution, the Civil War, the Great Depression, two global conflicts, social unrest, they endured it all. We live in dark times, but darkness and evil are two threads that have run through human history.

What’s different now, what makes this period so dangerous, is that we’re trying to white-knuckle our way through it without God. When brother fought against brother, public leaders regularly appealed to Heaven for help. When our grandfathers stormed the beaches of Normandy and raised the flag over Iwo Jima, they did so with a gun, rations, and a rosary in their kit. When John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. were gunned down, it happened in a nation that disagreed profoundly, but shared a common understanding of the divine.

Today, we don’t have that. The rectangles on our walls, in our rooms, on our desks, and in our pockets can connect us to the worst people, the worst ideas, and the deepest darkness. Without God, without prayer, without grace, how can we ever hope to overcome as our forefathers did?

At Mass this weekend, I looked around the pews. There were the elderly, parents with adult children, young families, and a shocking number of single adults. I normally sit towards the front with my children, so they are perhaps always there, just unseen behind me. What inspires is that these single adults live in a world that proclaims the uselessness of religion, and they chose different. Their parents didn’t tell them to go to Mass, their friends likely didn’t, they decided to be there.

We just celebrated the canonization of Pier Giorgio and Carlo Acutis, two saints who remind us that life is never to be taken for granted. We are not promised anything more than here and now, and we can choose sainthood.

Attack upon attack, violence upon violence, the cadence is increasing with frightening speed. But we do not have to go into this world without help or protection. God’s got our back, He already won and promised us a place in His victory. Never cower in fear; choose to be inspired.

Pain is a warning system of the body; it’s a signal to our brains that there’s a problem somewhere in the system. Although discomforting, it aims to protect us from worse outcomes by getting our attention — now. We can feel physical pain or emotional pain, but its objective is the same.

Sainthood is something that feels so far beyond us. We know the stories of the saints, and how easy it is to sin in our golden age of ease. How could our story ever compare to the heroic virtue of theirs? The truth is, the path of each saint is different, and it doesn’t require much effort to find someone in circumstances like us who reached that noble goal.

Our objective is not Purgatory, it’s Heaven. Purgatory is like when an outfielder jumps up on the wall and catches a ball before it flies out of the park. It’s the final opportunity for us to make good on our intention to love and serve God. No one said that it would be pleasant. In fact, everything that we’ve heard about Purgatory is unpleasant. It’s pain with hope, but pain nonetheless. An added grace to the reality of Purgatory is how the living and the saints can transfer grace through Christ across time and space for those poor souls in Purgatory.

We have concupiscence, our tendency to act against what we ought to do. That predisposition makes choosing sin easier, but it’s not a given. We entered into this world with a stain on us that was wiped away by our Baptism. The decisions we made brought it back. Our Christian life is hard, but if we are successful, we are promised the merits of Heaven.

We must be truly perfect to enter into God’s presence. The great gift of life is not that it is a test to which we already have the answers. It’s that we are provided the opportunity to say yes to Love within the relative comfort of our lives. We are surrounded by blessings and covered in grace.

Our options are to strive for holiness in this life today and enjoy the blessings throughout my lifetime, or undergo purification in the refinery of Purgatory. Maybe I should just try a little harder.

In his 1946 book Remade for Happiness, Bishop Fulton Sheen dedicates considerable time challenging the assertion that religion is a personal experience without need for community. As Sheen moves through his argument, his central theme is the idea of ecclesia, that there is a commonness shared among all Catholics that reaches back to the founding of the Church and moves far beyond our present.

We think about this concept in another, more talked about, idea. The Communion of Saints is the whole Church, those in Heaven, those in Purgatory, and those on earth. The different groups can interact with one another, and offer efficacious actions for the other’s benefit. Prayer courses through the entire community, flowing grace into every corner.

This togetherness, being part of a massive family, is what strengthens us in our daily vocation. We can ask the saints for their intercession, offer our sufferings for those in purgatory, and receive the spiritual support of those on earth. The mystical body of Christ can spread graces throughout time and space, even to members who have never met.

Last week, after the assassination of Charlie Kirk, the CEO of Hallow posted that he had met Charlie recently, who shared that he used the Hallow app regularly for prayer. Hallow is decidedly a Catholic app, pulling from the rich spiritual traditions of Catholicism and Charlie was an evangelical Christian. Yet, through prayer and unknown to either of us, we were united. This is the power of ecclesia.

The allegory of Creation tells us the essential truth that it is not good for us to be alone. We were made for one another, for community, and through our Baptism, we joined the largest, most famous family in human history. Through our family, we are connected to saints famous and obscure, to those undergoing purification in purgatory, and billions of our fellow humans alive today. It is good.

There is a grave sickness afflicting our society and culture. Too many people don’t believe in God; in denying His reality, they deny a part of what it means to be human. Humanity’s existence is due to God, but it also comes from God’s desire for intimacy with each one of us. By denying the existence of God, they deny the reality of evil. The two sides to the coin of this sickness is what drives so much of our misery. By separating ourselves from the font of grace, we are caught out in the open, defenseless, against the onslaught of evil.

God is perfection, and His existence does not depend on our acknowledgment of Him or assent to His plans. He can do anything that does not contradict His nature; He can continue to exist perfectly without us, but we cannot exist without Him. He is the author of life, and creates with little more than a simple act of cognition. He thinks, it becomes.

This is quite different from evil. We understand that the source of evil, whom we call Satan, was once God’s most powerful angel. But in a choice, he and his gang chose to reject God. When they separated themselves from Love, they became the total absence of love. Their kingdom, a place we call hell, is the antithesis of Heaven. A place of dread for which words fall short; no love, no joy, no hope, no happiness. A desolate wasteland of misery, agony, and suffering.

God possesses the ultimate creative powers, and shares them with humanity. Satan and his band lack this ability to create. Therefore, they must use cunning, deceit, oppression, possession, and infestation to achieve their ends. They view humanity in the way the Ancient Greek gods did; humans are slaves to be played with. Their works are designed to enslave as many humans as possible, and to use them to accomplish their evil ends.

To deny God is to deny the reality of evil. Without the protection of grace and the sacraments, what hope could any of us have against the power of absolute evil?

Last month, as the students, faculty, and family began the celebration of the Mass at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis, evil struck. The entrance procession, a representation of Jesus’ jubilant entrance into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, concluded and a lone gunman opened fire through the Church windows. Two children died, killed in hatred of their faith, and many more were wounded. Those who were not struck will carry the terror of that moment with them for the rest of their lives.

On one of the magazine rounds recovered at the scene was the sadistic inscription, “Where is your God?”

Our faith tells us that the Mass is the source and summit of the life of the Church. It is the point in which Heaven comes down to earth, and earth is pulled up into Heaven. Wherever our Eucharistic Lord is, there too is Mary, Queen of Heaven and Earth. Present with her is the angelic host, the company of saints, the white-robed army of martyrs, the entire community of the Church is all present at the altar, singing the praise of God. We are privileged to partake in such a celebration, the great foretaste of what is to come, though our eyes are prevented, at least for now, from seeing this truth.

It was at this moment, in the presence of God Himself, that evil struck. An act of terrorism, carried out against the innocent solely because of their Catholic faith. Though shocking in our society of laws, this story is tragically not new. Since Christ established the Catholic Church, the faithful and Her priests have been beaten, stabbed, gunned down, and blown up in sanctuaries around the world. With whatever tool it can grab, evil strikes again and again.

In the face of terrorism, many blame the weapon. If only they didn’t have that gun, it would’ve been better. If they didn’t have that gun, they would’ve grabbed another. Or a knife, or a club, or a bomb, or a truck. The pencil lies on the table and does nothing; only when the hand picks it up does the pencil write.

Our response to this inscrutable evil, so often ridiculed, is prayer. But why prayer? Why not regulation, confiscation, or legislation? These things may help, but evil does not recognize City Ordinance or federal code. We cannot impose judicial sanction on a demon. The correct choice in this fight against evil is the most powerful weapon: prayer.

I once saw a bumper sticker from the 1st Ranger Battalion. It had the regimental crest with a play on the classic, “Give Peace A Chance” bumpersticker from the anti-war movement. It said simply, “Give War A Chance.” The only response to evil is to fight back, hard, with prayer.

Demons flee from the very name of Mary, one of St. Joseph’s titles is “Terror of Demons.” That is when we merely invoke their name. This is true power. In prayer, we join with the entire community of the Catholic Church, stretching all the way back to the shores of the Sea of Galilee and far beyond us into the future. We add our voices to the Heavenly host of angels, the saints who’ve come before us, and Catholics around the world to push back against evil and to bring God’s kingdom forward.

Thoughts and prayers aren’t a throwaway comment, but a personal promise to take upon our shoulders the burdens and sorrows of others. It’s a pledge to dedicate the precious, intimate time we share with our Creator in petition for them. We give over our time, efforts, cares, and emotions for the good of those for whom we promise to prayer. It’s a commitment to stay in the fight and to never give up on the promises of Christ, who said He would hear and answer every prayer.

When the news is this dark, it’s easy to feel overrun. Despair is a tool of evil because if we lose hope in God’s promise, we will stop fighting against evil. But there’s a plot twist. Not only is evil deprived of the ability to create, it has already lost. Christ’s return is coming, at a time and place that only He knows. At that time Satan, all his evil spirits, and all those humans who by their choice rejected God’s love and offer of friendship will be cast, once and for all, into hell. Time is limited and running out, and with that urgency evil courses through our homes, neighborhoods, and countries.

God is real, and so is evil. The battle rages on daily within us and on the streets. Pick up your Rosary, go to Mass, and give war a chance.

This summer was the first time Benedict went off to overnight camp by himself. The camp was a Catholic co-ed camp that came highly recommended by his uncle. We drove him over on a Sunday afternoon, got his bunk set up, and said goodbye.

As I backed out of the parking lot, he was standing, hands in his pockets, with his counselor and two other boys. A football was being thrown, other parents were getting their kids set up, and everyone was milling about. I wasn’t sure at that moment how things would go.

Throughout the week, the camp posted photos of the activities. Alison and I would wait up late into the evening for the day’s photo dump, and try to quickly find pictures of Benedict. The kids were playing paintball, goofing off at the waterfront, climbing on the high ropes course, and more. There were photos of the liturgies and adoration. The first day, there was a group picture; he looked good. There was a second, more casual picture, he looked like part of the crew. There was a picture of him in the high ropes harness, he looked happy.

We sent him notes throughout the week; ones from us, ones from family, even ones from the dog. He wasn’t able to reply, but each day’s photo haul brought more reassurance. Wednesday’s picture had him in Adoration, touching the Monstrance, looking serene.

Pickup was on Friday at noon. I took his sisters, and we found a seat in the back of the Church. The kids were giving testimonies about their experiences, I looked at the line and saw Benedict in the back. This is not something I’d expect Benedict to do, but sure enough, he did. He shared about his doubts before camp and now, having encountered God, is changed. We celebrated Mass, grabbed his gear, and began the trek home.

It was about 75 minutes of driving to get to lunch at Chick-fil-A and Benedict talked the whole time. He talked non-stop about his week of fun, faith, and friends.

It’s been a month since camp, but the change in his interior life is shining through. It’s incredible what just five days can do when you’re open to it. If only we as adults had the faith and innocence of children, what great things could we experience?