Homeschooling
Last Monday, just after breakfast this morning, my children gathered in our schoolroom at the sound of the bell. We stood together for morning prayer, and then my students took their seats at their desks to begin a new school year.
This is our third year of homeschooling. I now have three students and a tag-a-long little sister. This will undoubtedly be my most challenging year; it’ll be the first year that I’ll need to balance teaching and work.
Alison and I talked about homeschooling going back to the very beginning of our relationship. We weren’t committed, but it was an idea. In fact, we almost put Benedict into school his kindergarten year, only to pull him out just before the school year started. It would come to be our best parental decision to date, as a few months later, the pandemic shut everything down. I’m grateful that my children didn’t suffer any learning loss.
There are struggles in teaching, especially in subjects where I’m weakest, like math. We supplement with video instruction, but it’s still hard to teach a child something that I struggle with. There are moments of great edification, when my children know stories from the Bible better than I do!
Alison designed our curriculum, pulling together subjects from the vendors we determined to be the best. Benedict is starting Latin this year, and continuing to learn how to play piano. As we go through the weeks, I see the progress that they make. Felicity and Lucy are turning into strong readers.
There are many things to be said about homeschooling, but I think the simplest takeaway that I have is this. I like that my children are receiving a liberal arts education, starting from Day One of Kindergarten.
Behold, Your Mother
Catholics catch a lot of shade from other Christians over the idea that we don’t live the Bible. A closer look under the hood would revel just how intertwined Scripture and Catholicism truly are, and not just because we gave the world the Bible. From the way we decorate the sanctuary, to the priest’s vestments, to the words we pray, the daily life of the Church is deeply linked to the Old and New Testaments.
One of the biggest stumbling blocks for Christians is the way that the Catholic Church reveres Mary. That’s an odd thing to object to, when Mary’s place in Salvation History links the Old Covenant to the New.
The Fourth Commandment is to honor thy father and thy mother. Seems strange to ignore the mother of Jesus?
In the ancient kingdom of Israel, the queen is not the wife of the king, but the king’s mother. Jesus took His rightful place on the throne of David, making Mary his queen.
On the Cross, Mary stood at the feet of Jesus, along with John, the apostle that He loved. He said to Mary, referring to John, “Behold, your son.” To John, “Behold, your mother.” There’s a cultural context here. In ancient times, a woman was dependent first on her husband for social and economic support. We know that Joseph, her spouse, died before Jesus even began His public ministry. Jesus would’ve taken on that role of protector. Now, at the cross, she loses her only child, a son. She was at grave risk of becoming destitute, until Christ entrusted her to John. John, an apostle, was one of the first bishops of the Church. So to entrust Mary to John was to ask him to care for her materially, but also to make her mother of the Church. This is reinforced when Christ calls John her son.
We do not worship Mary, or ask her intercession superstitiously. Rather, we respect the place of honor that Christ Himself gave to her: the queen Mother of the Church. Holding Mary in this place of honor is not an invention of the Church or a theological musing, but Catholics taking seriously the truths entrusted to us in Scripture. Mary is our mother, and we treat her with the love and respect that she deserves.
Come Let Us Adore
Although I’m a cradle Catholic, I’ve never really read the entire Bible. I learned about parts of it in school, and of course have heard it during Mass, but until this year, I’ve never sat down to study the Bible in a narrative form.
Looking at the Bible, the Old Testament is far longer than the New Testament. It’s the story of the people of Israel, and although I’m not Jewish, it becomes clear how their story is my story. The mistakes that they made in relationship with God are the same ones that I make today. The daily life of the Church is entirely biblical: from the way we decorate our Churches to the prayers we pray.
In the history of Israel, the Ark of the Covenant plays a central role. God dictated exactly how the Ark should be built, decorated, and even carried. Initially, the Israelites were faithful to God’s instructions. But, given time, complacency set in. In the book of 2nd Samuel, the great King David was working on returning the Ark to its rightful place in Jerusalem. We read, though, that the Ark was not being carried by the priests as God asked, but on an oxen-pulled cart.
On the journey, it looked like the cart was going to tip over, and an Israelite man reached out to steady the Ark; God struck him dead. This shocked David to his core, and he became angry with God. Sound familiar? This Israelite appeared to be trying to do something good, keep the Ark from tipping over, and yet God responded harshly. David was so upset and frightened, that he stopped the journey. He left the Ark in the house of Obed-edom, a Philistine.
2 Samuel tells us that the Ark was physically present in Obed-edom’s house for three months, “and the Lord blessed Obed-edom and all his household.” This was not a household of the chosen people, but that of an occasional enemy. Yet, in God’s presence, they couldn’t help but be blessed.
In every Catholic Church, all throughout the world, is a tabernacle, an Ark of the New Covenant, God physically present in our midst. He sits there in repose, longing to spend time with us, longing for relationship with us, longing to ease the burdens of our lives with the grace He has prepared for us.
Adoration is an opportunity to enter into God’s rest. It’s a chance to give ourselves permission to not worry, to not fret, to not be concerned with the stresses of our daily lives, but to pause and encounter the eucharistic Christ. Like Obed-edom, when we spend time in God’s presence, we can’t help but be blessed.
Comfort
Last night, when my work for the day was done, I laid down in my very comfortable bed. I recently replaced my pillow, which made for an extra cushy experience. The late summer heat was kept at bay by my air conditioner, backed up by my ceiling fan. I used a supercomputer that easily fits into my pocket to turn off all the lights in my house, arm my security system, lock my doors, and turn on a white noise machine, so no loud noises would disturb my sleep.
We live in a world of peak comfort. We have access to every piece of human knowledge, the ability to travel the world through powered flight, and view any work of art on a screen. Musicians play their music for us, at will, through our speakers, and we have more minutes of video to watch than we could ever possibly get around to.
What have we done with this comfort? Despite overcoming almost every natural barrier, we haven’t found happiness. Like the people of Israel, we have a direct connection to knowledge of God, but we choose not to let it change us. They had the prophets, we have the Eucharistic Christ and all of His words. Still, we are asleep.
It’s good for us to harness technology and use it to power our betterment. We can use our phones to pray using the Hallow app, or to doom scroll away our day on social media. We can use air conditioning to protect us from dangerous heat, or to resist spending time in God’s creation. We can use medicine to correct dysfunction, or to cause death and destruction.
The people of Israel had little comfort in the world, and they turned away from God. We have all the comfort in the world, and we still turn away. It’s time to wake up.
Letting Go of Efficiency
It’s a Friday morning and time to run errands in the big city. Before we leave the house, I cycle through the various routes, selecting the most efficient option. Our departure time is calculated carefully, accounting for bathroom breaks, finding shoes, and getting out the door. Along the way, seconds are shaved off our travel time as I select the best lane, optimal cruise speed, and maneuver around slower traffic.
This is how my mind works, always working for optimization. I plan, recompute, and adjust my day to get things done in the best way possible. It just happens. For most things, that’s fine. We safely and efficiently move through our errands, check tasks off of my list, and get more stuff done.
In parenting, efficiency isn’t always the right choice.
I can clean the kitchen, wash the cars, and reorganize my closet with speed and precision on my own, but should I? Shouldn’t I let my two-year old pull dishes out of the clean dishwasher, one at a time, at random, instead of insisting on pulling out entire category groups? She’s so gleeful to help.
I can go to the office and knock out an hour’s worth of work in 45 minutes, but shouldn’t I take my son along with me to check out an airplane and play with his LEGOs while I work? He’ll ask questions, share his thoughts, and slow me down. It’s not efficient, but is it better?
I can wash a car in 90 minutes, getting it to showroom perfection, but shouldn’t I let my daughter pick up the hose and go a little crazy? Shouldn’t I hand her the wash mitt and let her take some of the dirt off of the car, too?
We all remember that point in time when we realized that our parents were their own people. They have their own thoughts, needs, hopes, and dreams. As children, our minds weren’t able to comprehend that others have the same desires that we have. Now on the other side of that equation, I can see into my children’s minds, but they cannot yet see into mine.
I’m a very efficient person, but when it comes to each day and each task, it’s okay if I invite my children into my world, and I perform at a level just a few notches below peak.
Diligence
On Friday night, at 8:30pm to be exact, a very motivated local landscaping supply business owner dropped off a pallet of sod in my driveway. Several beds around our house sat empty since we removed over a dozen shrubs at the end of March. With this delivery, we were ready to end this project.
With any big project, it’s easy to get worn out. Running a marathon requires more than just energy and stamina. When you get to mile 20, 23, or 24, you need something much deeper to push you to the finish line. You require the internal motivation to keep going, and the diligence to finish what you started.
The spiritual life is the biggest project any of us ever undertake. Enduring a lifetime of trial, triumph, defeat, and temptation requires that we, as St. Paul said, run the race. We have to put in the effort, do the work, and not let despair set in.
Quitting half-way through, or taking a break, is like leaving those empty beds of dirt. We did the hard work in March to clear out the beds, dig out the shrubs, and clear them to dirt. By the time the sod man was hired and made his delivery, the weeds had grown up again, so we had to clean the bed out for a second time.
Why keep fighting battles that have already been won? Focus, fight, win, and never give up an inch of ground.
Spring Water
Growing up, I’d drink nothing but milk. Now, for lunch that can’t possibly be true, but I have a distinct memory from childhood of drinking tons of milk. My dad was as big water drinker. He had his own, private supply of water in a Brita filter in the refrigerator that the kids weren’t allowed to us. Naturally, I’ve adopted the same idiosyncrasy in my fatherhood.
A few years ago, I turned to an almost exclusive water drinker. Interestingly, its taste can vary widely from town to town; from bottle to bottle. All water systems in the United States conform to government rules for safe drinking standards, but the chemical composition of water can cause slight changes in taste. Some water is delicious right out of the tap, and some water takes getting used to.
Earlier this year, we took a ski trip to rural northern Michigan. Even now, months later, I can still remember just how good that water tasted! It was so cool, clear, clean, crisp, and fresh. It was like I had taken a straw and drank straight from the lake. Not only that, but it was almost enough to make me want to move to that town and stay forever.
Jesus used water many times in his ministry, and for good reason. Water is life; water feeds the crops and feeds the body. When you think about the best glass of water you’ve ever had, it’s analogous to the refreshing nature of God’s love. A cool, clear, clean, crisp, and fresh relief for a tired and weary soul.
Slow Progress
We awake to find ourselves suddenly in a Post-Roe world. The question of abortion is thrown back into the political process, and it’s dawning on all of us that we spent 40 years praying for this day, and almost no time preparing for it.
The early political setbacks are hard to take. How is it that our intellectual opponents have so many people convinced that it’s a woman’s right to end the life of her child if it’s inconvenient? How can a society so moral and sensitive not only be permissive of this idea, but fanatically in favor of it?
In times like these, I find it helpful to consider things from a broader perspective. We exist in a tiny moment in history. Our lives of 60, 70, or 80 years are a blink of an eye. The positive impact that the Church has effected in society is remarkable. We are simply fighting the final battle.
In the days of the early church, children had zero value in society. They were entirely disposable, with infanticide occurring regularly. Newborn children could be taken to a certain part of land on the outskirts of town and abandoned to die.
Over the centuries, the Christian concept of the human person started to be accepted by society and enshrined in law. No longer were people valued for their utilitarian values; they were valued for existing. Christians placed a value on the life of a child, and the world followed.
Fifty years of terrible law informed the morality of modern-day America, teaching people that some life is disposable. It will take time, effort, and still more prayer to remove this cancer so entrenched in our morality. But it’s a fight that the Church must continue, to eradicate evil in the world, and to bring the Good News and freedom of the Gospel to all people.
Pause
I’m back from summer vacation, a whole week experiencing Northern Michigan. It was a great reprieve from the heat, and a chance to go to places that I’ve never been to before.
When I clocked out last week, I made the intentional choice to step away from my work. I didn’t check my email while I was away, or shoe-horn in any work related tasks. I did use the downtime to get some other priorities checked off my list.
It was not easy at first, and I knew I was storing up a massive backlog when I returned. But my choice was simple: vacation means vacation. Permission to not think about work, do work, or worry about work. I was free to be in the moment, say yes to most activities, and to recharge my batteries.
Now that I’m back, I’m back. Although I’m now overrun with projects, emails, and to-dos, I’m delighted that I gave myself the gift of a pause.
Worth Celebrating
At every point in our Nation’s life, all 246 years, there have been voices predicting its imminent collapse. There’s no doubt that we have struggled in this unique experiment of human governance. Never has a group of people as diverse as our population come together and governed for so long with such prosperity. It’s never happened before, and therefore, some conclude it can never survive.
Yet, from our humble beginnings, we built a nation of innovation. A technological, economic, and military powerhouse with the ability to set the world order. With this great power and influence, we chose to use it for good, for the advancement of humanity, not our self-interest.
Throughout these years, we’ve made many mistakes. As we crafted our laws, which inform the morality of our population, we wrongly denied basic human rights to ethic groups. We separated child and people in communal spaces, we warred with one another, and we even, for a while, pretended that the Constitution didn’t guarantee fundamental rights to all people.
Despite our errs, our democracy has shown a remarkable propensity for self-healing. Without need of external military intervention, we demolished the institution of slavery, broke down the barriers of segregation, and revoked the flawed logic that said that some lives weren’t worth living.
The voices of despair rise and fall, and we hear them daily today. But they look at a narrow window of our nation’s history, a snapshot in time that fails to capture the stunning progress that we’ve made. We are a flawed people, but despite our shortcomings and mistakes, we still seek to build a more perfect union.