Lent IRL
We’re two days away from the start of Lent. Over the past decade, my views on the Lenten season have evolved to the point where I’m excited to get started. The redemptive and purifying nature of the season, the call to universal holiness and constant renewal, really appeal to me. I’ve pondered my game plan for weeks. This Lent, I’m swinging for the fences.
I quit social media three years ago and deleted my Google account two years ago. Part of my motivation was to relieve myself of the negative emotions that those companies drive. The true evil that they not only cultivate, but prop up in furtherance of their business interests is clear to all. These advertising companies, pretending to be technology companies, must continue their program of social engineering and customer manipulation to increase page views and revenue. The sad truth is that the Internet, set up to be a beacon of freedom and a marketplace of ideas, is now locked down and intellectually impoverished.
It’s not enough for me to get off social media. I want to experience more headspace and put more distance between me and the negativity that abounds online. I’ve decided that the best route is to stop consuming the Internet. I need to go to websites with intentionality and, when I’m done, put down my device and move on.
So, the first part of my Lenten journey is to stop surfing. I have subscribed via RSS to a few sites and that’ll be it. Oof, that’s an adjustment. I anticipate having more time to pray, work, and play.
The second part of my sacrifice is also geared towards a better me: no eating out. Eating out is fast, convenient, and easy. During this Lent, a brand new Chick-fil-a will open up 7 minutes from my house. By not eating out, I will have to daily engage three times a day in the act of love that is preparing meals for my family.
The last part will be to limit TV time to 30 minutes per day for my kids, guarded by a timer. When the timer goes off, so does the TV.
Throughout all of this sacrifice, I expect to gain something tangible each day: time. I’ll seek to invest that time increasing spiritual opportunities for my kids, and doing more of the things that I’d like to do with them each day.
Lent is meant to be purifying, but its spirit of constant renewal also calls us to permanent life change. If I set about these three objectives, and carry them on past Easter, I’ll be a better man.
Building Your Domestic Church
What’s the difference between a priest and a husband? In a word: scale. What the priest does for his community, a husband must do for his family. We tend to think of the Church in the macro: a global movement with hierarchy, structure, customs, and laws. In reality, the Church is both macro and micro: what happens on the large scale is closely mirrored in the daily lives of its families. In fact, when you consider just how closely the life of the family imitates the life of the Church, it becomes evident just how inseparable the two are.
The priest offers sacrifices, feeds his flock, counsels those in trouble, and tends to the needs of the community. In the same way, I am called to do the same for my family.
The Church consists of the Universal and the Domestic. The Universal Church is that macrostructure that we know. It’s the Pope, the Bishops, the ordained, the professed religious, the laity, and the collective good works that we do. Binding us together is the Eucharist and our shared, global liturgy. We’re encouraged and strengthened by the graces transmitted through the sacraments. Within that Universal Church is the myriad of domestic churches, that is to say, families. The life of the family flows from and gives life to the Universal Church. The life and grace of the Universal Church flows to and strengthens the family. In this harmonious union, the churches work together for the salvation of souls and the good of mankind.
In the Acts of the Apostles, we read about how the early Christians lived in community. They sold all that they had, put the proceeds at the feet of the apostles, and it was doled out according to need. This plays out so beautifully in the family. The parents deposit their paycheck into a shared account, and the proceeds are divided out according to the need of each member of the family.
We rely too much on those in the clerical state and the universal Church to provide for the spiritual needs and education of our family. In reality, they’re there to support husbands and fathers. It’s up to us to shepherd our families and catechize our children. Hopefully, your children have many wonderful priests, nuns, and brothers as examples in their lives. But their primary example of what it means to be a Catholic, what it means to live a holy and virtuous life, is you.
The Domestic Church may sound quaint, but it’s vitally important. It’s the training ground for saints, and the classroom of Catholicism. It may feel like an overwhelming task, but it’s the vocation that you were called to. Along with that calling comes the grace necessary to fulfill your calling.
Scripture Under the Stars
Many times on this blog, I’ve shared my love of walking. It’s the exercise that I most enjoy, and I’m now eight years into this routine. The habit comes and goes, but there are two truths that I’ve gained from my experience. After two weeks of walking every day, I notice a real difference in how I feel and my momentum is hard to stop.
It was in the latest iteration of my walking habit that I came across a new podcast. As it usually goes, I was rearranging apps on my phone to put my physical health front and center on my home screen. I needed to download the _Magnificat_ app, when I saw my old friend, _Hallow_. In the description, they noted that you could now listen to Fr. Mike Schmitz’s _Bible in a Year_ podcast.
I fired up my podcast player, and sure enough, there it was. Fr. Mike is posting podcasts every day throughout 2021. Episodes, around 20 minutes each, start with him reading chapters from the Bible, followed by prayer, and a short lesson on the stories that he read.
That evening, I went for my walk. I usually listen to podcasts as I quietly move through my neighborhood, and I set the _Bible in a Year_ podcast to go first. Naturally, Day One covered chapters 1 and 2 of Genesis. I walked in the cold winter evening, beneath a clear sky with the stars on full display, as I listened to and prayed the Creation story.
One of the greatest fruits of this pandemic is the new horizons of ministry that are now open. No longer is the default reaching people at Mass on Sunday. Many courageous digital missionaries have seized the media tools of our modern era and employed them in the spreading of the Gospel. We all benefit from this wide availability of spiritual resources.
In my busy day, I’m hard-pressed for time. I’ve carved out as much as I can for myself and, unfortunately, I don’t regularly find quiet time to sit down and open the Bible. Now, thanks to Fr. Mike and Ascension Press, the first fruits of my day can be given over to prayer. I can start my morning quietly hearing the Word and carry it with me throughout the day.
There’s something romantic and very human about walking under the stars at night. Even more meaningful is the spiritual element of taking that sacred time to walk with God and listen to His Word for my life.
Off the Wagon
After years of practice and observation, I know the keep components that I need to build up physical health. I need to walk for an hour daily, drink lots of water, read in the evening before bed, and go to sleep and wake up at about the same time. These are not new ideas, they are not even really negotiable. When I do them all over a sustained period of time, usually two weeks, I feel the difference.
The body is the Temple of the Holy Spirit, the living Tabernacle that welcomes Christ the King to physically dwell within it each week during Mass. St. Francis was, by modern standards, notoriously stingy. He eschewed almost all comfort and certainly any degree of wealth. He taught his brothers to beg for everything: project materials, food, shelter, clothing. However, when it came to spending on things for the Lord, he was extravagant! Francis insisted that the Churches be furnished with things that befitted the King of the Universe. If God comes to dwell within me, I should prepare myself spiritually and physically to receive him.
When I’m off the wagon and out of sync, it’s difficult to get back on track. I have my share of false starts and, though I’m tempted to give up, I somehow persist. Eventually, I get back on track and staying the course becomes that much easier, it becomes routine.
The same should be true in our spiritual life. I’d be willing to bet that all of us are still confessing at least one sin that we’ve struggled with for more than a decade. Every time we go to Confession, it’s on the list.
From the outside, a fair critique would be that we ought to give up on trying to erase that sin. If we’ve confessed it for the better part of a decade, why not just accept it as a character flaw and focus on something else? Though we may be tempted to feel this sense of hopelessness (and even despair), it’s at that precise moment that our faith tells us to carry on.
Holiness is the work of a lifetime. By our returning to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, month after month, year after year, we attest to the fact that we’ve not yet given up. We seek another fresh start to try to overcome. That is the true Christian life: constant examination, constant work, constant renewal.
Physical health and spiritual health are two sides of the same coin. The human person is integrated, each component and system symbiotically impacting and effecting the other. To care for the physical self is to care for the spiritual self. To care for the spiritual self is to care for the emotional self.
When we’re off the wagon of our daily routine, or off the wagon of our spiritual routine, we must have the courage and hope to persist. One day, with the right combination of actions, we’ll be back on track and ready to welcome the King on Sunday morning.
These Days
Over the weekend, I finished reading a book. The last time I accomplished that feat was in August. I’ve started a walking streak, another habit that I’ve let slide in the past 90 days. My sleep schedule is out of whack, and I’ve lived day-to-day. I could just blame it on everything that was 2020, but in my experience, this is something cyclical. I fall into and out of routine.
The reason I still aspire to build and maintain a strong routine is because of what it offers. It’s a framework that provides time in my day to do everything that I want. I have time to exercise, time to study, time to work, and time to play. It requires that I diligently adhere to a schedule before my kids wake up and after they go to bed, which is a major stumbling block.
My four beautiful children are still small and innocent. They sit at the kitchen bar to watch me make breakfast, they crawl on my lap while I work on my computer. They constantly ping me throughout the day to share every single thing that they see, hear, and do. The cacophony of three little voices, plus the happy noises of an infant, fill my days.
My temptation is to just make it through the day from breakfast until their heads hit their pillows. If I can do that, then I can eke out a few minutes to work on my priorities and projects. That’s the wrong approach. In these days, weeks, and years when their sweet innocence draws them close to me, I need to reach out and embrace them.
This is the time that we build the relationship that we’ll share for my lifetime. These are the days when they store the memories of “my dad” growing up. This is my chance to make a real impact on their formation, to set them up on a course to go through life confident in their identity as human persons.
There’s real work to be done. These are not the days to take for granted.
Uncertainty
Something remarkable happens when you engage in a daily habit of prayer. I’ve written before about attunement, being more aware of God’s presence in your life. When you take the time to make prayer a priority in your life, you experience these moments when you feel as if God is speaking directly to you and to your circumstance. I had that experience at Mass yesterday.
The uncertainty in our politics right now is difficult to endure. For a few hours earlier in the week, it appeared that we may have finally gotten a break in the polarization that has turned us against our neighbors and left us vulnerable to our geopolitical enemies. In that short window of time, it seemed that we were ready to collectively bury the hatchet and come together to constructively solve the problem confronting our Nation. It was like the post-9/11 era in which we were One America.
Yet, human nature soon took control, and the political leaders squandered the moment. They should have employed the leadership of statesmen, but instead chose to wield the bludgeon of politics. The chaos continues.
The readings at yesterday’s Mass were set decades ago. Despite this, our God, who exists outside of time, delivered His prescient message to us,
The Lord will bless his people with peace.
Jesus was born into a nation in captivity. There were those among the tribes of Israel who sought to violently overthrow the Roman occupation. There were others who believed that the Messiah was coming to liberate Israel and establish a new Davidic Kingdom. They thought that Jesus was coming to deliver a political solution. They were thinking small.
Jesus was born in a cave, fled to Egypt to avoid the wrath of Herod, and ended up condemned and executed by the State. Jesus is not a political savior. Jesus is the savior of humankind.
There is and will be political strife, civil unrest, and the imposition of laws and ordinances that stand opposed to the Natural Law. Despite these political and earthly concerns, we must not let anything rob us of the joy of Heaven, and the hope that we place in our God. He will deliver on all that He has promised.
Taste
Our senses guide us as we move through the world and animate our path as we go. We see colors, objects, and people. The background noise of our home and neighborhood plays on as if a soundtrack to our lives. We experience the tactile nature of things around us, and even smell the delicious aroma of our kitchens. We’re driven by our senses, and can sometimes be led into sin by them.
All sin is not sensual, but it’s these kinds of sins that are easiest to understand. The allure of the temptation draws us into a false reality, and we act on it. In those final moments before we commit, we become lost and confused.
If only in those moments before we err, we could so vividly remember what it’s like to taste and see the goodness of the Lord. It’s a phrase we’ve heard many times, perhaps so many that it’s become trite. But if we pull back the words and contemplate the meaning, it’s plain to see that there’s something very relatable.
We know what it means to taste something really delicious. We’ve all shared the experience of eating a freshly baked Christmas cookie or that first bite of steak hot off the grill. But what does it mean to taste and see the goodness of the Lord?
In the first place, we experience it physically. When we receive the Eucharist, we literally taste God. Although the flavor profile is flat, the essence of that meal is anything but. We’re not only touching our Creator, we’re receiving Him physically within us, to dwell in a material and physical way.
In a more figurative way, to taste is to experience. A taste would be a small part, or even the first part, of an experience. Sitting on a roller coaster, as you ascend to the first drop, hearing the clack-clack-clack of the chain along the way, you get your first experience of that ride. You feel the seat in motion, the ambient temperature, and the wind starting to blow through your hair. You get that first taste of what this ride is going to be like.
So, too, with God. The goodness and glory of God is so full and so complete, that if we were to merely get a taste, we’d be fulfilled all the days of our life. God’s invitation to experience His love, perfections, and goodness doesn’t require our full commitment. It’s not necessary for us to go the full distance, the first mile, or even to take the first step. If we were to make the tiniest forward motion towards God, and taste just a portion of HIs goodness, that taste would satisfy us.
It’s easy for to fall into the trap of “tomorrow,” especially when we’re young. The truth is, we don’t know if tomorrow will come. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Are we brave enough to take that first taste?
Time Lost
The last week of the year is traditionally a pensive time for me. In an ordinary year, I would wrap up major projects, revamp my productivity systems, review my annual goals, and map out the next year. This year is different.
I must admit, I’m crashing into the new year not solely because of the events of this year, but because of my recent move. Distraction and busyness filled my life for weeks preparing for the move and finally settling in to a new home and a new routine. I’m only now getting my office unpacked and settled.
There is no dispute that 2020 cries out for a do-over. We lost so much time, so many experiences, and so many opportunities to enjoy the fruits of life. As we turn the page on our calendars and look to the new year, it’s prudent to consider how we spent our days in the context of the wider circumstances in our society.
We live in a materialist culture. Hearing that phrase recalls images of consumerism and consumption, but those are just symptoms. Materialism is a spiritual sickness. Materialism is obsessed with the physical realm, with physical objects and the body. It not only demands more stuff, it holds that the worst possible outcome for the human person is physical death. Materialism is widely embraced in our society.
As Catholics, we see the fallacy of materialism. We are physical beings, but we’re also more than that. We possess souls, which share a unique unity with the body. From this perspective, there are plenty of things worse than physical death. We lived many of them this year.
This year, we endured the tyranny of uncertainty. We lived through the misery of human separation, unable to spend quality time physically present with those that we love. Not only that, but we tasted the bitterness of spiritual isolation from our parishes and, above all else, our Eucharistic Lord.
Despite all of this, as the poet Alexander Pope once wrote, “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.”
2021 arrives, carrying with it the lessons learned in 2020. Fresh on our minds is the truth that life is lived in real time. Every single day is a gift, a blessing, and an opportunity. It’s a gift from a loving God, who entrusts it to us for our use and our care. How can we best spend it? It’s a blessing from a loving God who offers us a fresh chance to live according to His Law and the precepts of His love. Will we choose to live in true freedom? It’s an opportunity to share this gift and blessing with those whom we love and meet. How will we share this love?
We made mistakes in 2020, wasting our days doom-scrolling in hiding and fear. We failed to place our trust in a providential God who cares for His children no matter the circumstance. Choose to not repeat those mistakes. Life is granted to be lived, even if we’re simply spending the day at home. Choose to live every single day as the gift, blessing, and opportunity that it presents.
Waiting
The Fourth Week of Advent is here, and our time of preparation is coming to a close. We’ve spent nearly a month awaiting the arrival of the King, and our waiting is nearly done.
It’s hard to wait, to live in a time of uncertainty. We want clarity and stability in our lives. We want to make plans and to see where we’re going. Time may be a human construct, but it’s God’s prerogative. He acts when it’s prudent, not according to our schedule or convenience.
Many of our friends and neighbors will taste the Christmas joy on Friday, only to see it fade on Saturday. By next week Wednesday, the light that glowed in their hearts will be a mere flicker. Decorations will come down, brightly lit homes will go dark once again. They may have waited for a singular day on a calendar, but we were waiting for the King!
We’ve spent time waiting, and now that our joy will soon be complete, we get to relish it. The Church only begins to celebrate Christmas on Friday, followed by eight days of straight celebration. Christmas continues for 40 days through February 2 and the feast of the Presentation of the Lord.
We have spent time in waiting, and now we celebrate. When you look into the manger on Christmas morning, when you gather at the altar to celebrate Christmas Mass, you’ll know that Christ is truly born, He is among us!
Carrying Too Much
As I sit to write this post, I’m at the kitchen counter in our new house. We’re in the midst of a move. I’ve moved more than a dozen times in my life and this is the first one that can be considered a local move. It’s an experience I’m familiar with, but one that I still don’t particularly enjoy.
The weeks leading up to the move were quite stressful. I had my normal duties along with common moving tasks like lining up housing, coordinating schedules, and handling utilities. Of course, I still took care of the kids and managed schoolwork throughout the day. I also layered on additional preparation jobs, like sorting and organizing. I’m glad to be very near the end of this journey.
As I worked among the boxes, both before the move and while unpacking, there were many times that I was struck by the sheer quantity of things that we’ve gathered. We’re a family of six, so packing light isn’t exactly possible, but the accumulation is remarkable. On an ordinary day, we might walk into a store and buy something, only to still have that thing five or ten years later. We pick things up, but so rarely lay them down.
Advent, like Lent, is a season of preparation. It’s a season in which the liturgy points us towards the hope that is the Incarnation, God with us. But it’s also a penitential season. St. John the Baptist is still in the wilderness, crying out to us to make straight the path of the Lord. Advent is another opportunity for us in our year to lay things down.
Original sin is with each of us, and from it we derive our inclination to sin. This is known as concupiscence, a sort of tendency towards sin away from virtue. In our lives, as we go about our days, we pick up vices. We take on these bad habits like holding a grudge or giving into road rage. We pick up vices big and small, never really laying them down.
Advent is the time to lay down our sinful habits, big and small. It’s a call to reorient ourselves towards God, to be reminded of our identity as His children. It’s an excuse to break even the smallest of vices that keeps us from living in the true freedom of God’s law.