Catholic Husband

I wasn’t planning on revealing my biggest fear in life before an international radio audience, but I did. Earlier this summer, I was part of an in-studio audience on SiriusXM’s The Catholic Guy Show with Lino Rulli and was invited up to the microphone. One thing led to another, and I confessed my fear of going to prison.

I’m becoming more acutely aware of God’s work in my life. Part of this has come from a habit of daily prayer and the other has come from the types of books that I’ve been reading. In the past, I’ve been reluctant to acknowledge God’s intimate work in my life, but it’s difficult to deny. This summer alone I’ve experienced great victories against all odds that can only be credited to His being at work in my life.

God does have a plan for each of us. He needs us to be doing something specific in our lives to better the lives of others. Like the “butterfly effect,” my mission affects the mission and lives of others. Though we cannot see it now, when we hopefully one day get to see all of the pieces of the puzzle fit together, it will all make sense. For me, right now, I believe a big part of my mission is to share and grow Catholic Husband.

My fear of going to prison is an irrational fear, that’s for sure. I have no criminal intent nor do I wish to commit the types of crimes that land people in prison. I don’t wish to bring hurt and destruction to other people’s lives and my personality is wholly incompatible with prison. Yet, for years I’ve been terrified of going to jail. Two weeks ago, I had an epiphany. I’m terrified of what prison means: separation from family, marginalization, and a lack of freedom.

My fear of prison wasn’t meant to be about prison in the physical sense, but in the spiritual sense. Sin is a prison. It separates me from the love of my family, it marginalizes the person that I’ve called to be, and it deprives me of my freedom. When I choose sin over the love of God, I deprive my family of the gift of my whole self. It prevents me from being truly free, from being truly joyful, and from accepting reality.

Now I know what I need to do. Focus more on God’s ways than my own and refuse to be a slave to sin.

“In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Several times a day, we open and close our prayers with the Sign of the Cross. As one of the shortest and most frequently prayed prayers in Christendom, this humble prayer gets little attention. Yet, few combinations of words can pack such a powerful kick in such a small package.

We read in the Bible about how people used to so revere God’s name so much so that they would not dare to speak it. Instead, they used titles or abbreviation. Remember, it was in using God’s name that the first Christians were enabled to heal and cast out demons. Today the Church cares for our spiritual needs by using God’s name to forgive sins and transform bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. There’s power in the Name.

So when we sit down to pray, whether it be before a meal, a test, a job interview, or at any other time when we pray, don’t hurry through the sign of the Cross. It’s in His name that we pray that, through His good graces, we might have all that we need.

It’s easy to fatigue on Catholic cliches. We use them ad nauseam until something beautiful and profound becomes trite. The thing is, while I’m tired of them, I recognize that we need these platitudes. Our faith has truths that surpass our understanding and these turns of phrase bring the mysteries of our faith within our grasp. Although they may be common to us now, they carry within them the beauty of our Catholic faith.

Perhaps no aspect of our faith is more surrounded by maxims than the Eucharist. It’s the “source and summit” of our faith and certainly the most challenging for us. Yet, if we believe that the Bible is true, and we listen to the words of Jesus, we can have justified true belief that the Eucharist is truly Him: body, blood, soul, and divinity. The Eucharist is something else in our lives that has become dangerously too common.

We go to Mass on Sunday and a few other Holy Days of Obligation throughout the year, but we let the richness of the sacrifice brush right over us. We tune out, read the bulletin, or think about a million other things that are going on in our lives. When the time comes to receive Communion, we get in line, walk up, and then go back to our pews. The truth is, it’s impossible to have a physical interaction with a living God and not be transformed and perfected.

While we may regard Mass as an obligation and nothing more, we need to recognize and understand the raw power that the Eucharist innately contains. If the woman with a hemorrhage was healed simply by touching a small piece of Jesus' cloak, how much more transformed will we be when we receive Jesus' true and full presence within us?

There are two categories of sin: mortal and venial. Mortal sins remove us from the community of the Church, requiring that we gain readmission through a penitent heart and the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Hopefully we rarely find ourselves in mortal sin. Venial sins are all of those lesser sins that we commit throughout the day. Like tiny stab wounds, they hurt us, but they won’t kill us. The Church teaches that while Reconciliation forgives all sin, the Eucharist forgives venial sins. That’s right, the sheer power of physically having the presence of God within you is enough to heal the wounds caused by venial sin. I like to think of it as Jesus in the temple driving out the moneychangers. He enters into us and drives evil out because evil cannot cohabitate with His physical presence. We truly become living tabernacles, God dwelling within the temple of our bodies. Perfection envelopes imperfection. Broken is made whole. We’re given a fresh start literally every time we go to Mass and receive the Eucharist.

Beyond just what we receive from the Eucharist, it’s also a true union. No one would dispute that in our relationship with God, we’re often the beneficiary. We can be, at times, Jesus' hands, feet, and voice to those around us. When we receive the Eucharist, Jesus enters into us, giving us the grace to go out and help those in our world. Truly when we do anything for the “least of these,” we do it for Him. We unite bodily with Christ in the Eucharist and, in that way, we also unite our minds and hearts. If we’re disposed to it, we can gain a glimpse into His mind and act charitably.

The Eucharist is life changing. We simply cannot walk away unchanged. The degree of the transformation rests solely on our shoulders. If we’re open to change, then He will take that opportunity and grace will take root. If we’re not, we may not even notice the change because it will be so small. I invite you to think deeper on this reality and to regain your love of the Mass and especially the meaning of the Eucharist. When we’re attuned to God’s love and plan of salvation through the Church, we’ll better understand the paramount importance of the Eucharist. Mass will not be an obligation on a Sunday morning, rather, you just might find yourself getting excited as you get dressed. No one walks away unchanged after receiving the Eucharist. The only question is, how much will you let it change you?

I’m thankful for private confession. If I had to confess my sins publicly, in front of my own community, I probably wouldn’t seek out God’s mercy. Instead, the Sacrament draws me in. I can go to God directly, ask for His forgiveness, and gain the graces to do better. It respects my dignity and allows me to work through my weaknesses without bearing a heavy burden of public shame. We’re lucky to have private confession!

Private confession fosters openness. When you enter into the Sacrament, you don’t have to hold anything back. The priest isn’t judging you as he stands in the Person of Christ. The Seal of the Sacrament is permanent and binding, meaning no one will ever know what you disclose. It’s perhaps one of the last places on Earth where you can bear your soul and not worry about reading about it later on the Internet. That’s the genius of the Sacrament in the digital age; when you’re in the confessional, you’re off the grid. What’s said there literally stays there.

It’s precisely because of private confession that we’re able to make a full disclosure of our faults and failings. We can name any sin that we’ve committed and truly be able to hold a mirror up to ourselves. You may share some of your faults and failings with your wife, and others she just knows. Yet, when we confess our weaknesses to others, we tend to hedge our bets. We leave something out that we think will be perceived as too evil. In confession, there’s no need to hold back. It’s in the Sacrament that we see ourselves for who we really are, where we stand in relationship to God, and how we are truly, wholly, dependent on His grace and mercy.

Finally, there’s no fear in the Sacrament. I think we give our priests a little too much credit. I seriously doubt that they’re as gifted in voice identification as we’d like to think, especially when you’re simply one penitent in a line. We think that they hold all of our secrets and carry around that valuable information, but really, they’ve got other things going on in their lives. They hear hundreds (if not thousands) of confessions every month and I’d bet that most of them sound the same. Plus, what kind of life would it be if you were oppressed with the burden of the evil everyone else has done? There’s something miraculous about the priest in the Sacrament. He’s present, but he’s not really present. He speaks, but he doesn’t really speak. Instead, standing in the place of Christ, he’s almost like a telephone, passing messages, yet retaining none. We have the option of going to confession behind the screen, meaning we can have complete anonymity and secrecy if we desire. There’s nothing to fear.

When you think about it, we have an awesome gift in the Sacrament of Reconciliation because we’re able to receive it privately. It’s a gift we should use more often.

As Catholics, there are many things that we too easily take for granted. Our regular encounters with the Risen Christ begin to wash over us as something totally commonplace. Sunday Mass, the cornerstone of our week, is just another appointment on our calendar. Many of us struggle to keep the flame of faith alive.

I think this very real part of our human nature applies to almost every other aspect of our lives. We have an attention span that ebbs and flows. We long for Christmas morning to open our presents and to give gifts to our loved ones, but by Christmas afternoon, the excitement has faded. By March, it can be hard to remember what gifts we received. The further we get from Lent, Easter, or even our last Confession, the easier it is to commit sin. We stop thinking about the very real harm sin does to us and, more egregiously, the suffering it inflicts on our innocent and loving God. Married couples struggle with keeping the flame of their love alive. As the married life moves from the joy, pomp, and circumstance of their wedding day, life becomes quite ordinary. How do marriages endure the common and live a life wholly uncommon?

Two things must happen in order for us to fully embrace the life that we were made to live. First, we have to remove ourselves from the economy of emotion. Emotions are a double edged sword. They protect us, and at the same time, they’re complete tyrants. If we base our feelings of self-worth on the shifting sands of emotions, we’ll end up lost. The gauge of your faith life, your marital love, your friendships, or your dignity as a person cannot be built upon how you “feel” on a particular day. Instead, we must focus on growing in humility. It’s only in serving that we’re most alive. By focusing on others instead of ourselves, we can know that we’re living a full life.

Second, we must give much more than we get. This is, in essence, the basis of marriage. You give 100% for your wife, and her needs are met. She gives 100% for you and your needs are met. This goes way beyond mutual back-scratching. This is an intense and enduring desire to be fully in the service of your wife, carrying her burdens on your shoulders and easing her pain. This is the love of Christ, who gave everything He had: His name, His reputation, His home, and His life so that we might live.

As we turn outward and live lives of stewardship and service, we’ll become better people, our family will grow stronger, and our interactions with Christ in the Mass, Sacraments, Church, and the people that we meet will no longer be commonplace. Instead, they’ll be rejuvenating encounters that will encourage us to seek constant renewal.