Catholic Husband

Every priest has a unique gift that he offers the Church. Young men who go straight from high school to seminary offer their youth, extending their priestly ministry by years. Men who enter in middle age or even later in life bring their lived experience to inform their ministry. Some are great preachers, others stunning academics, and still others are driven to give a profound witness through audacious outreach.

Recently, one of our diocese’s scholarly priests celebrated a daily Mass that I attended. Daily Mass is known to be short, mostly owing to the truncated homily. This Mass, however, was different. The readings were on the servant for who his master forgave his “great” debt. The forgiven servant immediately goes out, finds someone who owes him a tiny amount, and throws him into debtors prison. The master finds out and has the wicked servants “handed over to the torturers” until the full debt is repaid.

The homily first took aim at the translation, a “great” or “huge” debt. Going back to ancient translations, he discovered that the debt was originally described in Talents, an ancient denomination. One Talent was equal to 20-30 years wages. Essentially, a laborer, through their whole working life, would earn the equivalent of one Talent. The wicked servant owed his master 10,000 Talents. Not great, not huge, but impossible!

The wicked servant’s debtor, however, owed him 100 Denarii, about 100 days wages.

The entire lifetime of wages for 10,000 laborers vs. 100 days wages for 1 worker.

This somewhat painful parable immediately highlights two things. First, we are indebted to God’s mercy for a debt that we could never hope to repay. Even though we frequent the Sacrament of Reconciliation and experience the wonderment of being in a State of Grace, we keep falling into the same trap. The Passion and death of Jesus, which we’ll soon celebrate, is the payment for the debt of sin that is impossible for us to repay of our accord.

Second, these parables put on full display the genius of Jesus that can only be attributable to the omniscience of God Himself. In a backwater, dusty, hot town 2,000 years ago, Jesus crafted a parable that was readily understood by his illiterate followers and is equally understandable by me, in the most technologically advanced society in the history of the world. They built buildings with simple tools and fished with literal rope. I wrote this blog on a computer only slightly larger than a magazine, using a keyboard that has no physical connections. Yet, the parable still fits exactly to my life.

The parable is reinforced through the Lord’s Prayer, the perfect prayer, “…forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

The nature of the human condition is that we each bear an overriding character flaw. This is colloquially referred to as our crosses to bear, but what it really means is that we will have a singular struggle with sin and failure throughout our lives. It’ll look different from everyone else’s, but it’s our pathway to sainthood.

The problem with habitual sin is the temptation to despair. Almost every time we approach the Sacrament of Reconciliation, it tops our list of failings. Year in and year out, we accuse ourselves, seeking God’s forgiveness once again. In our limited minds, we can understand if God were to grow frustrated with us, but it’s not our place to project onto God our limitations. It’s God’s place to reward our struggle with grace, patience, and ultimately, victory.

In this struggle, as we contend with ourselves and our failures. We’re back to our annual check-in, Lent, where we journey up to Calvary with Jesus, hoping to leave the tomb with Him on Easter morning. If you find yourself in line for Confession this Lent, lamenting your usual roster of sins, remember the line that you’re in. You haven’t given up; you’re still in the fight. God doesn’t want us to surrender to our failures, and He doesn’t want us to be perfect. He wants us to fight, to keep fighting, to keep showing that His love is all that we desire and nothing, not even our own stupid failures, will keep us from Him.

Each time a pilot prepares to fly an aircraft, he does a fuel calculation. Based on the current weather data and flight plan, he’ll calculate fuel burn and determine exactly how much fuel will be required to safely conduct the flight. Once that calculation is complete, he’ll add in a fixed amount of reserves to ensure that, regardless of what happens once aloft, he’ll make it to his destination.

Fuel planning for a pilot is an operational necessity, as is daily prayer planning for each of us. Fuel powers the plane; prayer powers us.

Each new day greets us with a set of tasks and obligations that must be completed, along with stressors sprinkled in throughout the day. It requires fortitude and discipline to work through your responsibilities and to not give in to the siren song of laziness.

A critical component of our day is prayer. It helps us resist temptation, build love, and act with grace. We need to build a daily routine that will power us to our destination with some room to spare.

Although it does require commitment and discipline, two words which usually are adjacent to something unpleasant, the paradox is that prayer is a respite in our day. It de-stresses us, desensitizes our amped up bodies, and allows the mind the space that it needs. This is the genius of God at work; time reserved for the Creator rejuvenates the entire self.

You will encounter stress and temptation every day. The only question is, will you have enough gas in the tank to fly right past it.

There are an infinite number of ways that COVID changed the way in which we live our lives. Though we find ourselves four years removed from the initial outbreak, and more than two years from the return to normal, visages of those early days are still with us, regrettably even at the Mass.

The laity and the priesthood had dramatically different experiences of lockdown. While the church doors were locked, we were prevented from physically receiving the Eucharistic Lord. Although we could rely on solid theology around the idea of a spiritual communion, none of that theology suggests that a spiritual communion is in any way a substitute to the physical presence of our Lord residing within us.

Many priests and bishops went to great lengths to bring the Eucharist Lord to their flocks, through Eucharistic processions in our neighborhoods, and some even taking to the sky to bless the faithful. Though admirable and deeply appreciated in the fog of those days, there’s nothing that can satiate our burning desire to be physically united to the Lord, as He too desires. While we were physically separated from Him, the priests continued to receive Him daily.

It’s difficult for them to know the pain that we felt, unable to return to our parishes, worship God, and receive His strength in our time of need. There’s no doubt that being separated from their flocks was difficult for our priests and bishops, but they had the consolation of our Lord, truly present within them.

That was the reality of those days, and it would be wrong to begrudge our priests the privilege that they possessed in one of the most challenging times in our collective lives. What is wrong, however, is for the restrictions implemented in the spring of 2020 to continue today, precluding the full participation of the laity in the daily life of the Church.

I live in a diocese where the bishop has not reinstituted the reception of the Precious Blood by the faithful. This was one of the earliest changes made to the liturgy in March 2020, and why it continues to this day is baffling.

It’s stipulated that the true presence, even under a single species, is the full and complete Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus. God is indivisible; He is complete, whole, and total, no matter how we receive Him. It’s also true, however, that at the first Mass, Jesus first broke the bread, and then took the cup, telling us to this in memory of Him. This is noteworthy because although one species would be sufficient, His intent was that we receive Him under both species.

The Eucharist is today, as it has been since its institution, deeply scandalous. From the first time that Jesus proposed it, many of His followers went away, never to return. Today, only the Roman Catholic Church, and those in union with it, still possess the true presence. Many Protestant denominations celebrate “communion,” but regard it as perfunctory and performative, a simple commemoration that is merely an adjacent practice of their faith.

Though the theology of the Eucharist is among the hardest to accept, Jesus was unequivocal; the Eucharist is truly His body and truly His blood. Through it, He seeks to nourish His flock in an encounter that is both exclusive and deeply intimate. At the altar, we are fed, and we receive Him physically into our bodies, becoming living tabernacles. Like the love shared between spouses, this is an exclusive experience, reserved for the relationship between the true and living God and His people.

The excessive bureaucracy and clericalism in the Catholic Church that Pope Francis so derided in the early days of his papacy has only grown more entrenched under his reign. COVID broke many things, and though perhaps understandable in the early days, perpetuating this policy of denial is deeply unjust and an affront to the spiritual health and wellbeing of the faithful.

Our priests need the full grace and benefit of our Eucharist Lord to strengthen them to fulfill the high calling of their vocation in the midst of a broken, dark, and hostile world. So, too, do the laity.