Earthly Tribes and Heavenly Hosts

“Teacher, we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow us.”

This seems like a reasonable request of Jesus that St. John makes in the Gospel today. Doesn’t it make sense that Jesus would be concerned if someone was using his name to carry out ministry who was not a follower of his?  There was no way to know what else he was saying or doing or if he might turn against them at some point.  We can imagine what the lawyers would do with something like this today, right?

I think it is important to have a little context.  In Mark’s gospel, John’s request comes immediately after we hear that the disciples were walking along behind our Lord talking about who was the greatest.  Jesus reprimands them for their worldliness and tells them that they should seek to serve, rather than lording authority over others.  Then, perhaps thinking he is on more solid ground, St. John brings up his question: what about this guy who isn’t even an apostle – who isn’t even on the team, and he is trying to claim he acts in the name and with the power of Jesus?  Surely he is on the outs, right?

The apostles are trying to figure out who has authority, who has power, who can be a legitimate witness – who is on the “team.”  They are deeply concerned about who is in charge, who has authority – who is exercising leadership.  The idea that someone who is not known to them is claiming authority makes them apprehensive and nervous. 

Why?  Ultimately, I think we can see that it has to do with control, right?  It is telling that John tells Jesus that the one casting out demons “does not follow us.”  Notice that he doesn’t say “does not follow you.”  What concerns him is not that the man is doing something against Jesus, but that he is not a part of their company – their group.  In this, he expresses a common earthly tribal tendency: to be concerned and suspicious of those who aren't part of or don’t feel compelled to answer to the tribe, those who are not “team players.”  The disciples, like most people, were accustomed to judging others based on the earthly tribe they belonged to, and to working hard to secure their own places in their own tribe. 

How things don't change!  Think about what is playing out now in our national politics and how Senators are so concerned to stay in their tribes – to not be caught out on their own.  They know that stepping out of line will be political suicide. 

And it's not just leadership.  The dynamic of social membership, of being a part of a tribe, effects each of us.  On a very visceral level, isn't it true that most people recoil at the idea of being outside of a social tribe or community.  We know that to be on the outs in a community is dangerous and makes someone vulnerable.  People outside of the circle don’t receive critical information, are vulnerable to rumors and slander, and are treated with distrust.  Being left out is probably the greatest fear most people deal with in the world – being marginalized, being overlooked, being shunned.

With a big mortgage and lots of bills to pay, it becomes increasingly difficult to advocate for decisions and principles in the workplace that would put us on the fringe.  When we need the help of teachers and professors in securing academic opportunities, it becomes risky to hold unpopular beliefs that will be perceived as out of touch or ignorant.  When we have children and grandchildren who we love and who love and admire us, it becomes very challenging to witness to beliefs or ideas that challenge their lifestyle choices and make them feel condemned. 

How many of us experience this, and so many other social challenges on a regular basis as we are trying to navigate living in a community?  How nerve-wracking is it to wonder if we are on our way to being marginalized and left out, especially when we know that such marginalization could mean a lot of pain and suffering for us and those we love?  The more earthly blessings that we have and the more attached to them we are, the harder it is to live with a serenity that is not constantly anxious about falling out of favor, being labeled as one of those who “does not follow us.”  How easy it is to compromise with the devil when we are motivated by this fear that we might be left out, that we might become irrelevant, forgotten. 

I think this is a great demon that our entire Church fights today.  The modern world is moving ahead and moving in a direction that is increasingly tribal and increasingly hostile to the teaching and witness of Christ.  And we feel the pressure, do we not?  It can feel almost on a visceral, survival level that our Church being pushed out of the social main stream and into irrelevant backwaters.

What does Christ have to tell us today?  To be courageous and to follow his example.  What is his example?  First of all, we must pray for increasing detachment from the goods of this world, and a decisive attachment to following him.  Such that we will let go of anything that would keep us from him – our hand, our eye – whatever keeps us from being close to Christ, from the detachment we need to be faithful, we must be willing to offer that courageous sacrifice with Christ on this altar. 
I do not say this lightly.  I know that for many of us, we would probably rather lose a hand or an eye than what we worry about losing: the closeness of a family member, a promising career, a group of friends…  We are not talking about trivial things. 

And yet, do we not know in our hearts that we cannot be authentic and credible witnesses to Christ in our families, our workplaces, our friendships, unless we are willing to run the risk of losing them for the sake of Christ?  There is no such thing as a cowardly Christian – because a Christian must always face the truth and live in love.  And that always requires sacrifice and suffering.  You cannot be a principled person if you are more worried about your earthly tribe than the heavenly host. 

This does not mean that we act imprudently or angrily pick fights with the culture of our time.  We should try to get along when we can.  We should always be humble and recognize that we might not be seeing a person or situation as it truly is.  We need to pray through every decision and work to discern where the Holy Spirit is at work an how he is guiding us.  We should always desire peace and concord.  We should seek unity and collaboration. 

We should work to find common ground and to increase understanding among peoples.  But all of this must be done with the awareness, as Jesus teaches us, that in the end we only answer to him.  In the end our earthly tribe only matters insofar as it helps us to grow closer to him and is an expression of the love we share in him.  Christ alone can give us true communion – love that is rooted in the truth and in generosity of heart.  We must go to him first, trusting that he will not abandon us and that he will gently guide us along the path that leads to eternal life and leads us, not to a mere temporary earthly tribe, but to an eternal communion of love with him and all of our brothers and sisters.

Discerning in War-Time

In the fall of 1939, as the Second World War raged, C.S. Lewis stood up in the church of St. Mary the Virgin in Oxford to give a sermon to returning students at the university.  The sermon is known to us as “Learning in War-Time:” an articulate defense of the timeless value of study and learning, even in the midst of the calamity of war.  He felt the need to speak to his students who were returning to their studies, questioning whether it was right or even possible to pursue knowledge in the midst of international events so dire and dramatic as the great war.  Should not classes have been canceled and everyone sent to the trenches to battle it out?

As American seminarians return to their studies this fall, they do so in the midst of a great calamity engulfing the U.S. Catholic Church.  The summer of 2018 has ignited what some fear may become a great “civil war.”  Revelations from the Pennsylvania Grand Jury Report, former Cardinal McCarrick’s resignation, and Archbishop Viganó’s letter have thrown the Church into disarray.  Thousands of lay faithful have called for resignations, priests have voiced frustration and anger, and bishops and cardinals are showing little unity or resolve as to how to face the crisis.  Battle lines seem to be forming across every level of the Church, as shrill voices call for war.  Pope Francis, who has been outspoken on so many issues, cannot or will not wade into the conflagration. 

What does a seminarian, or a man who is seriously discerning a vocation to the priesthood do in such a time, when the very ground beneath him rocks and sways?  Is authentic discernment possible in such a polarized and unpredictable terrain, or should the quest be put on hold?  To where can these men turn to find solid ground and sound guidance?

In answer to these critical questions, C.S. Lewis’ guidance to his embattled students in Oxford some 79 years ago offers some helpful insight.  Those who are discerning the priesthood today will find in his thoughts a helpful path forward as they seek to navigate these troubled times.

War is a New Revelation of an Old Enemy

“War creates no absolutely new situation: it simply aggravates the permanent human situation so that we can no longer ignore it.”   This principle, articulated by C. S. Lewis in his sermon, is certainly true in the case of the abuse crisis afflicting the Church.  The devastating revelations of this summer have thrust the reality of sinful and perverse clergy into the light of day, a reminder of just how sick and twisted, cowardly and duplicitous human beings can be – even those who are entrusted with great spiritual responsibility.  In the face of such horrific revelations, we run the very real risk of thinking that evil becomes real when it begins ‘trending’ or after it hits the 24 hour news cycle, and to think that it goes away once the coverage has ended.  But this is obviously a great illusion.   The evil one is always at work attacking and seducing priests and bishops and any other person he can get his claws into, and many times has succeeded.  The life of Judas Iscariot makes this very clear, as does that of St. Peter and so many other sinful Christians.  The reality of sin and malice and perversion is not new.  Our world is a spiritual battleground.  “Human life has always been lived on the edge of a precipice,” writes C.S. Lewis.  Christianity is a fighting religion. Christ came to save us from an all-too-real enemy, one that has always existed, and has always been “prowling like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour.”  Christ, in turn, strengthens us to resist him, strong in our faith.  The fight against evil, against Satan, is a Christian duty whether there is public outrage or not, whether there are worldly consequences or not.  This summer’s revelations of the devil’s workings inside of the Church hierarchy should remind us of the larger spiritual battle that is being waged around us and spur us to recommit ourselves to fighting alongside Christ against evil, particularly in our own lives and in the areas of life where we have moral responsibility.  To the extent that they have responsibility or awareness of the Church, laity and clergy must take this battle against evil wherever it leads, even if it leads deep into the hierarchy.  Yet for most of us, our battle against evil plays out more directly and immediately in our own personal lives and in the lives of our family and community.  Those who are discerning the priesthood, whether living in the world or in a seminary, should be careful that the very public battle against evil now unfolding within the hierarchy not distract them from the hidden spiritual war they must fight against sin and temptation and evil in their daily lives.

Resisting the Drama of Conflict

Waging war can never be the goal of life.  War is always a means to an end, and as such must always be in the service of the good.  G. K. Chesterton once said that a moral soldier fights, "not because he hates who is in front of him, but because he loves who is behind him."   And yet, from the beginning of the fall of humanity, this requirement to defend the good, even sometimes through violence, has been twisted into something else entirely.  In every age and in our day there are many people for whom waging war becomes a way of life, and even something that they find enjoyable.  There is a "rush" of war, a kind of "euphoria" that many soldiers experience in surviving a life or death situation and coming out alive.  We can think of the many "professional" soldiers and mercenaries who have, over the centuries, become so twisted as to take pleasure in asserting their dominance by killing or torturing others, even innocent people. 

This can never be the case for a Christian soldier, no matter how many battles he must fight.  Any authentic crusade engaged in by a Christian must be a battle undertaken as a last resort to protect or secure a good.  In order to keep this perspective, the Christian soldier must often allow himself to be reminded about what and who he fights for.  He must make sure to get his head up above the fight often and take a breath of the clean air of truth, beauty, and goodness.  One cannot be all fight and remain a true Christian soldier for long. 

What does this mean for someone who is discerning in the midst of Church conflict?  It means that balance must prevail.  No, we should not ignore the conflicts and troubles that assail the Church, sticking our heads in the sand.  Yet at the same time, it is a spiritual disease to be constantly searching for enemies to slaughter, to the detriment of neighbors to be served.  Just as a traumatized soldier discerns less and less who is friend or foe and can fall prey to a kind of blood lust that turns even against his own allies, so also a Christian who constantly immerses himself in the scandals and failures of the Church can begin to thrash about the pews, injuring those of simple or weak faith or innocent devotion.  How often those who make it their life’s work to destroy every evil that threatens the true faith end up destroying the faith of many people around them and their own faith in the process?

I have watched this play out in the Church among faithful Catholics and clerics.  Injured, sometimes grievously, by the sins of someone within the Church or frustrated by the weakness of its members, they begin to grow more and more obsessed with calling out the sin and corruption within her.  This preoccupation grows and becomes an obsession, blocking out their ability to see any good or to enjoy the goodness of life in the Church.  Nothing seems as important to them as fighting the enemy that they are convinced threatens at every corner or lies hidden in every closet.  A kind of ecclesiastical paranoia takes over, removing their ability to trust anyone in the Church.  Those who dare express joy in the face of their desperate shadowboxing are viewed with suspicion.  Peacefulness and contentment is treasonous to their all-consuming cause.  These poor souls pile upon their shoulders an ever-increasing weight of darkness, sin, and misery, and become bowed down and resentful of those unwilling or incapable of doing the same.  Their lives are swallowed up by war against evil – all that remains is the fighter, but a fighter who can never return home because he no longer recognizes the home he fights for.  Consumed by hatred for the devil, he has lost his love for Christ.

Like the emperor Constantine learned, the Christian must keep his eyes fixed on the sign by which sin and death is conquered and affix it like a shield before him.  He must recognize that every battle in this world is, in the end, a battle for his heart.  To win an earthly victory but lose one’s soul in the process is exactly the sort of tragic triumph that the devil relishes more than any other.  The Christian who is discerning in wartime must be very careful to guard his heart, ensuring that through prayer, leisure, friendship and loving service it remains warm and beating.  As C.S. Lewis encouraged his students in the midst of World War II: they should not feel guilty or lazy for living a normal life in England during the midst of the fighting; for that life was exactly what men and women across the channel were dying to protect.  In their daily study and normal routines of life, they were a reminder to the soldiers in the field of who they were and why they fought.  So too, Christians must remain faithful to their daily work of prayer and service in the midst of ecclesial conflict.  In fact, they should be especially vigilant to the normal, daily life of the Church: their prayers and reception of the sacraments (particularly the Eucharist and confession), their study, their engagement at the parish and in the corporal works of mercy, their attentiveness to their primary family and ministry responsibilities, and their diligence at work.  As Christ the Lord taught in so many parables and through his own example, our task is to follow the will of our Heavenly Father by loving him and our neighbor.  If we are faithful in this task, our victory is assured even in what seems a disastrous earthly defeat.

Prioritizing the Immediate Circumstances of your Life

C.S. Lewis raises in his sermon a critical question of discernment: how should students know, in such a trying time, whether they were called to leave behind the tranquility of the classroom and take up arms against the enemy?  When it is clear that some are called to front lines of the battle, how does one who is capable of being a soldier determine whether or not he should enlist?  Lewis’ response to this question is quite simple and straightforward:

A mole must dig to the glory of God and a cock must crow. We are members of one body, but differentiated members, each with his own vocation. A man's upbringing, his talents, his circumstances, are usually a tolerable index of his vocation. If our parents have sent us to Oxford, if our country allows us to remain there, this is prima facie evidence that the life which we, at any rate, can best lead to the glory of God at present is the learned life.

Healthy discernment looks to immediate circumstances as a key indicator for what God is asking of us at this time.  Yes, it may very well be that there is a great need for troops out on the battlefield, but that does not mean that we are called to take our place among them.  Discernment requires a clear-headed look at where we stand: who are the people, the circumstances, and the implications of the terrain that we walk upon?  For in the end, the raging of even a great war not far removed from us has relatively little bearing on what we are called by Christ to do each day.  A mother in Syria, just miles from the bloody fighting and bombardment still finds her day comprised of waking at a regular hour, assisting the children with getting ready for the day, cooking breakfast, shopping for food, visiting the neighbors, cleaning the home, loving her husband, taking care of elderly parents, etc…  The same is the case for the butcher down the street, or the engineer a few doors down.  Society does not come to a screeching halt, even in the midst of conflict, because our daily lives depend directly on the simple efforts of others, and their lives depend directly on the simple efforts that we make. 

In discerning what to do in a time of conflict, then, the answer is usually quite simple: do what is needed of you in the place and time where you are, just as you normally would.  It can be assumed, barring exceptional circumstances, that where you are is where God needs you to be.  If you were needed elsewhere, someone would come to tell you – someone would make a request – there would be a sign.  If that has not happened, then stick with what lies before you and do it as well as you can, humbly offering your efforts to God.  If you are a layperson raising a family, do your best to live a life of prayer and virtue that you can share with your spouse and children and seek to grow and deepen your knowledge and love of God.  If you are a young person in high school or college, be diligent in your prayer and study and in building up strong and healthy friendships.  If you are a priest, look to those entrusted to your care in your assignment and care for them with as much skill and generosity as you can.  If you are trying to discern your call in life inside or outside of the seminary, continue to discern as you would otherwise: pray, read, speak with wise guides, and be generous and courageous in following the promptings of the Holy Spirit.

How do you know if it is your time to fight?  How can you ensure that you are not being a coward and seeking solace in selfish trivialities?  When should evil be called out?  When should letters be written?  When should demands be made and warnings issued?  We must ask ourselves constantly: What is Jesus asking of me?  What will he hold me responsible for at the end of my life?  How much do I, in good conscience, need to say or do in the face of this evil?  Is it enough for me to pray and to go about diligently doing my work, or must I step into the conflict to protect one who is innocent or to strengthen one who is failing?   Can I engage in this battle without neglecting the primary responsibilities of my life or greater goods that I could be pursuing?  Is this fight the best use of my gifts, my time, my energy, or should this battle be left to someone more capable than I? 

In the end, I would submit that even in times of great conflict and turmoil in the Church the overwhelming majority of the People of God are not called to be in the midst of the fight.  Most of us are called to the daily work of sowing and reaping, of shaping and building, of putting out into the deep and lowering our nets for a catch.  This is the work God sets before us as the pathway to heaven, the talent entrusted to our care until he returns.  Only rarely are sheep called to take up arms and fight off the wolves.  Normally we are called to find the green pastures and to stay close to one another and to our Good Shepherd.

The Three Ways Conflict Wages War on Discernment

In what I think is the most helpful section of his sermon, C.S. Lewis examines important mental exercises that he says are important defenses against three particular ways that war threatens the scholar, and in our case, the discerner.  The three enemies that Lewis identifies are excitement, frustration, and fear.

Excitement.  Lewis writes: “If we let ourselves, we shall always be waiting for some distraction or other to end before we can really get down to our work. The only people who achieve much are those who want knowledge so badly that they seek it while the conditions are still unfavorable. Favourable conditions never come.”

There will always be something urgent to distract us from doing God’s work, particularly in our time of mass communication and social media.  Drama abounds, and it is particularly easy for one who cares deeply about the Church to think that following every up and down of the latest ecclesiastical crisis is a kind of Christian virtue.  But it is not.  At the end of our lives, Christ will not quiz us on how many cardinal’s names we know or on which bishops have been the most courageous in their teaching.  He will ask us about the responsibility that he entrusted to us, the talents that he left in our care.  C.S. Lewis acknowledges that in war time there are some events that one simply cannot ignore – certainly this is the case for the horrible revelations about the Church in the U.S. over this summer.  There is nothing wrong with being aware of what is happening and of doing what we can to contribute to a positive and good response through prayer and good works.  However, we must always be on guard against things that disquiet and distract us from doing the primary tasks that God has set before us. 

Frustration.  Here, C.S. Lewis speaks of the heightened sense in war-time of not having time to finish our work, or of one’s work not being able to come to fruition.  Again, Lewis points out that this sense of the tenuousness of our efforts, heightened in war, is the manifestation of a reality that is part of life even in the most peaceful of times.  The future is never ours to control – it belongs to God.  We never have any guarantees about what will happen as a result of our efforts.  Lewis encourages us to remember that we pray each day for “our Daily Bread,” and to keep our eyes fixed on the work of each day, entrusting the future to God.  This is a critical lesson for all of us, and especially one who is working to discern his or her vocation: do the good today, and trust that God will lead you where you need to go and will bring your efforts to happy effect.  Scandals and conflict in the Church do not change the fundamental obscurity of what the future holds – there is still as much opportunity to become a saint as there ever was and ever will be.  God’s will is not circumscribed by the natural order of things and his ways are not our ways.  We must do the best we can with each day that is given us, trusting that in the end nothing offered to God will be wasted.  Even though our efforts may be frustrated in this world, we know that his eternal designs will never be frustrated.

Fear.  In the midst of conflict, fear raises its ugly head to menace even the strongest of us.  As we see our Church racked by sin and division and beset by a thousand scandals, a deep inner anxiety can begin to take hold.  What will become of the Catholic faith?  How will people hear the good news of Jesus Christ?  Who will provide the sacraments?  How many innocent people will suffer because of this great scandal?  How long will this go on, and how much can people endure?  

Fear is a natural and good response to a threat.  Yet we must think clearly about the true nature of the threat posed to the Church by any scandal.  The Church is not a human institution that survives based on institutional strength or efficiency.  Her presence on earth is of divine origin and is sustained by the very life of Jesus Christ, continually poured out among us.  His life and his mission of loving service is so much greater, more complex, more beautiful, and more compelling than any particular earthly instantiation of the Church.  The liturgy of heaven is only faintly echoed in our paltry liturgies on this earth.  The truth of Christ’s teaching is only clumsily, disjointedly, and dimly hinted at in the teaching of the Church.  The beauty of life and the sacredness of the human person, made in the image and likeness of God, has not even remotely been captured by the thousands upon thousands of human attempts at creating the beautiful in fine art and music and architecture.  And our shepherds, our leaders in faith – they are generally miserable wretches, just like St. Peter and the first batch were.  They can barely get out of their own way, and we disciples who are caught up in our own selfish concerns only trip them up more.  The Church is a big ol’ sinking ship, and she always has been.  Jesus didn’t make the Braque of Peter watertight, he made the water holy and lifegiving so that when she sinks we will not die.  The Church was given the gift of eternal life in Christ, her head, but that does not mean that she no longer dies in this world.  Indeed, if Christ himself had to die in order to rise to new life, so too his body the Church must suffer death as part of her earthly pilgrimage.  Indeed, the Church has died a thousand deaths with Christ already and sunk beneath the waves of sin more times than can be numbered.  C.S. Lewis reminded his scholars:

All the animal life in us, all schemes of happiness that centered in this world, were always doomed to a final frustration. In ordinary times only a wise man can realize it. Now the stupidest of us know. We see unmistakable the sort of universe in which we have all along been living, and must come to terms with it. If we had foolish un-Christian hopes about human culture, they are now shattered. If we thought we were building up a heaven on earth, if we looked for something that would turn the present world from a place of pilgrimage into a permanent city satisfying the soul of man, we are disillusioned, and not a moment too soon.

Yes, Christ dwells with us and is alive in his Church, which is his body.  But Christ is also infinitely greater than any earthly institution, any earthly epoch of his Church.  Because of this, we should fear no earthly power, nor any evil that rails against the Church in this world.  Jesus will continue to provide us with his teaching and sacraments, no matter how weakened the power of his earthly bride might become.  Compared to his power and majesty she has always been weak and miserable.  What makes the Church strong and beautiful is not who she is, but whose she is.  The Church’s life is Christ, and so the various deaths and sufferings endured in this world can only be for her a deeper sharing in the life of her beloved.  For those for whom life is Christ and death is gain, there is no need to fear.

Running into a Burning Firehouse

The first thing I wanted to be when I grew up was a fire fighter.  I’m not exactly sure what so captured my imagination.  It may have been the children’s book “The Fire Cat,” which I really loved.  It could have been that my favorite color was red.  It could have been the fancy trucks and cool tools.  But that was what I wanted to do.

As I’ve grown older, I would not say that my appreciation for firefighting has ever been extinguished (I know, that’s a horrible pun).   It is lifesaving work, and involves the saving of a life that is facing a most horrible and cruel end.  In fact, I can think of very few life-threatening circumstances that I would more profoundly value being saved from.  How can we not have a great appreciation for men and women who risk their lives to save others from burning to death?  We should pray in a particular way this week for those who are battling the fires in northern California.

Fire is one of the most powerful forces on earth and is also a very powerful image used throughout human history.  It was associated with various gods and forces in ancient times and continues to be used as a powerful spiritual and religious symbol throughout the world in almost every culture.  Like many powerful forces in our world, such as water or wind, fire has come to symbolize many things for many different peoples, both positive and negative.

Catholics are very familiar with fire as a religious symbol.  In the Catholic tradition, fire symbolizes critical mysteries of our faith: the new life of Jesus Christ risen from the dead which is celebrated each year at the Easter Vigil and the Holy Spirit descended upon the apostles in the upper room as “tongues of fire.” Candles, symbolizing the light of Christ, adorn every Catholic church, and each person who is baptized receives his or her own personal “fire” – a light of faith that is “to be kept burning brightly” until the Lord returns in glory.

Yet within the Catholic tradition, the symbol of fire is not exclusively viewed in a positive light.  Fire, after all, is used by God throughout the scriptures as a means of punishment and destruction.  And, most poignantly, Jesus speaks of fire and burning when he describes the torment and misery suffered by those who experience eternal damnation.

Lastly, fire is spoken of throughout the Christian scriptures in another, moral sense: as a symbol of depraved sensual desire.  There are a number of passages in the scriptures where lust is referred to as a kind of fire.  The book of Job refers to lust as a “fire the burns all the way down to the netherworld (Job 31:12).”   Proverbs asks, “Can a man take coals into his lap and not expect to get burned (Prov 6:27)?”  St. Paul speaks of lustful men as “burning with lust” or being “on fire” with lust (Romans 1:27, 1 Cor 7:9).”   And certainly this use of the image of fire as a symbol of intense sexual desire or lust is not exclusive to Christianity.

The House is on Fire

Using the symbol of fire in this way,  we must today acknowledge clearly: Western culture is currently engulfed by a hellacious fire of sexual depravity, perversion and abuse.  It is a fire that has spread throughout society, leaving few people unharmed or unaffected.  Like the recent wild fires that continue to ravage Northern California, burning down homes and destroying lives, the wild fire of sexual liberation unleashed some 50 years ago continues to rage on unabated, destroying marriages, traumatizing innocents, destroying careers, and corrupting even those who would seem to be safe.  Nothing has been spared from the burning heat: not even those who are supposed to be our moral and religious leaders.  Within the Catholic Church, this has been so very painfully apparent.  The recent revelations surrounding former Archbishop McCarrick represent a new and demoralizing chapter in the Church’s battle against the particularly demonic flames that have threatened to consumer her.  Every time the blaze seems to be contained, a wisp of smoke gives away a previously unnoticed hot spot and another conflagration ensues.  One begins to wonder: who will it be next?  Whose reputation will be the next to go up in flames?  Is there anyone who is not embroiled in this?  Will there be anything left standing?

A fire fighter can tell you about the “fire triangle:” the three critical elements necessary for a fire to burn: fuel, oxygen, and heat.  All three are required in order for a fire to burn, and the more that all three are present, the more severe and hot the fire will be.  I would submit that we are facing a similar cultural “fire triangle” in the area of human sexuality.  The fuel: an epidemic of estranged, lonely people who are lacking real connection, love, and affection.  The oxygen: a driving cultural wind of arbitrary individual power that rejects objective principles about the human person, dismisses traditional moral and religious values, and promotes self-fulfillment as the primary goal of life.  The heat: a vast corporate entertainment complex that is content to profit from the sale of a depraved mix of sexual allure, deviance, exploitation, and violence.

And unlike the fires in California, this fire is not even remotely contained.  Some would see in the media attention given to the sexual abuse crisis in the Catholic Church, sexual abuse in college and Olympic athletic programs, and the  “Me Too” movement signs that our culture is beginning to hold the line against the flames.  It is true that we are becoming more aware of the damage, of the way so many have been burned by sexual harassment and abuse in ways that have been tragic and life-altering.  But I am not convinced that this awareness is yet translating into any concrete actions that will help put out the fire.  It is not enough to merely express deep concern, outrage and frustration about how people have been so deeply traumatized.  Certainly, this recognition is a first step; you have to care for those who have been injured.  But a genuine response cannot stop with outrage, trauma counseling and financial payments.  As long as the fire of sexual immorality continues to rage, victims will continue to come forward and the suffering will continue.  At a certain point, the fire itself must be fought. 

Yet I am not convinced that our culture is prepared or ready to tackle this fight.  There is a disorienting quality to fires.  Smoke is blinding, the air is suffocating.  It is not easy to see what is going on or to think straight.  Sometimes it is difficult to tell what is on fire and what is not, and how serious the fire truly is.  Fires are unpredictable and powerful – even well intentioned and good people are overwhelmed and afraid to approach them.  Many times tactics that seem unrelated or drastic are required.  Without experience and knowledge, the task is daunting.  Firefighting is a science.   

Arson at the Fire Station

Pope Francis has called the Church a field hospital.  This is a wonderful analogy for the Church, highlighting the pastoral and ministerial dimensions of her work in caring for those who are sick and suffering.  I would propose that another fitting analogy for the Church, when speaking about sexual immorality as a fire spreading in a culture, is that of a fire station.  The Church has battled against this fire from its earliest years.  Both Greek and Roman societies were aflame with sexual immorality and perversion at the time when Christianity burst onto the scene.  Christians rushed into the burning streets and went to work.  Thousands of men and women vowed themselves to perpetual virginity.  Thousands more married Christians faithfully lived out their marriage vows and were open to children, turning away from divorce and contraceptives, which were common at the time.  Pastors, picking up from the apostles themselves, preached directly against all forms of sexual immorality and boldly encouraged their flocks to live chaste and virtuous lives. 

It was a fight. Purity, virginity, chastity – words that described weakness or naivete in the larger pagan world, were virtues prized in the Church, and men and women died to uphold them.  A number of the martyrs of the first centuries who we continue to honor today were Christian women who refused to give in to the sexual demands of pagan men.  These women were encouraged and admired for their steadfast conviction and refusal to bend, despite the very real torments they faced.  They were held up as witnesses and soldiers for Christ, true defenders of the faith and heroes to all believers.  In the centuries that followed, Christians began to create a culture of beauty that lifted human dignity out of the gutters of sexual objectification and called for the respect of all men and women as temples of the Holy Spirit.  Religious communities of vowed men and women sprang up all throughout Europe, bringing with them a new freedom and relief to many diverse cultures of the pagan world that had been tormented by centuries of sexual deviance, exploitation, and abuse.  A parish or a monastery or a convent was a fire station in a world on fire with the flesh, a firehouse dispatching fire-fighters who knew how to battle against the flames of the passions and tame them.  A huge treasury of knowledge and experience fighting against sins of the flesh was gradually amassed over the centuries in the writings of thousands of saints.  Laws, practices, and social mores organically developed in a way that encouraged and safeguarded chastity and sexual health in marriage, religious life, and other aspects of society.

Obviously, there were still many occasions of sexual immorality in Christendom during the first millennia.  But what is clear is that, unlike so many other cultures throughout the world and throughout the centuries, sexual exploitation, abuse and immorality was not promoted or condoned among Christians.  On the other hand, one could argue that over the course of the second Christian millennia there has been a general and gradual eroding of Christian sexual mores and practices in Western society.  The Judeo-Christian tradition was increasingly dismissed as a “medieval” tradition based on a belief system that subordinated women, promoted shame of one’s body, and forbade any sensual pleasure.  But it wasn’t until the second half of the 20^th century that the real revolt began.  Contraception, no fault divorce, the normalization of pornography, the embrace of homosexual activity, and the redefinition of gender itself are the final push of a great sexual revolution against Christian sexual morality that has all but demolished every firewall the Church carefully built over the centuries.  Virginity and chastity have ceased to be prized even by Christians, even by some of those who share the marriage bed or have taken vows.

And as all these walls have been tumbling down and the fires getting out of control, the Evil One made a very cunning and strategic move.  He turned arsonist, snuck in, poured gas around the firehouse and threw the match.  The fire of priest sexual abuse struck at the core of the credibility of Catholic Church to speak on issues of sexual morality.  The institution with the greatest knowledge and dedication to the science of chastity and tradition of virginity in the West was itself set aflame.  Struggling to address the fire spreading within its own ranks, the Evil One worked to overwhelm and demoralize the leadership of the Church, forcing her to neglect the larger social inferno for lack of credibility and resources.  It was a brilliantly diabolical move.  Now, not only were the streets burning, but the firehouses themselves were burning. 

How many of us, walking onto this scene have been throwing up our hands to the heavens as we cry out “to whom shall we go?”  Is there not one place of refuge on this scorched earth?  Must everything be consumed by this fire of the flesh?

Fighting Fire with Fire

But all is not lost.  We must take heart.  It is true that many of the traditional means and institutions that have been used to fight fires have been lost or are badly damaged.  But fires can be fought in many ways.  I remember well when I was in high school we visited a “smoke jumpers” station out west.  These guys were crazy.  They did not have big trucks, they carried no water.  They would get flown out into these remote areas where forest fires had started and they would parachute down into the trees, many times getting stranded up in them before rappelling down to the ground to begin their work.  They fought fire with non-traditional means: instead of water and foam, they brought chainsaws and axes.  They cleared whole sections of woods and then lit them on fire, destroying the needed fuel for the approaching blaze.  They fought fire with fire.  And they were able to put out large fires with very little in the way of institutional or mechanical support.

I suggest that the approach of these smoke jumpers may be a good analogy for an approach needed in our society today.  We must fight fire with fire – fight the fire of sexual immorality with the fire of the Holy Spirit, not a fire that destroys, but a fire that purifies and binds us to God and one another.  Men and women need to courageously step forward and be willing to be dropped into the current cultural conflagration armed only with the fire of the Holy Spirit.  

We should remember the fire triangle: fuel, oxygen, heat.  A fire needs all three in order to burn.  It will be too difficult in the near term to shift the modern winds of individualistic will to power or dampen the heat of a sexually debaucherously entertainment industry.  The Church lacks the institutional and cultural credibility and strength.  Instead, Christians can set about destroying the fuel of loneliness, isolation, and disconnection, not with the old fire of selfish sensuality, but with a new fire of genuine love and community.  This new fire, the consuming fire of genuine love of neighbor, is the only way that I see the Church fending off the flames of sexual abuse and sin.  Only true love can destroy the pain and misery that fuels the twisted loves of this world.  Only a pure fire can fight the destructive fire of sexual immorality.

The fire blazes, but the Fire Fighters are Few.

“I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing!”  Jesus Christ seeks men and women to dedicate themselves to lighting this world on fire with his love, destroying the loneliness and isolation the Evil One uses as a fuel for his burning fire of sexually transmitted pain and destruction.  We must pray for a new generation of firefighters: Christian men and women dedicated to living a generous and chaste life.  And we should once more work to build up and foster within our community a deep and abiding appreciation for virginity, chastity, and sexual morality.  Priests and religious who make promises and vows of chastity should not be pitied or viewed with suspicion, but instead raised up as visible signs of the continued deep and abiding Catholic commitment to promoting sexual morality and holiness of life.  We should not forget the thousands of heroic chaste single and married men and women, seminarians, novices, priests, religious, and bishops who are running in and out of our burning firehouse, courageously fighting fires both within and without with limited support and resources, encouraging one another and reassuring us all by their daily efforts.  We need to pray for one another, encourage and defend one another, strategize and fight with one another, and remind one another that this fire will not burn forever.

Disciples Must be Willing to Shake the Dust from Their Feet

Homily for the 15th Sunday of Ordinary Time, 2018

“Whatever place you enter that does not welcome you or listen to you, leave there and shake the dust off your feet as testimony against them.”

This seems to be a challenging teaching!  Why wouldn’t Jesus say something like “If your teaching is rejected, stop, do some thinking, and try to figure out if you’ve said something offensive or what is causing the problem.”  Or at least encourage some mercy and forgiveness!  Is he assuming that the Christian disciples will always be in the right?  That they won’t ever mix up the message, and therefore that any resistance to them must be in error?  Can’t towns get a second chance?

I think our first reading gives us a key insight toward figuring out how to interpret Jesus' instructions today.  In our reading from the book of Amos, we hear about a battle between two prophets: Amos and Amaziah.  Amaziah was a professional religious figure, a priest of the local temple.  He had a vested interest in making sure that the copacetic message got out – a message that would bring people together around the temple and the social and political leaders of that time.  His livelihood was based on saying what people wanted to hear about God – he was concerned to make sure that religious teaching was well received in society.  And so he tailored his message to meet where the people were at that time, which unfortunately happened to be a time of profound immorality and decadence.

Amos, on the other hand, was not a professional prophet.  He was, as he said in the reading, a dresser of sycamores.  He liked doing that simple work, and it sounds like he would rather have continued on dressing sycamores, if God had let him.  When he was called from the trees to prophesy, he did so not to make a living off of what he said, but because he felt compelled to obey when he had heard from God.  Because of this, he has a certain detachment from whether what he said was well received or not: and that gave him a freedom to speak the uncomfortable truth.  And speak the uncomfortable truth he did.  My old scripture professor used to say that whatever you find in the book of Amos that is positive was probably added by someone else later.  He was a prophet of doom, and he did not mince words.  He called out the immorality of the people and he called out their decadence, and he told them that there would be consequences.

In today’s reading we see sparks fly between these two prophets – Amaziah confronted Amos and told him to get lost.  Amos was upsetting the apple cart.  He was causing a stir, making people uncomfortable.  The collection was going to go down.  The people did not want to welcome him or to listen to him.  Off with you – back to the sycamores!

Amos responded to Amaziah in the way that Jesus teaches his disciples.  He was detached enough from the worldly success of his ministry to go back to tending sycamores.  He said his piece, it was rejected, and he was happy to shake the dust from his feet and move on.  He knew that getting rid of him would not get rid of the truth he preached.  And he was vindicated in hindsight – the decadence and immorality of the Hebrew people led to their destruction, just as Amos had said it would.

A danger for all of us as we seek to teach and give witness to the Gospel is the tendency to speak of God according to our own liking, to make Him in our own image.  But there is also another challenge that I would say is far more common, and far more destructive.  And the danger is this: that a desire for human affection, esteem, advancement, or other forms of earthly success compromises our ability to proclaim the truth of the Gospel.  And this is what Jesus was working to counteract by his instructions to his disciples and to all of us today.

Why does Jesus send them out with so little and insist that they leave if they are not listened to?  Because he knows human nature and he knows that if we are too concerned with earthly success, we are very likely to justify changing the message.  Instead of walking away and kicking the dust from our feet, we will stay and adapt our lives and message until what we say is well received.  But in the process of conforming to the culture around us, what happens?  Rather than being a light in the darkness, rather than bringing good news to the poor, we become just like everyone else: getting along just fine in our worldly ways.  I'm okay and you're okay and we all feel great about ourselves...  but the Gospel, the truth that Jesus Christ asks us to preach?  Well, that is nowhere to be found.

The reality is that, when faced with a choice between losing the love of neighbor or betraying the love of God, fallen nature has given us a tendency to favor the neighbor we see, rather than the God we don’t.  We have are inclined to avoid negative repercussions that must often be endured from the neighbor when we speak the truth.  Instead, we are very good at convincing ourselves that worldly success must be a sign that we are on the right path. 

So think about Jesus’ instructions in this context: he told his disciples that in the face of resistance to his message they were to leave and shake the dust from their feet.  It is clear that his instructions were not given to encourage spite or malice, not as some kind of retaliatory gesture toward those who resisted the Gospel, but so that the disciples would not be tempted to gradually water down and weaken their proclamation, eventually losing their ability to bear witness to the Gospel altogether.

What is the lesson for us?  If someone is unwilling or incapable of accepting our witness of the faith, and we keep pushing, I think we need to ask ourselves “Why am I doing this?”  Is this what God is asking of me?  Or am I pushing because of my own needs: because I want to be successful or right, or because I want this relationship to work out, or because I am uncomfortable with conflict or disagreement?  Why am I not willing to let go of this desire for the person to accept what I am saying?  Why can't I shake the dust from my feet?  Have I forgotten that Jesus Christ is the savior, not me?  If he gives people the freedom to reject him, why do I insist on forcing the issue?  Have I become selfish with the Gospel, relying on a favorable response to my teaching and witness to the faith to prop up my sense of self worth?

Jesus wants his disciples to be selfless in their proclamation of the faith so that they can remain true to it.  This selflessness creates a kind of detachment because the truth is that we should not need others to listen to us, to believe us, or to accept us in order to be at peace with our witness.  We should ask ourselves regularly: am I at peace even when my witness is not accepted?  Can I walk away and shake the dust from my feet, giving the people around me the space and freedom to respond to God as they choose, or do I feel the need for them to respond in a particular way for me?  How much is my ego involved?  How much is my desire for affection and worldly success involved?  Have I forgotten that Jesus Christ, the perfect witness, was rejected and scorned, met with very little earthly success and was killed as a common criminal?  Have I forgotten St. Paul and all the saints who have suffered and been driven away from one community after another because of their faithfulness to Christ?

This weekend, let us pray for the freedom and detachment of Amos, and of every authentic prophet who proclaims the Good News selflessly.  May we shake the dust from our feet when we need to: not out of spite, but in confidence and trust that the truth about God is much bigger than any of us, and his grace will find a way to reach hearts that are open to him.  Our responsibility is to cling to Christ and give witness to him by our love for him and others.  As Mother Theresa always said: “God does not ask us to be successful, but to be faithful.”

Power is Made Perfect in Weakness

Homily for the 14th Sunday of Ordinary Time, 2018

This past week I was helping my sister and brother in law weed out blackberry bramble behind their house.  I had scratches all over my arms – those blackberry thorns are something else.  I was thinking of them when I read about St. Paul’s thorn in the flesh this week.
What was the “thorn in the flesh” that he spoke of?

Some have speculated that it was some kind of temptation, particularly of an immodest nature.  However, the fathers of the church were more likely to see it as some kind of physical ailment, such as a speech impediment, poor eyesight, or other kind of sickness.  Others speculated that the thorn might have been of a spiritual nature, literally some kind of demonic attack that he had to face.  In the end it is hard to know, and I don’t think it really matters what the thorn was, as much as it matters what St. Paul did about it, and how he teaches us to handle thorns as Christian men and women.

Because we all face thorns in life: maybe they are physical weaknesses or illnesses, maybe moral temptations and struggles, maybe conflicted and dysfunctional social dynamics.  Not a one of us is spared of weakness, in one form or another, in one chapter of life or another.  Life, in many ways, is made up of chapters of greater and lesser strength and weakness.  Even a given day can be made up of moments of strength and weakness.  And how much our perspective on ourselves and on the world around us can change depending upon which moment we are living through:

When we are strong, we are inclined toward confidence.
When we are weak, we are inclined to lose confidence.

When we are strong, we are inclined to be optimistic.
When we are weak, we are inclined to be pessimistic.

When we are strong, we are inclined to be engaged and loyal.
When we are weak, we are inclined to separate ourselves and rebel.

Think for a moment about your experience: the exact same relationship or experience can be changed from a blessing to a curse depending on whether you are coming from a place of strength or weakness.  Strength seems to be like the sun, bringing light to every experience, whereas weakness like a dark night that harbors every sort of misery.

And so if God wants to draw the best from us, would it not seem logical that he should lead us from strength to strength, helping us to avoid weakness because of how it opens the door for evil and temptation in life?  If he wants us to be in heaven with him, why would he not pave the path to get there with strong and smooth stones, rather than making us bushwhack through a bramble?
I imagine that this was a question on the lips of St. Paul, as he struggled with the thorns of his life – and it is a question that all of us confront, and sometimes many times in one day.  Why the weakness, why the struggle?  What is the purpose?

Fortunately for all of us, St. Paul received an answer directly from Jesus in his prayer, and he has handed on the answer that he received to us.  Jesus told him “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”

“Power is made perfect in weakness.”  What does that mean?
What would make power perfect?  I think we know this without a doubt, for we know that God, being all powerful, is also all loving.  What makes his power perfect is that it is the manifestation of his love.  Without love, power is evil.  With love, power is sacred.  And what fills power with love? Weakness.

Think about that for a moment in your life.  I think about my life.  The times when I have had more power – how easy it was for that power to change my perspective and make me less inclined to be compassionate, considerate, thoughtful.  It was easy to walk all over people – many times without even noticing.   To be oblivious to the way that my actions were affecting others.
And then I think of times when I have been weak, battling through the thorns.  And how in that weakness the true humanity of others, how we are all so intimately connected to each other and our actions can have such powerful affects, became much more apparent to me.  In weakness, the work of grace in the world and my reliance upon God's grace also became much clearer – and the ways that God’s grace was being obstructed by myself and others.  In a moment of weakness, haven't you found yourself saying things like “When I am strong again I want to remember what this feels like, what it feels like to be on the other end, what it feels like to be weak.”

Think for a moment:
Who better to feed the hungry, than one who has been hungry?
Who better to visit those in prison, than one who was in prison?
Who better to provide shelter, than one who has been homeless?
Who better to welcome the stranger, than one who has been a foreigner?
Who better to rule a country, than one who has been a slave?
Who better to go to war, than one who has been shot at?
Who better to forgive sins, than one whose sins have been forgiven?
Who better to bring salvation and new life to all people, than one who because of sin has been condemned and killed?

Power is made perfect in weakness, for through weakness God’s grace fills power with love.  Christ reveals this way of perfection through his own weakness on the cross, in the flesh, today in the form of simple bread and wine.  Through his vulnerability among us in the Eucharist he perfects his strength within us to serve our Heavenly Father and brothers and sisters.

In the Gospel just proclaimed we hear about Jesus’ visit to his home town.  His old friends and relatives could not see how an all-powerful God could be manifest in such a lowly way.  They could not accept that the king of the universe would be crowned, not with the smooth, hard, glittering ring of gold, but with a tangled braid of thorns.  They couldn’t believe that the holiest face to every walk this earth would be gentle enough to be pierced by a crown of thorns, and his Most Sacred Heart open enough to be pierced by a lance.

We are also members of Jesus’ family.  This is his home.  He comes to visit you and I today in this Eucharist.  Does he visit a rebellious people, like those to whom Ezekiel was sent: a proud people he described as “hard of face and obstinate of heart?”  Are we a people who frown upon weakness?  A people who resent weakness?  A people who are afraid of weakness?  Or is this a people who, with St. Paul and all the saints, have learned to follow Christ through the brambles of life, knowing that through the thorns he is perfecting his power within us?

If we have, our lives should show something that is the exact opposite of the world around us: when we are weak, we should be at our best.  When we are weak, we should be most confident, most hopeful, most full of faith and drawn together in love for one another.  When we are weak we should be most at peace.  That’s what an authentic Christian community looks like: it doesn’t just survive weakness: it thrives in it.  As St. Paul tells us today: when I am weak, I am strong.  A crown of thorns is an honor for those who follow Christ.  For power is made perfect in weakness.

A Letter to Discerners

Four years.  That’s how long I’ve been at this now, serving as Director of Vocations for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Portland, ME.  My task: to assist those who are discerning a call to the priesthood and religious life, particularly those men in the state of Maine called to serve our diocese as parish priests.

Who knows how many thousands of prayers and Masses have been offered in these last years for our future priests and religious and for those discerning.   I know I’ve had hundreds of conversations about the priesthood – conversations with every age, every demographic, every shape size and flavor of Catholic sitting in the pews.  And there have been hundreds more conversations with men and women who are discerning.

Lots of questions.  Lots of discussion.  And yet, as I think of the dozens of men and women who have been part of this conversation over the years, I feel the need to set down a few things in writing.  Far too often, especially when talking to someone discerning, things are left out of our conversation, interrupted, or simply too delicate or personal to bring up.  And sometimes a truth that sounds harsh on the tongue rests more easily on the ears through the pen.

The Universality of the Cross

A fundamental truth about life has been lost in our time, and its departure is impeding many of you who are trying to discern the voice of Christ.  The truth is this: seeking comfort, happiness and success for yourself will only lead you to misery and failure.  Full stop.  These goals are mere idols and mirages.  They are goals that embody a worldly perspective thoroughly opposed to Christ.  This truth should not need to be said, much less shouted, in a Christian culture.  The fact that we must today shows how deeply our faith has been eroded. And I must start with this truth because I am so aware of how many are being bamboozled by the allure of worldly prestige, comfort, and success, and of the pain they suffer and cause others to suffer when they act on this deception.  Selfishness is driving people mad - literally.  They need more and more anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication.  They are turning to prescription and non prescription drugs just to cope.

I say this, and we all nod.  But it never sinks in.  I just keep watching faithful Catholics not letting the rubber hit the road.  They keep on living like everyone else - they keep on putting their needs and desires first.  They keep on pretending that above all, Jesus wants to give them what they want.  And they keep on ending up miserable.

What will it take for Catholics to leave behind money and a career and social status so that they can help others earn money and succeed in their careers?  What will it take for Catholics to give up their own desires and needs for a wife and family so that they can be fully available to serve spouses and children and help them to grow and flourish?  What will it take for Catholics to let go of the power to determine where they go and what they do so that they are available to do what others need and go where others need them?  These are the evangelical counsels: the rubber hitting the road.  This is what it means to respond fully when Jesus says “If you wish to be perfect, sell what you have, give the money to the poor, then come follow me.”  This is what it means to embrace the radical call to sacrificial love that Christ offers to each of us.  What will it take for Catholics to wake up and follow this path that is not of this world and that leads to real and lasting joy?

And just in case you think that I am speaking of only priests and religious in this context, I am not.  I am most certainly not.  The evangelical counsels are for everyone, because joy and happiness and Christian perfection and heaven are for everyone.

When a Christian man or woman is called to marriage and family, his or her worldly success and career are placed entirely in service to the needs of a spouse and children.  If that means forgoing a promotion or other worldly gain to ensure the quality of life for the family there is no hesitation.  A husband or wife knows that in serving their spouse and the children they serve God.  This understanding is why Catholic spouses revere one another in body and soul and collaborate in bringing children into the world: they know that these actions have eternal ramifications, that in living a holy married life they are participating in the very life of God.  Each day they do what is needed for their nuclear family, and also the extended family and community – placing their needs last and pouring out their lives they seek to ensure that all those who are affected by their actions find in them a grace and blessing.  And in so doing they sanctify themselves and the world around them.

Christ teaches us that life is either offered or it is a catastrophe.  It is either given or it rots.  We either die to ourselves or we kill everything that is good in us and around us.  There are two paths, one that leads to death, the other to life.  The powers of this world can prop up a decadent stupor of pleasure and comfort for a time, deceiving us into thinking that “no one is getting hurt.”  But a life without sacrifice is a whitewashed tomb.  What looks alive is dead.  Hidden within is a deep misery, boredom, and frustration.

Discerners: your life is not a choice between a secular respected and comfortable married existence or a sacred derided, sacrificial priesthood or religious life.  No – do not let the world deceive you.  For what appears respected and comfortable in this world is either a mirage or a torment Christ does not wish upon any of his followers.  Derision and sacrifice are the building stones in the path of sacred joy Christ has paved for us all to follow as priests, religious, and laypersons alike.

I think of uncles and aunts of mine – at least a few families – who have children with serious disabilities.  How they care for them, and how they have found in their sacrifice a most sacred path to union with Christ!  I think of my siblings raising large families and the constant effort and strain of caring for the little ones and making sure they don’t kill themselves – and of the sacredness of their labors.  I think of the countless couples I have counseled through trials and challenges, mental and physical illnesses and torments, who have given up so many dreams and made so many sacrifices for one another in the sacred journey of marriage.  Beginning with the effort required for NFP, through the raising of children and serving others in the community, to the love of new extended family added through marriages of adult children, to the final days of caring for ailing spouses and relatives, sacrifice and struggle are inherent in marriage – and this is in the easiest of times.

Discerners: do you think you are choosing between some idyllic Walt Disney fairy tale marriage and a miserable and harsh priesthood or religious life?  Not if you follow Christ, you are not!  You cannot live a Christian marriage in our world without being required to lay everything of yourself on the altar of sacrifice, just as much as any priest or religious.  If your alternative to the priesthood or religious life is a self-satisfied life socializing with superficial friends, a doting spouse and “fur babies” who never challenge you, you are not serious about following Christ.  We die to ourselves in order to follow Christ – this is a universal requirement of baptism.  Everything in us that shrinks back from his offering comes directly from that pathetic and duplicitous coward Satan, who wants to drag us down into the horrific misery and pain that comes from a life comfortably and easily lived for oneself.

The Foundation of Discernment: Authentic, Sacrificial Love

When one loves, one gives.  And by giving, one manifests his or her love.  In our love for Christ, each us of is called to discern throughout life where and to whom to give ourselves.  Most people are called to offer their lives sacrificially as husbands and wives, as parents,  and through work and careers, discerning where they need to go and how they can best serve God and neighbor. 

But from the beginning of the Church there have always been some set apart and called to serve God in a different way, to offer their lives in a more universal manner – for the good of all.  By detaching themselves from legitimate goods of this world, these men and women follow the example of Christ in freeing themselves to point as clearly as possible to the Kingdom of God through acts of charity and devotion to God and neighbor.   Their form of sacrifice and their love is not opposed to the path of holiness that most men and women are called to, but is in service to it and complementary to it.  In embracing such a path, these men and women who are set apart for the priesthood and religious life do not increase their personal holiness, nor are they necessarily closer to God.  But through their witness and service, Christ cares for and unites himself more closely to all people, guiding them to his kingdom.  Priests and religious are set apart for the good of the Church and in service to the Church but are not necessarily closer to God than any other member of the Church, much the same way that a doctor who cares for the sick is not necessarily healthier than his or her patients.

What is the foundation of an authentic vocation to the priesthood and religious life?  Two loves: a great love for the human family and a great love of Jesus Christ.  When these two loves come together, a man or woman may often find that a desire begins to grow in his or her heart to offer his or her life in service to this beautiful and dynamic relationship between Christ and his people.  How exactly to serve in this way is often not clear from the beginning – although sometimes there are clear indications.  Jesus Christ continues to minister to his people by teaching them, by offering his life for them in the sacraments, and by serving them in their corporal and spiritual needs.  The various forms of religious life embody aspects of this continued ministry of Christ alive in the world. 

Among those called to service of the human family in the name of Christ are those who are ordained to share in the Apostolic ministry.  Bishops, priests, and deacons are directly entrusted with the sanctifying mission of Christ given to the Apostles: the offering of the Eucharistic sacrifice and the forgiveness of sins.  Not only are those who share in this apostolic ministry called to witness to Christ through their radical embrace of the evangelical counsels, but through the laying on of hands they are given the authority to speak in his name and act in his person in the celebration of the sacraments. 

Jesus instituted the priesthood because he wanted his people to be able to hear his voice and to see him act until he comes again.  The priesthood continues in a concrete and human way the very presence of Christ, incarnate among us in human flesh and blood.  For this reason, the Church has always revered the role of the priest – not because of the holiness of individual priests, as much as many have been holy, but because she sees in each priest the true High Priest, Jesus Christ, who continues to care for his flock.

A man who is called to the priesthood should find the awesome responsibility of the priest both intimidating and inspiring.  His courage in stepping forward and presenting himself as a candidate for Holy Orders must come not from any sense of spiritual superiority or worldly ambition, but out of a genuine love for the human family coupled with a deep faith in the power of Christ at work in the sacraments.  He knows that the sacraments, particularly the Eucharist, are the lifeblood of the Church, and so since he cares for the Church and for all people, he is willing to offer his life in service to that same sacramental ministry.  Again, it is love that motivates him to offer what he knows is needed most in our world: the saving work of Jesus Christ manifest in the flesh through the sacraments.

A Call and A Response

Your life and decisions matter.  They have consequences.  The grace of God is not given in vain – if he cannot work in you, Jesus Christ will move elsewhere, to one who will bear fruit.  The wedding banquet will go on, with or without the invited guests.  Jesus does not beg for disciples or force them to follow.  He chooses and calls, but he does not prod or push.  There are windows in life that are only open at certain times, and when they shut, they shut.  This goes for one’s education, career, dating and marriage, and certainly the priesthood and religious life too. 

What can God do through one good and holy person?  More than we can imagine.  And what if that person is a priest or religious?  Even more.  By virtue of consecration, a religious manifests and gives witness to the Kingdom of God in a powerful way that draws others to Christ.  By virtue of his ordination, a priest is given the full sacramental tool box in his work to help those who are seeking the face of Christ.  Certainly priests and religious do not possess every tool – there are many gifts given in the Church, and many of them are not given to priests or religious but are entrusted to other men and women, families and neighbors.  But it is clear beyond a doubt that the Church is enriched and strengthened through the lives of those men and women who serve humanity as dedicated religious.  And it is a foundational truth of the Christian faith that Christ continues to live, incarnate among us through the apostolic ministry of his priests. 

There are many ways to be of service in this world.  There are many ways to love.  Often, for a man or woman who is discerning, they find that they are choosing between goods, between offerings to bring to the altar.  What is God asking me to give?  What can I repay the Lord for his goodness to me?  What does the human family need in order to draw closer to God and live in his love?

For a follower of Christ who loves the human family and desires to give his or her life in its service, there are two questions: what is the need, and what can I offer?  In a world struggling as millions are dying of disease and illness, we need doctors.  Where there is a lack of good education and access to information, we certainly need teachers.  Where corruption and injustice are rife in society, virtuous lawyers and politicians are needed.  And there are countless other great social and other human needs that cry out asking for our ministry and service.  But can there be any doubt, particularly in the Western societies in our time, that there is a great and overwhelming need for spiritual ministry and care?  The steep rise of anxiety, depression, suicide, and other mental health struggles point to underlying spiritual causes.  The caustic political dialogue, anger and social discord point to a people who have lost their ability to see the face of God in one another.  The fracturing of families, the abandonment of the elderly, the scourge of abortion: these social ills all point to a culture that has lost its way and forgotten what it means to be human, forgotten the dignity of the human person.  And finally, the great secularization of the West and the confusion over the teachings of Christ and his Church.  These are all major spiritual problems in our culture that urgently call out to us, and call out to those who are discerning: “Do you love me?”  “Feed my sheep.”  Priests and religious are needed in the vineyard.  The harvest is so ripe and the laborers, particularly in the West, are so few. 

When we look at our gifts when we are young, most of us know that we could go in many directions.  As followers of Christ we know that we could offer our lives in many ways.  Is it not important to ask, when contemplating which path to follow, where the greatest need might lie, and whether we might be able to help in that very area?  Certainly, if there are limitations that would prevent us or gifts are needed that we do not possess, we should take this as a sign that we are called to serve the Lord and his people in another way.  But if, as we survey our world and look at our gifts, there is no obstacle that we can see – if it seems that we could be of spiritual service to the human family at this juncture – I ask you: what would prevent a man or woman from at least stepping forward and asking if perhaps the Church might not agree?  Is there any greater urgency in our time – in any time – than that of the spiritual life? 

If you have faith in Jesus Christ, if you know that you encounter him in the sacraments and scriptures and in the traditions of the Church, if you know that you can serve and think you may be able to teach and guide and lead with compassion and courage, if you see how many people are suffering in our world because of their spiritual poverty: do not be afraid!  Let the Holy Spirit put 2 and 2 together.  No, the world will not understand.  It has never understood and it never will.  But if you are a follower of Christ, the world will not understand you no matter what you do, because it did not understand him.  If you are going to follow Jesus Christ, follow him.  Don’t trip and stumble into your service, giving halfheartedly only after it is demanded of you.  Get on your knees and pray that the Holy Spirit set your heart afire with his love - a love of God and neighbor - and let the fire of that love burn and ache and drive you into service, come what may: everything given over to Christ, everything offered, everything gained.