COME WHAT MAY

The Light Shines in the Darkness . . .

Some parishioners will remember that the Mass prior to Vatican II used to conclude with the reading of John 1:1-14, which, because it was proclaimed after communion, was called the “Last Gospel.”

Those of you who are old enough may not remember the Last Gospel because it was proclaimed quietly in Latin, as if it were a private devotion of the priest. But it was there.

A priest friend recalled that when he was in middle school, the pastor of his parish would invite one of the 8th graders to read the Last Gospel in English over the microphone while he recited it on the Gospel side of the altar in Latin at the conclusion of Mass. That was nearly sixty years ago, and the priest beamed with joy at the remembrance. What a gift to those eighth graders and to the entire gathered congregation!

Way back in December of 2020, I blogged about the Gospel for the 7^th Day within the Octave of Christmas, which is John 1:1-18. I mused then about the possibility that in the future the “Last Gospel” might be returned to the end of Mass in the Novus Ordo.

I didn’t know how that might occur, but I imagined it might be in some future iteration of the “mutual enrichment of the forms.” But then, earlier this year, prayerfully musing about the long “Lent” of our Covid suffering, I began to take increasing comfort in the prologue, which begins as follows. Given the increasing darkness and evil agendas we see around us, I took special consolation in the powerful truth in the underlined verse:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came to be through him, and without him nothing came to be. What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

The lies, uncertainty, suffering, and confusion in our world today served as the context for the Lord’s prompting in my heart to return to that old practice. After prayerful discernment and consultation, I decided that beginning January 30, I would begin proclaiming John 1:1-14 after the Marian Antiphon (or another suitable hymn) after the conclusion of the Mass. This would precede the recitation of the St. Michael Prayer, which we have been doing for years.

For those who are curious, I am proclaiming the Last Gospel and praying the St. Michael Prayer after the final blessing, reverencing of the altar, and I depart from the sanctuary. (This helps avoid the facile claim that we are somehow “mixing the forms.”) It works smoothly and well, even if I occasionally begin reciting the St. Michael prayer out of habit.

It was a great gift that the Lord prompted me to make this move, and then (as is His wont) to reinforce the prompting through a wonderful reflection from Anthony Esolen, based on his new book. Esolen, as you hopefully know, is a gifted writer and a prophet for our times. One need only peruse this gem, which is a wonderful complement to my previous post on gender ideology, to see his ability to hone in on the liberating truth.

Since I began proclaiming the Last Gospel after Mass, my love of the Incarnate Word has grown. The holy repetition has been a great gift to me. It’s like a second creed on Solemnities. And every day it reminds me and those gathered that the “darkness has not overcome” the light. Indeed, the Last Gospel, like the One Whose incarnation it proclaims, is a great and necessary comfort in our times.

Those who attend Mass here have welcomed these additions, and seem ready to tarry with me after Mass to honor the Incarnate Word and invoke St. Michael the Archangel’s protection. God knows, we need it!

(By the way, I’ve had no complaints from anyone, in case any of my brother priests are curious.)

Light in the Lord

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but given recent developments in our culture, I’ve felt the Lord’s promptings to resume doing so. Thanks for reading.

Last weekend, the Fourth Sunday of Lent (Year A), we read the poignant account of the man born blind, recounted in John 9. The blind man’s encounter with the healing love of God provides a metaphor for all who have come to see Christ as the light of the world. Like him, we were all blind, but now we see. In the gospel Sunday, Jesus says, “While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” And that’s our job now. Through baptism, we are “enlightened” and become (and are commanded to be) the light of Christ in the world. What that demands is made clear in last week’s second reading from St. Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians:

Brothers and sisters: You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth. Try to learn what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the fruitless works of darkness; rather expose them, for it is shameful even to mention the things done by them in secret; but everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for everything that becomes visible is light. (Ephesians 5:8-13, emphasis added).

The chapter begins as follows:

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. But immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you, as is fitting among saints. Let there be no filthiness, nor silly talk, nor levity, which are not fitting; but instead let there be thanksgiving. Be sure of this, that no immoral or impure man, or one who is covetous (that is, an idolater), has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Let no one deceive you with empty words, for it is because of these things that the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience. Therefore do not associate with them. (Ephesians 5:1-7, emphasis added)

These sober words are difficult to accept and to live by. But we must! We Christians, regardless of what the world or our friends or family tell us, need to live as light in our time. And that’s true even if it means being thrown out of the “synagogue of polite/elite culture” or the “synagogue of social media.” The man born blind testified simply to what had happened to him. And he suffered as a result. The lesson is clear: Even if many reject Jesus and/or the teachings of the Church, we don’t have that option. We are commanded (and, thanks be to God, given the grace) to live as the light.

Living as the light might well cause us to be rejected, excluded, or persecuted on account of Christ and the truth we find in Him. Even so, that’s still our job: to be the light. To do so, we must be men and women of the word, and to be prayerful and docile to the Holy Spirit, and to meditate upon the truth. The truth is not merely spiritual, but about all aspects of creation itself. To live truly, responsibly, we must cling to the truth about ourselves, about reality itself, and about the Lord. And we are commanded, as the blind man did, to bear witness in simple, straightforward ways. Be assured. People are watching us, especially children. Let us be witnesses then, and take heart, even (perhaps especially!) when we are rejected. Jesus told us to expect just it:

“Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you and revile you, and cast out your name as evil, on account of the Son of man! 23Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets.” Luke 6:22-23

Blessed are you! That’s impossible to believe unless we hold onto Jesus, who is the way, the truth, and the life. We are all invited, even commanded to do so. And it is vital for all of us to live this way.

Now is the time for us to recognize the speed and trajectory of gender ideology, and to do what we can to hold the line. With many others, religious and otherwise, I am convinced that it is a fitting, necessary, place for all of us, each and every one of us, to “take a stand.” In response, we need to offer common sense responses to things that have been “problematized,” issues like gender that have been cast as “in doubt” or deemed “complicated.”

The recent NCAA swimming and diving championships brought international attention to the “transgender” question, since Lia Thomas, who competed for years as a man on the University of Pennsylvania’s swim team, “transitioned” and now swims competitively as a “transgender woman.” I put the word transitioned and transgender woman in scare quotes because there is no such thing as “transitioning” from one sex to the other or truly being “transgender,” whatever current cultural elites, including so-called “experts” in gender, might claim. That sounds harsh, I know, but it’s the simple, plain truth. And we need to hold onto it because we are called to live as light, in the truth, and to expose the fruitless works of darkness.

Confusion around sex and gender has grown. That is clear. As a second prominent example, it is timely to note that Ketanji Brown Jackson, who was explicitly nominated to become a supreme court nominee because she is a “woman of color,” claimed that she was not qualified to answer the question “what is a woman?” when asked. She knows what a woman is; everyone does. (The sad condition of being born intersex does not change the fact of dimorphic human sexuality.) But today even things as fundamental as sexual dimorphism are doubted, questioned, made “problematic.” Her answer is a sign of the times.

Those who, like Ketanji Brown Jackson, claim that we need experts to help us understand the complexity of sex and gender remind me of the intellectuals and leaders George Orwell described when he described the workings of the “Party” in his 1949 novel, Nineteen Eighty-four:

The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command. His heart sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against him, the ease with which any Party intellectual would overthrow him in debate, the subtle arguments which he would not be able to understand, much less answer. And yet he was in the right! They were wrong and he was right. The obvious, the silly, and the true had got to be defended. Truisms are true, hold on to that! The solid world exists, its laws do not change. Stones are hard, water is wet, objects unsupported fall toward the earth’s center. With the feeling that he was speaking to O’Brien, and also that he was setting forth an important axiom, he wrote:

Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows. (Emphasis in original)

This is not complicated. Two plus two make four. And don’t trust anyone who tells you otherwise. And don’t argue with them. They are sophists.

Given that we (you and I) are the “light of the world,” we must speak up when lies about sex/gender are presented as truths. That’s true not just in this arena, but it is essential for us to do so now, given the trajectory and speed of the assault upon sexual reality in our time. It is well to remind ourselves of these (formerly) self-evident truths:

Men cannot get pregnant.
Women cannot have penises.
Sex is not “assigned” at birth.
There are two sexes, male and female.
Top/bottom surgery is not “gender affirming;” it is mutilation.

I could go on and on. And you could too. The issue is not to formulate a list, but to pay attention to the lies, reminding ourselves and others of the truth. We renounce lies and announce the truth in Christ for our sake, for those we love, and for the culture in which we live. We are the soul of the world, and serve as its conscience.

In a future post, I’ll talk about how we as Christians should grapple with the tension of exposing the fruitless works of darkness and ministering to those who are trapped within the orbit of the evil one. But we don’t do well to “go along to get along.” It is not pastoral to affirm something that is false. The transgender push, like much of the sexual revolution, is rooted in lies. It is the work of evil, even if those who are advancing it have the best of motives. Let’s pray for those who are deceiving and deceived, all the while striving, through with and in Christ, to recognize and expose the fruitless works of darkness. After all, it’s our job.

Traditionis Custodes

Yesterday, a friend texted me and asked me what I thought of Pope Francis’ motu proprio Traditionis Custodes. At that point, I had yet to read it, but I have done so now. The accompanying letter to bishops helps explain Pope Francis’s motivations for issuing the motu proprio at this time. As many of you already are aware, a motu proprio is an Apostolic Letter sent by a pope to the entire Church, on his own authority, that effects some change in law or discipline. In this case, by way of this letter, Pope Francis has significantly scaled back the freedom priests have to celebrate the Extraordinary Form (Traditional Latin Mass) of the Roman Rite.

In 2007, Pope Benedict XVI issued a motu proprio of his own, Summorum Pontificum, which greatly expanded the freedom priests had to celebrate the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite for members of the lay faithful who desired it. Pope Benedict XVI argued that the TLM had never been abrogated. He noted well what is obvious to so many, namely, that there is beauty in the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite, which could and would, he hoped, inform the celebration of the Ordinary Form.

As you are likely aware, Pope Benedict’s liturgical leadership has been very formative for my own celebration of the Mass. Though I never celebrated the TLM, I rejoiced in 2007, and took seriously his invitation to allow for a “mutual enrichment” of the two forms of the Roman Rite. I am (and will continue to be) committed to celebrating the Novus Ordo of the Roman Rite with beauty and reverence. In that respect, I owe much to the teachings and witness of Pope Benedict XVI.

In his letter to bishops that accompanied the motu proprio, Pope Francis argued that he has made this change with the goal of unifying the Church. Though it is not obvious to me that this change will accomplish (at least in the short-run) the goal of unity that Pope Francis has for it, I can appreciate some concerns that Pope Francis has about the excesses of some Traditional Latin Mass (TLM) proponents. Sadly, one can sometimes hear comments from those who attend (or celebrate) the TLM implying (or even stating outright) that the TLM is the “Real Mass.” That is not a universal belief of those who love the TLM, of course, but it surfaces in places. Parishes where both the TLM and Novus Ordo Mass are celebrated are often effectively two separate “communities” rather than one unified parish. Anecdotes such as these lend credence to the Holy Father’s concerns about divisions within the Church. What is not at all clear is whether this motu proprio will actually help move us toward greater unity. Sadly, it seems likely in the short run to lead to greater divisions.

Unity, one of the four marks of the Church, is fundamental and clearly in the Lord’s revealed will for the Church. And, though I choose to take the Holy Father at his word that this was done out of a desire for unity and for the spiritual welfare of the Church, I wish someone had asked him whether there might not be other challenges to unity within the Church that are more pressing than the popularity among the young of the TLM. But here we are. Pope Francis has spoken, authoritatively.

We all know that the Lord desires the Church to be unified in the truth, so we should continue to pray for that, and for all those who are having difficulty accepting this action, including many seminarians and members of TLM communities and traditional orders. What we must not do is “rise to the bait” and let this action lead us to resentment and bitterness. As I took time to pray about the Holy Father’s actions, I couldn’t help but recall the word the Lord gave me to preach last Sunday. I know clearly that this motu proprio of the Holy Father is, like it or not, part of God’s providential care for us.

It is already clear that members of the TLM communities, along with members of traditional orders such as the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter (FSSP) and the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest (CKSP), are concerned about what this will mean both in the short- and long-run. Many are saddened and/or angered by this ruling. The truth is, many questions remain unanswered. But the Holy Father’s action seems ordered to having the entire Latin Rite unified by one form of the Mass, that of the Novus Ordo. Whether that day will ever come, no one can say. If, like me, you are dealing with sadness or anger, join me in praying for the Holy Father, as well as for bishops, for priests, and laymen and women.

Though I have never personally celebrated the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite, I have at times considered learning the rubrics of the TLM. Now, given the Holy Father’s ruling, I would need to get the approval of Bishop Boyea (or his successor) to celebrate it. Who knows? I might eventually do so, but for now, I believe that I am still free to celebrate Extraordinary Form baptisms and Compline, since only the celebration of the Mass was mentioned in the motu proprio.

I am sometimes asked why I celebrate the Mass “ad orientem,” and I tell people that I do so because that is how Christians have always prayed. It’s the tradition we have received. Moreover, subjectively speaking, praying thus helps me celebrate the Mass with greater focus. I also believe that the times that I turn to face the people become not “just the next line,” but reveal significant meaning in light of the sacrifice of the Mass that I am offering. The more I pray the Mass this way, and I see the way the younger priests are drawn to it, the more convinced I have become that ad orientem is the (perhaps distant) future of normal Novus Ordo celebration. I will continue to pray this way, and look forward beginning in Advent to celebrating the 11:30 the Novus Ordo Mass once a month in Latin. All of that to say, get working on your Latin!

A few days before the Holy Father promulgated it, Fr. Thomas Reese S.J. penned some reflections on Francis’s pontificate that place the motu proprio in an interesting light. I share these things because some of you might be afraid what effect the Holy Father’s actions will have on the future of the liturgy and/or unity in the Church. Even if I’m disappointed by this action, I remain persuaded that the (liturgical and ecclesiological) future of the Church will be better than the present. If you doubt my sense about it, that’s fine. But I invite you to consider these concluding paragraphs from Fr. Reese’s article, an author who is very sympathetic to the initiatives of Pope Francis:

Finding young candidates for the priesthood, meanwhile, who support Francis and want to be celibate is like looking for Catholic unicorns, and if you were to find some, they aren’t likely to be welcomed by conservative seminaries. As a result, the laity who are encouraged to come to church because they like Francis are unlikely to find him in their parishes or dioceses.

Reforming the Catholic Church takes decades, not years. If his papacy is reckoned a failure, it will be because Francis failed to replace or outlast the clerical establishment put in place by John Paul and Benedict. His papacy will only succeed if he is followed by popes who are in sync with his approach to Catholicism, and this is not guaranteed. He has appointed sympathetic men to the College of Cardinals, but conclaves are unpredictable as his own election showed.

However anyone might judge the papacies of JPII, Benedict XVI, and Francis, we can (and should!) take consolation that the Lord is at work. And we do well to remember that no action, whether of this motu proprio or that, this appointment or that, occurs outside of the Lord’s providential will. All of our free acts will, whether of a cleric or layman, in the end, serve to accomplish His purposes, as we heard last Sunday in our second reading. We do best to pray, and unite any of the suffering that we are experiencing for the salvation of souls.

As I mentioned above, I’m confident that the future of the Church (and Her liturgy) will be more reverent and more beautiful, and that the faithful who remain in the Church will be drawn increasingly to the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. I say that because those in the Church who are encouraging their sons to become priests and their sons and daughters to become faithful members of the Church are open to life and are having children. Our job for now is to be faithful, to love God and our neighbor, and to share the Good News with our family members and others in our world.

The evil one would have us fear for the future, but our Lord says (always) “Do not be afraid.” And I’m unafraid, not because I’m talking myself out of it. I am hopeful. Really hopeful.

From where I stand, here at the Church of the Resurrection, the future looks bright. So let us not be afraid. Let us not give into resentment or scapegoating. Let us remember that God is allowing all of this for our good. Let us do what we can do, which is to pray, to be faithful, and to help our children know, love, and serve the Lord. Let us purpose to do so ourselves, to become saints, come what may. Come whatever may.

The Last Gospel

The proper gospel reading for today, the 7th Day in the Octave of Christmas, is John 1:1-18. It’s the same as that for Christmas Mass During the Day. Coming as it does on December 31st, it is the “last gospel” of the year. Masses this evening are actually Vigil Masses of the Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God.

As I proclaimed it this morning, I couldn’t help but be struck–yet again–by the power of John’s beautiful prologue. So much Good News is captured so poetically in the first chapter of his gospel. Here is an apt excerpt:

But to those who did accept him
he gave power to become children of God,
to those who believe in his name,
who were born not by natural generation
nor by human choice nor by a man’s decision
but of God.

And the Word became flesh
and made his dwelling among us,
and we saw his glory,
the glory as of the Father’s only-begotten Son,
full of grace and truth.

Thanks be to God, the Word did, in fact, become flesh. And dwelt among us. And he gave us the power to become children of God.

This morning in my homily, I focused on the great privilege we have to be children of God, bearers of the light of Christ. As such, in Christ, we are called, as members of the Body of Christ, to reveal God the Father to the world, as Jesus did when he became flesh. May we be faithful witnesses in our world, which is so desperately in need of light and love.

After proclaiming this (last) Gospel of the year, I expressed my hope (perhaps prophetically, perhaps in false hope) that–should the Lord tarry–the Novus Ordo might one day be modified to reinstate the traditional reading of “The Last Gospel” at the conclusion of Mass after the final blessing. Much was lost, it seems to me, with this change. And I say that as one who does not celebrate the Traditional Latin Mass.

Some parishioners have asked me to celebrate the Extraordinary Form, and I’m not opposed. In fact, I hope to be able to learn to do so. For now, though, I strive to celebrate the Novus Ordo Mass as beautifully and reverently as possible. As I have done so, I have been inspired by Pope Benedict XVI’s vision of a “mutual enrichment” of the two forms of the Mass.

The Last Gospel reminds us why Jesus came. Today it offered a fitting finish to the year. Who knows? Perhaps one day it will do the same for every Mass.

God With Us

Despite the fact that we’re still under a bit of a “shut-down” in the state, I’m very grateful that we have been able to have public Masses to celebrate the birth of Jesus. He has come. He is born. Alleluia! (The picture above is from our Midnight Mass. Suffice it to say we had sufficient servers!)

In my internet-less rectory, I’ve been listening to more recordings, and I recently listened to the entirety of Handel’s Messiah. (The Academy of Ancient Music gave this performance on the BBC in 1982. Of the versions I have heard, I like this one best. )

As most of you know, it is a masterpiece, showcasing in song the entire salvific life of Jesus the Messiah. We often hear a few pieces around this time of year, especially the Hallelujah Chorus. That is often the finale of Christmas concerts for choirs, and sometimes serves as a postlude to the celebration of Midnight Mass.

If you haven’t taken the time, you might consider listening to it in its entirety. One nice thing is that work was originally written in English, and the libretto is masterful. Handel’s Messiah is a marvelous meditation on the prophetic words about the Christ, and their fulfillment in paschal mystery, culminating in the resurrection of our Lord. The first part focuses, of course, on the coming of Jesus as a baby, the one who was laid a manger in Bethlehem one December long, long ago.

This year, despite the challenges, we are invited once again to welcome little baby Jesus, the Son of God who was willing to humble himself so much to come among us with the goal always only of revealing the love of God. Jesus, born of Mary came in the fulness of time, came to manifest love, to confirm our faith, and to give us hope, even in the midst of the messiness of coronatide.

Covid, of course, has not been our only concern, either individually or collectively. Politically and culturally, we are living in what is obviously a very divided nation. Add to that what Ralph Martin calls A Church in Crisis in his new book of that name, and things can begin to look quite bleak. The challenges we are facing individually and collectively make us pause, and (hopefully, at least) invite us to pray.

Given these challenges, especially this year, as we celebrate Christmas, let us be sure to remind ourselves (and each other), that the Lord is near. He is Emmanuel, God with us, the Prince of Peace, the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. Jesus.

This year, again, our “Little Lord Jesus” invites us to come without fear to the manger where he lies as real, vulnerable, and needy as any newborn. He came among us, as one like us, not to intimidate us or to condemn us, but to win our hearts to love, by love.

Jesus, the Word-Made-Flesh, invites us to come to him, to see him, to hold him, and to wonder at his presence. Jesus, the Eternal Son, came into the world—and is here now—for you, for me, and for all the world. He came in love. For love. Out of love. And that’s what he wants for us: love.

We are given the gift to participate in the Trinitarian life of love through our baptism. Empowered by the Spirit, we are called by Love to be Love in the world—right now, in this year of Covid—by shining as lights for the world to see and to wonder at our life together.

It’s all about love. Receiving love, and giving love away. Loving well is a full, good life, come what may. Love is what we were made for. Love is what he came for. May 2021 be a year marked by love of God and neighbor for us all. May we each know the love of God and share that love with others.

The way that we can love well this year is to draw strength from time spent with the One who is love. Let us daily be nourished by the Word of God and regularly receive the sustenance of love, the Blessed Sacrament. The more we come to him, spending regular time with him in prayerful meditation, contemplation, and adoration, the more we will be able to emulate his life, and serve as witnesses to others of what it means to be Christian in the twenty-first century.

As we pause this Christmas like little children, amidst all the “grown up concerns” of this challenging time, let us do the simple things well. Let us draw near to Jesus, the very approachable, even irresistible, baby in the manger, and open our hearts to his love. He longs to love us, and will fill us with his love if we come to him. And that will make all the difference. If we do that, those with eyes to see will know that God is, in fact, with us, because they will recognize him in us. Merry Christmas!

God is better . . .

. . . than a good dog. That’s how I began a recent homily at a funeral home service for a man who had died at the age of fifty, just over two months after being diagnosed with cancer. Beginning that way wasn’t, as you might suspect, my original plan. But the man’s dog, a wonderfully gentle golden retriever, seemed more minister than pet that morning.

Indeed, as I arrived, the family was sitting and talking, watching a slideshow of pictures of Bill. His dog, T-nine, with a command of the place, made the rounds of everyone who was there. At one point the dog sat down next to me, placing his head on my knee. No one could ignore him or believe he was somehow out of place.

I began the homily as I did because his “ministry” to the fifteen or so grieving family members and me was obvious. And important.

Of course, we all know that God is better than even the best of dogs, but I also knew from experience that this family, like all families who bury a loved one all too soon were grappling with questions: Why now? Why him? Why cancer? The answers to questions of that sort are never obvious.

His death called to mind what the theologians and philosophers call “the problem of evil.” It is, in fact, a great puzzle. How could a good, all loving, all knowing, all powerful God allow suffering like Bill’s or like countless others who deal with the results of a broken world or human sin?

Among those who have grappled with the question, I think St. Thomas Aquinas offers the best–admittedly, faith-based–answer by stating that God allows evil (moral and physical) always only to accomplish a greater good.

We can’t always see it at the time, and may not be able to see it in this life, but, filled with faith, we do well to trust that God is actually good and loving. We also know, looking hard at a crucifix, that God gets it. We worship a suffering and dying God. He meets us in our suffering, loving us.

But it was precisely because of the problem of evil that I continued the homily by stating a hard fact of human experience: “God is better than a good dog . . . but sometimes a faithful dog can seem better–more ‘faithful’, even–than God.”

Think about it. The faithful dog. Always there. Always attentive. Always (at least a good dog) ready to welcome and to love. There’s a lot to argue for a good dog. And God can seem distant, and silent. And is often thought to give us “more than we can handle.”

But, if we can draw strength and faith from the witness of others, and dare to trust–in the face of sadness, grief, and puzzlement–that God is actually loving and good, we may be able to perceive signs of God’s presence and His love for us and those we love.

In fact, in this case, T-nine, the very good dog who lost his master, was a tangible sign of God’s goodness to Bill’s family and to me. And, thanks be to God, there were other signs of God’s goodness that I was able to highlight for them and for myself.

It seems to me this is a secret of our faith. The more we look for signs of God’s presence and His love the better we are able to perceive them. In this case, the signs were obvious. Impossible to miss.

Let me share them with you. A few weeks ago, Bill’s daughter Stacie called and wondered if I’d be able to come to meet with her dad, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and had a bad prognosis. I planned on doing so, but I got a call from Stacie that her dad preferred to meet by Zoom. He was concerned about picking up Covid. So we met by Zoom, and talked about faith and his desire, spurred by Stacie’s prayers and witness and appeals, to become Catholic.

I made plans to make the trek to his home, but a few days later, Bill had to be admitted to the hospital. I kept in touch with Stacie, and she texted me to see if I could come visit him. I brought the oils and the Blessed Sacrament, and using the emergency rites given to priests for just such occasions, I baptized him, confirmed him, and gave him his first communion.

I can’t recall ever hearing such a heartfelt “I do” from a catechumen before. Then, pouring the water three times, I spoke the life-changing words: I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and it was done. Bill was a son of God. He took the confirmation name William, and his daughter served as his sponsor. After I gave him communion, which would prove to be his first and last communion, his viaticum, food for the journey, he smiled broadly, and said, “I’m ready to go see Jesus.”

I rejoiced with him, but told him that I thought that the Lord had more for him here, but he said it again. He was ready to go and see Jesus. And he was ready. It was clear. When he got to the hospice house, he introduced himself as a Catholic, Stacie told me, and he was a witness to his caregivers and his family to the end.

His family saw the change. They knew that his conversion–rather, transformation–was real. They saw his inner peace, joy even, and knew it was, if any tragic, untimely death could be so-called, a happy death. I pointed to this beautiful, unexpected, fact. And, knowing her pain, I assured Bill’s mother that Mother Mary knows what it’s like to bury a son, and shared that Mary longs to enfold her, as our Blessed Mother does all mother’s who grieve the loss of a child, in her mantle of love.

My homily was basically a recounting of the grace at work through Stacie, and, ironically enough, through the unbidden, unsought, unwanted diagnosis of cancer.

The rock solid truth is that God is always at work, loving us. And that’s true even if we can’t see it. That’s the mystery.

I don’t know for sure, but, as I looked at the pictures of Bill as the “life of the party,” a vigorous and strong man, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would have been open to the invitation to trust the Lord, to be baptized and confirmed, had he not been brought low by the dreaded diagnosis of cancer.

I’m not trying to put a smiley face on such a diagnosis, but I suspect that our brother in Christ, Bill, might never have known his need for a savior without the late diagnosis of a deadly cancer, with such a grim prognosis.

Providentially, God worked through that grimness, his “desperation,” the precariousness of his condition–by allowing this suffering, not causing it–to “plow deep” in the soil of his soul a preparation for his daughter’s sowing of the seed of the Gospel. And, as it happened–by grace–that seed of faith, poured out in love, bore rich fruit.

I am convinced that Bill is (or will be very soon) in heaven, and I don’t say that lightly. He was baptized shortly before he died, and lived his remaining (very few) days testifying to God’s love and his own faith. He was a witness to me. And others. He offered by his faith, his “yes,” strong evidence that God is better even than a good dog.

I was privileged to share Bill’s story at Mass this past Sunday, when, with the whole Church, we were given this powerful text from St. Paul for our second reading (I Thes 5:16-24):

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing.
In all circumstances give thanks,
for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.
Do not quench the Spirit.
Do not despise prophetic utterances.
Test everything; retain what is good.
Refrain from every kind of evil.

May the God of peace make you perfectly holy
and may you entirely, spirit, soul, and body,
be preserved blameless for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.
The one who calls you is faithful,
and he will also accomplish it.

Am I in Heaven?

That was a question I found myself asking a few days ago. It resulted from my recent decision to get rid of the internet at my rectory. It was a great decision, and I encourage you to think hard about following suit.

Prior to Covid, I didn’t have the internet at the rectory. I had enjoyed the quasi-cloister prior to this year. I installed the internet out of “necessity,” and I found it very useful–indispensable even–during the Covid shut-down. “Zooming” with friends & family, colleagues at the parish, and praying with people who were struggling were all made possible by that technology.

I’m aware of the challenges and dangers of tech. Aren’t we all? Tech is a mixed blessing. For me, after getting things hooked up, I found myself tracking Covid-data like my life depended on it. Twitter seemed among the best ways to keep track of the latest, and, boy, did I keep track. As spring of Coronatide turned into summer, my Covid-data tracking gave way to Twitter monitoring of BLM, Antifa, Anti-Racism, and non-stop updates about the Woke Left.

I’m a priest. And I did spend time in prayer. I prayed the Office, and took time with my daily holy hour. But, I’m sad to say that I could be at times pulled out of prayer by a “pressing question” or a passing thought.

A wiser, more self-disciplined man or woman might have easily been able to resist the itch of curiosity and distraction. But that wasn’t the case for me. Alas.

The evil one knows us. Each of us. The devil and his minions watch us and tailor temptations to tap into or stir our particular anxieties, appetites, fears, self-reliant commitments, etc. One strange trajectory of temptation for me was premised on my genuine and pastoral concern for my parish and community.

Like most pastors, I want to be a good shepherd. The Lord wants that too. Satan, the Tempter, is shrewd, and knows it too. I realize now that my desire to be a good and faithful shepherd had become an effective target for the evil one’s lies and temptations. Conspiring with my tendency for self-reliance, the evil one “encouraged” me to do things in my own strength, to dream that I could actually protect my parish from the looming dangers, as it were, on my own.

Thanks be to God, beginning a couple of months ago, I sensed that I needed to increase my time of prayer. And it bore fruit. The Lord showed me that my own “need” to track the many developments and concerns in the world and in the Church was making it more difficult for me to trust the Lord and His care for me and my parish. The evil one had been successfully getting me to scratch my itch for self-reliance and control.

Thanks to what was surely an inspiration from the Lord, in a time of prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, I got a strong sense that I should simply get rid of the internet at the rectory. Since I live only a few blocks from the parish, I knew it was “doable.” Thanks be to God, I listened.

I know that some of you may believe that getting rid of the internet would be “impossible” in your circumstance, and you may be right. But count me an evangelist. Here are a few of the fruits of this change for me:

First, unsurprisingly, I have time. There’s no more streaming of anything at all, no Twitter, no websites to monitor, no emails to check. No work at home.
Second, my prayer is freer and more abundant. The digital distraction of devices is gone, and I’m able to focus once again.
Third, and more generally, I think that I’m becoming a better, more balanced person. I’m spending time reading, cooking more for myself, listening to good music, returning to my very rudimentary banjo playing, and exercising and sleeping more. Not a bad list, that.

Even if you doubt that could pull the plug, so to speak, let me encourage you, as I encouraged my parishioners this past weekend, to pull back from (especially social) media. As I mentioned in that homily, I’m very concerned about the effects of social media on our children, which is a point that I’ll address in greater depth in a future post.

One last note: the picture above was taken while I was listening to Ein Deutsches Requiem by Johannes Brahms and reading Carl Trueman’s brilliant new book. (Here’s a good summary/review.) I texted the picture to some friends–admittedly using my device–wondering with them whether I was in heaven.

It was a great evening–refreshing, renewing, joyful and deeply incarnational. The answer, of course, was, no. I wasn’t in heaven. Not yet. But with less internet, I believe I can be more fit for heaven than I would have been otherwise. Cheers!

Is anything worse than being a hypocrite?

A few days ago, I shared the sobering allegations made against a stalwart of Catholic orthodoxy, Fr. George Rutler. He has, as I mentioned on Thursday, denied allegations of sexual assault and has told his parishioners not to believe stories that were reported about what happened.

His case is a helpful reminder that we priests are called (and will be held) to a higher standard, morally speaking. And if it ends up that he is in fact guilty of the alleged assault and/or of viewing gay pornography. Fr. Rutler will be called–for good reason–a hypocrite.

It is obvious to those who know Fr. Rutler, have heard his preaching, or read his writing, that he would surely condemn the behavior in question. In fact, in October, he gave an interesting interview about his new book on holiness. His comments, as usual, were on point:

Our Lord wept over Jerusalem. But he wasn’t neurotic about it. He wept out of love, and he had a solution. Orthodoxy is not enough. You have to live the Faith. You have to be supernatural and confident in God’s grace. Our Lord did not tell us to go out into all the world and bash the heretics. He told us to go out and preach the Gospel.

Living the faith and preaching the Gospel are what Fr. Rutler has been known for, which is why the heartache some Catholics are experiencing is so devastating.

Who knows? Perhaps in the end this will all prove to be a “deep fake.” But, then again, he might be guilty.

Either way, things are going to be painfully hard for Fr. Rutler. If he’s innocent, he will always have to contend with the allegations that have been made, and be dogged by the digital memory that never forgets nor forgives. If he’s guilty, he will have the opportunity to acknowledge his own failures and model for us the conversion he has preached about for decades. Everything he has done will have an asterisk, and he’ll be labeled a hypocrite.

Given that possibility, I can’t help but wonder what ramifications such a label should have in his case. Some seem to believe that being labeled a hypocrite is the death-sentence for a preacher. And there’s no doubt that it is serious. But how should this recent revelation influence the way we view the ministry he has already performed? It places it under a certain cloud, to be sure, but to my mind, it shouldn’t “cancel” him or his ministry.

I say that because of how effective his ministry has been. Even if his parishioners and countless “fans” feel dazed, if not betrayed, surely part of their heartache is a consequence of the powerful effects of his preaching and ministry. He helped strengthen the Catholic faith that now heightens their sense of scandal.

This brings me to an unexpected conclusion. Even if Fr. Rutler is shown to be a hypocrite, I am certain that his parishioners are better off having had him as pastor than they would have been with a pastor who regularly called Church teaching into doubt or offered pablum from the pulpit. That is to say, hypocrisy is better than heterodoxy or heresy.

More to the point, even if these allegations prove true, they do not outweigh the good work he has done. No sinner, even a priest-sinner, is defined by his worst moments. And our good works, including the good works of faith of a sinful priest, cannot be erased by sins, even when those sins shout hypocrisy!

I think this analysis is consistent with the back-handed compliment Jesus gave to the scribes and Pharisees: “[D]o and observe all things whatsoever they tell you, but do not follow their example. For they preach but they do not practice” (Matthew 23:3, NABRE). At least they preached the truth!

Please pray for priests, including, of course, Fr. Rutler.

Say it ain’t so.

On this first day of my blog–“come what may”–I never thought I would be writing about allegations of sexual impropriety made against Fr. George Rutler, a well-known conservative priest serving in the Archdiocese of New York. Fr. Rutler is a brilliant writer and a staunch defender of the Church’s teaching, who has proven particularly effective in speaking the uncomfortable and unpopular truth of the Church’s teaching.

Fr. Rutler has denied the allegations, but if they prove to be true, the scandal will be multiplied simply because of how many faithful Catholics heralded Fr. Rutler as one of the (all-too-few) “good ones.”

Just over a week ago, my brother Dan got a text from a friend who attends Fr. Rutler’s church. He told me about the allegations, and we both found the claims too fantastic to be true. When, a few days ago, someone else texted me the news, I responded by saying I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to.

But I also knew the allegations could be true. I’ve been a priest now for fifteen years, and I was in seminary during the period of time when the Church was convulsing through the priest abuse scandal. Those painful years featured too many accounts of “orthodox” priests living “double-lives” for me to doubt that a “holy priest” like Fr. Rutler could be guilty of this sort of thing.

Like every other priest, I know enough about sin to know that sadly even “faithful priests” could do such things. We are all weak, and we need the Lord’s grace to live lives of holiness and love. Please pray for all priests! And, of course, pray for all those who struggle with the demon of pornography. Pray too for all victims of sexual assault, which is the specific allegation against Fr. Rutler. The scandal, though, centers more on the gay pornography he is said to have been watching.

It is important to recall that Fr. Rutler denies the allegations, and he deserves the presumption of innocence. And, though I hope and pray that he is not guilty of either committing sexual assault or of viewing pornography, what if he is guilty? What then?

Rod Dreher, in his blog post about the allegations, highlighted the profound scandal of someone like Fr. Rutler being accused of such behavior, and he argues that if he is guilty, Fr. Rutler’s ministry is effectively over. “Even if Rutler is cleared of the groping allegation, if the porn thing is confirmed, his career as a priest is over, and ought to be” he writes.

I don’t agree that his ministry should necessarily be over. It would, I think, depend on how he responds. I would hope and pray that, if he were guilty, that Fr. Rutler would humbly acknowledge that fact, and then pursue his own healing and find appropriate ways to help others along that healing journey themselves.

Thankfully, in an “update” to the Rutler blog entry, Rod quotes a priest who makes clear that Catholic faithful err when they assume that priests are not sinners. Some of that has to do with priests who are afraid to acknowledge their own weakness and their own need for mercy and forgiveness. The point should be clear to priests and people alike. We priests are sinners, even if we are called to greater level of sanctity.

Every time one of these reports comes out, I’m saddened and sobered, and reminded of my need for grace, and the importance of living a holy, prayerful life.

Part of me wonders why the Lord would choose to have sinful men like me become priests, but the fact is the Lord doesn’t have any other option. Only us sinners, saved by grace.

I will say this in closing: My own sinfulness helps me be a compassionate confessor for those who are sinners like me. May all of us priests know our own need, and turn to the Lord to receive the grace we need to lead our flocks faithfully and well.

If you would, please pray for Fr. Rutler, all his brother priests, his parishioners, and the young woman who alleges that he assaulted her. Please also pray for the truth to come out, and for all those men and women who are overwhelmed by these allegations and the sobering possibility that they might just be true.

Why am I blogging?

As anyone who attends the Church of the Resurrection or joins us by livestream knows, when I preach I preach to myself. Of course, I also “invite” others to listen in. I preach that way because I know that I need to continually remind myself of the truth, and to call myself deeper into the life of discipleship. I also know that my message is relevant at least to one person: myself.

I have been told and I think it’s true that one of my spiritual gifts is prophecy. It feels “natural” to me to declare the truth in clear and (hopefully) charitable ways with parishioners and others who might be open to hearing what I have to say.

Sometimes, though, I have to admit my homilies have been overly focused on strategic responses to concerns that arise in the political and cultural realms. Though I strive always to highlight the Good News that we find in Christ, and how that should guide our responses to the circumstances and challenges of our time, I’m convinced that some of the reflections I have shared during homilies might be more fitting for a blog or perhaps a podcast than a homily.

So I’m going to give this a try. It provides me a chance to address concerns that the Lord has placed on my heart in a context that allows people to engage with my reflections in ways not possible, for obvious reasons, during a homily.

The blog is called “Come what may” because I have often find myself uttering those words in homilies where I’m addressing prophetic concerns about where things are headed in our world and the Church. In my heart of hearts, I desire all Christians to remain faithful to the Gospel and to bear witness to the truth . . . come what may. Come whatever may.

These are challenging times. Uncertain times. But they are also the times that we–each and every one of us–are privileged to live. I suspect that the challenges of living our faith are bound to increase. So, as things develop, I’ll be blogging, addressing current events as well as eternal realities, and muse together with you about how we might respond . . . as faithful Catholic Christians.

Whatever else, our call as believers, as Catholics, is to be faithful disciples, come what may. Come whatever may.

I invite you to tag along, and to chime in, should you wish.

Please keep me in prayer. I’ll pray for you, as well.