The Holy Cross is My Light

For months I've been looking for a crucifix lapel pin to add to the cowbell and sundry bling affixed to my Y name tag lanyard.  (You will remember that I had been given a papal crucifix pin but it was stolen right off my jacket a few years ago. )  I'd been checking local Catholic stores to no avail, but finally found a nice one online which arrived in the mail a few days ago.

It is a St. Benedict crucifix, which contains St. Benedict's Medal at its intersection.  St. Benedict's Medal is a well-known sacramental used to invoke God's protection from evil, especially the Evil One.  The pin came with a little card, explaining the letters on the medal--abbreviations of Latin prayers of deprecatory exorcism.

I'd put that card in the drawer of my dresser valet, where I keep my Miraculous Medal blessed by John Paul II, my decade rosary blessed by Benedict XVI, some other small religious items and scraps of paper.

Earlier this afternoon I came into the bedroom to find this startling sight:

The drawer was cracked open and the St. Benedict card was sticking out.

I had not touched the valet since emptying my pockets last night.  I had been nowhere near my dresser today.  I had not even opened that drawer since putting the card inside a few days ago. And I've been alone here all day.

I snapped a quick picture, and sprinkled holy water after praying the prayer on the card:

The Holy Cross is my light
The devil won't be my guide
Be gone devil
You won't persuade me to do evil
What you show me is evil
Drink your own poison yourself

It is Tuesday of Holy Week, where in today's Gospel Jesus gives the morsel to his betrayer and "after Judas took the morsel, Satan entered him."  The devil is very real and so is spiritual warfare  And it can be unnerving to encounter it.

Today is also the sixth anniversary of the election of Joseph Ratzinger as pope, who took the name Benedict.

Very eerie.

St. Benedict, pray for me.  St. Michael the Archangel, protect me in battle.

Born Again

During the summer I am immersed in Protestantism while at work.  Some of the college students that come to the Y are new Christians, and it's not uncommon for them to share the story of when they were “born again.”

We Catholics don't talk like that.  We hardly know how to answer the questions “Have you been saved?” or “Have you been born again?”  Yet if we have been baptized, the answer is “yes.”

The memory book I received as a college graduation gift contains a Polaroid of my baptism:  Mom and Dad hold me over the small baptismal font; my godparents Patti and Randy crowd around as the priest blesses me.

I don't remember this at all, but that doesn't matter.  Though a personal emotional experience is absent, the grace of the sacrament is the same.  I didn't need to know exactly what was happening at the time, because my parents knew and because I would come to know.

The same was true of circumcision in the Old Covenant.  Every male child of Israel was incorporated into the Chosen People through circumcision, which was a sign of the covenant with the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  And the decision to do this was not the infant's, but the parents'.

In this way, circumcision foreshadowed baptism of the New Covenant.  And since baptism is a sacrament—a physical, tangible way that God makes Himself present for us to experience—it truly incorporates us into the Body of Christ.  And unlike circumcision of old, it also washes us clean of sin and brings us into a new spiritual life to share in Christ's Resurrection.  This is what St. Peter means when he says “Baptism...now saves you” (cf. 1 Pt 3:21).

My parents' love brought me into their earthly family, and three weeks later that love combined with their love for God brought me into the spiritual family of the Church.

Twenty-nine years ago today, I was born again of water and the Spirit (cf. Jn 3:3-5).

Resurrexit Sicut Dixit

Tonight, through the liturgy of the Church's solemn vigil, God spans time and space to bring us the grace of that holy night when Christ rose triumphant over the grave.  It is in the dead of this night that Death is destroyed.  And we are there at the tomb to see it empty.

Tonight the Church's great proclamation of the Resurrection, the Exultet asks, What good would life have been to us, had Christ not come as our Redeemer?

This is the Good News that gives all things meaning.  God the Son, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, came in the flesh, lived among men, suffered and died for them, and took up His life again.  Our pain and suffering has meaning because He Himself suffered.  Our death does not spell the end of our life because His death did not spell the end of His Life.

Yet there are still people who have not heard this joyous news.  Even now they do not see what good life is, that their God poured out Himself in sacrificial love so that their sin and brokenness could be healed and their death could be overcome.

These are not just poetic words; this is no myth.  He is risen as He said, and He comes to us as the Eucharist--His true Body and Blood, resurrected and glorified--to share His abundant life as He said.

The New Adam

In the beginning God created man and saw it was not good for him to be alone.  So God brought forth to Adam all the animals on the earth, and after naming them, Adam saw that none were a suitable partner for himself.  So God put Adam into a deep sleep, opened his side, removed a rib, and fashioned from it woman as a bride for Adam.

On Good Friday, God saw that it was not good that man should live burdened by sin and separated from the love of the Trinity.  And so seeing that the law of Moses was not a suitable path for man's salvation, Christ offered Himself in love on the cross, on the hill of Golgotha where tradition says Adam was buried.  And during the "deep sleep" of death, Christ's side was opened by a lance, and through the blood and water that flowed out, Christ the New Adam fashioned for Himself His own bride, the Church.

God created Eve to complete Adam; God created the Church so that He could complete man through relationship with Himself.

A Tale of Two Masses

I went to Masses on both Ash Wednesday and the Second Sunday of Lent which were at the same time days and centuries apart:  the Ordinary Form and the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite.

On Ash Wednesday, following the homily, the priest had a show-and-tell on how he makes ashes, complete with sieves and lighter fluid.  Throughout the whole Mass, Father interjected mundane comments, and following communion he told us to spend time in silence with the Lord and then almost immediately prayed aloud spontaneously.

The sanctuary was covered with swathes of purple fabric and banners with cartoonish Lenten symbols.  At the base of the altar were sand and stones--the "required" desert scene.

Compare that to Extraordinary Form Mass (sometimes still called the Latin or Tridentine Mass) I attended on the Second Sunday of Lent at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel in Littleton.

I sat a couple pews from the front, which I realized was a dumb idea as the church filled up.  As a stranger at a foreign liturgy, I had very few people in front of me whose lead I could follow.  I suppose it's not unlike how many people feel when they first encounter the Mass in any form. 

It wasn't hard for me to recognize the different parts of the Mass even though, with the exception of the homily, it was all in Latin.

The men wore ties and most of the women and girls wore headcoverings.  Incense smoke rolled around the base of the altar like morning mist.  Gold-accented statues and murals caught glints of daylight.  Both the choir and the priest chanted, and there was even silence.  Beautiful, elusive silence.

Ten altar boys served the priest.  Ten!  They were of various ages from maybe eight to mid-teens, well-trained if not a little fidgety.  One older server specifically attended the priest, while others swung the censer, carried candles and even bore torches during the Consecration.

The Consecration was completely silent, though bells accompanied the elevation of the Host, which rose above the priest's head like the sun--the Sun of Justice rising from the East.  Priest and congregation faced the same direction, toward the Lord to Whom the prayer was offered.

It was a feast for the senses.  It was the Mass that my grandparents, many saints and even one of our Founding Fathers experienced.  And when compared to the casualness of most Masses I've experienced in my lifetime, it was clear that the focus there was not the priest, the congregation or the musicians, but Jesus.  Everything was being done for the Lord and to emphasize His Presence there, and it was all done deliberately and with purpose.

Should you like to experience the Extraordinary Form of the Mass for the first time (or again), the Coalition in Support of Ecclesia Dei has a listing of Masses by state.

I can't say that my first experience what particularly prayerful--I was trying to take in everything around me--but I can see how someone more accustomed could find it very prayerful.  So I think I must go back.

Forty Days and Forty Nights

Here we are, closing in on the holy season of Lent.  It is the great time that Christians use to reorient our lives to Christ in preparation to celebrate the Resurrection on Easter.

During a recent conversation with a friend, I mentioned that I am planning on abstaining from alcohol during Lent (a great personal sacrifice) save for St. Patrick's Day, when I plan to enjoy a healthy glass of Irish whiskey in honor of the great saint.  These Lenten plans conjured the comment, "Good idea, because Jesus came out of the desert during those 40 days."

That response brought something to mind:  We have a strange understanding of Lent.

First of all, the liturgical season of Lent is not even literally 40 days long.  Go ahead and count from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday and see what number you get.  (Sorry; that was a trick.  Lent ends before Easter.)  Second, "giving up" good things during Lent beyond the Church's fasting and abstinence requirements is only a voluntary--albeit spiritually beneficial--custom.  So should I chose to break my Lenten observance of abstaining from alcohol in order to remember St. Patrick in a traditional Irish way, I am free to do so.  And keep in mind, giving up alcohol is not the only penitential act I am performing during Lent, so I am still observing the penitential nature of the season.

We also seem to forget the baptismal focus of the season.  Lent began as time of preparation for those entering the Church at the Easter Vigil, and during the first 1500 years of Christianity, that meant those who had never been baptized.  Those converts had to not only learn about the Faith but also make public acts of penitence and conversion as ways to show their sincerity.  Think of Lent as the original RCIA program, which the Church, in her wisdom, soon saw as a good, holy and fruitful practice to extend to all Christians.

So we should understand Lent as a time to refocus on our baptismal commitment to Jesus as well as to use increased prayer, fasting and almsgiving in order to free ourselves from distractions and be renewed by the fundamental event of human history:  Christ's Resurrection from the grave and triumph over Death.

Unfortunately it seems that many of our churches emphasize a gimmicky "desert experience," complete with sand in the sanctuary and dry holy water fonts (the latter of which not only creates a disconnect between the baptismal character of the sacramental and the season but also is expressly prohibited). And so, without plumbing the theological depths of the season, Lent can easily seem dry and lifeless.

Find all your Lenten questions answered here, and some ideas for acts of penance here!

Keep the Fast; keep the Feast.

Gloria in Excelsis Deo

The eighth day before the first of January, eighth day of the lunar month;

innumerable ages having passed since the creation of the world, when in the beginning God created Heaven and earth and formed man in His own image;

many more centuries after the flood, when the Most High placed His rainbow in the heavens as a sign of the covenant and of peace;

from the migration of Abraham, our father in faith, from Ur of the Chaldeans, twenty-one centuries;

from the exodus of the people of Israel out of Egypt, led by Moses, thirteen centuries;

from the anointing of David as King, about one thousand years;

in the sixty-fifth week according to Daniel’s prophecy;

in the year of the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad;

from the founding of the city of Rome, seven hundred and fifty-two years;

in the rule of Caesar Octavian Augustus, the forty-second year;

the whole world being at peace:

Jesus Christ, eternal God, the eternal Father’s Son, being pleased by His coming to consecrate the world, by the Holy Spirit conceived, nine months having passed since His conception, in Bethlehem of Judah was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man.

The Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

Above is the Proclamation of the Birth of Christ (this is a literal English translation of the Latin), which may be sung at Midnight Mass.  It puts the Incarnation of Jesus in the context of both salvation history and secular history.  It acknowledges that God did indeed, really and truly, enter into His Creation in an great outpouring of Love.

The Ancient of Days, the Great I AM, the infinite and omnipotent God of the Universe united our human nature with His own divine nature, taking on the humility and weakness of a poor, powerless babe.

That infant was born in Bethlehem, a town of no great stature or importance, a town whose name in Hebrew means "house of bread."  He was laid in a lowly manger, the feeding trough of stable animals.  So we see that even in the circumstances of His birth, the Word Made Flesh wished to draw us near to Himself through the Eucharist.

As truly as He came as a little child so long ago, He humbly comes to us now as the Bread of Life, true food and true drink.  His divinity "incarnates" bread and wine, transubstantiating it into Himself, and then when we receive His Body and Blood, He begins to transform our very selves into Himself.

Magnificat's Christmas Eve meditation was A Christmas Prayer by Ian Oliver, and I was particularly touched by this verse of the poem:  "If God can lie down in a cattle-trough,/ is any object safe from transformation?"

A blessed and holy Christmas to you.  Receive the Eucharist, receive Christ born anew in your heart and be transformed.

St. Andrew the Protoclete

Today is the feast of St. Andrew, Apostle and Martyr.

As I've mentioned before, Andrew is my personal patron saint.  The reasons are not very high-minded or nobel:  when it came time to choose a confirmation name, I, at the time wholly ignorant of the importance of the sacrament and being lazy (as I still am), I used my middle name.  But God writes straight with crooked lines, and so this really brainless decision on my part has turned into a source of blessing.

I went to St. Malo this morning for Mass.  There were four of us--the chaplain, two Sodalit community members, and me--in the small chapel in the retreat house.  Father's homily was a simple yet insightful.  He emphasized two things, Andrew as Protoclete and the Apostle's eagerness to follow Christ.

In the Eastern Churches Andrew is called the Protoclete, meaning "first called."  In today's Gospel, Jesus encounters Andrew and Peter first and calls them to follow Him.  The Gospel of John tells us that Andrew was an disciple of the Baptist when he discovered Jesus; he then went to his brother Peter to say that he had found the Messiah.

The important points of Andrew's life are these:  that when called he "left at once" to follow the Lord, and he introduced others--especially those closest to him--to Jesus the Messiah.

St. Andrew, pray that I may be as eager and generous as you in my own discipleship.

So Great a Cloud of Witnesses

I've been neglecting some things recently, this blog included.  The issue of neglect came up in my Confession last week, when the Lord revealed to me that I've also been neglecting a devotion to the saints.

This wasn't entirely my fault in the beginning.  There was hardly any mention of the saints during my religious education or even at home.  There were no statues in church of the saints (save one--and only one--of Mary).  If I had ever paid attention to the words of the Roman Canon, Eucharistic Prayer I, when it was prayed during Mass, I doubt I would have heard the invocation of all those names of the apostles and martyrs.  After all, it is optional to invoke those saints during that prayer.

But I'm an adult now, and I am responsible for my own ongoing religious formation.  So just as I was responsible whether or not to accept as an adult what little I was taught as a child about Christ and His Church, so am I responsible for strengthening my relationship with the Lord and growing in a deeper understanding of the Faith.

I also realized that I know who Paris Hilton, Jon and Kate are, but I barely know Denis of Paris, John of the Cross or Catherine of Siena, let alone Athanasius, Elizabeth Ann Seton, or Polycarp.  Which group should have more influence on my life?

So during the past year or so, I've been trying to develop my devotion to the saints.  I've begun to invoke a different saint's intercession during daily morning and evening prayer.  In fact, praying the Liturgy of the Hours (or in my case, Magnificat), has helped me appreciate the rhythm of the Church's life and introduced me to more saints than I could have imagined.  I also have my own patrons:  Andrew, who is both my middle- and Confirmation namesake, and Anthony of Padua, finder of lost items.

These are all good practices, but I could do more.  For instance, I only know snippets of a few saints' lives--whatever I've gleaned from homilies, books and articles, and websites--which is very little.  So at some point, I'd love to get my hands of a copy of Butler's Lives of the Saints.

Imagine growing up without siblings, neighbors, grandparents, or friends teaching you how to behave in the world and toward other people.  A devotion to the saints is important because they are the community of believers who teach us how to behave in the Kingdom.  Their lives are schools of instruction.  They show us what it means to love Jesus with whole heart, soul, mind and strength.  We ask their intercession because the prayer of the righteous has great power.  They show us our own heavenly destiny if we only abandon ourselves to the Lord

All you holy saints of God, pray for us.

We Preach Christ Crucified

I have a lot of free time on my hands during the winter months. This past winter I thought I'd attempt something productive, so I registered for a class at the Archdiocese's John Paul II Center for the New Evangelization.

I drove down to Denver every Wednesday night for eight weeks to learn how articulate the fullness of the Gospel (and thus be more deeply converted by it myself). Had I only been a little more patient, I could have signed up for the new distance course and saved putting the miles on my car.

The course instructor, Aimee Cooper, developed the material for her master's thesis at the Augustine Institute. She is a convert of ten years who was inspired by her time in an Protestant evangelism program coupled with a challenge by Abp. Chaput to develop a similar way to explain the fullness of the Gospel as found in the Catholic tradition.

During our last class, Aimee offered to work with any of us students who might be interested in training in door-to-door evangelization.

Now, if you knew me ten years ago, you know that I had a weak, nebulous faith; and if you knew me five yesrs ago, you know that while I believed in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I was content to be among the "Preach the Gospel always; when necessary, use words" crowd (a phrase, it might surprise you to learn, St. Francis never said), which usually translates to "Be a good person with your actions; hardly if ever preach the Gospel with words."

For whatever reason, though, I wasn't shocked at myself when I decided to approach Aimee after class about direct evangelization.

We worked from St. Thomas Aquinas University Parish, a block from the CU Boulder campus, knocking on doors in the surrounding student neighborhoods.  In the beginning, Aimee led the whole presentation while I observed and prayed.  But by the end of July, I was the one presenting the Gospel.

When we knocked on the door and someone answered, we asked if they were willing to help in a survey of student perceptions of Catholicism.  If they weren't interested, we wished them a good day and left; there was absolutely no hounding or persuasion.

If they agreed to talk with us, we started a dialogue by asking about their religious background and their perceptions of the Church, the priesthood and Catholic people.  Doing this was meant to draw them into conversation and make them comfortable talking with us.  And we assured them that nothing they said would offend us.  We wanted honest answers.

Then we shared a "presentation of the core Catholic beliefs," that is, the fullness of the Gospel:  God as the Trinity of Love, the reason for Creation and Man, the Fall, Jesus' death and Resurrection, His gift of the Church and the Sacraments--especially the Eucharist--and our eternal destiny in the New Creation.  There's a lot to cover in five to seven minutes, but we tried to make it as succinct yet beautiful as possible.

Then we ended with questions about how the things we talked about in the presentation related to their existing perceptions of Catholicism, asked what we could do to make them more comfortable and answered any questions they might have.  Then we left.

We had several great encounters.  One afternoon we sat on a porch and talked with two guys for almost two hours; another day, my second time leading, we had a good discussion with two girls with Catholic backgrounds.

Doing direct evangelization has made me keenly aware of two important aspects of being a Christian disciple: spiritual warfare and humility.

Spiritual warfare may a little out of vogue, but it is very real.  It never failed that when every Aimee and I would sit on the church steps and pray or when we would begin the Gospel presentation, a loud truck or car with music blaring would roar by us, and we'd have to wait for the distraction to pass.

And then there was the day when we met with a non-practicing Catholic girl who stopped Aimee in the middle of the presentation to say that she wasn't interested in being proselytized (which is the furthest thing from what we were doing).  The next guy we talked to had been smoking pot before we knocked on his door, and then a few houses down we talked to two more non-practicing Catholics, one of whom had been heavily influenced by New Age and was utterly confused about reality.

We were so tired by the time we returned to the church that we forgot to pray, something we did to end all our evangelization work.  Then when I got into my car, I felt so exhausted, weighed down and oppressed that I wasn't sure if I could make the drive back to Estes.  And I found out later that Aimee had been feeling the same weight and discouragement.

When we directly preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the sources of temptation to sin--the flesh, the world, and the devil--fight us in an attempt to discourage and deter us.  This can be dealt with by prayer and, as it happens, Christian humility.

The Gospel is not mine.  They are not my words; they are the Word of God, spoken by the Holy Spirit.  We ourselves don't make any converts or have any success; it is God who does that.  I am only His poor, broken instrument blessed to have heard the Word and believed.  And I am being remade in His image through the grace of His Sacraments.

The Night of Nights

O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam, which gained for us so great a redeemer!

We proclaim these word tonight in the Exultet, that great Easter hymn of praise.

Many Christians believe that God had created a perfect creation in Eden that Adam and Eve then ruined in their sin of disobedience. If only they had not taken the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil!

Not so. The proclamation of salvation history at tonight's Mass tells us the truth. God, in His infinite wisdom, actually created the world this way. He knew that the Fall would occur, and yet He went forward with this plan.

It was done out of Love.

We were created finite beings with finite minds. The Lord revealed Himself to us little by little, in ways that we could grasp. Then in the fullness of time, He plunged into history as Jesus Christ to show us Himself in His entirety--the Trinity of Love. He created things this way in order to give us the freedom to accept His unfathomable Love, so that we might come to know Him in the most intimate way possible.

After the Fall, God placed an angel with a flaming sword to guard the Tree of Life in order to prevent Adam and Eve from eating of its fruit, which would have condemned them to a sinful immortality. The Church Fathers saw the Cross as the Tree of Life, and the crucified Jesus its fruit. Now that His Death and Resurrection has opened again the way to the Tree, we may now eat of its fruit, the Eucharist, and have eternal life.

This is the night when death's power was destroyed. This is the night when Satan was crushed. This is the night when Love rose triumphant, glorious, eternal.

This is the night the Lord began the work of the New Creation.

The Price of Love

The night before He died, one of the most important things Christ taught the apostles at the Last Supper was that the greatest expression of love one can show is to lay down one's life for another (Jn 15:13).

This definition is not how the world usually defines love. Sometimes it's defined as sex, sometimes an affinity or liking, sometimes satisfaction.

But the Lord teaches us that love is not a feeling, but rather an action. He defines it another way when He reiterated the Great Commandment: "you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength" (Mk 12:30). Love is the complete emptying of self and giving over to another, the beloved.

Today He shows us how much He loves us.

I've been attending the Good Friday liturgy for several years now, but last year was the first time I'd ever heard the Reproaches. It is an antiphon and verses sung during the veneration of the cross, and it reflects upon the goodness the Lord did throughout salvation history, paralleled with what we did to the Lord on Good Friday. It is a disturbing look at the extent of God's love, and our denial of that Love.

Lord, help me to love You more.

Do This in Remembrance

Tonight we begin the Holy Triduum, the Church's shortest liturgical season. You might also call it the Church's longest liturgy.

We begin and end every Mass and other liturgical celebrations with the Sign of the Cross. That action serves both to call upon the Trinity to sanctify our prayer and signal our passage from kronos (chronological) to kairos (sacred) time. Now notice that the Mass of the Lord's Supper begins with the Sign of the Cross; it does not occur again, however, until the end of the Easter Vigil.

So I like treat these days with the same solemnity outside of church as I do within. That means no TV, no music, little to no work or errands, and a focus on silence, Scripture and prayer. Perhaps you could try that, too.

Tonight also marks the commemoration of the establishment of the Holy Eucharist and the ministerial priesthood. Jesus, who humbled Himself in becoming man in order to teach us and die for us on the cross, further humbles Himself in coming under the appearance of bread and wine.

It is fitting then that, like the Jews who consumed the sacrificed passover lamb, we are commanded to consume the sacrificed and resurrected Lamb of God who gives us life. It is also fitting that the Lord calls some men to share in His Priesthood in order to feed and strengthen the universal priesthood of all believers. If the Eucharist is the Heart of the Church, then the ministerial priesthood is the skeleton, whose purpose is to protect and support the Body of Christ.

This night is so rich in liturgical symbolism, but one of the most powerful parts of the evening for me is the procession to the altar of repose for Adoration. Here we sing hymns (the haunting Pange Lingua is my favorite) and keep watch with the Lord (Mk 14:26, 34).

Our souls, too, are sorrowful because, unlike Peter, James and John, we know what has happened and how we ourselves have contributed. And so the time with the Lord in Adoration--at least an hour, as He asked of us (Mt 26:40), though I prefer longer--is a special time of resting in His Presence, allowing Him to lovingly gaze upon us.

It is also the opportune time to reflect on the death that we celebrate tomorrow.

The Apostle of Ireland

Like many American holidays, St. Patrick's Day is extraordinarily yet unrecognizably Catholic.

It's not easy to tease out fact from legend from a widely venerated figure as this fifth-century saint. But how many people drinking green beer today know anything about him?

Patrick was kidnapped at age 16, taken to Ireland, and sold into slavery. There he learned the language and culture, and also experienced a deeper conversion in the Faith. He escaped and returned to his native Britain, where he was consecrated as bishop. Then the pope sent him to the land of his captivity to preach the Gospel. Within 30 years, Patrick had converted pagan Ireland to Christ.

Some of my most favorite words of prayer come from St. Patrick's Breastplate, the prayer attributed to the good saint:

Christ be with me
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ within me
Christ beneath me
Christ above me
Christ on my right
Christ on my left
Christ where I lie
Christ where I sit
Christ where I arise
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me
Christ in every eye that sees me
Christ in every ear that hears me

It is a great testament to not only the Faith but also the Irish spirit that now, after generations of bigotry toward the Irish, Americans look to being Irish as something to be celebrated, all in the name of St. Patrick. This is quintessentially Irish--misery turning to joy--which is the heart of Catholicism.

Now, I am at least one-quarter Irish (which may be much more than most on St. Paddy's Day). Grandma Anderson was full-blooded; Mom is at least half, and who knows what's mixed in on the Naser side. But I must admit that I hadn't really appreciated this great heritage--both physical and spiritual--until Grandma Anderson's death last year.

So I'm getting excited for next year's trip to Ireland in celebration of Mom and Dad's thirtieth anniversary.

St. Patrick, pray for us.

Without Gloss

Last weekend was the Archdiocese of Denver's Living the Catholic Faith Conference. This year's theme was "Live with Conviction" and focused on St. Paul's love of and zeal for Christ.

I must say that I was certainly convicted by Abp. Chaput's homily during Friday morning's opening Mass. Here's what I remember; since it was Mass, I wasn't taking notes.

The Archbishop began his reflection on the day's readings by discussing a little-used definition of the word "gloss:" a brief explanation of an obscure or difficult word or expression. During the Middle Ages, Scripture was often accompanied by gloss (akin to biblical commentary) that tended to explain away the teachings of the Faith. He also quoted his spiritual father, St. Francis, who instructed his brothers to follow his order's Rule "simply and without gloss."

Lent is a time, the Archbishop said, to strip away the excuses we use to water down the Gospel. We can be aided in this through fasting, as heard in the day's Gospel reading, and he suggested that we might do well to observe more than the minimum Lenten requirements.

Abp. Chaput also focused on the words from Isaiah: "Cry out full-throated and unsparingly/lift up your voice like a trumpet blast/Tell my people their wickedness/and the house of Jacob their sins." It is not enough for a Christian to get ashes on his forehead--whether a layman, bishop or "the vice-president of the country"--but not preach the Gospel to the world. We were instructed to repent of our own sins and then publicly fight the evils of the world, unsparingly and without gloss, because this is what is demanded of us by the Lord.

He closed by entreating, "Let us begin, for we have done nothing yet."

Indeed, I have not.

Litany of St. Thomas More

Lord, have mercy: Lord, have mercy

Christ, have mercy: Christ, have mercy

Lord, have mercy: Lord, have mercy

Christ hear us: Christ, graciously hear us

St. Thomas More, Saint and Martyr: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Patron of Statesmen, Politicians and Lawyers: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Patron of Justices, Judges and Magistrates: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Model of Integrity and Virtue in Public and Private Life: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Servant of the Word of God and the Body and Blood of Christ: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Model of Holiness in the Sacrament of Marriage: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Teacher of his Children in the Catholic Faith: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Defender of the Weak and the Poor: Pray for us

St. Thomas More, Promoter of Human Life and Dignity: Pray for us

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world: Spare us O Lord

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world: Graciously hear us O Lord

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world: Have mercy on us

O Glorious St. Thomas More,

Patron of Statesmen, Politicians, Judges and Lawyers,

your life of prayer and penance

and your zeal for justice, integrity and firm principle in public and family life

led you to the path of martyrdom and sainthood.

Intercede for our Statesmen, Politicians, Judges and Lawyers,

that they may be courageous and effective

in their defense and promotion of the sanctity of human life--

the foundation of all other human rights.

We ask this through Christ our Lord

AMEN

The Pope is Coming!

Not here to Estes, of course. That was a different pope.

Benedict will be arriving in Washington, DC this afternoon. He'll celebrate his 81st birthday tomorrow (he sure doesn't seem that old to me). He'll be meeting with the president, addressing the UN and praying Mass, among other important things.

You'll hear the same tired drivel from the lazy media: Benedict is out of touch, he's a hardliner, he's not as likeable as his predecessor...blah, blah, blah.

The only people with whom the Pope is out of touch are those to whom Catholicism doesn't matter. To those of us--particularly those of use who are young--to whom Christ's Church is the very basis of our lives, Benedict is our great spiritual father and hero. The Holy Spirit has sent us another extraordinary man in the footsteps of Peter; an intellectual giant, yet a gentle, humble servant in the Lord's vineyard. But how could most people know this? They're constantly told the opposite by the media.

George Wiegel, JPII's biographer, has a great Newsweek piece on Benedict's importance to the Church and the world; it's a far more Catholic view, in the sense that it attempts to see the entire picture. And Peggy Noonan has a bit more sentimental opinion.

I also suggest that you watch Benedict's trip for yourself. Tim Drake's blog pope2008.com is a good place to start, and check out EWTN for wall-to-wall coverage of every public appearance. And a podcast I regularly listen to, catholic underground, is doing live video from DC.

This is gonna be great.

The Power of Christ Compels You

There was an exorcism in one of our lodge rooms last week. Not a Catholic one, but one of a Christian church of some Korean affiliation. It was my day off, so I have no firsthand experience of the situation, but according to our crewleader Julie, there was clapping and chanting and screaming, and the room was stiflingly hot afterward.

I've read through the Catholic rite of exorcism from a book in the St. Malo library. What beautiful, majestic, biblical language it is.

On a slightly unrelated note, this morning our Laundry Supervisor asked me what one would do to join the Church. Yesterday she'd been particularly moved by the televised Mass from Notre Dame on the Hallmark Channel. She's a Messianic Jew who's being drawn to closer communion with Christ, not unaffected by her incarcerated daughter's decision to convert after visits from a nun. And now the grandson of which she has custody wants to follow his mother's footsteps.

God is good.

And now is good a time as any to make public that fact that my trip to Des Moines in March was to meet with now-retired Bishop Charron and interview with the seminary application board. I'll be back in a couple weeks for my psychological assessment, where it will be discovered that I am mostly sane.

Five Years

I was still in bed, straddling that hazy line between sleep and consciousness, when my roommate burst in the door. "We're under attack," he blurted out, throwing his backpack onto the couch.

He was a theater major and a pretty dramatic person, so I wasn't quite sure what he meant. But by the time I'd climbed down from my loft, he'd turned on the TV.

The rest of the day was a blur. I know that I didn't go to my classes and instead went to Mass. I, like most everyone else, probably stayed in front of the television.

Hard to believe that was five years ago.

I've tried not to dwell on it since, but this past weekend I stumbled across the A&E movie Flight 93, and the memories surged back, at moments as fresh as that Tuesday. I was reminded of those who died without any warning. And in the case of the passengers of United 93, the ones who knew death was imminent and attempted to lessen evil's impact.

And for some reason, I thought of the Communion of Saints.

Pray for those who died five years ago. Pray for those heroes who kept their hijacked airliner from destroying the Capitol or the White House and killing even more innocent people. May they join all the saints in the light of heaven. And may their families feel His sweet kiss of peace.

So Dark the Con of Dan

The Da Vinci Code opens in theaters tomorrow. I'm probably going to go to the movies over the weekend, but it sure's the hell not going to be to that one.

Why see a movie based on a poorly written book? (Yes, I've read it. Once was one too many times. Here's what I had to say afterwards.)

Some say "Lighten up, it's fictional." Fine, but would they say the same about the film Birth of a Nation or the book The Protocols of the Elders of Zion? These two pieces are fiction, as well as horribly racist and anti-Semitic, respectfully. And both "revise" history, to put it politely. Well, The Da Vinci Code is fiction, horribly anti-Catholic, and revises history. Such prejudice should be denounced with the same vigor as were Birth and Protocols.

Others say "This provides an opportunity for dialogue." That would be good if the world--including Christians--weren't completely ignorant of history. Who knows what happened at the Council of Nicea? Or anything about the Roman Emperor Constantine? And how many people believe that the Inquisition put to death hundreds of thousands of "witches" and others opposed to the Faith?

So in the end, people should be steered away from this ridiculous drivel rather than encouraged to indulge in it. That's why we should got to any other movie this weekend. That's why we should pick up historical books instead of heretical ones.

Because that's essentially what The Da Vinci Code is: heresy. Heresy denies the Truth of Christ and is the most dangerous of fiction.