Theology Archives - Amazing Catechists

We Call This Friday Good

I have a friend who moved to the United States some twenty years ago. Although she speaks the language fluently, she hasn’t quite lost her accent, and a colloquialism will occasionally still mystify her. That’s how I am with the Catholic church. Twelve years ago I came into the Church as a young woman. Though I feel at home here, I still stumble upon meditations that strike me as so strange that I realize I am a foreigner.

This was the first Lent since I started praying a daily Rosary, and somewhere along the way it was suggested to me that I pray only the sorrowful mysteries in Lent (except Sundays). So day after day I have meditated on the Agony, the Scourging, the Crowning with Thorns, the Carrying of the Cross, and the Crucifixion.

What has jumped out at me is the juxtaposition of these mysteries with the phrase of the Hail Mary: “Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

Blessed are thou among women….said again and again as I contemplated His agony, His body slick with bloody sweat, His face in the dirt he made.

Blessed art thou among women…as I contemplated the whips tearing at his flesh, furious lashes that end only when his executioners have worn themselves out from the effort.

Blessed art thou among women…as I saw her Son humiliated, scorned, spat upon, and struck repeatedly so that the thorns of the grotesque crown impale his head.

Blessed art thou among women…as I watched Our Lady watch her son’s battered, mutilated body stumble under the weight of the cross, a spectacle to the indifferent and an abomination to the contemptuous.

Blessed art thou among women…as she stands by Him crucified, witness to His struggle to breathe, His enduring of the unfathomable torture.

Blessed is she? Blessed? What mom dreams of the day when she will stand beside her son while he is tortured? On the face of it, it seems like a mockery to repeat this over fifty times in the face of His Passion. At any rate, it is a jarring enough paradox that it gave me pause. I knew then that I am still not a native to the church.

Forty days’ meditation gave me time to reflect. That she is blessed, I believe. So, as in so many teachings of the church that I didn’t immediately grasp, it was time to dig deeper.

How can it be that Our Lady is blessed in these days of Holy Week?

We see the world upside down, so writes Father Michael Scanlan in his book Let the Fire Fall. I believe that Mary’s blessedness in the face of the Passion is the right-side-up way to view it. I need to adjust my vision.

As in so many things, I was looking at the Passion in primarily the physical sense. Material being that I am, this body is so present to me that it usually constitutes my first consideration. But what if I were to look at the Passion in primarily spiritual terms? What if I thought about it as Fr John Riccardo presents it in his meditation on the Rosary (found here)–as the world’s greatest athlete gearing up for the single most important competition in history? What if I saw the spiritual implications of the Passion first–Jesus about to save the world from the rule of Satan?

Here, Jesus, though he looks like the defeated, is actually victorious, for he, as a priest said in a meditation I once went to, had enticed the devil to do the one thing the devil could not do–kill God Himself. It was a chess match, and while it looked as though the King had been taken, he had actually set a trap that would end in checkmate against his opponent. It was a daring, heroic, stupendous, awe-some, all-in kind of plan.

Did Our Lady understand the Passion on the spiritual level–as a supernatural match for which the prize was the human soul? Spouse of the Holy Spirit, the woman who will crush the serpent under her heel, the mother of God, I imagine she herself very well may have undergone severe temptations and wrestling with the devil in her own hidden life. She must have been clued into the spiritual realm of the Passion, even if she did not fully know what would happen three days hence.

Blessed indeed was she! She saw her son undergo bodily torture, yes, but through that, she saw him win the war. She saw him, fully human as well as fully God, not recoil from the agony of body and soul but instead stand victorious in the redemption of our human nature.

That one there is my son. The one who is wrestling all of the powers of hell but who stands–bloody, yes–but triumphant. That’s my boy–the one who whose suffering gives historic and eternal witness to the profound love of God. That one hanging there is mine, the one who is willingly giving his very life to save the eternal souls of the human race. Jesus is my son. I am blessed.

Power Perfected in Weakness and Failure as a Pathway to Grace

By Lisa Mladinich

St. Paul speaks quite a bit about boasting!

In his second letter to the Corinthians, he mentions that he has been the recipient of many revelations and could well boast. After all, Jesus himself has spoken directly to Paul, on the road to Damascus. Paul is a beloved preacher and has won many souls for God. But instead of boasting of his achievements, which he recognizes as a distraction, he boasts because the Lord has permitted him to be a weak and troubled vessel. An “angel of Satan,” he says, torments his flesh.

Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. (2 Cor 12:8-9)

Here’s my weakness.

I rather casually gave up complaining for Lent, right at the last minute, because I hadn’t really given it much thought. But I know that I complain too much, so it seemed like a great idea, and honestly, I really didn’t expect it to be that hard.

But the Lord saw fit to allow me to go through a period of intense suffering that has consumed my Lent.

An old emotional wound that I thought was healed broke open and my life became profoundly dark. The pain was unrelenting and terrible. I was raw and weak. To say that I was overflowing with complaints and loss of temper is an understatement. I was a total mess for most of Lent, which got me going to confession a lot more than usual, which brought me more graces than usual.

The Crucifixion, Francisco de Zurbarán, 1627

In agony, I clung to Jesus and contemplated the cross. I was in desolation.

But that desolation is a privilege, according to the saints. Hard to accept, but it’s so revealing. I felt so intimate with Christ. One day, I looked up at the cross at Mass and the thought came to me, “He felt this. So it must be a good thing to feel.”

I didn’t get a rush of good feelings—the pain remained—but I had a deep sense of calm that I knew was His voice in my soul, and it has not left me.

And I learned something that is probably the biggest grace I’ve ever received in any Lent in all of my 58 years as a Catholic:

It was strangely empowering being so weak and so desperate.

I had nothing to boast about but the cross.

But may I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. (Gal 6:14)

Total failure was the place where Jesus met me, this Lent. Failure cleared away all my pride and showed me that the cross could truly be a place of victory.

In the eighth century, St. Andrew of Crete wrote that the cross is “both the sign of God’s suffering and the trophy of his victory” because the cross is “the means by which the devil was wounded and death conquered.”

Chris Tomlin sings a song called, “At the Cross,” and my favorite line says that the cross is “a place where sin and shame are powerless.”

Jesus rendered my sin and my shame powerless: through the cross, through the consecration, and through reconciliation. So that when I was weakest, I received a gift that I don’t think I would have received if I were having a “perfect” Lent and feeling good about myself.

Yesterday, I was at an RCIA review session, and one of the team members was describing the moment of the consecration, at Mass, when the priest elevates the host. She told the catechumens that as we enter into the one-time sacrifice of the cross, Jesus is lifted up and offered to the Father for all of our sins, for all time.

But she added that, as baptized members of the Body of Christ, at the moment of the consecration, we too are lifted up and offered to the Father, and that bestows on us an astounding dignity.

In Holy Week, we will walk with Jesus through the failures of those he loves. Contemplate his response when the apostles all flee him and when Peter denies him three times. Jesus never stops working to save them.

Even the crucified thief, who squandered his life in sin–St. Dismas, whose feast day was today (March 25)–received the gift of paradise that very day. Why? Because, in the depths of his failure, St. Dismas recognized that he needed mercy and that Jesus was the Lord. And the response of Jesus went beyond his wildest imaginings. Paradise. THAT DAY.

My major offering for Lent was to avoid complaining. During the previous five weeks, I have complained more than I have in many years. To say that I failed is an understatement. My sin of complaint and ingratitude was magnified; it exploded and expanded and became epic in its power to color my days.

And yet, that sense of powerlessness drew me closer to God and increased my trust. At a particularly low moment, when the pain was almost unbearable, I felt God urging me to count blessings—which felt like sprinkling a thimbleful of water on a blazing fire. To turn my thoughts away from complaint and refocus on what was beautiful in my life was like walking head-on into a hurricane. I recognize that this powerful resistance within me was partly my own weakness and sin but also a sign of a spiritual battle taking place in my soul.

And yet, when I yielded grudgingly and started counting the beauty of the day, my comfortable home, my family and friends, my health—simple things—strength returned, and my mind began to clear. What had seemed unrelentingly dark faded and receded. It was like breaking a spell.

Our failures can bring us closer to God; they can make us more aware of our dependence, more ardent in prayer, and more childlike.

It is not the failure He focuses on; it is the disposition of our hearts.

Are we reaching for him? Learning from our falls? Resting in mercy?

For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten Son, that believers would not perish but would have eternal life. (John 3:16)

Our Redemption and Memory

By Gabe Garnica

As we proceed through Lent, the recurring themes of redemption and forgiveness bubble to the surface of our thoughts. We understand redemption as literally being saved from our own sinfulness through the blood of Christ. Left to ourselves, we would surely fall under the repeated weight of our imperfection and weakness. Through God Almighty’s love and mercy embodied in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, however, we aspire to a salvation we would not otherwise be capable of attaining.

A critical, core component of this second chance for salvation is the willingness of both sides to forget a sinful past. By this I mean that our redemption is possible only if both God Almighty and each of us as sinners are willing to forget our past sins.

God Almighty’s memory of our sins

God’s willingness is especially supported by a trio of scriptural references. In The Book of Hebrews (8:12) God tells us

For I will forgive their evildoing and remember their sins no more.

In The Book of Psalms (103:12) we find David’s wonderful expression that

As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us.

Finally, in Isaiah (43:25) we find God’s powerful assurance that

It is I, I, who wipe out, for my own sake, your offenses; your sins I remember no more.

People often have difficulty with the notion of a perfect and omniscient God forgetting anything. Scholars debate whether this simply means that He chooses not to act on our past sins or that He, as all-powerful, chooses to forget. Here we must insert one of my favorite saints, St. Therese The Little Flower, who reminds us to trust God with child-like innocence immersed in love.

Our memory of our sins

Having confirmed God’s part in this dual forgetting, we must turn to ourselves. It is ironic that the same imperfection which leads us to sin likewise prevents us from forgiving ourselves for the very sins that God is willing to forgive us for! How many people avoid confession altogether out of fear or shame? How many others turn their very confessions into further sin by concealing sin? Finally, how many of us leave the confessional doubting God’s mercy?

Recall the lesson of Judas and Peter. Judas let his pride and doubt lead to hopelessness, despair, and ultimate, final surrender to the Devil after his sin. In contrast, Peter’s love of Christ overwhelmed his pride leading to humble contrition and surrender to Christ’s love and mercy. Both men’s ultimate destiny was not shaped by their respective sins but, rather, by their response to their own sin. What better example of such mercy can we find than Our Lord’s promise of paradise to the contrite thief in Calvary?

Conclusion

Scripture confirms God’s promise to forget our sinful past. The harder question as we move through Lent is how willing we are to forget that past ourselves as we reach out to a lovingly forgiving, and forgetting, God.

2018 Gabriel Garnica

Forgiveness Beyond the Grave

By Amanda Woodiel

My father died last week. It was unexpected. He had had health issues the last couple of years and had never seemed particularly robust, but he was never near death, either.

My mom passed away eight years prior. Here I am, in my 30s (barely!) with five small children and no parents. It’s not a common status among my circle of friends, but it could be far worse.

I mention this simply to show that I have a frame of reference when I talk about grieving deceased parents. This isn’t my first rodeo. What is different this time, however, is that my father was, well, a different man than what he seemed to be. Over the last few years we had uncovered surprising details about his life–details that I will spare you, dear reader.

So the grief I feel is an alloyed grief. There is sadness that the opportunity has passed for our relationship to transform coupled with confusion over details that keep popping up (such as the bewildering claim he apparently made that he had been sent on a secret mission for the Department of Defense) commingled with utter dismay that his last note to us–intentionally placed in a spot where we would find it–was as efficient as a corporate memo and as warm as a ransom note.

The question I am left with–aside from the question of what is true regarding his life–is the question of forgiveness. How do you forgive someone who lies in his grave and whose lies extend beyond the grave? (The last sentence of his last note to us was, in fact, untrue.) How do you forgive someone who betrayed his family but who genuinely believed he could fool everyone–and who maybe, in the end, fooled himself?

As I have pondered these questions, a specific path to forgiveness and healing keeps coming to mind. Think back to Cana, the site of Jesus’ first public miracle. The hosts had run out of wine, and Mary, with the compassion of a mother’s heart, knew the embarrassment they would face. Her son is at the same wedding feast, so she hurries to him and tells him the problem. At first, Jesus seems to resist her urging. But she–great Jewish mama that she is–brushes aside his response and turns to the servants. “Do whatever he tells you,” she says with complete confidence in him. Jesus is moved by his mother’s urging and by her faith. Jesus acts, in this instance, because of his mother’s intercession.

This intercessor was given to us from the cross when Jesus gave her to John. John stands there in history as the faithful disciple but also stands in for us when Jesus gives Mary to his care: “behold your mother.” She is our mother as well, our dear compassionate mother, who is also, in evangelical parlance, a “prayer warrior.” Mary, just as she was at Cana, is a compassionate intercessor for those of us who face complicated situations.

Mary is known by many names. One such name comes from a meditation by St Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons in the last quarter of the second century and a Church Father. Drawing out a comparison between Eve and Mary, he noted:

“And thus also it was that the knot of Eve’s disobedience was loosed by the obedience of Mary” (Against Heresies, Book III, Chapter 22).

Man’s fall from grace due to original sin–what knot could be more complicated than that? Original sin, endured since our first parents, was loosed by the obedience of Mary to the will of God when she gave her fiat to become the mother of the Holy God. And so she is known as “Mary, Undoer of Knots.” Mary, undoer of the knot of original sin. Mary, undoer of whatever knot is in your life and the big knot that is in mine.

I once had a lovely little card that had printed on it “The best way out is always through.” The best way out of the pain is to walk through it. And so I have been given the answer to my question of how do I forgive: pray a daily Rosary alongside Mary, Undoer of Knots, for my father’s departed soul and for my wounded one.

What does this prayer do? Two things. When we pray in good faith for someone who has hurt us we cannot help but love that person more. It is hard for us to love the person whom we do not know. I have only done this prayer for the last week, and already I am looking at my father through more compassionate eyes than ever before; somehow, it is giving me more knowledge of him.

Secondly, praying the Rosary has a way of showing us who we are. Contemplating the mysteries of the God-Man being scourged or crowned with thorns gives me pause to think about the ways in which I have unleashed my own contempt for my Savior. The prayer becomes, then, less about offender (dad) and victim (me) and instead becomes two sinners contemplating God’s passion and his love and mercy.

And then, of course, the prayer is the outpouring of hope that God will and does redeem all things. Everything else in my life–my mother’s terminal brain disease, for example–has shown itself to be a gift. Perhaps the gift is a severe mercy, but there is always mercy. There is always the great Divine Act of turning evil on its head to bless–witness the crucifixion itself.

Praying a daily Rosary for those who have wounded us alongside our great mother and intercessor is ultimately an act of hope, an act of humility, and an act of love. By focusing daily and for a sustained time on the life of Jesus in the company of Mary, Undoer of Knots, I have confidence that I will find healing and peace.

Playing the Ordered Toward Game

By Amanda Woodiel

God bless the woman from our parish who comes to my house weekly to help out with the children. Not only does she give me a half day out of the house, but she, who also happens to be incredibly well-read and steeped in the Catholic faith, enriches my home with a wisdom culled from years of mothering and reading Catholic philosophy.

So when my six year old son asked her if he could stack a doll stroller on top of a mini folding chair on top of a dining room chair and so on to see if he could eventually get his Tower of Babel to touch the ceiling, she was armed with a much better answer than I would have given when he asked, “Why not?”

“Because,” said the sage. “That is not what those things are ordered toward.”

When I came home, she told me the anecdote, laughing that she had given my budding six-year-old philosopher something to chew on.

But she gave me something to chew on as well. While I outwardly nodded and smiled, my inward self was as happy as a child treated to a new flavor of candy. I quickly saw how brilliant this tack is, calculating how very often I can use this line of reasoning to forestall disaster and reasonably answer questions.

Why can’t I swing this metal pole around like a baseball bat? Because that’s not what it is ordered toward.

Why can’t I climb the door frame like an American ninja warrior? Because, my dear, that’s not what the door frame is ordered toward.

Why can’t I step on the baby’s sippy cup? Because. That. Is. Not. What. It. Is. Ordered. Toward.

****

I’ve been reading the book The Benedict Option, in which the author traces the historical shift in the metaphysical understanding of matter from something that possesses inherent meaning and structure to something that has no meaning at all until a person assigns meaning to it. We see this shift dramatically demonstrated in our current culture’s (dis)regard of the sex of a human body.

Before recent times, a person’s body informed the person’s identity. The body itself had inherent meaning and structure. My body has female parts; therefore, I am a woman. Compare this with the present-day “understanding” of the body as something that has no inherent meaning whatsoever. The fact that I have female sexual organs, runs this way of thinking, in no way determines my sex. Instead, I assign meaning to my body based upon whatever I want for that day.

How extraordinarily confusing is this way of thinking! To live in a world in which everything has no inherent structure, no inherent meaning, no inherent order is to be lost at sea in a cosmological ocean–and lost at sea alone. For if nothing has inherent meaning, then what common ground is there for two people to stand on?

So as a way to bulwark against the prevailing cultural view, we play the Ordered Toward game at my house. It is a simple game, born of that day when my wise friend introduced the concept to us.

Everyone from the 8 year old to the 2 year old loves this game. We simply name things around us and talk about what they are ordered toward. Sometimes I name the object (what is a car ordered toward? To get us from one place to another), sometimes I play the game silly (is spaghetti ordered toward decorating your head? Noooo!), and sometimes I name the purpose and the children name the object (This is ordered toward giving us shade and oxygen. A tree!).

It’s a fun game to play in the car or in a waiting room to pass the time. The children giggle because children instinctively know that objects do have inherent meaning.

Start this little exercise at your house and you will be amazed by how useful it is. When someone throws a toy: “that toy was made to spin; it’s not ordered toward throwing.” When someone sticks his feet in another child’s face: “is that what your feet are ordered toward?” When a child tries to put his sister’s underwear on his head: “that’s not what it is ordered toward!” [Are you getting a picture of life at our house?]

At the same time, I’m laying groundwork for Theology of the Body before I get anywhere close to teaching about the mechanics of sex. The point is that our bodies are ordered toward something. We already talk about what our stomachs are ordered toward (to digest food) and what our eyes are ordered toward (to see), so when we get to the point of talking about our reproductive organs, for example, we will have a solid foundation upon which to lay the Catholic theology of the body, which is to say, that the reproductive organs are ordered toward creating and nourishing life.

Of course, as the children grow older and enter into the rhetoric stage of life, I’m sure we will have conversations about secondary uses and innovative uses of existing things, at which point we will discuss ethics and morality. The first place to start when one encounters something, though, is in discovering what its primary purpose is–and this is a fun way to begin.

Turn Your Crosses into Ladders

By Gabe Garnica

If Christ came to earth to teach us the way to Heaven, then we may rightly accept that his words and actions are sanctified lessons in that path. His examples of love, service, sacrifice, mercy, compassion, dedication, and obedience to the Will of God are found throughout his life and ministry. Beyond the more obvious lessons, however, lie transcendent yet pervasive examples of how to fall. Typically, we see falls as dreaded, embarrassing stumbles to be avoided at all costs. Many times, we see them as windows to our weakness we would much rather stuff under the bed and forget or deny. Such terror in the face of falls dissolves in the face of trusting God. In that context, let me offer the following gentle suggestions.

God Fell for Us

We know that God is perfect and cannot fall but, in a sense, He fell for us from the moment He created us. We know that God loved us before He created us ( Jer 31:3) and that this love has been present in everything He has done for us ( Ps 139: 13-16). We also know that Christ fell for us because he became one of us, while still divine as well, to defeat sin and permit our salvation.

Fall for God

There are mainly two reasons why we may fall. We may fall due to our human weakness and sin. While we should certainly do our best to avoid such falls, the fact is that we will fall despite those struggles because we are human. The devil wants us to give up when we fall due to sin, to feel hopeless and helpless. Reconciliation offers us the way back from such falls precisely because God’s love always defeats the devil’s lies.

The second reason we may fall will be due to things beyond our control. These innocent falls are part of life. Since he was perfect and sinless, Christ never fell to sin, but he certainly fell into struggles and frustrations because he was human. St Alphonsus Liguori often tells us to offer our falls to the goodness of God’s Will regardless of our distaste for them. People often allow injustice or misfortune to sow bitterness and resentment. Again, that is precisely what the devil wants, so we must look beyond our human agenda and have enough trust and love of God to embrace such falls as His Will. Since God is all good, then it follows that his Will is all good. If we offer our falls as products of God’s Will, then we will come to accept them as serving some good purpose despite our distaste for them.

The Pauses That are Not

It is easy to see falls as mistakes to be avoided and embarrassing signs of our weakness. However, such feelings stem from worrying too much about what this world thinks of us or thinking too much about our ego. Others see falls as breaks in the actions, pauses in the proceedings, intermissions or bathroom or food breaks during the play or big game. Such views help us to ignore or brush falls aside and fail to learn and grow from them.

The truth is, falls are a part of the big game and the play of life. They are very much part of the action and players in our plot if we allow them to contribute to who we are and become. Imagine that every play or movie was all success and smiles. Such efforts would teach very little and pretend a lot. They would not be real.

The more we come to see our falls as active parts of our lives and not aberrations, the more we will learn from and, yes, even embrace them as lessons and opportunities to grow toward God. Falls are not silent pauses; rather, they can speak volumes if we are willing to listen and act on them.

Let Your Crosses Become Ladders

St. Rose of Lima is quoted as saying that “Apart from the cross, there is no other ladder by which we may get to heaven.” If we truly fancy ourselves followers of Christ, we must start seeing our crosses as ladders rather than burdens. The key to that view is trying to see falls as opportunities to learn how to grow toward God instead of feverishly trying to avoid them like misfortunes, mistakes, or failures. By doing this, we too may sanctify the falls in our lives rather than spend our efforts cursing them.

2018 Gabriel Garnica

The Miracle of the Sun and Fatima’s Message for Today

By Lisa Mladinich

Happy 100th Anniversary of the Miracle of the Sun!

Enjoy this beautiful talk by Father Andrew Apostoli, CFR, which urgently and lovingly places the message and meaning of the apparitions at Fatima into the context of our lives, today.

Please begin by saying a brief prayer for this holy priest’s health.

EWTN to Broadcast Superb 8-Part Queen of Heaven Study

By Lisa Mladinich

SET YOUR DVRs!!!

I led this program in my parish, and it was STELLAR.

Do not miss this chance to see it free on EWTN, and consider bringing it to your parish! We prayed the Rosary before each episode, and hearts were changed, love for Our Lady increased, and many committed to praying the daily Rosary for the first time.

Here are the particulars:

Queen of Heaven series airs on EWTN

Beginning Friday, Oct. 6through Friday, Oct. 13 at 6:30 PM Eastern, QUEEN OF HEAVEN will air on EWTN (check your local listings for the channel) or via Live Streaming on the EWTN website.

Queen of Heaven is an approximately 4 hour documentary-style program on Mary hosted by acclaimed Catholic actor Leonardo Defilippis and filmed in multiple locations and Marian shrines including the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the World Apostolate of Fatima Shrine, and the Saint John Paul II National Shrine.

It includes contributions from 15 theological experts including Tim Staples, Fr. Dominic Legge, Dr. Carrie Gress, Dr. Paul Thigpen, Fr. Chris Alar, Fr. Jeffrey Kirby and more.

In Queen of Heaven, viewers will accompany Mary from her Immaculate Conception through her Assumption and beyond. They’ll join her as she defends Christendom at Lepanto, frees a captive people at Guadalupe and heals a broken nation at Lourdes. Listen to her at Fatima as she predicts the rise of Communism—and watch as she defeats it through her beloved Pope.

Above all, viewers will discover why, though the battle continues, victory is assured to all who turn to the Queen of Heaven.

SCHEDULE:

The Battle Begins: The Woman and the Serpent

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 6 at 6:30 PM

The Annunciation: The Day Creation Held Its Breath

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 7 at 6:30 PM

Mother of the Church: All Generations Will Call Me Blessed

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 9 at 6:30 PM Eastern

Guadalupe: Mother of the Americas

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 10 at 6:30 PM Eastern

Lourdes: I Am the Immaculate Conception

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 11 at 6:30 PM Eastern

10/12 – Fatima: The Lady of the Rosary

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 12 at 6:30 PM Eastern

The Consecration: My Immaculate Heart Will Triumph

Airs on EWTN: Oct. 13 at 6:30 PM Eastern

It’s My Faith, And I Can Leave If I Want To?

By Gabe Garnica

Sermon on the Mount -Carl Bloch 1890

I recently read a piece by Bishop Robert Barron https://churchpop.com/2015/06/13/two-deadly-errors-of-liberal-catholicism/which is over two years old, yet strikes a chord as loudly as ever. The more I thought about this piece, the more I came to realize that the errors it describes are consistent with an increasingly prevalent weakness in our current grasp of this wonderful treasure entrusted to us by Christ.

Bishop Barron’s Insight

In the piece noted above, Bishop Barron describes two fundamental errors in modern liberal Catholicism as embodied in a book entitled Being Catholic Now: Prominent Americans Talk About Change in the Church and the Quest for Meaning by Kerry Kennedy, daughter of Robert and Ethel Kennedy, a 2008 effort which made it to the bestseller list. Bishop Barron observes that consistent themes in the book were first, pitting personal faith or “spirituality” against the institutional church and secondly, the reduction of the Catholic faith to simply works of social justice. He notes how destructive and distorted these two perspectives can be to the Catholic faith.

Catholicism is not Our Personal Party

In 1963, American singer Lesly Gore recorded a number one song entitled “It’s My Party,” describing a teenage girl’s dismay at losing her boyfriend during her birthday party. The song’s lyrics typified the stereotypical teenage obsession with self and embodied the “take my toys and go home” immaturity of those who simply leave when things do not go their way. Kennedy proudly recalls how her mom would lead her children out of church if she did not like the tone or direction of a given homily. Many of the celebrities interviewed for the book likewise describe their disillusion and departure from a faith whose direction they did not agree with.

The history of the Catholicism is littered with those who left, taking their toys with them, or saw our faith as some adjustable personal buffet, but as Bishop Barron reminds us, that is not what Catholicism is all about. Rather, our faith is very much about respecting the hierarchy and teaching of the church as wholly interwoven. Barron describes Catholicism, not as a philosophical or political debate party but, rather, as a mystical body whose truth emanates from a very human, imperfect, yet validly ordained clergy. He thankfully reminds us that the inherent truth and integrity of our faith is not dependent upon having a perfect clergy but, rather, upon Christ who works through them. Ultimately, those who see our majestic faith as some toy designed to suit one’s personal taste miss a great part of what makes Catholicism so transcendent to our human distortions.

Bread Lines over Lines in the Sand

The second theme of Kennedy’s book which Bishop Barron took issue with is the notion that Catholicism is, at its core, all about having a passion for helping the poor and marginalized. While these virtues should not be ignored, Barron reminds us that the Church’s social teaching is rooted in and subordinate to the Church’s doctrinal convictions. We do not feed the poor simply to help out but, rather, because we are connected as Children of God. Bishop Barron notes that something is wrong when anyone who claims to have ever been Catholic describes social service in a way which cannot be distinguished from secular humanism–or simply being a nice person. Ultimately, I see that Bishop Barron’s two insights regarding Kennedy’s book can be coalesced into one central theme, as described below.

Me, Me, Me, and Me Again

At the end of the day, the Catholicism espoused by many of the contributors to Kennedy’s book is one centered on self: I have a right to expect my Catholicism to serve my needs and views of what is and is not important. I deserve a faith that caters to my notions of what is right and wrong. I can pretend to defend the marginalized, as long as those marginalized are wanted and convenient. It does not matter why I feed the hungry or clothe the naked, as long as it makes me feel good about myself to do it. My faith is my personal radio allowing me to switch stations when I do not like the music or, better yet, shut off when nothing suits my taste. My devotion is my business and I am certainly not going to listen to some imperfect priest bore me with things I am not in the mood to hear.

How convenient and self-obsessed is such a distorted view of the majestic and beautiful treasure that is our Faith.

Conclusion

The other day, I was trying to get my Echo device to play a favorite song, and things were not going well. For some reason, the device kept playing songs with similar titles but not the song I wanted to hear, so I just told it to shut up. I began to ponder both the convenience and the ironic drawbacks of modern technology and thinking. We are becoming increasingly accustomed to custom-made living, where we can adjust everything to precisely suit our personal tastes. I know many people who play board games by their own rules, leading to many arguments and lots of solitaire. Christ came to show us that it is not about us, but about God and others. Our Faith is rooted in putting God first, others second, and myself third. Ultimately, Christians do not go home when things do not go their way because they know that the only way that matters is the way to God.

2017 Gabriel Garnica

Embrace Your Inner Veronica

By Gabe Garnica

We all know of Veronica as the brave woman who wiped Christ’s face on his way to Calvary. Tradition holds that she was merely a pious woman of Jerusalem. gh Tradition also holds that her veil has gone through a long journey. There is some debate whether or not the veil held in the Vatican as authentic is truly the original. All of that, however, does not matter in the face ( pardon the pun) of what Veronica should represent for each of us.

Charity

First, Veronica’s action was based on a powerful desire of charity toward a suffering Christ. In that moment, her only concern was helping someone in need. If we want to follow Christ, we must likewise offer instinctual comfort to those in need, be it actual or in prayer. Such instances will be welcome and necessary breaks in the self-celebration many of us call our lives.

Courage

There is no doubt that Veronica had to be very brave to do what she did. She could have been struck, killed, or jailed for rendering aid to Christ, but she did not worry about that. Following Christ today requires courage as well. We must focus on Christ and block out the distractions of this world.

Clarity

It is clear that Veronica had no doubts or confusion about the importance of what she was doing. She clearly knew what she was doing and why she wanted to do it.

Character

The final impression we receive of Veronica is that she was a person of high character. She was clearly humble despite her bravery, faith, charity, and clarity. There is little mention of her anywhere except in the stations and such writings as those of Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich. She did not act as she did for appearance, or for personal agendas. When one acts out of charity, faith, trust, and total abandonment to God, there is no room for personal agendas, and one will act as a true, pure instrument of Our Lord.

Conclusion

St. Veronica is the patron saint of laundry workers and photographers and, given her story, this makes perfect sense. She reminds us that Christ will leave his impression on our souls if we only offer ourselves in his service. If we clean our spiritual laundry and offer God as clean a surface as we can on which to do His Will, He will surely render us living representations of His teaching, and what better role can one have than that?

Gabriel Garnica 2017