This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

A couple of posts ago I described a couple “living in sin,” and raised this question: what is my responsibility to this couple vis à vis the foundational sin in their lives?

That’s an extremely complex question, and one that I do not expect to answer in any detail here. I rather expect that if I go back to one of the old manuals of moral theology—which, mind you, I have never read (yes, I’m making this up as I go along)—I’ll find a whole passel of material on it. These are just some thoughts that have occurred to me.

First, it seems to me that the fact that this is a couple “living in sin” is to some extent irrelevant. We are all, in some measure or other, “living in sin”. So the more general question is, what is my responsibility to the people of this world vis à vis the sin in their life?

And that clearly depends on the relationship I have with them. I have the responsibility to guide and guard my underage children, and to help form their consciences. Marriage is about holiness, as I’ve said, so I have a responsibility to Jane, as she does to me, to work in that direction. Sometimes that will involve speaking about sin in our lives.

With people farther away than that, it gets difficult. What we’re doing if we speak to someone about sin we see in his life, as Leah noted in her post, is a kind of intervention, even it’s a mild and small one. If I have no relationship with the individual, rooted in love, such an intervention is likely to be unwelcome. (Aren’t all interventions unwelcome? It’s only the evident love and concern of those performing one—and the impossibility of escaping from them—that make it effective.)

And this is what we should expect. Jesus was clear: how dare I try to remove the mote from your eye when I’ve still got a log in mine?

So let’s go back to that couple, “living in sin.” Let’s say that I’m acquainted with them tangentially—I see them at work, or in some other social context. What is my responsibility to them, to point out the error of their ways?

In terms of a proactive responsibility, given that I am neither pastor nor parent nor in any other position of moral authority over them, I’m not at all sure I have one. It is not my role to go up to them, uninvited, and tell them that they are screwing up. They certainly already know that some people frown on what they are doing; all I’ll do by speaking to them about it is to make them add me to that category with a little “busy-body” flag attached. And anyway, St. Paul is clear that we aren’t to be busy-bodies.

So have I no responsibility to them at all? I think I do, but it’s a more a responsibility to people in general than to that particular couple. In fact, I think I have two responsibilities.

First, I must pray for them. Not necessarily about their sin, because, frankly, at the kind of distance I’m talking about the precise nature of their sin is going to be obscure to me (and for this, may we all be grateful). But I should pray for anyone the Lord brings to my attention, that he would bless them and make straight their paths to him. The process of making straight those paths will probably frustrate a lot of things in a sinner’s life that shouldn’t be there, but that’s between God and the sinner and not my concern. (Unless I’m the sinner.)

Second, I must not lie to them. This has two parts. First, if a fellow asks me, straight out, what I think, I need to tell him. I don’t mean giving him both barrels and knocking him flat on his can. I mean speaking the truth in love, calmly and peacefully.

“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do, since you ask.”

The conversation could go any number of ways from there. If he wants to talk about it, we can talk about it. If not, not. And as always, listening is more important than speaking.*

That’s private speech. There’s also public speech, like this blog post. And here, too, if I should speak about matters of the day—as I am—I have a responsibility not to lie, not to mislead, not to lull people into a false sense of security. More on that later.

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* Would that I were better at listening than I am.

This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

I’m going to define another term, here: foundational sin. This is a sin that’s built into the foundations of one’s life. Consider a burglar, a person who “earns” his daily bread by stealing from others, and has done so for years. Theft, then, is a foundational sin in this person’s life. It has become part of who he is, part of his self-image.

Theft is objectively sinful; our hypothetical burglar needs to repent of it and change his ways. But that means changing everything about his life. He’ll need to find a new way of making a living. He’ll probably need to make new friends. The consequences of this kind of radical repentance in his life are incalculable.

Now suppose that our burglar becomes convicted of the inherent wrongness of his daily activities. He wishes to repent; but he just can’t see how to do it—can’t see how to make the necessary changes. He might feel trapped.

This is the sort of thing that leads people to despair, and it makes foundational sin very tricky to deal with.

I chose theft for this example, because theft is a sin that virtually everyone agrees is wrong, even thieves. No matter how well a burglar might justify his own thievery to himself, he’ll take a dim view of those who steal from him.

Now, consider sins that our culture is inclined to excuse, or that aren’t generally regarded as sins. The Church teaches, for example, that re-marriage after divorce is wrong, and that such a couple are committing adultery. Yet we see this all the time in our society. Suppose such a couple are drawn to the Church: and yet they have this foundational sin at the heart of their lives together. They made a commitment to each other in good faith, and they have built a life together, and they are told that the central truth of their lives must be repented of. This is extraordinarily difficult.

And this is precisely the situation that the committed same-sex couples of whom Leah writes are faced with.

Ouch.

This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

There’s something I was trying to get at in my last post in this series, and simply didn’t. And that is that many parts of our lives are a mish-mosh of the good and the bad, the moral and the immoral, of virtue and vice—and might rate highly on the good scale when looked at one way while being a pit of sin when looked at another way.

Consider a couple living in a committed relationship without benefit of marriage. (I’m unconcerned at this point with whether the relationship is same-sex or not; I’m also unconcerned at this point with whether the couple are Christians or not.) The point is that sex is going on outside of marriage, which is fornication according to the Church, and is a sin. From the sexual morality point of view, this is a bad thing. Fornication is a sin, and sin is bad both for society and for the people involved. (I don’t intend to argue that point here; that would be a separate series of posts.)

But on the other hand…suppose that these two people have been learning to love each other unselfishly, to sacrifice for each other. The sexual aspect of the relationship is sinful…and the yet the relationship is a vehicle for moral and spiritual growth. It might, in fact, represent a high-water-mark in their loves, morally speaking. There is sin in it, and yet it is the best thing that has ever happened to them, both subjectively and objectively speaking. I don’t think that it is unreasonable or wrong to say that God is using the relationship to bring the two people closer to Himself.

I don’t think that this scenario is at all unlikely; in fact, I think it likely that it’s going on all over the place.

Am I trying to “bless” their sin in some way? No, not at all. Sin is sin, and it remains sin. But I’ve noticed that in my life, God seems to deal with one kind of sin at a time. He doesn’t try to clean up the mess all at once; he deals with one room at a time. I suspect this is often the case.

When I look at other people, I often see messes in need of being cleaned up. But there are some things to remember about that:

• The mess that I see might not be the mess that’s most critical.
• The mess that I see might not be quite what I think it is.
• The mess that I see is quite likely none of my business.
• I’ve got messes of my own to clean up.

So I might look at this hypothetical couple and say to myself, “They’re living together; they really ought to either get married or split up.” But from God’s point of view, they might be on the path to redemption. I don’t know. I can’t know. And as C.S. Lewis points out, Aslan tells no one any story but his own.

Which brings me back to the point I was making in my last post. We need to love what is good, and we mustn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.

So what is my responsibility to this hypothetical couple? Difficult question. It certainly depends on what my relationship to them is. But I think that will have to be another post.

This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

I want to pause a moment, and go back to Leah Libresco’s blog post that kicked off this set of reflections. She says,

There are a lot of out, queer people in relationships, raising children, or hoping very much to wind up in one or both of those categories. Pro-traditional marriage movements are a threat to their relationships with the people they love most.

Leah suggests that when we oppose same-sex marriage, we are in effect asking these people to leave their partners; that we are saying that they should break up with people who love them, for their own good. Or, perhaps, she is saying that that’s what people in committed same-sex relationships hear us saying. In essence, we appear to be saying, “This relationship in which you have found love and joy—it’s bad. There’s nothing good about it. The love and joy you’ve found: it’s an illusion. We reject it, and you should, too.”

It struck me when I read Leah’s post, and I continue to think, that this extreme point of view is indefensible. It might be what “queer people in relationships” hear; and it might be what some of us do in fact think. And it might be true in certain cases; some relationships are simply toxic for one or both partners.

But consider two people who have made a commitment to each other, who have agreed to support each other through thick and thin, who have taken on the commitment of raising children as best they know how, who are practicing patience, loyalty, forgiveness, charity towards each other: is there nothing there that is good?

Is there sin in such a relationship? Surely, because there is sin in every human being we meet, and hence in every relationship. But there can be great goodness as well. We need to recognize that, and we need to love what is good.

Are there moral issues involved with same-sex marriage? Certainly there are (for the record, my views on sexual morality can be found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church). It must be difficult for a same-sex couple approaching the Church to put aside those aspects of their relationship. But that is not to say that everything must be put aside. It may be necessary to make changes, but against charity there is no law.

This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

What are families (natural or intentional) for? There are many ways to answer that question; one way is in terms of its effect on individual people. People, of course, are intended for God; our task in this life is to allow God to so mold us that we will be ready to enjoy spending eternity with him. To put it another way, we are here to become holy; and we should look at everything in our lives in that light.

So let’s look at families in terms of how well they encourage holiness. This is not the only way to look at them, certainly, but let’s give it a try.

I am not an expert in the Church’s theology of marriage; I’m just this guy, ya know? But I do know that part of the point of marriage-until-death-do-us-part is that it gives us lots of opportunities to forgive, forbear, help out, and in general to live in service to others: to serve Christ in the other members of the family. This applies especially to the parents once children show up, but it is true even of childless couples. It’s a true grace, it seems to me, that God gives to couples and families.

Is this grace restricted to what I’ve called natural families? By no means. As Tim Muldoon pointed out in a comment on my previous post, the Holy Family can be regarded as an intentional family in my terms, at least from St. Joseph’s point of view.

A Benedictine monastery can also be seen as an intentional family in my sense. The monks make a vow of stability: they promise to live in the monastery, with the other monks, for the rest of their lives. And just as in marriage, part of the point is that living with others, warts and all, can be a powerful school of holiness.

As I indicated in my last post, I think life in intentional families is more difficult than in natural families, in that there really are natural bonds of affection between parents and their natural children that don’t exist in, say, a monastery. And because of that, I think you could make a case that an intentional family can be an even more powerful school of holiness than a natural family: to make it work, you have to put more into it, and so you get more out of it.

That’s just a conjecture on my part, mind you, but it seems likely to me.

As before, I’m speaking of the family, natural or intentional, at its best. It can be a powerful school of holiness; I think it is intended to be; but it’s certainly possible to play hooky from school, especially if you’ve no notion that that’s one of things it is for.

In short, both kinds of family can be a great aid to holiness; and both can completely fail to hit the mark; but it’s probably easier—indeed, more natural—for natural families.

This post continues a series of reflections that I began here.

What I’m trying to do in these posts is figure out just what I think about same-sex marriage, and why. And to get any farther, I find I need to introduce some terminology.

By natural family, I mean what we usually think of when we use the word: a father, a mother, and their natural offspring, the fruit of their own two bodies. I’m avoiding the word “biological children”, because I refuse to reduce people to their biology. We are more than that.

By intentional family, I mean a group of people who have chosen to live together in a manner similar to a natural family, adopting the same mutual obligations to one another as you’d find in a natural family. We often see this kind of family in heartwarming movies and TV shows; Lilo and Stitch comes right to mind.

Of course, there are many families that don’t match either notion perfectly. Many natural families are lacking a parent or have one or two members who aren’t truly related, strictly speaking, and I suspect that many intentional families have one or two members that are. And actually, a married man and woman who do not yet have any children fit in both categories.

The primary difference between these two kinds of family is embodied in the old saying, “You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives.” In other words, intentional families are less stable by the very nature of things: my children will always be my children, come what may, but it can take real commitment to avoid dissolving a voluntary relationship.

Please note, I’m speaking about both in their ideal forms. I’m well aware that many natural families are disasters. But you don’t measure the nature of an oak tree by examining immature or blighted samples; you measure the nature of an oak tree by looking for the most healthy, majestic oak you can find.

The point here is that by my lights, a same-sex couple with children is an intentional family. So is a blended family formed of a man and a woman and their children from previous marriages. And so, interestingly, is a monastery of Benedictine monks. In each case, stability is of the essence.