Category Archives: Faith

Matters relating to the Christian faith in general

On Natural and Intentional Families

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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.

On Distractions and Detachment

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Julie wrote a post today that jibed with something I’ve been pondering, and nudged me enough to actually write something about it. In her post, she’s talking about taking time for prayer, and recognizing that that time for prayer is supposed to be a time of rest.

As a Lay Dominican, I pray the Divine Office every day (Morning, Evening, and Night Prayer, also known as Lauds, Vespers, and Compline). I like the Divine Office, because I don’t need to be with it. Some days I really enjoy spending time in prayer; and other days I’m tired and distracted. If I’m not with it, I still know when I’ve said my prayers that I’ve spent time with God…and the fact of the matter is, my feelings about my prayer time are a very poor indicator for the quality of my prayer time.

Still, even if I’m not with it it’s still necessary to focus as best I can. And that’s where distractions are a problem. It’s way too easy to sit down to the Office with a sense of rush: I want to sit down and do this so that I can move on to something fun. And so even as I pray, my mind is on what I want to do next. (For some reason this is especially a problem on weekends, when my time is my own and there’s nothing that I particularly have to do next.)

So it occurred to me the other day…a big part of the growing in the Christian life is detachment. I’m not expert in this, but detachment, as I understand it, is all about putting God first rather than second. There should be an order in our loving and our desires, and in particular we musn’t love the things of this world more than their Creator. Detachment is the process of learning to put God first.

And just maybe, just perhaps, the things that distract me from God during the Office are the things I’m in danger of loving more than Him. Not all of them; some of the distractions are duties and obligations that I really have to attend to. But many of them: the computer game I want to go back to, the book I want to keep reading. You know—the stuff I like.

Joy, he said, somewhat sardonically.

Forming Intentional Disciples

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Forming Intentional Disciples by Sherry Weddell is a book the Church desperately needs today. It is a description of the Church (and of Christianity in general) as it is. Sherry has all of the statistics in hand. It is a vision of what the Church can be, is meant to be, with glimpses of the parishes where the vision has already taken root. And it is a deeply pragmatic book with practical steps for achieving that vision given the situation we currently find ourselves in.

The core of the vision centers on Christ our Lord, and on what Sherry calls “intentional disciples,” people who make it their business to be disciples of Christ, who devote themselves to the love of Jesus before everything else, and to their fellow men and women because he loves them. She makes the point over and over again that a strong, living relationship with Jesus is crucial—and that if we want our parishes to be bursting with life and service to God and our neighbor, we must first foster that strong, living relationship.

My evangelical readers are nodding and saying, “Well, duh—of course that’s where you have to start.” I need to say a few words to them; the rest of you, feel free to follow along if you like.

I was a member of Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship when I was in college. I was a member of a rather evangelical Episcopalian (later, Anglican) parish for many, many years before I returned to the Catholic Church. I’ve known about the importance of a strong friendship with Jesus since I was in my teens. It’s only since I rejoined the Catholic Church that I’ve begun to get the hang of it.

What’s this! you ask? That’s not the usual way. And it isn’t; and yet, at the same time, it is. For almost two thousand years, the Catholic Church has had members who have stepped apart from the world and devoted their lives to building their relationships with Jesus. We call them monks, and friars, and sisters, and nuns, and canons, and hermits. We call them Dominicans and Franciscans and Benedictines and Carmelites and a whole host of other names. There have always been those in the Church who not only know the way but have mapped it out in detail; and not only mapped it out in detail, but have mapped out a number of routes, suited to every variety of temperament. Dominican spirituality is not the same as Benedictine spirituality. But all of them are about coming to Jesus, knowing him, loving him, and accepting his discipline.

As a Protestant, I felt like I had a do-it-yourself kit and no hardware store in sight. The books I read were some help, but they only went so far. As a Catholic I’ve got the experience of the ages available to me, and I’ve done my best, with God’s help, to take advantage of it. I look back on my days as an Anglican, and I feel like I was trying to get the job done with one hand tied behind my back and a blindfold.*

The Catholic Church as a body understands how to know and love and follow Jesus. But many of us in the pews do not; and that’s what this book is about: encouraging Catholics like me to spread the word, as well as sage advice on how to go about it. Here’s a hint: it doesn’t look like a sales call. And mostly it involves listening, not speaking.

This is not properly a review; I don’t feel qualified to review the material in this book, especially after only one reading. But I’ll be reading it again; and I’ll be passing it around.

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* I’m not criticizing my non-Catholic brothers and sisters here; I’m talking about my own personal experience trying to put my faith into practice.

Aquinas 101

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Aquinas 101, by Francis Selman, is subtitled “A Basic Introduction to the Thought of St. Thomas Aquinas”; and that’s a pretty good description.

Most of the books I’ve read about Thomas have focussed on his philosophy and natural theology, e.g., his proofs for the existence of God and of God’s attributes, as accessible to reason. This one covers that, but then goes on to cover the remainder of his theology as well. It isn’t a long book, only about 200 pages, so the coverage isn’t deep; at least, I found the opening chapters on the existence of God to be rather shallower than other books I’d read. But on the other hand it covers the waterfront, which is a really good start. It helps to study the map before putting on your boots and going for a hike.

So, recommended, with caveats.

Bad Religion

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Bad Religion, by Ross Douthat, is a look at religion in contemporary America…and specifically at the heresies present in contemporary America. Heresy is one of those words that gets folks riled up—it seems to cry out to be said in a low, cutting, judgmental voice with a menacing hiss—but it’s a perfectly good word. It’s also misunderstood. People think of heresy as being some kind of wrong belief (which it is), but it’s wrong belief that comes about by putting too much emphasis on some particular right belief. The Arian heresy, for example, put too much emphasis on Jesus’ humanity and taught that he was not God, but rather a created being.

So what Douthat’s interested in is not the complete spread of religion in the United Stated; he’s interested in what’s going on with the historically Christian majority, and the distinct ways in which they are going astray from a rather nebulously defined orthodoxy. He’s not pitting Catholics against Protestants, here; he’s pitting those who are historically orthodox in the manner of their denomination against those who aren’t, and those who have move out of their denominations altogether. He’s looking at the belief systems that have drawn folks partially or completely away from orthodoxy while still leaving the semblance. Though “pitting” is much too strong a word—the book is not a screed, is not strident at all.

He begins with a lengthy discussion of how religion changed in America over the course of the 20th century. I won’t go into that; anyone who was been following the turmoil in the Anglican Communion over the last twenty years, as I have, is already well aware of how the leadership of the mainline Protestant churches have been running into the arms of the zeitgeist over the past fifty years. It’s a sad tale, and although I learned a few things I didn’t know it’s a familiar one. A religious community simply cannot conform itself to the world without losing its reason for being. They do it to be welcoming to the world, to be “inclusive,” to be popular, to draw more people in; but frankly, the worldly are quite capable of being worldly without coming to church, and the more a denomination has followed the path of “inclusion,” the more they have shed members.

Following that, he talks about the four main streams of heterodox thought and practice in modern America: what they are, where they came from, how they flow into each other.

The first is the quest for the latest “historical Jesus”—the desire to find, either in the canonical scriptures or in various extra-canonical texts, by dint of much analysis and tortured logic, the Jesus you want instead of the Jesus who was, and who people have followed for nearly two-thousand years. It almost always leads to a Jesus who was not divine, but was a wise teacher. The remarkable thing about the quest for the historical Jesus is that nobody has really built a religion around any of the specific historical Jesus’s, but the notion that the Orthodox Jesus can’t be right and that I’m free to make of him what I will has taken firm root. In the name of truth, then, they have rejected truth. This notion underlies the other three.

The second is the Gospel of Prosperity. Worship God, and he will give you everything you need in this life, including the nice home, the new car, and so forth. The newer preachers of this message have evidently gotten more sophisticated than the prosperity preachers of yore, but the message remains much the same: God will bless you with every material thing if you are devoted enough; and if He doesn’t, then you weren’t devoted enough. The witness of the martyrs in every age, those who stood strong for Christ despite oppression, torture, and death, stand against it.

The third is what Douthat calls “the God Within”. This is the faith of those who are “spiritual but not religious”. Folks in this group regard all religions as ways to approach God, who is to be found deep within our own souls. They do not reject Christ as such; but it’s sad that those of us who insist on an orthodox view of Christ haven’t come to fully understand him. Closely tied to the “God Within” is the therapeutic gospel—the notion that God’s job is to make us well-balanced, emotionally stable, and fundamentally happy.

The fourth is nationalism: the notion that God has especially blessed the United States and has a significant purpose for the USA—and that consequently, what the U.S. does when it is most true to itself is sure to be blessed by God. Note that Douthat is not rejecting a healthy love for one’s own country; he is rejecting the notion that the USA, simply because it is the USA, can save the world.

All four of these notions, being heresies, are true to an extent. Being heresies, though, they go astray. The quest for the historical Jesus is about truth, but ends up relativizing truth. God really does want to give his followers what they need; what they need, not what they want. God really can be found deep within our own souls, and he really does want to give us the peace that passes understanding; but on his terms, in keeping with his majesty and glory, not on the basis of our feelings. And being “The City on the Hill”, it turns out, is more about being careful of one’s deeds because everyone is watching carefully, rather than a sanction for whatever that city wants to do.

These are familiar notions, familiar trends in society, and I agree with Douthat that they are trends that American Christians need to push back on, whether they are Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, non-denominational Evangelical, or whatever.

First Communion Retreat

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Today I shall be attending a “First Communion Retreat” with my youngest, who will be making her first communion in about a month. This is a new thing for me. They’ve been doing these retreats for the kids for some years, but I think this is the first time they have asked a parent to attend as well. At least, it’s the first time we’ve been asked.

I’m quite curious about it. I don’t know whether I’ll be with my daughter all morning, or whether the adults and kids are going to spend some time getting catechized separately. (I’m hoping the later; more adult faith formation is a Good Thing.)

Profession

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So today I renewed my profession as a Lay Dominican. Last year, I promised to live as a Lay Dominican for one year; today I promised to live as a Lay Dominican for the next two years. If all goes as planned, then in two years, I’ll make my Life Profession, and that will be that.

So this is a milestone of sorts; but it’s kind of like turning 45. 40 is a significant milestone; 50 is a significant milestone; 45 is 45.

Still, it’s good. It’s very, very good.

Heretics

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Continuing my jaunt through G.K. Chesterton’s books, I’ve just finished re-reading Heretics, an odd and not entirely satisfactory little book in which Chesterton examines the beliefs of many of the prominent people of his day. Toward the end of the book, he has a few words about progress, about the notion that we are, mentally, ethically, socially, every day in every way getting better and better:

The vice of the modern notion of mental progress is that it is always something concerned with the breaking of bonds, the effacing of boundaries, the casting away of dogmas. But if there be such a thing as mental growth, it must mean the growth into more and more definite convictions, into more and more dogmas. The human brain is a machine for coming to conclusions; if it cannot come to conclusions it is rusty. When we hear of a man too clever to believe, we are hearing of something having almost the character of a contradiction in terms. It is like hearing of a nail that was too good to hold down a carpet; or a bolt that was too strong to keep a door shut.

What would we say to a physicist who told us that the goal of physics is to know gradually less and less about the physical world? The goal of physics is to know more and more, with more and more certainty, about the physical world. And the same is true in all fields of knowledge, philosophy and religion not least. But if you’d rather not know, well…Chesterton has a word just for you.

Trees have no dogmas. Turnips are singularly broad-minded.