Barbeque. It's a manly, fatherly thing. As an American, I find barbeque to be a part of our patrimony...a part worth preserving.
Despite years of cooking experience, I never knew how easy it was to make homemade BBQ sauce until I made this dish last year. I'm sharing it with you now.
BBQ Sauce (all measurements approximate, adjust according to taste)
1/2 C balsamic vinegar
1/8 C diced red onion
2 cloves garlic, diced
1/4 C cherry jelly
1/4 C cherries, ribboned
1/2 C ketchup
1/2 C brown sugar
1 TBSP lemon juice
2 TBSP chipotle-cinnamon seasoning
Pinch paprika
2 TBSP whiskey
approx 8 whole cherries (optional, for garnish)
Bring vinegar to boil (about a 4 on an electric range), stir in red onion, garlic, cherry jelly, cherries. Allow to boil for 5 minutes, reduce heat to high simmer. Stir in ketchup, brown sugar, lemon juice, chipotle seasoning, paprika, whiskey, and whole cherries. Simmer at least 10 minutes.
Note: boiling vinegar smells very strong. Once well seasoned, it will begin to smell better. Don't be alarmed by a very strong vinegary odor (enough to "burn" your nose if you smell it directly from the pot). It will not taste the same as it smells and the smell will get better.
If using the BBQ as a marinade, dilute it to your own tastes after reserving some sauce to brush on the meat afterward for flavor.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Faith of Our Fathers Friday
Part of whole "restoring the patrimony" of the Church is to look at the faith of our fathers to ensure that it is, in fact, living still.
Note: I will be relying on the Church Fathers section at New Advent for the texts of the Fathers, unless otherwise noted. I will be relying on the Patron Saints Index (hereafter, "PSI") and the Medieval Sourcebook (for later hagiography) as well. I thank the good people who run these sites for the service they do the Church and/or history (I do not necessarily agree with the opinions expressed at any site, but especially not at the Medieval Sourcebook).
Disclaimers aside, let's move on...
The Aurea Legenda (Golden Legend) tells the story of St. Ignatius of Antioch (among others) in a nice, condensed form. I'm going to use the translation provided at Patron Saints Index. As a foreword, be aware that legend doesn't mean myth. In fact, it means nothing of the sort at all and doesn't even imply in any sense that the story is a fictional account. The word legend means must be read, a sort of imperative demanded by the nature of the text. It is such a great story, a true one, that it must be read.
The name Ignatius implies fire, and he is filled with the fire of divine love. According to the Legenda, Ignatius desired to know more about Christ (whom another legend says he had met as a child when Christ called him to stand, cf. Matthew 18:2-4). As an adult, he was a disciple of St. John the Apostles and wrote a letter to the Blessed Virgin, requesting to know everything about Christ from her who was His Mother and who knew Him best. (Marian devotion? In the apostolic age? Yes.) She responded that everything John taught him was true (the Blessed Virgin does not take on herself the role of apostle, but points us to the Magisterium).
After having become the Bishop of Antioch (a See once occupied by St. Peter), he admonished the Emperor Trajan for his anti-Christian persecutions and was himself taken prisoner. St. Ignatius wrote letters to many Churches along the way to Rome: Ephesus, Magnesia, Tralles, Philadelphia, Smyrna, and others. He spoke often of the need for Christians to unite around their bishops, to be in harmony with them, to avoid evil and heresy. Finally, we read in his Epistle to the Romans, "I beseech of you not to show an unseasonable good-will towards me. Allow me to become food for the wild beasts, through whose instrumentality it will be granted me to attain to God. I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ. Rather entice the wild beasts, that they may become my tomb, and may leave nothing of my body; so that when I have fallen asleep [in death], I may be no trouble to any one. Then shall I truly be a disciple of Christ, when the world shall not see so much as my body. Entreat Christ for me, that by these instruments I may be found a sacrifice [to God]." St. Ignatius of Antioch desired not to be saved from martyrdom, but to be permitted to go to his certain death, wherein he would finally be with Christ in Paradise.
According to the Legend, he was tortured repeatedly and nevertheless always had the name of Jesus Christ upon his lips. When asked by his torturers how it was possible to suffer so willingly while calling on Christ, he told them that Christ's name was written on his heart. After being sacrificed to two lions, the Legend says, his heart was removed and the name of Christ found written upon it in gold.
St. Ignatius of Antioch, pray for us!
Note: I will be relying on the Church Fathers section at New Advent for the texts of the Fathers, unless otherwise noted. I will be relying on the Patron Saints Index (hereafter, "PSI") and the Medieval Sourcebook (for later hagiography) as well. I thank the good people who run these sites for the service they do the Church and/or history (I do not necessarily agree with the opinions expressed at any site, but especially not at the Medieval Sourcebook).
Disclaimers aside, let's move on...
The Aurea Legenda (Golden Legend) tells the story of St. Ignatius of Antioch (among others) in a nice, condensed form. I'm going to use the translation provided at Patron Saints Index. As a foreword, be aware that legend doesn't mean myth. In fact, it means nothing of the sort at all and doesn't even imply in any sense that the story is a fictional account. The word legend means must be read, a sort of imperative demanded by the nature of the text. It is such a great story, a true one, that it must be read.
The name Ignatius implies fire, and he is filled with the fire of divine love. According to the Legenda, Ignatius desired to know more about Christ (whom another legend says he had met as a child when Christ called him to stand, cf. Matthew 18:2-4). As an adult, he was a disciple of St. John the Apostles and wrote a letter to the Blessed Virgin, requesting to know everything about Christ from her who was His Mother and who knew Him best. (Marian devotion? In the apostolic age? Yes.) She responded that everything John taught him was true (the Blessed Virgin does not take on herself the role of apostle, but points us to the Magisterium).
After having become the Bishop of Antioch (a See once occupied by St. Peter), he admonished the Emperor Trajan for his anti-Christian persecutions and was himself taken prisoner. St. Ignatius wrote letters to many Churches along the way to Rome: Ephesus, Magnesia, Tralles, Philadelphia, Smyrna, and others. He spoke often of the need for Christians to unite around their bishops, to be in harmony with them, to avoid evil and heresy. Finally, we read in his Epistle to the Romans, "I beseech of you not to show an unseasonable good-will towards me. Allow me to become food for the wild beasts, through whose instrumentality it will be granted me to attain to God. I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ. Rather entice the wild beasts, that they may become my tomb, and may leave nothing of my body; so that when I have fallen asleep [in death], I may be no trouble to any one. Then shall I truly be a disciple of Christ, when the world shall not see so much as my body. Entreat Christ for me, that by these instruments I may be found a sacrifice [to God]." St. Ignatius of Antioch desired not to be saved from martyrdom, but to be permitted to go to his certain death, wherein he would finally be with Christ in Paradise.
According to the Legend, he was tortured repeatedly and nevertheless always had the name of Jesus Christ upon his lips. When asked by his torturers how it was possible to suffer so willingly while calling on Christ, he told them that Christ's name was written on his heart. After being sacrificed to two lions, the Legend says, his heart was removed and the name of Christ found written upon it in gold.
St. Ignatius of Antioch, pray for us!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The First Luminous Mystery
I was thinking today about the Baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan.
Lately, I've resolved to begin meditating daily (we'll call it a Lenten jump-starting practice) and I've chosen the method of placing myself, using my imagination, into whatever scene I am meditating on. Today, I decided to be a disciple of St. John the Baptist. Keep in mind that I'm trying to play myself in the shoes of another...thoughts I might've had if I were John's disciple 2000 years ago, aside from anachronistic references to later things for the sake of drawing out meaning.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
I can sympathize with the Essenes of John's time, with whom many scholars believe he was associated. I am an ardent melancholic. I can understand the desire for perfection and the intellectual refusal to compromise. This often gets me into trouble, but when I do end up trying to come to some compromise with anyone (only in act, never in spirit), I screw the whole thing up anyway. I am learning (mostly from my wife, whom I owe a debt of gratitude) the choleric trait of standing up for myself and not giving in (may I never, though, pick up from her the sanguine traits of interior design or crafting).
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Anyway, as I was saying, I sympathize with the rigor of the Essenes. Once in college, one of my favorite professors told us about one of the scrolls at Qumran, which contained a debate between the Essenes and the Pharisees. They arguing over ritualistic cleanliness. The Essenes were more rigorous than the Pharisees! So, there you are, they must have been perfectionist melancholics. "The melancholic so longs for heaven that everything on earth falls short" ... and the complaints about imperfections begin.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
So I imagined myself as one of John's disciples. I see this guy eating locusts and honey. I probably try to do it myself (I'm deathly allergic to roaches, so I'm guessing locusts aren't a good idea, either), but I admire his asceticism. He's taught me a lot and I, a faithful Jew, know that I must follow the Law and the Prophets, but, like John's other disciples, I probably miss the point, at least enough that I also miss the Savior. You see, John's been talking about the Messiah. We've been expecting him. Many of us think John is the Messiah, because let's face it, he's really good at this whole following the Law thing. John denies it, though. He says he's not worthy even to serve the Messiah in the lowliest of ways, to untie his sandal. We all scoff at this. John is holy. We all know it. He does all these holy works.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
When I was a teenager and very confused about soteriology (the way most teens are confused about trig), I unwittingly found myself something of a Pelagian. It wasn't intentional. I didn't know better. Nonetheless, I've always been kind of a do-it-yourselfer. I have this tendency even now when I teach to try to make it all about my content and my methods. I leave little to God, to my great detriment.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
So I'm John's disciple, really focused a lot on works. Holy works. Good works. The Law is there for me to fulfill it. I must not sin, I must not sin. Then I see this new guy approach one day. He looks kinda like John. Could they be related? Maybe he wants to follow John, too. "Behold, the Lamb of God," John shouts, "who takes away the sins of the world!" Clearly, my spiritual leader John is telling the newcomer about himself. He's so holy. The new guy does want to be a follower of John! He's asked to be baptized! But what's this...John's refusing..."he's not worthy?" What does John mean? Of course he's worthy! His works are so holy! He follows the law so well!
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Then I see a surprise. They're talking amongst themselves when, lo and behold, John baptizes the newcomer! Well, this just proves that this Jesus character isn't the Messiah. Another notch for John's belt!
Hail Mary, full of grace...
I keep watching John and Jesus. As he comes up from the water, a dove descends on Jesus. The clouds part and a heavenly light shines on Him. There is something more than Moses, greater than Solomon, greater than Jonah here. There is grace. This man fulfills the Law. He lives out the Law with faith, hope, and love. No man can accomplish this without God's grace, and here is a sign to confirm it! What's than, God? He is your beloved Son? You are well pleased in Him? Here I try day and night to follow the Law to please God, but this one pleases God completely, by grace. God even calls Him His Son.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Now remember, I'm a melancholic, which means I can be a bit anxious at times (people who know me, chuckle here). When I was younger, this also made me sympathize with Luther. "Wait," I hear you saying now, "Pelagianism AND Lutheranism? Is that even possible?" Sure it's possible. It was possible for Luther...but that's another post. The First Luminous Mystery shows us God's sign to a people entirely concenred with good works. I don't assume that they did good works as the Pharisees did them, but even still, they could not have done them as Christ did them.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
The Baptism of Jesus gives us insight into the source of Christ's fulfillment of the Law: it is grace. Luther would say that His grace covers our sinfulness, but this is wrong. On the contrary, Christs's grace is what allows us also to fulfill the Law. We live out this life of grace in faith-working-through-love. Love is the perfect fulfillment of the Law. The Pelagians would say that man must step it up and save himself, but this is also wrong. If Christ had been a mere man, He could not have fulfilled the Law. It is only by His Divinity that He was so able, and it is only by our sharing in His divine Life that we are able.
Then St. John the Baptist smacks me for my stupid, prideful thoughts about Jesus. I really am a fool, but God teaches me!
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Let us strive this Lent to be open to God's work in us through His grace.
Pax et Bonum!
Lately, I've resolved to begin meditating daily (we'll call it a Lenten jump-starting practice) and I've chosen the method of placing myself, using my imagination, into whatever scene I am meditating on. Today, I decided to be a disciple of St. John the Baptist. Keep in mind that I'm trying to play myself in the shoes of another...thoughts I might've had if I were John's disciple 2000 years ago, aside from anachronistic references to later things for the sake of drawing out meaning.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
I can sympathize with the Essenes of John's time, with whom many scholars believe he was associated. I am an ardent melancholic. I can understand the desire for perfection and the intellectual refusal to compromise. This often gets me into trouble, but when I do end up trying to come to some compromise with anyone (only in act, never in spirit), I screw the whole thing up anyway. I am learning (mostly from my wife, whom I owe a debt of gratitude) the choleric trait of standing up for myself and not giving in (may I never, though, pick up from her the sanguine traits of interior design or crafting).
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Anyway, as I was saying, I sympathize with the rigor of the Essenes. Once in college, one of my favorite professors told us about one of the scrolls at Qumran, which contained a debate between the Essenes and the Pharisees. They arguing over ritualistic cleanliness. The Essenes were more rigorous than the Pharisees! So, there you are, they must have been perfectionist melancholics. "The melancholic so longs for heaven that everything on earth falls short" ... and the complaints about imperfections begin.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
So I imagined myself as one of John's disciples. I see this guy eating locusts and honey. I probably try to do it myself (I'm deathly allergic to roaches, so I'm guessing locusts aren't a good idea, either), but I admire his asceticism. He's taught me a lot and I, a faithful Jew, know that I must follow the Law and the Prophets, but, like John's other disciples, I probably miss the point, at least enough that I also miss the Savior. You see, John's been talking about the Messiah. We've been expecting him. Many of us think John is the Messiah, because let's face it, he's really good at this whole following the Law thing. John denies it, though. He says he's not worthy even to serve the Messiah in the lowliest of ways, to untie his sandal. We all scoff at this. John is holy. We all know it. He does all these holy works.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
When I was a teenager and very confused about soteriology (the way most teens are confused about trig), I unwittingly found myself something of a Pelagian. It wasn't intentional. I didn't know better. Nonetheless, I've always been kind of a do-it-yourselfer. I have this tendency even now when I teach to try to make it all about my content and my methods. I leave little to God, to my great detriment.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
So I'm John's disciple, really focused a lot on works. Holy works. Good works. The Law is there for me to fulfill it. I must not sin, I must not sin. Then I see this new guy approach one day. He looks kinda like John. Could they be related? Maybe he wants to follow John, too. "Behold, the Lamb of God," John shouts, "who takes away the sins of the world!" Clearly, my spiritual leader John is telling the newcomer about himself. He's so holy. The new guy does want to be a follower of John! He's asked to be baptized! But what's this...John's refusing..."he's not worthy?" What does John mean? Of course he's worthy! His works are so holy! He follows the law so well!
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Then I see a surprise. They're talking amongst themselves when, lo and behold, John baptizes the newcomer! Well, this just proves that this Jesus character isn't the Messiah. Another notch for John's belt!
Hail Mary, full of grace...
I keep watching John and Jesus. As he comes up from the water, a dove descends on Jesus. The clouds part and a heavenly light shines on Him. There is something more than Moses, greater than Solomon, greater than Jonah here. There is grace. This man fulfills the Law. He lives out the Law with faith, hope, and love. No man can accomplish this without God's grace, and here is a sign to confirm it! What's than, God? He is your beloved Son? You are well pleased in Him? Here I try day and night to follow the Law to please God, but this one pleases God completely, by grace. God even calls Him His Son.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Now remember, I'm a melancholic, which means I can be a bit anxious at times (people who know me, chuckle here). When I was younger, this also made me sympathize with Luther. "Wait," I hear you saying now, "Pelagianism AND Lutheranism? Is that even possible?" Sure it's possible. It was possible for Luther...but that's another post. The First Luminous Mystery shows us God's sign to a people entirely concenred with good works. I don't assume that they did good works as the Pharisees did them, but even still, they could not have done them as Christ did them.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
The Baptism of Jesus gives us insight into the source of Christ's fulfillment of the Law: it is grace. Luther would say that His grace covers our sinfulness, but this is wrong. On the contrary, Christs's grace is what allows us also to fulfill the Law. We live out this life of grace in faith-working-through-love. Love is the perfect fulfillment of the Law. The Pelagians would say that man must step it up and save himself, but this is also wrong. If Christ had been a mere man, He could not have fulfilled the Law. It is only by His Divinity that He was so able, and it is only by our sharing in His divine Life that we are able.
Then St. John the Baptist smacks me for my stupid, prideful thoughts about Jesus. I really am a fool, but God teaches me!
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Let us strive this Lent to be open to God's work in us through His grace.
Pax et Bonum!
Judas Iscariot is Alive and Well...and Still Going to Mass
"After he took the morsel, Satan entered him. So Jesus said to him, 'What you are going to do, do quickly.' ... So he took the morsel and left at once. And it was night."
Pax et Bonum!
-John 13:27, 30
Is it just me or has anyone else ever wanted to hang this painting near the back door of their parish? Perhaps the big, bold, Romanized words JUDAS LEFT EARLY, TOO could be a part of the motiff.
I dare a priest to do it. Take a picture and send it to me.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Remember, Man, That Thou Art Dust...
So, are you wearing a giant ashen target on your head that says, tempt me? Remember this Ash Wednesday that Satan would like nothing more than to take out the children of God who are wearing the Sign of the Cross on their foreheads. How much evil could he work if only he could get them to sin while wearing a seeming endorsement from Christ and Church? How hard will he work to win back those souls to hell who will be approaching God this Lent in the Sacrament of Penance? Speaking of the Sacrament of Penance, was it offered before or even during Mass at your parish this Ash Wednesday? Seems to me to be an awful waste of an opportune moment not to offer Reconciliation for hours surrounding the most attended Mass of the year in the United States. People come out of the woodwork for Ash Wednesday Mass. At one of my old parish jobs, we once got a call about Ash Wednesday times from someone at the local strip club, or so said the caller id. How much would Satan like that person to come to Ash Wednesday Mass and not be prompted by a confessional line to repent of his sins? Just another reminder, folks: we're at war.
Yes, war. We are engaged in a timeless battle for souls. If only we could live the material veil of our world and see the souls involved! If only we could see as angels and demons wage a bloodless war to the eternal consequence of souls - of yours, of mine - and we are so often unaware that we are soldiers also.
Today is Ash Wednesday. We, good soldiers, enrolled in the Army of God at our Baptism, are now marked with a sign of the battlefield. Dirt and ash, from which we were taken, has been smeared in the sign of our Savior upon our brows. An incredible thing, this dust. Remember, man, that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return. Dust...we are so frail. We are made from the most abundant thing on the earth, the very stuff of earth! To dust we shall return.
We have in the words of Jesus in today's readings an exhortation to be humble. As we Catholics have an outward sign of our faith on our foreheads, which Christ seems to have forbade, we know that His real meaning was not to go showing of our faith. Don't let your ashes be for show. Let them be a sign of true repentance! Don't go pretending to be holy. Be holy! Don't go trying to impress upon the people around you how holy you are for going to Mass today and receiving ashes (I tell you, this is why most people go). Go out, instead, as a light to the nations, a sign of repentance. When people see you, they should not think, "look at this holy person" but rather "look at this pile of dust." Be humble!
The root word of humility means dirt. We ought to think of ourselves as dirt because we are dirt. Humility consists in nothing more than honesty about oneself. If you enter Lent thinking that you are a saint, you are a fool. If you enter Lent thinking that sin isn't a terrible problem in your life, you are a fool. Humble yourself! See in your ashes a sobering reflection of who and what you are.
We are at war. The General, our Lord of Lords and King of Kings, needs us to be humble. He needs us to be able to slip under the radar, too seem to the enemy that we are small fish not worth the catch. Only if we are humble can He save us. The war, though, is already won. It was one 2000 years ago on Calvary. The enemy, though, dishonest demons that they are, will refuse to acknowledge that they have lost. They will fight to kill every last soldier on the battlefield. They will fight not with direct attacks - they can't - but by trying to convince you to kill your own soul. That's the secret the devil doesn't want anyone to know. When Christ says not to fear him who can destroy the body, but him who can cast both body and soul into hell (cf. Mt 10:28), He is speaking firstly of fearing yourself. Fear of self is a necessary aspect of humility. I must truly be afraid of what I will do to myself, what some demon will convince me to do through temptation. That is the way they fight. They get us to do the killing.
Be humble. Know that you are capable of sin, but also, by God's grace, of great virtue.
Remember, man, that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return.
Pax et Bonum!
Yes, war. We are engaged in a timeless battle for souls. If only we could live the material veil of our world and see the souls involved! If only we could see as angels and demons wage a bloodless war to the eternal consequence of souls - of yours, of mine - and we are so often unaware that we are soldiers also.
Today is Ash Wednesday. We, good soldiers, enrolled in the Army of God at our Baptism, are now marked with a sign of the battlefield. Dirt and ash, from which we were taken, has been smeared in the sign of our Savior upon our brows. An incredible thing, this dust. Remember, man, that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return. Dust...we are so frail. We are made from the most abundant thing on the earth, the very stuff of earth! To dust we shall return.
We have in the words of Jesus in today's readings an exhortation to be humble. As we Catholics have an outward sign of our faith on our foreheads, which Christ seems to have forbade, we know that His real meaning was not to go showing of our faith. Don't let your ashes be for show. Let them be a sign of true repentance! Don't go pretending to be holy. Be holy! Don't go trying to impress upon the people around you how holy you are for going to Mass today and receiving ashes (I tell you, this is why most people go). Go out, instead, as a light to the nations, a sign of repentance. When people see you, they should not think, "look at this holy person" but rather "look at this pile of dust." Be humble!
The root word of humility means dirt. We ought to think of ourselves as dirt because we are dirt. Humility consists in nothing more than honesty about oneself. If you enter Lent thinking that you are a saint, you are a fool. If you enter Lent thinking that sin isn't a terrible problem in your life, you are a fool. Humble yourself! See in your ashes a sobering reflection of who and what you are.
We are at war. The General, our Lord of Lords and King of Kings, needs us to be humble. He needs us to be able to slip under the radar, too seem to the enemy that we are small fish not worth the catch. Only if we are humble can He save us. The war, though, is already won. It was one 2000 years ago on Calvary. The enemy, though, dishonest demons that they are, will refuse to acknowledge that they have lost. They will fight to kill every last soldier on the battlefield. They will fight not with direct attacks - they can't - but by trying to convince you to kill your own soul. That's the secret the devil doesn't want anyone to know. When Christ says not to fear him who can destroy the body, but him who can cast both body and soul into hell (cf. Mt 10:28), He is speaking firstly of fearing yourself. Fear of self is a necessary aspect of humility. I must truly be afraid of what I will do to myself, what some demon will convince me to do through temptation. That is the way they fight. They get us to do the killing.
Be humble. Know that you are capable of sin, but also, by God's grace, of great virtue.
Remember, man, that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return.
Pax et Bonum!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Two Masters
"No one can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon."
What ought to be the Church's wealth: money or souls?
The following is not aimed at any specific Church ministry.
I've observed people in the Church of many different philosophies on the subject. On the one hand, I'm a husband and father who teaches for a living. I'd love to do this ministry for free (really, I would LOVE that), but it's not practical. I have obligations. I must be paid or else I cannot do the job because I really will have to be busy doing something else to make a living. In that sense, the salaries of many Church employees are much more like stipends. It's there to cover my living expenses so that I may be free to go about my work. It's not about making me rich (if I wanted to be rich, I'd go work for Joel Olsteen).
Problem is, I couldn't live with the constant smiling, hand gestures, and always talking about money. I hate money. Like I said, if I could teach for free, I would. St. John Bosco faced the same dilemma and left his cushy job to take care of street urchins. "Give me souls, take away the rest," he always said. He didn't have a wife and kids to support (granted, though, he did have hundreds of boys).
The trouble I'm having, though, as I look around the Church is that there are pockets of materialism everywhere. Somehow, catechists (clergy and laity alike) got it into their heads that what really attracts sinners to come encounter the Living God and repent of sin is soft, fluffy cushions on Church pews, pool tables in air-conditioned youth centers, and pre-cana weekends that mention enneagrams more often than they do the Wedding Feast at Cana.
These pockets of materialism go right along with pockets of utilitarianism. "How do we boost our numbers?" The pastor says at a staff meeting. How often is it about numbers? Don't get me wrong, the more saved the better, but I have this suspicious that if we focused on quality instead of quantity, we'd end up being attractive enough to get a sizeable quantity. Instead, because we play the numbers game, we often find ourselves sacrificing meaningful catechesis (especially homilies) at the altar of "entertaining, fun, and free-of-charge." The pastor will soon turn to a fundraising campaign. To buy evangelization tools? No. To hire a more adequate staff? No. To put new leather furniture in the parish hall? Bingo.
So I put the question to you: are we out to make money or to save souls? How should we measure our profits and are we truly profitable?
I'd like to take up St. John Bosco's motto. "Give me souls, take away the rest." Now this was a man who knew how to attract souls. He did indeed use a certain methodology, sometimes even involving a touch of trickery. The thing is, he used that methodology to get the souls where he needed them in order to take them the rest of the way. He used parlor tricks and tightrope walking to gather young men around himself so that he could preach the Gospel to them. He offered them a home and an education. Most of all, he offered them a family. He offered them love. He did all things toward that end.
I understand how it must be for an outside onlooker wanting to imitate Bosco. "Well, I'll make this youth event fun and exciting and we'll attract new kids." It'll work. You'll get a few more kids in the program. So far, though, you're only showing concern about numbers. "Well, I'll keep having fun and games for them and they'll stay in the program." Maybe. You're still only showing concern about numbers.
You realize they won't respond to an advertisement for "come talk about Jesus and sexual morality night" at the youth center, so you're trying to get them on their level, and I get that, but when are you actually going to bring up Jesus? Effective evangelists don't sacrifice the message. They preach the gospel. They preach it clearly. Yes, they might use something other than the gospel to attract people initially, but they will bring the gospel into it. They will make Jesus the center of the event. Money and all the things it supports, are ancillary. They are there to help provide material support for the gospel message. Your disciples need to cross a river to faith. You need to help them walk on water. You need Jesus for that. You need your eyes set on Jesus. You need their eyes set on Jesus. "The rest," as St. John Bosco says, is just to get them to the river bank.
What happens when all that parish funding runs out? If you've preached the gospel well, your disciples will stay. If you've preached poorly, they will move on to the next comfy, cushioned pew, where they may be hearing a worse version of the gospel. That's assuming they haven't already left you, bored to tears of gaming challenges instead of moral ones.
Human beings, for all their complaining and whining about boredom, appreciate a good challenge. They know when something is worth their attention. They realize that when you don't water something down for them, there's a reason. They can read how much faith you really have in the gospel by how much (or how little) you demand of their faithfulness to Christ. They look at the martyrs and say, "by golly, if he died for this faith, and went to his death willingly without a protest, if he really found in Christ something worth dying for, then maybe I can find in Christ something worth living for."
There was a martyr of the early Church, a deacon in the Eternal City, Rome, who went by Lawrence. Most of us are familiar with the legend of his death on a grill, when he cried out, "I'm done on this side, turn me over." What perhaps not all of us are aware of is what happened before his death. He was commanded by the greedy Romans to produce the wealth of the Church. They wanted all the money the Church had, but you see, the early Christians had little money and little use for it. They believed in the gospel. I suppose they figured that if there was anyone who refused to join the Church because of a lack of wealth or luxury or comfy pews (the used to stand through Mass, which was much longer than ours, by the way), that person was preferring mammon to God, or at best trying to serve two masters, and was not ready for the gospel. Maybe that kind of attitude might help us today, the words of Christ commanding us not to cast pearls before swine (cf. Matthew 7:6). Anyway, the Romans ordered Deacon Lawrence to produce the wealth of the Church. He obeyed. St. Lawrence appeared before them with the poor huddled around himself. "Here, magistrates, is the wealth of the Church, greater than the wealth of your emperor."
What ought to be the Church's wealth: money or souls?
St. John Bosco, pray for us!
St. Lawrence, pray for us!
__________
Related: Sight and Vision in Worship
- Matthew 6:24
What ought to be the Church's wealth: money or souls?
The following is not aimed at any specific Church ministry.
I've observed people in the Church of many different philosophies on the subject. On the one hand, I'm a husband and father who teaches for a living. I'd love to do this ministry for free (really, I would LOVE that), but it's not practical. I have obligations. I must be paid or else I cannot do the job because I really will have to be busy doing something else to make a living. In that sense, the salaries of many Church employees are much more like stipends. It's there to cover my living expenses so that I may be free to go about my work. It's not about making me rich (if I wanted to be rich, I'd go work for Joel Olsteen).
The trouble I'm having, though, as I look around the Church is that there are pockets of materialism everywhere. Somehow, catechists (clergy and laity alike) got it into their heads that what really attracts sinners to come encounter the Living God and repent of sin is soft, fluffy cushions on Church pews, pool tables in air-conditioned youth centers, and pre-cana weekends that mention enneagrams more often than they do the Wedding Feast at Cana.
These pockets of materialism go right along with pockets of utilitarianism. "How do we boost our numbers?" The pastor says at a staff meeting. How often is it about numbers? Don't get me wrong, the more saved the better, but I have this suspicious that if we focused on quality instead of quantity, we'd end up being attractive enough to get a sizeable quantity. Instead, because we play the numbers game, we often find ourselves sacrificing meaningful catechesis (especially homilies) at the altar of "entertaining, fun, and free-of-charge." The pastor will soon turn to a fundraising campaign. To buy evangelization tools? No. To hire a more adequate staff? No. To put new leather furniture in the parish hall? Bingo.
So I put the question to you: are we out to make money or to save souls? How should we measure our profits and are we truly profitable?
I understand how it must be for an outside onlooker wanting to imitate Bosco. "Well, I'll make this youth event fun and exciting and we'll attract new kids." It'll work. You'll get a few more kids in the program. So far, though, you're only showing concern about numbers. "Well, I'll keep having fun and games for them and they'll stay in the program." Maybe. You're still only showing concern about numbers.
You realize they won't respond to an advertisement for "come talk about Jesus and sexual morality night" at the youth center, so you're trying to get them on their level, and I get that, but when are you actually going to bring up Jesus? Effective evangelists don't sacrifice the message. They preach the gospel. They preach it clearly. Yes, they might use something other than the gospel to attract people initially, but they will bring the gospel into it. They will make Jesus the center of the event. Money and all the things it supports, are ancillary. They are there to help provide material support for the gospel message. Your disciples need to cross a river to faith. You need to help them walk on water. You need Jesus for that. You need your eyes set on Jesus. You need their eyes set on Jesus. "The rest," as St. John Bosco says, is just to get them to the river bank.
What happens when all that parish funding runs out? If you've preached the gospel well, your disciples will stay. If you've preached poorly, they will move on to the next comfy, cushioned pew, where they may be hearing a worse version of the gospel. That's assuming they haven't already left you, bored to tears of gaming challenges instead of moral ones.
Human beings, for all their complaining and whining about boredom, appreciate a good challenge. They know when something is worth their attention. They realize that when you don't water something down for them, there's a reason. They can read how much faith you really have in the gospel by how much (or how little) you demand of their faithfulness to Christ. They look at the martyrs and say, "by golly, if he died for this faith, and went to his death willingly without a protest, if he really found in Christ something worth dying for, then maybe I can find in Christ something worth living for."
What ought to be the Church's wealth: money or souls?
St. John Bosco, pray for us!
St. Lawrence, pray for us!
__________
Related: Sight and Vision in Worship
Monday, March 7, 2011
Patriarch of the Family
I once worked for a priest who used to proclaim proudly that he was the patriarch of his family. He worked on genealogy, maintained contact with his family members, and took care of his people. Good for him.
In Pope Leo XIII's Quamquam Pluries, St. Joseph is repeatedly called a patriarch, the patriarxh ofnthe Holy Family.
All men are, in a sense, the patriarch. Although I am not my parents' oldest son, I know I will one day be the patriarch of the family in virtue of the fact that I'm the only husband and father of the three sons my mother bore. I intend to take that role seriously.
In the meantime, I act as the patriarch of my own home now. Tonight, I made a special treat for my toddler son for dessert to reward his good behavior this evening. He, his mother, and I all sat and watched a soothing video to get him ready for bed. He had great peace this evening.
Isn't that what being a patriarch is all about? Watching over your kids and taking care of those you're responsible for? I hope when I go to my judgment, Christ tells me that my children are destined to come to Him in part because I was a good father and a good patriarch.
Pax et Bonum!
In Pope Leo XIII's Quamquam Pluries, St. Joseph is repeatedly called a patriarch, the patriarxh ofnthe Holy Family.
All men are, in a sense, the patriarch. Although I am not my parents' oldest son, I know I will one day be the patriarch of the family in virtue of the fact that I'm the only husband and father of the three sons my mother bore. I intend to take that role seriously.
In the meantime, I act as the patriarch of my own home now. Tonight, I made a special treat for my toddler son for dessert to reward his good behavior this evening. He, his mother, and I all sat and watched a soothing video to get him ready for bed. He had great peace this evening.
Isn't that what being a patriarch is all about? Watching over your kids and taking care of those you're responsible for? I hope when I go to my judgment, Christ tells me that my children are destined to come to Him in part because I was a good father and a good patriarch.
Pax et Bonum!
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