Author: Meg

I'm a Catholic, madly in love with the Lord, His Word, His Bride the Church, and especially His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist. I'm committed to the Church not because I was raised this way but because the Lord has drawn my heart and convicted my reason. After 2 degrees in theology and 5 years in the classroom, I quit my 9-5 to follow Christ more literally. Since May of 2012, I've been a hobo for Christ; I live out of my car and travel the country speaking to youth and adults, giving retreats, blogging, and trying to rock the world for Jesus.

So You Want to Be a Missionary? Well, Good. Because You Already Are.

Not long after my conversion, I decided that the only reasonable thing to do with my life was to be a missionary.¹ After all, I thought, if Jesus is God, why would I not want to spend the rest of my life telling other people about it? So I (at the ripe old age of 14) formulated my first life plan: be a missionary in the Ivory Coast.² I had a glamorous image of being called by God to preach the Gospel, being sent to a far-off land where I’d suffer for him. Probably someone was going to make a movie out of my life, it was going to be that cool.

And then life happened, and I was on plan number two: teach high school religion. But I was still called, still preaching, still sent, and certainly still suffering. I began to see that God had called me to be a missionary, just in Georgia instead of Africa.

Not the far-off land I was anticipating.... — Not the far-off land I was anticipating….

Now when people ask me what I do (or where I live or why I’m in town or how I know their brother), I answer that I’m a missionary. And people accept it because I’m doing something weird and preachy that doesn’t make much money. But when Family Missions Company asked me to blog for World Mission Sunday³ about my life as a missionary and all I could think was: so are you.⁴

Sure, I’m a missionary now. I wander from town to town speaking of the love of God, never knowing what consolation or persecution tomorrow will bring. But I was a missionary when I was a teacher and when I was a nanny and when I was a student. And I’ll be a missionary if I work retail or answer phones or stay at home. If you’re a Christian, you’re a missionary. It’s part of the job description. The question isn’t if you’re going to be a missionary–it’s for whom. Because either you’re preaching the Gospel of Christ or you’re slapping the name Christian on some other gospel. And any other gospel masquerading as Christianity comes from the Evil One.⁵ Choose today whom you will serve.⁶

You’ve already been called.

On the day you were baptized, you were commissioned. You were anointed as a prophet and sent out to make disciples of all nations.⁷ There’s no such thing as an armchair Christian. You are the salt of the earth, the light of the world.⁸ You are the body of Christ⁹ sent to feed and clothe and teach and love.¹⁰

But really, if you believe that Christianity is true, why wouldn’t you want to share it? Are you so obsessed with your own comfort, so afraid of rejection that you’re willing to withhold the love of Christ from hungry souls? Are you so impressed by your own inadequacy that you believe God can’t use you? This is joy and beauty and true love and we’re afraid to lead people to the water because they might be annoyed that we offered them a drink. The missionary vocation isn’t for the chosen few–it’s for every Christian there has ever been. It’s for people who don’t know a lick of theology, people who aren’t comfortable praying out loud, people who are timid or selfish or lazy or awkward. It’s for you. Do something about it.

You’re already preaching the gospel.

If you claim the name of Christian, you’re preaching. Your life speaks volumes to the people around you. It proclaims the message of your gospel: “There is joy in Christ” or “Those who love the Lord serve” or “No sinners allowed” or “Money is all you need” or “Fill your life with noise and you never have to be alone.” They watch you and listen to you and come away thinking that “Christians do that/say that/think that” or “The Church believes that.”

Your life preaches a gospel–it just might not preach the Gospel. Take a look at your life today from an outsider’s perspective and ask yourself a few things: What do my choices tell people that I value most? If I had a catch phrase, what would it be? Do people hear Christ when they listen to me? If my life were the only Gospel people read, would they want him? If you’re a missionary, you’d better know for damn sure what gospel you’re preaching. I think a lot of us Christians are preaching the world with a little Jesus thrown in. Check yourself.

You’re already sent to all nations.

Most of you encounter people of different races and nationalities every day. You’re sent to all of them. Not just the ones who look like you. Not just the ones who speak your language. Not just the ones of your class or your creed. You’re sent to that cashier with the unpronounceable name, to the beggar with the pack of cigarettes, to the neighbor with the accent and “too many” kids. Jesus didn’t pick and choose. He came to Pharisees and Samaritans, to Marthas and Magdalenes, to the blind and the lame and the whole and the broken. You’re sent to everyone, too.

Oh, you might never leave small town Nebraska. You might never see someone who’s not from your home country. You, too, are sent to all nations. You’re sent to the poor and the rich, to atheists and fundamentalists, to saints and sinners. You don’t get to keep the Gospel to yourself. You have to live it–to love every person. Every person. Even the addict. Even the immigrant. Even the lazy. Even your father, no matter what he did. Even your teenager. Even when he calls you that. Every person.

And friend, you’re a missionary. You might primarily be called to preach with your actions, but sometimes you’ve got to use words. Sometimes you have to put a stop to that catty conversation at Thanksgiving dinner. Sometimes you have to offer to pray for someone who’ll sneer at the thought. Sometimes you have to go out on a limb and straight up preach the Gospel to a disbelieving audience. Because you’re a missionary. And God will do incredible things even through your weak words.

You’re already suffering.

I always figured what made missionaries so awesome was how they suffered. But it wasn’t the spectacular suffering that impressed me. Oh, don’t get me wrong–I love a good martyrdom story. And I know better than to think it’s easy; while I do want to be martyred, I’m hoping for a quick bullet to the head, not being skinned alive or having my fingers bitten off. That’s some incredible stuff. But heroic endurance in moments of terror is obviously a supernatural gift. I trust that God will provide. It’s the everyday that gets me. The dirt floors, the well out back, the heat, the terrifying bugs. That’s what makes a missionary’s life so hard. That’s what makes them such heroes: persevering through constant suffering without even the satisfaction of righteous anger. After all, who are you going to blame for the monsoons?

Okay, yeah, sometimes being a missionary looks like this.

You’re suffering like that, too. Oh, they might be #firstworldproblems. And they might not exactly be because of the Gospel. But if you’re serious about your faith, there are inconveniences you endure that you wouldn’t otherwise have to. Maybe it’s just missing some football because you’re going to Mass. Or not having enough money for a grand vacation because you have four children instead. Maybe it’s not getting enough sleep because you’re trying to prioritize prayer. Maybe you could look hotter if you showed more skin. There are sacrifices you make for the Gospel–Christ honors those just as much as he does the impressive poverty of the foreign missionary.

And if you’re doing it right, you’re probably being persecuted. You may not have scars from it–not physical ones, anyway–but you get nasty Facebook comments, rolled eyes, accusations of hypocrisy, and cooled friendships. When you speak truth, the world will retaliate. And when you do it well, Satan will do his best to discourage you. Maybe Butler won’t write about all you endured, but it gives glory to God all the same.

If you have the courage of your convictions, you might lose a job. Or a friend. Or a marriage. You might lose social standing, like Elizabeth Ann Seton and John Henry Newman. Or you might lose your life, like countless others in the annals of our Church. But you will gain the world.

Yes, I asked the guy at the coffee shop if I could take a picture of his tattoo. Yes, I asked him if he would be my best friend. Can we all stop being so judgey and start wondering if he has a girlfriend and if not who we should set him up with?

So stop hiding your lamp under a bushel basket. Stop waiting around until you can be a missionary, and go be one! Invite someone to Mass, pray before you eat, take your baby to a nursing home, make a holy hour, call someone who’s hurting, take a homeless man to lunch, do some street evangelization, share a Bible verse on Twitter, flip over the scandalous magazines in the grocery store, get a Christian tattoo that isn’t ugly or weird, start a Bible study at Starbucks, ask your brother why he stopped going to Church, tell your coworker about God, help at youth group, listen to your children, smile more, bake cookies for prisoners, offer to go door to door inviting people to church, help a little old lady across a street,¹¹ tell people about the Saint of the day, call a friend out on unchristian behavior, go to confession yourself, listen to the Holy Spirit, pray, love, live for Christ.

When it comes down to it, life in the mission fields is made up of moments. Each moment might be ordinary but they can add up to an extraordinary life. You don’t have to do anything spectacular to be a missionary. You just have to remember that you already are and try to act like it.

Interesting side note: I’m pretty sure the very first talk I ever gave was on being a missionary. [↩]
In case you’re keeping track: I’m one Sacrament, one continent, and four babies behind on this plan. This may be why I’ve given up on planning. [↩]
That’s today! Well, to my mind it’s tomorrow. But that’s just because I should have written this weeks ago and instead I’m writing it at 2am. Win. [↩]
And then I went back and realized that that was actually what they asked me to do, so…great minds think alike? Anyway, I wasn’t being disingenuous here. Just had a bad memory and not enough time or inspiration to rewrite. [↩]
Before you start quoting Nostra Aetate at me, I’m talking about watered-down Christianity or secular humanism or materialism or other things that Christians might be preaching with their lives. [↩]
Jos 24:15 [↩]
Mt 28:19 [↩]
Mt 5:13-16 [↩]
1 Cor 12:27 [↩]
Mt 25 [↩]
I actually saw a young man–in sagging jeans and a hoodie–doing this the other day and I almost died of how cute it was. [↩]

Letter to a Sinner

Dear heart,

I’m so sorry. I know how you’ve suffered and I know how you haven’t let yourself suffer because you feel you brought it on yourself. I know you’re miserable and ashamed. I know you feel that you’re a lost cause. I know because I’ve been there. But I need you to know that there is hope. There is mercy and grace pouring out from the cross. There is new life in Christ.

My brother, my sister, he wants you back. Whatever you did, he’s still there, waiting for you, running after you, standing before you even as you mock him and spit on him. And the tears running down his face aren’t tears of pain or disappointment. He weeps because he longs for you. He weeps not because you’ve hurt him but because you’ve hurt yourself. He wants to heal you. Not just to forgive you but to help you forgive yourself.

And this, I think, is what’s hardest. It’s not enough to repent. It’s not enough to fall on your knees before the throne of mercy and to stay there. You have to let him raise you up. You have to look in his eyes and see that his judgment has been wiped away by his mercy. You have been made new,¹ my friend, and Christ sees in you not what you were but what you are: a child of God, washed clean by grace.

You are not an adulterer, an addict, or an apostate. You are not a gossip or a blasphemer. You are not a murderer or a temptress or a drunk or a bully. You are a new creation. The old has passed away.² Whatever the world may tell you about your sin, it’s not yours anymore. It’s been nailed to the cross and you bear it no more. Praise the Lord!³

Source. — *Forgiven Much* by Keith Johnson.

And it’s not just that he loves you despite your sin. I think he loves you the more, somehow, because of your sin. Jesus has always been particularly fond of sinners. He cast seven demons out of Mary Magdalene and then loved her so deeply that he appeared to her first. Before John or even his mother. By the well he sought out a woman, a Samaritan and an outcast entrenched in her sin.⁴ He didn’t go to the well-respected leaders of the town; he found a sinner. Jesus chose tax collectors and zealots and fools. He looked with love at the worldly⁵ and the weary⁶ while the wise were left to fend for themselves. Don’t think he won’t take you back. There’s nothing he wants more.

He is the father running to the son who first ran from him.⁷ He is the shepherd desperate for his lost sheep. He is the king calling heaven and earth to celebrate the return of one sinner. “For the sake of the joy that lay before him, he endured the cross.”⁸ You are the joy that lay before him. He suffered for you, desperate for you, willing to go to hell and back—literally—in the hopes that you would let him love you.

He has written your name on his pierced hands.⁹ Nothing you do can change that. His love will never leave you.¹⁰ He will come for you.¹¹ Again and again he will come for you until finally you look up from the mess you’ve made of your life and see his compassionate eyes saying “Come to me and I will give you rest.¹² Your sins are forgiven.”¹³

Dear heart, you are forgiven. You are loved. You are made new. Please come home.

Yours in hope,

A fellow sinner and sister in Christ

Rev 21:5 [↩]
2 Cor 5:17 [↩]
“It Is Well” [↩]
Jn 4 [↩]
Mk 10:21 [↩]
Mk 5:25-34 [↩]
Lk 15:20 [↩]
Heb 12:2 [↩]
Is 49:16 [↩]
Is 54:10 [↩]
Jn 14:18 [↩]
Mt 11:28 [↩]
Mt 9:2 [↩]

How to Stay Chaste: 10 Tips for Couples

It’s all well and good for a single gal to tell y’all to be good, but when you’re really in love things can get hard. After last week’s post on chastity, some of you might be wondering how on earth people do it. From what I’ve gathered, it generally involves more than just a strong will; it involves prayer and guidelines and communication and mercy. So for those of you who are in a relationship and struggling–or who aren’t in a relationship but are still struggling or who aren’t either but expect one day to be–here are some tips on pursuing chastity when love and chemistry seem to be conspiring against your better judgment.

Be committed. Know who you are and whose you are. Know why chastity matters. Then make a commitment–to God, to yourself, and to each other–that you will strive for chastity. If you’re halfhearted, your resolve won’t last long. And if you’re not on the same page, it’ll be very, very difficult. But if you’re both serious about being holy and keeping your relationship pure, you have a real shot.
Pray for each other. The purpose of dating is to discern marriage; the purpose of marriage is to get each other to heaven. If you’re not praying avidly for your partner’s sanctification, what are you doing? Pray for your own chastity, of course, but pray for your partner’s even more. It’s easier, I think, to be willing to compromise your own salvation in the heat of the moment than to endanger the soul of someone you love and for whom you pray daily. Making little sacrifices and offering them for your partner’s chastity will keep this at the forefront of your mind–and probably bring that desire to mind when other desires threaten to push it aside.
Farm tools optional.

Pray with each other. If you’re praying together for purity, you begin to see each other in a more sanctified light. Try beginning each date with Mass or a rosary before the Blessed Sacrament. It sets the tone for the evening and strengthens you against temptation. If it’s possible, end each date in the chapel. If you’re planning to stop in to see Jesus before you say goodnight (or if you’re dropping her off after having done so), it’s harder to transgress those boundaries.
Fast. I’ve said it before: I don’t know how people can be chaste if they don’t fast. Not only does it strengthen your prayer, it gives you mastery over your body. The more you’re able to deny your body what it needs, the more you’re able to deny it what it wants. If you’re really struggling with chastity, I’d recommend picking one day a week¹ to skip a meal or two. Fast (to the point of being hungry), learn some self-control, and ask the Lord to strengthen your love of purity.
Rodin’s The Kiss. Too far.

Set boundaries. “We’re not going to have sex” is a great start, but there’s more to chastity than just avoiding intercourse before marriage. Sit down early in the relationship and discuss what you think is appropriate in different stages in your relationship. It strikes me as fairly obvious that touching things you don’t have (pause to make sure everyone’s grasping my euphemism) is reserved for marriage. But maybe you’re like me and you think “Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do with your grandma looking on” is a good rule of thumb. Or maybe you don’t want to kiss before you’re engaged. Maybe you want to talk about how many feet should be on the floor when you’re cuddling. Try not to be too legalistic, but do be aware that there’s more to chastity than sex. If you’re not comfortable having this conversation with your partner, you might want to reconsider either this relationship or your readiness to be in a relationship. It might be awkward but it’s important enough to endure.
Be intentional about being alone. There’s a reason the Church talks so much about the “near occasion of sin.” Even if you’ve got the self control of a saint, sleeping in the same bed is a bad idea before you’re married.² In less extreme situations, standards are going to differ dramatically. The more you’ve fallen in the area of sexual sin in the past, the more careful you’ll have to be. I know some people who have to be sure never to be alone with their significant others. They spend time in parks and coffee shops and movie theaters but never just the two of them in someone’s apartment; they know themselves. You might be able to handle some alone time but need to have the possibility of a roommate walking in at any moment to keep things PG–know yourself and do what you have to.
Be accountable to someone. If you’ve got a roommate, give her permission to ask how your date went–and promise to tell her, down to the last detail. Ask your buddy to call you Saturday morning and ask if you were good the night before. Heck, give me your number and I’ll text you at midnight to make sure everything’s still holy.³ We can’t do it alone and a real community could be just what you need.
Dress chastely. I’m looking mostly at you ladies here. Your bodies are lovely and there’s nothing dirty or wrong about them. But they were made to be given only to the body–and the eyes–of your husband. Even if you’re not willing to dress chastely for the myriad men in your life who are trying desperately to see you as a person and not an object, do it for the one man you love. If you’re dressed like you’re wearing clothes, not underwear⁴, then he’ll have less trouble not thinking about removing said clothes.
Be chaste alone. The solution to temptation is not to indulge that temptation in another venue. Using pornography and masturbating don’t release sexual tension, they distort it and cause it to grow. Pornography is also as addictive as crack and has serious consequences on more than just your love life. Here are some tips on leaving pornography behind. Do it now.
Repent. You’re going to fall. Don’t give up! Get up, get to confession, and redouble your effort. Reconsider your relationship and the rules you’ve set for yourself. Talk to a trusted friend. Cry and pout and punch a wall but do NOT give up. It’s a hard road, but remember that you follow a God who fell three times under the cross. He knew you would fall. He forgives you. He wants you to try again.

Every relationship is different which is why these are more broad guidelines than hard-and-fast rules. What seems to be universal is the fact that people don’t stumble into chastity–they work for it. It’s not just about rules, it’s about building your relationship with Christ first and foremost; purity is just a means to that end. And if we’re not just talking about abstinence but about glory and virtue and true love and a real, eternal happily-ever-after, nothing should stand in our way.

It’s hard. It’s worth it. Be strong when you can and when you’re weak, let Christ be strong for you.

Friday would be ideal: all Catholics are required to perform some act of penance every Friday (per the Code of Canon Law). The U.S. Bishops recommend abstaining from meat. [↩]
For a number of reasons. It might not be sex, but it’s certainly intimacy. [↩]
Limited offer and bear in mind that a lot of the time I don’t have service, so…maybe make a new friend at church. [↩]
You know what I mean–sheer shirts, short shorts, leggings that you’re pretending are pants…. [↩]

You Will Get Pregnant and Die: 4 Better Reasons to Wait

It’s not hard to make an argument for chastity. After all, STDs are terrifying and unplanned pregnancies aren’t ideal. And there are the statistics that show increased depression in sexually active teens and increased rates of divorce among those who had multiple sexual partners. But if you’ve ever been in love, you know that scare tactics won’t work. “It won’t happen to us,” you think, and rightly so. You ought to be so deeply in love that you think nothing can go wrong. That’s a good thing—at the beginning. But it means that our explanation of the importance of chastity has to be more than cherry-picked statistics intended to terrify teens into super-gluing their pants on.

I spoke with a young friend recently who is really struggling with chastity. She and her boyfriend are in love and in a committed relationship. They’re both strong Catholics who know that it’s wrong to sleep together outside of marriage, but she wanted a little more of the why. Now bear in mind that these arguments aren’t directed at the unchurched but at those who are really striving to do God’s will. If you’re not coming at them from that perspective, they might not be terribly compelling. But for those of us who are seeking chastity not just to avoid dying of a terrible venereal disease and going to hell but in order to glorify God, I think they might help.¹

1. Sex renews the covenant of marriage. Sex isn’t just fun—although I’m told it is that. Sex is the sign of the covenant of marriage. Every covenant² is renewed by a repeated action, an action that reminds each party of their commitment, an action by which they recommit themselves. In God’s covenant with Adam, it was the Sabbath.³ In the covenant with Moses, it was the Passover meal. In the covenant with Jesus, it’s the Eucharist⁴ and in the covenant of marriage, it’s consummation.

Like this couple: married 60 plus years, 9 children, 25 grandchildren and 40 plus great-grandchildren. Now THAT's love! — Like this couple: married 60 plus years, 9 children, 25 grandchildren and 40 plus great-grandchildren. Now THAT’s love!

Renewing your vows is a beautiful gesture, but it’s just that: a gesture. Even when a couple celebrating 60 years together repeats their vows with tears of joy in their eyes, it’s just a symbol; it doesn’t do anything. The way you renew the covenant of marriage is by saying with your bodies what you said with your vows: I give myself completely to you forever.

Sex makes a marriage; sex outside of marriage isn’t just sin, it’s sacrilege. It’s renewing a covenant that doesn’t exist, like receiving the Eucharist if you’re not baptized or wandering in to a Seder meal, grabbing some lamb, and walking on through to flip through the paper in the other room. It’s more than just rude—it’s wrong.

If this incredible act of love was created for marriage (not just restricted to marriage), to create and renew and strengthen marriage, it just doesn’t make sense in any other context.

2. Sex is a sign of God’s love. Sex didn’t have to be awesome. God could very easily have designed human beings without family. Even with marriage and procreation, sex didn’t have to be an ecstatic, all-encompassing gift of self. He designed sex as a shadowy image of his love for us. It’s a foretaste of heaven. And the marriage that it consummates is a sign of God’s covenant with each human soul. The purpose of sex is to show you how deeply God loves you: a love that is indissoluble, for better or for worse. When you give yourself completely to your spouse, you experience a sliver of the complete self-emptying of God for you and (God willing) you begin to give yourself to him in return.

Look how excited they are to have said forever!

But when we engage in sex outside of marriage, we give ourselves completely to one who has no obligation to us, one who could–theoretically–use us and move on. Our relationship is necessarily tinged with uncertainty and even shame. We are giving ourselves but there’s no guarantee of tomorrow. Even if you’re absolutely certain that you’re going to get married, “Baby, I’ma love you forever” in the heat of the moment is very different from standing up before God, your momma, and everyone and saying “until death do us part.” You may mean forever but you haven’t vowed it and your heart knows that.

What does this tell us about God’s love for us? In this context, our experience of self-giving always has reservations–“for now,” we say, or “but not my fertility.” Our consummate experience of love is absolutely conditional. It has no flavor of eternity or surrender or promised sacrifice. And so we begin to feel that God’s love must also be conditional. He loves us as long as we’re young or beautiful or innocent or loveable. This damages our ability to love each other and our ability to receive God’s love.

Certainly even married sex is never perfect. There are conditions to the love of fallen man, fears and insecurities. But the vows you made are strengthened by God and the ideal is possible because of his grace. It is that ideal that speaks–in the thrill of married love–of the unending love of the great Lover of souls. Don’t cheat yourself of that.

3. You owe it to your children. I knew an agnostic teenage girl once who told me that she wasn’t going to have sex until she was married.⁵ “I owe it to my children,” she said, “to give them a father.”

This girl knew in her gut that sex isn’t just about pleasure or even just about love. It’s about family. It’s about a love so strong that it brings new life. And that new life deserves the stability of married parents.

Be warned: sometimes 1 + 1 = 4. Just ask my sister.

But it’s not just that you might get pregnant. After all, you might not. And even if you did, you might end up happily married for many years. This isn’t a consequentialist view of morality⁶ but one that looks at the inherent purpose of an act, not merely its consequences. Sex is about family. Sex outside of the context of family (even a family of two) is disordered. Remember that sex is one image of the Trinity–two Persons whose love for one another is so strong it becomes a third Person. If it’s outside of marriage and openness to family, it’s closed in on you two and not about a love that spills forth to the world. This act of complete self-gift becomes an act of selfishness. That will begin to take its toll on your love.

4. Chastity prepares you for a healthy, happy marriage. I don’t mean to come out all roses and butterflies about how pleasant and happy marriage is. I know too many married people to think that a healthy marriage is all smiles all the time. Marriage is hard. And so is chastity–before marriage and after marriage. When I’m asking you to be chaste, I understand that it seems a Herculean task, especially when you’re in love. It takes a lot of work, months and even years of self-control and self-sacrifice, of patience and communication, of fortitude and purity and respect, obedience, and selflessness. If you’re going to make it to the altar unsullied, you’ll have to work and work and work at these virtues.

Because "happily ever after" is just the beginning. — Because “happily ever after” is just the beginning.

Fortunately, these are exactly the virtues that you need for a strong marriage. That patience and selflessness and self-control is exactly what’s going to hold your marriage together during the tough times. And after a few years of absolute celibacy while dating the love of your life, celibacy on a business trip or with a good friend who suddenly seems like more won’t be quite so tough. Marriage isn’t a magic wand that makes it possible for you to be chaste but if you’ve trained yourself in self-control, fidelity in marriage will be a lot easier.

I often hear people argue that premarital sex is actually a good idea as it’s practice for marriage. You know what’s really practice for marriage? Doing what’s right even when it’s hard. Sacrificing and communicating and learning how to be strong for each other. Chastity is the best practice for marriage. Love your partner enough to wait.

Now, obviously God is merciful and people and relationships can be healed. You’re not SOL because you messed up, even if you messed up repeatedly and unrepentantly. Where sin abounds, grace abounds the more.⁷ But if you’re at a crossroads and you’re wondering if it’s worth fighting this overwhelming desire, it is. I promise you won’t regret it.

Note: there’s only so much nuancing that can be done in a blog post. It’s already too long. I love you and I’m not judging you! [↩]
Remember that religion class vocab word? Irrevocable exchange of persons. [↩]
So take a real Sabbath this Sunday! It’s God’s gift of love to you. [↩]
Which, of course, is also the Passover meal. [↩]
Well, she said “in a permanent relationship” because she didn’t believe in marriage, but it comes to the same thing. [↩]
The idea that the morality of an act depends entirely on its consequences. [↩]
Rom 5:20 [↩]

30 Lessons from My First 30 Years

Tomorrow I turn thirty. And as I wrap up my thirtieth year ex utero, I’m feeling remarkably wise and mature–or at least blessed to follow a God who teaches me the same lesson over and over and over until I mostly get it. I’m not who I should be, but (praise God!) I’m not who I was. Here are the most important things I’m still trying to learn:

If Jesus is God, that changes everything. Everything in your life has to look different because you (all of you, without exception) are loved beyond reason by Love himself.
Jesus is God.
The mercy of God is nowhere more evident than in the confessional. Go to confession. You have nothing to lose but your sin and your shame. You have everything to gain.
There is nothing you can do to make God stop loving you and aching for you. He went to hell and back for you. He’d do it again.
Prayer works.
There’s never a good reason not to be kind.
Kind is not the same as nice.
God’s plan is always better.
Bad prayer is better than no prayer.
It’s going to be okay. Not because everything’s going to work out and everyone you love is going to be happy and healthy but because there is more to this life than this life.
“Life holds only one tragedy: not to have been a saint.”¹
I am all beautiful and beloved and there is no blemish in me.²
Self-loathing is not humility.
God is not good because of what he does but because of who he is.
Jesus didn’t just die for me, he lived for me. Every moment of every day for me.
If you’re too busy to pray, you’re too busy.
There is great freedom in submission.
Joy is not just a side effect of the Christian life, it is a duty.
It’s all grace. Every good thing and every failure, too–grace.
It doesn’t matter what people think. Only God matters.
Nothing but sin merits shame.
“The greatest love story of all time is contained in a tiny white Host.”³
People are different. There’s no one way to be holy.
If you ask God to teach you to trust, he might take you up on it. Buckle your seat belt.
If your life isn’t built around prayer it’ll start to unravel.
Men and women are different–and that really matters.
“Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.”⁴
Every life is a gift. There is no such thing as an unwanted child.
I can’t save anyone–but I also can’t mess up so badly that they’re condemned. It’s just not about me.
I am deeply, unceasingly loved by a God who sees me as I am and knows I can be better.

It might be tacky, friends, but I’m going to ask you for a birthday present. Will you go to confession tomorrow? My favorite thing in the world is convincing people to go to confession and odds are really good that your church has confession at some point tomorrow, probably right before the vigil. So go! Especially if it’s been a long time and it’s going to be an ugly one; that’s the best kind of confession. It’ll be the best present you ever gave me–even if I never know.⁵

And now, because nobody likes a blog post without a picture, here's me in front of a waterfall. — And now, because nobody likes a blog post without a picture, here’s me in front of a waterfall.

Also, you might be a hobo if your plans for the next 8 months look something like this:

Broadly, anyway. Google Maps wouldn’t let me have more than 25 destinations.

Leon Bloy [↩]
Sgs 4:7 [↩]
Ven. Fulton Sheen [↩]
C.S. Lewis [↩]
But you should tell me. What a great birthday–all filled with emails and comments telling me people across the world are being washed in the blood of the Lamb!! [↩]

How to Reform the Church

I’ve spent the past 16 months traveling this country. I’ve been to Mass in 36 states in the past year and a half and in half a dozen other countries in recent years. So let me tell you something, in case you haven’t noticed: this Church of ours is badly in need of reform. I know you feel it too. You read the headlines and sit in the pews and watch the youth fall away and you know that something’s gotta give. With clergy abusing minors while bishops look the other way, with vapid “catechesis” and liturgy that reminds one more of a carnival or a dreary deposition than the wedding feast of the Lamb, with Catholics who dehumanize the unborn and Catholics who victimize the poor, it’s no wonder that many of us resting in the arms of Mother Church feel compelled to do something.

The list of particular faults would be different, but the sentiment has been the same since Jesus ascended. The Church is already but not yet, divine and human, “holy and always in need of purification.”¹ Whether it’s casting out heretics or letting sinners in, faithful sons and daughters of Mother Church have been drawing her along the path of purification (by God’s grace) since before anyone else knew there was a Church.

You and I are descendants of this noble tradition, this tradition of reform that made yesterday’s Saint a Saint and not the founder of a Protestant denomination.² If you’re looking critically at the state of the Church, there ought to be elements that make you weep, not because of bitterness but because of a deep love for the Body of Christ, the Church. She’s preserved free of error but not free of sin. Made exclusively of sinners (in the Church militant, anyway), it’s no wonder that she’s so beset by scandal and failure. But we who love her will not despair. We will follow in the footsteps of Robert Bellarmine and Francis de Sales, of Nicholas and Augustine, of John XXIII and Mother Teresa. We will live in such a way that the Church and the world will never be the same.

So what can we do, we who have so much hope for this magnificent Church made up of flawed individuals? How can we love our Church as the beacon of truth instituted by Christ while working to make her more true, good, and beautiful? How can we reform without starting a reformation?

1. Know what the Church is supposed to be. If you’re concerned with the state of things, do your research first. Read the Catechism³ so you know what can and can’t change in the Church. Here’s a hint: doctrine can’t change. And won’t. Ever. If you’re big on the “spirit of Vatican II,” read the documents before you make a vague reference to the feelings you have about the council. If you want to question Church teaching, read the whole Bible. If you’re still unsure about transubstantiation or Mary or social justice, read everything written by the Church Fathers–it’s all been there from the beginning.

This is the difference between reform and dissent: a reformer fights to make the Church more herself; a dissenter tries to remake the Church in his own image. Teresa and Ignatius and Pius and Robert are reformers because they saw the glory latent in a broken Church and sought to draw it out. Luther and Calvin and Cranmer were dissenters because they tried to impose their ideas on the Church–and lost her in the battle. If you’re trying to turn the Church into a charitable organization or a social club or a rock concert, find another group to subvert. But if you know what Jesus and Cyprian and Gregory and Catherine and John Henry and John Paul meant by Church–an instrument of truth and goodness and beauty in a sin-ravaged world–then let’s get to work.

2. Don’t complain. The temptation when you’re in a spiritually dead parish or a liturgically heterodox parish or a parish led by a great sinner is to gossip. We get with like-minded people and whine about how bad things are which makes us more ill-tempered and more likely to see the bad. We miss the holiness and reverence and joy because we’re looking for the topic of our next tirade. Make this commitment: don’t say anything negative about the Church to people who can’t do anything about it. The less you complain, the less frustrated you’ll be.

Reform often looks more like this than anything else.

The flip side is this: have the guts to say something. If you’re concerned that the religious ed program is too fluffy, don’t complain to the other parents, go talk to the D.R.E.! If you can’t take the liturgical abuses, talk it over with Father. If that doesn’t work and it’s serious enough, meet with the bishop. Or, if it’s appropriate, talk to a friend who’s closer to your pastor and would be willing to raise your concerns. If it’s important enough to “vent” about, it’s important enough to discuss with someone who can make changes. Reform doesn’t come from sniping in hushed undertones. If it matters, take a risk and say something. You might be crucified for it–but at least you’ll be in good company.

3. Be the change. Sometimes talking to someone isn’t going to help. But even if it would, you have to be willing to do something. If you think kids these days don’t know their faith, volunteer to teach them. Or if you have more money than charisma, make a donation specifically earmarked for sending kids to a Steubenville conference or a LifeTeen camp. If you think parishes need to be stronger communities, talk to your pastor about forming a welcoming committee. Be a mentor couple for young people in marriage prep. Host a mom’s group or a teen movie night or a young adult dinner. If you’re concerned that your parish isn’t doing enough to evangelize, offer to go door-to-door in the neighborhood inviting people back to Church. Stop saying “Somebody should really do something” and DO IT!

"I want a mess! ...I want trouble in the dioceses!" Source. — “I want a mess! …I want trouble in the dioceses!” Source.

This covers little things, too. If you’re frustrated at what people wear to Mass, don a three-piece suit or a fancy (modest) dress with a matching hat. Get to Mass early and kneel quietly if noise in the sanctuary bothers you; it might just show people what the sanctuary is for. Receive the Eucharist like it’s actually the God of the universe. Because it is. Iron the altar linens. Teach your children to be reverent. But make sure you’re not taking it too far: you might want to kneel when the GIRM says to kneel, but if the bishop has issued different norms, you always defer to the bishop. Be the change by being obedient, by getting your hands dirty, by wasting your time and driving people nuts. Make a mess, my friends. Pope Francis will be so proud.

4. Live in the heart of the Church. The great Catholic reformers loved their Church, warts and all. If you’re serious about wanting to change the Church, it has to be at the service of the Church, not at the service of some ideology. If you don’t love the Church with everything you are, fight until you do. Get to confession at least monthly. Go to daily Mass as often as possible. Pray the Liturgy of the Hours, the “prayer of the Church.” Invite your priest over for dinner. Pray for the pope.

Because if you don’t love the Church–deeply, desperately love her as the body of Christ on earth–then your good impulses will be twisted. You’ll find yourself attacking the Church instead of supporting her. Before you know it, your reform will be a reformation.

You cannot change the Church from outside. If you truly believe that the Catholic Church is the Church founded by Christ against whom the gates of hell will not prevail, cling to her. Don’t be a Catholic in name only–submit your intellect and your will, your entire life to the Church. Consent to be a failure and watch the Lord emerge victorious.

5. Be a saint. It all comes down to this. You can write brilliant blog posts or start great programs or argue with a thousand priests and win and nothing will matter if you’re not holy. Be so freaking holy that people around you are drawn to Christ. Look at the history of our Church: you never find solitary Saints. St. Clare was holy and dragged her mother (Blessed) and two sisters (one Saint, one Blessed) along with her. Bernard of Clairvaux was so holy that his parents, six brothers, and one sister are all canonized or on their way there. John Bosco and Dominic Savio, Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, Ignatius Loyola and Francis Xavier, Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac, and all their less famous companions–they spurred each other on, called one another to greatness. This, my friends, is how you reform the Church: you love so hard and you pray so well and you learn and you teach and you value humility second only to charity.

The great reformers of our Church were all Saints–not because we canonize people who do impressive things but because you can’t do great works unless you abandon your own desires and live only for Christ’s. Our Church and our world don’t need revolutionaries, they need saints. So before you do anything else, get your butt to confession and get praying. Real, serious prayer time, even when you’re “too busy.” Ask the Lord to use you, to work in you, to set you on fire with love for him. Then get out of the way.

I have great hope for our Church. I have to–I trust the Holy Spirit. But I’ve also met many of his chosen instruments. And you all have what it takes to be the great saints this Church needs. Let us begin.

CCC 1248 [↩]
The Bellarmists? Bellarmans? [↩]
Yes, the whole thing. It’s actually a really great read and you can knock the whole thing out in a year reading only nine paragraphs a day. [↩]

48 States

Friends, I write to you from a random coffee shop in some town in upstate New York¹ where fall has already hit (it’s 55 degrees and sunny at 2pm) and half the radio stations are in French. But despite the sweet small town community that’s coming and going around me, the world is dark today. There is tumult and terror in the world (as always, God help us) and I know I ought to write about Syria. And maybe eventually I will. But right now, I have nothing to offer but sorrow and a plea for prayer and fasting. So take a minute and offer a prayer for peace.

And now let’s just geek out a minute with a little update on my life.

Look at that cool map! You can see everything about it (or at least the parts I remembered to add) here. These are my travels over the last 15 months. Why am I showing you the map now? Because on Monday I hit 48 states!² And not just 48 states as a hobo–48 states in 365 days, which is awfully exciting. So I thought y’all might like to see everywhere that I remember having gone.

And check out this map:

That’s a map of views of my blog in different countries, with a list of countries where I get the most hits on the left. Do you see that people are reading my blog in India? And rather frequently in the Philippines? What a funny thing the internet is! And my blog has been viewed in 158 countries! Now I can’t say if all those views were intentional or not, but probably each page view means a die-hard fan. And since Google tells me there are only 196 countries in the world which means I’m famous in more than 80% of the world!!

In the past 15 months, I’ve slept in at least 88 beds/couches/patches of linoleum and given at least 100 talks/retreats/conferences. I’ve stayed in 36 states and spoken in 22.³ I’ve been to Mass in 36 states, but not the same 36 that I’ve stayed in–one of the idiosyncrasies of the hobo life.

So thanks! Thanks to everyone who read or subscribed or shared a post. Thanks to those who invited me to speak or just to visit. Thanks for recommending me to your priest or youth minister, even if nothing came of it. Thanks for your prayers, without which I’d be even more of a disaster than I am. I don’t know how long I’ll be doing this hobo thing, but I know I couldn’t do it without you all. To God be the glory!

And now, after 15 months of intense and systematic research, I’ve come up with some definitive judgments about the United States.⁴

Most hospitable: the U.S. Military.
Worst traffic: L.A. It’s constant and impenetrable. I don’t know how people live that way–and I grew up in D.C. I guess the beach and the constant sunshine are pretty good consolations for the gridlock.
Just going out for lemonade.
Coolest public transportation: Rhode Island water taxis.
Most surprising beauty: Utah. I don’t know why I thought it was a flat desert (you’d think the skiing in the Olympics would have tipped me off) but I was stunned by the beauty of the green mountains plunging into crystal clear lakes. Incredible.
Most ridiculous: New York. These people really don’t ever sleep! Add to that the traffic and the crowds and the noise and that topless lady in Times Square, and I’ll enjoy my visit but be happy to leave.
Most responsive to my ministry: U.S. Military women/wives, western Kansas, the Georgia Tech Catholic Center.
Best liturgical music: St. Benedict’s of Wild Rice in Horace, North Dakota. No, really.
Worst cell reception: Montana. Honorable mentions: Wyoming, Vermont, New Hampshire, Idaho, western Kansas, upstate New York. Maybe I just need a new provider….
Hardest to find an open church: Las Vegas.
This…striking tabernacle is not in one of the glorious old Polish/Italian/German churches.

Most beautiful churches: Cleveland, of all places.
Best liturgy: The diocese of Arlington and the diocese of Madison. And it’s a good thing about Madison, too–Masses in other parts of Wisconsin left me near despair.
Most enthusiastic: all college students.
Most beautiful homes: Mobile, Alabama.
Most ridiculous weather: Colorado. Snow in May? 60 degrees the next day? Go home, Colorado, you’re drunk.
Most exciting youth programs: St. John’s in Hollywood, Maryland. Kids evangelizing kids–it’s great! And they’re working on a way to spread their program to parishes around the country. If you’re interested, let me know. I’ll get you the information when it’s available.
Favorite new food: fried pies in Texas.
Most unpaved roads: Vermont. I drove 20 miles on unpaved roads to get from Mass this morning to tonight’s destination. Not because Google was stupid or because of construction. Apparently, that’s just how they roll.
Most likely to have traffic for no good reason: Pennsylvania. Also DC, but that’s not news to anybody.
Most likely to be under construction: Minnesota.
The view from the road in Montana…in June.

Most scenic views from the road: Oregon and Montana.
Worst drivers: Boston. Why do they even have lane markings?
Best grocery store: Wegmans.
Highest tolls: NYC.
Most obnoxious tolls: Orlando. If you don’t have Florida’s pass, you have to pull off the highway to pay a toll every 3 miles. Which brings me to my soap box: WHY can we not have a universal toll pass in this country? Surely my EZPass could work on tolls in other toll systems–why doesn’t it???
Funniest: The little girl in Kansas whose “question” at the end of my talk was “Sometimes we puke in the sink.”
- Tied with YFL conference leaders–check out this amazing video they made for my evangelization talk. Spot on, and they hadn’t even met me!
Emptiest: Wyoming. At least the southern half. Man, there’s just nothing there!
Most likely to secede: Maine. They’re already using kilometers, folks. It’s just a matter of time.

There you have it–feel free to defend your hometown in the comments. And in case you’re wondering, the next few months look a little like this: New York, Iowa, Nebraska, South Dakota, Minnesota, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, North Carolina, Virginia, Kansas, Maryland, Hawaii…Illinois…the Cayman Islands…Virginia…California? It gets a little vague after January. For more details, check out the schedule that I sometimes remember to update. And if you want me to come speak anywhere to any group on any topic (marginally related to Jesus) for free, just let me know!

P.S. Need something to smile about? How about our fantastic pope?

Well, okay, I started there. But then the owner of that little coffee shop in that little town wants to close up to go see a friend before taking his wife out to celebrate their anniversary. So now I’m in somebody’s house. [↩]
Alaska and New Mexico. I’ve got something in the works for Alaska, but not till the summer. New Mexico needs to get on the ball! [↩]
So you might not count my having driven through the others as having been there. But…well, deal with it. [↩]
Even the ones I’ve only driven through a corner of for half an hour. Sorry Arizona–it was a remarkable 30 miles. [↩]

How to Stay Catholic in College

Apparently this weekend is college move-in weekend in Boston, which means parking is impossible and you can’t walk anywhere without dodging two guys in tank tops carrying a futon. Seeing all those wide-eyed freshmen and their anxious parents got me thinking: more than two thirds of Catholics who leave the Church do it before the age of 24. Which makes college crucial to forming a religious identity, particularly one that isn’t dependent on parents. So what can you do, as a Catholic college student, to strengthen your faith and stay Catholic in college? Look no further, friends! You have here a bona fide expert who actually went to college and stayed Catholic.¹ And I’ve walked with dozens of students trying to do the same thing. Here’s what I’ve learned is key:

1. Go to Mass. Every Sunday and Holy Day.² Without exception. I have a friend whose mother used to say, “If you would miss my funeral on the same day for the same reason, go ahead and skip Mass.” Would you skip your mother’s funeral because of a hangover? Hardly. Because your finance project is due the next day? I doubt it. Because there are free breadsticks in the lounge at the same time? I sure hope not.

The Mass is the most important thing you do as a Catholic. In many ways, it’s what makes you Catholic. Don’t skip it.

2. Get involved. First thing when you get to college, find the Catholic center.³ Introduce yourself to the campus minister and the priest. Find out when Masses and confessions are. Put a reminder into your phone. Sign up for something that keeps you coming back–a Bible study, the Knights of Columbus, a service project, whatever. Find out when they’re offering free food and show up. This is the community that you want to get plugged into. If you don’t do it early, you may find yourself halfway through the year with no Catholic friends, no Catholic community, and sporadic Mass attendance. Not a good start.⁴

Catholic friends=fun while sober. (I'm playing the shovel. He's playing the air shovel. Not a drop of alcohol involved. And yes, I am available for birthday parties.) — Catholic friends = fun while sober. (I’m playing the shovel. He’s playing the air shovel. Not a drop of alcohol involved. And yes, I am available for birthday parties.)

3. Make Catholic friends. Oh, make friends of all kinds. Don’t just make Catholic friends. But it’s important to find friends who will encourage you in your attempts to be virtuous and call you out when you fall short. Different perspectives and experiences are great but nothing beats a group of friends who are running to heaven with you. Go to events at the Catholic center and look for friends. Pray for them, even. Then get off your knees and friend someone on Facebook. It’s not real friendship, but it’s a good (and not terribly awkward) first step.

4. Don’t be a drunk. Let’s get this straight: underage drinking is illegal. Catholics are obligated to follow just laws. So in the United States, it is morally wrong to drink at dorm parties when you’re 19, even if it is normal. Now, I know plenty of people who drank in college and are Catholic today. It’s still not okay.

But it’s really not okay to get drunk. And here’s what often results: you go out to get drunk (which is a sin even if nothing else happens). You hook up with some guy. You wake up the next morning and are terribly ashamed of yourself. So you don’t go to Mass because you feel too guilty. The next weekend you go out with the same friends (see #3) and do the same thing. Before long, you begin to think that your partying is fine, it’s just the judgmental Church making you feel guilty that’s messed up. See why this is a problem?

What? You were expecting a German Catholic not to drink? Via.

Having a few drinks (depending on how much of a lightweight you are) when you’re of age is fine. We’re Catholic, after all. But don’t tell me you can’t have a social life if you don’t drink underage. If you can’t have fun without drinking, you’re an alcoholic. If your friends make fun of you for not drinking, you need new friends. Might I recommend finding some at daily Mass? It’s worked out well for me.

5. Go to confession. The way out of that drunken hookup cycle–and any cycle of sin–is confession. Go any time you’re in mortal sin. Don’t wait till it’s convenient–track down a priest and go!

If you’re graced enough (and it is about grace, not about you) not to be committing mortal sins, set yourself a confession schedule and stick to it. Every month or twice a semester or Advent and Lent; as long as it’s at least once a year, you’re meeting the requirement. But do more than meet the requirement. Confession doesn’t just clean your soul, it strengthens the soul against future sin. And nothing beats faith faster than sin. If you’re serious about staying Catholic, get to confession. Often.

You're welcome. — I knew you would like this picture. You’re welcome.

6. Keep your pants on. But more than that–don’t kiss anyone you’re not dating and don’t date anyone you couldn’t marry. It’s so easy to get caught up in the hookup culture and find yourself in that same cycle of shame that drives people out of the arms of the Church instead of to the foot of the Cross. Be intentional about chastity–emotional and physical, alone and with others–and find friends who will hold you accountable.

7. Get educated. College is not career prep. It’s about being educated, even in things you don’t think are interesting. Take classes that challenge you intellectually and form you as a person: philosophy and great books and history, but also logic and medical ethics and embryology. Forget for a minute about what’s lucrative and just learn. Take a ballroom dancing class or a seminar on current events in the Middle East, even if you are an engineer. Take an econ class so you can speak intelligently on those political issues you’ve been avoiding. Don’t just learn what you already know and like–learn what makes you uncomfortable or confuses you. Learn what you find boring and figure out why it’s not.

Chrissy: "You mean you didn't learn all the things?" Rosie: "Awkward." Me: "Wait, I wasn't just supposed to learn the stuff I already mostly knew?" — Chrissy: “You mean you didn’t learn all the things?”
Rosie: “Awkward.”
Me: “Wait, I wasn’t just supposed to learn the stuff I already mostly knew?”

How will this keep you Catholic? Well, all truth leads to Rome and God wants you to be a well-informed person and to think critically and all that. And beauty will save the world and you won’t draw intellectuals to Christ if you’re a buffoon. But mostly it’s my biggest regret from college: I saw education as something to accomplish, so I only took what was required and got out as fast as I could. And now, despite a very impressive education, I’m pretty one-dimensional intellectually. With all the debt you’re going to have, you might as well come out educated.

8. Ask questions. For most people, college is the time that you find the big holes in Catholicism. I’ll let you in on a secret: there are no holes in Catholicism. But don’t take my word for it, ask! Ask your priest and your campus minister and your friend who’s a philosophy major. Read the Catechism, take theology classes, write to your bishop. Do what it takes to get to the bottom of things. So many people–maybe even most people–leave the Church because they don’t understand her teachings and it’s a damn shame. You have more resources available to you than any person ever in the history of the world. Take advantage of them and ask until you get a satisfactory answer. And if you can’t get a good enough answer, send me an email. I’ll come visit you and we’ll discuss everything that’s bugging you over a cup of coffee or four.⁵

Don’t let unanswered questions push you away. And don’t let half-baked answers convince you the Church is wrong. Find someone who knows what he’s talking about and listen. I think this 2,000-year-old faith deserves that much respect.

A good mentor (or big sister) will literally (no, I do not mean figuratively) carry you through to graduation.

9. Find a mentor. Being young is tough, especially when you’re trying to navigate faith along with everything else. Find someone who’s been where you are and come out the other side and meet with her. An upperclassman in your major can give you tips on which professors are most violently anti-Catholic and which might allow you to voice your opinion. The lady whose kids you babysit can give you boy advice and tell you when your skirt is too short. Father’s available for spiritual direction and the Sisters who show up at Mass once a week would love to help you grow in your prayer life. That older gentleman who volunteers as sacristan probably has a lot to say about what it means to be a Christian man. Find someone who isn’t 18 and ask for help when you need it–and when you think you don’t.

10. Evangelize. You don’t know everything there is about being Catholic, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love the Church. So tell someone! Sharing your faith doesn’t make you a jerk and you’ll often find yourself better-informed and more committed when you’re trying to lead others to Christ. Set a goal for yourself: invite someone to Mass every week or ask one person a month what she thinks about God. You might change someone’s life. You’ll certainly change your own.

11. Pray. Every day. Going to Mass every Sunday is a great start, but Jesus didn’t live 33 years for you and die in excruciating agony so that you’d hang out with him an hour a week. Try stopping by the chapel just off campus for ten minutes every day. You won’t regret it.

Accountability will help with this. Grab some of those Catholic friends we’ve been talking about and plan on a Rosary walk on Sunday nights or a lunchtime chat about the next Sunday’s readings. Despite how crazy life seems, you’ve got a lot of free time at your disposal.⁶ If prayer isn’t a priority now, it probably won’t be when you’ve got a mortgage and diapers and a deadline looming. Form your addiction to prayer now and it’ll be harder to break when life starts getting in the way.

12. Don’t give up. You’re going to screw up. Don’t let that defeat you. Don’t quit the Church because you don’t think you’re good enough–we none of us are. And don’t run away because the answers don’t come easy. Repent and question and push and just keep going. And, most importantly, beg for the grace to persevere. God can do amazing things with a humble, broken heart. Let him work in you.

**********************

What do y’all think? Any other tips from those who’ve made it? Questions from those who are still trying to persevere? Requests for more pictures from when I was in college? (Answer: that was before Facebook–yes, I am that old–so I really don’t have any. Well, two, but they weren’t as funny as these.)

No Notre Dame jokes please and thank you. [↩]
I’ve pointed it out before: this is .65% of your life. If God isn’t worth .65% of your life, I don’t know what is. [↩]
If you’re a commuter, find a parish with an active young adult group–one that has some people your age, not the 50-something “young” adult crowd. [↩]
If your Catholic center espouses heresy, as is sometimes the case, check out the parish in town. It’s okay to shop around a little bit as long as you always, always make it to Mass. [↩]
I’m not kidding. I’ll come. [↩]
Really–cut out all screen time and tell me you can’t manage half an hour a day for Jesus. [↩]

Your Body Is a Temple–a Stunning, Gorgeous, Incredible Temple

I’m a huge fan of the Bible. I’ve read it almost a dozen times (Want to join me?) and there are parts that hit me every time. I buy purses only if they’ll fit my Bible, shake with anxiety when I hand it over to be rebound, and still read with a pencil in hand. Because the Word of God is ever ancient, ever new. I just love it.

But some parts are terribly boring. I know in theory that they’re good somehow and every once in a while I’ll meditate on how God loved each person in the interminable Genesis begats, loved each one so much that he recorded their names for all the world to read forever. But mostly Jesus and I have come to an agreement: I skim. When it’s repetitive lists of numbers or names or dimensions, I just skim. And I’m okay with that.

Yesterday I hit 1 Kings 6: Building of the Temple. I sighed and began to skim. But I was about to give a talk on the Theology of the Body and I guess I had beauty on the brain, because all of a sudden I got it.

God spends a lot of time describing his dwelling place in the Old Testament. Exodus 25, 26, 27, 30, 36, 37, 38, and 40 describe in mind-numbingly minute detail how the ark and the tent and the lamps and the altar are to be made. There’s even a tally of materials to be used–he was very specific. 1 Kings 5 and 1 Chronicles 28-29 describe the materials dedicated for the temple while 1 Kings 6 and 2 Chronicles 3-4 describe Solomon’s temple exactly–to the point that we believe we can make accurate models today. After Solomon’s temple is destroyed, we have two entire books (Haggai and Zechariah) encouraging Israel to rebuild the temple, as described in Ezra 5. Then, of course, there’s the interminable description of a new temple in Ezekiel 40-48 and the (different) new temple in Revelation. It’s enough to drive a person to distraction!

Especially if you, like me, can't picture it at all, no matter how often you read the description. Source. — Especially if you, like me, can’t picture it at all, no matter how often you read the description. Source.

But what if all this temple nonsense isn’t a waste of time? What if it’s in the Bible because it’s of infinite importance? What if God mapped out every cubit of space, every pomegranate and cherub, every tent pole and gate, down to even naming the pillars…to teach us something?

Obviously, there’s plenty we can do with this: Jesus is the perfectly made temple of God, God incarnate; the temple was pure and undefiled, so Mary (the temple that held Christ) must be as well; if beauty and liturgy mattered then, they matter now. But what grabbed ahold of me yesterday was this key to the meaning of all this temple business:

Do you not know that your body is a temple of the holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been purchased at a price. Therefore, glorify God in your body.¹

Christians have used this passage at every chastity rally since chastity rallies began. Before that, little Regency-era ladies whispered it to their daughters before they took a turn about the garden with a suitor. I’m pretty sure that had the early virgin martyrs had tattoos, they would have been of this passage. We know this passage. “You are a temple of God” means “keep your clothes on.”

Or maybe it means don’t smoke or eat right or exercise or something. Whatever it means, it’s definitely a threat.

But what if it’s not? What if it’s a love letter? What if God calls you his temple in the hope that you’ve struggled through the endless descriptions of his temple of stone and will realize what he’s saying about you? What if he’s saying that you are fearfully and wonderfully made?

Dear heart, you are not an accident. There is no part of you that is not willed–deeply, desperately desired–by the God of the universe. This God of yours–the God who made oceans and volcanoes and lilacs and hummingbirds–he was just warming up. The greatest beauty in this world is nothing compared to you. From the beginning of time, he was preparing for you. And when he made you–your body, not just your soul–he made you right.

He planned every bit of you. Every atom in your being was accounted for. You think he spent a lot of time thinking about the temple? That house of stone has nothing on you, his living home, his beloved. Your proportions are just what he wanted. Your coloring, your shape, your hair texture have purpose and meaning just as much as any horns or wheels or basins.

And the result, my friend, is ineffable beauty. You are his temple, stunning and lovely. Every bit of you is covered in glory, as the inside of the temple was covered in gold. You are so much more than the sum of your various parts. Listed out on a page, taken piece by piece, it may be easy to overlook you, easy to skim over you. But all together, you are marvelous, a wonder, a sight to behold.

Now wait a minute. You–rolling your eyes. Shut up. I’m not making this up. This isn’t sappy nonsense about how you’re so pretty just because you’re you. This is truth. Written in the word of God. The God who tells you that you are all beautiful and there is no blemish in you.² Did you hear that? No blemish. This God who made your creepy long second toe and your moles and your love handles, this God who can see every bit of your body and soul says there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing.

You might struggle to accept the fact that you’re lovely, but if you refuse to believe it your self-loathing might just become heresy: the heresy that God screwed up. That even though he tells you in Scripture that every bit of the temple is perfect and planned and that you are his temple, he’s wrong. Got that? Hating yourself is saying that God is wrong.

I know this is hard. I spend my life trying to convince beautiful women that they’re not worthless. I’ve asked young women across this country–hundreds of them–if at some level they hate themselves. One girl one time said no. So I know that many of you are absolutely certain that no matter what you do you will never be enough. Believe me, I know. I’ve been there. Many days, I’m still there. But every once in a while I get a glimpse of this fundamental truth: God doesn’t make junk. He didn’t plan out every square cubit of the temple down to the last talent of bronze and then lament that it wasn’t decorated well. He didn’t form you in your mother’s womb to sigh over your frizzy hair and your acne-ridden skin. He made you–just as you are–on purpose. He thinks you’re stunning.

Stop telling him he’s wrong.

1 Corinthians 6:19-20 [↩]
Song of Songs 4:7 [↩]

An Open Letter to Everyone Who Disagrees With Me

Dear everyone,

If you’re reading this letter, it’s because you disagree with me.¹ And because I’m the kind of person I am, you probably disagree with me about something I feel very strongly about. That’s because I feel very strongly about everything. Faith and onions and leggings and children’s books—if I’m informed enough to have an opinion, you can bet it’ll be a terrifyingly passionate one.

Had there been a soapbox, I would have hopped right on up.

Unfortunately, I hate conflict. Deeply, desperately hate it. It gives me stomachaches and makes me so miserable I can hardly think about anything else—even when it’s imaginary conflict with people I don’t even know. It is hard for me to be public about my controversial beliefs. But it would be impossible for me not to be. Standing on a soapbox was written into my soul. It’s who I am.

It’s not a comfortable place to be, but it’s often a productive one, this diplomatic-dogmatic balance I try to hold. I cling to what I know to be true and err on the side of love. And generally people see that and respond with respect.

But sometimes not. Sometimes people attack and accuse and willfully misunderstand. Sometimes the rules of logic and civility seem to be thrown out the window. Sometimes the sound of a Facebook notification makes me so anxious I’m afraid I’m going to give myself an ulcer.

So often it’s because we assume the worst about each other. We assume that all people who disagree with us are condemning us. We think they hate us and find us stupid. And we believe that their position is really the stupid one and if only we can beat our flawless argument into their worthless heads they’ll finally agree with us.

I love you. I really do. And when I try to explain these things—chastity or faith or the Eucharist or helping the poor—it’s because I love you. It’s not because you’re wrong and bad and stupid. It’s because I honestly believe that you’ll be happier living in the truth. I’m sure you disagree. And that’s okay. Just please know that I’m trying to love you well through all this.

I kind of hate me. I know how I—and the Church—often come across: a cold-hearted shrew screaming “NO!” at everyone who’s trying to be happy. I hate that I can’t just “live and let live.” But so often “live and let live” is code for “live and let die.” How can I stand by and watch you break your own heart and not say anything? I hate that the love I speak sounds so much like “NO.” I wish we understood each other better so you could hear the “yes” I’m trying to say.

I get where you’re coming from. I think the most important thing in dialogue is honestly trying to understand why the other person takes a particular position. So on every issue, I’m always trying to figure out the kind, loving, genuine beliefs that could motivate my opposition—and then I ascribe them to every person I encounter. So when you’re trying to tell me that rape victims should abort their babies, I hear compassion and sensitivity and a weak understanding of embryology. I’d love to hear why you take this position–that’s why I’m talking to you–but know that I really am assuming the best about you. I’d appreciate the same.

Not to get ahead of ourselves or anything, but I can't WAIT to celebrate his feast day! — Not to get ahead of ourselves or anything, but I can’t WAIT to celebrate his feast day!

You’re probably not going to convince me. Just about everything I truly believe, I fought. And I fought hard. So if I believe it now, it’s because I’ve asked all these questions and found answers that satisfy me. The only worldview that makes any sense to me at all is the Catholic one. So I’ll listen, because I want to understand your position and appreciate its logic. And if you’re really convincing, I’ll probably think and pray about it for a few days. I may even do some more research.² But if you’re opposing something the Church teaches infallibly, that’s as far as it’s going to go, God willing.³ Being open-minded, I think, doesn’t mean accepting anything you’re told even if it flies in the face of everything you hold dear; it means being willing to accept that another position is (at some level) kind and reasonable and to consider it fairly. That I’ll do.

I’m not always trying to convince you. Sometimes I know I’m not going to. Maybe you’re so young in your exploration of faith or you’re so rooted in the things of this world or you’ve convinced yourself so thoroughly of a certain matter that I’m pretty sure my input won’t make a difference. I won’t give up on you, but I don’t think it’s my job to convince you of my position. I do think it’s my job to show you that my position⁴ is reasonable and loving. When I ask you to be open-minded, it’s not because I want you to let go of your convictions; it’s because I want you to recognize that mine aren’t ludicrous or cruel. I promise to return the favor.

I’d love to answer any of your well-meant questions. People are sometimes afraid to ask questions—like they think I’ll be offended by their questions about celibacy or how strange it is to sit in a candle-lit room and talk to yourself. But if you’re asking honestly—either because you want to know or because you’re not sure I’ve asked that question of myself—I’m so happy to answer. I’m a Catholic because I really believe that it’s the truth. I really believe that the Church has all the answers. And if I can’t answer your question, that’s something I need to deal with.

That said, there are some questions that are just accusations. You know, “How can you oppose contraception when priests rape babies?” and “WTF is wrong with you?” and the like. Once we fall into ad hominem attacks and incessant harping on analogies, I’m out.

I don’t think you’re stupid because you disagree with me. We live in a world where thinking someone is wrong is perceived as thinking that person is stupid or worthless or going to hell. I don’t think any of those things about anyone. I know wildly intelligent people who disagree with everything that I find essential. I know particularly unintelligent people who understand the faith far better than I ever will. I honestly think it’s been years since I judged a person as stupid or sinful or what-have-you because of his beliefs.

I do tend to think you’re stupid when you stop using reason and start freaking out. Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe it’s something I should work on. But when you ignore every point I make except one and then misinterpret that one? When I explain my position over and over and you continue to fight a straw man? When you act like you know all the things and you can’t even grasp my definition of the word the debate hinges on? That’s when I struggle. And that’s usually when I excuse myself from the conversation.

I’m happy to drop it. It’s the peacemaker in me—I don’t want to fight you. So if you’re done debating, I’ll call it quits. And I probably won’t bring it up again for years, if ever. It’s hard for me not to talk about Jesus, him being the center of my life and all, but it’s easy for me just to limit those comments.⁵ If you’re firm in your position, I’ll love you and visit you and like your Facebook pictures and never say another word about our disagreement. But I’m here when you’re ready to.

I’m doing the best I can. I was born with my foot in my mouth and it just gets worse when we start talking about something that really matters. When we’re talking, it’s likely that my brain will take over and my heart will run pathetically after, trying to pull the words back into my mouth. I may say something that sounds totally insensitive because we’re speaking different languages. I’m sorry. But please assume that I mean well. I really am trying.

This, I think, is what dialogue is all about: love and forgiveness and understanding. It’s not about winning or ripping someone’s worldview apart and leaving him crying amid the rubble. It’s not necessarily about changing anyone’s position but about helping her to nuance it, maybe, or even just to acknowledge yours as not the worst thing ever to happen.

And you know what, friends? I assume you’re on the same page. I assume your intelligence and your good intentions and your integrity. I try to read all of your remarks in the most charitable way possible. Maybe if we all did the same, we could start making some progress.

Yours in compassionate conviction (I hope),

Meg

No, really. You do. About something, I’m sure. [↩]
Really—a very convincing Mormon got me questioning, as did a Calvinist. I’m listening. [↩]
Matters of prudential judgment and politics and opinion are entirely up for grabs, of course. Except Notre Dame football. Duh. [↩]
And by extension, I hope, the Church’s. [↩]
My little brother is an atheist. He also hates football, which makes him a heathen in more ways than one. I said something about football a few years back and he interrupted me: “Meg, you know I don’t like football.” I said, “Timmy, I have two topics. Football and Jesus. Pick one.” He picked football. [↩]