Blog - Held By His Pierced Hands

I Didn’t Choose the Hobo Life

I get a lot of ridiculous questions, ranging from the confusing to the totally strange. For example:

Q: “Did you know I was born in California?” (from a 4th-grader I’d never met.)

Q: “Do you do birthday parties?” (from a middle school boy following a chastity talk.)
A: “If you have a chastity-themed birthday party, I will be your best friend.”

Q: “Has anyone ever told you that you sound like you’re from Alabama?”
A: “No…. Thank you?”

Q: “Are you really a hobo cause you don’t look like a hippie and you don’t have hair down to your butt.”
A: ….

Most of these questions merit an eye roll at best. There’s one, though, that I often hear and try to answer thoughtfully: How did you know God was calling you to this?

I don't have any pictures where I look like a hobo. But what's a blog post without a picture? So.... — I don’t have any pictures where I look like a hobo. But what’s a blog post without a picture? So….

I suppose I ought to establish first that I don’t know that God is calling me to this funny hobo life—not in the way that I know that he exists or that the Eucharist is truly him or that he wants me for his own. There are different kinds of knowing, of course, and some decisions require that sort of certainty. But what I’m doing is a good thing, so feeling confident that this is his will is good enough for me. If I never did anything until I knew God was calling me to, I’d accomplish very little in life. That being said….

I loved teaching. Loved it. For four and a half years, I would get excited Sunday nights because I got to go to school Monday mornings. I loved sleeping in but hated summers—I missed my kids! And while I’m naturally a very irritable person, I got angry in the classroom only twice in four and a half years.

Unfortunately, I taught for five.

My last semester should have been my easiest. For the first time in my teaching career, I was teaching only classes I’d taught before. Everything I was doing was recycled from past classes. I had no extracurriculars, no responsibilities aside from teaching…and I was miserable. I felt ill on Sunday nights because I knew I had to go in to school the next day. I was exhausted all the time even though I was getting plenty of sleep. And at least three times a week, I had to stop talking, turn around, and pray that I wouldn’t freak the heck out all over my kids.

This is my ANGRY FACE. In a stocking. Trying to be a robber and still looking entirely like myself.

I had always known that my patience in the classroom wasn’t natural–it was a supernatural gift. And clearly that gift had been withdrawn. When my circumstances are unchanged but my peace of mind is lost, I know it’s time to ask the Lord what’s up.

But I didn’t want to jump to the conclusion that I was dealing with spiritual desolation, so I took a look at anything in the natural world that might be messing with me. Work was good, friends were good, my prayer life was good but I was all anxiety and anger and irrational drama.

So I began to ask the Lord if I should leave my school in Kansas. Praying about leaving gave me great peace while the idea of staying made me tense and miserable. I’m not saying that we ought to discern based entirely on emotions, but I’ve found that it’s important to listen to our emotions, especially when they’re not what we’d expect. I sure didn’t want to leave Atchison, so when that idea gave me such peace, I listened.

My next step, of course, was to make up an Excel spreadsheet with all the schools I might want to teach at. You know, columns for size, uniform, curriculum, apparent fidelity.¹ But the thought occurred to me, “What if I’m supposed to stop teaching?”

Now, I had discerned leaving the classroom once before. I had a panic attack and almost crashed my car. More than anything, I thought at the time, I know that I’m a teacher. But this time it was different. The idea of not teaching wasn’t so bad. In fact, and contrary to all reason, I found it rather attractive.

But friends, I’ve been planning on being a teacher, in one form or another, my whole life. Since I was 15 and I found out that you could get paid to talk about Jesus, being a religion teacher was all I really dreamed of. I chose my college and my major and my grad degree all with the purpose of being a high school religion teacher. “What else can I do?” I thought. “This is all I’ve ever done, all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well,” my friend Fr. Jeremy suggested, “You’re good at public speaking. And you’ve been wanting to do more of it.”

“Father, you can’t just quit life and be a public speaker!” I objected. And then I took it to prayer.

“Tell me why not,” the Lord seemed to say. And I thought about it. I had no debt, no dependents, no debilitating diseases. I had enough savings to cover me for a while and not a lot of bills I’d have to pay. Why not?

And this type-A, plan-the-next-30-years, put-down-roots-and-stay-till-you-die girl got excited about the strangest thing: being a hobo. This life that is so contrary to everything I’d ever wanted was suddenly appealing—more than appealing: it felt right.

Now, don’t quote me as saying “if it feels good, do it.” But when something that we wouldn’t normally consider draws us, we need to pay attention.

Thomas Aquinas had it right when he told us that grace builds on nature. But we don’t know our nature as well as the Lord does. I would never have thought that this kind of life would work for me. After all, I’m all about relational ministry and assigning homework and knowing everybody around me. But I also love meeting new people and socializing. I’m flexible and fairly easy to please and not particular about beds or food or how I take my water.² I’m extraverted enough that the constant conversation with my hosts energizes me and committed enough to prayer that I still get plenty of “alone” time. As it turns out, this life makes a lot of sense for me. I can work with more people, be as intense as I want, and spend some occasional time writing, which I didn’t even realize I enjoyed. It seems that, once again, the Lord knows better than I.

Which is why I'm in frigid Kansas in April when I could be somewhere glorious and exotic. To be fair, this picture is from South Bend in February, but it's not because the weather wasn't this gross. — Which is why I’m in frigid Kansas in April when I could be somewhere glorious and exotic. To be fair, this picture is from South Bend in February, but it’s not because the weather this week wasn’t this gross.

So I quit my job and didn’t look for another. I wasn’t planning on living out of my car for long, but the Lord seems to have had other plans. I thought I’d find a place to live over the summer. But everything was working out, so I figured I’d travel till October. Then January. Then it began to look like this might be a long-term thing.

I can’t tell you exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing but I can tell you that I’ve seen how the Lord is touching hearts through the testimony of this scatter-brained nomad. I don’t know that people would listen to me the way they do if I weren’t such a fanatic. I do know that the minute I say I’m a hobo, people snap to attention. I know that I’m able to connect with people who wouldn’t otherwise talk with me because they want to ask all the awkward questions about my life. And I know that the Lord is showing me over and over again how he will always provide for me.

How long am I going to be living out of my car? I have no idea. I’m a planner, but God seems to prefer that I trust and follow. So for now, I’m headed out west. Beyond that, who knows?

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

Speaking of heading out west, I have literally nothing scheduled between Wednesday and mid-July. And while I’m sure I’ll find places to stay, I’m going to be really bored! So if you’re in any state west of the Mississippi and you want me to come talk to any group about pretty much anything, let me know. I don’t even want your money, just an opportunity to serve. I’m trying to get to every state out west in the next 3 months and I need some help. Because really, does anybody live in Wyoming?

If you’re east of the Mississippi, don’t feel left out—I’ll be out your way in the fall.

What, this isn’t how you make all decisions? Yeah, well, I didn’t choose the nerd life either. [↩]
This varies more than I thought possible. Options include: bottled water, tepid; bottled water, chilled; tap water, tepid; tap water in a pitcher in the fridge; tap water through a filter, tepid; filtered tap water sitting on the counter; filtered tap water, in the fridge; filtered water from the fridge door, ice from the fridge door; filtered water from the fridge door, ice from the freezer; tap water, ice from the basement; tap water, ice from the freezer; jugs of water in the fridge. That may be it. [↩]

Welcome Home!

Dear Tiber Swim Club 2013,

I went to your homecoming party a couple of weeks ago but I haven’t had a chance yet to tell you personally–welcome home!¹ All these years we’ve been missing you and now that you’re home, I hope you know how terribly glad we are to have you.

Welcome to the Church of Chesterton and Pascal and Galileo and Aquinas, to the Church of Michelangelo and Fra Angelico, Beethoven and Palestrina. Welcome, more’s the pity, to the Church of Borgias and Medicis, of terrible sinners and run-of-the-mill sinners and all sinners who want in. As you might have noticed, we’re not terribly picky. Geniuses, fools, Saints, and sinners–we’ve got an open door policy.

Welcome to the Church of the Apostles, to truth unchanged for millennia. Welcome to faith and works, Scripture and Tradition, philosophy and theology. This Church of yours is nothing if not logical–if you don’t see the logic, push and question and read until you do. Whatever the issue, I promise this Church makes sense.

Welcome to the intimacy of receiving him who made you into your very flesh. Welcome to the humility of being given power over the all-powerful. Welcome to a world where receiving God is so commonplace that you manage to be distracted. Right now, I hope that each time you receive communion, it’s powerful beyond belief. But there will come a time when you get used to it, when you somehow miss the consecration and walk up to receive without once addressing God. Praise the Lord for that, too, for a relationship so comfortable that you forget how incredible it is. And then remind yourself what your first time felt like and praise God for that passion as well.

Welcome to liturgy that truly is “the work of the people.” Welcome to Masses that thrill and move you. Welcome to Masses that bore and infuriate you. Welcome to bad music and bad preaching and some seriously weird stuff where all should be worship. For many of you, it won’t be long before you miss the Charismatic prayer or melodious praise or majestic liturgy of your Protestant past. But…the Eucharist. And that is enough.

I imagine you’re no stranger to falling and getting back up again and again. But welcome to that famous Catholic guilt that drives you to your knees at the foot of the Cross. Welcome to demanding rules that seem impossible, illogical, even arbitrary. Welcome to the terror of waiting in line to kneel before a stranger–or, worse, a friend–and tell him all your most shameful deeds. Welcome to the exultant joy of hearing the words “I absolve you” and knowing–knowing–that your sins are gone. Welcome to a peaceful life governed by those rules that suddenly seem to make so much sense.

It takes all kinds: regular (religious) priest, secular priest, wife, cloistered nun, and a brother (L.A. Cathedral's communion of Saints) — It takes all kinds: regular (religious) priest, secular priest, wife, cloistered nun, and a brother (L.A. Cathedral’s communion of Saints)

Welcome to the arms of your Blessed Mother. Welcome to a family of Saints. Welcome to the greatest charitable organization in this world, to a Church that requires that we serve and puts her money where her mouth is. Your Fathers are glad to work beside you. Your Sisters are leading the way. Your Brothers are bathing lepers and building houses and nursing orphans and hoping that you’ll join them. Amid scandals and accusations and seeming futility, hold your head up, friend–your Church is a force for good throughout this world, physically as well as spiritually.

Welcome to the awkwardness of swimming against the tide. Whether news of your conversion prompted fury or just raised eyebrows, you’ve probably dealt with some of this already. It’s that subtle persecution mostly, that assumption that you’re a little stupid or a lot closed-minded. Welcome to being the face of the Church in any gathering, to being expected to have all the answers even when your audience assumes there aren’t any. You won’t get much credit for being a good person–it’s expected, after all–but you will get a lot of flack every time you fall. So try not to fall, but know that in a Church like this, your sins won’t be terribly impressive nor will your failure weaken the truth you’re trying to live for.

Whether you’ve been wandering this way for decades or got knocked off your horse six months ago, welcome home! Whether you were a PK or an addict (or both), an atheist or a Buddhist or disinterested, whether you hated the Church or ignored it or always loved it somewhere down deep, welcome! Whether you’ve suffered serious persecution on your way to Rome or you’ve been encouraged by everyone you meet, you have a family here.

We’re not exactly on top of things in this Church of yours–we’re a lot dysfunctional and sometimes hypocritical and we don’t seem to be on the same page about much of anything. But we’re trying. And when you find yourself at Mass between a little old lady who says the old responses loudly and a teenager who says nothing at all with a fussy baby behind you, remember that our God isn’t particular about who he lets in to this hodgepodge Church of his. And praise him once again that he wasn’t too picky to call you.

Welcome home, my brother, my sister. We are so, so glad to have you.

But I know you forgive me because while we’re out of the liturgical time warp and it’s not Easter Sunday any more, it is still the Easter season, which has to count for something. [↩]

3 Reasons: The Octave

Linking up with Micaela to tell you 3 reasons I love being Catholic. (Props to my sister for sending me the info!)

1. Easter Liturgy

Image from Lawrence, OP, my favorite person on flickr.

How do you even celebrate the Resurrection without fire and candlelight and 7 Old Testament readings and a Gloria with bells and tympani and lights being raised and Alleluias coming out your ears after long weeks without? And how can you settle for an hour one morning to celebrate the greatest thing ever to happen EVER? In my Church, we celebrate Easter Sunday for 8 days and the season for another 42. So far, I’ve gone to 5 Easter Sunday Masses with Alleluias and Resurrection readings and even the Easter sequence chanted at Wednesday’s. In my Church, we don’t confine boundless joy to one day but stretch it over an octave and a whole season beyond.

2. Easter Feasting

I have literally eaten these jelly beans every day this week. Sometimes for breakfast. #itstheoctave! — Sometimes I eat jelly beans for breakfast. #itstheoctave!

Every day this week is a solemnity, and you know what that means: bacon and chocolate, all day every day. Seriously, I’ve eaten jelly beans every day this week and each time it’s prayer. When I have pie for lunch,¹ I’m rejoicing in Him who made the heavens and the earth and called it good and then made all things new. And yes, pie is a sign of his love. But I’m not just justifying my gluttony, I’m transformed. Feasting in this Church reminds us that all good things are gifts from the Lord. It transforms the way we party with the result that all good partying leads us to him. Cocktails for Christ!

3. Easter Alleluias

Lent’s hard for me, and not just because I’m so hungry. I use the word Alleluia (or Hallelujah, depending on how sassy I’m feeling) all the time. Seriously–when anything good happens or anything bad is avoided or anything edible is around, I’m Hallelujahing up a storm. So I literally have to bite my tongue sometimes during Lent–and I still fail most times.

One year, I made it all the way to Holy Thursday. I was road tripping and listening to Christian radio, but I was vigilant and turned down the volume every time I heard an Alleluia coming. For 40+ days, I drove with one hand on the volume button. And then, with 3 days left to hold strong, I was rocking out to “It’s Raining Men.” Windows rolled down, dancing in my seat, fist pumping out the sun roof while going 65 down the highway.² And when the chorus started, I shout-sang “IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH, IT’S–OH NOOOOOOOO!!!!!” After all that effort, what a way to go out.³

But, my friends, it’s Easter. Which means that every song at Mass is rocking Alleluias, every ice cream cone is accompanied by a round of Alleluias, and half the people I greet let out an Alleluia or two. We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song–and I, for one, will be singing that song of joy all season long.

In this Church of fasting and feasting, little things take on such meaning and the restraint requires of us bears fruit in this age, thirty and sixty and a hundredfold. I love my Church because she governs every moment of my life, not just Sunday mornings.

So what about you? What are you loving about this Church of ours this month? Head over to Micaela’s and link up!

No, I did not mean to say with lunch, don’t judge. [↩]
Admit it: you’re loving this image. [↩]
FYI: it’s okay to say Alleluia during Easter. We just don’t use it in the liturgy. But since it’s such a joyful word and Lent is a penitential season, I try to fast from even the word to make my Easter that much more joyful. [↩]

Easter Passion

October 15, 2005 was one of the worst days of my life.¹ If you’re a Notre Dame fan, you know exactly what I mean. Three years in a row we’d lost to USC² by 31 points. 31 points each time–how humiliating. But in 2005, after three pathetic years, it was over. We came out in green³ and played our guts out and as time expired, we were in the lead!

My friends, I was literally in the process of rushing the field when the announcers shouted that if we didn’t return to the stands, Notre Dame would be penalized. “Penalized?” I crowed. “How are you going to penalize us? WE WON!!”

No, as it turns out. We hadn’t. Matt “Ballroom Dancing” Leinart had fumbled the ball out of bounds, stopping the clock with seven seconds left.⁴ USC would get one more play. And with that play, the game. Reggie Bush shoved Leinart into the endzone⁵ for the win. And there we were, having climbed back into the stands, shocked and miserable.

My roommate was so upset that she just went to bed. At 7pm on a Saturday night. She said she didn’t want to be conscious any more.

It was the only time in my life I’ve ever wanted to drown my sorrows.⁶

For weeks, every person I met who heard I went to Notre Dame responded, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I’m not even kidding.

I know it’s pathetic and that football shouldn’t affect me that much, but Bush Push 2005 drove me to despair. And so I think I know a little bit what the Apostles were feeling.

They thought they had this one. On Palm Sunday, Jesus walked into the city amid shouts of Hosanna and they thought that after years of eating leftover loaves and fish and sleeping in a leaky boat they had finally arrived. They were so ready for their victory, so ready for Jesus to take control.

And then suddenly the Hosannas were replaced by angry cries of “Crucify him!” and he was snatched from their midst and stripped and beaten and before they knew it, he was lying in a tomb and what was left for them? That Holy Saturday, there was a feeling that nothing would ever be good again. That no matter what happened, nothing would ever fill the ache of emptiness that Friday had left in their hearts. Maybe they lost themselves in wine or sleep or anything to dull the pain.

But then…

It’s like we were standing in that stadium, stunned and defeated and empty, and the refs called out “Please reset the game clock” one more time. It’s like we looked out onto the field and it wasn’t just Brady and Samardzija and Zbikowski. It was all 7 ND Heisman winners. It was all 11 National Championship teams. It was Rudy and the Gipper and the 4 Horsemen and every man ever to put on blue and gold. It’s like they lined up on one side of the line of scrimmage and looked across at Reggie Bush and Matt Leinart, alone and shaking in mesh shorts and flip flops. And then the whistle blew and they pounded it in over and over again. It’s not just like we won that game but ran up the score on every game, erased every embarrassing loss. It’s like eternal victory was snatched from the jaws of crushing defeat and nothing would ever hurt that way again.

Call me strange, but that’s how I see Easter. It’s not just glowing Jesus walking out of a tomb, it’s Rambo Jesus ripping the gates off of hell. It’s demons cowering in the corner as Adam bows before his son and savior. It’s earthquakes and the dead walking out of their tombs and all creation turned on its head.

Easter isn’t bunnies and lilies and butterflies–it’s a wild victory where there was no hope. It’s absolute power in the hands of a God who went to hell and back for you. It’s unending joy wrested from the bitter grasp of him who came to kill, steal and destroy.

That’s what we celebrate today, friends, and for the next 50 days: a love story that puts all romance to shame, the story of a man who gladly gave his life for his beloved and came back for her all the same. It’s an adventure so fantastic that you’d never believe it if it weren’t so clearly true. It’s drama that rips your heart out and somehow restores it new and whole like never before. It’s passion so great it takes your breath away.

When I meditate on the emptiness of Holy Saturday, the pain feels familiar. It feels like October 15, 2005 and it feels like every day of my life before I knew the Lord. But now I know what happens on the other side. Now I know that the darkness serves to amplify the light. Now I know the the emptiness and the futility are an illusion, that the only battle that matters has already been won and all I have to do is share in the spoils.

There is nothing sweet about this story, nothing nice, nothing dull. This Easter, forget everything you know about the Resurrection and read the story with fresh eyes. Read the anguish of Friday and the desolation of Saturday but don’t stop there. Read the confusion of Sunday morning, the urgency of Mary’s sprint to the upper room, of Peter and John’s sprint back. Read the infinite tenderness of the word “Mary,” the shock of his appearance in the upper room, the shame elicited by, “Simon, do you love me?” But above all, keep reading. Read the power of Peter’s Pentecost message that brought 3,000 more into the fold. Read the confidence of “In the name of Jesus Christ, rise and walk” and the jubilation of the walking and leaping and praising God. Read the fearlessness of the cowardly apostles and the abandon of the community that held everything in common.

Then tell me: does your life shine with Easter joy? Do you radiate triumph like you’ve just witnessed a come-from-behind victory? Do you live in a hope that is stronger than your circumstances, a peace that passes understanding? Do you stare into the eyes of defeat and taunt with St. Paul, “Where, oh death, is your victory? Where, oh death, is your sting??” We are an Easter people, my friends, and alleluia is our song. How is your life going to witness to that truth this Easter season?

It seems the Lord doesn’t think much of me if this is the height of the suffering I’ve endured. [↩]
Some Notre Dame students call USC the University of Spoiled Children. I find this terribly ironic. [↩]
Never a good idea. [↩]
Bear with me, non-football fans. I’m going somewhere with this. [↩]
Which is illegal, but anyone would do the same thing. [↩]
I didn’t. I went to the library to read a commentary on the Code of Canon Law instead. Shut up. [↩]

Good Friday

His body lifeless,
Tabernacle door ajar.
Where is now my God?

In the Name of Love

It may surprise many of you–especially those who think they know me–to hear that I hate conflict. Oh, I’ll get up on my soap box when I’m preaching to the choir¹ but the minute somebody gets upset my shoulders seize up and my stomach starts to churn. I won’t change my mind, but I’ll sure as heck agree to disagree faster than you can say “relativism.”

So today’s been rather a rough day on Facebook. Everyone’s got their trendy equals signs or their counter-cultural declarations and I’m just trying to get by with a few links and no drama. I can’t even handle Catholic Memes today, and you know that’s usually my fave.

All day, though, I’ve felt like I had to say something. But I don’t just want to start shouting about Romans 1:26-27 and have all my “conservative” groupies back me up.² And I don’t want to pull out studies or Church Fathers. I don’t want to talk about the constitution or the separation of Church and State or what happens to religious liberty when institutions with religious significance are threatened by the state. I don’t want to talk about homophobia disguising itself as religion or intolerance disguising itself as acceptance. I don’t want to talk politics or sex or any of the other topics that get people all mad.

Today, I just want to talk about peace and love. But ain’t nothing gets people madder than real love working for real peace. And you know who’s getting in the way? Conservatives. And liberals. Progressives and traditionalists. Stay-at-home moms and 12-year-old-kids and me and you and a whole lot of everybody.

If I see one more claim that people who support gay marriage are in favor of love while those who oppose it are in favor of rules, I may scream. Don’t you know that the rules are supposed to help us love better? Don’t you know that we–some of us, anyway–are trying to love you by helping you to understand the rules? You might think I’m wrong, but please understand that my disagreeing with your lifestyle doesn’t in any way change how much I love you.

And you know what–if I see one more mathematical equation that reduces the love of two human beings to the orientation of a set of lines, I may scream louder. How does it help anybody to reduce their love–their family–to a gimmick? How does shouting that it’s not marriage if there aren’t babies or that it’s not a family if there isn’t a mom and a dad speak to a world of infertility and contraception and single-parent households?

Quit calling me a homophobe because my understanding of the nature of marriage doesn’t match yours.

Quit bringing up pedophilia and bestiality like they’re at all the same thing as homosexual unions.

Don’t attack my Church if you don’t know what she teaches.

Don’t attack my friends if you don’t–you know what? Just don’t attack my friends. Or their friends. Or anybody at all. Don’t tell people they can’t be good parents, don’t tell them they don’t know anything about love, and don’t you dare tell them they’re going to hell.

An invitation from a gay Catholic friend of mine to go beyond the rhetoric.

My friends, we’re not getting anywhere. And we’re not going to get anywhere until we shut up and listen. I respect those of you who are actually making points. But if you’re just recycling the rhetoric, try sitting down with someone intelligent and compassionate who disagrees with you and asking them why they think the way they do. Because I don’t think there are a lot of people sporting pink equals signs who are trying to destroy the moral underpinnings of our society or corrupt children. And I haven’t met many who support traditional marriage because of hatred and fear.

There are outliers on both sides and confusion and poor reasoning and unfair attacks but I think we mostly just want people to be free to love.

You may think that a person isn’t free to love unless he’s free to marry whoever he wants. I think that a person isn’t free to love until he’s living in God’s plan for love. But I’m not opposing equality, I’m fighting for love. You’re not opposing morality, you’re fighting for love. And we’re not fighting each other when we oppose each other’s positions. If Twitter is any indication, we’ve lost any ability we once had to disagree without despising. In the name of Jesus–invoked on both sides–we are hating each other in order to pursue love. That’s seriously screwed up.

So as the equals signs proliferate (and the division signs and the addition signs and whatever other craziness there may be), can I implore you to stop before you link, before you share, before you like or comment or tweet or pin and just ask yourself: is this loving? Is it reasonable? Does it attack positions rather than people? And if it’s not for the greater glory of God, delete it.

Living like this may not change any minds,³ but maybe it can change some hearts, can show them that this is about love. Whatever side you’re on, unless you’re a total clown, this is about love. Can we stop hating each other for 5 minutes and respect that we’re all fighting for love here?

Gotta love a mixed metaphor. [↩]
No, I don’t consider myself a conservative. Nor do I think liberal is a bad word. I’ll take a lot of both, thank you, although that’s a post for another time. [↩]
The only minds that matter this week are the nine on the Supreme Court. What the heck difference do we think our caustic social media interactions are going to make?? [↩]

Praying for a Miracle–Please Respond!

Friends, I need your help. One of my kids is at death’s door and I need a miracle. John Shankman was riding in the bed of a truck with some of his friends when it slid off the road and rolled, throwing them from the car.¹ The other four guys are physically okay, from what I’ve heard, (Or at least not facing life-threatening injuries.)) but John’s in a bad way. Massive head trauma, a collapsed lung filled with blood, plus a host of “minor” injuries left them doubtful Friday morning that he’d make it through the day. From what I’ve heard, the doctors are now saying that he may live. But whether he’ll ever be the same…well, this is why we pray.

And it’s not just John who needs this miracle. His family, naturally, is terrified. His friends are guilt-stricken and fearful and reliving the deaths of so many of their friends and acquaintances. This community has been through so many deaths in recent years; the whole town needs a miracle. They’ve gathered around the Shankman family with rosaries and Masses and prayer vigils and they need answered prayer. They need it so much. Their souls are weary and their hearts are broken and I don’t know that their faith can survive one more senseless death. John’s healing isn’t just a matter of his life–it’s a matter of souls.

So I’m praying for a miracle and I’m going big. I want John to be perfectly fine. I want him completely recovered by graduation. I want him to walk across the stage and receive his diploma to a standing ovation. And I want him to know that the Lord laid his hand on him for healing. I want him to know that his life is a miracle of God’s love.

I want his family and friends and random acquaintances to be absolutely convicted of God’s power and goodness. I want hearts and lives changed. I want conversions–most especially from those who are already Catholic.

So I’m asking Blessed John Paul for his intercession. The way I see it, he needs a miracle and so do I. ‘m asking for an incontrovertible, canonization-worthy, leaves-scientists-dumbfounded miracle. And I don’t think it’s too much to ask–after all, my God raises the dead. Ain’t nothing too much to ask from him.

Here’s what I need from you: pray. Oh, friends, please pray! Even if you just take 10 seconds for a prayer right now and then close this window and move on. But could you do me one more favor? If you’re praying, could you leave a comment telling me? Tell me how you’re praying or just that you’re praying–I’d love to go to John’s family and tell them that hundreds of you are praying with them and for them. Share this post with your praying friends, call your Grandma with the request, heck, tweet it to @Pontifex if you want–let’s mobilize the Church Militant.

John’s a senior in high school, smart and inquisitive. He’s the best storyteller I’ve ever known and too clever for his own good. He’s funny and loved and who cares because he’s your brother in Christ and he needs you. Masses, rosaries, one Hail Mary, whatever you’ve got.

Please.

All this information is third hand, but I’m doing the best I can. [↩]

He’s Just the Pope

The greatest sacrifice of my ministry thus far hasn’t been foregoing a steady income or even living out of my car. I thought missing the Miami game to speak on confession was going to be tough to beat, but Wednesday blew it out of the water. After hearing about the white smoke and watching the Holy Father come out, I had to leave to drive down to Mary Washington before I could read everything on the internet about him. I had to settle for secular radio to learn what I could before driving home and spending midnight to 2am liking everything on Facebook.

But I knew as soon as I heard his papal name that I was going to love him, and oh, friends, I love him! You’re not surprised by this, I know. I was going to love whoever it was. But Pope Francis? Named after il Poverello, the most Christlike man since Christ, a man too humble to be ordained? The first pope in a millennium to pick a brand new papal name? Y’all, I still giggle every time I hear his name. It’s like puppy love over here, and it’s no wonder.

How could you not love a man so humble that he asks for your blessing before imparting his? How could you not adore a man who rides the bus home with all the other cardinals immediately after being elected? A man whose episcopal motto is “Lowly yet chosen”?

We all know about how he rode the bus instead of a limo, how he lived in an apartment instead of a palace, how he washed the feet of AIDS patients and prisoners, how he stood up to a corrupt government, how he told Argentinians not to come see him made a cardinal but to give that money to the poor instead. This guy doesn’t just pay lip service to social justice–he lives it.

But he refuses to conform to any liberal/conservative paradigm. He’s orthodox on every single issue, taking a stand against abortion and gay marriage and demanding orthodoxy of the priests under him, but not wielding truth like a weapon. He’s a man of truth and mercy and above all a man of love. He’s a scientist by training, a Jesuit in the image of St. Ignatius–educated, obedient, committed, prayerful. His first act as pope was a visit to the Blessed Mother. His first homily was about the Cross. He’s meek and simple and strong and such a gift to the Church.

But he’s just the pope.

Don’t get me wrong, being the pope is a really big deal. He’s probably the most important man in the world. But he’s just a man. I’ve been talking about how awesome the papacy is for all of Lent, but I want to stop a minute to address those among us who see the Holy Father as Messiah or anti-Christ: he’s just the pope.

To those of you who said, “Since the pope is a liberal/conservative/good man, I might stay Catholic,” might I point out that being Catholic has nothing to do with what kind of man the pope is or what positions he holds? If Jesus is God and founded a Church, your allegiance to the Church should be too strong to be swayed by “liberal” or “conservative” popes. Because the pope can’t change doctrine. So if you’re sticking around in the hopes that he’ll allow contraception or gay marriage, you’re going to have a frustrating time of it. Or if you’re staying because you’re sick of following sinners and hypocrites and you think Pope Francis might be different, I’ll burst that bubble right now: he’s a sinner. But if you’re not willing to love the Church in all her brokenness, can you really call yourself a Catholic? I’m not kicking anyone out of the Church here, just asking: are you more convicted of your ideology than you are of the infallible teachings of the Church? Because he’s not going to change those awkward teachings–he can’t. He’s just the pope.

To those who said “Bergoglio loathes the Traditional Latin Mass,” I have to admit that I don’t know much about the matter. It does seem that he’s never encouraged it. But I don’t imagine that this kind, gentle man loathes anything. And given that it was the TLM that drew him to enter seminary, I find it unlikely that he loathes it. Even if he did, he can’t outlaw it forever. And while I seriously doubt that he’d suppress the practice, particularly with Benedict still alive, even if he did, you’d just have to wait out his papacy. Because he can’t outlaw something that God has permitted–not permanently, anyway. He’s just the pope.

To those who said, “Maybe there’s hope for the Church,” I have to say this: there is always hope for the Church. By definition. Jesus himself said “the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” This pope could be everything popes are accused of being. He could be a Nazi and a pedophile and a lecherous, embezzling, megalomaniacal narcissist and there would still be hope for the Church. There will always be hope for the Church. And if our only hope is a good man, we’re in a lot of trouble. Because, powerful as he is, he can’t destroy the Church and he can’t save it. He’s just the pope.

To those who said “We’re doomed,”¹ give me a minute to stop laughing. Then see above.

You might have valid issues with his approach to liturgy or ecumenism. You might wonder whether an outsider can reform the Curia. You might be concerned about his initial tendency to ignore traditions. But you have to admit this: Pope Francis is humble and holy and loving and strong. I think he will be an incredible pope, but he’s just the pope. He’s not going to save the Church–it already has a Savior. He’s not going to destroy the Church–it’s impossible. I think he’s going to be a holy shepherd and a tough boss and a strong advocate of true evangelism. Do we really need anything more than that?

This is a direct quote. [↩]

I May Be a Sedevacantist, But I Don’t Have to Like It

I was once in Paris and ducked into a church. Services were just about to begin but I couldn’t tell if it was a Catholic church. Given the iconostasis and abundance of icons, I thought it might be an Eastern Catholic Church, but everything was in Cyrillic so I couldn’t tell for sure if it was Catholic or Orthodox. I looked all around the narthex for something written in French and was about to walk out, discouraged at the unanswered question, when I saw a picture of Pope Benedict.

“Oh,” I thought, “this is my church.” So I went in and sat down. I don’t know what I’d do today–when you’re a sedevacantist, everything’s a little off.

First of all, and if nothing else, the pope serves as an easy way to identify the Church. “Where Peter is, there is the Church,” St. Ambrose said 1500 years ago, and it’s still true. Want to know if the Polish Catholic Church is in fact a Catholic Church? Ask if they’re in union with the pope.¹ Want to know if the Latin Mass you’re about to attend is legit? Ask a parishioner if there’s a pope.² Want to know which Church is the Church of Christ? Find the one that at least claims an unbroken line to him.

You see, Jesus was pretty clear about founding a Church.³ And he was pretty serious about his followers being undivided⁴ and knowing true doctrine.⁵ So I think it’s fair to say that he would have done whatever it took to keep his people united and free from error. How could he have accomplished this?

With Scripture alone? This results in thousands of different denominations preaching wildly different doctrines.
With a college of equal bishops? The Orthodox have tried this and, from an outside perspective, it seems to bring them divisions and doctrinal ambiguity.
With one leader? Oh, that’d be the Pope.

What the papacy provides us is what we really need: continuity and continuation of the Church, easy identification, and protected teachings.⁶ Through the Holy Father, we have apostolic succession, ensuring that this is the same Church that can trace itself back to Peter. Through his smiling face (whatever it may look like next), we can tell in any country whether or not this is our Church. Through his infallibility and the infallibility granted the bishops in union with him, the true faith is protected by the Holy Spirit. Without a Pope, none of this is guaranteed. And I’d argue that the denominations that don’t have a pope know, at some level, that they’re missing these.⁷

To my mind, it’s really the infallibility issue that matters. If there is no infallibility, there is no truth and if there is no truth, there is no Church. One might argue that all truth can be found in the Bible. I will choose to stand with Blessed John Henry Newman and say:

It is antecedently unreasonable to suppose that a book so complex, so systematic, in parts so obscure, the outcome of so many minds, times, and places, should be given us from above without the safeguard of some authority; as if it could possibly, from the nature of the case, interpret itself. Its inspiration does but guarantee its truth, not its interpretation.

Even assuming that one could have a Bible without a Church, the interpretation of Scripture is so varied that those denominations that do not submit themselves to an infallible interpreter number in the tens of thousands. Those that do accept an infallible authority number two. Newman puts it quite succinctly: “The gift of inspiration requires as its complement the gift of infallibility.”

In the end, we either have one pope or a billion. Either there is one infallible teacher who bases his claim to infallibility on Christ himself or each man is his own infallible teacher, regardless of 2 Pt 1:20. James Cardinal Gibbons points out how ludicrous this is:

“You assert for yourself, and of course for every reader of the Scripture, a personal infallibility which you deny to the Pope, and which we claim only for him. You make every man his own Pope. If you are not infallibly certain that you understand the true meaning of the whole Bible…then, I ask, of what use to you is the objective infallibility of the Bible without an infallible interpreter?”

Now, whatever you may say about sinful popes (and there have been some impressive ones), no matter how bad they got, they never changed Church teaching. The worst of the Renaissance popes, with his (alleged?) harem and blatant nepotism never issued a papal decree that beautiful women must sleep with him nor permitted polygamy nor even suggested that the pope should be allowed to marry. No doctrine was ever changed to what was more convenient or pleasant or politically expedient. Think, friends. If absolute power corrupts absolutely, why were these corrupt men with absolute power corrupt only to a point? Why were they corrupt only as regards their personal conduct and not when it came to doctrine? Is it possible that the preservation of the faith is a matter of grace?

If you’re the only one of the first 49 popes not to be a Saint, it’s possible you did something wrong….

Looking at Catholic dogma, you may well think that it is corrupted. But if you’re a Christian, you accept the dogma of the hypostatic union.⁸ Consider that in the early centuries of the Church there were no fewer than three heretic popes. Liberius was an Arian, Honorius was a Monothelite, and Vigilius was selected as pope specifically because he was a Monophysite. Yet none of the three taught heresy from the See of Peter. Despite personal conviction, they upheld the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic faith handed down to them.

To put it in more worldly terms, imagine you somehow gained control of an organization whose central tenets you disagreed with. Let’s say, for example, that someone heard that I’m a nomad, was really impressed, and gave me the New York Yankees. Now, because I love God, America, and baseball, I hate the Yankees.⁹ So if you gave me total control over the club, well, I’d make them play baseball in devil horns and tutus. Or if I were going for subtle and mature, I’d just start inflating the contracts of burnt-out superstars and stop paying the rising stars much of anything. I’d gradually age the Yanks out of the game–clever, huh?

"Seriously? This was your evil plan?" — “Seriously? This was your evil plan?”

But those heretic popes? Nothing of the sort. Even surrounded by all their heretic buddies, they changed nothing–some even say that Vigilius became orthodox¹⁰ when he was consecrated Pope. There was no reason in the world for these guys not to tweak things just a little to make their heresy of choice required belief for all Christians. There was, however, a reason out of this world.

Nobody’s claiming the pope is impeccable or that he’s omniscient. We’ve studied history, too. We’re saying that it’s that much more impressive that, not being impeccable or omniscient, our 265 popes have handed down a Church that–if nothing else–has outlasted every empire it came up against without once compromising its teaching.

Now, you don’t have to be obsessed with every pope like some of us.¹¹ And you don’t have to have action figures and medals and scream like a 12-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert every time you think about him.¹² And you know what? Depending who the next pope is, you don’t even have to think he’s particularly charming or brilliant or holy. Just as long as you respect him as the Vicar of Christ–not Christ himself but his steward–and accept his infallibility. Given that this is what it means to be Catholic, it doesn’t strike me as terribly hard.

It won’t be too long before we have another pope, friends. His is one of the hardest jobs in the world, with Satan and secularism gunning for him. Let’s do him the honor of starting to love him even now, regardless of whether he’s a traddy or a liberal, a man of expensive tastes or an uncultured boor. Whether he’s got a doctorate in theology or liberal arts or nothing at all, he’ll be better educated than Peter. And even if he weren’t, Jesus made it very clear with his selection of Peter as our first pope that he can use any man to do great things as the Servant of the Servants of God. I’m confident that our next pope will be as incredible as his (recent) predecessors, but just in case, remember: this is our Father. Whatever people might have to say about him, we love him and defend him. Whatever we might have hoped for in a pope, we rejoice in the man God gives us. Pray for him and the Cardinals–the conclave starts Tuesday!!

Nope. First clue that your church is not the Church established by Christ: it was founded in Scranton. [↩]
Okay, so this is confusing right now when we’re all sedevacantists, but in a week this litmus test should work again. [↩]
Mt 16:18-19 again. [↩]
Jn 17:21 [↩]
Jn 8:32 [↩]
Props to Karl Keating for fleshing this out in Catholicism and Fundamentalism. [↩]
With the exception of the Orthodox and apostolic succession, but the latter two are iffy even then. [↩]
Jesus is fully God and fully man, one person with two natures, like us in all things but sin. [↩]
Stay with me Yankee fans. I’m a Braves fan–your titles outnumber ours, what, 27 to 1? Gloat for a minute and then come back to pity my futile little act of defiance. [↩]
Note the lower case “o”–it just means right belief, not an Eastern Church. [↩]
Guilty. [↩]
Guilty on all three counts. My JPII statue/action figure was way ugly, though, so it doesn’t even really count. [↩]

There’s Nothing New About Infallibility

Shoot, friends, it’s been a while. I’ve been speaking up a storm in Michigan (chastity) and Toledo (true manhood) and Cleveland (prayer) and the idea of blogging was just too exhausting. You can basically go to my whole retreat on prayer via YouTube, though–does that make up for it?

If nothing else, you gotta be impressed that we know all their names in an unbroken line back to St. Peter. Unless you think the Masons made them up or it can all be traced back to a murderous albino, in which case you’ve got other issues.

But before I got distracted by the 2 week snowstorm with a total accumulation of practically nothing, I promised y’all some info on the papacy. When last we met, we realized that Peter’s authority was totally Biblical. But does that necessarily tell us anything about Linus, Anacletus, Clement, Evaristus…Pius XII, John XXIII, Paul VI, John Paul I, John Paul II, Benedict XVI, and his successor? Not to mention their 254 confreres?

As always, it’s important to remember that the Bible is not a catechism–it’s not trying to be exhaustive, nor do any Christians actually believe that all truth is explicit in Scripture. Take, for example, the doctrine of the Trinity. While Scripture supports it, it wasn’t until the Council of Nicaea in 325 that anyone really knew for sure that our God is one God in three persons, distinct but not separate.¹ And I’d bet my life that nobody who was completely unacquainted with Christianity, no matter how intelligent, could sit down with a Bible and discern that doctrine. For that reason and for so many others (notably the fact that there is no Bible without the Church), theologians have always looked to Scripture and Tradition. Forget the claim to an infallible Magisterium²–it just stands to reason that “primitive” Christians would have a better idea of what Jesus intended than believers who are 2,000 years removed from him.

In fact, the recovery of early Christian doctrine is just what the Reformers were going for. So when I bring up early Christian writers, bear in mind that these aren’t just Catholic guys saying Catholic things. These are the leaders of the Church, often just a few generations removed from the Apostles, telling us what was handed down to them. These are the same guys that Luther and Calvin were reading when trying to reconstruct Bible Christianity.

So whether you’re Catholic or Protestant, it matters what these old dudes think. Two or three comments praising the bishop of Rome over the course of centuries might not mean much. But if we start to hear about the primacy of Rome from all sides…well, we’ve got to wonder why everybody in the early Church recognized the pope’s authority when even Catholics these days tend not to. Without further ado:³

St. Irenaeus was the disciple of Polycarp who was the disciple of John (the Beloved Apostle), which makes him three degrees from Jesus. Already in the second century, he’s talking about Peter handing on his office to the second pope.

But since it would be too long to enumerate in such a volume as this the succession of all the churches, we shall confound all those who, in whatever manner, whether through self-satisfaction or vainglory, or through blindness and wicked opinion, assemble other than where it is proper, by pointing out here the successions of the bishops of the greatest and most ancient church known to all, founded and organized at Rome by the two most glorious apostles, Peter and Paul, that church which has the tradition and the faith which comes down to us after having been announced to men by the apostles. With that church, because of its superior origin, all the churches must agree, that is, all the faithful in the whole world, and it is in her that the faithful everywhere have maintained the apostolic tradition (Against Heresies 3:3:2 [inter A.D. 180-190]).

In case you didn’t want to read that whole block of text, he’s telling us that the Church finds unity and sure doctrine under the church of Rome.

St. Cyprian of Carthage was a third century North African bishop, sovereign over his diocese in a time when there was little communication with Rome, especially for Christians. Cyprian could easily have set himself up as the ultimate authority, particularly as people were questioning the ligitimacy of a newly-elected pope.

“The Lord says to Peter: ‘I say to you,’ he says, ‘that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell will not overcome it. And to you I will give the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatever things you bind on earth shall be bound also in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth, they shall be loosed also in heaven’ [Matt. 16:18–19]). … On him [Peter] he builds the Church, and to him he gives the command to feed the sheep [John 21:17], and although he assigns a like power to all the apostles, yet he founded a single chair [cathedra], and he established by his own authority a source and an intrinsic reason for that unity. Indeed, the others were also what Peter was [i.e., apostles], but a primacy is given to Peter, whereby it is made clear that there is but one Church and one chair. So too, all [the apostles] are shepherds, and the flock is shown to be one, fed by all the apostles in single-minded accord. If someone does not hold fast to this unity of Peter, can he imagine that he still holds the faith? If he [should] desert the chair of Peter upon whom the Church was built, can he still be confident that he is in the Church?” (The Unity of the Catholic Church 4; 1st edition [A.D. 251]).

“Cyprian to Antonian, his brother. Greeting … You wrote … that I should forward a copy of the same letter to our colleague [Pope] Cornelius, so that, laying aside all anxiety, he might at once know that you held communion with him, that is, with the Catholic Church” (Letters, 55[52]:1 [A.D. 253]).

“Would heretics dare to come to the very seat of Peter, whence apostolic faith is derived and whither no errors can come?” (Letters, 59 (55), 14, [256 A.D.]).

When he’s talking about the chair of Peter, that’s the authority of Peter’s successor.⁴ Then, of course, he tells us that the pope is, in essence, the Church and that anyone who rejects him rejects the Church. Remember that at the time there was only one Church, so to Cyprian’s mind, rejecting the Pope is rejecting Christ. And then there’s that little matter of infallibility in the last line….

St. Ambrose of Milan: “It is to Peter that he says: ‘You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church’ [Matt. 16:18]. Where Peter is, there is the Church. And where the Church is, no death is there, but life eternal” (Commentary on Twelve Psalms of David 40:30 [A.D. 389]).
.
I don’t need to explain that, do I?

St Jerome was a lot smarter than pretty much everyone and also rather cantankerous. The story goes that he studied in Israel so as to learn Hebrew. While he was there, he discovered that the Jews used only 39 books in the Bible. “Jesus was a Jew,” he thought, “so he must have used the same canon.” He translated those 39 and not the deuterocanonical books that were widely accepted by Christians. Pope St. Damasus I, who can’t possibly have known more about Scripture than Jerome, essentially says, “Thanks very much for your opinion. Translate the other seven, too.” Cranky, brilliant, proud Jerome writes this a few years later:

“I follow no leader but Christ and join in communion with none but your blessedness [Pope Damasus I], that is, with the chair of Peter. I know that this is the rock on which the Church has been built. Whoever eats the Lamb outside this house is profane. Anyone who is not in the ark of Noah will perish when the flood prevails” (Letters 15:2 [A.D. 396]).

By all rights, he should have told the pope what for. Instead he submits, telling us that the Pope is the successor of Peter and the one with whom we must be in communion.

Then there’s St. Augustine: “Roma locuta est, causa finita est. Rome has spoken. Case closed.” It doesn’t get much clearer than that.

Of course, there are more. But these are some big names, some writing before the doctrine of the Trinity was solidified and all before the hypostatic union became a household phrase.⁵ For these men, the primacy of the bishop of Rome and even his infallibility, to some degree, are a given. By the time Francis de Sales talks about it in 1596, the whole thing’s old hat.

When he teaches the whole Church as shepherd, in general matters of faith and morals, then there is nothing but doctrine and truth. And in fact everything a king says is not a law or an edict, but that only which a king says as king and as a legislator. So everything the Pope says is not canon law or of legal obligation; he must mean to define and to lay down the law for the sheep, and he must keep the due order and form .

We must not think that in everything and everywhere his judgment is infallible, but then only when he gives judgment on a matter of faith in questions necessary to the whole Church; for in particular cases which depend on human fact he can err, there is no doubt, though it is not for us to control him in these cases save with all reverence, submission, and discretion. Theologians have said, in a word, that he can err in questions of fact, not in questions of right; that he can err extra cathedram, outside the chair of Peter. that is, as a private individual, by writings and bad example.

But he cannot err when he is in cathedra, that is, when he intends to make an instruction and decree for the guidance of the whole Church, when he means to confirm his brethren as supreme pastor, and to conduct them into the pastures of the faith. For then it is not so much man who determines, resolves, and defines as it is the Blessed Holy Spirit by man, which Spirit, according to the promise made by Our Lord to the Apostles, teaches all truth to the Church.

Even if the man who replaces them is a total lout–which is not at all impossible–he will still be the Vicar of Christ, as the bishop of Rome has been for nearly 2,000 years.

It seems, then, that Scripture supports the idea of Petrine primacy and infallibility. The testimony of history is that those closest to Jesus understood that this charism was not limited to Peter but was passed down to his successors. That the pope’s infallibility was absolute and yet strictly limited was clear long before it was officially defined at the First Vatican Council in 1870. Indeed, it seems that a Church without such a leader would be destined for failure, or at least for fracture and falsehood. But that, my friends, is a post for another day. Keep praying for the conclave and the future Holy Father!

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

If you want to keep up with where I’m going and where I’ve been, check out this page. And if you’re anywhere west of the continental divide and you want me to come speak, let me know! I’m heading out that way starting in April and have literally nothing planned for May and June. Help me keep busy!

Since I know you always want to know what’s going on with my fingernails, here’s the scoop: I wanted to paint them black because I kind of feel like the Interregnum is a time of mourning, even though the Holy Father didn’t die. But then I painted them black and felt like I was goth and it was 1998 and I couldn’t handle it. So I threw in some purple for Lent (using ideas from my best friend Pinterest) and now I feel like a rock star from the 80s but it took so long that I just can’t bring myself to take it off. It’s a conversation piece, though, and you know I always have trouble coming up with ways to talk about Jesus….

While you’re wasting time on the internet, would you take 30 seconds to vote for my friends at Old Dominion University to win some money for their campus ministry? I had the privilege of speaking to them in the fall and they were engaged and earnest and welcoming–let’s win this thing for them!

Also, my dear friend Ute is hosting a Bible verse photography linkup–click over there to see the verse for March!

I recited this formula to a Jehovah’s Witness a while back. He said, “Well, that’s new!” No, actually. Pretty much nothing the Church says is new. Your whole religion, on the other hand…. [↩]
Teaching body of the Church–the bishops united under the pope. [↩]
Oh, and I probably got all of these from www.catholic.com forever ago. Actually, I’m pretty sure that I first composed this section in a Facebook message to the Protestant student I mentioned in the superpowers post. [↩]
We know this because it doesn’t make any sense to hold fast to a chair of a dead guy. [↩]
What? You don’t mention that daily? [↩]