Random Archives - Held By His Pierced Hands

How to Pick a Confirmation Saint

Congratulations on your upcoming confirmation! How exciting! In many dioceses, confirmandi are invited to pick a Saint to accompany them on this journey. If you’re hoping to find just the right Saint, here are some thoughts that might help—and might keep you from being one of the eleven kids at your confirmation who pick the same Saint.

First and foremost, remember this: your confirmation Saint is not the be-all and end-all of your Saintly relationships. There’s no pressure here: pick someone you love and then if you find other Saints you love later, you can add them to your Saint squad informally. But there’s no reason to stress about this!

Second, you’ll want to find out the rules for confirmation Saints in your diocese. In most dioceses you can pick a Saint or a Blessed; in some just Saints, in some anyone with an open cause for canonization, and in some any name that isn’t contrary to Christian sensibilities.

After that, it’s time to start doing some research! I obviously recommend both of my books (Saints Around the World and Pray for Us: 75 Saints who Sinned, Suffered, and Struggled on Their Way to Holiness), but I’ve got some other recommendations here. When I’m helping a godchild pick a Saint, here’s what we do:

Before we meet to talk through it, you have to read both my books and jot down names of Saints you’re interested in. (If a kid is reluctant to be confirmed—or not much of a reader—I can work with that, but so far everyone has been down.)
I’ll ask you what you’re thinking and we’ll talk about the Saints you like, from the books or otherwise.
I’ll draw out some common themes I see in what you highlight, then ask what else you might be looking for.
-A certain profession? Hobbies? Sports? Academic interests? Personality types?
-Any health issues (physical or mental) that might be relevant? Family difficulties? Personal struggles?
-If you’re comfortable sharing, what are some sins you struggle with? What elements of your personality need some purification? Maybe pride or anger?
(Note: I always make it clear that they don’t have to tell me and I always suggest sins that aren’t so hard to talk about. Often this has already come out by this point, but many people really appreciate a Saint with similar struggles. So we find Saints who had similar struggles and overcame them—or at least continued pursuing holiness in spite of them. We also find Saints who were the opposite, whose natural inclination was to holiness in those areas. We talk about how it’s good to have both kinds of Saint friends, the ones you can admire and try to imitate and the ones who you know understand your struggle.⁣)
Are you looking for a particular gender/race/cultural background/vocation?
What do you want from your Saint long term? Do you want:
-a Saint with lots of writings you can read?
-a Saint with lots of books about him?
-a popular Saint with lots of merch? (Medals, art, t-shirts, etc)
-a less popular Saint you can introduce to people?
-a Saint you can learn a ton about or one we don’t know much about whose story is succinct?
-are you okay with a Saint whose story is mostly legend or do you think that will bother you down the road?
As we go, I tell stories and jot down names of Saints who resonate with you.
Once we’ve got a good solid list, we’ll mark each one yes/no/maybe, crossing off each no.
We’ll research the ones still on the list, finding podcasts and articles and translating websites and even discovering books and music that they wrote and checking those out.⁣ We’ll even look at their pictures to see if any of this helps one Saint take the lead.
Usually at this point we’ll take a break for Mass or dinner, then come back, repeating step seven until we’ve got a very short list. Then we keep talking until there’s a clear front-runner (or take a break for a few days and let things percolate). And then you’ve got your Saint!

This can be trickier if you don’t have a Saint-obsessed godmother, but hopefully reading a few books and doing some good googling (looking for athlete saints here and here or musician Saints here, for example) will help you find just the right Saint for you. Good luck!

15 Catholic New Year’s Resolutions

Merry Christmas, friends! I’m sure you all know that Christmas has just begun, but New Year’s is fast approaching, and with it resolutions. I’m all about eating well and exercising more (I mean, I’m not, but you know what I mean), but I thought you might appreciate some suggestions of how to kick start your spiritual life in 2018.

Read the Bible. The whole thing. But don’t start at Genesis and read through to Revelation. Check out this one year Bible plan and take a more manageable approach to soaking in God’s word this year. And oh my goodness, I love this new Catholic Journaling Bible! (If you happen to be engaged, I think it would make the best wedding guest book ever.)
Get to know the Saints. I’m relatively new in my love of the Saints, but (as with most things) I’ve become rather obsessed. Pick up a cheap copy of my favorite books about Saints (Modern Saints volume 1 and volume 2 by Ann Ball) or click over to my page on Aleteia to read 50 different Saint bios that I wrote last year. But vague resolutions are useless, so rather than resolving to “get to know the Saints,” try something more like, “Each week, I’ll learn about a new Saint, trying to figure out what I need to imitate in his or her life and virtues, and asking for his or her intercession.” By the end of 2018, you’ll have 52 more new besties in heaven! Or maybe pick one Saint per month to get to know more deeply, or two or three Saints for the year whose biographies you can get. Anything to grow closer to your family in heaven.
Sign up for a holy hour. Don’t just promise yourself that you’ll make a holy hour each week, actually sign up so there’s more accountability than just your conscience. If you’re not sure where there’s adoration near you, check out this directory, which I’ve found to be remarkably accurate. If there isn’t adoration near you and you can’t ask your priest to start exposing the Blessed Sacrament, a private commitment to spend an hour before the tabernacle once a week would also be great.
Read something worthwhile. You’ll have to determine for yourself what a good goal would be–one spiritual book a month or half an hour of spiritual reading a day or maybe just one book this year–but reading worthwhile books can be an absolute game-changer. Check out my recommendations of spiritual reading, Catholic novels, and apologetics, or watch this space for a list of all time favorites.
Commit to daily silent prayer. I never tire of telling people that while a devotion to the Rosary or the Liturgy of the Hours or even the Bible isn’t a requirement for canonization, regular silent prayer is. This is what makes Saints. Every other kind of prayer (and there are many) only exists to lead you into silent prayer, but most of us spend all our prayer time doing and very little being. This year, commit to a certain amount of time every day without fail just being still before the Lord, talking to him and listening, too. A good rule of thumb is one minute per day for every year old you are, which is great if you’re 15 but not so much if you’re 45 with a million little kids and no experience with silence. Start with 15 minutes a day, see if you can’t stretch it to 20 for Lent, then go from there.
Cling to the Sacraments. Make a concrete resolution to live a more Sacramental life. Up your confession game to once a month, add one extra daily Mass each week, or spend more time praying in a church instead of just praying in traffic. Perhaps it’s something as small as crossing yourself every time you pass a Catholic church (greeting Jesus in the Eucharist) or making sure to stop by the tabernacle first thing when you get to church and last thing before you leave, even if you’re just there to get something signed or to go to a meeting. Treat him like he’s really present there.
Go on a retreat. It can be really difficult to find a way to leave home and work and family for several days to make a retreat, but it can also be absolutely life-changing. Make a commitment to go on a retreat this year, whether directed or silent.
Join a group. Whether it’s a Bible study or a faith-sharing group, find a group of Catholics who are meeting each week to pray and grow in faith together. There’s only so much you can grow in holiness when you’re doing it alone.
Do a daily examen. More than just an examination of conscience, the examen invites us to see how God is working in our lives and how we’ve chosen to respond. Make a habit of spending 10 minutes each night (or morning, or on your commute) walking through the previous 24 hours with the Lord. End by reflecting on the best part of the last day, the worst part, and what particular grace you want for the next day. Learn more here.
Learn to love the Blessed Mother. For many of us, Mary wasn’t a big part of our childhood, but she was a huge part of Jesus’ childhood, so she has to be part of our lives. If you don’t love her as you should (and who does?), try adding some Mary into your life. Maybe it’s time to commit to a daily rosary, like it or not–but you don’t have to! There are other ways to love Mary. You could try some good books on Mary (I recommend Hail, Holy Queen and The Reed of God). You could finally make your Marian consecration. Or daily pray a Marian litany. Or meditate on Marian art. Just try to love her more.
Start fasting. Did you know all Catholics are expected to perform some act of penance every Friday and the US Bishops recommend abstaining from meat? Do that. If you’re already there, try dropping the sugar from your coffee or skipping snacks on non-feast days. Fasting isn’t just for Lent, it’s a way for us to be comformed to Christ every day.
Make a pilgrimage. You don’t have to go to Rome (though if you’re looking for an excuse, drop me a line and I’ll tell you that you do). Look up some local (or only-10-hours-away) Saints or Blesseds or Venerables. If that’s too far, just make a pilgrimage to your cathedral or a local shrine. The act of pilgrimage reminds us that we’re all sojourners here, that this world is not our home and we’re all pilgrims on our way back to the Father.
Change what you listen to. Instead of Top 40, try some Audrey Assad or Matt Maher. Instead of talk radio, check out some podcasts (I love Lanky Guys, Fr. John Riccardo, Catholic Stuff You Should Know, and The Eagle and Child). Sanctify your commute and your time in the pickup line by infusing it with Christ.
Give. If you’re not tithing, resolve to up your giving to 10%. If you already are, maybe try for 11%, or even 15%. It may be more important for you to give your time than your money. Pray about a measurable goal for giving more, then do it.
Forgive. Forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling. Make a resolution to forgive somebody for whom you’ve been harboring resentment, then do something tangible like offering every Friday Mass for them or placing a picture of them before an image of the Blessed Mother or just daily praying, “Father, I forgive N. Please give me the grace to forgive him/her.” For most of us, a year of such actions will move the forgiveness from our will to our hearts. For the rest, it’s still a good start.

New Year’s resolutions are notoriously hard to keep, but we belong to a Church that continually gives us a second chance. So make these resolutions, but set yourself a reminder for February 10th (just before Ash Wednesday) to check in on how these resolutions are going and try to start afresh for Lent. Then do the same thing for Easter, for Ordinary Time, and again for Advent. By the end of 2018, maybe you will have made a real change!

We’ve only scratched the surface here, friends. What other suggestions do you have for Catholic resolutions?

5 Things I Love More after 5 Years on the Road (And 5 Things I’m Over)

A month ago, I celebrated my 5th hoboversary. It’s become my habit to write each year around my anniversary with some reflections (Here’s year one, year two, year three, and year four) but this year I just didn’t have much to say–I know, it’s unusual. I thought about sharing lessons I’ve learned, but I’ve done that. I was tempted to list the things I don’t take for granted anymore (putting things in a drawer or having extras of something that you keep just in case) but it just sounded like a list of complaints.¹ Maybe share a few stories? But I share them all on Facebook as they happen. How about this: five things I love more than I did five years ago (and five I don’t).

LOVE:

The Saints. For all I talk about Saints, you’d think I’d been obsessed from childhood, but I wasn’t that into Saints until a few years ago. Then I read Modern Saints by Ann Ball (volumes 1 and 2) and began to realize that the Saints are more than cool, they’re amazing. And I read The Robe by Lloyd C. Douglas and saw for the first time the incredible power of storytelling in the service of evangelization. So I started to get to know the Saints as they really were, not the dull, whitewashed stories we’re usually handed, and now I just can’t get over them. You’ve been following my Saint stories over on Aleteia, right?

Downtime. I’m really extroverted. I can stay up for 30 hours if there are people to chat with. When I drive I have to listen to narrative-driven audiobooks because that’s close enough to social interaction to keep me awake; if there are no characters, I have to pull over to take a nap. So when I started hoboing (by which I mean a life of constant small talk every moment of every day forever) I thought it was awesome. I chatted all day every day (driving and prayer time aside) for 18 months before it was too much. Then I took a day to myself and was ready for more friends. But that kind of thing begins to wear on you and these days, I’m thrilled when people tell me they’re going out for the afternoon or–miracle of miracles–putting me in a hotel. For Easter this year, a stranger offered me her house while her family was out of town and I’m pretty sure I cried. I’m still an extrovert, I’m just also a human being and human beings need some time alone.

Books. I wouldn’t have thought I could love books more, but since I started using a Kindle for the sake of travel and general hoboness, I’ve become even more aware of how wonderful it is to hold a book in your hands, to mark in the margins, to flip to a random point and find a spot you once loved. I’m grateful that I can take hundreds of books with me when I’m abroad for two months, but it sure makes me miss real books.

Instagram. Seriously, it’s the best social medium. No drama, just beauty and laughter and support. Plus, you don’t have to follow people back, so unlike Facebook (where my news feed is absolutely out of control) I only follow 22 people and it’s so manageable. And when I scroll through someone’s page, I don’t see controversial links or ugly formatting, just a glimpse of the beauty and struggle of their lives. Heart-eye emoji.

Being Known. It’s the desire of every human heart to love and be loved, to know and be known. When you spend your life with a constant stream of strangers (many of whom think they know you very well from your internet presence), you become very aware of how powerful it is to be known as you are, not just as you present yourself. One of the biggest ways this has been hitting me recently is in my constant battle to be called by my name. My name is Meg. It’s not Megan. It’s actually short for Margaret. It’s not Megan. At all. In any way. But several times a week, people call me Megan. Introduce me (on stage) as Megan. Advertise that Megan Kilmer is coming to speak. Hand me a name tag that says Megan. And I’m a ragey person with feelings that are far bigger than is healthy, so I correct gently while internally berating the entire world. It’s been happening even more recently, so I took it to prayer: “Lord, is this something I need to get over?” But names matter. And no, I shouldn’t be angry, but I don’t have to be okay with people calling me by the wrong name. Your name is your identity, it’s your self. When people confidently (and repeatedly) use the wrong name, they’re acting as though they know you while refusing to see you. I’m not accusing anybody of anything; I get that some people have memory issues or whatever. But when people know me–know my name, that I love lilacs, that I’m obsessed with Bl. Peter Kibe, that I loved country music in the 90s–I feel the gaze of the Father. I used to take that for granted.

DON’T:

Bananas. They’re disgusting. And I know, because I keep trying them. During the Triduum, I ate three and almost puked in my car. Please don’t feed me bananas.

Conflict. The trouble with being a public person, and especially a public person with an online presence, is that apparently you cease to be a person and are instead a target. People tend not to be terrible in person, though often enough they are.² I know I should offer it up and rejoice to share in Christ’s sufferings and imitate the Lamb without blemish who opened not his mouth, but I just want to shred them. I’m too afraid of conflict, though, so instead I rehearse pithy responses in my head while saying nothing in actuality. Which is better than flying off the handle? But not much.

Talking about myself. Seriously. I used to joke that I didn’t need someone to introduce me–“I’ll talk about myself,” I’d say. “I’m my favorite topic.” But after 5 years of answering, “How did you decide to do this,” I’m over it. It’s all I can do to remind myself that repeating the answer to this question for the 3000th time is an act of charity. (But if you’re planning on having me to dinner, feel free to read the FAQ.)

Itinerancy. I do love seeing all of you, and if the time ever comes that I stop hoboing, I know I’ll miss having the freedom to spend time with everyone I love. But there’s a reason people live in a place, and for all it’s great to go all the places and do all the things, there’s a lot I would trade to be able to own clothes that don’t pack well and buy more chocolate than I can eat in one sitting.³

Twitter. I still don’t get it. There’s no room to say anything of substance and you can’t have real conversations because things get lost if you don’t tag stuff right. I’ll stick with Facebook, thanks.

I’m speaking all week at a big diocesan youth camp and thinking that one thing that hasn’t changed in 5 years is how much I love large groups and crowds of people to love. If you’ve got a conference or know someone who runs a conference (youth, women, men, everybody–I’m equal opportunity) and you’d like me to come, drop me a note. As of right now, everything in my life is a giant question mark once mid-August hits. We can add discernment and uncertainty to that list of things I don’t love more….

And after the few nasty responses I got to the vulnerability in my Mother’s Day post, I didn’t want to risk dealing with the fallout. [↩]
I’m looking at you, man who stood up, restated my explanation that confession in the early Church happened in public, then said, “INCORRECT!” while pointing your finger at me. I was less gentle in correcting him than I usually am. [↩]
Everything melts. Everything. [↩]

16 from 2016

What with being on pilgrimage and all, I sort of missed the New Year. Then I remembered that a recap of the year in pictures has sort of become a tradition (2013, 2014, 2015). So without further ado, some highlights of my year.

This year, I spent a lot of time snuggling babies.

This is my godson Elijah. Also I had an insane amount of hair–it didn’t seem like that much at the time!

After 4 years (and 130,000 miles) of a very temperamental car/home, I got a brand new one!

I visited a lot of Saints. At least 100, I’d guess–that I knew of.

Pictured: St. Bernadette. Not her statue, her actual dead body. Looks like she’s napping, huh? Only Catholics see the body of a long-dead person (looking entirely healthy) and ask if it’s a statue or a real body.

I fell in love with the Sacred Heart.

The image from Paray-le-Monial, where he first appeared to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque.

I visited Lourdes, Fatima, and Champion, WI (the only approved Marian apparition in the States).

I got dolled up for a few weddings.

See my fancy hat for the wedding I went to in England? Full disclosure: it was a repurposed centerpiece. But I think I looked adorable (and I was entirely sober).

I visited Spain and Portugal for the first time.

A Roman aqueduct in beautiful Segovia, Spain.

And finally made it to my 50th state.

I hiked a glacier! I also saw moose, orcas, belugas, Iditarod dogs, and the Northern Lights (3 times). And went deep sea fishing. I’m pretty sure I won Alaska.

I had lots of fun with lots of kids.

I dragged this suitcase to 8 countries (though only one cemetery, I’m pretty sure).

I made some amazing new friends.

And spent beautiful time with some old ones (real and fictional).

Reread the first 5 Anne books this year and started reading the first to my niece. I love her even more now than I did the last time I read them!

I took some amazing young people to France, Spain, and Portugal,

others to Italy,

and some on a pilgrimage a little closer to home.

The highlight of the year, though? Every minute spent with Him.

Moving Forward after This Election

So many of us are discouraged today. So many are heartbroken. So many are afraid for their futures and the futures of their children. A few are jubilant, but I expect many more are experiencing a relief mingled with disgust. This was an ugly election in which most people felt angry at “having” to choose between these two options.

Let me say first of all that I’m sorry. If you’re afraid you’ll be deported, I’m so sorry. If you’re worried your family will be split up, I’m so sorry. If you feel that your fellow citizens have voted against you as a person of color or a woman or a member of the LGBT community, or any other marginalized group, I’m so, so sorry. You matter. You matter to me and to millions of Americans. I hope that soon you will feel safe and loved and welcome in your home.

I also hope that you will join me in fighting against hatred. There’s a temptation now to retreat behind the walls we’ve erected around our political camps. But one thing that has always made America great is that Americans are able to move past differences after an election and work together.

I remember my mother telling me, with powerful emotion in her voice, “When Thomas Jefferson was elected and John Adams yielded the presidency to him, it was the first time in the history of the world that power was transferred from one party to another without a drop of blood being shed. It is an incredible thing to belong to that country.”¹

Please, friends, let’s make our founding fathers proud. I don’t expect that we’ll riot or revolt, but we can do nearly as much damage by entrenching ourselves in anger and resentment. All over Facebook I’m seeing, “If you voted for Trump, make sure to explain to your lgbt+, female, black, latino/a, Muslim friends why they don’t matter to you.” Or “If you voted third party or didn’t vote, please unfriend me. I will not forget.” A large portion of our country believes that their friends and neighbors voted deliberately for bigotry and misogyny, and I don’t think that’s quite fair. Your friends and neighbors may have voted for a man who is bigoted and misogynistic, but so many of them did it while holding their noses, even weeping at what they felt they must do.

god-have-mercy — This whole Facebook page expresses it well.

Many of them were voting for the lives of children, believing as they² do that unborn human beings are people and people deserve to live. Many were voting for the freedom to live a faith that Secretary Clinton has openly threatened. Others were voting for their livelihoods, with uncertain jobs and the cost of living on the rise; any change, they thought, must be better.

I can’t say I totally understand them. I refused to vote for him and I refused to vote for her. I found both of them morally abhorrent. And I understand the instinct to characterize his platform as one of hatred and xenophobia, but not everybody who voted for him was intending to vote for that. Many are so scared of life as they’re living it now that they were unable to see the threat to immigrants and people of color and women and, well, the whole planet. I have a hard time understanding that, but I also don’t personally feel threatened by the state of things in this country.

This is the trouble: we don’t understand each other. Being angry and depressed won’t fix that. But trying to love people we disagree with–even people whose choices threaten our very lives–that is the greatest act of defiance against a campaign of hatred.

America is already great. We’re great because we band together after tragedies and natural disasters. We’re great because we support each other in spite of our differences. We’re great because we celebrate the freedom to protest. We’re great because when we disagree, we still work together. Let’s honor those whose vision gave us this great country by loving each other in the midst of feelings of anger and betrayal and terror.

Whatever side of the political spectrum you fall on, you must understand that there are people who are unlike you who are terribly afraid. So whatever you feel today, fury or despondency or relief or elation, make this promise: I will not define people by their ideologies. I will love.

Then make a concrete resolution to reach out to people who may be feeling particularly attacked or endangered because of last night’s decision. Make a donation to a group that serves refugees,speak out against domestic violence, commiserate with a friend, volunteer to tutor ESL, invite an immigrant family over for Thanksgiving, keep an eye out for sexual predators when you’re at a bar, befriend a person of color who seems nervous in an all-white situation. Just find someone who isn’t like you and learn how to be an ally.

The thought of saying President Trump makes me feel ill, much though I may understand that it’s not actually the end of the world. But loathing the people who elected him doesn’t fix that. The hashtag all along has been #loveTrumpshate. Let’s live that.

Maybe she said in the modern world? Still, a big deal. [↩]
we [↩]

How Not To Be a Jerk Online in 6 Simple Steps

I'm with you, wide-eyed dog. I'm with you. — I’m with you, wide-eyed dog. I’m with you.

It is an ugly time to go online. Now, I hate conflict of any sort, but online conflict is the worst. Somehow because you’re not directly in front of a person, they seem to be able to ignore your humanity, and often their own. I hate this so much that last week I was about to submit a post to a website where I regularly contribute when I discovered that another author had written a post making the opposite point–on the same site. Rather than seem to be attacking a total stranger, I tabled my post, wrote in for an extension, and stayed up until 3am the next night to get it all done. Conflict successfully avoided!

The next day, I wrote a post decrying Donald Trump. Good job avoiding controversy and online drama, Meg.

Good job avoiding controversy and online drama, Meg.

In the aftermath, which hasn’t been quite as unpleasant as I expected, I’ve had the opportunity to watch people rage and condescend and talk over each other ad infinitum. I’ve been lurking in the comments sections on people’s Facebook posts, where I’ve watched people who actually know each other treat each other like garbage in the name of politicians who they themselves don’t even like. I’ve been called a dishonest crook (which is, by the way, a ridiculous insult and entirely off topic) for being a Democrat, which anyone with Google or any reading comprehension skills can see that I’m not.¹

And this, friends, is from self-proclaimed Christians. This is from people I otherwise respect. These are comments directed not at strangers but at neighbors and family members and co-workers.

This profanes the name of Jesus.

I can understand where you're coming from if you, like me, feel this way about this election. But you're not a toddler. — I can understand where you’re coming from if you, like me, feel this way about this election. But you’re not a toddler.

It profanes his name quite literally at times. I saw a good priest called a “Catholic” (in quotation marks) because he suggested a third party candidate. One woman shared her experience of sexual assault and was told, “Any Bible believer who does not vote for the Republican candidate is a hypocrite,” to which the response, of course, was “Jesus was a liberal!”²

It’s appalling. I would think any person of good will would see that. But since many of us seem to have forgotten how to treat each other like human beings when we’re not looking each other in the eye, I thought it might be helpful to have some guidelines for discerning how to reply to people’s controversial opinions online.

1. Read. Please don’t respond to a post without reading the article and all the comments that precede yours.³ I can’t tell you how much unnecessary strife I’ve seen because people are making arguments that have clearly been settled by the linked article or because they’re responding to the quotation shared by the poster without reading the context. Before you comment, make sure you know what you’re responding to.

2. Reread. Part of why arguments online are almost always fruitless and divisive is that people misread each other. There’s no tone or body language to help us interpret people’s words and so we often put the worst possible spin on things. Before you assume someone is being callous or dismissive or rude, reread their comment. Try it in different tones of voice and with different emphases. Is there any way of reading it that can be viewed as less offensive? Assume that was their intent and respond as though they were unclear, not uncharitable. My friend’s husband frequently reminds her: “Never attribute malice or contempt to what can be explained by ignorance or incompetence”–or by pain or confusion or any number of other motivations we can’t possibly know.

3. Respect. Remind yourself that this is a human being you’re talking to, a person desperately loved by God, a soul whom you hope to spend eternity with. This is not an ideology or a platform or a robot, this is a soul. And even if you know this person well, you don’t know everything about him. Don’t say things you don’t want repeated at your funeral. Don’t level accusations you aren’t certain about. If you wouldn’t say it to his face, don’t type it.

4. Rephrase. Don’t just write something angry or controversial and post it immediately. Stop and look it over again. Ask yourself if the language you use is unnecessarily combative. Can you make your point without calling her Killary or him an ass? Because nasty language doesn’t further dialogue. Are you speaking courteously? Do you show respect for the intelligence and goodwill of the people with whom you’re debating? Do you need those extra question marks??? Maybe you could add a friendly emoticon or a kind note like, “Thanks for your question!” or, “I really appreciate your response.” Consider how someone else might read your response and rephrase it to be as charitable as possible.⁴ I find it helpful to ask myself if I want this to be the last thing I ever say to this person. If I’d be ashamed to have spoken that way, it needs some tweaking.

5. Reconsider. Are you adding anything to the conversation? Are you clarifying any points or just hurling accusations? Is the person you’re addressing willing to listen? Or are you just increasing the strife and division in the world? When I’ve got a tough comment to write or email to send, I generally write it in a draft, then leave it for a few hours. If it still seems like a reasonable response when things have settled, when I’m less frustrated and have prayed about it, I send it. If not, I figure that by this point nobody was expecting a response anyway. It’s also worth considering that some conversations do need to happen but should happen in a private message, not a public forum where people are being scandalized or contributing divisive commentary. If it’s sensitive, keep it private.

6. Remember:

This is not that important. With very rare exception, nobody’s salvation hangs in the balance; if it does, get the heck off the internet and have that conversation in person!
You don’t have to win. At a certain point, it might be best to remove yourself from the conversation.
Backing off doesn’t mean you’ve lost.⁵
It’s okay to change your mind.
The greatest victory a Christian can celebrate is sincere repentance for wrongdoing; now might be a good time to look back over your recent conversations and ask forgiveness.
There is nothing more important than prayer. Not argument, not research, not clever phrasing. Pray more than you type and you should be okay.

I’m certainly not the poster child for how to argue well online; my approach is usually to pen some scathing retort worthy of an Austenian heroine and then refuse to post it because I’m terrified of your reaction. But I think that by being deliberate and prayerful, treating our online interactions as human interactions, and assuming people’s intentions are good, we can fight for charity in this broken world of ours. Will you join me?

Not a Republican either. [↩]
Both obviously untrue, at least in the way they meant the words. [↩]
I suppose if you’re commenting on a public figure’s post and it has hundreds of comments you don’t have to read them all. But really, what are you trying to accomplish in that case? Nobody else is reading them either. [↩]
Pro tip: sarcasm is generally a bad idea when you’re online and people’s hackles are already up. [↩]
I recently ended a comment this way: “And now, friend, I will excuse myself from this conversation. Thank you for your respectful tone. God bless you!” [↩]

Never Trump–Because Apparently It Doesn’t Go without Saying

I didn’t think I was going to have to say anything. Obviously his candidacy was a joke.

And then it wasn’t.

But nobody could possibly support him.

And then they did.

But the Republican Party would never choose him.

Until they did.

But people couldn’t possibly overlook his narcissism, racism, misogyny, and inability to speak coherently. They couldn’t possibly ignore the fact that he’s a terrible businessman. The only thing he’s good at he’s not even good at! They couldn’t look past the fact that he has neither experience nor knowledge nor, apparently, the ability to listen to advisers. And then this–no decent human being, presented with incontrovertible evidence of this creep’s arrogant disregard for the personhood of half the human race, his approval of sexual assault, and his inability to muster any semblance of remorse, nobody could make excuses for that.

BUT THEY ARE.

I didn’t think I had to say anything. My kind of people know that this guy is horrendous. The people who read my blog also loathe everything he stands for. Maybe they’re willing to look the other way for the sake of Supreme Court justices, believing (naively, I feel) that this is the one area where an entirely unprincipled man will be faithful to his word. Give an unhinged narcissist the nuclear codes–after all, he might have a shot at chipping slowly away at Roe. Put Kim Jong Un, Putin, and Trump in charge at the same time–what could go wrong?

Nobody could think this was a good idea. Nobody could trust this man. If nothing else, nobody could possibly want to listen to him yell redundant, meaningless sentences desperately in need of a thesaurus for the next four years.

Somehow, this sorry excuse for a man is still in the running for the highest office in the land. His supporters say he’s running for president; listening to him, I expect he thinks he’s running for tyrant.

The wretchedness of Trump’s character is not only disqualifying, I am convinced that it is a danger to the nation and the world. –Rod Dreher

Sometimes it seems that everything this man says is morally abhorrent. Really–read this overview and ask yourself if a person with this kind of highlight reel could possibly be a good president.

Donald Trump is not pro-life. He’s not. He mocks the handicapped, suicidal veterans, and POWs. He thinks Planned Parenthood has done great things. He advocates war crimes. He’s not even anti-abortion. He’s so unfamiliar with the anti-abortion position that he actually suggested jail time for women who have had abortions. With his philandering and misogyny, it’s hard to see how one could not understand that men like Donald Trump are the reason abortion exists.

With Trump, all pro-lifers have are promises from a man who prides himself on breaking promises and whose behavior betrays the very thing pro-lifers fight for. –Rebecca Cusey

A friend of mine attempted to defend Trump by pointing to his daughter’s respect for him and saying that he must be a good father. I don’t care what she says. I don’t care how marvelous he was every single time he was with her. Owning strip clubs makes you a bad father. Being a serial adulterer makes you a bad father. Treating women like objects for your sexual gratification makes you a bad father. And it will make him a bad president.¹

The Deseret News (owned by the LDS Church) came out in no uncertain terms against Trump, and not just because of his indecency:

Trump’s banter belies a willingness to use and discard other human beings at will. That characteristic is the essence of a despot.

Many Evangelicals had already denounced Donald before this most recent evidence of his complete unsuitability for the office of president. Very few Catholics I know had brought themselves to support him, and many of those are now withdrawing even such half-hearted support. Thank God even some Republican politicians are finding the courage to withdraw their ill-conceived endorsements. I pray that enough Americans follow suit.

Oh, Hillary is bad. I’m not saying Hillary isn’t bad. I’m not saying you should vote for her. I don’t think I could.² But Trump is all the things Hillary is, plus mentally unstable and completely incapable of respecting anyone. He is the absolute worst person I could possibly imagine as president. Hillary is a known evil, four (or eight) more years of the same but worse. Trump is a maniac. How do you prepare for the rule of an unprincipled maniac?

But Clinton’s faults, deep as they are, are the faults of a normal politician. Trump’s are in another category. Having a bad, crazy man like Trump in the White House would be a disaster for the entire nation, and even the world. The further we go into this campaign, the harder it is to believe that the US faces equal danger from these two. –Rod Dreher

Character matters, particularly when the despicable character in question has shown evidence of absolutely no moral convictions.

What remains is this question: Can Donald Trump actually execute the basic duties of the presidency? Is there any way that his administration won’t be a flaming train wreck from the start? Is there any possibility that he’ll be levelheaded in a crisis — be it another 9/11 or financial meltdown, or any of the lesser-but-still-severe challenges that presidents reliably face? –Ross Douthat

I have been praying against Trump for months. I have hope now that the pressure on him will be so intense that he will withdraw his candidacy. If he doesn’t, I will continue to do what I can to speak out against him. I will pray for his conversion, for Clinton’s conversion, and for the conversion of our nation. And I will vote against him. It will likely be an uncounted absentee vote for a hopeless third party candidate–Evan McMullin seems as good a choice as any–but it will not be a vote for Donald Trump.³ You will vote how you like and I will love you regardless.

Lord have mercy.

I would like to keep the comments closed because people on the internet are mean and I am a coward, but I know that my regular readers are charitable and insightful. So while I don’t plan to reply to comments, I’ll leave them open until I have reason not to.

Yes, I’ve heard of Bill Clinton. He’s not running. [↩]
I tried to once, in the Democratic primary in 2008. With Obama’s record on voting to deny medical help to babies born alive during abortions, I thought she was a lesser evil. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to vote for Hillary. So I voted for John Edwards, who I knew had already suspended his candidacy. They say you can’t throw away your vote, but I’m pretty sure I did. [↩]
There’s nothing wrong with a “worthless” vote. [↩]

My Jesus Year (Death Wishes You Shouldn’t Worry About)

When I was 18 I was in the throes of intense vocational discernment (perhaps better described as grabbing Jesus by the throat and demanding that he tell me I didn’t have to be a nun). After months of talking to God only about myself–and ignoring any contribution he might try to make to my prayer time–I realized that I had a problem and decided to fast from discernment for a month. Only a month because I had already committed to spending that summer with the Missionaries of Charity and figured it would be a waste not to discern while I was literally living in a convent for an entire summer.

So I spent 30 days trying not to pray about my vocation. It was incredibly freeing, giving me time to love on God instead of just demanding that he act as a magic eight ball for me. The day before this fast was supposed to end was June 21st, the feast of St. Aloysius Gonzaga. Father began his homily with this line: “St. Aloysius Gonzaga died when he was 24 years old.”¹ Suddenly it hit me: what if I’m going to die when I’m 24? What if I’m wasting all this time obsessing about a vocation that I don’t even have because I’m going to die young?

It’s not as morbid a thought as it sounds. In fact, if heaven is the goal of your life, it’s not morbid at all. And while I went on to discern and plan for a long life, there was a part of me that didn’t think it would happen. To the point that I was actually disappointed when I turned 25. I remember sitting in the car, driving back from a retreat, and sighing when the clock hit midnight. “Ah, well. Looks like I’m not getting off the hook that easy.” So I prepared to live.

"Hang on, Jesus, I just need to finish respectfully lambasting the Holy Father before you take me home." — “Hang on, Jesus, I just need to finish respectfully lambasting the Holy Father before you take me home.”

But not all the cool Saints died at 24. A bunch died at 33.² And this year, I’m 33.

I spent last week with my marvelously inquisitive 5-year-old godson. All week we were talking about Saints, about martyrs who were killed because they were telling people about Jesus. As I was leaving, not to return for another year, he looked miserable. “Hugo, my love, I have to go. I have to go tell people about Jesus!”

Very seriously but without a trace of sorrow, he asked, “And will you be killed?”

I responded honestly, “Probably not. Probably I’m going to be just fine. But if I die, is that a sad ending?”

“No,” he said, with absolute conviction.

“No. You’re allowed to be sad, but it’s not really a sad ending because I’ll get to go be with Jesus.” He nodded solemnly, gravely agreeing with my assessment.

Of course, he doesn’t really understand death. But he gets it more than most of us do. I have a habit of flippantly mentioning my desire to be a martyr,³ to which most people respond, “That’s so depressing!”

But it’s not. Arrogant, yes—presuming that I’ll have the fortitude to withstand threats and torture and death. But it’s not depressing because the death of a Christian is not a tragedy except for those left behind. I remind my poor mother of this from time to time. For all I’m shockingly guarded by Providence, I do live a fairly reckless life and I think it’s good to have my bases covered. “Remember,” I say, “the goal of my life is to die well. If I die doing God’s will, that’s not tragic.” It’s the beginning of a marvelous adventure.⁴

For years, the passage of the Chronicles of Narnia that’s struck me the most powerfully has been the desperate longing of the mouse Reepicheep to make his way to Aslan’s country:

“My own plans are made. While I can, I sail east in the Dawn Treader. When she fails me, I paddle east in my coracle. When she sinks, I shall swim east with my four paws. And when I can swim no longer, if I have not reached Aslan’s country, or shot over the edge of the world into some vast cataract, I shall sink with my nose to the sunrise.”

On my best days, this is how I feel. I just want so badly to go home. This world is beautiful and you people are amazing and I’m so grateful for the work I’m able to do, but I miss my Father and I want to sit with my Love. I feel like I’m on an extended, arduous trip abroad, far from friends and family and everyone who loves me. And it’s wonderful and exotic here and I’m meeting all kinds of marvelous people, but I want to go home.

Except that I’m not actually ready yet. Emotionally, perhaps; but morally and spiritually I need major work. So he leaves me here to let me grow, much though I’d rather be a poor, weak Christian in my Father’s lap than a mature Christian far from him. But he loves watching me grow, so here I am.

I’ve spent the week since I turned 33⁵ thinking about death. It’s a sign of how much I’m formed by this world that I feel the need to tell you again and again not to worry about me. I think about death the way I think about going on a cruise one day—it will be amazing and I’m not going to do a thing to hasten its advent.

Odds are good this isn’t the year I die. So I’ve been asking the Lord what else it means to be 33, to spend a year the age he was when he laid down his life for his loved ones. And it’s got me wondering if maybe the point of all this isn’t to prepare me for imminent death but to prepare me to be like Christ in all things. I ought to focus on all this every year, but maybe I can double down this year and see if it sticks once I get past the mild disappointment of turning 34.

What did Jesus do the year he was 33? He loved deeply. He listened to people with broken hearts. He spoke truth, whatever the cost. He went away to pray, even when it meant abandoning people who were certain that they needed him more than he needed the Father. He forgave those who loved themselves more than they loved him. He brought new life to the dead, both physically and spiritually. He sacrificed himself again and again in the days leading up to his one sacrifice for all. He allowed people to love him. He walked into hard places to do hard things he could easily have avoided. He laid down his life every day.

That’s what my Jesus year needs to be: learning a thousand times to die to myself and live for him.

A few years ago, my birthday fell on Sunday so I got different readings from the usual St. Matthew ones. The Epistle struck me: “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain,” Paul said.⁶ Ever since, it’s been this verse I come back to on days when I long for heaven, either out of love of Christ or despair over the state of this world. It will be marvelous to go home, but until then, let me be Christ in this world.

Turns out he was 23. I wonder if my life would have played out differently if he’d gotten that right. [↩]
Okay, my research is only turning up Catherine of Siena and Jesus, but statistics suggest that there have to be more than that. Why aren’t there websites that list Saints by age at the time of death? Come on, internet. [↩]
“I stay at strangers’ houses. If somebody tries to serial kill me, I’m going to yell, “I love Jesus!” while they do it and then I’ll be a martyr. Jackpot.” [↩]
If you’ll excuse me paraphrasing Robin Williams in Hook. [↩]
Happy octave of my birthday to me! [↩]
Philippians 1:21 [↩]

Fourth Hoboversary: What’s Changed?

Saturday marked four years–and nearly one million blog views–since I started hoboing. It does sometimes seem that this episodic novel I’m living is monotonous in its constant change, but a look back at where I was four years ago makes me think things are rather more different than I’d realized.

Something else I wasn't expecting to be part of my hobo life. — I wasn’t this expecting to be part of my hobo life.

Four years ago, I quit my job, packed everything into my car, and started driving. I figured I’d be couchsurfing until July, then God would give me a place to live. Four years later, there’s no end in sight. I figured I might hit 20 or so states before I settled down. 49 states and 18 countries later, not so much. I called it a sabbatical, thinking I’d stay someplace quiet and have lots of free time to write a book. Quiet? Free time? Ha.

It became clear within the first 8 months or so that this was going to be a longer and wider-reaching ministry than I’d expected. You lovely people have read and shared my blog, invited me to speak, told your friends, connected me to people abroad, and all around kept me busy. And as this whole crazy thing has unfolded, I’ve found myself praying more and sleeping less, reading more and blogging less, falling asleep in chapels more and beating myself up about it less.

Also wasn't planning on employing a puppy evangelist. — Also wasn’t planning on employing a puppy evangelist.

Then I liked very little better than talking about myself. Now it’s all I can do not to sigh dramatically when someone asks me a question I’ve answered a thousand times.¹ Then I was such an extrovert I couldn’t stay awake driving unless I was talking to someone on the phone. Now I’m thrilled when my host offers to leave me alone for the evening–and I detest talking on the phone.² Then I was convinced I was going to be a consecrated virgin. Now I’m thinking God might be intending marriage for me.

I can feel the strain this life has put on my body; I might still be able to drive 15 hours in a day, but my back is no longer pleased about it.³ Fortunately my soul’s holding up better than my shoulders. I lamented last year that this life isn’t making me a saint, and while I’m certainly no saint, I can see areas where the Lord is rubbing off my rough spots using internet trolls, thoughtless hosts, and talks that go over like a lead balloon.

Didn't anticipate how often pieces of my car would fall off. — Didn’t anticipate how often pieces of my car would fall off.

There’s quite a lot that’s hard—though mostly not the things you’d expect—and quite a lot that’s lovely. There are days when I think I can’t possibly do this any longer and days when I can’t imagine anything else. Most days are both.

But the biggest shift has been in how I preach. For the first year or so that I was a hobo, person after person asked me what my topic was. I’d prayed about narrowing my focus and I really felt that I couldn’t, that I wanted to speak on all things Catholic.

“Everything,” I’d say, “but at heart I’m an apologist.” I was fascinated by the differences between Protestantism and Catholicism–still am–and was pretty convinced that training Catholics in how not to be Protestant would teach them to be Saints.

I'm not at all surprised by how many books I have. — I’m not at all surprised by how many books I still have.

What I didn’t realize was how very many Catholics weren’t ready to be Saints. Or Catholics. Or even Christians. I didn’t know how many people go through the motions without knowing Jesus. I had no idea that people would bother showing up to Mass–even to daily Mass–when they didn’t love him.

I was trying to feed meat to children who needed milk. And while I’m sure those were good enough talks, I was skipping the foundation of loving God and trying to build the turrets and crenellations. I won’t worry about who I missed, I’ll just trust that God was working even then.

But then I read Forming Intentional Disciples (which is amazing and you simply must read it) and realized that what people need more than anything is to hear the simple Gospel proclaimed in compelling ways. And I shifted my focus.

Had no idea I'd be spending two months in Europe each year. — Had no idea I’d be spending two months in Europe each year.

Oh, I still speak on confession or purgatory or Church history, but I’ve really only got one talk: “God loves you like crazy.” I just frame it in different topics. Basically every talk I give now is the kerygma (a proclamation of the Gospel). When I talk with individuals, I try to work it in. When I get excited about defending some point of doctrine, I remind myself the whole point is to convince people that God loves them and encourage them to live like that’s true.

So these days, you’re more likely to hear me say this than anything else: you are loved beyond imagining by a God who died to know you. It’s incredibly basic and the most important thing you’ll ever hear. Which is why I try to slide it in to every talk I give, even to people who already believe it. Because it’s the greatest good news the world has ever seen and it changes everything.

So it’s the same mission that it was, just longer. And busier. And more exhausting. And more focused on the one thing that matters: the love of God. All in all, a good four years. Please pray for me!

Amazing that it took me three years of talking about myself nearly nonstop to get tired of the subject. [↩]
I still love people, it’s just such a treat to be alone! [↩]
My back is no longer pleased about most anything and I’ve decided getting a massage every few months is not overly indulgent. [↩]

The Shepherd Who Didn’t Run

You may have picked up on the fact that I’m a little bit obsessed with Saints (and those on their way to being declared Saints). There’s something about getting to know one of God’s best friends that just makes me love him that much more. I have this image of life as an obstacle course (think American Ninja Warrior) and Saints as competitors who’ve finished the course and come back to coach you through. Here I need the witness of someone with low stamina, like me, there the advice of someone with a short temper. I keep a pantheon¹ of Saints in my back pocket to encourage me by means of their own particular weaknesses.

So when my beautiful friend Maria Ruiz Scaperlanda asked if I’d review her latest book, The Shepherd Who Didn’t Run, I jumped at the chance. Maria and I have been friends since I met her oldest son in college² and I’ve long admired her work and her deep joy in the Lord. Plus, I can’t get enough of modern martyr stories. And this one did not disappoint. Impeccably researched and written with a clarity that allows Father Stanley to shine through, this first published biography of Father Stanley Rother is the perfect introduction to a simple man called to greatness.

Fr. Stanley Rother was a down-home Oklahoma farm boy who failed out of seminary because he was better at manual labor than book learning. But he persevered, taking John Vianney as a model, and was ordained and sent to rural Oklahoma to serve. It wasn’t long before he answered the call to missionary work, heading to Guatemala where he would overcome his difficulty with languages, mastering Spanish and Tz’utujil, and earn the love of his people by working side by side with them.

But Latin America was a tumultuous place in the the 1980s and Fr. Stanley knew that the powers that be didn’t appreciate his solidarity with the people. It became clear that his life was on the line if he stayed where he was, but Fr. Stanley loved his people too much to abandon them. “At the first signs of danger, the shepherd can’t run,” he said time and again, echoing Jesus’ words in John 10.

Fr. Stanley did leave Guatemala for a few months when things were at their worst. Back in Oklahoma, everyone urged him not to go back to Guatemala. The book details his Gethsemane experience, interviewing friends and family members and excerpting from Fr. Stanley’s letters. But while he was clearly suffering, he was not conflicted. He had promised he would return and return he did, arriving back at his parish just in time for Easter. Three months later, he was found dead in his rectory. He had been tortured but had taken it in silence–he knew that crying out would endanger those around him.

This past summer, the Vatican declared Fr. Stanley a martyr, a step that speeds his canonization process considerably. For the people of Santiago Atitlán, however, no canonization is necessary. Despite his temper and his other human weaknesses, Fr. Stanley had been a powerful witness of God’s love among them. He had lived as a Saint and died as a Saint. And while they will rejoice when he is canonized, as I have no doubt he will be, nobody will be surprised at the Oklahoma farm boy turned Guatemalan martyr raised to the altars.

He has Jesus eyes. — Look at those eyes. Jesus eyes.

Fr. Stanley is a compelling figure, stern but animated by love of God and his people, but I must say that much about him didn’t resonate with me. After all, I’m basically the opposite of this taciturn country priest who was more comfortable with a spade than a textbook. So while I was quite impressed with how thorough the book was–imagine hearing from a Saint’s first grade teacher–Fr. Stanley was a little too ordinary for my liking. At first.

Until I realized that his ordinariness was exactly the point. The witness of his willing acceptance of torture and death is that much more beautiful because he’s a regular guy. He wasn’t a mystic, one foot already on the other side of the veil, or an activist, willing to sacrifice for the cause. He was a lover. And he knew that his people needed him. They needed to know that they mattered, to him and to the One he served. He made no secret of the fact that he didn’t want to die. But he wanted to live for his people more than he wanted to live, as he explained to his bishop: “My life is for my people. I am not scared.”

It’s this quiet determination that struck me. He went deliberately to his death because he loved those he would die for. Can I live with the same intentionality? Can I wash dishes and listen to sob stories and reply to emails with the same deliberate love? Can I be powerfully present in the ordinary? That’s what made Fr. Stanley able to live with extraordinary grace in the end: a determination to do the work of the day well.

If you’re from Oklahoma or you’re a farmer or you’ve struggled in school, Fr. Stanley’s your guy. If you wonder how to love the poor or face difficult mundane crosses, I think his witness will speak to you. If you live an ordinary life and long to be extraordinary, you’ll find that in Fr. Stanley. Grab a copy of this book, not just to support my friend Maria (who is amazing, so maybe for that reason, too) but because Fr. Stanley will remind you of the holiness of your everyday. He’ll show you how your life can transform the world around you. And he’ll probably be the first American-born man canonized, so it couldn’t hurt to join his fan club ahead of the rush.

If you want to keep up with Maria, you can follow her at her blog. I couldn’t find a picture of us together (though I have pictures of me with every one of her children and most of her grandchildren), so I’ll give you the official headshot instead. There, don’t you want to be her friend? Or at least buy her book? I thought so.

If you’ll excuse the implied heresy. [↩]
In case you listen to the podcast, he’s the one who saved the Eucharist from Satanists and then passed all the credit on to other people. [↩]