Liturgical Living: What Does It Look Like At Your House? – Updated

Last updated on: January 13, 2015 at 4:59 pm By Jennifer Fitz

UPDATED with the bit about Fridays and Solemnities.

Melanie Bettinelli writes about the awkwardness of trying to observe the Catholic holidays throughout the year when you have no community and no traditions for doing so. Interestingly, I knew right away what the story was with the tangerines, though I was scandalized to learn there are people who don’t love them. More for us, I suppose.

Prompted by Melanie’s post, I thought I’d run through what our typical year of feasting looks like. I’m sure I’ll forget a few things. You could go over to Melanie’s place and leave a link or a list of what you do at your house.

Sundays year round: We observe this as a day of rest as best we are able. We generally avoid shopping and such, though with the odd exception. We always have some kind of “Sunday food” on the table, a typical example would be cinnamon rolls from a can and pre-cooked bacon warmed over. (Yeah, I know.) It gets more extravagant for Christmas and Easter, and more restrained during Advent and Lent. Of course we go to Mass.

Holy Days of Obligation: The spouse doesn’t get off work for these, except by coincidence, but the kids and I are pro’s at sitting around eating junk food and goofing off, so we do our part to make up for his lack. We go to Mass, of course.

Fridays throughout the year: We refrain from eating meat as our default Friday penance. Since we live in the US where it is permitted to do so, outside of Lent we might individually substitute some other penance if there’s a reason to do so. We don’t require the children to abstain until the Church does, but the menu is meatless, so it’s already more or less a habit. We don’t police each others’ plates, which would be weird. In choosing meals, restaurants, making plans, etc., we don’t presume that the other abstainers are willing to change penances on demand, which would be rude.

Yes, it is true, I have been known to check the Ordo for ~~Steak Fridays~~ Solemnities. I mean, doesn’t everyone?

Now, working around the liturgical year:

Advent: I grew up with Advent wreaths and calendars, and we stick with this. We have an odd set of compromises in terms of keeping Advent and Christmas distinct from one another. My mother and older sister were serious about baking Christmas cookies, but it’s skipped a generation on my side. My kids love to bake, so it works out.

We Christmas caroled a tiny bit when I was growing up; before we had children, the spouse and I took to hosting caroling parties, and we’ve kept to it in various forms most years since then. My eldest daughter says it is her favorite part of Christmas. In recognition that our non-Catholic neighbors generally observe Christmas from Thanksgiving until December 25, my rule is that we go caroling no sooner than the weekend before Christmas Eve. Call it O Antiphon Caroling if that makes you feel better.

St. Nicholas Day: The kids put out their shoes, and St. Nicholas delivers candy. We get Speculaas from Aldi. Have I mentioned lately how much I love that place?

Our Lady of Guadalupe: I always buy a candle and put out an icon. Some years we turn up at a feast at church and eat fabulous food, some years not. Neither the spouse nor I grew up with this, but it’s hard to argue with a feast day that involves tamales, so we opt-in when convenient.

Christmas: Dinner and gifts with the great-grandparents Christmas Eve. Santa fills stockings, which you are allowed to open when you wake up Christmas morning, or when you get home from Midnight Mass if that’s where you went, as long as you are quiet about it and let the sleeping people sleep. The stockings always contain mint chocolate of some kind, but lately Santa has taken to putting the nuts and oranges in communal serving dishes on the breakfast table, which prevents mayhem. Santa puts out a light Christmas breakfast to which you can help yourself freely. Those who didn’t go on the vigil go to Mass Christmas morning, then there’s opening of presents Christmas midday, during which time there is eating of a smorgasbord of festive foods and drinking of strong coffee and champagne (alternating, not mixed). We might go to the in-laws in the evening, depending.

During the 12 Days: We try to do something festive each day of Christmas. Make gingerbread houses, cut out paper snowflakes, go someplace fun, eat something delicious we don’t ordinarily get, that kind of thing. It can be extravagant or not, but it’s always something we don’t get to do the rest of the year, or not regularly.

Epiphany: In the past we had an observance at home – a little feasting, some burning of frankincense, final gifts for the season, and perhaps a re-enactment or singing of We Three Kings. This year the calendar did not cooperate, but we did go to an Epiphany party. It was perfect, and I hope it becomes an annual thing.

March for Life: We always go to our local March, except if we can’t (as happened this year, sadly). We’ve made the pilgrimage to DC twice, and I’m glad I did it when I could, and will do it again if the occasion presents. Grown-ups observe the day of fasting and penance on an individual basis, we don’t have a family observance of that.

St. Valentine’s: My mother-in-law buys the kids packets of valentines. The kids go to a party with their friends. I try to get out of it if I possibly can. On the night of the date, the spouse and I let the kids play unlimited video games while he and I have a romantic evening eating very good food. There is either champagne, or dry rosé, or a seriously good vintage red involved.

Mardi Gras: Did I mention the kids and I are very skilled at feasting?

Ash Wednesday: Parents fast, everyone abstains. We go to Mass if we can, which is not every year, but many years.

Lent: We do what the Church requires in terms of penance, and take on additional penance on an individual basis. We don’t have a set of must-do traditions, but invariably we end up at Stations a time or two, or have a good devotional on hand, or do some other Lent-y thing. We don’t have strict rules about forbidden pleasures during Lent, but in general we take a restrained approach to daily life. It’s more a change of tone and focus than a set of formal observances. Because our children have many Catholic friends, this is reinforced socially. We try to schedule feasts that are close to the start of Lent (birthdays, St. Valentine’s parties) for some time prior to Ash Wednesday if possible.

St. Patrick’s Day: We wear green.

Holy Week: We observe some portion of the week, with the goal of making it to the entire Triduum, though actual attendance varies. Typically earlier in the week the kids and I will sit down with a suitable DVD, either a life of Christ or Steve Ray’s Jesus, or something of that nature. We like to host a family dinner, which usually happens on Wednesday, when we roast some lamb (um, one year it was venison), and serve unleavened bread and this-n-that, and discuss what Passover is and how it was observed, and how it relates to our salvation. Good Friday always involves either Mass, or Stations, or a suitable film or other way to commemorate the Passion.

Easter: We prefer to go to the Vigil, and typically do. When the children were young enough that their Mass attendance on Sundays and Holy Days was not required by canon law, we would get a babysitter and make a special evening of it with just those who were old enough. In that way, it became a milestone that the younger ones looked forward to reaching.

In the morning, the Easter bunny comes, and there is much eating of festive foods, bacon chief among them.

We have an egg hunt sometime during the Easter season.

The children and I are quite good about making sure we feast the full 50 days.

Our Anniversary: We have a very nice dinner with the kids. We observe our anniversary as the date of the founding of our family. Soda and dessert are on the menu, which doesn’t happen so very often around here.

Memorial Day: Every year on Memorial Day I am irritated that we don’t have a good observance.

Fourth of July: Fireworks.

Feast of the Archangels: I forget this nearly every year. I have no particular observance to adhere to, but the kids and I are good for an impromptu feast if we remember.

All Hallow’s Eve: Costumes, trick-or-treating. We give out good candy.

All Saint’s Day: In addition to Mass and a suitable amount of in-house feasting, we get together with other families on a Friday close to the date and have a party. The kids dress up as saints and present a short biography of their saints in a Who Am I? format. In preparation, the girls make me help them dig through Butler’s Lives for the most obscure saints possible. So far my record is 100% on find unguessable saints.

Other Random Catholicnesses: We go to daily Mass when we can, which some years is not at all, some years is nearly always, and most of the time varies across the spectrum. Thus we end up with a certain amount of liturgical awareness just from that. Because the kids use Catholic curricula for their school work and get together regularly with other Catholic families, we end up with a steady flow of low-level observances of this feast or that. So what we lack in piety we glean from our more- or differently-devout friends.

Interestingly, some of our observances of religious feasts don’t involve any particular moment of prayer or catechesis. We might just have the party. It’s not that we’re secularizing, it’s that everyone knows the underlying meaning, and it isn’t necessary to belabor the point at every turn. When you grow up in the social set where weekday playdates take into account the day’s Mass schedule, and your spelling book has words like “Crucifix” and “Annunciation,” you just don’t need The Legend of the Candy Cane. Jesus is our Savior, candy canes taste good, and that’s connection enough.

Photo by James Steakley (Own work), Hemerocallis ‘Top Gun Candy Cane’ in the garden of botanist Robert R. Kowal in Madison, Wisconsin [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons.

Single-Solution Christian Formation is Guaranteed to Fail

Last updated on: January 12, 2015 at 7:17 pm By Jennifer Fitz

In the on-going conversation on what works, and what doesn’t, in youth ministry, here are two threads, seemingly disparate, that share what I propose is the #1 fallacy we Catholics cling to when it comes to Christian formation:

Richard Becker argues here for changing the age at which we administer the sacrament of Confirmation. It’s the kind of article I’m inclined to like, for all sorts of good reasons.
Meanwhile, Fr. Peter Daly in the Archdiocese of Washington was able to track down about 10% of the youth confirmed in his parish over the last 25 years. About 50% of those contacted were still practicing the faith, interesting in itself. More interesting: The common threads in the concerns shared by all, regardless of whether they still counted themselves Catholic or not.

What’s the common fallacy I see here, there, and everywhere? The notion that there’s some kind of single-solution method we could employ that would fix our crisis, if only we found it.

This is not the way the human soul works. At the risk of causing felt banners to unfurl: We are each a unique work of art. Body and soul joined together in the image of God, but each of us expressing that Image in a time, place, and manner distinct from what has ever been before or will be again.

What’s a Catholic to do?

I see so many pastors, youth ministers, and DRE’s struggling to be everything to everyone. What’s the perfect RCIA program that will meet the needs of the immigrant couple in the irregular marriage, the Pentecostal convert who’s freaked out by Marian apparitions, and the PhD who’s just doing it for his wife, and spends the whole class staring at his phone, checking his e-mail and reading papal encyclicals?

How do you make a confirmation class for the kid who was dragged out by his mother under pain of losing video game privileges, the one who loves Jesus but doesn’t read books without pictures, and the one who knew all the answers back in second grade, and still does?

You can’t. You cannot. The very notion that any one evangelist or catechist could come up with a way to meet the genuine spiritual needs of every parishioner in a sacramental bracket is ludicrous.

So why do we keep trying to do the one thing that we can be 100% sure will not work, and we have ample data to prove it?

Because it’s easy.

It’s easy to offer a program and call it “formation.”

Also, it’s lying.

If we care about human souls, we have to quit lying.

Programs are Good at What They Do

I’m the kind of person who goes around recommending favorite religious-education textbooks, so clearly I do not think the solution is to ban programs. I enroll my kids in programs. I teach programs. I do these things because they are valuable in their proper place.

Parishes should have programs. We should take an inventory of the talent we have on hand to teach and to minister to others, and the needs expressed by our parishioners, and try to offer this or that class, small group, lecture series, video course, mentoring program, retreat, apostolate, or you-name-it that we are able to offer and that seems to fill needs.

But this must not come at the price of treating the souls who present themselves for the sacraments as if they are products on an assembly line. The answer isn’t, “Okay, if you want Sacrament X then you’ll need to complete Program A.” Rather, watch the subtle difference, our response should be, “Ah, so you’re preparing for Sacrament X, then? Okay. Well, many people find Program A helpful, and you might enjoy it. But let me hear a little bit more about you, and your story, and let’s figure out what you still need to do to prepare, and to what extent you’re already prepared.”

Radical Change Requires Mature Christians

This approach of actually finding out about a person’s spiritual needs and trying to meet them is crazy. It’s the kind of thing that you would only do if you were serious about the care of human souls. It’s also something that requires way more manpower than, “Please fill out this pink registration form and attend at least 20/24 class sessions, that’ll be a $90 materials fee, please.” At all but the smallest parishes, a single director of religious education can’t possibly usher every single applicant through a personalized course of Christian formation. The phone calls alone would kill you.

What you need to make this happen are mature Christians. Grown-up disciples who can be trusted to help others along their way. The obvious adult to assist a child is the child’s parent. Parents and other adults, meanwhile, can be assisted by fellow Christians who are not so much experts at every aspect of Christian formation as they are charitable, common-sense helpers who can assist a newer Christian in picking his way through all the options.

This is new territory. To say, “You ought to actually know the person to whom you are giving the sacraments of initiation,” is practically heresy in this day. Isn’t that what the envelope system is for?

Our reliance on programs, I theorize, is due to the reality that pastors have good reasons not to trust their parishioners. Imagine asking a priest, “Do you know ten adults in your parish whom you could trust to assist other members of the congregation in figuring out how to prepare for the sacraments? Not actually teach this or that class, but just to be able to help them figure out what they need to do in order to prepare, and help them to find sources for that needed preparation?”

I think many priests would give that a firm No without a moment’s hesitation. Which of course means, in turn, that our programs are being taught by people who can’t actually be trusted with the mentoring of another Christian.

The babying has got to stop. Infants can’t be parents. If our parishes are perpetually filled with spiritual infants, our parishes will soon be empty. And indeed in many places they are.

Artwork:Benozzo Gozzoli [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

How My Parish Youth Group Helped Me Leave the Catholic Faith

Last updated on: January 8, 2015 at 1:09 pm By Jennifer Fitz

Every week at Mass, I see this really nice couple. I think we first met in about 1990 or so, because their daughter was part of the crowd I ran with in high school. She and I were in our Catholic parish’s youth group together, and we had mutual friends at school. I went to their house once for a post-dance party. I met the parents again a few years ago — we’d both long since moved from our old town, and now happened to run into each other at our current parish. And the news was this: Their daughter was no longer a practicing Catholic.

It’s not just her. At my 20-year high school reunion, I ran into a handful of my former youth group friends. None of them are practicing Catholics today.

My reversion is an aberration. We console ourselves when our children leave the Church by pointing to people like me, who came back. But we’re lying to ourselves. Most of the kids don’t come back.

The other evening I told my teenage son, when the subject of lock-ins came up, “Listen. All these high school youth events. They’re just parents deluding themselves into thinking their kids are on the right track, when really it’s that the kids don’t have anything else to do, so they show up at this stuff. And then, shock shock! The kids grow up and move out, do their own thing, and we find out who they really are.”

I think maybe he wasn’t expecting so much candor from his church-lady mother.

***

With those opening thoughts, here’s my youth group post-mortem analysis, first published as part of CatholicMom.com’s Forming Intentional Disciples book club. You will note that I am not very gentle about this topic. This is because I have seen the destruction.

***

It’s that time. Week 2 of the Forming Intentional Disciples discussion at CatholicMom.com. And I’m answering these two:

Have you always been Catholic?
How did the instruction and mentoring you received help you – or prevent you – from having a personal relationship with God?

I have not always been Catholic. I was baptized Catholic as a baby, and made my first communion in 2nd grade, then dropped into annual church attendance. The summer before 10th grade, we moved to SC, and my mom got us all going to Mass every Sunday. I spent 11th grade as an exchange student in France, went to Mass a couple times there, but I wasn’t staying with practicing-Catholic families, and it wasn’t in me to show up every Sunday on my own. (I certainly could have — I had the run of the city.)

My senior year of high school, back home again, I got on the Catholic bandwagon with enthusiasm. I made my first confession (Yes! 10 years after 1st communion!), and after a crash course in the basics of the faith, was confirmed in the spring of my senior year. I was one of those shiny high school students youth group directors love to show off. I was always there, always volunteering, a real Faithful Catholic in the making! I won the parish Knights of Columbus “Catholic Student of the Year” award.

Also, and I’m going to be real candid here, but also respect the privacy of the guilty: Our Youth Group program was straight from the pit of hell.

If you haven’t got much imagination, when I say that, you are maybe picturing snarling chaperones, or vicious cliques, or one of those lewd characters committing unspeakable atrocities. Nah. That’s not much of an enemy of the faith, because anyone can see that those things are wrong, that the kids are being led astray. How do you really get kids to leave the faith and commit mortal sins? Our parish used the “everything’s fine” method:

Run an active youth group with lots of activities and good attendance.
Make sure your leaders are real friendly and well-meaning.
Teach enough of the faith that everyone is sure the kids are getting good Christian formation.

Then you have to do a few things:

1. Slip in a few zingers, in the name of compassion: Maybe there are certain cases where sex outside of marriage is not a problem. Maybe insist that all faiths are just as good, ours is just our personal “Catholic faith tradition”. Perhaps, in this day, do what a friend’s DRE told her son — gay marriage is AOK, because it’s about two people loving each other.

We didn’t have many of those zingers, but we had enough to make sure that somewhere in our college years, we’d find ourselves happily dissenting from the faith, and not even realize we were slowly walking away from the Church.

2. Convince everyone that teens can’t handle the Catholic faith. Better not be too firm about modesty, the girls will run away pouting. Better not tell parents to insist on chastity — soft pedal it with, “I’d rather you didn’t, but if you must, at least use protection.” When you do teach the firm truths of the faith, make sure the instructor is really just reading from the text, and is unable to answer any hard questions, and unwilling to look up the answers and follow-up later.

3. Quietly fail to teach the kids how to explain and defend the faith. Just happen to leave it out of the curriculum. This is pretty easy to do if you’ve already established that there’s no real right or wrong — the faith is really just a collection of good ideas we mostly like, right?

Now I was that award-winning Catholic. So when I went up to college for freshman orientation, I hunted down the local Catholic student group to find out all about it, ready to be involved come the fall. Met some friendly grad students still in town through the summer, had a nice weekend. And that was it. I turned out for Mass once or twice after I got to school, but there really wasn’t any Catholic presence on campus. My new Baptist friends were all gung ho to recruit me, but it didn’t take. I couldn’t defend the Catholic faith, but I was still a patriot, and knew I didn’t like all this Jesus talk. We never used all this Jesus talk back home at the parish, so surely it wasn’t Catholic, right?

Instead I slipped into Intelligent University Thinker mode. You know — too smart for all this organized-religion business, too hip for those simplistic moral codes written for dumb people in centuries past who needed to be told what to do, and plus, I had other things to do. My weekends were busy, you know? Oh, I was still Catholic, for a long time. It took me four years to fully shake off my Catholic identity, and I never did quit receiving communion if I happened to be at Mass for some social reason. (Yes. I know. I know.)

And that’s how I left the faith.

If you wonder why I’m crazy-obsessive about good catechesis, this is why. I know where pathetic milquetoast Church of the Good Intentions teaching leads.

I have every patience for the ordinary guy in the pew who just doesn’t know his faith. I was that person. I know how easy it is to be that person through no fault of your own. You show up every week at Mass, and no one ever bothers to explain the faith to you, beyond a few general exhortations to love God and neighbor. You attend Bible study, or the men’s or women’s group, or religious ed, and still learn nothing. So where are you going to learn the faith? On Fox News? From the New York Times? Well, when your parish refuses you to teach you, that is where you learn it. That is all you’ve got left. It’s no surprise you’re barely Catholic — it’s a wonder you turn out at all.

But if you’re a priest or a DRE or a youth minister, and you’re refusing to teach the Catholic faith to your flock? If you haven’t bothered to teach to your audience how to explain and defend the Catholic position on life issues, or chastity, or _insert hard teaching here__? Can’t seem to get around to making sure your lay leaders know and understand and practice the faith? I’m mad at you. Table-turning, kick-you-out-of-the-temple-courtyard mad.

Because you are ruining people’s lives in your dereliction of duty.

I pray God will have mercy on those souls you’ve failed to teach. I pray He will have mercy on your soul — for I suspect that we spend some portion of our purgatory enduring the suffering earned by those in our care whom we lead astray.

Hard words. I know. Catholic leadership is a sobering and serious responsibility. We kid ourselves if we think we can hide behind our little excuses.

But there is mercy. Even for the pathetic puny soul of the lukewarm Catholic leader who helps walk hundreds upon hundreds of parishioners into a life of mortal sin, one gentle “pastoral” lie at a time . . . there is mercy. Redemption is for all men, not only for the humble guy in the pew.

To whom much is given, much is expected. But he who is forgiven much loves his Lord all the more.

Artwork: Heinrich Hofmann [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Scantily Clad Teenage Dancer Friends on Facebook

Last updated on: January 7, 2015 at 4:58 pm By Jennifer Fitz

From the inbox, a question re: Discussing Modesty from a friend who said he’d be willing to see it answered on the blog. Here’s the original question:

Hi Jen,

Being of a similar mindset on Faith and parenting (and having the common Family Honor reference point between us), I have a question for you (and your husband)? I have a Catholic friend who is a marginally-involved Catholic who has a daughter who is VERY into dance. She’s 13, tours the country in various dance competitions, and all this seems to be very immodest in dress and in moves. (Some of the positions in which they have her posed for Facebook pictures make me absolutely cringe.)

That being said, the mom (and the grandma – who I know even better than the mom – a very involved Catholic, actually), are extremely proud of her in all this dance activity, and seem to have no issue with the questionable nature of this style of dance.

My question to you (and your husband) is – how would YOU handle this with a friend? She’s constantly tagging me on pictures of her daughter to get me to “like” the pix (for competitions and such), and I feel bad not doing so, but there’s no way I could support this form of expression. I’m tempted to write her (and the grandma) a Theology of the Body based email, but am concerned about the reaction.

Thoughts?

I related the conversation to the spouse, and his answer was simple. I paraphrase:

I’d send the grandmother a message telling her that her granddaughter is beautiful, and clearly a very skilled dancer, but as a red-blooded male, these photos are a near occasion of sin for me.

He observed this would solve the immediate problem and get the grandmother’s train of thought onto the right track.

You can tell by that answer which of us has the “succinct” and “more comfortable with direct confrontation” answering skills.

****

I don’t have that. I’m blaming it on culture. Or something. My short answer to “What would you do?” is, “I’d probably bungle it terribly, thanks for asking.”

Thinking through the situation, there are several major themes on which I have thoughts:

1. There’s a difference between a “disciple” and everyone else. A disciple is a student, but something more than that. A Christian disciple is someone who’s whole life is given over to the quest of trying to be the best Christian he can possibly be. When someone’s on that quest, they’ll eagerly seek out information and examples of how to more thoroughly live the Christian life.

If they aren’t on that quest, they just aren’t. You can evangelize. You can appeal to whatever values are consistent with their current ambitions. But it’s important to understand that it’s quite likely they simply don’t care. Modesty is not on their agenda.

2. Statistically speaking, it’s highly unlikely your friend has any interest in chastity, of which modesty is the servant. Nobody likes it to be said too plainly, but chances are your friend and daughter have no plan to save sex for marriage. They will be very upset if you say this out loud. But it would be most unusual for them to seriously hold chastity as a longterm goal. The wider American culture simply isn’t there.

3. We all have our blind spots. Even if they do indeed wish to be wholehearted, devoted Christians, or have some other reason for embracing chastity, it is likely they are unable to see how particular clothing or dance styles have anything to do with this. They are immersed in a culture that considers all this to be perfectly normal.

Knowing themselves to have only pure intentions, having experienced the good that comes with the discipline and athleticism of studying dance, and no doubt having made many good friends in the dance world among people who are kind, caring, and hard-working, they are likely in a position where they simply cannot see that anything could be wrong with what they are doing. They are capable of seeing the immense good associated with the daughter’s achievements, and lack any perspective that could hint there might be a problem with some aspect of it.

On the other hand, maybe they are themselves uneasy about the situation but can see no way around it. That happens, too.

Therefore, you have your work cut out for you.

What can you do?

Concerning the immediate question of “Liking” a Facebook status: Cheerfully hit the “Like” button on anything that you can, in good conscience, like. There must be many things this family posts that are indeed wonderful, so show your support for them there. There’s no law that you have to hit the “Like” button on everything that is tagged to you. People who think you have to “like” everything need some insensitivity training, and you can help them with that.

–> In the unlikely event that your friend contacted you directly and asked, “How come you only like my recipe-sharing statuses, and never the pictures of my scantily-clad granddaughter provocatively posed?” You can honestly reply, “You must understand that given my position as a ________________ [devout Catholic / chastity educator / crazy person / man who wishes to remain married] that’s not actually something I can do. But I love your family dearly, and am very proud of the hard work your granddaughter has put into her efforts at dance. Also, the wasabi-macaroni casserole was wonderful!”

She might throw a temper-tantrum and never speak to you again, or might not. When someone pins you in a corner and demands you answer, they run the risk that they won’t like your answer.

Concerning evangelization: Just keep at it. This is, as far as I can see, the underlying issue. Very honestly: Dance is more than just dance. It’s, well, soulful. There’s every reason to think that daughter, mother, and grandmother are all looking for something that resonates, something eternal, something real, that fulfills a longing they aren’t even fully aware that they’ve got.

Tip: Consider the chaste eroticism that is the best of Christian art. Having been the person who once said, “Christianity doesn’t satisfy because it is missing ____________,” I assure you, the answer is to demonstrate that no, _________ is not missing at all.

Concerning modesty and chastity: Be that friend in the room. Continue to do what you do, which is to have a public presence as this guy who’s serious about chastity. There are several reasons that you can be hopeful this will help:

People learn mostly by immersion. Slowly over time, simply by being constantly exposed to an idea, a reality, people begin to learn it.
When they have a question, they can come to you. And then you can answer it.
If you go ahead and put your nuttiness out there for everyone to see, no one can say they’re shocked when you react accordingly.

So don’t hesitate to be the guy with the weird status updates that consist of some inordinate proportion of Lifeteen articles on the virtues of not walking around in a state of undress. Don’t bump them to anyone, just stick them there. You in all your freakish glory can warn the world, “Here’s a guy who just doesn’t want to know exactly what your abdomen looks like.”

And then people will catch on that they can live and let live. That you are a person who both dislikes knowing too much about other people’s anatomy and you don’t foam at the mouth or scratch faces at the parish potluck. It eventually becomes undeniable that a person like yourself can thoroughly love your friends without having to approve of every single thing they do.

Which is to say, you love your neighbor as yourself — you being a guy who does things you don’t approve of, too.

And then there’s the Church. One of the reasons that Christians have such a difficult time getting dressed and staying dressed is that we’ve pretty much thrown out all serious discussion of modesty over the past fifteen years. The general consensus — with which I disagree — is that we mustn’t ever do anything that might scare people away, even if it means we know far too much about the torsos of even those who serve on the altar.

Meanwhile, in over-reaction to the Let Them Wear Burkas school of moral theology, there’s a line of thinking that says, “Well, if everyone were pure, we wouldn’t need clothes. So dress for the weather, wear bug spray if necessary, and let the lesser among us go to confession if they can’t hack all the purity we’re putting on display.”

Together these two lines of thinking have created a culture of anti-modesty within the evangelical Christian and Catholic worlds.

But that doesn’t mean everyone’s wearing the lingerie. You might consider, if you have the means to do so and can gather up a small group of interested participants, putting together a workshop or disicpleship group for parents and teens that’s centered around the topic of modesty and purity. Your pastor might be supportive, or you can do it on your own with other like-minded friends.

Although I have no particular affiliation with LC or RC, my family has agreed that the Pure Fashion guidelines are our house tie-breaker if there are disagreements about clothing choices. Their program or another like it might give you ideas for activities of interest in your area. Family Honor might provide some inspiration for program possibilities as well.

I think you will find that if you can put together a compelling option in favor of modesty, more and more families will be drawn towards it over time. And eventually your grandmother-friend will nudge her granddaughter to come and see.

Artwork: Léon Bazille Perrault [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Real Presence and My Reversion to the Catholic Faith

Last updated on: January 7, 2015 at 2:00 pm By Jennifer Fitz

My reversion to the Catholic faith was in some ways launched in full force when I was on a trip to San Antonio, touring about, and failed to feel the presence of God upon entering a Catholic Church. I tell the whole story here, and here’s the bit about Texas:

But I wasn’t really happy. I spent several years trying this and that in the spiritual cafeteria. We attended the local Unitarian Universalist congregation, but it never really took. On a trip to San Antonio I discovered the depth of my departure from God when I visited one of the historic mission churches, still an active Catholic parish: I entered the church, and could not feel the presence of God.

I knew then that I had gone terribly, terribly astray. Something had to change.

Later that year, driving home by myself from a road trip in Virginia, I prayed to God in desperation. I received an immediate response: An inner voice told me to quit doing nothing, and to just jump in and practice whatever faith was at hand. Buddhism came to mind. Back home, Jon observed: This is the South. It’s Christian. Let’s start there.

I skip over quite a bit in my telling of what happened after, and today I was reminded of something important that happened shortly before my radical conversion experience. I had read Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain, a gift from a lapsed-Catholic relative to my lapsed-Catholic husband, and between my interest in things spiritual and a good review at the Wall Street Journal, I read the book. (The conversation: Tom Zampino mentioned he’d read it just before his reversion, too. We’re like reversion twins. If that’s a thing.) If I recall correctly, I took the book with me on yet another spousal business trip that was vacation for me, this time to Hawaii.

While the husband did work things, I took the rental and wandered the island. In a small town, I parked and wandered around. There was a beautiful historic Episcopal church, and since I like architecture, I popped in and admired it. I picked up a nice tract on Christianity, which I would go on to take home to the hotel room, and read, and be edified by. But still there in town, I wandered across the street to the local Catholic church.

It was not beautiful. It was one of those dowdy 1970’s things, more or less church-shaped, which is a consolation, white with wooden accents, and a weak slope to the roof like it couldn’t quite decide between traditional and contemporary — think the suburban three-bedroom ranch of sacred architecture. Inside it was bright and drab and unimpressive.

Also inside: The unmistakeable, palpable Presence of God.

I wished Catholics could have nice churches. But I knew that this artless place was the one for me. Art is good, but God is better. I shouldn’t have to choose, but if I did, I knew which one I wanted.

Artwork by GFreihalter (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

What to Do When Your Child is Denied Communion

Last updated on: January 5, 2015 at 1:14 pm By Jennifer Fitz

Here’s the story: Christmas morning at Mass we were doing really good, not getting fussy that the church was a tiny bit crowded, not complaining about the hymns (which were good, so that was easy), even thinking about Jesus and stuff. I received Communion. As I was walking back to my seat, I sensed a disturbance in the force. I glanced back, and there’s my kid, standing before the Blessed Sacrament, and she looks like she’s about to burst into tears. Not in a way that would impress the hagiographers.

I figured out the cause: Cuteness had trumped height + reverence, and someone mistook her for a non-communing child in need of a blessing. She stood politely through the blessing, but was waiting for Holy Communion, and it was not forthcoming.

And I wasn’t sure what to do.

Indeed, I was so surprised, and really too tired to think straight after having done Santa work the night before, that I felt sure that what I did do was totally wrong.

Over at CatholicMom.com today, I share the results of my inquiries to the experts after the fact, in my effort to find out how you’re supposed to handle these situations. It turns out I did more or less the right thing, other than the “being surprised” part, because this happens way more often than I knew. If you have a child who’s preparing for First Holy Communion this year, go take a look.

Defensa de la Eucaristia

Artwork by Lubiesque (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Diocese Pays for IVF, Does $2 Million Penance

Last updated on: December 27, 2014 at 11:39 am By Jennifer Fitz

In my comments yesterday, I neglected to fully rake the Diocese of Fort Wayne-South Bend over the coals. Let’s look at one more detail, as reported in The National Catholic Register:

According to court documents, Herx informed the school’s principal, Sandra Guffey, in March 2010 during the first round of treatment — part of which was paid for by the diocese’s health plan — and her contract was renewed.

Yes. A Catholic diocese’s health insurance plan covered IVF, a procedure that is immoral under any circumstance, and is usually carried out in a way that involves the direct killing of unwanted or leftover embryos. (“Embryo” meaning “teeny tiny innocent human beings.” The kind of people that Catholics absolutely don’t go about killing. Except if the diocese foots the bill, apparently.)

This was 2010. This was not some bureaucratic misfiling from the early days of IVF, when there might have been confusion over what the moral status of the procedure was, or whether it was covered by this or that provision of a health insurance contract.

Keep in mind that if you are a Catholic organization contracting for health insurance, checking that no immoral procedures or products are part of the coverage should have been routine for the last 40 years. You know, a checklist. This is not complicated, and it is not new.

Sackcloth and ashes, guys. This is no persecution against religious liberty. This is us paying for what we’ve begotten.

Image: Michelangelo Buonarroti – Frescoes above the altar wall, Sistine Chapel, via Wikimedia [Public Domain]