Or, “The Return of the Hulk.”
I was scrolling through some of my favorite Youtube videos when I came across this one:
The line that struck me was, “We become what we think about.”
At first, I thought that was awesome. But then I started to think about it a little more.
If we become what we think, then we have no one to blame but ourselves. Our lives, our fortunes, whatever, all depend on us. If you aren’t happy, there’s something wrong with YOU, not the rest of the world.
To put it in a more Catholic perspective (especially considering what year it is): the question is not, “how do I become a saint”, but “Why am I not already a saint?”
And the answer must be because I don’t want to be one.
“Why aren’t I happy?” some might ask. Because you don’t want to be.
Well, I say enough with that. Time to create a vision and then put it into to practice.
There was a time when I had a vision poster, filled with the images that were supposed to inspire and focus me: muscular men to inspire me to exercise; beautiful women to get me to be more social; fast cars to focus me on success; the college seals of Oxford and Harvard to focus my academics.
I lost that vision (literally and figuratively) sometime after college.
I’ve been in a rut since I got to grad school. Grad school was tough. At RWU, I could skate by on my good looks and charming personality; I was involved all over campus, my grades were great, and everyone knew who I was.
And I do mean everyone. Faculty, deans, administrators, even the president of the university; they all knew me by name.
All that changed in Dallas. There, I was a middling student (at best), barely acknowledged by members of the faculty. Students had conversations about philosophers I had never even heard of. While my comrades went out to wild crazy Catholic or politics parties, I was stuck working the beat at Blockbuster.
Since grad school, I haven’t felt like myself. But I do feel like I am getting the old Denis back.
I am sociable again, if not still quiet. I look people in the eye when I talk with them. I do what is required of me and ask for nothing in return. I try my best to help others at all times and generally make their lives the better for having met me. I try to make others look good, and I always say thanks. If I can do someone a favor, I always say yes.
Sure, I’m having some identity problems with teaching: I desperately want to teach philosophy and Latin, and I am not doing that much right now. But these problems will be resolved, one way or the other.
The old Denis is still around, and I am glad he’s coming back.
I feel conflicted.
On the one hand, I desperately want my students to like me. Sure, I act tough, but underneath I’m just a giant teddy bear, right? I might say on my syllabus absolutely no late papers (absolutely!), but I always let them slide.
Oh, the printer wasn’t working? Fine, tomorrow then.
Word wasn’t opening your file? That’s ok, another time.
Your goldfish ate your homework? How terrible!
I like it when my students like me, and I don’t like it when students don’t like me. Actually, I don’t care if they don’t like me; it’s worse if they are indifferent to me.
I like walking in the halls followed by calls of “Hey Mr. Ambrose!”
I like it when a student smiles when he or she walks into my classroom.
I like it when we can just discuss poems or books and not worry about tests and quizzes.
But then I get taken advantage of.
I’m teaching Creative Writing this semester. Some students who were in a different class of mine last semester joined. They slack off. I yell at them, cajole them, make fun of them, do everything but actually punish them for not doing what they should do.
Why can’t I punish students? Because I am so desperately afraid that they will stop liking me.
I also worry about proper boundaries. It’s ok, I suppose, that a student likes a teacher; but that student must like the teacher as a teacher, not as they would like another student.
As I said yesterday, we had the semi-formal last week. Some of my students, before the event, asked me if I would be bringing a lady-friend to the dance. I said no, because I didn’t have a lady-friend. They then started discussing which teacher I should ask out, based on how they feel about me and how they feel about other teachers.
I put a stop to that conversation as quickly as I could, but not quickly enough in my mind. Why? Because they were enjoying talking about it, and I was enjoying them enjoying it. Again, I want students to like me to a fault.
I wasn’t upset at the subject matter, though I do hate people who have conversations discussing who should date whom; I was upset with myself that I had let them think that that sort of conversation was appropriate in my company.
I used to be scared at students would figure out I was wrong about something. But having made a few mistakes and then been humbled when a student asks if that is really correct, I’ve gotten over it. I do appreciate how no one has every actually said I was wrong, but always asked me to “clarify” my lecture. Very polite, and that let’s me save some face.
I like teaching, and I know my job is to teach, not to be a friend, so it really worries me that I’m having this problem.
It doesn’t seem like a unique problem. I’m sure we all want to be liked. So, I’m curious as to how others deal with this conflict between being liked and doing what needs to be done. Any advice would be appreciated.
[Part # whatever of the on-going series about discernment. Hopefully, someday someone will read this and find it useful.]
So, I’ve got this thing.
Wait; let me back up. High school.
You might be surprised to hear this, but I’ve never been overly successful with the ladies. Shocking, I know. I think my record is 1.5 in high school (don’t ask); 2 in college (Freshmen year); 0 in grad school; 0 in the real world.
Yeah, it’s been awhile.
Problem is, I’m no good around women. I remember being at parties and talking with a young lady, who then leaves. The problem was either my flirting was so painful obvious that it was embarrassing, or that I didn’t have a clue that she was flirting with me.
Well, that last part might not be true. I think many women flirted with me and I could tell, I was just too much of a coward to do anything about it. Of course, I am a bit thick too, so it could be either.
Anyways, I’ve got this thing. Lately, any kind of conversation I have with a nice young lady starts a process. I get convinced that the lady likes me, that I like her, and that we will have many fat babies together. I start dreaming about courtship, dating, marriage, family life.
These fantasies last a few days, after which time I feel really, REALLY foolish. Idiotic. Thick-headed. Stupid. Dumb. Deluded. Lonely.
And that’s when the bad stuff starts happening, but that’s between me and my confessor.
Speaking of confession, I had spiritual direction last week. It went really well, and I shared the above process with my director.
He was silent for a second, then asked, “Do you remember the story of the time St. Ignatius was healing in the hospital?”
Of course I did.
“Seems similar. Same feelings afterwards.”
But, couldn’t it just be loneliness?
“It could be. But that’s not all you feel afterwards, is it?”
Hmm. Nope, can’t say that.
My school had its winter semi-formal on Friday. Besides flashbacks to my own high school experience, where I avoided school dances like the plague and then felt sorry for myself, I had a funny feeling. I felt a little outside, a little above the fray. As my cousin would comment later, “in but not of?”
Yeah, pretty much. I don’t know if she was joking or not, but that’s how it felt.
I’ve been feeling that for the past few days. Combine that with the discussion with my spiritual director, and I am starting to feel like I am set apart.
But, I don’t feel like I want to go back to the seminary or anything. Maybe a religious order, like the Dominicans or Trappists, but not really.
So, discernment continues. I don’t know exactly what all these emotions mean, but I’m working on them. I think.
Somewhere, I think in Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton wrote about how fantasies, the stories he was told as a child, seem more real than real life. When we are children, fantastic stories like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, all make so much sense.
Why shouldn’t there be a jolly old elf who travels the world and rewards children on one of the most important days in history?
Why shouldn’t there be a giant animal that delivers sweets and candies on the most glorious day in history?
Why shouldn’t there be a small reward after a little bit of pain, as a piece of your childhood falls out?
To children, these stories just make sense, right up until the point when a child walks into his parent’s bedroom the night before Easter and sees a bunch of candy and Easter decorations sitting on their bed.
The point is, there is a certain reality in the fantasy stories. Good modern fantasies, like Lord of the Rings, also seem very real to us. We look into these stories and find a better description of the way the world is than if we were to look at “real” life.
Recently, however, fantasy has become distorted. Fantasy ought to be a reflection of reality, an outward expression of a hidden truth. Today, fantasy is nothing more than wish fulfillment.
Think of The Matrix. Think about the character played by Keanu Reeves. Working in a dull, crappy environment, no (apparent) friends for companionship, but plenty of druggies looking for a fix, while everywhere he looks there are hints to a hidden reality. Suddenly, a mysterious woman enters and it turns out that, all along, he was the savior of mankind.
Think of the television series “Chuck.” A computer geek, working a dead-end job, living with his sister and her boyfriend/husband, his only friends overgrown teenagers, going nowhere fast, suddenly becomes the nation’s greatest weapon against all enemies by becoming a super-spy. He gets to kill the bad guys and, after many conversations, has a ridiculously beautiful woman fall painfully in love with him.
Think of any “Axe” of “Lynx” commercial. All women are apparently waiting for just the right circumstance of a man wearing a certain fragrance. Suddenly, these women become irresistibly attracted to the man, to the extent that they cannot even control their animalistic instincts. Also note that this could apply to any number of products marketed to men.
Finally, think of pornography (or don’t). This is the ultimate expression of the distortion of fantasy. Like the commercials above, pornography starts with the premise that all women are nothing more than a bundle of sexual desires waiting to be unleashed when they meet the right guy/woman/animal. Especially popular (err, so I’m told) are situations that resemble real life (i.e., the popularity of school girl fantasies and so-called “reality” porn sites), putting women in “regular” situations with the twist that they reveal their “true” nature.
I’m sure some of you are asking yourselves what the big deal is. After all, if people want to indulge in various fantasies, so what? Let them indulge!
The problem is that these modern fantasies do not present themselves as fantasy!
When you read Tolkien, for example, you know that the events of the story didn’t happen. You know it is a story being told for edification and for education. You know that you are supposed to look deeper into it, to grasp the hidden truth of the outward form.
Modern fantasy, however, is presented as merely a better reality; indeed, some modern fantasies even seem to suggest that that better reality is closer than we imagine.
This causes a distortion in our worldview.
If a man only thinks that it is a rotten set of circumstances that put him into his poor job, that there is nothing wrong with him wanting to play video games all day, that it’s all the cruel world’s fault, would he ever try to get out of it?
Isn’t it more likely that he will merely bitch with his friends about how much life sucks, but never take any responsibility for what his life is? Will they not just wait for the outsider to appear and make their lives so much better, instead of relying on themselves?
(Some hopeful signs against this, I will point out, is pretty much every single Judd Apatow movie, and also most Adam Sandler movies. The plot lines of those movies are generally the same, where a loser character must man-up in order to overcome the obstacles in front of him.)
If men think that women just need a little push in the right direction before they start acting like nymphs in heat, how will they treat women? And if men only go after women who seem to accept such a role, will not more women attempt to attract men by further degrading themselves? And if men don’t have to buy the cow (so to speak) because they are getting the milk for free (*ahem*), will they ever buy it?
Now, I know I sound like an old man, screaming about how horrible all of these kids today are. But I am a firm believer in the dictum that “ideas have consequences.” If modern fantasy continues to propagate (as I am sure it will), will society really be destroyed? Unlikely.
But, I do think that such a lack of understanding of the real, permanent things, would cause a societal decline. Not the end of the world, but a decline, bringing with it a lot of suffering and missed opportunities.
So, because modern society holds up fantasy as a better reality, we distort our own reality. The only way to reverse this would be to look at fantasy as expressing some hidden truth which needs to be drawn out.
In other words, go read a damn book.
Today, in the United States, is the celebration of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday. It’s a federal holiday, so many people have the day off.
On this day, may we all pray that every person, born and unborn, may be treated with the dignity that Dr. King so valiantly fought for.
I’ve been feeling especially happy, even joyful, the past week. I don’t know what it is, but I am certainly energized, dare I say, “jazzed?” I do dare.
I’ve been exercising very regularly: walking or doing some bodyweight exercises (which are good, because I have a lot weight to work with on my body).
I’ve been praying regularly, including daily Mass and Holy Hour before the Blessed Sacrament.
I’ve been doing the Sainthood Project, which has been interesting.
I just started the Mondo Beyondo, and I bought “The Happiness Project”.
I’ve been writing every single day, mostly on this blog, but also in my own personal journal.
I’ve been better about reading instead of turning on the television.
All of this I have done, despite the fact that, for no reason that I can see, I’ve been waking up around 4:30am every morning for about a week, and that I’ve been going to bed later every night because I want to write so bad that I do it instead of sleeping.
Yes, I’m feelin’ good, but I am wondering if I am getting too high up.
The past few nights at Holy Hour have been horrible. I’ve prayed entire decades of the Rosary without realizing it because my mind was somewhere else (usually thinking about Dr. Who, for whatever reason).
I think I am starting to come down; I’m feeling tired in my classes and I am having a hard time making myself get up and teach. When I am teaching, I feel distracted and judged. I’ve been making mistakes in my lecture, which I usually don’t do.
In other news, today I was supposed to figure out my core values for Mondo Beyondo. The exercise started with picking two people I admire, and then listing what I admire about them. After that, I take out the qualities that really jump out at me and those are my core values.
The first two men who popped into my mind were Thomas Merton and John Henry Cardinal Newman. At first, I figured that was just because I have been reading stuff by them and about them, so they are on my mind.
But the more I thought about it, they more I liked them as my spiritual directors.
(Aside: like the good Catholic that I am, I started to feel guilty that I didn’t automatically chose Jesus as my model, as I am sure my Protestant brothers and sisters would have done. I could change my mind, but I decided not to. It’s not that I don’t like Jesus; it’s just that when I look at the saints, especially those whose temperaments seem to align with my own, I feel like I can actually be a saint. I’m not sure that makes sense, and it’s probably indicative of a problem I have with my relationship with God, but that’s the way it is.)
Both men were converts to the faith, and I am always interested in a conversion story. I was born Catholic, but I did have a “reversion” to the faith during my time at UD. Like those men, I feel like I am searching for something that I can’t quite describe, but which we usually just call “God”. That has been going on my entire life, even before I reverted (just like Merton and, to some extent, Newman). Like those men, the search for the Truth has led to surprising places in my life. Both men were authentic to their beliefs and embraced the Truth, even if it seemed to go against everything that had lived for up to that point; I hope I could have to the courage to do the same, if it ever comes to that.
I think Thomas Merton appeals to me more than Cardinal Newman because 1) I can read and understand Merton’s writing without a herculean effort, and 2) because Merton seems a little less sophisticated and a little more normal.
But I do find it funny that when Cardinal Newman set out to defend the Anglican Church, he ended up describing the Church of Rome.
So, what are my core values? Piety, love of the Truth, and authenticity. Everything I do, from now on, I will direct towards those virtues.
And God help me to do it, because I’m pretty sure I’d last two seconds actually trying to be any of those things.
Tonight, I ventured out of my Fortress of Solitude and went to the Brookline Booksmith. Why? Gretchen Rubin of “The Happiness Project” was there giving a presentation on her book/blog.
I got there fifteen minutes early, and the place was already packed!
She gave a short presentation on why she decided to do a happiness project (short answer: she wasn’t happy). She also was nice enough to answer questions. I asked her about her experiences reading Aristotle on her journey towards happiness; the takeaway had something to do with the relationship between being happy and doing good (i.e., they both support each other). There were some other good questions, such as the place of perfection in happiness (the perfect is too often the enemy of the good, so try to get over it).
As an aside, one thing I noticed was that there were a lot of women there, but very few men. And the men that were there were there because of their better halves. I don’t know what that means, but I thought it was interesting.
All in all, it was a great presentation. I bought her book at the end (paying the full price for it; yeah for supporting local businesses!) and had Mrs. Rubin sign it. I’m looking forward to reading it.
So, yes folks, I actually went outdoors and did something. It was a good time, and I am looking forward to the next author event I’ll be going to.
I’ve started the Mondo Beyondo dream workshop. The first assignment is to write about a dreamer I admire.
I am absolutely stumped.
Anyone have any suggestions?
St. Francis and Thomas Merton both came to mind at one point. I thought of St. Francis because he clearly had a vision and he stuck with it to the very end. Thomas Merton strikes me as a dreamer in a more negative sense: always searching, not really settling down, not even when he went into the monastery. Even in his writings about solitude, I sense a certain restlessness; he was seeking something else, something much higher, something which I don’t know if he really had a good sense of.
So, maybe those should be my models for this exercise: like St. Francis, I will compose a clear vision or dream in my head of what I need to do in life, while like Merton I will accept that I don’t know exactly what it is I am looking for. But I’ll know it when I see it.
Editor’s Note: Because I cannot blog and exercise at the same time (yet), I’ll have to have a short post today. Hey, you get what you pay for!
Thomas Merton: “[Solitude] requires humility and hope … the mad hope that God will protect him against himself … that it implies the grace to please God by making our own decisions in the humiliating uncertainty of an everlasting silence that never approves or disapproves a single choice we make.”
The spiritual life is a great adventure, the scale of which makes epics like The Iliad or The Lord of the Rings pale in comparison.
Perhaps one’s struggle for the kingdom would not interest many people. Perhaps the rage of Achilles or the One Ring might be a bit more glamorous, a bit more interesting to those of us on the outside looking in.
But really, that’s not the case.
One of the reasons that I left diocesan formation was because I knew that I did not have the heroic virtue required to be a parish priest. Think of the typical parish priest: working in anonymity, attacked when he is wrong, never thanked when he is right, working endless days to build up the local Church. Day in and day out in the trenches with the people of God, trying to build the heaven while keeping the roof (literally) over their heads. He will never receive any kind of attention unless he does something spectacularly wrong, and he will most likely be forgotten when he dies.
In a word, the parish priest is the highest example of working solely for treasures in heaven. The humiliating silence of the current world will never reward him. Though surrounded by people always, he is the most alone, relying solely on God to get through the day (let alone the week).
I can’t do that, at least not now. I’m way too vain.
And yet, we must. The treasures in heaven are all that matter, and we must try to get that solitude which forces us to rely on God alone. Without it, I fear I am doomed to a life of spiritual mediocrity, only appearing outwardly as one seeking the Kingdom, but inwardly worse than the traitor Judas (worse, because I am indifferent).
Suscipe, Domine, universam meam libertatem…
Editor’s Note: Taking a small break from posting about my attempt at sainthood. I wrote something like this applying for a part-time job teaching philosophy online. I’m glad I stumbled upon that job; this statement has helped me sort out exactly why I like teaching. I would be interested to know what you think.
Having taught at the high school level for two years, I am finding still my teaching style. However, my philosophy about teaching has been established firmly. The goal of teaching, beyond the immediate apprehension of material presented, is to open the student’s mind to the truth. This is done in different ways, depending on the class. For example, in my creative writing class, I have the students write an incredible number of assignments, usually two to three assignments per week. I encourage my students to look into their own lives to find inspiration. This has produced some remarkable results. Students write about their fears about going to college, what they hate about school, and what they love about their friends. Writing, for many of them, has provided an outlet for them to learn more about themselves. Similarly, in my rhetoric class, I have my students chose their own topics so that they might speak about something about which they are passionate. Topics range from global warming to abortion to an extension of the lunch period, but all of their speeches are original and personal. It is my hope that by finding out what makes them excited, my students can begin to think about what they wish to do after high school. Also, in the same class, students are encouraged to judge information presented to them using reason and logic to get at the truth.
In less technical courses, the methodology is different, but the aim is the same. In my literature classes, for example, we closely examine the characters in stories to see what we can learn about humanity. I have also tended to focus on the ideas, implicit or explicit, that the author presents to the reader. For example, I have had a great deal of success in discussions on moral philosophy and the effects of sin while reading Macbeth. In my American literature class, we have read several works by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I sensed a general unease among my students about Emerson and, through the Socratic method, I was able to tease out what exactly they did not like about his philosophy. I then challenged them to explain their own views and then “defend” them against Emerson (played by myself). Some did well, some did not, but the challenge helped students learn more about their own beliefs concerning nature and metaphysics. In many cases, they had never done such an examination, and so they turned to me and other teachers to get closer to the truth.
In short, everything I teach is geared towards helping students get closer to the truth. It is my goal that students not only learn something about the material presented, but that they learn about themselves and about their place in the universe. I knew I had done this well with at least one student when she came to me and asked me for a book to read about Christianity.
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. Fools despise wisdom and instruction.” Proverbs 1:7
Today we look at the fear of the LORD.
I remember back in high school a Wiccan friend asked me how I could worship something that I feared. At the time, I was stumped. I thought she had raised a good point.
After all, I am scared of God: He created Life, the Universe, Everything! For Creation to end, all God has to do is will it. That’s pretty frightening, no?
Most people don’t like to think this way, so there has been a tendency to turn God into nothing more than a buddy of mine. God is my BFF and Jesus is my buddy!
In all seriousness, this sentimental Christianity goes way too far in the wrong direction. Jesus really isn’t my buddy: He’s my Redeemer.
When we say we fear the LORD, we mean something totally different from what the modern world means when it fears something. Fear, in its much older and more traditional understanding, was a feeling of profound respect for something that was so much greater than you. It’s only recently that “fear” has taken on a more negative connotation (as far as I can tell).
In any event, that is the proper fear of the LORD: a profound respect and reverence for what He is.
But, now that I think about it, we should be downright scared of God. Or at least of his perfectly just judgments. Let’s be honest: none of us deserve to go to Heaven. I know I don’t. I’ve screwed up so many times, it’s amazing God still cares about me. And I know I will continue to sin in the future.
I am scared of death; not only in that whole scared of not knowing what exactly lies behind that final frontier, but also scared about that last judgment. Sometimes, thinking about my sinfulness, I wonder if nothingness would be better than damnation.
We cannot, however, let this fear take us too far. God is perfectly just, yes, but he is also perfectly merciful and compassionate. It’s correct to say that I don’t deserve Heaven, but we must remember that God knows and understands this, and will help us get to Heaven anyways.
Finally, you want to know what really scares me? That I will unknowingly reject God by not following His will which only wants to get me to Heaven.
“LORD, I am not worthy to receive; but only say the word, and I shall be healed.”
Today on the path to sainthood, we look at poverty.
My first thought about being poor was that I’m doing just fine in that department. After all, I am a teacher fresh off a stint in the seminary; it’s not like I’m rolling in dough. Sure, I’m not ridiculously poor: I can get enough food, I can afford a nice warm apartment, I can clothe myself. But I’m not wealthy, so I’m in the clear, right?
Poverty is very important in the tradition of the Church. Jesus was extremely poor; He was so poor he had to borrow someone’s tomb. So, not being wealthy is important. To the extent that we are materially poor, we imitate Christ somehow. But we are talking about being poor in spirit, which is not totally about material things.
What’s the difference? I think it just has something to do with how we use our material possessions. I can think of a few saints who were very wealthy: St. Louis of France, St. Elizabeth of Hungary, St. Katherine Drexel. But they were poor IN SPIRIT: they understood the proper place of their material wealth, and exchanged it for treasures in Heaven.
So, if we tithe, we are in the clear? Not quite.
Our wealth is not limited to money or possessions. For example, we can be stingy with our time. Did you ever blow someone off because you just didn’t feel like giving them some of your time? Closer to home, I had an opportunity yesterday to volunteer at a homeless shelter for a few hours on Saturday. But Saturday is my day off! It’s me time! How can you expect me to give that up? So, I didn’t sign up. I know I should, but something in me doesn’t want to give up my time. In other words, I’m a cold-hearted bastard.
Another example from my life: the internet. How many hours do I spend just wandering the vast intarwebs? After school today, almost all of the students were gone, so I had nothing to do (not like I should be preparing for lessons tomorrow or anything). I “surfed” for an hour, but I couldn’t tell you anything about a single thing I read. I’m sure, however, that when I clicked a link, it seemed very important. As soon as I get home, I turn on my computer and go to Netflix or Hulu and start watching whatever is in my queue. I’m not even really paying attention when the movie is playing!
I’ve thought about canceling my Internet connection, but again, there is something within me that refuses to do it. After all, every now and then, it’s useful. And that small bit of utility is enough to justify keeping it around and constantly waste time. Internet access isn’t a possession, but it is something I have an extreme attachment to.
All is not lost, however. I used to have an obsession with buying books. Thankful, that’s past, and I’ve discovered this wonderful and venerable institution known as the library. Amazing stuff that.
Why do we attach ourselves to material things, and hold onto them tightly? I think it has something to do with security. We feel a little more secure and grounded when we have something. We might have a little pride mixed in, as well: with such-and-such a thing, I’ll be more secure, more powerful, etc.
To be poor means that you lack something deliberately and thus are more exposed. Thus, to be poor means you rely on God more. And that’s something we should work on.
Today, we are looking at faith and doubt.
It occurred to me today that doubt and pride are intimately connected. That’s why the serpent, while tempting Adam and Eve, says that God lies and worries about man becoming His equal: he wanted to cultivate both doubt and pride.
When you doubt God, you think God is wrong. And who the heck are we to say that God is wrong? Doubt and pride, while not identical, go hand in hand with each other. If you have the one, you probably have the other.
So what’s it mean when I sometimes doubt the Real Presence in the Eucharist? Am I not engaging in an act of pride by thinking that God could not possibly be a piece of bread?
Perhaps that is why we pray with Mary that it might be done to us according to His Word: that is both an act of faith and an act of humility.
C.S. Lewis: “A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you’re looking down, you can’t see something that’s above you.”
Pride is the original sin. It wasn’t just that Adam and Eve were disobedient, it’s that they thought they knew better than God about what was best for them.
When I started reflecting on pride in my own life, I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I try to be as humble as possible. I’ve been less inclined to argue with people about things, especially politics, as I find that those arguments are less about facts and more about emotion. I tend to stay quiet it most groups, not drawing attention to myself. I usually shrug off compliments and honors (but I always make sure that I am grateful). So, I was thinking that I was doing pretty well in the pride department.
Can I be prideful of my humility? Can I brag about how humble I am?
It’s so easy for me to start thinking that I am better than others. I’ve had more schooling than most; I read more than the average person; I am more introspective and usually think about things that most people don’t. All of this leads me to think that I am somehow better than everyone else.
Ironically enough, this does include my efforts at sanctity. I hold myself to a high standard and congratulate myself for that. Good for me! I’m going to be a saint! Not like these other sinners around here!
How often have I sat in Church and focused more on looking attentive than being attentive?
How often have I looked down upon mothers with crying children, those who don’t seem to be prayerful, those who make noise?
How often have I sat during Mass and listed in my mind all the things that the priest did wrong?
How often have I watched a fellow teacher lecture and thought how much better I could have done it?
That’s all pride; that’s all arrogance. I have a ways to go on my pride.
Why do we need to get rid of pride? Simply put, we cannot obey God if we do not think He is greater than us. It’s easy to think that I am less than God, which is why I focused on how I act towards others: I’ll know I am improving in this department if I get better about serving others.
One final thing which struck me about pride: I really don’t want to go back to my old seminary, for a whole host of reasons. But what if God is calling me back there? Honestly, at this point, I think I’d say no God, not going to happen.
Ah well; at least I know I’m an arrogant idiot. Not like those other people who don’t…
Err, forget I said that last part.
Let’s repeat our prayer from yesterday: Lord, may it be done to me according to Your Word.
Quote from William Law: “If we look into our hearts with complete honesty, we must admit that there is one and only one reason why we are not now saints: we do not wholly want to be.”
I’ve decided to improve myself in this New Year. I’m feeling pretty renewed and energetic in this new year and new decade: it’s time to get holy, and to get happy.
For the first, and the most important, I’ve decided to do the “Sainthood Project Challenge”. The introduction to that is here. I’ll try to blog about it every day and thus share my own experiences and struggles with becoming the saint God wants us all to be, in the hope that my own struggles might help someone else.
To get happy, I’m taking an online course entitled “Mondo Beyondo: an Online Course about Dreaming BIG.” It comes highly recommended. No, it wasn’t free, but I’m looking at it as an investment in myself (and if I have less money to waste on more books or junk food or going out, so much the better). I don’t have many details about it yet (it starts later this week), but again, I will blog all about it, in the hope that I can help someone else.
So, today on the Sainthood Challenge, we have this quote from William Law. It rings true for me. As much as I want to be a saint, as much as I do the things that “make” someone a saint, as much as I talk the talk, I know in my heart of hearts that I do not truly want to be wholly God’s. I know deep down that I am selfish, that there is a part of me that holds back from others and from God, a part that says, “You may go this far, but come no closer! This is MINE.”
I don’t think that should surprise anyone. To be a saint is to do the total opposite of what we naturally want to do. That is to say, humans are naturally selfish and seek out their own self-interest, and it is only by the grace of God that we can do otherwise.
So, we run into a problem: I can’t be a saint by myself. Sainthood requires grace. We cannot start down the path to sainthood without Providence somehow guiding us to our starting point.
Once we are at that starting point, however, then we must act. We can chose to be a saint, or we can chose not to be.
To use the most perfect example: Mary. Think of the moment of the Annunciation. The angel Gabriel, for the sake of this article, can be the grace God sends to us to start us on the path to Heaven. Mary must make a choice, however; God will not force anyone to do His Will. And Mary, with all of Creation groaning for redemption, says YES. “Let it be done to me according to your word…”
This is the example we must keep in mind when we think about being a saint. We must say YES to God’s will.
So, what is keeping me from being a saint? What am I so scared of, ignoring the angel’s advice that I should “be not afraid?”
I am scared that I’ll have to stay at my job for the rest of my life, quietly teaching and helping students on their way to bigger and better things.
I am scared that I might have a vocation to a religious order.
I am scared that I might have missed my vocation to the parish priesthood.
I am scared that I might have to go back to the seminary.
I am scared that I will never find my true vocation.
I am scared that I will be alone, never knowing the true love of a wife, or the true brotherhood of a religious order.
I don’t think any of those fears are unique to someone in my situation. And none of them truly scary me, except for those last two fears; those are the ones that keep me up at night. But, if I had to, I could go back to the seminary. If I really felt called, I think I could “pull the trigger” again and join a religious order. And I know I could teach at Newman for the rest of my life, even if I’m not teaching what I absolutely love. If I were convinced, through the process of discernment, that what I was doing was what God wished of me, then I would do it.
But, I should probably add to my list of fears. When I first went to the seminary, I was scared that I would wash out, so I tried to make as little noise about it as possible. When my pastor asked me what I wanted to do before I left, I told him a small announcement in the bulletin would be fine. I kept a low profile whenever I came home. If someone told me that I was doing such a great thing, I just shrugged. I did all I could to make it No Big Deal.
I was scared of letting people down. And I still am. I hate it when someone I haven’t seen in a few years comes up and asks, “Aren’t you in the seminary?” Then I have to explain what happened. Inevitably, there is a small look of discomfort and even disappointment in the other’s eyes as I tell my story. It sucks.
Now, on top of that, if I do decide to go back to the seminary or to a religious order, I am scared about what people would think of me. Jumping in, jumping out, and jumping in again: what’s his problem, anyway? Can’t he make a decision?
So yeah, I feel a little stuck. It seems people would be upset with me no matter what I do. At least, those are fears that I have (I’m pretty sure neither are true; and even if they were, I probably shouldn’t care).
So, step one in becoming a saint: figure out why you aren’t one already. It’s because I’m too scared to do it.
Solution: let it be done to me according to Your Word.
44% of people want Bush back. I imagine that number will continue to rise.
Go ahead, admit it.
One of the things that has proven beneficial to me in the past year was the discovery of spirituality of St. Ignatius of Loyola through the books of Fr. Gallagher. Seriously, go buy all of his books; your soul will thank you.
This spirituality is an almost psychological approach to the movements of the spirit. We walk around and have many different emotions every day. Where do they come from? How do we react to them? For Ignatius, these emotions and our reactions to them were excellent indicators of the will of God.
To illustrate, let’s look at St. Ignatius himself. While healing from a broken leg, the former military man picked up a book of saints and began reading. Later, he would fantasize about making pilgrimages to various shrines, and doing other saintly things. But, occasionally, he would also fantasize about being a knight or courier, seeking the hand of some pretty maiden. He noticed that when he thought about being a saint, he was left feeling very consoled and peaceful (consolation), while thinking about the maiden (while initially pleasant) would leave him feeling dry and unrested (desolation). He began investigating his own feelings further and developed a discernment process based on this method.
I want to pause here and make a note: when we talk about feelings in this context, we are not talking about the various passions and emotions that come and go very quickly in our lives. These are the worst things upon which to base any decision. We are talking about something much more primal, something which moves in your heart, something that responds to things the way God would like you to respond to them. Again, I’m not very good at explaining this, so you should read Fr. Gallagher’s books to understand fully what St. Ignatius teaches.
It’s interesting to think back over my past year at the seminary and see what kind of bright spots stick out. There was the semi-final football game where I caught a touchdown pass after doing some serious blocking. There was seminary work day, where we got down and dirty moving various heavy things. There was the March of Life, where we spent about 16 hours in a bus over a 48-hour time period, doing the whole marching thing in the middle. The feeling of consolation I got on specific dates (8 December and 25 March). There are other moments, but these ones in particular are brightest.
So, how does discernment work? Let’s use the examples above. One of the things I notice is that most of these involved physical exertion of some kind. We can consider these consolation with preceding cause: a positive feeling that can be attributed directly to something you did. Those specific dates indicate to me a consolation without preceding cause, meaning that consolation was not caused by you. What’s God telling me with these movements of my heart? Those periods of work, and their subsequent periods of consolation, were one of the reasons I became a bit enamored with the Benedictine/Cistercian/Trappist tradition: ORA ET LABORA, work and prayer, when your physical work becomes prayer and your prayer becomes your work. This is, perhaps, also why I am loathe to move towards a religious order that prizes the life of study and contemplation over all else. As interested as I am in earning my PhD in philosophy and teaching it for the rest of my life, it seems to me that I need some kind of active component to my vocation.
You see? That wasn’t so hard, now was it? It only took me around nine months to come up with that! Kidding aside, it is a slow process and so takes a certain amount of patience.
I am fortunate that one of the Oblates of the Virgin Mary (whose mission it is to minister to the faithful by way of Ignatian spirituality) was open to having a new spiritual directee. For my first assignment, he gave me something right out of the St. Ignatius’ “Spiritual Exercises”. He told me to consider prayerfully three states of life: married, religious-vowed, and single. I am to spend eight days considering each of these vocations, all the while keeping track of the movement of my spirit, any temptations that pop up, what I think about, etc. St. Ignatius would have his soldiers attempt pseudo-retreats like this if it wasn’t immediately clear what God wanted out of a person, making this the perfect exercise for me.
Single life may not be considered a vocation (some might disagree), but certainly marriage and religious life are, and thus can be considered an intrinsic good. Because of this, there should be a natural attraction to both of them, and that certainly is the case for me. But, just because something looks attractive does not mean we should seek it out. The point of discernment is not to seek that which is good, but rather to seek that which is good for me; it is only in that good that we accomplish the will of God.
So, how’s it been going so far? Er, let’s not get into that. Suffice it to say that I’ve learned already. In other words, I think this system works, and I would recommend it to others interested in determining God’s plan for them.
From Thomas Merton:
The original, primitive meaning of spiritual direction suggests a particular need connected with a special ascetic task, a peculiar vocation for which a professional formation is required…. It is a continuous process of formation and guidance, in which a Christian is led and encouraged in his special vocation, so that by faithful correspondence to the graces of the Holy Spirit he may attain to the particular end of his vocation and to union with God.
Nothing longer because I went to see a possible spiritual director last night. Please pray that I can find someone who will help me on my journey.
A long quote from one of my patrons, the Venerable John Henry Cardinal Newman (The Church of the Fathers):
This is a world of conflict, and vicissitude amid the conflict. The Church is ever militant; sometimes she gains, sometimes she loses; and more often she is at once gaining and losing in different parts of her territory. What is ecclesiastical history but a record of the ever-doubtful fortune of the, though its issue is not doubtful? Scarcely are we singing Te Deum, when we have to turn to our Misereres…
I think this quote is very true for Church history, but it is also true for our spiritual lives. I post this only as a reminder, mostly for myself.
I read an article today which talked about the Church. It was crap.
From what I could tell, the article was upset that the Church is only associated with trying to stop abortion and gay “marriage” and not with anything else. Instead, it suggests, the Church should focus on the various social justice issues of the world.
It used the analogy of the Church to a rehab center. It argued that you don’t tell addicts to leave their addiction at the door before coming in; you accept them as they are and help them. The Church, it said, must do the same thing.
That’s true; the Church is a hospital for sinners, not a café for saints. But even the drug clinic will ask you to leave your drugs outside and come in wanting to get clean. The Church does the exact same thing: all sinners welcome, as long as you don’t want to be a sinner anymore.
But the underlying idea about the role of the Church in the world is what worries me.
We need to clear up the idea about why the Church exists. The Catholic Church does not exist as a means to help the materially-poor and downtrodden of the earth. The Church exists to provide salvation for us all. Thus, if society is promoting a value which would cause one to lose their soul, the Church has a duty (really, THE duty) to tell society that it is wrong in no uncertain terms. That’s the meaning of the prophetic office.
The Church must preach truth when a nation wages an unjust war, when society accepts and even promotes “alternative” lifestyles, and when society decides to redefine life so they can kill off those they deem “unworthy” or “unnecessary” or “a burden.”
I seem to remember some guy in the Bible saying “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God,” not “Make sure everyone has a living wage.”
That’s not to say that social justice isn’t important; it is. Under the Mosaic Law and in the prophets, we see Israel judged as a society on how well it treats the widows and orphans, those most vulnerable in society. But when the prophets were complaining and warning, it wasn’t just about those social justice issues.
I’ve seen this kind of argument time and time again. The Church DOES NOT EXIST only to provide for the material needs of people, nor is it praiseworthy only because it offers people a good moral compass (though it does, and should do, both). Jesus did not die so we could run soup kitchens.
So, besides a fundamental misunderstanding about the role of the Church in the world, we also have this issue of Catholics being overly associated with abortion and gay “marriage”.
Two quick thoughts occur to me:
1) These are two huge issues in society today, so it would make sense that much effort is focused on these issues.
2) I think there is a certain amount of media distortion in this appearance; without a doubt, gay “marriage” and abortion are not the only things the Church in America is focused on.
This is an issue of utmost importance to our identity as Catholics. We need to understand what the Church really is and why she prays and preaches the way she does. And we need to support her.
I remember the day when I learned you cannot trust the textbooks they give you in school. It occurred to me the other day, kind of randomly.
I was in my eighth-grade American History class. I absolutely loved this class, and I did quite well in it. The teacher was a great guy; he was passionate and smart and clearly enjoyed his work. He had this tendency to wear odd ties. I remember he had this great Beatles-”Yellow Submarine” tie he would wear once in awhile. He also thought it was the height of humor to call people by other names, especially if they wearing a sports jersey for the New England Patriots. He called me “Drew” once (as in Bledsoe).
We were studying the American Revolution, and I was loving every minute of it. Those great men! Adams, Washington, Jefferson, Franklin; what would it have been like to be alive amongst such men?! They were so enlightened, so brave, so intelligent! I liked to imagine that I was somehow the second-coming of Mr. Jefferson: quiet, intelligent, musically-inclined, and red-headed. Yes, I was a total history geek (and still am, pretty much).
Reading in our textbooks, we came to the section on the Sons of Liberty. There was a short sentence or two about the sister-organization of the Sons of Liberty (if you excuse the pun) called the “Daughters of Liberty.” I take it that we were supposed to feel good about the colonials equal-opportunity revolution, and that the female students were supposed to feel empowered.
The teacher stopped the class as we read that section, and took a deep breath.
“Now, I have nothing against women, and I totally support equal rights for them,” he began. We were a bit confused about this, as no one really assumed that he was a sexist or anything.
He took another breath. “But, I have to tell you this: there was no such thing as the ‘Daughters of Liberty.’ That is a complete fabrication.”
He then went on for a few more minutes, talking about women’s rights, the struggle for independence and equality, etc. But I was too dumbfounded to pay much attention.
Why would a history textbook insert such a glaring historical error? I mean, it’s not like they could have accidentally inserted it into the text; it had to be deliberate!
It would take a number of years before I really started to learn about questioning the information I took in. By the time I graduated high school, I had become a little better in knowing when a textbook, a documentary, or even a teacher, was trying to manipulate me into an opinion. College was a little harder, as the sophistry was more complicated and subtle, but I like to think that I am a decent critical thinker at this point.
Still, it was a jarring moment for me: a book, something that was supposed to give me knowledge, lied to me.
It was not a fun experience. But it certainly was useful.
Editor’s Note: I just remembered that I cheated on a quiz in this class. It was kind of by accident: we were supposed to memorize all the US presidents, and I had been practicing in my notebook, trying to develop some kind of muscle memory of their names, I guess. When I took out my notebook for the quiz, I happened to open it a few pages before my practice sheet. I was able to read some names before the teacher told me to put away my notebook. Sorry that I lied to you guys the other day, and sorry Mr. McGrath!
So, I have this one student. She’s from China. If you met her, you’d probably assign her to the category of stereotypical Asian girl: smart, quiet, giggly, etc. As a Chinese student, her English isn’t great, but it’s probably among the best compare to my other international students. Last week, she handed in an essay the other day with absolutely no grammatical mistakes.
Huh.
One quick Google search later brought up a page of free essays.
Ahh.
So, I go to the dean: down the stairs, through the computer lab, through the library, down the hall, knock knock knock. I show him the paper and the website, and we both agree: PLAGIARISM, the one unforgivable sin of academia. Penalty for first time offense: talk with the dean, write a strongly-worded letter to yourself about the evil that is taking another’s work and presenting it as your own, detention, “0” on the assignment (though I was told by the dean to let her redo the paper and submit it for a 55/F).
OK, fine. Done deal, yeah?
I was grading another stack of papers for another class. That same student is in this class as well. I get that creepy-crawly suspicious feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I pull out her paper. Perfect grammar, no spelling errors, an excellent essay.
Huh. A quick Google search later and I have, once again, found a website offering free essays on a variety of topics. Including the one I was holding in my hand.
Ahh.
So, again, I go to the dean, paper and website in hand: down the stairs, through the computer lab, through the library, down the hall, dean’s office. He hasn’t even had the chance to met with her about the first time! He assures me that he will put the fear of God into her and that the penalty will be increased accordingly and righteously.
Done deal, yeah?
So then she hands in her do-over paper. I don’t read it immediately; I’ve got other things to do. Later in the day, I read it. It’s decent enough; but why aren’t there any grammar or spelling errors?
No. No, she wouldn’t. Would she?
Google search. Yes, she would.
Once again, down the stairs, through the computer lab, through the library, down the hall, to the dean’s office. It’s almost funny at this point. Turns out, he still hasn’t had a chance to talk with her; that’s not unusual, however, as it’s only been like four days since this whole process started.
The next day, I send her down to his office during class. She misses a wonderful lecture and comes back looking as if she has been given a healthy dose of wisdom.
Done deal, yeah?
Today, she had to give a speech in a third class she’s in with me. I notice she’s reading from prepared remarks. Not a big deal; students get points deducted for not using an outline, but that’s OK. She hands it in.
Later in the day, I am looking over the outlines, making sure the students did what I told them to do: five sources, three main points, proper introduction and conclusion, etc. I come to her speech. It has no grammar mistakes, no spelling errors; it is a well-thought and well-argued speech.
At this point, I’m surprised I just didn’t start crying. Or laughing. Or both.
Google search. Yep. I stared at the screen for a good ten minutes before I could move again. That’s four acts of plagiarism in three assignments, for those of you keeping track at home.
So, down to the dean’s office again. He too is stunned almost into speechlessness.
So, what’s next for my student? Unless she can perform a small miracle, she’ll probably be expelled. We might try to help her enroll in a new school, but we’ll more than likely just pack her up and send her back to China.
I cheated once, in middle school. We were stuffed into a tiny classroom taking a test on prepositions. I hadn’t studied. The girl’s desk was two feet away. I could just barely make out two answers. I wrote them down. If I remember correctly, they might have been the only two answers on my quiz. But, because I have a keen moral sense, or because I’m Irish-Catholic, I felt guilty. This girl, it’s like she doesn’t care.
I’ve talked with teachers from other countries. They tell me that plagiarism is certainly against the rules in their schools, but it is not treated as a mortal sin like it would be in the States. In other countries, they might get a slap on the wrist. I assume this is why the school wanted to be lenient with my student at first.
So, how was your day?
So, what’s next?
I’ve been wondering that myself these past few months.
Over the summer, I visited a few monasteries. The Trappists in Spencer, the Benedictines in Petersham, and the Benedictines at St. Anselm’s College. I wonder if I didn’t go to those places as some kind of escape from the parish I was in.
In the seminary, I’d read about the Benedictine/Cistercian/Trappist way of life and have a definite longing in my heart for them. I read Strangers to the City, and I totally fell in love with the monastic/Benedictine ideal.
But lately, I’ve had no desire to go back to any of those places.
Well, the Petersham Benedictines are contemplatives, and I figured out very fast that that life wasn’t for me.
But there was something about the Trappist abbey. It was so beautiful. It was so peaceful. But, whenever I try to imagine living that life, I feel a certain pull away, an almost revulsion. The same with the monks at St. A’s: a certain pull there, but a certain revulsion when I try to imagine living the life.
I also remember a funny conversation over the summer where a priest friend of mine told me I should consider the Jesuits. I asked if he was joking. He laughed and said I might turn out to be the great reformer of the SJ. I asked if it would be appropriate for one to enter the religious life with the idea of changing it. He said no; but it was appropriate to enter the religious life in the hopes of doing the will of God.
I’ll admit that there is some attraction to the Jesuits: teaching, Ignatian spirituality, a wonderful history of martyrs. But, I don’t think it’s going to happen.
Then there’s the Oblates of the Virgin Mary, a kind of reformed Jesuit order whose ministry and mission focuses on Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. They run retreats, are spiritual directors to many, those sorts of things. But again, whatever pull I feel, there is an equal pull away from that life.
So, what’s the plan?
I’m going to save up my money, buy some new backpacking supplies, and go to Australia in Summer 2011.
That’s the only plan I feel like making right now.
