Ora et labora

First off, if anyone can explain to me why my Blogger toolbar and sign-in page are sometimes showing up in Chinese, that would be great. It's not that I have anything against the Chinese language (it's alternately beautiful and frightening, the latter being the case when spoken in loud tones between our guide and a cab driver; when we asked her what was going on, she said, "We're just talking"), it's just that I can't read it. That's why I tend to prefer, you know...English. If it were stuck on Spanish I'd still be able to find my way around, but no joy with the Chinese characters.

Now on to the main event, from the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

2834 "Pray and work." "Pray as if everything depended on God and work as if everything depended on you." Even when we have done our work, the food we receive is still a gift from our Father; it is good to ask him for it and to thank him, as Christian families do when saying grace at meals.

I love that! The quote is from St. Benedict, the father of monasticism. Pope Benedict VI takes both his name and his motto from St. Benedict. "Ora et Labora" is Latin for "Pray and work."

It's a balance, and it's possible to err to either extreme. One one hand, I can succumb to the sin of pride, essentially saying that I don't need God's help because I've got it handled on my own. The other extreme is the sin of presumption; when it comes to salvation, presumption is, well...presuming that God will save me no matter what I do (sin up a storm, never repent, etc.). We can (and do) exhibit presumption in lots of smaller ways, including praying for things without making any effort to work for them. If I pray that God will give me a job as a surgeon, even though I never went to medical school, will he answer that prayer in the affirmative? I'm thinking it's doubtful.

I got to thinking about that with my current focus on losing weight. Should I pray for God's help in this area? Absolutely. Can I pray for his help, eat the way I always have, and expect a good result? The First Law of Thermodynamics says no. Matter is changed, but not destroyed; my body either changes it into energy to keep me rolling, or stores it for future energy needs in the form of fat.

I can pray to lose weight, but unless I actually work at it, it's not going to happen. In that particular situation, I think the most prudent prayer is one asking God to give me the fortitude to do the things I need to do, rather than asking him to bend the laws of physics on my behalf. The prayer is important--vital, really--and without it I don't think I would have gotten as far as I have in losing weight this year. Without the work, though, I can guarantee you it wouldn't have happened.

There's another principle at work here, and one we see with a lot of the "lose weight quickly and painlessly" programs, medical interventions, and downright scams (some of which I've tried). Along with the loss of pounds has to come discipline; that's only going to be attained through saying no to one's appetites and taking positive steps in the right direction. That's true of most things in our lives, including spiritual development. The process itself, and difficulty inherent in it, gives me the strength I need to continue. That's the way it's supposed to be.

1805 Four virtues play a pivotal role and accordingly are called "cardinal"; all the others are grouped around them. They are: prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. "If anyone loves righteousness, [Wisdom's] labors are virtues; for she teaches temperance and prudence, justice, and courage."64 These virtues are praised under other names in many passages of Scripture.

1806 Prudence is the virtue that disposes practical reason to discern our true good in every circumstance and to choose the right means of achieving it; "the prudent man looks where he is going."65 "Keep sane and sober for your prayers."66 Prudence is "right reason in action," writes St. Thomas Aquinas, following Aristotle.67 It is not to be confused with timidity or fear, nor with duplicity or dissimulation. It is called auriga virtutum (the charioteer of the virtues); it guides the other virtues by setting rule and measure. It is prudence that immediately guides the judgment of conscience. The prudent man determines and directs his conduct in accordance with this judgment. With the help of this virtue we apply moral principles to particular cases without error and overcome doubts about the good to achieve and the evil to avoid.

1807 Justice is the moral virtue that consists in the constant and firm will to give their due to God and neighbor. Justice toward God is called the "virtue of religion." Justice toward men disposes one to respect the rights of each and to establish in human relationships the harmony that promotes equity with regard to persons and to the common good. The just man, often mentioned in the Sacred Scriptures, is distinguished by habitual right thinking and the uprightness of his conduct toward his neighbor. "You shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great, but in righteousness shall you judge your neighbor."68 "Masters, treat your slaves justly and fairly, knowing that you also have a Master in heaven."69

1808 Fortitude is the moral virtue that ensures firmness in difficulties and constancy in the pursuit of the good. It strengthens the resolve to resist temptations and to overcome obstacles in the moral life. The virtue of fortitude enables one to conquer fear, even fear of death, and to face trials and persecutions. It disposes one even to renounce and sacrifice his life in defense of a just cause. "The Lord is my strength and my song."70 "In the world you have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world."71

1809 Temperance is the moral virtue that moderates the attraction of pleasures and provides balance in the use of created goods. It ensures the will's mastery over instincts and keeps desires within the limits of what is honorable. The temperate person directs the sensitive appetites toward what is good and maintains a healthy discretion: "Do not follow your inclination and strength, walking according to the desires of your heart."72 Temperance is often praised in the Old Testament: "Do not follow your base desires, but restrain your appetites."73 In the New Testament it is called "moderation" or "sobriety." We ought "to live sober, upright, and godly lives in this world."74

To live well is nothing other than to love God with all one's heart, with all one's soul and with all one's efforts; from this it comes about that love is kept whole and uncorrupted (through temperance). No misfortune can disturb it (and this is fortitude). It obeys only [God] (and this is justice), and is careful in discerning things, so as not to be surprised by deceit or trickery (and this is prudence).75

Please continue to hold

I don't like to brag, but I am a loyal customer of the wireless telephone company with the lowest level of customer satisfaction in the history of mankind. The Roman Empire would have scored better on a customer survey than these guys. I'm happy with my basic service, but I'd pretty much rather chew off an arm than ask Customer Service for anything.

Not only have I been a customer for over three years, but a couple months ago I renewed my contract with them! I bought two brand-new phones and signed on for two more years of heaven-on-earth in the form of my family plan. Why, you ask? Did I suffer some sort of trauma that clouded my judgment? Do I view calling their customer service center as some sort of extreme sport, like base jumping?

No, the answer is even more sad and inexplicable. After a few positive experiences with Customer Service (which, as it turned out, would later spawn a series of less-than-positive experiences), I thought they were getting better.

I really, really did.

Well, to quote Marlin the clown fish (which you can do if, like me, you have a preschooler), "Good feeling gone."

The specific details of my two latest issues (which, if left unresolved, would have set me back $300) are too boring for words. Suffice it to say that they involved an early termination fee that was misapplied (and eventually cancelled) and a rebate that was erroneously denied (and then summarily approved).

The basic dance is this:

I call Customer Service and tell them what I want to do. They say, Yes sir, we can do that, no problem!

I say, Is this going to cost me extra?

They say, Oh, no, sir! You're a very valuable customer because you pay your bill on time! Have I resolved your issue today? And would you like to add another line of service you don't need, a data plan for your blind, elderly mother who can barely dial her phone, or maybe some text messaging for your dog?

And then things go horribly, horribly wrong. Sometimes it's a little wrong (like getting charged for long-distance calls on a flat rate plan), and sometimes it's a lot wrong (like having a $100 rebate declined due to a "system error.") I've actually never had them not fix things, but it always takes at least one call, and sometimes as many as six or seven, to get it fixed. The long distance issue went on for about eight months before it was finally resolved.

Me like italics.

I have developed a passionate dislike for calling Customer Service. I can feel my jaw clenching and my heartbeat picking up before I even get connected. I'm spoiling for a fight before I even get on the phone with these folks, because it seems like I generally have to explain things five or six times before a light goes on somewhere, and the problem suddenly becomes fixable.

Tonight I had to hold for about half an hour, so I had plenty of time to get tense. I made a commitment to myself that I would speak calmly and patiently to the CSR, since he or she didn't create the situation in the first place. I also resolved that no matter his or her level of apparent competence, I would try to still apply that whole pesky Golden Rule thing that Jesus was always going on about (and at the most inconvenient moments).

My spiritual director gave me some great advice a while back. St. Francis de Sales was not only an amazing man and great spiritual director, but someone who was humble about his own faults. One of them was anger. He said that to conquer anger and irritation, one very effective approach is to be overly gentle (almost to an exaggerated degree) in one's everyday speech and manner. Although I try to remember, this is not exactly something that has become habitual for me.

After I got off the phone with the Customer Service guy (who inexplicably fixed my problem with no explanation from me at all), I realized that's what I'd been unconsciously doing. I'm not exactly ready to give Mother Teresa a run for her money, but it was definitely progress.

So, I'm starting to see another reason I've chained myself to the world's worst wireless company for the next two years. It's actually good for my soul.

Don't ask me to explain this

I mentioned in a previous post that I've discovered the joys of Facebook. It's allowed me to reconnect with a lot of folks I haven't talked to in a while (most of them are people I haven't talked to for several years, so it's pretty cool in that regard). It also prompted me, through a series of events far to bizarre and tedious to explain, to spend an hour this afternoon writing this list:

Top Ten Signs your Parish Priest Might be a Borg Drone

10. Uses the word "viniculum" in casual conversation
9. Claims his family name, Unimatrix, is French
8. Lectors won't exchange the Sign of Peace with him; they don't believe Charlie's assimilation was a "coincidence"
7. The parish's new voicemail system tells callers, "You may enter your party's extension at any time, or simply stay on the line and wait for nanoprobes to rewrite your DNA"
6. Every week it's the same announcement: "Scrip will replace standard currency for all household purchases; resistance is futile"
5. In the bulletin, lists the Friday night fundraiser as "Borgo"
4. Insists his head is removable
3. Frequently asks the choir to sing "A Mighty Fortress is Our Cube"
2. After the Benediction, likes to finish up with an anecdote about a culture he's assmilated
1. In his homilies, frequently quotes an obscure Church historian named Locutus

I'm not suggesting a Borg drone could or should be a parish priest. Theologically speaking, there would be a number of pretty serious impediments. I'm just offering this list as a public service. If you notice any of the above telltale signs, give Starfleet Command a call.

Hug your kid a little tighter

Christian pop star Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter died yesterday when a sibling accidentally backed over her with the family car. It happened in their driveway with other family members right there.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I heard the news this morning. The Chapmans were an inspiration for us, and one of the reasons we ended up adopting from China. I've spoken to him a few times, but I can't really say I know him. I do know a lot of record industry people who have worked closely with him, and he's just a really decent, caring guy. They're a good family, sincere Christians, and people who have really tried to make a difference in the world. It's the classic "Why do bad things happen to good people" scenario, compounded infinitely by the tragic circumstances.

We're the same age--45, and their daughter Maria (adopted from China) was the same age as our daughter Julie (also adopted from China). My wife and I each (separately) talked with Julie about what happened, and about some other stories we've heard of the same thing happening in eerily similar circumstances. A few months ago here in Wisconsin, a state lawmaker ran over and killed his own granddaughter, not realizing she had made her way into the driveway as he was leaving. These aren't negectful parents, which in a way makes it even worse. They'll spend the rest of their lives haunted by what they wish they'd done.

Beating OPEC

So, crude oil just hit $135 a barrel...they're saying that within two years it could get to $200. At the rate we're going, we might not have to wait two years. That could push gas close to eight bucks a gallon.

I was reading a news article about telecommuting, and how computers, the Internet, and stuff like the new generation of teleconferencing has made working from home an extremely viable option for more and more people (and and extremely cost-effective approach for employers). I wonder if that's the wave of the future; the high-tech might end up going into supporting lives that involve a lot less travel, rather than coming with new ways to get from point A to point B.

I'm very fortunate to live just a few miles from my office. We chose something close because I work such early hours, and because we really liked the community we're in. We had looked at a town about 25 miles from work, and we're both extremely glad we didn't move there. We'd be spending a couple hundred bucks a month more on gas at this point.

I started commuting to work by bicycle this week...it's only adding about ten minutes to my commute each way, and it's good to get the exercise. I spent a bunch of time over the weekend tuning up my bike, installing lights, etc. The first day I thought that riding the bike seemed harder than I would have thought it should be, but it was my first ride of the season. Yesterday and today it seemed like the ride home was especially difficult (it's a slight upward incline all the way home, and I had a pretty significant headwind both days). Still, it seemed like I was slowing to a crawl on the way home.

This afternoon I took a look at my bike to see if everything was working. I picked up the front end and gave the front wheel a spin; lo and behold, the brake was dragging on the front wheel! It's actually been braking slightly the whole time I've been riding for the past three days!

Moron. Right here.

I made some adjustments, and I'm guessing the ride home will be a bit easier tomorrow...

Sorry

I hate reading blog entries that consist of apologies and excuses for not posting blog entries. So, for the sake of brevity I'll just say: sick for a week (off work for three days, an eternity for me), recovering for a week, sick again while doing our pledge drive for a week. That pretty much brings me current.

Faith without works

The readings for the daily mass are going through the book of James right now. It's got that whole wacky faith vs. works thing going on. Here's last Friday's reading:

Reading 1
Jas 2:14-24, 26

What good is it, my brothers and sisters,
if someone says he has faith but does not have works?
Can that faith save him?
If a brother or sister has nothing to wear
and has no food for the day,
and one of you says to them,
“Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,”
but you do not give them the necessities of the body,
what good is it?
So also faith of itself,
if it does not have works, is dead.

Indeed someone might say,
“You have faith and I have works.”
Demonstrate your faith to me without works,
and I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works.
You believe that God is one.
You do well.
Even the demons believe that and tremble.
Do you want proof, you ignoramus, that faith without works is useless?
Was not Abraham our father justified by works
when he offered his son Isaac upon the altar?
You see that faith was active along with his works,
and faith was completed by the works.
Thus the Scripture was fulfilled that says,
Abraham believed God,
and it was credited to him as righteousness,
and he was called the friend of God.
See how a person is justified by works and not by faith alone.
For just as a body without a spirit is dead,
so also faith without works is dead.

You can read this passage in the King James, the New American Standard, the NIV, and it says the same thing. "I will show you my faith by my works...faith without works is dead." They all say it; short of intentionally sabotaging the translation, they have to. That's what the original says.

Catholics and Protestants are actually a lot closer to one another on this issue than many realize (or at least would want to admit). I know, I know...Catholicism is a works-based religious system; so say my in-laws. Not to burst any one's bubble here, but the Church is very clear that without God's grace, and specifically without the saving work of the cross, none of us would get to heaven. It's also clear that what it means by "grace" is the same thing the average evangelical, Calvinist, Reformed, or (pretty much you name it) Protestant means. Grace is God's unmerited favor. We don't deserve it, and we can't earn it.

Yes, Catholics believe that.

At the same time, I don't know a good Calvinist who isn't a stickler about the fact that you have to walk the talk. You can talk about grace alone through faith alone 'til the cows come home, but I don't know many people who would look at someone professing Christ and blithely committing what we Catholics would call a mortal sin (you know, murderin', thievin', adulteratin'...the bad stuff) and not have a big, big problem with it.

I knew a Baptist pastor (a very good man) who ran a rescue mission and was a staunch Calvinist. He preached grace from the pulpit, but he also expected accountability from the men and women in his program. For a long-term resident, a relapse resulted in loss of all privileges and 30 days of "house arrest," which looked suspiciously like...well, penance. The program was voluntary, so the house arrest only meant something if the person cooperated with the detention. Otherwise, he or she was free to walk out the front door. My Calvinist friend expected not only contrition from the people in his program, but both penance and reparation. Very, very interesting.

The longer I walk down this road as a Catholic, the more clearly I see what I initially glimpsed in 2001; Catholicism is deeply scriptural. Not only is the liturgy rooted in scripture, but so are our teachings. It's not proof-texting to point to the scriptures and say that baptism saves you, or that works are necessary (along with the appropriation of God's grace) for our ultimate salvation. It's right in there, in context, as clear as day.

Why "Everything Proves It"

I kicked around a few names for my new blog before settling on this one. A few were based on song lyrics (my favorite was "Nod Over Coffee," the title of a song by Mark Heard), but "Everything Proves It," and the G.K. Chesterton quote on which it is based, ended up being the front runner.

Here's the full quote, from G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy:

When once one believes in a creed, one is proud of its complexity, as scientists are proud of the complexity of science. It shows how rich it is in discoveries. If it is right at all, it is a compliment to say that it's elaborately right. A stick might fit a hole or a stone a hollow by accident. But a key and a lock are both complex. And if a key fits a lock, you know it is the right key.

But this involved accuracy of the thing makes it very difficult to do what I now have to do, to describe this accumulation of truth. It is very hard for a man to defend anything of which he is entirely convinced. It is comparatively easy when he is only partially convinced. He is partially convinced because he has found this or that proof of the thing, and he can expound it. But a man is not really convinced of a philosophic theory when he finds that something proves it. He is only really convinced when he finds that everything proves it. And the more converging reasons he finds pointing to this conviction, the more bewildered he is if asked suddenly to sum them up. Thus, if one asked an ordinary intelligent man, on the spur of the moment, "Why do you prefer civilization to savagery?" he would look wildly round at object after object, and would only be able to answer vaguely, "Why, there is that bookcase . . . and the coals in the coal-scuttle . . . and pianos . . . and policemen." The whole case for civilization is that the case for it is complex. It has done so many things. But that very multiplicity of proof which ought to make reply overwhelming makes reply impossible.

There is, therefore, about all complete conviction a kind of huge helplessness.

Chesterton's explanation of this "huge helplessness" goes to the heart of why I blog at all, and why I do what I do for a living. It describes (much better than I've been able to) why I often feel that explaining Catholicism to skeptics (and even sometimes to Catholics) is a nearly hopeless task--all the more reason we should never stop doing it. It also is the reason that the two sources I quote most often--on and off the air--are the Bible and the Catechism. When dealing with something this complicated, it's best to keep it simple, and to know one's limits.

In 2003, a friend sent me an essay by Dale Alquist of the American Chesterton Society, in which he used the "everything proves it" line as a launching pad to talk about what's right with the Church. In addition to motivating me to purchase Orthodoxy, the quote helped me to understand why talking about my new found faith had proven so difficult, especially in the face of the sort of drive-by questions I often got ("What about the verse that says there's only one mediator between God and man? Don't you know that God will forgive your sins when you go to him directly? Why do you Catholics pray to dead people?").

To explain devotion to Mary, one has to explain the Communion of Saints. To explain the Sacrament of Confession, one has to explain the ministerial priesthood (that's also helpful in responding to the "Call no man father" objection) and its roots in scripture. To explain the Immaculate Conception, one has to explain Sacred Tradition and its relationship to the Bible. You just can't do that in 30 seconds.

Yes, Catholicism is complicated. It is wonderfully, brilliantly complex, as great minds (as well as people like me) have contemplated its mysteries for two millennia. It is also a breathtakingly simple love story, as God strives to make himself known amid the chaos we relentlessly choose for ourselves.

Seven and a half years into my journey, I'm just peeling off the outer layers of this thing. The more I learn, the more I understand that I've barely scratched the surface. My favorite Catholic book is the Catechism; reading it daily helps to shape my world view, and constantly brings me back to what Chesterton said. The truth and beauty of Catholicism isn't found in one thing.

I find it everywhere, all the time...because everything proves it.

This is my body

I work at an office where we are privileged to have a chapel; daily mass is said there on weekdays. I've been a lector there for about a year, and this week I started reading at my parish as well. Overall it went pretty well; my only blunder was putting the lectionary on the display shelf instead of the book of the Gospels. I think they're going to have me back (next Sunday, actually).

There was something pretty powerful for me in being the only real observer of the liturgy in the sanctuary while the consecration was being performed. Part of it was the fact that I was actually sitting in the sanctuary; part of it was my proximity the altar and the fact that I was facing it; and for me, no small part of it was the absence of a certain fidgety five-year-old at my side. I had an opportunity to reflect on the miracle that I saw taking place in front of me as the priest spoke the words of consecration.

One of the many objections I've read to the dogma of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist is that, if the ordinary bread wine truly do become the Body and Blood of Christ, something should appear to happen. There should be a flash of light, or bells (from heaven, not the altar server), or...doves, maybe. Something. It's one of the more nonsensical arguments I've heard, and it flies in the face of the way Jesus did most of his miracles, if not all of them.

When he fed 5,000 people (as well as in the account of the other mass feeding, of the 4,000), there is actually no explicit mention made of a miracle taking place at all. Jesus blessed the food, the crowd ate its fill, and the disciples gathered up a bunch of leftovers. None of that would have been remarkable had the food on hand not consisted only of one rather smallish lunch (as Winnie the Pooh would have said, a Smackerel). The miracle itself could have gone almost completely unnoticed (although the Gospel account tells us the crowd did notice, and followed Jesus hoping for another meal). The miracle at the wedding at Cana actually did go unnoticed; the wine steward chided the host for waiting to bring out the best wine until after everyone was too far gone to care.

Time and time again, Jesus' miracles were done in small ways; large crowds and loose-lipped recipients of his healings were the one who spread the word about what had happened. It's entirely fitting that I could say the same words a priest says and absolutely nothing would appear to happen, while something does happen when the priest says them--however, in both cases, no miracle appears to take place. Jesus and a passerby could have each made mud out of his spittle and rubbed it in a blind man's eyes; only one of them would have restored the man's sight.