Before I go totally dark on this topic I want to be clear on the recent ruling by the Supreme Court (same-sex pseudogamy) and my perspective. Despite what many believe and many purvey, the policy is not liberating but destructive. This policy will serve to destroy people like me, if in fact it does anything to liberate people to marry who they wish.

Here are my views on the matter. On this topic, no one has changed my mind because no one has attempted to–the strategy has always been accusation and condemnation, not reason and logic.

• What people do in their own home and lives I cannot control nor do I care to. But it is naive to think that what we do in private doesn’t coarsen or sweeten the culture and the air we all breathe.  Two adult men may consent to a duel to the death, doesn’t mean we permit it.
• I gave up long ago convincing the gov’t that marriage is the indissoluble bond between one man and one woman.  However the state defines marriage is however the state defines marriage.  On that topic per se, I no longer care for I have already secured the backing of an institution on what marriage is supposed to be. But, unfortunately, the metastasizing state won’t stop at it’s newest frontier.
• A woman may insist, and the state may grant, that she is entitled to the benefits of an all-male education. But can she really have an all-male education? For the record, what we call marriage in this country is a total absurdity but that’s my two cents. If the state can say a man can marry a man, it can easily say and enforce anything it chooses and will use this new tool to bring down political dissent, starve off the Church and put people like me on the railroad to destitution. I guess some of us just don’t evolve fast enough.

I object to the Supreme Court ruling not because it grants men to marry men, or women to marry women, but because it  represents a threat to my freedoms: speech, expression, religion and thought. You may wish to celebrate this day, but for me it portends to be the financial, social and physical destruction of all that I have worked for and hold dear. I know the tendency of government, I know the tendency of people and those with power and this train has been coming for a long time predictably passing every station along the way. Make no mistake:

• We now live in perilous times if one cannot say “I support traditional marriage” without fear of persecution: job loss, penalties, perhaps jail or some virtual gulag.  Already my daughters have been threatened on campus–the so called bastion of dissent—for traditional stances. The CEO of Mozilla and inventor of Javascript had to resign his job for exercising his legal and ordinary right as a citizen–he supported traditional marriage. Chic-fil-A executives also proclaimed the support for traditional marriage to the denial of licenses in cities–even Bloomberg knew the illegality of this denial and said so much. Carrie Prejean, a name no one would otherwise remember, was slandered for her belief in traditional marriage. I have asked members of my family to refrain from all political discussions out loud and on social media for their own safety; we are now muted and free speech is only that which is sanctioned by the those in power, so congratulations. Yet, even if I say nothing, as Thomas More learned, the fight will still be brought to one’s door. This juggernaut won’t stop until it submits everything to it, body, mind and soul. This is the end of free speech, thought and conscience. Today it is mine; tomorrow will be yours.
• Dissenting institutions, particular churches and religious universities will be marked for tax benefit denial and other punitive measures to bring them to heel. This will happen, mark my words, and my giving will necessarily change. If I have to deny donations to LLS and Cancer research charities that I regularly give to so that I can pay the “tax” on my church contributions, then guess what? So now it impacts everyone else too.
• Social media friends have objectified me and my views as evil, a necessary step to implementing more violence toward me. It’s easy to destroy a bigot, a pig, a rat, a wild and brute animal, not so easy to destroy James, husband and father of three. Go ahead, shape the language, it will be easier for societies conscience when we lay starving in the street or bleeding with a bullet in my head, accused of a hate crime. The state nods with approval, you nod with approval.
• Do not say I have religious freedom. Like every issue, this one is not about equality but about power and its exercise. When Indiana tried to shore up the concerns of people like me, they were bludgeoned to death by society and the media. They were labeled as haters and bigots and the governor buckled. If our constitution does not protect the outliers like me, it really protects no one.
• This policy will serve to rip asunder families like mine. It will now be considered abusive for parents to teach their children tradition. Parents will be put in jail and children will be put in CPS. And somehow, this will be for everyone’s good. Right.

The policy also sets a bad precedent. We, as a nation, discriminate–yes we do. People under the age of 21 may not be served alcohol but are able to vote and take a bullet in the military. But can we really marry who we love and commit too? You think? Does the recent ruling constitute the governments authority to decide who can have sex with whom? If you say, no, of course not; marriage is not about sex but but about commitment or dedication or love, then consider:

• Two adult men who live together, share domestic responsibilities, visit each other in the hospital, care for each other when they are sick and show dedication and commitment fitting of a married couple—should they be allowed to marry? Would your answer be different if I revealed that the two adult men I have just described are bachelor brothers?
• One man and one woman want to marry but they are not allowed to due to “antiquated” consanguinity laws. Theoretical? Ask Patrick Stübing, an unemployed locksmith in jail for violating Germany’s consanguinity laws, and his sister Susan, who want to do just that. They’ve already produced four healthy children—and I’m sure they are loving parents. Why should they be denied marriage? And what if they don’t have children? Precedence: the royalty of Hawaii, ancient Egypt and the houses of Europe routinely intermarried. Einstein married his cousin and he wasn’t an idiot. Perhaps we need to evolve more.
• Isn’t it possible for three or more people show a similar level of commitment? Why deny them marriage licenses? What’s so special about two.
• American Philosopher Tom Regan and other animal rights activists believe humans are not the only creatures that should be endowed with the status of person-hood and individual rights. If this is conferred on dogs, cats and horses, then the marriage debate can be extended to inter-species couples. You think that is weird and unnatural? Maybe you should evolve a little bit more.
• A man and a woman, unrelated and of rational mind wish to marry. Their reasons for marrying are a private affair but the government won’t let them marry because it is viewed as a tactic to secure citizenship for the one that is not an American. They are not really in love but who’s to say? Since when does motive matter anyway? Can we annul the citizenship of anyone who later gets a divorce?
• Suppose, as Jeremy Irons observed, one wish to marry their son or daughter–not for marital relations since it isn’t about sex, but for legal benefit: Property can be kept and expanded without government penalty in perpetuity. Should we discriminate?

Rejoice in this policy if it pleases you. Fly the colors of the rainbow, ironically the symbol of the end of destruction. I, on the other hand, cannot rejoice. Our destruction has just begun.

Dear great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson,

Assuming people are still around and that the world has not been annihilated through human activity, either green-house gases, robot overlords or all-out nuclear “climate change”; and that I actually have a descendent to address these words to, and that you are actually literate in all ancient languages including early 21^st century American English, I greet you.

I felt compelled to write you this letter after reading a paper by Nick Bostrom, a prominent Oxford philosopher of my times and founding director of the Future of Humanity Institute. The paper, entitled “Embryo Selection for Cognitive Enhancement” describes a process by which ordinary people like me can rapidly evolve into a super intelligent master race (perhaps like you) through selective breeding, genetic sequencing and the algorithmic deletion of inferior life. Early in the 20^th century this would have been called eugenics and was summarily denounced as genocidal racism but calling it transhumanism, which has not changed the essential ingredients and purpose, sounds cozier. Ironically, if Bostrom’s process has been fully implemented by society and you somehow made the cut, it’s likely you are no one’s descendent but that of a polynucleotide printer ejaculating base pairs onto a glass substrate. But for the sake of this letter and its message, assume I am your flesh and blood ancestor nonetheless. Perhaps, as you read on, you may find you need one.

Let me start off by relating to you the philosophical and moral climate of the early 21^st century from which I and Bostrom write. In a phrase, man now does what he wants—period. There is no judgement, temporal or eternal. There is no moral compass or guide other than one’s own conscience and the possible reprisals of society should they disagree with you. Odd, though, no one seems to think that their own conscience is formed by any exterior agent or that it might be warped or wrong or misshapen. Is it any surprise then that people conduct themselves—not from law, reason, morals, nature or logic—but from their own conscience and wonder why there is not more chaos? A man may commit genocide and think it perfectly fine since, after all, he was obedient to his own conscience. So then, in the name of freedom, personal choice, greater good, utilitarianism or one’s oblate conscience, we essentially do what we want without weighing the consequences in eternity or to the future, that is, to you. And this is why I write. With some mental extrapolation, I may comprehend where you are in your future moment and perhaps this letter may provide antiquated notions of hope, encouragement and wisdom if those properties still have value.

If Bostrom’s society has come to full fruition, let me conjecture what your utopia world might look like. There is no disease as society’s most cultivated minds and machines have discovered cures for every ailment assuming transhumans even get ill (I suspect they would not “advance” to the next round of elimination if they were so prone). Medicine is a hard mathematical science like physics and engineering where any human can be modeled in software and given a drug or substance simulation to determine metabolic outcomes in silico.  Life expectancies are infinite as one’s being can be transferred from host to host, be it biological or artificial. Individuals keep their conscience, however misshapen, neatly preserved in the “cloud” just in case one is accidently ground into scrapple by a bad teleportation product.

All of societal ills have been remedied. There is no crime because the criminal mind has been selectively discarded. Crimes of passion and want have been eradicated since there is no material need or want that can’t be provided or simulated. What remains is the most affluent, able and intelligent people ready to contribute meaningfully to society. But there is no need to contribute to society for there is no problem that has not been solved or might be easily solved by machine. Society’s tedious and manual labor has been relegated to the automaton class and transhumans are free to think, study, create and enjoy their long and perpetual lives. Your brave new world does not require you to have the outmoded ideas of marriage, mother, father and family since nurturing, provision, education and belief are provided by Bostrom’s utopia. You are mentally ready-made, with an IQ ten times that of Michelangelo, Bach and Durer combined.

And what will you do with all that intelligence, beauty, time and ease?

I am guessing that you are doing nothing remarkable. What was predicted upon the invention of broadcast television—ennobling plays and classical works for the masses—did not happen, instead broadcasting insipid situational comedies and artless reality shows.  The same thing for the internet—knowledge, information with a rise in virtue and intellect—did not happen either, serving up slanderous news, narcissism, celebrity gossip and graphic pornography.

With all that intelligence and technology you are probably indulging yourself in artificial worlds where you can experience any fantasy and commit any atrocity. And without need, want, pain, desperation or condemnation, the purpose of humanity becomes negligible and life is nothing worth clarifying. The cry of longings unfulfilled or the lamentations of loss are nowhere to be found in your utopia and so, consequently, there is no artistic expression that warrants preservation. Since man does not die, he need not struggle with his own mortality and the pursuit of human philosophy must have ended with the common cold. Visions and words of hope requires a deficiency that your world has eradicated. The struggle for achievement and discovery has been removed along with the satisfaction of work, the flash of understanding and the need for invention. With the only preoccupation being parties, flings, mockery, derision and the superficial pursuits of eternal youth, your world must be full of fools (in the moral sense) and your mechanized music must be auto-tuned to death and unbearably bad.

Is it true that one always remembers the first time? For you, it was probably a virtual experience in which you went on a campaign. Synthetic friends put you up to it. Even though it was an artificial event electronically planted into your memory, it seemed real—that was the point. It was you who chose the weapon you would use for your initiation, partial to the close contact of a long steel blade, perhaps a recommendation from the wealth of knowledge at your disposal. You stalked up to someone weaker than you—a boy, a small helpless man or was it a girl? Perhaps you violated her first as some were inclined to do. Simulated or not, the shock and terror on her face was real enough as you planted the knife into her body again and again and again. She choked on her frothing blood and fell still, the expression on her dying face pleading into digital eternity.

And there you were, laughing and panting nervously, pretending it was a rush, a high, all for fun and for the applause of other “brights” as dead and as empty as you. But something else died that day, something not as artificial as you would want to believe. You, like many before you, have discerned good and evil for oneself, being like gods according to the first lie. And likewise, on that day, did you surely die?

But what’s the harm? The implanted memories are not real and no one really got hurt? So why does it matter? Surely one can rationalize it so why should the peace of one’s sleep be disturbed?

I apologize for the full measure of death such thinking promotes—a line of thinking that started in the latter half of the twentieth century in which I was born and where such thinking was given tenure. I wish you could go back to the purity of thought you once had before this horrible rite of passage but that’s not possible unless science has figured out how to redact your memories and heal your soul.  How do you un-ring a bell?

Indeed I wish humanity could go back to a time when virtue and truth mattered and was the basis for governance and education; a time when a woman was a sacred thing and men were more than just loaves of bread; a time where sex was the seal of a marriage and not the purpose of it.  A time when marriage was special and since it was special and specific, meant something; a time when traditions were actually passed on, not destroyed; a time when images and sounds were things of beauty, not shock value for despair and insensitivity. A time when we weren’t so eager to push children out of childhood while claiming to love children all at once. A time where people were not exploited –for the vote, their labor, their influence, their sexuality, their DNA, or their misfortunate for the sake of lurid entertainment– but loved and depended upon. A time where people were actually created in the image of God and not edited and airbrushed into a fantasy for human consumption and commerce.

I doubt that you have the freedom you might think you possess. For if you did, you’d be able to reclaim that once virtuous life and unplug from the pursuits of your eternal youth. I assert for you that the so-called ignorant past was not so ignorant and the bright future, well, isn’t so bright. If the candle of pure conscience still burns in you enough to realize the truth of your condition—that you are not free, rich and alive, but in bondage, destitute and dead—I encourage you to look to the past, the past even before my times.

A contemporary of mine, Peter Hitchens, aptly described what real men once were. This is about Thomas More during a time in England when it seemed the world was falling apart:

In their utter reverence for oaths, men of More’s era were … as superior to us as the builder of Chartres Cathedral were to the builders of shopping malls. Our ancestors’ undisturbed faith gave them a far closer, healthier relation to the truth – and so to beauty – than we have.  Without a belief in God and the soul, where is the oath? Without the oath, where is the obligation or the pressure to fulfill it? Where is the law that even kings must obey? Where is Magna Carte, Habeas Corpus or the Bill of Rights, all of which arose out of attempts to rule by lawless tyranny? Where is the lifelong fidelity of husband and wife? Where is the safety of the innocent child growing in the womb? Where, in the end, is the safety of any of us from those currently bigger and stronger than we are?

My son, in order to find yourself, you first must know that you are indeed lost and, thereafter, seek the narrow path home. Somewhere in the maelstrom of your world of illusion is truth and the thirst for it—so find it and cultivate it. I pray that there is more than the words of this letter that I pass on to you and hope to see you in eternity.

James

I have taken you in my arms, and I love you, and I prefer you to my life itself. For the present life is nothing, and my most ardent dream is to spend it with you in such a way that we may be assured of not being separated in the life reserved for us. . . . I place your love above all things, and nothing would be more bitter or painful to me than to be of a different mind than you.

Marriage and Ireland have a lot of significance for me and I am saddened by the results of the recent Irish referendum on marriage. Why do I correlate Ireland and marriage?

On November 2, 1991, my wife Kimberly and I were married in a rented Lutheran church in Gaithersburg Maryland—not that we were Lutheran but our non-denominational Christian pastor was conducting church services in a high school and we needed a suitable location. The next day we set off to spend our honeymoon in the Republic of Ireland, something I had planned for even before I met my wife to be.

Back then Ireland was poor but rich in distinction, heritage and identity. Our travel arrangements were made by telephone since internet access was far into the future. I remember reserving a cheap manual transmission/manual choke compact car from an Irish “car hire” I found in the tourist board publication. The Irish man on the other end of the phone confirmed my reservation, wished me good travels and to “bring plenty of money—Ireland needs it.”

Heat was expensive and only provided during the day; we learned quickly to cover ourselves in piles of blankets and comforters at night as morning breath was simply that which was visible in the cold morning air. The movie that year was, ironically, “The Commitments” – a movie set in Dublin about an emerging soul band, a movie we had the privilege of watching in a native Cork theatre.

By so called modern “sensibilities”, Ireland was considered backward: divorce was illegal among other things. As far as I know, abortion is still illegal but I wonder how long it will be before the Irish start destroying their number one export. Perhaps it was the fabric of their orthodox spirit that made us fall in love with the country—so much so that we gave our children Irish names with middle names reflecting a town in Ireland that held significance for us during our honeymoon. We vowed to return on our twenty fifth anniversary—naive enough to believe our marriage would last that long. The box of brochures, maps, guides and souvenirs which were part of that endeavor have been sealed since returning so as not to awaken the sacred memories until the fullness of time.

Next year will be that anniversary and we have talked often about making good on those plans to go back. But I am not so sure now. Much has changed in those intervening years. For one thing, I converted to Catholicism which makes that country all the more significant to me. The Ireland of today is not the magical Ireland of 1991. The prosperity of the Celtic Tiger of the 1990’s altered their economy and probably their friendly disposition. Fiscal irresponsibility thereafter documented in the disaster tourism book Boomerang pulled them back to austerity. Divorce was legalized somewhere along the line to someone’s devilish applause. And by referendum, same sex unions has been solemnized by their government.  The Ireland that I fell in love with has broke covenant, a country once “set apart” is becoming as reprobate as the rest of Western Europe. Ireland is no longer Catholic despite what anyone thinks and I know.

St. Patrick, according to tradition, is deputed to be the final judge of the entire Irish race on the last day. As modern Ireland sinks back into the pagan slavery from which St. Patrick liberated them, I don’t know if he’s going to be all too lenient on today’s Irish. But that’s between him and them. As for me, next year, I may be bringing my money somewhere else.

Last weekend I visited Holy Redeemer by the Sea in Kitty Hawk, NC. Once again on vacation in the Outer Banks, (Pine Island) I fulfilled my day of obligation at the nearest Catholic Church as per usual.

Whenever I go to a Catholic Church apart from my own I realize how “spoiled” I am in terms of beauty and orthodoxy. To make matters worse, I’ve become acquainted with the teachings of Duncan Stroik and his Journal of Sacred Architecture. I’ve become such a Mass and Church Architecture Snob as a consequence I may need to confess the sin of smugness.

The outside of Holy Redeemer was a large brick expanse that had a plain geometric cross and signage. So void of iconography and embellishment, it reminded me of the church in Qatar set up by the government as a concession to their devout foreign guests—a structure so void of art so as to not appeal to anyone outside the targeted faith.

Expecting the inside to reflect the beauty, tradition and birthright of millennia of Catholic art and liturgy, I was stiflingly disappointed. There was a loud din of chatter and movement about the large expansive area functionally designed to serve swarms of vacationers–so I imagined. The pews were more like bleachers with the drab design of modern minimalism oriented in a rather asymmetrical arrangement roughly pointing to the altar but not really. I could scarce see the altar which was a small structure covered in an artless cloth. I never found the tabernacle nor the red lamp that signals the real presence. I would normally genuflect but I wasn’t sure if there was anything front and center to honor.

I sat in the back nervously waiting for things to get underway on this Sunday of the Ascension. I hoped it wasn’t crowded because of the particular occasion and that many many Catholics (devout or otherwise) attend mass regularly even out here. The thought comforted me, especially as two young men in their twenties, attired in quasi-formal beach garb and a smattering of sleep-head, sat a few pews ahead of me. If these guys show up well there is hope for the future.

When the service began, the priest “broke the ice” by having everyone greet each other immediately in proximity. I was petrified; this would never happen at St. C.. The woman with her two unruly boys who sat in front turned, smiled and shook my hand. I regret not turning around and greeting those behind me but I wasn’t at all sure about this sort of thing. It caught me off guard.

The next thing was equally unorthodox but probably necessary. As part of the opening prayer, the priest asked that everyone pause silently and divest themselves of all the “baggage” they showed up with–worries, anger, vacation plans, whatever. I knew I needed to shed the smug orthodox Latin Mass weenie-ism that I came with. I dropped it off and lightened up. The miracle of Catholicism is it’s universality and the Mass, at the core, was going to be the Mass even here on the Outer Banks.

And it was. Among several peculiar things though was the “introduction” that the priest provided before each scripture reading. He framed the context and the purpose which, though outside the norm, I appreciated. Catholics really need this kind of Bible teaching since they are woefully ignorant of the Bible.

Another peculiar thing was the holding of hands during the Lord’s prayer. Touchy-feelie. And rather than kneel after receiving the Eucharist, everyone staid standing. Perhaps it was logistically easier in this crowded church than having people walk all over each other.

One thing never changes: the speed at which Catholics evacuate the building after “this mass is over”.  Sorry, no prayer to St. Michael. More like, yabba dabba doo.

On the way back I stopped by at Duck Donuts.

A recent news story from the UK has drawn attention to sex-selective abortion.

The issue with sex-selective abortion comes from Asia where China’s one infant rule coupled with the traditional emphasis on sons and the general devaluation of women has created the practice of aborting girls—just girls—for decades. The same phenomenon has impacted India and other Asian countries. Morality aside, the practice has caused lopsided gender ratios posing an emerging demographic problem for the affected countries. The book Unnatural Selection by Mara Hvistendahl documents the issue in great detail. For a viewing audience, the documentary It’s a Girl also sheds light on global gendercide.  To illustrate the scale of the practice, Asia has lost, through sex-selective abortion alone, an estimate 160 million females—more than the population of women in America.

Knowing this, the UK has recently reemphasized their illegality of sex selective abortion by a vote in Parliament that had 181 keeping sex-selective abortion illegal to 1 against. I can only imagine that the one voter might have thought logically about the issue given abortion policy in the West.

What sort of law could the United States legislatures defend in a similar circumstance? By and large, the act of abortion is justified as a matter of personal, private choice. Progressives and the left have championed this stance for decades with the ululation that women have the right to choose what they do with their own bodies.

So let’s think this through: if abortion is to be legal under the premise of individual rights in the US, why should sex-selective abortion be illegal? If politicians cannot dictate what a woman does to her body, how can they dictate what to do if her body happens to be gestating a girl or a boy? If abortion is wrong, then it is wrong whether a boy or girl. If it is right, it is right whether a boy or girl. Indeed, in the language of the pro-choice crowd, it is neither male nor female nor person. It is void of such identities should consciences be marred with uncomfortable details.

I am somewhat amazed that the voting ratio was that one sided in the UK. It was purely political, since stating that it’s permissible to abort females is a political quagmire. But then again, aren’t all abortions sex-selective?

In the Catholic Church, holy days of obligation are those days that good Catholics (and bad Catholics) are expected to attend Mass. These days include various feast days of significance throughout the year as well as each Sunday which technically begins at sunset the prior evening in keeping with the biblical definition of the day[1]. With some exceptions, such as illness or ignorance, failure to attend Mass during a holy day of obligation is regarded as a mortal sin, i.e., one that will sever one’s covenant bond with God.

Once upon a time I would have thought the observance of such rules and regulations would have seem legalistic and dead formality. But if you can think of one’s union with the church as a marriage, our obligations to one another in matrimony does not start and end based on our feelings and spiritual temperature. We do according to our commitments and oaths, especially at times when we don’t feel like it.

When at home, I don’t find this obligation burdensome since there is no other place I’d rather be on Sunday then at the Solemn Latin Mass at St. Catherine. But when I am out of town on a weekend I get nervous about popping into an unfamiliar Catholic Church unannounced. From all appearances, observant Catholics and parishes worldwide seem to expect this sort of thing without proper invitations and calling cards. My pre-Catholic mindset still holds to the idea that I church is a locale and its community; the Catholic mindset views the church as the universal community of the faithful with a reach that is worldwide. Nevertheless my type-A personality requires algorithms, protocols or rules of engagement. Let’s face it, even though the structure of the Latin Rite Mass is pretty much the same novus ordo, there is significant difference that would cause the neophyte to be wary.

This month I had the opportunity to fulfill this obligation at the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Because our rental was from Sunday to Sunday, it was not possible to coordinate Mass at my home parish on the second weekend. There was a church, Our Lady of the Seas, in Buxton, which listed a Saturday Vigil Mass at 5:30 on their website. Internally I hemmed and hawed, knowing I would go but nervous about doing so. To combat these fears I coined an approach that would take the edge off—I would consider myself a Mass Tourist, collecting liturgical experiences as practiced around the world. I would get there early, walk around and take pictures before attending Mass.

I arrived early at a church that sat on the edge of the sound, built in recent years with what looked like vinyl siding. I was tickled that the structure had flying buttresses like the cathedrals of medieval Europe but oddly protected with the same vinyl siding. A circular prayer garden for meditation resided near the structure; near that was a trail head that walked visitors toward the sound with the Stations of the Cross.

In the foyer was a statue of Mary, Our Lady of the Seas, which was themed accordingly—the pink and green hues of the shore arranged upon shells and similar ornaments of the deep. Our Lady holds baby Jesus in one arm and the globe of the Earth in the other. Hand carved by Italians (who else!), the objet d’art was a one of a kind work that the parish was very proud of from the blurb on their website.

Inside, the sanctuary was lined with wood panels. A large panoramic window looked out over the sound so completely that one only saw a horizontal line separating the sea and sky. The tabernacle was located to one side in a simple wooden box of a minimalist, Scandinavian design. Individual chairs backed by individual kneelers populated the center and wings of the interior.

The order of the Mass was a bit casual at first but the communion rite was standard. From casual greetings and things said by the priest, it was apparent that many in the congregation were vacationers like me. I took away one peculiar memory: the communion music was a hymn that I recall from long, long ago. Funny how it was lodged in my memory since it was likely I did not hear it but a few times. Neither my mother or my sister Janet recognized it when I asked about it later. The work is called “Gift of Finest Wheat” which had the ring of an ancient traditional. I looked it up later and, to my surprise, it was composed in the 1970’s—probably the time that I had heard it first.

Here is a YouTube of it

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvPCjVWFXJw

[1] This creates a convenient Vigil Mass on Saturday to meet your obligation if you have stuff going on Sunday.

My brother-in-law has loaned me a book called Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes: Removing Cultural Blinders to Better Understand the Bible by E. Randolph Richards and Brandon J. O’Brien. The book shows in numerous ways how scripture is often misunderstood through the differences in cultural, historical and linguistic contexts. I was rather enjoying it when I came across this passage on page 76 on the topic of language equivalency:

The Protestant Reformation began as an effort to correct a mistaken assumption about equivalency in the language. Over time, the Roman Catholic church had developed a doctrine of confession that included works of penance, such as reciting a certain number of prayers (think “Hail Mary” or “Our Fathers”) and, most disturbing, the purchase of indulgences to assure forgiveness of sins. By late Middle Ages, church leaders insisted this system is what Jesus had in mind when he called sinners to repent—that do penance was equivalent to (meant the same things as) repent—Martin Luther’s history-changing, ninety five these addressed this issue head on. “Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, when He said ‘Repent,’ willed that the whole of life of believers should be repentance,” Luther argued in the opening sentences of his disputation. “This word cannot be understood to mean the sacrament of penance, that is, confession and satisfaction, which is administered by the priests.” The medieval church had superimposed certain presuppositions onto Scripture by mistakenly assuming that the Latin term for do penance was equivalent to the Greek term for repent. Because repentance is necessary for salvation (Is 30:15; 2 Cor 7:10), their mistake undermined Christian faith and identity at its core. Is it possible that we risk equally dangerous misreadings by assuming equivalency between languages?

As many know, I recently converted to Roman Catholicism from decades as a non-denominational Christian and one-time Protestant in early life. One of many intellectual reasons for my conversion bordered on the topic outlined in this book, namely, that Holy Scripture can be misinterpreted, or, most disturbing, reinterpreted to mean whatever one wants it to mean, going so far as to sanction marriage pathologies and progressive ideas that slowly render Christianity indistinguishable from secularism. The point at which this started to really bother me was when I listened to a convincing sermon by Matthew Vines on how scripture supported same-sex marriage. When it dawned on me that I could be just as far off center with my own interpretations of scripture as Vines or anyone else, I began to wonder about the pillars of the Reformation on which many non-Catholic Christian faiths rest.

The irony of Richards and O’Brien’s book is that, for the most part, it supports the Catholic viewpoint: the understanding of scripture requires more than a private reading of a translation of the Bible sola scriptura: it requires an understanding of the language, the times, the culture and the intent of the sacred writer. It also requires a knowledgeable body of authority to make sure it doesn’t get pulled in the wrong direction as it has in the intervening centuries since the Reformation starting from day one. Just look at all the different denominations, over 30,000. And yet there is still only One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church.  Why?

It may surprise non-Catholic Christians that the Church actually considers the King James Bible and the Lutheran German Bible excellent translations (minus some books). The issue is not translation but an understanding of what those words intend from the divine source—God. Sacred Scripture coupled with Sacred Tradition has provided a safe and harmonizing forward error correction over the expanse of centuries. If and when this understanding of the Catholic Church dawns on us we change, adhere and submit to it– or we continue to make it up as it suits us. In the end, one will either be Catholic or syncretic to the point where every man is his own denomination.

The debate I have with the passage cited above is not about equivalency but the rather remarkable lack of understanding regarding the sacrament of penance, often called the sacrament of reconciliation or, simply, confession. The “do penance” part, as the authors correctly point out, is often a “work of penance” such as reciting the Hail Mary or Our Father or something more, depending on the wisdom of the priest and the needs of the penitent. But what the authors failed to point out is that this work of penance is merely a token of justice at the tail end of a rite that starts with true repentance of a kind that encompasses the entire life of the believer. Indeed, if it is apparent that the one giving confession has no intention of amending their life, forgiveness is not extended and, hence, no work of penance is assigned. And this is one of the most difficult things a Catholic priest might have to do within his office, i.e., withhold the forgiveness of God as the rightful holder of this authority on Earth through the documented lineage of apostolic succession.

Let me also add that regular confession serves as a tool to aid the disciple growing in virtue. Regular confession keeps one from becoming spiritually cold and wandering deeper into sin. In other ecclesial communities, such a tool might be called “accountability” or a similar structure set up with mentors in a discipleship program but does anyone bash this as superficial?  The Catholic Church includes this as part of the sacramental life and I can attest to its efficacy. Confession is an incredible resource to the believer. Perhaps I’m weird in this way, but I really like it.

Finally, the act of confession was always part of the Sacred Tradition of the Church for at least a thousand years prior to the Reformation and demonstrably part of the Apostolic era. If it developed “over time” as the authors claim, that time was rather early and short. In the fourth century A.D., Emperor Theodosius was required to do a work of penance for eight months as specified by St. Ambrose bishop of Milan after the emperor’s vengeful slaughter of a mob in Thessalonica. This was the first moment that the might of the state was subordinate to the spiritual might of the church, only to be taken back centuries later during the Reformation[1]. Today, Western civilization is dominated by secular policy with no spiritual accountability. Without the authority of the Church, the state can commit whatever atrocity it desires with no one to answer to and so it does: abortion, same-sex marriage, divorce, injustice, corruption, drone attacks, unbridled spending and on it goes much of which conveniently supported by a private interpretation of Sacred Scripture through whatever lens is politically expedient.

Perhaps the authors intended to implicate the Catholic Church in its teaching during the years of the Reformation but I doubt it. I have seen this ignorance exhibited frequently in modern Christian contexts: my daughter’s youth journal made the same misstatement which I had to correct. It’s sad but I don’t blame them too much: I was also ignorant of such matters and, once upon a time, reading the quoted passage above would have not stirred me in the least. Indeed, I would have agreed. Not anymore.

Among the five Love-Languages, mine is gifts—particularly getting gifts. Consequently, Christmas registers in bright red letters on my calendar. I know what you’re thinking: how juvenile! Yes, I haven’t outgrown the selfish and materialistic component of the Christmas holiday. Outwardly I maintain the composure required of all adults quietly pointing out the true meaning of Christmas, while inwardly I’m regressively jumping up and down in my jam-jams like a sugar-plum faerie.

Curiously, my favorite gift this year wasn’t the new Sony Android tablet which I like plenty or my Kindle subscription to “Word among Us” or the Hello Kitty stationary set. Oddly, my favorite gift wasn’t exactly material but an act of service—not my primary love language. This year my family joined me in attending the Solemn Latin Mass on Christmas Eve, close to midnight and way past our bedtimes. Although Kolleen has attended on a number of occasions, I believe this was the second Mass Kimberly ever went to, the first being my confirmation which was a three hour, five priest super High Mass extravaganza with all the Latin fixin’s. Perhaps it was a bit much for the uninitiated but still beautiful beyond belief.

It had been some time since we had gone to Church together and this was really cool. I am once again grateful to God for my family who has supported me on my road home. I am extremely fortunate and blessed and I am reminded of it once again.

Now, where are all the brightly wrapped presents for me, me, me!

In the course of my initiation into the Roman Catholic Church I did not go through the Rite of Acceptance.

Did I get the memo?

But today I attended this Rite at St. John’s in Frederick to be the sponsor of my brother-in-law, Steve, and my sister, Janet. This was a great honor. The Rite transitions the Inquirer into the phase of Candidate/Catechumen which will continue until the Easter Vigil where they will be confirmed and formally introduced into the Catholic Church.

Here is how it went at the morning Mass:

After the “introit” a group of about 20 inquirers with their sponsors marched out from a side door into the front of the church in a line. Upon hearing their name called out, the candidates were to step up onto the stairs that line the front and turn to face the congregation while sponsors (me) remain on the ground floor looking forward standing in front of the candidates.

The priest asked a number of questions to the candidates as well as one for the sponsors too. But my main task involved making the sign of the cross on Steve’s[1] forehead, ears, eyes, heart, shoulders, hands and feet at the appropriate promptings from the priest. This was all new to me. Since Steve is about nine feet taller than me + 1 for the stair step it took a stretch to reach his facial features, particularly the forehead. But there was no need to bring forth the Holy Step-Stool of Jericho which, according to tradition, belonged to Zaccheus.

From there the Mass proceeded as usual which, for the most part, is the same as any Mass in the world with minor differences. Now as it happened, in this massive church, I was the first one in line for communion since the front pews were reserved for those in the Rite. As you might have read from my previous post, this is not a good arrangement since, as a Born Again Orthodox Roman Catholic newbie, I like to observe the pattern of the liturgy played out in other parishes first. It is quite common to knell before receiving the Eucharist at my home church[2] and this I did only to look into the annoyed features of the priest when I arose. Did I do something wrong?

Later, after sitting down, I realized that to the side were deacons holding chalices with the consecrated wine. Apparently, this was a Catholic Church that presented both “species” of bread and wine for the faithful. But not everyone went up for the wine which made my gaff look honest. {Aside: I actually think offering both species is a good thing but I understand why many churches don’t do it. Logistically it’s a bit complicated and with a shortage of hands it may not be possible}.

All kidding aside, this was a great day and I am extremely honored to be part of it—and I’m not even a Catholic for an entire year! How awesome is that! I know that my sister and brother-in-law will be exceptional Catholics and I know that the two of them will set the world on fire: Steve with his vast theological knowledge and Janet who won’t suffer heretics long. Indirectly, they were influential in my own odyssey toward Catholicism. Strange? Yes– but that’s another story.