How do Catholics Understand the Pursuit of “Self-Esteem”?

Healthy self esteem develops from our experience of being loved and being able to love others.

Catholics are stereotyped as the religion that lays on the guilt trip, that makes people feel that they are never good enough. Catholics, our critics say, go through life wringing their hands in anxiety about whether God really loves them and whether they will go to heaven. From their perspective, Catholics need to embrace the value of “self-esteem” and cultivate pride of self. In reality, Catholics have both an incredibly exalted view of the human person and a very pessimistic attitude about secular efforts (absent God) to increase self-esteem.

We are beings created in the image and likeness of God. Embodied souls who are adopted by God and lifted to a dignity, a value, and a destiny far beyond our natural state: we are beloved children of God through our Baptism. The Psalmist wonders at the amazing fact of our dignity as human beings, calling us “little less than the angels” (Psalm 8:5) God established us as the ones who would exercise His dominion (righteous rule) over all His Creation. We walk in the dust of the earth, made of the same stuff, yet we are destined for heaven, made children of almighty God—the work of His hand that He treasures (as Genesis 2:7 describes, we are formed of the ‘clay’ of the earth and breathed into life by the very breath of God).

And then comes Jesus! The Son of God exalts our human nature even more by taking it on—the Second Person of the Most Holy Trinity ennobled our humanity by assuming it. Without losing His divinity, He became human. He loved with a human heart. He learned and thought with a human brain. He felt and expressed Himself with a human body. His humanity veiled, but did not diminish, His divinity. After the Resurrection, He showed us in mysterious ways the capabilities of a glorified, Risen body. And He went to heaven, body and soul, to prepare a place for us as well. He promises, and we profess, that someday we will be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.

With the incarnation, human beings take on a dignity far beyond even God’s initial creation and love for us. Now, we are loved by the Father in the same way that He loves His Only Begotten Son—think about that next time you are feeling worthless and useless (John 16:27)!

“Man, who is the only creature on earth which God willed for itself, cannot fully comprehend himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”

Gaudium et spes, 24 (Second Vatican Council)

Yet, that high opinion of humanity is only part of the story. We Catholics recognize the fallen nature of human beings—that, while we may be good at our core, we are tempted and attracted by evil and by self-exaltation. We are made in God’s image and likeness, yes, but we have Original Sin to grapple with—our natural grace was lost and our human nature damaged, and now we seek God with confused, distracted, and disrupted hearts. We fail to do the good we want to. We do the wrong things we don’t want to (Romans 7:25). Humans have a great capacity to commit evil, all the while justifying and rationalizing it in ways that leave our hearts wounded by sin, unwilling to (and finally incapable of) confessing our guilt and seeking mercy from God. Unrepentant sinners! Hypocritical judges! We congratulate ourselves for our courage and power even as we murder the innocents and destroy innocence. We convince ourselves and each other that down is up, that backwards is forward, that evil is good (or that nothing, in the end, is evil if we want to justify doing it).

We desperately want to hide the truth from ourselves, and we’ll do just about anything to avoid facing the truth of our failings. And so, instead of experiencing contrition and confession, we say we need to reject the guilt that weighs us down. While drowning in the mud pit of sin, we claim we need to build up our pride and self-esteem and stop feeling bad about ourselves—we are okay just as we are! And if we aren’t, well let’s do anything other than face it!

When we pursue “feeling good about ourselves” outside of a relationship with God, it will leave us broken and empty and despairing. We sense the emptiness inside when we pursue goals other than holiness and union with God. Rather than encourage us to turn back to the Lord and be healed, our culture rages at us to give up those antiquated notions of our neediness and dependence on a “higher power.” Fill that hole in yourself with stuff—that’ll make you happy, especially if you have more and better stuff than the people you compare yourself to! Fill that emptiness with pleasure—go ahead and pursue it by using other people or by eating and drinking way past satiation (all the time not facing what’s really ‘eating’ us). Fill the emptiness in your heart with the affirmation and acclaim of others—and if others don’t recognize you with appropriate obsequiousness, attack them! If you know something’s lacking within you, be sure to hide it well—other people will take advantage of you. From a worldly perspective, the way to gain self esteem is to exercise power—to be an influencer, a judge, a voice that must be obeyed. Gaining power through manipulation, mockery, violence, threats, lies, or abuse is okay—it’s what you need to feel whole and have good self-esteem.

All these empty messages and empty promises leave those who buy into them as empty shells, despairing and desperate—and usually turning to use even more of the same faulty means that failed before. Our communication devices, the centrality of social media, and the breakdown of so many of our social institutions make us turn inward and use our inner state of happiness to judge the value of everything and everyone around us. This is the calamity of the “selfie” way of life—of keeping the narrative about ourselves, our reactions and judgments about everything, the value we place on everything as it relates to us. It seems the only way we can experience an idea, a creation, a behavior or a person is to judge and evaluate it. I like it. I don’t like it. I think it’s stupid. I could do that better. Our culture seems to be creating this response in us at a fever pitch—and it doesn’t help. Look at the statistics for suicide, self-harm, depression, anxiety and relationship troubles. When it’s all about me, I can’t get enough of me to fill me up!

We’re all sin addicts, “selfie” addicts—turning again and again to the same wells that always run dry, that leave us ashamed and thirsty and alone. What is the way out of this dilemma? Are we doomed to “curse God and die?”

No! Jesus Christ came so that we might have life and have it to the full! Jesus came so that we could find meaning, purpose, and fulfillment in Him. God, as our Creator, is the only true source of the happiness we seek.

When my younger sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she developed anorexia nervosa. As I witnessed her rapid weight loss with growing alarm, she also became less willing to engage and more inwardly focused. My parents sought ways to confront the problem, and they finally found a good therapist that could help her. As she fought her way back to mental and physical health, I was filled with concern and fear. I was grieving how my sister, who had always been my best friend, was no longer reaching out to me. I didn’t know how to help her, and so I retreated by immersing myself even more in school and activities. As a part of her recovery, her therapist encouraged her to write me a letter. She gave me her letter, along with a pillow on which she had attached an embroidered picture of a bird and a mouse sitting as friends (which I still treasure to this day!). In her letter, she apologized for the ways she had shut me out, and she talked a bit about the struggles she had been going through.

While not placing all the blame on me in her letter, she admitted that one (of many) of the reasons why she had developed an eating disorder was by comparing herself to me. From her perspective, I had better grades, was more involved in school life, and had achieved more than she had. She could never measure up and “win” against me, except she knew she was more disciplined and able to lose weight better than I. Her :losing” in the face of all my “success” was eating her up, literally, and so she starved herself to deal with the pain and to find a way to assert some control over her life.

I was devastated by her admission. I had no idea. I had been trying to do all the right things, to be good—and it had backfired in a way I had never intended. I love my sister, yet I had hurt her; but not by doing mean things to her. I had hurt her by doing good things, by doing what I thought I was supposed to be doing. What could I make of this? The unfortunate lesson I took away is that I was the kind of person who could hurt the ones I love without meaning to. There was a brokenness and toxicity about me, I believed, that made my actions hurt the ones I loved in ways I didn’t anticipate and couldn’t avoid. People were better off without me in their lives. The ones I loved most were the ones I had to protect from myself. Who else would I unintentionally hurt? This was something that lodged deep into my heart and thoughts. The wound was persistent and seemed to “flare up” as I confronted loss and challenges and disappointments that are inevitable in life. Rather than immersing myself into relationships, perhaps I and the ones I loved were better off if I just focused on “doing” things—good things, of course! If I focused on school, on work, on career, on admiration and affirmation from others, then I could remove myself from intimacy. That way I could never again unintentionally hurt someone I loved.

Thankfully, my sister and I were able to recover our friendship, and I treasure her in my life to this day. What was the spiritual journey required of both of us? To lose our fascination and obsession with ourselves and our wounded, broken ways of avoiding pain. My sister had turned inward to deal with the pain of not measuring up, of feeling “less than” and not good enough. As she rejected this falsehood about herself, she woke up to the beautiful, astonishing world around her that could capture her attention and receive her amazing contributions. I, in turn, had to learn not to turn inward from pain as well. As I grappled with the reality of how to respond to another person’s pain and dis-ease, I had to avoid believing lies about myself. I was lovable, and my love was life-giving and valuable to others. The worst thing I could do in my sorrow was to turn inward and build up a shell to protect my loved ones from myself. I had to stop focusing on myself—poor me for being so misunderstood!—and start living in the creative freedom of being in relationship with others. Learning to trust, over and over, in the power that comes from ceding control of outcomes to the Lord. Learning to trust, over and over, in the power that comes from being vulnerable and compassionate. In the months and years following my sister’s successful battle against her eating disorder, both my sister and I learned the dangers of focusing on oneself while trying to develop a healthy self-esteem and healthy relationships.

“We find rest in those we love, and we provide a resting place for those who love us.”

St. Bernard of Clairvaux

The problem with a desperate search for self-esteem is that it isn’t an end that can be pursued for itself. Godly self-esteem is the result of a life lived for a greater purpose than self-exaltation. Self-esteem, paradoxically, comes about when we become captivated by God and by our love for others and think less often of ourselves. (as C.S. Lewis put it: not to think less of ourselves, but to spend less time thinking of ourselves!)

Catholics have an answer to the worldly pursuit of self-esteem: keep your focus on the love of Our Lord Jesus Christ and grow in the virtue of humility. Humility is the capacity to be attentive to God—to forget self, not to reject or deny self. Humility is recognizing that every single person is as precious to God as you are. Humility is knowing that you are loved by God, and that you don’t have to compete for His love against others—God’s love multiplies, it never divides. Humility is recognizing that everything you possess—including your very life itself—is gift from God and not of your own doing. When we are humble, we are capable of truly recognizing, enjoying and celebrating all that God is doing—in others and in ourselves. We can rejoice in the achievements of anyone without feeling diminished—we’re all part of one another and we’re all dependent upon the same Father and giver of all good gifts after all!

How can we achieve the virtue of humility? By falling more deeply in love with God. The lover is the one eager to forget herself in order to honor her beloved. The lover’s focus is on seeking what is best for the beloved, of honoring and enjoying the gift of the relationship. All this is antithetical to the pride that destroys the humility in our heart. Humility, the word comes from a Latin term for “humus” or earth, is to keep ourselves grounded in the truth of who we are—we are beloved creatures of God raised to be His children, but we are NOT GOD. There is one God, one Lord of all, and it’s not us!

There are dangerous ways to achieve humility. If we seek humility by humiliating ourselves, we will fail. The humiliated person is absolutely turned in on themselves, nursing wounds, rehearsing retorts, carrying grudges—humiliation is not humility! Being humble does not mean we allow others to humiliate us and think we deserve to be treated in cruel or abusive ways. Being humble also means we avoid humiliating others to build up our own self-esteem. It is especially grievous when someone tries to destroy another person’s prideful attitude by humiliating them—how can we dare imagine we are competent judges of the heart and soul of another human being? Taking on the role of putting other people in their place never serves to increase our own humility—in fact, our own sinful pride grows as we justify our actions by using ourselves as the standard to which others must conform.

We also dare not become humble by rejecting or making little of the gifts God has given us. This effort is based on a falsehood, so it can’t last. It also rejects the Giver of the gift, turning our focus off Him and onto ourselves in a valiant effort to convince ourselves that we’re really not that special or not that gifted or not that important. If we are honest, we are usually seeking affirmation from someone else when we downplay ourselves. If we don’t receive that affirmation, we sulk and become resentful of the fact that no one appreciates us and all that we have to offer. No: pretending to not have talents or gifts is an ineffective way to be humble.

How do we grow in humility? Gratitude builds humility. Being grateful for the blessings, talents and gifts that God provides keeps our focus on the Giver, not on us as the recipient. A good sense of humor builds humility—laughing at oneself (not in derision but in joy at our silliness) keeps us from taking everything so seriously. When we are filled with mirth and good humor, we can “laugh it off” when something wounds our pride—and then be over it! Disciplining and guarding your heart so that it prizes God above all things is the best way to grow in humility—and this does take a tremendous amount of effort in our culture.

Humility is heavenly. When we grow in humility, we experience the successes and the excellence we achieve with true joy. Without the poison of pride (and the “fake” self-esteem that’s really a form of idolatry), we are not filled with anxiety about when it’ll all end, when the charade will be over and when people will find out what we’re really like and we’ll fade into meaninglessness again. A humble person doesn’t need “fifteen minutes of fame” or any other substitute for God—we’ve been claimed by Christ and we live IN Christ. All that Jesus has done, is doing and will do affects us, is a part of us, lives in us—what could possibly be more amazing than that?! Compared with the inexhaustible wealth of heaven of which we are heirs, what is the wealth, pleasure, power or fame we could earn on earth really worth?

To be humble is to see things as they really are. And seeing things as they really are is exhilarating, compelling, captivating! We can run this race. We can dance to God’s music. We can achieve God’s wildest ambition for us—to be saints. Who has time to guard and obsess over self-esteem when we could instead be filled with love for Christ? And once we get the love of Christ firmly fixed as the center of our existence, well, self-esteem—healthy and Godly self-esteem—fills us up with joy, vitality, and energy.

“Humility has nothing at all to do with timidity. … The humble person is daring because he counts upon the grace of Almighty God.”

Francis Fernandez, In Conversation With God, Volume 5, page 362

From the Catholic perspective, self-esteem is rooted in the fact that Jesus Christ considered us (and every human being) worth dying for. The Father loved us (and every human being) with so much love that He sent His only Son to give His life for us so that we might live forever with Him in heaven. When we chase after self-esteem as an end in itself, we lose the capacity to build true self-esteem which comes about as a by-product of loving Christ. The love Christ has for us shines a light into our souls that is so much brighter, clearer and effective that the ways we try to light up our own selves apart from him. In the light of Jesus’ love for us, our life shines brighter and more beautifully than we could ever imagine—and, with a humble heart, we can only exclaim in amazement: “for the wonder that I am, I thank you God!” (Psalm 139)

What do Catholics Believe About Purgatory?

Purgatory is the state of cleansing that God provides a souls that is oriented toward Him, but has held back from loving God completely.

Before we begin this exploration, let me affirm that Purgatory is a doctrine of the Catholic Church—part of the “deposit of faith” that we believe comes from God’s Divine Revelation and, as such, is true. We do not choose to agree with or disagree with doctrine like we do with some restaurant or movie review—or even as we might agree or disagree about the evidence used to test a scientific hypothesis. When the Church defines a doctrine, She is not creating or constructing that doctrine—She is giving human words/images to a truth revealed by God. The Church proposes doctrine for our benefit, for our guidance, for our “calibration” to that truth of God. We can have questions about doctrine and struggle with a doctrine’s explanation or implications—but we do not get to vote “yay” or “nay” as to whether something is a doctrine or not. So, yes, we Catholics assent to the doctrine of Purgatory—we can’t ignore it even if it makes us uncomfortable or if it’s unpopular.

The question for us, is to ask what exactly Catholics understand Purgatory to be and then to explore its reasonableness in terms of God’s revelation about His judgment of the human soul. When a person dies, we believe their soul is immediately judged by God as fit for heaven or as fit for hell. There are, in the end, only two choices for our eternal life—heavenly bliss or hellish agony. We are told in the Bible that God desires all to be saved—there is not, never has been and never will be a human person for whom Jesus Christ did not suffer and die. Because God is love, He invites every person to receive His offer of salvation—but God will force no one to accept the gift. We know we cannot “pay” the price of our salvation: we do not earn salvation. Neither are we compelled to accept the gift. Those who reject God’s love and refuse His mercy send themselves to hell. So where does the doctrine of Purgatory fit into our understanding of the “two roads”—of only two possible eternal destinies?

As we examine what we believe about Purgatory, we should begin with what Purgatory is NOT—for many people who say they reject the doctrine of purgatory are actually rejecting beliefs that are not even taught! Let’s clear out of the way three false ideas about what Purgatory is.

Purgatory is not a third option for our eternal life, some “middle” place between heaven and hell for those who just don’t quite “measure up” to heavenly standards but also don’t qualify for eternal hellfire.

Purgatory is also not a temporary “hell” where God works out his anger by making people suffer and “pay” for their sins. God does not need to appease His disgust about our sins before He can set eyes on us.

Purgatory is not a way that we “earn” our way into heaven by making up for an easy life that we perhaps didn’t deserve. It’s not an interrogation chamber where God tortures us until we admit to all the nasty things we did and got away with.

After rejecting some false definitions about Purgatory, it is time to examine more closely what our doctrine about Purgatory really declares. Purgatory is best described by exploring the word itself—purgation (or purification) gives us a good idea of God’s intention in designing it. Although a real part of God’s heavenly kingdom, purgatory is not a physical place—it’s a spiritual state of cleansing, preparing and healing prior to entering the perfect joy of heaven. The “mud room” of God’s castle, so to speak.

Souls in purgatory are assured of their entrance into heaven. They experience the joy of anticipating heaven with a sharpness and clarity that we cannot experience on earth—heaven is so close they can taste it! But they’re not in heaven, so souls in purgatory also experience a suffering and sorrow that we cannot experience on earth—heaven is so close they can taste it!

The sorrow and suffering of purgatory is qualitatively different from the suffering of those in hell. Those in hell suffer the eternal reality of separation from love, from the ground of all love, because they have definitively chosen self over love. So the suffering of hell is the state of non-love: of the hellishly unsatisfying worship of the non-god, the self. The temporary suffering of purgatory results from a soul who wants to choose love of God over prideful self-assertion—but struggles with that choice and was unable, before death, to die completely to self. The soul is oriented toward the love of God, but can’t quite let go of a love of self that prevents a total gift of self to God—and these two opposing loves cannot both exist in heaven.

Heaven is too pure, too powerful, too clear to allow anything other than love to enter—it would unmake the self, it would shatter that divided soul. It’s God’s mercy that provides a state of purification for those weak and damaged souls who cannot yet “ascend the heights” of heaven. It’s God’s love that heals the soul in purgatory—a love that, at first, is almost unendurable. As the soul is purified and purged—the soul strengthens and enlarges. What was unendurable now becomes joyfully possible!

An analogy might be a young person learning to compete at the highest levels of their sport. What is impossible and downright dangerous to the novice just learning the basics becomes beautifully possible to the elite athlete—think of a little girl learning to do a forward roll and then consider Simone Biles sticking the landing of the most impossible double-double somersault ever attempted! Every athlete has gone through a “purgatory” so to speak in achieving excellence. They must give up their own notions of their abilities and how to improve. They must submit to a coach’s instruction and guidance even when they don’t always see the path forward—and undergo a period of conditioning and practice that is painful, exhausting and lengthy. The effort it takes to learn to love God and love neighbor is just as challenging a process—and God is eager to “coach” us to the victory of heaven! It’s not that God doesn’t want a soul in heaven that puts them in purgatory—it’s that the soul in purgatory is incapable of receiving the full force of God’s love face-to-face. They need further “conditioning.”

What makes love too impure for heaven? What makes love too weak for heaven? What makes love too small for heaven? I suppose the answer resides within the story of Original Sin in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve chose to act upon the serpent’s declaration of what was true rather than cling to the truth God had revealed. Adam and Eve chose to focus their desire on the one thing God forbade rather than the entirety of what God gave them. Adam and Eve chose to sacrifice harmony with God in order to grasp at autonomy and self-assertion.

When we choose self assertion over God—our love is too impure. When we choose to declare ourselves as the source and summit of truth, goodness and beauty, our love is too weak. When we choose our own agenda over God’s perfect plan, our love is too small.

So, does having impure, weak and small love mean that soul is doomed to hell? Perhaps, but not necessarily. Impure, weak and small love is still love. When the love is abandoned entirely and the impurity, weakness, and smallness is all that’s left of a soul, then, yes, that’s hell. But what if the soul clings to the love itself and wishes it were not impure, weak or small?

What would a just and merciful God do? Would He say, “Oh, don’t worry that your love is impure, weak and small—please come into heaven just as you are.” I don’t think so. Wouldn’t it be more just, more merciful, to help that soul achieve love at the level of excellence and perfection? If excellence and perfection were possible, wouldn’t it be justice to require it? Wouldn’t it be a mercy to help the soul achieve it? And isn’t that what we truly desire, too? Don’t we, really, at the core of who we are, yearn for perfection and wholeness and completeness. We know that’s what we’re made for.

That’s what purgatory is—a state of cleansing and healing so that one can enter the perfection of heaven and be perfectly at home in the Father’s Kingdom—having nothing to apologize for, having no limitations. We can be perfectly at home in the company of the saint and angels, in the grand furnace of love that is the kingdom of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit—we belong! There is nothing left in us at all that limits our capacity to give and receive the pure love of God.

Purgatory is God’s solution to the weakness and woundedness we experience in our fallen state and in our fallen world. Purgatory is the way we sin addicts go through “detox” and come out cleansed, chains and shackles thrown off, ready to live within the truth of who we really are—beloved sons and daughters of God.

So purgatory’s intention is cleansing, healing and purifying. Purgatory’s methods are rooted in the merciful love of God. So, why do we think of the “suffering souls” of Purgatory? What’s suffering got to do with love? The suffering of Purgatory is a sign, first, of diagnosis and then of a deep healing.

When one goes to a Doctor, the process of healing usually involves suffering, doesn’t it! First, the diagnosis often hurts. One has to tell the Doctor that some certain movement, some part of the body, hurts. And then what does the Doctor need to do? Move that part of the body! Check and see when, under what circumstances, it hurts. See the particular motion that hurts or which spot hurts and in what way. Then we have to hear the bad news—and doesn’t it also hurt when we admit to needing help? In fact, we often put off seeking help because we’re afraid of what we’ll hear—only making the situation worse due to our procrastination! We wait until we’re desperate and can’t stand the pain before we seek help.

Then, in addition to the diagnosis, the process of healing a physical ailment or disease hurts as well. To bring about healing, the doctor or physical therapist often must cause more pain to begin with. A doctor whose main goal was to not hurt anyone wouldn’t ever cut into a patient to remove the cancer! A physical therapist whose main goal was to help people avoid pain would encourage us not to move at all until, finally, we would lose all ability to move. When healing is sought, the “merciful” thing to do, the thing that is most loving, is to allow pain, to work through the pain, in order to bring about a greater good—a return to good health, to vitality. Restoration of health, achievement of perfection, is a more worthy priority than simply avoiding pain or suffering.

This is the pain of purgatory—it’s the excision of the cancer of sin or the breaking apart of scar tissue caused by the misuse of our freedom in nurturing vice. God allows us to experience the pain of the diagnosis—that our love is wounded and diseased in some way that must be addressed. We have to face the truth about ourselves—with no more excuses, rationalizations or distractions. We see by the clarity of heaven’s light shining through our souls all the disease, weakness and woundedness that we avoided working on during our earthly life.

After the diagnosis, comes the hard work of the equivalent of “physical therapy” on our soul. We need to unlearn old habits, “poor form” and the worn-in ruts that keep us from fully experiencing God’s love. Have you ever had to work on changing the way you walk or run or do some other physical activity? It is so hard! We get used to doing something the wrong way and, over time, we build up that muscle memory and, even when it hurts us, we keep doing it that way! I think the same thing happens with our souls, as well. It’s difficult to change those old habits, tendencies, vices and weaknesses—even when we know they wound us and aren’t spiritually healthy, we sometimes resist the hard work and pain it takes to learn a new way, a better way. By the way, that’s why our Catholic tradition emphasizes the constant growing and strengthening of virtues, even in the “little things” of life that we think don’t matter—because the exercise of virtue helps create the spiritual equivalent of “muscle memory” that will help us use that virtue when it really counts.

How long is this suffering in purgatory? Well, since purgatory exists in eternity, we can’t really answer that. There is no passage of linear time in eternity—the fullness of time, the “eternal now” of eternity, isn’t experienced or quantified by hours or days or years. The suffering of the diagnosis and healing of our soul may be experienced at the moment of the soul leaving the body—in an instant of our time. Sometimes the suffering a soul experiences, especially through healing, might take longer. God carefully and mercifully protects every bit of pure love He finds in us—not wanting to harm or remove anything fit for heaven by His surgical treatment. I guess the correct answer to “how long” purgatory lasts is: as long as is necessary to enter heaven.

The joy of purgatory, remember, is that the soul is assured of their salvation. They are at heaven’s door, they will enter as soon as they are able. There is no terror in purgatory of losing the beatific vision—there is no suffering caused by uncertainty or anxiety over God’s judgment. However, I don’t want to give you the impression that purgatory’s not that bad so don’t worry about it! Our goal is heaven! God designed us to be saints! Stive for excellence and have no ambition but to live as a citizen of heaven.

There’s another aspect of Purgatory that must be examined: and that’s our connection to the holy souls in the Body of Christ. The Church is described as existing in three states until the end of time: the Church triumphant in heaven, the church suffering in Purgatory, and the Church militant on earth. We form one Body, one communion of saints—and we are truly all members of the family of God.

This means that we can pray for the holy souls in Purgatory just as we pray for others on earth. The saints in heaven do not need prayers on their behalf. The joy of the saints is to pray for the rest of the members of the Body of Christ so that, in the end, God may be all in all. The holy souls in Purgatory depend upon our prayers for their purification and healing. They cannot pray on their own behalf as they undergo their purgation. Why? Perhaps the best way to think about it is to focus once again on the goal of purgatory—purgation or purifying of a soul who loves God but who had refused to acknowledge or let go of some sins. In this refusal, the soul succumbs to pride. Pride is the deepest, the most powerful of the seven deadly sins that hold us back from truly loving God—and it is the sin that made the devil out of an archangel.

Pride tells us, “I can do it myself! I don’t need anyone else! I am the sole authority and determiner of my life.” If we give in to pride, well, that’s hell in a nutshell. We join Satan in telling God, “I’d rather rule in hell than serve in heaven.” It is pride that leads us to reject the demands of love and focus on the demands of our fallen self. It is pride that leads us to believe we can be fulfilled, happy and complete in ourselves—that we don’t need a savior. It is pride, at its full maturity, that leads us to refuse the mercy of God’s love.

So what’s the antidote to pride? Humility! What’s a sign of humility? Seeking help from others! Humility is living out the truth Jesus told St. Catherine of Siena—”I am He who is, you are she who is not.” God is God. There is One God who is Lord of all—and it’s not me. It’s not you. When we live in this truth, our humility makes it possible for God’s love to reach us. Humility places us at the bottom-most valley of God’s holy mountain, capable of receiving every bit of the flowing waters of grace that pour down from His wounded side. If we refuse the lowest place, we refuse to be in the one place where we will receive the full effects of the flood of grace, immersed in God’s great ocean of mercy!

As the holy souls in Purgatory depend upon our prayers, they are strengthened and stretched in humility. And that destroys the effect of pride on the soul—and opens the soul fully to the love of God and neighbor. Our prayers offered for our beloved dead—and for all the holy souls in purgatory—are a sign of hope and trust in God. We don’t have to worry about whether a soul is still in purgatory or not: God receives our prayers within eternity, so all time is now! God will bring to fruition the love we give through our prayers—from our perspective, that might be in an immediate way, in an anticipatory way or in a retroactive way. From God’s perspective, all times are present and held in His heart and mind.

I had a friend at our parish who was a breast cancer survivor. She had just passed her fifth year of being cancer free, and then it returned with vigor and spread throughout her body. She was a faithful Catholic and a dear woman—she helped watch my preschool boys when I went in to work at the parish, and she was a gem! As the time of her passing came closer, she struggled to accept it. The last time I went to visit her, she was drifting in and out of unconsciousness. I sat beside her and prayed for her as I held her hand. Her eyes opened, unfocused, but then she fixed them on me and I could tell she knew who was there. I spoke to her and assured her of my love and prayers. She reached out, fear in her eyes, and whispered urgently, “Marie, save me!”

As I held her close, I whispered back to her, “Sue, I love you and I am praying for you, but I can’t save you. Jesus is the one who will save you, He is your Lord and He loves you. Pray to Him.” The aide came in and gave her something so she wouldn’t get agitated, and she slipped back into unconsciousness. I felt bereft as I left—so inadequate in my desire to help my friend and concerned for her peace of mind. She struggled, as perhaps most of us do, with a weakness and vice that she “managed” or, more accurately, avoided dealing with in this life. She died a day later.

The evening before her funeral, I had a dream. I saw a dusty trail along a ridgeline in the woods leading upwards. There was a drop-off in both directions. It was very indistinct, no vistas and not that interesting—gray and monotonous was my impression, with lots of spindly trees blocking any views. A crowd of people had come up to me and were passing by. I saw Sue among them. She greeted me enthusiastically, all smiles and energy and joy just as she was prior to her final illness. She spoke happily about the hard work of the trail and of her eagerness to continue walking. As she prepared to set off again, she reached out and placed her hand on my forearm—and steadied herself that way and pushed off to begin walking again. I felt in my dream the pressure on my arm, the feeling of her hand on my arm as I braced to support her. And then I woke up. I had never felt anything in a dream before—and the dream, unlike most of my dreams, stayed with me.

As I prayed that morning at her funeral Mass, I felt a great connection to Sue and to all my beloved family and friends and parishioners who had gone on before me. The experience of that dream (while certainly not an authoritative teaching!) reminded me of the power of our prayers—and of the joy of helping one another. We are, united in the love of Christ, able to support one another on the journey to heaven—in this life of course, but also in the purgation that may come after this earthly life. Our family ends our grace each evening at the dinner table by praying: “May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.” Amen. Yes, let us all help each other to go “further up and further in” as C. S. Lewis said.

How do Catholics Understand God’s Judgment After Death?

When a person dies, we believe their soul immediately faces God in what’s called the “particular judgment”—they are judged by God as fit for heaven (with perhaps purification in purgatory first) or as fit for hell. At the end of all God’s creation, at the Last Judgment, the particular judgment each person experienced is confirmed and all things are brought to their completion in Jesus Christ. This is called the final or last judgment.

God judges each human soul at the time of death; He desires and wills that all be saved and enter His Kingdom, but God will not force us to accept His grace.

First, let’s address the particular judgment. What does God want from us and for us—and what does God do about it? I suppose the first thing to clarify is to affirm that GOD is the one who judges—we do not “make our selection” at the cosmic vending machine, put in our coins earned by our good behavior, and receive what we have paid for. Neither is judgment like passing an exam or being interviewed for a job. We can do nothing to impress God or bend His will or talk Him into something He’d rather not do.

God is God. We are not. We are subject to God’s judgment—not the other way around. So, when we face God, we are facing the one, the only One, who has the rightful authority to judge as—as our Creator, He and He alone, knows that we started with and how we finished. As the artist, He alone can judge His masterpiece. So, how does our Creator judge us? St. John of the Cross put it most succinctly: “in the evening of our life, we will be judged on love.”

This is why our Catholic theology focuses on our fundamental orientation—is our soul, our heart, our life oriented toward the love of God or away from it? Do we seek to embody that love in our lives? Do we respond to that love as a sunflower orients itself toward the sun? When Catholics speak about loving God, we mean so much more than cultivating loving feelings about God or basking in the fact that God always loves us so we can just relax and float along in a happy daze of mediocrity.

Love is, in our Catholic vision, much more than a feeling. Love of neighbor is an act of our will—of willing the good of another as other. Love of God is also an act of our will where we give ourselves entirely to God seeking union with God in a total giving and submission of self.

In addition to seeing the truth about love as an act of our will, not rooted in our emotions, the Catholic vision also recognizes the nature of this love relationship with God: He is the One leading this dance! God is love. God can do nothing that isn’t an expression of love. In every dealing with you—from His free choice to create you, from His reaching out to you and allowing you to be in relationship with Him, to His ultimate dream for you to spend eternity with Him—God is loving you.

Our love for God is always a response to His love for us. He initiates, we answer. He leads, we follow. He romances, we respond. He gifts, we receive. Every bit of the love we express—even our capacity to love—is a gift from God. We can do nothing real, nothing life-giving, nothing true that isn’t abiding in the love of God. God created us in His very image and likeness—this means that at the core of our being, our nature, is the capacity to give and receive love. Love is the center of our humanity because we are creatures made in the image and likeness of God—and God is love.

The love of God remakes us—re-creates us into a new life, a new creation in Christ. It impacts and affects every aspect of our life—our choices, our attitudes and our actions. This is why we believe that we will be judged on love—on the love we have cultivated, guarded, grown and acted upon for God, for our neighbor, and for ourselves.

To face the love of God in our particular judgment is not going to be a soft, squishy, vague or rationalizing acceptance of our half-hearted allegiance and “good enough” efforts. God’s love is pure and crystal-clear, powerful and demanding, and sacrificial. To be judged by love itself and on whether we love is to face a judgment that will separate us forever from all that is not love.

“For it will be a great thing at the hour of death… to realize that we shall be judged by One whom we have loved above all things.”

St. Teresa of Avila, The Way of Perfection, 40, 8

Think of that: what, right now in your heart, mind and will, is not captivated by love, is not rooted in love, is not seeking love? All those parts of you must be taken out of you in order to enter the pure dominion of God’s love that is heaven. What, honestly, will be left of me when all that is not love is taken away? All that is left will be the truth, the reality, the connecting point of my soul with the source of all love—God Himself.

Will I love this true self that is left, the being God designed me to be? Or will I pine for those parts of me that were self-serving, that arose from a warped and twisted and imperfect love that sought to dominate, to control, to compete? Will I refuse to enter Love’s dominion in order to preserve the false self that I have nurtured and protected during my time on earth? Would I even choose to join the false me, the non-love, the un-me in hell? For that is what hell is—choosing the false self, the self-made self, over God. Choosing unreality, untruth rather than submitting to the real, the true, the beautiful, the good—choosing love of self over love of God is hell.

Our Catholic understanding of God’s particular judgment is rooted in the terrifying and invigorating reality of our choice to love. We have the capacity within ourselves to not only be loved by God but to love God. Everything God created has the capacity to be loved or it wouldn’t exist: from the magnificent horse to the disgusting grub. We humans have the capacity to love God in return. To have the capacity to love requires rationality and freedom—because being able to love necessarily requires the ability to say “no.” Otherwise, we are not talking about a romance, a seduction, a covenant relationship. If we can’t say no, we’re stuck being God’s pet at best, at worst God’s slave or victim or tool. But God seeks beloved sons and daughters when He seeks us out.

Because God is seeking our love, His offer of eternal life is just that—an offer, a gift. We must choose to accept it. He gives us every opportunity, everything we need to say “Yes” has been given us—intellect, emotion, memory, desires, will. Even more, He has given us a chance to become a part of His family—united to Him as an adopted son or daughter. Through our repentance of sin and our radical conversion to His Son, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, we are given the greatest gift of all: the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit dwelling in us, abiding in our bodies as His true Temple, gives us the pledge of eternal life with God. We are beings destined for heavenly glory, provided with the resources we need to achieve a greatness and an excellence far beyond our natural capacities as mere creatures. This is the promise God gives us—this is what fills the Christian heart with faith, hope and love! This is what compels us to endure suffering, to claim victory over sin and temptation, to pour ourselves out in an endless waterfall of sacrifice and service. Why? Because these are all things that Jesus, our Lord and Savior, did for us. We seek to become what we adore—to reflect the light of the Son so much that we become what we reflect, sons and daughters of Almighty God.

And the greatest tragedy of a human life? To say no. To refuse to become a saint in heaven—to do it my way rather than God’s way. To believe that we can save ourselves, that we can find a way to fulfillment and peace without God. Rejecting the love of God is the ultimate—and really the only—tragedy a human can experience. We humans are good at rationalizing, at taking the easy way, at just “going along” with what’s comfortable and familiar. Perhaps many who could end up rejecting God and refusing heaven would never see that their life as on this hellish trajectory. They might envision hell as a place full of bitter, horrible haters, not filled with souls like themselves who are backsliding ever-so-gently away from virtue and holiness. People on the road to hell might still cultivate an appearance of being religious (at least when people around them approve of that sort of thing), but they fail to resist the temptations to serve self, to obey self, to worship self as the one, true god. Perhaps most people who refuse the gift of heaven are not filled with intense hatred of all that is good—at least not at first. What if most people refuse the gift of heaven because hell is just “easier,” less “demanding,” more “comfortable and accommodating”? What if fear, confusion, distraction, laziness and discouragement are the most effective tools of those demons seeking to keep us out of heaven?

Jesus spends an inordinate amount of time in the Gospels warning us about the dangers of hell—and the tricks and lies the devil uses to get us to travel that wide, smooth, comfortable road. Jesus uses his harshest words of judgment concerning hypocrisy—when we lie about the filth and evil residing in our hearts even as we appear “squeaky clean” on the outside.

Jesus also warns us about the danger of presumption—of calling out “Lord, Lord!” to Him but refusing to do what the Lord commands. Presumption, the attitude of doing whatever we want and asking for forgiveness later, is one of the devil’s most useful tools—because to presume on the Lord’s mercy is attractive, easy and affirming for our self-centeredness! Jesus is absolutely merciful—that is a great truth of our faith—but the attitude of presumption, in the end, makes us incapable of receiving mercy. When we follow the attitude of presumption to its bitter end, we become souls unwilling to admit to the need for forgiveness. And that is the unforgiveable sin that damns a soul to hell. Our refusal to be forgiven is the one sin God can’t forgive—not because His love has failed but because we refuse to accept the gift of love. As free beings, we must accept and put the gift to us. God’s love cannot enter a hardened heart.

God has designed us with the terrifying ability to damn ourselves: a capacity He does not will and yet allows. Why? Because by doing so, He has designed us with the capacity to be enfolded in, to abide in, to be transformed by His love! That is God’s desire, that is God’s ambition, that is God’s fondest dream for you—for each of His sons and daughters. As St. Augustine put it 1600 years ago, “God created you without your consent, but He will not save you without your consent.” Why? Because He gave you the Godly capacity to be loved and to love—and love requires consent.

These reflections have all been focused on the particular judgment that a soul experiences at the moment of death. To review: for those souls who have cultivated, matured and guarded a fundamental orientation to the love of God, God brings that soul into His Kingdom when they die. This can happen either immediately, or after an experience of purification and purgation called Purgatory.

For those souls who refuse to orient themselves to the love of God, but instead choose to maintain a love of self above God, God gives that person what they have chosen—an eternity separated from the love of God. This is hell. The time for us to make this fundamental choice—toward or away from the love of God—is our time on earth. At the moment of our death, when soul and body undergo their separation, our time for choosing is over. We don’t get a “re-do” or a “do-over.” One and done. That’s why life is so important. That’s why every choice matters—with every choice, every attitude, every act, we are moving one step closer to eternal bliss or eternal distress.

But don’t despair! God’s mercy is eager and able to save any soul that calls to Him—even up to the moment of death. We Catholics have an incredibly optimistic attitude about the possibility of salvation—because God’s love is powerful enough to reach the soul one step away from hell’s gates. And God is eager to exercise His power! God wills all to be saved and to come to the truth—even those who have refused Him up to the final moments of life. As Jesus assures us, all of heaven rejoices at the repentance of even one sinner.

But why put off conversion? Why play loose and fast with our eternal destiny by clinging to sin and cultivating vice? It’s true a person could ask for forgiveness at the moment of death, but will they? Most people die the way they live—orienting ourselves to the love of God takes a lifetime of practice for most of us. Why count on a sudden wrenching away from the chains of sin and vice at the last moment—which might not even happen—and in the meantime throw away a lifetime of joy in serving and loving God? The people in this life that are truly happy, that find real fulfillment and joy and satisfaction, are those who begin living their heaven here on earth—holiness is, in the end, the only means to achieving happiness.

So now that we’ve clarified the particular judgment, how does that relate to the last or final judgment? What happens at the end of time—when God ends His great work of creation and brings all to fulfillment? Do people get “re-judged” and perhaps get a change in circumstances? Does God inform some souls, “Oops! I let you into heaven, but that was a mistake. Off you go to hell, now.”

No, that’s not what the Catholic Church teaches. At the final judgment, the impact of everyone’s life—the good, the evil—will be completed and fully known. The point of everything will be made clear—all will be consummated and brought to fulfillment.

This last judgment has to wait until everyone’s done with the game of life—it’s only at that time that everyone’s effect can be completely understood. Going back to St. Augustine: he died almost 1600 years ago, but his example, his writings, his impact on people is still going strong! At the general judgment, the ripples in the pond will have finally stilled and the far-reaching effects of everyone’s life can be fully known.

When we look at events and people from the perspective of the final judgment, we will be filled with a clarity and joy about the love of God. We will see, ultimately, how every evil act, every perversion and twisting of love, eventually brought about a greater good through the working of Divine calculus. We will see, in a way that we never can on earth, how all the events and people and circumstances of our life—even the horrible and hard parts—were used by God for good. Perhaps we will rejoice as we realize that the sufferings and challenges that we could hardly bear in this life served to stretch and strengthen our capacity to love!

Finally, and eternally, those in heaven will rejoice at the fecundity, creativity and power of God’s love; and those in hell will rage at the impotence of evil. No matter how the hell-bound sought to cause evil and to destroy love, God worked all things for good for those who love Him. For, in the end, those who embrace love of self and reject love of God will have no lasting effect on anyone residing in heaven—there is no hell in heaven. There is no heaven in hell.

God will be all in all—and we will be swept up in an eternity of loving and being loved, of knowing as we are known, of exploring the depths of God in all His fullness. We will enjoy the eternal adventure of being caught up in the very life of the Trinity! Heaven is what we were designed for. It is our true home, our true destiny. Anything less than heaven is not worthy of us. Anything less than heaven will not satisfy.

The joys and bliss we experience on earth are foretastes of heaven—hints and glimpses and dim reflections of what we will experience in God’s Kingdom. God plants these little foretastes of heavenly joy all around us—to rouse our curiosity, to strengthen our resolve, to give us energy to continue to journey. God desires us to know Him and love Him and serve Him in this life so that we can be happy with Him forever in the next—this is why God made you! God wants us to use His gifts of rationality and freedom to cooperate with His dream for us—to claim our God-given dignity and destiny as His beloved children.

Being and non-being. Life and death. Heaven and hell. In the end, and along the way, God urgently cautions us that there are two choices, and only two choices: choose life that you may live!

Elijah’s Journey in Oregon

A poem and a prayer based on 1 Kings 19

I walked out into the Oregon High desert as far as I could go.

Stumbling through tears

Each step an irrevocable choice to go to an end–to end what had already ended.

I lay down under a juniper dizzy and sick with thirst.

My back an angry soreness of tension and burden.

My mind exhausted from moving in a tiny circle of pain and loss, paddling with ineffective feet on a path I did not choose that lay before me.

I gazed up at the blue expanse of open sky:

“God, take my life, I am no better than my ancestors.”

I tried so hard, my heart cries out to heaven, I tried to be better.

To rid myself of the filth and hypocrisy,

the death rags of sin and pride and rebellion,

wrapping themselves around us generation after generation.

I struggled to birth something truly alive, to nurture a new and different way of living.

It ended in stillbirth and blood and loss.

Do angel wings whir like winnowing snipe?

When the end comes, will my soul leap to flight as the Ferruginous Hawk?

The Meadowlark’s song hangs in the air, rich and heavy with promise.

Sandhill Cranes invite angels to enter this lesser realm overrun with sin and death,

greeting them with song and dance.

Get up and eat, angel’s voice whispered in the sighing breeze, get up and eat.

I sit up and gaze around:

There’s nothing here! There’s nothing provided me!

I seek and do not find. I ask and do not receive. I knock and no one opens!

Affronted into reproving silence, the angel pauses.

My gasping breath, choking back tears, is all I hear.

I lay back down, sigh and roll over.

Snipe winnowing.

Bobolink praying a burbling cacophony of mating and living and dying.

Get up and eat the words which I put into your mouth.

What words, O God! What words?

“Make the preaching of the Gospel your life’s work, in thorough-going service.”

Words tumble from Paul to Timothy into my mouth.

They are bitter words, filled with sacrifice and suffering.

Salty ears of defeat and life blood poured out for the indifferent and the mocking.

Yet I swallow and am filled with the utter fullness of GOd.

Red-tailed Hawk circling above, riding the warmth of earth transferred to air,

supporting wings and talons and piercing eyes.

The call! The cry! The summons!

A sighing breeze moves across the landscape, shivering the juniper tree and whispering:

What are you doing here, Marie?

I had within me a burning desire to speak a word to the weary.

But your people will not listen, they turn away.

I spoke of your love, I spoke your truth, the Spirit filled my heart and I spoke again.

But burning words of mockery and disinterest set fire to your altars.

Slander and disdain and arrogance put your servant to the sword.

I have no one at my right side, no one who defends my just cause.

I am alone, bereft, beaten down.

I have failed you, failed the mission, failed Love.

I am so sorry,

so, so sorry.

I cover my face with hands dirty and scarred and worn, wrinkled and cracked.

hoooooooooo, the warm breath of earth’s exhalation caresses these hands.

Breathe deeply, draw in the Spirit, heart and head and soul filled with victorious vitality,

won through defeat of pride and ambition and plans and success.

I follow a crucified Master.

A God-man rejected and scorned and humiliated and betrayed and abandoned.

Victory won by sacrifice,

love compels, impels the offering, dispels the fear.

Meadowlark sings again, liquid refulgence of sunshine and space:

Resurrection! Resurrection!

Go back the way you came.

And sustained by the food of the Word,

she walks for decades back into the world that prefers darkness but calls it light

and hates the true light, despising those who point to it and see by it.

Sustained by the food of the Word,

she anoints successors who carry the word, not her word, but a word entrusted to her,

as God gently, inexorably, mercifully, patiently draws all to completion.

How Do Catholics Make Use of the Bible?

Catholics believe that the Bible is the very Word of God, written down in human speech by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.

It a very common stereotype (and accurate in some cases) that Catholics, unlike other Christians, don’t know much about the Bible and don’t use it. I want to provide you with a more truthful understanding of how Catholics make use of the Bible.

We Catholics believe that the Bible is the inspired Word of God—it is the speech of God written down in human language under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. The Bible tells us the truth about God and the truth about how He wants us to respond to Him. The Bible is a treasured source of God’s self-revelation—a true gift and unerring guide.

Catholics are encouraged with the strongest possible language to read and study their Bible. “Ignorance of Scripture is Ignorance of Christ” declared St. Jerome almost 1600 years ago. Our Catechism teaches: “The Church forcefully and specifically exhorts all the Christian faithful … to learn the surpassing knowledge of Jesus Christ by frequent reading of the divine Scriptures” (CCC #133).

We have made it clear WHY Catholics are urged to read the Bible. Now I want to address two more matters: HOW we read the Bible and WHEN we read the Bible.

First: HOW do we read the Bible? Catholics do not adopt a fundamentalist, literal reading of the Scriptures. We read the Bible literarily, not literally. In other words, we are encouraged to pay attention to the literary form of the passage, the author’s audience and intention, and the context of the Biblical passage. We read each passage of Scripture in light of the entire Bible and of what we know to be true about God—especially when we read confusing or challenging passages. We do not pull a verse out of context and use it to prove a point we already formed in our minds—we read the Bible with a humble heart and searching mind, reading in order to know the Author of the words rather than reading to serve a utilitarian purpose we bring to the Bible.

So HOW do we read the Bible? As a lover would read a love letter penned by her beloved. As a child would read a letter sent by a much-loved parent or grandparent. We read the Bible by asking the Holy Spirit—the true author of every book in the Bible—to inspire us and guide us. We read the Bible to learn the surpassing knowledge of God and what He wants of us. If, when we read about God’s commandments, we only think about other people—we’re missing the point of God’s intention for our souls!

The Bible is comprised of 73 books—46 in the Old Testament and 27 in the New Testament. It was written over a span of more than 1200 years and comes out of a culture and time very different from our own. For these reasons, it is imperative to have guidance and instruction when reading the Bible.

But the most important thing is to read it. The next most important thing is to find a good Catholic study Bible with commentary and notes that will help you learn how the Catholic Church has interpreted and applied Biblical passages to real life situations. I recommend using the New American Bible, Revised Edition or the Revised Standard Version, Second Catholic Edition. You can find many good Catholic study Bibles at a Catholic bookstore or online.

Last suggestion about HOW to read the Bible: begin with one of the Gospels that tell about the life of Jesus—Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Next, read Acts of the Apostles that relates the history of the early Church after Jesus’ Resurrection and Ascension to heaven, and then some of the Letters in the New Testament from St. Paul or St. Peter.

What about the Old Testament? Don’t ignore it or think it is unimportant! It is part of the Bible—God’s inspired word and we cannot fully understand Jesus unless we understand God’s covenant unfolding throughout time before the Son of God came to earth. Explore the Old Testament in light of what you have read in the Gospels and the New Testament. I encourage you to use a children’s Bible to read the entire sweep of the Old Testament—the key events and people are included in the children’s version and it will help you make sense of it all.

A helpful way to dive into more of the Bible is to follow along with the readings from Daily Mass—this will break the Bible up into meaningful “chunks.” The readings from the Old Testament were selected to complement the Gospel readings—so it helps you make sense of the Old Testament. If you keep up with the readings from Daily Mass and Sunday Mass, you will make your way through almost all of the Bible every few years! You can find the daily readings on many websites, including the US Bishop’s website.

We have covered a bit about HOW to read the Bible. Now I want to share WHEN to read the Bible.

TODAY. Begin, restart, continue reading the Bible TODAY. It is easy to put off, easy to fill our hearts and minds with the content of this world and to avoid or forget about reading the Bible.

Commit to TODAY. Open the Bible in the morning, at your lunch break, in the evening—make time to you sit down and listen to the Lord.

When we feel alone, when we feel discouraged and beaten down, when we feel lost and confused—don’t we all wish that God would speak to us? Don’t we all wish that we could know God’s heart and intentions for us? Don’t’ we want to be assured of His love and tender care of us?

“Can there be a more fitting pursuit in youth or a more valuable possession in old age than a knowledge of Holy Scripture? In the midst of storms it will preserve you from the dangers of shipwreck and guide you to the shore of an enchanting paradise and the everlasting bliss of the angels.”

St. Boniface

God does speak to us. Every time we open the Bible and read, God’s words, coming from the very heart of our loving Father, are entering into our hearts and minds. God speaks. We listen. God speaks. We decide to respond. God speaks. We fall in love.

So, WHEN, specifically, can we read the Bible? Each day in our personal devotions. I really encourage the use of the Liturgy of the Hours—morning and evening prayer are filled with the recitation of Psalms and the reading of Scripture—it is a daily immersion in the Bible that is truly enriching. There is a great app for your phone called IBreviary—it is a free way to easily access the prayers used in the Church for each day.

There are tons of devotional booklets that help you unpack and apply the Mass readings for each day—find one you like and incorporate it into your daily prayer. I really like Magnificat and the Word Among Us.

Write down favorite verses that you encounter in the readings from Mass or the Liturgy of the Hours. Post them around the house—surround yourself, literally, with the word of God. Listen to music that puts Bible passages to song—or listen to the Bible performed as radio drama.

Spend time with Gospel passages doing a form of prayer called Lectio Divina (that’s Latin for the Sacred Word). In this meditative prayer style, you select a passage to pray with. Choose one that tells a vivid story and that isn’t too long—such as the story of Jesus healing the Paralyzed Man in Mark 2:1-12. You read the passage for the first time to understand the story as it is told. You read the passage slowly and then reflect on it as an observer—notice details, make sure you can retell the story and that you don’t gloss over details. Then, you approach the passage for a second time. You read it and immerse yourself in the story as a participant—you imagine what it would be like to witness the man being lowered through the roof, how Jesus looked at him, how the crowd reacts when the man is healed. After a time of reflection, you prayerfully read the story a third time one-on-one with the Lord. This time, you ask the Holy Spirit to help you uncover a message meant for you in the story—how you personally are touched, consoled or challenged by this living Word. You meditate, you talk to God, you quiet your heart and listen to the Holy Spirit. Then you conclude your time of Lectio Divina by resolving to take some action in response to the message—perhaps God is using the story to inspire you to bring a friend paralyzed by discouragement or fear to Jesus, for example. I suggest keeping a prayer journal of your Lectio Divina experiences—and your reflections on other Scripture passages.

Finally, maybe most importantly—go to Mass and really listen to the readings from Scripture that are proclaimed. Listen, not with a critic’s ear about who is proclaiming them and how they are doing! No! Listen in the same careful way you might listen to your doctor telling you about your test results. Listen in the same receptive way you might listen to a beloved friend or family member share some message meant only for you. Listen in the same attentive way you might listen to a first responder give you instructions that could possibly save your life. Listen with care—with a humble heart willing to submit to the Word of God and allow it to be living and active in you—even if that means some dreadfully uncomfortable pruning and cutting!

We Catholics believe that at Mass we are given the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist—in a powerful and Sacramental way Jesus enters into our soul and abides with us. Well, we also believe Jesus is really and truly present in the Word proclaimed—all the words of Sacred Scripture proclaim the one Word of God, Jesus Christ. Be just as attentive to the presence and power of Jesus in the Word as in the Eucharist. Receive Him with joy. Let the Word abide in you.

“Lord, Teach us to Pray”

Christian Prayer is the act of placing all our trust in the Father who loves us.

            The apostles watched Jesus praying in some deserted place, and after He finished, they asked him, “Lord, teach us to pray” (Luke 11:1). Jesus teaches them the words of the “Our Father.” We call it the Lord’s Prayer because Jesus taught it to us, not because it was how He prayed to the Father. Jesus’ own words of prayer are rarely reported in the Gospels. We have a few to ponder: at the return of the disciples (Luke 10:21-22), at Lazarus’ tomb (John 11:41-42), at the Last Supper (John 17:1:26), in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matthew 26:39, 42); and on the cross (Luke 23:34).

            What do these snippets of prayer teach us? That Jesus’ prayer life was centered on praising, thanking, interceding, and obeying the Father. He praises the Father for listening to Him and for revealing Himself through Him. He asks the Father to consecrate us and unite us in the love of the Trinity. He proclaims His willingness to do the will of the Father in complete obedience. Jesus asks the Father to forgive sinners and grant mercy.

            Jesus also gives instruction about prayer. In the Sermon on the Mount, found in chapters five through seven of St. Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells us to stay humble and to use the simple words Jesus gives us, not making a show of our own erudite phrasing and pious practices. Prayer requires enduring perseverance. We don’t insert our prayers into God’s heavenly vending machine, receive our request and move on. No. Prayer is not about changing God’s mind to match our assessment of what’s best for us and others. Prayer is about realignment of the human heart so that we can place our trust and hope in God’s plan—thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

            Jesus commands us to pray for our enemies and for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44). How much of our prayer time is actually focused on doing this? I suspect most of us fill our prayer time with requests for blessings for ourselves and those we love. There’s nothing wrong with asking God for what is good, but do we also do what Jesus commands us? Do we pray for our enemies and those who persecute us? Perhaps you are in the enviable position to proclaim, “Well, I don’t really have enemies that I know of.” Being a Catholic-Christian, however, means you have plenty of enemies who mock, demean, belittle and reject our Lord Jesus Christ. Do you pray for them? Do you pray for the militant Jihadist, the haughty atheist, the enslaved Satanist and all those who would seek your demise and destruction if they had the chance? If you do think of the enemies of Christ, do you do so with charity and compassion for their salvation or do you pray with a smug, self-congratulatory “at least I am not like these sinners” kind of prayer?

            Jesus also warned us to pray about the End Times and the closing of the age—we are to pray concerning our endurance and courage (Luke 21:36). Do we long for and seek Jesus’ return or are we so caught up in the things of this world that we shudder at the thought of losing it all when Jesus’ Kingdom comes? Are we actively praying for the wisdom and prudence we need to recognize the choices put before us? Are we preparing ourselves for the courage and faith it will take to hold fast and cling to the Rock when evil rages about us and the wages of sin are dispensed?

            Before going off to pray in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus tells His three closest Apostles to pray that they would not enter into temptation (Matthew 26:41). Prayer can draw our attention away from what tempts us to sin—but only if we are truly praying (paying attention) to God rather than wasting our prayer time in a delicious, extensive and idolatrous examination of the temptation itself. Jesus asks us to pray about what tempts us to sin because without the grace of God, we cannot resist temptation—but with God, all things are possible and we can achieve the impossible (Matthew 19:26). Praying about what tempts us is an effort to wrench our heart and mind away from lesser things toward the greatest Good—God Himself. This takes effort and willpower, especially at first, because our tastes and values are warped by the sins we commit.

            I remember reading about a study of monkeys in Asia who were exposed to the junk food of tourists. They quickly developed a taste for these non-nutritious goodies and refused to collect the food in the wild that would sustain them. They sickened and even died, growing malnourished and weakened by the false food they gorged upon even while the good food that would help them flourish remained untasted. The babies learned eating habits from the adults, and the entire colony was in peril of starvation even while eating more calories than they needed!

            Sin and vice can be like that for us humans! As we taste the ‘forbidden fruit’ of prideful self-exaltation (which is the root of all sin), we lose our taste for what is good and true and beautiful. We eat what fails to satisfy and grow sick inside on a diet of junk food for the soul. When we recognize our poor spiritual health—manifested in restlessness, lack of purpose, hopelessness, isolation or despair—we strive to consume even more of the “sin food” that is sickening us. Until we turn away and go through the hard work of restoring our taste for God, our consumption of the world’s junk puts our souls in peril.

            It’s hard work to redevelop a taste and hunger for holiness! At first, it might appear bland and unpalatable and boring. We have to work through this period as we wean our soul off of the junk food of sin and vice. After a while, we realize that our tastes are changing, being restored. What is good and holy captivates us. What is nourishing and healthy attracts us. We hunger for the things of God and not the things of this world. We find ourselves flourishing with vigor and vitality—able to meet the challenges of life with creativity, peace and joy.

            How does this “spiritual cleansing diet” proceed? Through prayer—true prayer that reaches out to God, seeking His presence in order to honor and worship Him. Jesus demonstrates this kind of intimate, flourishing relationship with the Father in his lengthy periods of prayer. The Gospels speak of Jesus praying throughout the night before important events or after challenging days (see Luke 6:12). Before Jesus inaugurates his public ministry, He spends 40 days fasting and praying in the desert (see Matthew 4:1-11). Jesus’ great work of redemption, of drawing all people into a covenant relationship with God, only proceeds from the foundation of His prayer. Prayer isn’t the pause before the real action, it is the real action—the greatest kind of action. Prayer is the action of the heart and mind and will being oriented to God. Once the compass heading of the spirit is correct, the “ship” of the body can travel with confidence toward the goal.

            We can view our own prayer life in the same way. Rather than trying to fit in a time to pray after all the real work of the day is done, why not begin with setting aside time for prayer? Put it in your calendar and set alerts on your phone to remind you to pause for prayer. It’s great to send up short little prayers to God throughout the day, but I also encourage you to devote a lengthy chunk of time to prayer—to really praying in a conversation with God rather than settling for frequent “hello’s” as you race on to the “important” stuff.

            What is Jesus’ most important lesson on prayer for His disciples? That He is with us. That we pray in Christ. That we are never abandoned because Jesus is truly Emmanuel, God with us. Now that Jesus sent the Holy Spirit into the world and into the souls of all who confess Him Lord, we do not pray to a God remote and distant, cold and calculating. We pray to the God who is seeking us in the most intimate corners of our very selves—a God who delights to dwell with us, who draws us further into His own life, and who desires our salvation so much that He paid the price owed by our sinfulness. Prayer is the attitude and the decision to “open the door” to the God who is knocking—and to allow God to enter into our lives and make of us what He wills. Abandonment. Engagement. Trust. All rooted in God’s love for us—a deep and abiding love that respects our unique identity and seeks our greatest good.

            How does a Christian pray? With child-like love! Talking to the Father with the same delight, lack of self-regard, and enthusiasm as a little child speaking to a beloved parent. Jesus pleads with us to turn and become like little children so that we can receive the gift of the Kingdom—so that we can inherit all that the Father wishes to give to His beloved children (see Matthew 18:3-4). What is distinctive about little children? They are completely willing to accept gifts. In all my years of parenting and showering gifts on children (whether my own or other people’s), I have never had a child protest, “Oh no! I don’t need anything, please don’t bring me a gift! I just can’t accept a gift from you!” No! Children readily and eagerly receive all the gifts offered them. We grown-ups manage to turn gift-giving into a challenge, a competition or a power-play. We grown ups muse about relative value, the reciprocity demanded of us, or the unspoken message of the gift. We evaluate, measure and judge gifts. We groan at having too much stuff yet at the same time we get offended when someone doesn’t give us enough or as much as they gave someone else. We grown ups have stopped accepting gifts as gifts. We bring in attitudes of entitlement or popularity, value judgments and social demands.

Jesus desires more for us! He wants us to return to our child-like receptivity for the gift—especially for the gift of a relationship with Him. Prayer is turning away from the false and deadly attitude of the worldy grown-up and embracing the life-giving attitude of being a child of God. Prayer isn’t complicated when we allow God to be the one who leads the dance of the conversation—we’re His children and, as St. Therese of Lisieux noted, parents seem to love their children just as much when they are sleeping as when they are awake. If all your prayer can be right now is a silent, trusting “snuggle” into the arms of your heavenly Father, know that you will be pleasing God immensely. His heart will throb and overflow with compassionate, tender love for you—and He will lead you to a deeper and more vibrant relationship with Him when you are ready. He is infinitely patient. He could hold you all day, He will hold you your entire life. He will, in the end, pick you up and carry you to heaven—and, in fact, that’s the only way any of us will get there. That’s what prayer prepares us for.

Diamonds and Hosts and What Really Matters

“This is my Body, given for you. … Do this in memory of me.”

Many years ago, I glanced down at my left hand on Corpus Christi Sunday and something caught my eye. The diamond was missing out my engagement ring! I was busily preparing the church for our First Holy Communion Mass beginning in under an hour, but I stopped and began searching for the diamond. Maybe it fell off as I was placing the reserved signs on the pews? My eyes searched the floor. Perhaps it dropped out while I was assembling all the certificates for Father to sign? I went into the Sacristy. Not finding it, I retraced my steps to my office, to the parish hall and back into the church.

            A flood of memories came pouring into my mind. Sitting with Matt in the Space Needle restaurant, watching the city lights below. The musician starting to play “Time in a Bottle” as Matt nervously came back to our table. Me, bemused, wondering what he was up to. Matt offering me the engagement ring as he asked me to be his wife. My yes.

            And the diamond was gone! I realized that, of course, it might have been missing for hours and could have fallen off anywhere—at home, on the sidewalk as I walked to church—and there was really no chance of finding it. A tear slid down my cheek and I keenly felt the loss. Our deacon noticed and came over to check on me. I told him what I had discovered, and he started looking for the diamond all over the church. But it was gone.

            As I struggled through the Mass, I turned in prayer to the Lord. “Lord, what’s the lesson for me in all this? How are you speaking through this experience?” Then it hit me. Here I was at the Mass on the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus, Corpus Christi! I was kneeling in adoration as the bread and wine were changed forever in the Real Presence of Jesus Christ for us to receive. We Catholics see the gifts of bread and wine as signs of God’s love—signs that actually bring about what they signify. They are not symbols of Jesus’ actions two thousand years ago. Through the priest, acting in the person of Jesus Christ and saying the words Jesus spoke over the bread and wine, they cease being bread and wine and become the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. Their appearance doesn’t change, but the reality of what they are, their nature, has changed completely.

            My diamond engagement ring is a symbol of our love. However much it meant to me, it did not contain, offer, preserve or effect love. It symbolized Matt’s desire to unite with me for the rest of our lives—but it did not provide the grace, the means or the method for doing so. That diamond was beautiful as a symbol, but it was worthless as a sign.

            I experienced the Holy Spirit’s comforting presence in my soul during that Mass. I knew that God was not punishing me for missing my diamond and He was not making light of what I had lost. But He was also gently and clearly inviting me to “put first things first” in my mind and heart.

            Would I be as distraught about not receiving the sign of Jesus’ sacrifice for my sake as I was about losing the symbol of Matt’s love for me? Do I seek and search for ways to honor and adore Jesus in the Eucharist with as much zeal as I searched for my missing diamond? Was I treating the Eucharist as a lovely symbol of my faith or my devotion and refusing to cooperate with the deep and transforming work that God desired through this sign of His Presence?

            As I went forward to receive Our Lord in Holy Communion, I was aware of the greatness of the gift being offered me. Unlike my diamond, Jesus’ Presence in the Eucharist was a treasure beyond measure. Matt scrimped and saved to purchase that engagement ring, and it had a monetary value, a “worth” that could be quantified. The Eucharist I would soon receive would offer me the Creator of all things, the Creator of my diamond and every other thing of “value” in the world as well. The Eucharist is the “pearl of great price” that cost Christ everything to purchase—He poured out His very life for us. When I receive Holy Eucharist, I am taking into my body, into my life, the source of all life, the Creator of my body and everything else I see and can’t see. What could we humans possibly offer as payment for such a gift?

            And that’s the point, isn’t it?! It is gift, grace—not to be earned, but gratefully received. Never something we are entitled to grasp, but something we are invited to accept. Since there is no way for us to purchase the sign of our salvation, God the Father offers it freely out of love. Since there is no way for us to deserve or earn our salvation, God the Son steps in and makes the offering Himself. Since there is no way we can fully and completely comprehend the enormity of the gift, God the Spirit within us receives the full “assault” of this tidal wave of love and allows us to experience the tiny trickles and splashes that refresh us without undoing us.

            We need more than we can pay for. We need more than we can take in. So, God offers us the sign of His love—the Bread of Life that sustains and nourishes and transforms us. We depend upon God not only for the invitation to love Him, but the resources and ability to love Him. That is why we need more than a symbol of His love—we need an effective sign. Jesus, loving us completely and loving us until the end, would not offer Himself for our sakes on the cross until He had provided the sacrificial meal that would make His offering available to us in every time and every place. He eagerly anticipated His crucifixion, death and resurrection at the Last Supper. When He offered Himself to us under the form of the bread and wine at the Passover meal, He explained the meaning of His sacrifice: “This is my body, offered for you.” “This is my blood of the covenant, poured out … for the forgiveness of sins” (Matthew 26:26-28).

            St. Paul teaches us that sharing in the Eucharist is a true encounter with the Lord—for if anyone “eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord” (1 Corinthians 11:27). Jesus is really and truly present in the Eucharist—body and blood, soul and divinity. Jesus is completely and gloriously living for us and in us and through us. As our bridegroom, He is eager to give Himself to us, to unite Himself to us with an intimacy that is far deeper, truer and more life-giving than the sexual union between husband and wife. We are drawn in and through this sign, into an intimate encounter with God as we renew and strengthen the covenant He established with us at our Baptism.

            The Eucharist is THE sign of Christian discipleship: it is, until we see God face-to-face in heaven, the closest we can be to our Lord and Savior. The Eucharist is THE sign of God’s intention for each believer and for the Church—He desires intimate union with each soul, and He desires to draw us into an intimate community that shares One Life as the Body of Christ. Second Vatican Council called the Eucharist the source and summit of the Christian life (Lumen gentium, 11). Jesus Christ, present to us in the Sacramental signs of the meal, is the origin and the destiny of everything good we can accomplish and everything good we can receive.

            This is why, throughout the centuries, Christians were willing to die for the Eucharist—because the Eucharist IS Jesus Christ. This is why we go to extravagant lengths to honor the Eucharist in the Mass and in Eucharistic Adoration—because in honoring the Eucharist we are honoring Jesus Christ present in the sign of the Sacrament. We see the Eucharist as the “appetizer course” of the banquet in heaven—a banquet that is described as the wedding feast of the Bridegroom and His Bride.

            After receiving Holy Communion at a Mass many years ago, I went back to my pew and knelt down in adoration of the gift I had received—I had received not just a gift, but the Giver of all good gifts! I prayed in silent adoration and spoke to my Lord, now present in a uniquely powerful way in the Temple of my body: “Oh Jesus, my Lord, I would die, I would give my life, for love of you in the Eucharist!” “Yes, my dear one, you pledge your readiness to die for me,” the Lord whispered back into my soul, “but would you choose to live for me?”

Jesus joyfully receives the rash hyperbole of promises spoken by a heart madly in love with Him—but He is not wanting us to stay in that “honeymoon suite,” so to speak. In my marriage, I prove my love, I incarnate my love for my husband in the choices and tasks of daily life—not just in the passionate and intense moments. Love transforms the dreariness and drudgery of life—but not by making things less dreary and “drudge-y”—but by giving us a motive, a reason, for offering the best of ourselves even in these times. The same is true in our walk with the Lord. Our love for the Lord, received in a powerful and intimate way in Holy Communion, doesn’t disappear until we present ourselves for another intimate encounter at our next Mass. No. The lovemaking that happens between the Lord and the Christian soul through Holy Communion changes the reason for everything else we do. That experience of intimate union transforms our souls by His love just as His love changes the bread and wine into His Real Presence.

You are what you eat. Thank God this is not literally true in the physical realm—I would, alas, be a walking, talking Pringle Chip with a dark chocolate coating! But this saying is so true in the spiritual realm! If we regularly consume a diet of pride, anger, jealousy, deceitfulness and lust, then we bit by bit transform ourselves into those vices. God warns us that when we worship idols, especially the idol of the self, we are doomed to become like what we worship—a no thing, nothing (Psalm 115:4-8). If we aren’t careful, we’ll get “eaten up” by the vices we consume. We need another meal, we need another diet: we need a God-given source of nourishment.

When we consume the Eucharist, we consume Love itself, we consume reality, we consume life, we consume truth. We are brought into communion by what we consume. Holy communion is the consummation of God’s dream for us. He wants to unite Himself to us so completely that we can become what He designed us to be: His beloved children, part of His family and citizens of heaven. We don’t incorporate the Eucharist into our life. Rather, the Eucharist incorporates us into the life of Christ. After all, the host is the Host—the One who welcome us into His Home!

We never did replace that diamond in my engagement ring. I saw no need to, since I had my memories of what it symbolized to us. We had other “jewels” to treasure much more than a replacement diamond—5 kids! The memory of losing that diamond on the feast of Corpus Christi is sweet to me. Not because of what I lost, but because of what it taught me. I learned to value the real treasure of the sign of the Eucharist as opposed to a symbol of married love. In the economy of salvation, the economy of heaven, I am invited to receive freely what is priceless and to detach from worldly treasures that aren’t eternal. So, sorry Marilyn, but “The Eucharist is a girl’s best friend.”

What do Catholics Teach About the Importance of “Self Esteem”?

Human beings, made in the image and likeness of God, possess a dignity and value that is intrinsic–it’s not based on capacities, talents, output or popularity.

Catholics are stereotyped as the religion that lays on the guilt trip, that makes people feel that they are never good enough. Catholics, our critics say, go through life wringing their hands in anxiety about whether God really loves them and whether they will go to heaven. Catholics need to embrace the value of “self-esteem” and cultivate this kind of pride of self. In reality, Catholics have both an incredibly exalted view of the human person and a very pessimistic attitude about secular efforts (absent God) to increase self-esteem.

We are beings created in the image and likeness of God. Embodied souls who are adopted by God and lifted to a dignity, a value, and a destiny far beyond our natural state: we are beloved children of God through our Baptism. The Psalmist wonders at the amazing fact of our dignity as human beings, calling us “little less than the angels” (Psalm 8:5) God established us as the ones present in His creation who would exercise His dominion (righteous rule) over it all. We walk in the dust of the earth, made of the same stuff, yet we are destined for heaven, made children of almighty God—the work of His hand that He treasures.

And then comes Jesus! The Son of God exalts our human nature even more by taking it on—the Second Person of the Most Holy Trinity ennobled our humanity by assuming it. Without losing His divinity, He became human. He loved with a human heart. He learned and thought with a human brain. He felt and expressed Himself with a human body. His humanity veiled, but did not diminish, His divinity. After the Resurrection, He showed us in mysterious ways the capabilities of a glorified, Risen body. And He went to heaven, body and soul, to prepare a place for us as well. He promises, and we profess, that someday we will be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.

With the incarnation, human beings take on a dignity far beyond even God’s initial creation and love for us. Now, we are loved by the Father in the same way that He loves His Only Begotten Son—think about that next time you are feeling worthless and useless (John 16:27)!

“Our true worth does not consist in what human beings think of us. What we really are consists of what God knows us to be.”

St. John Berchmans

Yet, that high opinion of humanity is only part of the story. We Catholics recognize the fallen nature of human beings—that, while we may be good at our core, we are tempted and attracted by evil and by self-exaltation. We are made in God’s image and likeness, yes, but we have Original Sin to grapple with—our natural grace was lost and our human nature damaged, and now we seek God with confused, distracted, and disrupted hearts. We fail to do the good we want to. We do the wrong things we don’t want to (Romans 7:25). Humans have a great capacity to commit evil, all the while justifying and rationalizing it in ways that leave our hearts wounded by sin, unwilling (and finally incapable) of confessing our guilt and seeking mercy from God. Unrepentant sinners! Hypocritical judges! We congratulate ourselves for our courage and power as we murder the innocents and destroy innocence. We convince ourselves and each other that down is up, that backwards is forward, that evil is good (or that nothing, in the end, is evil if we think it’s okay anyway).

We desperately want to hide the truth from ourselves, and we’ll do just about anything to avoid facing the truth of our failings. And so, instead of contrition and confession, we say we need to reject the guilt that weighs us down. So while drowning in the mud pit of sin, we claim we need to build up our pride and self-esteem and stop wondering if we’re good enough—of course we are, and just as we are! And if we aren’t, well let’s do anything other than face it!

When we pursue “feeling good about ourselves” outside of a relationship with God, it will leave us broken and empty and despairing. We sense the emptiness inside of ourselves when we pursue goals other than holiness and union with God. Rather than encourage us to turn back to the Lord and be healed, our culture rages at us to give up those antiquated notions of our neediness and dependence on a “higher power.” Fill that hole in yourself with stuff—that’ll make you happy, especially if you have more and better stuff than the people you compare yourself to! Fill that emptiness with pleasure—go ahead and pursue it by using other people or by “eating and drinking” way past satiation (all the time not facing what’s really ‘eating’ us). Fill the emptiness in your heart with the affirmation and acclaim of others—and if others don’t recognize you with appropriate obsequiousness, attack them! If you know something’s lacking within you, be sure to hide it well—other people will take advantage of you. The way to gain self esteem is to exercise power—to be an influencer, a judge, a voice that must be obeyed. Gaining power through manipulation, violence, threats, lies, or abuse is okay—it’s what you need to feel whole and have good self-esteem.

All these empty messages and empty promises leave those who buy into them as empty shells, despairing and desperate—and usually turning to use even more of the same faulty means that failed before. Our communication devices, the centrality of social media, and the breakdown of so many of our social institutions make us turn inward and use our inner state of happiness to judge the value of everything and everyone around us. This is the calamity of the “selfie” way of life—of keeping the narrative about ourselves, our reactions and judgments about everything, the value we place on everything as it relates to us. Our culture seems to be creating this need and subsequent behavior in us at a fever pitch—and it doesn’t help. Look at the statistics for suicide, self-harm, depression, anxiety and relationship troubles. When it’s all about me, I can’t get enough of me to fill me up!

We’re all sin addicts, “selfie” addicts—turning again and again to the same wells that always run dry, that leave us ashamed and thirsty and alone. What is the way out of this dilemma? Are we doomed to “curse God and die?”

No! Jesus Christ came so that we might have life and have it to the full! Jesus came so that we could find meaning, purpose, and fulfillment in Him. God, as our Creator, is the only true source of the happiness we seek.

“If you become Christ’s, you will stumble upon wonder upon wonder, and every one of them true.”

St. Brendan of Birr

When my younger sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she developed anorexia nervosa. As I witnessed her rapid weight loss with growing alarm, she also became less willing to engage and more inwardly focused. My parents sought ways to confront the problem, and they finally found a good therapist that could help her. As she fought her way back to mental and physical health, I was filled with concern and fear. I was grieving how my sister, who had always been my best friend, was no longer reaching out to me. I didn’t know how to help her, and so I retreated by immersing myself even more in school and activities. As a part of her recovery, her therapist encouraged her to write me a letter. She gave me her letter, along with a pillow on which she had attached an embroidered picture of a bird and a mouse sitting as friends. In her letter, she apologized for the ways she had shut me out, and she talked a bit about the struggles she had been going through.

While not placing any blame on me in her letter, she admitted that one (of many) of the reasons why she had developed an eating disorder was in comparing herself to me. From her perspective, I had better grades, was more involved in school life, and had achieved more than she had. She could never measure up and “win” against me, except she knew she was more disciplined and able to lose weight better than I. Her competitiveness in the face of all my “success” was eating her up, literally, and so she starved herself to deal to deal with the pain and to find a way to assert some control over her life.

I was devastated by her admission. I had no idea. I had been trying to do all the right things, to be good—and it had backfired in a way I had never intended. I love my sister, yet I had hurt her; but not by doing mean things to her. I had hurt her by doing good things, by doing what I thought I was supposed to be doing. What could I make of this? The lesson I took away is that I was the kind of person who could hurt the ones I love without meaning to. There was a brokenness and toxicity about me, I believed, that made my actions hurt the ones I loved in ways I didn’t anticipate and couldn’t avoid. People were better off without me in their lives. The ones I loved most were the ones I had to protect from myself. Who else would I hurt? This was something that lodged deep into my heart and thoughts. The wound was persistent and seemed to “flare up” as I confronted loss and challenges and disappointments that are inevitable in life. Rather than immersing myself into relationships, perhaps I and the ones I loved were better off if I just focused on “doing” things—good things, of course! If I focused on school, on work, on career, on admiration and affirmation from others, then I could remove myself from intimacy. That way I could never again unintentionally hurt someone I loved.

Thankfully, my sister and I were able to recover our friendship, and I treasure her in my life to this day. What was the spiritual journey required of both of us? To lose our fascination and obsession with ourselves and our wounded, broken ways of avoiding pain. My sister had turned inward to deal with the pain of not measuring up, of feeling “less than” and not good enough. As she rejected this falsehood about herself, she woke up to the beautiful, astonishing world around her that could capture her attention and receive her amazing contributions. I, in turn, had to learn not to turn inward from pain as well. As I grappled with the reality of how to respond to another person’s pain and dis-ease, I had to avoid believing lies about myself. I was lovable, and my love was life-giving and valuable to others. The worst thing I could do in my sorrow was to turn inward and build up a shell to protect my loved ones from myself. I had to stop focusing on myself—poor me for being so misunderstood!—and start living in the creative freedom of being in relationship with others. Learning to trust, over and over, in the power that comes from ceding control of outcomes to the Lord. Learning to trust, over and over, in the power that comes from being vulnerable and compassionate. In the months and years following my sister’s successful battle against her eating disorder, both my sister and I learned the dangers of focusing on oneself while trying to develop a healthy self-esteem and healthy relationships.

The problem with a desperate search for self-esteem is that it isn’t an end that can be pursued for itself. Self-esteem is the result of a life lived for a greater purpose than self-exaltation. Self-esteem, paradoxically, comes about when we become captivated by God and by our love for others and think less often of ourselves. (not think less of ourselves, but spending less time thinking of ourselves!)

Catholics have an answer to the pursuit of self-esteem: keep our focus on the love of our Lord Jesus Christ and grow in the virtue of humility. Humility is the capacity to keep one’s focus on God—to forget self, not to reject or deny self. Humility is recognizing that every single person is as precious to God as you are. Humility is knowing that you are loved by God, and that you don’t have to compete for His love against others—God’s love multiplies, it never divides. Humility is recognizing that everything you possess—including your very life itself—is gift from God and not of your own doing. When we are humble, we are capable of truly recognizing, enjoying and celebrating all that God is doing—in others and in ourselves. We can rejoice in the achievements of anyone without feeling diminished—we’re all part of one another and we’re all dependent upon the same Father and giver of all good gifts after all!

How can we achieve the virtue of humility? By falling more deeply in love with God. The lover is the one eager to forget herself in order to honor her beloved. The lover’s focus is on seeking what is best for the beloved, of honoring and enjoying the gift of the relationship. All this is antithetical to the pride that destroys the humility in our heart. Humility, the word comes from a Latin term for “humus” or earth, is to keep ourselves grounded in the truth of who we are—we are beloved creatures of God raised to be His children, but we are NOT GOD. There is one God, one Lord of all, and it’s not us!

There are dangerous ways to achieve humility. If we seek humility by humiliating ourselves, we will fail. The humiliated person is absolutely turned in on themselves, nursing wounds, rehearsing retorts, carrying grudges—humiliation is not humility! Being humble does not mean we allow others to humiliate us and think we deserve to be treated in cruel ways. Being humble also means we avoid humiliating others to build up our own self-esteem. It is especially grievous when someone tries to destroy another person’s prideful attitude by humiliating them—how can we dare imagine we are competent judges of the heart and soul of another human being? Taking on the role of putting other people in their place never serves to increase our own humility—in fact, our own sinful pride grows as we justify our actions by using ourselves as the standard to which others must conform.

We also dare not become humble by rejecting or making little of the gifts God has given us. This effort is based on a falsehood, so it can’t last. It also rejects the Giver of the gift, turning our focus off Him and onto ourselves in a valiant effort to convince ourselves that we’re really not that special or not that gifted or not that important. If we are honest, we are usually seeking affirmation from someone else when we downplay ourselves. If we don’t receive that affirmation, we sulk and become resentful of the fact that no one appreciates us and all that we have to offer. No, pretending to not have talents or gifts is an ineffective way to be humble.

How do we grow in humility? Gratitude builds humility. Being grateful for the blessings, talents and gifts that God provides keeps our focus on the Giver, not on us as the recipient. A good sense of humor builds humility—laughing at oneself (not in derision but in joy at our silliness) keeps us from taking everything so seriously. When we are filled with mirth and good humor, we can “laugh it off” when something wounds our pride—and then be over it! Disciplining and guarding your heart so that it prizes God above all things is the best way to grow in humility—and this does take a tremendous amount of effort in our culture.

Humility is heavenly. When we grow in humility, we experience the successes and the excellence we achieve with true joy. Without the poison of pride (and the “fake” self-esteem that’s really a form of idolatry), we are not filled with anxiety about when it’ll all end, when the charade will be over and when people will find out what we’re really like and we’ll fade into meaninglessness again. A humble person doesn’t need “fifteen minutes of fame” or any other substitute for God—we’ve been claimed by Christ and we live IN Christ. All that Jesus has done affects us, is a part of us, lives in us—what could possibly be more amazing than that?! Compared with the inexhaustible wealth of heaven of which we are heirs, what is the wealth, pleasure, power or fame we could earn on earth really worth?

“Humility has nothing at all to do with timidity. … The humble person is daring because he counts upon the grace of Almighty God.”

Fr. Francis Fernandez, In Conversation with God, Volume 5, page 362

To be humble is to see things as they really are. And seeing things as they really are is exhilarating, compelling, captivating! We can run this race. We can dance to God’s music. We can achieve God’s wildest ambition for us—to be saints. Who has time to guard and obsess over self-esteem when we could instead be filled with love for Christ? And once we get the love of Christ firmly fixed as the center of our existence, well, self-esteem—healthy and Godly self-esteem, fills us up with joy, vitality, and energy.

From the Catholic perspective, self-esteem is rooted in the fact that Jesus Christ considered us (and every human being) worth dying for. The Father loved us (and every human being) with so much love that He sent His only Son to give His life for us so that we might live forever with Him in heaven. When we chase after self-esteem as an end in itself, we lose the capacity to build true self-esteem which comes about as a by-product of loving Christ. The love Christ has for us shines a light into our souls that is so much brighter, clearer and effective that the ways we try to light up our own selves apart from him. In the light of Jesus’ love for us, our life shines brighter and more beautifully than we could ever imagine—and, with a humble heart, we can only exclaim in amazement: “for the wonder that I am, I thank you God!” (Psalm 139)

“Arise and be Doing!” (1 Chronicles 22:16b)

The Temple was the locus of worship in the Old Covenant–sacrifice, mediation and praise to God. Jesus declares Himself to be the new Temple.

King David, after winning peace for his kingdom and nearing the end of his life, charges the leaders of Israel to help his son construct a Temple in honor of the Lord God. In this Temple, the Ark of the Covenant would dwell, gathering all people of the Covenant to worship as one community. David calls together the craftsman and other leaders and tells them, “Arise and be doing! The Lord be with you.” Later he counsels them, “Now set your mind and heart to seek the Lord your God, so that the ark of the covenant of the Lord and the holy vessels of God may be brought into a house built for the name of the Lord” (1 Chronicles 22:19).

            “Arise and be doing!” We would do well to mind King David’s words. Filled with God’s Holy Spirit, we must arise and be doing! The Holy Spirit, the mighty Paraclete who is our counsellor and advocate, animates each member of Christ’s mystical Body. Filled with the power and authority of the Holy Spirit, God designed us for action. We are not intended to be spectators who stand by and watch others’ efforts. We are not intended to be judges who evaluate, criticize and rank the contributions of others. We are not intended to be ‘freeloaders’ who take and receive with no thought of also contributing and serving.

            Arise and be doing! But what? What are we supposed to do? The quick answer, of course, is we are called to love one another as Jesus loves us (John 15:12, 17). This is the great command He gave us at the Last Supper, and it is the overarching mission of every believer.

            But consider the context of David’s admonition. He was speaking to those who would build God’s Temple—establishing a place where God would be worshipped and served. By the grace of God poured into our hearts at our Baptism, each Christian is a Temple of the Holy Spirit. The task of every Christian is to carefully follow God’s “blueprint” and construct our lives to be a place where God is worshipped and served. How do you cooperate with God’s design for your life? How do you live as a Temple of the Holy Spirit?

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God? You are not your own; you were bought with a price.”

1 Corinthians 6:19-20a

            First, make use of the building material provided you. Build yourselves up in your most holy faith. Seek to know God so that you can better love Him and serve Him. Seek to know Him from the perspective of one captivated, entranced, overcome and fascinated—as His Beloved! God wants you to know Him as a child knows his parent, as best friends know each other, as the lover and beloved know one another. This knowledge has nothing to do with ambition, utility or power—this knowledge seeks intimacy and in-dwelling. How do build our faith? By learning. Where do learn? At the school of Mary. She observed Jesus with eyes of love and pondered what she observed in her heart—holding Him close. We join the school of Mary by opening our Bibles: especially by exploring the Gospels. The school of Mary continues in the silence and meditation of the Rosary and other forms of prayer. The school of Mary teaches us to learn the surpassing truth of the love of Jesus Christ through works of mercy. We build up our faith in our Visitations (daily interactions with others) and in our remaining near others even when doing so draws us to the cross of another’s suffering.

            Second, maintain the structure and stay vigilant. Buildings fall into disrepair when they are not used or misused. Little weaknesses and defects, when left unchecked and unrepaired, can become catastrophic problems. The challenge of the Christian life is that it lasts a lifetime—it is not a “one and done” kind of thing. Keeping the Temple of our lives in good repair takes constant attentiveness throughout our whole lifetime. How do we maintain our Temple? By constantly presenting ourselves to the Lord for grace—most especially through the Sacraments of Holy Eucharist and Penance (Reconciliation). By staying structurally “sound” and in good repair, we honor God’s handiwork and prepare ourselves for our heavenly home. Holy Eucharist is our spiritual food, our medicine of immortality, our Bread of Life. When we present ourselves for Holy Communion, we literally become living Tabernacles. The Word of God resides in us in a more real and profound way than the stone tablets of God’s Word resided in the Ark of the Covenant. Every Eucharist builds us up, bit by bit, into a ‘little Christ’—we become what we receive. The Eucharist is spiritual food that brings us into an encounter with God Himself. When we take in this food, it doesn’t get broken down into the building blocks of our body and life. No, when we take in the Eucharist, we receive another building block of His great Temple! We get ‘broken down’ (the “fallen” parts of us) and incorporated into His Body.

            Third, provide a shelter for all those seeking the warmth and light of God’s Presence. God is refashioning us into a glorious Temple for His glory; and Temples are not meant to be empty. The Temple of our life as a Christian is open to others—we provide hospitality, rest, healing and training for others. How do we shelter others in the Temple of our own lives? By refusing to gossip and slander one another—what energy goes into tearing others down in our culture! By refraining from judging the heart and soul of another human being—dismissing those we deem unimportant, unpopular or not-useful. By speaking words of correction, encouragement and compassion when they are needed. By recognizing that each person we meet is carrying burdens, scars, wounds or weaknesses—and allowing ourselves to be moved to find ways to help rather than hinder the healing and purifying that God desires for them (even allowing God to use us as instrument to bring this about for another person). By refusing to enter into the pathetic race for attention and superficial approval by a nameless, faceless crowd of judges—especially when this approval is gained by mocking and belittling and rejecting other people.

“We find rest in those we love, and we provide a resting place for those who love us.”

St. Bernard of Clairvaux

            Sheltering others in our Temple of God’s glory is demonstrated by seeing and listening. Seeing the people God places in our lives each day—really seeing them and honoring them as unique expressions of the God who loves us all into being. Listening to their stories with compassion and attentiveness rather than with impatience and judgment. When we enter into relationships ready to see and listen to the other person, then we are also given opportunities to share the joy of the Gospel. If we cannot speak directly about the Lord and what He has done for us, then we can speak indirectly through our attitudes and response to the other. Perhaps this indirect speech will do more to draw someone to the light of Christ than our direct speech anyway!

            Fourth, rest in the Lord and let Him act within you. Temples are places where God is worshipped, and sacrifices are offered. They are not meant to be beehives of industry or centers of entertainment or places of intense workouts. Worship requires a stillness, a holy silence, a receptivity that is the antithesis of the frenetic activity expected of us by the fallen world. What’s one of the most egregious character flaws we could display from the world’s perspective? To admit that one is not busy, that one is not “in demand” and “over-committed.” What is the point of all this busy-ness? It seems rooted in fear and greed and pride. We are afraid that if we stop, take a breath and turn inward, that we will notice the rot and the disrepair and the darkness present inside us and be compelled to repent and return to the Lord. We want to avoid facing the interior work, so we stay busy with outside stuff that doesn’t really matter.

            Our busy-ness can be rooted in greed. Greed for material wealth, for power and popularity, for chasing after pleasure and comfort and “experiences.” Jealous and envy work in tandem with this greed as we observe the posts of others who seem to be having more fun, with more important people, at more exotic locations and enjoying more (and finer) stuff. We can’t stop amassing wealth and “likes” and attention because we don’t want to fall behind in this futile race to fill the emptiness inside. But a temple is a cavernous place meant to be filled with the holy presence of God—it serves no purpose and achieves no great end to fill it with what is not God.

            Busy-ness can be rooted in pride as well. The attraction of power and control is extremely addictive. If we don’t trust God, we face the uncertainties and sorrows of life by seeking control. We’d rather choose “my way” than to serve others, even the Lord. We want to “matter” in life—we want others to tell us that we are essential, that they depend on us, that we are someone who “counts.” These are all good things to desire—but the problem is we seek affirmation of our worth from things and persons who are not God. God is the only One who really understands our worth and our purpose in life—since He is the one from whom they originate. When we seek to build ourselves up apart from Him, the effort will always meet with failure—for apart from Him, we can do nothing (see John 15:5).

“Don’t spend your energies on things that generate worry, anxiety and anguish. Only one thing is necessary: lift up your spirit, and love God.”

St. Padre Pio

            A wonderful thing happens when we slow down, look up and look around—we begin to notice people and situations that could use our time, talent and treasure. Our interior stillness and silence give us greater receptivity to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. We notice the urging and nudging in our hearts and minds—and when we are not filled with fear and greed and pride we can submit to the Holy Spirit. These promptings of the Holy Spirit will probably not afford us opportunities to achieve notoriety. Most often, the Holy Spirit calls us to serve in hidden and “small” ways to people who are overlooked and undervalued. Our actions can seem insignificant: we give a cup of water to someone who is thirsty; we wash someone’s foot; we share a meal with someone others reject; we anoint a dying head with the oil of compassion. These are Temple tasks—the holy work of someone whose life is directed by and handed over to the Holy Spirit.

            And what is the greatest and most efficacious Temple task? The holy work of prayer. The greatest work set before us is to join the mighty Son of God as He intercedes for others at the throne of the Father—for this is what the Son is doing in heaven, and we (as little Christ’s) must be about the Son’s business (Hebrews 7:25). Who are the most powerful, most effective persons in the Body of Christ? Those whose days are filled with prayer, even while performing the most humble and thankless jobs—those whose hearts and minds are continually drawn to the love of God and, in His love, to loving others. The most powerful and effective Temples are those confined to hospital beds, are those serving the little and defenseless day after day, are those with broken bodies and minds who are deemed “useless” from the world’s perspective but glorious Temples to God’s glory nonetheless. Prayer is the Temple task always set before us—and when we lay it aside to chase after lesser goals, the Temple is at its greatest risk. I urge you to take up this great and holy work!

“Arise and be doing!” You are a Temple of the Holy Spirit whose life is intended to be a place where God is worshipped and glorified. To achieve the glorious destiny for which you were created, you must allow God to build you up into the Temple He designed. Being God’s Temple is not about adding on a whole lot of extra activities into your life: it’s about lovingly and patiently giving God more authority, more “room” in your life. King David said it so well 3,000 years ago: “Set your heart and mind to seek the Lord your God…”

What Motivates Catholics to do Works of Service?

The works of mercy are not aimed at “people” in general, but the individual human beings we encounter each day.

As Catholics, we are “both-and” people. We are both citizens of heaven who stay laser-focused on our heavenly destiny and people who live in the world and seek to work out our salvation in this world through our service to others. We want to avoid the attitude of just waiting around for God’s kingdom and ignoring the desperate need of those around us. We also want to avoid the attitude of seeing our work in this world as the sole purpose or main point of faith and religion. We are so much more than a service organization—and yet we feel compelled to serve in the name of Jesus Christ in order to glorify God and love our neighbor. Our Catholic faith encourages us to be real agents, real mediators of the love of God during our time on this planet.

Service to others is summarized by the “works of mercy”. These come from the instruction and example of Jesus Christ, and we organize them into two categories. Corporal works of mercy are those aimed at addressing the bodily needs of those around us, and their foundation is the parable of the sheep and the goats found in Matthew’s 25th chapter. The corporal works of mercy include feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, caring for the sick, visiting the imprisoned, clothing the naked, sheltering the homeless and burying the dead. The spiritual works of mercy aim at addressing the spiritual, intellectual, and emotional needs of others. They include instructing the ignorant, counseling the doubtful, admonishing sinners, comforting the afflicted, forgiving wrongs, patiently bearing wrongs, and praying for the living and the dead. The goals in offering these works of mercy are twofold: to increase the thanksgiving and glory given to God and to acknowledge the dignity and inestimable worth of every human being we encounter.

The Catholic Church has a long history of taking care of the needy, the marginalized, and rejected in our human family. We consider it a privilege to share what the Lord has given to us with those who have less. We also consider it an honor to receive from the Lord through the generosity of those who have more. Giver and receiver are not placed in opposition to one another. Neither should the giver consider themselves more powerful, more important or more blessed because they have the opportunity to share from their excess. The giver is only doing what God has commanded and they are only giving what they themselves have received. Each of us is not, in the ultimate sense, creators or possessors of what we own—we are stewards who are given charge of things in order to carry out God’s will and vision (see 1 Peter 4:10).

The writers in Roman society marveled at the fact that the Christians in their midst took care of the frail and weak and “unimportant” members of society—and did so regardless of whether those receiving their care were Christian or not. Wherever Christians traveled throughout the world, they were noticed for the distinctiveness of their worship, their morality and their service. It is through these visible behaviors that people come to wonder about the faith that motivates such behavior. Then Christians can share the beautiful truth and invitation to “repent and believe” in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This is our joy; this is our command from Jesus Christ Himself.

Are we still known for our work in serving the poor? Yes. In fact, the Catholic Church is one of the largest distributors of human aid in the world, giving away far more resources than most countries to take care of the impoverished, the refuge, the sick and the hurting. The Catholic Church includes many organizations aimed at gathering and distributing resources to help the needy. We also are encouraged in our own apostolate (service) as lay people in the world—we do not have to work through institutions and organizations to notice and address the needs of those around us. In fact, our Catholic Church proposes the “principle of subsidiarity” to encourage alleviating problems at the most local level, closest to those in need.

Catholic Social Teaching gives additional guidance and direction about the manner and focus of our works of mercy. First, our primary goal is to honor the inestimable worth of every human person, regardless of their ability or potential contribution to society. All human persons are made in the image and likeness of God, and therefore possess a dignity and value due to their humanity, not due to their ‘works’ or potential contributions. This is true of the unborn baby, the frail elderly, the handicapped person and the severely mentally ill. In fact, in God’s reckoning, these souls seem to “rank” higher in the Kingdom of God than those of us who possess perfect health and fully functioning minds.

We consider every human being to be a potential “saint”—someone God has destined to live forever with Him in heaven. Nothing else on our earth is eternal. This means every human being is worth more than all the gold found in our universe; for the gold will one day disappear and eventually be unmade when this creation ends, but each human soul will live forever. The world, from our perspective, was created by God as a great “saint-making” machine. Nothing is more critical for us to consider than the impact of our decisions (individual and communal) on individual human souls. No human society, no matter how efficient or effective, is more important than the individual person. We cannot support or create systems that glorify the “state” or some human-created organization as greater than the human person—states, governments and organizations are intended to serve people, not the other way around.

“Whenever you find a brother in need, realize that you have found something more valuable than any treasure–the opportunity to care for another.”

St. John Chrysostom

The Holy Spirit convicted me of this truth back when I was taking care of my newborn daughter. One morning she was extra fussy—due to teething I suppose—and I was up before dawn comforting her and carrying her around the house. I decided to step outside as the sun rose, just for a break of scenery for both of us. I bundled her up in a blanket and opened the front door. The sunrise was glorious! It seemed the entire Eastern sky was ablaze with deep rose, tangerine, pink and lavender hues—with just enough cloud cover to lend drama and depth to it all. I held my breath, walked to the end of our driveway and stood there entranced by the spectacle. I offered God a prayer of thanksgiving for the beauty I was witnessing and grateful that I had happened to walk outside at just the right moment to see that gorgeous show. As I stood there, a woman walked by with her dog. I smiled at her and said “Good morning,” and we both exclaimed about the beauty of the sunrise. She walked on and I turned back toward the house.

As I walked through the door rehearsing how I would tell my husband about the sunrise I had just seen, I felt the Holy Spirit convicting my heart. Outside my house, right then, I had just met and talked with a woman who God destined for eternal glory, a person made with an immortal soul, made “little less than the angels,” and I couldn’t even picture what she looked like. I had overlooked her, looked over her, at an ephemeral sunrise and failed to appreciate the greater glory and beauty she possessed as a child of God. I enjoyed the sunrise even more than my own beloved daughter snuggled in my arms.

I could attribute it all to my introverted nature, to the exhaustion of parenting a newborn, to how the sunrise took me by surprise. Yes, I could. But I also accepted the Holy Spirit’s challenge to me. For so much of my life, I sought for and found God more in the intellectual, the natural and the artistic rather than in individual persons. I could say that I loved people, that I understood that people are made in God’ image and likeness, but did that really change how I reached out to and treated the individuals God sent into my life? Not always, maybe not even usually. Isn’t that a common problem we fallen humans face? We might say we love the poor, or love the needy, or love to serve, but observe how we are willing to treat the individual who dares cross our path on the wrong day, at the wrong time, or asking the wrong thing of us!

Catholic social teaching also highlights the importance of the family within our human society. It is the family that reflects the very nature of God as a communion of persons, united in love and expressing the creative force of love. The family is the foundational cell of human life and human society. This means that our decisions about service and works of mercy should support and defend the rights of the family—especially the right to worship and the freedom to seek what is good for the family (employment, safe housing, health care, etc.). Our Catholic wisdom, borne from experiencing the rise and fall of so many nations, teaches us that if a society does not protect and support family life, then that society will weaken and die. God formed human beings to live within a family, and God designed the family to spring from one man and one woman living in a covenant relationship for their lifetimes.

God’s design for marriage and the human family is the foundation that best supports the rearing of children; it is within the Christian family that Jesus Christ can best be proclaimed, lived and worshiped. Without this gift, children struggle to come to know the Lord and to find faith a natural and central part of life. Can it be overcome? Of course! Can children from strong Catholic homes grow up to reject their faith? Again, of course. But it is unwise to choose a course of action based on outliers and unexpected outcomes. Making the effort to develop and sustain a Christian home is still the most prudent option for Catholic couples. And it does take a great deal of effort, particularly when we reside within a world that ignores, mocks or actively persecutes those who live according to their Christian faith. The importance of the family also suggests that the most important location for us to exercise the works of mercy is within our own families—serving those closest to us.

If we fail in this regard, the service we do “outside” the family will be a hypocritical exercise that does further damage to those we fail to love who most rightfully deserve it. How many children of “good” Christian parents have been terribly wounded by parents who seek to serve the Lord in any setting or activity that takes them away from their own kids? I recall the terrible moment when I sat with the adult children of a recently deceased woman who had been renowned for her service to the poor throughout our entire city. I remarked to her children that they must be proud of their mom for having earned the recognition and praise of so many people in her great service to the poor and needy in our community. One of her daughters looked at me with a cold and cynical smile and remarked, “If only she would have cared about us in the same way she did about those who didn’t live with her.” It was a chilling realization—and one that led me to some real soul-searching about my own attitude toward the service I provided to my family. Was it offered with the same patience, compassion and good humor as I tried to present to those I served in the parish or wider community?

Our Catholic social teaching does not only focus on the smallest and foundational cells of human culture. Our teachings regarding social justice demand that we look at wider spheres as well—especially concerning ourselves with those who are marginalized, oppressed and persecuted. Justice is the virtue of giving others what is their due, what they deserve simply by the fact of their humanity and the rights God has given them (rights that are not up for negotiation and cannot be taken away by any government or society). To stive for justice is to seek ways that our human community can share out of our abundance so that all can find livelihood and peace. We strive to uphold the dignity of every human person, regardless of race, ethnicity, or culture. As the “catholic” Church, we uphold the truth that God offers the gift of faith and salvation to all peoples, of every nation. All are welcome and all are invited. This is our vision and the command from Jesus Christ. Of course it has not always been lived out; we are frequently reminded by others and by our own consciences to the ways in which we failed and still fail in this regard. Our failures are true sins against both God and other people. However, our sins do not keep us from trying again, and they certainly don’t excuse us from obeying God’s command to go to all the nations to preach and baptize in the name of Jesus Christ.

Part of our vision of justice is to care for God’s creation. Creation is God’s gift to us, but not just to those of us who happen to be living right now. We inherit the created world that has been impacted and affected by the humans who lived before us, and we pass on the created world that we have altered, for good and for bad. We do not subscribe to those who argue that creation would be better without human beings. God’s creative efforts culminated in human beings, whom He established as caretakers of all that He had created—it is not part of the Judeo-Christian worldview to see humans as “parasites” or “invaders” to the natural world.

God told us to “have dominion” over all creation—which does not imply domination, laying waste, or using up. To exercise dominion in the name of God is to bring all things to maturity and fruition. This was our task in the garden of Eden, and it remains our task today. God gave us the resources of creation to build families, communities, and peoples. God gave us the responsibility to care for the other creatures who inhabit this world and to care for the very world itself. Catholics understand that we are not “creators” in the same way that God is Creator—we cannot make something from nothing. We can only make use of the finite gifts given to us by God—and seek ways to serve the common good from them.

Care for creation requires Catholics to develop the virtues of detachment and poverty of spirit. Much of the destructive and unsustainable environmental practices that ravage our earth come from avaricious and unrestrained greed. Catholics are called to live in a different way—to seek spiritual wealth and the treasures of heaven rather than the stuff of this earth. Poverty and simplicity are so valued in our tradition—think of the saints whom we uphold as heroic examples for us all! Yet we Catholics succumb to the temptations to find security in temporal wealth and to find pleasure in the things that make life comfortable. As Catholics have moved from being marginalized and oppressed to living within the mainstream of modern society, our tendency is to “be like everyone else” in our behavior and choices. We can fail to even recognize how we become “conformed” to the values and ways of the world rather than conforming our hearts and minds to Christ. The damage to our spirit is incalculable: particularly in the ways we place power, pleasure, stuff, and affirmation as our primary goals. God is placed at the perimeter, seen as a means to these other ends, or else only sought when these other things fail to satisfy. We must we awakened from the subtle tyranny and devious distractions of this world! This is where our brothers and sisters who live in poverty can help us so much—they understand how, as we “first-worlders” cannot, to keep Christ first and foremost. They communicate the joy, the freedom, the energy that can result from not being weighed down, enslaved and diminished by the things of this world.

We Catholics must be careful not to over-sentimentalize poverty, of course—and we need to always be aware of the temptation to think it’s okay to keep other people in poverty because “it’s good for them” even while we maintain exorbitant and unsustainable lifestyles. This is madness, this is cruelty, this is unchristian! We also must be careful to watch how we strive to “spiritualize” the accumulation of stuff and the little comforts of life—just because things have an image of a saint on them or a Bible quote on them doesn’t mean we are justified in purchasing more than we need! I recall an experience I had at the Religious Education Congress down in Los Angeles quite a few years ago.

I was wandering through the exhibitor’s hall, overwhelmed by all the “religious stuff” on display for purchase. I overhead a small group of women standing in the booth in front of me. One of the women wanted to purchase a fairly large and expensive framed piece of art for her home. “Well,” she admitted with a giggle, “I just don’t feel like I have to check in with my husband before purchasing this, since it’s religious!” The others giggled and admitted to the same attitude. It’s so easy for us to justify and rationalize doing what we want! How much of our lives are spent looking at, desiring and plotting how to purchase things we don’t need, things that won’t make us happy, and things that replace God in our hearts. How much time would I have to worship the Lord and serve my neighbor if I refused to waste time scrolling through Amazon or leafing through magazines or walking down aisles looking at stuff I don’t need—and training my brain to try to figure out a use for it or a reason I might “need” to get it!

“What is superfluous for the rich is the necessity of the poor. When we have superfluous possessions, we possess objects that harm us.”

St. Augustine

The works of mercy, in the end, are not tools God has given us so that we feel better about ourselves! They are the ways and means for spreading God’s love to others and for glorifying the Lord by our lives. The softness and self-centeredness of those wealthy in the world’s things is so dangerous! We see everything as a means to lifting up our own spirits—so that prayer is valuable because it lowers our blood pressure. Giving monetary gifts is important because we get thanked and noticed and (if we have enough money) things get named in our honor. Serving the poor is important because we just feel better inside and feel superior about having the privilege of sharing with those who just aren’t blessed as we have been. We love the seats of honor, the obsequious expressions of gratitude, the satisfaction of seeing our efforts ‘pay off’ enough to allow us to justify our continued overconsumption and over-accumulation of wealth.

A charity group had its monthly meeting in the hall of the parish where I worked in Eugene. They met for a potluck luncheon and then conducted their meeting. They took up a collection for the poor and discussed the various service projects of their members. The ladies in this group were a force to be reckoned with. Our secretary was always run ragged by their frequent requests for assistance, veiled contempt at our facilities, and demands for extra time or extra space without extra charges. One of my friends at the parish witnessed the ladies entering the parish hall for their monthly meeting. They were greeted by one of the “lost souls” who frequented our parish—this homeless, mentally ill woman lived out of a small pick-up truck that was stuffed to the gills with all her earthly possessions. She dressed in layers of tattered garments and was filled with a demonstrative and energetic spirit—enthusiastically greeting everyone she encountered and sharing the messages she said she received from Our Lord. She was always eager to help and seemed to always know when Mass was being offered despite possessing no phone, no computer, and no newspaper. She was famous in the Archdiocese for always appearing where the Bishop would be presiding at Mass!

She had attended our morning Mass and noticed all the ladies driving into the back parking lot for the meeting of this charitable group. She decided it was her responsibility that day to greet everyone arriving. She held the door open and welcomed them all as if she was a noblewoman admitting guests to her castle—her infectious smile and joyful spirit were on full display.

My friend quickly noticed the universal response of every woman entering that hall for their meeting. “This is a closed meeting,” they would tersely say, usually without even looking the woman in the eye. They brushed past without thanking her for holding the door. After receiving this response multiple times, the woman looked over at my friend with a sad smile. “They like helping the poor,” she said, “but they don’t want to be with the poor.” My friend smiled at her in sympathy, and the two walked away. I think most of us who are not poor can admit to sometimes being the kind of people who want to feel good about helping the poor without the bother of actually being in relationship with them. We crave comfort, we crave reassurance, we crave stability, God forgive us, more than we crave to know and love another person.

“When we attend to the needs of those in want, we give them what is theirs, not ours. More than performing works of mercy, we are paying a debt of justice.”

Pope St. Gregory the Great

Catholic social teaching clearly demands from us a change in attitude. We are called to live the truth of our interdependence with one another. We are called to value solidarity and the common good. We are called to reject any “ism” that declares some people to be less valuable, less human, less worthy than others. Our love extends to every human being—and in a special way to the neediest and most forsaken. We see in these lost and struggling people the “lost sheep” that Jesus claims are worth seeking, worth rescuing, worth dying for. This is what moves a disciple of Jesus Christ to offer his life for another—to the point of martyrdom as in St. Maximillian Kolbe who exchanged his life for the life of another prisoner of war condemned to die in a concentration camp. This is what moves a disciple of Jesus Christ to spend her energies, fortune, and talents to serve those rejected and discriminated against—as in St. Katherine Drexel who established schools, hospitals and orphanages for the Native Americans and African Americans who lived in such abject poverty due to racist discrimination.

We seek to serve the lost, the rebellious, the dying—even those wrapped up in a lifestyle absolutely in opposition to God’s commandments. We will exercise compassion and seek relationships with people far removed from sanctity, enslaved to sin so that we can offer them the light, the healing, the life of Jesus Christ. We will not “water down” the Gospel, but we will offer the truth of the Gospel in small enough portions, even tiny droplets if necessary, for those unable to swallow the whole truth. Why? So that they, too, may one day experience the joy, the freedom, the everlasting delight, and fulfillment that comes from submitting to the Lordship of Our Savior, Jesus Christ. So that one day we can rejoice together as co-heirs to the Kingdom, citizens of heaven and members of one glorious Body. This is the hope that drives us. This is the love that animates us. This is the faith that inspires us.