November 2019

It was supposed to be a simple dinner. It was supposed to be quick, easy, and nothing about which I had to fret my little head . . . which is full up with fret these days because, as usual, I’ve taken on too much work. Supposed to be, supposed to be, supposed to be.

Actually, in one way, it was simple. It was simply a disaster.

While the death and Resurrection are the most crucial chapters in the story of Jesus, he did a lot more with his life than offer it up on the Cross. In fact, we won’t fully appreciate the significance of his death on Good Friday until we understand the mission that Jesus had for his life in the years that went before.  

As modernism sees it, the human body is nothing more than matter, to be molded, manipulated, and used. Devoid of divine purpose or meaning, it’s left for each of us, as individuals, to decide what we want to do with our body. We can ignore it and neglect it, or we can indulge its every appetite. We can nip it and tuck it, remaking it into whatever shape we desire, or we can cut it, starve it, and put it to rest when age, pain, or disease become too much to bear. We can give it away, again and again, to anyone we fancy in whatever ways we fancy, and we can do what we like with any new life that comes of that giving.

Right now, a good many minds are at work fleshing out the theology of the body’s theological and philosophical subtleties: how it builds on Karol Wojtyla’s earlier scholarship, how it responds to Scheler, how Garrigou-Lagrange’s influence runs through it. That’s good. Those discussions are important and necessary. We need them to more fully understand the complex and dense lessons contained within John Paul II’s catechesis.

What a blessing, what a privilege, to think of the Eucharist as it is celebrated around the world, and to experience participation in the sacrament. One Mass for the vast diversity of humanity. There is this unity of the body of Christ, no matter where in the world we find ourselves, that we can enter into the mystery of the Mass and be one with all Christians of all times and places, and really participate in the communion of the saints.

One of the reasons it took me so long to discern my vocation was that I was constantly looking for absolute certainty about whether or not I was called. I was told to consider whether I was “called” but I wasn’t sure what that “calling” looked or felt like. I was told to seek out the deepest desires of my heart—that my true vocation would satisfy me in a way that the other options would not. But I wasn’t sure how to identify the deepest desires of my heart.  

The best way to discern whether you are called to religious life is to prepare for religious life. In the same way that an athlete prepares for a competition, or a student for university study, you can begin readying yourself now for religious life.

There’s no theologian more famous or more influential in the West than Augustine of Hippo. The story of his conversion, the Confessions, is one of the most famous Christian books outside the Bible itself, and simply taken as literature, it’s a masterpiece. Many critics would say it’s the first real autobiography: Augustine writes not just the events of his life but even more about the inner workings of his own soul. No one ever subjected himself to a more merciless self-examination. 

The new day dawns first on Kiribati. It has to start somewhere, and the International Date Line makes a sudden dodge to the east to avoid slicing this sprawling chain of coral atolls in two with the blade of the calendar. It’s a country with a Catholic majority, and as the first rays of sunlight gild the tops of the coconut palms, morning Mass is already under way.