If you went to Mass on Sunday, then you heard the gospel reading from Matthew 16, where Jesus famously asks his disciples: “Who do you say that I am?”

It’s perhaps the most piercing question in all of Scripture, certainly the foundational question for the whole of the Christian life. Who is Jesus? Not just in the abstract—who is Jesus to you?

Not to be dramatic, but literally everything hinges on this question.

CS Lewis famously said that there are only three options when it comes to Jesus: Liar, Lunatic, or Lord. Handwaving Jesus away as a nice moral teacher akin to Confucious or Ghandi is not an option for any of us, because Jesus makes the audacious claim to be the Son of God. So if you don’t believe Him to be the Son of God, you wind up in the position of either pitying Him as a slightly confused/deluded moral teacher with an inflated ego, or judging him to be a conniving liar. Either way, it’s personal. It always is with Jesus.

And then there was yesterday’s Gospel, with the calling of Nathanael, and the famous fig tree story.

Philip said to him, "Come and see."
Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him and said of him,
"Here is a true child of Israel.
There is no duplicity in him."
Nathanael said to him, "How do you know me?"
Jesus answered and said to him,
"Before Philip called you, I saw you under the fig tree."
Nathanael answered him,
"Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel."
Jesus answered and said to him,
"Do you believe
because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree?
You will see greater things than this."

It’s one of those stories in Scripture that’s left unexplained to the reader. Why does Jesus saying that He saw Nathanael under the fig tree prompt such a dramatic expression of faith in Nathanael? We’re not told. Perhaps it was a miraculous infusion of grace in that moment. Perhaps fig trees meant something to Nathanael. It’s left as an undisclosed personal understanding between Jesus and Nathanael. An unbeliever’s, “How do you know me?” is answered by the Savior in a profound and personal way—a way that doesn’t even make sense to an outsider reading the story. “He said he saw you sitting under a tree and now you’re leaving everything to follow Him? Why?”

It’s personal. Nathanael knows. Jesus knows. It’s enough. That’s how faith is sometimes.

So the questions fall to us. Who is Jesus? Does He know us?

Is He the Messiah? Is He the Son of God? Is He a friend, brother, someone who cares about the minute details of my life? Can He heal me? Can He bear my burdens? Can He see the real me? Can He transform my life?

Does he know me?

Anyway, all of this caused me to look up this earworm from my high school days. See if you can’t pray with a John Mayer song today:

I’ve always found it confusing that confirmation season (Pentecost) lines up with graduation season. I was a junior in high school when I received the sacrament of confirmation. Like many people preparing for confirmation as a young person, I had catechists who were careful to make it clear that confirmation was not meant to be a kind of “sacramental graduation.” Yet the misconceptions around this sacrament persist, even among well-formed people in the Church.

Not to be completely dismissive of the connection; it does seem to be the case that confirmation brings a kind of completion to the Christian’s initiation. Jesus waited to send the Holy Spirit upon His disciples until after He ascended to the Father. Also, confirmation as a sacrament is distinct from baptism— though both are part of the Christian’s initiation.

Still, I can’t help but grit my teeth when I hear confirmation explained as the young person’s opportunity to choose their faith for themselves (especially when presented as opposed to baptism—a decision made for many of us as infants). Equally triggering is when Confirmation is treated as a kind of Catholic bar-mitzvah: “Now you’re an *adult* in the faith!”

Both of these statements miss the mark; but you can understand why people think along these lines. It’s called “confirmation,” for crying out loud. Logically, you can understand that some would think it gets its name from the candidate’s decision to “confirm” his or her personal decision to follow Christ.

And yet, that’s not what confirmation is. So, what is it? We’ll get to that in a minute. For now, let’s talk about sacramental prep season:

Sacramental Prep Season

Right about now, most Catholic parishes in the United States are opening up registration for this year’s catechism classes, fulfilling at least some part of their role in the Great Commission: to make everyone a disciple. One super important way to do that is for parishes to offer classes that prepare people—children and adults—to receive the sacraments. And that’s good. We need catechism classes.

But I was thinking about sacramental prep season in light of yesterday’s Gospel: the story of the rich young man:

A young man approached Jesus and said,
“Teacher, what good must I do to gain eternal life?”
He answered him, “Why do you ask me about the good?
There is only One who is good.
If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.”

…

“All of these I have observed. What do I still lack?”
Jesus said to him, “If you wish to be perfect, go,
sell what you have and give to the poor,
and you will have treasure in heaven.
Then come, follow me.”

When the young man heard this statement, he went away sad,
for he had many possessions.

It’s a sad story. From it, we learn that you can keep the commandments without, ultimately, becoming a follower of Jesus. You can keep the commandments and store up riches for yourself. You can keep the commandments and ignore the face of Christ in your neighbor. You can keep the commandments with a stony, unchanged heart.

What does that have to do with sacramental prep?

Too often, sacramental prep is lame, lifeless, and feels like little more than hoop-jumping. Scan the QR code. Pay the materials fee. Don’t miss the deadlines. Get the butts in seats. Check the boxes. Punch your card. If you do it all right, you’ll get the sacraments - yay!

It can feel sort of like if yesterday’s Gospel reading went more like this:

“Pastor, what must I do to receive the sacraments?”

“Scan the QR code. Talk to the DRE. Attend the classes.”

“All these I have done.”

“Great! You’re ready!”

Obviously we need procedures. But are we forming people to love and radically follow Jesus, or just to spout the commandments and prayers? How does a sacramental prep program accomplish both?

It’s no easy feat. So take a moment today to pray for your pastor, DRE, and the catechists at your parish. Pray for your bishop while you’re at it, too.

And if you happen to be in or near one of those roles, just a word of encouragement. People must be instructed in the catechism and learn the prayers. But don’t forget what you’re preparing them for. The sacraments aren’t our rewards for high marks in a class. They’re encounters with Jesus. So we ought to invite people to encounter Jesus through our preparation for the sacraments.

Back to confirmation:

At Pentecost, the apostles were equipped to carry out the mission that Jesus entrusted to them, to go out, to proclaim the Gospel to the ends of the Earth. They had been hiding, frozen, afraid. But with the coming of the Holy Spirit, they are emboldened, compelled to mission.

From: Hiding. Frozen. Afraid.

To: Emboldened, compelled to mission.

What happened in between? Was it a personal decision? An internal act of the will? A final test that they passed with high marks?

No. It was simply faithfully waiting. Trusting that Jesus would send the Advocate He promised.

And then, He showed up.

Confirmation is not about what we have done, or what we are choosing. It’s about what God is doing in us, recognizing that it is He who has chosen us.

Something actually happens— a change takes place within us— through this sacrament. The Christian is sealed with the Holy Spirit, sacramentally equipped to go out to proclaim Christ to the world. Just as Pentecost was the beginning of the Church’s missionary activity, so too is Confirmation meant to be the beginning of the life of the Christian.

And you don’t have to be an adult, or capable of making a big decision, in order for this to happen.

Apparently, you just have to be in the room.

On Sunday, in the midst of some back-to-school preparations, I climbed up to my 5-year-old’s bedroom to search for our copy of Charlotte’s Web. It wasn’t on any of the school supply lists; I just needed to check something. I distinctly remembered a line in it, somewhere, describing a woman sighing wistfully over the end of summer and the general passage of time.

So, you see, I needed to find it. It felt important(!) to me, what with another year of back-to-school preparations suddenly upon us again.

You might know the very chapter to which I’m referring. It’s so well known that it’s almost cliché, but for good reason (like Anne Shirley’s oft-instagrammed line about ‘a world where there are Octobers’). It’s from the beginning of chapter 15, The Crickets:

“The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everyone that summertime cannot last forever.”

Ok, so it’s a little dramatic, but then, I was feeling a little dramatic (wistful, I like to say) on Sunday. The young geese will never be goslings again, you guys! Charlotte hadn’t much time left! Time is fleeting, and we will never get this summer back!

Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying.

The point is: These are a well-written few paragraphs in which E.B. White nicely captures the sentiment of the back-to-school season. It’s yet another example of the way in which a piece of writing—a story or a song— can capture a universal human experience and turn a sad, ‘what is wrong with me?’ feeling into a less isolating realization of, ‘Oh ok, I guess this is normal human stuff’.

Put more simply: Mrs. Zuckerman got through her sadness at summer’s end with a wistful sigh, so maybe I can, too.

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This Week’s Recommendation:

Simcha Fisher hardly needs my endorsement or recommendation. But I found that her piece this week for America Magazine dovetailed nicely with my end-of-summer sadness. It’s right along the lines of The Crickets, even down to Lurvy taking their song as his cue to plant potatoes:

Perhaps one day I can learn to enjoy the change of seasons without being so dramatic about it!

Certain lines of Scripture sometimes pop into my head like the refrain of a catchy song. Psalm 78:19 is one of them. I’ll be going about my day, minding my business, when my brain will pose the question: “Ah, yes. But—*can* God spread a table in the wilderness? Well? Can He?!”

In the Psalm, the speaker is denouncing the Israelites’ lack of faith. They consistently mistrust God’s provision, despite His unwavering faithfulness to them.

He made streams flow from crags,

caused rivers of water to flow down.

But they went on sinning against him,

rebelling against the Most High in the desert.

They tested God in their hearts,

demanding the food they craved.

They spoke against God, and said,

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?

It’s not a very cheery refrain. But it sticks with me nonetheless. Something about the imagery of spreading a table makes me think of an old-timey picnic, like in a regency novel where they decide to be adventurous, but not that adventurous. A picnic in the wild outdoors requires a full table spread, complete with food and cutlery and even the dining room furniture.

Of course, the Israelites weren’t romping through the wilderness for fun. They were in exile, wandering in the desert, following God and Moses into a Promised Land and a future prepared for them. True, God had been faithful to them, but how easily they forgot in their wandering. It’s one thing to recount God’s faithfulness when you’re well-fed and feel cared for. It’s when the hunger sets in that we begin to doubt.

Yes, yes, God provides. I know He made water flow from the rock, but now we need food, and it’s not like He’s going to just spread a table for us right in the middle of this wilderness. That would be crazy!

In Sunday’s Gospel, the disciples were asking a similar question. It’s almost dinner, and we’re pretty far into this wilderness. Can God spread a table here—enough for these 5,000 people?

The answer to both is yes—and then some. God gives an abundance of manna and quail to the Israelites (but reminds them to only take what they need for each day. They need to trust He will provide again tomorrow). And He multiplies the loaves and fish for the 5,000, with leftovers! He can spread a table in the wilderness. He does provide for His children. Again and again.

As the Psalm from Sunday reminds us: “The hand of the Lord feeds us, he answers all our needs.”

Anyway, I’m thinking again about tables in the wilderness this week because we’re headed up to Yosemite to go camping for a few days (prayers for a safe and enjoyable trip are appreciated!). It turns out, it’s a lot of work to spread a table in the wilderness! That is, most campsites provide the literal table, but even a simple two-day camping trip requires a ton of prep to make sure no one goes hungry. Yet, for some reason, people still think it’s sometimes worth the effort to pack up our own provisions and go into the wilderness. We prepare tents, pack in our own food and water, and choose to deny ourselves some modern comforts for a few days so we can go and lie under the stars, amidst the trees, near a river, or beside some giant rocks.

We choose to do this. It’s good for us. We even like it! Why?

Well, I’m not totally sure. But I think John Muir was onto something when he said that, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike.”

When you’re comfortable at home, you can become quietly complacent, and begin to fall into the trap of thinking everything you have is something you’ve earned, or built for yourself. And sure, there’s nothing wrong with working to build a nice home for yourself, but in the wilderness we come face to face with the truth of the matter. The fact is that all of our efforts are sustained by God’s provision—The God who can not only spread a table in the wilderness but spread the wilderness itself. The God who made the mountains, who stretched the sequoias to the skies, who sends the morning dew and makes the birds chirp and sets the stars in their place—He’s the only one who can provide what we need.

And we need the beauty as well as the bread. We long for beauty, for order, for goodness, for magnificence. We long for communion with God Himself. So we do silly things like sleep in tents and pack two days’ worth of food into the wilderness when we have perfectly good beds to sleep in and a kitchen at home. It’s not that God is in the mountains more than He is in my living room. It’s just that when we get the chance to immerse ourself in the grandeur of the outdoors, we can sometimes more easily grasp that the God who made and cares for all of this also made and cares for each of us.

So to the wilderness we go! I hope we packed enough to eat!

💭 On My Mind

If you ask me, the world made more sense when coffee shops started offering their seasonal Autumn drinks in early August.

“But Mary,” you say, “The temps are in the triple digits in August!”

Yes, exactly. That’s when we need Autumn the most.

Think about it. Summer started way back in the end of June. Autumn doesn’t technically begin until toward the end of September. That puts us—right now—just about in the middle of summer.

Recall the middle of June. The mornings were still blanketed in fog, but the afternoons were turning beautifully warm. Summer was only beginning. We welcomed its arrival on the longest and sunniest day of the year: the summer solstice (traditionally called ‘midsommer,’ which is, frankly, confusing).

So summer began in June, and we eagerly welcomed it. But ever since then, the days have been getting ever so shorter. Just slightly. By minutes. You probably are only just now beginning to notice. The average sunset in early July around here was 8:02pm, but now it’s creeping back towards 7:45pm.

You might think that the longest and brightest day of the year (June) ought also be the hottest. Mercifully, this is usually not the case. August is much hotter than June. Blisteringly hot. This actually makes sense when you think about it. If early summer is the bright ‘midday’ of the year, then right now is sort of like the 2-3pm. Temps are reaching their peak, and we’re beginning to look towards evening.

Even the sunsets look different as we push towards August than they did in June. They’re more sepia-toned. Seem to cast longer shadows. Make you wistful for autumn in a way the June sunsets just could never. It’s all part of the design, I think. We begin to long for autumn this time of year not because we’re bad at ‘living in the moment,’ but because the very world around us is just beginning to point towards autumn.

The fact that it’s pushing 103 outside is actually itself a cue that the evening will be here before we know it.

📜 Quote of the Week:

When I read this I made this face: 🥺

Parents, you gotta tend those little ones tenderly!

📚 What I’m Reading:

I’m still slowly making my way through Little Men by Louisa May Alcott (hence the quote of the week). This book has been my Kindle-read for longer than I care to admit. I reach for it somewhat infrequently—sometimes just before falling asleep, and sometimes only in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. It’s bite-sized and generally happy and not anxiety or nightmare inducing. Just what I need for the bedside table.

I finally finished - The Quiet Light: A Novel About St. Thomas Aquinas by Louis deWohl. I’m glad to have finished it, both because I genuinely wanted to know what happened to each of the characters, and because it had become one of those lingering unchecked ‘To-Dos’ for far too long. Though I enjoyed the story overall, I don’t think the medieval setting is my jam, to be honest. But it was good for humanizing St. Thomas Aquinas.

In July I also read Geradline McCaughrean’s children’s adaptation of The Odyssey to familiarize myself with the story before seeing the film. I was surprised to find that it was something of a page-turner.

📺 What I Watched:

I saw Nolan’s Odyssey last week, and I gotta say, it really made me feel things. My biggest takeaway is sappy, but it really made me feel for the weight that husbands and fathers carry, the monsters they battle, so to speak. Unpopular opinion(?), but I liked Nolan’s Odyssesus. I also saw plenty of Christian themes in the film as well— Odysseus’ relationship to Athena reminded me of the Holy Spirit and/or Our Lady. There was obviously plenty in there about the choice to conquer your passions or let them conquer you. The slaughtering of the cow reminded me of the golden calf. There’s also baptism imagery, reconcilation— just lots of good stuff for reflection, in my opinion.

And I will also say: I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the memes it has inspired.

On the home front, we briefly picked up and then put back down again Apple TV’s For All Mankind. Just too bleak, and then began taking weird directions for the characters. We’ve currently settled on the Masterpiece Classic, All Creatures Great And Small. We are late to the party, which means we have so many episodes available to watch! And it’s nice having a show the family can all watch together. Plus, talk about being wistful for Autumn vibes and cozy sweaters. Forget about it.

🎧 In My Earbuds:

Phil Wickham released a new song last week, and it’s a good one! Musically, it sort of gives me some Taylor Swift/ Bon Iver vibes—like ‘Exile,’ but a much more positive and pleasant theme. A song you can pray with. Check it out:

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“That Guy,” to whom he was referring, was Winnie-the-Pooh.

“Wait—have you never seen Winnie-the-Pooh?” I asked, somewhat horrified.

“No, I don’t think so,” he shrugged.

It was one of those moments as a parent when you wonder where you went wrong. I felt the guilt rising in me, like I had shirked some parental responsibility to pass on ‘the classics’ to my children.

This same child was recently on something of a Power Rangers kick after my husband pulled up some of the original 90s episodes on YouTube. We read the old Curious George books together. When he was younger, I made sure he got some classic Thomas the Train sprinkled in with his Paw Patrol and Bluey, and we even threw in some Little Bear and Franklin for good measure.

But despite my best efforts to give this, my youngest child, the best of the classics, somehow I missed the window for Winnie-the-Pooh. That means he doesn’t know Tigger or Eeyore. He doesn’t know the ‘rumbly in my tumbly song.’ For crying out loud, he won’t even know to be terrified of Heffalumps!

Of course, it’s impossible to exactly replicate the cultural touchstones of your childhood for your own children, and it becomes a little weird when we try too hard to do so. There’s a line between sharing the stories you loved with your children and becoming that mom who buys a VCR from the thrift store and decides to make “Giving My Kids a ’90s Childhood’” her entire personality. It’s a tricky balance to strike.

I’ve been thinking about passing along stories to your children in light of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey being released this past weekend. Homer’s Odyssey is one of the oldest examples of a story passed through generations. Imagine an ancient Greek child shooing away his older brother’s Odysseus stuffy, referring to him as “that guy.” Unthinkable! But then, there were really only a few stories to choose from back then, right?

I can see it now:

“What’ll it be tonight, son? Odysseus and the Cyclops? How about the Lotus Eaters?”

“Not again, Dad!”

A few thousand years later, parents have…decidedly more options to choose from when it comes to sharing stories with our children. How do you fit Odysseus all the way to Bandit Heeler into one childhood? You can’t. You have to pick and choose. Prioritize. And accept that there will be casualties. Blind spots. Things you miss. A rejected bunch of beloved classic characters who will be casually and tragically cast off as “That Guy.” At least for now.

There’s a conversation being had online right now about the “death of literacy.” It’s related to the discussion about the importance (or not) of ‘the classics,’ and all of it is (of course) wrapped up in the doom and gloom surrounding Artificial Intelligence.

I’m sure you’ve heard the talking points:

No one reads anymore! We all have TikTok brain, and no attention span. We are losing our cultural touchstones. People today don’t understand references that were commonplace just a generation ago. Etc.

I get it. I’m all for encouraging people to stop scrolling and start reading, and reading the good stuff. (The classics are classic for a reason!) However, I also tend to think that the really good stuff has a way of finding us when we need it most.

My son didn’t get around to Winnie-the-Pooh as a little kid. But his older brother did. Maybe the fuzzy memory of that yellow bear on his brother’s bed will one day inspire him to pick up and read aloud some of the stories to his own son. Maybe there are those little seeds of the great stories in all of us, just waiting for the season to blossom.

We are not large language models. Being culturally literate isn’t some project where we force-feed our children stories so that they won’t be found ignorant of the references. There’s no final literature test. There’s just your life, made better or worse by the stories you fill it with. Hopefully, you share the stories you love most with the people you love most.

That’s how you build a culture.

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People who journal sometimes talk about how wonderful it is to go back to read old entries. It allows you to revisit old memories and see in real time how God has been at work through your life.

I’ve tried to keep up a journal from time to time. At least, I like to carry notebooks around with me to scribble words into. This Substack takes its name from my habit of scribbling down my half-formed thoughts, either on paper or in my notes app, as they come to me. Sometimes those notes turn into important, big ideas I think are worth sharing with an audience. Often, though, they’re just scribbles. But I never really know which it is until I write something down.

Anyway, I have this other somewhat impulsively-destructive habit of tearing out and trashing my old journal entries. I don’t usually find myself reading my old writings and fondly reminiscing. More often, I read, and I cringe.

I may be growing, though, because just a couple of weeks ago it occurred to me that I have more than a few notebooks floating around my house with such scribblings inside them. Might be time to clean those up, I thought to myself, lest I suffer an untimely death and leave my husband and children to discover my crazy inner thoughts. The horror! But when I began flipping through one of them, I was less overcome with cringe than I expected. These were…fine? Nothing profound or deep, but also nothing I felt the overwhelming urge to burn with fire. Maybe I’ll just leave these, I thought. Besides, who am I to rob my family of the good laugh they could have together after I’m gone over these little glimpses into the inner workings of my brain?

Well, my subscribers got such a glimpse into my brain yesterday, which is decidedly more embarrassing. It’s a bit of a long story, but the short version is that I accidentally published an early draft form of the article I was intending to publish, instead of the polished version. It was full of those half-formed thoughts, sentence fragments, and wild hare ideas that were nowhere near ready to see the light of day. Just a real deep dive into my crazy. For context, I don’t even like it when my husband is over my shoulder while I’m working on a draft, so to have one just pushed out to all of my subscribers’ inboxes was pretty mortifying.

In the words of that kid from Sandlot, “I blame myself.” It’s a rookie mistake to write from a blank page into the Substack editor, even though I’m fairly certain there was some app-based glitch at play as well. To make matters worse, I panicked and clicked the ‘Delete Post’ button when I saw the mistake, and thus lost all the draft history. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it that the final draft was, like, Pulitzer-level writing. Just really top-notch stuff. ;-)

What Did We Learn?

After I got my dose of humility yesterday morning, I had to take my kids to the parish for Vacation Bible School (where I’m also volunteering for the week). You can’t tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor, because the “Bible Buddy” of the day was a glass frog named Seymour:

I couldn’t help but laugh when watching the intro video with all the kids. “You can see right through me!” Seymour says. And sure enough, look at the poor little guy. His skin is translucent. Everything is on display. Out in the open. Exposed.

At VBS, the “Bible Buddy” of the day always contains a lesson attached to a Bible point. Yesterday’s felt very…pointed. The Bible verse of the day was from Psalm 139:

“O God, you have searched me and know me….All my thoughts lie open to your gaze.”

A little on the nose, there, God.

So, two lessons learned yesterday: Don’t edit your drafts in Substack. But, if you do accidentally show the world a little too much of your crazy, well, just remember that God already knows it all— And He loves you just the same 🙂

Happy Tuesday!

I’m on vacation this week, enjoying some sunshine and sand on the California coast. (That is to say, this will be a quick note!)

I find it’s impossible to stand on the shore of an ocean and not ~feel things~. God’s magnitude. Your own smallness. Immense gratitude. Just good, old-fashioned awe. Perhaps most unbelievable of all is that the feeling never really goes away. No matter how many times you’ve seen the ocean, your breath still catches when you turn the corner and—there it is.

It’s like that with God. His grandeur doesn’t get less impressive with time. In fact, His constancy is part of the absurdity of it all. He’s the one who made the tide relentless in causing it to crash into the shore over and over again for all time. The sun rises and sets each morning and evening—and both times it arrests people with its beauty, compelling us to pause and watch because it stirs something in us we can’t fully put into words. And these are just things God has created. How much more magnificent and awesome is the Creator Himself!

Admittedly, it’s easier to find God in a sunset on a beach vacation than in the sunrise on your Monday morning commute. But I promise— He’s there in both instances!

Speaking of staring off into the distance and ~feeling~ things: In today’s Gospel, Jesus does just that:

At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them
because they were troubled and abandoned,
like sheep without a shepherd.

I think of myself looking out at the ocean, my heart being moved with gratitude and awe.

And then I think of Jesus overlooking the crowds, His heart being moved with pity for them.

Then he said to his disciples,
“The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few;
so ask the master of the harvest
to send out laborers for his harvest.”

The harvest is abundant.

Meaning: There is so much good here. But there’s an ache, too. Like that ache you feel when you look out at the ocean. We feel the ache because we’re not home yet, and something within us knows it. Jesus felt an ache overlooking the crowds—looking at us—because He saw the good and He knew the longing. He saw the loneliness, the trouble. He knew we ache for a shepherd.

Ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers. What do you do with the ache you feel when you look out at the ocean? You give it to God.

Thank you for your goodness, Lord. Help me to live my life in a way that gives you glory. Make me a laborer for your harvest.

“Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now!”

If I had to pick one, I think this refrain is my favorite recurring line from Hamilton.

For the uninitiated, Hamilton: An American Musical is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s massively successful Broadway musical set in Revolutionary America. It’s based on Ron Chernow’s 2004 biography of Alexander Hamilton, & it first debuted on Broadway in the summer of 2015.

It’s nearly impossible to listen to the soundtrack without falling down a rabbit hole of American history. Nearly every song, you’ll find yourself asking, “Wait, how true is that?” And if you’re like me, you’ll be grabbing The Federalist Papers and Common Sense off your shelf and calling out in vain to your kids, “Gather round, children, let us read the founding documents of our nation together!” (No thanks, Mom. Happy to continue listening to The Schuyler Sisters on repeat, though.)

Of course, it’s also a lesson for everyone in how certain things get embellished for the sake of storytelling. And there are parts our family skips over because it’s not a PG show, and the lyrics are definitely not all kid-appropriate. But it’s a good place to start if you want to give your kids (or yourself) the bug for American history.

As I was saying, though. It’s almost America 250, and— to borrow a phrase from Hamilton—I think we are lucky to be alive right now.

In Hamilton, we first hear this refrain sung to the upbeat tune of The Schuyler Sisters: There’s nothing like summer in the city! The three young ladies (one of whom would go on to become Eliza Hamilton herself) are pumped to be in NYC during the Revolution. Despite little Peggy’s prescient foreshadowing of the cost of the coming fight (it’s bad enough Daddy wants to go to war & that there’ll be violence on our shore!), Angelica and Eliza can’t help but get swept up in the excitement of it all. There are new ideas everywhere! Look around! So much is happening! How lucky we are to be part of this moment in history!

But these catchy refrains in Hamilton have a way of taking up different meanings throughout the story. Years later, when Alexander is sent home from the battlefield to a pregnant Eliza, we hear the familiar refrain take on a more somber tone. “Look around,” at the cost of independence. We are among the lucky ones to be left standing among the wreckage.

“We don’t need a legacy,” Eliza sings to her husband. “We don’t need money. As long as you come home at the end of the day, that would be enough.

It’s an imagined glimpse into the toll of the Revolution on one founding family. Independence is worth fighting for. Worth dying for, even. But it’s in these bitter moments that we recognize most clearly that each moment we are alive is a miracle. And that’s still true today as it was then.

I had many more Hamilton-inspired words and memes that I thought about sharing this week in honor of America250. About how different the world is now than it was when the musical debuted in the summer of 2015. Or about how ironic it is that you can sort of track Hamilton’s rise with that of Donald Trump (They both showed up on the political stage, so to speak, in 2015!). And something about those moments when it seems—at least to half of the country—that the world has been ‘turned upside down.’ But I don’t think any of that matters as much as this simple truth.

It’s two hundred and fifty years after the Revolution. No matter which side of the political fence you choose to plant your flag, we are each of us truly fortunate, blessed, and lucky to be living in this moment. Because, my friends, this—right now— is the moment you were created for.

Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now!

We are lucky that we live in a nation founded on the principle that we are all created equal. That we live in a land of prosperity and comfort. That we live in a land where we are free to say what we believe and to worship our Creator without fear.

It’s not perfect. These freedoms obviously haven’t always been universally applied or protected. Each of us has sung that metaphorical ‘Look around!’ refrain filled with hope and possibility, as well as with fear and sadness. Yet, the refrain remains true.

Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now!

Every moment is a miracle. Life is a gift. That’s true in any country, sure. But I’m particularly grateful for 250 years of this one.

The Gospel from this past Sunday reminded me of little boys and their pocketed treasures.

I suppose you threw away my bundle of plunder?” said Dan, looking rather anxious as he put the question.

“No, I kept it, for I thought they must be treasures of some kind, you took such care of them;” and Mrs. Jo brought him his old straw hat stuck full of butterflies and beetles, and a handkerchief containing a collection of odd things picked up on his way: birds’ eggs, carefully done up in moss, curious shells and stones, bits of fungus, and several little crabs, in a state of great indignation at their imprisonment.

-Little Men, Louisa May Alcott

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Something about a sparrow-based system of value measurement put me in the mind of a kid who empties his pockets at the end of the day to admire his ‘plunder.’ Pebbles, pinecones, leaves, and paper scraps. The kind of thing an overstimulated mom might be tempted to sweep back onto the porch, but pauses in her more discerning moments to recognize that these are actually the treasures of her children’s hearts.

For most of my childhood, my grandparents had a decorative sign on the front porch above their doorbell that read, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.” Lyrics from a hymn based on Sunday’s Gospel. I actually can’t remember which I read first: this Gospel or that sign on that front porch, but the two are inseparably linked in my memory.

Now, my grandparents also had a barn cat to help keep the garden rodents under control. It was a well-loved cat, and so sometimes would show its appreciation for the hospitality shown it by doing what cats do: leaving its own kind of plunder as a little ‘gift’ on the front porch. I remember my uncles cracking jokes about the irony of the juxtaposition. His eye is on the sparrow, and—oh, dear—the poor sparrow.

“You are worth more than many sparrows,” Jesus assures His followers. The premise, of course, is that sparrows aren’t actually worth all that much on the marketplace. You can get two for a coin—a small coin. But even these matter to the Father. Not one falls to the ground (or winds up on the front porch, as it were) without His knowledge. He goes on to say that even the hairs of your head are numbered, but he doesn’t promise the number won’t dwindle!

The point is that He’s there for all of it, taking an interest in the smallest details, in the most obscure collections. We can entrust our smallest pocket plunders and our greatest treasures to Him. He knows the value of a sparrow.

I was driving on a Texas freeway in 2017 when I started seeing black spots in my vision.

They went away almost as soon as they came. I was probably dehydrated, I guess. Nothing bad or overly dramatic happened. But I decided to call my husband to let him know—you know— in case I died. He stayed on the phone with me until I got safely off the freeway. We concluded things were fine. I continued driving safely to my destination.

And I think that was probably the beginning of the end of me driving on the freeway.

I don’t remember the exact details of when or how, but after that, my world got progressively smaller. At first, I could still drive the freeway, so long as I was on the phone with someone. And then one day I couldn’t drive on the freeway anymore, even with someone on the phone or in the passenger seat. It got so bad during the pandemic that I could barely drive around town at all.

The best I could explain it was that the sensation of barreling down the road at a high speed made me feel too out of control. I needed to be able to pump the brakes, just to make sure I was safe. Obviously, you don’t want to do that on the highway. So the highway was a no-go.

I think I can blame a lot of this on the soup of pregnancy / postpartum hormones my brain was marinating in during that time of life. Five kids in seven and a half years is a rollercoaster, to say the least. In general, I’ve found that parenthood is a bizarre balance of rising to the occasion of being the one responsible enough to keep the small humans alive while also coming to grips with the fact that you actually have very little control over anything. That’s a difficult thing to wrap your brain around, and I don’t think the pregnancy/ postpartum hormones help!

But anxiety can be a learned habit, too. Every time I opted to take a back road instead of the highway, every time I told myself I needed to call someone in order to safely get from point A to point B, I was solidifying to myself that I needed this, that I couldn’t do that. Getting out of this mindset wasn’t impossible, but it was going to take some work.

I’ll spare you the gritty details, but suffice to say that it was a huge milestone last month to be able to drive my daughter into the heart of Los Angeles for a mom/daughter trip to see The Sound of Music at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood.

We made a whole day of it. Drove up to Griffith Observatory (whilst listening to the LaLa Land soundtrack, obvi), we checked out the Hollywood Walk of Fame, & even stumbled upon the Mandalorian and Grogu premiere.

It was a perfect trip that I won’t soon forget. And as for the driving anxiety, to be honest, I don’t have major regrets. I did what I needed to do to get through that time of life. I’m lucky to have had a support system that was there for me to pick up those calls, to drive me places when I found it too hard. People who were always there to encourage and support me, but never dreamed of shaming me. Find those people. Be those people. Thank those people.

What I’ve Been Reading

The Quiet Light - Louis De Wohl

For my birthday this year, my mother-in-law gave me two books: The Fr. Solanus biography (which I quickly devoured), and Louis de Wohl’s novel about St. Thomas Aquinas, The Quiet Light. The latter has taken me some time to get into, but I’m about halfway through it now and really enjoying it!

Aquinas is one of those saints whose legacy has sometimes gotten in the way of my being able to relate to him as a person. He’s associated with high-level and dense thought. He’s not, like, a cozy saint. The novel is great for humanizing him, and for putting into context the popular myths you hear about him (like the ‘dumb ox’ nickname, the ‘all my writing is as straw!’ story, and the infamous story of his chasing out a woman of ill repute from his cell after she was sent to attempt to seduce him). Overall, it has taken me some time to get into the book’s pacing, but I have wanted to keep reading, so that’s a win.

What I’ve Been Watching (American History Edition)

Far & Away -

Far & Away, directed by Ron Howard and starring Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, has been on my watch list for a few years now. It’s about two Irish immigrants seeking a new life for themselves during the Oklahoma land grab. I feel like it had a similar story to James Cameron’s Titanic, but I enjoyed it more. It also reminded me of a book I read a few years back about an Irish immigrant family called Galway Bay. It’s a good watch!

1776 -

I shared in my notes my regret that I hadn’t learned of this movie’s existence sooner. I’m a huge Boy Meets World fan, so the fact that I didn’t know that Mr. Feeney played the starring role of John Adams in a Broadway musical-turned Hollywood film about the Declaration of Independence feels, honestly, like a personal character flaw of which I ought to be deeply ashamed. So, I quickly remedied the situation and watched the movie over the weekend. It’s certainly no Hamilton, but if you like Hamilton, you should definitely watch it. I’d say that many if not most of the songs are a bit boring, but, surprisingly, the story actually makes up for them. And most of the film is dialogue, not singing. It kept me entertained and even had its more moving/ inspiring moments. It’s a great one to watch for America250.

Are you a biohacker? I think I’m a little bit of a biohacker.

In preparation for writing this post, I looked up the definition of ‘biohacking’, and found this Forbes article with a pretty good description:

At its core, biohacking is about individuals experimenting with lifestyle choices, nutrition, technology, and scientific tools in order to optimize human performance, extend lifespan, and unlock capabilities beyond what have historically been considered natural limits. While some practices remain controversial or speculative, biohackers are united by a shared curiosity: how can we engineer the body and mind to work better?

Sounds a little science fictiony, but if you’ve ever been influenced to do things like intermittent fasting, the keto diet, cold plunges, or even simply looked into improving your ‘sleep hygiene,’ then you’ve dabbled in biohacking.

Most of these things have been trendy in the past five or so years, thanks to podcast bros like Andrew Huberman, who have deluded many of us into thinking we’re far more scientific and data-driven than we actually are. The basic principles proposed by these influencers are hard to take issue with. As human beings, we have agency (they love to talk about agency), so the thinking goes that if we get really serious about focusing on doing the things that optimize health and human performance, we’ll be better humans.

Eat healthy! Cold plunge! Sauna! Cut out alcohol & sugar! Optimize sleep! Take the right supplements! Be consistent with exercise and track your goals! The right habits will lead to your being healthier & happier.

Makes sense, right?

Still…

I think most of us have this sense that too much of this sort of thing is, well, too much. Wearables like the Apple Watch and Oura Ring had a moment, but seem to be falling out of favor. Same with at-home DNA and other medical test kits. The biohackers remain bullish (and many of them have gotten far more extreme), but I think most of the population is getting tired of it. The pendulum is beginning to swing back.

But before it swings back completely into hedonism and a “just do what feels right in the moment” mentality (which also sucks), I think it’s worth talking about what the biohackers have gotten right— and getting down to the bottom of where they miss the mark.

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Self-Knowledge vs. Biological Data

The biohackers are all about tracking the most biological data about themselves in order to optimize their life. They want to learn everything they can about their own sleep patterns, their macros, their glucose levels—they’ll even ship off their blood and fecal matter to a startup lab to see what can be learned from…that. And when you think about it, it is pretty cool that we live in a time when all of this is available to us. I get why people get into this. Taking your health into your own hands in order to try to live the best life you can is objectively a good thing.

But it’s easy to see how it can be taken too far. How health and wellness can become an idol, in a way. In seeking all this data about ourselves, we can actually completely miss out on who we are—as persons. Pope Leo talks about this in Magnifica humanitas:

“When efficiency becomes the ultimate measure of value, human beings are tempted to see themselves as a project to be optimized rather than as persons called to relationship and communion.” (MH 112)

What makes a human person different from a machine to be optimized? It’s this call to relationship and communion. We are created for relationship with other persons, and ultimately, for communion with our Creator.

Ironically, I think this is what the biohackers are after. We want to know ourselves. And it’s true that our biology is an important part of us; but it’s only a part. True self-knowledge isn’t contained in DNA. We get to know who we are through our relationships with God and with others.

In The Beginning - Grasping At Knowledge

Here’s another thing the biohackers get right: Sickess and death suck. It is right to resent them—to hate them, even. The biohackers are even right, I think, to question their very existence. Why suffering? And Why death? are both primal human questions that all humans have to grapple with.

But here’s what they miss: The ultimate answer to both of these questions is not found through technological advancement, but in the Person of Jesus Christ.1

In the Genesis story of Creation, before the Fall of man, death didn’t exist for mankind. Sickness didn’t exist. Man was in perfect union with His Creator, and free to eat of the fruit of any tree in the garden—including the tree of life.

He was forbidden, however, from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When he reached out and ate of it despite God’s warning, his eyes were opened, and he knew both the good that had always surrounded him, but he also now had another kind of knowledge: the knowledge of evil. He now knew shame. He knew hatred. He knew lust. He knew sickess, betrayal, and death. Man had grasped at the promise of a knowledge beyond his reach—to be like God— but for the created man, the knowledge of evil was a terrible curse.

So God steps in, because for man to live forever in this fallen state would be a tragedy.

God doesn’t want man to live forever under the curse of death. So he banishes Adam and Even from the garden, and ultimately sends the One who frees us from sin and death, so that we can be free to live out our call to be united to our Creator in Heaven.

So it’s right to perceive death as the enemy. It’s right to want to live forever. But the whole point of the Gospel is that we can’t save ourselves through our good works or perfect habits. The only way to defeat death—the last enemy— is through embracing the cross with Christ. To the extent that the biohacking trends create the conditions for us to better love and serve those around us, and to help us live more virtuous lives, they are great tools to living out our full human potential.

Ultimately, we achieve our fullest human potential not through our own human agency, but through dying to ourselves, through giving ourselves in love to the people in our lives, through loving as Jesus loves.

“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:24-25)

Big Days

Happy Tuesday, everyone.

Today is a special day for my family because today would have been my father-in-law’s 61st birthday.

In your kindness, please say a prayer for the repose of the soul of Doug Pearson.

Doug died nearly 11 years ago of esophageal cancer. As such, my kids never really got to know him (the two of them who were born at the time were both still in diapers). But most of my kids know this day because it’s a day we usually set aside to have a special dinner, and sometimes even bake a cake in honor of ‘Grandpa Doug’: Dad’s dad.

I’ve never known whether the birthday dinner thing is the ‘right’ thing to do in this situation—in fact I’m pretty sure there’s no right or wrong here— but it’s just sort of the tradition we’ve fallen into. And over the past several years, I’ve come to be grateful for it.

I’ve been thinking about special days and our need to mark them vs. our desire to ignore them entirely. On the one hand: Anyone’s birthday is just another day, isn’t it? The world keeps spinning, the sun rises and sets just like any other day. Another year has gone by. Why does it need to be significant?

But for some reason, the birthdays, the anniversaries, and the especially momentous (good and bad) days of our lives do get sort of etched into our very being. We can try to ignore them or pretend like their passing on the calendar doesn’t awaken something within us, but our bodies tend to remember for us anyway. Why is that? What is it about the passing of time—and particularly the trip around the sun—that makes us relive the memories? Maybe it has something to do with gravity. Or our circadian rhythm. Maybe at our core, we’re all just cavemen etching tally marks into the walls.

Whatever the reason, there are some days on each of our calendars that God takes a highlighter to when He’s writing our stories. He knew each of them as He was knitting you together in your mother’s womb. Be attentive to those days. Follow God’s lead. You can trust the author to know what He’s doing.

Encyclicals

Speaking of highlighting things: Pope Leo XIV published his first encyclical—Magnifica humanitas— last week. I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about it already or read it yourself by now if you’re interested, so I won’t go too much into it here. But if you’re interested, I shared two Notes last week with what stood out to me:

I think the encyclical was important, and I do recommend that you read it if you can make the time. In the week since it has been published, it has had the effect of both 1) showing how important the voice of the Church is in the world, and 2) Drawing a line in the sand between those who think that humanity is and will always be inherently distinct from machines, and those who are still on the fence about whether AI can —for lack of a better way of saying it—grow a soul.

For what it’s worth, I’m with the first group.

And a bonus quote that I loved that didn’t make it into either of my notes:

“For an algorithm, an error is a flaw to be corrected; for a person, however, an error can be a catalyst for profound change.” (MH 128)

Other Encyclicals:

If you’ve been following along with the daily mass readings, then you know we’ve been in 1 and 2 Peter. That’s kind of neat, because as Peter was the first Pope, and as both of these books were originally letters to the churches, 1 and 2 Peter are kind of like the first encyclicals. Although, they’re much more than that because they’re also the inspired Word of God—which is certainly not what we believe about any of the other encyclicals!

Still, if you read no other encyclical this week, at least read this snippet from today’s first reading:

Wait for and hasten the coming of the day of God,
because of which the heavens will be dissolved in flames
and the elements melted by fire.
But according to his promise
we await new heavens and a new earth
in which righteousness dwells.

Therefore, beloved, since you await these things,
be eager to be found without spot or blemish before him, at peace.
And consider the patience of our Lord as salvation.

2 Peter 3:12-18

And yes, I highlighted it for you :)

Like most people today, my primary exposure to late-night television for the better part of the past decade has been through clips shared on social media. The stuff worth watching (I presume) has made it onto my timeline, and everything else, well, better luck next time.

Except, of course, late-night television seems to be running out of ‘next times.’ CBS’ The Late Show With Stephen Colbert officially ended last week. And I gotta admit, you guys, the impending death of late-night TV has caused me to feel things—even though, again, I didn’t actually sit down to watch any of Colbert’s final episodes, but only caught the clips. The fact that I am part of the reason the show went off the air has not stopped me from feeling wistful for the soon-to-be bygone era of network television.

Was Colbert an Evangelist?

In the weeks and months leading up to his final episode, Stephen Colbert repeatedly said he wanted Pope Leo to be his last guest. It would have been cool, I have to admit. And though I certainly wouldn’t go so far as Fr. James Martin in calling Stephen Colbert “one of America’s greatest Catholic evangelists,” I do think there was something to his witness that, as one of American pop culture’s most prominent voices of the last 15 years, Colbert’s most coveted guest spot would have gone to the Holy Father. That’s pretty cool.

Of course, it was no real surprise that Pope Leo declined. He’s the leader of the global Church, after all. The American late-night television circuit is a little bit beneath the dignity of the office.

Stephen Colbert frequently referenced his Catholic faith throughout his career: From debating the existence of God with Ricky Gervais, to reciting parts or the whole of the Nicene Creed on air (a parlor trick, he called it), to his profoundly moving interview with Anderson Cooper on the loss of his father and brothers, in which he articulated a powerful witness to the Christian understanding of redemptive suffering. Colbert didn’t shy away from matters of faith. He seemed to revel in talking about belief in God, and specifically, his Catholic faith.1

That’s why his answer to the “What happens when we die?” question was so bizarre.

The Colbert Questionert

As part of the countdown to the end, Colbert had a handful of celebrity guests come on his final shows to interview him, asking him questions from his (apparently famous, though it never made it into my algorithm) “Colbert Questionert.” These are a series of 15 interview questions designed by the show’s writers to get to know guests on a deeper level. They range from silly to serious. Questions like, “apples or oranges? Window or aisle? Earliest memory?”

Given that he has asked these same 15 questions to guest after guest over the years, it seems like he should’ve been prepared to give a better—or at least more Christian-sounding— answer when Jim Gaffigan asked him, “What do you think happens when we die?”

Here’s the first part of his answer:

“Some of these questions, if I answer them, I have to think of, ‘What do I think as I’m waiting for the person to answer them when I give it to them…what comes to mind?’”

For me, this is the more confusing part of his answer. But what I think he’s saying is, “I’m not going to give some eloquent, theological answer, because that’s not in the spirit of the questionaiire.” The Colbert Questionert is more of a rapid-fire, exercise of say what you feel, say what comes to mind, and through that, we’ll get to know you. Ok.

The bulk of his answer that I saw popping up on my timeline (under words like, ‘heresy!’) was this:

“I think of, almost like, it's more like a feeling, and the feeling is that when we die, I think there is some continuance of some kind. But it's like a dispersion of the self into some other greater being. And I don't have any other feelings beyond that.”

It’s a squishy answer. No mention of Christ, or even a Creator, just some vague reference to some ‘other greater being.’ Read on its own, you would be forgiven for thinking this answer came from one of those types who call themselves ‘spiritual, but not religious.’ You probably wouldn’t guess it came from a Christian.

It was just, sort of…lame.

I think Jim Gaffigan highlighted just how lame it was by quipping, “What you’re saying is, ‘We become Febreeze.’”

Perfect. No notes.

(By the way, here is Jim Gaffian’s pass at the ‘Questionert.’ A fellow Catholic, he attempts to answer the “What happens when we die?” question around the 7:30 mark. They also have a nice exchange about the saints wherein Gaffigan says, “I just love the fact that so many of them were just scumbags who turned it around.”)

But what does happen when we die?

Juxtaposed with prominent, left-leaning Catholics last week claiming Colbert as the best of us, Colbert’s answer was unfortunately timed (or timed perfectly, depending on whether you’re looking to dunk on some left-leaning Catholics). The internet was quick to spread the clip as proof of how squishy Colbert’s theology really is, though some Christians tried to defend it by reading into it a kind of theosis.

Whatever you think of Stephen Colbert— about his jokes, his politics, or where he stands with the One, Almighty God—I think what we can take away from this is that we’d probably all be better off if we made a practice of meditating on this question a little more.

How would you answer the question: What do you think happens when we die? Is there a proper Christian answer?

Christians believe in the resurrection of the dead. We believe that there is life after death. Both of these facts are right there in the creed, and thus are good starting points. Still, when you come face to face with death—whether your own mortality through some sickness or near-death experience, or through losing a loved one—these words can feel empty. What does it mean that there is life after death? What actually happens at the moment of death?

Our creed doesn’t articulate a clear-cut answer to this specific question. For the Christian, the afterlife is somewhat shrouded in mystery. Scripture tells us that neither eye has seen, nor ear has heard (1 Corinthians 2:9). We simply cannot comprehend what awaits us beyond the veil.

We do know that there will be judgment. After we die, we will be judged on the merits of our faith in Christ and our adherence to His commandments. If we are found worthy of Heaven, Catholics believe that most of us still will need to undergo some purification, wherein we shed our attachments to sin (because nothing unclean can enter Heaven). The particulars of what all this looks and feels like, how long it takes (whether or how we experience time after death)…well, we just don’t know.

I’d hope that my honest, on-the-spot answer would go something like this: I think that, when we die, we come face to face with our Creator—for good or for ill. I think we are enveloped in the all-consuming fire of His Love, and our final judgment is based on whether we have made a practice throughout our lifetime of accepting that love or rejecting it. I don’t know what that will look or feel like, but I trust God will lead me when the time comes.

What do you think? How would you answer the question? What happens when we die?

From Vatican News:

Pope Leo XIV’s first Encyclical Letter Magnifica humanitas, on preserving the human person in the age of artificial intelligence, will be released on May 25, 2026.

It bears the Pope’s signature dated May 15th, 135th anniversary of the publication of Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical Rerum novarum.

Magnifica humanitas will be presented on the day of its release at 11:30 a.m. at the Vatican’s Synod Hall.

The Pope will be present, along with several speakers: Cardinal Víctor Manuel Fernández, Prefect of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith; Cardinal Michael Czerny, S.J., Prefect of the Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development; Professor Anna Rowlands, a theologian and professor at Durham University (United Kingdom); Christopher Olah, co-founder of Anthropic (USA) and head of research on the interpretability of artificial intelligence; and Professor Leocadie Lushombo, I.T., professor of political theology and Catholic social thought at the Jesuit School of Theology / Santa Clara University in California (USA).

Cardinal Secretary of State Pietro Parolin will offer closing remarks, followed by an address and blessing by Pope Leo XIV.

Stuff To Know (for the uninitiated):

• A Papal Encyclical is simply a letter written by the Pope, usually for the whole church (and, frequently, all people of goodwill). Its contents are not considered infallible for Catholics, but it is part of the Church’s teaching office and meant to guide the faithful.

• Pope Leo XIV took the name ‘Leo’ to signify a connection to Leo XIII, who was Pope during the Industrial Revolution. In 1891, that Pope Leo XIII issued the encyclical ‘Rerum novarum,’ which is the basis for much of the Church’s social doctrine today.

• Essentially, Pope Leo XIV has been teasing this encyclical for over a year now, and it’s exciting that there’s finally a date.

Here are the three things that have the Catholic internet buzzing about this announcement:

1 - We have an official title! We knew it would be about AI, but ‘Magnificent Humanity,’ and particularly the newly announced subheading, “on preserving the human being in the age of artificial intelligence,” gives us a little sneak peek into the direction of the letter.

2 - This, apparently, will be the first time the Pope himself will be present at the press conference announcing a new encyclical. So that’s…neat? People seem really excited about this fact—but I’m not totally sure why. Will he read it aloud to us? Take questions? We’ll see.

3 - Many people are losing their minds that Chris Olah from Anthropic is listed among the speakers. (Anthropic is the AI company behind ‘Claude.’) Here’s what Olah posted to X in response to the announcement:

So, that’s the gist of the news. The AI encyclical will be here soon!

Recommendations:

Don’t Miss the Prequel:

Really, you should read Rerum novarum if you haven’t. Here’s a pope writing in 1891 about the Industrial Revolution, a sentence that Leo XIV could literally copy and paste today into his AI encyclical:

“…Wise men are discussing it; practical men are proposing schemes; popular meetings, legislatures, and rulers of nations are all busied with it - actually there is no question which has taken deeper hold on the public mind.”

Once again, the world finds itself in the midst of a revolution. What can a 2,000-year-old church offer to the world at a time like this? Nothing less than the Gospel of Jesus Christ. To remind us of our dignity. To remind us that we were created for a purpose. To call us back to Christ. I’m eager to hear what the Holy Father has to say.

The Third Oikos:

As I was digging around some of the reactions to the news, I came across Nicole Ruiz & her Substack, The Third Oikos.

From the description:

Oikos is a Greek term that means house, household, or family. The management of household work — oikonomia — is where we get the word “economy.” In a piece for National Affairs, Jon Askonas and Michael Toscano argued that history has been dominated by two main forms of household organization and production. But, almost without noticing, we’ve passed into a third form.

The first oikos was the household until the Industrial Revolution. Before that shift, the household was the central hub of economic production, and production was ordered by the needs of the household. In different societies, men and women had different roles, but “work” was something that both sexes did.

The second oikos came with the Industrial Revolution. In this period, productivity shifted to larger scale enterprises: the factory and the office. As production moved to corporate settings, the home went from a site of both consumption and production to one of mere consumption. Many of our ideas about domesticity are rooted in the modern split between the worlds of consumption and production.

But perhaps since the digital revolution, post-AI, and surely since COVID, we’ve entered the third oikos. Technological developments have reshaped what a “household” is to a degree not seen since the Industrial Revolution

I’ll be keeping an eye on this Substack! (It feels important…really!)

I recently did something I once told myself I’d never do. I asked my husband to hang our television over the fireplace.

You see, when we first moved into our home, I had firm intentions of making the room with the fireplace a room for visiting, cozying up with a book, and for family togetherness. I envisioned quiet mornings spent with warm cups of coffee, blankets, and Bible reading. I imagined my kids sprawled on the floor, paging through picture books I had strategically placed in woven baskets at their level or playing with the intentionally small selection of toys I kept in a box on the bottom of the bookshelf.

Above the mantlepiece, I placed a crucifix, some candles, a family portrait, and an ever-changing assortment of odd knick-knacks of various sizes and themes.

The one thing intentionally left out of our Living Room: A television.

“I’m so glad we don’t have a TV in here,” I commented to my husband on more than one occasion in those first several months. And I was glad. The room looked very nice. No obnoxious cartoons blared throughout the house. When I looked out over the room from our kitchen island, I could see the fireplace and the cozy seating area.

What I rarely saw when I looked out from the kitchen island: my children. In fact, I rarely saw anyone seated in my strategically arranged sitting room—not even when we had adult guests over. People preferred the kitchen table, the backyard, or even standing around the house to sitting in my living room.

The Den

The kind of person who opposes pointing one’s furniture at the television—the kind of person I used to believe I was—will sometimes concede that activities such as movie nights and televised sporting events can be wholesome entertainment for a family. For occasions such as these, even the snobbiest of us will admit that a television in the home might have its place.

The place they usually assign is The Den.

A “den” is a living room, but lowercase. It is so named because the word “den” conjures images of wild animals, dim lighting, dirt, and enough food scraps to last an entire winter. In American homes, the den can be whatever it needs to be. It is a playroom for young children, it is the place where teenagers hang out when they need some space, and it is one of the only rooms where mom feels it is acceptable to leave the laundry to fold until ‘later.’

It’s also a great place for a TV.

In our house, we have a kind of den. For this room, I imagined Legos, forts, train tracks, and the occasional movie night. I also imagined I would fold plenty of laundry in it. In the case of our “TV Room,” many of these visions did come true. In the den, we had all the movie nights, the kids played with their toys, and I folded lots of laundry in there.

But I began to notice that what usually happened was the kids would hang out in the den while I’d make dinner. The kids played in the den while I vacuumed and tidied the sitting room. When we had guests over, the fun would usually congregate into the den—whether the TV was on or not.

The living was not happening in my carefully arranged, television-free, living room.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Just invite the mess and the chaos into your living room! You don’t need a TV to do that.” All I can say is that I tried. No matter how many toys I brought in, no matter how many cozy blankets and pillows, no matter how I arranged the furniture, my living room was continually rejected by the living.

What I Have Learned

The fact is: a sitting room with no TV can feel intimidating to a guest. Like you’re sitting down for an interview, or High Tea with the Queen. It may very well be an indictment agaisnt us as a society, or an indication of how far our manners have fallen, but simply having a TV in the room is a little bit of a pressure-relief valve. It signals, “These people are normal,” even if the television never gets turned on.

My aspirations were noble in leaving out the television. I wanted to create a comfortable space, free of distractions, where people could connect, and I didn’t want the television to get in the way of that. But what I have come to realize is that meaningful connection most often happens in the midst of daily life—and not necessarily while being sat in a chair with nothing to do but stare at the person in front of you.

Sometimes connection happens over a baseball game that one person wants to watch, so it gets turned on while the family bustles about. There was no intentional family announcement (“Gather round, children, the Padres are playing and we are going to watch as a family!”). There’s rarely time for that in the real world. It was just a game someone wanted to turn on, and now we’re all sharing bits and pieces of this one person’s interest. If the television was relegated to the far corner of the house, we would miss lots of little things like that. And those little things, you’ll notice, have a way of adding up to being big things.

I promise you, the Substack influencers are wrong about this one. Go ahead and buy the biggest and comfiest couch you can find, and point it directly at one, centrally located television over the fireplace in the grandest room of your house. Especially in the age of a thousand pocket screens, I think the family television can be a beautiful thing.

Quick order of business: I’m renaming the substack!

(“Mary’s Substack” is way too boring a title.)

After some brainstorming in my notes app and several laps up and down my driveway, I’ve decided to go with: This Feels Important.

I think this name basically captures my approach to writing: It’s gut feeling and scribbled notes. It’s a vague notion that I have something to say on a topic, and then a forced reckoning with my inner thoughts to figure out what’s actually important and whether it’s worth saying anything at all. That’s why I like to write, anyway

& the updated tagline to go with it:

Thoughts about faith, the discourse, & trying to live a good life.

Thanks for being here.

What I’m reading:

I recently finished the biography of Solanus Casey by Catherine Odell. He’s one of those blesseds whose story I’ve managed to hear only tidbits of throughout my life, so it was edifying to read the whole story. My hunch has always been that he was like my Grandpa —a holy and charismatic man who believed in the power of the Holy Spirit, and who was something of a miracle-worker. I wasn’t wrong, and I enjoyed all the little stories that made up Fr. Solanus’ whole story. Of particular note: I found it fascinating that this almost-saint, whom I have always thought of as so “modern” (because we have color pictures of him), actually had something of a ‘Little House on the Prairie’ upbringing. I guess it makes sense—his being born in 1865, and all. It just added some flavor to the story that I wasn’t expecting!

On my Kindle, I’m currently reading North And South, as my daughters and I recently watched the BBC miniseries for the first time. (I’ll be honest, you guys: I didn’t even know the series was based on a book until episode 2). Its style reminds me a little of Middlemarch, and I’m not sure I’ll finish it because I already know the details and the ending thanks to the series. But it’s helping me pass the time at night before I fall asleep.

It’s set during the Industrial Revolution in Victorian England and deals a lot with the conflict between masters and workers. It’s a bit slow, in my opinion, and sometimes my eyes glaze over with the discussion on labor and capital (but that’s ok, because I am usually reading to fall asleep anyway).

Fittingly, one of my highlights from it—like the Fr. Casey book—has to do with how we depend upon each other (do you think God is trying to tell me something?):

The other major theme in North and South has to do with thinking for yourself, and whether too much book-learnin’ is good or bad for people and society at large. I love it when old books hit on “problems” that are so foreign to the way things are now that they’re almost laughable. It reminds me of the cautionary tale in Little Women when Jo wastes all day reading novels in a tree and gets a raging headache.

Every generation has its moral panic, I suppose.

From the Discourse:

Speaking of moral panic, my algorithm has been full of articles about how Chromebooks, YouTube, & EdTech are destroying the American classroom, as well as discussions about school cell phone bans and whether they actually help, or if they do anything at all.

If you ask me, it seems like common sense (and not the kind of thing that we need a research study to tell us) that we would all be better off with a little less screen time in our lives. Restricting use at school seems like at least one logical place we can start.

Alas, many people are mocking the “moral panic” against screens as the latest boogeyman on which people are choosing to pin the blame for all of society’s problems. It was too much book learnin’, in the age of North and South, then it was too much novel reading, and now it’s too much screen time. But ‘progress is progress,’ and ‘you can’t put the genie back in the bottle.’

Besides, the ‘research’ says that cell phone bans in schools don’t affect test scores, anyway:

I’m so tired of “research” in the internet age, you guys. It’s not that I don’t believe in measurable data. It’s just that, more often than not, data from any one, specific study can really only tell us one or two small—albeit maybe really interesting—truths. The problem is that those truths get swept up into generalizations and cause people to conclude all sorts of things as fact.

Besides, I think we have relegated to research studies what ought to be common sense.

I’m not a scientist or a mathematician, so I won’t pretend to interpret the recent cell phone ban study for you. Here’s what I know, though: I’ve never taken a standardized test score to be an accurate measure of a child’s intelligence. All it can truly tell you is how they performed on that specific test. And I’ve certainly never expected a test score to measure a child’s happiness, their wholeness, or their well-being.

You’re not going to measure what matters with a research study. But you can generally see what matters if you open your eyes.

I think the kids want to be more connected with each other. I think they like being on the apps and making silly videos. But I also think they want real, face-to-face connection. Actually, I know they do, because they are human, and this is what all humans have wanted across all generations. It’s what we were created for.

You guys—we were created to depend on each other!

(I didn’t even plan that)

Post Script:

FWIW, I’m wary of top-down regulation for most aspects of schooling. I’m pretty anti-screens in the classroom, but I do think that, in much the same way a top-down mandate that ‘every student gets a personal iPad!’ was maybe not the best idea…it’s probably also true that a massive, top-down ‘anti-screen’ mandate could lead to its own problems.

As with most things, probably the best thing would be to simply entrust to each community the decisions regarding the well-being and education of their own students.

But then, I suppose, we’d also have to do away with standardized tests, and then how would we ever know whether anything was working at all?! :)

Well, that depends on what time it is, how much your patience has already been tested that particular evening, and what you’re hoping to get done after bedtime.

When you’re in a rush, a 70-page Dr. Seuss is brutal. It’s worse if you’ve got a memorizer who calls you out if you dare try to skip pages. Sometimes, you just want to get through the story and get onto the next thing.

There was a moment early on in my marriage when I happened to observe my husband reading a book with our oldest some evening after dinner. I think it was a Dr. Seuss book, and probably one I was about ready to hide because I was tired of being asked to read it. Anyway, what I remember is that my husband was like, really into it. He was taking his time, doing voices, and laughing over the contents with our son.

It’s almost embarrassing to admit how striking it was to me. It was as if it was the first time it had occurred to me that, “Oh…this is what reading with kids is supposed to look like. It’s not just something to get through, or a box to be checked.”

Of course, patience takes practice. Sometimes, you do just want to get through the bedtime story and onto the next thing. But if you never practice reading the frivolously long books with your kids, you’ll never learn how to enjoy them. And you’ll miss out on enjoying that time with your kid.

I recently snagged a hardcover copy of The Complete Adventures of Curious George from the discard pile of my kids’ public school library. Originally published in 2001, this treasury contains all seven of the original Curious George stories that were written and illustrated by H.A. & Margret Rey between 1941 and 1966 (along with some fairly detailed and interesting back-matter).

Our new/old copy is well-worn, with a tear on the cover beneath the shiny library plastic, and pencil scribbles on some pages. Still, I was excited to find it, and somehow I feel the pages where it’s stamped ‘DISCARD’ in red ink make it even more special than if I had bought a new copy. It feels like a relic of a bygone era.

The original George books are long and meandering. George gets into all sorts of scrapes, and not all of them include a neat lesson tied with a bow. They’re just…adventures. George eats spaghetti. George plays with paint. George blacks out after sniffing a bottle of ether at the hospital. George meets with a Hollywood executive and stars in a movie. (And all of that happens in just one book, Curious George Takes a Job).

The first story is probably the most jarring if your primary exposure to George was the PBS show. He looks a little different—he’s taller and lankier, not quite as cute. After being taken from his home in Africa by The Man With The Yellow Hat, George is sent to live in the zoo. And you have to chuckle a bit at him having a good pipe before bed. Personally, I can’t get over poor, sad George being thrown in jail, even though I’m sure this particular episode has instilled in countless children the gravity of prank-calling the fire department.

Anyway, the long, meandering George stories have got me thinking about why we read to kids in the first place, and why what we choose to read to kids matters.

The way I see it, there are three things to consider when reading with your kids. From least important to most:

Of least importance when reading to your kids is making sure the stories contain some sort of moral lesson. In other words, I don’t think you need to stress about making reading time explicit learning or lesson time. Enjoying a book together is the point.

The second reason to read to kids is that it’s good for them. Yes, they’ll end up with a better vocabulary, but they’ll also absorb more patience and attention to detail. Heaven knows we need more of that in the age of short-form videos and endless scrolling. Think of reading long picture books with your kids as an inoculation against slop addiction. Vital.

However, I think the most important reason to read with kids is simply to show them that they’re worth spending time with. Yes, I’ll read the 80-page picture book with you about a monkey eating spaghetti for the third time this week! What else even matters??

This is everything. Today, I can turn on an episode of PBS’s Curious George on demand for my child first thing in the morning while I make breakfast. I can have YouTube read a picture book to my kid, or play Cocomelon for my kid 10 hours a day while I scroll my phone. I’ve got options. But giving a child 20 minutes of my dedicated attention while snuggled up together on the couch? Powerful.

Actual adults reading actual books with kids beats a pre-recorded machine or screen every time. Not to say that things like audiobooks or even YouTube don’t have a place. But they’re not as good, because all they can do is communicate the details of the story. The kids in your life don’t just need to hear stories, they need to share stories with you.

So go ahead and read the 70-page bedtime story. Lean into it. Do you really think you have better things to be doing?

Happy Tuesday!

Have you ever copied the Bible or another book just for the fun of it?

Elizabeth Scalia recently wrote about her Lenten practice of copying the Gospel of Mark by hand.

Over-familiar lines that have washed past me for years are suddenly jumping out and forcing me into frequent and unexpected lectio divina, as I obey the nudge to stop and ponder, pray and (usually) journal over a word or phrase before I can move on.

I like the idea of copying the Bible as a spiritual practice. But I also like copy work simply as a way to pass the time.

Copy work has always intrigued me. It was one of the few things I strove to be really consistent about with my kids when they were all homeschooled. I like the way it forces a person to slow down and pay attention to detail. With my kids, I had this conviction that, over time, this practice would instill into their brains sophisticated language patterns, a knack for spelling, and a solid vocabulary.

Of course, copy work can feel boring and pointless to a kid who just wants to get school over with. Why do I need to copy it when I can just read it? Who cares how good my handwriting is, as long as it’s legible? What’s even the point?

Copy work is usually an exercise solely done for the benefit of your mind. We’re not monks tasked with preserving ancient documents. We’re filling empty journals with words that are already in the books on our shelves. In this way, it’s kind of like walking around the block every day. You’re walking in circles, only to arrive back where you started. The exercise is the point. What it’s doing inside of you isn’t immediately obvious. It takes time.

But kids and adults alike often bristle against things that don’t yield visible, immediate results. Which brings me to the British Monarchy…

The Warden of the Swans

There is an episode of The Crown in which Queen Elizabeth is encouraged by the Prime Minister to modernize some aspects of the monarchy. Streamline processes. Reduce waste.

When [the Prime Minister] presents the Queen with a list of way that the monarchy could modernize, he suggests some bigger items, such as financial transparency and allowing royals to marry Catholics, and some smaller cost-cutting ones, like eliminating roles such as the royal bargemaster and the warden of the swans.

“Someone has to oversee the swans,” Elizabeth says.

(summary from Decider.com)

The episode takes place in the 90s, and portrays a time when the Crown was getting pressure from the public to adapt to a modern world. And so one by one, the Queen meets with people who faithfully perform all sorts of obscure and ridiculous-sounding jobs, looking for any fat to trim. We meet the hereditary royal falconer, the royal napkin folder, and, of course, the warden of the swans. Many of these job titles had been criticized by the Prime Minister as vestiges of history, probably unnecessary for today’s world. (The hereditary falconer, for example. How much falconing does the Crown need doing in the 90s?)

Yet in the end, the Queen opts not to axe any of these ceremonial roles, arguing that the monarchy isn’t meant to be strictly rational or streamlined. It’s one of the few institutions left in the modern world to which people—whether they realize it or not—actually look for tradition, ceremony, and even the more outlandish. “Modernity is not always the answer,” she says.

The point is not that the Warden of the Swans has job security for another quarter. The point is that, even in a world of bottom lines, tradition and the old ways of doing things still have their place.

Wally the Cue Card Guy

Speaking of jobs that sound irrelevant for the times we live in: Did you know that Saturday Night Live employs a team of 8 people to write out every line of its sketches with markers onto about 1,000 cue cards a week?

Yes, Saturday Night Live still uses physical cue cards, not teleprompters, for most of the show. And the same guy—Wally Feresten—has been its cue card supervisor since 1990. He’s practically a cast member at this point.

This video explains the process, and I find it super interesting:

Saturday Night Live is a little bit like The Crown, if you think about it. It’s an institution unto itself, with its own traditions and hierarchy. It has even been led by the same guy for 50 years.

It’s easy for an outsider, upon hearing that SNL has 8 people copying 1,000 cue cards each week by hand, to think, “Surely we could trim some fat there!” Teleprompters! Printers! Something!

But the system works. We don’t always need to modernize just for the sake of modernizing. In this instance, a team of 8 people with markers and poster boards (doing copy work, of all things!) is still probably—unbelievable though it may seem— the best way to get the job done.

It’s nice that the old ways are still sometimes the best ways. It’s also cool when new technologies come along to make our lives easier, even if it means job markets will shift. But there will always be work to be done. Our task—whether wardening the swans or simply copying pages from a book— is to do the work that is set before us, and do it well.

Hey Guys,

So here’s the deal: I always find it somewhat frustrating when the writers I like to read online opt not to step into the fray to comment on the Current Thing that everyone is talking about. So—even though I don’t usually use this Substack to talk politics—I thought that maybe since I’m always on here blabbing about the Catholic faith, two or three of you might be wondering what I’m thinking about the Pope & the President.

So, here goes.

To begin, a quote from Pope Leo:

“The commitment to creating a safer world, free from the nuclear threat, should be pursued through respectful encounter and sincere dialogue, to build a lasting peace, based on justice, fraternity and the common good. No-one should ever threaten the existence of another. It is the duty of all countries to support the cause of peace, undertaking paths of reconciliation and promoting solutions that guarantee safety and dignity for all.”

Reading these words of the Holy Father, do you see in them a thinly veiled jab at the U.S. President for waging an unjust war in Iran?

Well, you shouldn’t, because Leo said this on June 14 of last year—barely a month into his pontificate— regarding Israel and Iran.

This Pope doesn’t like war. Leo has been preaching peace and calling for an end to war since he was elected. So when he said the following yesterday in response to the President’s Sunday-night tirade on Truth Social, I believe he means it:

“The things that I say are certainly not meant as attacks on anyone, and the message of the Gospel is very clear: Blessed are the peacemakers.”

“I will not shy away from announcing the message of the Gospel, of inviting all people to look for ways of building bridges for peace and reconciliation, of looking for ways to avoid war anytime that’s possible.”

But What About Just War?

I will be the first to tell you that I’m not the one to talk to about the Church’s Doctrine on what constitutes a Just War. The way my eyes glaze over.1

What I do know is that sometimes, even according to the Church, war is justified. It’s a fallen world. Sometimes people and countries must fight to defend themselves (or other countries) from aggressors. That’s part of the story of the world.

Knowing this, it can be confusing that some of the Pope’s preaching seems to insinuate that war is not and can never be justified. It’s one thing to say, “War takes innocent life and should be avoided at all costs.” It’s another thing to say that a Christian can never wield the sword.

For what it’s worth, I tend to take Leo’s more extreme, pacifist takes as hyperbole intended to make a point. War is really, really, really awful. It should be the last, regrettable option on the table. (Lest you think Leo just is a soft lefty, go read what John Paul II had to say about war during his pontificate.)

In any case, it’s clear that Pope Leo doesn’t like this particular war, and really didn’t like Trump’s threat to decimate an entire civilization. I think all the opining about what constitutes a just war went out the window with Trump’s threat last week. The Pope got real loud, real quick, and said, “Nope, not ok. We’re not doing this.”

“He went public,” as Trump said. And Trump took that personally.

The Tirade & Response

Trump has shared countless late-night Truth Social posts in the style of personal attacks against his latest perceived political enemy. They all read pretty much like his post about Pope Leo:

“I don’t like [Name] & here’s why. He or she has all these embarrassing flaws. It’s very sad if you think about it; I actually feel bad for them. I’ll remind you: I won the election in a LANDSLIDE and am doing a great job! This person needs to get their act together and get on board. DJT!”

This is what he does. It’s how he talks. It’s his version of having the last word and attempting to move on to the next thing. Generally speaking, it works for him, in his own bizarre way. He knows the press will ask him a bunch of questions about it in the next day or so, and he’ll get a chance to double down and reiterate how great & how correct he is. His admin and supporters will circle the wagons and circulate the talking points. It’ll be the Current Thing until the next Current Thing.

We saw this play out yesterday and watched response after response trickle out from all sides. Two of the biggest responses I’ve begun seeing even from well-meaning Catholics have been: 1) The pope isn’t above criticism, and 2) He should stick to preaching and stay out of politics.

Let’s talk about why these are lame, and you shouldn’t use them to excuse this disrespectful attack on the Pope.

1- The Pope Is Not Above Criticism

This sentiment was picked up by a lot of Trump supporters. It’s easy to latch onto because it’s true. The pope isn’t above criticism, and in fact, even Catholics don’t have to agree with 100% of everything he says. There are clear and specific limits on papal infallibility. X posts are not binding Catholic doctrine. Just because the pope says something in a sermon at a prayer vigil in St. Peter’s, it doesn’t mean Catholics have to agree with it.

Of course, when Catholics do disagree with something the Holy Father says or does, they still owe him respect. And even though the president is not a Catholic himself, it shows great disrespect to his Catholic supporters to blast their Holy Father on the internet in the way he did.

If President Trump had a criticism of something the Pope said, he ought to have said it respectfully. I know that’s not his way, but it ought to be. And certainly, for my Papa, I’m gonna insist it ought to have been, rather than excuse it.

So, I think this “defense” of Trump’s post is weak, & Catholics shouldn’t use it. Criticize the pope’s arguments or X posts all you want. But don’t insult the Holy Father.

2- The Pope Should Stick To Preaching Morality, Not Politics

The pope said himself yesterday that he’s not a politician, & that he doesn’t make “foreign policy.” So the Vice President and others felt very comfortable with this talking point that Leo, who is not a politician, should stay out of politics and stick to preaching morality. That’s what popes are for, right?

But it seems to me that the politics that get politicians elected tend to have very much to do with morality. In fact, haven’t we spent the last two or three decades of election cycles in America insisting that politics has everything to do with morality? That if you vote for the wrong side, your soul is on the line?

Pope John Paul II didn’t shy away from politics when he met President Clinton in Denver in 1993. I’m paraphrasing, but I seem to remember the conversation being more or less, “Thanks for having me, Mr. President. Let’s talk about abortion.”

Besides, what has more to do with morality than war? I, for one, would very much like for the Pope to speak very clearly and very directly about what, if anything, the Church has to say about when war is justified and when it isn’t. I think we could use that right about now.

If he says something wrong or in contradiction to Church teaching, ok, we can hash it out then. But so far I’ve just seen, “War is bad, and should be avoided. Also, you shouldn’t threaten to decimate whole civilizations.” Nothing out of bounds there. But perhaps what we actually need from Leo is a little more specificity.

So, no, the pope is not political in the sense that he doesn’t run for political office or delineate how nations govern. But his role is to lead the Church, and the Church has members in every nation in every government. He certainly has something to say to the leaders and citizens of those nations. We owe him our respect and deference.

Final Thoughts

In his attack on the Pope, President Trump contrasted Pope Leo with his brother, Louis Prevost. “Louis is all MAGA,” Trump said, “He gets it.”

There is a lesson in this.

How many of our families are divided across political party lines? Brother against brother. Parents against children. And for what? Donald Trump? Joe Biden? Kamala Harris? We delude ourselves into thinking that these politicians will have such an impact on some imagined future that we are willing to sacrifice relationships with the very people across the dinner table from us—the very people we ought to be building the future with and for. It’s madness.

And I think this is what the Pope means when he says the Church is not political. We oughtn’t be divided across party lines, because we are a family. Like Leo and Louis, who I hope are just having a good laugh over this whole thing, because family trumps politics. Or at least, it ought to trump the petty, partisan politics that divide us and tell us we have no choice but to hate each other. Those are the seeds of war. Right there, in our own hearts and families.

So family trumps party, you guys. For the Church. For Leo and Louis. For you and me. Put down the talking points. Go love your brothers and sisters.

Catholic Voices I Look To When Church Stuff Hits the Fan:

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Katie McGrady

Sharing thoughts about faith, family, food, & a rundown of what we talk about on The Katie McGrady Show on The Catholic Channel on SiriusXM 129 and the Ave Explores podcast, along with deep dives into the Catholic news & culture.

By Katie Prejean McGrady

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By Patrick Neve

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Patrick Neve wrote a five-minute guide to Just War a few months ago. Did I read it? Well, no. But he tends to know what he’s talking about, so if that sort of thing interests you, check it out

Catholic Pat

How Catholics should talk about Iran

Since the bombing of Iran this weekend, Catholics have been debating: Was this an act of “Just War…

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6 months ago · 14 likes · Patrick Neve