Fr. Scott, another priest who became a friend, is a humble, holy man who is convinced, enthusiastic, certain, and in love. From the moment my family and I met him, we knew we were in the presence of someone who loves Jesus with his whole heart, mind, soul, and strength. That love is seen in the little things.
Over one of the first dinners at our house (and he became a regular guest), Fr. Scott and I talked about writing and blogging. Though he had once maintained a blog, by the time we met he had deleted his blog from cyberspace. It was clear he loved writing, so I was perplexed as to why he’d given up a harmless writing outlet.
But it wasn’t always harmless, he countered. The blog world, even among religious, can degenerate into pettiness and competition. Who is funniest in the blogosphere? The smartest? Who’s snarkier, the most clever? Who is quickest with wise and holy assessments of what’s happening in the Catholic world?
Fr. Scott is the first to say that it’s possible to blog without succumbing to such temptations, but he felt that when he wrote online about the issues he was passionate about, it was too easy to be personally tempted to descend into a lack of charity. So he decided to bow out. Though his blog had gathered a robust following, the popularity and kudos weren’t worth the dangers to his soul. He hit the “Delete” button. Blog gone. Peace of mind returned. It was my first encounter with his witness of detachment.
Fr. Scott doesn’t deliberately witness about simplicity and humility, but his life speaks volumes. He drives a simple car and prefers a simple home. At one point, he was even embarrassed by his kitchen. The hundred-year-old rectory in which he lived needed renovation. His parishioners knew Fr. Scott loved to cook. Donations were raised and the tiny, old kitchen was demolished and replaced with a shiny new one featuring state of the art appliances, marble countertops, and ample storage space. It was a chef’s dream but Fr. Scott was a bit abashed, even though he knew it would benefit many priests who would come after him.
Although he loves to read and loves books—he once owned twenty-three copies of his favorite book, Pride and Prejudice—he no longer owns more possessions than he can pack into his car. His priority is his love for God and God’s people and for spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Living in a materially simple way helps him do that.
A Thing Like a Love Affair
To say, “Fall in love with Jesus!” as if it were just another piece of advice sounds facile. But the reality stands: Love is the most powerful witness. Of St. Francis of Assisi, G. K. Chesterton said, “To this great mystic his religion was not a thing like a theory but a thing like a love affair.”8
A love affair with God may sound odd. I once saw an article in which the writer objected to “love affair language” because, he said, “Jesus is not my boyfriend!” And while it’s true that we don’t want to diminish the nature of our relationship with God in any way, there is nothing juvenile or belittling about the imagery of God as our Beloved. Such imagery is as old as the Song of Solomon. Both ancient Jewish and Christian traditions have likened the marriage relationship to our relationship with Our Lord. St. Bernard of Clairvaux said:
To love so ardently then is to share the marriage bond; she cannot love so much and not be totally loved, and it is in the perfect union of two hearts that complete and total marriage consists. Or are we to doubt that the soul is loved by the Word first and with a greater love?9
There is nothing small or pedestrian about the breadth and depth of love God wants from us. It’s true that this love affair doesn’t mean we’ll wander around in a giddy stupor. Just as in marriage, authentic love is more than the infatuation we feel when we first fall in love. Love is sustained and grows deeper through repeated acts of the will and through lifelong commitment. The same is true of our faith in and love for Jesus Christ.
We fall in love, commit, and promise to live that commitment for the rest of our lives. Love is the anchor—in both marriage and faith—that will hold us in place when dryness, boredom, suffering, and hard times set in. The initial consolations of both earthly and divine love steel us for the future. In both cases, we know that the puppy love phase will pass, but its consolations will ripen our souls for the richness to come.
At its core, our connection to Jesus Christ is a relationship of love. “We, the women and men of the Church,” said Pope Francis, “we are in the middle of a love story: each of us is a link in this chain of love. And if we do not understand this, we have understood nothing of what the Church is.”10
I don’t know about you, but I know what I want: I want to be a link in that chain. I want to love Jesus with the urgency of one who can’t wait to kiss the cross on Good Friday. I want to be like Renee’s friend, who can’t fake the joy that buoys her into every room. I want the passion for Christ that Karl grew up with and the irresistible faith of Sister Marie Therese. I want to talk to my friend Jesus every morning as Jen’s mom does, and share stories like Pat’s, stories of miracles that change lives. I want to hold fast to the witness of holy men like Fr. Scott and Fr. Joe. I want to recall, fan, and keep alive the flame that made me so eager to get to Mass that I couldn’t drive fast enough.
What do I want? I want a thing like a love affair.
“When I am completely united to you, there will be no more sorrow or trials; entirely full of you, my life will be complete.”
—St. Augustine11
Chapter 3
Do Hang Out with All Kinds of People
SOMETIMES I THINK IT’S A LITTLE TOO EASY for us Catholics to hang out with only our Catholic friends. It’s natural to want to be bolstered by those who understand and share our values. I need such community as much as anyone, and there are huge benefits to finding and nurturing that kind of support, perhaps especially for converts such as Tom and me. It’s crucial to cultivate a Catholic culture in our lives and, more expansively, in our world.
At the same time, since we are called to be in the world but not of it, sometimes we have to enlarge our sphere of contact and open ourselves to the surprises the Lord has in store for us. I’m reminded of a passage from J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye:
I knew this one Catholic boy, Louis Shaney, when I was at the Whooton School … after a while, right in the middle of the … conversation, he asked me, “Did you happen to notice where the Catholic church is in town, by any chance?” The thing was, you could tell by the way he asked me that he was trying to find out if I was a Catholic. He really was. Not that he was prejudiced or anything, but he just wanted to know. He was enjoying the conversation about tennis and all, but you could tell he would’ve enjoyed it more if I was a Catholic and all.
That kind of stuff drives me crazy. I’m not saying it ruined our conversation or anything—it didn’t—but it sure as hell didn’t do it any good. That’s why I was glad those two nuns didn’t ask me if I was a Catholic. It wouldn’t have spoiled the conversation if they had, but it would’ve been different, probably. I’m not saying I blame Catholics. I don’t. I’d be the same way, probably, if I was a Catholic…. All I’m saying is that it’s no good for a nice conversation. That’s all I’m saying.12
I live in a small town. Our Catholic home-schooling group is microscopic. If we socialized only with other Catholic home-schoolers, my family would miss out on some amazing people. This is the story of one of the families we met, of a friend who made me glad my first question wasn’t, “Did you happen to notice where the Catholic church is in town, by any chance?”
Kindred Spirits
We are not a soccer family. My idea of a great sport is to see who gets to the couch first to grab a nap, but several years back we gave soccer a try at the local YMCA with my then eight-year-old. The weather that first morning was bracing, far chillier than I thought a Saturday in April ought to be. As I glanced around, shivering and mentally calculating how much of my daughter’s game I’d miss if I drove home to bundle