Our Metaphysical Origins and Contemplation

Christians often throw around this idea of a “relationship with God”, but to the philosophical mind, such a concept should be preposterous. How can a temporal have anything to do with an eternal? How does the limited relate to the limitless? In this blog post, I’m going to explore some of Thomas Aquinas’ philosophies of creation (what are commonly called the cosmological argument for God and the argument from motion) and their implications for humanity. Ultimately, I’m going to show how it is the human calling to pray, by nature of our existence and creation out of nothing.

The universe

The universe is a big place, if God thinks about it.

Let’s reflect on creation. Bang! The universe awakens to God’s words and bursts into life. Time itself is summoned from nothing, and so is space, matter, energy. Essentially, Thomas Aquinas argues that there must have been a cause—after all, a fundamental facet of philosophy is the intelligibility of the universe, that is, that it can be understood, observed, and made rational. So, for every action, there must be a re-action, and vice-versa (contingency). Philosophically, the Big Bang couldn’t cause itself (if it could, wouldn’t we be able to cause—or uncause ourselves?). A force must have acted upon the nothing that existed before us in order to generate something.

Everything exists because God called it into being from nothing and continues to hold it [in] existence. The formula for all created beings, from the speck of dust to the highest angel, is nothingness made to be something from the omnipotence of God. Omit God from the consideration of anything or everything, and you omit the reason why anything exists and make everything forever unexplainable; and this is not a sound first step toward understanding.

—Frank J. Sheed, Theology and Sanity

Sheed jumps ahead of my analysis to posit that God, this Being of pure existence (for we only exist as a mere cause from Him, but He must be causeless), continues to hold us into existence. How do we know that? This is a particularly interesting question that I think can be addressed both by a brief glimpse on the nature of time (which tells us a surprising amount about the nature of God) and the nature of causes. Firstly, if we accept that pure existence (God) created us and created time itself, then God must be outside of time. Time, too, is a created thing, a limitation upon us as limiting as space, energy, matter. We already know of the relationship of time with matter—time is warped and changed based on the density of matter and energy. And we know that time moved differently as the universe expanded (and continues to expand). So God, being eternal and outside of the confines of time, had (has? will have? Language is limiting me here) a thought—and that thought was/is/will be to create a universe. Already, with the struggles of language in describing the act of creation, you can start to see that talking about the universe before creation or during creation is impossible. You cannot talk about when God created the universe any more than you can talk about where God is (another issue I’ll explain in a few paragraphs). God, an eternal being of existence, only needs one thought, and the thought, not being bound by time (and thus, by the consequence of change) is a persistent and enduring thought. The universe, then, was not just created; it is created, and will continue to be created, not just because God is eternal, but because he thought it once means that he thinks it for eternity. You see, it is metaphysically impossible for God to change. It goes against the principles of eternity. (And this is why we can say that God is perfect—He exists, and his existence is dependent on nothing [while our existence remains dependent upon him]; “What we see at once is that since God is existence, that existence must be utterly without limit, for there is no principle of limitation in a being thus self-existent. Limitation is a deficiency of existence, something lacking to fullness of existence.”—Frank Sheed, ibid.).
Secondly, the nature of causes: we see that because the universe still exists, that God must still exist. Within the realm of created matter, we’re used to seeing things create (a better word would be beget) other things. In order to make a table, we need to cut down a tree. The tree dies, but the table then subsists, regardless of what happened to the tree in the past. In order for a baby to be made, we need a man and a woman, and then the woman has to eat a consistent amount of food and nutrients.

Baby

A baby can metaphysically exist apart from his father and mother.

Created matter begets more created matter, and thus a baby, once born, can subsist within its own existence outside of the mother. The mother and father may pass away, but the child retains its own life and matter. But what happens when you are created from nothing? If you are within the universe, and the universe is not begotten (that is, not created from pre-existing matter), but genuinely created ex nihilo, your existence is sustained by your cause, unlike that of the table or baby. To take this point home, St. Augustine says in De Natura Boni, “All the things that God has made are mutable because [they are] made of nothing.”

When Moses asks, “Who shall I tell them is sending me?” God answers, “I am that I am.” He is the act of existence, self-sufficient in his existence, such to the point that no other definition (or name) can apply. Interestingly, unlike most creation mythologies, God isn’t one god among many—he doesn’t behave and interact with the world as a created god. Take, for instance, Zeus, who seems to cause a disaster every time he visits and interacts with the people of Greece. Brahma, the creator of the universe, though also known as “self-born”, was still born from the god Vishnu. Or according to Japanese mythology, the universe began to create itself—and from its settling, the gods emerged. In order to create and develop the universe, these gods of each of these mythologies have to take from existing material. But the God of the Jews developed the universe out of nothingness, and He doesn’t owe his existence to anything, but exists in his own reality, while our reality depends on his eternality. And when God steps into his own creation, he does so in an entirely non-invasive, non-violent way. He asks permission of Mary, of a human, his own created thing, before she becomes the Mother of God. And when God occupies the burning bush through which he communicates to Moses, the bush is not consumed or destroyed—instead it blossoms.

God is not a supreme being alongside other beings but rather ipsum esse, the sheer act of to-be itself, in which and through which all finite things are constituted. This means that as I find my center in God, I simultaneously find your center, the center of everyone else, and indeed the center of brother sun and sister moon. When St. Francis used that evocative phrase, he was not indulging in sentimental poetry but rather articulating an exact metaphysical position: because of the creator God, all things in the cosmos are ontological siblings to one another, connected by a bond deeper and more abiding than anything that divides them.

Exploring Catholic Theology, Robert Barron

Because of our ontological “brotherhood” with our fellow creatures—both humans and the whole rest of the created order—we should share a common sympathy with the rest of the universe. Hence Pope Francis’ recent encyclical, Laudato Si, a treatise on the care for creation and our fellow creatures. Hence St. Ambrose says, “If you have two shirts in your closet, one belongs to you; the other belongs to the man who has no shirt.” We are naturally and deeply in relationship with each other. But even moreso, we are in relationship with God. Better said, we are relationship with God.

Hence, creation is “a kind of relationship to the Creator with newness of being.” God is responsible, in short, for the entirety of a creature’s being, yet his influence is not external to the creature. And this is why he speaks of it as a “kind” of relation. Thomas was well acquainted with the Aristotelian notion of relationship as an accidental qualification of two or more substances, but he knew that creation, which is responsible for the whole of a creature’s being, cannot be imagined as “between” the creature and God. As he does when speaking of the Eucharist, Thomas here uses Aristotelian language but in a decidedly non-Aristotelian way, signaling that something else, metaphysically speaking, is the case. God is therefore properly discovered as the deepest ground of the creature’s ontological identity. Thomas Merton was entirely in a Thomist frame of mind when he said that contemplative prayer is finding that place in you where you are here and now being created by God.”

Exploring Catholic Theology

Our existence is a relationship with God. Thomas Aquinas says, a creature does not have a relationship with God; rather, a creature is a relationship with God. Whether we participate highly or hardly in that relationship at all is a different matter. How do we participate?

Return to the image of the burning bush speaking to Moses. This bush grows and blossoms under the burning indwelling presence of God. Mary herself, by her freewill choice saying yes to God’s asking to dwell within her, blossoms as a rose. God doesn’t consume or destroy when he steps into his creation—his presence allows that created thing to become more fully itself according to his creative intention.

If God truly creates from nothing, then there is no aspect of creation that is not, from moment to moment, coming forth from God and, quite literally, nothing standing between creatures and their Creator. To transpose this to a moral and spiritual register, there is no place that one can run from the presence of God, no ontological ground on which one can finally stand in resistance to God’s creativity. “Where shall I go from your Spirit?… If I ascend to the heaven, you are there!” Irenaeus expresses this through the trope of the right hand of God, which holds up the sinner even when that creature, in rebellion, “takes the wings of the morning and dwells in the uttermost parts of the sea.”
All of this is recapitulated in the new Adam. Whereas the first Adam disobeyed and hence withdrew into a kind of metaphysical shadowland, the second Adam [Christ] obeyed the Father and lived out of the deepest truth of things. And this did not merely indicate the way things are; it effected a change in a world marked by division. Irenaeus uses the following words to indicate what the union between divinity and humanity in Christ produced in the wider creation: “unite,” “join together,” “fuse,” “make one.” The obedient relationality on display in Jesus knits a broken creation back together precisely in the measure that it incarnates the relationality that God is.

Exploring Catholic Theology

Psalm139To participate in this relationship means to return back to God. God made us for himself—our hearts are restless until they rest in Him (St. Augustine). And we find our rest when we pray, when we center ourselves on our Creator moment by moment. To listen for God’s voice is to begin to return home to Him.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes, I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
“All things betray thee, who bestrayest Me.”

Now of that long pursuit
Comes on at hand the bruit;
That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:
“And is thy earth so marred,
Shattered in shard on shard?
Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!
Strange, piteous, futile thing,
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught” (He said),
“And human love needs human meriting:
How hast thou merited—
Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?
Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
Save Me, save only Me?
All which I took from thee I did but take,
Not for thy harms,
but just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.
All which thy child’s mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:
Rise, clasp My hand, and come.”

Halts by me that footfall:
Is my gloom, after all,
Shades of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
“Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.”

—excerpts from Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”

The Beatitudes and the Cross

Whenever someone preaches the Beatitudes, the message is always about “living out” the Beatitudes. How the Beatitudes are the new Decalogue, the new law of the land, the new order of relationship with God. This is how God would take the Ten Commandments, written on stone, and write them onto the human’s stony hearts. (Hebrews 8:10, Ezekiel 11:19, 36:26, and 2 Corinthians 3:3)

But how do you actually live the Beatitudes? Living the Ten Commandments is fairly straightforward. Living the Beatitudes is… confusing.

Blessed are the meek. Blessed are those who mourn.

Does this mean I need to mourn all the time? I need to be sheepish and shy?

I’ll admit, I recently taught the Beatitudes to my LifeTeen high school youth group, and we had difficulty connecting the abstract Beatitudes with concrete lifestyle choices and attitudes of the heart. How does one reasonably live any of the Beatitudes?

In order to prepare to teach the Beatitudes, I hopped around a few commentaries (Mostly the Word Biblical Commentary and Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word by Fr. Leiva-Merikakis, which were great for this study. I also looked at the Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture volume by Curtis Mitch, founder of FOCUS Ministries, so naturally this commentary helps bring the teachability of the Gospel of St. Matthew to the front).

The Greek word for “Blessed” in this context is μακάριοι, which carries with it a sense of happiness and joy that are implied with the blessedness. In the Latin Vulgate, we get the word Beatus, which means to make joyful and make glad, but in a spiritual and contented way. This is the same root word we see when Elizabeth tells Mary, “Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.”

So, here only a few verses in Luke after the Annunciation—where Mary gave her “yes” to Jesus and pretty much gave up her life for the Lord—we see her cousin saying, “Happy, joyful, blessed, glad are you who believed in God!” This is not “Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus!” Benedictus is a different type of blessedness–literally, “well-spoken of” are you among women, and “well-spoken of” is the fruit of your womb. However, the “wellness” of bene implies a divineness. Benedictus is the holy water, the baptism, the sacraments and sacramentals of the Church, because they are not just well-spoken of, but divinely-spoken of. But I didn’t open this door to speak of Mariology (much as I would like to). We’re still talking about the Beatitudes. Beo is the root of Beatus which Jesus uses in the Latin Vulgate (or μακάριοι) and in this term, Jesus doesn’t say that the meek will be divinely blessed, but that they will be internally happy, content, and filled with a peace and Godliness.

Mary believed that what the angel said to her would be true. And it made her blessed, it made her happy.

So what does that mean for those Jesus speaks of in the Beatitudes? “Happy are the poor in spirit”, “Happy are those who mourn.” These are outright contradictions. The poor in spirit isn’t merely referring to the depressed or the sad. He is literally talking about those in poverty, and the kind of spirit they have because of their life–the spirit of those who are the lowest class of human being, the dejected and treated as subhuman, or mere animals. What does Jesus mean, they are blessed? How can they be happy?

Happy are the meek? What does that mean? How shall the meek inherit the land?

I think in order to understand the Beatitudes, we have to begin by contrasting them against the Ten Commandments.

In contrast to the Ten Commandments, which seem like a bunch of “Don’t do this” and “Don’t do that,” the Beatitudes are promises of happiness. “Blessed are the peacemakers” and “Blessed are the pure in heart” are positive attributes, contrasted against “You shall not kill” and “You shall not commit adultery.” So the Ten Commandments present the bare-minimum of the law (“Don’t kill”) while the Beatitudes present the highest ideal (“Be a peacemaker” i.e. one who prevents the conflict that ultimately leads to loss of life). Jesus later speaks on the middle-ground (see Matthew 5:21-5:26 for how anger, which would have been prevented by the peacemaker, leads to the conflict that brings death). This same train of thought can be drawn between “Blessed are the pure of heart” and “Thou shall not commit adultery” and the explanatory passages of Matthew 5:27-28.

So the Beatitudes are ultimately the same message as the Ten Commandments. And Jesus didn’t come to abolish the law (the commandments), but to fulfill them. It seems to me that the Beatitudes are the ultimate fulfillment of the law.

 

You see, Jesus himself lived out all of these beatitudes, just as he lived out all of the Ten Commandments. When he said “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the land,” who do we think of as being worthy of inheriting land? Kings, and princes, and rulers. Jesus lived this out–Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum–and showed us that meekness is the way to the kingdom, and that the last shall be the first in the Kingdom of God. See Mark 10:41-45 for more.

As king, Jesus shows us his throne. Jesus is the king who rules from the cross. Instead of being lifted up in a chair and paraded on the backs of servants, as kings would do in the ancient world, he is paraded with a cross on his back through the city that jeered and spat on him, and at the end of the parade, he is lifted high up on the cross.

Through the beatitudes, Jesus wants to take our understanding of the world and change the way we see reality. Kings should be servants. Bless those who persecute you. Our instinct is to hate people who hate us—but Jesus tells us to love our enemies. Our instinct is to talk about other people, in order to make ourselves feel better. But Jesus asks us to be merciful, and we will be given mercy. Our instinct is to hold onto things and to go after life experiences—to travel the world, to experience the best sex always, to have a fast car and to drive it really fast. But these experiences are fleeting. Meanwhile, the joy, the happiness, the blessedness Jesus speaks of is eternal.

The beatitudes turn the world upside down so we can see reality as it is—that reality is pointed toward heaven.

G.K. Chesterton once said that the way St. Francis viewed the world was as if it was upside-down. That is to say, the whole world is hanging and depending upon God. Chesterton describes what a big city would look like if it were hanging upside down on the earth. Chesterton says, “Instead of being merely proud of his strong city because it could not be moved, he would be thankful to God Almighty  that it had not been dropped; he would be thankful to God for not dropping the whole cosmos like a vast crystal to be shattered into falling stars. Perhaps St. Peter saw the world so, when he was crucified head-downwards.

It is commonly in a somewhat cynical sense that men have said, ‘Blessed is he that expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed.’ It was in a wholly happy and enthusiastic sense that Saint Francis said, ‘Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall enjoy everything.’”

The beatitudes strip us of our worldly, animalistic desires, and they make us cling to Jesus. If we listen to them, they build into us the divinity that Christ promises to share with us—his Holy Spirit. You see, when we are rid of our worldly desires, our worldly expectations and the need for self-fulfillment, the things that we cling to that cause us to turn inward into ourselves, then we are free to receive love that lasts eternally—and to love others unreservedly. I want to live in that city that sees God holding me in place, keeping me from falling into the cosmos. To live the way Jesus lived, to live in the Beatitudes, is to trust in God—as Mary did when she said “Yes” to God and believed that what the angel said was true. Mary’s reality was turned upside-down. She was not concerned with not coveting her neighbor’s possessions–instead, she wanted to give her neighbors everything of herself. She still wants to give her Church everything of herself.

It is then, when we can love everyone in the world and give everyone everything we have, that we will be truly happy. Indeed, we will be blessed. Let us begin seeing the world upside-down, as if we are crucified as St. Peter.

Celibate Vocations in the Catholic Church

It’s been about six months since I began seriously considering whether I could be a priest.

Which is insane. Unreal. This is coming from a guy who’s grown up wanting to be a dad of five-to-eleven kids (a baseball team!) and who’s always wanted to share romantic moments with a girlfriend/wife, who’s wanted that gorgeous woman to be openly sensitive with, and she would be treated as royalty.

And then six months ago, my conscience wouldn’t let me date a woman unless I seriously addressed these uncomfortable pangs of what could be God telling me he has something different planned for my life.

But different doesn’t mean bad. You’d think that hearing that God is calling you to live single for the rest of your life would be a burden, a crushing disappointment. The kind of calling from God that would make you run to the ends of the earth, rather than travel to Ninevah. But after a little investigation and a lot of prayer, I’ve found that this calling–the calling to a celibate life in service of God–is weirdly comforting.

And there’s a part of me that can’t believe I just published that publicly on my blog.

Recently I gave the teaching at my church’s high school youth group (LifeTeen) on the topic of celibate vocations in the Catholic Church. I’ve re-written some of it to make it fit better on the blog format.

Starting at the beginning: how to talk about celibacy

When talking about celibacy, firstly it must be known that this is always a conversation about love.

After all—what is in common with all vocations, all ways of life that God calls you to? Love. No matter who you are or what God calls you to, you know for a fact that you are called to love, and nothing less. Whether you are a missionary, a parent of three, twenty-something and still single, or a ten-year-old child, you are called to love. It’s simply how God ordered the universe and binds the universe together. Love is the highest of Christian virtues, the strongest of emotions, and the force which moves the world. Love is what forgives us our sins and draws us into heaven; love is what sustains our souls for eternal joy. God is love, right? And it’s because God loves the universe that, frankly, it still exists. He holds your atoms in existence because he loves them–and he loves that they form you. And God wants us to be in him more and more. You don’t need to have a spouse to receive or give God’s love. Especially if you respect Jesus–who never married, he never engaged in conjugal relations, and he was perfectly fulfilled in service to God.

Unfortunately, celibacy is often viewed as a kind of loneliness, or permanent separation. It makes a lot of people uncomfortable because we can’t imagine how we would receive any love in a life without a significant other, without a spouse in marriage to hold our trust and hear our hearts and share our life with. And, to make matters worse, we’ve been inculturated to believe that sexual relations brings us to the fulfillment of our humanity; that if we die without ever having engaged in sex, we were never truly human. And our emotions and passions certainly don’t help us think straight, either.

While celibacy means no sexual intimacy, it does not mean loneliness, and it does not mean lack of emotional intimacy. Sexual intimacy means promising yourself to love deeply only one person. Freedom from that allows a person to serve the needs of hundreds of people; to sympathize with them, to share with them in their joys and sorrows, to suffer alongside those who suffer. For priests and especially for Franciscans, it also means hanging out with other people who are lonely—the people our society forgets about, such as the homeless, the mentally ill, the elderly, and maybe just people who are down on their luck and ended up alone. The world is full of lonely people–people who, for one reason or another, don’t have a spouse either, and have also bought the tripe our culture says about them concerning those who aren’t married. That is why we have priests, nuns, and friars—because this world badly needs love, and celibacy has a unique capacity to reach out and love the unloved.

God’s plan for you–not as invasive and controlling as it sounds

You’ve probably heard that God has a plan for you.

This plan could be called your vocation, but at the same time it’s much greater than who you’ll marry or what parish you’ll preside in or what religious order you’ll join.

God’s plan for you is the plan for how he’s going to draw you up into heaven; how love will invade your soul and sanctify you, until you become like Jesus and Mary and your soul will find perfect peace and love and adventure in God’s limitless creativity. Your vocation takes your sanctification into consideration, as well as the sanctification of those whom you’ll be in contact with–your friends, your family, and those God will put under your care. God’s plan is about your holiness and, yes, your happiness, too. Believe it or not, priests are happy, and so are monks and nuns.

God, who designed your personality, your physical features, your strengths and weaknesses, your likes and dislikes, he knows and wants to give you what will make you most happy. He knows exactly what it’ll take for you to receive his pure love, unfiltered, and so to be sanctified for you to not only reach heaven, but in love carry your friends and family into heaven with you. If you’re in the wrong vocation, it’ll be harder for you to receive that love, and harder for you to give love to others in return, because it won’t come as naturally as it would have come had you paid attention to God’s call and gone into the vocation that was made for your personality/spirituality/gifts/temperaments.

Spiritual children

While marriage is what the majority of people are called to, there remains for the few, the joy, the mysterious desire, of the life of the religious.

While the physical expression of love within the context of marriage is in the generation of new life (BABIES!), the expression of love within the context of religious life is the regeneration of life in new believers, as well as the continual regeneration of the spirit of Catholics worldwide. Married couples give birth to babies, by their love, and then have tons of (“d’awwww,” “peek-aboo,” “coochie-coochie-cooo”) love to give to these babies. But priests and religious live out Christ’s calling when he says, “If you are not born again, you shall not enter the kingdom of God.”

Priests and religious then, have their own spiritual children. As I mentioned earlier, the highest calling, the highest vocation, the highest reality, for human beings is love. Love is what brings us to heaven. The love of priests and religious toward us can deliver us into the arms of Jesus in a special way that parents cannot; after all, we need priests to hear our confessions, to offer sacrifices for us, to celebrate the Mass, to marry us together, to baptize our friends and our children.

We also need religious orders in the Church to help point us to an even deeper sense of holiness and reverence than we normally experience in parish life. We need the dedicated and devout prayers of the religious to carry our Church through the tumultuous waters of this age–an age that, if things keep going the way they’re headed, seems as if it might overcome and extinguish the consecrated life.

Community life, community love

At the end of the day, when all the day’s work is done, the priest has the loving support of his parish as well as his priest-brothers, whom he confides in as his best buds. In religious orders, however, the brotherly relationships are much more apparent. In some religious communities, they eat all of their meals together, as a rule. They see each other all the time, as in many communities the friars and nuns won’t normally leave the abbey.

Over the years of formation, they form strong bonds of friendship and comradery and trust. It’s the farthest thing from loneliness as can be.

But perhaps most important of all, and I don’t think I could possibly overstate this, is the intimate and familial relationship that is formed between a friar or priest and God himself. You see, a vocation isn’t discovered or stumbled upon by force of will or intellect. It’s a gift from God, and he reveals it through close and intimate and trusting prayer. It’s not just knowing God on a first-name basis, but knowing God on a “you’re-all-I-have-left in-this-world” basis. It’s a matter of putting all your chips on the table and placing your bet where God is whispering.

From an outside viewpoint, it’s just nuts. The idea that you’d willingly give up your one and only life–your one and only shot at having the best human experience you can have with your life (and all the sex, beaches, mountains, friendships, thrills, and lifestyles one can experience)–and trading all of that in and saying, “Not for me. I want God, and God only. I want him in my dreams, I want him when I wake. I want him when I’d rather be on a beach, and I want him when my mind and body demand sex, food, and money. I want him more than human relationships, and I believe him when he says he’ll be with me always… even until the end of the age.”

And with that leap of faith, many priests and friars have found that God is there. He won’t impose his will on you, and he won’t make himself so obvious that you’d be stupid not to turn to him. But if you trust him–if you give yourself away to him–you’ll have the deepest, richest love you could ever find. Who could ever love you deeper than Love itself?

The priest is never alone, nor the nun, in her cell with her rosary, nor the Trappist kneading curd. Those who have found–through truly massive amounts of prayer and devotion–that they are called to the celibate life, have found that it wasn’t something new they were looking for, but something they already had all along. A desire to spend the rest of one’s life in poverty, prayer, chastity, and love.

But how will you know if you don’t pray?

Suggested reading:

To Save a Thousand Souls by Fr. Brett Brannon. I’ve read this twice and intend to read it again. It’s a must-read and really the best place to begin.

The Liturgy of the Hours. Granted, you don’t read them, you pray them. As Yoda said, “Pray them you must.”*

The Celibacy Myth by Fr. Charles Gallagher and Fr. Thomas Vandenberg. This is an out-of-print book from the 1980s so you’ll have to dig through the ends of the internet or the bowels of your Catholic university library to find a copy. A must-read for understanding celibacy.

“The Priest I Seek” and “Mary and the Office of the Priest” by Hans Urs von Balthasar from the book, Priestly Spirituality, published by Ignatius Press. The rest of the essays in this book are just meh.

The Priest Is Not His Own by the venerable Fulton Sheen. Especially to get at the heart-intention of the priesthood, supported by pastoral Catholic teaching.

Biographies are also a great way to get a grasp on the holiness of the priesthood. Fr. Francis Trochu’s The Curé d’Ars and Fr. Benedict Groeschel’s biography of The Life of Fr. Eugene Hamilton will really show you what the heart of a priest is supposed to look like.

That should cover the priesthood. I’ve read a few other things, but none I could recommend. For the consecrated religious life (monks and nuns!), I’ve only just begun reading, so the list is much shorter:

The Contemplative Life by Fr. Thomas Philippe, OP. A must-read, especially if you’re (like me) thinking about the Dominican order.

“Thomas Aquinas and Vocational Discernment”, by Fr. Romanus Cessario, OP. It’s an essay that you can read here: http://vocations.opwest.org/home/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Thomas-Aquinas-and-Vocational-Discernment.pdf

And keep up your own spiritual readings. As I read St. Francis de Sales’ Lenten sermons during the span of Lent, so I plan to read his Marian sermons during the span of May. Find your own favorite saint or favorite spiritual writings and keep up reading through them. Your vocational discernment is not just about the priesthood and religious life. It’s about your holiness and happiness–so continue reading the things that stir your heart and mind.

And one more thing! Check out http://www.vocationboom.com. Listen to their podcasts!

And talk to your vocation director!

*Also: “Pray, or pray not. There is no try.”

May the fourth be with you!