Where Are We From? Part III

See that map? That is the Italian peninsula. It is a collection of towns and regions that are passionate about their own identity. For the past 150 years, it has been known as the "nation" of Italy. Time has brought a certain measure of unity. Everyone speaks the Tuscan dialect (to some extent), which is the "national language." The "Italians" all unite behind the Azzuri  (Blues), the national soccer team, in international competitions. Government? Heh heh. That's, um... complicated.

When I was growing up, I proudly considered myself an "Italian American." I didn't realize that the mix of regions in my family background was a phenomenon that could only happen in America. Almost all Americans of European ancestry are an ethnic mixture. That's clear enough when one has, say, and "Italian" father and an "Irish" mother (a not-uncommon combination in the Northeast urban centers of immigration--in fact, my wife is part Irish). But it is usually true also of those who claim "100%" heritage. Ethnic and cultural heritage in Europe are very compact. The ethnic neighborhoods of America mixed peoples of these compact regions together, because--after all--in the great New World the common elements became sources of subcultural unity. As a result, the second generation saw a great deal of "intermarriage" between kids who never would have met in the old country.

It was something of a surprise for me when I went to Italy at the age of 30 to study. People asked me where my ancestors were from, and I said, "Italy!" They replied, "oh, but where are they from?" Turns out they were from a lot of different places. "Italians" are from Milano or Brescia or Roma or from a foreign country called Sicily. Nobody is from "Italy," at least, not really. Even in New York, it was quite a scandal in my grandmother's Neapolitan family when she began seeing my Sicilian grandfather. Sicilians were not paisani; they were strange, alien creatures.

It turns out that my ancestors are from all over southern Italy. Some of them were probably Greek (which might explain the odd spelling of the name "Janaro" with a "J"--although there are other possibilities; the French were in southern Italy too). In Italy I learned about the long and deep lines of my roots. For Americans, lineage often fades into a mist if we try to seek beyond the first person to land on our shores. But in Europe it is not unusual to stand in places that are over a thousand years old, and it becomes possible to think of one's self as part of a very long line. Still, it is distinctively American to be an intersection of various lines that never would have met anywhere else.

I have my roots in a distinctive historical phenomenon: the New York Italian American immigrant experience of the late 19th century. I am also third generation American born, which means that the diverse socioeconomic backgrounds of my ancestors had time to rise to the level of the middle class families of my parents in the America of the 1950s. In a sense, I am a "New Yorker," and to this day I feel at home in the city of my birth. But I have adopted a new home.

The Shenandoah Valley and Northern Virginia are where I have built my life. I went to school here, and then devoted my career to building institutions here. I established my family here, and it is here that I own the little piece of property that I call my home. This is the place that I miss when I am far away. This is my children's native place. And my parents have lived in this area for 22 years; here in Virginia they have become grandparents.

It is in Virginia that my history, and the history of my family, continues.

Where Are We From? Part II

So, where am we “from”?

Human beings are body and soul. Factors of time and space shape who we are. The environment we are "born" into, and the events that happen to us in early life enter into the makeup of our personal history, and shape particular features of our memory, temperament, and inclinations. At the same time, our freedom enables us to adapt to a new environment, and to develop dispositions, habits, and affections that enable our personality to embrace a "new home." This new place can become more "ours" than the land of our birth. We, in turn, become more identified with it. Great figures of our own time illustrate this. When we think of Mother Teresa, we think of India and Calcutta--her adopted home and a land that claims her as one of their own--even though her life began thousands of miles away, in the entirely different society, culture, and climate of Eastern European Albania.

It even seems possible for human beings to “belong” in a profound way to more than one place, to “contain” different places internally as elements of their own identity and of the way others relate to them. This is true of anyone who has gone forth from their homeland to establish a new place, such as the settlers and pioneers of the New World.

Indeed, various people, with varying moral qualities, illustrate this human phenomenon. Consider Napoleon Bonaparte. His life is bound permanently to the history of France, and yet he was born and grew up in the (at that time) decidedly un-French island of Corsica. Certainly, rulers (especially conquerors) often exhibit this quality, while they in turn make elements of their native culture into formative features of their adopted culture. William the Conqueror brought his Norman identity to English soil. Prince Albert brought the Christmas tree from his native Austria to England in the 19th century, and from there it made its way into our homes today. I find myself inclined to consider historical personages because there is evidence of their awareness of place and their impact on other places

But on a much broader scale, all of America is a fabric woven from the experiences of other places which so many brought here with them when they came. Most of us have a varied ancestry, and grew up in homes that blended various cultural traditions. American society itself is (relatively speaking) “young,” which is one of the reasons why we are often less attached to a particular place that many peoples of older cultures, and perhaps why we are more willing to change the places where we are, as well as move about from place to place. And yet, America as a whole is “one place” (in spite of the very distinctive history and characteristics of certain locations). I know that one of the things that amazes a European visitor to the United States is its relative unity of life and culture over vast distances.

As a place, our country is still developing its identity during this epoch of mass transportation and the contraction of space that results from it. As I said, we are young. As we move about from place to place, jumping over thousands of miles, most of us carry family and cultural traditions that are only a few generations old.

By contrast, even the ordinary Italian of my generation often grew up in a region or a city or even a neighborhood where his ancestors lived for hundreds of years. I have a friend whose family has a large house in Ligouria. In its library are documents including a verification of ownership signed and sealed by Holy Roman Emperor Rudolph II in the 16th century. A place that would be a historic landmark in the United States is, in Italy, just someone’s house.

These reflections on what it means to “belong to a place” certainly suggest that a sense of one’s “place” has an impact on how one perceives the world. It’s all part of my trying to figure out how to answer the question, “where am I from?” Traditionally the question has been phrased as “what am I?” I am an American. I know that for sure (and if I ever had any doubts, a year of living in Europe cured me of them). But how much more specific can I be? Am I a Virginian? After thirty years I would like to say so, but there are many Virginians who would disagree. To them, I’m just another transplanted Yankee. Why? I don't think of myself as a "Yankee." But I was born in New York and grew up in Pennsylvania. Is there something "yankeeish" about me?

To be continued.

Roots in the Valley: The Valley League

It's late. I'm tired. I'll continue the story of where I am from tomorrow. Tonight I'll just mention briefly the event that, for John Paul and me, has signaled the beginning of summer since he was seven years old: the opening night of Valley League Baseball.

The Shenandoah Valley is home to one of several special summer leagues for college players. They are sponsored by Major League Baseball and use wood bats (which means a lot to me--a baseball bat is not supposed to go "ping"!). Promising college players from all around the country come to play in the two month summer league. It means that for two months we have a real home town baseball team right here in Front Royal: the illustrious Front Royal Cardinals. The games are fun, admission is cheap, the seats are great, and we have a nice little ballpark of almost minor league quality. And it's only five minutes from our house. John Paul and I have gone to games regularly since 2004. Mommy and the girls have come a few times, but they don't like it much. We love it.

Actually this does relate to the theme of heritage. It is a piece of this small town that is part of my son's life. It's something he will always remember. Baseball has something to do with roots, as I have learned from my own curious allegiances. We have the Washington Nationals. But this is really special: real baseball right in town. Front Royal Cardinals' season is something unique.

Where Are We From? Part I

So, where are you from?

This has become a difficult question for many of us to answer who live in the developed world. And it is especially a problem in the United States of America, where migration is part of the national tradition of people continually in search of a better life. Here it has been common for generations for people to establish themselves and make their mark upon the world in places very far removed from where they were born and raised. Historically, the movement of population in the U.S. was broadly from East to West. But the post-World War II generation saw the development of the automobile mass transportation network, passenger air travel, and mass communications. In the past 60 years our country is turning more and more into a place where everyone is from all over, and where they presently live may not be a place where they intend to set down any permanent roots.

I have watched this phenomenon develop over the course of my own life, and have experienced it myself. I have also participated in what seems to be something of an unreflective, spontaneous effort by groups of people to reestablish roots in particular places. Common initiatives and commitment to institutions often establish communities where people’s lives are invested in the place where they are. The Janaros seem to be setting down roots by living a deeper level of community with others who have come together to build or take part in the various educational institutions that have found a home in the Shenandoah Valley of Northern Virginia.

Today we are all very used to the idea of mobility defining our relationship to place. We hardly reflect on the fact that, in the history of the human race, this mobility is a very new kind of freedom. Nor do we give much consideration to how this affects our psychological sense of internal coherence. We are, after all, bodily beings who are “naturally” in only one place at a time, and tend to take in and appropriate (“make our own”) the environment that surrounds us. This must have some impact on the experience of people who live in constantly changing environments.

What are the potential positive elements of this impact? What creative resources are available to the human person to integrate this experience? History has always known instances of the “cosmopolitan” person, rich in wisdom and sensibility about diverse peoples and cultures with whom they have lived. But such persons, historically, were exceptional, often educated and wealthy, and without family ties. Our age is an age of cosmopolitan families and cities, with mobile populations. What this does to the human need for building sustained relationships and community is a matter worthy of further consideration.

These reflections will be continued. In the next entry, I will talk of my own experience of being born as a New York Italian American, and then being transplanted to Western Pennsylvania, Virginia, and–of all places–Italy itself. And why I think it’s important for my children to grow up with a sense that the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia is their home, even if someday they live on the moon.

Fourteen Years of Children

I was 34 years old in 1997. Eileen was 30. We both thought we had seen quite a bit of the world in those days, but nothing had prepared us for the adventure we were plunging into.

I had friends my age who already had six or seven kids. But this was our first. This was supposed to be a "May baby." Eileen was very big and certainly looked ready, but we waited for the mystery to happen, waited eight days. We sat up late at night on the couch, watching videos and eating chips. Labor? No, just gas.

We went to my parents (who still had plenty of spring in their step back then), which was nearer to the hospital. Nothing. We went into Washington, DC for a day of art museums and Ethiopian food. Spicy Ethiopian food. Nothing. We watched Jurassic Park II in a movie theater. Nothing. The kid just wasn't going anywhere.

Finally they told us to come to the hospital for Eileen to be induced. So much for our ideas about natural childbirth. The usual things were done. Labor brought nothing but pain. The head was not dropping down. One thing was clear: this kid had a big head.

So they were going to cut my wife's body open! My precious wife--married less than two years! While they prepped, I paced back and forth and prayed the Rosary. At 34 years old, I didn't think there were any "new experiences" left. This was really new.

I was suited up and ushered into the O.R. where Eileen was, numbed where she needed to be by the epidural but fully awake, with a screen at her chest so she couldn't see what was being done. I held onto her and the doctor and nurses went to work.

I should note that this was supposed to be a girl. We were sure. I owed a debt of gratitude to St. Agnes of Rome, at whose tomb I had prayed for a wife a couple of years before. I promised St. Agnes that I would name my first daughter after her. Eileen and I returned to the tomb on our honeymoon and renewed the promise together. So we just felt sure this was baby Agnes (at this point, we had not thought of the Italian form of the name, "Agnese"). While Eileen was pregnant we called the baby "Agnes." We had no sonogram, but still, we felt sure. And then, the baby had moved for the first time on the Feast of St. Agnes. A Heavenly Sign (NOT!).

The doctor called me to look over the screen to see my baby brought forth. The cord was wrapped twice around the baby's neck. The head was unusually large. This baby never would have made it alive through the birth canal. But modern medicine was finding a way to make everything go smoothly. And I saw the baby emerge from the swabs covering the incision, the head and neck and shoulders and chest and OH MY GOSH IT'S A BOY!

It's a boy! It's a boy!


He was a 9 pound, 4 ounces, a compact little man, screaming his head off and shaking his fists, well formed like a lightweight boxer. We were crying with joy.

And we had a backup name, just in case. John Paul, of course.

It was 3:00 in the morning on June 1, 1997.

I felt as though I had become some strange new being, as if I had been born into a new life. Later that morning, in the nearby church, I kept thinking during the Mass with a mixture of wonder and dread, "I'm a father, I'm a father." I knew he had been with us for nine months, but birth is a great epiphany. A whole new world was set before my eyes, drawing forth the most elemental instincts of tenderness and protectiveness and all the emotions that bolster a new sense of responsibility.

Much has happened in these past 14 years. His head keeps growing, along with the rest of him. John Paul was the only c-section; the girls came naturally. And after 14 years and five children, I expect new experiences every day.

The Good Things Come Slowly

The good things come slowly.

I am featuring again tonight a picture from the grounds of my favorite monastery, Holy Cross Abbey (Cistercians) in Berryville, Virginia. Monks know that good comes from silence, perseverance, the repetition of the same simple gestures, dedication to prayer day by day, month by month, year by year. They know the labor of sowing seeds that others may reap.

I am impatient about good things. I want them fast. I want my acorns to spring into fully formed oak trees. I want my prayers answered, NOW! I forget that one of God's favorite ways of answering a prayer is, "Ask Me again tomorrow."

Occasionally the good is a dramatic and sudden manifestation. God knows we need that sometimes or our weak, distracted nature would lose sight of the good altogether. But even when God works miracles, His deep message to us is, "Trust Me."

The good things grow slowly, with patience and care, if necessary with healing and correction.

So let us not lose patience. Sometimes it seems as if fire rains down on the earth. We feel overwhelmed. But let us tend this little piece of ground, this life that has been given us. Let us sow our seed and tend our shoots with fidelity and dedication to the task in front of us. God will give the growth.

The good things come slowly. But they are the things that endure.

Steps on the Path

I came across some statistical information today that gave me reason for hope. It seems that about 60% of Americans believe in a personal God, with whom it is possible to have some kind of relationship. Another survey reported that 58% of Americans pray every day.

Surveys, of course, leave many questions unanswered. What kind of God? What kind of prayer? How many of the remaining 42% are crying out to God without realizing it?

Still, I am encouraged by the 60%. We live immersed in a noisy popular culture in which emphasis on the presence of God and the need for prayer is ZERO. Evidently, God still makes His presence known and provokes the human heart with the awareness of the need for Him. Even if this awareness is superficial or fleeting in many cases, it still gives me hope.

I expect that anyone who happens upon this blogsite and gives it any attention probably believes in God, or at least wonders about the mystery of God. Of course, most of my readers are already in "the choir"--I am not naive. But I also have friends who are not Catholic or not Christian--friends who don't agree or don't know what to make of the things I say here, but who read nevertheless because they care about me. And perhaps because they find things that they can appreciate in these writings, or things that strike them as worthy of looking at. They know who they are, and they know that I love them. I ask them to stay with me as I reflect on this adventure of being human in a world that I know is not easy to understand.

Moreover, this is the internet. Anyone may come across what I write here. I do not sing for the choir; I sing about who I am, what has been given to me, and what I have discovered about the truth. Everything I say is a testimony--offered with respect for freedom, openness, and awareness of the particularities and burdens of each person's journey in search of the truth. I invite people to walk with me. Let us look at life together and try to help each other.

If you are among those who wonder, even once in a while, what the mystery of reality is all about, then there is something in you that yearns to go deeper. Ask from out of that wonder; ask the questions that it suggests, and ask them with a confidence that that they would not be in your heart if the answers did not exist.

If you believe in a personal God, pray to Him as Someone who is present. You do not give yourself existence. He is making you to "be" right now. He is present, giving you to yourself. Call to mind that Presence.

And why does He make you? For love. Why else? Isn't this what our hearts tell us? That we are loved, and are made to love? So take small steps in love; find a little time to affirm something or someone not for your own advantage, but because of the goodness that makes you forget yourself. Such love leads to God.

This is not some "generic religion" that I am proposing here. Everyone who reads this blog knows that my faith is very specific. These are merely steps on the path of truth. They are steps that Christians sometimes forget to make. I know very well that plenty of Catholics and Christians are messed up and confused.

But it's always possible to take a step forward on the road that leads to the answers you seek, and the joy for which you hope.

Benedict and Kirill: The Future of Europe

We have often heard the voice of Pope Benedict XVI on the importance of a transcendent, Divine foundation for the objective guarantee and constructive force of human rights and human dignity.

In presenting this message to 21st century Europe, however, Benedict has a vitally important collaborator a couple of thousand miles east of Rome. The Russian Orthodox Patriarch of Moscow, Kirill I, has expressed similar observations from his own distinctly Russian perspective.

Today I finally received my copy of Freedom and Responsibility: A Search for Harmony--Human Rights and Personal Dignity, a collection of addresses published by the Moscow Patriarchate in cooperation with the British publishing house of Darton, Longman, and Todd. This book is not yet available in the U.S., which meant paying a little more for postage and ordering it from amazon.uk. But it was worth it.

Kirill's approach is open, clear, direct, and refreshing. He testifies to the perpetual validity of the Christian view of the human being, drawing on the Church Fathers and on Russia's unique experience in the 20th century. It lends particular weight to his words on the dictatorship of relativism:


For the believer who is aware of the problem of the self-determination of the will [in light of the Fall and the human person's need for redemption], the claim that moral anthropo- centrism is a universal principle that should regulate social and personal activity gives cause for doubt. Conscience is an important criterion that helps distinguish between good and evil. It is not by chance that folk wisdom calls the conscience the voice of God, for the moral law placed by God into human nature is known in the voice of conscience. But the voice of conscience can be stifled by sin. Therefore, when making moral choices one must also be guided by external criteria, above all by the commandments given by God....


Unfortunately, today the absolutisation of the State characteristic of modernity is being replaced by the absolutisation of the sovereignty of the individual and his rights without moral responsibility. This absolutisation can destroy the foundations of modern civilisation and lead to its downfall.... Humankind cannot live outside a moral context. No laws can help us keep society viable or put an end to corruption, the misuse of power, the break-up of the family, the abandoning of children, the reduction of the birthrate, the destruction of nature, militant nationalism, xenophobia or the mockery of religious sentiments....


No one contests that a society in which the individual is disdained, in which the State and the collective possess all rights over the person, is unstable and inhumane. But societies in which human rights become an instrument for the emancipation of the instincts, in which the notions of good and evil are confused and driven out by the idea of moral autonomy and pluralism, become equally inhumane. Such societies lose their mechanisms of moral influence on the personality. In civilised society--let us call it so--the balance between these polarities must be maintained. It should base itself on the understanding that each person by nature possesses unchanging value, and at the same time that everyone is called on to grow in dignity and bear civic responsibility before the law and moral responsibility for his actions.

Freedom and Responsibility, pp. 63-65 (my emphasis)

No Boundaries

O this restless life. Searching, searching, searching. That's life. Seeking, asking, begging in front of every circumstance, "Please give me happiness."

Yet I do not want to make it sound like life is always a conscious, neurotic, aching urge that exhausts people with nervous tension. It would be stupid to deny that many people seem quite happy, and would describe themselves as satisfied. Some of them are living in denial. But others are genuinely, reasonably content. Aren't they?

Well...yes and no.

We can attain goals in life, and draw a measure of satisfaction from them. But life doesn't stop. When I achieve what I want, I find new possibilities opening up. The question emerges, "what shall I do next?" It can be a joyful experience, this journey. In fact, it is meant to be. But it keeps moving. It's an adventure, and as long as you are still breathing, you know in your heart that it's not over.

Look at the way you act.

Why do you do things? Because you want something. There is a sense of anticipation, a sense that reality has something to offer. So you choose, you act, and you possess things, enter into relationships, live life. And that sense of anticipation is verified. You have a taste of genuine goodness. But the sense of the possibility of fulfillment only deepens. The desire to live intensifies. To move forward.

Because you want something infinite.

The heart has no boundaries. Yet here we are, in this moment, in the midst of things that are limited. If we try to grasp things and stretch them so that they correspond to the scope of our hearts, we will distort them and ultimately tear them apart. This is violence.

But if we act with the recognition that there is something more, that the goodness of things points to something and promises something that we do not see and cannot attain by our own power, then we act with receptivity, with a need and a question that opens us up to something or Someone who corresponds to our boundless hearts. This is the seed of prayer.

Christians East and West: Our Hope and Prayer

Eastern Christians will immediately recognize that this is an unconventional icon of the Theotokos. It is, in fact, an icon of the Immaculate (Panagia) Heart of Mary, with its imagery and colors taken from the reports of the appearance of the Mother of God to the children of Fatima, Portugal nearly a hundred years ago.

I post this here as an accompaniment to my expression of a sense of urgency for the unity of Christians East and West. My post on Confirmation (Chrismation) provoked some interesting commentary about what divides or appears to some to divide Christians. I believe that as long as the essential elements of the rite are preserved, the celebration of the Holy Mysteries or Sacraments can vary in the rituals that surround them, and in the time and order of their celebration. Eastern and Western Christians can disagree on which form or order of the ritual is more expressive of the meaning of the Mysteries/Sacraments, but they may and ought to respect each other's traditions. It is certainly a blow to Christian unity for Eastern Orthodox Christians to deny the validity of Western (Catholic) Sacraments of Initiation. The Roman Church has always recognized the validity and today even emphasizes the beauty and the theological significance of the Eastern Christian liturgical traditions. This is reflected in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, which presents, together, both the Eastern and Western rituals and practices for the administration of the Holy Mysteries/Sacraments, and explains the essential unity that underlies the various differences. Many Eastern Orthodox churches and theologians, bishops, priests, and lay people concur in the recognition of this essential unity.

I am convinced  that, for ecumenism, Ground Zero is the breach between Eastern and Western Christendom. This is the great divide in Christian Europe, a crack in the earth that runs through the whole second millennium of history between the Greek and Slavic East and the Latin West. Its causes are many and varied. Its healing, I hope, will be one of the great blessings of the third millennium, from which will come forth an energy that will vivify a new evangelization of the world, and a renewal of the roots and identity of Europe and its peoples. I don't know how this unity will be achieved in historical circumstances, but I am certain that God wills it and therefore we must do everything we can in good conscience to foster it. This certainly includes the mutual acceptance and appreciation of the profound bonds that already unite us, as well as respect for the legitimate differences that do not really divide us. It means prayer to the Holy Spirit, and to the Mother of God who is so deeply loved by both East and West, and has shown her abundant blessings to all her children.

At Fatima, the Mother of God hinted that Russia was destined to play a special role in modern history: that Russia's errors would be a source of great sufferings, but its conversion an occasion for a period of peace. And indeed the twentieth century saw those errors and those sufferings. It also saw the beginning of hope, and the first stirrings of an anticipated conversion. Still, today, it is western secularism--the older, weaker, but still dangerous cousin of the atheistic communist monster--that sweeps over the world, and over the ruins of Russia and the still emerging nations of Eastern Europe. Two men have risen to critique secularism's "dictatorship of relativism" in our time, and there is much affinity between them in their personalities, ideas and aspirations: Patriarch Kirill of Moscow and Pope Benedict XVI.

Let us examine ourselves and put aside all unnecessary sources of division. Let us long for unity, and pray to Christ Our God and His Immaculate, All-Holy Mother for a fraternal embrace and a kiss of peace that will heal the wounds of a thousand years and give renewed light to the world.

Free As A Bird

Wouldn't you like to be free as a bird?

I wonder where that expression came from. As I write this, the kids are watching one of those BBC nature videos. The erudite voice of some distinguished British gentleman is telling everyone about the glorious life of animals, which basically consists in sleeping, seeking food, mating, and avoiding predators. And it is a wonderful thing, in its own way, the multitude of diverse ways in which animals all over the world--in all their many colors and shapes and sizes--use their remarkable instincts to seek food, to mate, and to avoid predators; in a word, to live. But it takes a bit of the romance out of my lonely black bird. There is surely much poetry in his sturdy vigil, perched atop a fence post. All the splendor and spontaneity of his instincts are focused on the task of living. For him it means spying the worm, the grub, tending the nest, avoiding the cat.

But he is not free.

He is bound to this labor. He comes forth from his shell, struggles into flight, searches for food, perpetuates his species without even knowing what he is, searches for more food, and one day dies. But the whole sky is full of birds. Flocks of birds in full flight. They give no thought to their freedom, or their burdens.

It is we who find the image of freedom in their flight.

It is we who are melancholy at the recognition of their passing lives.

The animals, in their unreflected innocence, remind us that the whole world is passing away. And perhaps too, there is an echo in animal life of the sadness at the heart of creation, a sadness that reflects something irretrievably lost.

Yet we do not get caught up in the mourning of this loss. Our gaze upon the natural world and our poetry are full of hope. We yearn for the freedom of the birds. We watch them in flight and we sense the promise of freedom. For the eager longing of creation awaits the revelation of the children of God. There is another mystery at work at the heart of creation, and it whispers in our hearts a restlessness, an expectation, a promise.

The birds will return to the earth and be joined to it. And one day, the earth will be transformed. The mystery of this is hidden from us.

But we will fly. We will be free.

The New Atheism And The Gulag

I was glad to hear about a new book, The Godless Delusion, by Patrick Madrid and Kenneth Hensley (OSV Press). In this book the authors confront the “new atheists”–contemporary scientists and others–who have made a splash in current popular culture with their books, articles, blogs, and websites. Rather than simply defending Christian or theistic arguments against their attacks, however, Madrid and Hensley take the offensive, venturing into the territory of the atheists themselves and arguing that atheism is rationally and humanly incoherent. I look forward to reading this book. Already, its theme and some of its content have inspired a few random reflections of my own, which I shall set forth below.

One of the book’s arguments is that by denying God and any transcendent reality, atheists lose the rational basis for making binding moral assertions. The “new atheists” argue that religion is “wrong,” that affirming God is “bad” for human beings and society, that it would be “good” to give up religion and concentrate on this world. But if they refuse to go beyond the material world, then what basis do they have for asserting the need for “right” and “wrong,” for “good” and “bad”? And why should anyone care? The atheists are cheating; they are sneaking in transcendent concepts of good and evil without admitting it. This is very important point.

But I have another question: Haven’t we already tried this idea of giving up religion and transcendence and concentrating solely on this material world? Indeed, haven’t we already pushed this experiment to the limit?

Without God, the foundations of the moral order cannot be upheld. This is something fundamental that the “new atheists” have to confront. The old atheists knew the moral abyss that was a consequence of the denial of God. Ivan Karamazov knew it 150 years ago: "If there is no God, then everything is permitted." Lenin knew it too; hence his ethic of expediency in the advancement of “scientific materialism,” which was the foundation for Stalin and Mao and the whole bloody 20th century.

Some think that if they deny God, they can escape from the transcendent consequences of moral actions, and avoid dealing with the reality of punishment for sin. But if atheists are trying to avoid the authority of God and the reality of sin, then I have a literary work I would like to recommend to them.

I think they should grapple with what could in a certain respect be called the modern version of Dante's "Inferno," namely, Aleksander Solzhenitsyn's epoch-defining masterpiece, The Gulag Archipelago. Here is a world without God: human persons are degraded and reduced to animals–on a huge scale–because Stalin needs to carry out the massive industrialization of the Soviet Union, and therefore requires a steady supply of cheap, expendable labor. Who is to tell him he is wrong? He has the power and he determines what is necessary. To whom can the atheist appeal against him? The atheist has no rational grounds to invoke any law beyond the criteria that serve the aims of those in power. If all that exists is the material world that we see, hear, touch, and measure, then there is no basis for affirming the dignity of the human person in the face of power. In the material world, power is supreme: the strongest forces prevail, and the only morality is survival of the fittest. It’s not surprising that the communists condemned themselves in Stalin’s show trials. They knew and submitted to the logic of the moral abyss.

The “new atheists” and those tempted by them should confront seriously the witness of Solzhenitsyn and others like him, all of which has been vindicated by the cold hard facts–now publically available to everyone–of the atheist totalitarian state and its massive slave labor program. By reading about the horrors of the labor camps, people may discover that their guts know there is a God even if their minds deny it.

Solzhenitsyn’s titanic literary achievement, The Gulag Archepelago, has not lost its relevance for the 21st century. I shall speak more about the relevance of Solzhenitsyn in another blog entry. But for now I want to emphasize this aspect of his testimony: the brutalization of the human, presented in such relentless and concrete detail, can shock a person out of the sleep of moral relativism, and awaken him or her once again to the “mystery of iniquity” and the transcendent need of the human heart for “justice”–and also, for mercy. The atheist has no explanation for these needs, or for the conscience of the human person that always speaks of the transcendence of the origin and fulfillment of reality.

Confirmation, Western Style

Yesterday, my son John Paul received the Sacrament of Confirmation according to the Roman rite of the Catholic Church.

Confirmation has developed in a distinctive way in the Roman rite (which is the rite of the vast majority of Catholics in the world). In the Byzantine rite and many of the other rites of the Eastern churches, the Sacrament of "Chrismation" is given to everyone immediately after Baptism, whether they are infants or adults, and is usually administered by the priest with oil blessed by the bishop. Because Chrismation/Confirm- ation is linked to Baptism as its crowning and fullness, the practice of the Eastern churches emphasizes this link. The newly initiated Christian, baptized and anointed in the Holy Spirit, then receives the Eucharist--not only adults, but also infants. The practice of the Eastern churches reflects the unity of "Christian initiation" by always keeping together the celebration of Baptism, Chrismation, and the Eucharist.

The Roman rite, however, places emphasis on another important aspect of this special anointing, and the results of the development of Roman practice highlight other aspects of the mystery and significance of the sacrament. This particular emphasis is on the relationship between Confirmation and the ministry of the bishop. In churches in the West, the bishop specifically and personally confers Confirmation. Historically, in the case of infant Baptism, this meant that Confirmation had to be delayed until the bishop came to visit the parish church in his diocese. In ancient times, travel was difficult, and these visits were not frequent.

Thus, for Catholics of the Roman rite, it was ordinary for Baptism and Confirmation to be separated by a period of time, and the baptized infant was a young person by the time the bishop administered Confirmation. Some time after Confirmation, the person would receive the Eucharist for the first time. Thus it was for many centuries. At the beginning of the last century, however, Pope St. Pius X stressed the importance of early reception of the Eucharist, and the age for first communion was lowered significantly. The result was that it became normal for a person to be baptized as an infant, to receive the Eucharist at the age of 7, and then to be confirmed later, around the age of 13 or 14.

Today it has become common in the Roman rite for adults to receive the three sacraments all together. The pastor of a parish baptizes, administers Confirmation as representative of the bishop and then gives first Eucharist to the new adult Christian, often at the liturgy of Holy Saturday. But for "cradle Catholics" the practice remains as it has been for the last hundred years.

For Catholics of the Roman rite, this has resulted in greater reflection on Confirmation as a sacrament that initiates the "adulthood" of the Christian life. It provides the special strength that enables a Christian to live and witness to his or her faith in the world. And the administration of Confirmation by the bishop emphasizes that the Christian has a direct vocation in the Church, concretely reflected in its being given at the hands of one of the successors of the Apostles. Indeed there is something appropriate to receiving Confirmation at the very beginning of one's "mature life." It is a reminder that the grace of the Holy Spirit is the foundation of a person's life, at precisely that time in which the person begins to become aware of the possibilities and responsibility of that life. It is a good way to embark upon the journey of adolescence and to receive the strength to develop as mature Christian and human adults.

So was I thinking about all this as my son was being confirmed? Yes. My mind is never far from theology and history. I have sometimes felt that I "like" the practice of the Eastern churches better. It is a glorious thing to attend the Christian initiation of an infant in a Byzantine church, and I have many friends who are members of Byzantine Catholic churches, i.e. churches of the Byzantine rite that are in full communion with the Pope. I love the unity of the celebration of Baptism-Chrismation/Confirmation-Eucharist.

And yet, I reflected on other things as I watched my son receive the Sacrament of Confirmation at this specific time in his life, at a distinct "moment," and at the hands of a bishop who can trace his episcopal consecration back through the centuries to the original twelve special followers of Jesus. I thought it good that he should be strengthened in grace at this time, when I can see almost daily my boy beginning to be a young man. I thought it good that this time of growth for him should be marked by a distinctive experience of being called by the Church, sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit, and reminded of his own unique responsibility for living and witnessing to his faith.

God's Day

As soon as we awaken each morning, let us offer our first thoughts to God.


The truth is that the first person I encounter every morning when I open my eyes is God. Everything around me is God’s creation, through which he greets me.  I breathe in his air and open my eyes to his light.  The day, with all its hopes and its trials, rushes into my mind; hopes and trials out of which he will build the road that will lead me on my journey for this day.  The amazing thing is that even on the worst of days I can still remember that this is true.

Offering our life to God first thing in the morning is a way of acknowledging with gratitude that that our being, our life, and everything we have belongs to him.  I am who I am because I am His creature.  Everything that is “Me” is the effect, here and now, of his direct and personal creative and sustaining love.  This is what matters, even without professional honors, or a job, or even the ability to do much of anything.  His love is everything.  Outside of that love there is “nothing.”

I give thanks to the Lord that He has grounded my life in His Truth.  Suffering can drive me to forget, or lose focus.  But reality remains what it is, and Jesus holds onto me inside that reality and enables me to remember it.  He does this through the mystery of His Church, His people who for two thousand years have risen each morning and offered their prayers to God.  And so, when I wake up, in whatever condition, with whatever misery or whatever happy expectation, the truth is that I am not alone.  I am invited to pray in union with the whole people of God, with the angels and saints, with every creature that exists to sing His praise.

  --from my book Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy (order: http://t.co/ddwYeqX )

Relationship With Jesus Christ

It's easy to fall into the tendency to think of "Christianity" as merely a worldview, or a collection of ideas that explain the universe and direct us regarding what we should do. It's easy to act as if Christianity is primarily an intellectual system that has to be expounded and defended in competition with other intellectual systems. In fact, it's easy to go through the day reading about Christianity and writing about Christianity and talking about Christianity--all the while seeming to forget the reality that makes it worthwhile:

Jesus Christ.

How do I live so much of my life without an awareness of Him? Why does my heart not converse more with Him? O sure, I "pray"--but it's like I'm an official making a report to my boss from time to time. Or even if I speak with Him in sugary, "personal" terms, so much of it is still a game of dodge and duck, an effort to "love" Him but still keep Him at arms length. Which, of course, is the way I interact with the human persons who are important in my life. Please don't enter the fear zone.

But He said, "Do not be afraid."

How seldom do I just enjoy being with Him. Of course I have to attend to the many tasks of life. But He is with me, and He is inside of those little things. I feel as though I say morning prayer and then leave Him there on the wall. Why do I try to leave Him behind?

Sometimes I will turn to Him during the day, even with great intensity...when I need something! "Jesus, give me...." I suppose there is something childlike in this; I tease my own children about it, telling them that they seem to think my name is "Daddy Can I."

So what's the problem? I love Him. Of course I do. But I take Him for granted. And I am a little...afraid.

"Fear is useless. What is needed is trust."

I know. But I am still afraid. Why? I'm afraid that I can't measure up to Him. Of course I can't. I'm also afraid to let Him do what He wills with me. Lord let me see that what You want for me is for my happiness. It's the only thing that can make me happy.

I want to love You more, Jesus. I want to trust in You more. I want to live my life as a relationship with You.

"Lord, you know that I love you." Under all the junk and the forgetfulness and the fear,
I love you. Jesus I love you. Jesus I trust in You. Have mercy on me. Deepen my trust.

A Thirst For The Infinite

Some recent words from Benedict XVI that express some of the basic truths that are important to me, and to everyone:


We know that we cannot respond alone to our basic need to understand. For however much we think we are self-sufficient, we experience that we do not suffice. We need to open ourselves to something else, something or someone, that can give us what is missing. We must go out of ourselves and go toward the One who is capable of satisfying the width and breadth of our desire....


Humanity bears within it a thirst for the infinite, a yearning for eternity, a search for beauty, a desire for love, a need for light and truth, which impel us toward the Absolute. We carry within us the desire for God....


The desire for God never ceases within the human heart, even though we may not recognize it as such, because man is created by God and for God. Our Father tirelessly and with love constantly draws man to himself. Only in union with God, the well-spring of life, will we find the truth and happiness for which we continually yearn (cf. CCC No. 27).

From Audience of Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Growing Up (Finally)

Growing up is a humbling experience.

I am now in my late forties. Many of the "facts" that I asserted with such zeal and conviction when I was a younger man were, I now realize, only opinions combined with passion. I still hold many of these opinions, but in a different way, recognizing that they pertain to practical matters and that they must be open to the organic development that the experience of life brings to our understanding.

At the same time, the essential Truths--the matters upon which my life is really grounded --have gained greater firmness and depth in my mind. My faith has grown stronger. The relationship of my reason to reality has grown more solid.

Truth is a matter for adherence, for witness, and for reasoned presentation and defense.

Opinions are matters for continued observation and discussion, matters in which something of the truth is perceived, but many questions remain. And in the world of practical things, questions often remain because the reality under consideration is still in the process of development. I find that the more I understand about concrete problems, the more inclined I am to form intelligent questions rather than (even provisional) answers.

Some Examples of Matters of Truth: Jesus Christ is God Incarnate; He communicates His life through the Church; the human person is created to love and to be loved; it is always wrong to directly intend to kill an innocent human being; I can only find true happiness through a living relationship with God, and with the human persons that He has given me in my life.

Some Examples of Matters of Opinion or Question (and I frankly feel the need to state all these as questions, even though I hold strong opinions on some of them): What is the significance of the rise of "traditional" Islam in its native countries and in the West? How should the West engage Islam? How ought democratic institutions to play a role in the development of emerging nations? What are the distinctive characteristics of the United States of America as a nation? What needs to be recovered? What needs to be developed?

Okay, those may seem a little large and political. How about these: When the kids bring me one of their conflicts, when should I resolve it and when should I try to lead them to resolve it themselves? How much should I allow the kids to use the computer? What the heck are we going to do about High School for John Paul? And many more.

An interesting common thread runs through all my understanding and consideration, from adherence to the most profound Truth to considering the smallest questions. I cannot effectively accomplish any of these things "alone." I cannot "be" in isolation, much less understand anything.

There is God first, source of all good, source of the grace of faith, creator and sustainer of the light of reason. There is Jesus Christ, and the Church. There is reality that presents itself to me and informs my mind. And there are those who point to reality and distinguish it from my own fantasies: those, of course, who are responsible for preserving and transmitting the teaching of the Gospel in the Church, but also many other kinds of teachers (because in this life most of us will always need teachers), as well as friends, resources, doctors, advisors I can trust for guidance. And in a very special way, my wife. My wife!

I can't think straight without other people. I am not a great, self-generated autonomous individual. I can't do it by myself. The real, concrete recognition of this is a tremendous moment in the process of growing up.

It is also humbling.

I Need Other People

I need other people in my life.

I know there are those who are called to be hermits. But even they are not "alone," if they offer their solitude for the salvation of the world. But that is a special and mystical kind of life.

I need other people, in the most ordinary, human sense of the term. I am a weak and afflicted man, constantly in need of being reminded that I am loved, but more importantly, constantly in need of others to remind me of my vocation to love. I am naturally introspective and easily wrapped up in myself. It is not a place where I want to be, but I don't know how to get out by myself.

The way to get beyond myself is love. And the invitation to love, for me, usually comes from other people. I pray to God and I try to love God, but it is too easy for me to forget about God--even while praying--and get wrapped up in some imaginary "God" that is the product of my own circular thinking. How easily prayer can become a monologue and a worrying session. Of course, I know God is there; He accepts anything that we even try to give Him and lovingly turns it toward the good. Still, if life was just me by myself with my prayers, I would be a sad and lonely and atrophied person.

Throughout the day, the summons to love comes from other people. I can't do this thing called "life" by myself. I don't think I could even keep my sanity, much less attain my destiny. These other people are first and above all my wife and family, but also everyone who has been given to me in my circumstances--people who depend on me, and on whom I depend. They turn me "outwards" with all of that intensity and perceptiveness of my personality. And so I am focused on affirming and helping others instead of analyzing and devouring myself.

It is also a tremendous blessing to be able to write in a context in which I know that someone is going to read my words. Writing could easily degenerate into a self-absorbed exercise were it not for the desire to communicate, and the realization--thanks to this medium--that communication will in fact be achieved, and that the words written here will be found useful by others.

Many complex motivations, of course, arise in relationships with other people--not the least of which are vanity and self-affirmation. But when relationships and communication strive outward, for truth, goodness, and beauty, they become the path for the freedom and transcendence of the person. Whether face to face or in writing, they embody the giving and receiving of love that is the mystery of God's own life and the means by which He draws us to Himself.

May 13, 1981

Thirty years ago today.

I was a Senior in a public High School of 2500 students. We were weeks away from graduation.

It was early in the afternoon, I think. What was on my mind? I don't remember. But I was walking down the hallway. I can see that hallway right now in my memory. In living color like I'm walking down it right now. I was coming up to a classroom door. Was I about to go in? I don't remember.

One of my fellow Catholic students came up to me, ashen-faced, and said, "Did you hear, the Pope has been shot."

It was like she had said something in Chinese. For a moment, my brain simply could not put the words together. Then I thought, "What?"

The Pope had been shot.

Was he dead? Was he dying? All I remember was a numbness.

And our secular, American public school came to a stop. They sent us all to our home rooms, where there were TVs. And we watched, stunned: Jews, Catholics, Protestants, Agnostics, potheads, jocks, nerds, blacks, whites, honor students, deadbeats, drama club kids, orchestra kids, Student United Nations kids, newspaper staff kids, all kinds of kids--the large collection of public school humanity united by some mysterious thing. We all felt something strangely in common in those moments. It's the only thing I can remember that ever brought us together in that way.

And everyone said to me, "I'm so sorry...." As if someone had shot my father.

And they were right. Someone had shot my father.

May 13, 1981. History held it's breath. The TV vigil continued at home. The earth prayed.

But Blessed John Paul II lived. He lived to change the world. He lived to be God's instrument to change our hearts. A loving maternal hand guided that bullet.

The Joy of Offering

...that we may attain the joys of eternal life.

Joy is the fruit of that secure relationship of love with something or someone good. But as St. Augustine pointed out so many centuries ago, every good in this world whispers, "I did not make myself. I was made by Someone Else...." It is only in that Someone Else that lasting joy can be found, the joy that encompasses and fulfills the promise contained in created things.

When I say those words above in the morning, and again at noon, during this Easter season, what am I asking of God? I am asking to "attain the joy"--the joy that endures because it is the fruit of a relationship with the One who is worthy of eternal love, the Only One who can exhaust and engage fully and finally the love that has been awakened in my heart.

I am asking God to make my day an "offering." This means affirming the reality of things according to that inner secret that constitutes their being and goodness: the fact that they belong-to-Another. And so I cannot possess things by dominating them and reducing them to my own measure. My life becomes "offering" when I use and possess and love things in a way that takes them completely seriously, because things are a hymn of rejoicing to the One who makes them be, and the only way to truly love them is to join in that hymn. The ecstasy of the beauty of things is their giving-back-of-themselves to the One who sustains them and calls them to their own fruition. I offer my day when I join in with the "giving" of things, when I allow their song of rejoicing to enter into my awareness, when my engagement of reality becomes a prayer, a "blessing of the Lord" that gives voice to the hymn of creation: Bless the Lord, all you works of the Lord. Praise and exalt Him above all forever!

How does this "offering" extend to love for another person? The greatest gift, the greatest beauty in all of creation is the other person. There is much to be said about this. For now, I can only reflect that in loving other persons I am loving others who, like me, are called to the joys of eternal life. When I engage in a relationship with another person, I "offer" that relationship by recognizing that this someone is not primarily a  source of satisfaction or utility for me, but someone who has a destiny, who is "for Another." To love a person as offering is to love them for what they truly are, that is, to love them for the sake of that Other and their relationship with that Other. It is to love their destiny.