About four years ago, I stumbled upon an out-of-print book containing a collections of letters from St. Frances Cabrini. They were amazing in every respect. Beautifully-written, eloquent, full of love for God and Jesus Christ and her missionary work, and possessing a richness of humanity not often found in works of the saints. Not overly-theological, her letters wove her faith throughout tales of the trials of her journeys, descriptions of the beauty of the ocean, and the rich wisdom she shared with her missionary sisters.

I looked for a print copy, and finding none available on any of the used bookstores online, I checked the copyright information. Seeing it was out of copyright, I decided to re-publish it “some day.” Last summer I felt the draw to get to work on it, completely unaware that the movie was being made. (A fact I wouldn’t learn until December, when my spiritual advisor mentioned it to me.) By that point I was well along in the production process, and by the time I had the book ready for release in January I had read her letters about six times. I walked away from them buoyed by her mirth and exuberant faith. Through her letters I could almost see her smirking as she wrote them, possessing a sublime joy that only those who have a strong connection to the Lord seem to radiate.

Then I saw the movie.

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.

I knew it was going to be a bad portrayal early on. While those who read her letters know how often she preached obedience to her missionary sisters, in the opening scenes she defiantly stood up to the ecclesiastical hierarchy at the Vatican. Similarly, in her letters she often reminded her sisters, “Omnia possum in Eo qui me confortat” (“With God I can do all things”) but in the film we see her say, “We must rely on ourselves.”

But there was something else wrong, too. While cinematographically beautiful and gripping, it portrayed a woman who possessed none of the beautiful qualities that shone through so brightly in her letters. The movie portrayed her as bouncing between fearless-power-woman sometimes, and looking exhausted, anxious, and overcome with worry other times. Reading her letters you see neither of these things.

In April I stumbled upon a website called The Catholic Pilgrim run by Amy Thomas, and after reading some of her posts and listening to one of the “Journeying With the Saints” podcast episodes she produces, I decided to reach out and see if she’d like a copy of the book. On her site, Amy talked about how, as a military wife, she has gotten to travel the world and see a lot of Catholic churches and shrines and holy sites, so I thought she’d enjoy Mother Cabrini’s letters. Well, she enjoyed the book enough that she’s going to be reading it next year on her “Journeying With the Saints” podcast! Be sure to check it out.

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Born in Hungary in the forth century, St. Martin of Tours was the son of a high-ranking officer in the Roman army. Around the age of 10 he began attending a Christian church, against the wishes of his pagan parents, eventually becoming an official catechumen. At the age of 15, since he was the son of a Roman army officer, he was required to join the cavalry. At the age of 18 while stationed in modern-day France, it was winter when he was approaching a city while on horseback, and came upon a scantily-clad beggar. St. Martin took off his cloak, cut it in two, and gave half of it to the beggar. That night, St. Martin had a dream that Jesus was wearing the half-cloak he gave away, and Jesus said to the angels surrounding him, “Martin, who is still but a catechumen, clothed me with this robe.” St. Martin reportedly awoke to find his robe restored to wholeness, and this confirmed his faith in Christianity. 

He was baptized not long after, and went on to evangelize the faith all across the Alps, from Hungary to Austria to Milan. Eventually he reluctantly become the acclaimed bishop of Tours, France. As bishop, he ordered the destruction of pagan temples, altars, and sculptures, converted entire towns of pagans, founded monasteries, established the parish system, cast out demons, and even raised three dead people to life.

In 1916, as France was ravaged by World War I, a devotion to St. Martin was started by the Augustinian Assumptionists. As the patron saint of France, the devotion gained momentum as dioceses from across the country joined together in prayer for the end of the war. When the armistice was signed in 1918 on St. Martin’s feast day of November 11th, the people of France saw it as a sign of St. Martin’s intercession in bringing about the end of the war.

His cloak is a relic, preserved to this day. During the Middle Ages, his cloak — the cappa Sancti Martini — was carried into battle and oaths were sworn upon it. The priest in charge of taking care of the cloak was called the cappellani, or chapelains in French. As the relic moved from place to place, small, temporary churches were constructed to protect it. People called them a capella or “little cloak.” Of course, today, in English, we call military priests “chaplains” and small places of worship “chapels.” But there is something else St. Martin’s legacy gave Christianity. Something a little more profound.

Starting around the 6th century, the celebration of Martinmas on November 11th marked the end of the octave of All Saints, and for farmers it marked the end of the harvest and the preparation for winter. People celebrated with bonfires, songs, and the eating of “St. Martin’s goose”, and the drinking of “St. Martin’s wine.” After celebrating, the early Christians began a new tradition: the beginning of Quadragesima Sancti Martini — the “Forty Days Fast of St. Martin.” Church councils at the time instituted a strict fast on all days except Saturdays and Sundays from Saint Martin's Day to Epiphany to prepare people spiritually for Christmas. Though it’s been changed a bit from the original, we still have a “mini Lent” in our liturgical calendar; it goes by the modern name, “Advent.”

Sadly, we have grown so accustomed to feasting from Thanksgiving to New Year’s that January 1st marks the beginning of countless diets to shed the so-called “holiday pounds” that people tend to accumulate during this time. The endless banquet of turkey, ham, pies, cookies, and candies presented at a never-ending stream of events fill our stomachs and expand our waistlines, while rampant consumerism empties our wallets. Advent seems to be nothing more than a change in liturgical colors, who’s meaning has been lost, buried under the bones of our Thanksgiving turkey. By the time we get to Christmas Day, are we too stuffed, broke, and exhausted to really reflect on what it is we’re celebrating?

It is good to feast, and celebrate saints like St. Martin of Tours. It is good to reflect on what made them saints. But as with every great feast, the next day we need to return to reality and set our minds and hearts to the real work of what is next. So this Advent, let us go to our chapel and kneel before our Lord in the Eucharist, and ask him to prepare our hearts, to help us empty ourselves during this season of “the little Lent,” so that we may truly be ready to receive him in glory on Christmas Day.

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The problem is, the “oppressor and oppressed” way of thinking is a false dichotomy. It presents only two ways of looking at a situation, only two ways of categorizing the people within it, and if you’re not completely on one side, you’re completely on the other. There can be no discussion, no alternative. One need only stop and think for a moment about the animosity, anger, and division that this way of thinking has wrought and we can clearly see that it is not a way of thinking that comes from the Holy Spirit, but from something far more sinister, far more evil.

Some apply this oppressor-oppressed thinking when attacking Christianity. They mock the idea of “carrying a cross” and seek refuge in science and medicine and technology as a means of freeing them from any discomfort life may send their way. There’s a pain killer for every ache, a snack for every hunger pang, and glorious air conditioning to escape the slightest heat wave. The concept of suffering, even for a good cause, is as lost as is their faith in a God who loves them. Their logic goes, a loving God wouldn’t allow a lengthy illness any more than he would allow the weather to get above 73 degrees. Others use this thinking when attacking the Catholic Church, painting the Church is the oppressor. And who does she oppress? Poor indigenous people who the Church forced to convert, heretics the Church burned at the stake, countless generations of people who the Church prevented from reading the Bible, even we millions of modern-day Catholics who are forced to carry the yoke of rules and regulations and fasts and other man-made traditions. For those who believe such things, the list of the Church’s oppressive behavior is seemingly endless.

The work the Father gave Christ to do was the work of the Cross, and in one of the great mysteries of our faith, Christ’s two natures means that his human nature had the free will to choose to accept the Cross or choose to abandon it. He could have chosen to quit at any time, and after 33 years of living under Roman rule, from the moment he was arrested he would have known what actions could bring a swift end to his suffering with the swing of a Roman sword. Thus every wretched step along the Via Dolorosa, every moment of agony hanging on the Cross was work that our Redeemer chose to perform. One can almost see him smile as he shouts his victory cry, “It is finished!”... a smile not because he was free from oppression but because he had accomplished the work that was asked of him. God the Father was not an oppressor any more than Jesus Christ was oppressed.

Even when we’re aware of the oppressor-oppressed mindset of those around us, it’s still easy to slip into thinking that way for ourselves, in our own lives, and with the struggles we face. Everyone is given crosses to carry. Some of them are light, like a mere request for a quick hand or for a volunteer or even just for a few minutes of our time when we’re already busy. We can choose to pick these crosses up, or choose to hand them off, or even just choose to ignore them. Then there are other crosses that are heavy, ones that can’t be ignored, like health issues of our own or of those we love. At first our faith might motivate us to joyfully carry such crosses, but after a long and weary road our faith might falter and we fall. Maybe others come to help us and we get up and carry on only to fall again. The evil one sees us on the ground under the weight of our cross and tests our faith, whispering in our ear, “See what an oppressor God is, giving you this heavy burden? Why would a loving God do this to you if he loves you? God can’t help you. No one can.” We have the freedom to leave, to find someone else, to give up, or to just drop the cross and say, “I give up, it’s too heavy, I’m done.” As a Christian, we know that we are told by Jesus that we are to pick up our crosses and follow him. As Catholics, we know that to follow him means following him to the workshop at the top of Calvary, where he turns the wood of the Cross into the ark of our salvation: the Catholic Church, who has always carried the Cross of Christ, and in the end “she will follow her Lord in his death and Resurrection.”

The Catechism teaches us: “By his passion and death on the cross Christ has given a new meaning to suffering: it can henceforth configure us to him and unite us with his redemptive Passion.” Sure, we can see our crosses and our sufferings as oppressive, and doubt the goodness of the Father. Or in the model of Christ we can see our light crosses—as well as our heavy ones—as God’s work. Our Almighty Father is not an oppressive master. We are free to walk away from him, from our crosses, and from the work he asks us to do. But if we walk away, how can we expect God to give us his reward?

As you probably know, we here at Catholic Treehouse have a devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. We also have a deep appreciation for all the hard work the Sacred Heart Enthronement Network is doing to spread the devotion to the Sacred Heart by encouraging people to enthrone their homes, businesses, and schools to the Sacred Heart of Jesus so that more and more people can benefit from the many graces our Lord grants to those who practice this devotion. So we’re helping them spread the word about a special event this Wednesday.

Last year, Bishop Benoît Rivière in France declared a year and a half jubilee to celebrate the 350th anniversary of Jesus revealing the promises of the Sacred Heart to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque. In honor of the jubilee, this coming Wednesday, June 19th at 8pm, the Sacred Heart Enthronement Network is hosting a free webcast with a list of amazing speakers:

• Bishop Earl K. Fernandes of the Diocese of Columbus, Ohio, who gives his address from pilgrimage in Paray-Le-Monial, France

• Fr. Paweł Rytel-Andrianik, Chief of the Polish section of the Vatican Radio and Vatican News, and a resident of the Vatican.

• Teresa Tomeo, from EWTN

• Fr. Joe Larmaie SJ, national director of the Pope’s Worldwide Prayer Network

• Jen and Greg Willits, authors and radio hosts, and founders of RosaryArmy.com and co-founders of SchoolofMary.com

It’s sure to be an inspiring evening you won’t want to miss. Sign up now!

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WWJD missed the mark because it forgot the very important principles that Jesus is God and we are not, that his ways are not our ways, and that we think as man thinks not as God thinks. If only there was someone not divine, an earthly someone with human father and mother who lived a life of perfect virtue. Someone who is worthy of our imitation, who’s “why” is clear as crystal, who’s life we can meditate on… Oh wait. We’re Catholics. We know there is such a person: The Blessed Virgin Mary.

So when we ask, “What Would Mary Do?”, some of the answers are easy, because we know what she did. If the angel of the Lord comes and says to you that the Lord has chosen you for a special job, the answer is “let it be done.” If a family member needs a hand around the house for a few months, the answer is, “let me go and help them.” If your spouse is visited by an angel in a dream, the answer is, “I believe you and we’ll do whatever the angel said.” If you go to a wedding and they run out of wine, the answer is “I’ll tell the only person who can fix the problem.” And if your son is falsely accused and being put to death, the answer is, “I will not leave his side.”

But we can go further. We can meditate on other aspects of the phrase, “What Would Mary Do?”, and in so doing we can discern her “why” behind her “what.” It seems quite clear that it was her perfect fear of the Lord—one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit—from which all her actions flowed. From this fear came her perfection of obedience to God, and it was from this obedience that God’s graces filled her perfectly, making her truly worthy of being hailed as “full of grace.” From her reverential fear of the Lord rather than fear of his just punishment came the perfection of her love for God. And it from this love for God flowed her filial love for neighbor, whom she saw as a child of God just as she was. Knowing this one simple fact about her, we can write volumes about how she lived all of the virtues perfectly, how she employed all the gifts of the Holy Spirit without limit, and how she ceaselessly lived the corporal and spiritual works of mercy during her life on earth, and continues to live them as the Queen Mother, Queen of Heaven.

In meditating upon “What Would Mary Do?” we find the reason why the Mother of God has come to visit her children on so many occasions. We can see why she came to St. Dominic to give him the Rosary, so that through it she can lead us to her son. We can see why she came to St. Juan Diego, to bring the Mexican people to Christ and put an end to pagan human sacrifices. We can see why she came to St. Catherine Labouré, to bring the Miraculous Medal when so many of her children were dying from a pandemic and from religious persecution during the French Revolution. We can see why she came to St. Bernadette, to give us a spring of faith, providing miraculous healings for the bodies and souls of her suffering children. We can see why she came to St. Simon Stock to give us the sacramental of the Brown Scapular, which we her children can wear with hope of salvation from eternal fire. And we can see why she came to three shepherd children in Fatima, to warn them—and all of us—about the reality of damnation, and to plead for us to stop sinning, pray and fast for the conversion of sinners, and pray the Rosary every day.

We face many temptations every day, temptations of what we shouldn’t do, what we shouldn’t say, what we shouldn’t watch or listen to or read. And every day we are also presented with many opportunities to live a life of perfect virtue. Every day we can pray for the Holy Spirit to grace our undertakings with his gifts. And every day we can engage in the many acts of spiritual and corporal works of mercy out of love of neighbor. But most importantly, every day we have the opportunity to live a life of fear of the Lord as Mary did, and use that reverential fear to be obedient to God, and to love him above and before all others. All we have to do is ask the simple question: “What Would Mary Do?”

The First Meditation: On the Agony of the Heart of Jesus in the Garden of Olives.

1. In order to estimate the sorrows of Jesus in his agony, we must first

   know the greatness of his love. His love for his Father is infinite, and he sees him infinitely offended by men. His love for men is excessive, and he sees that their guilt is excessive, and that eternal punishment awaits them. What pain for the mont tender of all hearts! he longs, at any cost, to repair the outrage against his Father, and to deliver men from the chastisement they deserve by suffering in their stead. O my Father, he says, all men together are unable to satisfy thy justice; all the victims they could offer are unworthy of thee. Here I am, let the blow fall on me.

2. The Eternal Father accepts the offering made by his Son; he lays all the iniquity of men upon him, and from that moment looks on him as one under a curse, covered with all the crimes of the world. At the same time Jesus Christ felt the full weight of that fearful burden. What a bitter chalice the saint of saints has to drink. Will he indeed drink it? As soon as it touches his sacred lips, his soul is overwhelmed by unspeakable grief; he falls into the deepest sadness; he is oppressed with heaviness and weariness; he is full of fear. He prays, Father, remove this chalice from me, nevertheless not my will, but thine be done. Alas! my Jesus must drink it to the very dregs.

3. He submits to the good pleasure of God, his Father; his grief increases, and he would gladly share it with his apostles. He had already said to them, My soul is sorrowful even unto death. But they have succumbed to their own sorrow, and during their master’s mortal agony they are asleep. Jesus comes, pale and trembling, to seek some consolation from them, and to strengthen them against their fears. Alas! he finds them asleep. What! Could you not watch one hour with me? Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. Jesus returns to the grotto of the agony, he prays again, his desolation is greater than ever. He goes back to his apostles; they are asleep, he prays again to his Father, but his Father answers not.

4. Then Jesus gives himself up to all the bitterness of grief. The love which fills his divine heart unites with his Father’s severity to punish the sin with which he is loaded. He wishes to suffer mental tortures a thousand times more intense than the bodily tortures about to be inflicted on him by the cruelty of his murderers. He therefore allows his imagination to present to him in the most forcible manner the causes of his Passion and death. He sees all the powers of hell let loose against him; he sees the bolts of Divine Justice ready to fall on his head; he sees all sinners in arms against him; he beholds all the sins and iniquities of all ages and places concentrate on him. Judas’ treachery, Peter’s denial, the flight of all his disciples, the reproaches, the blasphemies, the mockeries, the bonds, the scourges, the thorns, the cross, the nails, are all before him. And, worst of all, he sees that his death will be of no avail to multitudes; that his blood will be trampled under foot, his holy mysteries profaned, his Church persecuted, rent by schisms and heresies, saddened and dishonored by the scandals of her children. He sees the countless human beings who pass each day into eternity, many of them in a state of mortal sin. Yet more, he saw me amongst his murderers, each one of my sins passed before him, as a cause of his death, and added its share to his sorrows.

5. He loses himself, he goes down yet deeper into this ocean of desolation. He is motionless, he sighs deeply, he weeps, he stops weeping. Grief seems to have dried up the very source of tears. His voice is weak and failing. He speaks in broken words, Father, Father, have pity on thy son, remove this chalice from me.

6. But again, the mighty love of his compassionate heart overcomes all the repugnance of nature. His Father has been offended... men—his brethren—are perishing! Is not this enough to make him drink the chalice of bitterness to the very dregs? Yes, my Father, avenge yourself. Punish in me, the sin of your ungrateful and rebellious creature, man. Let your son satisfy your justice. Do not regard the shrinking of my nature. O Father, thy will, not mine be done!

7. Alas! his sufferings become more and more fearful. O Christians, admire the gentleness, the obedience, the submission, the ardent charity of this innocent Victim. Have compassion on his sorrows and anguish. Behold the tender Lamb of God! his eyes are sunk, his face is deadly pale, his soul seems to hover on his lips, he is in agony. And what an agony, O my God! his blood is driven back to his heart and almost stops its pulsations, but his strong and generous love keeps him alive, that he may suffer yet more, and consummate his sacrifice upon the cross. It drives the blood back from his heart to seek an outlet in every pore of his body. His glorious Face, his Hands and Feet are covered with it; the earth around is moistened by it. O sweat of blood, I adore thee! Cleanse me from all my sins, cleanse all the sinners upon earth who are now in their agony and are to die today. O Jesus, let all the dying to the end of time feel the quickening power of the blood which you have shed forth drop by drop for the salvation of the human race. O most Holy Virgin, apply the merits of that divine blood to our souls; teach us to persevere in prayer, to suffer with patience and submission that we may be like thy dear son Jesus in the Garden of Olives.

In 1935 he was appointed the spiritual director of the 30 Catholic Newspapers in Holland, and proceeded to write articles critical of National Socialism and the Nazi party in neighboring Germany. “The Nazi movement is a black lie,” he wrote. “It is pagan…. A sewer of falsehood.” Prior to the Nazi invasion of Holland in 1940, the Gestapo had already identified him as a potential troublemaker, and after the invasion they followed him constantly. When the newspapers in Holland were forced to print Nazi propaganda, the Archbishop asked Fr. Titus if he would be willing to voluntarily go to the Catholic newspapers in person to hand-deliver a message calling for united opposition to the Nazi demands. Fr. Titus agreed.

He began taking a letter from the bishops to each Catholic newspaper editor. The letter said that no publication could continue to call itself Catholic if it published any Nazi propaganda or any article favoring the Nazis. “We have reached our limit,” the letter said. “We cannot serve them. It will be our duty to refuse.” The Nazis responded by rounding up 3,000 Dutch Jews who had converted to Catholicism, including St. Edith Stein, also known by her religious name, St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. While the Dutch Catholics reached their limit with the Nazis, the Nazis also reached their limit with Fr. Titus and his troublemaking, and arrested him at his monastery on January 19, 1942. His interrogation began with the question: “Why have you disobeyed regulations?” Fr. Titus replied, “As a Catholic, I could have done nothing differently.” The interrogating officer continued, “You are a saboteur. Your church is trying to sabotage the orders of the occupying powers, to prevent the national socialistic philosophy of life from reaching the Dutch population.” Fr. Titus simply stated, “We must object to anything or any philosophy that is not in line with Catholic doctrine.” 

In 1942 we knew what evil looked like. It had a face and a uniform. The greatest evil we face today is harder to recognize, because it has no face and no uniform. It is constantly shifting, changing names, assuming new identities, and consuming new causes at an alarming rate. The greatest evil we face today is moral relativism. Moral relativism encourages people to make up their own truth and reject the idea of a singular truth. For the moral relativist, their truth is as valid as your truth: it’s real for them, therefore it is valid, no matter how illogical or contrived their explanation. But getting others to merely tolerate their “truth” is not enough. Getting others to accept their “truth” is better, but it’s still not enough. Getting others to celebrate their “truth” is almost good enough, but still, there’s one more step that must be taken: For the moral relativist, only when others participate in their “truth” and make it their own “truth”, only then is it enough.

But if we are to call ourselves Catholics, we must realize that we have reached our limit. We cannot serve the moral relativists. It is our duty to refuse. For as Catholics, we have the responsibility to stand fast to the singular truth. We also have the responsibility to proclaim that truth with love. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to tell someone a truth that may make them uncomfortable. Maybe that truth is, “You have a drinking problem.” Maybe it’s, “Your gambling is ruining your marriage”; “You need a filter for your internet”; “You need to get to Confession”; or “You need to come back to the Church.” Or maybe the truth is even harder, something like, “If you have an abortion you are committing murder”; “You are living in a sinful relationship that cannot be blessed”; “You are a male”; or “Your pronouns are she/her.” We must speak the truth because as a Catholic, to call ourselves Catholic, we must object to anything or any philosophy that is not in line with Catholic doctrine.

St. Titus Brandsma said, “Those who want to win the world for Christ must have the courage to come into conflict with it.” Sometimes the word “conflict” means to boldly fight for what is right and to proclaim the truth with courage and boldness. Sometimes we need to proclaim the truth gently, with love, and while respecting the dignity of the person. The nurse at Dachau that administered the lethal injection of carbolic acid to St. Titus Brandsma was raised Catholic, but had fallen away and embraced atheistic Naziism. Until his last breath, St. Titus Brandsma kept trying to bring her back to the faith by delivering the truth with a smile, and also through unceasing prayer for the salvation of her soul. Christ’s power was made perfect in the weakness if this heroic martyr, and in the end, decades after his martyrdom, his efforts won the soul of the nurse who took his life. May we all speak the truth with courage, with boldness, and with love. As a Catholic, we can do nothing differently.

Not long ago I was at lunch with a Protestant friend of mine, and as usual the discussion at some point turned to matters of faith. As we were cashing out, I lamented to him, “You know the only thing I don’t like about being a Catholic? I’ll die before I ever get to read even 1% of all the great Catholic works that have been written in the 2000 year history of the Church.”

With the advent of the internet, that problem has been compounded: Now in addition to written works there are podcasts and videos as well. Out of everything that’s available, choosing what to read, watch, or listen too has become overwhelming. It’s like trying to decide what to watch on streaming TV: we have such an overwhelming array of choices that it can be frustrating when we waste half an hour just trying to decide what to watch.

I know that I’m not the only one who’s time is limited; I realize that yours is as well.

We all live in the same world with the same competition for eyeballs and ears and attention. So as a content creator who wants to bring value to my readers, I’m faced with the dilemma of not just what to create, but also the best way to deliver it.

When I came up with the idea for The Saint Challenge, I knew didn’t want to create yet another “saint of the day” email. I wanted to deliver something that delivered more value to you, the reader. In the same spirit, we want our next effort to bring something new to you, and also something useful. We also realize that you have an expectation of what you are looking for in terms of length, theological depth, and format; so to meet these expectations—your expectations—we wanted to ask you a few questions, and put together a short survey.

The bottom line is that we realize that your time is valuable, so we want to give you something of value and present it in a length, medium, and theological depth that meets you where you are, then informs you and inspires you to take your faith life further. So please take a few minutes and take the survey.

May God bless you and the Blessed Virgin protect you.

—Mike

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At first I thought it was a pike, but I quickly realized this wasn’t fighting like a pike. It was pulling hard, going back and forth, and heading for shallow water, trying to get under the dock. Now normally when you get a fish close and it’s fighting you can see the side of it and you can get an idea what’s on the other end of the line, but not this time. All I saw was my line going out into the clear water, zigzagging back and forth attached to something dark and mud-colored. Eventually I got it close to the dock and I see it: it’s a bowfin, probably about 2 feet long and 7-8 pounds, and I have it hooked up on a medium bass rig. So I get it up to the surface of the water, and normally I just reach down and grab the fish by its lower lip and haul it out, right? Well I look down and all I see are teeth and I think, “There is no way I’m sticking my finger in that mouth.” I have no net. There’s a boat on one side of the dock and a jet ski on the other, so I can’t walk it down the dock to the beach. So I think, “Well, I’ve got 65lb-test braided line and a 12lb leader… I’ll just grab the line and haul it out and hope I tied the knots well enough.” So with one hand on the rod I reach out and grab the line and pull. About halfway out of the water the fish gives this big shake and SPLASH he’s back in the water and I’m standing there wondering what the heck just happened. I look down and the line didn’t break. The knots held. Then I see the hook on the lure… and the hook is broken. Now, fish always flip around when you first get them out of the water, and those first flips are always the strongest until it tires out, but I’ve never had one break a hook in the 45 or so years that I’ve been fishing. Usually they’ll flip around for a little bit, then calm down enough that I can take the hook out and get a photo before I put them back in the water before they die and become turtle food. And since I’m a catch-and-release fisherman I try to get my catch back in the water as soon as possible, but I at least want a picture, otherwise it’s just a fish story like this one, right?

Now, sure, sometimes I’ll unhook a fish and it’ll slip out of my hands before I can get a photo and it’ll flop around and flip itself back into the water. And sometimes if I’m using big juicy worms on a hook, it’ll swallow the hook so deep that I have to cut the line so that I can get it back in the water quickly; sure, it’s a little uncomfortable for the fish until its stomach acids dissolve the hook, but at least it’s alive. It’s back in the water where it needs to be in order to live.

When we are baptized, our souls are placed in the life-giving water of sanctifying grace, and that’s where they need to be in order to live. Now there’s a fisher of souls that is not a catch-and-release fisherman. What he catches, he doesn’t want to put back into the water of sanctifying grace. The fisher of souls wants to keep everything he catches, and hang them all in his trophy case. (Or maybe fry them up and serve them with fries and coleslaw.) Make no mistake: he’s an expert fisher of souls. He knows when to appeal to our sense appetites and offer us a big juicy worm on a hook. He knows when that doesn’t work to try a lure that makes us bite out of anger, or out of fear, or out of simple curiosity.

Of course the best thing to do is to not get hooked in the first place. We need to ignore whatever he throws in front of our nose. If we do get hooked, we need to fight, to try and shake the hook, break the line, or break the hook if necessary. If he gets us, well, we can’t stay a soul out of water for too long. The longer we stay out of the waters of sanctifying grace, the more likely our souls will wind up in the trophy case of the fisher of souls. But we, unlike the fish, have the power to remove the hook from our own lip, or pull it out from our own gut. That power is called free will, and we can use that power to walk into the confessional, and flip ourselves right back into the waters of sanctifying grace. Right now, this moment, ask yourself: Are you a soul out of water?

This was adapted from a lecture delivered to Knights of Columbus Council 11445 at their August 2023 business meeting.

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This year, the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus is celebrated on June 16th. It is a celebration that goes back centuries in the Catholic Church. Apparitions of the Sacred Heart have been traced back to at least St. Lutgardis of Belgium in 1182, and veneration goes back even further. The Sacred Heart of Jesus is a devotion that appeals to not the physical heart of Jesus in some sort of pagan worship, but the spiritual heart of the Lord that is full of love and mercy. It has been the center of spirituality of countless Catholics, including many saints, blesseds, popes, and religious orders. The devotion to the Sacred Heart is supremely good.

This year, the LA Dodgers professional baseball team has selected June 16th to be its “pride” night, where it plans on honoring, among other groups, a group of drag queens calling themselves “The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence”, who proclaim the motto: “Go forth and sin some more.” Their actions are repulsive and will not be discussed any further here. The USCCB has decried them as blasphemous. For the USCCB to say such a thing, considering it normally doesn’t get heavy-handed in its language whenever there’s a politically-charged fracas going on, well, that says something. It says that this group and their activities are supremely evil.

Now, let’s think about this for a second: Out of the 24 games the Dodgers played in the month of June, 12 of them were home games. If they wanted to have a “pride” night, there was a 1 in 12 chance that it would wind up on June 16th.

What are the odds that the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart would fall on June 16th? Well, the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus always falls on the Friday following the octave of Corpus Christi. The feast of Corpus Christi falls on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday, which is the Sunday after Pentecost, which is 10 days after the feast of the Ascension, which is 40 days after Easter Sunday, which itself is tied to the Jewish Passover. That’s a long way of saying “it’s a movable feast that changes every year”.

So is it simply coincidental that these two events—one supremely good and one supremely evil—happened to land on the same day? Maybe. I don’t have a clue what goes into picking and planning these “special celebration” nights. But let’s throw another wrinkle into this conversation.

Last year, the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart fell on June 24th. What also happened last year on June 24th? The overturning of Roe v. Wade… a supreme good. And since then, the vitriol and attacks against Catholics, Catholic churches, and Catholic causes has intensified. (For those keeping score, these attacks are supreme evil.)

Now, I’m no statistician, but the odds of the movable feast of the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart, two years in a row, being the same date as these examples of supreme good and supreme evil… well, I think the chances of them all being mere coincidence are dropping drastically.

For those with eyes to see and ears to hear and minds to think, something is going on here. Something supernatural. The battle between good and evil isn’t about to start… it’s underway. And the moving unmovable line between good and evil is who loves and adores the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and who does not.

If you love and adore the Sacred Heart of Jesus, read this statement from the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Then go to the Sacred Heart Revival website and download the Prayers of Reparation to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and pray them this Friday. While you’re there, find out more about enthroning your home to the Sacred Heart.