Daddy's Issues

It will probably surprise, but I saw a tweet that touched a nerve. It wasn't political or even religious in nature, which is genuinely surprising, but something that touched upon the perplexing trend of dismissing fatherhood: the tweet asserted that it was absurd for husbands to use the phrase, 'We're pregnant." And this was a follow up to a similar themed tweet about it being strange to see a birth announcement from a man saying, "We're all tired, but we're doing well." 

Before I get into the meat of my argument: I will say that, of course, the experiences are different. And if we really need to compare, yes the mother suffers much more and much deeper than the father during both pregnancy and the childbirth experience. Of course, the ordeal is felt more keenly by the child and mother. The unique and special place women possess is unique and proper to women. This is not up for debate.

My contention lies, however, in the supposed absurdity or weirdness, if/when husbands and fathers insert themselves into an announcement. No, biologically speaking, men are never pregnant. But I don't think it's absurd for a man to insert himself so much into the experience of pregnancy that he utters "We're pregnant" from time to time.

I consider it an honor to have been there for my wife during periods of morning sickness, aches, pains, periodic and random hunger cravings and so forth. I considered it an honorable duty to make late night runs to the pharmacy when she required medication. It's true: I never vomited; my body operated the same way it did before our child was conceived; and our sufferings were indeed drastically different. 

But it's not true that I was not part of the experience. It's not true that I didn't suffer with her.  It's not true that I didn't share her joys. My heart broke with her as she suffered from all the painful effects of pregnancy. My heart soared with hers when we saw our first ultrasound. I too, suffered from fatigue waiting vigilantly for her labor, carefully documenting contractions and heart rate.

The woman's place is unassailably special in pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood. But so is a man's place in fatherhood. And I maybe insecure in my manhood if I think it's necessary to insert myself in that experience, but it's something I will certainly hold on to for the rest of my life. It's something I will joyfully look forward to for all my friends who are not yet fathers. It will be something I will hold in contempt for those who refuse to enter into the experience with anything less than devoted love for both mother and child.

Because as fathers, we should love so much that we suffer and rejoice with our wives and children. It should hit us so closely that when we announce a birth, we might say something as simple "We're all tired, but doing well."

Roman Recreation

GK Chesterton once wrote about a magnificent story he never wrote about a man who ventured off to discover a new land, only to find that his new land was his own home country. The idea was meant to be something of analogy to his own discovery of Catholicism and I could think of no better image to begin a post about my trip to Rome: it was on many levels, a confrontation with who I am, in light of where I hope to be, a new adventure to explore my own native soil.

Familiarity with many of Rome (and the Vatican’s) major sites does not require much research: a quick scan of the cover of contemporary Catholic books usually reveals the dome of St. Peter’s, the mosaic at St. Paul Outside the Walls, or any number of statues or monuments in the eternal city. But to be there in the person is quite a different experience: the strange stones underneath your feet as you walk on Roman streets; the dizzying heights of many domes and high ceilings; the sweet smell of incense wafting throughout a basilica so large that Mass is only one thing occurring at any given time. You must be in Rome to take in all the majesty and splendor of God, imagined by the fathers and ancestors of the Church: If these shall hold their peace, the stones will cry out.

Experiencing Rome in person reinforced all my previously held thoughts about the irresistibility of truth, and the reality of beauty. Truth and beauty, after all, are one. While I visited various churches, I very frequently returned in my mind to a scene in the movie Gladiator, in which a band of slaves encounters the Colosseum for the first time. Upon seeing the magnificent structure, one slave sums up their entire reaction when he utters in awe: “I didn’t know men could build such things.”

Whether it was the procession of gorgeous statues standing reverently at the top of St. Peter’s Square, within St. Peter’s Basilica or St. John Lateran; or the myriad of beautiful frescoes in the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi or the mosaics at St. Paul Outside the Walls, the beauty of all the art and architecture was mixed with the very real intimidation of all its physics; for example, one may read that two Statues of Liberty standing on top of each other could fit underneath the cupola at St. Peter’s, but it’s quite another to look up at the vertiginous height beyond the amazing baldachinno. It is one thing to see Bernini’s Moses in a photo, and another to be so close to it to see the very intricate muscle fibers and strands of hair in his beard.

But perhaps the most awe-inspiring parts were the ones that most non-Catholic would deem as strange, if not utterly morbid: the skull of St. Agnes; the skeleton of St. Frances of Rome; the tombs of St. Peter, St. Cecelia; the chains of St. Peter and St. Paul; the relics of a number of saints.

Those beautiful reliquaries and the basilicas that house them sums up the trip, and my encounter with my own faith: within something magnificent is a very poetic and yet terrifying experience with one’s own mortality: the extravagance of truth and tradition, the cold reality of beauty.

Another Rise and Fall in Sports

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Image from Indystar: https://www.indystar.com/story/sports/nfl/colts/2019/08/24/reaction-report-colts-quarterback-andrew-luck-retiring/2111744001/. (no copyright infringement is intended).

I was at a friend's new house chatting over dinner when I received the familiar buzz which signified a message from my brother. He and I exchange messages every so often throughout the day, and I always pay attention when I get a message from him, despite the fact, that we usually talk about sports or the community.

"What the heck! Andrew Luck retired."

I was shocked, and showed the message to the only other friend at dinner who would have understood. He expressed a similar dumbfounded response. The party, overwrought with curiosity, nagged me to show them what we were talking about, but I knew the message itself would require explanation since the rest of the party were not interested in sports.

I preceded as best as I could to explain the shocking nature of the situation. "One of the best professional football players just retired... He cited mental fatigue as a reason, etc. etc."

It was difficult to capture the gravitas surrounding this announcement. Luck just finished taking the Indianapolis Colts deeper into the playoffs than practically anybody expected. This year's Colts have great expectations, being full of good young players having now seasoned their talent with experience, and a hunger to return to the postseason.

The physical picture of the press conference was jarring: he stood alone in a plain Colts t-shirt. He smiled awkwardly, and opened the press conference with a meek, "Hellooo."  Luck admitted that he didn't dream of this scenario, and he even almost lost composure at one point. After taking a minute, he rediscovered his nerve, and proceeded to express gratitude.

Here was a young man who has made a pivotal decision about his life, about how he wanted to live. One might say that he was turning his back on the one thing that has arguably defined him for a good majority of his life. His decision even affected a house party all the way in White Rock, Canada.

The awkwardness felt familiar; it appeared to come from a deep sense of isolation; he stood alone, with no one to support him. He was perhaps aware, that no matter how he tried to explain it, few people would lament with him; few people would actually understand. And fewer people would actually empathize with him.

"Mental fatigue? But he's so young.... Injuries? That's part of sports."

Even before the press conference as rumors swirled that he had made this decision, fans booed him as he jogged off the field or the last time.

He said he heard it, and it hurt. And I couldn't help but sympathize with him.

Andrew Luck made a decision that was best for his health, his life and his family. And while it may come off as extremely selfish, I believe him when he said that it was the hardest decision of his life.

He's walking away because the joy is gone. And that's not a millenial thing. It's a confrontation with mortality: can he really give more of his life to  a game than he can to his family.  Does he really want to spend the end of his career in chronic physical pain, barely able to enjoy any physical activity with his children?

For Andrew Luck, the answer is no. And while it was shocking to hear, and while I will certainly miss seeing him play, I can't help but think that it was the right answer, and it is the right decision.

Perhaps it's a sign of my age that I think I genuinely sympathize with this young man. As fans, we go through a myriad of emotions with our athletic heroes. It's what makes sports to be what it is.

And while I may have never directly supported Andrew Luck or the Colts, while I may have never shared in their joy of even last season, I certainly now share both in Andrew Luck's sorrow, and his greater desire for peace.

Apex of A Week

I have been surrounded by nurses my whole life; my mother, my aunts, my cousins, and even my best friends have endeavored into the noble profession. Something I've learned about nurses is that nurses, like teachers and priests, cannot dissociate their profession from their every day life: they are typically compassionate with everyone, attentive to detail, uniquely humorous, and amazingly thoughtful whether they're on the job, or hanging out with friends.

Earlier this week, I wanted to make a joke about how nurses got a week to celebrate honor their, work and yet mothers only get a day. And while I was attempting to point at a subtle irony, upon further reflection, a celebration of motherhood is really, a fitting apex of a week celebrating nurses. After all, mothers are the first nurses. They are the first to answer our cries for help, to guide us in times of sorrow, to prop us up for our first and most important steps; they often console us when we have to confront difficult truths; bring us water when we suffer from insatiable thirst; provide comfort when we are in pain. Indeed, not all nurses are mothers, but I have a difficult time conceiving of how all mothers aren't in some way nurses.

In the end, it does make sense that Mother's Day completes the Nurses week, but for the sake of gift-giving, nobody mention it to my own mother, lest she believe she should get gifts for both.

Ashes

One day, we, too will be nothing more than ashes. 

So long.

I'll keep you in my prayers forever

Dies Cinerum

 

Back at the Abbey, one of the many tasks the seminarians performed was managing the wealth of rose gardens on the Abbey property. While this task was typically assigned during work afternoons, it was not uncommon to see two priests work on the roses in their spare time. They would often be found watering, pruning, distributing fertilizer among a myriad of other tasks. 

Despite the difficult work, and the work was often performed under the hot California sun, the priests were always joyful to do it. Now it may be because the work was a pleasant distraction from the many other sources of stress or irritation, but I concede that they loved the work because they loved the roses; they loved the joy the roses brought others; they loved the scent, the beauty, and colour: working on the rose garden had a definite and wonderful outcome.

Now working (and suffering) with joy should not be a foreign concept to us Catholics. Work, by nature, is not pleasant, but it is not incompatible with joy. In fact, we seminarians used to joke that another priest only found joy in work. I wish to dispel, however, at least for the moment, that the labour of Lent must be deprived of all joy.  Fasting, prayer and almsgiving may be difficult works of mercy, but they do not mean that we must drag our feet to do it.

Fasting, prayer and alsmgiving are Lenten works; we fast, or prune away, those unnecessary things, those things that drag us away from the good to which we ought to strive. Prayer nourishes our soul, and we give alms, from our own treasury, for the good of others.

Yes these works are difficult: fasting from our favourite delights can be trying; finding time for prayer can be trying, especially when we come to the end of the day and we've already forgotten; almsgiving, when we would rather save for something we want, or even spend for something we want, can be difficult. 

But when we put those things together, the garden of our soul can be prepared well, beautiful and aromatic for our Lord. And that should be enough, maybe just for a moment, for us to be joyful in our work for Him who we love.

Happy Lent Everyone!

Gold Members

It only takes a few moments on Facebook and Instagram to realize a common theme on my thread: my friends have been blessed to experience the world in such beautiful ways. Whether it be sharing some of the earliest and most precious moments of a new born child's life, or the myriad of extraordinary summits of life conquered with no little difficulty, my friends seem to lead very blessed lives, thanks be to God.

Among those aforementioned blessings are no small number of travel experiences: there seems to be no end of vacation videos and photos from some of the most beautiful places (and food) in the world. This past weekend, I was able to go on my own little experience, albeit, in a very simple way: a group of very good friends traveled to the Sunshine Coast to share a weekend together.

It may not have been the most extravagant of vacations: friends took turns preparing meals for one another; the Sunshine Coast is only a few hours away from where everyone lives; there was no fantastically extraordinary program or activity.

And yet, what was lacking in physical extravagance was made up for genuine enjoyment. There was no shortage of laughs, often at each other's expense; there were board games, card games, and even an old Xbox 360; there was great music, singing, and dancing; there was even a wall of envelopes which facilitated an opportunity for each friend to write notes to one another (...although I...kinda... chose... not to participate).

Some things are good in of themselves. This particular group of friends combines a healthy sense of love for Christ, swagger, affection, bullying, laughter, levity, introspection and fun.

It takes a lot for a person to take oneself seriously enough to strive for holiness, and lightly enough to laugh at their own faults. It takes a lot to laugh out loud in one second, and reflect about insecurity and sin in the next. It takes a lot to welcome someone new to a tightly-knit group of childhood friends. And it takes a lot to enjoy something so simple, with extraordinary joy and love.

If you don't believe me...bet.