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Emily Stimpson Chapman

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Rachel, Hannah, and Me: Our “Great Anxiety and Frustration”

Leaving Home

A Very Few Thoughts on Suffering Beauty and Rest

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My monthly long form essay on Substack just landed My monthly long form essay on Substack just landed in subscriber’s inboxes. You can read the full essay by following the link in stories and my bio.
One of the great things about being Catholic is we One of the great things about being Catholic is we don’t have to depend on a single priest’s or theologian’s or Influencer’s interpretation of Scripture and Tradition. We have the Magisterium and the Church’s magisterial documents to help guide us. The 10 slides above (did you read all 10?) sum up those documents. But I will also link them in Stories. Read them. Study them. Pray over them. They are gifts. Even when they don’t seem that way or feel that way.
A little Friday reminder for you and me. Excerpted A little Friday reminder for you and me. Excerpted from “Letters to Myself from the End of the World.” By me. 😁
If you study enough theology, you will hear one an If you study enough theology, you will hear one analogy over and over again: the analogy of the three-legged stool.⁣ ⁣ Whether Catholic or Protestant, someone is always comparing some aspect of the faith to a three-legged stools: the Trinity, the Gospel, the Church. It’s a popular metaphor. But it’s popular because it works, especially when it’s used to describe what Benedict writes about here: the Church’s three-fold responsibility to proclaim the Gospel, administer the sacraments, and exercise the ministry of charity.⁣ ⁣ The analogy is about the necessity of each part to the whole. Just as a three-legged stool can’t stand without all its legs, the Church cannot fulfill her duties as Christ’s Body on Earth, unless she is preaching the Gospel, administering the Sacraments, and loving people as the Father loves them—providing for their spiritual AND material needs. If one is neglected, she’s not doing her job.⁣ ⁣ Humans, being humans, tend to forget this. Particularly when it comes to the Church’s responsibilities. We take a liking to one leg and decide it’s the only indispensable one. Then, that’s where our energy goes: to the teaching of the Gospel or the celebrating of the Liturgy or the caring for the poor. And as we focus on that one dispensable leg, we often neglect the others. The Gospel is not preached or preached poorly. The sacraments are not celebrated or celebrated reverently. The poor are ignored or forgotten.⁣ ⁣ And all the while, we pat ourselves on the back, thinking we’re the ones getting this Christianity thing right, but not seeing all the work that remains undone. Different ecclesial communities do this. Catholic parishes do this. Individual persons do this.⁣ ⁣ Yet the Church is clear and always has been. She stands on three legs: preaching, celebrating, serving. Each is essential. Each is indispensable. She neglects any of those legs to her peril. And we neglect them to our perdition.
Dear Pastors, DREs, and Diocesan Marriage Coordina Dear Pastors, DREs, and Diocesan Marriage Coordinators, feel free to steal my idea for your next marriage prep/discernment retreat. No credit necessary! 🤣
Fifteen years ago, I used to drive into Pittsburgh Fifteen years ago, I used to drive into Pittsburgh and spend the afternoon writing in a favorite coffeeshop. When I was done, I would walk a few blocks to this church, and kneel down before this image of God the Father. And I would cry and cry and cry.⁣ ⁣ I cried because I was lonely. I cried because I didn’t understand why I was single when all my friends were married. I cried because I feared my chance to be a mother was passing me by. And I cried because the man I loved, the man I believed God was calling me to marry, did not love me back.⁣ ⁣ Through it all the Father just looked down on me, saying nothing.⁣ ⁣ But God is out of time. And He didn’t just see me in that moment, weeping. He also saw me in this moment, in this same place, with my babies and my husband, the same man over whom I wept so fiercely so many years ago. He saw then, He saw now, and He saw every moment in between. He saw all the moments needed to bring Chris and me to where we are and our babies to where they are. He wasn’t just silently watching me. He was working for me and in me and around me to make today possible.⁣ ⁣ I’m glad we walked through here this afternoon and prayed before this image, because I needed the reminder. On a day when so many of us are grieving and wondering why God would call home to Him a beautiful, holy, young mother, whose husband and children desperately need her. It doesn’t make sense. It seems too much.⁣ ⁣ But God doesn’t just see today. He sees all days. He sees the crosses we carry, and He sees the fruit those crosses bear. He sees the grief that is, and He sees the joy that will be. He sees where we are, and He sees where we need to go. And so He permits no sorrow that can’t become a step on the way from here to there.⁣ ⁣ God loves us more than we love each other. God loves us more than we love ourselves. And someday, when we look back on days like today, when prayers have been shouted and whispered and wept to a seemingly silent God, I trust we will see then what I see now looking back on those days when I cried on my knees until my body shook. Not God’s silence. But God’s love—a love working through darkness to lead us to a light beyond our imagining.⁣
How can God command love? Answering that question How can God command love? Answering that question starts with understanding that God’s commands are not like man’s. Man’s commands are sometimes just, sometimes not. They can be for the common good. Or they can be for the good of those issuing the commands. Sometimes, they’re arbitrary. Other times, they’re misguided. ⁣ ⁣ Man’s commands also come with a threat: Obey or you will suffer.⁣ ⁣ And we all have. Each of us has suffered in some way from another person’s wrong, foolish, or selfish commands. That suffering inclines many of us to skepticism about the goodness of any command, leading us to conflate authority with authoritarianism. We rightly fear being controlled. ⁣ ⁣ But again, God’s commands are not like man’s. They’re always just, for He is just. They’re never shortsighted, for He sees all—every consequence of every command. They’re also always given with our best interest, not His, in mind. He doesn’t want to control us; He wants to lead us to joy. ⁣ ⁣ Which is why we suffer when we don’t follow God’s commands. We’re not simply going against some law; we’re going against our nature. We’re choosing poison, instead of nourishment. ⁣ ⁣ The two greatest commandments aren’t random orders from on high. They’re a roadmap to the life for which we were made. They are God saying, “You want happiness? You want a life filled with meaning, joy, and glory? Then, here you go. Love me. Love your neighbor.”⁣ ⁣ As Benedict wrote, the more we choose to obey that command, the easier obedience gets. The more we love God, the more we love those around us. And the more we love those around us, the more we love God. Also, the more we love, the more like God we become—the more we image Him and understand the goodness of His will. Most important, the more we love, the more we see the love He has for us. ⁣ ⁣ It’s that love which ultimately makes obedience possible. That’s how God can command love. He makes love possible. He gives the grace of obedience. He gives the grace to love. We just have to say yes to that grace.
Like a painting that bears the signature of the ar Like a painting that bears the signature of the artist, the created world bears the mark of its Creator. Everything that is tells us something about Him: about His majesty and beauty; His power and wisdom; His humor and gentleness; His mercy and patience; His strength and love.⁣ ⁣ This world is a wonder, filled with grace, calling us to see God through His handiwork, to know Him better through His marvelous works, and to love Him all the more for them. It is, the Church teaches, a kind of sacrament, possessing the power to draw us closer to the One who made us for Himself.⁣ ⁣ This vision of creation is called a sacramental worldview, which means seeing that matter matters, that it is good, that it comes from God and is meant to lead us back to God. It also means recognizing that in the sacraments, matter becomes more than just an occasion for grace. Rather, by God’s power, water and oil, bread and wine, the hands of bishops and the bodies of husband and wife become channels through which grace is poured into us.⁣ ⁣ What does this have to do with the theology of the body? Everything.⁣ ⁣ Teaching the theology of the body to children doesn’t start with conversations about gender or X and Y chromosomes. It starts with teaching them to see the world with Catholic eyes.⁣ ⁣ Grasping the goodness of rain and snow lays a foundation for grasping the goodness of the body. Seeing the purpose of night and day in the Divine Plan is a stepping stone to seeing the purpose of the body in the Divine Plan. Cultivating reverence for birds that fly and creatures that run helps cultivate reverence for the beautiful male and female bodies God gave us, bodies which don’t obscure who we are, but reveal who we are.⁣ ⁣ So look at the stars with your children. Marvel at every worm and slug in the ground. Watch the sun set with them. Plant spring peas with them and together, see them grow. Wonder at it all, looking for God in everything, telling them what you see and asking them what they see. And especially give thanks. Praise Jesus, the Word of God, for all that was created through Him, including your children’s beautiful bodies. And your beautiful body, too.⁣
I don’t like to blame social media for problems I don’t like to blame social media for problems in my heart, but the time I spend on Instagram has absolutely contributed to the effect the word “homemaker” has on me...⁣ ⁣ I appreciate much of the content shared in the posts and stories hashtagged #homemaker. The work of keeping a home and raising children is sacred work; it’s the most important work I do or ever could do. I also understand the desire to assert the dignity of the work, to share it and spotlight it and help people see the beauty of it. And I know that many—maybe most—of the women sharing these posts are learning as they go, having been wholly unprepared by our girl power culture for the day-to-day tasks of managing a household, not to mention the mental strain and isolation that can go hand in hand with raising small children. Online, they are looking for (and trying to offer) guidance and solidarity.⁣ ⁣ Nevertheless, for all my appreciation and understanding, something isn’t sitting right with me about their use of the word. Partly because it’s so often paired with images that don’t match up to my own life at home with children—a life with macaroni shells on the floor and sippy cups on the counter and cupboards with everything but heirloom quality dust pans spilling out of them. ⁣ ⁣ Read the rest in this month’s essay in Through a Glass Darkly. Link in Stories.
Lent is not the spiritual Olympics. It’s not abo Lent is not the spiritual Olympics. It’s not about doing what’s hard. It’s about doing what’s fruitful. And a fruitful Lent is one which will lead you to a deeper understanding of your weakness and your need for Jesus. It's one which will draw you closer to Him. And it’s one in which you will have united your prayers, sacrifices, and sufferings to His, taking seriously your role as His co-worker in the redemption of the world (Colossians 1:34; 1 Corinthians 3:9). ⁣ ⁣ The older I get, the more I realize that I can't think of any Lenten work I take on as being primarily about me—about my growth or my transformation. It can't be. Because I can't transform myself. I can say yes to Him. I can make room for Him to work. I cannot get in His way. But I can't control Him or the work He is doing in me. Believe me, I've tried. And it always blows up in my face, shattering my hubris and reminding me that all is grace, even the ability to give up chocolate. ⁣ ⁣ What I can do, though, is do everything with love. I can sacrifice with love. I can pray with love. I can give alms with love. I can see every Lenten practice and penance as a gift of love to Jesus. Those penances and practices may or may not seem hard to others. They may or may not seem hard to me, especially compared to penances taken on in Lent's past. But they all can be done with love and offered in love for Him to do with as He pleases. They are His, and He can use what I offer for my sake or the sake of His body, or both. ⁣ ⁣ You can do the same. Whatever you sacrifice, sacrifice for love of Him. Do it for Him. And do it with Him, relying on His power, not your own. God will accept your offering. He may let you fall on your face if that’s what you need. But He will still use all you give, both to help heal a world desperately in need of grace and to heal you, in ways deeper and more numerous than you can yet see.
I’m just sitting here, taking a break from sifti I’m just sitting here, taking a break from sifting through 50 years of my parents’ life together. It’s a lot. So much so that part of me wants to go home to Pittsburgh and give away almost everything we own to spare my kids the pain of doing this job someday. ⁣ ⁣ But there’s another part of me, a part that is grateful for the boxes and closets here in Illinois, full of objects that have played their little role in our life for so long: dishes, pictures, ornaments, pillows, papers, and a thousand other things. All are soaked with memories. Each holds within it parts of our family’s story—parts I only remember when we unpack another closet or open another drawer and see an item resting there. How much will I forget without them? How much of our story will just disappear, sold off at an estate sale or Good Will? ⁣ ⁣ It’s just stuff. I know that. I also know you can’t take it with you. But stuff that is loved, stuff that is used and used well to serve family and friends, still seems to have something of the sacred lingering about it. Like the graces of the saints somehow penetrate the ordinary objects that surrounded that saint, the graces of family life somehow must penetrate the ordinary objects that surround that family. These feel like relics we are packing up here—Stimpson family relics—and I don’t want to part with a one of them. ⁣ ⁣ But I have to. We all have to. Because nothing is permanent here. Try as we might, we can’t hold on to anything we love—not our possessions, not our lives, not our stories. ⁣ ⁣ But maybe, just maybe, the grace that restores and renews our lives and bodies on the other side, will also restore some of the things we loved most in this world, the things that hold parts of our stories, the things which were little reliquaries of our lives.⁣ ⁣ Two years ago, I wrote a book with Scott Hahn about death and the life to come. In it, we described Heaven as a great big feast, where everyone is sharing stories and swapping tales about the good God worked in our lives on earth. I didn’t think about it much then, but now I find myself hoping awfully hard that the dishes I’ll be eating off of at that heavenly feast will be my mom’s china. ⁣
Not long ago, someone asked me why I believed the Not long ago, someone asked me why I believed the Christian God was really God. In other words, why did I believe in a God who died on a cross and not in any of the other deities humans have worshipped across time?⁣ ⁣ I could have given few dozen answers. But I gave the one I think about most often: the cross.⁣ ⁣ When I look at the cross, I don’t see some moody, changeable demi-god playing games with humans. I don’t see a god of war or a spirit of detachment. I don’t see a nameless force of nature or a mythical divine power.⁣ ⁣ Rather, on the cross, I see a God with a face and a name. I also see a love that makes sense, that is, in a way, familiar. I see a God giving everything He has and is so that His beloved little ones can have life. I see a God who loves His children like I love mine.⁣ ⁣ For I too, would go to the cross for every one of my babes. To ensure their eternal happiness and their place by my side forever, I would endure every insult, wear every thorn, bear every mark of the whip. I would suffer anything to get these children of mine to Heaven. I would suffer for them individually, personally. I would pour out every grace on them. I would extend every mercy to them. I would feed them with my own body if that’s what it took to give them life.⁣ ⁣ So how could the God who made me do anything less?⁣ ⁣ We talked about this last week, but it bears repeating. Creatures can’t dream better dreams than their Creator. I can’t love more than the God who made me loves. And when I look at all the gods worshipped by men, the only God I see whose love is like the love I have for my children is the God who hung on a cross. Jesus is the only one who does what a good parent would do. Jesus is the only one whose loves matches, let alone exceeds, our own.⁣ ⁣ That love of His is poured out on us in the Eucharist, when bread becomes body. It calls us to a community and to action, to a Church and to obedience. It is infinitely more vast, mysterious, and demanding than “Jesus and me.” But the cross is always the proof of it. The cross is where we see God’s love for what it is. The cross is where we see God for who He is.
When I die, I want two things engraved on my tombs When I die, I want two things engraved on my tombstone: “Jesus Saves” and “The Theology of the Body is Not a Theology of Sex.” Really. It’s not. John Paul II did not give us a sexology. He gave us an anthropology—a study of what it means to be a human person made in the image of God.⁣ ⁣ Is sex part of what it means to be a human person? Heck yes. But it’s just a part. Not the whole. The whole is so much bigger and deeper and richer and more gorgeously mysterious than what happens in our bedrooms. ⁣ ⁣ And that’s what the theology of the body tries to show us: the beauty, the mystery, and the holiness of this life we get to live. It calls us back to an ancient way of seeing God, the world, and everything in it—a way where matter is never just matter, where the whole created universe is soaked with grace, and where everyone and everything in creation was made to bear witness to the glory of God. ⁣ ⁣ The theology of the body also calls us to a different way of living—a way where every breath is filled with reverence and awe for the Creator and for all the living images of Him that surround is, even those blind to their own beauty.⁣ ⁣ Teaching this way of seeing and living to our children does not have to be rocket science. We do it with every smile and hug and look of love, with our presence, with our abiding nearness and attentiveness, and with the simple words we say to them everyday. Words like…⁣ ⁣ “You are a gift.”⁣ ⁣ “What a gift your body is!”⁣ ⁣ “Every part of your body is special.”⁣ ⁣ “Every part of your body is beautiful.”⁣ ⁣ “You are wonderfully and fearfully made.”⁣ ⁣ “Your body is a great gift from God.”⁣ ⁣ “You are the image of God.”⁣ ⁣ “There never has been and never will be another you.”⁣ ⁣ “God loves you so much. He made you and thought up every wonderful part of you.”⁣ ⁣ These words communicate to little ones their identity, their dignity, and their beauty. They aren’t the whole of the theology of the body, but they lay a foundation for it. They are a start. And, I pray, a good one. ⁣ ⁣
People often ask me how I handle the grief of not People often ask me how I handle the grief of not being pregnant, of not giving birth, of not seeing myself reflected back in my children’s faces. They want to know when I reconciled myself to the life I lead now, with these babies, and not some other life with babies born of my body.⁣ ⁣ They’re understandable questions. They’re ones I probably would have asked myself five years ago. But they still catch me by surprise. Mostly because I’m so caught up in the wonder of this life, I don’t think to lament another life, a life that God never called me to lead. Some moments, I can barely catch my breath for the beauty and grace of these days, with these people.⁣ ⁣ I didn’t always feel like this, though. I was, like so many people, spiritually farsighted, discontented with the life I led, longing for a different one. But the older I’ve grown, the more I see how fragile everything is—hearts, minds, bodies, friendships, communities. Nothing can be taken for granted. Everything slips away eventually. And while we’re anxious for what’s to come, we miss what is.⁣ ⁣ God has been teaching me to not miss what is. And it’s been the best possible lesson for me to learn.⁣ ⁣ It’s normal, of course, to mourn dashed hopes and unfulfilled plans. Whatever those hopes and plans might have been. Whoever we might be. Nobody has it all. We’re all grieving something. But, if we’re not careful, we can get trapped in that place of grieving, always thinking “What if,” always seeing what we don’t have, and all the while missing the breathtaking beauty of what we do have. For the beauty is always there. Even in the darkest seasons.⁣ ⁣ This doesn’t mean you can’t acknowledge the bad or the hard in this day. This also doesn’t mean you should stop striving for whatever God might be calling you to. And it certainly doesn’t mean you should stay in a damaging or destructive place.⁣ ⁣ But you will never find the good where you’re going, if you can’t first find it where you are. Joy, like grace, can only be ours in the present moment. In the past, it’s nostalgia. In the future, it’s possibility. Only here, today, in what we’ve been given, is joy.
A few lifetimes ago, when I first I read Sheldon V A few lifetimes ago, when I first I read Sheldon VanAucken’s memoir, A Severe Mercy, one line in particular stayed with me. It was a question posed by VanAucken’s mentor, C.S. Lewis. “How,” Lewis asked, “could an idiotic universe have produced creatures whose mere dreams are so much stronger, better, subtler than itself?”⁣ ⁣ How could it indeed? And in the decades since, when sorrow, disappointment, or disillusionment has attacked my faith, that phrase has been my first line of defense. It reminds me that my ideas about justice and mercy, kindness and generosity, joy, peace, and love cannot be better than God’s. If they could, He would be no God at all.⁣ ⁣ It goes beyond that, though. It’s not just that a meaningless universe is incapable of creating creatures ordered towards meaning or that those creatures are incapable of dreaming better dreams than their Creator. It’s that we creatures are incapable of dreaming any good dreams apart from our Creator.⁣ ⁣ Our greatest goals, our highest aspirations, our purest ideals—all that flows from God. We are made in His image. We bear His mark. We are our Father’s children, and our nature reflects His. Not perfectly. We’re creatures who fell, and He’s the Alpha and Omega, dynamically fixed in perfection forever. But our best always points back to Him. Especially when it comes to love.⁣ ⁣ We love because God loves. We also long for a love that images Him. We long for communion because God is communion. We long to give ourselves because God is self-gift. We long for fidelity because God is faithful. We long for a love that lasts forever because God is eternal. We long to be known and loved for ourselves because each Person within the Trinity is fully known and loved by the other Two.⁣ ⁣ Human love, when it is truly love, is never a thing apart from God. It always reflects Him, as the moon reflects the Sun. He is love—its nature and its source. And we can love neither apart from Him nor more than Him. Even when we’re walking in darkness through the Valley of Shadows, the God of the Universe is loving us with a love that is perfect in passion, generosity, fidelity, and purity. He has to be. He can’t love any other way.
I am so grateful for a God whose grace comes to us I am so grateful for a God whose grace comes to us through matter. Not just the sacramental grace that comes through the sacred matter of holy water, blessed oils, and bread and wine transformed into Body and Blood. But also the ordinary grace that come through the ordinary matter that fills up our ordinary homes and ordinary days. ⁣ ⁣ Like God, who took on a human body and human nature to come to us, these ordinary graces come to us, too, seeking us out, meeting us where we are. We don’t have to go looking for them. They find us. We just need to have the eyes to see them. ⁣ ⁣ We’ve had quite the winter here. Some stuff you know about. Some you don’t. But today, I am thinking about all those ordinary vehicles of grace that have gotten me through these long, grey, sunless stretch of weeks, and that are slowing carrying me towards Spring. Vehicles of grace like… ⁣ ⁣ Play furniture kids can jump on⁣ Nespresso machines⁣ @SimplyMerino long underwear⁣ Christmas trees that stay up until Candlemas⁣ Train tables awkwardly taking up space in the living and dining rooms⁣ Fires in the fireplace⁣ Evening cocktails⁣ Louise Penny mystery novels⁣ Sturdy strollers that can haul 3 kids at once⁣ Flannel sheets⁣ Copious amounts of Vitamin D⁣ ⁣ What about you? What is getting you through this winter? Please share below!⁣ ⁣ (P.S. Pretty sure his Michael Jordan costume would be at the top of Becket’a list! 🤣)
God is love. And when we love, we image Him. We al God is love. And when we love, we image Him. We also draw close to Him. Love, especially the love between man and woman, can give us a foretaste of the Beatific Vision, of being caught up in perfect love forever. But love also can become an idol, that drags us down rather than lifts us up. That happens, Pope Benedict says, when we refuse to love as God made us to love and when we refuse to love as God loves.⁣ ⁣ Let’s start with the first refusal.⁣ ⁣ God made man as a union of body and soul. And true human love requires both dimensions. Love isn’t love when only the body is given. The whole self must be given. When we don’t seek to know and be known, when we hold some part of ourselves back, when we give ourselves only temporarily or with reservations—we’re using, not loving. We’re treating a person like an object, making them into a thing that exists for our sake, to satisfy our needs or desires.⁣ ⁣ This doesn’t just happen with pornography or prostitution. This happens whenever we put our desires before another’s eternal good. It happens whenever we violate God’s plan for love and marriage, which is not a random plan or the posturing of a controlling, power hungry God, but the loving plan of an all-knowing Father, perfectly suited to us and ordered towards our everlasting happiness.⁣ ⁣ That’s the first way love can become an idol. It also can happen when we refuse to love as God loves.⁣ ⁣ The Trinity is an eternal communion of love. With no beginning and no end, love is poured out and received within the Godhead. God does this forever and always, existing as an infinite exchange of love. Mysteriously, miraculously, inexplicably, He invites us into that exchange. He invites us to love and be loved by Him. He also invites us to love and be loved by others.⁣ ⁣ Again, though, we must do both. If we only receive love and never give it, selfishness will poison the love we receive. And if we only give love and never receive it, bitterness will poison the love we give.⁣ ⁣ Eros and agape, ascending and descending, receiving and giving—these different dimensions of love can’t be separated from one another without diminishing love … or without diminishing us.⁣
Twenty years ago, as a grad student at Franciscan Twenty years ago, as a grad student at Franciscan University, I enrolled in Dr. Scott Hahn’s Theological Foundations class. My life has never been the same.⁣ ⁣ Although I’d been attending Bible studies for years before that class, up until then I had no idea how to make sense of what I read. This is because I didn’t fully understand the relationship between the Old and New Testaments—how the meaning of the Old is revealed by the New and how the New fulfills all the promises of the Old.⁣ ⁣ I also didn’t understand that every major figure in the New Testament was prefigured in the Old Testament, and that every Church teaching was rooted not just in the New Testament writings, but in the Old as well.⁣ ⁣ Scott’s class threw open a window for me, helping me to see the grand sweep of salvation history and, in the process, reordering my vision of the world.⁣ ⁣ Now, after 20 years of working together on a variety of projects, I get to help Scott throw open the same window for your children, with a new series of children’s books based on his bestselling adult books.⁣ ⁣ A week from today, the first of these books, “Mary, Mother of All,” will be released. Based on “Hail Holy Queen,” it aims to lay a foundation in faith and reason upon which little ones can build for the rest of their lives, showing them the deep Scriptural roots of Church teaching on Jesus’ mother and inviting them into a loving relationship with her.⁣ ⁣ Like the books still to come, this book aims to reach children’s hearts and minds with the theological richness of Scott’s biblical insights, the enchanting beauty of artist Tricia Dugat’s illustrations, and my (hopefully) fun and memorable rhymes, which make those insights accessible to everyone, young and old.⁣ ⁣ I believe, that with God’s grace, these books can change the way a generation of children know and love their faith, showing them from their earliest years the glory, beauty, and perfection of the Father’s plan as revealed in Scripture, fulfilled in Christ, made present in the Liturgy, and lived in the Christian life … all through rhyming couplets and alternating 8/9 syllabic lines.😁⁣ ⁣ To pre-order your copy today, see the link in my Stories.
She wasn’t much when we first bought her. People She wasn’t much when we first bought her. People who hadn’t treated her well had owned her for decades, stripping her of her finery: her stained glass windows and pocket doors, fireplaces and cabinetry, oak trim and grand stairway. But she had good lines and nice curves. We saw beauty in her others couldn’t. So, we made her ours.⁣ ⁣ Hiding behind walls and between floors, however, were problems we couldn’t see: collapsing and rotting beams, a leaking roof hastily patched, antiquated pipes ready to burst, old electrical wires, split and frayed. She needed more than a little work. She needed saving. So, we did that, too.⁣ ⁣ Now, she looks good. Beautiful even. It appears like the work on her is done. But she has been hiding secrets: ancient septic pipes bleeding sewage, phorid flies breeding underground, and, as we discovered this past week, termites feasting on her 133-year-old joists. More sensible people would cry “Uncle” and get out while they could. But she’s ours, and we love her, so we’re dealing with all these things, too.⁣ ⁣ How much like us these old homes are—full of stories and beauty, but also so very broken. When we first give our lives to Christ, we see the big visible sins we need to overcome. And as God gives us the grace to turn away from those sins and towards Him, we start to look more beautiful to others. But in our hearts and minds, sins still fester. So Christ goes to work on those, too.⁣ ⁣ He doesn’t do this all at once. He goes slowly, revealing to us bit by bit the depths of our anger, lust, envy, gluttony, greed,, sloth and pride. Years pass, then decades, as He helps us name these sins and the fears that lead to them. The longer we walk with Him, the more of our brokenness we see and the more we realize that conversion and repentance aren’t a one-time thing for believers; they are a way of life.⁣ ⁣ I’m not sure we would have bought this old house had we known what was to come. But Christ died on a cross knowing all—every last sin hidden in every last heart. And He pours out His grace on us knowing the same. Because, like us with this house, He sees the beauty in us even when others don’t. Because He loves us. Because we are His.
What is love? That’s the question at the heart o What is love? That’s the question at the heart of Deus Caritas Est’s opening paragraphs. It has to be. For none of us can understand what God gives to us (or what we’re called to give), if we don’t understand the nature of love.⁣ ⁣ And many of us don’t understand. We grew up in broken homes or broken churches, where those who were supposed to model God’s love for us were too broken themselves to do that job well. Insecurity, fear, pride, anger, vanity, greed, lust, and ignorance infected hearts and relationships, handicapping our experience of love from the start.⁣ ⁣ We’ve also grown up in a world thick with false images of love. Or perhaps not false, but one dimensional. Hallmark movies and romance novels, pornography and erotica, even hapless parents on television sitcoms—each glorifies a part of love, but never the whole. They get some things right, appealing to deeply human and truly good desires—to be the beloved, to give ourselves to another, to be loved for who we are. But they do so at the expense of equally important and even more fundamental truths: that love is an action, not just a feeling, that love requires sacrifice and suffering, that love never uses the other person or treats them as an object.⁣ ⁣ Most of all, those counterfeit images of love ignore that love seeks the good of the other—the true good, the ultimate good, the eternal good: virtue and joy and life with God in Heaven.⁣ ⁣ Love is passion. But it’s also patience. Love is desire. But it’s also sacrifice. Love is tolerance. But it’s also correction. Love is freedom. But it’s also boundaries. Love is jealous. But it’s also selfless. Love is a gift. But it’s also a choice.⁣ ⁣ In short, love is so much more than our past or our culture often lead us to believe. And God wants more for us. He wants to give us more, and He wants us to give more. As Benedict points out, contrary to what the Church’s critics say, the Church isn’t interested in diminishing our experience of love. She’s interested in expanding it, elevating it, and leading us into love’ fullness.⁣ ⁣ How that happens and what that looks like is what we’ll discuss next week.
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