Porn, Pain, and Healing (and some free books)

Porn’s in the news. The secular, mainstream news.

TIME magazine recently featured a cover story “Porn and the Threat to Virility.” The article is behind a paywall, but it opens this way (all emphasis is mine):

A growing number of young men are convinced that their sexual responses have been sabotaged because their brains were virtually marinated in porn when they were adolescents. Their generation has consumed explicit content in quantities and varieties never before possible, on devices designed to deliver content swiftly and privately, all at an age when their brains were more plastic—more prone to permanent change—than in later life. These young men feel like unwitting guinea pigs in a largely unmonitored decade-long experiment in sexual conditioning.

The Washington Post followed up with an essay titled,  Is porn immoral? That doesn’t matter: It’s a public health crisis:

Using a wide range of methodologies, researchers from a number of disciplines have shown that viewing pornography is associated with damaging outcomes. In a study of U.S. college men, researchers found that 83 percent reported seeing mainstream pornography, and that those who did were more likely to say they would commit rape or sexual assault (if they knew they wouldn’t be caught) than men who hadn’t seen porn in the past 12 months. The same study found that porn consumers were less likely to intervene if they observed a sexual assault taking place. In a study of young teens throughout the southeastern United States, 66 percent of boys reported porn consumption in the past year; this early porn exposure was correlated with perpetration of sexual harassment two years later. A recent meta-analysis of 22 studies between 1978 and 2014 from seven different countries concluded that pornography consumption is associated with an increased likelihood of committing acts of verbal or physical sexual aggression, regardless of age. A2010 meta-analysis of several studies found “an overall significant positive association between pornography use and attitudes supporting violence against women.”

And it’s not making the men who use porn happy, either. An opinion piece in the Telegraph UK picks up one of the threads in the articles above: that porn is not only ruining relationships, it’s ruining even casual sex.  The article says:

This message – that porn isn’t enhancing real sex, but scuppering it – is much more likely to resonate with teenagers than the fire and brimstone approach of the anti-pornography feminists, internet censors or the Church, especially as kids intrinsically want to do things that they aren’t supposed to.

This sentiment caught my eye. Everyone seems to agree that the Christian warning against porn is irrelevant and ineffective, and that what we really need is an evidence-based argument for why porn damages both men and women and makes sex less enjoyable and meaningful, and even, for heavy users, less possible.

Never mind that that is the Christian message — or it should be. I guess it wouldn’t be too hard to find a preachy type who insists that porn is bad because it’s too much fun, and fun is dirty, and wimmin are evil temptresses who don’t want you to be strong and pure. There is a lot of misogynistic, puritanical, body-loathing crap masquerading as concern for purity. If you’ve encountered something like that, I’m sorry. I apologize on behalf of the numbnuts who somehow got the idea that Christ Incarnate hates the human body. And I’m here to tell you that the Christian message is supposed to be this:

Porn damages both men and women and makes sex less enjoyable and meaningful, and even, for heavy users, less possible.

Just like the secular world is finally starting to figure out.

It’s an awful lot like the conversations that are happening around contraception. The Church has always taught that contraception is bad for women. The secular world has always pooh-poohed the Church, because it’s the Church. The secular world went whole hog for contraception. And now the secular world is slowly discovering, “Hey, contraception is kind of bad for women!” And Catholics sigh and tactfully point out the cheapest place to find fertility test sticks.

But wait, there’s more! The secular psychologist and researcher John Gottman (whose book on marriage I recommend) has written an open letter saying that, in the past, his institute thought porn was usually harmless, and even recommended the mutually agreed-upon use of porn as a way to “increase relationship connection and intimacy.”

Gottman now says that, after much study, he is “led to unconditionally conclude that for many reasons, pornography poses a serious threat to couple intimacy and relationship harmony.”

First, intimacy for couples is a source of connection and communication between two people.  But when one person becomes accustomed to masturbating to porn, they are actually turning away from intimate interaction. Second, when watching pornography the user is in total control of the sexual experience, in contrast to normal sex in which people are sharing control with the partner. Thus a porn user may form the unrealistic expectation that sex will be under only one person’s control. Third, the porn user may expect that their partner will always be immediately ready for intercourse … Fourth, some porn users rationalize that pornography is ok if it does not involve partnered sexual acts and instead relies only on masturbation. While this may accomplish orgasm the relationship goal of intimate connection is still confounded and ultimately lost.

Worse still, many porn sites include violence toward women, the antithesis of intimate connection.

You don’t say? YOU DON’T SAY? If only someone had given us some warning that . . .

All right, never mind. I don’t care how the word gets out. I’m just thrilled to see that people are waking up to the threat, and are, just as importantly, are putting together practical guides for how to break free of the habitual use of porn, and how to help your relationship recover when a partner or spouse has been a user.

This help is long overdue. For the last few decades, if a woman discovered that her husband was using porn, the secular world would have sneered: Get over it, toots. Porn is normal and healthy, and lots of guys and gals like to take a look because it’s fun. It relieves stress, and makes sex sexier. So stop being such a killjoy and deal with it.

Unfortunately, Catholics might respond in a way that’s just as unhelpful. A shocked and wounded wife might hear: You must instantly forgive and trust him again, because marriage is a sacrament. Ask yourself if you’re being generous enough with your body, that he feels like he needs to look elsewhere. At least he’s not beating you! Remember those lady saints married to brutal Roman governors who eventually converted after four decades of patient suffering. Just be like that. Toots.

Horrible. Both responses are horrible. They give no help to the offended party, and they give no help to the porn user, who needs it just as badly. It’s a massive mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.

But, as always, there is some hope. First is that secular sources are starting to openly talk about porn as an unhealthy habit and even as a public health crisis. Second is that Catholics are now very willing to talk openly about the problem, to admit that many practicing Catholics in seemingly happy marriages are porn users, and that just hitting the confessional isn’t going to fix your brain chemistry or repair your marriage.

I’m giving away three copies of Marcel LeJeune‘s new book, Cleansed: A Catholic Guide to Freedom from Porn (Pauline Books, 2016)LeJeune is a frank and faithful evangelist who has decades of practical experience working with Catholics in the trenches. A recent review of Cleansed says it’s recommended for:

  • Catholics who are ready to kick their porn addiction, or maybe right on the verge of being ready. This could be the tipping point into grace.
  • Anyone who is looking for a strategy-based guide to fight porn addiction. I’m not a man or a porn addict, but it seems like this would be good for men in particular, especially those who already have good accountability groups, support systems, mentors, or role models for a personal connection.
  • People looking for a resource for the addict in their lives: parents, spouses, friends, counselors, mentors, and ministers.
  • Anyone interested in the theology of the body or Catholic teachings on sexuality. When you know how to fight good desire gone wrong, you have a weapon for when disorder comes after you. If the enemy gets to be too strong, you know where to run.

To enter the raffle, leave a comment on this post (not on Facebook, please!). (I deleted the Rafflecopter entry form because it wasn’t letting me change the start time). I’ll choose three winners and announce them on Friday, April 15.

Friends, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a jerk, but here we go: if pornography has hurt you, there are numerous online support groups for people who want to quit porn, or who are dealing with a spouse who is trying to quit. You have my prayers, but I do not have any advice for you. I humbly ask you not to write to me for advice. You have my prayers. It is not a topic I am qualified or equipped to give advice about. Thanks for understanding.

 

Super powers of the supersized family

If you have lots of kids, you’re probably used to fielding criticism from perfect strangers: you’re crazy, you’re irresponsible, you’re brainwashed, you’re oppressed, you’re selfish(!), and of course you don’t have a TV.  My standard response to that last one is this: if you think TV is better than sex, you’re doing it wrong.

So yes, lots of people want to tell you how wrong you are to have had so many kids. Oddly, it can be just as unpleasant to hear from people who want to canonize you on the spot, just because you’ve managed to give birth more than they have. “You must be a saint!” they say. “You must be so patient!” “You must be so organized!” “You must be so rich!”

Yeah, no.   Take a look at my house, take a look at the inside of my van, take a listen inside the confessional, and you’ll know that none of those things are true. I am not so anything.  I’m just a regular person who happens to have ten children. Really.

All the same, in the last few decades, I have picked up a few tricks and skills to help navigate the howling wasteland — uh, I mean garden of delights that is large family life. For instance . . .

Selective smell.  Most mortals are slaves to their noses, and must smell what is before them. To the mother of a large family, though, odors are a choice.
Do I have time to realize that someone has been tucking chewed-up salami under their car seat cover for the last six months?

Do I have the mental courage to acknowledge that my toddler, at least olfactorily, resembles a deceased horse?

Will it push me over the edge to admit just how much yogurt has been incorporated in the bed spring over the winter months?  No? Then we smell nothing. Nothing, I tell you. Hey, when’s the last time someone took the dog out to pee?  Really, that long?  Huh.

Space Making. To the untrained eye, a house that has four times as many people as bedrooms is a house that is full. But it’s a different story for someone who is half delighted, half horrified, half just plain baffled (yes, that adds up to one-and-a-half.  If that sounds like a lot, you haven’t seen me when I’m pregnant) to realize that she is giving birth, again, in, like, eleven hours and she still hasn’t figured out where the new baby will go. There are spaces between spaces, if you know where to look.

What was once an ordinary closet suddenly reveals itself as a cozy Hobbit bedroom.  What appears to most folks to be a compact laundry room becomes the perfect spot to build a private little luxury loft — complete with forced air heating and white noise machine (a.k.a. a dryer). And let’s not even talk about the husband who says, “There’s nowhere to park the van.” Scoot over, sonny. Let SPACE FINDER GIRL through.

Mold Breaking  — an uncanny, if unintentional ability to run ahead of the societal curve.

Little boy shows up for his big brother’s wrestling match sporting My Little Pony rain boots? In any other family, that would be a deliberate flouting of heternormative labels society insists on pasting on our still-fluid little ones. But in a big family, it’s called, “High five for matching shoes, mister!”

Little girl says she wants to be an astrophysicist-mechanical engineer-president-oil rigger-linebacker-CEO of Everything when she grows up? Your neighbor’s kid might say that because she’s been encouraged to ignore traditional gender roles. A kid from a big family, though, probably just took a canny look at her mom’s to-do list and is hoping for an easier gig than that.

An Endlessly Elastic Definition of Prudence. Say you have something ridiculous and unreasonable that needs doing — you need someone to adopt a group of five siblings, or take care of a large dog with intestinal uncertainties, or cater a wedding which is, oopsie, tomorrow.  Who do you ask?

I want to kick my own behind for saying it, but ask the mother of a big family. She will take a prudent look at her budget, her schedule, her long-term goals, and her life in general, and will conclude that the demands of daily living have already vaulted so far beyond what is possible, that why the heck not? Tell the stinky dog to bring along that hairless rabbit he is friends with, too — he can help me shell eggs for the wedding. Why. The heck. Not.

The Loaves-and-Fishes Touch. Okay, so it’s less of a miracle and more of an attitude. You know perfectly well what a decent, balanced meal looks like, and yet you have the ability to serve graham crackers, scallions, and can of Cream of Desperation Soup and call it “dinner” with a straight face.

You can take a half pound of chicken thigh meat and make it into a soup or a casserole which — okay, maybe it’s not brimming with chickeny plenitude, but there is a scientifically demonstrable presence of animal fiber in every square inch.

And of course there are the times when you say, “Okay, Lord, you gave me all these kids, now how the hell am I supposed to feed them?” and within minutes, a new neighbor knocks on the door and explains that his bakery and his salmon factory often have surpluses, and do you know anybody who might need . . . ?

Yeah. Superpowers. We got ’em.

***
A version of this essay originally ran in the Soul Gardening Journal in 2014.

What’s for supper? Vol. 30: Lasagnis Laetitia

Well, I didn’t read 290 pages this morning, and neither did you. Out of sheer honesty, we’ll just have to be relieved, outraged, disappointed, baffled, miffed, vindicated, smug, and deliberately misleading about the food we had this week.

SATURDAY

Lasagna with sausage, garlic bread, salad, root beer floats

Birthday! We have a nice new seven-year-old in the house, and this meal was her heart’s desire. She said, “We’ve been having a lot of meatball birthdays lately, so I think I’d like lasagna. And . . . would root beer floods be too much?” Not for you, my dear.

The lasagna was pretty tasty! I added fresh parsley and nutmeg to the cheese mixture, which gave it an extra depth of flavor.

[img attachment=”98249″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”lasagna crop” /]

I don’t remember which recipe I used — nothing unusual, something with egg in the cheese mixture.

***

SUNDAY

Chicken tortilla soup, cornbread, strawberries and ice cream

Pioneer woman’s recipe for tortilla soup. It’s good soup.

[img attachment=”98248″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”tortilla soup and corn bread” /]

I served it with cheddar cheese, sour cream, and avocados.

***

MONDAY

Pizza

My lovely assistant assisted lovelily:

[img attachment=”98247″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”benny pizza” /]

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TUESDAY

Pork chops, polenta, pineapple

This is the meal we should have had on March 14, Pi Day. Because “pi” isn’t pronounced like “pie,” it’s pronounced like “pee.” But what do I care? Eat your pies and spit on classical languages.

I meant to make rice, but was foiled by not having any. So I went for polenta, which I’ve never made, eaten, or seen before. I used this recipe for baked polenta with garlic because you can make it ahead of time. Not bad at all! It had a firm crust with a creamy inside.

[img attachment=”98246″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”pork pineapple polenta” /]

My husband came home later, when it had been refrigerated, and he sliced it up and fried it, and he liked it. He suggested making it with chorizo at some point, which sounds good.

The pork chops . . . bleh. Pork chops always defeat me. They were really too thin to be much fun. I drowned them in some kind of all-purpose marinade called Goya Mojo Criollo and then cooked them until they were dry and fibrous.

***

WEDNESDAY

Honey mustard drum sticks, french fries, acorn squash, store-bought cupcakes

Another birthday! And a birthday kid who was a really good sport about a lackluster meal (she’s going out to eat with her friends later).

The chicken is a good make-ahead dish, which I got from the NYT’s Mark Bittman’s 101 20-Minute Dishes for Inspired Picnics: “toss with olive oil, salt and pepper, and grill or roast until crisp and golden. Whisk together mustard, honey and lemon juice, and toss with warm chicken.”
***

THURSDAY

Chicken nuggets, chips, salad, carrots and hummus

Nothing to report.  12-year-old son made the chicken, 10-year-old daughter made the salad.

***

FRIDAY

Tuna noodle casserole

the waters of death
and two cans of condensed
cream of mushroom soup.

***
Amoris, shmamoris. What’s for supper?

If I were pro-choice, I’d vote for Trump

If I were pro-choice and I wanted to energize citizens, and embolden legislators, and encourage lobbyists to give me heaps of money, I would do everything I could do make sure Trump got the nomination at least, and the presidency if possible.
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Think about it. The guy clearly doesn’t care if abortion is legal or not. A baby, to him, is a potential set of sexy legs and breasts. This is his own daughter he’s talking about, just after she turned one year old:
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Robin Leach conducted a joint interview with Trump and his second wife, Marla Maples. Their daughter, Tiffany, had just turned 1 year old at the time and Leach asked Trump what attributes the baby inherited from each parent.
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“Well, I think that she’s got a lot of Marla. She’s a really beautiful baby—she’s got Marla’s legs.” Then making a gesture that indicated large breasts, he added, “We don’t know whether or not she’s got this part yet, but time will tell.”
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He says stuff like this all the time, because it’s what he really thinks. Women are for sex and decoration.
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And now he wants you to think he’s pro-life.
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What a gift for the pro-choice community. What a bounteous, glittering, free-and-clear gift dumped in their laps. A Trump presidency would be a dream come true. Every time he opens his fungal maw, they can say, “SEE? This is what pro-lifers stand for! Is this what you want? Is this what you want our country to be? No? Then write checks! Knock on doors! Call your senators! Keep those anti-Trump clinics humming along!”
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Lots of voters are on the fence about abortion. It bothers them, and makes them feel ugly and uncomfortable; but they can’t shake the idea that women really need it to at least be an option. They can’t shake the idea that pro-lifers don’t care about women, and pro-choicers do. These folks are not deep thinkers. They’re not reading studies, and they’re not watching graphic videos. They go by headlines and sound bytes. This is what most voters are like.
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Put Trump and his mouth in front of them, and they will flee into the arms of pro-choice. This is basic human psychology. It would be better for this country to have a millstone tied around its neck and be thrown into the sea than to elect President Trump.
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Would I vote for Hillary? I doubt it. If it comes to Hillary vs. Trump, I probably won’t be able to vote. But I’ll tell you this: We already know what it looks like when someone like Hillary is in office. Her politics are pretty much like Obama’s. Which is to say loathesome, but what happened during his tenure? The pro-life community was enormously energized, and pro-life laws have been enacted around the country. The tide is shifting, both in the legislature and in the hearts of the people.
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GOSH, IT’S ALMOST AS IF THEY’RE CONNECTED.
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What is the main thing a president does? He sets the tone — especially when he is a charismatic, outspoken, larger-than-life kind of guy. He doesn’t make laws, he doesn’t make legal rulings. Yes, he influences these things, he appoints judges and cabinet members, and he exerts pressure, but the main thing he does is set the tone. What kind of tone do you think Trump would set? And what do you think would happen as a result?
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Yup. If I were pro-choice, I’d cash in my 401K and hire a sky writer to put TRUMP IS PRO-LIFE over every major city. It’s a winning strategy to make abortion a permanent fixture from sea to shining sea.
***
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Love is never wasted

There is so much mystery in the human psyche and how it develops. We can work ourselves into a panic fretting that we haven’t given properly, and that our children aren’t receiving properly; and half the time, we’ll be right. Truly, the only way we can be at peace is if, along with doing our best, we remember to turn our children’s lives over to God, over and over again. God’s generosity works both ways: He is generous in what He gives us, and He is generous in how He receives, as well. When we turn our children over to God, He will not let our efforts go to waste.

Read the rest at the Register.

A Field Guide to Dominicans and Other Terrors

[I’m reposting this from a few years ago because writing it was the most fun I have ever had in my life.]

There’s been a lot of chortling over the panicked students of Indiana University who thought a nice Dominican priest was a member of the KKK armed with one of them KKK bullwhips. Here’s one of the tweets:

iu students be careful, there’s someone walking around in kkk gear with a whip.

and the news spread like wildfire from there. Here’s a picture of the Dominican priest in question, as he helps himself to some frozen yogurt. The “whip” was his rosary. He likes to walk around town saying his rosary for the students.

Are you laughing? Not nice. Not nice at all. It’s a confusing world! It’s very difficult for young people to tell the difference between a priest who is praying for you, and a murderous, racist thug who’d just as soon whip you to death as look at you.

I am basically a healer; so I thought I’d put together a little field guide to help today’s youth navigate their way through the thorny maze of multiculturalism where the downside of diversity means we are all scared stupid all the time.

Keep your eyes peeled for these specimens:

This is a pirate.

You can tell by his beard, the distinctive coloration of his clothing, his intimidating stance, and his pirate hat. The strings you see hanging down from his belt are dangling strings of death!!! Take cover, especially your dubloons.

A group of Crips, probably Rollin’ 60s

menacingly sporting their distinctive blue. Get within a yard of these bad apples and you’ll be murdered to death or have an illegal substance sold to you. Just say no!

Here we have a pair of Santería priests.

No immediate physical threat, unless you are a chicken, but don’t look them in the eye unless you’re prepared to be taken on a whirlwind trip to Hell itself.

This is a bumblebee.

He will sting you, aieee! Run away!

This is actually Catholic Holy Week in Spain.

This one is not a joke.
I know.

Here we see the notorious Bosnian assassin Gavrilo Princip

who cold-bloodedly shot Archduke Ferdinand and his wife and singlehandedly plunged the civilized world into all-consuming war. Also likes frozen yogurt.

This is a Jesuit.

Call 911.

And, as always: When in doubt, tweet. Oh, tweet on, perishing republic. Tweet on.

***
***
Images:
Mormons By MTPICHON (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Orthodox Jew By Gilabrand at English Wikipedia, CC BY 3.0,
Missionaries of Charity By User:Fennec (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Sahajdhari Sikh By Sanyam Bahga – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, 
Holy Week in Spain CC BY-SA 2.1 es,
Friar Tuck by Loren Javier via Flickr 

 

Mercy in the chambers of the heart

Yesterday on the radio, Mark Shea and I spent nearly an hour talking about mercy — what it means, what it’s for, how we receive it, and how we pass it on. (Some faulty equipment forced me to use my phone to join the conversation, so this hour also includes stunning audio of my ridiculous dog barking, my baby crying, my older kids slamming doors, and of course someone clattering by on stilts. On stilts. Savages.) 

I had a small epiphany as we talked. Mark mentioned the parable of the unforgiving debtor. You know the story: This fellow owes his master a huge sum of money, and throws himself on his mercy, begging for more time. The master has pity and forgives the debt. Rather than rejoicing, the servant immediately turns around and finds a fellow servant who owes him a small amount of money. He refuses to have mercy on him, but grabs the poor man by the throat and has him arrested. The king finds out about it and has the first servant sent to prison and tortured.

The message gets repeated several times:

[I]f you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. 

It certainly sounds like a simple tit-for-tat arrangement: if you refuse to forgive, then God will get back at you by refusing to forgive you. Or, if you are forgiven by God, then you better pay Him back by forgiving other people. It seems fair, but it’s always bothered me a bit. I understand that the unforgiving servant is behaving abominably, but after all, the master has endless wealth. He can easily afford to forgive the debt anyway, even if the guy he forgives is a jerk. Can’t he just eat it, because . . . well, he’s the master?

Setting aside the parable for a moment, I thought about how giving and receiving mercy, how offering and accepting forgiveness, seemed to proceed in my own life, in my actual experience. The truth is, I sympathize a little too much with the unforgiving debtor. It’s horribly easy to go to confession, collect my $200 — uh, I mean absolution — and then turn around and get mad at my husband for some minor thing, like not offering to strap the baby into her car seat. And I just got out of confession, where I probably wouldn’t even bother to confess something so minor as a trifling act of omission of courtesy. How can I act like that? And what can I do to be a better servant, more grateful, more forgiving in response to the forgiveness I’ve just received?

I find that I fail miserably to forgive when I behave as if the forgiveness offered to me is a transaction, a simple tit-for-tat arrangement — as if forgiveness is a heavy responsibility that I have to lug around until I can palm it off on someone else.I find it harder to forgive others if I behave as if I am receiving forgiveness in return for going to confession. Of course, absolution still “works” — I really am forgiven — even if my contrition is imperfect and my disposition is lousy. But I’m far more likely to be able to change my behavior afterwards if I remember to receive forgiveness in the context of a relationship with God.

This means calling to mind that forgiveness is offered out of sheer love, and allowing myself to just kind of revel in it, rather than make sense of it. There is no reason for it, no sense to it. He didn’t have to do it. He did it just because He wanted to, because He loves me. It’s not about me at all; it’s all about Him.

Perhaps that was the real mistake that the unforgiving debtor made: maybe he never really acknowledged the love that was at the heart of the master’s forgiveness. Probably he convinced himself he had it coming, somehow — that it was unfair for the master to expect him to pay off his debt. Maybe he resented him, and persuaded himself that it was the least he could do.  Isn’t this how we sometimes act when people are very good to us? We twist it around in our heads until their generosity not only seems fair, but the very least we can expect, rather than unfathomably more than we have any right to even hope for.

Little wonder that, even after receiving mercy, this servant was unable to find it in his heart to forgive his fellow servant even a small debt. He couldn’t find mercy in his heart because he hadn’t ever really let it in to his heart.

Okay, now let’s return to scripture. Notice that it says, “That’s what my heavenly Father will do to you if you refuse to forgive your brothers and sisters from your heart.” (Emphasis is mine.) I think that was the problem all along. The servant couldn’t pass on forgiveness because he hadn’t received forgiveness into his heart.

Oh, the heart. 

Mercy and forgiveness flow both ways because that’s how living things operate. We breathe in and out. Our heart has veins and arteries, and the blood flows through the chambers both ways. One way isn’t enough. It would be absurd to imagine that we could be healthy if we inhaled as much as we liked, but never exhaled. We wouldn’t be pleased if our heart did a great job of pumping blood in, but couldn’t let any blood out. It’s not that we’re trying to be fair; it’s just how we’re designed. It’s how living things operate. We’re not dead ends; we’re a series of systems that ebb and flow, cycle, and exchange. This is what it means to be alive.

And this is what it means to forgive: first, to accept forgiveness for what it truly is. It seems like bestowing mercy would be the hard part, but maybe receiving mercy is where we need to start. Next time, I’d like to talk more about what that actually looks like, and why it’s so hard.

***
Photo: The Sacred Heart of Jesus by Tony Alter via Flickr (Creative Commons)

Do you suffer from scruples like Kanye suffers from shyness?

Last week, I wrote a bit about scruples and how to recover from them. One reader responded:

While appreciating your exposition on scrupulosity, I dare say that the real problem among the faithful is a lack of scruples …

As a Convert from Protestantism, it is easy to see this embrace of the heretical Protestant beliefs in the total depravity of man (therefore don’t worry so much about sin – Hello, Year of Mercy) and that of “Once Saved Always Saved; I’m hearing these errors and those like them from Catholics all the time.

Many more Souls are in danger for the lack of scruples than are from an excess of scruples; so why so much in so many venues about too much concern for sinfulness when there is obviously too little?

Another reader agreed, saying:

Yup. I don’t see much of that either. A few scruples & a little fear of God would go a long way.

Do they have a point? It does seem a bit odd to write about how to recover from a crippling sense of sinfulness when, well, look at us. Look at the world. Civilization as a whole is suffering from scruples in the same way that Kanye West is suffering from shyness.

Part of the problem is that there is a specific spiritual meaning for the word scruples, and then there is a more general meaning. In general, in secular usage, having “scruples” just means having some hesitation before doing something that you think might be wrong. It means being careful and prudent, thorough and meticulous, and not letting yourself off the hook. And yes, many of us could use a bit more of that.

But scruples in a Catholic context isn’t just about being cautious. It’s not an antidote to laxness, and it’s definitely not a movement toward God in any way. It’s simply another kind of sickness, just like laxity — another tool that the devil is happy to use to pry us apart from our Savior. There is nothing extra-holy about being scrupulous, nothing super-Catholic. It’s a perversion, and should never be encouraged or lauded. It’s not seeing with extra sharpness; it’s just another kind of blindness.

Yet a third reader responded with a comment that deserves some attention:

This may sound a bit strange, but I think that scrupulosity and the apparent loss of scruples are both symptoms of failing see the love and mercy of God  … Knowing God’s mercy does not mean that we will sin more, it means that we can safely acknowledge our sins and find forgiveness.

I’d like to especially emphasize that last part: “Knowing God’s mercy does not mean that we will sin more, it means that we can safely acknowledge our sins and find forgiveness.” Scruples — and wishing for more scruples in others — is not a sign that we understand sin or forgiveness, or that we see things especially clearly. It’s a sign that we don’t trust God. It’s as if we believe that, in order to accept mercy and forgiveness, we have to already do the work ourselves — to perform surgery on our own bodies, and present the diseased tissue to God, already excised and packaged, just waiting for Him to sign off on the fact that, yes, it was malignant and needed to go.

When we believe in scruples, we think we need to do the work ourselves. We reduce forgiveness, and God Himself, to a rubber stamp. “MERCY” [whomp]

But mercy isn’t the fee that God is contractually obligated to pay to us after we submit an invoice for our sin in the confessional. Mercy is, itself, the transformational work. Mercy opens our eyes for the first time. Mercy is diagnosis and treatment and good health. It is bigger than we can imagine. It grows. It makes us grow. It simultaneously reveals the true horror of our sin and shows us how empty and powerless that sin is. That’s the full picture that we’re missing, whether we’re lax or scrupulous: sin is horrible, and sin is eminently conquerable.

In a way, the first commenter is right: the Year of Mercy does tell us “don’t worry so much about sin.” But he’s wrong if he thinks that mercy means “go ahead and keep on sinning, because there’s always mercy.” Instead, the penitent who brings even his paltry, imperfect regrets to the divine surgeon will come out the other side worrying less about sin — not because it’s no big deal, but because God is so much bigger. So much bigger.

When we accept mercy, that means that we are ready for God to do whatever He wants . . . even if it’s better than we think we deserve. We are all the man born blind. We know we’d like to see, but we don’t even know what that means, until here comes Christ. What do you think the man born blind saw first, when his eyes were opened? Surely it was the face of Christ. There is nothing else worth seeing.

***

Image: Christ and the pauper. Healing of the blind man. 2009. Canvas, oil. 100 x 55. Artist A.N. Mironov

 

What’s for supper? Vol. 29: Perfect Matzoh Balls and Black Jeddy Beans

There will be no April Fool’s Day jokes in this post. Mama too tired.

The week after Easter is probably the weirdest culinary week in our household, unless maybe the week after I have a baby. On Holy Saturday we have our Passover seder, and then we eat the leftovers mixed with whatever food I can scrounge up after having no time to shop because of the seder and Easter. There is, of course, candy debris all over the place, and the fridge is utterly crammed with hard boiled eggs that nobody wants.

I kept forgetting to take pictures, too, and every few hours, Benny feels the need to remind me with the blazing opprobrium of a four-year-old, “You and Daddy ac-ci-den-tal-ly put black jeddy beans in my baksket, but I don’t like black jeddy beans, so next year you won’t put black jeddy beans in my baksket!”

[img attachment=”97255″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”benny easter basket” /]

You know, I kind of regret what I said about gentiles celebrating Passover. First of all, it’s not in line with what the USCCB says:

A. Many Christians are given the opportunity to participate in a Passover Seder during Holy Week.”This practice can have educational and spiritual value. It is wrong, however, to “baptize” the Seder by ending it with New Testament readings about the Last Supper or, worse, turn it into a prologue to the Eucharist. Such mergings distort both traditions.” Ideally, then, Christians who wish to attend a Passover Seder should do so at the invitation of Jewish friends, families or synagogues that often welcome guests to this important meal. This allows Christians to experience the Seder as a Jewish family liturgy, still deeply meaningful to Jews everywhere. However, in the event that Christians celebrate the Seder alone, the following advice should prove useful:

“When Christians celebrate this sacred feast among themselves, the rites of the haggadah for the Seder should be respected in all their integrity. The Seder . . . should be celebrated in a dignified manner and with sensitivity to those to whom the Seder truly belongs. The primary reason why Christians may celebrate the festival of Passover should be to acknowledge common roots in the history of salvation. Any sense of “restaging” the Last Supper of the Lord Jesus should be avoided…. The rites of the Triduum are the [Church’s] annual memorial of the events of Jesus’ dying and rising.” (God’s Mercy Endures Forever: Guidelines on the Presentation of Jews and Judaism in Catholic Preaching, no. 28)

I didn’t present my opinion as doctrine, but still, I try to listen to the bishops, and you should, too!
Second of all, I made it sound like I feel more strongly about it than I do. This is a pitfall of blogging every day: you get ahold of an idea and, in your zeal to express yourself clearly, you end up working yourself up into a vehemence that you don’t necessarily feel.

So if I caused you any distress, I do apologize. As long as you are discreet and respectful, I think there is a lot of wiggle room here.

We had a very lovely day with my parents and one of the kids’ friends.

[img attachment=”97252″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”seder” /]

My mother, who has Alzheimer’s, had a lucid moment as she was leaving, and said, “Your house is so little, but it . . . shimmers!” It was a day that shone, and not just because of all the chicken fat molecules suspended in the air.

[img attachment=”97253″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”seder dessert” /]

All right, so here’s what we ate:

SATURDAY

-Chicken soup with 94 matzoh balls
-3.5 lbs. Chopped liver
-2 jars Gefilte fish
-About four gallons of Charoset
-Roast Leg of Lamb 
-2 large roast Garlic Cinnamon Chicken 
-about a pint of horseradish
-Spinach pie

Dessert:
-2 large Lemon Sponge Cakes
-Assorted macaroons (store bought)
-Jelly fruit slices; chocolate-covered jelly rings 
-Almonds
-Chocolate-covered halvah
-About a cubic yard of Chocolate-covered caramel matzoh, which the kids eat like it’s offended them and needs to be punished with their teeth

You can find the recipes for all of these things here. Except I used the sponge cake recipe on the canister. It was a little simpler and turned out just fine. Having a silicone pan was very helpful, as this is a fragile cake. Someday, I will buy a bundt pan, but not until I get around to using my springform pan at least once!

Oh, this is the first year I’ve used a food processor for the chopped liver, rather than a manual meat grinder. WOW, what a difference. It was like velvet. Liver-y, oniony velvet.

Also, my father brought Blackberry Mansichewitz, rather than grape, and guess what? It tasted good! A Passover miracle.

This year’s matzoh balls were perfect. Just perfect. Big and light and fluffy, every one. I’m very proud of myself.

[img attachment=”97260″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”matzoh balls cooking 2″ /]

I’m also proud of how much not-yelling I did while cooking. I made the matzoh balls in the morning, rather than cooking them ahead of time. I boiled them in plain water and then transferred them to the soup.

We also made the charoset on the same day:

[img attachment=”97257″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”sophia charoset” /]

SUNDAY
Seder leftovers, matzoh meal latkes, candy

The kids had their Easter baskets in the morning, then we went to Mass, and then we went to the playground. A sweet and happy day with my favorite people.

[img attachment=”97258″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Easter morning” /]

I went with the simplest possible latke recipe — just matzoh meal, water, eggs (of course eggs) and salt, fried up in oil. They were lovely.

Oh, and Damien made homemade waffles for lunch. I forgot how much better they are than frozen!

[img attachment=”97254″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”corrie waffles” /]

MONDAY
Frozen pizzas, candy

A.K.A. what I could grab quickly on the way home while the baby did her Tasmanian Devil routine.

TUESDAY
Hamburgers and chips

The kids were really craving something that wasn’t egg-based.

WEDNESDAY
Bangers and Mash

Mashed potatoes and sausages. I made some quick gravy using the drippings from the sausages. Tasty.

THURSDAY
Gochujang Bulgoki, white rice, roasted broccoli

Must order some more gochujang. I also used the food processor again, rather than slicing meat and veg forever and ever, and it turned out great. But man, that machine is violent. I’m used to the brisk and powerful but sort of poetic orbital motion of the standing mixer. The food processor is all business.

Sauce recipe:

5 generous Tbs gochujang
2 Tbs honey
2 tsp sugar
2 Tbs soy sauce
5 cloves minced garlic

and cooking instructions here.  I’m cheating with a picture I took last time:

[img attachment=”97249″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”korean plate” /]

Also *whispering so Korean grandmothers don’t hear*: I didn’t have any honey, so I used maple syrup, because it kind of looks like honey. And I skipped the carrots, and crushed the garlic instead of mincing it. And I used terrible American rice, and skipped the lettuce. IT STILL TASTED GOOD.

FRIDAY

I have no idea. The inside of my refrigerator makes me want to weep. I guess we could have matzoh brei! Okay, yes, this sounds like a plan. It may not have meat, but it’s definitely not penitential.

More edification than you can shake a shtick at

Is it Eastertide? Is it the springtime? Or is it the Zoloft finally kicking in? Either way, I’m having a terrible time buckling down and worrying about serious things, and look at the time! Let’s play a little game.

The rules are simple: Remove one letter from a famous movie title, and briefly describe the new plot. Here are a few of my favorites from last time:

Ear Window A Being John Malkovich-esque metathriller in which Alfred Hitchcock witnesses a murder after crawling inside Grace Kelly’s head through her ear

He Godfather  Tarzan must decide whether to resist his destiny as a mafia overlord

Even Samurai . . . get the blues

Star Was A melancholy rumination by Mark Hamill on the fleetness of fame

Full Meta Jacket  A tightly knit band of overeducated hipsters wear jackets printed with pictures of other jackets

Chintown A buddy action movie starring Jay Leno and Bruce Campbell

All Abut Eve Are women individuals, in command our destinies? Are we truly free of the ancient past? Or when it comes down to it, don’t we . . . all abut Eve?

STUPID, RIGHT? Dangerously stupid.

Okay, here are my new contributions:

Dadpool: We’re so, so tired of antiheros. Time for the greatest regular old hero of all: Dad. Get that man some sun block!

Fifty Shades of Ray: In no particular order, because I already got yelled at enough this week: Ray Charles, Ray Romano, Ray Liotta, and Ray Krok. That’s four. Thirty-six to go…

God’s Not Dad: In this inspiring Christian drama, a courageous young cult member finds the guts to speak truth to power and calls out his father as not, in fact, being the reincarnation of Zeus. More edification than you can shake a shtick at.

Aging Bull:  Ferdinand: The Latter Years. What happens when all the pretty ladies no throw no flowers no more?

EST Side Story: In this gritty daylight savings time-inspired reimagining of a classic, two star-crossed lovers come very close to dying tragically for love, but forget to reset their clocks to Eastern Standard Time, and miss the rumble altogether. Oogly-oo!

It’s a Wonderful Lie: Everyone would have been way better off if George Bailey had never been born, but his kind neighbors conspire to delude him into thinking he’s well-loved and productive.

Be-Hur: The Caitlyn Jenner story. Gladiator booooots, OMG!

Finding Emo: Is that an ocean, or are you just crying a million million billion billion tears?

To Ill A Mockingbird: You gotta fight . . . for your right . . . to nest in corncribs.

Good Ill Hunting: He’s the illest mathematician from here to Gardena!

The Best Ears of Our Lives: In this chatty, semifictionalized biopic sponsored by Q-Tip, Leonard Nimoy and Vincent Van Gogh wax nostalgic. HA.

Aws: When a gigantic great white shark begins to menace the small island community of Amity, a police chief, a marine scientist and a grizzled fisherman set out to conquer it . . .with an adorable army of feisty shih tzus! Aww.

The Eer Hunter: At this point, my daughter shouted, “They can’t all be about ears, Mama!” Fine.

All Quit on the Western Front: They were sick and tired of Judy’s nonsense, that’s why.

You can’t possibly do worse than that. Whatcha got?