Suffering

 

It’s been said that if you ask the wrong questions, you’ll get the wrong answers – not wrong in the sense of answering the faulty questions, but in the sense of addressing the situation you’re questioning. The truth of this old axiom can be clearly seen these days in the questions asked and the answers offered regarding human suffering and God’s power, or goodness, or love. “If God’s so loving, why did He let our grandchild die?” “If God’s so powerful, why didn’t He stop that terrorist attack (or whatever catastrophe)?” For many in our slogan-saturated society, these questions (and their implied answer: “He isn’t”) are the discussion-stoppers, the ace of trump thrown down in defiance to any claim of God’s love or goodness.

In his book Suffering – What Every Catholic Should Know, Mark Giszczak begins the discussion by straightening out the questions. “Questions” that are actually rationalizations, or expressions of pride, or whatever, don’t actually answer the universal human reality of suffering – they just paper over it, leaving those who cling to them still hurting with no solution. Drawing on Scripture, centuries of Christian devotional wisdom, and human experience, Giszczak begins by framing the right questions, then carefully and thoroughly answering them.

The keynote to the whole work is finding meaning in suffering. Even basic human experience tells us that suffering that has meaning is more bearable. From the athlete training for the big event to a wife who learns that her firefighter husband perished while ensuring some children were rescued, we instinctively grasp that it isn’t suffering per se that is difficult to bear, but senseless suffering. I remember this clearly in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks: people were not so much angry or vengeful as they were stunned and bewildered. The attacks were incomprehensible, they made no sense. Why would anyone do such a thing? This touches on the deeper question of whether suffering can ever have any meaning, and this is Giszczak's point of departure.

From a scholar like Giszczak, you would expect well-reasoned and theologically sound answers, and he does not disappoint. What you might not expect is a realistic and sensitive treatment of the hard and often bitter reality of suffering, but he provides that as well. He does not offer abstract solutions to the knotty equation of human pain, but rather speaks from his own life experience and that of others. His examples are drawn from everyday life, things to which we can all relate. His advice is gentle and sympathetic, yet also challenging.

Another thing you might not expect from a book on suffering is assistance in deepening your devotion, but that’s exactly what I found. As I better understood how Jesus enters into our suffering, I found myself drawing closer to Him. I even found myself going to confession after reading about how poor responses to suffering can be nothing more than expressions of ego. Of course, this stands to reason – if the wrong questions and answers regarding suffering can hinder our devotion, the correct ones can aid it.

Atop all these virtues, the work is extremely accessible. Nearly anyone could read this book and benefit from it. To me, this has always been the mark of true genius: not the ability to explain a subtle concept to another genius, but to explain it to the school janitor. Giszczak manages this deftly.

Suffering doesn’t give glib, facile answers to the problem of human pain, because the topic cannot be answered that way. The reality of evil and the consequent suffering is far too complex and personal. The fact that God Himself came down in person to walk beside us, and indeed enter into our suffering, should amply indicate that the problem will admit no simple solutions. But that very fact is what provides meaning, even redemption, to our suffering. Mark Giszczak does a thorough and admirable job of explaining how to better grasp that truth.

https://ignatius.com/suffering-sfwckp/

Seeing Red

T.M. Doran’s latest novel, Seeing Red, is his first foray into the dystopian/alternative history genre. He’s proven with prior works such as Iota and Toward the Gleam that he can create deep characters and tense plot lines, so I was eager to see what he could do in this setting. Full disclosure: I had an opportunity to read an earlier version of this story in manuscript form when Tom sent it to me for some author-to-author critique. I’m glad he kept working on the manuscript and wanted to see how the final product turned out.

If the book seems to read like a Twilight Zone episode, that’s because it is, among other things, a tribute story that pays homage to screen greats Alfred Hitchcock and Rod Serling, both of whom appear in the story under thin disguise. Those of us who remember The Twilight Zone can also recall how the episodes could sometimes cause viewers to furrow their brow as the story line forced them to look at events from a new angle, or consider things they’d never considered before. Seeing Red contains echoes of this perspective-jolting tendency. It doesn’t fit tidily into typical assumptions; indeed, it isn’t intended to.

For screenwriter Castro Hume, the glow of his sole Academy Award has long since faded, and he’s been reduced by time and alcohol to living in a shabby LA apartment, trying to get screenwriting lightning to strike twice. The first strike five years earlier had been impressive – he’d turned a popular novel into a screenplay for a photoplay directed by the renowned Alfred Cooperwasser. The play had been shot on a set that was essentially a reconstruction of the main town of the novel, which had been constructed in the middle of the woods in rural Michigan. In desperate hope of reacquiring his creative spark, and to evoke better times, Castor decides to visit the still-standing set, which has become a minor tourist attraction in the economically strapped region. There he meets Jeff Clement, caretaker of the site and de facto tour guide.

Through a series of mishaps, Castro discovers that things on the aging set are more complicated than a casual tour would indicate, and Clement has more going on than just maintaining the site. The set buildings, being well off the beaten track, have become a haven for fugitive Red Cards. These are social outcasts with either congenital or incurable medical conditions. They are hiding from the Social Security Bureau, a government agency whose job it is to ensure that precious resources aren’t wasted on those who cannot contribute anything to society at large, and especially to the elite White Cards, a privileged class who get the best of everything. There are only a handful of Red Cards secreted on the set, and it is challenge enough to keep them hidden and provided for. Discovery by random visitors is one of their worst nightmares.

But Castro is sympathetic to their plight, and is drawn into their struggle for survival. He ends up helping with a variety of things, such as smuggling one of the Red Cards to Detroit for treatment by an underground medical practitioner. He runs afoul of an SSB raiding party who have strong suspicions about what the set is being used for. He returns to Hollywood, where he tries to use his talents and connections to generate sympathy, if not outright assistance, for the Red Cards.

Without unpacking the entire story, suffice it to say that there are plenty of twists and turns, as well as a bit of skullduggery, which is one of Doran’s specialties. One thing gratifying about the story is that it doesn’t overreach. Nearly washed-up screenwriter Castro Hume doesn’t burst from obscurity to topple the Evil Bureaucracy, save the endangered Red Cards, and restore a Just Social Order. What he does is turn a corner, both personally and publicly. Others are encouraged to stand up and speak out. Risks are taken and hope is kindled, but no outcome is guaranteed. Just like life.

Those who appreciate subtle thrillers will find much to enjoy in Seeing Red. If the work has a weakness, it is occasional obscurity. Doran is a subtle writer, often resorting to hints and allusions, leaving his readers to fill in the gaps. But this means that if you don’t catch the hint or grasp the allusion, you could be left befuddled, at least for a while.

But these are minor matters. If speculative thrillers are your style, and especially if you’ve enjoyed Doran’s previous efforts, you’ll appreciate Seeing Red.

My Family and Other Skaters

 I’ve long admired writers like L.M. Montgomery and Jan Karon for their ability to describe what I call the Adventure of Everyday Life. In their writing about ordinary people in everyday life circumstances, they’re able to unveil the reality that there are no ordinary people, and everyday life offers opportunities for us all to respond well or poorly to the chance to grow in grace and charity. Novelist Fiorella de Maria can be added to that list with her newest novel My Family and Other Skaters. Though released as a work for youth, this story can be enjoyed by all ages, and especially by those who appreciate the Adventure of Everyday Life.

de Maria is an experienced novelist who has written in a variety of genres. She’s no stranger to stories with sober, even heavy themes. This is her first foray into youth fiction, and in the judgment of this fellow author, it’s a smashing success. The protagonist is Rosaria, or Rose (though occasionally known to friends and siblings as “Rosie Rose!”), who is eleven and lives in a ramshackle mansion with her parents, five siblings, a St. Bernard, a pet alpaca named Paddington (yes, there’s a story there), and a yard full of chickens. The most important thing about the house is that it’s a two minute walk to the town ice rink, because the whole family is deeply into – and I mean deeply into – figure skating. Rosaria caught the skating bug from watching a Torvil and Dean performance, and proceeded to infect the entire family, from her older brother Hugo down to her three-year-old twin sisters. Skating and rink life are the activity center of this bustling family, though the bustle is only made possible by the rock-solid foundation of faith and family commitment, which is low-key and understated.

There’s no Big Plot to the story, in the sense of major crises or dramatic life upheavals. What occur are a series of what some might call minor incidents, such as when the family of Rose’s good friend Giuliana, who is also Hugo’s skating partner, decide to move back to Italy. Or when Rose’s mother decides to leverage her kitchen skills and proximity to the rink to open a cottage industry catering to hungry skating parents. Or when a homeless veteran needs a place for Christmas dinner. What happens is ordinary life, viewed through the eyes of a vivacious, effervescent eleven year old who love skating, her family, and pretty much everything else. What’s so charming is that de Maria brings the reader into the center of all that everyday richness, so you can live it alongside Rose, her friends, and her family.

In a world that’s getting jaded with the antics of even superheroes (“No, we’re not just saving the world! This time...this time we’re saving the entire universe! Really!”), we need stories that restore our perspective. Authors and screenwriters are trying to provide the next Jack Reacher or John Wick, but I think we need someone who can bring out the adventure provided by a snow day. de Maria delivers this in a refreshing and wholesome story that is well written while avoiding simple sentimentality. My only dispute is that the story is offered as being for youth. While I’ll be certain to order copies for my granddaughters, I contend that anyone who loves to visit places like Avonlea and Mitford will love Skaters as well.

As an author myself, it’s always delightful to see another author strike a rich creative vein, one that brings out their artistic best. For all de Maria’s prior accomplishments, I think My Family and Other Skaters shows her at her finest. I can only hope that this is the first in a string of stories about Rosaria and her wonderful family.

Leonore's Suite

 

Leonore’s Suite is a work that probably won’t get the attention it deserves, which is a shame, because it is a fascinating, well-written story that sheds light on an almost unknown facet of the Second World War: the internment of civilian Allied citizens by Japanese forces in the occupied Philippines. (This reviewer, who has studied that conflict his entire life, had no idea this had taken place.) Mary Beth Klee closely bases her novel on the reminiscences of her mother, Leonore (Lee) Iserson Klee, who spent three and a half years of her teen years imprisoned in the Santo Tomas camp in Manila. This story is both an illuminating picture of actual life in a prisoner of war camp as well as a relatable coming-of-age story of Lee, her friends, and their families.

Klee is a superb storyteller, drawing the reader into Lee’s life and trials from her perspective. Told in the first person, the story brings to life accounts provided by Lee herself to her children. A novelization of the true events was a good choice on Klee’s part, enabling her to hew to the foundational actual events while adding details that bring the characters to vivid life. This technique reminded me of how Rose Wilder encouraged her mother Laura Ingalls Wilder to write down her memories of her frontier childhood, thus creating the classic Little House books. Klee accomplishes a similar feat with Leonore’s Suite, bringing her readers into the harsh reality of POW life that gets more brutal as the months of captivity stretch into years. It is hard to remain dispassionate while reading this book – such is the quality of Klee’s storytelling that the reader is drawn into the prisoner’s experiences, walking beside them as their conditions become increasingly desperate.

Yet all is not desperation. There are trials and struggles, but there is also faith, hope, and resilient human spirits. Nothing was easy in the prison camp, and that reality comes through in the story. Ultimately, the story is uplifting, not because Lee or her daughter are Pollyannas, but because real endurance ultimately triumphs over evil. For me, Leonore’s Suite provided a refreshing and stabilizing reorientation to reality. In an age when social media posts can be called “aggression”, and unpleasant encounters at a supermarket can engender breathless online videos filled with huffing about “aggression”, it was grounding for me to read accounts of people who’d experienced actual aggression and oppression, and had ultimately responded with courage and nobility rather than petulance.

Leonore’s Suite takes the reader through the entire internment period, walking with the prisoners through the darkest years of the war to their ultimate liberation and return to America. It’s a long, gritty journey, but that’s part of the story – the reader endures alongside the characters the setbacks, hopes, disappointments, fears, and triumphs of the bitter imprisonment. The book is well worth the effort, and the reader will be rewarded by being reminded that the human spirit can aspire to, and achieve, nobility in even the worst circumstances.

Leonore's Suite can be found on Amazon.

The Reader Review Challenge

In some online circles I follow, there’s regular hand-wringing about the state of Christian fiction in general, and Catholic fiction in particular. Some pine for a “Catholic Literary Revival” – which, so far as I can tell, seems to be a wish that Graham Greene or Evelyn Waugh would rise from the grave and take up pen again. Others stand in such awe of the towering achievements of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis that they seem to await one or more successors, and will settle for nothing less. Others seem to await the next priest detective to pick up where Fr. Dowling left off, even as Fr. Dowling followed Fr. Brown. Still others seem content with “sanitized” romances, known in some circles as “bonnet fiction”, which simply retell the same set of stock plots with slight variations in locations and names, but always in either eras or locations where the morals are simpler and cleaner – which usually means either at least 100 years in the past, or in Amish country (or both).

As a Christian author with several books in print, I find this discussion a bit disheartening. I know I’ll never measure up to the standard set by a classic such as The Lord of the Rings, because nothing ever will. I’ll forever disappoint the Catholic Literature crowd, because I don’t write literature – I write stories. And I won’t scratch the nostalgic itch of some Catholic readers who long for nothing more than to return to the days when Fr. Scrimby minded his parish and solved the occasional mystery with the help of his grouchy but golden-hearted housekeeper, his multi-talented handyman, and the district detective. My stories tries to examine matters from new perspectives, be they Scriptural accounts, family relationships, or current social conditions. Not all of them explicitly involve clergy, and though I try t avoid writing morality tales with a “message”, I do try to follow the guidelines for good storytelling. I’m doing my best to improve the state of Christian fiction, and most people who’ve read my stories seem to think I’m doing a passable job of it.

I realize that my recent works are self-published, which puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to publicity. But, to be honest, neither publishing house I worked with did a stellar job of promoting my works. I understand this – fiction wasn’t what either one of them majored in – but it means that haven’t lost much by going the self-publishing route. I certainly try to ensure the quality of my books meets publishing house standards, both in content and presentation.

It boils down to is this: the best advertising is word of mouth – “buzz” in modern parlance. Even the publishing houses concede that one solid review, or a smattering of online enthusiasm, can have more impact than either print or online ads. Thus, I’d like to issue a challenge to my readers and followers: I’d like to send a copy of one of my books to anyone who will read it and write an honest review. Publishers commonly send out review copies to those who request them, so I’d like to try it as an author. The review can be an Amazon review or (even better) in an online space such as a blog or website. It doesn’t have to be a positive review, just an honest one. Here are the books I’m offering to send out:

The Accidental Marriage: my love story that’s not a romance. It’s a deeply personal story of the deep meaning of love, marriage, and humans helping one another.

From Afar: far and away the popular favorite, this is Scriptural fiction that reads like high fantasy, yet is firmly grounded in not only the brief account of the Magi found in the Gospel of Matthew, but in historical and astronomic research.

Under the Watchful Sky: the first book in the Watchful Sky series, this near-future dystopian novel examines where our society might be in another decade or so – and has proven alarmingly accurate since it was written ten years ago.

The Ghosts of Midgard Manor: though short stories aren’t as popular now as they once were, they are a good chance to get to know an author’s writing. Interestingly, this work was accepted by a major Catholic publishing house, and I signed a contract for it – they just never did anything with it, so I regained the rights and self-published.

Here’s the challenge: I’m willing to send out review copies of any one of the above books on a first come, first serve basis to the first ten readers willing to write a review. If you, or anyone you know (especially if that person is lamenting the state of Christian fiction), would be willing to accept this challenge, drop me an e-mail at PrinceOfTheWest@gmail.com, and I’ll mail you a review copy (sorry, international readers, I can only do this for U.S. addresses). All I ask is that you write an honest review and post it on at least Amazon, and any other online spots that you might control. You can get to the Amazon pages for the books from my author page. Only one book at a time, but if you finish one and want to try another, and I haven’t sent out all ten yet, send me another e-mail and we’ll see what I can do.

I’m doing my best to try to improve the state of Christian fiction. Maybe I’m not a good enough author for the task; if so, I can live with that. But I’d hate for people to bemoan that there are no good offerings when I know full well that there are several good authors out there just itching to be read. Whether that list includes me is for others to judge, but there are certainly candidates waiting to be given a chance.

Rushing to Judgment

The first post of the new year in this poor, neglected blog is going to be rather personal, touching on intimate matters in my second-most intimate relationship: my marriage. Be assured that I write with the full knowledge and approval of my beloved wife. It’s our hope that if this account of some of our struggles made known to everyone can help someone, it will be worth it.

Every couple brings complexities into their marriage, and where these complexities cause friction are found the greatest opportunities for both misunderstanding and growth as individuals and as a couple. This is challenging enough when one member’s complexities simply annoy the other member, but when both member’s quirks tend to amplify and exacerbate each other, matters can escalate to the point of toxicity. Let me give an example.

In the home I grew up in, voices were rarely raised, at least by the adults. Even discipline was attempted in a reasoned, controlled manner, to the degree that was possible in a house with seven children. But matters could never be controlled perfectly, which meant that if voices were raised, it meant that matters were approaching extremis – someone was in real trouble. Since there was a chance that someone would be me, I learned from an early age that when things got close to shouting, I should clam up and ease my way toward the nearest exit, so as to make myself scarce until the trouble had blown over.

My beloved was raised in a smaller family whose members had strong opinions and were not afraid to voice them however loudly. This was done (usually) without hostility (as opposed to my home, where a raised voice would have presumed hostility), and emphatic conversations were assumed to be a part of usual family discourse. However, another facet of that family environment was a lot of indirect, non-verbal communications, such as questions that were veiled accusations, or “innocent” comments which contained suggestions or inferences. Another common tactic was punishment by withdrawal of affection and attention. This wasn’t uncommon in earlier generations, but that didn’t make it easier for a confused child, already upset by being chastised for some offense, to be cut off from reassurance or comfort as part of the punishment. It could (and did) provoke emotional distress that approached desperation.

My beloved and I entered marriage unaware of the significance of such formative events in our respective upbringings. Had someone brought them up, we would have acknowledged that they’d happened, but we had no comprehension of how much and in what ways our personalities had been shaped by them, and how that formation would cause conflict in our marriage. In fact, it was only the problems triggered by those conflicts that would drive us to understand those influences clearly – and even then it would take several years and much difficult communication before we understood how the dynamics of how those weaknesses could feed on and amplify each other.

A typical cycle might unfold like this: most often the triggering cause would be fear (the usual suspect.) My beloved might fear the implications of something I did or said. This fear would drive her to express her opinion or objection in a raised voice, because in her experience, that was how you expressed that something really mattered to you.

But I would not receive the communication in that spirit. To my keenly attuned survival instincts, a raised voice signaled Big Trouble Ahead – things were teetering on the brink of calamity, and I’d better clam up, lie low, and make my escape as soon as I could. That pattern would dictate my response, in the hopes that whatever the actual topic was could be reapproached later, when things had calmed down a bit.

Unbeknownst to me, my beloved had some keenly attuned survival instincts of her own – the ones that had been formed in her childhood when affection had been withdrawn from her just when she’d needed it most – and my response was triggering those instincts. This would cause her to escalate her response in hopes of heading off what seemed to be a Dire Outcome in the making. She’d raise her voice yet more, and sometimes get physically expressive, striking a counter or clenching her fists or making some other display to try to connect with me before I withdrew even more.

My emotions knew nothing of her intents and motives. All they knew was that an already dicey situation seemed to be spiraling out of control, and the best I could hope for was to shut down and escape before things got worse. After all, my emotions told me, I must be the problem, so absenting myself must be the solution. I was oblivious to the fact that I was throwing gasoline onto an already blazing emotional fire. Neither of us were aware of the cyclical and mutually aggravating nature of our behavior in such situations – our responses were instinctive and unconsidered. It took a long time and many difficult discussions before we began to grasp all the factors which were contributing to these relational firestorms.

Any outsider observing these meltdowns would have thought we were abusing each other, apparently deliberately. That’s pretty much what it felt like from the inside, too – like we were being abused. For my part, I couldn’t comprehend why my beloved, who was unwaveringly polite to store cashiers and strove to put strangers at ease, would unleash on me tongue lashings of a severity that my worst offenses in childhood had never elicited. For her part, she couldn’t comprehend why her companion, who had vowed to stay by her through all trials, was emotionally withdrawing, leaving her to face her inner distress alone. From both of our perspectives, it looked like the other was deliberately initiating something to torment us – while we were just reflexively reacting according to long-learned behavior patterns.

I’m glad I wasn’t the kind of guy who had a gang of drinking buddies at the corner bar to whom I could flee with my troubles. I’m sure I could have made a case that I was being abused by my wife, and they would have received it sympathetically. After all, I was a responsible husband and father who paid the bills and helped around the house – what had I done to justify being yelled at like I was a scullery boy? (Not that she would have yelled at a scullery boy.) I didn’t deserve that treatment. For her part, she certainly could have found a circle of friends (or online acquaintances, had such things existed at the time) who would have affirmed her perception of my cruelty at “freezing her out” or “going away”, and how how I’d shut down communications just when things got difficult. Such outside reassurance would have helped neither of us with the actual problems, and could have hardened our internal convictions that the issue was solely with the other person.

The reality was much more complex, touching on some of the deepest weaknesses and needs in both our personalities. We were also under some severe external pressure during those years, and my beloved was in the first stages of chronic anxiety, something she still works to control. They were difficult years indeed, calling for a lot of prayer and patience with each other and with ourselves.

A major corner for me to turn wasn’t convincing my beloved how badly she was treating me, or how much she needed to change, but self awareness. My pattern of handling distressing personal encounters – clam up, lie low, get away – was totally unconscious on my part. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it, so how could I possibly understand how it was affecting my beloved? Communications with her helped me to grasp just how alarming it was for her to have the person she loved the most seek to withdraw just when she needed him. These realizations let to more communications, and deeper understanding of ourselves and each other.

I wish I could say that we’ve put all that behind us, but such deep-seated personality traits don’t uproot easily. Better understanding does lead to quicker resolution, and these days when we find ourselves falling into the familiar pattern, we more swiftly recognize that “here we go again”, which helps us to pull out sooner. What I want to emphasize is how much patience, trust, and perseverance it took to make headway on just this facet of our relationship (and believe me, there are others.) In today’s environment, where personal experience is deemed the final and ultimate authority (“Nobody can deny my experience!”), it would have been far too easy for me to rush to the conclusion that my beloved was an abusive person. After all, her treatment of me sure felt abusive, and I couldn’t see any wrong I had done her that justified that. She could have made the same case against me - how my treatment of her had distressed her beyond any reasonable limit, and how I’d made myself emotionally unavailable to her just when she’d needed it most. But, by the grace of God, we were both able to suspend judgment and keep communicating until we began to see that the circumstances were more complex than they appeared, and what looked (and felt) like abusive behavior was actually the interplay of defensive patterns we’d developed over the years.

I’m recounting this because I’ve known far too many marriages that have broken down because one or both parties have dug into their own perceptions (“What more do I need to know?”), shut down communications, and refused to grow in understanding themselves or their spouse. In some cases this has led to “ossified” marriages, where both parties participate in a superficial manner but give up on any deep personal intimacy. In other cases it’s led to shattered families, broken hearts, and relational damage that spans generations. Persistence, patience, prayer, charity, and giving the benefit of the doubt pay off. As one of my very wise daughters once commented about her marriage, “We’re in this together for the rest of our lives – we may as well figure out how to make it work.”

Beheading Hydra

“The poison was brewed in these West lands but it has spat itself everywhere by now. However far you went you would find the machines, the crowded cities, the empty thrones, the false writings, the barren beds: men maddened with false promises and soured with true miseries, worshipping the iron works of their own hands, cut off from Earth their mother and from the Father in Heaven. You might go East so far that East became West and you returned to Britain across the great Ocean, but even so you would not have come out anywhere into the light. The shadow of one dark wing is over all Tellus.”

C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength, “They Have Pulled Down Deep Heaven on Their Heads”

 

Beheading Hydra by Fr. Dwight Longenecker (Sophia Institute Press, August 2021) can be considered a companion volume to his Immortal Combat (Sophia Institute Press, May 2020), and I recommend they be read together to fully appreciate Fr. Dwight’s timely message. Honestly, the content of Hydra was more what I’d expected when I first read Combat, but the sequence of the two works is appropriate and complementary. A point I made in my review of Combat is even more applicable with Hydra: these are pastoral works, not primarily apologetic or catechetical. Fr. Dwight has the heart of a pastor. His concern is for human souls, he wants to see everyone safely home, and these books are an expression of his concern. Fr. Dwight does engage in some apologetics and catechesis, but as pastoral tools.

Immortal Combat primarily addresses sin at a personal level, exploring the trials and struggles we all face as fallen humans. In it, Fr. Dwight discusses some of the external, social manifestations of human sinfulness, but most of his focus is on helping each reader see how his own sin needs to be dealt with. This is why I suggest that Combat is a vital preface to Hydra, and that the works should be considered a unity.  To read Hydra by itself (or, for that matter, any of the array of socio-political commentary available from numerous sources,) would make it easier to think our problems were rooted in “Them Out There”, while Combat helps us to grasp that it’s primarily “Us In Here.”

That said, Beheading Hydra is a succinct and accessible survey of how human sin manifests itself in a society, especially when those constructing that society have cut themselves off from even the awareness God and divine revelation (as we see in post-modern Western culture.) He details how modern errors such as Materialism, Utilitarianism, Utopianism, and the like can be seen in the world around us, and what their dangers are. But rather than using theoretical abstractions, he uses examples such as popular music and toys to make his points. He discusses the characters who popularized these notions, such as Jeremy Bentham or Jean-Jacques Rousseau, but doesn’t leave the reader feeling like he needs a Masters in History or Philosophy. Fr. Dwight diligently connects the dots so the reader can see the foundational unity of the deception.

Having detailed the breadth of the problem, Fr. Dwight doesn’t leave us to despair in the face of this challenge, or merely strapping on our armor and weapons for a brave but ultimately futile battle against this foe. He lays out a plan for exterminating the rot and bringing renewal in the midst of this overwhelming decay. This plan turns out to be…the Gospel, as understood and lived by Christians since apostolic times, but expressed in a manner that makes it applicable to the problems detailed in the first half of the book. Taking the errors point-by-point, he explains how God’s people living in radical faith and obedience to the Gospel can undo the damage caused by these false teachings.

Here lies part of the vital tie-back to Immortal Combat: because the problem is rooted within each person, the solution must begin there. Only a disciplined, obedient army can triumph over such a dangerous foe, but obedient, disciplined armies are made up of obedient, disciplined soldiers. We cannot fight the hydra-headed errors of our times until we’ve engaged in our own immortal combat. It’s true that neither the internal battle nor the external one will be finished until the White Rider appears (see Revelation 19), but every generation must engage the foe of its time. Fr. Dwight’s pair of books offers keen insight and clear direction on how to execute that engagement in the circumstances we find ourselves in.

On useless vines

 

I’ve shared before about the lessons I’ve learned about discipleship from being an amateur vinedresser. This year I got another lesson, and a very timely one.

Our vines seemed to be doing well this year, almost flourishing (except on the side that is regrowing, but even that was doing well enough.) I noticed that some vines were intertwining among the forsythia that grows nearby, even extending through the pine that stands over by the road. The vine was reaching almost two stories up the branches! I’d known that the vines had grown wild around the property before we moved in, and figured that some roots had sprouted. I thought little about the rogue vines – I had no intention of trying to cultivate them.

When the clusters ripened on the tended vines, I was a bit surprised at how modest our harvest was. The grapes were all good, with little lost to mold or other damage, there were just fewer clusters than I’d expected. Even last year we’d been able to get three jam batches out of fewer vines; this year we just made two.  It was good jam, there just wasn’t as much as I’d been expecting.

It was when I was doing one of the last lawn mowings of the season that I almost tripped (literally) on the issue with the scant yield: a rather sizable stem shooting from the roots of my cultivated vines over into the base of the forsythia. I’m accustomed to roots and low-running stems around the base of the vines, but this seemed like a much longer stem. I examined the stem, and thought about how relatively few grapes I’d harvested, and considered how bountiful and flourishing those rogue vines were, and then went for my axe.

My vines had sprouted a fruitless offshoot that had gone mad all summer. It wasn’t the wild growth that was the problem, it was the fact that the wild growth had taken place at the expense of the crop. Those vines are cultivated and tended to produce fruit, not to grow as many leaves and stems as possible in the neighboring hedge. Water and nutrients that had been supposed to grow grapes had instead been wasted on useless growth. Of course, the vine can hardly be blamed – plants grow wherever and however they can – but I certainly learned a lesson, and will be much more vigilant about excess growth in the future.

But the incident made me mindful of Isaiah 5 – the song of the vineyard. The Master of the vineyard is no rookie like I am. He knows how to expertly watch and trim vines so there is no rogue growth. But we humans are not like vines – we have free will. If we choose to, we can send the “shoots” of our imagination, our resources, or effort off into fruitless realms, neglecting the fruit of good deeds and moral effort that is expected of us.  So, as I splintered the stem that had been feeding the wild vine growth, I wondered how much of my life is like that – parts of me sprouting off to do what I want to do, even thinking I’m doing well because Look At All My Leaves!, but totally missing what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. Where is the fruit of charity that the Father expects when He comes for His harvest? Will it be bountiful because I was diligent, or scant because I was distracted doing other things that I found more immediately rewarding?

I spotted the rogue vine today, withering among the forsythia branches. I had no sympathy for it – it had been worse than useless. But I also thought of John 15:2, and wondered what kind of branch I was, and would be judged to be.

Refusal to pray

 

About six or eight years ago, I remember being astonished and dismayed to learn that some of my fellow pro-life workers refused to pray for then-President Barack Obama. There weren’t many of them, but there were enough to leave me dumbfounded. These people were mostly devout Christians of various traditions, who were familiar enough with their Bibles to have come across 1 Timothy 2:1-2 (“I desire therefore, first of all, that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all men: for kings, and for all that are in high station: that we may lead a quiet and a peaceable life in all piety and chastity.”) The Holy Spirit speaking through St. Paul makes clear that prayer for those in positions of authority in government should be prayed for, which was why I included prayer for the president in my morning and evening prayers every day.

(Scott Olson/Getty Images)

But even beyond the Scriptural command, there is the issue of empathy. I disagreed with much of what President Obama stood for and most of his policies, but he was still a fellow human being in a position of tremendous responsibility and associated pressure. Regardless of how much or little I agreed with him, I wanted him to know God’s blessing and come to see His face for all eternity. And though most of my pro-life friends shared that viewpoint, the few who didn’t were distressing.

They were certain that they know all about Barack Obama. He was one of Them. He was one whose policies and appointments we were fighting (which was often true). He was the Enemy, not to be tolerated or accommodated in any way, even in prayer. Obama was evil, and there was even some question about whether he was the Antichrist himself. He opposed everything we stood for, and as such was outcast, wicked, and (essentially) beyond redemption.

What these people (again, a small but vociferous minority) had done was to start viewing the world through the lens of their politics – a very easy thing to fall into when you spend more time listening to cable news than immersing yourself in Scripture. They knew all about Obama, having been informed by their preferred news feeds and online columnists, and were convinced that he was not to be supported or favored in any way. They might have mouthed a cursory prayer (“We pray for all in civil authority…”), but they would not have prayed for President Obama by name, and certainly wouldn’t have truly intended God to bless him.

The most tragic thing about this situation was that these people didn’t realize the degree to which they were imperiling their souls. They were engaging in the very thing Jesus forbids in the Sermon on the Mount – i.e. judging the heart of another. While it is true that some of what Obama did and promoted could be rightly judged as opposed to God’s moral law, to extend that judgment to presume to know his motives and the state of his heart before God was to sit in the seat of God Himself – something that Jesus strictly forbid. Furthermore, to presume that Obama was beyond redemption, effectively damned already, was the highest kind of presumption.

What these people were forgetting was that when St. Paul wrote those instructions to Timothy, as well as verses like Romans 13:1, the “high authority” in question was the Roman emperor Nero. Yeah, him. If there was any party who did not deserve prayer by his actions and attitudes, it was Nero. Yet the Holy Spirit inspired St. Paul to write that anyway, and St. Timothy certainly obeyed, and Christians have been obeying ever since.

That’s the important thing. We live in contentious times, and judging the heart and motives of others is the stock in trade of much public commentary. These few people I mention had been so swayed by all they were taking in that it had eclipsed what the Lord had clearly instructed them to do. I took it as a reminder to me of where my primary responsibility lies, and to entrust all judgment to the Lord. What evil Obama has done, he will answer for – but the witness of Scripture is that I should be much more concerned about the evil I have done, and the answering I will do. In light of that, there should be nobody on the face of the earth I refuse to pray for.

Fr. Dwight Longenecker's Immortal Combat

Immortal Combat

Confronting the Heart of Darkness

Sophia Institute Press, Manchester, NH 2020

 

I’ve been familiar with Fr. Dwight Longenecker for several years. I enjoy his online columns and articles, finding him quick-witted and incisive in the style of C.S. Lewis and Peter Kreeft. Thus, I was excited to hear that he had a new book coming out, Immortal Combat. I ordered a copy as soon as I could, and eagerly awaited its arrival, even though I was a bit unclear as to the focus of the book. Would it be about spiritual warfare, or address the moral sickness which plagues our culture, or some other topic? Understandably, I was expecting something along the lines of what I’d seen in his columns.

When the book arrived, I found that it was not what I’d expected – but it turned out to be just what I needed. I had anticipated something catechetical or apologetic in tone, and while Immortal Combat contains elements of these, that is not its major focus. This is primarily a pastoral work. In it you meet not Fr. Longenecker the scholar or the articulate writer, but Fr. Dwight the pastor (though not without scholarship or articulation.) He follows in the tradition of priests like Bishop Fulton Sheen, whose pastoral heart showed through in every show and talk he made, despite being a prelate of the Church and a media sensation in his day. For me, this was the foremost attribute of Immortal Combat: it is pastoral, and I felt pastored as I read it.

What, then, is Immortal Combat about? Drawing on classical scholarship, theological training, and a lifetime of pastoral experience, Fr. Dwight lays bare the root of the world’s problems, which is precisely what G.K. Chesterton identified: myself. Me. Us. Using images and stories from sources as diverse as classical mythology and modern movies, Fr. Dwight illustrates our condition: the monsters that lurk beneath our personalities and the toxic, destructive ways in which they manifest themselves. He draws on divine revelation to explain how we got where we are, what it means to have a sin-damaged nature, and the implications of having an ancient enemy prowling around. From images such as the Minotaur, Cerberus, and the Gorgons, Fr. Dwight makes clear that the problem is as universal as it is hideous. While reading these grim descriptions, I found myself saying things like, “That’s me! He’s describing me!” and “I do that all the time.” Furthermore, Fr. Dwight doesn’t write from a position of academic detachment – he puts himself squarely in the middle of the circumstances he describes. It isn’t “They” who have these problems, or even “You”, it’s “We” – all of us, every Son of Adam and Daughter of Eve.

But Fr. Dwight doesn’t leave us as hopeless sinners in the hands of an Angry God. We may be tainted but we are dearly loved. Again making use of imagery from tales ancient and modern, he presents the story of salvation in a fresh light. Using an imaginative style reminiscent of Bunyan and Lewis, he sets the tale of redemption against the dark background of the opening chapters, so we can see the reality in sharper contrast. It turns out I’m not Nice. I am a Bad Person. I’m as much in need of salvation as that pimp or cartel hit man or abortionist. The root of my problem isn’t “Them”, it’s me. But I am not left forgotten or forsaken. The Secret Son, the Hidden Hero, comes for me. What He did for the Sin of the World, He can do for my personal sin – if I’ll cooperate. Fr. Dwight sites my primary battlefield right where it belongs: at the center of my will.  Before I can fight the dragons Out There, I must battle the monsters that lurk beneath the surface of my personality. I won’t do this alone, the Hero will assist me, but the fight is mine. Yes, I have the victory, but it’s victory amidst struggle as long as I draw breath. I am loved, but it’s up to me to not be a wandering sheep or a foolish virgin. Life is a battle that calls for constant vigilance.

Fr. Richard Neuhaus once defined optimism as a matter of optics, that is, what we choose to look at. Too often in our time and culture we think we’re being hopeful when actually we’re just being selective about what we’re viewing. “This will all pass and things will get back to normal.” “Our best days are ahead!” Fr. Dwight strips away our rose-colored glasses and forces us to gaze on the stinking sewers of our own sinful natures, not because he hates or wants to distress us, but because he loves. He’s like the doctor who must deliver the grim diagnosis. Once we understand our condition, the condition we all share, we’ll be able to truly cooperate with the treatment, and to explain it to others.

Fr. Dwight closes the book with some advice, based on his description of the problem and the solution. Most of these tips involve shifting our perspective on our own attitudes and motivations, but there are many practical hints as well. They reminded me of the principles I had to learn while living aboard ships, which weren’t there to bind or oppress me, but to keep me constantly aware that I was living in a different, and somewhat more precarious, environment than what I’d been accustomed to. Fr. Dwight is trying to warn us: given that the world isn’t what our senses and conditions would have us believe, we need to be aware of the peril and live accordingly.

From beginning to end, I found this book very pastoral. Yes, Fr. Dwight wants his readers to be educated and mentally agile, but mostly he wants them home. He has the heart of a shepherd who knows that there are hungry wolves and rocky gullies out there, and that sheep will wander. He wants everyone to make it safely home to the fold.  If he had time, he’d surely want to sit down with every one of his readers for spiritual counsel and prayer. Since that’s impossible, this book is the next best thing. It’s not only useful for our own spiritual nourishment, but also for giving to someone seeking answers. There are too many lost, despairing people out there who don’t know they need good news. Immortal Combat isn’t written in religious jargon, but uses themes and imagery common to all human experience. It’s a good book to give to a friend, even one who isn’t Christian, when you don’t know how to speak to their struggles.

Immortal Combat belongs on many bookshelves, probably including yours. I plan to order many copies to hand around, being sure to keep a copy nearby to review from time to time. The Lord has blessed His Church with many wise and experienced pastors like Fr. Dwight. We’re fools if we don’t avail ourselves of what they have to offer.