By Chris Sparks
One of the greatest lessons I ever learned came through a homily at Mass. The celebrant, a man who’d helped transform an institution in the 70s from one sliding away from the living heart of the faith into one that was on fire with the Holy Spirit, talked about the process by which he’d brought the institution back to life. He said that the heart of his strategy was simply to direct resources towards orthodoxy. The orthodox parts of Catholic life would grow and flourish, eventually causing dissent to wither and die. Orthodoxy is alive. Orthodoxy is life-giving and a force for renewal. Orthodoxy will win.
It was a blessed lesson, one that I’m still learning.
I have to keep reminding myself that defending the faith barely scratches the surface of the Catholic life to which we are called.
It’s easy for me to slip into the mindset that we have to answer every challenger, reason with every critic, and seek at all costs to overcome the Church’s foes. I very easily slip into a guarding the ramparts kind of faith, one where I’m always looking over the walls of the Church at the enemy outside, trying desperately to return fire at the same pace as they’re firing at the Church. And of course, along with that comes the sense that if an attack is being made again, even though that charge has been answered by saints and scholars within the Church, well, then, there must be something wrong with the way our answer has been presented, or something we’ve overlooked, or … well, that somehow it’s our fault. I overlook that some answers are simply unwanted, that truth often is less appealing to people than desire, or convenience, or that sometimes, people have been so wounded by Catholics or by what they think is the faith that they simply can’t or won’t hear any answer.
The enemies of the Church and those who have left her often have real reasons for their enmity and their absence. After all, there are good arguments against faith, and real challenges to confidence in the Church. There have been real abuses of power perpetrated by Catholics at high levels of the Church.
But the faith is more than just her outermost walls. The faith is infinitely more than either our arguments in defense of her or our sins that have given scandal. The faith, ultimately, is true.
And so I am challenged to remember that a faith that only ever mans the ramparts isn’t true faith. It lacks hope and love. It’s a good recipe for wearing myself out.
One of the great graces for me of getting my master’s degree at Franciscan University of Steubenville was that I found myself in a place where I didn’t have to fight all the time, where the faith was not under attack. In fact, it was taken for granted — a foundation for all other intellectual work. And it was there that I discovered how vast and full the Church’s life and mind really are. After all, when you’re always pressed up against the outer walls of the Church, focused largely on the enemy, you don’t often see what all is in the heart of the Church. You don’t rest in the gardens and the rooms of the Church’s living Tradition, the incredible treasure houses and banqueting halls of Catholic life. You don’t remember that the survival of the Church doesn’t depend on you, but rather rests solidly on the immutable foundation of Christ, and the Rock on which He founded it. The Church needs our defense like God needs our defense — out of love, not out of desperation or the danger that some enemy may ever truly overcome either the Bridegroom or the Bride.
Indeed, once you turn away from the conflict and come into the inner life of the Church, it’s astonishing how quickly the noises of the battle fall away, and also how infinite and varied are the beauties within. What’s more, many souls spend their lives away from the cacophony of the battle of apologetics. There are members of the Church whose entire lives are centered, not around combatting the earthly enemies of the Church, but rather around prayer and around love.
Oh, no one entirely escapes the spiritual combat. No one is immune to conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil. But the point of the faith isn’t combat. The point of the faith is true love.
Because we love God, we love what He loves. Because of those loves, we find ourselves at odds with the devil, who hates what God loves. So the love and the combat are inseparable. But the combat must be entirely secondary to the love.
That lesson is profoundly present throughout the Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska. Saint Faustina’s outstanding characteristic is her love of Jesus, and her love for what Jesus loves. By the grace of the Divine Mercy, she knew and loved God from her youth. And because she loved God, she had enmity with the devil — and she won:
Jesus made known to me how very pleasing to Him were prayers of atonement. He said to me, “The prayer of a humble and loving soul disarms the anger of My Father and draws down an ocean of blessings.” After the adoration, half way to my cell, I was surrounded by a pack of huge black dogs who were jumping and howling and trying to tear me to pieces. I realized that they were not dogs, but demons. One of them spoke up in a rage, “Because you have snatched so many souls away from us this night, we will tear you to pieces.” I answered, “If that is the will of the most merciful God, tear me to pieces, for I have justly deserved it, because I am the most miserable of all sinners, and God is ever holy, just, and infinitely merciful.” To these words all the demons answered as one, “Let us flee, for she is not alone; the Almighty is with her!” And they vanished like dust, like the noise of the road, while I continued on my way to my cell undisturbed, finishing my Te Deum and pondering the infinite and unfathomable mercy of God (Diary, 320).
If we love God, we shall have victory over the world, the flesh, and the devil. If we put victory first, we shall have neither victory nor love of God.
“[S]eek first the kingdom [of God] and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides” (Mt 6:33). Our first priority isn’t triumphing over the enemies of the faith, or even of overcoming the world, the flesh, and the devil.
No. Our first priority is to love God. Every moment of our lives takes place because God loves and remembers us. Every instant of existence is essentially God saying, “I love you.” The created world, time itself — all of it is a word spoken to us, as Michael O’Brien explains so well through his novels. All of it is God’s revelation of His being and His love. The world is fallen; the message distorted, disrupted by sin, death, and hell. It can be easy to overlook, to fail to hear. But the devil can’t give life or create a good thing. He can only distort or use the things created by God. “The heavens declare the glory of God; / the firmament proclaims the works of his hands” (Ps 19:2).
All that exists is lovable, but it all must be loved rightly. God has first claim on our love, for He is the source of all other good and lovable things. Once He who is Love is first in our hearts, He who is Truth is first in our minds, and He who is Goodness is first in our souls, then we can approach everything else rightly. Then we can become a light to the nation, salt of the earth, a city set on a hill. And as we move more deeply into the heart of the Catholic faith, as we dwell in the mansions of the house of the Father, then we become ever better able to welcome the rest of the world into the sheltering embrace of the Church.
Jesus, I trust in You! Pray for me, that I may practice what I preach. I’ll pray for you.
Chris Sparks serves as senior book editor for the Marian Fathers. He is the author of the Marian Press book How Can You Still Be Catholic? 50 Answers to a Good Question.
{shopmercy-ad}
