Category: Behold Vancouver

What happens when a deep love for Scripture leads someone away from the Catholic Church—and then all the way back? 

In this powerful conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Jeff Cavins to explore his unexpected journey: from growing up Catholic, to becoming a Protestant pastor for over a decade, to discovering what he didn’t even realize was missing. 

Jeff shares how studying the Bible intensely led him to the Early Church Fathers, the Eucharist, apostolic authority, and ultimately back to the Church Christ founded. Along the way, they reflect on why so many Catholics feel like there’s “no place” for their hunger for Scripture—and why that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff and Fr. Mike also reflect on how five years later, the Bible in a Year continues to bear fruit.

What happens when a deep love for Scripture leads someone away from the Catholic Church—and then all the way back? 

In this powerful conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Jeff Cavins to explore his unexpected journey: from growing up Catholic, to becoming a Protestant pastor for over a decade, to discovering what he didn’t even realize was missing. 

Jeff shares how studying the Bible intensely led him to the Early Church Fathers, the Eucharist, apostolic authority, and ultimately back to the Church Christ founded. Along the way, they reflect on why so many Catholics feel like there’s “no place” for their hunger for Scripture—and why that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff and Fr. Mike also reflect on how five years later, the Bible in a Year continues to bear fruit.

We shouldn’t “waste” doubt. Our faith needs it. “Doubting” Thomas the Apostle can teach us plenty then.

Each year on Divine Mercy Sunday — the 2nd Sunday of Easter — the Gospel for Mass is the story of “doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-20, 24-29).

But what is the connection between mercy and doubt? The Letter of Jude instructs us: Keep yourselves in the love of God as you await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt (Jude 1:21-22).

The miracle of mercy

Thomas was the Apostle who, the night before Jesus died, openly lamented, Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). 

In Caravaggio’s depiction, we have no clue where the scene is taking place. The artist forgoes any sort of setting, and resorts to a bare, dark background. The blackness acts almost as another character: It represents the inky darkness of doubt in which Thomas dwells — his lonely, lightless impenetrability. Impenetrability is keeping our self all closed up, resistant, not letting ourself be touched. Impenetrability is refusing to let ourself be struck by even the most marvelous, beautiful thing that is there right in front of us. 

Thank God for something greater than our impenetrability, namely, the Presence of Jesus Christ that never fails to come to us, as Jesus does to Thomas in this painting.

Evil can be overcome if we open ourselves to the love of God to the point of contempt of self. This is the fruit of Divine Mercy. In Jesus Christ, God bends down over man to hold out a hand to him, to raise him up, and to help him continue his journey with renewed strength. 

And that is exactly what Caravaggio portrays in his painting. The Risen Jesus is bending down over Thomas, holding out his pierced hand to the Apostle, grasping his wrist and guiding Thomas’ pointed finger — dirty fingernails and all — into his open side. According to the theology of Caravaggio’s painting, there is a way to overcome our impenetrability to divine mercy: by personally penetrating Mercy Incarnate. 

We shouldn’t “waste” doubt. Our faith needs it. “Doubting” Thomas the Apostle can teach us plenty then.

Each year on Divine Mercy Sunday — the 2nd Sunday of Easter — the Gospel for Mass is the story of “doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-20, 24-29).

But what is the connection between mercy and doubt? The Letter of Jude instructs us: Keep yourselves in the love of God as you await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt (Jude 1:21-22).

The miracle of mercy

Thomas was the Apostle who, the night before Jesus died, openly lamented, Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). 

In Caravaggio’s depiction, we have no clue where the scene is taking place. The artist forgoes any sort of setting, and resorts to a bare, dark background. The blackness acts almost as another character: It represents the inky darkness of doubt in which Thomas dwells — his lonely, lightless impenetrability. Impenetrability is keeping our self all closed up, resistant, not letting ourself be touched. Impenetrability is refusing to let ourself be struck by even the most marvelous, beautiful thing that is there right in front of us. 

Thank God for something greater than our impenetrability, namely, the Presence of Jesus Christ that never fails to come to us, as Jesus does to Thomas in this painting.

Evil can be overcome if we open ourselves to the love of God to the point of contempt of self. This is the fruit of Divine Mercy. In Jesus Christ, God bends down over man to hold out a hand to him, to raise him up, and to help him continue his journey with renewed strength. 

And that is exactly what Caravaggio portrays in his painting. The Risen Jesus is bending down over Thomas, holding out his pierced hand to the Apostle, grasping his wrist and guiding Thomas’ pointed finger — dirty fingernails and all — into his open side. According to the theology of Caravaggio’s painting, there is a way to overcome our impenetrability to divine mercy: by personally penetrating Mercy Incarnate. 

He was a skeptic until Christ came, but there was one thing the Doubter didn’t lose faith in — and that saved him.

Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

—John 20:29

In those first days following the death and burial of Jesus, the Apostles were left adrift. After all, the One who had been their focus and point of reference through years of mission and service was gone. God had gone quiet, no longer speaking to them or guiding them. How could they make sense of everything that had happened to Jesus? Everything that had happened to them?

As their hopes crumbled around them, there was no escaping the darkness brought on by the Crucifixion. The disappointment and disillusionment of Good Friday had not yet been transformed into the light of Easter.

Then everything changed. But Thomas had been absent when Jesus first appeared to the Apostles on that first Easter Sunday. Should it be any wonder, then, that he would still be overwhelmed by Holy Saturday sadness?  And I don’t think it’s fair to fault Thomas for being skeptical at the stories of Mary Magdalene and others seeing Jesus. With these same themes in mind, Pope Francis has reflected, “Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us” (Homily for the Easter Vigil 2013).

Although Thomas did not initially believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he remained faithful to the call he had received from Jesus—the call to be a part of the community of the Apostles. While his doubts would not allow him to believe that the others had seen the Lord, Thomas never lost faith in their fraternity and it was ultimately in and through that community that Thomas finally encountered the Risen Christ.

In The Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen recalled that Didymus, the name of Thomas, means “twin” and that the Fathers of the Church had commented that all of us are “two people: a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.” And so, we might say that the Church is inviting us reflect not so much on “Doubting Thomas” as on the living and dynamic faith of the community—the Church—of which Thomas was a part.

He was a skeptic until Christ came, but there was one thing the Doubter didn’t lose faith in — and that saved him.

Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

—John 20:29

In those first days following the death and burial of Jesus, the Apostles were left adrift. After all, the One who had been their focus and point of reference through years of mission and service was gone. God had gone quiet, no longer speaking to them or guiding them. How could they make sense of everything that had happened to Jesus? Everything that had happened to them?

As their hopes crumbled around them, there was no escaping the darkness brought on by the Crucifixion. The disappointment and disillusionment of Good Friday had not yet been transformed into the light of Easter.

Then everything changed. But Thomas had been absent when Jesus first appeared to the Apostles on that first Easter Sunday. Should it be any wonder, then, that he would still be overwhelmed by Holy Saturday sadness?  And I don’t think it’s fair to fault Thomas for being skeptical at the stories of Mary Magdalene and others seeing Jesus. With these same themes in mind, Pope Francis has reflected, “Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us” (Homily for the Easter Vigil 2013).

Although Thomas did not initially believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he remained faithful to the call he had received from Jesus—the call to be a part of the community of the Apostles. While his doubts would not allow him to believe that the others had seen the Lord, Thomas never lost faith in their fraternity and it was ultimately in and through that community that Thomas finally encountered the Risen Christ.

In The Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen recalled that Didymus, the name of Thomas, means “twin” and that the Fathers of the Church had commented that all of us are “two people: a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.” And so, we might say that the Church is inviting us reflect not so much on “Doubting Thomas” as on the living and dynamic faith of the community—the Church—of which Thomas was a part.

Wait. What’s a sacramental?I have always been drawn to sacramentals. I keep on hand holy water, medals, and many Lents’ worth of palm branches, not to mention a drawer full of miscellaneous holy cards and third-class relics (some of which are blessed, though I’ve mostly forgotten which ones).

I often think to myself that it might help me to use them a bit more. But sometimes I worry about abusing them, falling into the error of treating them like good luck charms. I guess that despite my attraction to the idea of sacramentals, I have always been foggy on exactly what they are, and how they work.

So I poked around a bit and found out three things that took away my fears and cleared things up for me.

Sacramentals are more than just blessed objects

Religious (and sometimes ordinary) objects that have been blessed by a priest are sacramentals. But other things are too. A sacramental can be an action, time, place, or event — anything used by the Church to open us up to God’s grace. So, for example, fasting, genuflecting, or making the sign of the cross is a sacramental, as is a sacred place like the site of an approved Marian apparition. There are also blessings of the home or vehicles, or special blessings and objects associated with saints, such as the blessing of throats on St. Blase’s day, or St. Joseph’s table. Even Olympic sprinter Usain Bolt’s flying Miraculous Medal is a sacramental. Sacramentals are all around us.

Sacramentals get their power partly from your disposition

The seven sacraments don’t rely on your disposition to work. I can be a real jerk but still contract a true marriage. A priest’s ordination can be valid whether or not he is a holy man. A baptism can be performed on a small child unaware of what is happening. But with sacramentals, your disposition opens you up to the grace God wants to give. In this sense, using a sacramental is like praying. Just saying the words or going through the motions isn’t enough. Blessing yourself with holy water or genuflecting might not be a way to open yourself to grace, if you’re doing those acts unthinkingly, or with wrong intentions, just as saying the words of the Our Father doesn’t mean much if your heart isn’t lifted to God, however imperfectly.

Sacramentals also get their power from the prayers of the Church

But your disposition isn’t the only thing that counts. Using a sacramental unites your prayer—as flawed and weak and poor as it most certainly is—with the intercessory prayers of the universal Church, the Bride of Christ.

In chapter 20 of The Spiritual Combat, Lorenzo Scupoli addresses the harmful effects of sloth and offers guidance on how to combat it. Sloth is not merely physical idleness, but a deadly torpor of the soul that paralyzes spiritual growth, dulls discernment, and opens the heart to deception.

Scupoli points out that sloth is like a worm eating away at wood. The danger of sloth lies in silent and gradual decline—small delays, minor indulgences, and habitual postponements that lead to spiritual bondage. It attacks not only good intentions but also developed virtues. Left unchecked sloth can hollow out our spiritual life completely. However, armed with immediate action, true diligence, patient persistence, and the grace of God, we can fight this battle and win.

Scupoli counsels us to avoid curiosity, worldly attachments, and unnecessary occupations that feed distraction. He emphasizes the importance of immediate action (i.e. prompt and cheerful obedience to divine inspirations and the demands of duty) for delay makes tasks seem more burdensome over time. Sloth feeds on delay. The moment between inspiration and action is where spiritual battles are won or lost. Act immediately and you starve sloth of its power. Hesitate and you give it a foothold.

We must also watch out for false productivity. This is when we rush through our spiritual duties—racing through prayers, speeding through the Rosary, hurrying through Scripture reading—just to check them off our list and get back to what we really want to do.

This isn’t true diligence; it’s sloth wearing a mask. True diligence consists in performing each task at its proper time with full attention. Real spiritual practice requires presence, attention, and a willing heart. It is better to pray one decade of the Rosary with full devotion than to recite an entire Rosary while mentally planning your day.

To reawaken zeal, Scupoli exhorts us to remember the immense value of every act done for God—even a single prayer or act of self-denial outweighs the world’s treasures. Each victory over laziness brings heavenly reward, while habitual neglect leads to withdrawal of divine grace.

One of sloth’s most effective lies is making tasks seem overwhelming. The ancient spiritual masters knew the antidote: break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces – break long prayers or labours into short periods until strength returns; rest briefly when overwhelmed, then resume the task steadily. This gradual discipline weakens sloth and strengthens virtue. As one Desert Father wisely said: “The person who begins with small things will eventually accomplish great ones.”

Patient persistence is another key remedy against sloth. We must fight sloth with immediate, forceful action and yet we must also exercise patient trust in God’s slow work within us.

Is your faith certain enough to stand up against the doubts and different ideas out there? 

Fr. Mike shares insight about certainty from Dr. Montague Brown, professor of philosophy at St. Anselm College, New Hampshire. Dr. Brown says certainty is intellectual belief based on the evidence. It’s not blind belief. Someone with certainty is not going to change their mind without new objective evidence. Many times people change their minds not because of new evidence, but just because of new people in their lives. They’ve simply been exposed to new behavior. This happens to students in college quite often. 

Christianity is evidential. It hinges upon an indisputable event, the life and death of Jesus. 

If you’re from a small town, you may think the way you were raised is just part of your small town’s way of thinking, and that a well-known university in a big city must have a broader, more enlightened way of thinking. But really, the university is just as subject to its way of thinking as the small town is. The culture of a university is just as insulated as that of a small town. 

Don’t get so caught up in the culture around you that you give in to new ideas without evidence—whether that culture is a university, a new workplace, new friends, new family, or a new city. Let your faith always be backed up by the evidence. Fr. Mike is certain in his belief that Christianity will then always come out on top.

Why does life feel empty—even when everything seems “fine”? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz and Dr. Arthur Brooks explore why modern life leaves so many people restless, anxious, and disconnected. From neuroscience to faith, they reveal why pleasure isn’t happiness, why technology can’t give us meaning, and how returning to God may be the only way out of the Matrix. 

If you’ve been searching for purpose, this conversation will change the way you see happiness—and your life.