Category: Behold Vancouver

My get-up-and-go has got up and went!

Is that statement merely a joke, or a declaration of fatigue—or a sign of something worse, perhaps even deadly? In this second in a series of a renewed look at the seven deadly sins (part one is HERE), we’ll be looking at the sin with the unfortunate name of “sloth.”

“Sloth” suggests a lack of industriousness, a lack of “busy-ness.” Unfortunately, overemphasizing that aspect of this sin can mask today’s more common and deadly forms. Let’s replace “sloth” with the Greek term “acedia” meaning “lack of care.” We’ll see why in a moment.

I’ve observed students in the library, with their laptops lit up, their screens cluttered with various social media programs, some streaming videos, a game running, and maybe, just maybe, something school related. At the same time, they’ve got some form of audio stuffed into their ears. Their eyes and hands are on their phones. Somewhere nearby, there may be a textbook or school-related notebook. They’re very active, but little is getting done. They will leave the library tired, but with no sense of satisfaction, and little or nothing accomplished. They say that they’re “multi-tasking”; I say that they’re “multi-slacking.” Why do I describe such frenetic people as slackers? 

They’ve spent an enormous amount of energy doing lots of little things very briefly; they’ve scattered themselves widely even while sitting in one place; they’ve attended to little, and invested themselves in even less. They’ve accomplished nothing and worse than nothing. The most likely end result of all that time and energy spent is that they’ve further entrenched in themselves an addiction to electronic stimuli, while wasting precious resources and failing in their duties.

They view this dynamic as acceptable because they see it as inevitable—they just don’t see any other way of proceeding, and they have a lack of care—acedia—for their duties as students. This dynamic is not unique to students; workers of every kind, and even vowed religious (who should certainly know better!) cultivate this restless and fruitless way of proceeding. What’s the spiritual import of all this?

Acedia, according to Aquinas, is a kind of sadness, “a species of sadness according to the world.” I describe it as an interior sulky whining and pouting because doing the right thing (including doing one’s duty) is often hard, often quite unglamorous, and, very often, not immediately fulfilling or stimulating. Typically understood, sloth is what prompts us to hit the snooze button repeatedly, or, worse, prompts us to refuse to get out of bed at all. But the restless, fidgety “multi-slacking” I described above is also acedia according to Aquinas, because one sets one’s energy on the trivial, rather than on the more demanding (and more rewarding) spiritual goods.

The period of engagement is an exciting time for young Catholic couples. The planning of the upcoming wedding is paired with endless anticipation for how wonderful married life together will be and a slew of celebrations to bolster support for the soon-to-be-married among the broader community.

Imagine my chagrin then, when my parents insisted that my (then) fiancée and I take what was certain to be an exceedingly boring course before we got married called “Financial Peace University.”

We watched 60-minute videos about emergency funds and investments. Not exactly riveting material.

My wife to this day maintains that the course had its fair share of mind-numbing moments. Still, both of us cannot deny that taking the time to learn about budgeting and wise stewardship of our finances along Biblical lines has had an outsized impact on our marriage.

It’s not a secret that one of the more common causes of divorce is financial issues and this makes sense. How to spend money (or perhaps more commonly, what to do when there’s not enough) can easily become a topic of contentious debate. 

When my wife and I first got married, we were both working as part time baristas at Starbucks. While we both were fortunate to upgrade our careers fairly quickly, we’ve never made that much more than we need to get by. Still, the habit of keeping a monthly budget together has helped us to stay out of debt through the entirety of our married life, handle a lay-off and subsequent move across the country, and give generously to the needs of the Church and our community.

Budgeting may not come naturally to some (it certainly didn’t to either of us) but having a plan for our finances helps us to stay on the same page and feel as though we are working towards the same goals with our money. I tend to be a bit of a “free spirit” when it comes to money (in other words, without discipline money doesn’t stay in my bank account for very long), while my wife can be so thrifty that she avoids buying things she needs or really wants. 

When these attributes of ours come into conflict with each other, it creates the opportunity for us to share openly and honestly about our desires and fears around money and the life we want. Instead of seeing these conflicts as hindrances, we try to use them as an opportunity to show empathy and then to gently and lovingly encourage the other person to grow. Making and sticking to a budget has helped the both of us to not only reach a more moderate place with our finances but also to deepen our unity.

The Ten Commandments tell us to “honor thy mother and father”, but what does that really look like? Especially for adult children?

Parents are not perfect, and sometimes they make mistakes that leave us and others wounded. So when God tells us to honor them, what does he mean by that? There’s a certain respect that all are owed simply by their personhood, and then there’s a respect that someone deserves because of their role or position. But what if our parents are dishonorable people? Does this commandment change once we’re adults out of their direct care?

Today, Father Mike explains how we can love difficult parents.

For my first attempt at Eucharistic adoration, I was late.

I had signed up online for adoration at our church’s chapel. I chose a slot at 2 p.m. on a Friday. That morning, I saw a reminder on my paper desk calendar, and then promptly forgot about it. Until about 5:45. Oops. I went online and a 6 p.m. slot was still open. I raced over to church, and got there at 6:10. As I hurried across the parking lot, I realized that even though I had been a parishioner for about eight years, I had never actually been in the chapel. I wasn’t even 100 percent sure where it was. But I guessed right, and walked into the small, simple room to find several other people sitting or kneeling before the host encased in a gold monstrance on the little altar. It was a reminder that I didn’t have to be totally certain about something to be right about it in the end. It was also reassuring to know that even if I lag behind, there are other pilgrims with me on the journey.

For I was late to adoration in another sense. I had spent my first forty-some years in traditions where the Real Presence was never a major topic. The most helpful insight I heard then was that the Eucharist is a holy mystery. And this is true as far as it goes. However, about three decades ago, I entered the Catholic Church, and I began to see that we benefit from trying to understand holy mysteries, even if our progress is slow. For instance, this winter my wife and I read Bishop Robert Barron’s booklet on the Eucharist, “This Is My Body,” aloud to each other, and we learned a lot. Still, this mystery is deep enough that more than reading is required. I thought enduring an hour of adoration might help.

I dreaded it, however, because I thought sitting in silence would drive me nuts. The first thing I learned in the chapel, though, was that the silence was comfortable. I didn’t feel the need to do anything. I had brought a spiritual book to turn to if overcome by tedium, but I didn’t look at it. I felt in tune with just … being there. I suspect that, as an occasional writer, I felt relieved from the tumult of “words, words, words.”

The monstrance was lovely, yet at the same time it highlighted the host’s plainness, and thus its power. Yes, the wafer is the most ordinary thing in the world; that is precisely why it is so extraordinary. That the Almighty becomes the substance of the wafer is the pledge that he is part of everything, in some way, even if we don’t see or understand how. 

Historically, the word “rule” (regula) didn’t mean a set of laws to obey, but rather a guide for growing toward the good — like a trellis supporting a vine.

Most of us, it seems, are not called to the cloister. We have dishes to wash, meetings to attend, children to raise, aging parents to care for. And yet, many people — religious or not — find themselves longing for something monasteries seem to hold: rhythm, meaning, peace. The good news is you don’t need to be a monk to draw wisdom from monastic life. A rule of life can anchor anyone who seeks to live with intention.

Historically, the word “rule” (regula) didn’t mean a set of laws to obey, but rather a guide for growing toward the good — like a trellis supporting a vine.

Monastic rules, like that of St. Benedict, weren’t designed to stifle life but to shape it. They balanced prayer, work, community, and rest into a daily pattern that could be lived out faithfully for decades, even in times of uncertainty or suffering.

And while those in monastic communities take formal vows, each of us is called to discern how we uniquely live out our own vocation — whether that’s through marriage, single life, consecrated life, or something still unfolding. Developing a somewhat personal rule of life can help us discover not just how to live, but how to live well, in a way that aligns with our deepest identity and gifts.

Clarity

In other words: You don’t need to live in a monastery to live with clarity. You don’t need to chant the Psalms at dawn to seek holiness. But you do need some rhythm — a way of life that keeps you grounded when distractions multiply or fatigue sets in. A rule of life helps you say yes to what matters and no to what doesn’t, not just in emergencies, but every day.

St. Benedict’s motto, ora et labora — pray and work — speaks to this. His Rule didn’t separate the sacred from the ordinary. Tending the garden, cooking the meals, caring for guests: it was all part of the same life of prayer. For us, too, our work, rest, and relationships can all be shaped by grace, if we approach them intentionally.

Some people imagine a rule of life must be elaborate or intensely spiritual. In truth, it can be rather simple–or begin with adopting some regular habits. Over time, these rhythms become formational. They reveal our unique spiritual temperament and charisms—what gives us life and how we are called to give life to others.

Often, in the therapy room, I ask clients about their family, and draw something called a genogram map. Part of my therapeutic framework is that we are influenced, shaped, wounded, loved, delighted in, and healed in our families of origin. As a therapist, families of origin also help me develop a fuller picture of the suffering of the client: their behaviours, thought processes, and ways of being. Internally, I develop more compassion and curiosity towards clients as well. 

I was recently struck by a truth that I read in a blogpost: “To evangelize the culture, we must first see our culture clearly”. There seems to be a parallel here with the above therapeutic practices: when we know where we are and where we stand, we begin to understand ‘the lay of the land’. This awareness will help us figure out more clearly how to move forward. 

The “lay of the land” at the parish level looks something like this: people are coming to church with their Christian significant others having no idea what is going on at Mass. People are sitting in the pews, going out of obligation – not love – for maybe 20+ years. At my parish, there are people showing up who are yearning to belong to some sort of community. Some are coming after years of religious searching and often asking the question, “what is my purpose in this life?”. Additionally we have broken families, single parents, and single people from countries at war are seeking refuge and freedom. 

Our culture is transitioning. Stores are open on Sundays. Families attending church together on Sundays is out of the norm.The assumption that those who choose to send their kids to Christian or Catholic schools are themselves religious is naught. Christian influence on culture is indeed fading; sometimes considered even an unintelligent way to engage with the world. I remember sitting in my Biological Psychology class where my professor stated publicly that if we were to have religious views of the human person, we would have no place in the world of Psychology. 

From Christendom to Apostolic Mission

The mode where the Christian imaginative vision influences society is called Christendom. We are no longer in this mode; instead, we have moved into something called the Apostolic Mode. I do feel that these separate modes are simply different ways to engage, not disengage. We cannot simply wait passively for Christendom to come back (where the secular vision parallels the Christian vision). 

In the Apostolic Mode, the Christian faith does not play a central role in society; in fact, Christianity feels more costly because it is often considered an outdated or indoctrinated way of thinking.

Fr. Mark-Mary talks about how to live your best life (but in a Catholic way).

 When we read the lives of the saints, we could be inclined to think that they were way more holy than us, and that they had these extraordinary gifts that made it easy for them to become saints. It’s easy to think that becoming a saint is an unrealistic goal. But the truth is, the saints were just like us. They just chose to live differently, and we can too. 

“Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may prove what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2). 

A lot of the time, in trying to judge whether we’re living a life centered in Christ, we compare ourselves to those around us, especially nonbelievers. The problem with this is that, just as it says in Romans 12, we’re not called to be good or better by the world’s standards. We’re called to be saints. And to be saints, it’s going to require an outlook that doesn’t compare ourselves to those around us, but to strive for the perfection of Heaven. 

How can we do this? The answer is a little different for everyone, but it all consists in following the life of Christ, and living in accordance with his teachings. Things like committing ourselves to daily prayer, avoiding sin, performing works of charity; all of these things allow ourselves to transcend this world and reach for the eternal. Everything we do to strengthen our relationship with Christ gets us one step closer to being saints. 

The saints were people who saw this life on earth as an opportunity to better themselves for the sake of the Kingdom. It’s something that each of us can consciously choose to do every day. The beauty of this approach is that, the more we surrender ourselves to the Lord in little ways, the easier it becomes to surrender in larger ways. Powerhouse saints like St. Francis and St. Clare didn’t just magically surrender every part of themselves to Christ; it all started with little things like saying a morning offering every morning, or refraining from gossiping, or volunteering at their local charity. And this is what we are all called to do. 

Instead of judging the success of your life by looking at those around you, look instead to the Church and the lives of the saints, and ask yourself “What more can I do to give my life to Christ?” We aren’t called to be conformed to the world, but to transform it through our faith and our witness.

This week Matt and Jared talk with Haley Stewart, who is a writer, speaker, podcaster, and Catholic convert. Haley shares about the power of story in her life, the importance of literature in the home, and living simply.

God gifts everyone with beautiful talents. We don’t all have the same talents, which gives each of us a unique place in God’s vineyard. Sometimes, we use the words “gifts”, “talents”, and “charisms” interchangeably, but… charisms are truly something different. Something supernatural. 

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary and Fr. Columba define and unpack the nature of charisms for us, and illuminate the incredible gift that they are to us from the Holy Spirit.

The Principle and Foundation is not just a theological idea — it is an invitation to a life of clarity, peace, and freedom.

Every generation asks the same question in different ways: What is the purpose of life? Is it success, the pursuit of happiness, or the accumulation of wealth and comfort? St. Ignatius of Loyola, writing in the 16th century, offered a strikingly different answer — one that remains as challenging today as it was then.

For Ignatius, human life has a clear purpose: to know, love, and serve God. Everything else — our ambitions, relationships, even our struggles — must be seen in light of this ultimate goal.

This idea forms the foundation of his Spiritual Exercises, a work that has shaped Jesuit spirituality and the broader Church for centuries. At its core is the Principle and Foundation, a brief but radical statement that reorients how we see ourselves, the world, and God.

More than a theological premise, it is an invitation to freedom — freedom from attachment, from illusions of control, and from anything that keeps us from our true purpose.

What is the Principle and Foundation?

The Principle and Foundation is the starting point for Ignatian spirituality. It lays out the reason for human existence and the relationship between people and the world. Ignatius begins with a striking declaration:

“Man is created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by this means to save his soul. All other things on the face of the earth are created for man to help him in attaining the end for which he is created.”

This statement is simple but profound. It means that our lives are not random, and we are not here merely to seek personal fulfillment. Our ultimate purpose is to know, love, and serve God. Everything else — our talents, possessions, relationships, even our struggles — should be understood in light of this purpose.

The call to radical freedom

This does not mean that Ignatius calls for a rejection of the world. What he aims for is rather a proper ordering of our relationship to it. He explains:

“From this it follows that man is to use these things to the extent that they help him to attain his end, and he must rid himself of them in so far as they prove a hindrance to him.”

This idea is the heart of Ignatian detachment, or holy indifference. It is not a call to apathy, but to radical freedom. We are not to be controlled by our desires for success, health, wealth, or pleasure — nor are we to be crushed by their absence.