The Need to Be "Special"

I'm a product, as much as anyone else in our society, of the implied doctrine of our culture:  That everyone must be special.  I don't mean the notion that each person is special just by virtue of being the unique person he is.  That's true, and sound.  Rather, I mean the notion that we are worth nothing unless we accomplish something extraordinary, something that sets us apart from the masses.  According to this logic, the new dream is to rise far above the norm, to do something or lead a life that would never be considered "ordinary." 

I, at least so far, lead an incredibly ordinary life that few would have heard of.   I'm not being falsely modest, here:  I have talent, I'm told; some even say my talents are extraordinary, and while I'm not qualified to judge that for myself, this post isn't about contradicting them.  But even if they're right, these talents haven't really gotten me anywhere, nor put me "on the map," not even a small and obscure map.  I sing well, but I'm no famous singer, locally nor otherwise.  I'm told I write well, but I haven't had anything published outside of whatever work I contributed to my High School yearbook.  I can draw, but my art does not hang in a museum, nor has it ever been something I might sell on a large scale.  As a father, I lead, but I do not really lead anyone outside of my family.  On the whole, there is no stranger who would see my face or even my name, and wonder "Hey, isn't that the guy who X?"  Not even on the local level, really, as I don't even have the sort of job where my name might precede me to someone who needs my services.  I know a few people who may fit such descriptions, but I'm not one of them.  As I often say:  I am an ordinary man privileged to know extraordinary people who do extraordinary things.

One thing that is extraordinary in my life is that I've been extraordinarily blessed.  My life may be ordinary, but it is also a comfortably middle class life, one that is maintained with no real effort from me.  I'm living the old style American dream (think, from the fifties, back when the dream simply meant having a nice home, in a nice neighborhood, with a wonderful family, as opposed to the modern American dream that involves being "special"), and it has fallen right into my lap, without my having really lifted a finger to obtain it--and this in spite of the fact that I was born into relative poverty.  That is extraordinary, and I appreciate it.  I am incredibly thankful to God for it, I am humbled by the knowledge that I cannot boast about anything I have, because God has literally handed it to me.  But still, nothing in terms of my accomplishments or reputation can be said to be out of the ordinary.  And it's very easy for me to get insecure about that. 

There's a quote that's attributed to Abraham Lincoln:

"God must love the common man; he made so many of them."

That's my hope.  That God doesn't need me to have stood out, nor to have accomplished something that will be well known.  I don't have to make some sort of "famous" mark in the world, or to be known far and wide.  My name may only ever ring familiar to a comparably small circle of people, all of whom have met me on a personal basis.  Mention of me may never prick the ears nor even vaguely play with the memories of strangers.  Yet that's okay.  God loves me.  He values me. 

St. Therese of Lisieux constantly extolled the virtues of being "small."  And indeed, Jesus often blessed those who would qualify as the "least of these."  He said some who are last would be first, and the first shall be last.  So maybe, I hope, it's okay to be so small, in the grand scheme of things, as to be virtually invisible. 

Yet I'm ambitious, and I fear that this ambition will rob me of whatever Heavenly reward is reserved for those who humbly accept their smallness.  My name is small, my face unknown, but my ego, sadly, is big.  So I want to be much more than I am.  I want to have fame, to have large and impressive accomplishments on my record.  I want people to know my name and my work.  I am small, but not humble; I am filled with a pride that refuses to modestly accept my lot of obscurity and anonymity.  I fear, then, that I will suffer a terrible fate:  I will have been small in this life and then be least in the Kingdom of Heaven as well.  Never first in this life, I may well be last in Heaven too.  What sort of fool hungers for greatness on this Earth, when he knows that the tradeoff for such greatness--unless he is amazingly humble about it--is that he will not be great in eternity?

I know of no salve for my anxiety except to turn my eyes upon the Lord, and to stop caring about whether I'm small or extraordinary, even in eternity.  If I focus more on loving our most precious God, and on loving man who is made in His image, then I will find that it doesn't matter if I'm famous or unknown, small or great.  Because then I will be happy, as was the Canaanite woman in the gospels, with even the mere "crumbs that fall from the table."  If I can lose myself in love of others, then I can find joy, and freedom from worrying about my "place" in this life or the next.  I'm nowhere near being there, yet.  But I pray that God will grant me the grace to get there.  Then, there will be peace.

Christian Politics

I live in the United States, where there is famously said to be a "separation between Church and State."  In fact, one of the founding fathers went so far as to call it a wall of separation, emphasizing just how distinct that those who framed our Constitution wished for this separation to be.  Yet there are a couple of problems with this separation, as it is understood and advocated today in my nation, often enough by virtual anarchists and liberals alike.  For one thing, the separation between Church and State proposed centuries ago was for the explicit comfort of the religious conscience, not as a stand against it.  People of different churches wanted to be sure that no one church could use the power of the state to make them violate their consciences, and also wanted to be sure that the state would never suppress religion.  So the separation of Church and State was always meant to be a favor to the Church (whatever church it may be); the people who were uneasy about a state religion were themselves religious.  They didn't want a separation for the purpose of religious and moral anarchy, but rather to secure the freedom of religious folks.  

But for another thing, it's simply impossible, in practice, to have so stark a separation between Church and State as both the leftists and the virtual anarchists desire, without having voters and politicians betray their faith as individuals.  

Example:  Abortion.  Let us say that a certain politician, whom we'll call Mr. Elected, truly believed, due to his faith, that abortion is murder.  There are lots of perfectly secular reasons to oppose abortion, but let's say this Mr. Elected's sole reason is his religion, because for some reason all the secular reasons alone just don't convince him.  If he really believes in his religion, then he must really believe that abortion is murder, with or without any secular reasons.  And if he really believes abortion is murder, then he must believe that it should be illegal, because protecting people from murder is one of the foundational duties of the government.  So here we have a man who, if he does not work to abolish abortion, is acting as if he doesn't really believe it's murder.  After all, even if everyone disagreed with you that killing a five-year-old would be murder, would that stop you from trying to prevent this murder in the name of "not imposing your personal beliefs?"  Of course not.  If you didn't try to oppose it, it would be stark evidence that you didn't really believe it was murder, and in the case of Mr. Elected, it would be a sign he didn't believe in his religion either.

Doesn't "Mr. Elected" sound like the name of a
mayor or something in a kid's cartoon?

So many politicians--to my horror, a great bulk of them professing to be Catholic--claim "I personally believe that X is wrong, but I won't impose those beliefs on others."  They are liars.  Because usually "X" is either something so heinous as abortion (where merely believing it's murder should be enough to make one oppose it politically), or something that the politician is actually endorsing for state sanction, such as gay marriage; and once you support the state sanction of something, you've gone beyond merely "not imposing" your beliefs and have actually gone into partaking of that "something," via your political support of its sanction.  If I, for example, were to suggest that people should be given tax breaks for lying, that goes beyond merely not imposing my religious prohibition against lying; in order to "not impose" that, I would merely have to say the government shouldn't arrest people for it, or something like that.  To "not impose" would simply require noninterference, not state-sanction.  But when I propose tax breaks and other incentives for lying, now I'm an active participant, whether through my vote or my action as a politician, in lying.  It proves that either I don't believe lying is wrong, or I certainly don't consider it a big deal.  I betray a lack of conviction, and show that on some level I believe my moral code is not a matter of fact--which my religion requires me to believe--but a matter of opinion.  

Christians are not at liberty to treat our firm convictions as if they are mere opinions.  That goes from the Christian who is a mere citizen exercising his right to vote, all the way up to Presidents, members of Congress, and Justices of the Supreme Court.  Voters and politicians alike, if they attempt to separate their politics from their faith, are attempting to "serve two masters," a secular utopia and God.  But Jesus rightly said that he who serves two masters will love the one and hate the other.  And when politicians and voters are willing to minimize their religious beliefs out of some imagined obligation to an exaggerated version of "separation between Church and State," it's crystal clear which master they love and which they hate.  

Oh, stop bein' a wise guy!

I am not saying a Christian society has a duty to set up a theocracy.  I admit that I do not believe theocracies are inherently evil or terrible if tempered with love and patience toward unbelievers, but it's just not what I'm advocating here, as I don't believe we Christians have any moral obligation to set up such a thing.  However, we do have a moral obligation to vote in ways and to pass/advocate laws which reflect that we see our religion as a reality, not as a mere opinion.  And we do have a moral obligation to refrain from passing laws and government-involved actions--and to oppose such laws and actions--that would actually violate our ethics and beliefs, or especially those which would require Christian citizens to violate their beliefs (e.g. requiring doctors to refer patients for abortions, requiring Catholic businessmen to cover birth control in their insurance plans, or requiring religious photographers to take pictures at a gay wedding).  If we truly act upon the conviction that our values are objective, just as surely as it's objective to say "murder is wrong," then our political choices will naturally follow.

Basically, there may be a separation between Church and State, in the sense that the state may legitimately refuse to force others to practice or embrace a certain religion.  But there can never be a separation between Faith and Believer, if the believer is genuine.  For a true believer, his faith must reign over his entire life, including his votes and political choices.  Politics simply isn't some "magical bubble" where Christians are allowed to act as though our religion is merely a preference or an opinion.  If our religious beliefs are true, then they are just as true in the voting booth, and no less true if we enter into political office.  We may claim, like so many dodgy politicians, to "personally" believe in our religion, but our actions--political and otherwise--will speak far more loudly than our words.

Longing to be Liked

When the disciples of the Pharisees tested Jesus by asking Him whether it was lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, they open up with the following words:

"Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth.  And you are not concerned with anyone's opinion, for you do not regard a person's status." -Matthew 22:16 (emphasis mine)

This is one trait of Jesus that I deeply admire (although to be fair I admire all His traits, but that's beside the point), and I admire that trait in the people around me who possess it:  The disregard for what others thought of Him, and the resulting courage to speak the truth without caring what it might make others say or believe about Him.  Jesus was no addict of human opinion, and I have friends and loved ones who are similar; not perfect as our Lord was, of course, but still, I have the honor of knowing people who largely are "not concerned with anyone's opinion," and who therefore are not prone to dancing away from speaking truth when it desperately needs to be said but might offend someone.

I, on the other hand, have for many years now been dominated by a desire for others to think well of me.  I am a people pleaser, and it pains me to say that.  I do not generally allow this to sway me toward standing up for the wrong things, but I often don't stand as clearly or emphatically for the right things.  I might speak a truth vaguely when it would be better to speak it plainly.  Or I might say nothing at all when speaking up would be better.  So even though I rarely, if ever, compromise the truth or alter my beliefs to please others, it's all too common for me to just avoid thorny issues.  I know that, on this very blog, I've tackled many such issues, and I'm also more easily to do so on internet forums, but it's a different story in real life if I find myself faced with someone with all the wrong values, or even on my Facebook wall, where I will occasionally make a controversial statement, be bombarded with argument and confrontation from people I actually know, then go for months before I'm willing to take such a risk again.

Okay, I think I'll just stay in here for a while.

In many ways, this is bound up in my fear of confrontation and conflict.  People who dislike me are more likely to confront me disrespectfully.  If someone becomes angry at some opinion I have, forceful or heated arguments might get started up.  These habits are also tied to my tendency to take offense easily.  Because I am so easily offended by criticism or even open disagreement with me (something I'm ashamed to admit), I am afraid to speak out in ways that may make others feel criticized, both because of my empathy directing me to not make them feel a way I wouldn't want to feel and, more selfishly, the knowledge that if they are offended, they will understandably take the liberty of saying things that offend me.  It's much easier to live with an uneasy truce of sorts, a truce that says "I won't say things that offend you, if you don't say things that offend me."

Unfortunately, Christians do not have the liberty of observing that truce.  Jesus said things that offended people all the time.  He didn't worry about whether or not His saying truths that offend would incite His opponents to say things that offended Him.  And preaching the Gospel has always been accompanied with standing upon Christian values, and people have always been able to find offense in those values, as surely as Herod's wife took offense at the preaching of John the Baptist--for which she plotted his death!  So it's nothing new:  If you preach the truth, people will be offended, and they will do their best to offend you in return.  They may not have the power to have you beheaded, in a literal physical offense, but they will try to tear down what you hold dear, and you for your part will not even be left with the option of saying "Please don't do this!" when, for all intents and purposes, you were willing to poke holes in what they held dear.

It seems that Jesus and the boldest Christian evangelists were willing to say "fair is fair."  If they said things that caused others offense, they were willing to "take it" when others responded in kind.  They might not take it lying down, and Jesus in particular was quite willing to defend Himself.  But none of them, unlike me, seemed to be hurt by the very notion that their opponents would dare to "strike back."  They invited the sparring, even to the point of their own literal deaths.  That is the courage of a martyr, or of our crucified Lord.  And it is a courage that I lack, wishing to stay safe in a realm where I am considered "nice," "easy to get along with," and "reasonable," so that others may in turn be nice, easy to get along with, and reasonable toward me.

We'll even shake on it!

"Woe to you when men speak well of you!"  What a sobering reminder from our Lord, one that convicts a person like me to his core!  I believe You, Lord!  But what can I do to embrace Your cross, Your Truth?

That is my lament.  I want to have the courage to risk being unliked, to be insulted, and thought a fool.  I want to have the fortitude to welcome offense, or to be harder to offend, if offense is the consequence of breaking that "truce" I mentioned earlier.  I just don't quite know how.  I obviously know what I need to know intellectually.  It's emotions that won't follow.  And while it's often true that we just have to go against our emotions and do the right thing, by "emotions" I mean crippling anxiety, so that sometimes overcoming it is not just a matter of saying "That emotion is unreasonable, so I will not let it control me," but rather would require the same sort of effort as forcing oneself to jump into a pit full of snakes.  And I just don't know how to get past that barrier.

Perhaps some of you readers are farther along this road than I.  Perhaps you speak up, whatever the cost.  Perhaps you don't care much what others think of you, or you're able to overcome it if you do.  If that's the case, please share with me in the comments:  How do you do it?  How do you prevent yourself from caring so much what people think, or manage to find freedom from anxiety despite caring so much?  How do you force yourself to take the plunge into that metaphorical pit of snakes?  How is it that you get past your own fear of being offended, or even that you manage to avoid taking offense in the first place?

If you have any pearls of wisdom to share, then you won't only be sharing them with me, but with anyone else who reads this and who can relate to these crippling anxieties and cares.  I'm sure I speak for them too when I say you'll have our gratitude.

Losing Myself in the Shadow of Others

I struggle a fair deal with an inferiority complex.  It doesn't seem to take much to incite me to feeling that someone else is superior to myself.  If I admire another person in the slightest, in fact, then I can second-guess myself at any difference between us, sometimes even those differences where before I would have felt confident in my position or characteristic in question.  It's as though I think just because a man I like or value differs from me, my trait or opinion is somehow invalidated.

Maybe a guy I find really cool is taller than me.  In fact, my anxiety about my height--I'm 5'8", by no means short, but shorter than I wish--began when I had a best friend who was 6'2".  Or maybe a friend I admire has an interest in something that never really interested me.  Suddenly, I may find myself thinking that I should share his interest, not only for the sake of forging one more common interest, which is admirable, but because somehow I feel inferior for not having that interest.  Even with my convictions, one easy way to make me second guess a strongly held conviction, no matter how sound my reasoning, is to have a great guy in my close circle, who is relatively close to me in most beliefs, state or imply that his own convictions are more relaxed than mine in that area.

Why am I like that?

How should I know?  I'm just trying to
find a way out of this unholy bondage!

I think, in some sense, I latch onto looking up to guys I admire in a way that I failed to do with my Dad, that is, the man who raised me (remember, I never met my biological father).  My Dad was wonderful to me, and I loved him very much.  But for some reason, I never looked up to him in the way he deserved.  I thought of him as a good man, a beloved man, a man with whom I felt safe, but I just never wanted to be like him.  I didn't want to imitate him, I had no interest in mirroring his traits or filling his shoes.  I have no idea why, and it's my own loss.  The point is, though, that I think every boy needs a man to look up to, someone he wants to emulate.  It's hardwired into us, because it's by emulating one's father that one learns what it is to be a man.

Since I denied both my father and myself the experience of my emulating him, I think this process just got transferred onto friends and peers instead.  I'm not one to look at my friends like fathers mind you; unless a friend were actually old enough to be my father (and I have no close friends who are), that would feel weird to me.  However, I am prone to looking at a friend the way I might look at an elder brother.  The friend need not even be chronologically older than me; that 6'2" best friend was younger, actually.  But somehow, a friend who exudes confidence and self-assurance, who has many traits I admire, can become the next-best-thing to a father to emulate:  The elder brother that I never had, save possibly my one sibling who died as a miscarriage who may have been a brother for all I know.

Somehow, then, I'm like a little boy whose big brother is his hero, who is always clinging to his brother's words.  When his father's words contrast with his own opinions, the boy re-evaluates his own.  He wants to grow up to be as big as his brother, to look like his brother, to be like his brother, all of which are quite reasonable, since he and his brother share genetics and--just as if it were his father--he might reasonably conclude "That's what I should look like when I grow."  I certainly never had that, from a father or otherwise, as obviously I had no reason whatsoever to suspect that I would grow up to look like the Dad who raised me, not being his biological son.  Problem is, of course, that friends are also not biologically related to me.  Not to mention, I'm grown, so being psychologically stuck in the mindset of a little boy hoping to grow into the shape and form of an older male hero he admires isn't helpful:  The little boy has reason for that hope.  I don't.

One day I'll grow up to be just like you!
Right?  Right???  

Even though I could, perhaps with great difficulty and a fair amount of the "fake it to make it" mentality, alter my opinions and tastes to emulate those of a friend, the problem with that is that I would lose my identity in the quest to become more like the hero I admire.  See, a father or, to some extent, a big brother, has the vocation of forming the mind of the young male in his family.  It is the elder's job to teach the younger, to shape his worldview and, to an extent, his opinions; to introduce him to ways of forming his tastes and preferences.  That's why it's natural for a boy to be so malleable in the face of his father's or elder brother's input.  But for a grown man to give quite so much power to a friend is a dangerous thing.

It's fine and well for friends to influence each other, to form each other, but this must be a very mutual thing.  For it to be so one-sided as my insecurities and inferiority complex would have it to be only causes the one man to lose his identity altogether, to be "absorbed" by the friend he admires.  And such a man is always unstable!  Even if he perfectly emulates one friend today, what happens when another friend impresses him tomorrow?  He will go about trying to emulate everything about that friend.  And then, even more confusing to his sense of self, he will feel compelled to emulate the one friend when in his company, yet the other friend in the other's company.  He will become a chameleon, all the while feeling resentment for those very same friends, because on some level he realizes that he's lost himself, having sacrificed himself to the point of oblivion on the altar of his hero-worship.

At least it has nice flowers!

There are traits worth emulating in a friend.  But these traits are virtues, morality, faith, adherence to sound doctrine, and other objectively imitable qualities.  If I want to nurture a subjective interest just because a friend has it, on the other hand, it should be a matter of bonding with him, not because I think my own initial disinterest in the subject or activity is inferior.  And when it comes to physical traits, who am I to believe that God was having a less brilliant moment upon creating me than when he created a friend who is taller, or who has a different body type?  In fact, even on those things that are objectively admirable, it is not mine to envy the story of another who may have obtained those things sooner or with more ease than myself.  There may be faults or thorns in my flesh that God has deliberately refused to take from me, which He allows to weigh more heavily on me than on a friend, because for some reason He knows that I need a rougher path, a longer path.  So if a great friend seems to have conquered some vice sooner or more easily than I, I shouldn't waste away in despair that this means the friend is "superior," for it may instead well be that God has given the friend some extraordinary grace, to make his path "straighter," which He has withheld from me.  If so, who am I to question Him?  I can only aim to be holier, but I can't seek to measure my own progress by that of another.

The truth is, I have to find out what it means to be me, to be Joshua.  And I need to find this by turning to Jesus, and seeking His design for me.  I need to ask, "What did you create me to be, Lord?  What is it about me that gives You delight?  Please show me what I'm meant to be!"  And I need to pray, also, for the grace of loving this Joshua that our Lord willed into existence, rather than comparing him to other men unfavorably.  Those things that bring me insecurity now, I need to find out if they're things that God wants in me, and if they are, I have to learn to delight in them, for the joy they bring to my Creator.

Years ago I wrote the chorus of a song which I never finished, in a cry of desperation toward this tendency of mine, which was alive and well toward my best friend at the time, as well as some other guys I admired:

I don't wanna keep on chiding me to be someone else,
I don't wanna keep on hiding me 'til I lose myself.
I don't wanna keep pretending, deep in my armored shell:
I'm not me, but I wanna be,
I'm not them; don't wanna wanna be,
What I need is to find out who I am.

May God grant it to be so.

A Defense of Enjoying Scary Things

Some people would say it's wrong to enjoy horror or a good scare.  I'm not talking about people who merely don't like the horror genre, who don't understand it or who find it too scary.  I mean that there are people who take a matter of taste and turn it into a matter of principle.  These are the sort who take it upon themselves as a kind of duty to instruct their fellow Christians as to the immorality of enjoying scary stories, films, or activities, and claim a moral high ground on the basis that their interests are more "godly" than the dark, demented, "twisted" interests of those who would dare to enjoy something scary.  They might even go so far as to instill, deliberately, a disdain for horror in anyone (say, a new Christian initiate or godchild) whose religious education is their duty.  Keep in mind, this disdain for horror is generally applied to even those examples of the genre that match up to the guidelines in my last post.  Just because it's scary, evidently, is reason enough to condemn it.

Now, despite the fact that I can't help but get annoyed with this attitude, I want to admit that I see where these folks are coming from, and there are probably even a few people I like and admire who have this attitude.  We Christians, the scriptures say, are to focus on "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable" and "anything [that] is excellent or praiseworthy."  Also, "what fellowship has darkness with light?"  So it would seem, to many, that such verses preclude an enjoyment of horror or scary things.  I get it; I really do.  And although I disagree, I can respect those who come to this conclusion, despite my personal annoyance at it.

However, I would first argue that if we take these admonitions to mean that it's wrong to enjoy he horror genre, it would also be wrong to enjoy any cathartic entertainment that was anything but happy and saccharine.  Horror is not the only thing, if one is being fair, that could be called "dark."  Sorrow is dark.  So much for enjoying a tragedy.  What could be darker than war?  War films, too, must be eschewed then.  Sin is the ultimate darkness, and so any story in which characters sin is out; no matter if the moral of the story itself is sound, and merely the characters sinful, because such considerations--in the minds of such people as morally oppose horror--would NOT redeem a horror story, after all.  In not condemning these other things, nor holding them to the same strict "You should only ever think of nice things!" standard, opponents of horror show that their opposition is fueled by more than a little bit of their own personal taste.  "I find horror unpleasant and dark, so surely God must too."

I'm sure that's in the Bible somewhere...
Or maybe in a Church document?

But horror, for all its detractors, is just one more variation on what all storytelling is about:  Conflict and resolution.  The chief difference between a well-made (key phrase:  "well-made") horror film and, say, a crime drama is that in the horror the villain and conflict happen to strike a "creepy" nerve, whereas in the crime drama the more mundane villain and conflict do not do so on so primal a level.  In some cases this is literally a matter of circumstance:  That we are more viscerally spooked by a misshapen monster with claws and sharp teeth than we are by a suave crime lord with a gun has no bearing on whether or not it is immoral to watch a movie where the villain is a former but okay to watch one where the villain is the latter.  So the horror genre, in and of itself, is not materially different from any other genre--although to be sure the execution of a particular story, just as in any genre, may be in violation of sound Christian principles, but we're speaking of the inherent idea of horror here--and only differs in the particular presentation and choice of villain, conflict or setting.

In the most blatant cases where there is a double standard, stories that the horror haters may accept even have scenes or passages straight out of the horror genre.  Why is it okay to watch Frodo, from Lord of the Rings, battle for his life with the horrific eight-legged monstrosity that is Shelob, but it's immoral to watch a film whose entire plot is about a giant spider?  Let's assume that the protagonist of the latter film even survives and conquers the beast, so that it can't be argued that the latter film presents a more pessimistic or cynical worldview.  Is it really different just because the Shelob plot is a subplot and not the entire story?  Would it be, then, immoral to--for whatever reason--pop into the room just as Frodo was fleeing Shelob, but to leave the room as the battle was over?  I think most people would know how ridiculous it is to assert that the Shelob sequence is suddenly immoral if isolated, where it was just fine otherwise, yet that's precisely what is suggested when we say that it's okay to enjoy stories with scary elements, but not to enjoy scary stories.  

In fact, there are a number of merits to the horror genre.  So not only is horror in itself neutral, there can be arguments made that it has real value, at least--as with anything else--if enjoyed with the proper mindset.

First of all, an enjoyment of horror and scary things stems from the same fascination that drives us to fully appreciate God's creation.  I think we sometimes like to forget that the same God who made puppies and flowery meadows also  made hairy spiders and terrifyingly dark caves.   Are we to say that these latter things are bad?  Did God make a mistake?!  Of course not!  Then why might we condemn the person who, for Halloween, dresses up as a spider, yet embrace the one who dresses up as a historical figure?  God made both the spider and the man!  Or why condemn the man who dresses up as a fictional monster, but not the one who dresses up as an elf?  God endowed man with the creativity to dream up both creatures, the former reflecting the Divine Creativity that made the scary spider, the latter reflecting that very same Creativity which also made the graceful swan.  Is a man who appreciates the former morbid, yet the man who appreciates the latter healthy?  Did God, Who hates nothing He has made according to scripture, wish for only some of His creations, and only the creations of man which reflect those, to be appreciated by us, while the others should be hated?  I think not!

Swan!  That is all.

Second of all, many horror stories illustrate the battle between good and evil in more direct terms than a great many other genres.  So many genres portray the forces of good and bad in shades of gray, as is only natural when working with mundane subject matter.  Horror is right up there, however, with fantasy in being prone to drawing clear lines between light and darkness, good and evil.  The villain is often enough a soulless killer or a monster, representing (if only on a subconscious level) the cosmic battle between humanity and our horrific true enemy, Satan.  In the ultimate battle we fight, there is no ambiguity, no shades of gray.  We face a dragon, a beast, a creature more horrific than anything a horror writer or director could dream up.  Scripture often paints that battle starkly, without ambiguity.  Most other genres that are supposedly "okay," such as drama, comedy, or whatever else, tend by nature to blur those lines, understandably so because they deal in mundane mortal life, in "flesh and blood", and as we know, the enemies against whom we fight are not flesh and blood.  On the other hand, horror, alongside fantasy and sometimes science fiction, has the unique tendency of outlandish plots that go beyond "flesh and blood," where often enough even human villains are essentially "monsters in human form," an embodiment of unambiguous evil.  Humanity needs such stories.  This is why the old fairy tales and morality tales are often enough horror stories in their own right (somehow being "grandfathered" in so that horror haters consider them acceptable).   For this same reason, when interpreted through a Christian lens, horror stories can make particularly good allegories for the inner battles Christians face.

Third, horror offers a catharsis that no other genre does.  It is in our very being, biologically, to need an outlet for our fight or flight tendencies.  Long ago, life was largely a horror story.  Humanity was surrounded on all fronts by a mysterious and terrifying wilderness, full of creatures and threats that were unknown to us.  The feeling that we get when we watch, read, or see something scary is a feeling that our distant ancestors would have known just by their existence, an existence where fear of the unknown "monsters" waiting out there in the darkness was very practical.  And in many ways, we still have reason to entertain such fears, we just have a way, in modern society, of covering it up with a veneer of technology and complex civilization.  But our nature remains unchanged.  There are those who would like to live their lives ignoring this "scary" side of reality, but I don't think it's healthy.  In ancient times, people deliberately told scary stories to prepare each other for the genuine horrors of life, to keep each other "on their toes" via the cathartic effect those stories had.  Such stories and works serve the same purpose today.

Fourth, horror offers a continuity with our ancestors, both recent and ancient, that we lack if we smugly insist that scary tales have no place in our lives.  Just listen to the stories told by our medieval and ancient ancestors.  Many of them, if we weren't so familiar with them, would make our hair stand on end!  Just look at the artwork in some of our ancient places of worship.  Statues of gargoyles, demons, and ghouls were meant to remind people of the darkness that exists.  How ludicrous it would be if, back then, our deeply religious forbears would include such imagery in their most sacred spaces,  yet we "enlightened" ones should turn up the nose at such imagery or descriptions in our fiction or in our spookier celebrations, let alone in our parishes--oh the horror!  What a loss of continuity, a break with tradition, if we are too faint of heart to handle scary things when those who came before were willing to give such things a prominence even in churches!  Are we, with our whitewashed aversion to whatever reminds us of mortality and the existence of evil, better than they?  I can't buy into the notion that we are.

We don't make things like this now that our society is more
Christian than it was a couple hundred years ago...  Oh wait...

I'm not saying, by any stretch of the imagination, that everyone should be a fan of horror.  And I'll be the first to admit that a lot of particular entries in the horror genre these days are trash.  But that's a matter of circumstance, not inevitability.  And in fact we only further this unfortunate circumstance if we, the people with the right values, snub this time-honored genre while only those in the secular, cynical culture around us are willing to take it on.  If you do not personally enjoy the horror genre, my aim here is not to "convert" you.  People enjoy what they enjoy.  I'm also in agreement that anyone who was obsessed with horror, to the point of neglecting the "lighter" things, the pleasant things, would be morbid.  I'm not here to defend a consuming obsession.  Rather, I seek only to point out the deep error of condemning the genre, and the enjoyment of it, as being incompatible with Christian virtue.  Historically and logically, that's just not true, and the attitude is more a product of a modern, sanitized culture which desperately denies mortality and the existence of danger or evil--perhaps with a hint of Puritan influence--than of historic Christian morality, which has long made room for the horrific and the frightening right alongside its focus on the lofty and the beautiful.  It's simply not "either/or" here.  It never has been.

Christian Standards of Entertainment

With Halloween approaching, I've got my mind on the old pastime of scaring ourselves silly with horror films, stories, and--in our own generation--video games.  A love for the horror genre is in my blood, if you'll excuse the way-too-fitting use of that phrase.  Among my biological relatives, at least those on the maternal side (and that's the side I know the best), I can't think of one single person, who's old enough to tell, who isn't exceptionally fond of scary fiction.

This has often put me in a unique position among my coreligionists, or at least those who are close to me besides those in my family.  It seems like many of the people I know find the horror genre distasteful at best and outright immoral at worst.  It's as though my time-honored family tradition--and trust me, it may be the one-and-only thing that is literally common to my entire extended family--is supposed to be something I should look at as a "guilty pleasure."

YOU should be ashamed!!

I've actually fretted about this at times.  I am the sort of person who tries to avoid deliberately enjoying entertainment that is inherently tainted.  Example?  I used to enjoy the show Friends, and pretty much gave it up when I was baptized, due to the fact that a fairly central premise to the show and in most episodes was a sinful, unwholesome lifestyle being presented as something normal and acceptable.  For this reason, I pretty much avoid the comedy genre, as almost all comedic films or sitcoms these days take place in this sort of moral wasteland where making light of sexual immorality or high levels of irreverent crassness is a central theme of the movie or show.  So I am not someone who is content to just say "Yeah, this show/movie is pretty rotten to the core, but I'll just chalk it up to a guilty pleasure."  Because indeed, my conscience is active and lively enough that, even though I do engage in such "guilty pleasures" from time to time--I'm not perfect--there is major emphasis on the guilty, such that I would never defend such a thing as being okay.

So whenever I really enjoy something, as I enjoy horror, I feel the need to really think about whether or not it's morally acceptable, rather than just shrugging and saying "Oh well, right or wrong, I like it, so that's what matters."  That's just not acceptable to me.  I believe in consistency, in people being able to know where I stand on things.  When it comes to this beloved genre, I intend to make another post as to why I think an enjoyment of horror is compatible with Christian values.

But this gets me to a bigger question:  What, in general, are my concerns when watching a film, reading a story, or playing a video game?  Thinking of horror, here, has gotten me to thinking of what some of my standards are for all entertainment, regardless of genre  I'm going to share some of them in this post.  These are the considerations I try to take into account when I choose my entertainment, or at least if I enjoy something outside of these guidelines I tend to admit that it's probably something I shouldn't be doing rather than insisting there's nothing wrong with my patronage of it.  As for the topic from the beginning of this post, horror, I see no reason other than prudery that something from the horror genre that adheres to these guidelines should be treated as any more immoral than any other genre which does.

End discrimination against the horror genre!

1.  Evil Should Never be Glorified:  Entertainment of various genres often deals with evil, or evil beings and powers.  Some even explicitly include monsters and demons.  The deciding factor in whether a work is morally acceptable is not the inclusion of darkness and evil, but whether the darkness and evil are deliberately made to appear attractive or glamorous.  If there is realistic witchcraft in a film--that is, not mere fantastical magic but actual pagan or devil worship--that does not make the film immoral anymore than the book of Genesis is immoral for recounting tales of murder.  But the witchcraft should not be depicted in a flattering way.  You should not leave the experience thinking being a witch seems cool.

*2.  Violence or Gore Should Not be Glorified nor Gratuitous:  It's often true that there is violence or gore to be found in certain genres, especially horror, but also war films and others.  Personally, I think the classiest stories, films, and games use it as tastefully as possible, and I think that's key.  Violence is often a necessary part of the storytelling.  When it is necessary to show it explicitly--perhaps for impact, realism, etc.--it should never be done to titillate or to thrill.  It should not be something "cool."  Gratuitous violence is much like obscenity:  Hard to define, but you know it when you see it.  I'll admit frankly, though, that for example most slasher films probably cross the line, and in the world of video games, many war games are guilty of it too.  The violence in them is often over-the-top, intended to impress the audience by finding new and creative ways to kill victims.  To me, that's gratuitous.  The aim of violence should never be to "show off" or impress.  As a fan of slasher flicks, Dario Argento, and even the Mortal Kombat video game franchise, it pains me to admit to all this, as all of these can be easily argued to contain gratuitous violence, but if I'm going to imply that, say, fans of raunchy comedy have a duty to resist indulging this or to at least admit that their indulgence is "guilty," then I too must admit when things I enjoy are wrong.  And I believe that gratuitous violence, even when pulled off in a manner that's dreamlike and brilliantly executed, is probably wrong...

3.  Hopelessness and Despair Should Not be at the Heart of the Work:  Increasingly, films and stories take place in a universe of bleak, amoral realities.  People are pretty much animals, from the cynical sitcom to the gritty horror flick.  And even the protagonists are so strictly focused on self-preservation, hedonism, or self-promotion that one gets the feelings that no one really cares about anyone else.  Or perhaps, in more cosmic stories, evil wins, and not merely in a "bad ending," but in a way that suggests evil is really more powerful than good.  These are all messages that a Christian has no need to imbibe.  Cynicism is not a Christian trait.  We believe that good overcomes evil.  While it might be the case that tragic or horrific things happen--which is why a "bad ending" is not synonymous with cynicism--the implication that evil inherently trumps good, as opposed to isolated incidents where evil seems to triumph, is toxic.

And should be buried underground with nuclear waste.

4.  The Work Should Still be Recognizable and Complete if all Questionable Elements were Removed:  I'm not a prude who believes that Christians should never read, watch, or play anything that has questionable elements.  If that were the case, the ancient Christians would have been wrong for reading and admiring the works of pagans, which often had questionable elements.  However, it seems safe to me to pose this question:  Would the work that I'm enjoying remain intact, coherent, and meaningful if all the questionable elements--including gratuitous sex/nudity; gratuitous drug use; gratuitous violence; obscenities; perversions; irreverently sexual, sadistic, demeaning or dirty humor, etc (see, I just made a whole list of things a work shouldn't ideally contain all in this one point!)--were removed?  If the answer is yes, and if you're not enjoying the work for the questionable parts, then I would say that it's okay to watch, read, or play it, although I would say that it should be enjoyed under protest of the immoral parts:  When watching a film with others, for example, there should be no question that, if you had your way, the immoral parts of the film would not be included, and you should find little ways to protest--I always avert my eyes from gratuitous sexual nudity, for example, even if an overall film is decent and the nudity in question doesn't tempt me; I do so as a form of living my disapproval of the questionable element, and I would likewise skip over an explicit sex scene in a novel insofar as possible.  If, however, upon removing the questionable elements, the work would be a gutted shell of its former self, hardly making sense, or if a significant portion of the work's plot, themes, or presentation would be missing, then it's probably safe to say it's trash.

5.  The Work should not Pose a Near Occasion of Sin to You.  It may be that a given work passes muster in every other way, but that in some way it causes you personally too much temptation.  Perhaps it's a film that, despite having one scene of gratuitous nudity, lives up to the principle of #4.  If that one scene, however, causes you to lust, then even IF the overall film could be salvaged if that scene were removed, you yourself need to avoid the film altogether, unless you can find some way to watch an edited version of the film, although to be honest due to the principle of #4 if there's an edited version of the film that edits out strictly the morally problematic parts, I would say anyone should opt for that version.  It's just that it's especially important for someone who could be tempted to sin.

6.  Morality Should Not be Evil OR Deliberately Gray:  It's okay for a work to not answer certain moral questions.  What I'm talking about here is that a work should never teach that morality is gray, that suggests that right and wrong differ depending on circumstance, and that we the readers/audience/players have no right to judge whether an action is right or wrong.  It goes without saying, of course, that any work that actually advocates immorality, at least if that advocacy is at the core of the film or doesn't pass the test of #4, should be avoided.  This includes themes like vengeance or greed just as surely as it includes themes like sex or drugs.

7.  The Work, at Heart, Should not be Something You'd Feel Guilty Producing:  This is just an overall standard.  Taking #4 into consideration of course, if the overall work is one that you yourself would feel immoral in producing, then why should you put your seal of approval on the self-condemnation of the other souls who have produced it?  Whenever there is a piece of work where immoral elements are so integral to the work that you couldn't imagine being free of guilt if you had singlehandedly made the work yourself, you shouldn't forget that somebody out there did make it, and when you endorse the work gladly and without remorse, you endorse the spiritual suicide of those who really are part of it.  It would be like praising the drug culture and feeling like you're absolved of guilt just because you neither do nor sell drugs.

As is so often the case when I list things, this isn't an exhaustive list.  But it's something to reflect on, and a good starting point.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be watching one of those horror films I love so much on Halloween, with some relatives, and I've gotta get to work on deciding which one...



_______________________

*Note:  My problem with gratuitous violence isn't the old scaremongering that kids who watch violent movies will go out on killing sprees.  Rather it's that gratuitous violence treats the human body irreverently, as an object.  Gory violence is very dehumanizing, and therefore when used gratuitously in a work for the sake of amusement, humor, titillation, or the "cool" factor, it presents an atmosphere in which human dignity is disrespected.  That's quite enough reason for concern among Christians, without any need for scaremongering.

Should Catholics Care if Protestants Convert?

Notice:  Though "Protestant" is mentioned by name throughout this post, the same arguments here would apply equally to those in the Orthodox Church.

If we Catholics often lack a passion for bringing people to Christianity in general, I think it's even truer that on the whole we lack a passion for bringing people to Catholicism in particular.  I'm not saying that we just don't care.  Most fellow Catholics I know, at least the orthodox ones, do think it would be ideal if everyone became Catholic.  However there's no real sense of urgency behind this admission.  There is a sort of lukewarmness about it, of which I too can be guilty.  It wasn't always like this.  In times past, Catholics were quite zealous about bringing people to Christ specifically by way of His visible Body--the Church.

What has changed?  Well, for one thing, the Church has clarified Her teaching in ways that were often glossed over before.  At one time, the average Catholic was under the impression that the overwhelming majority--if not the entirety--of non-Catholics went to Hell, regardless of whether they embraced faith in Christ in some other way.  This is because of the teaching (which is still dogma, as dogma never changes) "Outside of the Church there is no salvation."  But it was always the teaching of the Church that those who were non-Catholic through no fault of their own could be saved.  Pope Pius IX said the following in the mid 1800's in his encyclical Quanto conficiamur moerore:

It is known to us and to you that those who are in invincible ignorance of our most holy religion, but who observe carefully the natural law, and the precepts graven by God upon the hearts of all men, and who being disposed to obey God lead an honest and upright life, may, aided by the light of divine grace, attain to eternal life; for God who sees clearly, searches and knows the heart, the disposition, the thoughts and intentions of each, in His supreme mercy and goodness by no means permits that anyone suffer eternal punishment, who has not of his own free will fallen into sin. (emphasis mine)

"Invincible Ignorance" is that sort of ignorance of which Jesus said "Forgive them, for they know not what they do," or, in another verse, "If you were blind, you would have no sin."  It's when someone fails to see the truth, but it's not their fault.  For example, if a Protestant was genuinely convinced that there was no reason to give Catholicism a chance, or if he did look into it and was genuinely convinced it just isn't true--despite his sincere efforts to give it a fair shot--then it might be said that his not believing in Catholicism is to no fault of his own.  He's done what he could, and for mysterious reasons simply hasn't been able to come to the same conclusions we Catholics have.

In modern times, the Church has simply emphasized this more than She did one hundred years ago. The Catechism of the Catholic Church has this to say, after first having confirmed that heresy (wrong beliefs) and schism (separating from the Church) are sins:

818 "However, one cannot charge with the sin of the separation those who at present are born into these communities [that resulted from such separation] and in them are brought up in the faith of Christ, and the Catholic Church accepts them with respect and affection as brothers . . . . All who have been justified by faith in Baptism are incorporated into Christ; they therefore have a right to be called Christians, and with good reason are accepted as brothers in the Lord by the children of the Catholic Church."²⁷²

So it's easy to see, then, why so many Catholics these days are prone to feeling cozy with the thought of our Protestant (or Orthodox) brothers and sisters never crossing over into the Church.  Unlike before, the Church has spelled out to us plainly that our brothers and sisters outside of the Church are still Christians and that, if they're outside of the Church to no fault of their own, can be saved.  If they're not in danger of hell, we seem to reason, then what's the urgency behind trying to bring them into the Church, when we should be focused on converting the pagans, the atheists, the total unbelievers?

I believe that this is one of those things where Jesus would say "[The one thing] you should have done, without leaving the other undone."  It's true that the unbaptized and the non-Christians are in more grave danger, and therefore are a top priority.  But that doesn't mean that bringing fellow Christians fully into the Church is not also a high priority.  We must learn, as the saying goes, "to walk and chew gum at the same time."

But why should we consider it urgent that people become Catholic if they are already Christian?  If we're not gravely concerned that they may be going to hell, then why does it matter?  I'm glad you asked.  Because I can think of many reasons.

1.  Because Christ Prayed for Unity:  Christ's longest prayer recorded in Scripture includes a prayer that all His Followers be one.  In fact, He prayed to the Father "that they may be one, as We are one [emphasis mine]."  I have heard it argued, from more than one source, that this is a reason we shouldn't care about converting non-Catholic Christians.  The argument goes that this will only cause tension and useless argument over Catholic-specific dogmas, which wound our unity.  While it might be ideal for all to become Catholic, we should settle for a "lesser unity."  However, Jesus' prayer does not lend itself to this.  He prayed for a oneness so profound it mirrored that of Himself and the Father.  Now when it comes to Truth, I ask the following question:  Is there any dissent or disagreement within the Holy Trinity?  Of course not.  So it's also true that we should long--as passionately as Jesus did--for all Christians to be so unified that there is no disagreement in matters of morality or doctrine.  This cannot come about by "agreeing to disagree," but can only happen when all Christians agree on these matters.  Perhaps we'd like to look at another reason that agreement among Christians is so important...

2.  Because the Things about which we Disagree are not Trivial:  As it stands, there are some very stark disagreements about even some serious doctrines and moral questions:  "Is communion symbolic or is Christ really present?" "Is baptism necessary?" "Is X--say, using birth control--a sin?"  "Are we obligated to do Y--such as attend Mass every Sunday?" "Is there one true Church?" "Is it okay to pray to saints?" "Is confession with a priest necessary?" and a host of other questions are all questions that each can only have one answer, and whatever that answer is, Christians should be concerned that we all find it, not merely agree to disagree on it.  Nor can it be argued that these aren't important.  Example:  If Christ really IS present in the flesh--and not merely the spirit--in communion, then we OWE Him our worship in that form as well as any other, but if He is NOT present, and the bread and wine do not become His Real Flesh and Blood, it would be IDOLATRY to worship mere food.  Only by knowing the answer to this question--if only by faith--can we determine whether we're committing a grave sin (culpably or otherwise) one way or the other.  There is no in-between.  The same is true on many of the other things about which Christians disagree.  They simply aren't frequently trivial.  That's not to say that those who "get it wrong" to no fault of their own will go to Hell, but it is to say that these things are important, and so it's much better to agree on them than to merely "agree to disagree."

3.  Because Evangelizing is about Now, not only about Heaven:  Some may say, "As long as they've got enough to get to Heaven, why should we strain over whether or not they convert?"  If one has that attitude, however, one might well ask "As long as that starving person is going to Heaven, why feed him?"  Or "As long as the orphan is going to Heaven, why help him?"  What a minimalist approach to working for the Kingdom!  We were taught to pray, by Christ Himself, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven."  Catholics do not have the luxury of thinking only Heaven matters.  We are called to do our part in conforming this world as closely to God's will as possible, and not merely waiting for His will to be done in the next.  That's why we try to alleviate suffering, where it is found, instead of simply dismissing it as temporary.  That's why we help the less fortunate, instead of just leaving them destitute until they finally receive their Heavenly inheritance.

But if we are called to share our material blessings and enact justice in material matters, how much more urgent can it be to share the riches of our spiritual treasury, the Catholic Church, and spread the fullness of Truth--and thereby, pursue a more perfectly spiritually just society--far and wide?  If we count the bodily needs of such high importance as we rightly do, we have absolutely no excuse to count the spreading of our full spiritual goods--Catholicism--as less.  Sharing the wealth and bounty of the Church as fully as we possibly can with our other Christian brethren should be at least as important to us as feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and visiting the sick and imprisoned, and we are called to do those things even for those who are "going to Heaven either way."  We should take our duty of bringing people into Catholicism just as seriously.

4.  Because there is Greater Strength in True Unity:  We are called to transform the earth, to redeem our culture, as much as we can.  Our current state of disunity makes this very difficult.  But imagine the power that Christians would have if we were all united in one belief, one set of doctrines, one ethical code!  We would truly be able to "set the world ablaze" with a transformation toward Christian values.  If we truly believe in all that the Catholic Church teaches, however, then we know that this can only happen to the fullest extent if all are united under the Catholic banner.  For example, from a Catholic perspective, one of the most rotten parts of our culture--that has had a grave impact on the "sexual revolution"--is its acceptance of contraceptives.  Even the most conservative of our Protestant brothers and sisters generally accept contraceptives (although this wasn't true until less than a century ago), so this particular cancer on our society would never be solved by "agreeing to disagree."

This one's a tricky one, admittedly, because in our own culture Catholics are often more guilty than any Protestant of undermining Catholic values, culturally, politically, and otherwise.  Catholics often support abortion and gay marriage, for example.  But that's because there are plenty of baptized and confirmed Catholic who are more Protestant than Martin Luther himself.  They "protest" against even those teachings of the Catholic Church that Luther would have accepted, and as a result they are not truly unified with us, neither in our Faith nor in our attempts to achieve a just society.  But this doesn't mean we shouldn't try to bring non-Catholics into the Church, it just means that these dissident Catholics are just as in need of being evangelized.

5.  Because Eternity is too Important to take Risks:   The Catholic Church recognizes Protestants who are sincere in their faith as our brothers and sisters in Christ, and so should individual Catholics.  However we must remember that the Catechism and Church do confirm that, objectively speaking, it is a sin to remain separated from (or hold beliefs contrary to) the Catholic Church.  It's just that those who are so separated to no fault of their own are not held responsible for it.  But there are two reasons that this is not a good reason to just "leave them to it" without trying to reach out to them.  The first is that, similarly to number 3, helping others avoid doctrinal error and to know what is sin will enrich their lives in the here and now.  The second is that we should never be complacent in assuming that every non-Catholic is "invincibly ignorant" and therefore safe (although I'm not saying we should assume the opposite either; we shouldn't assume either way).  What about, for example, someone who sort of suspects Catholicism might be true, but who is willfully refusing to consider it because it would upset his life too much, or otherwise be too difficult?

I speak from experience:  That was once me, for at least a year before I decided to join the Church.  I had begun to realize on some level that Catholicism might not only be a fellow Christian Church (which I'd always believed) but may in fact be the true Church, but I was too afraid that such beliefs as "Only one true Church" might make my Protestant loved ones and friends think I was a snob.  Had you asked me, during that year, if I "secretly knew" that Catholicism might be true, I would have denied it, because I denied it to myself--so strong was my desire to believe that Catholicism was just one church among many, so that I didn't have to make such a tough choice.  I held back because of fear, not because I was "invincibly ignorant."  And, because of that, I am not confident in what would have become of me had I died.

Before you decide I'm being too hard on myself, consider this:  What if it had been some other sin, besides schism?  What if I'd been raised to believe it was okay to live a gay lifestyle, had been taught the "alternate" interpretations of Scripture that some trot out to allow that?  What if, at some point, I'd begun to suspect that it might be a sin to live a gay lifestyle, but went into denial because it might upset all my gay friends, although I did continue to maintain a devout prayer life and observe all the other commands of Jesus?  Objectively speaking, both schism and living a homosexual life are sins, if Catholicism is true.  So there is no reason to believe that it would have been okay for me to continue living in schism when some part of me, deeply buried, "knew better," if we do not apply that same excuse to my living in the gay lifestyle in this hypothetical scenario--and I think most orthodox Catholics (and indeed devout Bible-believing Protestants) would feel uncomfortable risking giving someone a false sense of security in the hypothetical scenario.  For a Catholic, then, it should be no different with schism.  If not for the tireless work of apologists for Catholicism, people who had a passion for bringing other Christians into the Church, then I might never have had enough information nor seen enough conviction from Catholics to "tip the scales" and make me give up my denial.  So we should all endeavor to do our part in helping others who may, for all we know, be in the same boat I was in.

I'm not talking about brow beating people, or approaching people with a smug attitude of superiority that suggests we think we are "better" than they are.  That would have probably chased me away from Catholicism very quickly, because among other flaws I have too much pride to have ever admitted defeat if someone had made it into a war.  It's wise and right that the Church recognizes that there is good in other denominations, and the use of "ecumenism" is precisely in fostering the kind of mutual respect in which hearts can be open to what we have to say.  Only in humility and graciousness can we hope to reach those who stand where I stood shortly before my conversion.  But there must be firm conviction, it must be possible for those around us to see that we are Catholic not because it's just a really good "denomination," but because we believe this is the True Church.  No one is going to be drawn to our Faith, at least not for the right reasons, if they get the sense that we think our doctrines and specific beliefs are "incidental" or "not important."  And combined with our conviction, we must be as prepared as possible to explain to others why we believe as we do.

In Conclusion, I want to reaffirm that it's noble and good to accept Protestants as our brothers and sisters in Christ.  Some of the most faithful Christians I know--certainly when it comes to loving Christ and having the best of intentions--have been Protestants, some in my very own family.  Many Protestants, on that level, are more worthy of respect than many Catholics, and certainly more than I myself.  This isn't about disrespecting Protestants or saying they are "less Christian."  It is about wanting to share the fullness of our Faith's riches, precisely because all those who have been baptized in Christ have a right to this Treasury, and by His Grace deserve nothing less.  So in fact the more virtuous and in love with Christ a Protestant is, the more it is his birthright to become a Catholic.  We owe it to God to proclaim His full Truth, not only the parts that "all Christians agree upon."  And we owe it to our separated brethren to give them a real fighting chance to join the One True Church, and experience the richness that dwells here.


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NOTE:  The article The Whole House from the New Oxford Review is a great piece on this same topic.  I highly recommend it.  The link, unfortunately, won't allow you to read the whole article though.