About Me

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I am a Roman Catholic convert from Protestantism. My wonderful wife Tenille and I live in Louisville, Ky., with our daughter Esther, and two sons, William and Ezra. We attend Mass at the beautiful St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church on Broadway Street.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Ora Pro Nobis

In the introductory post for this weblog, "Reflections on a Liturgy", I expressed the desire that this site facilitate, among other things, a Catholic-Protestant dialogue. As a convert to Catholicism, from a somewhat Fundamentalist background, such a conversation is near to my heart. I am not a trained or professional apologist, but I try to offer some thoughts on this site on the Church I have come to know and love, and on Her doctrines and practices. In two previous posts ("In Nomine Patris" and "On the Power of Formal Prayer") I have attempted to examine some points of contention between Catholics and Protestants, and to demonstrate the Catholic practices as reasonable, beneficial, and in keeping with good Christian doctrine. Today I would like to continue in a similar vein.

I firmly believe that one of the great obstacles to Christian unity has historically been a lack of communication, and a lack of comprehension of  the beliefs of our brothers and sisters. A theological term may be misunderstood and result in confusion, an idea may be so foreign to our tradition that it is rejected out of hand, and even the language of our traditions may be misinterpreted by those of other traditions due to unfamiliarity. Without Charity and an earnest desire to understand our Christian siblings, we will continue to misrepresent, misunderstand, misinterpret, and remain separated from each other. Of course, communication is not the final answer. Only God, by the Divine workings of Grace and the Holy Spirit in the hearts and minds of men and women, can ever finally effect a return to unity. Yet we do not give up, for God uses many means to achieve his Will, and our attempts at communication can be part of God's own working, used to facilitate the beautiful unity of His children.

Great strides have been made in recent times in this very area, and I feel that understanding, respect, and dialogue between Catholic and Protestants has increased; yet there is still much to done, and much confusion remains. There are still some severe Traditionalist Catholics who consider Protestants to be damned heretics (in stark opposition to the actual teaching of the Church), and some Protestants (especially those of more Fundamentalist background), like Jack Chic of the infamous Chic Tracts, who continue to advance the most nasty and scurrilous attacks, and repeat with no research the most dreadful lies against the Roman Catholic Church.

As much as in our conscience lies, let us lay aside the "damned heretics" and the "Whore of Babylon", and with much prayer and love let us seek "the peace and unity of your Kingdom where You live forever and ever." Amen. (Prayer from the Communion Rite of the Mass)

There are several Catholic doctrines and practices to which Protestants generally object. Although these doctrines and practices are various, and the objections to them are equally various, there seems to run through them the common thread that they are seen, by those opposed to them, to be pagan or superstitious. This is not the place to examine why they are viewed in such a light, nor to consider whether or not this speaks against the Church, as a mark of "scandal". I would briefly note, however, that the early Christians were considered superstitious by the Romans, and I would refer the reader to Blessed John Henry Newman's treatment of this matter in his seminal work An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine. I do have an idea on the subject, but that may be a matter for another post.

I am more concerned here with demonstrating the fact that these Catholic doctrines and practices are not, in fact, superstitious; and that any objection to them can only reasonably be made on some other grounds. What follows may or may not be seen as convincing, but at least I pray that it will serve to show that these Catholic practices are not unreasonable, superstitious, or opposed to Christian thought.

Among the specific Catholic behaviors that Protestants view as pagan or superstitious is prayers to the Saints. This seems to always be a source of contention, and the amount of material that has been written against praying to the Saints could fill volumes. In this essay I would like to briefly examine this issue, and try to explain what Catholics actually mean and intend when they pray to Saints or Angels.

The objections to praying to the Saints are basically six. They are: 1. That the Bible does not command us to do it, nor does it even speak of it, 2. That Catholics confuse the Saints and Angels with God, to Whom alone we are to pray, 3. That the Saints cannot hear us (or we do not know if they can), 4. That we do not have any reason to suppose that those in Heaven do, in fact, pray for us, 5. There is no need to pray to the Saints when we can go directly to God, 6. And that we do not know all the names of those who are in Heaven.

Let us examine these in order.

1. The Bible does not command us to pray to Saints or Angels; nor does it allow, or even speak of such a practice.

I will not spend a great deal of time on this first objection. This is not an attempt to avoid the problem; rather this problem is answerable only within the context of the larger issue which it addresses--sola scriptura. The real issue at stake here is not so much whether the Bible commands or allows us to pray to the saints, but whether or not the Bible is our sole rule of Faith. Of course, neither the Church nor myself is advocating a doctrinal free-for-all. Certainly no Christian doctrine or practice should ever be opposed to the teaching of Sacred Scripture. But whether Scripture explicitly contains mention of all we are to do; whether Scripture requires no external teaching authority to interpret it; and whether Tradition is to be utterly ignored--these are other matters altogether, and will be reserved for a future post.

However, I would like to offer a couple of brief thoughts before moving on to the second point. The objection was that Scripture does not command us to pray to the Saints. Agreed. But consider for a moment a few of the other weighty issues that the Bible does not specifically address. The Bible nowhere teaches the very doctrine of sola scriptura, nor does it list which books were to be included in its canon. Both of these concepts are extra-Biblical. The Scriptures are silent upon these crucial points. Again, the New Testament offers us absolutely no instructions on how to conduct a Christian wedding ceremony. Nor does it tell us what is required for a Christian marriage to be valid. And yet, every day, large numbers of Bible-believing, sola scriptura Christian are accepting nothing but a tradition as they pledge their live to each other before the preacher. Is the minister necessary? Is the congregation necessary? Perhaps a private vow followed by living together is sufficient. But the Scriptures are still silent.

There is another example that is more to point. I am not aware of any place in Scripture where abortion is explicitly condemned. Yet two other Biblical ideas together clearly express this unwritten law. The first is that a baby is human while still within its mother (we scarcely need to go further here than the story of Mary and Elizabeth, and the fact that St. John the Baptist was filled with the Holy Spirit from his mother's womb). The second is the commandment "Thou shall not kill". With these two facts in mind, it is unnecessary for the Bible to specifically mention abortion, euthanasia, stem-cell research, etc. In similar fashion, if we can discover that the Saints hear us and pray for us, and we have evidence that it is wise to petition the prayers of others, then prayers to the Saints becomes a far less difficult concept.

2. Prayer is to be addressed to God alone. Catholics who pray to the Saints either confuse God with the Saints, or are in grave danger of doing so.

This is a serious objection, but a fallacious one. I believe that it basically rests upon two fundamental misunderstandings. The first error is simply based upon essentially comparing two things have certain superficial resemblances. Prayers and devotions to Saints, feast days, shrines, pilgrimages--all these things smack of pagan polytheism and the worship of the gods. Yet superficial or external resemblance is not always a true test in these matters. Non-Christians often point out that the story of Christ resembles certain pagan tales of suffering gods. Yet Christians know in reality that such a resemblance is only superficial, and that there is no essential similarity . Again, to those who object that this Catholic practice bears marks of relationship to pagan practices, I wold reply that the doctrine of the Trinity could be called a derivation of the three faces of Shiva in Hindu thought. Yet we know that we did not really borrow our theology from India, nor that beneath the surface is there any real similarity. Remember also that all religions have certain elements in common, and that to confuse one religion with another based upon those common elements is a serious mistake. It matters not that the Romans had shrines to their gods. What matters is the teaching of the Church and how we understand our devotion to the Saints. And here, let me plainly say that there is no confusion. The Church has always divided carefully and exactly between devotion and honor to the Saints, and the worship that we offer to God. The Church has exactly defined latria, dulia, and hyperdulia. The worship known as latria, the reverence given to a divine being, is offered and is due to the Blessed Trinity alone. The highest forms of honor and reverence given to the Saints is still infinitely less than the honor given to God, and even it depends completely upon the work of God the souls of the Saints.

Nor is this only a matter of Church doctrine. It is true as much in practice as it is in principle. To think that Catholics confuse God and the Saints is a gross error founded upon assumptions, and which results in passing judgment on the hearts and thoughts of others which we cannot see. I know of no Catholics that suffers from such confusion. The writings of Catholics that come down to us through the centuries betray no such error. If somewhere, in some dark corner of the world, some benighted soul really thinks that the Saints are gods, then I suspect that that soul has received so little catechesis, or has wandered so far from the clear teaching of the Church that the name Catholic could not really even be applied. If such a soul exists, as it may, it would be so rare a thing as to make it inconsequential to this discussion. Confusion on the part of certain specific individuals exists in any religion, and cannot constitute a valid argument.

But I believe that this objection also rests upon a confusion of language. The words used by Catholics such as prayer, devotion, etc., are used exclusively by Protestants in relationship to God. So when a Protestant hears a Catholic "pray to a Saint", or practice "devotion to the Saints", it appears that the Catholic is offering to the Saints what is rightly due to God alone. But we must remember that the origin of these words is very old, and their definitions have been various throughout history. The word "prayer", for example, means only communication with God to the Protestant. But clearly, the word itself simply means "to ask". One can easily imagine a peasant in earlier times saying to his lord or some nobleman, "I pray thee, beseech the King on my behalf." Now we would never assume that the peasant believes that his lord is really God. It is simply an archaic way of saying "ask". This, too, is the Catholic understanding. When we speak of praying to saints, we do not think that they can answer our prayers in same way that God can, rather we are simply asking them to pray for us. Once again we see the crucial importance in any ecumenical discussion of defining and understand the words and phrases used by our Christian brothers and sisters.

3. We do not know if those in Heaven can hear us.
4. We do not know if those in Heaven actually do pray for us.

I have grouped these two objections together, because they are related, and the answers to them will involve certain common passages from Scripture.

Sacred Scripture, in fact, makes known to us that those in heaven are both aware of our prayers, and that they pray for us. I will confine myself to the canon accepted by Protestants, but would still like to note that book of Maccabees makes it clear that the saints do pray for us. While I recognize that this book is not considered canonical by non-Catholics, it is still a remarkable fact, and gives some weight to this argument regardless. Maccabees is the story of a Jewish hero prior to the time of Christ, not a Christian nor a Pagan story. But the canon of Scripture is its own topic, so let us examine only such passages as are commonly accepted.


It is good here to remember the analogy of St. Paul, in which he describes the Church as a Body, united to its Head, which is Jesus Christ. A body is intimately connected, yet it receives its information from the head. If my left hand is injured, my right hand is unaware of its pain. Yet the head interprets this pain, and passes along to my right hand the command to apply a bandage to the left hand. If this is true in our natural bodies, how much more so in the Body of Christ. Since our Head, Jesus, has perfect knowledge, then He can make the other members of His body aware of the trials and tribulations of those member that are still on earth. Remember, the Body of Christ is not divided, and those in heaven are not less a part of it for having passed through the veil. Rather their intimate union with the Head, and their experience of the Beatific Vision, should enable them to have even clearer knowledge of what is going on with the rest of us than do those still on earth. Their sight is now perfect, unalloyed by imperfections, and their union with Christ makes them united with us. There is no reason at all to assume that the Saints are not aware of those who still walk "this vale of tears", as if their worship of God in heaven must necessarily preclude such awareness. When Christ tells us that the guardian angels of children always behold the Face of the Father (Matt.18:10), we learn that gazing upon God does not distract those in heaven from caring for those on earth. Nor is there any reason to assume that those in heaven cannot or would not pray for us. The Charity in their hearts should make them truly solicitous for us, and their closeness with God makes their prayers very effective. St. James tells us that the "prayer of a righteous man avails much". How effective then must be the prayers of those who have been made perfect and stand in the very Presence of God!

But this is still guesswork and possibilities. Do we have any indication in the Bible that those who have passed on are, in fact, aware of us, solicitous for us, and pray for us? Yes, and the indication is strong and clear. We find the souls under the altar in Revelation crying out to God "How long" till their blood is avenged on earth. They know. Dives himself, in the midst of the flame, begs Abraham to send Lazarus to his brethren on earth, to keep them from coming "to this place". Dives is aware. He knows that his brothers are still alive and still in need. And he is not even in heaven! This, of course, brings up to question of Purgatory, for if Dives was in Hell, the thought that he was concerned for others makes no sense at all. But that is yet another topic. Abraham too, is aware, but he knows that the return of Lazarus will not alter their hearts. Karl Keating writes: "If Dives could pray to Lazarus (that must have been how he spoke to him) across the unbridgeable abyss, then why should we not be able to pray to saints across an abyss they have successfully crossed and we hope to cross?" (Catholicism and Fundamentalism). If God could make Moses and Elijah appear after their death upon the Mount of Transfiguration, are we to assume that in heaven they are less likely to be shown what is happening on earth? The elders in Revelation are aware when the time of God's wrath and judgment has come. (Rev. 11:17-18). When the angel announces that Babylon has fallen (Rev. 14:8), do we suppose that inhabitants of heaven were unable to hear the announcement? In Rev. 19:1-3 John hears what seems to be the voice of a great multitude proclaiming the destruction of the same Babylon. And let us remember that St. John himself was caught up into heaven in the Spirit and saw what was, and was to come, on earth and in Heaven. The sight of those in Heaven is not dimmed, nor are their ears deaf. Rather they see and hear more clearly, and are more aware than those of us here on earth. From the vantage point of heaven, the Saint see and know more than we can imagine.

But there is more. A truly remarkable picture that deals with this exact subject is presented to us in the book of Revelation. In Revelation 8:3-4 we read: "Another angel came and stood at the altar, holding a golden censer. He was given a great quantity of incense to offer, along with the prayers of all the holy ones, on the gold altar that was before the throne. The smoke of the incense along with the prayers of the holy ones went up before God from the hand of the angel." (Emphasis mine) The language of Revelation is richly mystical and often confusing, but let step past the symbol for a moment and see what is really happening here. It is actually remarkably clear. The prayers of the holy ones on earth are not going directly to God. They go to God from the hand of the angel! We know that the incense represents prayers. We know that neither it nor the golden censers are literal. We know that the angels do not hand our prayers to God with literal hands. As we step past the figurative and the symbolic we see what is really happening here. The angels are offering our prayers to God. And since they do not literally hand our prayers to God, in what way do they present them? Mentally. By interceding for us. The angels take our prayers, and offer them (intercede) to God. Here the picture of prayer in heaven is given to us clearly. There is no other explanation. And if we look a little further we will see that this duty is not confined to the angelic beings. Revelation 5:8: "When he took it, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each of the elders held a harp and gold bows filled with incense, which are the prayers of the holy ones." Make no mistake about it, the Saints and Angels in heaven both hear our prayers and offer them to God. They know our state, and they intercede for us. To construct a three point argument: (1)if the prayer of a righteous man avails much; (2) if the Saints and Angels in heaven are aware of us and hear our prayers; (3) if the Saints and Angel are, in fact, interceding for us before the throne of God (and we know all three of these things to be true); then by what argument or upon what grounds, may we not ask them to pray for us? And such has been the Tradition and clear teaching of the Catholic Church for centuries.

5. There is no need to ask the Saints to pray for us when we can go directly to God.

I suppose that this is really the most common objection to praying to the Saints, yet it is really the simplest one to answer. The trouble with this argument is not that it does not prove enough, but rather that it proves too much. If there is no need to ask for the Saints' prayers, on the grounds that we can pray directly to God, then the same objection holds anytime we ask anyone to pray for us. Virtually no Christian of any tradition, Catholic, Protestant, or Orthodox, would deny that we are greatly benefited by the prayers of others, and that it is wisdom to request the prayers of others. The evidence of St. Paul requesting the assistance of the prayers of those in Rome (Rom. 15:30) should be enough to convince us that we do well to seek the intercession of our Christian brothers and sisters. Yet, I would ask, "Why should I ask you to pray for me since I can go directly to God?" If this question is seen to be clearly false (which it is) and not in accordance with good Christian doctrine, then the same objection fails just as badly when proposed against requesting the prayers of the Saints or Angels. God could have designed things differently, of course, but it seems that God often wills to accomplish His ends by means of intermediaries. I suspect that there is a great deal of humility and community to  be learned from that fact.

6. We do not know the names of all the Saints in Heaven.

This final objection has a certain relationship to the very first objection which we examined, so the response will be much the same. This is not so much an objection to praying to the Saints as it is an objection to the Church's teaching authority which tells us the names of many of those who are in Heaven. Here, once again, we are on the doorstep of the great debate between sola scriptura and the infallibility of the Church, and that is a topic for another time and another post (or many posts!). Suffice it to say that we may still be reasonably certain of the Saints mentioned in Scripture, even if one may not accept the lists of canonized Saints proclaimed by the Church since that time. Surely we may be confident of St. Stephen, the first martyr, who saw the heavens opened just before his death. Or the Blessed Virgin and the Apostles. And we know the names of two of the greatest angels in heaven as well-- Gabriel and Michael, the Archangels (and Raphael, as well, if we accept the deuterocononicals). Of these at least, even the non-Catholic may be certain, and this is no mean company of intercessors!

                                                  Some Concluding Thoughts

When we step away from the particular thoughts and arguments presented here, and elsewhere by others, we see a clear and simple picture. The key to understanding prayers to the Saints lies largely in coming to see Christians as a family, as part of the Body of Christ. Death does not separate us, and the Saints in heaven are not less our brothers and sisters, nor less a part of Christ's Body, than when they were here on earth. Their unity with us in Christ, and their experience of the Beatific Vision, enables them to be aware of us and pray for us. Their concern for us continues, and their intercession does not cease. We are as much (indeed, more) able to request their prayers on our behalf as when they walked with us here below. The Confiteor, prayed often at Mass, presents this to us simply: "I confess to Almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault; in my thoughs and in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do. And I ask Blessed Mary, ever-virgin, all the angels and saints, and you my brothers and sisters to pray for me to the Lord our God." Here we see Mary, the Saints, and "you my brothers and sisters" as all one family, united in the Lord.

As stated before, I do not desire anyone to adopt this practice if it is at odds with their conscience, but I sincerely hope, that at the very least, you may come to see that this beautiful and beneficial Catholic practice is in no way pagan or superstitious, but firmly rooted in the work of Christ.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Farewell, Beloved Knight

The great English journalist Mr. Gilbert Kieth Chesterton had (and still has) a remarkable effect on people. He is impossible to ignore. Love him or hate him, he was larger than life-- eccentric, brilliant, and absolutely unforgettable. His contemporaries could never quite pass him by unnoticed, could never completely leave him alone, and could never simply pretend that he did not exist, no matter how much many of them might have wished that he did not.

There was nothing lukewarm about Chesterton, nor was there anything lukewarm about the responses that he elicited from his readers. He was praised, admired, or at least respected in his own times by men as diverse as Hilaire Belloc and George Bernard Shaw. He was equally insulted and despised by countless others of his own generation. If the number of books, websites, comments and quotes I frequently encounter are any indication, I would say that he is at least as popular now as he was in his own lifetime, and just as unforgettable. My own impressions of GKC have gone through several major changes since I first met him years ago in Orthodoxy and The Everlasting Man, but after long acquaintance I would like to offer a few thoughts and a few words in praise of that giant Christian.

There are many reasons why Mr. Chesterton was either greatly admired or else despised and detested. One reason was his style of paradoxical writing. It is, to put it simply, infuriating. Infuriatingly good or infuriatingly bad, depending on your perspective. Chesterton viewed paradox as "truth standing on its head" trying to get attention, and attention is exactly what he got. He put paradox to great use in nearly all of his writings, expressing truth in pithy, witty, and unforgettable lines. Opinions concerning his writing style were almost always polarized. Many men of his own time found his writing brilliant, and  Belloc even composed a poem about G. K. Chesterton in which he referred to him as "the only man I regularly read". Others found his style simply maddening and provoking, and even some contemporary Catholics found it cheap. Again, you may either love it or hate it, but you cannot ignore it.

My own first encounter with Chesterton occurred many years ago. In my mid-teens my family discovered C. S. Lewis. We loved him. My first experience with Lewis, around the age of fourteen or fifteen, was The Abolition of Man, a oft-forgotten work that I think is really one of his best. As we were reading and admiring Lewis, my father came across a comment that Lewis had been greatly influenced by the writings of another Englishman, named G. K. Chesterton. The obvious thing to do after enjoying Lewis then was to read some Chesterton. So my Dad discovered Orthodoxy and The Everlasting Man, and my life was never quite the same. He used to read us passages from Chesterton that he thought were remarkably good, though he would occasionally comment that he could not understand how a man as brilliant as G. K. Chesterton could have ever converted and become Catholic. I suppose that it was astonishing that intellect and true Christianity could ever look towards Rome. Ah, strange and beautiful paradox, that at last I understand!

I will never forget the impression that Chesterton first left in my mind. He was the only other really logical, intellectual Christian besides Lewis that I had read at that time, but the difference between him and Lewis was remarkable. Where Lewis was cautious, Chesterton threw caution to the winds. Where Lewis wrote beautifully, Chesterton wrote with such exquisite and gloriously lyrical passion that I wanted to rejoice, sing, and weep; usually all at the same time. And where Lewis was profound, scholarly and careful, Chesterton was scintillating, brilliantly incisive (though seemingly careless), effortlessly slicing through layers of error and misconception, and exposing the simple and beautiful Truth in a way that made one want to laugh for sheer delight. I still remember the joy with which I encountered lines such as this one, from Orthodoxy:

"To have fallen into any of those open traps of error and exaggeration which fashion after fashion and sect after sect set along the historic path of Christendom--that would indeed have been simple. It is always simple to fall; there are an infinity of angles at which one falls, only one at which one stands.To have fallen into any one of the fads from Gnosticism to Christian Science would indeed have been obvious and tame. But to have avoided them all has been one whirling adventure; and in my vision the heavenly chariot flies thundering through the ages, the dull heresies sprawling and prostrate, the wild truth reeling but erect."

Or this one from The Everlasting Man:

"We are Christians and Catholics not because we worship a key, but because we have passed a door; and felt the wind that is the trumpet of liberty blow over the land of the living."

Or one of my first encounters with his poetry:

                                                                 The Donkey

                                                 When fishes flew and forest walked
                                                 And figs grew upon thorn,
                                                 Some moment when the moon was blood
                                                 Then surely I was born.

                                                With monstrous head and sickening cry
                                                And ears like errant wings,
                                                The devil's walking parody
                                                Of all four-footed things,
                                           
                                                The tattered outlaw of the earth
                                                Of ancient, crooked will
                                                Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb
                                                I keep my secret still.

                                                Fools! For I also had my hour,
                                               One far fierce hour and sweet
                                               There was a shout about my ears
                                               And palms before my feet."

I was captivated, and I wanted more. Besides the beauty of Chesterton's writing, and his obvious wit and genius, I was struck by something else. I was struck by fact that when Chesterton wrote on something he was almost always absolutely certain that he was right. While this may appear to some to be arrogance, and may in fact be another reason why many have so heartily disliked him, his certainty was actually far from arrogant. It was coupled with a great humility and a healthy dose of humor which made it all the more charming and refreshing. This point is important, because Chesterton's assurance represented something to me that I had never really encountered before. As a sort of quasi-fundamentalist, my experiences with certainty were unlike what I saw in books like Orthodoxy. In a background like mine one experiences a curious mix of a multiplicity of opinions, combined with a strong personal certainty that often smacks of subjectivity. In the "home church" environment of my youth I encountered disagreements and theological speculations, and yet also the dogmatic though often subjective certainty of my father and others. But I had never really encountered anything like the certainty of Gilbert Kieth Chesterton before.

There was nothing abrasive about it. It did not hint of subjectivity, arrogance, bigotry, or dominance. It smacked of freedom. It was humble because Chesterton was not leaning upon his own understanding, but rather upon the authority of the Church. It was freeing because that authority was divinely instituted, because it was really true, and the truth sets us free. It was objective because it did not deal in how one felt, or how one thought the Scriptures should be interpreted. In a world  blighted by the dreadful doctrine of relativism Chesterton did not snivel and second-guess; he did not say things like "Well, that's what I think, but it's just my opinion, of course", or "I believe so, but I could be wrong". Chesterton wasn't dealing in speculations, relativism, or subjectivity. No, he truly had passed a door and felt the wind of liberty blow over the land of the living. Indeed, he even seemed (for all his monstrous girth) to be frolicking in the fields of that land, rejoicing in certainty, experiencing reality, and free from diverse interpretations. To find a man who is not uncertain, who through obedience to an authority outside himself is humble, yet who stands with his feet on a Rock and knows what he believes; a man, who, free from confusion can say "This is true" without arrogance; to find such a man in our times is a rare and beautiful thing.

Chesterton himself had some words to say on this very topic: "Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction, where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed....At any street corner we may meet a man who utters the frantic and blasphemous statement that he may be wrong. Every day one comes across somebody who says that of course his view may not be the right one. Of course his view must be the right one, or it is not his view. We are on the road to producing a race of men too mentally modest to believe in the multiplication table....Scoffers of old time were to proud to be convinced; but these are too humble to be convinced. The meek do inherit the earth, but these are too meek to even claim their inheritance." (G. K. Chesterton Orthodoxy) No wonder that I thrilled when I first read Chesterton! Somewhere in my heart and subconscious I wanted what he had.

Over time I continued reading, discovering Father Brown, the bizarre yet beautiful novel The Man Who was Thursday, and finally the seminal Conversion and the Catholic Church. But, eventually, I stopped reading Chesterton, and left him alone for a very long time.

Times and people change; we learn and grow and become different for better or for worse. When, at last, my own twisted path began to turn once more towards Home, I still did not read Chesterton. I encountered new authors, different books, and my tastes had changed. I did read his biography of St. Francis of Assisi, and loved it, but when I tried the first few pages of The Dumb Ox (on St. Aquinas), I did not find it as interesting, and left it untouched. Only last last year did I finally read that brilliant and monumental work, and presently consider myself much indebted to it.

I still held a certain  respect for GKC, but I think that I, too, had tired of his style. I unconsciously fell into the error of thinking the that he was sometimes shallow in his paradox, occasionally extravagant and careless in his writing. Fondness turned to condescension, the mental "pat on the head", and this is a great mistake with G. K. Chesterton.

I became reacquainted with Chesterton eventually, not that long ago, and not only did I find my appreciation for him had returned, but was even greater than before. But this time around I have noticed something that I had never realized before, and I think it may help to explain some things about Chesterton. It may help to explain how he could be so incredibly right about nearly everything, but still make mistakes; how he could be so scholarly and yet so careless; so studied and yet so hasty. Of course, the simple answer is that he was human, and therefore fallible. But I think that there is something more to the story, and it is this that I particularly wish to share with you today.

I am no Chesterton scholar; I have not read all his works, nor examined biographies of him, nor considered the opinions of those whose business it is the analyze the thoughts and feelings of notable historic characters after they have died. But I believe that in lives of truly remarkable men and women we may come to see themes or patterns, certain driving passions and defining characteristics. In the case of Chesterton, I suppose that the most obvious thing is that he was Catholic. But there are two other characteristics that would I like to share here, which have been growing in my mind, and which have helped me to see Chesterton in clearer light than before.

The first is that Chesterton was helplessly enamored with the fact of existence. He was ceaselessly amazed that this universe is real, constantly overwhelmed by blades of grass or stars in the sky, and especially awestruck with fact that he himself had been created and was alive. The most remarkable things in life (and especially life itself) are often the things that we take for granted, and few of us have been given the gift of being truly aware of the astonishing miracle that any of this, or any of us, should ever exist at all. Chesterton was one of the few who was truly saturated with this gift, amazed with the incredible fact that he was, and he never got over it. In response to people who speak of "might-have-been's", Chesterton wrote that the really remarkable thing is that each man "is a great might-not-have-been". The fact that Chesterton, during a period of severe darkness, was driven to the point of contemplating suicide, makes his enduring celebration of life all the more rich and poignant.

 But there is something more to the man, a characteristic of which I have become aware as I have become reacquainted with him. Chesterton's writings are full of fairy tales and fireworks, knights and heraldry, chivalry and romance. There is an almost childlike quality in his appreciation of these things, and there is certainly nothing wrong with being childlike. But let us never mistake child-likeness with childishness. Chesterton was neither childish nor simple. But to be like a child is a very good thing, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Chesterton was a medievalist, in the best sense of the term, and I think that herein may be a key to understanding much that seems confusing or inconsistent with him.

Much as we may consider St. Francis of Assisi as the last and greatest of the troubadours (or perhaps more accurately, as he himself might have said, one of the jongleur de Dieu), so I think that Chesterton was one of the greatest and last of the Christian knights of our times. Yes, a knight with a pen instead of a sword, but a knight nonetheless. Flying the banner of God, and wearing the insignia of his beloved Lady the Church over his heart, Chesterton plunged into all the great battles of his day with heedless virtue and luminous veracity. A knight is very certain, because he fights for king or queen and country. His mind is unconfused, he sees what needs to be done very clearly, and he does it. His is chivalrous and romantic, he brooks no insult to his lady, nor any danger to his native land. A knight is very real, for he deals daily with life and death, and the simple beauties and realities of life are all the more precious to him after the battle is over. But for all this he is not a scholar, though they both fight for the same things. He is a man of action and great passion, not a slow and careful schoolman. And so a great knight, though he be seen as noble after victory, or praised in songs and with monuments, may also have his more quixotic moments. In all his vigorous action he may occasionally mistake a windmill for a giant, or find that the noble steed on which he thinks he rides is really just a donkey. He may even seem to be the donkey at times himself and appear to the world to be a fool. But no matter, the message of the Cross was considered foolishness to the Greeks, and our Divine Savior Himself entered Jerusalem riding on a donkey. And I am very sure of this: that neither you nor I, or any other ass who has ever lived, when bearing our Lord, is in any way less noble than the greatest stallion running lonely in the fields.

And so, I have more appreciation for Chesterton now. He makes more sense to me. He was a large man, physically and intellectually, and he was a man with a giant heart. No cautious statesman he, no meditative monk or solitary hermit, but he was a titan of a man, born with a childlike love of life into a gray and dying society that was attacking everything he loved, everything he deemed worth living for. He fought like the knights of old for all that was good and beautiful with no thought for himself or any careful consideration that he might seem to be outnumbered. He fought, not with despair, but as a man in love, who would have done battle with a hundred men with only his naked hands, just to spare some flower in the grass. He was indeed one of the last great knights, and we may not soon see his like again.

It is not for me to try here to compare the various levels of the virtues of the saints, nor even to say if Chesterton was a saint, in the sense that the Church uses that word. He has never been canonized, but he has been declared as a Defender of the Faith, and there is something remarkably fitting in that knight-like title. In heaven I do not know how bright his aureole will shine compared to those around him. But each person has something special about him or her, something unique and precious, however great or small person may be. And somehow, I like to imagine, that when we are all at last called home to the great Wedding Feast of the Lamb, when we sit around the Banquet Table of the Lord, that Chesterton will drink deeply of the wine of the joy of God as the bowl is passed around, and will laugh louder and sing with more abandon, than most of those that we have known on earth.

So rest now from your labors, good and honest subject of the King, for you fought well for the cause of God. And may you, O faithful departed soul, dwell forever in light perpetual. Farewell, beloved knight. Requiescat in pace, Mr. Chesterton.