Earlier this year, a friend and I attended the Ludwig von Mises Institute conference in Houston, Texas. The conference centered upon an analysis of the current financial challenges facing our country, and a discussion of some economic and political solutions. Since the keynote speaker was Ron Paul, I thought it was safe to say the majority of those in attendance identified themselves as libertarians, either socially or philosophically. But I learned otherwise. During the first session break, following Lew Rockwell’s lecture, I began talking with a young man by the name of Bo. After a brief introduction and small talk, Bo quickly asked, “So, I am guessing you are a libertarian?”

“No,” I responded. “I am actually a Thomist.”

To my astonishment and joy, Bo knew what this meant, for he himself had read Aquinas in college, and said that Aquinas changed the way he viewed, and did, philosophy. Bo did favor the libertarian view of politics, and he was intrigued as to why I was there, perhaps hoping that my presence was a sign of “conversion.” I informed him that, as a Thomist, I disagreed with many of the libertarian positions, but was willing to affirm whatever was true in what libertarians held and taught.

To be a Thomist is not simply to hold to a particular set of doctrines (it is that, as well), but, more importantly, it is a way of viewing everything-a manner of distinguishing and separating in order to unite, thereby seeing the relation of the parts to the whole. Ultimately, it is the search for truth as the end of the human intellect, pursuing it wherever it can be found, no matter its source. Ralph McInerny provides a magnificent insight on the authentic image of a Thomist in his book Thomism in an Age of Renewal:

One reads Thomas with the growing awareness that he was, in principle, interested in anything available to him, from whatever source it came; moreover, the sympathy with which he reads authors whose fundamental tenets are opposed to his own, the value he insists on finding truth in whatever he reads, is something almost unique in the history of philosophy. (p 52)

What, then, does Thomism have to do with libertarianism? The recent presidential election and subsequent political battles have revealed a strong tendency among some Catholics to attempt an integration of the tenets of libertarianism and Catholic social teaching. While it is true that there are libertarian positions that are fully in accord with Catholicism, it must be emphasized that the integration is quite complex and, at a certain level, quite difficult, even impossible.

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Eldest son of a shoemaker, John was born at Diest, Brabant. He early wanted to be a priest, and when thirteen became a servant in the household of one of the Cathedral canons at Malines, John Froymont. In 1615, he entered the newly founded Jesuit College at Malines, and the following year became a Jesuit novice. He was sent to Rome in 1618 to continue his studies, and was known for his diligence and piety, impressing all with his holiness and stress on perfection in little things. He died there on August 13. Many miracles were attributed to him after his death, and he was canonized in 1888. He is the patron of altar boys. His feast day is November 26.

Born on January 13, 1891 in Guadalupe, Mexico, Miguel Agustin Pro Juarez was the eldest son of Miguel Pro and Josefa Juarez.

Miguelito, as his doting family called him, was, from an early age, intensely spiritual and equally intense in his mischievousness, frequently exasperating his family with his humor and practical jokes. As a child, he had a daring precociouness that sometimes went too far, tossing him into near-death accidents and illnesses. On regaining consciousness after one of these episodes, young Miguel opened his eyes and blurted out to his frantic parents, “I want some cocol” (a colloquial term for his favorite sweet bread). “Cocol” became his nickname, which he would later adopt as a code name during this clandestine ministry.

Miguel was particularly close to his older sister and after she entered a cloistered convent, he came to recognize his own vocation to the priesthood. Although he was popular with the senoritas and had prospects of a lucrative career managing his father’s thriving business concerns, Miguel renounced everything for Christ his King and entered the Jesuit novitiate in El Llano, Michoacan in 1911.

He studied in Mexico until 1914, when a tidal wave of anti-Catholicism crashed down upon Mexico, forcing the novitiate to disband and flee to the United States, where Miguel and his brother seminarians treked through Texas and New Mexico before arriving at the Jesuit house in Los Gatos, California.

In 1915, Miguel was sent to a seminary in Spain, where he remained until 1924, when he went to Belgium for his ordination to the priesthood in 1925. Miguel suffered from a severe stomach problem and after three operations, when his health did not improve, his superiors, in 1926, allowed him to return to Mexico in spite of the grave religiouspersecution in that country.

The churches were closed and priests went into hiding. Miguel spent the rest of his life in asecret ministry to the sturdy Mexican Catholics. In addition to fulfilling their spiritual needs, he also carried out the works of mercy by assisting the poor in Mexico City with their temporal needs. He adopted many interesting disguises in carrying out his secretmininstry. He would come in the middle of the night dressed as a beggar to baptize infants, bless marriages and celebrate Mass. He would appear in jail dressed as a police officer to bring Holy Viaticum to condemned Catholics. When going to fashionable neighboorhoods to procure for the poor, he would show up at the doorstep dressed as a fashionable businessmam with a fresh flower on his lapel. His many exploits could rival those of the most daring spies. In all that he did, however, Fr. Pro remained obedient to his superiors and was filled with the joy of serving Christ, his King.

Falsely accused in the bombing attempt on a former Mexican president, Miguel became a wanted man. Betrayed to the police, he was sentenced to death without the benefit of any legal process.

By Kevin O’Brien, SJ
From The Ignatian Adventure

As we see in the exercises on the call of Christ, our King, and in later exercises, the disciple of Christ aspires to poverty.

All of us are called to “poverty of spirit,” or spiritual poverty, which describes a stance of utter dependence before God, not in any demeaning, servile sense, but in the sense of the Principle and Foundation: God is God, and we are creatures created to praise, love, and serve God. Before all else, we depend on God for our happiness and fulfillment. While we are grateful for our talents, abilities, wealth, and achievements, we are free enough to offer them to the service of God and others and to let go of them when they get in the way of that self-giving.

In short, poverty of spirit is an emptying of self so that God can fill us with life and love. Our prayer helps us grow in spiritual poverty and freedom. Christ is the model of spiritual poverty par excellence.

Christ also lived in actual or material poverty, with a lack of material goods. Some people may be called to this way of living. Priests, brothers, and sisters in religious orders profess a vow of poverty, renouncing personal possessions and wealth and depending on their religious community for their material needs. God may call others to a life of material poverty without professing vows. Material poverty is not an end in itself, for abject poverty is degrading to the human person (as a survey of our world so tragically reveals). Instead, for those called to this state of life, material poverty is a means to deepen one’s commitment to the poor whom Christ held so dear.

Although not everyone is called to live a life of actual poverty, we are all called to live simply and in freedom with respect to the riches we have-whether they are in the form of material possessions, talents, reputation, or influence. All are called to labor with Christ to help the poor and powerless in some way. All are called to give countercultural witness to the rampant competition and materialism around us.

by Paul Brian Campbell,SJ

As Gandhi stepped aboard a train one day, one of his shoes slipped off and landed on the track. He was unable to retrieve it as the train was moving. To the amazement of his companions, Gandhi calmly took off his other shoe and threw it back along the track to land close to the first. Asked by a fellow passenger why he did so, Gandhi smiled. “The poor man who finds the shoes lying on the track,” he replied, “will now have a pair he can use.”

Stanislaus Kostka was only 18 years old when he died, and had been a Jesuit novice for less than a year. He is one of the popular saints of Poland and many religious institutions have chosen him as the protector of their novitiates.

He was born in 1550 at the family estate in east-central Poland. His father was a local governor and military administrator, and a senator of the Kingdom of Poland. His mother was the sister and niece of Polish dukes. According to the standards of those times, all this meant Stanislaus was a Polish noble destined for public life.

When he was 14, his father enrolled him and his older brother Paul in a new Jesuit college in Vienna that was especially favored by the nobility. Paul, who always had an eye for comfort, found them rooms in the house of an Austrian senator.

Stanislaus was a serious and quiet person. He avoided all unnecessary contact with visitors, applied himself to his studies, dressed plainly for a noble, and spent so much time in prayer that Paul derisively nicknamed him “the Jesuit.” Paul interpreted Stanislaus’ natural meekness and humility as a reproach to his own worldly and carefree way of life. Whatever Stanislaus did either offended or irritated him. So, he harassed his younger brother, abusing him physically and verbally. Stanislaus didn’t crack under pressure. He just became more virtuous and determined to become a Jesuit.

In December 1565, Stanislaus received some heavenly help. Feeling ill and close to death, he asked to receive Holy Communion. Paul kept putting him off, saying the illness wasn’t life-threatening. (Their landlord was a staunch Lutheran and wouldn’t allow a priest into the house). Stanislaus prayed to St. Barbara to somehow receive Communion, and soon Barbara and two angels appeared to him in his room, bringing him Communion. They left, and then Our Lady carrying the baby Jesus appeared, and told him he was to enter the Society of Jesus. Stanislaus regained his health and returned to college.

Now really resolved to be a Jesuit, Stanislaus asked the Jesuit provincial of Vienna for admittance, only to be told he needed his parents’ consent. Stanislaus knew they wouldn’t give it, and decided to ask further away from home. In August 1567, he walked the 450 miles to Augsburg, Germany. Paul heard of it and started after him. Stanislaus was dressed as a simple pilgrim, and the angry Paul went right past him on the road without recognizing him and gave up the chase.

Stanislaus reached the Augsburg provincial, Fr. Peter Canasis, S.J., and together they agreed that Stanislaus ought to get even further away from his father’s political influence. They decided on Rome. In September 1567, he and two Jesuits went on foot, south through Germany and over the Alps to Italy. It took a month to reach Rome.

There Stanislaus presented himself to the head of the Society of Jesus, Father General Francis Borgia, S.J., and entered the Jesuit novititate. For the next ten months, his prayer was purified and his union with God grew more intense.

In early August 1568, Stanislaus had a premonition that he would die on August 15. He took sick on the 10th, and on the 14th he told the infirmarian that he would die the next day, but this Jesuit shrugged it off; the patient didn’t seem critically ill. Then suddenly he worsened. After receiving Holy Communion and the Last Rites, he chatted cheerfully with his fellow novices until nightfall. After they left, he prayed often, “My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready!” About 3:00 a.m. his face lit up joyfully. He said Our Lady was approaching with her court of angels and saints to take him to heaven. Then he died – on August 15, the feast of Our Lady’s own assumption into heaven.

Only 36 years after his death, he was beatified. He was canonized on December 31, 1726 by Pope Benedict XIII. His feast day is November 13.

Finding the lost sheep is a joy to God, because he has a “loving weakness” for those who are lost. These were the words of Pope Francis during his homily at Mass on Thursday morning in Casa Santa Marta.

Commenting on the parables of the lost sheep and of the lost coin, Pope Francis talked about the attitude of the scribes and the Pharisees, who were scandalised by the things that Jesus did. They murmured against him: “This man is dangerous, he eats with the publicans and the sinners, he offends God, he desecrates the ministry of the prophet to accost these people”. Jesus, the Pope explained, says that this “is the music of hypocrisy”, and “answers this hypocrisy with a parable”.

“He replies to this murmuring with a joyful parable. The words ‘joy’ and ‘happiness’ appear in this short text four times: three times joy, and once happiness. “And you” – it’s as if he were saying – “you are scandalised by this, but my Father rejoices”. That is the most profound message of this story: the joy of God, a God who doesn’t like to lose. God is not a good loser, and this is why, in order not to lose, He goes out on his own, and He goes, He searches. He is a God who searches: He searches for all those who are far away from Him, like the shepherd who goes to search for the lost sheep.”

The work of God, the Pope continued, is to “go and search”, in order to “invite everyone to the celebrations, good and bad”.

“He can’t stand losing one of His own. And this is the prayer of Jesus, too, on Holy Thursday: “Father, may none get lost, of those You have given to me”. He is a God who walks around searching for us, and has a certain loving weakness for those who are furthest away, who are lost. He goes and searches for them. And how does he search? He searches until the end, like the shepherd who goes out into the darkness, searching, until he finds the sheep. Or like the woman, when she loses a coin, who lights a lamp and sweeps the house, and searches carefully. That’s how God searches. “I won’t lose this son, he’s mine! And I don’t want to lose him.” This is our Father: he always comes searching for us.”

Then, Pope Francis explained, “when he has found the sheep” and brought it back into the fold with the others, no one must say ‘you are lost’, but everyone should say ‘you are one of us’, because this returns dignity to the lost sheep. “There is no difference”, because God “returns to the fold everyone he finds. And when he does this, he is a God who rejoices”.

“The joy of God is not the death of the sinner, but the life of the sinner. And how far from this were those who murmured against Jesus, how far from the heart of God! They didn’t know Him. They thought that being religious, being good people meant always being well-mannered and polite, and often pretending to be polite, right? This is the hypocrisy of the murmuring. But the joy of God the Father, in fact, is love. He loves us. “But I’m a sinner, I’ve done this and that and the other!” “But I love you anyway, and I go out searching for you, and I bring you home.” This is our Father. Let’s reflect on this.”

I consider myself to be a fairly intelligent person (usually!), but when I came across the writings of Kyle Cupp, I knew I was encountering a profound and creative thinker who is way out of my league. Loyola Press is honored and pleased to present his first book with us, Living by Faith, Dwelling in Doubt – A Story of Belief, Uncertainty and Boundless Love.

Kyle not only believes that faith and uncertainty can exist side by side, but through the wrenching story of his new-born daughter’s death, he shares his journey from certainty to a shaken yet strong faith.
I was touched by this anecdote of attending an Easter Vigil with his wife and baby son:
For the first part of the Mass, I hid away until he fell asleep in my arms, then I stood in the hallway and narthex, swaying with soft steps to keep him calm and resting. He breathed into my shoulder with that whimper babies make when falling asleep after a long cry. I stood in the hallway where I could hear the prayers and songs of the Mass and follow along. Genece was assigned to sing the alleluia, and as I had hoped, I was able to hear her.
My arms and back ached from holding my very heavy son, but I held him close, absorbing the heat from his head and body, hearing his sad but quieting breath, and listened to my wife sing of her love for God. The moment was awesome in the richest sense of the word. As glorious as my wife sounded, her prayer would not have been as sublime and beautiful and heavenly had I sat alone comfortably in a seat.
I felt love wash over me: love for my sleeping son, love for my singing wife, and love for the God whose praises we sang. I felt enthusiastic with love and intimately close to my son, my wife, and my God.

The first Sunday of October has been designated Respect Life Sunday in the United States, beginning a year-long educational and prayer campaign on the dignity of human life from conception to natural death.

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) has called on parishes throughout the US to preach this Sunday about the importance of respecting human life.

Among the initiatives which the USCCB is encouraging throughout the year include a novena for life and a day of prayer and penance for the unborn to mark the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision to legalize abortion.

Respect for Life Sunday was established by the USCCB as “a means to have an annual remembrance of the need to respect human life,” explains Joseph Meaney, director of international coordination for Human Life International.

“It is very important to realize,” he told Vatican Radio, “that we are all called to do something, in our own little way, in our own little corner of the world, to make it a better place, and that we can really save human lives simply by being joyful witnesses to life.”

Listen to Ann Schneible’s full interview with Joseph Meaney: RealAudioMP3

When I was in high school, I had an after-school and summer job delivering medical supplies to infirmaries and clinics in department stores, ships and office buildings in New York City.

Over time, I got to know many of the receptionists at those places. Lugging boxes around ‘the concrete jungle’ as I went from place to place in New York’s hot, humid summer made the air conditioned reception areas of office buildings attractive places for a short break.

One summer day, a receptionist at the headquarters of an insurance company asked what my plans for the future were. I told her that I was entering a seminary at the end of the summer holiday.

With a shocked expression on her face, she said, “but you’re normal! Why would you do something like that?”

There are people who think there is something abnormal about priests. Some think we are ignorant, crazy and possibly dangerous fanatics. The sexual abuse of children by bishops and priests and its cover-up have given them good reasons to think that way. Usually, they have never actually met and talked with any of us. So long as those people are not aggressively ill-mannered, I generally find their attitude no more than mildly annoying, sometimes embarrassing and often even amusing. A bit of conversation, perhaps over a drink, is enough to get them to admit that there might be at least one exception to their rule.

The people with whom I have no patience are those who think clergy are abnormal because they are somehow or other superhuman beings with special access to God, possessing special wisdom and power and deserving special treatment. Among those who think this way are too many clergy.

I once saw a book for seminarians that warned against frequent contact with lay folk lest they realize that “priest eggs” (as they are sometimes called in Japan), are normal human beings. Clergy often receive special treatment, more often than not the sort of treatment one might give an imbecile demigod who is semi-divine, but incapable of handling the normal demands of life – like picking up a restaurant check.

Too many of the objects of special treatment rather like life on a pedestal. Some expect such treatment. There are many who shape their lives around being ever ready to receive it. I’ve even met a few sorry cases who became priests in order to have a place upon the pedestal.

There are others (the majority, I hope, but sometimes I wonder) who try to climb down from the pedestal upon which others put them. But people try to shove them back. Why is that? Why do so many people want their clergy to be specially treated and insulated from life? Is it a bribe?

If so, what do people gain by their deference, their special treatment toward religious leaders? In bribing the preachers, do they unconsciously hope to bribe God? Are they looking for some sort of payback from God? Does treating clergy as children allow people to not take them seriously? Perhaps they are hoping that by putting preachers outside the responsibilities of everyday life, they can keep them from applying the Word of God to those situations of everyday life where they would rather not have to hear what God expects of us.

Does it matter? Yes, it does, because in addition to the sacraments, clergy do have something important to offer the Church in its mission to the world: guidance, education, example. Giving example is not unique to them, of course – every Christian is an example of how to live as a disciple of Christ – but by being publicly recognized representatives of the community, the clergy are in a position to attract attention from those who want or need to see the servant Church in action. But, how can someone who acts or is treated as nobility show what it is to be a servant? How can someone treated as an incompetent instruct?

So, what shall we do? We can probably do little about clerical careerists who likely have purple piping on their bathrobes and gold cufflinks on their pajamas. Settling for the material and emotional “perks” of ministry and missing out on the spiritual excitement and rewards of real service is their self-inflicted punishment.

We can, however, see what we do to perpetuate the semi-deification of the clergy. For starters, imagine asking a bishop, priest or deacon to help wash the dishes. If the thought startles you, ask why it does and if it should.

Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle, archbishop of Manila, recently told ucanews.com that he was surprised that the media is making a fuss about an interview with Pope Francis “that looks very normal”. The cardinal may have missed the point that normalcy from a pope (as from Cardinal Tagle, himself reportedly a refreshingly normal man) is newsworthy. We have a pope who probably need not be asked to help with the dishes because he would volunteer to do them.

The unseemly spectacle of hypocritical bishops and priests around the world falling over themselves to praise the new pope’s normalcy when only months ago they sang equally loud paeans to a monarchical papacy and hierarchy is actually a cause for some hope. Whether it be pandering or real conversion, we may be able to expect to see clergy in the kitchen who never before knew where it was. They may find that they like having soapy hands.

And then they will be better able to lead us into the dirty places of our world to bring the cleansing Word.