Catholic Dads » As For Me & My House

24:15 Say It (Don’t Say It)

Nod — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 03:32:03 +0000

We were simply commiserating over children when she blurted it out. “You know my children were conceived by in vitro fertilization don’t you?”I was stunned into silence. What could I say?

Duty Calls

I was caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, I knew Church teaching and I felt the obligation to set things straight. On the other hand, we were in a public place and I did not feel that this was the place for a showdown. I began a little tap-dance. What’s a body to do?

All too often these days Christians are put on the cultural defensive. People will make assertions and then look at you like you have two heads if you dare to disagree. Oh, they may not mean to do it, but they do do it all the same. We are living in a truly postmodern culture.

The more militant side of my brain wanted to go on the attack. But you just can’t say, “That’s stupid, that’s not Catholic, and you’re going to Hell.” That’s neither charitable nor helpful.

On the other hand, if you just roll over and agree with them then you run the risk of giving scandal and failing to admonish the sinner. And more importantly, what’s the best way to love my neighbor?

I knew that if I were a priest, I would be obligated to clarify church teaching. But I’m not a priest and therefore the obligation isn’t absolute. We need to pick and choose our battles sometimes based on the situation, based on our relationship with the other person, and the likelihood that what we say will do more good than harm.

She went on to say, “Then a priest during his homily proceeded to tell us that our children were sinful — and they were old enough to understand! I was so angry, I was ready to leave the Church for good right then. “

I wasn’t there, but I’m pretty sure that the priest didn’t, in fact, say that her children were sinful because they were conceived by IVF. Actions are sinful or not sinful, but people never are: children doubly so. But it goes to show you that people can misconstrue what you say especially when it comes to sensitive topics.

Sometimes we dream of that big showdown where someone will challenge our faith in Jesus and we make that glorious stand. But the reality is far more mundane.The attacks come in the form of a thousand cuts, and our defense comes as a series of prudential judgments.

How are we to decide? The first piece of advice I would give it to get informed about your faith especially as it relates to bioethics. Impassioned rhetoric is no substitute for a few solid facts behind you. A first-rate resource is Fr. Tadeusz Pacholczyk’s monthly column, Making Sense of Bioethics, and the National Catholic Bioethics Center. Fr. Tad is a great writer and he makes does a great job of clarifying these complex subjects.

Make a friend, be a friend, bring a friend to Jesus. You may have heard this catchphrase and it is not a bad piece of advice. In order for a person to really listen to you, you need to be in a relationship with that person. A perfect stranger’s opinion is not going to carry as much weight as a friend’s. We care what our friends think.

Your relationship maybe one of authority, a mentor, older person to younger person, familial, friend, or some other arrangement. The point is, you need to have a right to speak to that person as you do. Once you have that relationship then you can share with that person about Jesus and the beauty of Church teaching. Prior to that, you will not be heard. And isn’t a person’s salvation what we care about?

Experience is a good teacher. I’m no psychologist, but there are a few things that just makes sense: guidelines to follow. Most people will respond more positively to “I” statements then to “you” statements. I have found that if I am simply sharing my experience, then people are more receptive to what I’m saying rather than if I just spout off about what is right and what is wrong.This is what I did, this is what I felt, this is why I thought it was right. It’s hard to argue with how a person experienced something.

People just don’t like to be told what to do, or that they are wrong. I know I don’t, and I’m frequently wrong. It can be hard to resist the urge to be right. One of my favorite punchlines comes from an XKCD comic: “Someone is wrong on the Internet.”

What advice would you give?

24:15 The Third Love

Nod — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 05:44:22 +0000

“Do you remember that girl, Marisa?”, was how the conversation began.

How could I not? She was the cute one who sat behind me in Latin class in high school.

I tried to make her laugh. “Latin is a dead language/ as dead as it can be/ First it killed the Romans/ and now it’s killing me”.

That was what passed for comedy in those hallowed days. That episode inspired me to pull my high school yearbook out of its musty home at the bottom of a trunk and flip through its pages. “Hey, bud, you’re the best! Love ya!”

Let the eye-rolling begin.

The pages in my yearbook are filled with grimace inducing pictures of our awkward adolescent selves, bad haircuts, cryptic references, best friends, and roller coaster loves and hates.

Oh yes, our loves were epic!

Epic Love

Or so we thought. In reality, they were little more than hormones and sentimentality. We didn’t know — couldn’t know, really — what life had in store for us down the road. At that point in our lives, we had barely more than a score of years that we could remember. Our brains were still developing, our emotional control was tenuous at best, and our bodies were in their first blush of maturity.

But to read back through the sentimental mush in my yearbook, you’d have thought we had lived through harrowing ordeals and sweeping romances on the scale of Gone With The Wind. It was all bubblegum and soap operas, but it was all-consuming.

My buddies would write stuff like: “Keep it real” and “Stay Cool”; the girls would start out with “Hey, bud” if they just wanted to be friends, and “Love ya!” if they were a bit closer. One girl wrote one word at the top of every page of my yearbook just to make me flip through the whole thing. Many people expressed undying friendship (it did); my girlfriend wrote how she would love me forever and ever (she didn’t).

My yearbook is full of every tired trope imaginable. We didn’t know what true love was, but we promised it over and over.

The Four Loves

There are generally four kinds of love (or five or seven or more depending on who you talk to): philia, eros, agape, and storge.

In high school you cared about your friends as a type of Philia (φιλία), friendship or “brotherly love” — which is why Phila-delphia is called the city of brotherly love. This is what they might (mistakenly) call “bromance” nowadays.

For the girls we mixed Philia with a healthy dose of immature Eros (ἔρως), sexual love, or at least the desire of it. At that stage of development a high school boy spends a lot of his time thinking about it. The girls all swear up and down they were only thinking about romance and not about sex per se, but there was plenty of charge in the atmosphere nonetheless.

Sometimes I think our society has a bad case of arrested development, since it appears to content itself with friendship, parent-child affection (Storge), and sexual love. But you don’t hear a lot about Agape. Why is that? Maybe one reason is that it is hard. It takes maturity, sacrifice, and complete self-giving.

Agape is unconditional love

Only one person can be said to have fully realized that definition: the very Son of God, Jesus. He stretched out His hands and spilled His blood to pay for the sins of an ungrateful race. Born to die, so that we might live — because He loves us.

God _is_ love. It says so right in the Scriptures. “Love is patient, love is kind …”. Some days I don’t get it. But I’m trying. It’s important. This agape is what we are all called to as Christians. The whole of the Law is distilled down to this:

And Jesus answered him: The first commandment of all is, Hear, O Israel: the Lord your God is one God. And you shall love the Lord your God with your whole heart and with your whole soul and with your whole mind and with your whole strength. This is the first commandment.

And the second is like to it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these. (Mark 12: 29-30)

At Christmas we will celebrate the gift of the giving of Love personified when we gaze upon the Christ-child. At Easter we will celebrate the sacrifice of His death and Resurrection. By the power of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost we too can live out this sacrificial love in our own lives.

We need that passion to love. Our purpose is to be one with the Lover of Souls in the all consuming fire of His love.

Don’t we want that kind of Love? Instead of a high school year book, when I die I want my name inscribed in the Book of Life. “Your Love is Epic!”

24:15 Babs

Nod — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 04:23:19 +0000

Congratulations to my brother, Shoe, and his wife, Girl Friday, on the birth of their first born daughter, Babs!

Scheduled for near Christmas, baby Babs kicked her water out and her way into the world on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. How cool is that?

Born in the wee hours of the morning, she clocks in near 7.5 lbs and 19.5 inches, with long narrow feet and a head full of dark hair.

From all reports, Girl Friday and Babs are recovering well and it’s love at first sight. A sleep-deprived Shoe was reported as saying, “Um, yeah.”

Babs joins an extended family of Nods — she is the first Nodling at Outpost 4, but the 7th girl and 10th Nodling overall.

As they say over at Outpost 2, “We’re just doing our part for Western civilization.”

Ain’t it the truth? “Hello, Nurse!”

24:15 Everything And Nothing

Nod — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 04:42:12 +0000

This post is a lot about everything and nothing.

In any family life there are major milestones that mark the way: birthdays, holidays, graduations, sports games, new beginnings and endings. These things stick out in our memory. In between signposts is a lot of highway. It’s not particularly interesting, but it must be traveled in order to get to the next waypoint.

I’ve been on that highway lately, in between nowhere and somewhere else.

This isn’t even particularly religious, except that it comes under the heading of: a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Well, sometimes, anyway. What a man chooses to do — now that’s where the rubber meets the road, isn’t it?

My particular nowhere has taken the form of a lousy work situation. I work for a medium size firm as an IT security specialist, I work a given contract for certain length of time, then it ends, and then I do it for another customer. So my job is secure, but my tasks change every so often.

How To Strain Your Marriage, Curve Your Spine, and Lose the War for the Allies

My last contract involved commuting into the city and back every day for almost a year which is about a 3 hour turnaround. Because of the long commute, I stopped exercising because I couldn’t find the time. Because the project was understaffed and on a tight schedule, I did 12 hour shifts in front of a computer, often into the wee hours of the night.

The result has been an unmitigated disaster. My health declined like an acrobat on a greased pole. I threw my back out to the point of being unable to walk or sit. I wasn’t able to help my wife or the kids who needed homework, dinner, baths … or a father. I was exhausted all the time. Mrs. Nod said it was like being a single parent for months on end. Mea culpa!

All outside interests dried up: blogging, beer making, sports, reading, friends. All there seemed to be was work: morning, noon, night, and weekends. Just when I should have been cranking it up, I let my prayer life wane. I hated everything.

So many people right now are out of work, desperate to provide for their families and pay the bills. Here I was — lousy with work. Feeling trapped by my job and a sense of obligation. Because of my seniority, not every task can support my rate, so sometimes I have to take what I can get. The first thing to go is choice of location. Hence the schlepping into town in traffic that is some of the worst in the country.

Choices, Choices

A man has a moral obligation to provide for his family. True. I have to make enough money to pay the bills, put food on the table, and keep the roof over our heads. Granted. Sometimes we have to do unpleasant tasks to make that happen. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that I have to do anything to make that happen.

For some things the cost to the family is too high: worse than economic hardship is moral and physical vacuum.

Soccer games and practices: missed. Dinner with the family: absent. Bedtime prayers with the kids: gone wanting. Talking to my wife: hello, stranger. And what did it get me? Got rid of my moderate credit card debt. Lousy tradeoff. Can’t get that time back now, but I can learn from my mistakes.

Work is good; work ennobles man. Even before the Fall, God gave man the work of tending the Garden. But if you let it get out of control it will eat your soul, become a false idol. I’m not a workaholic, but I play one on TV …

Down and Out to an Ending

I’d like to say I did something wonderful to get out of that hole. I didn’t — the contract just ended. By the grace of God, my next task is 15 minutes from the house and should last at least a year. I won’t go back to long commutes and working long hours away from the family. That’s where my choices come in.

For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his immortal soul?

Already I am starting to revive: health is improved, interests are coming back, prayer life is up. My wife and kids recognize me once again, and I remembered that I like them. We made cookies, we went geocaching. Nub lost his first tooth; Blynken made arts and crafts; Wynken advanced ranks in Boy Scouts; Dab is starting to crawl; Nod-girl and Nib played dress-up; Mrs. Nod and I had a real conversation — and I was there to see it all.

The trick to being a Catholic Dad is: being there.

24:15 Tumbleweed

Nod — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 04:13:52 +0000

It seems like I’ve been a tumbleweed most of my life growing up.

As the child of a military family, you get a couple of years in a place and then you pull up stakes and start again. You’re always the “new kid”, yet with an amazing facility for blending in. Always adapting, but never quite belonging. “Home” is wherever you happen to be. On the plus side, you’re a citizen of the world, gathering amazing and varied experiences not available in local stores. On the minus side, you never quite put down roots; you’re not “from” anywhere.

In some ways I’ve always been jealous of people who “grew up” somewhere. I meet people on a daily basis who are “from” Arizona, South Carolina, or New York but haven’t lived there for decades. When they speak of “going home” on a trip, I get confused for a minute and say, “Don’t you live here?”.

Growing up a military brat causes one of two reactions: you love the lifestyle, the travel, the constant new horizons, and get wanderlust every other year; or you hate the idea of ever moving again, want to put down roots, and desire to give your kids the one thing you never had — nearby relatives and a hometown.

It’s ruminations like this that turn my thoughts to the Scripture immortalized in the Brahms Requiem that I learned in college:

Denn vir haben hie keine bleibende Statt; For, we have not here a lasting city: but we seek one that is to come. (Heb 13:14)

We are wayfarers and strangers in a strange land. (cf. Exodus 2:22). The music is achingly beautiful; it draws us out of ourselves and into that desire that is but a tiny foretaste of the glory to come.

Have you ever desired God? I mean really, really desired to be with Him? Not just a vague “I hope to avoid Hell, it sounds like a nasty place”, but a deep, keening longing that feels as if it can never be slaked except by an even more overwhelming Presence? To be honest, it doesn’t happen to me that often, but it has happened. If then I have prayed well, and God grants a consolation, then it is deeply and ineffably satisfying. If you listen to the stories of the saints, certain ones were actually in ecstasy during prayer. Thomas Aquinas for example:

“But his face changed. From a rapturous, intent, pain-racked longing it changed to complete, utter ecstasy. The doors of limbo were torn open, and at long last Moses was allowed to enter the Promised Land. Here it was. Here it was. The outstretched hands closed together. He was praying now. But if this was praying, Brother Dominic had never seen anyone praying before. it was a child running into its mother’s arms; it was a bride looking up to the beloved; it was a man who had discovered a treasure, a hero who saw victory, a leper who found himself cured. It was a man being born anew into a new world. It was all that, and it was not that at all. For Thomas knew nothing of himself in this moment. Suspended in midair, he was like a moon, gleaming in reflected light. And the light came from the crucifix on the altar.” (The Quiet Light, Louis de Wohl)

And there is the cure for the wanderer: to be rooted in Christ. By the mercy of God, someday when I “go home” it won’t be somewhere that draws me, but Someone.

What say you?

24:15 Throw Me A Rope

Nod — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 02:40:32 +0000

This is where all you Catholic Dads (and others) get to help a brother out. You’ll recall the heart wrenching story of Nub, my Down Syndrome child. He’s the fourth out of six Nodlings and now a healthy and scrappy six year-old. He is progressing in ability and knowledge, and we are making good strides in our communication, both by sign and some words.

However, this does not seem to extend into staying in the bed at night. With any other kid, that’s simply annoying; with Nub it can be dangerous.

What’s a father to do?

Despite his 6 years, Nub is developmentally closer to 3 years old, but bigger and stronger. One of the things he has discovered that he’s really good at is climbing. We will find him sitting on top of the dresser by standing tiptoe on his sister’s toddler bed railing and leaning out to grab the top. Since he has really flexible hips, he can swing his leg up nearly 80 degrees from his body.

Another time we found him perched by his toes and fingertips on a half inch window ledge. Pressure gates in doors or hallways no longer deter him since he discovered his inner Spider-Man. We have to keep the bathroom door closed at all times, because he is fascinated by water and will climb into the bathtub and turn it on full blast. Once or twice we had to rescue him out of the toilet which is both frightening and disgusting.

He still sleeps in a crib, because we thought it a safe place to put him at night, but he’s been climbing _into_ the crib for about a year. Just recently, he discovered that process could be reversed. Now we have to worry about him wandering about in the dark and possibly hurting himself in the kitchen, or on tools in the basement, drowning in the bathroom, or trying to go outside (horrors!).

Perhaps I’m overreacting, but we definitely need to get more creative. Mrs. Nod found our old crib-tent which is a top that is really designed to keep bugs out, but may make it harder for Nub to figure out how to get out of the crib. We had recently discussed putting him in a regular toddler bed, but that was before he started his midnight ramblings.

So how about it, guys? Any advice on how to keep your toddlers in bed at night? If anyone has any experience with special needs kids that would also be a great bonus. Surely the collective wisdom of Catholic Dads is better than my own poor brain.

At this point, I’m considering all options, however, Mrs. Nod tells me that duct taping him to the bed isn’t legal in our state.

24:15 Wisdom Of The Ages

Nod — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 03:28:56 +0000

One of the things that’s hard to gain and easy to lose is the wisdom of the ages. Ask anyone who has ever tried to trace their family line back more than a couple of generations. At a certain point the thread is lost and all you are left with are unanswered questions. Who were they, and what were they about? What does that mean about me? One of the biggest fallacies of our age is the prejudice of modernism, that we are inherently “better” than our ancestors: stronger, faster, smarter, more “enlightened”. Oh, we’ve got technology aplenty, but not necessarily wisdom. And that frankly, makes us kind of stupid.

This summer my family vacationed at a family campground with my wife’s family — aunts, uncles, grandparents, and kids all in one, happy, holy chaos of a campout. Having the older generation join us on our vacation lends an additional layer of depth to our gathering that was missing in years past. Grandma and Grandpa are no good at chasing kids at the park, they can’t throw a baseball for very long in the heat, they are not much interested in the pool, they can’t carry a big bundle of firewood, they tire easily, and they have all kids of medical and dietary restrictions that have to be observed. So what good are they?

Grandma loves to watch the babies and bounce them on her knee. This delights the babies (and Grandma) and gives the moms a chance to slip away for a short while to do something else. Grandpa loves to regale the boys with stories about the War and military history. He always has a few books on tanks or planes in his camper that get thumbed through by the younger generation. The girls run about in small packs from one cabin to the next, comparing notes and chatting incessantly. The men build the fire and cook the meat, while swapping current and old family news.

After meals, the talk always turns from what our kids are doing now to what we remember doing growing up. From there the Grandparents relate what it was like when they were the ones doing the raising of the kids, and then a generation further back to what it was like when they were very small. We hear tales about great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers; long lost cousins, and great-great-Aunts and Uncles; what it meant to be from five generations of teachers, or to own and operate the dairy for all the people in town; we hear tales of hardships endured and overcome.

We listen as family lore is passed from one generation to the next. Some of the stories are repeats, we’ve heard them “a million times” — which is exactly the point. We want them to stick in our minds, so that when the current generation of story-tellers is gone, the memories of who they were and who we are will remain. This is our story, which is part of His story; this is how we worship, this is what we believe; these are our traditions, time honored and venerable. These are the ones we keep and cherish, because they have been tried and found trustworthy. No need to reinvent the wheel, or flounder about without a compass: here is what works. Here is what patience has wrought. Now it is yours, it has been earned for you. Take and heed.

The older generation know what joy and suffering are all about. They know how to persevere in prayer and in day-to-day life. As parents ourselves, the hardest thing to know is how we’re doing with our own kids. So when great-Uncle Jim comes alongside of you and tells you that you’re doing a great job as a Dad, well that’s something to pay attention to. Any attempts to dissemble or deflect that praise are met with, “I’ve been watching you, and I know.” What else can you say? They have the wisdom, they know.

Smile and nod, and be grateful for the time and wisdom that is given to you.

24:15 How Do I Know?

Nod — Fri, 27 May 2011 03:12:57 +0000

“Jesus loves me, how do I know? Because my oil cap tells me so.”

Well, those might not be the exact lyrics of the Sunday school song, but that’s how I’m singing it this week. The difference between a grade-school ditty and a man’s life comes down to experience. When we are small our parents and teachers tell us how the world works, what God is like, and what to believe. As we grow older those lessons grow roots of their own, fixed in the soil of our experience and anchored by the assent of our minds and hearts.

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became a man, I put away the things of a child. 12 We see now through a glass in a dark manner: but then face to face. Now I know in part: but then I shall know even as I am known.” (1 Cor 13:11)

One of the characteristics that Catholicism shares with our progenitor in Judaism is a practical earthiness, a visceral experience, a faith rooted in the created yet elevated all the way to the foot of the Throne of Heaven. Grace builds on nature, it does not pass it by. By the same token, we apprehend the realities of our soul through the window of our bodily senses.

In short, life happens; God is near.

Jesus loves me, how do I know? Because when my engine light came on, I stopped at the gas station to check the oil instead of driving all the way downtown. Imagine my surprise when I popped the hood of my car and discovered my oil cap missing. The underside of the hood was covered with a black, tarry goo and the engine was steaming with heat.

Apparently the last time I added oil to my older model car, I drove away sans cap. How long does it take to spit up all your oil all over the your engine block? My guess is a week or two. Any longer and I risked seizing the engine into a solid block of useless metal. Since I can’t afford a new car, I count this discovery as a great blessing.

I added my spare quart of oil and drove slowly to the dealership to get a new oil cap. Strangely, they didn’t have one in stock, so they sent me 7 miles to the next dealership. Somehow, I went to the body shop instead. From there another several miles, wrong turns, and slow traffic. I got hot and frustrated; I got my new oil cap, 4 quarts of new oil, and got oil on my dress pants to boot. No one I encountered seemed to be in a particularly sympathetic mood, so I just had to lump it.

It was noon before I got everything squared away and was able to head into work. I was feeling like this was going to be a pretty bad day, and was preparing to feel sorry for myself when I saw it: an 18-wheeler truck had jackknifed on the narrow ramp to the highway that I take every day and rolled over. Listening to the radio report and doing some quick calculation, I realized that the accident happened just about the time that I would have been on that ramp.

Here’s the photo:

I wasn’t there to get crushed by that truck because I was chasing down a new oil cap. So yeah, I had problems, but God spared me and my family from greater ones. How often does that happen? Only God knows for sure.

So do I have experience that Jesus loves me? Yes, because the troubles he allows me are mercifully less than I deserve. Crazy as it sounds, a lost oil cap was a sure sign of his Providence. My alternative was pretty bleak.

Have you ever had a disaster that was a blessing in disguise?

24:15 Lay It Down

Nod — Thu, 12 May 2011 03:54:14 +0000

Our eyes met over the fender as he suddenly appeared from behind the semi, merging into my lane; I knew one of us was going down. There was a screech of brakes, an oath of surprise and anger, and a loud crunch of heavy metal meeting asphalt. The guy laid his motorcycle down right in front of my car’s wheels and himself with it. I thought: Oh, no, this is it! Someone’s gonna die!

It could happen at any moment; any time could be the last, when we’re called to lay our lives down and stand before the Father. Motorcycles are somewhat dangerous because there is no superstructure to protect you in an accident.

Bikers will tell you there are two kinds of riders: those who have laid their bike down in an accident and those who will lay their bike down.

The most dangerous part of motorcycles, however, is that people in cars generally don’t see them until it’s too late.

Accidents are sudden, unexpected. It doesn’t have to be motorcycles, it could be anything. We live knowing that someday we will die; it’s part of the human condition. You don’t want to obsess over it, but you do need recognize it and act accordingly, as it says in Ecclesiastes “Remember death and you will never sin.”

Fear has a wonderful capacity to concentrate the mind. Often as I leave the house I wonder if these will be the last words and deeds my family will have of me.

Did I remember to tell my wife I loved her this morning? Did I kiss the kids on the way out the door? What were my last words? Did I leave in anger? Have I been to confession recently? Am I fulfilling my vocation? Am I modeling manliness and Christian love to my family?

Mercifully, the guy on the motorcycle was okay, minus a few scratches and bruises. He didn’t even end up hitting my car, just the pavement. Once we determined that he didn’t need serious medical attention, I helped him pick up the bike and push it to the side of the road none too worse for the wear.

We shook hands and that was that — I hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t seen me, but we were both okay and God had given us both a second chance. He didn’t die, and I hadn’t killed him.

It could easily have turned out tragically different. But it makes you think and ponder and be grateful. I went home and told my wife I loved her. I kissed the kids. I went to confession.

Because there are two types of Christians: those who have laid their lives down and those who will lay their lives down and stand before the Father.

24:15 More Joe Six-Pack Answers

Nod — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 12:00:06 +0000

There never seems to be enough time; I’ve been working long hours with nothing left over at the end of the day. So lots of things have gotten short shrift the last few weeks. All the more reason to have a ready defense and explanation for the Faith especially for those too busy to listen. With that, I give you some more Joe Six-Pack Answers: short, sweet, and to the point.

If God could appear to us as any thing, why does he come to us as bread in the Eucharist? So we’ll eat it. If our first parents, Adam and Eve, died as a result of eating the wrong thing, Jesus promises us we’ll live by eating the right thing: Him.
If God is never lonely, why did he create us? Because He thought we’d like it.
If God is all-loving, why does he allow some people to go to Hell? Because we’re not robots. God wants us to love Him, but that love has to be a free choice. In order for there to be a free choice, there has to be the possibility of not choosing God. That’s what Hell is: the torment of being apart from God forever and knowing that you chose it.
How can being Catholic be any good when you’re so bad / mean / hypocritical? Imagine how bad I’d be if I wasn’t Catholic.
I think Jesus was a good teacher, but not really God. Nope. If you listen to what Jesus actually said you have to believe that he was either a lunatic or what He said He was: the Son of God, e.g., “The Father and I are one.” “Eat my flesh and drink my blood”.
Why do Catholics pray to Saints? God knows that we can’t always relate to Him like we should because of bad experiences, bad parents, or bad examples. So He gives us lots of good examples (saints) that we can relate to that can help us still get to God. The saints are our friends and family; they have already made it to Heaven. We’re always looking for our friends and family to help us get what we want. God is generous that way – He allows it.
You sure have a lot of kids. Are you going to have any more? Not this week, but thanks for asking.
Why is the Church hung up on sex? The Church smiles on good sex. Actually the Church doesn’t think sex is good, she thinks it’s awesome and wants to keep it that way.
You can’t judge other people by your standards. Actually I can; my philosophy (Christianity) tells me there’s an objective right and a wrong and how to tell the difference. Your philosophy says that we can believe anything we want to. Therefore, I believe in moral standards to judge actions (not people). Whose rules would you like to play by? Either way, I can judge people’s actions by those standards. We love the sinner, but hate the sin.
How can you be Catholic when there are so many scandals about X? One of Jesus’ own disciples, Judas, betrayed Him; and our first Pope denied Him three times. We also have tax collectors, adulterers, and thieves as our first members. We’re not shocked to find there are sinners in the Church. In fact, it’s our only ticket for belonging: we all need forgiveness.

There’s 10 quick Joe Six-Pack answers that are just long enough for passing in the hall or stepping in and out of the elevator. Life’s full of interesting questions — what’s your answer?