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Can You Choose the Wrong Husband or Wife? In this video, Jimmy Akin explores this question and explains how God wants us to use our gift of free will.
Transcript:
Um, I&#8217;ve discerned into marriage and proposed to my girlfriend. Problem is, I&#8217;m experiencing cold feet and severe stress with a chance I picked the wrong person. Told myself, just trust God. If He wanted me to be with someone else, He’d move my heart in another direction. But since many have tried to tell me God doesn&#8217;t have a particular individual planned out for anyone, i.e., a soulmate, not sure God will ever intervene. Should I be expecting help from God?
Okay, well, um, I would say that what people have told you—that God doesn&#8217;t have a single individual who&#8217;s like destined for you and you either get that person or you miss forever—I would say those people are right. This idea of a soulmate is not something that&#8217;s found in the Bible. And we see, um, people like the patriarch Abraham—he was originally married to Sarah, but after she passed on, he got married to a woman named Keturah. And as far as we know, they had a successful marriage. Moses had more than one wife too, one after the other. And so, um, it&#8217;s not like there&#8217;s this one and only person out there for you. You&#8217;ve got options.
And so I would say if, uh, you&#8217;re having cold feet, well, that&#8217;s understandable. I remember when I got married, it—you know, there was a certain moment when we were actually saying the vows, and we got up to the &#8220;I take you to be my spouse&#8221; part, and I&#8217;m starting to say that, and all of a sudden, I&#8217;m getting really weak in the knees. Um, and actually, I&#8217;m told if you watch videos of people, um, getting married, sometimes you&#8217;ll see one of the two parties just faint on the spot as they&#8217;re saying the vows, because you&#8217;ve got that adrenaline going with the fight-or-flight reflex. And what that does—when you have the fight-or-flight reflex—is it, um, will suck blood away from your head in order to enable you to run. And sucking the blood away from your head can cause you to faint.
Um, so that is something that, you know, one can experience. I&#8217;ve experienced that. I&#8217;ve been—I&#8217;ve had butterflies, uh, regarding, &#8220;Do I want to say these vows or not?&#8221; And in fact, um, I&#8217;ve been told that about a third of all marriage licenses that get taken out end up not getting used. So, like, a lot of people do get cold feet.
Um, whether and what to do in your situation—I would say divine revelation is always a gift. It is, and it is not to be presumed. So I think it&#8217;s fine for you to ask God to give you a sign. And it needs to be a notable sign, not just, &#8220;May the sun come up tomorrow.&#8221; It needs to be something really unexpected. And I would name the sign that you want, because otherwise, you leave anything strange that happens open to, &#8220;Oh, that&#8217;s the sign, that’s the sign!&#8221; Um, no. Name it. If you&#8217;re going to ask God for a sign, name the sign, and it needs to be something rare.
Um, so you can ask God for a sign to give you guidance one way or another on this question. But do not expect the sign. God may or may not choose to give it. And God&#8217;s not in the business of giving signs that often. So if it happens, great. But don&#8217;t expect it.
What do you do in the absence of God, um, giving you a sign? Well, you fall back on human reason. He gave you your gift of reason to guide you through this life, and He expects you to use it. So use your reason to look at the situation and say, &#8220;Is this person someone that would be good to be married to for the rest of my life, to hopefully raise a family with?&#8221;
Um, if you see major warning signs now, I would say listen to those warning signs, because people are on their best behavior when they&#8217;re trying to get married. When they start slacking off is after the vows have been said, and they don&#8217;t have to worry about, &#8220;Am I going to catch this person or not?&#8221; You&#8217;ve already been caught at that point. So people are on—it&#8217;s like a job interview. People are on their best behavior when they&#8217;re in the job interview. And so if you see danger signs now, then you should appropriately consider those.
On the other hand, you shouldn&#8217;t expect a perfect marriage where it&#8217;s going to be bliss every minute and you&#8217;re never going to—you&#8217;re never going to have frustrations or get mad at each other or things like that, because that&#8217;s not life. Um, even good marriages have difficulties that the partners have to go through. So don&#8217;t let a few difficulties scare you off. That&#8217;s just part of life. That&#8217;s going to happen whether you get married or not. So don&#8217;t be afraid of difficulties. But if you see major warning signs now, take them seriously.
Use your own intellect. And since your emotions are wrapped up in this, you&#8217;re not necessarily the best judge one way or the other, because your emotions, on the one hand, are pulling you to want to marry this person. But your fears are also pulling you to want to not marry this person. I would—I would talk to people who know you and know your prospective spouse, like maybe your parents or friends or things like that, and say, &#8220;What do you think?&#8221; Swear them to privacy, because you don&#8217;t want to undermine what, uh, you know, what your spouse is thinking. Um, and don&#8217;t go probing into, &#8220;Oh, maybe my fiancé has been having similar conversations.&#8221; Leave those things to the privacy of your fiancé, and keep your own privacy.
But, you know, think about talking to people who know both of you and say, &#8220;I just wanted to get your perspective on this. What do you think?&#8221; without trying to prejudice it one way or another, and get their ideas as well. Because they have—they&#8217;re coming from a position that&#8217;s less emotionally invested, and therefore, um, they may have some additional insights or perspective that you would otherwise miss.
How&#8217;s that for marriage advice, Matt?
Yeah, yeah, um, yeah, great stuff. Um, I appreciate that. I mean, going back to the—the idea of a soulmate, I just have a hard time believing God doesn&#8217;t care who I marry, because He cares what—oh—which occupation you pick. So why wouldn&#8217;t He help you out, or why wouldn&#8217;t He have a preference with a arguably more important decision in marriage?
Who—who says God cares what occupation you pick? You could be a doctor, you could be an engineer, you could be a lawyer, you could flip burgers—you could do any number of things to glorify God by doing work in the world. Now, He may have given you certain talents and opportunities that make it logical for you to pursue a particular career, but that&#8217;s not the only one. You could do lots of things. People change careers throughout their lives.
I kind of compare it to buying bread in the store. You know, there&#8217;s—at least here in America—there&#8217;s a bunch of different kinds of bread, and they all work. And so you&#8217;ve got a choice. It&#8217;s not like God really wants you to pick the Wonder Bread rather than the Oroweat bread, you know? God doesn&#8217;t really care about that. Um, God wants you to have adequate food. But what food you buy is up to you. And so, um, what career you pick to glorify God is up to you. He&#8217;s got a bunch of options for you.
Similarly, who you marry and who you glorify God by being married to—that&#8217;s up to you. He&#8217;s got a bunch of options that are just fine. And so, just like there&#8217;s not one person you&#8217;ve got to marry, or one career you&#8217;ve got to identify, or one job you&#8217;ve got to get, or one loaf of bread above all other loaves of bread that you&#8217;ve got to buy—it just doesn&#8217;t work that way. God gives us options, and we glorify Him by using our free will among those options.
With that, the, uh, Jimmy Marriage Advice Line will shut down right there. So, thank you so much for your call. Uh, we&#8217;re going to go to our break, and when we come back, we&#8217;ll continue more with &#8220;Ask Me Anything with Jimmy Akin.&#8221;
&nbsp;

“Did I Choose the Wrong Wife?”

<div>My sister’s son—my nephew—had surgery three years ago and identifies as a “transgender woman.” He’s now thirty-two. They’ll be attending another relative’s wedding soon. Should I go to that wedding, since my nephew will be present as “a woman”? Also, I don’t want my grandchildren exposed to this yet. They’re ages eleven, nine, and seven. Thankfully, they are not invited to the wedding, but what about summer? We each have cottages on the same lake. </div><div>In attending this wedding and interacting with your sister and your nephew at the event, you’re not promoting your nephew’s transgender identity. If he were attempting “marriage,” or was having a “coming out” party as “Audrey,” participating in such an event would be morally problematic, because you’d be at least condoning his actions by your participation. 
But that’s not the case. 
Instead, your nephew is going to be one of many guests at another relative’s authentic wedding. 
Boycotting the wedding because of your nephew’s presence would not be a good witness to the couple getting married, or to your nephew and sister. Nor would attending the wedding and shunning both your nephew and your sister. 
Your sister and nephew shouldn’t be shunned, as you correctly have concluded. Our true and ultimate enemies are fallen angels, not mere human beings (see Eph. 6:12). Your nephew is a human person made in God’s image and likeness (Gen. 1:26–27), and so deserves to be loved, as Jesus witnessed in dying on the cross for everyone. Your nephew and your sister are candidates for conversion—and we are all in need of God’s mercy for one reason or another. 
In that light, I’d continue the course you’ve taken. Continue to love your sister and nephew, which you understand necessarily entails <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/the-churchs-position-on-transgenderism-0">not supporting them</a> re: his transgender identity. That gives you a lot of room to talk, and hug, and otherwise convey your love, as he and his mother (your sister) need people like you in their lives. 
Regarding exposing your younger grandchildren to your nephew, that is a prudential matter, and one for which you can provide input to their parents. 
With the permission and cooperation of your grandchildren’s parents, you could help explain to your grandchildren that your nephew is confused, struggling with his identity, and needs to be authentically loved. 
In that regard, if your grandchildren do have interactions with your nephew, I’d monitor the situation with their parents, speaking with your grandchildren afterwards about such interactions, so that your nephew doesn’t try to coerce them into a misguided sympathy about his transgender identity, or at least doesn’t succeed in doing so. I don’t want to presume bad will by your nephew in this regard, but it’s also important not to be naïve. 
In summary, for your direct part, I would encourage you and your spouse to maintain good communication with your sister and your nephew, because, again, they need faithful Catholics like you in their lives, as they might not experience the gospel truth in word and deed from anyone else. 
</div>

How to Love Trans Relatives

“But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and the works that are upon it will be burned up.”
How is Advent different from Lent? On the surface, we might point to things like violet vestments and no flowers, interrupted by a single Sunday of rose; a dropping of the Gloria in Excelsis in Advent as well as the Alleluia in Lent. Both are seasons of waiting. In Lent we prepare for the feast of the Resurrection, the central fact and foundation of our faith, so the penitence and fasting and discipline are focused on preparing our hearts to understand and experience the mighty acts of redemption that we walk through ritually in the Sacred Triduum. In Advent, obviously, we’re preparing for the great feast of the Nativity. And the readings, especially in these early weeks, present a similarly sobering assortment of reminders that we do not know the span of our life, or of history.
With Lent and Easter, I think, this penitential emphasis makes sense to us because we know that the climax isn’t just the Resurrection, but also the cross. Easter is a reminder of God’s victory on our behalf, and the penitence of Lent helps us confront the horror of Good Friday and all the ways that we need that divine victory over sin and death. That is the basic sense of Easter. Despite the best attempts of the market, Easter has never been commercialized quite as successfully as Christmas, because it is hard to make a generic secular message out of the theme of Christ trampling down death with death and bringing life to those in the grave.
With Christmas, though, there’s a baby, and a birth, which seems so much more normal and innocuous. And so over the years it has morphed into that generic celebration of life and family and consumerism that we all know and love. But none of this makes a whole lot of sense with the message of Advent and Christmas as the Church actually presents it. Somehow, if we’re to take the texts seriously, Christmas is about joy, yes, and comfort—but also judgment, the Day of the Lord, the end of the world. It is about the dissolution, as St. Peter writes, of the world in fire and loud noise.
Being a child of the ’80s, and <a href="https://www.catholic.com/tract/celibacy-and-the-priesthood">a parent of small children</a>, I’m fond of the classic Mr. Rogers song: “I think it&#8217;s very, very, very hard to wait / Especially when you&#8217;re waiting / For something very nice.” On a practical level, that obviously applies to Christmas. Usually around this time in Advent we start getting presents in the mail from extended family. They’re wrapped. They’re visible. But they must not yet be opened. That’s hard. And so usually we just hide them, because small children are not actually very good at waiting. And I think as well of the countless people who just cannot wait to put up their Christmas decorations—whether it’s at the stroke of midnight after Halloween, or Thanksgiving, or December 1—or any number of other dates. Certainly, in these times of international anxiety and deep social division, I understand the longing for Christmas cheer. But what are we actually celebrating?
Is Christmas “something very nice,” in the words of Mister Rogers? Well, yes and no. It’s the appearance, in the flesh, of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. This is cause for joy, as the angelic hosts proclaim. But it is also cause for fear and trembling, as the angelic hosts also proclaim. For a baby, like the Lord, comes in the night as a thief. And his arrival is a cause for terror as much as joy.
In a way, I think every parent knows this. I have six children, and at the birth of each one, I burst into tears. I really have no idea why. It’s not as though I was the one doing the real work. It just happened. Yes, they were happy tears. But they were also tears of fear and sadness, and confusion, and just being overwhelmed by the gravity of life and death and everything.
Like any other birth, the birth of the incarnate God is a judgment on us. It’s not a simple gift of cupcakes and flowers. It is the embrace of a hard, demanding love, a love that goes beyond death. And so Advent is not just waiting, as in waiting to open our presents; it’s waiting so that we can be ready to receive the challenge that is the God incarnate, the challenge that is God entering our lives and giving us the grace to do his will.
Returning to our epistle reading in 2 Peter, the idea of the elements melting and being dissolved in fire is a favorite prooftext of a certain Protestant contempt for creation that was once, at least, quite common in the evangelical world—the idea that it doesn’t matter what we do with this world, because it’s all going to burn. But such an emphasis neglects the actual climax of the passage, which echoes that of Revelation: according to Peter, “we wait for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.” For Peter, as for John in Revelation, it is exactly because this world is passing away that we must take it seriously.
This world isn’t a trial run. It’s not a beta test. We get to do it only once. It is the real preparation of the world to come, and this preparation has an end point that we do not know. And so this waiting isn’t just a test of patience and resolve; it’s a process of transformation, in which we open ourselves, over the course of the Christian year, over the course of a lifetime of Advents, to the life of the new kingdom that Christ brings. We receive the gift of Christ anew each Christmas because, unlike most human gifts, he is the gift that not only keeps giving, but keeps taking. He doesn’t just want you and me from that magical Christmas when you were seven; he wants you and me this Christmas, next Christmas, every day, every hour. We are human beings, not boxes of fudge, and to give ourselves in love for real involves fidelity over time. The sacraments aren’t financial transactions; they are food that nourishes us to grow.
As John the Baptist calls us over the next couple of weeks to new repentance, to a preparation for the Lord’s coming, God help us to heed his warnings and forsake our sins, to “cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light,” judging ourselves as we will one day be judged, so that when the Lord does come—whether at Christmas, or at the end of the world, or even today at this altar—he will find us, as one old prayer says, a mansion prepared for himself. Amen.

The Christmas Gift that Keeps on Taking

One of the banes of modern liturgies is worship songs that <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-problem-with-bad-church-music">fail to reflect</a> the beauty and truth of the Faith. In the worst cases, these songs undermine the Faith through dubious if not downright heretical lyrics. The U.S. bishops even have <a href="https://www.usccb.org/resources/Catholic%20Hymnody%20at%20the%20Service%20of%20the%20Church_0.pdf">a document</a> on the subject, “Catholic Hymnody at the Service of the Church: An Aid for Evaluating Hymn Lyrics.”
<h2>All Are Welcome</h2>
One hymn that serves as an excellent case study in applying the document’s message would be “All Are Welcome” by Marty Haugen, which was at one point <a href="https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/260195/diocese-bans-all-are-welcome-other-hymns-from-catholic-masses">banned in some dioceses</a>.
Whenever you say “All Are Welcome” is a bad hymn, you get accused of being . . . well, not welcoming. But this song makes it sound as though we are trying to recruit people into our club to boost membership, not call people to repentance to receive the holy sacrifice of the Eucharist. Here are some of the lyrics:
Let us build a house
Where love can dwell 
And all can safely live 
A place where 
Saints and children tell 
How hearts learn to forgive
Built of hopes and dreams and visions 
Rock of faith and vault of grace 
Here the love of Christ shall end divisions
The hymn keeps repeating the phrase “let us build a house,” which makes it sound as if we sinners create the Church instead of the Church creating us. The USCCB doctrinal committee agrees with this and calls the hymn objectionable on ecclesiological grounds.
It also makes it sound as though God died on the cross, and now it’s up to us to grow the Church, so we need to make sure everyone feels “welcome”—which, for some people who love this song, means not sharing any teachings on things <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-truth-about-sex">like sexuality</a> that could remind them of sins they must reject because then they might feel unwelcome.
<h2>Bad Hymns and the Eucharist</h2>
But the hymn gets even worse when we get to how it describes the Eucharist, the source and summit of our faith:
Let us build a house where love is found 
In water, wine and wheat 
A banquet hall on holy ground 
Where peace and justice meet
The USCCB says, “Someone who sings this song frequently would have a hard time imagining that the Eucharist can be and is worshiped or is in any sense a ‘sacrifice.’” Instead, the song, like many bad hymns, treats the Eucharist as a common meal whose purpose is to gather us into one place, from which we will then go out and do works of social justice or something.
In fact, the most common reason a hymn is theologically bad is because it pushes a false view of the Eucharist. The USCCB doctrinal committee gives three principles to keep hymns from pushing eucharistic heresy:
<ol>
<li>
<blockquote>Language that implies that the elements are still bread and wine after consecration should be avoided.</blockquote>
</li>
<li>
<blockquote>Language that implies the bread and wine, still bread and wine, are merely symbols of another reality or person should be avoided.</blockquote>
</li>
<li>
<blockquote>Poetic license should conform to customary usage of Scripture and liturgical Tradition. “Bread,” “Bread of Life,” etc. are scriptural synecdoches for the Eucharist itself, and so are permitted.</blockquote>
</li>
</ol>
A synecdoche is a figure of speech that uses a part to refer to the whole. For example, if a military officer says, “We have fifty boots on the ground for the mission,” he means there are fifty soldiers for the mission with the boots representing the whole soldier. Likewise, a hymn can in some cases use the word “bread” to refer to the entire reality of the Eucharist, which has only the appearance of bread. However, as the USCCB goes on to say,
<blockquote>“wine” is not used in the same way, and to call the consecrated element “wine” gives the impression that it is still wine. This, in turn, has an impact on the way the word “bread” is heard, so that legitimate uses of the word “bread” are heard differently, not as a synecdoche for the Eucharist as a whole, but as a reference to the element which remains bread. Scripture speaks of the “cup,” not of “wine” (see 1 Cor. 10.16-17).</blockquote>
A few hymns that commit this error include “God Is Here!”, which says, “Here as bread and wine are taken, Christ sustains us as of old,” and “Three Days,” which says, “The dead do not arise, yet he walks among us, and with our own eyes, we’ve seen him at this table, we’ve shared his bread and wine.”
<h2>All Are Welcome, All About Us</h2>
The other common trait in most of these songs is that they are all about us. We are singing about how good we are, how God uses us, or what we want God to do for us, instead of just singing the praises of the Almighty God. “All Are Welcome” puts the emphasis on those of us attending church. This is especially prominent in Haugen’s other well-known hymn, “Gather Us In”:
We are the young, our lives are a mystery 
We are the old who yearn for your face 
We have been sung throughout all of history 
Called to be light to the whole human race
I spend the whole week hearing about the young and the old and all the people of this life who think they’re so important. Is it too much to ask that for one hour a week, I just sing about the greatness of the God, whom our society almost never talks about?
Many bad hymns are essentially humanist tracts dressed up in God language. Their message is that God should just help us be nice to one another and not upset anyone, especially with religious talk.
<h2>Ugly Art Hurts the Faith</h2>
In a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vkgDoQtRCIA">previous episode</a> on my channel on why <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-death-of-liberal-catholicism">liberals love ugly art</a>, I said it is because ugly art turns us inward to glorify human traits, like subverting expectations, whereas truly beautiful art lifts us up to the divine. The same is true of banal, ugly music: it keeps us focused on ourselves instead of lifting us up to the divine. That’s why the Second Vatican Council said, “The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services” (Sacrosanctum Concilium, 116).
Ironically, worship songs that focus on glorifying God and exhibit the objective traits of beautiful music will be appealing to all people . . . and let them know, as human beings hardwired to pursue the true, the good, and the beautiful, that “all are welcome” in this sacred space.

‘All Are Welcome’ to Avoid This Hymn

How, according to Albert Einstein (and later, Pope Benedict XVI), did science point to a Divine Intelligence who created the universe? And is this claim refuted (or supported) by quantum physics?

Why Einstein Thought Science Disproved Atheism

Cy Kellett engages with Trent Horn as they dive into a thought-provoking discussion about the requirements of Catholic practice and the nature of belief. Charles from Texas shares his unique perspective on faith, blending elements from various religions while expressing admiration for certain Catholic beliefs, like the intercession of saints. Trent responds with clarity, exploring the significance of Church attendance and the richness of Catholic tradition.
Transcript:
Cy: Why are you not a Catholic?
Caller: Pretty much just no time. And you guys require to be in church every single week and certain days throughout the whole year. And I don&#8217;t understand why you would have to have all that to believe in God and to be a part of a church.
Trent: Okay. Charles, can I ask you a question? Do you identify as having religious beliefs right now?
Caller: Well, I was raised. I was raised kind of. I don&#8217;t know. I was raised to believe in God, but I kind of winded off and I was. I&#8217;m kind of a mixture. And I believe in. I believe a lot more than any religion out there because I studied religion for probably 15 years.
Trent: Okay.
Caller: And comes at the conclusion that they&#8217;re all wrong. And I believe in a lot of what Christians believe. I believe a lot of what Wiccans believe, but I also believe a lot of what Catholics believe. Oh, what part of no religion out there.
Trent: Okay, I&#8217;m just curious, Charles, what part of what Catholics believe do you also believe?
Caller: I believe that saints watch over you and you can talk to them and they&#8217;ll talk back to you or whatever. And I believe, you know, I mean, I like the rosary and I believe in. I believe that Mary watches over me because I&#8217;m. And like St. Christopher. I&#8217;m a truck driver.
Trent: Yeah. In all your travels.
Caller: I&#8217;m traveling all the time.
Trent: Yeah. Do you believe that Jesus is doing that same thing? He&#8217;s resurrected in heaven. And that&#8217;s why all those saints can do that, because Jesus is watching over you and cares for you.
Caller: Oh, yeah.
Trent: Okay. So we believe Jesus is in heaven. He&#8217;s risen from the dead. To me. Well, I would just put it this way. If God created us, and he created us to know and love him, what percent of our lives should we be prepared to give him? If God created us, loves us, wants us to be in heaven with him, what percent of our lives should we be prepared to give back to God?
Caller: 90% of it.
Trent: Want to get an A. That is. That is. That is. That is commendable. Good. I personally probably would answer that 100%, because if God gave me everything I have, existence, everything I have in life, I should give him back everything I have.
Now, that doesn&#8217;t mean I&#8217;m going to be in a church for an entire week, praying nonstop. Like, I give back to God by going to work, by providing for my family, by spending time with my kids, by taking out the trash, doing what I have to do. But our life that we give back to God is more than just the work we do in this life.
That&#8217;s why actually one of the Ten Commandments, God gave us one of the commitments like he gave us in the Commandments. Don&#8217;t murder, don&#8217;t steal, don&#8217;t commit adultery, don&#8217;t work on the Sabbath like for Him. It&#8217;s that serious. And it makes sense because God wants us to have a day of rest.
Because if we get consumed with work, we get poured into ourselves and into this life and not realize we have to take time just to give worship to God and recognition to God and say, God, you are great and wonderful and I just want to adore you and thank you and want to become more holy just like you.
And so God wants us to set aside at least one day a week to do that. And at one hour is where not only do we praise and worship God as Catholics, we believe that Jesus is watching over us. We receive him in the Eucharist, that it&#8217;s bread and wine, but it&#8217;s the body and blood of Christ so that Jesus can dwell within our bodies to give us his grace, give us his very life.
So I guess for me, Charles, I know if you&#8217;re a truck driver, you&#8217;re driving a lot, spending nights at truck stops, and it&#8217;s a lot of hard work. But if you have one day off a week, I would just consider stopping by a Catholic church where you&#8217;re driving. You&#8217;re going to come across one somewhere, take some time out of your rig and go sit down in a pew and pray.
And if you&#8217;re there for Mass, that&#8217;d be awesome. And give God that time. Because this reminds me, people who say they don&#8217;t have a lot of time for God. There is a passage in the Gospels, in the Bible where Jesus, he went into the garden of Gethsemane and he prayed before he was crucified. And it&#8217;s called the Agony in the Garden.
And he was praying, understanding everything he was going to go through to die for our sins. But then when he went back to the disciples, this is what Matthew 26:40 says. It says, and he, Jesus came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said to Peter, so could you not watch with me one hour?
I think we can give God one hour a week. One hour going to Sunday Mass, worship and praise him. And if you&#8217;re Catholic, in a state of grace to receive him in the Eucharist.
So, you know, I hope you&#8217;ll consider that. And I hope, you know, you&#8217;ll keep driving, keep listening to Catholic Answers and call back again. We&#8217;d love to answer some of your questions, but thanks for calling in. Thanks, Charles.
Cy: Pretty soon we&#8217;ll have books on tape for you. I know that&#8217;s coming soon.
888-31-87884. The number. We&#8217;ll be right back with more &#8220;Why Aren&#8217;t You Catholic?&#8221; on Catholic Answers Live.

I’m Not Catholic Because I Work on Sunday…

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Is the Eucharist idolatry?

<div>How do parishes decide weekend Mass times? Are there any guidelines in canon law or the General Instruction of the Roman Missal?</div><div>Sunday Masses may be any time from 4 p.m. Saturday evening to Sunday before midnight (which sometimes happens at colleges and in Latin countries, where 9 p.m. Sunday Masses are not unheard of). That is the only norm there is, taken from canon 1248, 1 in the Code of Canon Law.  The 4 p.m. vigil time is customary, although there are those who would argue for 3 p.m. All this applies also to holy days that do not fall on Sunday.
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How Are Weekend Mass Times Set?

Luke 1:43, where Elizabeth proclaims Mary as the “Mother of my Lord,” is usually the go-to biblical text for defending Mary “Mother of God.” But did you know there’s another text that we can appeal to?
It’s Galatians 4:4. There, Paul writes, “When the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law.” The key is that God’s Son is said to be born of a woman.
There are two things to unpack here.
First, assuming we accept early conciliar Christology, like that of the Council of Nicaea, God’s Son, the Word, is divine, and thus is properly called “God.”
Second, any woman who gives birth to a person is a mother to the person to whom she gives birth.
With these two things in place, we can reason as follows:
P1:  Any woman who gives birth to a person is a mother to the person to whom she gives birth.
P2:  Mary gave birth to God’s Son (per Gal. 4:4).
C1:  Therefore, Mary is the mother of God’s Son.
P3:  God’s Son is divine, and thus is properly called “God.”
C2:  Therefore, Mary is the mother of God.
With the argument laid out like this, it becomes clear what a person has to deny if he wants to deny Mary as the Mother of God. Such a person would have to deny either premise one, a mother is someone who gives birth to a person; premise two, Mary did not give birth to God’s Son; or premise three, God’s Son is not Divine.
Common sense tells us that we can’t deny premise one. The very definition of a biological mother is someone who gives birth to a person. Mothers don’t give birth to anything else, like a nature or a body. The subject that is birthed is a person.
No Christian can deny premise two without denying an essential truth of the Bible, a truth that Paul makes explicit: “God sent his Son, born of a woman.”
Finally, no Christian can deny the divinity of God’s Son, the Word, lest he cease being a Christian. Recall John 1:1: “In the beginning was the Word, the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
With a little help of reason to bring to light certain hidden premises, Galatians 4:4 provides a biblical basis for belief that Mary is the Mother of God, thereby providing another arrow in the quiver for hitting the target for this Marian dogma.

When Paul Does Your Homework for You

Is the Trinity explicit in Scripture?

How Exactly Did Jesus Take on a Body?

<div>Can someone go to hell if they don’t partake of the Eucharist? I believe I read somewhere that we need to take it once a year at least. Why? </div><div>Catholics are obliged to receive the Eucharist at least once a year (Code of Canon Law, canon 921 §1-2) to encourage the faithful to live a truly faithful life and benefit from the great sacramental graces of the Eucharist, since we are not supposed to receive Holy Communion in a state of mortal sin (Code of Canon Law, canon 916).
Regarding whether reception of the Eucharist is necessary for the salvation of souls, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/qa/is-the-eucharist-necessary-for-salvation">please see our previous answer on this subject.</a>
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Why Eucharist at Least Once a Year?

Here at Catholic Answers, we’re used to hearing (and never fail to be cheered by) stories of people turning or returning to the Catholic faith after years of wandering in unbelief or sects. Sometimes these people credit the work of our apostolate as an instrument in their conversion. And we’re used to hearing about people who make the hop from pure secularism to spirituality-without-religiosity. For a recent example, <a href="https://www.foxnews.com/entertainment/red-hot-chili-peppers-flea-reveals-moment-god-made-perfect-sense">bassist Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers,</a> who says he’s “not religious in any way” but does “kind of believe in God . . . like a divine energy.”
Hey, it’s a start. Maybe next he’ll start kind of believing in wearing shirts on stage.
We can get behind any conversion—from the Latin conversio, signifying a “turning around [toward God]”—however hesitating or incremental.
But some such stories do tempt my inner cynic. One is the tale of Sarah Hurwitz, former lead speechwriter for Michelle Obama who was <a href="https://www.npr.org/2023/07/02/1184875650/faith-religion-judaism-sarah-hurwitz">recently interviewed for NPR’s “Enlighten Me” series</a> about her return to her “childhood faith” of Judaism.
The general story would not be unfamiliar to many Catholic reverts. After her bat mitzvah at 13, Hurwitz said “thanks but no thanks” to the religion in which she’d been raised and for a couple decades sought, but did not find, spiritual fulfillment in worldly pursuits. Then, by seeming fluke occurrence, she found herself reconnecting with that religion and finding in it a needed feeling of purpose and peace.
Except, to hear her describe it, she didn’t reconnect with Judaism but with an NPR-sanitized version of it.
The first warning buzzer sounds when Hurwitz immediately makes it clear that her re-embrace of Judaism doesn’t involve anything so conventional as theism—“It wasn’t, ‘Oh, there’s a man in the sky taking care of everything.’ Nope.” Rather, it was “the idea of the spark of the divine in all of us.”
Now, in a sense this notion isn’t wholly incompatible with Judaism. After all, the Hebrew scriptures teach that we were created in the divine image. (And Christianity, which came from Judaism, teaches that through Christ we can be re-made in that image—divinized—by participation.) There are strains of a mystical tradition in rabbinic literature. But at root, in a plain, immediate sense, the God of the Jews is pretty darn transcendent. “Hear O Israel, the Lord your God is one,” goes the famous Shema (Deut. 6:4) at the heart of Jewish belief.
Or, in the words of the venerable “Theology 101” meme, “There is a God, and you are not him.” Historic Judaism is not about us but about God: his power and praiseworthiness, his wisdom, the favor he shows to his people. You can’t have Judaism, in a sense, without the “man in the sky.”
Traditional Judaism is also a religion of law and strict religious duty. But Hurwitz describes her version of it as “one big mindfulness practice” that is “calling you to notice the person in front of us and to respond lovingly and kindly and with generosity.” It’s “crowdsourced wisdom . . . about how to be a good person.” This sounds much less like Judaism and more like the <a href="https://www.catholic.com/audio/cot/cot-29">moral therapeutic deism</a> that has been slowly emerging as our national religion. Less “Law of Moses” and more “Church of Nice.”
I know: it sounds like I’m nitpicking this woman for the flaws in her conversion, and right after I said that conversion is always good even when incomplete! But it strikes me that there’s a difference between being on a journey and switching the street signs. Even imperfect conversion, when authentic, should leave us bound to some divine truth that has convicted us, not filtering that truth into something that works for us. Were a Catholic revert to announce that he had reconnected with the faith of his youth, and say that by that he means some universalist, low-Christology, morally libertine, highly politicized boutique wing of Catholicism, I would have the same reaction.
In fact, Hurwitz seems to recognize this very thing when she counsels her interviewer, who admitted to sampling from a “spiritual buffet,” to stop “picking and choosing the parts that move you and make you feel good” and instead to “step into [a religion] as a complete system.” Hear-hear. By God’s grace may she one day embrace the fullness of Judaism, the religion of God’s intervention in time to save his people, and then, perhaps, its fulfillment in Jesus Christ—the Jewish man who is also God.

Moral Therapeutic Judaism?

<div>Which animals does the Bible say were present at Jesus’ birth?</div><div>The Gospel writers do not directly mention animals present at Jesus&#8217; birth. Artists have inferred from the infancy narratives that there could have been a donkey (for Mary to ride during the journey to Bethlehem, since she was pregnant), oxen (since the Holy Family took shelter in a stable with a manger, which is used for feeding cattle), sheep (under the care of the shepherds), and camels (for the wise men to ride on their journey to visit the child Jesus). If we include the presentation of Christ in the Temple as part of the infancy narratives, then there were also two birds, either turtledoves or pigeons, which Joseph and Mary gave as their offering.
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Animals at the Manger

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Which Church did Christ establish?

<div>Did St. Jerome believe in the Eucharist? "When we hear the word of God, Christ’s body and blood is being poured into our ears." </div><div>What you cite is not actually from St. Jerome but a writing of Church Father Origen that St. Jerome translated. Origen <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/origens-origin">undoubtedly had his doctrinal problems</a>, and yet he also wrote very well on other subjects, including the Eucharist.
In the text you cite, Origen actually affirms the reality of the Eucharist. He does so in comparing how the faithful rightfully respond when a eucharistic crumb falls to the floor by pointing out that they need to have similar reverence when God’s living word is preached to them.
The following excerpt is taken from <a href="https://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/audiences/2002/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_20020605.html">Pope John Paul II’s weekly General Audience on June 5, 2002</a>:
<blockquote>Origen, who comments on our Psalm in one of his homilies, translated and disseminated by St. Jerome in the West, actually interweaves the word of God with the Eucharist: &#8220;We read the Holy Scriptures. I believe that the Gospel is the Body of Christ. I believe that the holy Scriptures are his teaching. And when he says: he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood (John 6:53), although these words can also refer to the [eucharistic] mystery, yet the Body and Blood of Christ is truly a word of Scripture, the teaching of God. When we are about to receive the [eucharistic] mystery, if even a tiny crumb falls, we feel lost. When we are listening to God&#8217;s word, when our ears perceive the word of God and the body and blood of Christ, what great danger would we not fall into were we to think about something else?&#8221; (74 Omelie sul Libro dei Salmi [74 Homilies on the Book of Psalms], Milano 1993, pp. 543-544).</blockquote>
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Did Jerome Believe in the Eucharist?

<div>Is the Last Four Things a doctrine of the Church or a catechetical formula?</div><div>&#8220;The Last Four Things&#8221; is simply a popular expression of the final things of human existence. The Last Four Things are death, judgment, heaven, hell.  
Clearly, these are all things that the Church teaches and has doctrines regarding, but this popular general grouping is just that.  
As the <a href="http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05528b.htm">Catholic Encyclopedia</a> notes in its entry on eschatology:
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The eschatological summary which speaks of the &#8220;four last things&#8221; (death, judgment, heaven, and hell) is popular rather than scientific. 
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What About the Last Four Things?

Global vs Local Relativism: Is There Absolute Truth?

<div>Why attend Mass if one is in state of mortal sin?</div><div>Missing Mass is itself a sin, so why add another sin on top of the sin(s) already committed? If I am already sick, why would I purposely injure myself further?
Mass involves hearing the word of God, which can help move our hearts to repentance and true conversion which is something someone in mortal sin would need.
The essence of sin is a turning against God or our neighbor. By skipping Mass, we avoid both God and neighbor and solidify ourselves in our sinful state, whereas attending Mass can help begin to heal those relationships.
Attending Mass in a state of sin and being unable to receive Communion is a powerful reminder of the consequences of sin and can move us to repent and avoid sin in the future.
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Attending Mass in Mortal Sin

<div>Can a woman become a Catholic chaplain?</div><div>Yes and no.
Yes, in the sense that, in the secular world, the term chaplain is used to describe someone who is in charge at that organization for a particular group&#8217;s spiritual care. In this case, it would be a situation where a layperson would be named &#8220;chaplain&#8221; by the organization itself (e.g., a hospital or prison). A woman can hold the role of a lay Catholic chaplain in such a scenario. However, neither she nor a male lay &#8220;chaplain&#8221; should ever attempt to fulfill a role that simulates the role of Catholic clergy.
No, in the sense that it would not be an official Church position. The Code of Canon Law (can. 564) defines a chaplain as a priest appointed by the local ordinary for the spiritual care of a particular group. It involves the granting of faculties and sacramental responsibility. To hold an official position as a chaplain within the Church, one must be a priest. Not even a deacon may be appointed a chaplain by the bishop.
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Female Catholic Chaplains?

Tim Staples delves into the complex theological concept of the kenosis, the self-emptying of Jesus Christ. The discussion explores whether Jesus withheld divine attributes during His earthly life and how the hypostatic union between His divine and human natures impacted His experience.
Transcript:
Is there any evidence for Jesus withholding divine attributes?
Right. Okay. It&#8217;s not that He withholds divine attributes.
It would be more proper to say, because of course, when you&#8217;re talking about Jesus in His divine personhood, He possesses all the divine attributes in full, because He&#8217;s God. The divine nature, as well as the three divine persons, cannot. It is impossible for a divine person to somehow deny the divine attributes. That&#8217;s metaphysically absurd, because they all three, of course, are the one God and possess all the, depending upon how you number them, the 14 or 15 divine attributes. Absolutely. All right. But what we are talking about in Jesus Christ, and here we go again. We&#8217;re talking about the kenosis once again. It&#8217;s in Christ&#8217;s humanity where the second person of blessed Trinity chose to humble himself. Let me think about that. That&#8217;s infinite humiliation of God, right? In the Incarnation,
in His humanity,
He withholds from what is His right, and that is the divine glory. You see, from the instant that Christ was conceived,
He merited by nature infinitely, right? From the first human act that He performed, He merited infinitely, and He continues to merit in every act, all the way up to and through the crucifixion of our blessed Lord, right? How can He merit infinite all the time? He can because of the hypostatic union, because everything that the human nature does must be understood to have as its subject the divine person. That&#8217;s what makes it infinitely propitiatory for our salvation. But He, the second person of blessed Trinity, chose to empty himself. Why?
Because if He accepted in His human nature the full reward of even His first action, guess what? He would be glorified. He would have the gifts of impassibility and subtility and agility and glory. All of that would be fully manifested in His human nature, and so therefore He wouldn&#8217;t be able to suffer. He wouldn&#8217;t be able to die, and so forth. And so He empties Himself of that which, you know,
Catholic theologians refer to it as His divine glory. But I think when they use that language, sometimes people get confused to think somehow He emptied Himself of His divinity. And that is heresy, okay? He can&#8217;t empty Himself of His divine nature. That&#8217;s metaphysically absurd. But what He could do is not&#8230; Here, the second person of blessed Trinity doesn&#8217;t permit the fullness of the glory that He has a right to, because He merited it, to be manifest. Why? So He could suffer and die for our sins, my friend. And you know, Cy and I were talking during the break of how if you look at Matthew 17 verses 1 through 3 in Luke&#8217;s version, in Luke chapter 17 verses 31 through about 35 there, and the transfiguration, what happens? He&#8217;s transfigured before Peter, James, and John. What is He doing? He&#8217;s manifesting what is His right, the fullness of the glory that awaits not only Him, but all of us. Amen. If we are faithful unto death, we will be glorified together with Him, says Paul in Romans chapter 8 verse 17.
We will be glorified together with Him if we suffer with Him in order to get there, right Cy? Well, Jesus, because He had it by right, He could manifest it anytime He wanted to, and He did. He gave them. Peter talks about this in 2 Peter chapter 1. Peter talks about how they saw His glory, and they&#8217;re talking about the transfiguration. Okay, so the point is, though, that Jesus, at every moment, He chose. This is why Jesus said, &#8220;Don&#8217;t you know I could snap my&#8230;&#8221; He didn&#8217;t say, &#8220;Snap my fingers.&#8221; I could call my Heavenly Father, and He would send a legion of angels and rescue me. But how would the Scriptures be fulfilled, right? In fact, He didn&#8217;t even need to call on the angels. He could do it Himself, you know. Jesus could, right? But what? He says, &#8220;How would the Scriptures be fulfilled?&#8221; Every instant. This is an important point to remember here.
When Jesus said in John chapter 10 verse 18, one of the most beautiful Johannine verses anywhere, &#8220;Think not that you take my life. I give it.&#8221; Right? &#8220;I give it as a ransom for many.&#8221; &#8220;I give it.&#8221; Why? Because nobody takes his life. He gives it. He could stop the whole carousel anytime he wants to. But there&#8217;s only one thing that keeps him on the cross, and that&#8217;s love.
The free choice of Him to continue to empty Himself for our salvation.

Did Jesus Christ Abandon His Divinity on Earth?

Most religious conversations between believers and nonbelievers lead to a contrast between religion and science. “Science is based upon reason; religion relies upon faith,” the nonbeliever will assert, believing that this in some way damages the respectability of belief. In fact, he is only echoing St. Thomas Aquinas, who taught that theology is done on the light of faith while philosophy—including the philosophy of nature and hence modern science—is based upon the natural light of reason. 
This, of course, is not what the nonbeliever wants to say. In contrasting religion and science, he is implying that the believer is a victim of superstition who fails to acknowledge that <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/is-the-only-real-knowledge-scientific-knowledge">only science can lead to true knowledge</a> because it alone is based on empirical verification and rigorous testing. 
How is the believer to respond? Is it true that science alone is rational because it is based on demonstration and logical reasoning? 
Most people would agree that religious faith is grounded in truths that cannot be demonstrated empirically using the scientific method. For the Catholic, these beliefs of faith are justified because they are accepted as true on the revelation and authority of God, who can neither deceive nor be deceived. What is not obvious is that scientific knowledge too must be grounded in essential, nonprovable beliefs about the nature of the universe. 
What follows is a brief summary of the scientific method that grounds the scientific enterprise. As many philosophers of science have shown, the success and justification of the method rests on premises that cannot be demonstrated. Instead, these premises are accepted as true by the scientific community because science would be unable to function without them. These premises constitute the essential beliefs of every scientist—his natural faith—and reflect his implicit acceptance of classical metaphysics. 
<h2>First step: induction</h2>
The first step in the scientific method involves the process of induction. The scientist looks around himself, collects data, then makes a probable conclusion. For example, all the swans he sees are white. He therefore proposes the hypothesis that all swans are white.  
But using this process of induction alone, the scientist can never assert truths with absolute certainty. No great number of white swans could rule out the possibility that the next swan could be black. Consequently, the scientist often constructs his hypothesis so that it can be verified and tested through experimentation. The experiment is then thought to confirm or dismiss the hypothesis. 
But even this safeguard cannot guarantee the truth of scientific conclusions. This is illustrated by a simple example used by the philosopher Richard Swinburne (Simplicity as Evidence of Truth, 15-19). Let us say that a scientist is analyzing data composed of four pairs of numbers, the first number in each set being designated “x” and the second “y”: (1,2), (2,4), (3,6), and (4,8). He wants to determine the relationship between the first and the second numbers in the series where x increases by 1 and y increases by 2. 
Using induction, he compares the pairs of numbers and proposes that y = 2x. It is a reasonable hypothesis, but he resorts to more testing and comes up with two more pairs of numbers, (5,10) and (6,12). They seem to confirm his hypothesis, and he rejoices.  
What is not usually realized, however, is that this series of paired numbers can be adequately explained by an infinite number of alternate equations of the form y = 2x + x(x-1)(x-2)(x-3)(x-4)(x-5)(x6)z, where z can be a constant or another function of x. No further testing and collecting of data would be able to distinguish between these alternative equations and the basic equation y = 2x.
 In choosing y = 2x as his hypothesis, the scientist has made the assumption that <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/what-is-divine-simplicity">simplicity</a> is a marker for truth. 
<h2>Does simplicity beg the question?</h2>
James D. Watson, describing his and F.H.C. Crick’s discovery of the double helical structure of deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA, said it was “an adventure characterized by youthful arrogance and by the belief that the truth, once found, would be simple as well as pretty” (The Double Helix, ix). And despite the absence of any definitive data that would favor the heliocentric over the geocentric model for the solar system, Copernicus believed that his hypothesis that the Earth revolved around the sun was true because it was simpler. These are only two examples that suggest that the simplest theories are most likely to be true. Most scientists believe this. Why? 
Swinburne discusses three possible answers (Simplicity, 44-51). First, some might claim that there are reasons why scientists choose simple theories beyond the greater probable truth of a simple theory. But examples from the history of science suggest this is not true. As Watson believed, simplicity itself is thought to be a marker of truth. 
Second, some might argue that the presumption of simplicity is justified because history has shown that simplicity is a reasonable assumption that has worked. Swinburne points out that justifying simplicity this way itself already relies upon the criterion of simplicity and as such begs the question. He points out there are many ways of extrapolating from past historical data.  
“Usually, simplest theories predict better than more complex theories” is one way, but “Usually theories formulated by Greeks in the bath, by Englishmen who watch apples drop, or Germans who work in patent offices . . . predict better than other theories” is another way. (Swinburne is referring here to Archimedes, Newton, and Einstein.)  
This second explanation of past data explains history equally well but is obviously absurd. The first alternative, the simpler one, has to be preferred. However, since simplicity itself is presumed, the appeal to history cannot be used to justify simplicity. 
The third possibility is that some mathematical or logical theorem justifies belief in simplicity. This, in fact, is only a more sophisticated way of saying that some mathematical formula can be devised to demonstrate that induction can give rise to certain knowledge. But, as the skeptic philosopher <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/to-err-is-humean">David Hume</a> wrote, “There can be no demonstrative arguments to prove that those instances of which we have had no experience resemble those of which we have had experience” (Treatise on Human Nature. 1:3:6). 
The future always remains contingent. Ultimately, if the principle of simplicity is true, it is a fundamental, indemonstrable truth that the scientist must accept on faith. It allows him to do science. 
<h2>Truth is beautiful</h2>
The quote from Watson above is a reminder that the conviction that truth is simple is not the only belief held by the scientist. Closely related to this is the belief that the truth is beautiful or, using Watson’s word, “pretty.”  
The mathematical physicist Paul M. Dirac—after recalling that the greatest modern physicists have looked for “beautiful theories,” “beautiful equations,” and “beautiful generalizations” to explain nature—recounts the case of a physicist who refused to accept his mathematical theory because it did not agree exactly with the observed data. Eventually, it turned out that the mathematical solution was true, and the observation was erroneous. Dirac wrote: 
<blockquote>I think that there is a moral to this story—namely, that it is more important to have beauty in one’s equations than to have them fit experiments. . . . It seems that if one is working from the point of view of getting beauty in one’s equations, and if one has really a sound insight, one is on a sure line of progress” (<a href="https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/guest-blog/the-evolution-of-the-physicists-picture-of-nature/">“The Evolution of the Physicist’s Picture of Nature,”</a> Scientific American, vol. 208, 47).</blockquote>
Today, theoretical physicists still use elegance and coherence, elements that reflect the beautiful, as signposts for formulating explanations for nature that may not at first be provable with empirical methods. String theory, with which scientists are attempting to unify all the fundamental forces with gravity, is one example.  
In fact, string theory is just one of many attempts to find a theory-of-everything, a single equation that can be emblazoned on the T-shirt of an M.I.T. student. It is a search driven by the realization that the standard model used by physicists to describe the structure of nature seems too complicated. It is not pretty enough. 
Clearly, it is not easy to justify this intuitive understanding that truth is beautiful in a logical demonstration. However, alongside simplicity, beauty allows the scientists to choose among his different hypotheses. It allows him to accomplish his task. 
Finally, as Pope St. John Paul II points out, the scientist takes for granted that <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/is-it-true-that-there-is-no-truth">truth exists</a> and is the object of his endeavors: 
<blockquote>When scientists, following their intuition, set out in search of the logical and verifiable explanation of a phenomenon, they are confident from the first that they will find an answer, and they do not give up in the face of setbacks. They do not judge their original intuition useless simply because they have not reached their goal; rightly enough they will say that they have not yet found a satisfactory answer (Fides et Ratio 29.). </blockquote>
Hence, for the scientist, the truth is attractive—or, in classical terminology, the truth, because it attracts, is good. 
<h2> Based on an act of faith</h2>
We have seen that the scientific assumption that truth is simple, beautiful, and good cannot be demonstrated and yet must be accepted as true. As Swinburne has pointed out, an inductive argument cannot be used to justify this belief, since it has to be assumed in order to construct any conclusions from historical data. It is a metaphysical first principle, a basic assertion about the nature of reality that, as the ancient and medieval philosophers understood, is fundamental and non-demonstrable. 
Ultimately, it is nothing more than the scientist’s implicit acceptance of classical metaphysics that equates being with truth, unity, beauty, and goodness. Every scientist has to accept that reality is ordered and intelligible. As such, simplicity, beauty, and goodness constitute non-empirical criteria that must be adopted by every scientist in order to accomplish his work.  
These attributes reflect common metaphysical beliefs that must be presupposed in order for anyone—scientist or philosopher or theologian—to be rational. Hence, at the very heart of science’s rationality is an act of the will—an act of faith. 
Science is one example of human reasoning at its best. Most scientists would contend that their work attains truth, pointing at the successes of science—we fly planes, we cure diseases, we communicate on the Internet—to support their argument. These same scientists often fail to realize that these successes necessarily presuppose metaphysical and methodological principles that though non-demonstrable are accepted by them as true and certain. 
Is it surprising that there are truths that cannot be proved? Though most scientists would be suspicious, they shouldn’t be. Kurt Gödel, one of their own, showed in 1930 that there would always be some truths whose truth or falsity cannot be established using the axioms and deductive rules of arithmetic (John Barrow, Impossibility: The Limits of Science and the Science of Limits, 218-231). He used logic to prove that there were things that could not be proved. Some of these include the metaphysical first principles that ground the scientific enterprise. 
Thus, if science is considered the paradigm of rationality as many people suppose, then one must conclude that believing is also rational. The believer can now correct the nonbeliever who has contrasted science and religion: science is based primarily upon reason but, as does every rational enterprise, including religion, science relies upon principles that are grounded in faith.

Science is Based on Faith

One question I often ask reformed Protestants is: when was Abraham <a href="https://www.catholic.com/encyclopedia/justification">justified</a>? Even though <a href="https://www.ligonier.org/guides/justification#:~:text=Justification%20is%20a%20principal%20benefit,faith%20alone%20in%20Christ%20alone.">their theology maintains</a> that “[j]ustification is a once-for-all, nonrepeatable act of God”, Abraham is said to be justified three distinct times throughout the Bible. 
According to Hebrews 11, “[b]y faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place which he was to receive as an inheritance; and he went out, not knowing where he was to go” (Hebrews 11:8). This refers to Genesis 12, when God tells Abraham to leave his home country and Abraham obeys. Without being justified first, Abraham could not have had faith that allowed him to obey God; thus, he must have been justified then.
But Saint Paul claims Abraham was justified later, in Genesis 15:
<blockquote>“For if Abraham was justified by works, he has something to boast about, but not before God. For what does the scripture say? ‘Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness’” (Romans 3:2-3).</blockquote>
Lastly, Saint James says Abraham was justified once more in Genesis 22, when he <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/the-real-sacrifice-of-isaac">offered Isaac on the altar</a>:
<blockquote>“Was not Abraham our father justified by works, when he offered his son Isaac upon the altar?” (James 2:21).</blockquote>
So when was Abraham truly justified? Although reformed Protestants may struggle to answer this question, Catholics do not; Abraham was justified all three times. This is because justification is not a one-time event in someone’s life, but <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/justification-process-or-one-time-deal">a continual process</a> wherein one turns away from being a son of the old Adam to being a child of the new Adam, Jesus Christ. 
Abraham is the perfect example of this transformation. Originally he distrusts that God will give him a son in his old age, taking a second wife for himself; but he gradually transforms into a man willing to sacrifice his only son to God, believing “that God was able to raise men even from the dead” (Hebrews 11:19). Abraham’s increase in faith corresponds with an increase in grace and righteousness. This is why we can truly say he was justified multiple times throughout his life.

When Was Abraham Justified?

Human life is REAL from conception!

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Can Mary Save Us?

<div>How and when was Mary recognized as queen of heaven and earth?</div><div>Mary’s queenship is rooted in both Scripture and Tradition, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/is-there-a-queen-in-the-kingdom-of-heaven">particularly in her being the Mother of God, as Pope Pius XII reaffirmed</a>. In addition, in the Old Covenant, which prefigures the New Covenant, <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/is-marys-queenship-biblical">it was the mother of the king of Israel who served as queen mother</a>, not the king’s wife. <a href="https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/library/key-to-understanding-mary-1067" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Mary fulfills that role as the queen mother of the King of Kings</a>, Jesus. Mary has also been long been understood to be the woman in Revelation 12 crowned with twelve stars, which symbolize the new Israel, for she is the mother of the Church too.
For more on this topic, see Tim Staples&#8217;s book <a href="https://shop.catholic.com/behold-your-mother-a-biblical-and-historical-defense-of-the-marian-doctrines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Behold Your Mother: A Biblical and Historical Defense of the Marian Doctrines</a>, which is also available in <a href="https://shop.catholic.com/behold-your-mother-digital/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">digital form</a>.
</div>

When Was Mary’s Queenship Recognized?

Atheists sometimes dispute miracles, the Resurrection of Jesus, and even the existence of God <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/extraordinary-claims-require-extraordinary-evidence">on the grounds</a> that these &#8220;extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.&#8221; But do they understand the <a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/the-extraordinary-evidence-fallacy">implications and assumptions</a> of this catchphrase? Trent Horn shares his thoughts on Catholic Answers Live.

“Extraordinary Claims Require Extraordinary Evidence”

January 21 is the feast of St. Agnes. Agnes is one of several women—most of them virgins—mentioned by name in the Roman Canon, the First Eucharistic Prayer. She died in A.D. 304, either beheaded or stabbed through the neck, in Rome during the short-lived but intense Diocletian persecution. She had been put on trial because she came from a noble Roman family and had various suitors, none of whom she would marry—and that clearly indicated she belonged to that weird, anti-sexual cult called the “Christians.”
The Church has always valued virginity, both in its intentional and physical dimensions. Intentionally, it involves a commitment to abstain from sexual intercourse in order to preserve the virtue of chastity. In the case of a woman, this commitment also finds expression in physical integrity, which is probably why virginity is more frequently associated with women.
Why did—and does—the Church attach such value to virginity, so much that virginal names have been mentioned by the Church in the Mass almost every day for seventeen centuries? And what is it about our times that may impede appreciating what the Church values?
We need to begin with an understanding that virginity and chastity are not so much “no!” as “yes!” Karol Wojtyła (St. John Paul II) recognized this back in 1960, when he wrote Love and Responsibility: people think of chastity as something negative, a refusal. It does entail a refusal, but only because it more importantly encompasses a huge “yes.”
Sex and sexual intercourse, at their best, are profound acts of self-giving, of self-donation. One gives one’s self to another in a deep, personal, intimate, and (as traditionally understood) permanent way.
One gives one’s self. The human self is an embodied self: a soul and a body that, together, constitute one human person. So one impediment to this appreciation may be the modern attempt to divorce body and soul, reducing the “person” to a state of mind with a (maybe the “wrong”) body attached as a tool.
Plain human experience denies this dualism. If I were unexpectedly to slap you in the face, you’d probably ask, “Why did you do that?” If I told you, “Because I love you,” you’d know I was either crazy or making fun of you, because (a) hitting my face means hitting me and (b) body and mind are not so separable as to make that explanation credible.
So sex at its best is a sign of self-donation. And, yes, because we are bodily beings, sensory experiences leave marks that are almost always deep, direct, and lasting. That’s especially true for women, who, unlike men, tend not to compartmentalize sensory experience, thoughts, feelings, and wants. But for both sexes, one’s “first love” leaves a permanent mark: in mind; in feelings; and, particularly in women, in body.
That is why chastity is not just an option, but a moral requirement for everybody outside marriage. I know that many people don’t honor that norm, but the frequency of its violation doesn’t change its nature. We are all, after all, sinners. That universality does not make sin non-sin.
But it’s not just a question of negativity. Because sex is meant to be such a profound act of self-giving, it cannot be profligate: love seeks unity. People seek their “one true love,” their “<a href="https://www.catholic.com/magazine/blog/you-probably-dont-have-a-soulmate">soulmate</a>.”
If sexual intercourse is an act of “self-giving,” then one wants to give one’s self to one’s “one true love.” That gift is not a “test.” It’s not bestowed with a thirty-day exchange-or-return policy. The dynamic of love says, “I want this, and I want this forever.”
That’s why chastity asks for that gift to be kept for that “one true love.” For most people, that one true love is found in marriage. That is also why the Church speaks of sexual intercourse as reserved to marriage: because that is the one situation in which all the conditions that gift seeks—oneness, permanence, totality, unreservedness, exclusivity, fruitfulness—are objectively present. Anything else is selling that gift out for something less.
But although most people find that “one true love” in marriage, there are those for whom that one true love seeks to go beyond this world, to be united to God and his service. That is why consecrated virginity—the decision to abstain from sexual intercourse—is so valued. Not because the Church is “anti-sex,” but because this woman has decided that the “one true love” to whom she wants to give herself completely is . . . God. But God is spirit (John 4:24); the woman is not. Through consecrated virginity, she seeks to give herself completely to God, which means that the way typically available for human beings to do this—with other human beings through the reality of embodiment—does not come into play in her situation. She foregoes sexual intercourse not because sex is “bad” or “dirty,” but because the meaning of this act with another human being would be dishonest, since she has given herself to another: God.
So if our modern world does not understand virginity or even chastity, it’s not because the Church’s teaching is antiquated or morals have “slipped.” It rather suggests that the modern world first of all—despite all its talk about it—does not understand love. It does not understand love and the total gift to another that true love envisions and needs. It settles for sensory experience and stimulation over a deep, profound, and abiding commitment, selling both our selves and our love short.
Agnes did not want to do that. That is why, despite family and social pressures as well as civil persecution, she chose to die rather than give up her virginity. The same was true in the ancient world of <a href="https://www.ncregister.com/blog/saint-agatha">Agatha</a>, <a href="https://www.ncregister.com/blog/st-lucy-virgin-and-martyr-pray-for-us">Lucy</a>, and <a href="https://www.ncregister.com/blog/st-cecilia-saints-and-art">Cecilia</a>. In our own day, it was true of <a href="https://www.ncregister.com/blog/the-st-maria-goretti-conundrum">Maria Goretti</a>, <a href="https://www.ncregister.com/blog/two-virgin-martyrs-killed-during-world-wars-30-years-apart">Karolina Kózka, Anna Kolesárová</a>, and <a href="https://www.ncregister.com/cna/young-martyr-known-as-the-maria-goretti-of-brazil-beatified">Isabel Cristina Campos</a>.
It is true because love is timeless. All these women paid the ultimate price for their love and their self-donation: they were all martyrs. There can be no greater proof of their love.

Why Catholics Prize Virginity

Have you ever heard the charge about Catholic imperialism? The popular anti-Catholic myth goes something like this: Catholic missionaries were imperialists who enslaved and impoverished native populations!
But, as with all anti-Catholic myths, this one just isn’t true. Here’s the real story.
The Age of Exploration, which took place between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, created an unprecedented situation for the Church. With the discovery of vast new lands, it was realized that there were untold millions of people who had never been reached with the message of Jesus Christ.
Jesus himself had said, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you” (Matt. 28:19-20), giving the Church its missionary mandate.
Missionaries therefore began undertaking the hardships and dangers that international travel posed at the time. They spread all over the globe, accompanying the explorers and bringing the message of Christ to people everywhere.
But there was a problem: the various colonial powers—primarily Spain and Portugal, but also France, England, and the Netherlands—that had discovered the new lands were also busy competing with each other to set up colonies. Each nation was seeking its own advantage and did not want to fall behind the others.
This meant that these powers also competed with and in many cases exploited the native populations of these lands. Worse, some of the exploiters cited their own Christian faith as justification for conquering, despoiling, and enslaving the native inhabitants.
What did the missionaries do? The Catholic ones complained to the pope about what the conquistadors and others were doing, and in 1537, Pope Paul III issued a document known as Pastorale Officium, in which he noted that Charles V, holy Roman emperor, had forbidden his subjects from enslaving or robbing native people in mission lands. He then added to this injunction the ultimate Church penalty of excommunication:
<blockquote>Since we, therefore, are vigilant that these Indians, even if outside the bosom of the Church, are not deprived, nor are they to be deprived, of their freedom or the ownership of their goods, for they are men and, therefore, capable of faith and salvation, and, thus, they are not to be destroyed by enslavement but rather invited to life through preaching and example, and since we, moreover, desire to repress the nefarious undertakings of such impious [men] and to insure that the Indians do not become hardened against embracing the faith of Christ . . . we demand that . . . under your watchful attention you prevent with great severity . . . under pain of excommunication . . . each and every one of whatever rank from presuming in any way to reduce the aforementioned Indians to slavery or in any way to despoil them of their goods.</blockquote>
This was one in a series of documents in which the popes of the period took the side of the natives against those who sought to oppress them, citing both the fact that they were men (i.e., they had human rights) and that they could be turned away from the gospel by mistreatment. This was especially important, because the Church has always forbidden forced conversion. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) explains, the gospel must be embraced voluntarily (160).
The Church thus recognized the native peoples as human beings who deserved respect and who possessed precious souls in need of salvation from Jesus. They, like the Europeans, were those for whom Christ had died, and they must be treated as such. The Church thus sought to help the native peoples and protect them from exploitation.
Although this had an effect, it unfortunately did not mean that all exploitation stopped. Just as the pope today cannot snap his fingers and get Catholic politicians to enact Church teaching on subjects like abortion into public policy, the popes of this era had limited influence over secular powers.
The result was a period of both light and shadow, with both exploitation and the advance of the gospel. As in every era, the people of this one must be looked at realistically. None was perfectly good, and none was perfectly evil. Like us, they were complex individuals.
Recent popes have acknowledged this, including Pope Francis, who has stated, “I say this to you with regret: many grave sins were committed against the native peoples of America in the name of God. . . . Like Saint John Paul II, I ask that the Church—I repeat what he said—‘kneel before God and implore forgiveness for the past and present sins of her sons and daughters.’”
He went on to say, “Together with this request for forgiveness and in order to be just, I also would like us to remember the thousands of priests and bishops who strongly opposed the logic of the sword with the power of the cross.”

Catholic Imperialism!

We stand at a turning point, both in the liturgical year and in the gospel narrative. We have now turned our face decidedly toward Easter, which means moving through Lent in all its fullness. In the Gospels, the Transfiguration traditionally marks the final big high point before Jesus “sets his face to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51)—that is, toward the events of Holy Week.
Jesus has been slowly revealing himself to the people. Just before this, Peter did in fact catch a glimpse of Jesus’ identity and declared him the Son of God, the Christ. Peter, then, along with James and John, is allowed to see this moment of transcendence on the mountain—a moment that, in its brightness, will make the events to come all the more dark. In fact, in Matthew’s version, Jesus insists that the three disciples make no mention of what they have seen until “after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” In a sense, maybe, this was as much descriptive as prescriptive. In the anxiety and confusion following Jesus’ trial and execution, would the memory of this event really signify? One can imagine that it may have seemed a mere dream, because if it were true, if this Jesus really was the glorious figure that they saw on the mountain, how could he be dead at the hands of angry men? How could the Son of the heavenly Father find his end amid shame and agony? It was only afterward, in light of the Lord’s resurrection, that Peter was able to look back, as he does in his second epistle (2 Pet. 1:16-18), and see the event in its own light, as a miraculous witness to Jesus’ identity that would inspire and confirm the apostolic faith.
But how, exactly, did the Transfiguration confirm Peter’s faith? “We did not follow cleverly devised myths,” Peter writes, “when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.” It’s strange that he says this because, for many readers today, the Transfiguration seems rather more like a cleverly devised myth than a historical event.
What’s odd about the Transfiguration, in comparison with other miracles from the Gospel, is that we are never exactly sure what it is. Today we don’t often see people walking on water, or multiplying loaves and fish, or healing the blind . . . but at least we have an idea of what it would mean to do such things. There’s no conceptual difficulty imagining them, whether or not we believe they happened. But the Transfiguration, unlike those other events, is not merely the supernatural reversal of the typical order of things, or the unexplained happening of what is under normal circumstances impossible. It is a “special effects” moment in the purest form in that it defies clear description. Even the name is vague: We can use the word “transfigure” to say something moved beyond its normal form or appearance, but it is hard, maybe even impossible, to give an experiential weight to what this might mean.
Maybe that’s why the experience on the mountain was so important as a turning point for Peter and the others. By it they knew that Jesus was not just the fulfillment of all their hopes, but someone who surpassed their hopes and changed them, who offered them not what they had always wanted, but what they had never imagined.
There were many miraculous signs in Jesus’ ministry, and these all showed, to one degree or another, Jesus’ power. Jesus calmed the storm, showing his power over nature; he cast out demons, showing his power over the spirits; he healed the sick, showing his power to give life. The Transfiguration was not “cleverly devised” because, unlike the other miracles, it wasn’t entirely clear what it was supposed to show. It showed glory and light, to be sure . . . but it was hard to know at the time what it meant. Some years later, St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians suggests that we see in Christ’s “glorified body” a promise for our own “lowly body.”
The three disciples were “eyewitnesses to his majesty,” Peter says. But what they saw and heard was another level of witness, for they saw Moses and Elijah—signs of the Law and the Prophets—giving witness to Jesus, and they heard the voice of the Father in heaven giving testimony to his Son. “This is my Son, my Chosen. . . . Listen to him.”
The Father’s instruction is, at least partly, a response to Peter’s initial reaction. “Let us make three booths.” It is a natural thing to say: Here we have this miraculous event beyond description, and so it is only human to seek a way to remember it, to make it permanently accessible.
But the response, which drives Peter and the others to the ground, is really remarkable: No, Peter, there is no need for three tabernacles, because the tabernacle of God is already with men. Here, Peter, is my beloved Son. Listen to him. When God made covenant with Abram, he solemnized his commitment with a burning torch and blood. But here there is no need for signs. In other words, he is not simply another mediator along the same lines as the law and the prophets, he is not simply another witness to a reality beyond himself. He is himself the thing that needs to be witnessed. Pay attention to him. He is already the tabernacle of God. There is no need to build another. He is already a permanent remembrance, because he will always be with you. Look to him. Listen to him. Obey him.
And what does Jesus say? The synoptics offer different accounts here, which is fascinating. For Mark, the first thing the Lord says is an instruction not to tell anyone about what they have seen. For Luke, as we heard today, nothing is said, which suggests an emphasis on what I was saying a moment ago: The important thing to note about this man isn’t just what he says, but who he is.
But in Matthew’s version, Jesus tells the disciples, “Rise, and have no fear.” That’s a message for us as much as it is to Peter, James, and John. It’s one of the simplest instructions, but one of the hardest to do: Be not afraid. This is the first step in following Jesus.
In a way, each of the miracles of Jesus is meant to show why we should not be afraid. We shouldn’t fear the storm, because Jesus is lord of all creation. We needn’t fear sickness, because Jesus is the great physician. We needn’t fear death, because God has shown his power over it. We needn’t fear the cross, because Christ has made it the sign of his triumph. And here, at the Transfiguration, we needn’t fear the blindingly bright radiance of the Son’s glory. Why? Because the more we behold that glory, the more it transfigures us into its likeness. The more it blinds our earthly sight, the more it opens our spiritual sight to its wonder.
All of this is in today’s collect in Divine Worship <a href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>:
<blockquote>O God, who before the Passion of thy Only Begotten Son didst reveal his glory upon the holy mount: grant unto us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory.</blockquote>
God grants us to behold the light of Christ by faith, and through that vision we are changed into his likeness. But let’s not forget the middle step. The light also strengthens us to bear the cross, as it did Jesus, and as it did the apostles.
And the cross is the only way forward. There’s no way around, just through. We can’t skip from here to Easter. That’s the whole purpose of the liturgical year, and the place where we now stand in it: We cannot understand the glory without the Passion. We cannot forsake our fears until we rise up and follow Jesus the whole way through. Like Peter, our witness to his glory will always be shortsighted until we get the full story.
That’s one way of putting it, but it’s not quite right, because we know, in a basic way, the full story. We know where all this is headed, both in the Gospel story and in its re-presentation in the liturgical year. We know what Peter didn’t yet know—that Jesus does, in the end, rise from the dead in glorious majesty.
But the question isn’t whether we know the informational details of the narrative, but whether we are prepared to “listen to” the Son of God, whether we can actually rise up and fear not. I want to suggest that this is primarily a question not of history, or of Bible knowledge or theology, but of the living experience of faith. In that sense, we’re in the same boat with Peter and the apostles. We have to follow him down the mountain to Jerusalem.
We like to speak in shorthand of faith as a kind of knowledge in the dark, but in fact all faith requires some kind of sight, even if it is something as simple as the trustworthiness of a witness. The sight that holy Tradition gives us—limited as it may be—consists in the necessity that we walk again, year by year, through the life of Jesus. That is what Lent is about, and, looking forward even more, that is what Holy Week is about.
God does not intend for us to blindly follow “cleverly devised myths,” or even to accept clever theological ideas. He wants us to walk in the steps of his Son so that we can hear to his voice. He wants us to be eyewitnesses to his glory so that we can rise up, cast off our fear, and take up our cross.

What Even Is the Transfiguration?

Jimmy Akin gives some advice on how to begin explaining the Trinity to young children, first by analogy and then by observing the personhood of beings in nature.
Transcript:
Host: Carrie in Moose Lake, Minnesota listening on 88.1 FM. Carrie, you are on with Jimmy Akin, what&#8217;s your question?
Caller: Hi, good evening and happy Lent! Thank you. My question is in regard to teaching elementary students about the Holy Trinity in a manner that they can easily understand, or more easily understand, because the God in three persons is kind of, I mean&#8230; It&#8217;s a hard concept.
Jimmy: So are you asking how I would explain it to such children?
Caller: Yes, thank you.
Jimmy: Well obviously, one can use various analogies that have been proposed for the Trinity. You know, there&#8217;s that diagram of the triangle with the word &#8220;God&#8221; at the center and &#8220;Father,&#8221; &#8220;Son,&#8221; and &#8220;Holy Spirit&#8221; at each end, at each vertex, and then they&#8217;re connected with &#8220;Is&#8221; or &#8220;Is not&#8221; to explain how all three persons are God but they&#8217;re not the same person as each other. That diagram can be helpful. It doesn&#8217;t fully explain the Trinity, but it can be a help.
On a simpler level, you know&#8211;this is probably an apocryphal story, but at least according to legend, St. Patrick used a three-lobed shamrock to explain the Trinity to Irish tribes people, and that&#8217;s something that conceivably could help with very small children. The trouble with these analogies, and especially the shamrock analogy, is that there are limits to every natural analogy to the Trinity, because there&#8217;s nothing like the Trinity in nature. We don&#8217;t encounter anything like the Trinity in nature.
And so all of these analogies, if you press them too far, generate problems. In the case of the shamrock example, well shamrocks have three lobes, and thus they have three parts; but the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are not parts of God. Each person is God. And so you end up, if you if you rely too much on the shamrock example, you&#8217;re gonna end up conveying the idea that God has parts, and that&#8217;s not true.
So I would&#8211;if you decide to use an analogy like that, I would be very careful to say to the children that this is an analogy, you know, we can kind of compare these two things, but they&#8217;re not the same. And so don&#8217;t think that God has parts like the shamrock has parts.
In terms of if they&#8217;re old enough to be able to process what I&#8217;m about to say, what I would do is I&#8217;d say, look, the teaching is that God is one being in three persons. And so what&#8217;s a being? Well, as the name suggests, it &#8220;be&#8217;s.&#8221; It&#8217;s anything that &#8220;be&#8217;s;&#8221; anything that exists is a being. And so there are all different kinds of beings; there are rocks and trees and flowers and people and angels and God. All of those exist, all of those are beings.
But you notice not all of them are persons. So for example, the rocks and the trees and the flowers, those aren&#8217;t persons. They&#8217;re zero people. Whereas you and I, as human beings, or an angel like Saint Michael, we are persons. Each one of us is a being that&#8217;s one person. So I&#8217;m one person, you&#8217;re one person, St. Michael is one person. And that shows us something very interesting, because if you have some beings that are zero persons, and some beings that are one person, then there&#8217;s no reason why you can&#8217;t have some beings that are more than one person, and that&#8217;s what God is. God is one being who is three persons.
That&#8217;s different than what we see here in nature around us, because God is infinitely above us, so we would expect God to be different than what we on an everyday basis. It&#8217;s understandable that this would be a difficult concept to grasp, and it&#8217;s subtle and it&#8217;s very different than what we&#8217;re used to encountering, but that&#8217;s because God is infinitely above us, and he&#8217;s infinitely wonderful, and we would expect there to be unexpected things like this about God.
And so that&#8217;s how I&#8217;d explain it if they&#8217;re able to take that in at their age. If you&#8217;d like to read a little more about that check out my book &#8220;A Daily Defense&#8221; where I go into this, and I also talk about the Biblical basis for the Trinity and the different verses of the Bible that help us put that teaching together and prove it.

How to Teach Elementary School Students About the Trinity

In the Gospel of Luke, Christ utters some of the most shocking words in the New Testament: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple” (14:26). A similar injunction is recorded in John’s Gospel: “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (12:22).
It seems, on the face of it, that Jesus is teaching us to actively despise our own life and the people in it. But other passages clearly contradict such a reading. Scripture commands us to love father and mother (Exod. 20:12), wife and children (Eph. 5:25, Mark 10:14), and brothers and sisters (John 13:34-35). Godliness, St. Paul tells Timothy, holds promise not only for the life to come, but also for “the present life” (1 Tim. 4:8). And in one of the most famous verses ever recorded, we hear, “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son” (John 3:16).
So what did Jesus mean by “hating” this life? Biblical scholars have pointed out that this was an exaggeration common to the language and culture of the time. (And it wouldn’t be the only time Jesus exaggerated to make a point: “If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off”—Matt. 18:8.) In his Brazos commentary on Luke, David Lyle Jeffrey writes, “The extreme language here is an example of Jewish hyperbole; Jesus is making a rhetorical, not a literal, point designed to show that following him is a radical choice, requiring a clear priority in allegiance.”
In short, “hate” (miseo in Greek) in this context means “<a href="https://biblehub.com/greek/3404.htm">love less than God</a>.” This reading is borne out by the parallel passage in Matthew: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. . . . Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 10:37, 39). As St. Cyril of Alexandria succinctly put it, “he permits us to love, but not more than we love him.”
So although we can (and must) actively hate “the world” in the sense of the world’s sin (see 1 John 2:15), we cannot (and must not) actively hate “the world” in the sense of the world’s being. The Christian refuses to put this life or anyone in it above God—ultimately, there can be only one first place of our hearts, and again, we will “hate” the runner-up (Luke 16:13)—but he also refuses to despise God’s good creation.
To love this life more than life eternal, or to put our own family or friends above God and his commands, is to fall into an “earthward” trap: we lose sight of heaven’s primacy. But to actively despise life and the people in it is to fall into a “heavenward” trap: we lose sight of earth’s goodness. In his incarnation, his teachings, and his paschal mystery, Jesus underscored both—the absolute primacy of God on the one hand, and the irrevocable value of human life on the other—while refusing the pitfalls on either side.
Even if this interpretation finds broad acceptance, Christians have struggled to strike a balance in practice. How do we think and talk about the world and all that’s in it? Is our default posture toward life below one of antagonism or one of friendship? Or can it somehow be both, simultaneously?
To be sure, in the writings of many modern Christians, who are more prone to this-worldly pragmatism, one often finds a skew toward the love of life. In this case, Christ’s own words begin to sound foreign and disorienting. The things of eternity are so identified with this world—and even ignored altogether—that they feel irrelevant.
But in the writings of many ancient and medieval Christians, more prone to otherworldly ascetism, one often finds the opposite tendency: a skew toward the hatred of life. In this case, the original hyperbole begins to sound merely descriptive. The things of this world elicit so much disdain, disgust, and contempt that the earthly—in a quasi-Gnostic register—feels inherently evil. And just as the modern earthward approach was understandably reacting (but often overreacting) to the excesses of earlier eras, no doubt new heavenward extremes are already percolating in response to the extremes of the present
What might it look like to capture the whole picture of both hating and loving the world laid out in Scripture, while seeing and avoiding the pitfalls of each without the other? We can only continue to aspire toward that fullness. But this much seems certain: although Christ’s exaggeration about “hating” this life should remain impressed on our minds and lips, so should the truth of what he meant to convey—not a denigration of the world, but an elevation of God, such that our earthly loves are always oriented by love of him.
We’re called to love as God loves, and God’s love isn’t stingy. On the contrary, it extends to everybody and everything: “You love all things that exist, and detest none of the things that you have made, for you would not have made anything if you had hated it” (Wis. 11:24).

When Jesus Commands Us to Hate

Christians believe that God created the universe from nothing. But some skeptical critics say that even if there were evidence for the universe having a cause, God could not be it—at least, not the cause of a finite universe that began in the past, like ours.
The late physicist Stephen Hawking, for instance, argued that since the Big Bang is typically claimed to be the beginning of time itself, there could have been no time until it occured. And since all causes occur before their effects, he said, without time there was no way for for any cause, even God, to bring the universe into existence. Because without time there can be no &#8220;before.&#8221;
One problem with this argument is that a cause does not always have to occur before the effect. The eighteenth-century philosopher Immanuel Kant argued, for example, that “the greater part of operating causes in nature are simultaneous with their effects. . . . If the cause had but a moment before it ceased to be, the effect could not have arisen.”
To understand this, imagine a brick smashing a window. In this case, it is clear that the brick is thrown before the window breaks, and the window doesn’t break before the brick hits it. But notice that there is a brief overlap where the cause (the brick flying through the air) is simultaneous with the effect (the window breaking). If the brick disappeared even a microsecond before it touched the window, then the effect would never happen. So there has to be a moment where the cause and effect happen at the same time.
Likewise, God’s causing the universe to begin to exist, and the effect of the universe coming into existence, are simultaneous events. This objection does not negate the principle “out of nothing, nothing comes,” because there still needs to be an explanation for the beginning of time itself. Instead of saying that God existed before the universe existed (since there was no &#8220;before&#8221;), we say only that God existed timelessly without the universe. He then caused the universe to exist at the same moment time began to exist.
But how could God, who is timeless and changeless, engage in an act like “creating the world”?
The Catechism of the Catholic Church makes it clear that God did not have to create the world, and it does not automatically emanate or proceed from him (295). The world is contingent, which means it depends on God in order to exist, and it is possible that it could have not existed if God had chosen not to create it. But God did choose to create the world—not in a temporal way, as if he had to think about whether this was a good idea, but in a way that simply reflects his desire to share his superabundant love with others. As Protestant pastor <a href="https://www.rbap.net/god-creation-ex-nihilo-and-divine-immutability-by-richard-c-barcellos/">Richard Barcellos puts it</a>, “creation does not entail divine mutation, though it does entail divine revelation. No work of God changes God in any sense whatsoever. His external works reveal him.”
God is pure being itself, so he does not change in any way. In creating the world, God is the same. The only thing that changes is how we are related to God.
The philosopher Peter Geach, who perhaps most powerfully made the argument, calls this a “Cambridge change,” named after the Cambridge University philosophers to whom he was responding. Here’s how it works: suppose a son grows up and ends up becoming taller than his father. This direct change is recognized by the father, who says, “My son is now taller than me,” but when the same father says, “I am now shorter than my son,” he is recognizing a change not in himself, but in the difference between him and his son.
The same thing happens when we say God created the universe—nothing changes in God’s immutable nature, but the world around us is “changed” by becoming real in an act of being that is created from nothing.
Another argument against God creating the universe is that it seems as though God has no reason to do this. Some atheists even say the idea of a perfect God creating the world leads to a contradiction. The atheist philosopher of religion, Theodore Drange, for example, says God would have created the universe only because he lacked something, and if he lacked something, then he would not be perfect. Such a being might be a very powerful supernatural creature or alien, but it wouldn’t be God.
But Drange is wrong in presuming that God would have created the universe only out of some imperfection, such as loneliness or boredom. If God is the perfection of virtues, including love and selflessness, then his creation is a logical result of his superabundant love and self-giving. He created the universe not for his good, but for ours. The Baltimore Catechism puts it this way:
<blockquote>Question: Why did God make you?
Answer: God made me to know him, to love him, and to serve him in this world, and to be happy with him forever in heaven.</blockquote>
So God&#8217;s creation of the universe does not contradict his perfection, but in fact flows from it. Because God is perfect love, he gives being and life to his creation.