Tag: Virtues

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Virtues

In Praise of Patience: Why do we need this beautiful virtue?

Tertullian

March 12, 2021 7:35 am March 12, 2021

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Christians can learn that they must exercise patience simply by observing God’s own example. He himself is our first model of patience. He patiently scatters equally over both the just…

Christians can learn that they must exercise patience simply by observing God’s own example. He himself is our first model of patience.

He patiently scatters equally over both the just and unjust the blossoms of this world’s light (see Mt 5:45). He patiently allows the benefits of the seasons, the services of the natural elements, the tributes of all nature, to be enjoyed at once by both the worthy and the unworthy.

He bears with the most ungrateful nations, even those who worship the works of their own hands, persecuting His name together with His family. He puts up with their daily extravagance, avarice, iniquity, malice, insolence.

In fact, He does all this even though His long-suffering actually allows people to mock Him: They assume that if there’s no visible proof of divine anger toward the world, then God must not exist (see 1 Pt 3:3-4,9).

In Christ we also see evidence of God’s patience. For God allowed himself to be conceived in a mother’s womb and to wait patiently nine months until the time for His birth. After He was born, He patiently bore the long years of growing up. Then, having grown up, He wasn’t eager to be recognized, but humbled himself to be baptized by His own servant.

Christ patiently repelled with words alone the assaults of the tempter. The One who is Lord became the patient Teacher, training us to escape death. As the prophet said, He did not contend; He did not cry aloud; His voice was not heard in the streets. He didn’t break the bruised reed; He didn’t quench the smoldering wick (see Is 42:2-3; Mt 12:19-20).

There were none who wanted to join themselves to Christ whom He didn’t patiently receive. He despised no one’s table or roof. In fact, He himself washed the disciples’ feet.

He didn’t turn away sinners. He didn’t grow angry at the city that refused Him hospitality, even when the disciples wanted to call down fire from heaven on such a wicked town (see Lk 9:51-56). He cared for the ungrateful; He gave himself up to those who captured Him. Even though His betrayer came with them, He steadfastly refrained from pointing him out.

While He was being betrayed, “like a lamb led to the slaughter, he was silent and opened not his mouth” (Is 42:7). Had He willed it, at His word legions of angels would have come down from the heavens. But He refused to permit even one disciple an avenging sword (see Jn 18:10-12).

I will pass by in silence the fact that He allowed himself to be crucified.

Long-suffering of this kind no mere man could achieve. He was also God, and patience is God’s nature.

Make God the one who receives your patience as a valuable deposit. He is abundantly capable of providing you interest. If you deposit in His care a wrong that someone has done to you, He will be your Avenger. If you deposit with Him a personal loss, He will be your Restorer. Give Him your pain; He is a Healer; commit to Him even your death; He is the One who raises from the dead.

What honor is granted to Patience, to have God as her Debtor! And not without reason: for she keeps all His decrees; she has to do with all His mandates. She fortifies faith; she is the pilot of peace.

She assists charity; she establishes humility; she waits long for repentance. She sets her seal on confession; she rules the flesh; she preserves the spirit. She bridles the tongue; restrains the hand; tramples temptations under foot; drives away scandals; gives the crowning grace to martyrs; consoles the poor; teaches the rich moderation.

She never overpowers the weak; she never exhausts the strong. She is the delight of the believer, and she invites the unbeliever. She adorns the woman and makes the man approved.

Patience is loved in childhood, praised in youth, looked up to in old age. She is beautiful in either sex, and in every time of life.

Tertullian (c. 160-c. 225), known as the “father of Latin theology,” was an African convert to the Christian faith and the author of numerous apologetic, theological and spiritual works in both Latin and Greek. This excerpt is adapted from his essay “On Patience” (c. 202).

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8 min read

Virtues

Selfless love, happy marriage among the fruits of chastity

Russell Shaw

February 27, 2021 7:03 am February 27, 2021

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The two old friends were discussing their marriages. After so many years, the first man said, he still loved his wife, and he supposed his friend loved his. The second…

The two old friends were discussing their marriages. After so many years, the first man said, he still loved his wife, and he supposed his friend loved his.

The second man paused and thought a moment. “You know, I believe it’s something beyond ‘love’ in the conventional sense. A husband and wife who have been together a long time experience a bonding that makes them like the two halves of a psychological and spiritual whole. Neither is quite complete without the other. That’s when you really start to understand what Jesus meant when he said husbands and wives become ‘two in one flesh.’”

His friend agreed.

The virtue of chastity, cherished as an ideal and practiced through thick and thin, is a necessary part of marriage as these two men had lived it. That’s a hard saying for lots of people at a time when chastity is widely ignored — and mocked when it isn’t ignored. Thanks largely to the worldview promoted in the media, few elements of the Christian tradition are today probably less understood and accepted than chastity. It’s a terrible loss.

Sin of lust

Sins against chastity are hardly new, of course. The vice most obviously opposed — lust — has been around since Adam and Eve. Dante’s treatment of lust in his great poem of the late Middle Ages, “The Divine Comedy,” is a literary landmark on this subject. He situates lustful sinners in the first circle of hell, where fierce winds blow them to and fro.

Like as the starlings wheel in the wintry season

In wide and clustering flocks wing-borne, wind-borne

Even so they go, the souls who did this treason.

Hither and thither, and up and down, outworn,

Hopeless of any rest …

Author and Dante translator Dorothy Sayers explained the striking symbolism: “As [the lustful] drifted into self-indulgence and were carried away by their passions, so now they drift forever. The bright, voluptuous sin is now seen as it is — a howling darkness of helpless discomfort.”

But if lust isn’t new, the self-conscious, ideology-driven assault on chastity now under way is. There’s something about chastity that the secularized modern mind finds deeply offensive — and this offensive something, one suspects, is self-control in sexual matters.

A while back, I asked one of my daughters why so many people get downright nasty about the Catholic Church when speaking of its views on sexual morality. Being a tough-minded realist, she said, “Guilt.”

It stands to reason. The sexual revolution that erupted in the 1960s was marketed as liberation — throwing off the repressions and restraints of the ancient Puritan code that supposedly ruled people’s lives before then.

Unfortunately, as we’ve learned to our regret, abandoning self-control in sex has been anything but liberating. For many people, sex has become an obsession, sometimes an addiction, as one sees in the unhappy experience of men who’ve become hooked on Internet pornography at the cost of their self-respect and their relationships with their wives.

Decline of marriage

Note, too, that while the technology of this Web-based addiction is new, the addiction itself isn’t. St. Augustine, no stranger to sexual addiction in his youth, wrote in his “Confessions,” “When lust is pandered to, a habit is formed; when habit is not checked, it hardens into compulsion. These were like interlinking rings forming what I have described as a chain … .”

Rejecting chastity hurts not only individuals but society. In particular, its destructive impact on the institution of marriage is clear.

That marriage is in trouble in the United States and countries like it can hardly be doubted. Marriages in America fell from 2.44 million in 1990 to 2.08 million in 2009, while the population was rising by 60 million. As of 2011, just 51 percent of Americans were married compared with 57 percent in 2000.

Things are no better in the Catholic sector.

Back in 1990, with American Catholics numbering 55 million, there were 334,000 Catholic marriages. By 2010, when the Catholic population had jumped to 68.5 million, Catholic marriages had fallen by nearly half, to 179,000.

Of course many factors contribute to the marriage decline. Reducing it all to contraception and the contraceptive mentality would overstate the case. Easy divorce and economic pressures are part of the picture, as are ongoing efforts to sell Americans on same-sex marriage, which robs traditional man-woman marriage of the unique place it’s always occupied up to now in the life of society.

But alongside factors like these, the campaign against chastity has had a crucial role in the undermining of marriage.

Some people avoid marriage because of the restrictions it imposes on sexual activity, while others, having married, find those restrictions distasteful and, claiming an unconditional right to sexual fulfillment, abandon spouses (and often children) and divorce.

Chastity is the realistic antidote to all this. St. Thomas Aquinas, reflecting on it, makes the point that this virtue is fundamental to “self-possession” in sexual matters, whereas unchastity weakens and destroys it. Philosopher Josef Pieper, contrasting self-possession with its opposite, writes: “An unchaste man wants above all something for himself. … Unchastity … is selfishly intent upon the ‘prize,’ upon the reward of illicit lust.”

Selfish, self-interested, deadly cold: here’s the heart of unchastity and lust. But the virtue of chastity preserves that openness to the other in self-giving love that stands at the heart of healthy relationships, above all marriage.

The chaste man or woman possesses the necessary freedom to make the gift of self that is part of, but by no means limited to, the loving sexual encounter of husband and wife.

Pope Benedict XVI in his encyclical Deus Caritas Est (“God is Love”) goes so far as to extend the reach of chastity to the relationship with God. “Love … is a journey,” he wrote, “an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self toward its liberation through self-giving, and thus toward authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God.”

Seeking real chastity

Chastity also is necessary to a healthy spiritual life.

St. Josemaría Escrivá, founder of Opus Dei, places his discussion of chastity — “holy purity,” he calls it — near the start of his guide book to sanctity, “The Way.” There’s no mystery about that: Progress in the interior life is nearly impossible unless a person sets out seriously to acquire chastity, since that’s the only way to break the chain of compulsive self-seeking forged by a habit of unchastity.

How to go about it?

Grace is indispensable, and God will give the grace of chastity to those who truly want it. But that really wanting it is essential. Much as God wishes to give this gift, his respect for human freedom won’t allow him to do that unless we want it.

The sincere desire for chastity requires much more than simply saying now and then, “Wouldn’t it be nice … ?”

There are things we can and must do for ourselves.

Prayer and mortification — saying an occasional no to some small thing like a dessert or a merely self-indulgent nap — are both required. Prayer keeps us in touch with God. Mortification is practice in the self-discipline required to resist temptations to instant gratification.

Frequent and regular use of the sacrament of Penance also is an obvious necessity. And for those who suffer from sexual addiction or something like it, professional help from a counselor who understands the importance of chastity may be required.

These days, too, people who are serious about this virtue may have to separate themselves in whole or part from the popular culture, either sharply limiting their intake or, if necessary, eliminating exposure to it almost entirely from their lives.

Face it, a man who routinely settles down in the evening to some beer and watch whatever turns up on TV is inviting trouble for himself. So is someone who mindlessly surfs the Internet, scanning whatever happens to catch his fancy. Do people like these truly want to be chaste?

Probably not. For them, chastity is wishful thinking at best: “Wouldn’t it be nice … ?”

The rewards of chastity are enormous.

Self-possession and self-control. The capacity to give oneself to another in disinterested, selfless love. The possibility of enjoying a happy and fruitful marriage as God wants marriage to be. And finally the fulfillment of all relationships and all loves in everlasting life with God.

Not a bad deal.

Russell Shaw is an OSV contributing editor. This is the fifth part of a series on virtues.

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7 min read

Virtues

How to battle the silent killer of spiritual life

Russell Shaw

February 26, 2021 7:26 am February 26, 2021

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7 min read

Hypertension, otherwise known as high blood pressure, is often called a “silent killer.” That’s because elevated blood pressure provides few, if any, warning signals before a massive, hypertension-induced stroke causes…

There also is a silent killer of the spiritual life. Its name is lukewarmness.

As high blood pressure enters the body without declaring its presence, so also lukewarmness worms its way quietly into people’s minds and hearts, whispering inducements not to work so hard at living a virtuous life.

“There’s no need for you to spend so much time on prayer,” it says. “No need for examination of conscience — after all, you don’t do anything seriously wrong. No need … ”

Cut back here, go easy there, and on and on. Until eventually not much is left of the interior life. The silent killer has claimed another victim.

Tepid faith

We can’t say we haven’t been warned. Recall the second and third chapters of the Book of Revelation, which contain warnings aimed by Christ at seven Christian communities of Asia Minor located in Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea.

Little more than ruins now, in the late first century A.D. these were thriving towns in which Christianity was thriving. But not without problems. Consider what the Lord says to the church in Laodicea:

“I know your works; I know that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, ‘I am rich and affluent and have no need of anything,’ and yet do not realize that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. … Those whom I love, I reprove and chastise. Be earnest, therefore, and repent” (Rv 3:15-17, 19).

Opus Dei founder St. Josemaría Escrivá, who did so much to promote the idea that laypeople living in the world could and should lead holy lives of virtue, devotes an entire chapter to lukewarmness in his spiritual classic “The Way.” He notes these symptoms:

“You are tepid if you carry out listlessly and reluctantly those things that have to do with our Lord; if deliberately or ‘shrewdly’ you look for some way of lessening your duties; if you think only of yourself and of your comfort; if your conversation is idle and vain; if you act from human motives.”

Indifference to duties

Outside the setting of spiritual direction and the confessional, lukewarmness is usually not a very noticeable failing, so it’s helpful to turn to literature for an example and analysis of the problem. Edwin O’Connor provides what we’re looking for with his portrait of a 50-something priest and pastor who is the narrator and central character of his 1961 novel “The Edge of Sadness.”

O’Connor is best remembered for “The Last Hurrah,” his boisterous tale of Irish-American politicians and politicking.. But “The Edge of Sadness” is no less insightful — and at times, deeply moving — in its picture of Catholic life in a subculture already experiencing nerve-racking change that was soon to turn traumatic.

The priest at the center of the story falls into depression after the death of his father and becomes a secret drinker. Increasingly, he is isolated from his fellow priests, his parishioners and the world around him and cut off from the sources of spiritual sustenance that had formerly been central elements of his life.

Attempting later to understand the roots of this painful episode, he recalls himself as a young priest — “zealous, devoted, with fresh and unimpeded hopes, whose parish was his life, whose days were active and busy and full of joy” — and contrasts this with what he became under the influence of alcohol — “indifferent to his people, irresponsible in his duties, a spiritually arid priest for whom the wellsprings had dried up.” What happened to account for the change? This is his answer:

“[A busy priest] may find fewer and fewer moments in which he can absent himself from activity, in which he can be alone, can be silent, can be still — in which he can reflect and pray. And since these are precisely the moments which are necessary for all of us, in which spiritually we grow … then the loss of such moments is grave and perilous. Particularly so … for a priest who suddenly finds that he can talk more easily to a parish committee than he can to God. Something within him will have atrophied from disuse; something precious, something vital.”

Spiritual sloth

By no means do only the clergy suffer from lukewarmness. But it may indeed be that priests and people in consecrated life are more likely than the rest of us to become lukewarm.

After all, it’s the quest for holiness that led them into the priesthood and consecrated life, thereby opening them to the temptation to give it up. Whereas even today laypeople seldom are encouraged to pursue holiness seriously, so that their failings may not rise much above the level of mere sluggishness and neglect. Still, this laziness — sloth is its name — is a serious matter if it involves shirking serious obligations: to a spouse, say, or to children or one’s work.

Beyond this laziness lies lukewarmness. The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes it as “hesitation or negligence in responding to divine love,” adding that it “can imply refusal to give oneself over to the prompting of charity” (No. 2094). Further along on the downward slope comes spiritual sloth (“acedia” is the name given it by spiritual writers in earlier times), which the Catechism says “goes so far as to refuse the joy that comes from God and to be repelled by divine goodness” (ibid.).

As in the case of the priest in “The Edge of Sadness,” lukewarmness frequently enters the picture under the cover of activities and preoccupations that are good in themselves but that, unless one is careful, can easily become distractions that override and eventually snuff out things essential to the spiritual life — meditation, prayer, and meaningful participation in the Mass and sacraments.

Uneasy about confronting what’s happening, a person then may abandon spiritual exercises or else trivialize practices like examinations of conscience, spiritual direction and the Sacrament of Penance that are needed to recognize and root out faults.

Antidote

Let’s face it — the practices of the interior life and the life of virtue really are difficult at times. In one of his Anglican sermons, Blessed John Henry Newman makes the point that even those who “set about the work of religion in good earnest” sometimes find it wearisome:

“In spite of their knowledge of the truth, and their faith, in spite of the aids and consolations they receive from above, still how often do their corrupt hearts betray them! Even their privileges are often burdensome to them, even to pray for the grace which in Christ is pledged to them is an irksome task. … Not only the mass of mankind, but even the confirmed servants of Christ, witness to the opposition which exists between their own nature and the demands of religion” (“Religion a Weariness to the Natural Man,” Parochial and Plain Sermons).

Truly, those “corrupt hearts” of which Newman speaks are the portals through which lukewarmness so easily enters.

But the solution, according to St. Josemaría Escrivá, could hardly be more simple: “Fall in love, and you will not leave him” (“The Way,” No. 999).

Russell Shaw is an OSV contributing editor. This is the 10th part of a monthly Year of Faith series on virtues that originally appeared in Our Sunday Visitor.

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8 min read

Virtues

Confession: A great opportunity to get right with God

Russell Shaw

February 8, 2021 7:01 am February 8, 2021

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8 min read

When Dr. Bernard Nathanson died of cancer in February 2011, the obituary writers dutifully recorded that he’d become a Catholic back in 1996. Some even recalled the reason he gave…

When Dr. Bernard Nathanson died of cancer in February 2011, the obituary writers dutifully recorded that he’d become a Catholic back in 1996. Some even recalled the reason he gave for taking that step.

In the 1960s and 1970s, Nathanson, a New York OB-GYN, had been a national leader in the campaign to legalize abortion. Then he saw the light, turned against abortion, and became a pro-life crusader. Joining the Catholic Church was another stage in his conversion process.

But why become a Catholic? Because, Nathanson explained, the Catholic Church has the best developed system for seeking and receiving God’s forgiveness. And as someone who’d performed 5,000 abortions himself and shared responsibility for many thousands more, he had much need to be forgiven.

Following conscience

It’s a moving story. But most of us aren’t sinners on that scale and so, we may reason, perhaps we don’t have as much cause as Nathanson to worry about sin and forgiveness.

Tempting as it may sometimes be to think like that, it clashes head-on with the first epistle of St. John: “If we say, ‘We have no sin,’ we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we acknowledge our sins, he [God] is faithful and just and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say, ‘We have not sinned,’ we make him a liar, and his word is not in us” (1 Jn 1:8-10).

Today powerful forces in the surrounding culture encourage people to ignore or downplay their sins and, if they’re Catholics, to skip the Sacrament of Penance. Confused ideas about conscience often have much to do with that. “I do what my conscience tells me,” people say, “and that’s good enough.”

People said the same thing in Blessed John Henry Newman’s time. But the distinguished British convert sharply criticized the idea of conscience that implied. Calling it a “counterfeit” of genuine conscience, Newman wrote in 1875:

“When men advocate the rights of conscience, they in no sense mean the rights of the creator nor the duty to him … They demand what they think is an Englishman’s prerogative, for each to be his own master in all things and to profess what he pleases, asking no one’s leave and accounting priest or preacher, speaker or writer unutterably impertinent who dare to say a word against his going to perdition … in his own way.”

Risky business, you might think. Especially in view of a point made by another British convert-author, Msgr. Robert Hugh Benson, concerning serious sins we may culpably ignore: “We need … the pardon that descends when we are unaware that we must have it or die. … Only God, who knows all things, can forgive us effectively.”

Dramatic drop-off

Some years ago a much-discussed book by the social critic Christopher Lasch argued that our society is dominated by a “culture of narcissism.” The label seemed to fit. Narcissists, though notorious for self-absorption, steer clear of self-examination in any meaningful sense. This makes narcissism the deadly enemy of contrition and confession considered as elements of a virtuous life.

Whether you accept or reject Lasch’s social analysis, the numbers leave no doubt that a serious problem does exist these days where penance is concerned. To such an extent, in fact, that it’s often said to be a sacrament in crisis.

There is a crisis here all right, but it isn’t really with the sacrament — it’s with the people who need it but ignore it.

In one recent survey, fully 75 percent of those identifying themselves as Catholics said they received penance — went to confession — less than once a year. Many said they never did. (Not surprisingly, 75 percent is about the same percentage as the figure for Catholics who don’t attend weekly Mass.)

The problem isn’t new. Sacramental confession has been in steep decline for years.

In the 1950s and 1960s, about 80 percent of America’s Catholics went to confession at least once a year. A study in the early 1960s found that 70 percent had been to confession in the previous month. But by 1986, confession in the previous month had fallen to 23 percent. Among Catholics aged 18-30, it was 14 percent.

Down and down. By 2005, fewer than half the Catholics reported confessing their sins as often as once a year.

Rationalizing sin

What accounts for the dramatic falling-off? One highly credible theory holds that it’s related to the rise of contraception among Catholics. I sometimes call this the “elephant in the living room” explanation — everybody knows it’s there, but few care to acknowledge the fact.

About 80 percent of American Catholics now say they approve of contraception, despite the Church’s teaching that it’s wrong. Believing — or saying they believe — that contraception is all right, these people resist confessing it. But knowing the Church says differently, they don’t want to go to confession and not confess it. For many, it appears, the non-solution to their dilemma is to stay away from the sacrament entirely.

Often, though, a sense of guilt remains. And then? Then things get peculiar. Rationalization and denial set in. There may be other false moves. A few years ago, somebody launched an Internet confession site (I don’t know if it’s still there). Web surfers could “confess” their sins by typing them in, then make them disappear — lost in cyberspace, I guess — by clicking the mouse.

Perhaps that made a few people feel better, but I doubt it helped many. Like rationalizing sin, clicking sins away is a lazy and ineffectual way of evading truth. Whereas honestly confessing sins to a priest in the Sacrament of Penance requires facing up to their reality, feeling honest sorrow, and resolving not to commit them again.

Even so, people often insist that confessing sins isn’t necessary. God can forgive sins without that, and if you’re sorry in your heart, that’s enough.

Glorious opportunity

It’s true that God can and does forgive sins apart from the Sacrament of Penance. But the case for the sacrament rests upon the simple fact that Christ instituted it as the normal, natural means for his followers to use in seeking forgiveness for sin. And if that’s what Jesus intended, no Catholic with even a superficial education in the faith is entitled to turn his or her back on penance.

Quite possibly, though, the best way of selling people who have abandoned the sacrament on the idea of confessing sins and being forgiven is to present this as an opportunity more than just an obligation. Indeed, a great and glorious opportunity it most surely is.

Consider first of all what any sacrament fundamentally is — in the words of the Baltimore Catechism, an “outward sign instituted by Christ to give grace.” Yes, God could, and sometimes does, deal with human beings in other ways, meeting them on a purely spiritual level. In the sacraments, however, God generously chooses to deal with us just as we are — human persons composed of body and soul who live in community with others in a concrete, tangible world. A kind of divine realism can be seen at work in the sacramental system.

As far as penance is concerned, all that is true — and something more besides. Along with the Eucharist, this is one of the sacraments in which the priest acts in persona Christi — in the person of Christ. What the priest does is secondary; the primary action is the action of Christ, which the priest performs on his behalf as his proxy. It is Christ above all who is present and acting in penance, Christ who tells repentant sinners, “I absolve you.”

Obviously, though, Jesus isn’t physically present, saying “I absolve you” in his own voice. Instead, we have the sacrament — Jesus present and acting through the priest. It’s no great stretch to call this another kind of “real presence” of Christ, different from his presence in the Eucharist yet also astonishingly real.

Considered this way, the opportunity to confess sins to a priest in penance and have them forgiven by Christ is an extraordinary privilege. The Catechism of the Catholic Church says this sacrament of reconciliation with God “brings about a true ‘spiritual resurrection’” (No. 1468).

If more Catholics understood that, we might again start seeing penitents lined up outside confessionals waiting to take advantage of this extraordinary opportunity to receive God’s merciful pardon.

Russell Shaw is an OSV contributing editor. This is the third part of a monthly Year of Faith series on virtues that originally appeared in Our Sunday Visitor.

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8 min read

Virtues

Standing up for the Faith when it counts

Russell Shaw

January 5, 2021 9:30 pm January 5, 2021

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8 min read

A while back I heard a homilist quote a cardinal who headed a major American archdiocese: “I will die in my bed, my successor will die in prison, and his…

A while back I heard a homilist quote a cardinal who headed a major American archdiocese: “I will die in my bed, my successor will die in prison, and his successor will die a martyr in the public square.”

The homilist didn’t leave it at that. “The persecution of the Church in America isn’t coming,” he told the congregation grimly, “it’s already here.”

This is a man not much given to flamboyant rhetoric. His text was from St. Paul’s Second Letter to Timothy, with its exhortation to Christians to “bear your share of hardship for the Gospel with the strength that comes from God” (2 Tm 1:8).

Bearing hardship for the Gospel is central to fortitude. American Catholics soon may be called to practice fortitude by bearing more of it than many suppose.

Fortitude is the virtue that disposes people to stand up in defense of the good, to the point of being ready even to lay down their lives if that becomes necessary. It’s the virtue that moves men and women to fight the good fight. A sheriff confronting bad guys in the streets of a Western town. Soldiers fighting to defend their homeland against invaders. That’s fortitude.

The homilist that day was speaking of the secularist assault on institutions of the Church, to force them to accept, and even to support, secularist causes like abortion and same-sex marriage or suffer penalties if they refuse.

The best-known instance so far is the Department of Health and Human Services mandate pushed by President Barack Obama’s administration and requiring Church-sponsored colleges, hospitals, charities and other programs to make their employee health plans vehicles for the delivery of contraception, sterilization and abortion-inducing drugs.

Defending the Faith

As similar cases multiply, as seems likely to happen, Catholics will increasingly face the need to practice fortitude in defense of the Faith.

But there are many other ways besides resisting aggressive secularism in which people are called to do that. Here’s one I won’t soon forget.

It was Feb. 20, 2005, shortly before noon. I was standing along with a few thousand others in St. Peter’s Square in Rome, waiting for Pope John Paul II’s weekly Sunday Angelus. The crowd was comparatively small but that wasn’t surprising. This was one of those raw winter days when a damp chill seeps into your bones, and many people understandably prefer to stay in and keep warm.

Thus the question on the minds of many in the square was whether there would even be a papal Angelus that week. Earlier in the month, the pope, far advanced in Parkinsonism, had been hospitalized for what was officially called bronchitis. No one would have blamed him for skipping today’s routine ceremony.

Nevertheless, promptly at noon, the window of the papal apartment overlooking the square opened, and there stood the familiar figure in white. After a pause, he began to speak.

It was agony for him and agony for those listening as he struggled through his short prepared remarks, gasping for breath after nearly every syllable.

“It’s like hearing a voice from the tomb,” I thought. And then: “I wonder if it’s a good idea for him to be doing this on a such a cold, nasty day.”

It wasn’t. Four days later Pope John Paul was rushed to the hospital and an emergency tracheotomy was performed to allow him to breathe. That was the beginning of the end. He died April 2.

Now, some people might call the pope’s action that Sunday in February bad judgment, even foolhardy. I call it fortitude. If I read the man correctly, this was one more way for him to do what he’d done for years — accept God’s will and live out his personal vocation as Christ’s vicar regardless of the cost, including, if it came to that, the cost of his life.

In the eyes of the world, that’s foolishness. Seen with the eyes of faith, it’s something vastly different — a form of fidelity backed by fortitude. Its supreme model is Christ on Calvary. Its supreme expression on the part of his followers is martyrdom.

Reflecting on martyrdom

Today, though, you have to be careful about that word martyr. Everyone who suffers a bit is likely to be called a martyr, even if the suffering is self-inflicted. There’s a good account of real martyrdom in St. John Paul’s encyclical on moral principles, Veritatis Splendor (“The Splendor of Truth”).

In honoring the martyrs, he writes, “the Church has canonized their witness and declared the truth of their judgment, according to which the love of God entails the obligation to respect his commandments, even in the most dire of circumstances, and the refusal to betray those commandments, even for the sake of saving one’s own life” (No. 91). The witness of martyrdom, he says, makes a hugely valuable contribution to the common good by resisting “the most dangerous crisis which can afflict man: the confusion between good and evil” (No. 93).

Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI added his contribution to this discussion in the first volume of his “Jesus of Nazareth” trilogy. Reflecting on the Sermon on the Mount and the Beatitudes, he recalled the bitter contempt for this way of thinking expressed by the 19th-century philosopher of nihilism Friedrich Nietzsche.

Nietzsche’s thinking about morality focuses on the “will to power.” In time past it guided Adolf Hitler, and it guides many today.

In profound conflict with it is the morality of Christ, with fortitude a central part of it. Pope Benedict wrote: “Behind the Sermon on the Mount stands the figure of Christ, the man who is God, but who, precisely because he is God, descends, empties himself, all the way to death on the Cross. … [Here is] the correct image of man and his happiness.”

Guiding principles

Few are called to be martyrs or popes, but everyone is called to practice everyday fortitude. Two principles stand out.

One is that fortitude should be guided by the virtue of prudence. This is important to avoid errors of rashness — such as the sort of intemperate, self-defeating apologetics in which “winning” the argument is actually losing it.

Recently I had occasion to read some religion texts from before the Second Vatican Council that erred this way. So preoccupied were the authors with showing that Protestants were wrong that they missed seeing where Protestants had worthwhile insights. Catholic faith as they presented it came across as harsh and defensive.

The second principle is that where fortitude is lacking, toleration easily deteriorates into cowardice. That happens with people who don’t oppose what they recognize as wrong because they might suffer for opposing it.

Take the case of a man who is physically brave yet consistently fails to discipline his children and leaves that to his wife. Hassling with the kids upsets him, it seems. That’s a failure of fortitude.

Still, many people do routinely practice fortitude. Women who bear children in the face of dire warnings concerning the harm that may do to their health. People who speak up against unethical policies and practices at work. Teachers who refuse to shade the truth in the classroom for the sake of political correctness.

Particularly strong today, as noted, are the challenges aggressive secularism poses to the fortitude of Catholics and other religious believers. But although they’ve grown worse lately, such challenges aren’t new.

An incident a half-century ago illustrates that. Newly graduated from a premier secular university with a doctorate in philosophy, a friend of mine was looking for a job. He hoped to introduce the philosophical tradition of St. Thomas Aquinas into a similar environment and was pleased to be invited for an interview at a large secular school in the Midwest.

It went well. When it was over, the chairman of the philosophy department volunteered to drive him to the airport to catch his plane home. Arriving early, the chairman suggested a cup of coffee.

After a few minutes’ chitchat in the coffee shop, the chairman made his move. “You don’t really believe all that Catholic stuff, do you?”

“You bet your life I do,” the young man replied.

The department chairman looked sad. “Then I’m afraid there’s no place for you here.”

More American Catholics may face experiences like that in the years ahead. One option is conformity. The other is fortitude.

Russell Shaw is an OSV contributing editor. This is the seventh part of a series on virtues.

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8 min read

Virtues

How Venerable Fulton Sheen embodied the 7 key virtues

Michael R. Heinlein

October 22, 2020 7:49 am October 22, 2020

8 min read

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8 min read

Venerable Fulton J. Sheen is a model for those striving for holiness. Through his practice of the theological and cardinal virtues, which comprise the primary characteristics of candidates for sainthood,…

Faith

Faith illuminated Sheen’s life above all else. He knew that his Redeemer lives, and it shaped and defined everything about him. “If you do not live what you believe, you will end up believing what you live,” Sheen once said.

The strength of Sheen’s faith meant he could do nothing other than dedicate himself to the mission of making Christ known and beloved. Initially immersed in academia, Sheen studied philosophy and theology. He wrestled with the enduring questions of faith and reason, and, as a professor, he clearly taught their integration.

A successor of the Twelve, Sheen possessed a faith marked by an apostolic zeal for souls. He put his many gifts to the service of transmitting God’s word in fresh, attractive and convincing ways, and the internal depth of his faith came across so magnetically that he attracted millions to the truth.

A faithful son of the Blessed Mother, Sheen devotedly adhered to her example. He abandoned himself to God’s providence, following Mary’s directive to do whatever Christ tells us.

Hope

Sheen had a great hope and longing for eternal life. He trusted that God was in control and that God’s designs all worked for the good. To multitudes, Sheen imparted that life truly is worth living.

Amid troubled times and with a joyful persuasion, Sheen proclaimed to the world that because of Christ’s death and resurrection, we know God has the final word. Sheen gave people reasons for hope amid darkness. Ultimately, he wanted others to desire eternal life as much as he did.

Sheen’s exercise of hope also meant he knew the importance and value of suffering as a share in Christ’s cross. Well-acquainted with suffering, Sheen trusted that not only did it have a purpose for the good, it was to be embraced for our salvation. He once said, “In the end, we will discover that sometimes when we are very good the suffering is to make us better, and we will have a higher place in heaven.”

Charity

Charity is intrinsic to the Christian life. St. Paul said it is the “greatest” of the virtues. As Sheen put it himself, “it does not require much time to make a saint. It requires only much love.”

Sheen once said that “the greatest love story of all time is contained in a tiny white host.” This was the love that transformed him. His daily Eucharistic Holy Hour was legendary. From the day of his ordination to the day of his death, Sheen spent an hour a day praying in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. From his office desk, through an open door, he could gaze upon the tabernacle at all times. His union with Christ enabled him to more fully, more accurately and more convincingly lead others to Christ in all he said and did. Sheen was a man of many talents and accomplishments, but it was Christ who enabled him to use them in the best ways.

It was charity that motivated Sheen’s zeal for souls. Bringing others to Christ was the greatest good he could perform in service to them, and it often came in the form of self-sacrifice. With a pastoral heart, Sheen lived for others. He offered wise counsel with fatherly love. And he gave of himself constantly. Even his time was not his own, for he devoted himself to his studies and in preparation for his ministry of evangelization, for work on behalf of the missions or in the diocese that he governed.

Where Sheen saw a need, he responded in charity. He loved his neighbor as himself. He once preached about our judgment: “Show me your hands. Have you a scar from giving? A scar of sacrificing yourself for another? Show me your feet. Have you gone about doing good? Were you wounded in service? Show me your heart. Have you left a place for divine love?”

Sheen’s love of Christ also was manifested in a love for the poor and marginalized, often in hidden ways. He also worked to raise funds for the foreign missions and donated the vast majority of the earnings from his books and television show for that purpose. “Never measure your generosity by what you give, but by what you have left,” Sheen wrote.

Prudence

Sheen exercised prudence by trusting in God’s providence. It attuned him to listen for God’s voice, even when God spoke through others. Sheen did not rush to judgments, taking time to prayerfully discern. When he listened to others, either those who were seeking advice or those who were giving it to him, Sheen exhibited a twofold attentiveness: first, to the person with him, but, moreover, to what God might be saying in the given situation. This was no easy task for a man of Sheen’s enormous responsibilities and fame.

A supernatural prudence shone through his dealings with others. Keenly aware of how greatly others admired him or wanted to be in his inner circle, Sheen navigated such relationships with grace and distinction, employing equal amounts of caution and concern.

Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen is pictured in an undated photo speaking during a television broadcast. (CNS files)

Justice

Sheen acted with justice toward God and others. Not taking himself too seriously, Sheen recognized that any talents he had were because of God working through him. In all that he said and did, Sheen remembered that his work was the Lord’s. Known for leading many to the Faith, particularly through his media ministry, Sheen once was asked by Pope Pius XII how many converts could be attributed to his work. Sheen replied, “I am always afraid if I did count them, I might think I made them, instead of the Lord.”

Sheen’s preaching and teaching also demanded the dignity of the human person. That all are made in the image of God was no abstract theological concept for Sheen, but it was a lived reality. Sheen advocated for social justice — from racial harmony to an end to war and violence. He treated people equally and made himself available to all, no matter their status. Sheen was approachable to the greatest as much as to the least.

Fortitude

Sheen exhibited fortitude amid an abundance of difficulties in both private and public life. Committed to a life of holiness and virtue, he refused to compromise on his own convictions and beliefs. In the face of trials, Sheen remained a joyful and indefatigable herald of the Gospel, admired for maintaining peace of the soul.

Sheen’s happiness was found in the knowledge that God always brings good out of any situation. Publicly, Sheen’s fortitude was seen in his preaching of hard truths. Consider here his prophetic critiques of American society or his staunch denunciations of communism at the height of its flourishing. Amid his successes and popularity, Sheen quietly yet bravely faced envy, contempt and their resulting pain — especially from other members of the hierarchy.

“The real test of the Christian then is not how much he loves his friends,” Sheen once wrote, “but how much he loves his enemies.” By the end of his life, a purified Sheen could say, “I’ve had a great deal of suffering in the 83 years of my life — physical suffering, and other suffering, which should never [have] happened, but lasted over many years. And yet, as I look back, I know very well that I have never received the punishment that I deserved. God has been easy with me.”

Sheen exhibited heroic doses of self-control, humility and kindness, which also were antidotes to the temptations presented to him throughout life, especially those associated with his accomplishments, accolades, position and fame.

Temperance

Sheen allowed God to reign in his heart. As a man of temperance, he was not controlled and dominated by the passions of the will. He was not known for immoderate temper or humiliation of others, but instead for an attractive peacefulness that he achieved through self-control and moderation. In his interactions with others, Sheen often was meek, easy-going and gentle.

Not dependent or attached to earthly goods, Sheen’s habits of life were marked by simplicity, though he also appreciated the finer things of life. Not intent on storing up worldly treasures, Sheen cultivated a storehouse for eternity. He acknowledged his own sinfulness and sought reconciliation.

In the end, Sheen knew, like St. Augustine, that only in God could his heart find rest.

Michael Heinlein is editor of OSV’s Simply Catholic and a graduate of The Catholic University of America. He writes from Indiana. This article was originally published in Our Sunday Visitor.

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Tag: Virtues

In Praise of Patience: Why do we need this beautiful virtue?

Selfless love, happy marriage among the fruits of chastity

Sin of lust

Decline of marriage

Seeking real chastity

How to battle the silent killer of spiritual life

Tepid faith

Indifference to duties

Spiritual sloth

Antidote

Confession: A great opportunity to get right with God

Following conscience

Dramatic drop-off

Rationalizing sin

Glorious opportunity

Standing up for the Faith when it counts

Defending the Faith

Reflecting on martyrdom

Guiding principles

How Venerable Fulton Sheen embodied the 7 key virtues

Faith

Hope

Charity

Prudence

Justice

Fortitude

Temperance

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