Miscarriage. Pregnancy loss. Enduring pain. Endless sleepless nights filled with longing and regrets. Whether the pregnancy was planned or unexpected, miscarriage brings about a myriad of emotions that take months and years to resolve and heal, and many, especially mothers, never forget. Whether or not the unborn child was eagerly planned and waited for, or an unexpected surprise, the pain of losing a child to miscarriage can be extremely intense and all too often minimized or overlooked by those close to them who do not understand the pain they are going through.
I experienced my first miscarriage a year after my second youngest child was born. This pregnancy was unexpected and definitely not planned. To further complicate matters, I had been medically advised to wait eighteen months after my previous birth before trying to conceive again due to serious complications that had occurred during delivery. I was not happy when I found out that I was pregnant and in my ignorance told a friend that ‘if God planned on sending me anymore children after this one, I was going to change my address and not give Him the forwarding information!’ A few days later, I would end up deeply regretting and repenting of these words I had said.
As I was terrified of both mine and my unborn child’s safety, I immediately called my doctor’s office and was given verbal reassurance over the phone. A few days later, my husband and I met with the doctor who assured us that with careful monitoring, he was very optimistic of a positive outcome for both the child and myself. Relieved, we went for blood tests to check my hormonal levels and became excited about the pregnancy. That night, I started bleeding, and the next morning we learned my hormonal levels were incompatible with a viable pregnancy. As we had just found out that I was pregnant, we were both surprised at the amount of emotional pain we felt. I went to the store, trying to pretend that everything was normal and that this would pass over, but instead ended up breaking down into tears in front of a sales associate. Thankfully, she was sympathetic and supportive, but the next several weeks went by in a painful blur. Every time I saw a pregnant woman or newborn, I was reminded of my own loss and was filled with grief. We named our child after her grandparents as we felt in our hearts that she had been a girl. I went to confession about what I had said earlier, and the priest reassured me that the miscarriage was not my fault, my child did have a soul, and that she was in heaven with God. Deep within my heart, I feel her purpose was to open both mine and my husband’s heart to remaining open to life rather than being afraid of it, and when that was accomplished, God called her home to Him.
A few months later, we lost another child to early miscarriage. As we had been given medical permission to begin trying again, this pregnancy was planned and very much wanted. There were complications right from the start, so we were not as surprised by this miscarriage as we were with the first one. This did not ease the pain that we felt however, and as we buried him next to his sister at a family’s grave site, my body contracted in longing for him and we both wept in sorrow.
The months went by, and it was only the responsibilities I had in caring for my older children that made the days more bearable and easier to handle. As we watched our children play, we both felt a deep sense of loss, that there was an emptiness that would not go away. We were both grieving, in different ways, and as the months went by without conceiving again, the grief seemed to intensify rather than lessen. We were older, and started wondering whether or not we would be able to have another child again. I prayed that the desire to have another child would be lessened, but instead it increased.
Several months after we lost our second child to miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. This time the pregnancy test came out with a strong, solid line, compared to the weak, faint lines of the previous pregnancy tests. We were cautiously excited, especially after we made it past the time where we had lost the previous two babies. An ultrasound was scheduled, and we eagerly looked forward to seeing the first glimpse of our unborn child. It was not to be at this visit. While a gestational sac was seen, no fetal pole or heartbeat could be detected and we were devastated. More blood tests were ordered and it was discovered that while I had low progesterone, the HcG levels were high and rising, although not in the typical pattern expected. I was placed on progesterone supplements and we spent an agonizing week waiting for the next ultrasound. This time a moving fetal pole was detected along with a heartbeat, although it was considerably low for gestational age. We cried tears of joy at seeing our child, and began to hope that the outcome would be different this time.
Two weeks later, I started spotting and in a panic, called my doctor’s office. She reassured me over the phone, stating that this could be normal, especially as I had a history of spotting in other pregnancies. To help put our minds to ease, she scheduled an ultrasound for later in the day. My husband met me at the doctor’s office and as the results were inconclusive, we were sent to the hospital where the imaging machines are more advanced. It was there that we saw the still form of our unborn child, no longer moving, without a heartbeat, and I cried out in anguish. We went home and spent the evening consoling each other. Two days later, the cramps began and the pain was so intense it felt like going through labor. My husband took a few days off so he could care for me and our other children. A week later, the bleeding had not subsided, and it was discovered that I had retained part of the placenta. I was scheduled for a D&C the next day, and I fought my husband on going. He firmly told me that unless I went through with the procedure, there was no way that I would be able to become pregnant again. That was about the only thing he could have said that would have motivated me to go. The hospital staff was warm and caring, but when I woke from the surgery, I wondered if I would ever feel normal again.
The weeks passed by and while we did seek medical consultation about the repeated miscarriages, we decided not to pursue any further fertility or hormonal treatment due to our ages. After three miscarriages in less than a year and a half, we seriously doubted whether or not I was able to carry another child to term. We prayed about it and made the decision to remain open to life, but were not really expecting anything to happen.
A few months later, I was in church praying and I told God I thought I was ready to become pregnant again if it was within His will. In retrospect, I am certain God was laughing, as unknown to us, I was indeed a few days pregnant at the time! I repeated this to my husband later that day, and he grasped my hand and we prayed for acceptance of whatever God’s will was for us. Two weeks later, I was in tears and crying out for our Blessed Mother’s intercession when I realized I probably was pregnant again. Although I very much wanted to be pregnant, I was terrifed about the possibility of going through yet another miscarriage. This time we did not take any pregnancy tests as we were very well aware of what the symptoms were, but a week later, I started slightly spotting. Blood tests were ordered and again my progesterone levels were low. This time, however, the HcG levels looked a lot different, and I was feeling like I had when I was pregnant with my children I had carried to full term. We refused the progesterone supplements as we were concerned they caused complications with the previous miscarriage. More blood tests were ordered and none of the doctors liked the HcG rise. I was told everything from ‘there is no way you are still pregnant,’ to ‘there is a strong possibility of this being a molar pregnancy, due to the HcG rise. I went in for an ultrasound at six weeks, bracing myself for the worst. The ultrasound was done in the same room that I had found out I lost Elizabeth a few months earlier, but this time the results were different. A healthy baby with a strong heartbeat was detected and for the first time, we began to feel hope the outcome would be different. Four weeks later, I was hospitalized with severe morning sickness, and another ultrasound was done in the hospital. I was amazed at how much our baby had grown, and my doctor reassured me everything was looking well, and that the likelihood of miscarriage at this point was very small. There are no words to describe the relief we felt! I was so happy about being pregnant that it was difficult to complain about the severe morning sickness and other discomforts of pregnancy.
The weeks and months went by and we remained hopeful, but knew that because of previous complications with my last delivery, the upcoming birth was high risk. My doctors remained optimistic that with careful monitoring, everything would turn out well. We both rejoiced in the new life I was carrying and appreciated the beauty of it in ways that we had not done before. The older children were becoming very excited and enjoyed feeling the baby kick inside of me, who in turn responded to them! I knew that due to my age and history of miscarriage, this would likely be my last pregnancy, so I tried to hold onto every moment of it. I eagerly looked forward to seeing our new baby, but yet, it was difficult to give up being pregnant as I enjoyed the unique feeling of having new life growing within.
Our son’s birth was a planned c-section to help avoid complications that might otherwise occur. I was both scared and excited as I entered the delivery room, and a few minutes later was able to watch most of his birth. He was placed directly on me for several minutes under heated blankets in the delivery room, and we both cried tears of joy and gave thanks to God for his safe arrival. I was still grieving the loss of our other children, especially Elizabeth who I had lost less than a year before, but the sense of emptiness, the deep longing for new life had been filled. Our son did not replace the other children we had lost, but it did help both of us to let go and move on.
Miscarriage is something that happens to so many families, but yet is so little talked about in society. Well meaning individuals do not know what to say, and so often as the pregnancy has not yet been announced or showing, very few people know what the parents are experiencing. For those who have experienced miscarriage, the pain is very real and every years later, the parents, especially mothers as they are the ones who carried the child, have not forgotten. Frequently, guilt does set in for the mothers, as they wonder if they did something, exposed themselves to harmful foods, did heavy lifting, etc that contributed to the loss. The feelings of ‘what could I have done differently to prevent this from happening? ‘are extremely prevalent and can last for a long time. The majority of the time, there is very little that the mother could have done to prevent the miscarriage, but it takes time and the patient, caring support of others, to come to peace about it. The three precious little ones we lost will always be etched upon our hearts and I look forward to the day when I will finally be able to hold them in my arms in heaven and tell them how much I love them. As hard as it was with losing them, we will always rejoice in the fact they came into existence and were with us, even though it was for only a short time. Going through all of this did help us to realize how precious life is, how every day with our children is a gift from God, and ultimately how our children belong to God and not us. Life — A precious gift from God, to be cherished at all stages, no matter how brief or how long it may be.
Miriam O'Neil is a writer who shares her thoughts in her blog miriamscorner.org. Being college educated, Miriam has worked as a therapist in long-term care before getting married and becoming a stay-at-home mother of six blessings, along with three special angels in heaven. She prefers a simpler lifestyle with raising chickens, quilting and gardening. When she is not busy taking care of her family, she enjoys writing and working on her blog.
It is the little things that matter… Our long-anticipated visit to Denali National Park in Alaska was almost upon us. We purchased tickets for the following day's eight hour bus ride where we hoped to see the splendor of creation and an abundance of wildlife. Checking the weather forecast for our adventure, we were more than dismayed to learn precipitation was predicted to be 100% for the entire day! As disappointed as we might be, my husband and I decided it would be wise to change our plans completely, knowing there would be little chance of encountering anything but the inside of a bus on such a rainy day. Thus, it might be said that the next morning we ended up on a lark at Creamer's Field Migratory Waterfowl Refuge in Fairbanks. Perfection in My Hand The knowledgeable volunteer docent leading our small group tour began by telling us facts about the sand hill crane, one of the species of birds which depend on the Refuge to feed and rest each fall en route to their wintering grounds to the south. We were astonished to learn that the trachea of these cranes was seven feet in length, wrapped in a convoluted fashion, much like the coils of a French horn. This design resulted in a distinct call, unique to the mother bird’s offspring, which allowed both to remain connected amid the vast throngs of cranes flying in formation each season. Just then a rush of these sleek gray birds rose up in the distance as we watched quietly. Tramping over the dew-laden ground, we then headed toward a tent where both volunteers and an ornithologist were busily weighing, measuring and tagging various species of birds in order to track populations over a period of years. After each bird was identified and their information recorded, it was time to release them back into the wild. As a worker handed a songbird to a member of our group, a palm-to-palm transfer was made, at which time the captured bird quickly took flight. When it was my turn, reaching out my palm, a yellow warbler was laid onto its back as my fingers cradled its small body. Unlike the two birds before, this one seemed to settle in, allowing me to stroke it’s feathers as our eyes locked. Suddenly there was a palpable Presence, as the tenderness of the Creator in this less than three inches of perfection in my hand was evident. The tears began to flow as the refrain of a song began to play in my mind as if synchronized, “All are welcome in this place, here in God’s amazing grace, all are welcome, all are welcome.” Time stood still, yet it could not have been more than a few seconds before I was urged to help the bird roll onto its side. That was all the encouragement needed, as the bird made its way into the sky. Trudging back to the car, silence was my companion. A sacred hush seemed the only appropriate response to this moment of grace. Open Arms The second stop on our agenda-less day was to an assortment of buildings that had been moved to Fairbanks to recreate a pioneer village. Wandering among the cabins and shops, I came upon a simple church. Opening the door, I walked past the rough-hewn plank pews toward the carved depiction of Jesus hanging from the ceiling. Hands outstretched, as if inviting those who entered to come in, the song’s lyrics lilted once again in my head. “All are welcome in this place.” Again and again this day I had unexpectedly encountered evidence of the lavish love of the Author of life. The care with which a sandhill crane’s call was designed, linking mother and baby; the yellow warbler, able to fly and sing yet weighing less than an ounce; the open palms of caring folks that both receive to give care, then release in trust. Finally, the reminder as I looked up, of the invitation being extended through the hands offered to all who choose to enter into God’s amazing grace. Always, all are welcome...
Dr. Roy Schoeman, tells us how atheism dragged him into a pit of hopelessness and how he got out of it I was born and raised Jewish. I went to Massachusetts Institute of Technology where I lost my belief in God, and essentially became an atheist. I went on to Harvard Business School, and after getting my degree was invited back to join the faculty. So at the age of 29, I found myself as a professor of marketing at Harvard Business School. Although it may sound surprising, that's when the bottom fell out of my world. Ever since I was a small child, I knew life must have a real meaning, which I thought would come from entering into a personal relationship with God. I expected this would happen at my Bar Mitzvah (sort of like Catholic confirmation) at the age of 13. When it didn't, it turned out to be one of the saddest days of my life. Then I thought real meaning would come from success in worldly life, but as a professor at Harvard, I was already more successful in a worldly career than I had ever hoped, yet still there was no meaning or purpose in my life. Therefore at that point, I fell into the darkest despair of my life. Mystical Way Early one morning, I was walking in a Nature Preserve by the ocean, among the pine trees and sand dunes. I was just ambling along, lost in my thoughts. I had long since lost hope in believing that God existed. But all of a sudden, the curtain between Earth and Heaven disappeared, and I found myself in the presence of God, looking back over my life as if I had died. I saw that everything that had ever happened to me had been the most perfect thing that could have been arranged coming from the hands of an all-knowing, all-loving God, not only including those things that had caused the most suffering, but especially those things. I saw that I would have two great regrets after I died. Firstly, all the time and energy I had wasted worrying about not being loved when I had been held in an ocean of love, greater than anything I could imagine, at every moment of my existence, coming from this all-knowing, all-loving God. And secondly, every hour I had wasted doing nothing of value in the eyes of Heaven, since each moment contains the possibility of doing something valuable in God's eyes. Every time we take advantage of that opportunity we will very truly be rewarded for it for all eternity, and every opportunity we let slip and don't take advantage of, will be a lost opportunity for all eternity. But the most overwhelming aspect of this experience was to come into the intimate, deep and certain knowledge that God Himself— the God who not only created everything that exists, but created existence itself—not only knew me by name and cared about me, He had been watching over me, every moment of my existence, arranging everything that ever happened to me in the most perfect way. He had actually known, and cared about how I felt every moment. In a very real way everything which made me happy made Him happy, and everything that made me sad made Him sad. I realized that the meaning and purpose of my life was to worship and serve my Lord, God and Master who was revealing Himself to me, but I didn't know His name or what religion this was. I couldn't think of this as the God of the Old Testament, or this religion as Judaism. The picture of God that emerges from the Old Testament is of a God far more distant, severe and judgmental than this God was. I knew He was my Lord and God and my master, and I wanted nothing else but to worship and serve Him properly, but I didn't know who He was or what religion to follow. So I prayed, “Let me know your name so I know what religion to follow. I don't mind if you are Buddha and I have to become a Buddhist; I don't mind if you’re Krishna and I have to become a Hindu; I don't mind if you’re Apollo and I have to become a Roman pagan. As long as you're not Christ and I have to become Christian!” Well, He respected that prayer and did not reveal His name to me. But I returned home happier than I had ever been in my life. All I wanted was to know the name of my Lord, God and master who had revealed Himself to me, and what religion to follow. So every night before I went to sleep I would say a short prayer that I had made up to know the name of my Lord, my God and master who had revealed Himself to me in that experience. Beauty beyond Words A year to the day after that first experience, I went to sleep after having said that prayer, as well as a prayer of thanksgiving for what had happened exactly a year earlier. I thought I was awoken by a hand touching my shoulder gently, and was led to a room and left alone with the most beautiful young woman I could ever imagine. I knew without being told that it was the Blessed Virgin Mary. When I found myself in Her presence all I wanted to do was fall on my knees and somehow honor Her appropriately. In fact the first thought that crossed my mind was: “Oh my Goodness I wish I at least knew the Hail Mary!’ but I didn't. Her first words were an offer to answer any questions I might have for Her. Well, my first thought was to ask her to teach me the Hail Mary, so I could honor her appropriately, but I was too proud to admit that I didn't know it. So as an indirect way of getting her to teach me the Hail Mary, I asked her what her favorite prayer to her was. Her first response was, “I love all prayers to me.” But I was a bit pushy, and said, “But you must love some prayers more than others.” She relented and recited a prayer in Portuguese. I didn't know any Portuguese, so all I could do was try to remember the first few syllables phonetically and write them down as soon as I woke up the next morning. Later when I met a Portuguese Catholic woman, I asked her to recite the Marian prayers in Portuguese for me, and I identified the prayer as 'O Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to Thee'. As perfectly beautiful as Mary was to look at, even more profoundly affecting was the beauty of her voice. The only way I can describe it is to say it was composed out of that which makes Music, Music. When she spoke the beauty of her voice flowed through me, carrying her love with it, and lifted me up into a state of ecstasy greater than I ever imagined could exist. Most of my questions simply flowed out of my being overwhelmed by who She was. At one point, I stammered out, “How can it be that you're so glorious, that you're so magnificent, that you're so exalted?” Her response was just to look down at me almost with pity and shake her head gently and saying 'Oh no, you don't understand. I'm nothing. I'm a creature. I'm a created thing. He's everything'. Then again out of a desire to somehow honor her appropriately, I asked what title she liked best for herself. Her response was, “I am the beloved daughter of the Father, Mother of the Son and Spouse of the Spirit.” I asked her several other questions of somewhat less significance, after which she spoke to me for another 10 or 15 minutes. After that, the audience was ended and I went back to sleep. The next morning when I woke up I was hopelessly in love with the Blessed Virgin Mary, and I knew I wanted nothing other than to be as fully and completely Christian as possible. From that experience I realized, of course, that the God who revealed Himself to me a year earlier had been Christ. In Search of There was a shrine to Our Lady of La Salette about 45 minutes from where I lived. I began to go there three or four times a week, just to walk in the grounds, to feel the presence of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to commune with her. The shrine was owned by the Catholic Church and so, sometimes, there would be a Holy Mass taking place. Whenever I was in the presence of a Mass, I was filled with a tremendous desire to receive the Eucharist, even though I did not know what it was. Those two things led me without too much of a detour into the Catholic Church—knowing who the Blessed Virgin Mary is, and wanting to receive Communion, daily if possible. On entering the Catholic Church, I not only did not stop being Jewish but, as I see it, became more Jewish than ever, since in doing so I became a Jewish follower of the Jewish Messiah, rather than a Jew who had not recognized the Jewish Messiah and remained in “pre- Messianic” Judaism. As I see it, the Catholic Church is post-Messianic Judaism and Judaism is pre-Messianic Catholicism: two phases in one and the same plan for salvation for all mankind. I am infinitely grateful that I received these experiences. I was brought into the fullness of the truth, into a personal relationship with God beyond anything I ever imagined could exist, into knowing the answers to all the questions about Man, about God, about the meaning of life, about what happens after you die, and so forth that tormented me growing up. Most importantly, I gained a well-founded hope of an eternity of unimaginable bliss and love in the presence of God. ARTICLE is based on the inspiring testimony shared by Dr. Roy Schoeman for the Shalom World program “Mary My Mother”. To watch the episode visit: shalomworld.org/episode/mary-my-mother
En route with the three Magi and be amazed! The Epiphany is a feast of light. We hear from the prophet Isaiah, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1). We look to the actions of the Magi to guide our journey to the Lord Jesus, who is revealed as the light and salvation of the world. If we want to encounter Jesus too, we should pay attention to what the Magi did. What did they do? Three actions: they looked up to see the star; they realized what it meant and left their homes and activities to set out towards the light; and, they brought valuable gifts to worship Him. Look Up This is where the journey begins. Have you ever wondered why the Magi alone saw the star, and realized its significance? Perhaps few people were looking up to the heavens, because their gaze was focused on the ground with their own immediate concerns. I wonder how many of us look up to the sky? How many of us are like the Psalmist who says, “My soul looks for the Lord more than sentinels for daybreak...” (Psalms 130:6), or are we more like, “Hey, it’s enough that I have good health, a solid bank account and stock portfolio, access to a 5G network, and a little entertainment, especially on Sunday in which I can watch wall-to-wall football games!” Do we know how to long for God, to expect the freshness that he brings to life, or do we let ourselves be swept along by the frenetic pace of our lives? The Magi understood that to truly be alive, we need lofty goals—we need to dream big!—and we need to keep looking up. Get Going The second thing the Magi did, which is essential to finding Jesus, is to get up and begin the journey. When we stand before Jesus, we have a disconcerting either-or choice: is he Emmanuel, God among us, or is He not? If He is, then we have an obligation to give Him our total, uncompromised commitment so that our lives revolve around Him. Following His star is a decision to move towards Him and to advance steadfastly on the way He laid out for us. Although our journey is often two steps forward, one step backwards, the key is to keep our gaze on Jesus, pick ourselves up with His aid when we fall flat, and keep moving forward. However, we cannot do that without getting off our couches, detaching ourselves from our comfort and security, and setting out instead of standing still. Jesus makes demands: He says that we are either for Him or against Him. In the spiritual path, there are only two directions: we’re either moving towards God or away from Him. If we want to move towards Jesus, we have to overcome our fear of taking risks, our self-satisfaction, and our laziness. Put simply, we have to take risks, to let go of our self-referential lifestyle if we are going to find the Child. But, those risks are worth it because when we find the Child, we’ll discover His tenderness and love and rediscover our true identity. Bring Gifts At the end of their long journey, the Magi do as God does: they bestow gifts. God’s ultimate gift is His divine life, which He invites us to share for eternity. They offer what is most valuable for them: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. These gifts represent what St. John Paul II calls The Law of the Gift: we abide in an authentic relationship with God when we live how God operates with self-giving love. The best gift you can give to Jesus is your very life! Give freely, without reservations—don’t hold back, keeping something for yourself. Give without expecting anything in return—including the reward of Heaven! This is the truest sign that you have found Jesus in your life. For he says: “The gift you have received, give freely as a gift” (Matthew 10:8): to do good towards others without counting the cost, even when unasked, even when you get nothing in return, even when it is unpleasant. That is what God wants of you because that’s how God relates to us! Look at how God comes to us: as a Child—He became small for our sake. As we celebrate the Epiphany, let us look at our hands: are they empty of self-giving or are we offering the free gift of ourselves without expecting anything in return. And, let us ask Jesus: “Lord, send forth your Spirit that I may be renewed; that I may rediscover the joy of giving.”
Last week, I had the great good fortune to sit down for a Zoom interview with Jordan Peterson, Jonathan Pageau, and John Vervaeke. As I’m sure you know, Peterson, Professor of Psychology at the University of Toronto, is one of the most influential figures in the culture today. Pageau is an artist and iconographer working in the Orthodox Christian tradition, and Vervaeke is a professor of cognitive psychology at the University of Toronto. All three of these gentlemen have a powerful presence on social media. The topic of our conversation was a theme that preoccupies all four of us—namely, the crisis of meaning in our culture, especially among the young. To kick things off, Peterson asked each of us to give our definition of meaning and, more specifically, of religious meaning. When my time came, I offered this: to live a meaningful life is to be in purposive relationship to value, and to live a religiously meaningful life is to be in purposive relationship to the summum bonum, or the supreme value. Following the prompts of Dietrich von Hildebrand, I argued that certain values—epistemic, moral, and aesthetic—appear in the world, and they draw us out of ourselves, calling us to honor them and to integrate them into our lives. So, mathematical and philosophical truths beguile the mind and set it on a journey of discovery; moral truths, on display in the saints and heroes of the tradition, stir the will into imitative action; and artistic beauty—a Cézanne still-life, a Beethoven sonata, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass—stops us in our tracks and compels us to wonder and, in turn, to create. To order one’s life in such a way that one consistently seeks such values is to have a properly meaningful life. Now, I continued, the perceptive soul intuits that there is a transcendent source of these values: a supreme or unconditioned goodness, truth, and beauty. The fully meaningful life is one that is dedicated, finally, to that reality. Thus, Plato said that the culminating point of the philosophical enterprise is discovering, beyond all particular goods, the “form of the good”; Aristotle said that the highest life consists in contemplating the prime mover; and the Bible speaks of loving the Lord our God with our whole soul, our whole mind, our whole strength. Jordan Peterson, echoing Thomas Aquinas, put it as follows: Every particular act of the will is predicated upon some value, some concrete good. But that value nests in a higher value or set of values, which in turn nests in a still higher one. We come, he said, eventually, to some supreme good that determines and orders all of the subordinate goods that we seek. Though we articulated the theme in different ways and according to our various areas of expertise, all four of us said that the “wisdom tradition,” which classically presented and defended these truths, has been largely occluded in the culture today, and this occlusion has contributed mightily to the crisis of meaning. Much has contributed to this problem, but we put emphasis especially on two causes: scientism and the postmodern suspicion of the very language of value. Scientism, the reduction of all legitimate knowledge to the scientific form of knowledge, effectively renders claims of value unserious, merely subjective, expressive of feeling but not of objective truth. Combined with this reductionism is the conviction, baked into the brains of so many young people today, that claims truth and value are simply disguised attempts to prop up the power of those who are making them or to sustain a corrupt institutional superstructure. Accordingly, these assertions have to be demythologized, dismantled, and deconstructed. And along with this cultural assault on the realm of values, we have witnessed the failure of many of the great institutions of the culture, including and especially the religious institutions, to present this realm in a convincing and compelling manner. Far too often, contemporary religion has turned into superficial political advocacy or a pandering echo of the prejudices of the environing culture. So, what do we need for a meaningful life? From my perspective, I said, we need great Catholic scholars, who understand our intellectual tradition thoroughly and who believe in it, are not ashamed of it—and who are ready to enter into respectful but critical conversation with secularity. We need great Catholic artists, who reverence Dante, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Mozart, Hopkins, and Chesterton, and who are also on point to produce fresh works of art, imbued with the Catholic sensibility. And we need, above all, great Catholic saints, who show concretely what it looks like to live one’s life in purposive relation to the summum bonum. We can and should blame the culture of modernity for producing the desert of meaninglessness in which so many today wander, but we keepers of the religious flame ought to take responsibility too, acknowledging our failures and resolving to pick up our game. For people today will not enter into relationship with values and with the supreme value unless they can find mentors and masters to show them how. --------------------------- © ARTICLE originally appeared at wordonfire.org. Reprinted with permission.
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