“I Hate You!” “I Hate You More!!”

I love my wife Helen very much. She has one big problem, though – her husband. One of the latest bits of proof arose last week as we were tag-teaming dinner. 

“What are you doing with those beans?” I asked, wondering why she was using a different (read "healthier") cooking style.

“I’m cooking them,” she bristled with perfect logic.

“Like that?”

“What, I don’t know how to cook green beans?”

Game, set, match – complete with egg on my face.

If I really wanted to know what she was “doing with those beans,” I might have asked, “Is that a new recipe?” or, “That’s interesting. Something different?” Instead, I was actually saying, “That’s not how you do it.” It was, in essence, a lack of respect. And that led to our mini-conflict.

Conflict on all levels seems to be
overtaking care, concern, and reason
in most aspects of life - even faith

Our society seems to be immersed in conflict. We can't escape it. Conflict is everywhere. Even at the grocery store. Recently, I walked into the middle of a screaming match over who “deserved” the closest handicapped parking space. It was between a heavyset black woman and a grizzled white man. She screamed that he was a racist, liberally peppering her diatribe with F-bombs. He countered, self-righteous and self-satisfied, by saying she needed the extra walk because she was so fat. Not much respect in that exchange.

That’s just one example. You probably have plenty of examples, too. And while it’s bad in the “real” world, it’s even worse in the digital universe where people can spread their poisonous hatred from behind masks of anonymity.

On social media sites, woven between the recipes, inspirational memes, family photos, and cute puppies and kittens, there is an increasing level of destructive hate mongering. The most fertile fields for online conflict are those two “no-no” topics – religion and politics. 

The bitter political conflicts have become commonplace. Immigration. Healthcare. Voter fraud. Obama-Clinton-Trump. Religion and politics often go hand-in-hand. Banning Muslims. A presidential endorsement (bogus) from the pope. The annual “Merry Christmas” vs. “Happy Holidays” dispute.

The common denominator in all of these conflicts – in addition to a lack of respect – is a well-defined line between two polar opposites with very different goals. But there is one ongoing battle that would seem to defy the basic tenets of the two opponents because they have more in common than they have in conflict – Catholics and Protestants. They are members of the same Church, as they both profess in many of their creeds. Yet, some groups of Catholics and Protestants seem to take pleasure in bludgeoning each other with unprovoked insults in the social media universe.

There are Catholic groups that launch daily barrages at Protestants claiming, among other things, they are inherently vain, cowardly, and disobedient. Protestants return the salvos saying the pope is wicked, and Catholics worship devils and statues during an abomination called the Mass. Both sides often follow the same pattern – setting up straw men and using flawed, circular logic to knock them down.

Here are couple of questions as we exit the season of peace on earth and good will toward men – When was the last time anyone gained a convert through name-calling and insults? Have we been so successful establishing peace and harmony in our secular society that the only enemies we have left are ourselves?

My lenses aren’t so rose-colored that I’m blinded to our differences. And in the interest of transparency – I am a very devout Catholic. I believe in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, accept all tenets of our Church, and professes the pope as the Vicar of Christ. Yes, Protestants and Catholics disagree over substantive issues. But our areas of agreement on many of the foundations of our faith – our Jewish heritage, our belief in the Holy Trinity, the resurrection of Jesus, the virgin birth, and eternal life – should make us family, not adversaries trying to conquer each other.

That attitude of family is, for me, literal. My daughter, Kris, married a Protestant man in the Catholic Church. Kris and Matt attend a non-denominational church, Eastgate Christian Fellowship, in Panama City, Fla. When I attend Eastgate services on my family visits, I miss the comfort, familiarity, and substance of the Mass. I especially miss the Eucharist. But every time I have attended an Eastgate service – yes, every time – the pastor, Rob Woodrum, has delivered a powerful sermon that inspired me and challenged me to examine how I could better live my life as an example of my faith.

The Eastgate community has had a profound effect on Kris and Matt. Their lives are truly God-centered in a way I never thought possible. They are raising their four sons – all susceptible to increasingly hostile secular influences – in a respectful, balanced, God-centered home. While Kris’ faith was always strong, even as a child, she and Matt are dependent on God and discern His will before making any significant life decision. While their faith could have developed similarly in a Catholic church, the fact remains that is happened in a church some fellow Catholics call “inherently vain, cowardly, and disobedient.”

I see no value in questioning the legitimacy of fellow Christians. Screaming “My Christianity is better than your Christianity” does not make the Church attractive to non-Christians, much less convert people to either form of our faith. Maybe the new year is a good time for all Catholics and Protestants to stop degrading each other in online conflict, focus on meaningful dialog, and put more emphasis on living our lives as examples of who we profess to be.

Just a thought. What do you think?

Happy Halloween… Signed, God

I finally mailed my Christmas cards yesterday, six days before Christmas – two days earlier than last year but two weeks later than intended. As I dropped the bag of cards onto the counter at the post office, I couldn’t help but think of a Christmas card I received 12 years ago.

It was Halloween 2004. I was in my first semester as a 48-year-old grad student on a fellowship at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. Sunday morning at the Newman Center, waiting for 9:00 Mass to begin, sitting in the dead center of the last row, hoping to stay as far away as possible from any other human being. Wearing sunglasses dark enough to hide my red eyes. Concentrating on taking one breath at a time.

I had taken an apartment in Chapel Hill two months earlier to take classes – I did not consider it a relocation, just temporary for school. I would be moving back home to Jacksonville when I completed my degree. The divorce papers – the last thing I ever expected – arrived a month later, plunging me into a deep, dark, incapacitating depression. That night, my only goal was to survive one minute at a time. I stared at the ticking second hand of my wall clock all night long. Each time it ticked by the 12 was a mini, 60-second victory.

That Halloween morning, a month later, sitting alone in the back of the church, I started thinking about Christmas plans. I was now alone. Isolated. Abandoned. Where would I go? I began assessing – and rejecting – each possibility. Back in Syracuse with my mother? Jacksonville with friends? Panama City with my daughter and her family? Alone in Chapel Hill? When I ran out of possibilities, I swept quickly through the list again. And again. And again. Getting more and more agitated, mind racing faster each time. I felt myself losing control.

“You need to get ahead of this,” my brain told me. “Calm yourself.”

I slowly reached for a hymnal. Maybe if I could find an old, familiar song from the choir back home at St. Joe’s, I could stop the explosions in my brain. I flipped quickly through the pages, repeating an exercise I often used with my Bible – stop at some random point, let my eyes fall on a passage and let it speak to me. But, this time, the page-flipping stopped all by itself.

The card wasn’t signed. It didn’t need
to be. I knew exactly who it was from.

I opened the hymnal and saw it – a fresh, new white envelope. I pulled it out of the book. I flipped up the flap and looked inside. A card. I pulled it out, saw the cover – and was stunned. On this Sunday morning, as I was about to lose control obsessing over Christmas plans, there it was. A Christmas card. On Halloween.

I opened the card. “Wishing you the blessings of Christmas,” it read, “and every happiness in the New Year.” No, it wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. As someone who doesn’t believe in coincidences, I knew exactly who it was from. An incredible calm washed over my entire body, wrapping me in a warm, reassuring peace.

That Christmas card has been in a frame on my nightstand ever since. It’s a reminder that God will be there for us – He wants to be there for His children – whenever we need Him.

Merry Christmas!