Seven Quick Pro-Life Takes

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True confession time - Pro-Life activism is not a major part of my own Catholic life. I've been to several Marches for Life in my time, and I ardently admire my friends who have done full-time pro-life work, but it's not the issue I get most fired up about. Sidewalk counseling does not appear to be my vocation.

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But, when my parish started promoting Forty Days for Life, I decided to get off my lazy behind and sign up. One Friday after work I drove to downtown Fairfax and spent and hour praying in front of a clinic. It was in a nondescript concrete medical complex - aren't they all? Except for Planned Parenthood chapters, there are never giant signs saying something like "abortions done here." That's probably half the battle of clinic prayer vigils; helping people realize that a hidden issue is happening in their own neighborhoods.

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Happily, my "keeping rosaries on your ovaries" shift coincided with that of my parish's young adult group. I met some very nice people, including a couple who recently converted. We got a few friendly honks and thumbs-up, mostly from senior citizens. We also scored a sustained, angry honk with pointing; and a car full of idiot frat guys who yelled "Whoohoo! Abortion!!" I wondered about younger passengers who just gazed with furrowed brows. Did long conversations with their parents ensue?

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Brother #2's high school class has been participating in the Manassas Forty Days full force. Their best heckler was a man on a motorcycle who gave them the Jersey salute ... and then promptly realized you need BOTH hands to steer a bike.

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Conversations that only happen in a Catholic family:
Brother #2: "Hey Dad, is it ok if I drive myself to school tomorrow since we're doing Forty Days for Life during first period? And can I give C. (his sweetheart) a ride?"
Me: "So what you are saying is, 'Can I borrow the car to drive my girlfriend to the abortion clinic?'"
Dad: "Sure, that sounds fine."

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Speaking of Catholic families, my boss' wife just had their third child/first daughter, and so my office has been in the throes of baby fever. It's great to see so many people excited about new life, and so supportive of a woman in the tough final stretch of pregnancy.

My cousin's wife recently delivered an adorable little boy, and it's becoming clear that baby obsession runs deep in my genes. My Dad's parents are beside themselves with glee over their first great-grandbaby. Already they have bragged to Walgreen's checkers and threatened to buy out the entire infant section of a department store.

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One pro-life topic that does get me excited is discussion of how our society deals with fertility and how it accomodates pregnant women. Somewhat surprisingly, Slate often presents such studies, such as this
analysis of he new dystopian sci-fi thriller, In Time. The article proposes that increased longevity (and therefore a larger population) need not be a zero-sum game.  Or how about this piece on the economic fertility divide - upper class women have few offspring later in life, while poorer women have many children. When I worked at a non-profit for at-risk babies, I definitely saw many inner-city mothers who had 3 or more kids by their early twenties. Then in grad school I noted the convention of delaying children until tenure - often well into one's 30s. I was pleased to see that the article's author agreed with me that our culture needs to offer more support and resources for pregnant women, especially those who are working mothers.  Even if abortion were illegal tomorrow, the personal difficulties and social pressures that drive women to such a destructive choice would still exist. We must also fight for a world where children don't seem like a burden, and motherhood doesn't make someone a bad employee. 

One of the tiniest clients I met in St. Louis

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Living with Scapulars

Bright Maidens Topic 18: Scapulars.
Props to Julie for that picture of poor wretched Mel Gibson that I cannot unsee.

My well-worn crocheted scapular,
and a dainty plastic one. 

Talking about scapulars makes me think of Swimming With Scapulars, a fun little young adult Catholic memoir by Matthew Lickona. He talks about growing up Catholic, entering adulthood at Thomas Aquinas College, and married life with the wife he met there. Along the way Lickona dishes about things like prayer, penance, bourbon, first kisses, NFP, and of course, wearing a scapular to the beach.

I never take mine swimming; I'm always afraid I'll lose it in the deep end. Neither does my scapular make appearances in the neckline of formal dresses. But my high school scapular certainly had souvenirs of its adventurous life, including paint from the trailer home I helped repair on a summer service trip. I prefer the sturdy, crocheted cords that moms at my high school make. Those dainty little plastic scapulars are cute but their strings seem fragile.

This week's topic got me thinking - why do I wear a scapular? Because I got enrolled in sixth grade at school? Because it's a handy holder for a Miraculous Medal? Or is it because I'm afraid of dying in a car crash and going to hell?

When I was a young teen, there was definitely some attachment to the "get into heaven free" card. At worst, this is superstition, but at best the scapular promise is peaceful assurance. If you're going to bother to wear the Mother of God around your neck, there's a pretty good chance that faith is important to you, and that you'll make peace with her Son in your final moments. So stop fretting about salvation and live a holy life.

Today, I don't think about my scapular much, except when it flops out and some well-meaning colleague gets confused when she offers to tuck in "the tag from my blouse." I should think about it more often. When I do, those little wool tags feel like a badge of honor, part of my uniform as a soldier of Christ. It's just a little way to show my allegiance to Our Lord and His Mother. It also gives a feeling of solidarity with the many religious orders who wear the full-sized version. I don't go around telling people they should wear one too; I'm very hesitant to market anything as the magic bullet of sanctity. For me, though, my scapular is a comforting, familiar reminder of the type of person I want to be.

Epic Intercession: Now with 50% more novenas!

Earlier this month I raved about the blog Pray More Novenas and how its email reminders got me through all nine days with St. Therese. Starting today, I am back on the novena bandwagon, joining over 5,000 Catholics to pray the St. Jude Novena, leading up to St. Jude's feast day on October 28.

 Do you have any ‘impossible causes’ to pray for? St. Jude is the patron saint of the impossible, and his intercession has helped people through tough times for centuries. On a personal level, I have some good friends who are particularly grateful to St. Jude, so I feel like he would be a good saint to get acquainted with. You can sign up for handy email reminders to get the the novena prayers here: St. Jude Novena

Alien species: Life as a Gluten-free Catholic

via Scientific American

I've lived gluten-free since summer 2006, when an antibody test confirmed my doctor's suspicion that gluten was the reason for my debilitating stomach cramps. So I reluctantly eliminated wheat, barley, rye, spelt, and most oats from my diet. Since then, my stomach problems have never returned and I've never felt better.

At first, giving up conventional pasta, bread, pizza, and baked goods seemed impossible. But really, it's not so  bad being GF in the 21st century. There are far more GF products and menu items available today than ten years ago. Still, as with any food intolerance or allergy, you have to be very aware of everything you eat. When I read a restaurant menu or enter the office break room, I do a visual scan and mentally flag anything that is off limits -  hamburger buns, sandwiches, muffins, frozen dinners, condensed canned soup, flour thickened gravies, etc. This survival technique is second nature to me now, and the memory of weekends curled up on the couch in pain keeps me from cheating.

Unfortunately, there is one other food on my off-limits list: the Eucharist. I'm not sure what one little host would do to me, but I'm positive that a Sunday habit of ingesting the "gift of finest wheat" would be bad for my body. There are some alternative options, praise God, but they all make receiving Communion a complicated operation.

Gluten-free Eucharist Option 1: Low-gluten hosts
Parishes can now offer Communion in the form of Vatican approved, extremely low-gluten hosts made by Benedictine sisters. This eliminates the need for any more kerfuffles about rice crackers. (Hallelujah). If you're curious, low-gluten hosts are lumpier, denser, and tougher than regulation altar bread, with a vague potato chip flavor. They take a long time to dissolve on your tongue.

Keeping the LG wafers in a separate pyx during Mass prevents cross-contamination. Of course, this means I need to alert the priest or sacristan to fill that pyx ahead of time.  I always feel awkward poking my head in the sacristy before Mass - it's basically an ecclesiastical men's locker room in there. My home parish in Virginia distributes LG hosts before the general distribution of Communion- this means I usually spend the Agnus Dei worrying that the priest will remember and that I'll stand in the correct place this time.Maybe this all is God's way of teaching me to trade shyness for assertiveness.

Gluten-free Eucharist Option 2: Chalice only

I've found that if I ask, a priest is happy to save a sip of the Precious Blood for me. (The only exception was my first Extraordinary Form Mass, but that's a long story of liturgical red tape.) When I'm in a parish that offers Communion under both forms, I just make a beeline for the chalice line. I've developed a series of near-dance steps that allow me to skip out of the initial host line without tripping anyone. I've gotten a few dirty looks from confused extraordinary ministers, and I probably throw off the host line's momentum. Still, it's a practical solution, especially when I am visiting a new parish. So if you see someone jump the line next Sunday, don't freak out. Ditto if you see someone eyeing the priest's chalice warily to ensure she doesn't ingest the speck of Host floating about.

Will Both Species Be a Thing of the Past?

Chalice by A.W.N. Pugin, 1851, via the V&A

Lately the distribution of the Eucharist under both forms has gotten a lot of press. I had no idea this was a trad vs. liberal issue, but it seems that way.

The Dioceses of Phoenix and Madison recently declared that Communion under both kinds would be reserved for special occasions only, such as First Communions, Confirmations, etc. Their bishops made this decision to align liturgical practices with the current General Instruction for the Roman Missal (GIRM). Bishop Morlino of Madison has stated that the Papal indult for both species on a regular basis expired years ago.

I'm certainly not going to rebel against the GIRM, but I'm still slightly baffled by the attitude that a valid form of the Eucharist is too Protestant, too progressive. This detailed post at Chant Cafe helped me understand a little bit. Essentially, the Council of Trent reaffirmed the Medieval practice of offering only the Host to the laity. This reminded the Reformation world of the Catholic belief that Christ is fully present in both the host and the chalice - the Eucharist is not just some memorial meal in courses.

Chant Cafe makes a fascinating point that the Mass and the Eucharistic Sacrament are two distinct co-existing entities; one should not be confused for the other. It's absolutely true that a Novus Ordo Mass can get reduced to a Host assembly line staffed by an army of Extraordinary Ministers. The faithful show up to "get" their weekly wafer, not unlike the perennially popular ashes and palm branches. At times the concept of the Mass as divine sacrifice gets lost.


The Church's evolving customs for reception of Communion suggest that we are always readjusting, trying to find that Eucharistic sweet spot where everyone has the right blend of piety and theological understanding. Swing too much one direction, and the Real Presence/sacrifice/Christian unity equation gets unbalanced. In one extreme, pew sitters don't dare approach the Eucharist, receiving once a year and peeking a the priest through rood screens. On the other end, the Body of Christ gets passed around willy-nilly, lacking particular reverence and ignoring the significance of an ordained priesthood.


I would counter that intense catechesis is the key to sacramental understanding, not semi-condescending manipulation of the laity's experience. Drastic changes of customs do not always work out. For example, after Vatican II, the USCCB document Environment and Art in Catholic Worship promoted reservation of the Eucharist in a chapel separate from the sanctuary and main worship space. Why? To help the folks in the pews understand the difference between "active" liturgy and "passive" private adoration. Decades later it's clear that this compartmentalizing decreased reverence, often relegating tabernacles to closet-like annexes. Without pulpit emphasis on Eucharistic devotion, genuflection and holy hours fell by the wayside. In the same way, reverting to single-form Communion won't have the desired theological effects without clear explanations and much discussion of the theology at hand. Simply reviving the Council of Trent won't do; we can't rewind to the Church of the 1500s.

The Gluten-Free Bottom line: Compassion

While the American Church is figuring out Eucharistic rubrics, please don't forget those of us with a special dietary cross to bear. If both species again become a rarity, don't be unwilling to make exceptions when necessary. I don't want us GF Catholics to sound like a rabid special-interest group or high-maintenance devotees of a fad diet. We're just ordinary people whose own bodies can prevent us from receiving the Body of Christ. It's a painful experience to sit through a wedding or Confirmation wondering if the Sacrament will be accessible at this parish, or to look at a full ciborium and feel your mental danger signals going off. Jesus in the Eucharist will always be more elusive for me, and I'm eternally grateful to the patient and conscientious priests who have brought Him to me. Parishes don't mind the "extra trouble" of bringing Communion to the sick. Please remember those of us who can make it to Mass, but still need a little extra help approaching the Eucharist.

Emotional Chastity: What Would Miss Austen Do?

Here is my belated contribution to this week's Bright Maidens blog topic: Emotional Chastity.

It's a rite of passage that happened every summer I worked at "high school history camp": a group of teenage girls discovered Jane Austen movie adaptations. The best reactions came from Ang Lee's exquisite 1995 version of Sense and Sensibility. (Spoiler alert, if you have been under a rock for the 200 years since the novel was written.)

Why is a good man in breeches so hard to find?

SWOON! as Willoughby scoops up injured Marianne as if she "weighed no more than a dried leaf." GASP! when he later betrays her affections. MOURN! for Elinor when Lucy Steele's "prior claims" threaten to separate her from Edward forever. CHEER! the final happy ending.

And after the credits roll, you just might pine for your own dashing waistcoat on horseback, ready to woo you with flowers, sonnets, and heroic deeds.

As much as I love movies of  Jane's books, I do have to admit that they carry a subtle temptation for women to objectify men. Instead of viewing them as complex persons, we might value them solely for their potential to give us the romantic costume-drama experiences we desire. Consider, for example, this brilliant but ridiculous video.



Taken to an extreme, this is emotional porn - just the exciting payoff without any of the patience, sacrifice, and real love that a relationship demands.

In chastity-minded circles, Austen novels are popular PG-rated romantic entertainment for young women. After all, the heroes are polite, the heroines are virtuous, and a  marriage commitment is their goal. That's all well and good, but Austen's true genius lies not in wholesomeness but in wry social commentary. One of the lessons her heroines often learn is not to be too in love with love. Heartbreak almost destroys Marianne Dashwood, while Emma Woodhouse's obsession with matchmaking blinds her to authentic relationships.

Austen's underappreciated first novel, Northanger Abbey, bases the entire plot on Catherine Morland's silly obsession with Gothic novels. Reading too many 19th century equivalents of Twilight has made her suspect horrid drama around every corner. In the end, she assumes dreadful things about her suitor and his family, putting a budding romance in jeopardy. The snarky point is clear: ladies, lay off the fiction and interact with some real people for a change.

Not gonna lie, I still love a good petticoat-filled chick flick. In his first email to me, my boyfriend got my attention by asking what I thought about the 2008 adaptation of S&S. (A shrewd move on his part.) But a week after our first date, I found myself flipping through one of those Pride and Prejudice happily-ever-after sequels at Barnes & Noble. Suddenly, the manufactured plot of Regency romance was unfullfilling. Mr. Darcy was charming enough, but he wasn't as intriguing as the red-headed southern boy whom I could learn about in hours of real-life conversation. The Beau had talents, opinions, dreams, and memories that could fill more than just one volume. I put the book back on the shelf, ready to find greater satisfaction in writing my own love story.