How About a Shot of Reality with That Juice Box?

Let no one have contempt for your youth, but set an example for those who believe, in speech, conduct, love, faith, and purity. - 1 Timothy 4:12

Earlier this month congressional Republicans cancelled a bill restricting abortions after 20 weeks, a law that would have been a huge victory for the pro-life movement. The recent fallout has seen Catholics assessing their loyalty to the GOP and pondering strategies for the future. Recently Crisis published the latest installment of this, a long rant by Catholic Family and Human Rights Institute (C-FAM) leader Austin Ruse entitled "Abortion, Torture, and the Juice Box Theologians."

Ruse treads familiar ground, worrying that Catholic disenchantment with the GOP will dilute what little political clout we have. He raises a fair point, about torture debates creating "single issue voters." Mostly, though, he channels his political disappointment into personal internet feuds, bringing up 2010 debates about the morality of waterboarding. Although some Catholics are increasingly disenchanted at how neither political party fully represents their values, he denounces those who put too much emphasis on the death penalty or a living wage over the pro-life cause.

Sadly, Ruse talks about abortion like it exists in a vacuum. It's a comic book villain holding America in a tractor beam, and if pro-lifers can finally deal it a death-blow with their unreliable laser guns, everyone will shake off the hypnosis and society will live happily ever after. His personal solution to America's moral woes is the repeal of various taxes coupled with "a national campaign out of the White House encouraging people to finish high school, get married, go to church, and have babies."

How exactly would a nation of high school graduates working low minimum wage jobs afford to feed their babies or pay for child care while they work multiple jobs? That version of the Culture of Life doesn't sound very flourishing, let alone sustainable. Such a short-sighted approach ignores the multitude of social and economic factors that make women think abortion is their best option, none of which will magically disappear if Roe v. Wade is overturned. Unless we address the challenges that make parenthood seem impossible, legal pro-life victory will be superficial and fleeting. As one Catholic mom wisely put it, "Want to save the babies? Save their mothers."

Ruse puts his faith in procreation propaganda rather than a nuanced sense of morality and ethics. Instead of taking a holistic outlook that considers respect for any human life beneficial, whether prisoners or laborers or babies, he insists Catholics should only have a one-track mind. If he had been alive in the 1830s, would he have told people to shut up about the Trail of Tears or working conditions at the Lowell mills because Slavery? Would he have considered a White House campaign saying “Be nice to black people” sufficient for post-Civil War reconstruction?

If Ruse wants an intelligent debate about political loyalties, that's fine, But he doesn't offer that here, just an ad hominem screed. Dredging up an obscure beef with group blog Vox Nova, he calls them "Juice-box theologians, that is, mostly young newly minted but largely unemployed PhDs." Apparently these whipper-snappers too incompetent to handle full-time jobs or adult beverages are somehow also at the heart of a vast and dangerous conspiracy to lure Catholics away from their GOP alliances.

Someone hold my earrings because I need to throw. Down. This kind of name-calling is uncalled for, and I can’t believe the editors of  Crisis were willing to print it. I don't know the terms of Ruse's dispute with Vox Nova, but even if the site is in the wrong, this is a terrible rebuttal on many levels. Saying "my opponent is young and underemployed, and therefore incorrect" is just campaign spin. Such smug self-importance supports the old liberal saw that pro-lifers only care about people until they are born; after that you’re on your own. But that's the thing with babies - after their mothers choose life, they learn to talk, read, and write.

Here’s a group of people who have done exactly what Ruse thinks Americans should do: they finished school, and cared enough about churchgoing to spend years studying theology. But that’s not good enough, because they dared to be born decades after him and enter the workforce during a broken economy and academic system.

My husband and I are among many young Catholic couples who fit this category. We’re church-going, contraception-eschewing people who thought pondering the Good, the True, and the Beautiful was our vocation – and now low-paying adjunct gigs are among our only options. Through blood, sweat, and tears, we’re working hard to build fulfilling lives for our little families. If middle class financial security is the barometer of spiritual legitimacy, please let us know and we can call ourselves radical Calvinists to save time.

This is the dilemma facing my Millennial generation: even if we followed all the rules, we've run into unexpected economic challenges and then are told it’s our own fault and we should know our place. People bemoan how the Kids Today aren't devoted to the Church, but then don't fully engage with those of us who have stuck around. If some of us don't share his political ideas, Ruse would rather we just disappeared into the wilderness. "Let’s have a modern day land-rush for all those Distributists out there who are just itching to fish, farm or make cheese—though one suspects they’ll stay exactly where they are, blogging and adjunct teaching."

While he retains his own career as an online journalist, I presume? Apparently Ruse thinks the generations after him don't deserve to aspire to his urban intellectual life. Considering that he once proclaimed that liberal academics "should be taken out and shot," he’s letting us off pretty easy. Still, his pompous attitude makes me question his moral judgement and frankly, feel a little betrayed.

Once upon a time, when I was just a juice box historian in high school, I wrote a report on the Holy See's permanent observer status at the United Nations. Ruse's articles were a major source for the project, and I looked up to him as a Catholic intellectual. I dreamed that one day I would be like him and get my words published on the internet. Now I realize he'd probably mock me for the 18 months I spent working temp gigs while I endlessly searched for a job in my MA field. Since he doesn't even want me here unless I’m drinking his Kool-Aid, I’ll stick to whiskey. Every grad student knows it's an important tool for surviving a PhD program.

Is Courtship Fundamentally Catholic?

The current courtship resurgence is an interesting facet of the Christian "purity culture" that has sprung up in reaction to the sexual revolution and and divorce trends of the 20th century. Joshua Harris' I Kissed Dating Goodbye came out in 1997, and its spouse-finding philosophy has been a cultural and spiritual force ever since. I was 12 when Harris burst into the scene, and his writing influenced me and my friends in our teen years. Harris' antidote to hook-up culture has been around so long that there is now some backlash as my generation assesses its results.

Recently, former courtship advocate Thomas Umstattd wrote Why Courtship Is Fundamentally Flawed, arguing that the system misinterprets scripture and does not safeguard against divorce. Even Harris himself has warned against excessive courtship legalism that makes young couples afraid to even speak to each other. For every couple whose courtship resulted in a happy marriage, there are stories of overly controlling fathers or jerk suitors who masked their toxic personalities with lip service to "biblical marriage."

On the other hand, courtship is more visible than ever, with People magazine covering the Duggars' strict courtship rules. Fundamentalist groups host "purity balls" where girls in formal dresses promise their dads that they will remain virgins until marriage. These father-daughter dances and chastity pledges have garnered much media attention for being "like a wedding, except to your dad."

Swedish photographer David Magnusson's exhibit of father-daughter purity ball portraits is one recent example of courtship in the spotlight. Documenting families in Louisiana, Texas, Colorado and Arizona, he photographed fathers and daughters near their homes in their ceremony clothes. Portraits were done in the early morning, with subjects choosing their poses “in the light of the decisions you have made.” Magnusson's purpose isn't just curiosity, but cultural analysis. "I wanted to create portraits that were beautiful; images that the girls and their fathers would like to see hanging on their walls at home, while someone from another cultural background might experience the very same portraits in an entirely different way."

Pierce and Jasmine Nunley, Grand Cane, Louisiana.
By David Magnusson

At first, the portraits are off-putting. Seeing a gallery of grown men embracing young girls in wedding-like dresses feels really creepy. It's like an incestuous combo of a quincenera or debutante ball. But when you look closer, each pair has unique expressions of their relationship and motivations. You can see determination, courage, tenderness, trust, and protection. Magnusson has successfully worked with his subjects to create a complex work of art.

The Catholic Church doesn't have official dating policies, so the way Catholics view courtship is not unlike the possible reactions to Magnusson's portraits. Some people cringe at the strict rules, some find inspiration to create more boundaries in their dating life, and others are enchanted by the promise of purity and parental love. There's no one best way for finding your spouse, but Catholics should be careful to examine the theology of courtship more closely. Some weird idolatry can lurk under the surface.

To many, the concept of courtship is just shorthand for "pursuing an exclusive, chaste relationship with the intention of discerning marriage while consulting parental wisdom." At its most strict and biblically literal, though, courtship regards marriage as the transfer of a woman from her father's authority to her husband's. A father's permission is required for both courtship and marriage because he has the final say over his daughter's life. By doing so he reflects the role of God the Father giving Eve to Adam in Eden. The will of the dad is the will of God.

Frankly, my brothers and sisters, that is wack. Here are a few reasons why such scrupulosity isn't compatible with Catholicism.

Scripture does not depict strict courtship as mandatory or foolproof. As Umstattd points out, "Just because Jacob had two wives and a seven-year engagement does not mean that God wants all men to have two wives and seven-year engagements." In fact, Rachel and Leah's father abuses his authority to cheat Jacob. In the Book of Tobit, Sarah's father approves her marriage to seven different husbands, but each one ends in disaster anyway. Ruth bypasses courtship by pursuing Boaz, while Esther is sent to the king's harem against her male guardian's will.

The lives of the Saints don't embrace this type of parental control; in fact they often defy it. There are so many examples of holy women whose fathers opposed their desire for a life of celibacy. St. Catherine of Siena even chopped off her hair to keep her parents from marrying her off. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states, "Parents should respect [a child's call to the religious life] and encourage their children to follow it. They must be convinced that the first vocation of the Christian is to follow Jesus." (CCC 2232) Did Mary ask her dad's permission before she agreed to bear the Messiah? Nope, she said yes and then ran off to consult her female relative instead.

The Church teaches that girls should be taught "the right use of their reason and freedom," not protected from the world at all costs. (2228) At baptism, parents make promises of faith on behalf of their kids, but from then on children must cooperate with God's grace on their own. Elders can and should offer and advice and guidance, but your vocation is ultimately between you and God. As the Catechism states:

"Obedience towards parents ceases with the emancipation of the children; not so respect, which is always owed to them ... When they become adults, children have the right and duty to choose their profession and state in life. They should assume their new responsibilities within a trusting relationship with their parents, willingly receiving their advice and counsel. Parents should be careful not to exert pressure on their children either in the choice of a profession or in that of a spouse." (2217 & 2230)

The rite for the sacrament of marriage does not ask the father of the bride to "give this woman," a patriarchal moment that courtship fundamentalists often cite. The father does not take the place of God; we already have ordained priests to act in persona christi. In fact, the couple themselves are the ministers of the sacrament of marriage. "The Church holds the exchange of consent between the spouses to be the indispensable element that 'makes the marriage.'" (1627) Their covenant reflects the wedding feast of the Lamb in heaven, where the victory of Christ the new Adam is complete. 

Even though it appears charmingly old-fashioned and wholesome, strict courtship is neither a magic bullet against sin nor an oracle of God's will. If you need a framework of bureaucratic oversight and final veto power to prevent your daughter from making a bad choice in marriage, then her adult conscience is poorly formed.This doesn't mean that fathers don't have a role in their daughters' choice of a husband. Good male role models are essential to help a girl learn what to look for in a spouse.

I'm grateful for my own dad's example as a smart, generous, hardworking, tender-hearted husband and father. He's one of the people I admire most in the world, and I respect his opinion. I know if I had dated a guy who was a jerk, my dad would have told me his concerns. But after spending the first 18 years under the care of a man who loved me selflessly, why would I settle for anything less in my adult life?

One of my favorite memories of my dad is how he put up with my shy temperament as a little girl. I was too scared to enter school alone, so he would walk with  me to my 1st grade classroom every morning. He knew this couldn't go on forever, though, and he kept encouraging me to have confidence. "Maybe today I can walk with you just until the lobby tile ends, how about that?" he'd say. He took good care of me, but knew part of that care was teaching me to walk out on my own.

People of Costco

Today I'm guest posting for Bonnie at A Knotted Life, talking about religious identity and how I secretly want to make friends with people who follow super-religious dress codes. Her blog is honest, funny, and faith-filled; definitely check it out!

Magnetic cart escalator to heaven?

It's funny how just after I finalized my post for Bonnie, I ran into the very same experiences that inspired it in the first place. We need snacks for a big museum event this weekend, so I was dispatched to Costco, that haven of bulk provisions for large religious families. Most of the time working in Brooklyn I feel like my suburban upbringing is a liability, but not today, hipsters! I knew this place back when it was still Price Club.

The Sunset Park Costco's industrial setting is pretty different from the strip malls of NoVA, but inside it smells just like a Costco. The signs and price tags are the same and the layout is familiar once you realize this store has two levels. The sheet cake order form is unchanged since my 1998 sugar-coma of graduations  and Confirmation receptions.

It brought back so many memories I almost wept with homesickness. I felt like I should be wearing a school uniform and making sure my little brothers didn't wander off in the frozen foods. Bulk grocery shopping is my heritage, dangit.

The crowd of giggling hijab-clad schoolgirls in long black dresses on the R train platform should have tipped me off. Of course this place would be packed with various descendants of Abraham. There were Jewish men in black hats and their wives in wigs. There were more hijabs and long skirts, including one Muslim mom pushing a double stroller while wrangling two other kids.

For once, I didn't feel like I needed to explain to these people that I am sorta kinda one of them. I've logged enough hours in my life traipsing the Kirkland Signature aisles in a plaid skirt to be certain of my identity. I come from a Big Catholic Family, and my people can feed a crowd with the best of them.

My Dive Bar Catholic High School

This weekend we traveled down to Virginia to celebrate Brother #3's graduation from 8th grade. It's not a huge transition, since he'll still attend the same grade 7-12 school, but rites of passage are always a good excuse to eat cake. On the long drive I filled the Southern Baron in on more quirky details of my tiny Catholic school, like the locker situation.

Me: "So the Sevvies get these tiny boxes, but the high school ones are huge enough for a couple people to share."
Him: "Wait, you SHARED a locker? What if you want to lock it?"
Me: "Oh, nobody has a lock. There's just a general sense of trust, and it's not like you have anything worth taking in there. I shared with the J and K last names all four years."
(Brother #3 later confirmed that anyone caught messing with another guy's stuff would be dealt with behind the school.)

My husband and I both look fondly on our solid Catholic high school educations, but as a New Orleanian he basically went to school on another planet where your identity is fixed before you take the SATs. NOLA and St. Louis are the only two places I know where "Where'd you go to high school?" is the defining question to ask when meeting someone. There's something about those cities on the Mississippi river settled by tenacious French nuns - Catholic schooling caught on and never let go.

The Southern Baron is proud of his all-boys Jesuit education, and has the swag to prove it. There are lapel pins, an etched rocks glass, and glossy alumni magazines in our apartment. Last time we flew to Louisiana, the college kid in our row recognized his class ring and they proceeded to trade saints' and bishops' names like a secret code. At a Memorial Day barbecue, we discovered that my aunt's boyfriend's niece's husband also went to Jesuit, and it took the two men only five minutes to sniff out the other's academic track and activities. They count a Supreme Court justice and an American Idol judge among their fellow alumni.

My diploma doesn't have that kind of clout, except among the Steubenville/ Christendom crowd. When I tell people where I went to high school, I usually have to say "You've probably never heard of it, it's really small..." But I've concluded this means Seton is secretly super cool. My high school is the Catholic education equivalent of an awesome hipster dive bar.

The building is a little rough around the edges, with a distinctive musty smell, unreliable climate control, and worn mismatched furniture and paint colors. The same faded posters have been on the wall for years, if not decades. The menu hasn't been updated much since they opened, and you won't find anything too exotic or complicated. Some employees have cycled in and out, but for the longtime head staff, keeping the doors open is a labor of love.

Christ The King watches over the lobby.

You've probably never heard of it because it's pretty small and in a random part of town between the fire station and the railroad tracks. They don't really bother to advertise since word of mouth promotion from the regulars is enough to fill the seats.

But if you are lucky to be one of the insiders, it's a place where you know everyone and their mother and their brother and their six other siblings. Memories of fun shenanigans, long deep conversations, and romantic misadventures are scattered among the uncomfortable chairs. Other places may have broadened your horizons since, but this place knows how to deliver the classics insanely well. It also offers all kinds of obscure retro small batch stuff most people have never heard of.

It's great that there are flashier, bigger Catholic high schools with enough long hallways of identical lockers for each student to keep one with his own padlock. But I'm glad I went to a place with dubious fire code compliance that taught me about things like: logic syllogisms, sentence diagramming, Aquinas' proofs for the existence of God, Fr. Walter Ciszek, St. Januarius' liquefying blood vial, and King Philip II"s last days in the Alcazar. I'm glad that they made us go Mass twice a week and sing Pange Lingua so many times we'll never forget the lyrics. I'm especially grateful for the community of devout families in which I still find warm welcomes a decade after I graduated.

Because sometimes you gotta go where everybody knows your name.

NFP Subculture: Don't Punish the Obedient

"I wish I liked Catholics more."
"They seem just like other people."
"My dear Charles, that's exactly what they're not--particularly in this country, where they're so few. It's not just that they're a clique--as a matter of fact, they're about four cliques all blackguarding each other half the time--but they've got an entirely different outlook on life; everything they think important is different from other people. They try and hide it as much as they can, but it comes out all the time."
- Brideshead Revisited Book I, Chapter 4

Last week John Zmirak at The Catholic Thing posted a stunningly fed-up rant about "the weirdness, bitterness, crankiness, and the general mediocrity that pervade the Catholic subculture," and how those negative aspects hinder evangelization, especially about Church doctrine on contraception. The Catholic population that actually believes and follows the Church's disapproval of artificial birth control is relatively tiny, and thus "as inbred as a pack of captive cheetahs, with all the dangers of deformity and disease that that implies."

Zmirak warns that "The Church as righteous subculture is unappealing to nearly everyone – including the kids who grow up inside it, who despite all those years of homeschooling and chapel veils frequently flee for what look like saner pastures ... We need to listen to [the secular world's] real questions and objections and do a much better job explaining ourselves. Or else that’s who we’ll go right on talking to – ourselves."

(*Edit: When I included this snarky soundbite, my intention was not to condemn the "homeschooling and chapel veils" set among whom I grew up and greatly respect. I seriously doubt the homeschooler apostasy rate is as high as Zmirak suggests. But I have also seen that no one pious practice is a magic bullet for sanctity and that intelligent young people indeed can be disillusioned by a lack of self-awareness in some traditional Catholic circles.)

It's true; self-righteous dismissal and distrust of Others isn't going to win any converts. It also endangers the few devout believers who do hold fast to beleaguered truths of the faith. Even if you are among the remnant that actually shuns contraception, there plenty of your compatriots ready to warn that you might be Doing It Wrong. Internet discussions about Natural Family Planning and childbearing are notoriously contentious. "Perfect love casts out fear," (1 John 4:18) but there is plenty of "bitterness, crankiness," infighting, and fearmongering in the NFP subculture. Look at any recent article about the morality and ethics of NFP, and you'll see several cliques all blackguarding each other:

• Dire conspiracy theorists sure most people's reasons for postponing pregnancy aren't good enough 
• Harried parents paranoid that they should be pregnant again or that they discerned poorly
• Rival method loyalists engaged in combox brawls
• Theologians insensitive to the emotional responses their coldly logical syllogisms elicit
• Infertility martyrs who shame anyone with "lesser" sufferings for complaining
• Glib spouters of the conventional wisdom that anyone struggling with NFP must be lazy and/or selfish, lustful, lacking in faith, or resisting God's will 

Is this really the alternative we want to offer the secular world? Instead of getting free birth control pills, you can be part of a tiny subculture that bickers about the minutiae of bodily functions and acts as the pregnancy thought police! Doesn't that sound life-giving and awesome? 

My own NFP experience has taught me how toxic fertility scrupulosity can be. Although I've been on board with NFP since I was a teenager, actually using it in my marriage has been a huge test of my faith. I had naively thought that obsessive charting would exempt me from those "lazy" user problems, but in reality the learning curve was steep. In our first months as newlyweds we dealt with much confusion, frustration, and loneliness. Had Theology of the Body cruelly duped us? Irregular charts made my body feel like an enemy and drove me into neurotic data tracking. I worried that God must be punishing us for some secret transgression and that I had failed as a wife. When I mentioned my spiritual conflict in confession, one priest told me this was none of his business and hinted I should just use birth control anyway. 

In reality, our problems were simply practical. Three methods, several hundred dollars of classes, and one minor surgery later, it's finally getting better. I now know what kind of charting works best for my personality and my body's habits. What helped me get through this difficult time was compassion from Catholic friends who acknowledged my suffering. Even if their own NFP stories were different, they trusted my judgement and encouraged me to persevere. I'm eternally grateful to the kind Franciscan confessor  in neon blue Crocs who told me "Yeah, this NFP stuff can be hard. Most priests have no clue."

I also appreciate the conversation Simcha Fisher has started with her hilarious and insightful book The Sinner's Guide to Natural Family Planning. She reminds readers that coming to terms with one's fertility requires spiritual growth, but that doesn't mean the NFP crowd should feel "judged and judgey." Only God can analyze fully a couple's hearts and childbearing decisions. Since Simcha's book came out, it's been heartening to see many other Catholic bloggers reveal their own NFP struggles and concur that there is no one-size-fits-all solution.

The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. (Mark 2:27) It's senseless to be Pharisaical towards Catholics who sincerely believe and practice all the Church's teachings. It's illogical to tell people that following the rules with an imperfect mindset is just as grave a sin as breaking them altogether. If orthodox Catholics are a clique that suspects the worst of its own members, why would anyone in their right mind want to sit with us? 

What Should Catholicism Call Me?*

Coming soon to a field trip near you. 

One of the great perks of my visitor center job is the people watching. Every day is a parade of different groups: family reunions in matching shirts, busloads of 8th graders, Buddhist monks, all manner of foreign military officers, middle-aged European couples in matching sweaters, Portuguese medical students in capes (??), Asian tour groups following their guide waving an umbrella, Congressional interns in questionable "businesswear.".My favorites, though, are the fringe religious groups whose outfits give them away. I can't help it, I am an American religion nerd. Mennonite head coverings, Pentecostal long denim skirts (plus the occasional big hairdo), or Orthodox Jewish prayer shawls and yarmulkes make me positively giddy when they come through the door.

Why do I want to run up and become BFFs with these people who follow strict dress codes? Is it because they have big families like mine? Or because I know I can speak their scriptural language to some degree? I think the main reason is how they wear their faith on their sleeves, literally. It warms my heart to see people unafraid to wordlessly advertise that they don't quite fit in with contemporary American culture. And, let's be honest, it's also good to know that no matter how counter-cultural my Catholicism is, there is always someone out there with stricter rules to follow.

At work I'm supposed to be bipartisan, impartial for visitors. You can't see my scapular or miraculous medal under my uniform blouse. Most visitors don't understand my enthusiasm for statues of Jesuit missionaries. Unlike my last job, I don't go to holy day Masses with the CEO. For a while I tried not to come on too strong. But after three people assumed I was Jewish (it's the hair and Levite last name), I figured I needed to come clean. News flash, everyone: I am 75% shiksha and a proud Papist.

Since then I've been very cautious about how my actions reflect on my religion. Am I kind enough, joyful enough? I worry about this in Catholic circles too. My family goes to a Latin Novus Ordo Mass and know obscure saint trivia like the back of my hand. Still, calling myself a "Trad" feels wrong - I like too many "guitar Mass" folk hymns for that. How will people know what I believe? How should I label myself?

This is silly, really. If you believe something, it will show. When co-workers ask, I gently explain that no, The Bethrothed and I don't plan to "get a place together" until we're married. I mention church in my weekend plans. I've had great conversations with Jewish and Muslim coworkers about what their faith means to them. A Methodist who teaches Sunday school congratulated me on our recent new saints. Gradually, I've figured out who the other cradle Catholics around work are. They don't share my Blessed Junipero Sera fandom, but that's ok.

Otherwise I don't butt to inform people that I disagree with their morality. If people are very set in their opinions, it's not worth instigating a water cooler brawl over assisted suicide or abortion in cases of rape. We deal with enough belligerent members of the general public. My prayer is that  I can represent well the communion of Saints to which I belong. I want to leave people with the impression that I trustworthy, principled and kind. Maybe then I can help change their confused impression that the Catholic Church is out to control their lives, not love them.

Saints of the British Isles

*H/T to the hilarious Tumblr blog of that name. Happy All Saints Day, everyone!

Christian knock-offs?

1 En 8, from Louboutin's fall collection. 

Have you heard about the designer shoe lawsuit in court right now? Christian Louboutin wants to trademark the signature "China-red" soles of his high heels. Yves St. Laurent recently made an all-red shoe with red soles, and insists that designers should be free to use whatever colors they want.

Personally, I think the all-red YSL shoe is not a big deal, but overall I side with Louboutin since the red soles look cool. If Tiffany's can have a signature blue, why not a signature shade of red? This case has major implications for issues of intellectual property and creative licensing blah blah blah. It's also an excuse for editorials with terrible puns and footnoted legal references to Sex and the City 2.

Recently I discovered some designer knock-offs that made me say "Whhhhaaaa?" They weren't at Forever 21, they were in a religious goods catalog. That's right ladies, you can now buy designer Jesus totes for your next Bible study meeting.

Louis Vuitton becomes "Love"

Gucci becomes "God"

And, my personal favorite for preposterousness...

Juicy Couture becomes "Jesus Christ Born to Save"

There's also a spoof of Tiffany's and a Fendi/Faith pattern. All images are from Autom.com, a generally reputable Catholic wholesaler.

Are these fooling anyone? Are the sellers in on the joke? Whom are these for? Would you buy one of these? 

I just....I dunno. It might make the women in your fellowship group chuckle, but anywhere else you would just look like a poser with a cheaply made bag. 

Sure, Christian parodies of corporate logos are nothing new. "Lord's Gym" tshirts have been around since I was a kid. Today you can also get "Faithbook," "Jesus/Reese's," and "God is my [Guitar] Hero." Some college friends and I once dreamed up an ill-fated Gatorade spoof design for "The Eucharist: Is it In You?"

I feel like such things are a fun inside joke for youth group meetings or service trips, but they won't actually "engage THE CULTURE," as they say. Christians are capable of brilliant satire and beautiful design. Let's not settle for cheap imitations of frivolous consumerism. Juicy Couture has a flagship store a block down from St. Patrick's Cathedral, and I think it's clear which landmark will endure longer.