The Restless Hearts have been reflecting a little on how “normal” a Catholic can and should be, and how countercultural our faith challenges us to be. I think it’s always a valuable start to look to Mary, model of the Church. In a homily from earlier this year, Fr. Hugh Barbour describes Mary as “a perfectly normal woman with perfectly normal human sensibilities and manners who also possesses the knowledge and the power of a hidden mystery that utterly outstrips any normal human expectations.”1
The lack of knowledge of this hidden mystery seems to me to be the saddest aspect of the recent bizarre (and yet unsurprising) college admissions scandal. Whatever the cost to their integrity, whatever the desires of their children, whatever the impact on other prospective admits - the only acceptable path forward for these people’s children was admission to a certain level of university.
This secret network of privilege brought to mind a fictional example; a few months ago I ended up reading Emily Giffin’s recent pop fiction contribution, All We Ever Wanted. Brace yourself for spoilers ahead.At the beginning of the book, a photo surfaces of the wealthy main character’s son sexually assaulting a fellow student at their prestigious high school. The mother begins to wonders how they must have formed their son that he would choose to behave so despicably. The events of the book primarily spiral from that self-reflection.
Her husband and best friend (whose son was also involved), ostracize and undercut her when she doesn’t seem totally on board with doing everything possible to erase the crime. They both recognize her internal conflict and see it as dangerous to their “saving” the boys from the ramifications of their actions, which will no doubt echo through their lives. Meanwhile, she forms a motherly relationship with the girl victimized by her son. Eventually, she leaves her son to the consequences as a final act of re-formation, while letting him know that she still loves and always will love him. Several years later, the young man tells the young woman: “She saved me.”
The book is obviously meant to bring up the issue of privileged families using all their resources to protect their own from what would ordinarily change the entire course of a less privileged person’s life. If your god is prestige or wealth, as it seemed to be for the families caught up in this college admissions scandal, these are the lengths it makes sense to go to, if you can. This masquerades as “the best possible life for my child.”
The best possible life for your child is one in which they really know the hidden mystery that Mary knew: that God’s humility and love for us overflows, and He calls us to imitate him. When that mystery is the foundation of everything for which your child strives, and focuses how they respond to whatever may come - that’s when they’ve succeeded.
So what actions should set apart the Christian from the non-Christian? How are those of us still in the Church any different from the growing number of “nones” in the country, those with no religious affiliation at all?
People often take the same action with differing motivations. Why would someone support an abuse survivor and value justice for perpetrators, even when the victim is unknown to you and the offender is your own son?
Giffin’s protagonist was a sexual assault victim in college. She sees herself in the victim, and attempts to value this girl in the way that no one had helped her. Others, with no personal experience of that particular sin, see acknowledgement of and justice for assault as necessary in forming everyone - including the perpetrator - in valuing a humanist view of human dignity.
Each of those previous two people show a partial knowledge of the hidden mystery. Catholics take this action because of God’s complete revelation of the human person - created in the image of God, beloved by Him even unto death, not to be abused by the desire and power of the strong and the privileged. That’s a far stronger image than the humanist view. And then we have to say that’s why we did it, when asked.
Towards the end of her life, Dorothy Day said, "If I have accomplished anything in my life, it is because I wasn't embarrassed to talk about God." A Catholic mother in Giffin’s fictional situation might also choose to allow her son to meet the justice system. She might humbly admit her failure in formation (although perhaps not publicly, as that could harden him, and may be more virtue signaling than ongoing virtue formation). She might state her hope that these repercussions would correct the course of entitlement and self-involvement that led to this terrible sin. She would pray that her son would allow Christ into his heart to change it. Such sins are an opportunity for the spiritual work of mercy, “admonish the sinner” - and that work of mercy goes directly against the gospel of prestige and wealth.
What do you do with success if you do come by it honestly?
The ultimate holiness of a family is not reducible to whether they put time with each other first, or whether they practice NFP. However, from the distance that I and many others “know” the Rivers family, they seem to be joyful and stable, while honoring their commitments. That witness can go a long way, and Philip Rivers seems to be “always ready to give a reason for his hope,” as the first letter of Peter advises.2
The peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding, can be very starkly juxtaposed with the current parental and child levels of anxiety about achievement. One of the reasons people often give for not having more children is that they feel they won’t be able to dedicate the appropriate amount of time to their academic/social success. Meanwhile, parents of four or more children generally have lower stress levels than those of two or three.3 Parents of children with Down Syndrome also have less stress than most parents.4 What sounds most like the peace of Christ?
Some people will see what those with that peace are achieving, but honestly some of us might turn out to be a “waste” in the sight of the world. I’m certainly wasting the full earning potential of my college pedigree. Whether or not my parents are disappointed by that fact is based on why they thought I should go to college, and in particular Notre Dame.
St. Edmund Campion is a great example of this “waste.” He was a celebrity-level academic, and was primed for an illustrious career in Elizabeth I’s Protestant England. Instead, he stumbled across some cold hard truth while reading the Church Fathers, became Catholic, fled the country, was ordained a priest, returned to minister to England’s Catholics in secret, and was martyred for doing that. His promise and talent were never actualized… or were they?If you want your kids to go to certain school because it will form them in truth and in mercy, go for it. I think my life and maybe my priorities would be a lot different if I hadn’t attended Notre Dame, but I can’t be sure about that. Obviously, though, you wouldn’t cheat to get them into that school. If your child wasn’t admitted, you would pray - perhaps together! - and take God’s redirection.
If your highest goal for yourself or your child is sanctity, and not money/the best college/the most experiences, you don't have to be so stressed over those things (or pay money to get your pretend-coxswain into USC). While sainthood is hard work, anyone can do it. That’s the hidden mystery Mary knew - even (and especially) the lowliest handmaiden could magnify the greatness of the Lord. The rest of our worldly success is gravy and gift.
1 Here's the link. The emphasis above is mine.↩
2 Here's a secular primer on the Rivers family, and an extended interview where he talks about his faith in real life.↩
3 See this story from today.com.↩
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