The Preferential Option for Creation

by Dan Masterton

One of the most challenging but most impactful parts of Catholic Social Teaching to our daily living is the Preferential Option. This theme is spelled out with different titles, depending where you look. You might see “Preferential Option for the Poor” or “Preferential Option for the Poor and Vulnerable.” When I share this theme or teach about it, I like to stretch out the title a little bit.

When I lead service, I want others to encounter and think about people who society has pushed off to its margins. In my Viatorian spirituality, we would describe it as making sure to walk closely and compassionately with people who “society accounts of little importance.” So I usually call this theme “Preferential Option for People Who Are Marginalized.” And I challenge myself this way: Christ calls us to intentionally consider people who are marginalized in everything we do individually, socially, and communally.

One thing that helps me carry this out is establishing routines and habits to make positive behaviors more consistent. So, my wife and I set a line item in the monthly budget: $20 (at least, sometimes more) that is for an undefined donation to respond to the needs of people who are marginalized. At some point, usually as I close up the bills and payments for a month, we identify some kind of social need, usually related to the news or a story we’ve heard from friends, and send our donation that way.

One day last week, a morning social media scroll reminded me it was Earth Day. I had forgotten the date of the holiday, but it wasn’t totally off my radar. My daughters and I had passed through a gardening event at the library a few days earlier, and we used their materials to create seed balls out of newspaper and sunflower seeds. My older daughter had made an Earth Day sign at preschool a few days earlier, too.

Throughout the day, I was glad to find that Catholic friends, Catholic media outlets, and others online were marking Earth Day, too. Some folks offered prayers. A friend re-shared her old tips on resisting “wish-cycling” of non-recyclable items. And NPR shared a special episode about the economic complexity of recycling and also re-shared this mini-documentary from last year that helps unravel the myths of recycling and challenge people to reduce their front-end consumption, which I watched with my daughter.

As the day unfolded, I wanted to act. Of course, I’m liking and re-tweeting stuff during my scroll breaks, but I get uncomfortable when I feel like I’m only a slacktivist – what could I do, even if small?

When I went grocery shopping, I grabbed my reusable bags. They’ve been allowed again informally for a few months, and I’m back to using them almost 100% of the time (still forget once in a while!). When I grabbed my cart, they were offering one free reusable bag for Earth Day! And sharing that their corporate headquarters had given full go-ahead to allow all reusable bags (hooray for the end of un-green pandemic restrictions!). Hopefully, this helps folks like me get back to 100% reusables and maybe helps spur other laggers to become adopters, too.

Free reusable bag on the way into @meijer this morning! 🤓

Hope this helps folks restart the habit of reusable bags after the pandemic restricted it, or perhaps even start fresh and build a new habit.

Single use plastic bags are straight up silly. https://t.co/tKyHSLKR67 pic.twitter.com/QOWZRCMT22

— Dan Masterton (@ThisLadDan) April 22, 2022

Later, I had been meaning to get some more wildflowers and native items planted. (I have six milk jugs where little shoots of local plants are sprouting – fingers crossed to transfer them soon!) So I dumped old, weedy soil from our two little deck planters out into the compost. I shoveled out some deep-bin humus to put in the planters and combined it with a little new store-bought soil. Then I planted the seed-balls that my daughter and I made, as well as some additional sunflower seeds.

My little earth day effort — planting seed balls my daughter helped make along with some sunflower seeds and using our backyard compost for the renewed soil from our little deck planters. #EarthDay2022 pic.twitter.com/lwLEEmeX75

— Dan Masterton (@ThisLadDan) April 22, 2022

As the day was wrapping up, I realized that I hadn’t made our preferential option for the month, but I thought giving for Earth Day isn’t opting for the marginalized. Then I paused. Or is it?

In many ways, Care for Creation and good stewardship oddly remain fringe issues. The extent to which mainstream thought accepts the need to spend, legislate, and act differently in light of climate change is still pretty flimsy. So, really, the earth is treated largely as marginal. And what have my thoughts and actions for Earth Day been if not preferentially opting for Creation?

It’s dawning on me that a preferential-option mindset is fundamental to justly caring for God’s Creation as long as change eludes us. The deep need to do charity and justice by people on the margins remains, but this added element fits alongside as part of a holistic mindset.

So, I went to my favorite Catholic group, the Saint Kateri Conservation Center, and sent our bit for the month of April to support their work. Their impressive staff of professional and faith-filled experts work as volunteers and apply their fundraising to their ministry and outreach – if you feel inclined to opt for Creation financially, perhaps in step with Earth Day or Arbor Day, join me in supporting the Kateri crew. Or at least follow them on Twitter or Instagram.

As we contemplate the call of Christ to intentionally think, speak, and act in ways that consider people on the margins, may we, too, find our ways, even when small, to opt for God’s Creation and be better stewards.

The Greatest Sign of Intelligence?

by Dan Masterton

“I think we should start every conversation — whether it’s the president making a speech, or us doing a show — with ‘ok, obviously, I’m a jackass, but I’ve prepared this evening of entertainment’ or ‘here’s the state of the union’… the fact that people are too insecure to admit to our foibles I think is one of our greatest failings.” -Nick

“I think the greatest sign of intelligence — I’m always impressed — when someone speaks like that, they have my full attention.” -Conan

From Conan O'Brien Needs a Friend: Nick Offerman Returns (April 10, 2022)

In pastoral ministry, from teaching in the classroom to forming young leaders to directing retreats, I always hope that I can be someone who creates a space with conducive conditions for growth, and at the same time, I hope I never appear to be someone who is completely sure of himself or who has all the answers.

This is a bit easier to do in direct ministry, but perhaps a bit harder to do when writing or presenting. That’s why I was struck by this exchange between Conan O’Brien and Nick Offerman on his podcast.

Earlier today, I offered a session at the annual National Catholic Educational Association (NCEA) conference. I submitted a proposal about bringing Catholic Social Teaching to all areas of Catholic school campus life. My thought was trying to offer a little bit of “what” on what CST is, some “why” on its importance, and a whole lot of “how” on making it happen.

@ThisLadDan dropping brilliant ideas to infuse CST across the entire curriculum. plus, he shared a google drive full of resources, making it easy for me to share ideas with everyone in my school. pic.twitter.com/LFTe4JDAGq

— Cari White (@MnMonster11) April 19, 2022

As I brainstormed and outlined and compiled slides and resources, I worried a bit that my ideas might be too idealistic, too disruptive, too antagonistic. At other times, I did have some self-reassurance that my education and experience justified offering this perspective as best as I could.

On the whole, I’ve always struggled to toe a good line. How can I demonstrate expertise without being dismissive or superior? How can I offer adaptable advice and examples without being wishywashy or pulling my punches? My hope is always to give a strong portrait of what I have seen work and why I think it’s worth trying, but to leave space for questions, to filter it through their skills and passions, and adapt what I offer so that it can be practical and effective in their ministry. I could never manage a schtick or gimmick and am a terrible, timid self-promoter. How can I overcome this and still do something helpful with peers?

So in my presentation, in slightly cleaner language, I used that little exchange as a way to try to contextualize the information I was about to offer. It’s an explicit way to hold two truths in tension that bracket the effort I make in accompaniment with other ministers:

First: at my core, I am a bit of a jackass — ask my wife or brothers or best friends.

Second: I have education and experience, passion and skills, and a desire to share and engage in exchanges to help spur good ministry.

I’ve always found ministry, especially writing, to be largely self-edifying – something that I can enjoy as a good in and of itself, only made greater when it takes root in others, builds communities, and nurtures deepened faith. This cheeky but authentic exchange from Conan’s podcast helped clarify a healthy approach – one in which ministry is offered as gift, in humility and imperfection, not with clicks or quotas or superficial metrics as its objective, but rather Christ.

Not All Traditions Have Milkshakes

by Dan Masterton

As far back as I can remember, my mom always made an Easter bunny cake for Easter Sunday. With some basic box mix and a can of frosting, she baked the mold, and frosted it white with some accents color for the bunny’s features. Then, there was always the jelly bean garnish scattered around the plate, that we jokingly considered bunny poop. Even nine years after she passed away, my dad still uses the same mold, same process, and achieves the same traditional result for us.

When I was a middle-schooler, and I was responsible enough that my parents let me ride my bike places, I rallied some friends to go to Good Friday Living Stations at our parish. We knew some friends who were acting in the prayer service, so I persuaded a few other friends to come see them in the service with me. I enticed them by offering some french fries and milkshakes afterward. It was never more than a few of us – and the treat sounded better than it was (served out a little window at a defunct train-station McDonald’s in my hometown) – but it became a tradition that lasted several years, and eventually included driving, until we all went off to college.

At the University of Notre Dame, the Easter Vigil at the basilica is a heck of an event. A ton of seating is reserved for the families of RCIA students and staff and clergy, and then a huge line forms to try to get those last few seats. People start queueing hours beforehand. The liturgy is big and beautiful and the full reflection of what Easter joy ought to be in the Risen Lord. And unlike meatless Good Friday, the custom following Easter Vigil Mass was not shy or restrained, though it did still involve milkshakes. Catholics flocked to the nearby Steak’n’Shake just down the road, and we gorged ourselves on greasy burgers, shoestring french fries, and indulgent milkshakes. And with the three-plus-hour Mass not starting until 8pm, we usually only made it to our table about midnight.

Easter ought to be marked by joy, celebration, literal feasting. Catholics, and many Christians, are oddly skilled at embracing the ashen sackcloth of Lent but sometimes struggle to make the pivot to a feast-filled Easter – maybe because we’re too guilty about the indulgences we allow ourselves the other 320 days of the year?

Mmmmmmmmmm...
Steak 'n' Shake...

Either way, one of the strange realizations I have from time to time is that I am the primary mover for these things now. Growing up, I gained these traditions from my parents and family; in school, my friends and I sort of took turns collaborating on stuff; in adult life, it sort of continues to be a social group effort; now, as a parent and spouse, and as the primary stay-at-home parent, it's more or less up to me to try and get things started.

It means trying to be proactive and intentional about doing things that could become traditions – and not necessarily predetermining that something will become a “tradition” just because I managed to pull it off once (it’s possible no one will like it!).

One success in my children’s young lives is the importance we’ve placed on their patron saints. We invoke their patrons each night at bedtime prayer; we talk about their stories and examples when we naturally can; and we celebrate their feast days each year with ice cream (hopefully also a daily Mass, a service project, or more as they get older).

Coming out of the steepest restrictions of the pandemic, we hope we can be more active in our parish, that we can get to know the folks at our favorite fully reopened brewery, that maybe we become “regulars” at a few of our increasingly favorite places. On the same token, we hope holidays, birthdays, and other special occasions take on this hallowed traditional feel. I know I need to do my best to bring my family together with our loved ones and ensure we have opportunities to make great memories. I know I also need to leave plenty of space for my kids and family to stumble upon traditions we didn’t even know we wanted. Hopefully, this Easter is another step toward a lifetime of rich and joyful celebrations, for our family and yours.

Dispensation and Obligation

by Dan Masterton

My dispensation from my Sunday Mass obligation was lifted, effective Palm Sunday. Bishop Hicks of my home Diocese of Joliet wrote that, with the end of mask mandates and the easing of social gathering restrictions, it is time to reinstate the obligation of Catholics in our diocese to attend Sunday Mass.

This ends a weird and wild two-year period in which Catholics, on a wide scale, were not expected to be at Sunday Mass. And the only time during my life when I ever missed Mass, for any reason, on consecutive weeks, let alone for months on end.

I appreciate the way Bishop Hicks shared his decision. First, he noted the perennial canonical exception from obligation for those who are ill or contagious; I think gaining awareness of this exception is a blessing of the pandemic, perhaps inviting greater sensitivity from me in the future about caring for my neighbors instead insisting on going to Mass unless I’m in the hospital or something. Additionally, Bishop Hicks emphasized the joy of a community reuniting, and doing so for such a special purpose as communion in Mass. And he identified our return to full Sunday celebrations as a “welcome home.” Amen, bishop.

Bishop Ron Hicks holds a special place in his heart for St. Oscar Romero. As we celebrate Romero’s feast day, learn more about this humble archbishop from El Salvador and why he ranks among our bishop’s heroes.

WATCH the video: https://t.co/IlD13wG3UZ pic.twitter.com/HVk5K1uz9F

— Diocese of Joliet (@DioceseofJoliet) March 24, 2022

Here's our guy, Bishop Ronald Hicks.

One area of liturgical life that gained major exposure was the simulcast Mass. With congregations unable to gather in person, parishes largely turned to live-streaming and recording, such that they could keep their parishioners engaged remotely. Cathedrals and major churches that had already been doing this for years seemed ahead of the curve, and may have won greater viewership by having higher production values and wider-reaching broadcast channels already in place. Some young adults I worked with asked some religious priests to do a Mass over Zoom, not just to give them a more intimate, familiar group but also to maintain some level of interaction – speaking responses, doing communal petitions at the Prayers of the Faithful, and faith-sharing after Mass.

While televised Mass has been a staple of ministry to the ill and homebound – who would also receive hospitality visits with the Eucharist – it threw most of us into the deep end without experience. And personally, I was not a fan. Early on, when it was new and I thought it may be short-lived, I certainly tuned in, especially during Lent and Easter. However, I came to find it largely unfulfilling, maybe a commentary both on the incompleteness of the medium and of me. I didn’t feel drawn to speak the responses or sit and stand and kneel or pray along with the songs or to thoughtfully pray for spiritual communion; I couldn’t figure out how to engage and let it fade from practice. I can’t crawl into my kids’ heads, but my older daughter could only really stick with it for a short time before losing track.

It challenged me to feel greater empathy for the homebound and ill, who might only engage with liturgy in this way. It left me wondering what better ways could be found, if any. And it pointed me toward growing hunger to return to the Mass in the before-times way – spoken congregational responses, even if murmured; the sung prayers and hymns, even if off-key; and the communal presence of the church, even if haggard and half-assed. It has been a blessing to get back to the routine of Sunday mornings, and I’ve relished bringing my family back to our pews.

As we returned to the parish though, it has definitely gotten me wondering on the perennial questions that are only more acute now. How will we cover budget shortfalls that aren’t recovering? How can we reanimate lapsed community life? What is/will be my role in this? How can I try to be more active? To what extent do we get engaged in our school and/or RE program?

For starters, I was able to attend an in-person listening session for young adults that my parish held as part of our synod gatherings. In addition to providing input to the prompts, I also got to meet a member of the parish council and share some of my hopes for fellowship among parents and families. One of my ideas has been to copy the parents’ group from my previous parish, and the councilor who I met encouraged me to pursue it. I emailed the parish staff yesterday, and they promised to discuss it at their staff meeting.

In the meantime, growing hope is before us. First and foremost, the numbers of cases, hospitalizations, and deaths are as low as they’ve been since our data tracking got fully functional in late spring 2020 – this drop, along with natural immunity and the hope that vaccination rates will keep ticking up, bodes well.

In the pews, especially at St. Francis of Assisi in Bolingbrook, IL, I find hope in the diversity in our refilling pews – our parish gathers people of many races and ethnicities and of all ages, and I think reflects a Church alive. I can see this, too, in the young people who regularly minister as greeters and choir members and cantors and the students who represent our joint parish school at special Masses and in fundraisers. I’m also heartened by the way many still wear masks by personal choice even in the absence of a mandate, how we maintain a section where masking and social distancing is required, and how I’ve never seen a dispute of any kind at our church, or any resistance to the vaccine endorsements from our priests and holding of a vaccine clinic on our grounds.

I hope that, as my family gains new stability and as the parish comes back to full function, that we can be more involved, more outgoing, and more engaged, starting with this parents’ group idea. And I hope that others, no matter how much or how little you went to Mass these last two years, will get back in the habit again. What better time to rejoin in-person communion than Holy Week and Easter!? The Risen Lord awaits.