The idea that Jesus was a great Moral Teacher, and that men afterwards came to think he had risen from the dead is simply unhistorical; you are putting the cart before the horse. The message which electrified the world of the first century was not “Love your enemies,” but “He is risen.”

Before I got a laptop, I worked on a desktop with a 19-inch monitor. Everything was BIG. Now, everything is small…and I’m especially worried that the font size I have this site set to is too small. It certainly seems especially small now that I’m seeing it through a 13-inch screen instead of a 19-inch screen. I’m thinking about making the font size bigger — and maybe even changing from Georgia to Verdana. But before I do this, I wanted to get some feedback.

So, what do you think of the font size? Should it be bigger?

“At that time, Jesus said to His disciples: Take heed, watch and pray; for you do not know when the time will come … Watch, therefore — for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning — lest he come suddenly and find you asleep. And what I say to you I say to all: Watch!” (Mark 3.33-37)

To maintain this state of alertness we need to struggle, for we all have a tendency to live with our eyes fixed on the things of the earth. Especially during this time of Advent let us not forget that our hearts are darkened by gluttony and drunkenness and the cares of this life, and so loose sight of the supernatural dimension which every action of ours should have as its milieu. St. Paul compares this guard over ourselves to that of “the well-armed soldier who does not allow himself to be taken by surprise.” This adversary tries to wreak havoc in whatever way he can; and since he does not devise his tactics without attention to detail, neither should we.

We will remain at the ready if we are attentive to our personal prayer, which enables us to avoid lukewarmness and the dwindling and cooling of our desires for sanctity. We will be constantly on the alert if we do not become slipshod about those little mortifications which keep us awake to the things of God. We will remain attentive through a refined examination of conscience, which makes us look to those points at which, almost without noticing it, we are departing from our path.

We normally don’t think of Advent as a penitential season. In fact, I must confess that in past years Advent for me has been little more than a countdown to Christmas.  This year, however, I’m making a point to be more serious about entering into the spirituality of the season itself — to live it as a time of anticipation and preparation. I found that the above passage not only provides the rationale for such an attitude (we are tempted by many things during this time of year, and therefore we must pay attention to the details of our spiritual life), but at it also offers some solid points on how to live this season (an attentiveness to prayer, mortification, and our examination of conscience).

If there’s any point in the liturgical season during which the Church calls us to an attitude that is at odds with our culture, it is Advent. Society, in general, is focused on slowing down for the holidays and putting off things until next year, whereas the Church calls us to be more attentive to the basics of the spiritual life. And during a time in which we are to make lists of “all the things we want,” part of our meditation is on a family who had so little that their first and only child had to be born in a cave, swaddled in rags, and placed in a trough for a bed.

Though I’m not sure how I’d change my family’s celebration of Christmas — with a wife and kids, not to mention grandparents and two aunts, I can’t just call it off — but I am thankful for feeling ill over how far removed our Western culture in general and my own circumstances in particular are from the spirit of Advent. Perhaps that’s how it should be.

I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm, and, until two years back, just a nominal Catholic. Two years back, in the middle of my bachelor’s degree course, through certain situations in life, I suddenly understood the greatness and uniqueness of the Catholic faith. 

Now, I’m overwhelmed with the sheer quantity of Catholic literature available to read (especially on the internet) that I don’t know where or how to start. Have you ever felt this confusion? Could you (if you have time to spare), provide some basic guidelines as to have a disciplined intellectual life? (Similar to your Rule of Life posts, perhaps?) I’d be very much grateful if you could.

Yes, I have felt this confusion. I have so many unread books on my shelf I’m often paralyzed while trying to decide what to read next. Is this the best book I could read? What about this subject, of which I’m ignorant, don’t I need to study it? 

To solve this dilemma, I’ve come up with different schemes or plans to help me get and stay organized. Where you’re at in the intellectual life — as well how you plan or hope to use your knowledge — will determine which plan you adopt.

Scheme #1: Follow Your Interest

Perhaps the best way to begin the intellectual life is to read the books on the subjects you find most interesting. Is it church history? Is it the Eucharist? Is it apologetics? Grab a book or two and start reading. Pretty simple, really.

One book will spark interests in other subjects. A book on church history might make you want to learn more about the investiture conflict or about the history of the mendicant friars; you might find yourself fascinated with a person like St. Catherine of Siena or John Henry Newman. Once you’ve finished the book on church history — and you must finish it, because if you set it aside to pursue another interest, you’ll get nowhere — then decide which new interest is most compelling, and follow it.

But wait, you say. You just said I was interested in the investiture conflict, the history of the mendicant friars, St. Catherine of Siena, and John Henry Newman. If I follow my new interest, when will I get around to those old interests?  

Relax. You’ll get to those “old” interests soon enough.

Here’s how this scheme works. Suppose you decide to read a biography on John Henry Newman. As you do, a half-dozen new topics will now interest you — especially, say, papal history. Your previous interests (the investiture conflict, the mendicant friars, and St. Catherine of Siena) don’t seem quite as important. So you find a good book on the papacy and — voila! — you’ll find that you’re reading about the investiture conflict, the mendicant friars, and St. Catherine of Siena. As well as a many other things.

After some time reading in this way, you’ll see that while it’s impossible to read everything you want to read, everything is more or less interconnected. If you follow your interests, you’ll soon return to previous or forgotten interests. Slowly, you’ll build a body of knowledge.

This scheme’s beauty is that it’s organic and energizing — organic because after some time you begin to see how things connect, and energizing because you’re studying those subjects you find most interesting.

Scheme #2: The Four “Areas” of Theology

Another way one can go about studying theology is by organizing one’s reading around the four areas of theology: Biblical theology, historical theology, dogmatic theology, and moral theology. 

To study in this way, just cycle through the four areas. You can cycle through the areas quickly by reading a book in each area, or you can cycle through the four areas slowly by spending, say, two months in one area before moving on to the next.

Let’s sketch what’s covered in each “area.”

Biblical theology is easy enough to understand. It’s goal is to penetrate the Scriptures. To do this, one should read both commentaries on the individual biblical books as well as some basic texts on ancient Jewish and Christian history and archeology. It helps, for example, to know something about the city of Corinth if one is studying St. Paul’s two letters to the Corinthians. 

 The typical and more important form of biblical theology is the study of individual books and/or authors. You can study, for example, the Gospel of Mark (a book) or the letters of Paul (an author). One can also study the Bible topically: What does the Bible say about justification, for example, or the Holy Spirit? Which method you choose depends largely upon your goals.  

Historical theology is divided into two areas: Church history and theological history. Often, these two subjects cannot be separated. The history of the doctrine of the Trinity, for example, cannot be separated from the history of the 4th-century church. For practical purposes, however, one should try to keep the two separated. Church history is the history of the community of God’s people — its struggles and victories, its shame and glory. (A good introduction is John Vidmar’s The Catholic Church Through the Ages: A History.) Theological history is a bit different. It is the history of theological ideas. For the general reader, this means reading what C.S. Lewis called “old books.” Books by Irenaeus of Lyons, Augustine of Hippo, John Chrysostom, Thomas Aquinas, John of the Cross, Francis de Sales, and John Henry Newman — all of these would be considered “old books.” Any book written before 1900 could be called an “old book.”

Dogmatic theology is the study of Church dogma and doctrine. The Trinity, the Eucharist, the Blessed Mother, the sacraments — these all fall under the umbrella of dogmatic theology. Often, dogmatic theology will draw on both biblical theology as well as theological history. If you are reading a book on the Eucharist, it will most likely have chapters on the Eucharist in the Bible as well as chapters on the Church’s understanding of the Eucharist throughout history.

Moral theology is the study of Christian morality. Included in this “area” are the following subareas: general moral theology (virtue and vice, sin and grace), specific moral theology (abortion, contraception, and the commandments), Catholic social thought (what constitutes a just society), and spirituality. Any topic that deals with how a Christian should live falls into this area.

The problem with this scheme as I outlined it is that it doesn’t contain a place for philosophy or apologetics. If these subjects interest you, add them to the Dogmatic Theology section.

Scheme #3: Focus on the Essentials

The goal here is to read what is most essential: The Bible, the Catechism of the Council of Trent, Vatican II, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the numerous papal writings from Pope Leo XIII to Pope Benedict XVI, as well as the works of the saints and doctors of the Church. This scheme is the most limiting of the lot, yet it is probably the quickest way to learn to think with the Church.

Scheme #4: Filling in the Gaps

This scheme begins by asking yourself, “Which important writers have I not read?” or, “Which area of church history and/or Catholic doctrine am I most unfamiliar with?” Once you identify these areas, you’re good to go.

To use this scheme, don’t allow your ignorance to overwhelm you. In other words, don’t open an encyclopedia to develop your lists. If you’re a serious Catholic, chances are you’re aware of some of the gaps in your education. Start there, with those things you know you don’t know, and while you’re filling in those gaps, new gaps will appear. It’s inevitable. 

Also, don’t be a snob about it either. St. Augustine of Hippo is a major Catholic writer; so is G.K. Chesterton. Just because one is a saint, a doctor of the Church, and the greatest of Christian intellects does not mean the other isn’t worth reading. Both are important; both have something to offer our generation. 

This scheme kills two birds with one stone. First, you not only fill the gaps of your knowledge, you also learn what writers and subjects you like, and what writers and subjects you don’t like. Just because St. Augustine is a major writer doesn’t mean you’re going to like him. You might find that you’d rather read Chesterton. That’s fine. Get to reading Chesterton; there’s enough material there to keep you busy for a while. 

But don’t forget about St. Augustine. A life of study means a life of continual intellectual vigor. If Augustine doesn’t do it for you when you’re in your 30’s, he very well could be your most important teacher when you’re in your 40’s.

The same is true with subjects. You might discover that you hate Reformation history but love 19th-century Church history. In the same way, you might find that doctrine doesn’t do much for you but that the Church’s moral teaching gets you excited. At first, dig into those subjects that interest you, but don’t forget to return every few years to those subjects that don’t. In other words, never write off anything.  

Scheme #5: Reading through History

This final scheme I learned from being a homeschooler. Divide history into set periods and then cycle through them by reading a text or two from each period.

You can divide history in various ways, but for the sake of study, you want to divide it according to intellectual history. Using the broadest strokes, I recommend the following divisions:

• Old Testament
• New Testament
• The Patristic Period (A.D. 100 - A.D. 700)
• The Medieval Period (A.D. 700 - A.D. 1500)
• The Reformation Period (A.D. 1500 - A.D. 1700)
• The Modern Period (A.D. 1700 - A.D. 1900)
• The Contemporary Period (A.D. 1900 - present)

This scheme allows you to study church history along with theological history. Get a church history (John Vidmar’s The Catholic Church Through the Ages, for example) and read it while reading actual historical texts. If you’re reading St. John of the Cross, for example, then you should also be reading about the Catholic Counter-Reformation.

Final Advice

The goal of having a scheme or plan of study is to keep you both organized and disciplined. Some of these schemes require more organization than others, but each requires discipline. To make any gain in the intellectual life, you have to know what you’re doing.   

And remember, the goal of the intellectual life is to know the truth. The truth resides Jesus Christ and the Church he established. The intellectual life, therefore, must be joined to the spiritual life; indeed it must take second place to the spiritual life. Therefore, we must pray to know God’s will. As we begin to understand what He’s asking of us, deciding which scheme to follow will be easier.

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I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not very satisfied with the direction I’ve allowed this blog to take. Having gotten caught up in daily posting, I overlooked the fact that one of the reasons I started this blog was to write – not to post. Yes, there’s a difference — and I’m pretty sure I don’t need to explain what that difference is, either. 

To rectify this, I’m going to stop posting daily. My goal is to write daily, but to post only when the piece is ready. Oh sure, I might post a couple of short items every now and then, but from here on out, do not expect daily posts, but do expect much longer posts than the normal blog post. 

And for those of you who listen to the Jesus and the Catholic Church Podcast, no longer anticipate weekly episodes. I have neither the time nor the energy to produce a weekly podcast with the kind of content I want. My new goal is biweekly, but I’m also not going to hold myself to a strict schedule. If I get an episode finished a few days early, it’s going up. Why wait? And if an episode ends up taking longer than a fortnight, so be it. It’s not the end of the world.

That being said, don’t expect anything until after Thanksgiving. And may you have a happy and blessed one, as well.

A man may claim he loves his wife. His wife will want to see the evidence. In like manner, we can talk about God all we please, but God will not be fooled. Jesus told the story of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25.31-46) for a reason. Saying we’re Catholic does not mean we are, except in the thinnest sense. Relationships have consequences in actions. Otherwise, they’re just empty words. Our relationship with God is no exception. When Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?” and Peter answers yes, it’s no surprise that Jesus immediately follows with: “Then feed my sheep” (John 21.17). God loves us always. We can choose to ignore that. All of the damned do. But if we claim to love him, it’s an “if/then” kind of deal, with obligations of conduct and personal honesty just like any good marriage or friendship.

In this fourth of five episodes on the Annunciation, we hone in on Luke 1.32-33, in which the angel Gabriel uses some highly charged Old Testament phrases to describe the mission of the Messiah. Our goal is to understand what is meant by the phrases “throne of David,” “house of Jacob,” and “everlasting kingdom.”

To do this, we spend much of our time trying to understand the history of Israel. We begin with the call of Abraham (Genesis 12.1-3) and see how contained in this call is the basic outline of the history of Israel — from is beginning as a tribal nation, to its development as a royal kingdom, and finally to its being the people that brings forth the savior of the world. This is only the first step.

We then turn to the first chapters of the Acts of the Apostles. We see that whereas Jesus did not promise to restore the Kingdom to Israel, he did promise to send the Holy Spirit. This happens on the Feast of Pentecost. In attempting to understand Pentecost, we see we must return once again to Genesis: This time we go farther back in the history of salvation, all the way to the Tower of Babel — indeed, all the way back to the creation of the world.

What we ultimately conclude is that the everlasting kingdom Jesus came to establish is the Church, which is the sacrament of salvation — the visible sign of our union with God as well as the visible sign of our union with one another.

As successor of Peter, Joseph Ratzinger is a pastor for all Catholics, including American Catholics. But equally important, the course of his life and the development of his thought — as an author, intellectual, and teacher; from his time as a seminarian in the Third Reich, to young theologian, to bishop, to cardinal, and confidant and close advisor of John Paul II, to his own election as pope — offer a unique window on the course of Catholic life in the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. He belongs to an extraordinary generation of Catholic leaders who lived through war and genocide, remained faithful to Jesus Christ, never lost their love for the church, and struggled hard to renew her mission to the world; a generation we should learn from and which, when it passes, will not come again.

The reason I chose to cite this passage is because I’ve found it to be true. Of all the 20th-century thinkers I’ve read and studied, none are as intriguing, none are as compelling, none are as invigorating, as those whose witnessed atrocities of the Second World War and came out of it with their faith intact. There’s a depth to their thought that I can’t explain. The list includes:

1. Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI
2. Karol Wojtyla/John Paul II
3. Josef Pieper
4. Walter Kasper
5. Dietrich von Hilderbrand

I’m sure there are others; but these are the ones I’m familiar with, as well as the ones whose works are most accessible today. If you’re interested in reading any one of these Catholic thinkers, I’d encourage you to read Josef Pieper’s Leisure, the Basis of Culture. If that book doesn’t change your outlook on things, no book will.

If you want further recommendations, please ask me via the comment box.

If personal holiness is thought of as being a name at the top of a list, it is understood wrong. If it is thought of as something that merits a feast in the Church’s calendar, it is understood wrong. If it is thought of as something to which is attached the power of working miracles, it is understood wrong. If it is thought of as mooning about in a state of pious contentment (or sweet ecstasy or noble and aloof virtue), it is understood wrong. There is nothing “superior” — in the sense of being one up on everybody else — about it.

The way to think of sanctity is as something that, by being generous and faithful to grace, gives back to God the love He has given to the soul. So it is for God’s sake, more than for our own, that we should want to be saints. We work away at holiness not because we are ambitious, and want to be experts in a particular kind of lofty career, but because God wants us to be saints and it praised by our striving after sanctity.

Anyone can be holy, or rather act holy, so long as others are saying, “There’s a saint for you,” but sooner or later this sort of holiness wears off. Either the person sees the trap, becomes humble, and goes ahead toward real holiness, or keeping up the act becomes too much of a strain and there’s a swing toward worldliness and perhaps to a lasting unholiness. The whole secret of sanctity is that it is a thing of grace, and so cannot be switched on as a part to be played.

This means that however determined you are to be a saint, you will not become one if you rely on your own strength of mind. The thing that can get you to sanctity is God’s grace. You will need all the strength of mind you have just to work together with God’s grace, but if you imagine that making good, strong resolutions will carry you the whole way, you are wrong. About the first thing to happen will be that God lets you break some of those good, strong resolutions before you get properly started. This will be to put you in your place, and show that you can do nothing without Him.