Seized by Christ

They are experiencing Christianity as joy and hope, having thus become lovers of Christ.

Category: Uncategorized

  • Priesthood’s Hidden Demands:

    Priesthood’s Hidden Demands:

    Celibacy, Parish Life, and the Pursuit of God

    The phrase “married to the Church” for Catholic priests sounds poetic, but it’s a double-edged sword. Celibacy frees one from spousal and parental duties, yet parish life binds you to schedules, crises, budgets, and souls—often more consuming than family. As one insight puts it: Celibacy removes intimacy, but responsibility removes silence.

    Historically, the Church distinguished paths:

    • Parish priests: Relational shepherds, sacrificing horizontally for people.
    • Religious priests/monks: Protected in community with structured prayer and limited demands.
    • Hermits/contemplatives: Radical solitude for unfiltered pursuit of God.

    Only the latter truly enable undistracted contemplation. Parish work, holy as it is, can crowd out interior life—the “work of God” displacing God’s presence. Saints often begged for solitude, fleeing overload.

    This reframes A.W. Tozer: A Protestant with a contemplative soul, lacking institutional protection, his calling’s cost fell on his family. A celibate parish priest might face similar interior erosion if mismatched.

    The irony? A married prophet wounds his kin; a celibate administrator wounds his soul. Modern Christianity excels at roles but falters at discernment. The pursuit of God demands not just renouncing marriage, but shielding from constant demand—why monasteries and deserts exist.

    Biblically, holiness isn’t sentimental: Prophets are lonely, obedience divides households. Tozer’s life wasn’t neglect; it was costly obedience. Christianity must own this: True calling can be holy, fruitful—and still wound those nearby.

    Reflect: How do institutions protect (or fail) the interior lives of servants?

    Developed with assistance from GROK and Gemini

  • The Beatitudes’ Radical Reversal

    The Beatitudes’ Radical Reversal

    Why the “Poor in Spirit” Are the Truly Fortunate

    At the heart of the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12) lies one of Jesus’ most subversive teachings: the people society overlooks or pities are, in God’s eyes, the blessed ones.

    • Blessed are the poor in spirit (those who know their total dependence on God)—theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
    • Blessed are they who mourn—they will be comforted.
    • Blessed are the meek—they will inherit the land.
    • Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness—they will be satisfied.

    And it continues through mercy, purity of heart, peacemaking, and even persecution for justice’s sake.

    This isn’t a list of feel-good affirmations. It’s a declaration of divine favor on those who embody Kingdom values—humility, sorrow for sin and injustice, gentleness, mercy, integrity, reconciliation, endurance. The world measures fortune by power, wealth, comfort, status. Jesus says the opposite: True fortune belongs to the spiritually needy, the heartbroken over brokenness, the non-violent, the justice-seekers. Their reward isn’t delayed—it’s already breaking in (“theirs is the kingdom”).

    Whether your Bible reads “Blessed” (traditional emphasis on God’s bestowed favor) or “How happy are…” (Jerusalem Bible’s dynamic take on deep, divine well-being), the point holds: These aren’t optional extras for super-saints. They’re the path to authentic life in God’s upside-down Kingdom.

    The Beatitudes challenge us daily: Where do we see ourselves? Are we chasing worldly “happiness,” or Kingdom blessedness? Embracing poverty of spirit, mourning with those who suffer, pursuing mercy—these open the door to the joy Jesus promises.

    Which Beatitude speaks to you most right now? How does living it look in your life?

    Developed with assistance from GROK

  • Blessed, Not Just Happy:

    Blessed, Not Just Happy:

    Rethinking the Beatitudes

    Today’s Gospel (February 1, 2026—Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A) brings us to the Beatitudes in Matthew 5:1-12a. Jesus ascends the mountain, sits, and delivers these revolutionary declarations:

    “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
    Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.
    Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land…”

    And so it continues—pure “Blessed” from start to finish in the NABRE, the translation proclaimed at U.S. Catholic Masses.Yet I’ve heard (and perhaps you’ve noticed) a subtle shift in some circles: people quoting it as “Happy are the poor…” instead. It changes the tone. “Blessed” feels sacred, covenantal, bestowed by God. “Happy” sounds… everyday. Emotional. Fleeting. Like the poor went from being divinely favored to merely cheerful.Is there a real change here? Not in the official Catholic lectionary. The NABRE sticks with “Blessed,” as does the USCCB site and every approved liturgical text. No recent switch diluted it to “Happy” for Mass readings.The confusion likely comes from elsewhere:

    • Some Protestant or ecumenical translations (Good News Bible, certain paraphrases) render the Greek makarios as “Happy” to emphasize inner flourishing or well-being.
    • Informal retellings—sermons, kids’ Bibles, hymns, or older popular versions—sometimes swap in “Happy” for relatability.
    • Historical translation debates: Makarios means more than surface happiness; it’s profound, God-given joy tied to the Kingdom, often reversing worldly expectations (the poor, mourners, persecuted are the truly fortunate).

    “Blessed” preserves that depth—it’s God’s action declaring favor on those who embody Kingdom values: humility (“poor in spirit” = recognizing utter dependence on God), sorrow for sin, meekness, hunger for justice. It’s not about feeling good despite hardship; it’s about being right with God in ways the world overlooks.Jesus isn’t offering quick happiness hacks. He’s unveiling a radical reversal: In God’s economy, the ones society pities are the blessed ones. The Kingdom belongs to them now.So next time you hear “Happy are…,” pause. The Gospel proclaims something stronger: Blessed. Divinely favored. Eternally oriented. That’s the invitation—to live these beatitudes, not just read them.Question for reflection: Which Beatitude hits you hardest today? How does “Blessed” (vs. “Happy”) change how you hear it?

    Developed with assistance from GROK

  • Hidden Wisdom Revealed

    Hidden Wisdom Revealed

    The Depths of God (1 Corinthians 2:6-10)


    Reflection on Readings for Sunday 15FEB20126

    St. Paul contrasts worldly wisdom with divine mystery: “We have a wisdom to offer those who have reached maturity… the hidden wisdom of God… predestined to be for our glory before the ages began… the things that no eye has seen and no ear has heard… These are the very things that God has revealed to us through the Spirit, for the Spirit reaches the depths of everything, even the depths of God” (1 Cor 2:6-10).

    Catholic exegesis, drawing from Church Fathers like Augustine, sees this as the Spirit illuminating Christ’s mystery—eternal wisdom beyond human philosophy, hidden yet revealed to those who love God.

    In the Hero’s Journey, this is the “innermost cave” or abyss: the hero confronts ultimate trials and receives a transformative boon. Myths parallel this—Odysseus descends to the underworld for prophetic knowledge, or Aeneas gains insight that reshapes Rome’s destiny.

    Carl Jung’s individuation process aligns here: integrating the psyche’s hidden depths (the “shadow”) leads to wholeness. The brain’s default mode network activates during introspection and prayer, enabling insights beyond rational thought.

    The Gospel Acclamation invites childlike openness: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening: you have the message of eternal life” (1 Sm 3:9; Jn 6:68), or “Blessed are you, Father… for revealing the mysteries of the kingdom to mere children” (Mt 11:25).

    This isn’t elite knowledge—it’s grace-given. Invite the Spirit today through silent prayer or Scripture reading. Ask for revelation in your struggles. As you mature in faith, hidden wisdom emerges, transforming confusion into purpose. What depths is God inviting you to explore?

    Developed with assistance from GROK AI

  • The Crossroads of Life:

    The Crossroads of Life:

    Choosing Fire or Water

    Reflection on Readings for Sunday 15FEB20126

    (Sirach 15:16-21 & Psalm 119)

    In the Book of Sirach (also called Ecclesiasticus), we hear a stark, empowering truth: “If you wish, you can keep the commandments, to behave faithfully is within your power. He has set fire and water before you; put out your hand to whichever you prefer. Man has life and death before him; whichever a man likes better will be given him” (Sir 15:16-17). God never commands godlessness or permits sin without consequence (Sir 15:20-21). This isn’t determinism—it’s divine respect for free will, a cornerstone of Catholic teaching on human agency and grace.

    Psalm 119 echoes this call: “Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord! … Open my eyes, that I may consider the wonders of your law. … Teach me, O Lord, the way of your statutes” (Ps 119:1-2, 17-18, 33).

    This moment mirrors the Hero’s Journey archetype, where the ordinary person stands at the threshold of adventure. Joseph Campbell’s monomyth begins with a call, often refused at first, but here Sirach presents the choice plainly: life (water, virtue) or death (fire, vice).

    Mythologically, it recalls Hercules at the crossroads. In ancient Greek tales, young Hercules meets two figures—Vice offering ease and pleasure, Virtue demanding toil for lasting glory. He chooses the harder path, forging his heroic legacy through labors. Similar choices appear in Norse lore, like Odin sacrificing an eye for wisdom at the World Tree.

    Psychologically, this engages the brain’s structure. The prefrontal cortex handles executive decisions, weighing long-term consequences and exercising self-control. The amygdala drives emotional impulses—fear, anger, desire—often urging the “fire” of quick gratification. Neuroplasticity shows that repeated virtuous choices strengthen prefrontal pathways, rewiring habits toward resilience and moral growth. Grace elevates this natural capacity, turning biology into a tool for holiness.

    Today, you stand at your own crossroads. Where are you reaching for fire instead of water? Begin with small, deliberate choices: forgive a grudge, resist a harmful impulse, seek God in prayer. Commit to a daily examen—review your day, note patterns, and choose life anew. The path of virtue isn’t easy, but it leads to true freedom and glory. What choice will you make right now?

    Developed with assistance of GROK AI

  • A. W. Tozer’s Secret Affinity:

    A. W. Tozer’s Secret Affinity:

    A Protestant Closer to Catholic Saints Than Many Catholics

    A.W. Tozer was Protestant through and through, yet his spirit whispers Catholic mysticism. He devoured Church Fathers like Augustine, absorbed medieval devotionals like The Imitation of Christ, and emphasized transcendence, sin, grace, and interior transformation—hallmarks of classical Catholic teaching.

    Compared to modern Catholicism, often bogged in programs and softened edges, Tozer’s urgency feels more aligned with the Magisterium’s core: Holiness as heroic, non-negotiable. He critiqued superficial piety, standing apart from colleagues like Jesus from Pharisees.

    From a Hero’s Journey view, Tozer was the wanderer-prophet, slaying dragons of mediocrity while clashing with ordinary obligations. Protestant in identity, Catholic in imagination—he bridged worlds without converting.

    On ecumenism: The Church won’t canonize Protestant “saints” like Tozer, Lewis, or Bonhoeffer formally (it’s tied to sacraments and communion). But informally? They’re quoted by popes, taught in seminaries. Their content rediscovers ancient truths, reminding Catholics of their own heritage from outside.

    Truth doesn’t need labels; these men stand alone, functioning as bridges and prophets. Ecumenism thrives without annexation—unity in shared wisdom, not flattened differences.

    Why does this matter? It shows spiritual depth transcends labels. Dive into Tozer: You might find Catholic saints speaking through a Protestant voice.

    Thoughts: Who else bridges traditions like this?

    Developed with assistance from GROK and Gemini

  • Celibacy in Protestantism:

    Celibacy in Protestantism:

    Myth, Reality, and the Hero’s Path to Vocation

    Celibacy isn’t just a Catholic thing—unmarried Protestant ministers exist and thrive, especially in Anglican, Lutheran, and some evangelical traditions. Unlike Catholicism, it’s not required, but it’s permitted and sometimes chosen as a deliberate vocation. Think of it as opting for a life that’s a “sign” of undivided devotion, much like the early church’s monastic roots.

    In liturgical churches, there’s still a theology of vocation that echoes monasticism: life as sacramental, where celibacy allows for deeper contemplation. Non-liturgical denominations, though, often expect ministers to marry, viewing it as proof of stability. This can overlook celibacy’s power as a calling in itself.

    Tie this to the Hero’s Journey, and it gets even more intriguing. Heroes rarely marry mid-quest; the journey demands solitude for transformation. Marriage, when it happens, follows as a reward or integration. Early marriage can short-circuit this, stabilizing a man before he’s initiated into his deeper self, potentially sparking crises later.

    Modern marriage trends add fuel: We’re marrying later, but men aren’t always maturing—they’re just extending adolescence. Women face biological clocks, and historical norms (men marrying after proving competence, with moderate age gaps) get labeled problematic today due to fears of imbalance. But the real crisis? Misaligned vocations. Not every man called deeply to God is meant for marriage, and rushing in before self-knowledge can undermine both.

    Liturgical traditions preserve this wisdom: Some must enter the “wilderness” first. Tozer embodied this tension—a married prophet whose calling strained his home. It’s a call to discern: Is your path active or contemplative? Married or single? Engaging with these questions can transform how we view singleness not as a deficit, but as a heroic choice.

    What’s your take on celibacy in ministry? Is it undervalued today?

    Developed with assistance from Grok and Gemini

  • The Victory That Bites Back

    When we decide to give our lives to Christ, we cross a threshold. It feels like a victory—and in many ways, it is.

    But right behind that victory lurks a subtle, spiritual poison. We begin to look at the world through a lens of “us” and “them.” We start to wonder: Am I better than they are?

    The short, jarring answer is: No.

    In the economy of Grace, there is no “better.” There is only the called, the seeking, and the found.

    This is the first crack in the armor of religious pride. The moment we cross into faith, the ego tries to turn grace into a status symbol. We quietly begin ranking ourselves above those still outside—or even those inside who seem less “advanced.”

    But grace doesn’t create a hierarchy. It levels the field. No one is elevated above another; we are simply at different points on the same path of being drawn, responding, or arriving.

    Pause today and notice if that subtle “us vs. them” lens has crept in. Where pride whispers “better,” grace reminds us: we are all recipients, never owners, of this gift.

  • The Fall of the Tyrant: The Timeless Myth of Belshazzar’s Feast

    The Fall of the Tyrant: The Timeless Myth of Belshazzar’s Feast

    The Timeless Myth of Belshazzar’s Feast

    In the Book of Daniel, chapter 5, we find one of the most dramatic stories in ancient scripture: Belshazzar’s Feast. A lavish banquet turns into a night of terror when a disembodied hand appears and writes mysterious words on the wall. The kingdom falls that very night. But beyond the historical account, this is a profound mythological tale about the inevitable collapse of any power built on arrogance, intoxication, and sacrilege.

    1. Hubris and Sacrilege: The Banquet as Ritual Defiance

    Babylon, in mythic terms, stands as the ultimate “anti-Temple”—a symbol of worldly power that rejects divine order. The banquet isn’t mere excess; it’s a deliberate act of defiance. King Belshazzar commands the sacred vessels looted from the Jerusalem Temple to be brought out. His guests drink wine from them while praising their gods of gold, silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone.

    This profanation is the core sacrilege: these vessels once held the divine presence. Using them to toast idols is hubris incarnate—the mortal claiming superiority over the sacred. It’s the height of arrogance, performed at the peak of empire.

    2. The Omen: The Hand That Shatters Illusion

    Suddenly, a hand appears, writing on the wall—illuminated, ironically, by the light of the stolen Temple lampstand. The sacred light exposes the profane doom.

    Belshazzar’s reaction is visceral: his face pales, his limbs go slack, his knees knock together. This physical paralysis mirrors his moral collapse—the moment the tyrant’s illusion of invincible power crumbles before a higher force.

    3. The Hero-Interpreter: Daniel’s Uncompromising Stand

    The wise men fail, but Daniel—the exile who refuses to defile himself—is summoned. He deciphers the writing: “Mene, Mene, Tekel, Parsin.”

    Before delivering the verdict, Daniel refuses the king’s rewards: purple robes, gold chains, high office. “Keep your gifts,” he says. His authority comes not from Babylon’s system but from allegiance to the divine. He is untouchable, the true hero bridging chaos and cosmic truth.

    4. The Cosmic Verdict: Weighed on the Scales of Justice

    The words form a threefold judgment:

    • Mene: God has numbered your days; your reign is finite and ended.
    • Tekel: You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting—your character, deeds, and rule insufficient.
    • Parsin: Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians.

    That night, Belshazzar is slain, and Babylon falls. The scales of cosmic justice tip irrevocably.

    Echoes in the Cycle of History

    This myth resonates with the ancient observation of civilizational cycles: “Hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men, and weak men create hard times.”

    Belshazzar’s story zooms in on the dangerous transition—good times breeding moral weakness, arrogance, and forgetfulness of limits, inviting sudden collapse. It’s a warning echoed in Greek tragedies (hubris-nemesis), Roman histories, and modern reflections on empires.

    In an age where powers rise and boast at their zenith, the writing on the wall remains a timeless reminder: all human empires are weighed, and those built on sacrilege and pride will be found wanting.

    Content developed with assistance of Gemini AI.

    Blog edited with assistance of Grok AI

  • The Man Who Lived a Myth (And Was Real)

    The Man Who Lived a Myth (And Was Real)

    If someone told you this story as fiction, you’d roll your eyes and say, “Come on, nobody’s life is that tidy.”

    A boy is born into one of France’s ancient noble families, bloodline reaching back to the Crusades, family motto: Jamais arrière—“Never back.”

    He loses his parents at six, inherits a fortune, and promptly becomes the most spoiled, lazy, and debauched young officer in the French cavalry: expelled from school, famous for orgies and gourmet dinners in the Algerian desert while on duty.

    At twenty-eight, something cracks open inside him. He walks into a Paris church and tells a priest, “I don’t believe in God, but teach me about Him anyway.”

    He gives everything away, joins the strictest monastery he can find, decides even that isn’t poor enough, and leaves.

    He disappears into the Sahara to live closer to the poorest of the poor (the Tuareg nomads whom his own army regards as enemies).

    He builds a tiny hermitage of mud bricks, learns their language, compiles the first real Tuareg-French dictionary while half-starving at 9,000 feet on a frozen plateau.

    He begs to be ordained a priest only so he can celebrate Mass alone in the desert, telling God, “I want to live where no one knows You, so that You are not alone there.”

    On the night of 1 December 1916, bandits come to kidnap him for ransom. A fifteen-year-old boy guarding him panics at the sound of approaching French camel troops and shoots the hermit through the head.

    He dies instantly, face in the sand, apparently a failure: no converts, no community, no one to carry on his vision.

    He is buried in a ditch.

    A century later, in 2022, the Catholic Church declares him a saint.

    Nineteen religious orders and lay communities (Little Brothers of Jesus, Little Sisters of Jesus, and many others) now live all over the world according to the rule he wrote for a brotherhood that never existed while he was alive.

    From prodigal son to desert hermit to forgotten martyr to spiritual father of thousands: his life follows the ancient hero’s journey so perfectly that it feels invented.

    Except it isn’t.

    Every detail is documented, photographed, witnessed.

    Charles de Foucauld (1858–1916) lived a legend, then died in obscurity, and only then did the legend begin to walk on its own.

    Sometimes reality is allowed to be more beautiful than myth.

    Feel free to share.

    (If you want a one-sentence version for social media:

    “Rich playboy → atheist officer → Trappist monk → Sahara hermit → murdered by a scared teenager → canonized saint whose spiritual children now circle the globe. Charles de Foucauld didn’t just live a myth. He lived the whole myth, and it was true.”)

    Further reading
    • Charles de Foucauld’s own letters and spiritual writings are collected in Charles de Foucauld: Essential Writings (Orbis Books, 1999)
    • The best single biography in English remains Jean-Jacques Antier, Charles de Foucauld (Ignatius Press)
    • Pope Francis on Charles: Gaudete et Exsultate §§66–68 (free at vatican.va)
    • Pope Leo XIV’s recent references appear in Dilexi Te (2025), §§42–45

    This reflection was shaped in conversation with Grok (xAI), December 2025.