Thanksgiving in NY: The Macy's Balloons

Living on the East Coast certainly has many benefits. One of them is that I'm closer to home than at any point since I left home for my freshman year at Notre Dame. That means that this past week I was just a three and a half hour drive away from home for the holiday. Indeed this was the first Thanksgiving in ten years that I was on Staten Island for the feast!

On Wednesday evening, Mom, Dad and I went into the city to see the balloons inflated for the bog Macy's parade the next morning. It was just a little cold, but otherwise a lovely evening and the crowds were out and in a celebratory mood.

We enjoyed listening to the families with young children as they correctly named balloon characters we would never have been able to guess ourselves. But there were plenty of the old classics you'll recognize below.

This one 'new' character is here in the post especially for Simon, Lucy, and Oscar, who are big fans:

These are more my speed, or I guess I should say, age!

Although I'd been to the parade itself as a kid, I had never been to the balloon inflation before. It was a great New York tradition to share in.

Homily for the First Sunday of Advent (A)

As many of you will remember, I’m originally from New York, and I come from a family of New York City firemen. Almost without fail, whenever I tell someone those facts, they immediately ask something about September 11th 2001.

By the grace of God, none of my family or friends were taken that day. Still, as peoples’ instinctive questions indicate, there’s really no way to be from New York and not to have been deeply effected by the terrible events of that day.

As it turns out, I was a long way from my hometown on that fateful day. I was in the mountains of Colorado, beginning my novitiate: a mandatory yearlong retreat that all consecrated men and women complete as part of formation for their religious order.

Unable to go home to New York; unable to walk the now empty streets that I knew so well, I was left to search, from a distance, for hope in the ruins of the Twin Towers. But like so many others, I found it so hard to see anything but suffering.

In the weeks that followed, I knew that what I really needed was to go home, even to a home in ruins, to be with those I loved. I knew I couldn’t “fix” anything, but I sensed that that was where I was supposed to be – home – not to “do” anything, but to wait with my family and friends for the arrival of some sign of hope, for which we so desperately longed.

I tell you all of this, because it was that feeling of longing, both for home and for some form of hope, that helped me to finally understand what the season of Advent is all about.

In Advent we, like Mary, are pregnant – so to speak – we are longing, anticipating, waiting, hoping. Like Mary, who heard the angel’s message, and then went in haste to assist her kinswoman Elizabeth, we too go to the homes of those we love, and we prepare and we wait with them. We anticipate Jesus’ coming by readying a house for the newborn Messiah, just as Mary and Joseph surely must have done in Nazareth.

The season of Advent, and its theme of longing and waiting, and the ultimate hope that it offers, are thus uniquely and intimately linked with the home.

If you think about it, so much of this time of year speaks of this connection. As the weather gets worse and worse we spend more and more time in our houses – and we spend a great deal of time, and effort, and money, on decorating – and we clean and prepare our houses to welcome guests, and host dinners, and parties – or we travel great distances to go home to be with our families and loved ones for the holidays.

It’s fitting, therefore, that in our first reading – which is a quintessential Advent reading – the prophet Isaiah, gives a vision of the Messianic kingdom – a vision of how things will be when the Lord comes at the end of time – and he says: “the mountain of the Lord’s HOUSE shall be established as the highest mountain . . . all nations shall stream toward it, many peoples shall come and say, “come let us climb the Lord’s mountain to the HOUSE of the God of Jacob.”

Building off of the readings we’ve been hearing these past several weeks, about the end of time, Isaiah offers a hopeful vision of the Lord’s coming – and it is a vision of all the nations streaming towards God’s house, where He readies and prepares a place for us, as Jesus promised – and where we gather with all people as brothers and sisters around the Banquet Table of Heaven.

This is undoubtedly a vision of great hope and peace. But thinking about this theme of God’s house might also unsettle us just a little . . .

Remember with me, back just a few weeks ago, when our Gospel reading was the story of Zacchaeus, the little sinful tax collector who climbed a sycamore tree to see Jesus. Remember that in response, Jesus calls Zacchaeus down and says, “I must stay at your house this day.”

I pointed out then that this is how grace works. It doesn’t ask politely, it doesn’t wait for an invitation. It pretty much barges right in, virtually unannounced, and it makes demands, and it takes over the house completely!

Especially at this busy time of year, this can be a terrifying thought: “Jesus is coming to dwell in my house? But my house is cluttered with piles of dirty dishes, and laundry, and decorations, and gifts.

And then there are the cobwebs and dust-bunnies, and things that are out of place and out of order.” And of course, if we’re honest, we’re not just talking about our house – we’re talking about the house of our souls as well.

God’s house is the place where all things are ordered according to Him – where all people correctly worship Him alone – that’s what gives the world the peace for which we long. And God desires to establish that house not just at the end of time, on the mountain of the Lord, but in the minds, hearts, and souls of each and everyone one of us. He wants to dwell in us.

But which one of us can say that the house of our own lives is ordered perfectly according to God and ready for His coming? None of us, I think.

So, this Advent season is more than a time for us to prepare our house for Christmas parties, and for our long winter nap. It’s a chance for us to prepare our souls for “the days to come” when “salvation will come to our house.” We are given this season each year to prepare a home for the Lord’s coming, a place for Him to dwell within us.

I want to conclude by briefly returning to the lessons I learned from that long Advent of 2001. I learned not only that Advent is a time of homing, and a time of longing, and of hope – I learned that Advent is a time of homing, and longing, and hope, even in homes that lie in ruins.

Even when things are going wrong, especially when things are going wrong, Advent is a season from which a message of hope can be drawn.

Even when there is war, and hunger, and suffering in the world; even when our hometowns, or our homes, or our souls, seem to lie in ruins, Advent reminds us that Jesus is still Emmanuel – God with us.

Jesus does not come only to houses that are perfectly prepared – He does wait to come into the world until all is already ordered and at peace. He comes to dwell with us in the ruins, and it is Him who rebuilds, and cleans, and restores right order.

Saint Augustine once wrote: “Lord, the house of my soul is too small for you to enter – make it more spacious by your coming. It lies in ruins – rebuild it.”

Brothers and sisters, as we observe this Advent season, let this be our prayer as well. Yes, let’s clean and decorate and prepare our homes for the holidays, and yes, let’s commit ourselves during Advent to the spiritual practices that will prepare our souls for the Lord’s coming. Let’s commit to prayer, and penance, and the Sacraments, and to acts of charity.

But let’s also recognize that in the end it will be the Lord who accomplishes these things in us. Let us give thanks that He comes to bring hope and salvation to the House of Israel, and to our homes, even should they lie in ruins.

Homily for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ the King (C)

Today’s Solemnity of Christ the King is a relatively new feast in the life of the Church: Pope Pius XI established the feast in 1925. And to understand what the feast really intends for us to appreciate about our life of faith, all we have to do is think about the feast’s name, and about what was going on in the world in 1925, when Pope Pius announced this feast.

In 1925, powerful political, social, and economic forces were at work, claiming the allegiance of men and women. In Russia, Soviet Communism had arisen, asserting that individual rights were subservient to the rights of the State and of the Party – that human labor was not for a person’s own benefit, or for the family, but entirely for the People.

In Italy and Germany, fascism, another form of totalitarian rule claimed ownership of people’s lives and labor. And around the world, colonialism operated under the assumption that white Western European nations were entitled to dominate the people and the resources of “inferior” and “backward” regions of the world.

So the Church at that time was properly asking, who really holds sovereignty over the hearts and souls of men and women? Who is really in command of the peoples of the world and its resources?

Of course, the answer is God, and God alone. Jesus Christ is King of the universe and the Lord of our lives, and it is His Law that orders all creation. All human authority comes from God and is bestowed by Him for the peace and security of all men and women.

And yet Pope Pius lamented that people had “thrust Jesus Christ and His holy law out of their lives” and imagined that Jesus had “no place in public affairs or in politics. As long as individuals and states refuse to submit to the rule of our Savior,” he wrote, “there will be no really hopeful prospect for a lasting peace among nations.”

Pope Pius wrote that in 1925. Sounds like it could have been written yesterday, don’t you think? That’s why, now at the end of every liturgical year, we mark this feast in honor of Jesus Christ the King. We remember and celebrate that Jesus Christ is indeed the King of the Universe and that only under His rule will the world know peace.

In light of this meaning of today’s feast, we can appreciate that our Gospel from St. Luke, his account of Jesus’ Passion, is particularly scandalous. In His preaching and ministry, Jesus had claimed, and demonstrated, an authority unlike any other leader in Israel. He was hailed by the crowds as the Son of David, and now, it was specifically for claiming to be the King of the Jews that the authorities were putting Him to death.

The sneers of the leaders, the derision of the soldiers, and the mocking of the crowd that we hear in today’s gospel, all point out the harsh reality that at the foot of the Cross, Christ’s claim of Kingship seems like a tragic joke. The sign nailed above his head is meant merely to mock and ridicule. Even the disciples run in fear and shame, and wonder how the Crucified One could possible be the Messiah they thought He was.

And of course today there are still a great many people who stand at the foot of the Cross and mock and deride the idea, the reality, that God could became flesh for us and be killed as a common criminal.

And yet, at the same time, it is precisely at the Cross that Jesus’ Kingship is fully realized, and fully understood. The one who hangs upon the Cross is indeed the King of the Jews, the King of the Universe – and thus, we arrive at the essential paradox and challenge of believing in Jesus Christ. If we are to believe that Jesus really is who He says He is – that He really is King of the Universe – we have to amend our understanding of what a king is, and we have to make sure it includes the suffering and death, the self-sacrifice of the Cross.

After the Resurrection, the disciples who once ran from the Cross, come to realize that the Cross is not merely an instrument of torture to which Jesus is nailed, it is a throne of glory that Jesus mounts triumphantly. They see that the Cross is the very essence of Jesus’ Kingship. But in today’s Gospel, even in the midst of the scandal of the Cross, there is one who already sees with the eyes of faith.

The repentant thief, named Dismas by Tradition, confesses his own guilt, recognizes Jesus’ innocence, and with tremendous faith humbly asks: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Dismas is able to understand and believe what St. Paul explains in his Letter to the Colossians: “In Him all the fullness was pleased to dwell, and through Him to reconcile all things for Him, making peace through the blood of His cross.”

Jesus is King precisely in that He is the Redeemer, extending forgiveness and peace to all the world, not through violence or domination, but by offering Himself up and washing us clean in the blood of His Cross.

Friends, in Baptism we became, in the words of the first reading, “flesh of His flesh, and bone of His bone.” We were anointed, like Christ, as priest, “prophet and king.” We can say, therefore, that we have not only been washed clean by His blood, we have His royal bloodline flowing through us.

And so St. Paul says in today’s second reading that we have been “delivered from the power of darkness and transferred into the Kingdom of God’s beloved Son.” We have been transferred into the Kingdom of God’s Son. The promise of our Baptism is the very promise made to Dismas: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

As this liturgical year comes to a close, we should ask ourselves if we live our lives, day in and day out, as if we live in the Kingdom of God’s beloved Son. Do our words, and our actions, show to the world the authority and power of Christ the King, and extend the reign of His love? Do we see ourselves, and treat ourselves, and act towards others with the dignity of an heir of the kingdom of God?

Or do we, rather, make all sorts of other things the king of our hearts.

If our world is ever to know the peace that only Christ’s Kingship can give, it will only know it through our fidelity to His reign. So, on this feast of Christ the King, let us all be reminded of our dignity as members of the Baptized – that we have been purchased at the price of His blood, and now share in the Kingship of Christ. And may we all be strengthened by this Eucharist to live and act as citizens and heirs of Christ’s Kingdom.

Homily for the Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Given the beautiful weather we’ve been having, it may be hard to believe, but we’re just two weeks away from the end of the Liturgical Year, on the Feast of Christ the King – and just three weeks away from the start of a new Liturgical Year, on the First Sunday of Advent.

At this time in the Liturgical calendar we always hear Scripture readings with an eschatological focus – that is, readings that focus on the end of time. In today’s Gospel, Jesus stands in the Temple – the pride of all of Israel – and He predicts a day when “there will not be left a stone upon another stone.”

Now Israel had already known such destruction, at the time of the Babylonian Captivity – so Jesus’ listeners were hardly skeptical of His prediction; they were likely terrified by His prophecy. They want more details, so they ask Him: “what sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?”

And Jesus answers with yet more terrible visions of the end of time: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be powerful earthquakes, famines, and plagues, and awesome sights and mighty signs will come from the sky.”

Jesus still isn’t finished, though. Perhaps most importantly, He says: “Before all these things, they will seize you and persecute you, they will hand you over to the synagogues and to prisons . . . you will be hated by all because of my Name.”

In the end, Jesus’ answer isn’t meant to give His listeners, or us, a foolproof way of knowing when the end of time is actually coming. Elsewhere in the Scriptures Jesus makes clear that, in fact, only the Father knows the day and the hour. And today, He warns us “not to be deceived” by those who say, “the time has come.”

What Jesus does make clear, however, is that in every age, faithfully following after Christ and proclaiming His Name will most certainly lead to some form of persecution and suffering.

Comfortable as we are here in modern America, we might me dubious. We might imagine that this is a story from a different era – a story of Christians in the amphitheatres of ancient Rome, or of missionary priests in Africa and Asia – but not of today.

And yet just two weeks ago tomorrow, a dozen or so Islamic militants strapped themselves with bombs and entered Our Lady of Salvation Cathedral in Baghdad. They shot the priest celebrating the evening Mass and another priest, and then slaughtered over fifty lay people while they were praying Holy Mass.

Friends, we do our brothers and sisters in Christ a grave disservice, if we fail to recognize, and pray over, the suffering that is still endured to this day, by so many of those around the world who faithfully proclaim the Name of Jesus Christ.

But even if we do recognize that such suffering in the Name of Christ is still a modern day reality, here in the safety of the United States we might convince ourselves that we will not be asked to endure such suffering for our faith.

In thinking this way, though, we risk allowing our own faith to slide into complacency. We might forget that every disciple of Christ can, at some point, expect to be misunderstood, and mocked, and rejected, and persecuted if they truly follow in the footsteps of our Lord, who was Himself despised, and rejected, and crucified.

And I think if we’re honest with ourselves, we can, in the end, easily imagine how following the Way, the Truth, and the Life might indeed lead us to experience such misunderstanding, such mockery, such persecution even here in our own nation and community.

Still, none of this is the most important lesson that we are meant to take from today’s readings, or from the story of those Iraqi martyrs at Our Lady of Salvation Cathedral.

These Iraqi brothers and sisters of ours have imitated the great saints and martyrs, just as St. Paul asks us to do in today’s second reading. They have “given testimony” just as Jesus said in today’s Gospel. So what is that testimony – what are the lessons we need to learn from their witness, and from this weekend’s Scriptures?

Well, it’s not a lesson about how to tell that the end of time is near. And it’s certainly not a political lesson about the modern Middle East or any other place.

The witness of these Iraqi martyrs, and of their neighbors and families who survived but still suffer greatly, is the very truth of today’s Gospel passage: “by your perseverance you will secure your lives.”

The Iraqi Catholics who were killed two weeks ago knew the danger they were in by staying in Baghdad and continuing to live their faith in Christ. And yet they stayed, and they remained faithful to Christ.

And last Sunday, just a week after that horrific attack, the survivors and the families of the murdered were once again at Our Lady of Salvation Cathedral to celebrate Sunday Mass. One of them was Husan Sabah, a twenty year old, who said that he hid inside a cabinet holding a small child, when the attackers took over the church.

Since then, he’s had recurring nightmares, and he admitted he was “terrified” returning to the cathedral, seeing the blood still on the walls. But he had to come back, he said. He had been unable to finish his prayers last week. “We have to finish them,” now, he said.

Another survivor, thirty-two year old Sama Wadie, said that the attack “gives us more strength.” “We’re not afraid of death,” he said, “because Jesus died for us.”

Friends, our Lord said in today’s Gospel: “not a hair on your head will be destroyed. By your perseverance you will secure your lives.” Our Iraqi brothers and sisters in Christ have shown us, and are showing us, what this Gospel truth really means.

It doesn’t mean that we won’t face suffering in our discipleship. It doesn’t mean that we won’t encounter misunderstanding, and hatred, and persecution because we remain faithful to Jesus Christ, and proclaim His truth, and seek to serve those weakest ones whom society would prefer to ignore or to do away with.

But it does mean that we shouldn’t fear such suffering. It means we have no reason to be afraid of those who attack us. It means we shouldn’t shrink from the Cross, and shouldn’t shy away from doing the difficult thing, when it’s the right thing. Because it’s precisely by such perseverance that we will secure our eternal life.

As we heard in our first reading, from the Prophet Malachi, “Lo, the day is coming, blazing like an oven, when all evildoers will be stubble, and the day that is coming will set them on fire, leaving them neither root nor branch. But for you who fear my name, there will arise the Sun of Justice with its healing rays.”

We pray and long for the coming of the Sun of Justice, and for those healing rays to shine upon our brothers and sisters around the world, who suffer for Christ’s name. And for ourselves, we ask for the grace, courage, and strength to persevere in the faith, confident in the Lord’s promise.

(UPDATE: You may also want to see this article. I think it's a good example of the kind of righteous anger that it is appropriate even for a Christian to have in light of such a monstrously evil act.)

Leaf Peeping Along the Skyline Drive of Shenandoah

After returning from the Midwest, I was anxious to enjoy some of the fall colors here in the Mid-Atlantic, and thankfully, things here were a few weeks behind northern Indiana. Indeed, even now there are still plenty of nice leaves to be seen around the District - but before it was too far past peak, I wanted to take a drive south, to the upper elevations of Shenandoah National Park, and take a drive along the famed Skyline Drive.

I'll confess that in many spots there was more green than I had expected, but there were also some spectacular stretches of bright colors - and the pictures here don't do them justice, in part because they came in stretches where I couldn't stop the car to take a picture!

I picked a perfect day for my trip - cool, clear and sunny - and I very much enjoyed the whole one hundred mile drive.

And I want to note that I took none of these pictures while driving - I was fully stopped or parked for everyone's safety!

Liam's Baptism

The real reason for my trip to the Midwest was for the Baptism of Liam Lazinski, the son of my friends Mike and Amanda Lazinski, whom I had the pleasure to stay with in their home in Salt Lake City during Road Trip USA.

On Sunday morning I drove from South Bend to St. Teresa of Avila Parish on the north side. After concelebrating the parish's feast day Mass, I had the privilege of "claiming Liam for Christ our Savior by the sign of His cross."  Here, Liam watches carefully, as I exorcise Satan . . . 

. . . and godfather Matt Schoettler holds Liam as I anoint him with the Oil of the Catechumens.

Finally, I baptize Liam and pose for the photo with mom and dad that makes it all official ;)

Canonization Weekend at Notre Dame

Before my alma mater publicized its plan to cancel its football program by losing back-to-back games to Navy (again) and Tulsa (yes, Tulsa), I spent the Western Michigan (yes, Western Michigan) football weekend on campus. 

The game was fine - we even won! - but I was much happier to be on campus to enjoy the lovely fall weather and foliage . . .

. . . as well as the festivities for the canonization of St. Andre Bessette of Montreal (which included the Notre Dame Band forming the Cross and Anchors at halftime, and the Basilica being adorned with special canonization banners) . . .

. . . and most importantly, the opportunity to see so many friends and confreres. I was able to enjoy dinner with Fr. Michael Wurtz, csc before he returned to Rome for the start of his school year, and my classmates Frs. James Gallagher, csc and Pete McCormick, csc before they left for Rome for the canonization. 

I was also able to spend some nice time catching up with Fr. Drew Gawrych, csc and a number of the fine men of Old College whom I had the privilege to live and work with last year. Thanks be to God all these brothers and friends seem to be thriving! Though it was a quick trip, and I left campus tired from burning the candle at both ends, I was very glad to have visited the Dome.

UPDATE: The tragic death of Notre Dame student Declan Sullivan came only after my trip to Notre Dame, as the team was preparing for the Tulsa game. I didn't have the privilege of knowing Declan, but this story about the campus' response to his death is a beautiful read. We are blessed with wonderful students!

"It is as if they had gone to the edge of an abyss..."

Several weeks ago, the Pew Forum released a new study examining the state of religious knowledge in the United States. It's not good news. It shows that people of all faiths, especially Catholics (and among them, especially Hispanic Catholics whose numbers are swelling) are woefully uneducated about the basic tenants of their traditions. Even atheists and agnostics knew more about faith traditions than believers! And especially among the younger generations of Americans, more and more people describe themselves as belonging to no church or faith community. A significant number of these have left the nation's largest faith community: the Catholic Church.

Of course there have already been a bevy of responses and commentaries on the study. All of the articles I've read have seen the study's statistical data as a confirmation of what we have actually known anecdotally for  quite some time. When these articles differ, they tend to disagree about the reasons for these disastrous numbers.

As you might imagine, there are many who blame the Church's unwillingness to adopt the author's preferred liberalizing reform. The problem with this analysis is that it ignores the Pew Forum's other astonishing finding: the death of mainline Protestantism in the United States. The very Protestant traditions that dominated the commanding heights of American society nearly since its founding are all but completely gone, replaced by Evangelical Protestantism.

The reason these startling numbers pose a problem for those who advocate a liberalizing trend in the Catholic Church, is that the primary cause of the death of Mainline Protestantism is its embrace in the last century of Liberal theology!

So Fr. Steve Grunow has correctly suggested: "If we are looking for possible reasons for the decline of Catholicism in the United States and its possible remedies, it might be a good idea to begin with a serious appraisal of the kind of theological ethos that came to dominate the Church in America for several decades."

Sadly, any such intellectually serious examination leads to the undeniable conclusion that "the ethos of Catholic leadership has been for decades that of assimilation and accommodation to the American experience." So, we must further ask ourselves, is it really "all that shocking that so many Catholics would 'drift' or find the category of 'none' to best describe their religious and spiritual identity? Given that the Catholic Church in the United States has so emphasized the importance of assimilation and accommodation to the American cultural experience, is it any wonder that so many Catholics would find Protestantism appealing? They are simply coming to terms with the fact that Protestantism is a better fit for an American than that of the 'ancient regime' of the Catholic Church."

I've referenced and linked to Fr. Robert Barron on this blog before. He is by now a nationally famous preacher and commentator. I am proud to call him a friend and I'm grateful for the many ways he's inspired and supported me and countless other young religious and priests. He had this phenomenally accessible and accurate commentary on the study, and on what he sees as the root causes of its troubling findings:



I really couldn't agree with this more. And yet, I fear that there are many who fail to recognize this self-evident truth.

Fr. Barron says at the end of the video, "we need a new generation of priests, brothers, sisters, teachers, catechists etc. who know and love this tradition, who know it from the inside and are passionate to communicate it." Through my work in campus ministry, and especially since I entered formation for religious life, I have met so many young men and women who make up this new generation. They are deeply in love with the Church's rich and diverse tradition, they seek out mentors and teachers who will assist them in unlocking the Church's theological, liturgical, artistic and musical treasures, and they are zealous for bringing these riches to bear for their peers as answers to the longings of the modern age.

These young people would, for example, take to heart this advice given to seminarians by the Holy Father, as a remedy to the "beige Catholicism" decried by Fr. Barron:

I urge you to retain an appreciation for popular piety, which is different in every culture yet always remains very similar, for the human heart is ultimately one and the same. Certainly, popular piety tends towards the irrational, and can at times be somewhat superficial. Yet it would be quite wrong to dismiss it. Through that piety, the faith has entered human hearts and become part of the common patrimony of sentiments and customs, shaping the life and emotions of the community. Popular piety is thus one of the Church’s great treasures. The faith has taken on flesh and blood. Certainly popular piety always needs to be purified and refocused, yet it is worthy of our love and it truly makes us into the "People of God."

And yet, in the same time since I entered formation for religious life, I have also seen how terribly misunderstood, dismissed, and even mocked and villainized such young people are in certain circles of the Church's life - especially in broad swaths of the Catholic academy and most sadly in religious life itself!

Archbishop Augustine DiNoia, OP currently serves in Rome in the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments. Not long ago, he gave an address to the provincial chapter of his Dominican community here in Washington DC. In it, he notes that his community has been blessed with a remarkable influx of new seminarians - but that these seminarians, because they are like the young people I described above, pose a challenge to older generations of religious who came of age in a different Church and world.

He describes what issues comprise the generational divide that leads to the misunderstanding, dismissal, and mocking I have described and which must be combated. I am so convinced that Archbishop DiNoia's observations are accurate and prescient to the discussion raised by the Pew Forum study, I'm going to quote him here at length:

"There is something new afoot among the young men being who are today being drawn to the priesthood and religious life . . .  I have noticed it over the past few years, but it seems more pronounced or at least more evident to me in the people born in the mid- to late 80s and early 90s. My sense is that these 20- and 30-somethings have been radicalized by their experience . . . in a way that we were not.