On Habits of Love

This post is, in part, a response to an article on homeschooling by Reb Bradley and another response to it.  I am neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him. I did not have the type of homeschool experience he describes with his children and do not have the experience of being a homeschool parent.  I am merely expounding on one of his points as someone who has been homeschooled and who plans to homeschool, but, unlike these authors, is a Roman Catholic.

I remember very distinctly hearing a youth pastor give a talk about his experiences at a Catholic Church.  They "made" you cross yourself, dip your fingers in water when you entered the church,  and you "had" to kneel before sitting in a very uncomfortable pew.  He found these rituals legalistic and distracting.  To him, they showed people "working" their way toward God.  His solution to this was very simple: he found the "truth" about Christ's love more easily in a Protestant church, one without the outward signs of kneelers, pews, crucifixes, holy water, and genuflection.  For this youth pastor, Catholicism was rules, but his brand of Christianity was love.  Our middle school group, at least as far as I could tell, left with little knowledge except that Catholics were no fun.

The problem with this understanding of Catholicism is very similar to the problem Bradley notes in many homeschooling families: we do things without understanding the reasons behind them. Non-Catholics are not the only one who see the traditional rites and rituals of the Church as legalistic and empty, many of those who perform them themselves do not understanding the deep theological meaning.  Many parishioners, just like many children, however, do not stop to ask "why?" certain rules are in place; they simply assume that they are tiresome, difficult expressions of authority.  Perhaps, they may have asked, but did not receive a satisfactory answer.  Either way, they fail to see, because they are not told, that the root of the Church's commands, just like the root of a good parents commands, is love. 

Often the root of love does not appear, because we can only see the surface of the habit.  Habits are very important for human beings: they are the beginning of learning.  Whether it is brushing our teeth, saying our prayers, shooting free throws, or learning our multiplication table, repetition helps ingrain knowledge into our memory.  Children learn everything this way at first.  In Dorothy Sayers famous article on the Trivium, she explains the stages of learning through the three classical subjects.  The first, grammar, she compares to how a child loves to learn facts upon facts, memorizing them and reciting them.  This stage of habit-forming is crucial, for they cannot grow to learn through debate or self-expression, without first knowing facts and the rubrics of knowledge.  We often run into a problem, however, when we do not advance our learning beyond the repetition of facts and actions. Children move on in their learning, or ought to, to the stages of logic and rhetoric, that is, understanding the why and expressing it themselves.  Here, they learn the difference between habits that are for a certain situation or for convenience and that can be broken,  such as always doing something at the same time each day or wearing a uniform, and habits which are formed to remind us of eternal truths and ensure our acting it accordance with God's order of the world.

Often we group all habits together as childhood relics.  Most people remember the childhood rhyme "don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back."  Now I remember dutifully jumping over every crack in the sidewalk, it was a habit that was more like a game.  I did it because it was what was done.  I knew even then that there were no real consequences to doing or not doing this action, so as an adult, I feel little or no compulsion to avoid sidewalk cracks (except for a tiny twinge of habit every now and again).  This is how many people feel about the things they learned from habit as a child, whether it be saying your prayers, dressing modestly, going to church, or kneeling.  The real force of the habit was temporary: a scolding from their parents or the disrespect of the other people who do such things.  These actions are "what was done,"  when you leave the group that respects these actions, you discard the habits.

What if, however, habits did have significance?  What if, for example, stepping on a sidewalk crack did cause immediate and real harm to someone you loved.  If a child really believed they would permanently hurt their mother, they would put real effort into their little game, it would even develop a sense of sacred sacrifice.  I step carefully, because I love my mother.  This might seem silly, but look at another habit often taken lightly once we leave childhood: saying our prayers.  Imagine if neglect or distraction at our prayers really did harm our relationship with God, hurt the one who deserves all our prayers.  Imagine it was effective in glorifying the God we love, as a fitting penance for sin, and in bringing our needs and desires to the attention of the court of heaven.  If we truly believed these things, would we neglect that simple habit of saying our prayers?

Prayer, like any worthwhile habit or outward sign learned by the homeschooler or Catholic, begins with habit, but must continue with understanding and love, if it is to be a cherished lifelong commitment.  A child will genuflect and bow his head, because his parents show him and tell him he must.  But when he understands these outwards signs as a measure of respect and humility before the true presence in the Eucharist, and when he loves Christ in the Eucharist, these things will be not only automatic, but inspired by true reverence.  The "burden" of  Mass, Benediction, and Adoration is easy for the child who loves Christ.  The yoke of charity is easy when he understands that he must treat others with kindness, good manners, and respect out of love for God and his neighbor.  When the love of knowledge encourages learning, it becomes an eternal search, rather than a classroom necessity.  When true charity and respect for the other person as a child of God are the motivation behind purity and modesty, the temptations of the world are less appealing. 

When we see the outward signs as an outgrowth of love, we recognize that they are not the real issue, that lies in the understanding, or lack thereof, and in that ever-important Catholic word, the intention.We train up our child first in action, but behind that action we infuse understanding and try to inspire love.  As Bradley points out, that love can only be observed in us, not forced by us. 

The path to Heaven, that narrow one Christ speaks of, cannot be reach by a "train bound for glory."  We must trod each heavy step through this valley of tears, we must suffer and bear our cross.  We cannot, however much we wish to, make the journey for our children. We cannot say, "Follow in my footsteps and don't ask questions."  We can only give them the map and explain it as best we can.  We can try to rouse in them a love of their destination, and tell them how to recognize when they've strayed and how to get back on the path when they do. 

 Parenting is an adventure, but adventures, as Bilbo Baggins learned on the road with Gandalf, are not comfortable.  We have no guarantee of success.  They may doubt the understanding we have imparted and forget the love we wish them so dearly to have.  And yet when human faith fails, the habits which they have developed will expose them to grace.  When human love fails, the love of Christ waits in reconciliation.  We hold their hands for such a short while, and then we must leave them to God.  Therein lies the true comfort of the parent, for in His hands they are ever so much more capably held.

Bath time!

Sleeping in the couch fort Grandma Judi made him

"Mommy's Little Monster"

Say what?

Censored by Mama

Today is: The Feast of St. Evaristus
Finn is: Three months and
Mama is reading: Kim by Rudyard Kipling (almost done!)