Ridley Not: The Bizarro World of Catholic Media (Plus, Trads Take Papal Aim)
Barron Mind, My First Series of Grievances
On all things wrong (and some things right) with the Catholic Church...
Oh me of too much faith! Here I am thinking maybe I was a tad too harsh in my last column, when the very next day a confederacy of clerical dunces goes and accuses the Pope of heresy (in a letter published on LifeSiteNews, because the villainy is no longer subtle). Lucky me, I suppose, because their gripe relates directly to our current topic: the hoarding of sacramental grace like grubby little bridge trolls.
The signatories, led by trad anti-Biden darling and QAnon/Jim Caviezel fanboy Bishop Strickland of Tyler, TX, take issue with Desiderio desideravi, the Holy Father’s (apparently unwelcome) theological contribution to the Eucharistic Revival. Specifically, these sniveling sedes clutch their rosaries at Francis’ assertion (in allusion to Scripture and other spurious sources) that “everyone is invited” o the Lord’s table, and that, “To be admitted to the feast all that is required is the wedding garment of faith which comes from the hearing of his Word (cf. Ro 10:17).” This, they claim, “contradicts the faith of the Catholic Church.”
Pope Fiction
On one level, this comports neatly with the “Always Be Catechizing” grift championed by Bishop Barron himself: these guys act like the sole reason the youths of today aren’t pliant little TERF-y Templars is they haven’t been exposed to the impenetrable logic of gender complementarianism (a position so untenable in the Catholic context it effectively renders the celibate priesthood unnatural). But not even Sorry-Not-a-Cardi B. has the nerve to punch up so brazenly and take this thinking to its natural, absurdist conclusions: if inclusiveness is a symptom of poor catechesis, and the Pope presents an inclusive view of Church, then obviously the successor to St. Peter is some doctrinal rube.
Of course, Francis’ supposedly errant assertion echoes that of Jesus himself, who in Matthew 22 says the Kingdom of Heaven is basically a feast where everyone is invited and all you have to do is show up and look like you want to be there (then again, I guess Jesus technically wasn’t catechized, either). It bears noting that, as stated on the official website, the Revival supposedly seeks to “heal, renew, and unify the Church and the world” through connection to the Eucharist as “the very source of our strength.” But these tsking trads take aim at the Pope’s “silence on this essential topic of repentance for sin for the worthy reception of the Eucharist” (because healing and unity!).
I promised to look at the Revival effort itself, though, and don’t want to paint with too broad a brush here since only one US Bishop signed this perfidious conniption fit. So let’s take a closer look at the official gambit to lure our wandering tastes with some scrumptious aromas from the Lord’s table.
Bread heads
I’ll admit, Eucharistic theology can be pretty inaccessible and, frankly, weird. Jesus sat down to dinner with his buddies and said, “Oh, by the way, you’re eating my body and drinking my blood,” then went and died before anyone could follow up on what the hell he was actually talking about (also, by that point the disciples had learned that when it comes to the messiah, almost every question is a stupid one). But Pope Francis, at least, finds some intuitive grounding in the scene surrounding this outlandish claim, noting that “No one had earned a place at that Supper” and “All had been invited,” as well as emphasizing Jesus’ “infinite desire to re-establish that communion with us.” (DD 4)
Seems like a decent starting point, given that it’s the actual foundation of Catholic teaching on the sacrament. Yet judging by the first episode of Presence: The Mystery of the Eucharist, the slickly produced video series which anchors the Revival’s multimedia campaign on Eucharistic catechesis, it seems like the bishops forgot about the Last Supper entirely. Entitled “God Is With Us” (in the abstract, anyway), the video opens in 1912, as two Brooklyn priests run into the flames of a burning church. Moments later, they reemerge, revealing the bounty for which they risked their lives: consecrated hosts. “Please, tell me this wasn’t just about bread,” implores the narrator, giving voice to the bafflement of both the audience at home and the firefighters and pedestrians surrounding the priests on camera. Roll opening credits.
As the intended hook in an effort to “restore understanding and devotion to this great mystery,” it’s something of a head scratcher. Remember, the Revival arrives in the context of 70 percent or so of Catholics not recognizing the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. So, to most people, this little anecdote is, in fact, “just about bread.” Assuming the sequence doesn’t land as simply fanatical, at best it resembles some corny pop culture riff: the dutiful guarding of a mystical relic or the high stakes retrieval of some world-saving MacGuffin (“The Rabbit’s Foot, Mr. Hunt!”). The video goes on to present similar (admittedly somewhat commendable) pastry protectors, then moves on to provide an overview of the seven sacraments, define of “transubstantiation,” talk at length about meals (with such culturally astute references as “tv dinners”), and offer an exegesis on Salvation History. Yawn.
Cinema vacante
In some sense, I understand the effort: Jesus can be a fairly remote figure (he is God, after all). Still, it’s curious the USCCB would choose as its modern day inspiration these esoteric tales of daring do and creaky, manufactured intrigue. Especially given that the Catholic faith is replete with visceral stories of sacrifice, many of which tie directly to a lived devotion to the Eucharist. Stan Rother was not only a martyr but a priest, after all, who returned to Guatemala (and his all but certain death) partly out of a desire to celebrate Easter with his parishioners. Or take Bishop and now Saint Oscar Romero, who was assassinated in El Salvador during the celebration of the Mass itself. Anticipating his own martyrdom, he even provided a clear through line from his sacrifice to the Risen Lord: “As a Christian,” he said, “I do not believe in death without resurrection. If they kill me, I will be reborn in the Salvadoran people.”
You might chalk the Presence series, produced by the Augustine Institute, up to a mere case of insular clumsiness, were it not for the vast and (vastly expensive) network of Catholic media geared towards this calculated brand of (failed) cultural resonance. Indeed, this is what happens when you can’t lean too heavily on the Gospel (like the Pope, Jesus plays it pretty fast and loose with who’s welcome at that table) and you’re uncomfortable with anyone actually getting prophetic. This extends far beyond Barron and Word on Fire: the only reason Brawny Bob interviewed Shia LaBeouf in the first place was the latter’s starring turn as Padre Pio, the 20th Century saint known for his asceticism, obsession with “immodesty” (he reportedly refused to hear the confessions of any woman whose dress he deemed too short), and for being heavily sanctioned by the Vatican over his stigmata (which may or may not have been an attention- money-seeking con). In other words, the exact type of a hero towards which sexist, gatekeeping, theo-bro Catholic influencers feeling displaced by the Vatican’s recent incarnational bent would gravitate.
The appeal of Pio, with his symbolic wounds of pious devotion, over Rother’s bloodied fists or Romero’s bullet-pierced heart (gained in defense of the poor and marginalized) is telling, as well as disheartening. And look, I’m not saying we need another feature length film on Romero, but we also don’t need a movie about Mark Wahlberg as Father Stu, the real life boxer turned priest who dies of Lou Gerrhig’s disease. For one thing, Wahlberg himself is the type of manly man Catholic convert Barron’s Bargain Bin-ematic Universe continually shoves down our throats as the saintly ideal. Moreover, though I am sure the real Stuart Long’s story is inspiring enough, what’s presented here is again all the same macho bullshit. He’s not like those other priests, he’s a cool priest: a bad boy boxer who lives a hard-drinking, skirt-chasing lifestyle (that he wants to be an actor but settles for the cloth is a little too on the nose, even for these folks).
God’s grift to men
This, unfortunately, is where the Catholic money and celebrity (c-list carnival clown car) traffic flows. Like Wahlberg (another past Barron interviewee) and Caviezel (conservative Catholic darling and God’s literal lightning rod), LaBeouf is positioning himself as a fundie Catholic icon, reviving a career roiled in controversies, ranging from plagiarism to intimate partner abuse. Conservative Catholic media has eagerly claimed his reported conversion during the filming of Padre Pio, a redemption story conspicuously devoid of reckoning for past sins (quite the opposite: Barron yucks it up with LaBeouf and fawns over his supposed acting prowess). Mel Gibson also sputters wild-eyed throughout these monstrosities, like some sort of anti-semitic Cosmo Kramer: as a friend of LaBeouf who introduced him to Latin Mass (barf), as actor in Father Stu and boyfriend to the film’s writer/director, Rosalind Ross (who is more than three decades his junior); and as director himself of the aforementioned Jim Caveizel vehicle meets christological torture porn, The Passion of the Christ. Caviezel and Wahlberg also join Barron in supporting and contributing to the hip new Hallow Catholic prayer app (Brett Favre and Saved By the Bell’s Mario Lopez are also there, too, for some reason).
This Hollywood Walk of Lame is as thoroughly asinine as it is cynical: a pop culture adjacent sideshow ostensibly meant to sell the faith as fresh and relevant (and so, so manly), but in actuality appeals to no one beyond those already-converted and/or seeking a safe space from accountability culture. Why do it, then? In addition to the culture war appeal, it bolsters the standing (and fills the coffers) of a small cadre of cut-rate Catholic celebrities (case in point: noted YouTube handsome and trans panic emissary Fr. Mike Schmitz is also has a hand in the Hallow enterprise).
Francis (who canonized Romero in 2018), at least seems to get that there’s a better way. According to Bishop Daniel Flores of Brownsville, TX (see, I don’t hate all of them), the current (shadow…?) Pope knows quite a bit about Rother, as well. As reported in the National Catholic Reporter, in this context "[Pope Francis] talked about the importance of pastors who accompany their people," Flores said. "I found that encouraging, because they are the unsung heroes who accompany their people, day in and day out." Encouraging, to be sure, but in the world of the Bob Barron, Eucharistic Revival and the mega-donors of Catholic media, apparently pastors merely accompany bread from burning buildings and chase women from the confessional.
Up next: Who knows!? I hope to get into some deeper background on the Church’s recent historical disposition towards Romero, Rother, and others of their liberationist ilk, but as with this past week’s unforeseen (but fully foreseeable) shenanigans, we shall see…
Yours Most Aggrieved,
G. Fault