Resisting the Collapse, One Room at a Time
I had a fabulous time in Chicago, meeting people who were likeminded and who share the desire to fix the state of our non-culture. Praise God, they seemed to enjoy the talk, and I delighted in giving it and answering questions. It’s consoling to meet such people in the physical world, especially when virtual meetings have so often become a poor (but socially acceptable) replacement for community.
My hosts at the Catholic Citizens of Illinois were remarkably gracious and we formed friendships that I can envision enduring for years to come. I found it fascinating how easily we understood each other, and one might say that we spoke the same language, because of how we read the same books, which causes us to think about the same things. This parallels the way in which a traditionally Christian culture would have existed. As there is a continuity of values, there is a sense of connectivity between different areas of life. The Faith was once an aspect of every institution, so there was a sense of belonging and familiarity woven therein.
An example of this on the interpersonal level is how a person who enjoys knitting can relate to an amateur violinist, for they both participate in innocent hobbies so that they might be more well-rounded people who can turn away from the chaos of the world periodically.
Theodore Dalrymple writes about the unformed people in Britain’s underclass who don’t know what to do with themselves when the bars aren’t open, for they have no interests to speak of. It is not merely something that our culture needs to avoid generally, but especially those who peer into the world of politics regularly, for the immersion into despair and rage are simultaneously intoxicating and destructive to the soul.
Groups like the Catholic Citizens of Illinois exist on the opposite end of the spectrum. They help us to heal by surrounding us with people who care about the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. They work towards a healthier society by uniting us according to common bonds. It is in such rooms that local communities might form, people learn to care for and even love each other, and then as groups, spread the Faith by its lived example.
I wasn’t able to travel safely when my arms were broken, so I’m grateful to be able to do so now. (During my extended recovery, it was even difficult to get to the TV appearance I did with Alex McFarland, only one city over.)
In an age when so much has been lost—common culture, common purpose, and even common sense—it is no small thing to step into a room where the soul can breathe. These gatherings are acts of resistance against the fragmentation and vacuousness of our time. They remind us that we are not alone, that truth still has its defenders, and that community is still possible. I no longer take the ability to travel for granted, so now, each chance to go, to speak, to meet others walking the same road, feels like a small resurrection. May there be many more. We have much work to do.
"I found it fascinating how easily we understood each other, and one might say that we spoke the same language, because of how we read the same books, which causes us to think about the same things." You put into words something I have been experiencing as I have gotten to know more people at my traditional parish. Out in the world, I have gotten used to guarding the things I say and how I say them -- to feeling that there are things that I can't talk about, not because I'm very afraid of doing so, but also because I wouldn't be understood. It's like each person lives on their own island, and, if you're someone more traditionally inclined (as I, a former homeschooler, am), you don't always fit in. At my parish, I'm starting to find, it's different. You can talk to virtually any person, and find you're on the same page with them, or they know exactly what you're talking about, whether it be books, music, the liturgy... I used to go there and expect what I find everywhere because I thought "Well, that's how people are," but now, after reading your article, I've realized something -- the Church unites us in more ways than one. It's the fact that we share the same, timeless, unchanging Catholic Faith that makes talking to each other and understanding each other so easy. I can't tell you how consoling and wonderful it is to have that "freedom" to be understood, and to know we're all fighting on the same ground. No wonder people feel alone in the world!
I wonder how many of the Catholic Citizens of Illinois are descendants of the French Catholic settlers, particularly if they are from the southwest part of the state. We may be distant cousins. Agnes Renoudiere, daughter of a lead mine owner in Kaskaskia, Illinois marrried my paternal ancestor Guillaume Bergereau, a soldier who was assigned to Fort St. Jean Baptiste in Natchitoches, Louisiana. His sons served under the command of Bernardo de Galvez in the Pointe Coupee Militia during the War for American Independence. They were likely provisioned with cattle donated by my maternal ancestor Gil Antonio Y'barbo, founder of Nacogdoches, Texas. Indeed, the US Founding Fathers owed a lot to the Catholic monarchs of Europe.