Andrew Swafford

September 5, 2021 By Andrew Swafford

The importance of modesty . . . for MEN

Before we walk down this minefield, let’s set the record straight: this is also a guyissue, not just one for the ladies (and I’m not referring here to men simply “guarding their eyes”). I for one was completely enslaved to the idolatry of my physique for many years before my conversion. I lived for seeing improvement in the mirror—each night and every morning; in fact, this was why I worked out so hard—even though my supposed reason was football.

The Beauty of the Person

For John Paul II, the person is a unique entity of inherent dignity and worth; in his famous two-fold dictum, persons are (1) not to be used and (2) the “person is a kind of good to which only love constitutes the proper and fully-mature relation” (all JP II quotes are from Love and Responsibility, which he originally wrote as Karol Wojtyla). Thus, when it comes to persons, negatively, they cannot be used as mere objects; and, positively, they must be loved.

As embodied persons, we also have what Wojtyla calls “sexual values.” Modesty enters here as that tendency to conceal our sexual values—not because they are inherently bad, but to ensure that they don’t overshadow our dignity as persons. In Wojtyla’s words: “The spontaneous need to conceal the sexual values linked to the person is a natural way to unveil the value of the person himself.” In other words, the sexual values of the person are good; but their proper place is in the context of the whole—the whole person. But when the sexual values overshadow the whole, the person becomes a potential object of use.

It is in this sense that pornography reveals—not too much, but too little: that is, too little with respect to the whole dignity of the person; it incites the viewer to see only one aspect—the sexual values—as all that matters. Pornography, therefore, “obscures the essential value of the person.”

Intent and Function

The first place to start regarding modesty is intent (see my wife’s book, Emotional Virtue, ch. 10). Wojtyla writes: “What is [immodest] in dress is that which clearly contributes to a deliberate obscuring of the most essential value of the person by the sexual values”—that is, when someone deliberately seeks to accentuate their sexual values in a way that overshadows their dignity as persons.

In terms of concrete specifics, Wojtyla points to the consideration of function of an outfit, for example, “during physical labor in hot weather, while [swimming], or at the doctor.” If the clothing essentially serves the function, then it’s not immodest: “When a person uses dress like that within the framework of its objective function, then we cannot see [immodesty] in this.”

But Wojtyla then follows, noting that to employ such dress outside the context of its specific functiondoes become immodest. For the dress no longer serves the function, but is worn for some other reason, presumably to get attention.

Working Out

A common place where people struggle with modesty is working out. On the one hand, one might say that work out clothing serves the function of working out. And to some extent, this is true. But here’s the question: would you wear this same outfit if there were no mirrors, or if you thought no one would see you? If the answer is “no,” then the outfit is not justabout function. I know in my pre-conversion years I intentionally looked for opportunities to show off my workout gains (e.g., taking off my shirt when I didn’t need to)—after all, this was ultimatelywhyI was working out.

And this obsession with physique led to a desire to be noticed in that way, which in turn fostered unhealthy relationships. In other words, the “cult of the body”—which consumed me earlier in life—is directly related to our pursuit of purity and chastity.

For me, when I encountered Christ, I found a deeper meaning in life and my mind and heart began to change. And when I stopped worshipping at the altar of the “body,” it went a long way toward transforming my purity.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College. Among his publications are Spiritual Survival in the Modern World: Insights from C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Lettersand John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again: A Christian Philosophy of Life. He and his wife, Sarah, live with their children in Atchison, KS.

January 23, 2018 By Andrew Swafford

It’s not difficult to be a saint.

Nothing brings us to despair faster than a sense of meaninglessness, a lack of purpose in our lives.

These feelings of worthlessness lead us to seek outlets in various types of relationships, often of a physical or emotional nature, or in partying, alcohol, or drugs, as we seek to numb the pain. We are simply hard-wired for infinite happiness; and when we don’t find it, we’ll search for it in any way we can.

Often, our battles for chastity and purity mask even deeper struggles: we feel lonely or depressed, so we seek sexual attention, or we turn to pornography. These “pick-me-ups” can be addictive, as we get used to turning to them in our down moments. In these situations, the advice can’t be simply “not to do it.” Rather, we need to fill our hearts and minds with good things at a deep level. If we’re seeking sexual attention or gratification due to an aching heart which yearns for infinite happiness, then the answer ultimately lies in embracing the Infinite Good which alone can satisfy the human heart. For my part, only when I gave my life to Jesus in a definitive and unabashed way did I find the strength to fight the battle for sexual integrity and purity—but not before.

We are made for more than what this world has to offer. Our lives are part of a story that transcends what we can see, and we each have a part to play—a part that perhaps won’t be played unless we answer the call. Seeing the true meaning of our lives and the mission to which we are called goes a long way toward fighting the battle for sexual purity, since distractions (e.g., social media) and especially a lack of meaning in our lives often pull us into sexual sin.

One person that illustrates the reality of God’s plan for our lives is St. John Paul II, a person who truly altered world history. Now, we might be thinking, “Sure, but he’s one in a million.” And in a sense, that’s true—we can’t all be John Paul II. But what is fascinating are the people behind the scenes, the ordinary folks who were instrumental in forming the man who later became pope. One such figure is Jan Tyranowski.

Tyranowski was a tailor and just happened to hear a homily in 1935 in Krakow where a Salesian priest proclaimed, “It’s not difficult to be a saint.” For whatever reason, this particular line hit Tyranowski and sparked in him an intense spiritual renewal. Tyranowski dedicated himself to prayer in a powerful and committed way, diving deeply into the spiritual doctors of the Church, especially Sts. John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila.

In May of 1941, the Nazis raided this parish, shipping off several of the priests to concentration camps (their pictures are featured in a side chapel in this parish today). One of these priests, for example, was Blessed Jozef Kowalski; he was ordered to grind rosary beads under his foot. After refusing, he was drowned in a barrel of feces. He was only 31 years old at the time.

This same parish was home to Karol Wojtyla (later John Paul II) when he and his father moved to Krakow for his university studies in 1938. In other words, these heroic Salesian priests were some of the role models forming the young college-aged Wojtyla.

When these priests were rounded up by the Nazis, youth outreach at the parish fell to lay leaders—one of whom was Jan Tyranowski.

Tyranowski formed “Living Rosary” groups, groups of fifteen young men. Each group was led by a more advanced young man—and all were mentored by Tyranowski. Some 60 men were involved in these groups during the Nazi occupation of Poland, ten of whom eventually became priests, including the future John Paul II.

Later as pope, when John Paul II reflected on the lay vocation and the universal call to holiness, he held Tyranowski up as the exemplar (in fact, Tyranowski is now “Servant of God,” a step toward potentially becoming a saint). I’ll never forget the first time I prayed in front of Tyranowski’s remains which are housed in this same parish today; I got chills thinking about how this one man played such a momentous role in the history of the Church and the world, though he surely didn’t know it at the time.

When Tyranowski heard that homily in 1935, there is no way he could have realized the amazing part in store for him. But because he answered the call then, he was prepared for the task that lay ahead.

We have no idea how infinitely valuable our lives are in the eyes of God. By heroically saying “yes” to our Lord—even when we don’t feel like it—we prepare for and make possible our “yes” in the future, when moments might be of even greater significance. But we never really know when those moments will occur, and their full significance only becomes clear in hindsight. This was certainly true for Tyranowski.

Tyranaowksi could have given in to despair and loneliness, temptations which often lead to sexual sin. But he didn’t. He saw his life in light of faith and knew that God had a plan for him. When we have a sense of meaning and purpose in our lives, it’s amazing what we can get through. But when we experience a lack of meaning in our lives, it’s remarkable how the small things can bring us to despair.

By trusting that there is a divine narrative at work, a plot we can’t always see, we are able to persevere. And by persevering, we will change the course of history—and eternity—one person at a time. That’s what Tyranowksi did. Indeed, one person can make a difference.

If you have any interest in encountering God on a pilgrimage, my wife (Sarah) and I (and our four children) are leading a pilgrimage to Poland and Rome this upcoming Holy Week (2018). We will be reliving the story of St. John Paul II, from Krakow to Rome. For more information, click here.

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Andrew Swafford is associate professor of Theology at Benedictine College. He holds a doctorate in Sacred Theology and is author of John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again and Spiritual Survival in the Modern World. He and his wife Sarah live in Atchison, KS with their four children.

May 26, 2017 By Andrew Swafford

Going from “friends” to “more than friends”

“But I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

What do you do when you like someone, but don’t want to “jeopardize” your friendship?

Well, the answer is not: just hang out, flirt for the next year, and develop a strong emotional attachment along the way, with no commitment from either side—only to lead to jealousy and confusion when a third party enters the scene.

How do we avoid this?

If you’ve gotten to know someone well as a friend—and they are the kind of person you’d like to end up with some day—then take the risk and move forward. Especially in groups gathered in Christ-centered friendship, I’ve seen quite a bit of stalling right here: in other words, such groups have rejected the hook-up culture and are striving to follow Christ, but they are often shy about showing romantic interest—and unfortunately relationships that would otherwise blossom never get off the ground. And right here is where I frequently hear the line “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

But more often than not, it’s a friendship in motion—that is, you’re probably not destined to remain “just friends” forever. That relationship will probably change as life continues and one of you gets married, or the like. So, if you have a good friend that you greatly admire and respect, and would like to pursue the possibility of a future with, take the risk.

It’s always seemed to me that there needs to be (to use a cheesy, but helpful phrase) two DTRs (defining the relationship): first, there is the initial showing of interest—something as simple as “I really appreciate our friendship, I’d like to get to know you better.” If someone says this to you, then you’re not just friends. After a period of time (and there’s no magic length, but it’s best not to extend it any longer than necessary—I’m thinking a month or two), there needs to be an end to this “getting to know you better” phase. And so we proceed to the second DTR: the “what are we?” conversation. At this point, we either make a commitment, or the “getting to know you better” phase ends (for more here, see my wife’s Emotional Virtue, 125-37).

If a commitment is not going to be made, we can still be friends, but we are no longer “friends in motion”—that is, no longer pursuing the possibility of a relationship together. At this point, we need to return to the “just friends” category, a good test for which is this: would I engage in these same activities/conversations with this person if I were seriously dating someone else?

The twofold DTR (initial showing of interest and then making a commitment) has the advantage of taking some of the pressure off the first phase. Especially in the Christ-centered communities mentioned above, very often nobody is dating—in part, because asking someone on a date becomes so monumental that it feels like a marriage proposal. This, it seems to me, is an overreaction against the hook-up culture—a good reaction, but perhaps swinging the pendulum too far. But if the first DTR is simply the initial showing of interest, (hopefully) it becomes a little less intimidating. At the second DTR, the relationship obviously becomes more serious—or at least has the potential to become so.

Now what if someone pursues the first DTR (initial showing of interest) with me and I don’t feel the same way? Just politely, say I appreciate your friendship but I see us as just friends. And if someone says that to you, just take the hint. It might sting a bit, but at least there’s clarity.

What if you’re thinking—“I’m a girl, shouldn’t I wait for the guy to ask me out?” Ideally, yes of course. But we don’t live in an ideal world. For my part, there are all kinds of healthy ways a female can drop hints and show interest (like consistently laughing at our dumb jokes). We guys are dense, but not that dense. If you drop these hints and there’s no reaction, I would simply move on; a guy who doesn’t follow up on these hints probably just isn’t interested.

Yes, the man should take initiative and leadership here; but for my part, far worse is the ongoing confusion and gray area. If female-initiated hints lead to clarity sooner, then all the better.

Lastly, pursue even the first DTR with only one person at a time. This better communicates sincerity and interest and will minimize unhealthy aspects of the gray area.

Finally, don’t date just for fun; you want to be confident that each person you date is the kind of person you’d like to end up with. And the litmus test is this: if something happened to me, would I trust this person with my kids someday—as their primary influence?

Since the second DTR does move into a semi-serious phase—after all, you’re acknowledging that this person is the kind of person you’d like to end up with—dating in this kind of a committed way really doesn’t make sense if marriage is a decade away. In other words—and I know there are success stories out there that are the exception—exclusively committed and emotionally-attached relationships in high school seldom go well for a couple of reasons: (1) there’s so much growth happening at that time that you often miss out on the opportunity to grow with friends and really grow spiritually—becoming the person God has called you to be (not the person that fits the mold and expectations of your significant other over the past two years); and (2) it is exceedingly difficult—just as a matter of basic biology and psychology—for a couple to get that close emotionally and expect to remain pure sexually for the next ten years. This would be difficult in high school—let alone persevering in chastity throughout four more years of college. And remember: anything that aims at the arousal of the other person crosses a line that is reserved for marriage.

My advice: run to Jesus; make great friends with both men and women; and when the time is right and someone has the character to pique your interest, then take the risk—at least with the first DTR: you never know where it might end up; but if you don’t even try, you already know the answer.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College. He holds a doctorate in Sacred Theology and is the author of Spiritual Survival in the Modern World, John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again, and Nature and Grace. He lives with his wife Sarah and their four children in Atchison, KS.

March 2, 2017 By Andrew Swafford

Introducing Love into Love

Is love something ready-made, automated—so that all we have to do is push “play”? Does this guy or that girl always have my best interests at heart?

I think we know the answers to these questions—for finding true love is often a complicated and messy process.

The title of this blog takes its cue from John Paul II who used this very phrase at the outset of his famous book, Love and Responsibility: “[O]n the basis of the Christian ethics born of the Gospel, a problem exists, which can be described as an ‘introduction of love into love’.”

The first “love” refers to Jesus’ great command—that we love as He loves, to the point of dying to ourselves and sacrificing for the good of the other (cf. Jn 15:12-13); and the Greek word Jesus uses here for love is agape which signifies a divine, total self-giving love—not a self-interested or self-serving love. The second “love” in the quote above refers to that which stems from our sexual drive—not bad in itself, but something which initially responds to a lesser order of love, one flowing from our perception of the sex appeal of the other. And the Greek word denoting this love is eros (hence, “erotic”).

The great task, then, is to introduce “love” (agape) into “love” (eros). The vision of the Church is not the suppression of eros—not the suppression of the romantic and erotic—but the full permeation of eros with agape. And this is actually prerequisite for the full flowering of love: for we are embodied persons. That is, we have what John Paul II refers to as “sexual values” (our physical sex appeal as well as our masculine or feminine charm and allure); but these sexual values do not exhaust our dignity as persons. Thus, the problem with eros running on its own is that the maturing of love often freezes right there; that is, our love never deepens beyond physical and emotional attraction—we never go beyond the “sexual values” of the other.

But if we allow eros to be integrated into the context of agape, then our appreciation and even attraction to the sexual values of the other is not diminished but integrated into the context of the whole person. This allows a fuller love to develop—in fact, it’s the only way true love can develop. For love is not merely the union of two bodies, nor even simply an emotional bond between two people. Love is first and foremost an unrelenting act of the will ordered to the objective good of the other. Here, true love must often rise to the challenge of having the strength to say “no” to eros when it conflicts with a thorough-going agape. In fact, right here true love is often tested and made manifest: for if someone is willing to make this sacrifice for you, what could they not do for you? And if they aren’t willing to give their all for you here, then what does that say about the depth of their love?

In Love and Responsibility, John Paul II later says that the sexual drive has a natural orientation to turn into love; but it can’t do this on its own. We have immense dignity as persons, but with that dignity comes the great responsibility to love (hence the title)—not merely in an automated way that simply reacts to external stimuli, but in a truly personal way. True love—worthy of the person—is a great act of the will, a choice to act for the good of the other. And only with this great act of the will does our love reach a fully human and personal level. Here, we have the “introduction of love into love.” And if I may speak from experience, agape love doesn’t diminish the romantic and erotic, but actually enhances it to a degree the hook-up culture couldn’t possibly comprehend.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College. Among his publications are Spiritual Survival in the Modern World: Insights from C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters and John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again: A Christian Philosophy of Life. He and his wife, Sarah, live with their four children in Atchison, KS.

January 6, 2017 By Andrew Swafford

Are you free to love?

One often hears from young people something like the following: “You’re only young once—now is the time for me get this out of my system and live it up; I’ll eventually settle down later.”

It’s easy to fall into this, assuming that my actions in the present have virtually no bearing on who I will become in the future. But would we think this way about anything we take really seriously? Suppose I said, “Deep down, someday, I want to be a really good medical student and even a great doctor; but I’ll really start a disciplined life of study some time later in medical school.” Or, perhaps an athletic example: “Deep down, I want to be a great pitcher; but for now I won’t worry about my mechanics, location, or even practice—I’ll figure that out later in the minors.” We know intuitively that this would be absurd, because the fact is that each and every pitch I throw with poor mechanics now makes it more likely that I’ll continue to throw with poor mechanics in the future. After all, what do coaches constantly say—you play how you practice. Practice makes—if not perfect—more and more permanent.

This is the moral vision of virtue found in the likes of Aristotle—and it is one that helped lead to my conversion. For Aristotle, there is strong continuity between my daily actions and who I am becoming; in fact, for him, each and every action is slowly and steadily modifying who I am. For Aristotle, one becomes a courageous man by doing courageous acts. Here, the little things count immensely because actions eventually become habits (or internal dispositions), which incline one to like actions in the future. This goes for both good and bad habits (virtues and vices): the more I feed a habit the stronger it gets. What I’m doing right now—in the little things—directly impacts who I will be five years from now. Therefore, the moral question to ask ourselves is not simply, “What do I do right now in this or that situation?” But rather: “Who do I want to be?” In fact, in my choices, I am becoming someone along the way—I am modifying my inmost self.

This gives rise to a much deeper and richer notion of freedom than the one we’re used to: we typically think of freedom as simply the ability to do what we want when we want. But there’s also a deeper freedom, namely, the ability to do the good. The latter is on display with anything that takes time, practice, and discipline to acquire: for example, learning a foreign language, getting into shape, learning a musical instrument, or mastering any kind of athletic skill. The beginning stages are awkward and clumsy—and (especially in the beginning) our “freedom” to perform such actions is limited. But over time and with continued practice, they get easier and easier—that is, our freedom grows over time through practice. In fact, eventually we get to the point where we can do the action more and more effortlessly, consistently, and with joy. In other words, anybody can hit a lucky shot. But the truly skilled player is reliable and consistent—and therefore can be counted upon.

Aristotle views the moral life in the exact same way: the virtuous life is not simply about always doing the “hard” thing; it’s about becoming the kind of person who can do the right thing joyfully, consistently, and with ease. Ultimately, it’s about attaining the freedom to love. For Aristotle, the virtues (e.g., prudence, justice, courage, and temperance) are the skills necessary to live a life of human excellence; and—like any skill—they are attained through practice over time. For him, they are the path to happiness—as the objective perfecting of our human nature (for more here, see my John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again).

If we desire the freedom to really love—to put the other first even when it hurts—we have to train ourselves; for the person we will be in five years is directly related to the habits we are developing now.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College. Among his publications are Spiritual Survival in the Modern World: Insights from C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters and John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again: A Christian Philosophy of Life. He and his wife, Sarah, live with their four children in Atchison, KS.

December 7, 2016 By Andrew Swafford

Friends with (true) benefits

It’s been said, “If I want to know who you are, show me your friends.” In order to steadfastly pursue the good—whether in sports, academics, or relationships—we’ll need the support of solid friends. So, how can we form friendships that last?

Aristotle outlines three types of friendship: (1) friendship of pleasure; (2) friendship of utility; and (3) virtuous friendship. The first (friendship of pleasure) is basically friends who “have a good time together.” Perhaps they enjoy the same hobbies or activities. There is nothing wrong with this type of friendship—it’s just that what brings the two together is a common pleasurable experience. And when that common experience is removed—unless there is something deeper—the friendship tends to dissolve. For example, let’s say a group of friends enjoys heavy drinking and partying together, and a member of this group decides to change his lifestyle (and move away from partying): often this person will experience the pain of these friendships slipping away. It’s not necessarily that there is ill will—it’s just that what brought them together (parties, drinking, etc.) has been removed, and there is nothing left to sustain the friendship.

The second kind of friendship is that of utility. Again, there is nothing inherently wrong with this form of friendship. What brings the two together is mutual usefulness—the classic business partner relationship (or perhaps a school project). Like the above, if the mutual usefulness is withdrawn, then the reason for coming together is removed, and the friendship eventually dissipates.

Finally, we have the virtuous friendship—something like a workout partner in the game of life. Here, I am seeking to help the other reach their true potential. A virtuous friend loves the other so much that they are willing to challenge the other when necessary—in order to bring out the very best in them. True love wills the good of the other and seeks to foster their true and ultimate happiness in this life and the next.

The virtuous friend becomes, in Aristotle’s words, “another self.” This means that I want the good for the other—just as I want my own good. In fact, my good is wrapped up with their good and vice versa. We become one mind and one heart, such that their sorrows become my sorrows; their needs, my needs; their joys, my joys—their victories, my victories.

Further, a virtuous friendship is “about something.” While the two are united in one mind and heart, what ultimately unites the two goes well beyond a shared emotional experience—it’s about the two running toward a shared goal; and the pursuit of this transcendent common good binds the two together—much as a team comes together in pursuit of victory. And since this common good is something secure and abiding (e.g., the pursuit of virtue and ultimately God himself), this friendship is the most abiding and long lasting.

This has tremendous implications for chastity and relationships: if we claim to care for the other, we have to ask ourselves—are my actions leading this person toward or away from God, toward or away from what is truly best for them? If we’re not helping the other reach their ultimate goal in this life and the next, then our love for them is likely more self-serving than self-giving. It may be the case that what we seek in the other is really just an emotional or physical experience—in which case the other person becomes merely the occasion for me to attain this gratification and not the object of my purported love.

On the other hand, if someone is willing to put your purity and pursuit of holiness above their own desires, then what sacrifice could they not make for you?

It’s no secret that relationships built on such virtuous foundations make for lasting and happy marriages. To give but one personal example, I wouldn’t trade for a second what I have now with my wife (11 years into marriage) to go back to when we were dating: a virtuous relationship truly gets richer and more wonderful with each passing day.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College, where he regularly teaches courses on Scripture and Christian moral life. He holds a doctorate in Sacred Theology from the University of St. Mary of the Lake and a master’s degree in Old Testament & Semitic Languages from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He is author of Spiritual Survival in the Modern World: Insights from C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters; John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again: A Christian Philosophy of Life; and Nature and Grace: A New Approach to Thomistic Ressourcement. He is contributing author to Letter & Spirit Vol. 11: Our Beloved Brother Paul—Reception History of Paul in Catholic Tradition; Divinization: Becoming Icons of Christ through the Liturgy; 30-Second Bible: The 50 Most Meaningful Moments in the Bible; and I Choose God: Stories from Young Catholics. Andrew is a senior fellow at the St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology; he is a regular contributor to Ascension Press’ Bible blog as well as Chastity Project. He lives with his wife Sarah and their four children in Atchison, Kansas.

October 24, 2016 By Andrew Swafford

C.S. Lewis on How to Persevere in Chastity

In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis offers time-tested counsel on how to begin—and persevere—in the virtue of chastity.

First, he says we must really want to grow in this virtue. He notes how a famous Christian—when looking back at his life—realized that his prayer for chastity was really saying something like: “Oh Lord, make me chaste. But please don’t do it just yet.” Of course, his reference here is to the great St. Augustine. Indeed, every saint has a past and every sinner a future. It’s good to know about saints who struggled, since that can give us confidence that we, too, can overcome.

Second, Lewis notes that many never set out on this great battle for chastity because they assume from the outset that it’s impossible to attain. This assumption deters us from really giving our all in this fight. We go in half-heartedly, accepting defeat before we even begin. But as Lewis points out—with a great many things—we often surprise ourselves with what we can do when our backs are against the wall: “People quite often do what seemed impossible before they did it. It is wonderful what you can do when you have to.” We recognize the merits of not giving up in so many other areas (e.g., sports or school), but for some reason we assume that the moral and spiritual life should not call forth this same kind of effort. What would happen if we went after chastity and holiness with the same intensity and vigor as we hit the weight room or the track?

Thirdly, Lewis counsels that we must ask for God’s help. Here Lewis is exceptionally insightful and strikes a chord in the spiritual tradition: we often wish that God would heal our vices and instantly empower us with heroic virtue; but perhaps if He did, we would fall into the even greater sin of pride. “Very often,” Lewis writes, “what God first helps us towards is not the virtue itself but just this power of always trying again.” This process teaches us to depend upon God in a radical way—and this is the great secret to sanctity; indeed, this is the meaning of the first beatitude “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” The poor in spirit are humble and recognize their need for grace; in this way, they become soft clay, allowing God to work more fully in their lives.

For this reason, Lewis writes: “We learn, on the one hand, that we cannot trust ourselves even in our best moments, and, on the other, that we need not despair even in our worst, for our failures are forgiven.”

The etymology of the Hebrew word Satan is instructive here: “Satan” means “to accuse.” In temptation, the Devil is our buddy, coaxing us to play along. But when we fall, he becomes the accuser, seeking to douse us in shame and keep us from the throne of God’s mercy. The Devil’s greatest temptation is for us to doubt God’s love for us; indeed, his greatest attack is to get us to believe we are too far gone—that we are beyond the pale of His forgiveness. But God is Love; and perhaps the paradox of the Christian life is that He calls us to greatness—and yet He above all else knows that our path to greatness comes only by first turning to Him in our weakness. Indeed, a father loves his kids just the way they are—but too much to leave them that way. The same is true of God: He loves us as we are—but so much so that He wants to see us not only forgiven but healed and transformed. And He is ready and willing in our time of need—not to condemn—but to help. All we need to do is ask.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College. He holds a doctorate in theology from the University of St. Mary of the Lake and an M.A. in Old Testament & Semitic Languages from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He is author of Spiritual Survival in the Modern World: Insights from C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters (forthcoming December 1, 2016); John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again: A Christian Philosophy of Life; and Nature and Grace: A New Approach to Thomistic Ressourcement. He is contributing author to I Choose God: Stories from Young Catholics; Divinization: Becoming Icons of Christ through the Liturgy; and 30-Second Bible. Andrew is a senior fellow at the St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology and is a regular contributor to Ascension Press’ Bible blog at www.biblestudyforcatholics.com. He lives with his wife Sarah and their four children in Atchison, Kansas.

September 20, 2016 By Andrew Swafford

Sloth and the Restless Heart

People typically think of sloth as simply “laziness,” a lack of a serious work ethic. But the Christian tradition has always seen something more here: St. Thomas Aquinas, for example, defined sloth as “sorrow at the difficulty of a spiritual good.”

Consider New Year’s Resolutions—how long do they last? We start off with great enthusiasm—and eventually the mountain starts to seem a bit too high to climb; we want to achieve great things; but we become overwhelmed with the immensity of the task (and our inadequacy), and so we roll over and give up—settling for a sad state of mediocrity. This is sloth: we are made for greatness, but sometimes the journey seems too difficult, and so we become sad. In our unfulfilled state we then often seek outlets to distract ourselves from our emptiness—television, scrolling endlessly through social media, or filling our minds with the latest gossip; and eventually, we wake up and find ourselves bored with life.

Only people can be bored—cows aren’t bored, they just look that way. If we are made for more and we fill ourselves with less, we shouldn’t be surprised to find ourselves sad, restless, and bored—these are the typical traits of sloth.

So how does this relate to sin?

We’ve all heard of “comfort food,” haven’t we? If we are unfulfilled at our deepest spiritual levels, then it’s quite expected that we would turn to a physical pick-me-up. We’re feeling down, so we turn to a physical outlet to raise our spirits. Here is where addictions to pornography and sexual sin often begin, not to mention patterns of unhealthy relationships—turning to them in a down moment for emotional or physical affirmation and gratification.

In order to break this cycle, we need to engage the root of the problem—not just the symptom. In other words, especially with habitual patterns and sins of addiction, we can’t simply try to “stop” doing them. That void in our heart needs to be filled with something else—something deeper, something richer and more fulfilling.

What the Devil would love more than anything is for us to be trapped in sin and then try to lift ourselves out by sheer will power, only to end in despair when we come face to face with our own brokenness.

We are broken and in need of God’s grace. The trick to the spiritual life then is this: to recognize the two-fold truth that (1) we are broken and (2) God’s mercy is infinite. If we only think of God’s mercy, we may fall into presumption and complacency; but if we only think of our brokenness, we’ll fall into despair. Christian hope walks between these two poles, recognizing our brokenness, but always in the light of God’s infinite mercy.

So, if we feel like we just can’t break out of the cycle of sin, that’s ok—many have been there before. We are made for infinite happiness—this is the subtle way in which God draws us to himself. But if we don’t recognize this—if we leave the human heart void of its deepest longing—then we shouldn’t be surprised to find ourselves restless and unfulfilled. And this inner restlessness is often at the root cause of our physical addictions or unhealthy relationship patterns.

We usually feel the best when we give our best; whether it’s a sports practice, developing our musical skills, or trying to excel in theatre—we feel good when we give our all. And when we don’t—when we haven’t given our best effort, we leave with a sense of restlessness and decreased satisfaction. If that is true in sports and the like, how much more in the game of life? For true happiness will only come from giving our all to the things that really matter.

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Andrew Swafford is Associate Professor of Theology at Benedictine College. He holds a doctorate in theology from the University of St. Mary of the Lake and an M.A. in Old Testament & Semitic Languages from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He is author of John Paul II to Aristotle and Back Again: A Christian Philosophy of Life and Spiritual Survival in the Modern World: Insights from C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters (forthcoming later this year). Andrew is a senior fellow at the St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology and is a regular contributor to Ascension Press’ Bible blog at www.biblestudyforcatholics.com. He lives with his wife Sarah and their four children in Atchison, Kansas.