The Dominus Project

What Really Matters

As the joke goes, in Louisiana, when it comes to seasons, we only have three: Summer, Crawfish season, and Mardi Gras season. Well, thanks be to God, we’ve finally hit the weather where you can comfortably don a sweater and where drinking a pumpkin-flavored anything doesn’t feel so strange. The cooler days and earlier evenings have also made me a bit more reflective than usual, right around a time of year when certain important moments are converging.  

First, of course, is Thanksgiving, which is right around the corner. We at The Dominus Project are thankful for a successful and festive evening a couple weeks ago, when Fr. Leo Patalinghug spoke to a crowd of over 150 on the importance of family dinners.

He did it while doing a cooking demonstration—it was impressive to see the priest who beat celebrity chef Bobby Flay in a throwdown doing his thing with passion and humor. For me personally, it was an evening that gave me a glimpse of what we’ve been working on for over a decade at FranU, building a family of disciples who are sent on mission. Our wonderful shepherd and supporter Bishop Duca was there; many of the deacons we have formed were there serving; some of our theology students and graduates were helping; and many of you, our wonderful families we’ve encountered with this project, were there laughing, praying, and dining with us.  

Speaking of seasons, the Church has her seasons, too, and I must admit: Advent is my favorite. The lights, the songs, the cold chill and warm drinks… Even the non-Catholic parts of our culture seemingly join in the fun with the decorations and Christmas tunes. One of the more striking aspects of the liturgical season is its emphasis on the promise we have that the Lord will come again. This means we should all “keep our lamps trimmed” like the wise virgins. We should be ready for when he returns. There’s a long-standing Christian tradition of remembering our death, captured by the phrase memento mori. St. Francis, for instance, is sometimes depicted contemplating a skull—a reminder of the fleeting nature of this earthly life. That’s why at FranU, our recent theology t-shirts might initially strike someone as macabre, but they are actually deeply Christian!

But may I suggest another way of thinking about the memento mori tradition, and in doing so, bring forth the third and final moment that has converged in my reflections recently? About a year ago, I was in California, visiting my mother and father. But it was no ordinary visit. My dad was in the hospital with stage 4 bladder cancer. I remember the strangeness of packing my black suit in my carry-on, wondering if this would be the last time I would see him this side of heaven. It was a blessed and hard time, and he had a good death, about as good as anyone could hope for—he received the last rites, the apostolic pardon, and even had Jesus’ Eucharistic presence with him as he crossed the threshold of eternity. I am so grateful. If you see me in person, feel free to ask me about it sometime. But, recently, what it makes me think about is this: this life is short. So very short. My father died at 66, his father at 60, and his brother at 60. For all I know, this may put me in the final third of my earthly life. Yet, it’s not sadness I feel. Instead, it’s a yearning—a yearning for people to experience greater union with our Lord Jesus Christ. Advent and my father’s death place a metaphorical skull before me, and all I can think about is how whatever accolades I may have achieved in these forty-something years—a dissertation twenty or so people might read, awards won, positions gained, etc.—pale in comparison to what I do in forming immortal souls and encouraging them toward heaven. My students are certainly numbered among these, but I especially think of my sons. They are the greatest legacy I will leave, if only I can help them along the path to holiness. CS Lewis once wrote:

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendors” (The Weight of Glory).

So, what are we waiting for? I started The Dominus Project with Jennifer and Ansleigh not for press or fame or to bolster my faculty evaluation at the end of the academic year. I receive no extra compensation for it aside from the grace I trust the Lord is providing. No, The Dominus Project exists because the Church has asked us to help parents take up the call to grow closer to the Lord and to bring their children with them. He’s an all-consuming fire, and I want more of him. Do you? If you’re reading this and feel that call—in the deepest places of your heart—to deeper union with God for yourself, your spouse, and your children, then would you do me a favor? Pray for us. Like, really, really pray. It matters. It works. And if you have any thoughts or suggestions on how we can help you and your family, let us know. We come to serve.

We wish you all a Blessed Thanksgiving. May it be filled with Eucharistic joy. Memento mori.

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It Takes Practice

Looking for a simple practice to help build the culture of the domestic church in your home? Well, since Fr. Leo inspired us to make the effort to have regular family meals, might we suggest an easy yet fruitful conversation for the dinner table? Shout out to the Perez family in Southern California for teaching this to us—it’s called “Rose-Bud-Thorn.” Basically, everyone takes a moment to think about one of the highlights of their day (rose), one of the lowlights of the day (thorn), and something they’re really looking forward to in the near future (bud). Then you just go around and share one by one. It’s a great way to get a peek into each other’s hearts.