“A Peace We Do Not Have to Solve”

Posted on October 10, 2026 by Deacon Tim Pribula
Pieter Claesz's 'Vanitas' Still Life. (1630)

Stuff happens: which is hardly an original thought.

Sometimes we could have avoided whatever happened.

Sometimes: like I said, stuff happens. And would have happened no matter what we did. How we react to what happens, that’s something we can control.

Not the knee-jerk emotional impulses, but how we decide to deal with whatever we’re feeling.

I’ve been meaning to talk about that for some time, but hadn’t gotten around to it.

Then the priest who was scheduled for our parish got sick, and asked a deacon to fill in. He’s feeling better, by the way. The priest, not the deacon. Anyway, Deacon Tim Pribula talked about worry, Jesus, and related topics last Sunday.

A tip of the hat to Deacon Tim Pribula, for providing the text of that homily. I gather that it’s originally from Father Larry Young. Our deacon had very short notice that he’d be handling last Sunday’s mass, and that’s another topic or two.

One more thing before I get to that homily. Sunday’s first reading was a story in Isaiah. Make that two more things.

Stories About Vineyards

James Tissot's 'The Exhortation to the Apostles (Recommandation aux apôtres).' (ca. 1886-1894) from Brooklyn Museum, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission
Jesus told stories. We call them parables.

“Now let me sing of my friend,
my beloved’s song about his vineyard.
My friend had a vineyard
on a fertile hillside;
He spaded it, cleared it of stones,
and planted the choicest vines;
Within it he built a watchtower,
and hewed out a wine press.
Then he waited for the crop of grapes,
but it yielded rotten grapes.
Now, inhabitants of Jerusalem, people of Judah,
judge between me and my vineyard:
What more could be done for my vineyard
that I did not do?
Why, when I waited for the crop of grapes,
did it yield rotten grapes?
Now, I will let you know
what I am going to do to my vineyard:
Take away its hedge, give it to grazing,
break through its wall, let it be trampled!
Yes, I will make it a ruin:
it shall not be pruned or hoed,
but will be overgrown with thorns and briers;
I will command the clouds
not to rain upon it.
The vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel,
the people of Judah, his cherished plant;
He waited for judgment, but see, bloodshed!
for justice, but hark, the outcry!”
(Isaiah 5:1–7)

Jesus re-told that story in what we call The Parable of the Tenants:

“Hear another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenants and went on a journey.
When vintage time drew near, he sent his servants to the tenants to obtain his produce.
But the tenants seized the servants and one they beat, another they killed, and a third they stoned.
Again he sent other servants, more numerous than the first ones, but they treated them in the same way.
Finally, he sent his son to them, thinking, ‘They will respect my son.’
But when the tenants saw the son, they said to one another, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him and acquire his inheritance.’
They seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him.
What will the owner of the vineyard do to those tenants when he comes?”
They answered him, “He will put those wretched men to a wretched death and lease his vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the proper times.”
Jesus said to them, “Did you never read in the scriptures:
‘The stone that the builders rejected
has become the cornerstone;
by the Lord has this been done,
and it is wonderful in our eyes’?
Therefore, I say to you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that will produce its fruit.”
(Matthew 21:33–43)

Now, finally, that homily.

The Peace I Cannot Solve

Fr. Larry Young (youtube.com/@fr.larryyoung4222)

I. The Question I Keep Asking

Saint Paul says something today that I struggle with:

“Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6–9).

When I hear that, I think: Peace. What peace?

I am, by nature, a problem solver. When something goes wrong, my mind starts asking: What happened? What do I do now? How do I fix it? (My wife really appreciates that! 🙂 [Deacon Tim Pribula’s remark (Sunday, October 4, 2026)])

And maybe that’s why this line from Saint Paul is so difficult for me:

I keep trying to understand peace as if it were another problem to solve (Proverbs 3:5–6).

Maybe I expect peace to mean that the trouble is gone and the answer is clear (John 16:33).

Do I even know what peace feels like? (John 14:27)

II. The Trouble Still in Front of Us

Maybe some of you know that question, too. More than a few of us come to church carrying something that has not gone away: a worry about our family, a diagnosis, a loss, a difficult decision, a problem at work, or a fear about what comes next.

Jesus tells his disciples, “Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27). “Do not be afraid” (Mark 5:36). But when the trouble is still right in front of us: How am I supposed to do that?

We shouldn’t pretend our troubles aren’t real. And we shouldn’t hear Saint Paul’s words as a rebuke, as if having anxiety means we have failed. Saint Paul does not say that Christians never worry.

He tells us what to do with what we carry: bring it to God.

III. Bring Everything to God

St. Paul says to make our requests known to God. Bring the worry.

Bring the question you cannot answer.

Bring the problem you have been trying to solve all week.

And bring it “with thanksgiving.” That does not mean thanking God for the hardship or pretending we are okay. It means that while we tell God honestly what hurts us, we also try to notice the goodness that surrounds us.

We don’t have to call the whole day good to thank God for one good thing in it (1 Thessalonians 5:18; Psalm 103:2).

Saint Paul is telling us to pray—to bring all of it directly to God. Prayer may not make the trouble disappear. It may not give us an answer right away.

But it turns us toward the One who is with us in the middle of it (1 Peter 5:7).

IV. A Peace We Do Not Have to Solve

Jesus says, “I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world” (John 16:33).

That peace does not mean the trouble is small or already over. It means the trouble does not have to be the end of our story. Sometimes, months or years later, we look back and realize that what felt like the end of the world was not the end of our lives. The problem mattered, but it was not the whole story.

Maybe that is the peace that surpasses all understanding: a real trouble, an answer we still don’t have, and yet a small calm beginning to grow inside because we trust that God is with us. The situation may still be unresolved, but it does not define everything that can happen next.

Today’s psalm gives voice to someone who sees that something is broken and asks God to care for it. It speaks of a vineyard whose walls have been torn down, and it pleads: “Take care of this vine” and “Restore us, O Lord” (Psalm 80:15, 20). The psalm does not offer an explanation or pretend everything is fine. It asks God to look down, see what has happened, and care for the people who are still waiting for help.

The Gospel also brings us to a vineyard. Jesus speaks of the fruit the owner hopes to receive from it (Matthew 21:43). Perhaps some of that fruit is already growing in the ordinary things we do, even when we are worried.

It may be getting up and making breakfast after a restless night.

It may be sitting with someone at an appointment.

It may be calling a person who might be lonely.

It may be listening when we’re tired.

It may be saying, “I’m sorry.”

It may be choosing a patient word—or holding back an angry reply.

It may be helping a neighbor.

It may be showing up again for the people who depend on us.

Those things may seem small. But they are good fruit.

And sometimes doing the next loving thing,

while the problem is still there, is one way God’s peace takes root in us.

V. A Prayer for Peace

One of the saints I have always admired and looked to for inspiration, St. Padre Pio, once said:

“Pray, hope, and don’t worry.
Worry is useless.
God is merciful and will hear your prayer.”
[St. Padre Pio correspondence (ca. 1922), translated from Italian]

And so, let us pray together. Close your eyes and just listen to this prayer.

Bring one worry to mind—the one thing that feels heavy or unresolved.

You don’t have to push it away. Just hold it before God for a moment.

Lord, I am struggling.

I am worried about what I cannot fix.

Teach me to trust that you are with me,

even while my trouble is still here.

Calm my heart.

Help me recognize your peace:

in someone who cares for me,

in my pet’s welcome when I come through the door,

in the warmth of the sun on a new day you have given me,

and in one small thing I am able to finish today.

When my worries return,

remind me that they are not the whole of my life.

And Lord, Even though my trouble may still remain.

I know you are here with me.

Amen

Worry, Being Human, and Making Sense: My Take

Brian H. Gill's photo. Me, in 2021.

I haven’t been feeling all that hot myself. Or, rather, I have. I’m running a fever. Or it’s running me, or — the point is that it’s a good thing I can post someone else’s words this week.

I’ve talked about worry, being human, and making sense, before:

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Not All Saints are Either Italian or Irish

Posted on October 4, 2026 by Brian H. Gill

Some Catholics seem to have at least a year’s worth of Saints’ feast days memorized.

I’m not one of those Catholics. The up side of this is that I’ll run across new-to-me Saints now and then. Like Francis Xavier Seelos. Today is his feast day.

Francis Xavier Seelos, C.Ss.R., (January 11, 1819 – October 4, 1867) was a German Redemptorist missionary, who worked in the United States, particularly in parishes serving immigrant communities on the American frontier. Near the end of his life, he travelled[!] to New Orleans to minister to people affected by a yellow fever outbreak. He later contracted the disease and died from its complications….”
(Francis Xavier Seelos, Wikipedia) [emphasis mine]

I rambled on about Saints a few times, including this:

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My Father and Boggle Beak

Posted on October 3, 2026 by Brian H. Gill
Brian H. Gill's photo: the copy of 'Boggle Beak' Bernard Gill remembers from his childhood.

I remember “Boggle Beak”.

But listening to my mother or father read “Boggle Beak” to me, or reading it myself, isn’t among my childhood memories. I’m not sure why.

No, wait. That’s not entirely true.

I remember reading the book, but the memory reminds me of my father showing me “Boggle Beak” and telling me why the book is important to him.

I’ll let him explain it. “Boggle Beak” was:

“A greatly favored book of mine when an infant or child. It was read to me on innumerable occasions by my sister Mary Alice, and, less often, by other members of my family before I could read; and, after I could read it for myself, it continued to be a favorite for perhaps a year or two. I do not recall reading it after we moved to Rockford, so by the time I was nine I must have outgrown it.”
(Bernard Gill’s handwritten note, on the front endpaper of “Boggle Beak”, dated June 1963)

I’d have been 11 years old when he wrote that. We may have had the “Boggle Beak” conversation around the same time. That’d match the memories I have. We were in the basement room of 818 where he kept most of his books, desk, and assorted other stuff.

I don’t know why he, or my mother, didn’t make reading “Boggle Beak” a regular part of my childhood. Maybe he didn’t have access to the book until 1963. Maybe they had other reasons. Or maybe they just didn’t get around to it.

Boggle Beak’s “Strange Manner”

Anyway, Dad told me that the story’s emotional tone depended on how his sister read it. Her interpretation of old Boggle Beak’s voice made a big difference. Take this bit, for example:

“…’Will you carry me back to the beach?’ said Peter eagerly.

“Old Boggle Beak looked him over in a strange manner. ‘I might carry you,’ said Old Boggle Beak, ‘in a certain way.‘ Then he looked at poor little Peter Sandpiper. ‘Let’s play a game,’ he said. ‘Let’s play that you are a shrimp!’…”
(“Boggle Beak”, Jean Woods Finley (ca. 1910))

Peter Sandpiper survived, by the way, learning a valuable skill in the process.

Children and Children’s Literature

I’m not sure, even after reading “Boggle Beak” many times, whether the strange old bird would have eaten Peter Sandpiper, or was teaching the young bird a valuable lesson: in a profoundly disturbing way.

Either way, I seriously doubt that a children’s book like “Boggle Beak” could have been published during my childhood. Or since then, for that matter.

It’s not just the plot. The story’s language isn’t nearly as dumbed-down as it ‘should’ have been —

“One summer day, the sun shone down on the wet ocean beach, where a tiny sand-piper scurried along so quickly his little black shadow could hardly keep up with him.

“Whenever Peter Sand Piper came to the track of a sea-gull, he jumped over it, because that was a sort of game he played on other days. But he wasn’t thinking about it now. As he hurried along the beach he heard two voices; first, the voice of a nurse who said, ‘Run quick and catch the little bird. If you catch him you may have him.’ and second, the voice of his mother who said, ‘Don’t go very far or Old Boggle Beak will get you….”
(“Boggle Beak”, Jean Woods Finley (ca. 1910))

I think that there’s a place for simplified syntax and abbreviated vocabulary in children’s literature. I also think kids are a very great deal sharper than many highly-educated adults imagine, and I’ll leave it at that.

I’ll wrap this up with what’s on the book’s title page:

“Boggle Beak”
Montionjoy Books “Books for Fun”
Written and Illustrated by Jean Woods Finley
…
Published by The Regensteiner Corporation
Chicago, Illinois

That’s it. No copyright date. I’m pretty sure it was written around 1910, and was reprinted in or around 1925. That’s based on what folks selling copies said.

I did find a little about Theodore Regensteiner, who added the color black to the lithography printing process in 1894. The Theodore Regensteiner Wikipedia page includes a very brief discussion of the “Boggle Beak” publisher. Another resource gives a pretty good overview of the history and cultural setting of movable books:

The Usual Links

That’s all I’ve got this week. I’ve talked about my father and stories he told me, and passing along our experiences, before:

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My Health Care Directive: Being Specific

Posted on September 26, 2026 by Brian H. Gill

I’ve been distracted this week.

Wednesday morning I got and started reading documents involved in setting up family property/estate/whatever arrangements for at least the next generation. I was part-way through the last document when a video conference with the lawyer started.

Good news, we caught a misspelling of my name and clarified a few points.

Surprising news, one of the documents was a health care directive. It includes a dozen or so places where I’m writing in details for what I want for situations in which I am terminally ill and/or unable to communicate.

I’ll be working on that at least into the weekend.

Deciding who I pick to speak for me if I can’t is easy, since I’m blessed with family who share my beliefs.

Killing Sick People Isn’t Nice

What’s not easy, from an emotional viewpoint at least, is getting specific about what I see as acceptable medical care.

That’s partly because I’m a Catholic, one who takes what the Church says seriously. I’ve also had opportunities for learning just how flexible medical ethics can be. It’s not that I’d insist on having a crucifix on the wall, or fish on Friday. Although the latter would be nice during Lent, and that’s another topic.

My native culture’s values and assumptions do not line up with mine in some literally vital ways.

Take, for example, being given food and water; even if I’m terminally ill. Or, in medical jargon, nutrition and hydration.

The good news is that the Church has noticed this SNAFU, and gotten specific about that particular aspect of palliative care:

“…It should be recognized, however, that the definition of palliative care has in recent years taken on a sometimes equivocal connotation. In some countries, national laws regulating palliative care (Palliative Care Act) as well as the laws on the “end of life” (End-of-Life Law) provide, along with palliative treatments, something called Medical Assistance to the Dying (MAiD) that can include the possibility of requesting euthanasia and assisted suicide. Such legal provisions are a cause of grave cultural confusion: by including under palliative care the provision of integrated medical assistance for a voluntary death, they imply that it would be morally lawful to request euthanasia or assisted suicide.

“In addition, palliative interventions to reduce the suffering of gravely or terminally ill patients in these regulatory contexts can involve the administration of medications that intend to hasten death, as well as the suspension or interruption of hydration and nutrition even when death is not imminent. In fact, such practices are equivalent to a direct action or omission to bring about death and are therefore unlawful. The growing diffusion of such legislation and of scientific guidelines of national and international professional societies, constitutes a socially irresponsible threat to many people, including a growing number of vulnerable persons who needed only to be better cared for and comforted but are instead being led to choose euthanasia and suicide.…”
(“Letter Samaritanus bonus on the Care of Persons in the Critical
and Terminal Phases of Life” , 4. Palliative care; Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (July 14, 2020)) [emphasis mine]

I’d like to think “it can’t happen here”, but — I’ve been paying attention and know my history. Humanity’s track record doesn’t inspire blind optimism. Or despondency. And that’s yet another topic.

Life, Death, and Making Sense

More good news: the Maryland Department of Health and Human Services asked bishops in my country what they thought about some aspects of Medicare and hospice care. That, I think was a very nice gesture.

Among other things, the bishops quoted part of “Letter Samaritanus…”, pointing out that starving a patient isn’t nice, even if it’s legal. Talking a patient into seeing suicide as a good idea isn’t nice either, and we shouldn’t do it. Ever.

I realize that may sound “judgemental”, but I’m a Catholic.

If I take my faith seriously, I must see life as precious. Even if that goes against my culture’s preferences.

One more thing before I wrap this up. Since I’m a Catholic, getting all ‘spiritual’ about pain and suffering — let’s put it this way. Using my brain is a good idea.

“Even if death is thought imminent, the ordinary care owed to a sick person cannot be legitimately interrupted.
“The use of painkillers to alleviate the sufferings of the dying, even at the risk of shortening their days, can be morally in conformity with human dignity if death is not willed as either an end or a means, but only foreseen and tolerated as inevitable.
“Palliative care is a special form of disinterested charity.
As such it should be encouraged.”
(Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2279) [emphasis mine]

I’ve talked about some of this before:

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Lock Repair and Unchanging Principles

Posted on September 19, 2026 by Brian H. Gill
Brian H. Gill's collage: a rotary telephone, ca. 1955; Number One Electronic Switching System, 1976 and after; title card for The Addams Family titles, ca. 1964.; family watching television, 1958; publicity still from Batman. (ca. 1967)
Technology and culture change. Some things don’t.

This week I remembered the time I helped fix a lock. That got me thinking about natural law and free will, among other things.

A Lock, a Broken Key, and Frustration

Google Street View: Sauk Centre, Minnesota, on U.S. 71 / MN 28 looking north from near south 12th. (June 2024)
Sauk Centre, my home since the 1980s.

I spent two decades of my life working for a small publishing house here in Sauk Centre, Vocational Biographies.

One of these days I may talk about the 175 “career biographies” they published each year. But today I’ll talk about the time their back door lock needed repair.

The company operated in a mansion that’d been converted first to a funeral home and then office space. When I started working there, my desk — a table, actually — was near what had been the mansion’s coach/carriage entrance.

By the time I worked there, the old coach entrance was at ground level, with steps up to the floor a few paces inside. That’s where I usually entered the building, particularly in winter when navigating the front entrance’s outside steps could be tricky.

I had a key for that door, since I was often the last one out of the building. It didn’t do me much good, though, after someone unlocked the door and broke their key.

With the key blade still in the lock.

Tools, Time, and a Short Walk

The back door could still be locked, but only from the inside, which meant I had to use either the front or mail room doors when leaving at night. Neither of which were ideal choices, thanks to my distinctly sub-standard hip joints.

It wasn’t a large company, fewer than a dozen full-time employees, so there wasn’t a maintenance staff. Maybe that’s why the door stayed unfixed for a frustratingly long time.

At any rate, I finally decided that enough was enough.

I found a toolbox in the basement.

Then I disassembled the lock until I’d isolated the lock cylinder — the part with lots of fiddly small pieces inside. By then I’d taken about a coffee break’s worth of time, so I signed out.

After that, I took the cylinder to my father-in-law’s place, about a block away.

He used his skills and tools to extract the key blade without damaging the lock, put the cylinder back together and handed both to me.

Another short walk and a few minutes at the back door left me with comfortable access restored, a few tools, and a broken key blade.

I put the company’s tools back where I found them, handed the broken blade to the company’s owner, and told him what I’d done.

He said “it’s a good thing you’re honest”, and I went back to writing advertising copy.

Honestly!

An anonymous artist's Book of Sirach, first chapter, German translation: 'Alle Weiſsheit ist bey Gott dem Herren...' (modern spelling: Alle Weisheit ist bei Gott dem Herrn) (1654) From Zentralbibliothek Zürich via Wikimedia Commons
First chapter of the Book of Sirach, rendered by an anonymous artist (1654).

I haven’t heard the platitude “honesty is the best policy” for a long time.

Grammarist says the bromide popped up in English when Sir Edwin Sandys wrote “Our grosse conceipts, who think honestie the best policie.” in “Europae Speculum” (1599).

Latin was still cool back then, and I’m drifting off-topic.

Anyway, I think honesty actually is the best policy. At least in the long run.

That’s my opinion: which, plus a few dollars, will buy you a cup of coffee.

I’m a Catholic, so I don’t have to rely on my opinions, what celebrities say, or some alleged expert for deciding what is and is not a good idea.

The down side is that I can’t do whatever I like, following the moment’s impulse, and congratulate myself on being free of the trammeling constraints of a hierarchical, authoritarian, male-dominated society. Or whatever is considered sophisticated, intelligent, and well-educated these days.

Natural Law, Using Our Brains

Screenshot from a 20th Century Fox trailer for 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.' Marilyn Monroe and men in formal suits and vests. (1953) via Wikipedia, used w/o permission.
“Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” (1953).
The ‘good old days’ had their problems, too.

I don’t, by the way, yearn for yesteryear — when another set of weird notions dominated my culture’s landscape.

I remember the ‘good old days’, and they weren’t.

As I see it, honesty, being truthful, and related ideas, are part of natural law: ethical principles written into reality’s source code.

Natural law doesn’t change. Ever. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1950-1960)

That was true when the Code of Hammurabi was written, and will still be true when Hammurabi and the United States Constitution are seen as roughly contemporary.

Positive law, rules we make up to deal with whatever circumstances we’re in at the moment, changes as our circumstances change. That’s a good thing. (Catechism, 1957)

Dick Orkin's Chickenman, fighting crime and/or evil: see superheroes.fandom.com/wiki/Chickenman http://www.the60sofficialsite.com/Chickenman.html https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,843884,00.html
“Fighting crime and/or evil”:
Dick Orkin’s Chickenman. (1966-1969)

When positive and natural law don’t line up, we’ve got problems. (Catechism, 1957-1958, 2273)

The idea of natural law isn’t new.

Folks like Plato, Aristotle and the Stoics figured that order exists, and that it isn’t necessarily whatever the current fashion dictates.1

Much more recently, Pope Leo XIII wrote about free will, reason, and how we should use these aspects of our nature.

“Such, then, being the condition of human liberty, it necessarily stands in need of light and strength to direct its actions to good and to restrain them from evil. Without this, the freedom of our will would be our ruin. First of all, there must be law; that is, a fixed rule of teaching what is to be done and what is to be left undone. This rule cannot affect the lower animals in any true sense, since they act of necessity, following their natural instinct, and cannot of themselves act in any other way. On the other hand, as was said above, he who is free can either act or not act, can do this or do that, as he pleases, because his judgment precedes his choice. And his judgment not only decides what is right or wrong of its own nature, but also what is practically good and therefore to be chosen, and what is practically evil and therefore to be avoided. … This ordination of reason is called law. In man’s free will, therefore, or in the moral necessity of our voluntary acts being in accordance with reason, lies the very root of the necessity of law. Nothing more foolish can be uttered or conceived than the notion that, because man is free by nature, he is therefore exempt from law. Were this the case, it would follow that to become free we must be deprived of reason.…

“Foremost in this office comes the natural law, which is written and engraved in the mind of every man; and this is nothing but our reason, commanding us to do right and forbidding sin. Nevertheless, all prescriptions of human reason can have force of law only inasmuch as they are the voice and the interpreters of some higher power on which our reason and liberty necessarily depend. For, since the force of law consists in the imposing of obligations and the granting of rights, authority is the one and only foundation of all law — the power, that is, of fixing duties and defining rights, as also of assigning the necessary sanctions of reward and chastisement to each and all of its commands. But all this, clearly, cannot be found in man, if, as his own supreme legislator, he is to be the rule of his own actions. It follows, therefore, that the law of nature is the same thing as the eternal law, implanted in rational creatures, and inclining them to their right action and end; and can be nothing else but the eternal reason of God, the Creator and Ruler of all the world.…”
(“Libertas” , On the Nature of Human Liberty, Encyclical letter, 7, 8; Pope Leo XIII(June 20, 1888)) [emphasis mine]

Free Will and All That

Brian H. Gill. (2021)
Me, Brian H. Gill, back in 2021.

Having free will means that I can decide what I do or don’t do. It also means that I am responsible for my decisions. (Catechism, 1731-1738)

Of course, I can decide that I won’t decide: which is a decision of sorts.

Following whatever daft impulses flutter through my brain has the advantage of being easy and, in the short term, gratifying.

However, I’ve noticed that actions have consequences, whether I want them to or not.

If I haven’t been using my brain, those consequences can be embarrassing, downright unpleasant, or worse.

Taking an example from the embarrassing end of that continuum, there was the week I spent most of the money left after rent on video games. Consequences were minimal, but I felt really stupid. And I learned that paying attention to small expenses was a good idea.

As a Catholic, deciding what I do — or don’t do — is pretty straightforward. In terms of the rules I follow, at least.

Basically, I should love God, love my neighbors, and see everyone as my neighbor. Always. No exceptions. (Matthew 5:43–44, 22:36–40; Mark 12:28–31; Luke 6:31, 10:25–27, 29–37; Catechism, 2196)

That sounds simple. Acting as if I believe it can be incredibly difficult. But it’s a good idea.

I’ve talked about natural law, free will, and acting as if ethics matter, before:

1 Natural law, a little background:

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