Each year looks the same from a distance.

The seasons roll back around—the same ebbs and flows at work, the same rhythm of the school year for those with kids. Spiritually, too, the same feasts and readings, the same holy days and ordinary ones. Even our projects and problems have a way of circling back. We catch ourselves saying, “Didn’t we just do this?” And of course, we did.

Life Isn’t a Circle. It’s a Spiral.

It can feel like we’re spinning our wheels, but the truth is that life is built in cycles, and the spiritual life is no different. As we live—and especially as we live prayerfully—those cycles can, and should, form not a circle, but a spiral. Each turn brings us back to familiar ground, but a little higher up, a little closer to God.

We revisit the same seasons not because we failed to learn their lessons, but because there’s always more to uncover. Lent still calls us to repentance, but maybe this year we feel the sting of pride a little quicker. Christmas still stirs joy, but maybe now we see a deeper tenderness in the mystery of the Incarnation. Even the daily grind—the coffee, the commute, the conversations that test our patience—offers another chance to practice faithfulness in small things (Matthew 25:21). God’s gifts are never exhausted, and each return to the familiar carries something new.

Grace Usually Works Quietly

That’s the way grace usually works—quietly, patiently, like yeast in the dough (Matthew 13:33). Most growth doesn’t come in sudden leaps but through the slow sanctification of repetition: prayer that becomes habit, sacraments that deepen love, ordinary duties done with fidelity.

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The Most Heroic Thing a Man Can Do

That’s why the most heroic thing a man can do isn’t to chase constant novelty, but to stay steady. To build and keep the habits that keep him near to God. To show up for his brothers, to be accountable, to encourage. To share the faith through real, face-to-face outreach—handshakes, conversations, invitations that plant small seeds of conversion (Mark 4:26-27). And yes, to tell your wife and kids that you love them, again.

The Rhythm Stays the Same — But You Don’t

If we live that way, the year ahead won’t simply repeat the last. The rhythm will stay the same, but we won’t. We’ll meet the same feasts and challenges as men who’ve been reshaped by grace and brotherhood.

Each turn of the spiral draws us nearer to the heart of God.

Higher, Deeper, Stronger

So here’s to another year of faithfulness—to circling what’s familiar, but higher, deeper, and stronger than before.

This is how heroic men grow: not by breaking the pattern—but by sanctifying it.

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There’s a certain kind of man who looks like he’s built for the fight.

Disciplined. Driven. Focused. The kind who can grind through pain, build a career, raise a family, and still convince himself he’s got everything handled.

Dan Venezia was that man.

A former professional baseball player. A husband. A father. A guy who had survived chaos growing up and turned it into fuel. But underneath the surface, there was a quiet tension—a life that looked strong on the outside but was running on self-reliance.

And like a lot of men, it took getting knocked flat—twice—before he realized the truth.

“I thought I had this on my own.”

What followed wasn’t just survival.

It was surrender.

The First Hero He Ever Knew Was His Mother

Before the near-death experiences… before the comeback… before the faith reignited…

There was his mom.

A single mother of four. No safety net. No backup plan. Just grit, sacrifice, and an almost supernatural kind of love.

“My mom most undoubtedly is my hero… she devoted the remainder of her life to her children.”

She raised them in the middle of dysfunction—abuse, instability, absence of a father—and still managed to build something solid.

Not perfect. But real.

She didn’t preach theology. She didn’t quote Scripture.

She just lived it.

“She didn’t talk much about scripture… but it was what she did with her life.”

That kind of formation leaves a mark. Even when a man walks away from faith, it doesn’t fully leave him.

It waits.

And for Dan, it waited through years of chasing something else.

When the Dream Becomes Your God

Baseball became everything.

It wasn’t just a sport—it was identity. Purpose. Control.

“Baseball was my god for half my life.”

And like anything we put in God’s place, it delivered… until it didn’t.

A head-on collision changed everything.

In an instant, the man who was chasing stats and success was just trying to breathe.

“Please God, let me live… please let me walk again… please let me play baseball again.”

The prayers got simpler as the stakes got higher.

Life. Movement. Purpose.

One by one.

And then came a moment that felt almost too symbolic to ignore—a gold Christ charm pulled from the back of his head after the crash.

“Jesus not only decided to stick around… he did a headstand.”

It should have been a turning point.

But it wasn’t.

Not yet.

Because surviving a crisis doesn’t automatically change a man.

Sometimes, it just resets him.

The Danger of a “Good Enough” Faith

Dan didn’t reject God.

He just… deprioritized Him.

He built a life. A business. A family. He showed up. He provided.

From the outside, it looked like success.

But underneath?

Disconnection.

“I was just going through the motions… checking the box, but I wasn’t connected.”

Church became optional. Faith became background noise. God became something he visited when convenient.

And here’s the hard truth most men don’t want to admit:

You can be a good father, a hard worker, a disciplined man—and still be spiritually asleep.

That’s the danger of lukewarm faith.

It doesn’t feel broken.

It just feels… fine.

Until life hits you again.

The Second Time He Almost Died… He Meant It

March 2020.

COVID hit hard. Fever. Isolation. No oxygen.

But this time, the stakes were different.

He wasn’t just a man anymore.

He was a husband. A father.

“I had much more to lose this time around.”

And when he said goodbye to his family before going to the hospital, something shifted.

This wasn’t casual prayer anymore.

This was desperation.

“Please let me live. I have more to do… I will worship you better.”

That line hits different when it’s not theoretical.

When it’s a man realizing he hasn’t lived the way he was meant to.

And then, in the middle of isolation… something unexpected happened.

The Moment Everything Changed

No visitors allowed.

No family. No comfort.

Just a hospital room—and a TV.

And then, out of nowhere, a familiar voice began to pray.

“Our Father… Hail Mary…”

He opened his eyes.

There she was.

Mother Angelica. The Rosary. Playing on a channel he’d skipped hundreds of times.

Coincidence?

Not a chance.

“The true visitor I had… was our Lady.”

In that moment, everything slowed down.

He grabbed onto the prayer. Followed along. Clung to it like oxygen.

And something inside him finally broke open.

Not in weakness.

In surrender.

The Shift From Control to Surrender

After he left the hospital, things didn’t go back to normal.

They went deeper.

He didn’t just believe in God anymore.

He pursued Him.

Daily Mass. The Eucharist. The Rosary.

Not out of obligation—but hunger.

“I can’t get enough of our Lord.”

That’s the difference.

Before, faith was something he fit into his life.

Now, it became the center of it.

And slowly, everything else began to realign—his marriage, his fatherhood, his purpose.

Even his prayers changed.

“Now, I pray for souls.”

That’s a man who’s no longer living for himself.

That’s a man who’s been rebuilt.

The Message Most Men Need to Hear

At the end of it all—after the crashes, the illness, the rebuilding—his message isn’t complicated.

It’s just hard.

“You’re not alone.”

Men carry pressure silently.

Provide. Protect. Perform.

And somewhere along the way, they start believing it all depends on them.

It doesn’t.

And the moment a man realizes that?

Everything changes.

Dan puts it simply, but it hits like a punch:

“Where is Jesus in your life right now?”

Roof rack? Trunk? Back seat?

Or did you finally give Him the wheel?

Final Word

Dan Venezia didn’t become a different man because he survived twice.

He became a different man because he finally surrendered.

That’s the real miracle.

Not survival.

But transformation.

And maybe the hardest truth in his whole story is this:

You don’t have to almost die to wake up.

But most men wait until they do.

Jesus came that we may have life and have it more abundantly (John 10:10). Yet so many men are missing out on that abundant life, and worse, they often lead others to miss it as well.

At Heroic Men, and in nearly every ministry engaging and supporting men, we are all too aware of the persisting epidemic of isolation and loneliness so many men experience. This crisis is well documented, so I’ll only reiterate this: when men don’t show up as God intended, it damages our closeness with Christ, our families, and our church and work communities.

Men, we are not just made for more. We are made to solve the very epidemic we find ourselves facing.

I have pointed out before how we are made for relationship — first with God, and then with each other. The Ten Commandments guide us to live our lives as God desires. Jesus simply commands us to “love one another as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

But living this out is hard.

It becomes even harder for those of us who over-prioritize work, lounge in our man cave, or spend hours on end playing video games while neglecting meaningful relationships.

God’s Fingerprints Are All Over This Harvard Study

Last month, I shared several scriptures highlighting God’s call to Christian brotherhood. But if you want more proof of how God equipped us for relationship, His fingerprints are all over the findings reported in the Harvard University “Study of Adult Development.”

For 87 years, this project has documented the keys to a happy, healthy, and fulfilling life. Ironically, God’s plan as we know it was not the focus of the study. Yet the findings consistently point back to God’s design and commands.

You can easily search and read the study’s reports yourself, but here are some of the most prominent conclusions.

The Study’s Biggest Conclusion? It’s All About Relationships

1. Quality Trumps Quantity
   A good life is not about the number of friends you have or whether you are in a committed relationship. The quality of your close relationships is what matters. High-conflict marriages or toxic friendships can be detrimental to both emotional and physical health.

2. Social Fitness Is Essential

   Just like physical fitness, relationships require maintenance.

   We need to actively practice “social fitness” by reaching out, having deep conversations, and making deliberate efforts to nurture meaningful bonds.

3. Relationships Protect Against Pain
   People in satisfying relationships reported that their moods did not suffer as much, even on days when they experienced greater physical pain.
   Conversely, those in unhappy relationships felt both greater physical and emotional suffering.

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Brotherhood Impacts Brain Health and Longevity

Strong social connections are associated with lower rates of chronic diseases such as diabetes and heart disease, stronger immune systems, and a significantly slower rate of cognitive decline and memory loss later in life.

Loneliness Literally Kills

One of the most striking findings of the study was this:

Chronic loneliness is as physically harmful to your long-term health and mortality risk as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.

Isolation is toxic.

Early Relationships Matter — But It’s Never Too Late

Individuals who had secure attachments and loving environments in their early years developed natural skills for forming healthy adult relationships and were ultimately happier.

However, the study also showed that those who did not have this kind of upbringing could still learn to build strong relationships and experience these benefits later in life.

Relationships Matter More Than Status, IQ, or Genetics

The study found that relationships keep people happier throughout their lives. Strong relational ties protect people from life’s discontents, help delay mental and physical decline, and are better predictors of long and happy lives than social class, IQ, or even genes.

One especially powerful finding was this:

Those who were most satisfied in their relationships at age 50 were the healthiest at age 80.

Science Keeps Catching Up to Scripture

Clearly, these findings confirm that we are made for relationship and fulfilled when we invest in it.

I could go on sharing conclusions from the study. Secular research like this — and this is the longest longitudinal study of its kind — frequently makes the case for living as Christians without ever mentioning God directly.

While this project studied both men and women, our mission at Heroic Men is to encourage and equip men to grow in relationship with Jesus and with other men. This is the foundation for living out our Creator’s will for us.

As both scripture and this study make clear, we are called to the work of what we call “handshake outreach.”

Your Challenge This Week

This week, ask God during your prayer time to give you a new openness and renewed energy to meet others and reinvest in the friendships you already have.

It will take a bit of risk and time. But it’s God’s plan for you and the payoff will be eternal!

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There are men who tell their life story as though it were a staircase. One clean step after another. A clear calling, a few obstacles, a noble result. Tim Huelskamp does have a calling story, though it comes with more gravel in it than glory.

It begins in a small Catholic parish in rural Kansas, among farm fields, family discipline, and the kind of faith that gets handed on through habit before anyone has the language to explain it fully. He grew up seeing religion lived in ordinary ways, inside an ordinary family, in a place where Mass, confession, and prayer were woven into the structure of life.

That early formation ran deep enough that, after high school, he entered seminary to explore the priesthood, convinced this might be the road God had placed before him.

THE BREAK

That conviction had roots. He describes years of feeling drawn toward priestly life, stirred especially by the example of his parish priest and by a relationship with Christ shaped in a small parish where the faith felt sturdy and local rather than abstract.

For a young man trying to read the signs, the pattern seemed plain. He believed he was being called. He said yes. Then the Church answered in a way he had never imagined.

After about two and a half years, he was asked to leave the seminary.

Looking back, he still describes that rupture as the hardest decision of his life. “I said yes to the church,” he says, “and then they said no to me.”

Huelskamp says the seminary environment itself had become a struggle for him, one he regarded as deeply hostile to the orthodoxy he had been raised to love. He was young, trying to hold fast to what he had received from his family, his pastor, and the Church’s teaching, while also wrestling with an institution that, in his telling, often seemed to be pulling in another direction.

In that pressure cooker he discovered the figure who would remain one of his great heroes: St. Athanasius.

AGAINST THE WORLD

Athanasius appealed to him at once. Here was a saint who had stood against error in Church and state alike, a man exiled five times for refusing to bend on the divinity of Christ, a bishop whose courage earned him the famous phrase Athanasius contra mundum, Athanasius against the world.

Huelskamp speaks of him with an almost boyish intensity, the way one recognizes an old ally across the centuries. He admired Athanasius for the refusal to surrender truth for comfort, status, or survival.

“If the world is against the truth, that I am against the world,” he says, quoting the saint’s stance in language that clearly became part of his own internal furniture.

The battle was no longer historical. It had become personal.

Huelskamp recalls one searing moment after the collapse of his seminary path, sitting on concrete steps and wrestling with something even deeper than vocational loss. He remembers, with striking candor, a moment when he felt pushed toward doubting whether God was even real.

“It was a watershed moment,” he says. “I chose God. Or rather, he chose me.”

That choice, in his telling, did what many such choices do. It did not remove suffering. It gave suffering a direction.

A DIFFERENT LIFE EMERGES

The road that followed had little of the polished symmetry people like to impose afterward. He finished college. He moved into graduate work in political science.

Somewhere along the way, his involvement in pro-life work deepened, and there, outside an abortion clinic, he met the woman who would become his wife, Angela.

He tells that part of the story with a line that arrives carrying both gravity and a flicker of humor: “She wasn’t going in.” Both were there to pray and to encourage women in crisis pregnancies to choose life.

It became, he says, the ministry heart of their marriage.

That marriage brought another suffering, slower and more private. The children they hoped for never came. In time they adopted four children.

It is one more place in his life where the road he would never have chosen became the road that formed him.

Had he remained in seminary, he says, he would never have met his wife, never have become father to those children, never have lived that particular vocation.

The line between loss and gift, in his account, is real. It also winds.

BACK TO THE FARM, THEN FORWARD

That winding road eventually led back to Kansas, back to the farm, and then into public life. He had assumed, after graduate study, that he might settle into academic work.

Then his father called to say the family had lost the hired man on the farm. Huelskamp phoned back a couple hours later and asked to apply for the job himself.

One can picture the scene: political science training in one hand, dirt-under-the-fingernails necessity in the other. Kansas, apparently, had other plans.

Soon he entered politics and would remain in elective office for two decades, including six years in Congress.

THE COST OF VISIBILITY

Public life, he says, carried its own desolation.

Thousands may know your name, he remarks, and many of them will dislike you. Visibility is a poor substitute for brotherhood.

He speaks with unusual frankness about the loneliness that accompanied politics and the ways a public role can leave a man visible while still isolated. Even parish life, under those conditions, could become a place where he was “checking the boxes” rather than building genuine community with other men.

What altered that, late enough in life to sting a little, came through retreat and fraternity. An ACTS retreat, then deeper engagement with men’s formation, helped him see how much he had missed by living without sustained male fellowship rooted in faith.

THE HABITS THAT HELD

Prayer formed the spine of everything.

Huelskamp says the single most important thing he learned during seminary was daily prayer, especially the breviary. That habit stayed. So did daily Mass whenever possible.

Then, in his mid-50s, another practice opened into his life with unusual force: perpetual adoration.

An hour in the presence of Christ each week became, for him, a place of deep examination and renewed calling. He speaks of it plainly, without ornament, which gives the statement more weight rather than less.

Out of 168 hours in a week, he says, a man can give one.

THE MODEL AT HOME

Asked about heroes, Huelskamp names saints and public figures, including the Wichita Diocese’s Father Emil Kapaun, the Army chaplain who died in Korea and was later awarded the Medal of Honor.

Yet when he turns toward the figure who marked him most deeply, he goes home.

His father, he says, lived the faith without polish, without theological sophistication, without the sort of vocabulary that impresses anyone at a conference podium.

He farmed. He led. He expected the family to go to Mass, to pray the rosary, to keep the rhythms of Catholic life.

“He lived his faith,” Huelskamp says. Grand theory, in the end, gives way to witness.

Now Huelskamp says his work lies in urging Catholics to live their faith in the public square, with courage and clarity, rather than retreating into private devotion while the culture grows increasingly hostile.

It is easy to hear, beneath that mission, the echo of the saint who first stirred his imagination.

Athanasius against the world.

A farm boy against confusion. A seminarian against collapse. A congressman against pressure.

None of those stories comes packaged as triumph. They come as persistence. Which may be the more serious form of courage anyway.

Tom Hornacek and Dean Patterson sat down and confronted a topic many avoid but few escape: forgiveness.

“Forgiveness is not a feeling, it’s a decision,” Hornacek said early in the episode, setting the tone for a conversation. If forgiveness depends on emotion, it rarely happens. If it is a decision, it becomes unavoidable.

A Command, Not a Suggestion

The hosts anchored their discussion in the Lord’s Prayer and Gospel teachings, particularly the stark warning that divine forgiveness is tied to human forgiveness. Patterson admitted the implication is unsettling.

“If we do not forgive others, neither will our heavenly Father forgive us,” Tom said, calling it “a big one… because forgiveness is not always easy.”

Hornacek reinforced the point with parables and scripture, emphasizing that forgiveness is not presented as optional behavior for Christians. It is an expectation.

“It’s not an option. For followers of Christ, refusing to forgive is a sin,” he said.

The framing shifts forgiveness from a therapeutic suggestion to a moral requirement. In their telling, the issue is less about emotional closure and more about obedience.

The Weight of Unforgiveness

The hosts described unforgiveness as corrosive, both spiritually and physically. Hornacek compared it to self-inflicted harm.

“Unforgiveness is drinking the poison, hoping the other person will die,” he said.

Patterson offered a personal example: one day he realized he carried a list of 19 individuals whom he had never fully forgiven. Some were long dead.

“They don’t even know I’m thinking about them… and I’m carrying that,” he said.

The person most affected by unforgiveness is the one holding it. The grievance may feel justified, but its long-term effect is internal confinement.

Hornacek described it more bluntly.

“It slowly saps our strength, steals our joy, and imprisons us,” he said.

Why Forgiveness Fails

The hosts identified several barriers that prevent forgiveness from taking root. Pride emerged as the primary obstacle.

“How can you expect me to forgive? Do you know what they did to me?” Hornacek said. “There’s a belief that forgiving will make us vulnerable,” he said. And we fear that weakness.

Then there’s doubt. Some wounds appear too deep to release. Many men would settle on saying, “No one could ever forgive what he did to me,” Hornacek said.

Each barrier reinforces the others. Pride protects identity, fear protects safety, and doubt protects the narrative that the offense is unforgivable. Together, they form a closed loop.

Forgiveness Without Reconciliation

A key distinction emerged as the discussion progressed: forgiveness does not guarantee reconciliation.

“Forgiveness takes two people—you and God. Reconciliation takes three,” Hornacek said.

This difference allows for boundaries, even after forgiveness has been extended. A relationship may remain fractured, and that does not invalidate the act of forgiving.

Patterson described attempts to repair relationships that did not yield mutual restoration.

“That doesn’t guarantee that we’re going to have a rosy relationship,” he said. “That isn’t the point.”

The point is alignment with a higher command rather than interpersonal success.

A Process, Not a Moment

The hosts resisted the idea that forgiveness is a one-time event. Instead, they described it as layered, requiring repetition.

“We must forgive again and again,” Hornacek said, referencing the biblical “seventy times seven.”

But it’s true: old wounds resurface. Emotional reactions return. Each instance becomes another decision point.

Patterson acknowledged the ongoing nature of the effort. “I have to go back and realize… right, I haven’t forgiven yet,” he said.

Forgiveness becomes a discipline rather than a milestone.

From Victim to Freedom

The conversation shifted toward identity, contrasting a “victim mentality” with a sense of spiritual purpose. Hornacek used the example of Jesus, who endured injustice without adopting the identity of a victim.

“For all appearances, Jesus was a victim… but he remembered who he was,” he said.

If a person defines themselves by the offense, forgiveness feels like surrender. If identity rests elsewhere, forgiveness becomes possible.

The hosts described freedom as the outcome. “When you forgive, that unlocks your freedom,” Hornacek said.

Practical Steps: Action begins before comfort

Despite the weight of the topic, the episode closed with practical suggestions. Start small. Initiate conversation. Ask direct questions.

“I must have said or done something… please tell me what it is so I can apologize,” Hornacek suggested as an opening line.

Patterson echoed the emphasis on action, even without resolution. “Just find a way to open the door… and see where that gets you,” he said. “I’m not good at it yet,” he admits.

Forgiveness, in their telling, is not a solved problem but a recurring challenge, one tied to identity, belief, and daily choice.

Marcus Aurelius was the Philosopher-Emperor of the Roman world. But the world was not at peace. His armies were stretched thin on the Danube. Germanic tribes pressed hard at the borders. The Antonine Plague swept through Rome, maybe killing ten percent of his people. Senators smiled at dinner and whispered about assassination in corridors. He wore the purple robe, but being emperor was a death sentence waiting to happen.

This was the “normal” world Marcus fell asleep to and rose in the mornings to rule. The empire looked unbreakable on a map, but inside it was bleeding. The economy sagged, coinage got thinner every year, and gladiatorial games distracted the masses while slaves built the wealth.

This Philosopher King, did something strange. He picked up a wax tablet in a drafty field tent along the Danube frontier, and wrote… to himself. Don’t let anger eat you alive. Don’t bow to pleasure. Don’t forget you’re going to die. That’s the Meditations. It feels like a man clawing at the walls of his own head, desperate to stay sane.

Rome preached dominance: take, conquer, indulge. Marcus was training himself in restraint. Rein it in, stay steady, endure without complaint.

For elites, for soldiers, for anyone choking on the excess of empire, it was a way to survive while the world felt more and more insane.

Marcus Aurelius was born in 121 AD, a teen marked early for greatness when Emperor Hadrian noticed his seriousness and had him adopted into the imperial family. He grew up under layers of tutors, drilled in philosophy more than politics, drawn to the Stoics while still a teenager. By 40 he was emperor, ruling alongside Lucius Verus, then alone.

His reign was anything but peaceful: the Parthian War in the east, the Antonine Plague that hollowed out cities, and almost nonstop campaigns along the Danube against Germanic tribes.

His notes reveal a ruler who distrusted his own impulses, grieved children lost to plague, and felt crushed by power, and still stood up every morning to carry out his duty. Again and again he drilled himself: control your judgments, accept fate, do the work before you, remember death, live in harmony with nature. For Marcus, this wasn’t armchair philosophy or a cool Tiktok for likes. It was survival. With wars raging and no confidant safe enough to trust, his notes became one place he could fight and win: over himself.

The years probably exhausted him. He spent more time in muddy camps than in the palaces of Rome. His co-emperor Verus died, his wife Faustina died, plague kept killing, wars kept spreading. He held the empire together with sheer persistence. In 180 AD, at Vindobona or maybe Sirmium (sources differ), Marcus himself fell sick, likely the same plague that had shadowed his reign, and died at 58.

His death ended the line of the so-called “Five Good Emperors.” Into his place stepped his son Commodus, a reckless contrast to his father’s austere strength, remembered as one of Rome’s worst rulers. Marcus Aurelius left no golden age, no empire at peace. What he left was a battered Rome still standing, and a set of private words that outlived all the marble: one man’s fight to keep his soul steady when the world would not stop shaking.

Two thousand years later, you and me feel like we’re in the same rat race. Stoicism is trending on Instagram. CEOs and influencers quote him like scripture. Life feels like that staggering empire again. We don’t have legions and plagues in the same way, but we do have wars, and the rumors of wars, and pandemics. We might have it worse, even when we have it better: You are under siege by notifications, bills, deadlines, algorithms clawing for your attention, companies bleeding you of your money and health. You wake up and the empire is already waiting to own you and tax you.

Most of us weren’t taught how to stand strong against a storm of a thousand cuts that bleeds your attention to a million pieces. No class in school taught you how to carry grief. No mentor showed you how to be steady under pressure. The culture still does what it ever did: indulge, consume, grab everything you can.

That’s why a philosopher-king from 180 AD still whispers: you can have a good life in bad times by mastering yourself.

That’s why Stoicism feels like oxygen to many of us. It’s not escapism. Philosopher Jules Evans says stoicism wasn’t for monks or ascetics—it was designed for soldiers, governors, men in the arena. It’s like Buddhism’s cousin, but aimed at engaging with the world, not retreating from it. The promise is simple: even if the world collapses, you can still stand upright, if you govern yourself.

But maybe here’s the thing. Stoicism braces you, but it doesn’t heal you. Marcus could hold back anger, but he couldn’t turn it into love. He could stare down death, but he couldn’t see resurrection in it. That’s the hand-off. Psychology today digs deeper: we can name trauma, unearth wounds, heal the mind.

Christianity goes even further. It crowns Stoic dignity with something more: you are not just dust mastering yourself, you are beloved. Endurance is good, but communion and brotherhood is better. Self-mastery is noble, but real freedom is surrender to God.

Stoicism is good at sanding down our rough edges. But it stops at the edge of eternity. Marcus tells us: Control your thoughts, accept your fate, be calm in suffering. Christianity says: Yes—but also, you are more than your fate. You are beloved. Your suffering is not just endured; it can be redeemed. Stoicism builds the house, Christianity lights the fire inside and welcomes in angels and the Christ who knocks at the door.

The Aurelius Challenge

Every morning, open your notebook. Write down who you dream of being when things get hard, or go wrong: patient, honest, steady, faithful. Don’t leave it in your head. Get it on the page. Read that every day for a week.

Then go further each time. Close the book, open your hands, and pray: God, I can’t do this alone. Make me the man you need me to be.

Marcus Aurelius carried Rome on his shoulders and his soul in a journal. We can learn the lessons, take the discipline, the clarity, the philosopher-king’s whisper, and offer our efforts to a greater King. Marcus reminded himself to endure, to hold the line. But you were made not just to endure—you were made to rise.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

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A Desire for Something More

My name is Jaxyn Flunder. I am 22 years old, and I am a member of the Seeds of the Word religious community in the Roman Catholic Church. Currently, I am in the stage of novitiate on the path of becoming a consecrated brother within the community and, God willing, further down the road, a priest.

The Catholic Church is like a garden with many different types of flowers, which can represent the many different charisms within the Church. This is the beautiful part of the Church: we are one body with many different members. If we each fulfill the purpose and calling that God has for us, we can complete the body, for there are no gaps in the Body of Christ.

Whether or not we are aware of it, we are all longing to find our place in the home of the Catholic Church, for it is God’s will for each one of us to live as members of His Church. This is not an easy process, but a very doable one by our willingness and desire to correspond to God’s will.

I would like to share a little bit with you about how God has helped me find my home within His Church.

Encountering Jesus Through the Sacraments

It has been just a little over three years since I began the process of reverting to the Catholic faith, personally encountering Jesus Christ through the sacraments of the Church, most specifically through daily Mass and Eucharistic adoration, as well as frequent confession.

Early on in my reversion, God filled me with a radical desire to give up the things of this passing world and pursue a life of seeking His will.

After five months of building a life of daily prayer through the sacraments of the Church, God led me to do a sabbatical year with the Seeds of the Word community. In my human understanding, I believed that I was going to do a sabbatical year and then God would call me to go to the diocesan seminary.

God had better plans for me…

“Why Not Here?”

Throughout the nine months of the sabbatical year, God proposed to me the question: “Why not here?” referring to me staying in the Seeds of the Word community.

Although I had many oppositions within me, I could not deny the fact that God had spoken and revealed His desire for me.

Long story short, through prayer and spiritual accompaniment, God made it very clear to me that the next step in my life would be to join the Seeds of the Word community for a candidacy year.

The Battle for God’s Will

Throughout my candidacy year, I faced many different internal challenges, most of them being exterior things that were distractions trying to take me away from God’s will.

The enemy of our souls likes to distract us with exterior things that are good but not necessary to fulfill God’s will. He will use them to try and pull us away from what is truly important: doing God’s will.

By God’s grace and will, He permitted me to pass through this combat so that I could better respond to His call.

Mary Opened My Heart

It was by the grace and help of our mother Mary that my heart was able to be opened up to the will of the Holy Spirit in my life.

Mary, being the spouse of the Holy Spirit, is the advocate of the Advocate and desires nothing more than for her children to do God’s will.

Through renewing my consecration to the Immaculate Heart of Mary and reciting daily the Most Holy Rosary, Mary opened my heart to receive a new openness to the Holy Spirit.

Mary helped open my heart so that I could give God permission.

“Let It Be Done Unto Me”

I can truly say that without Mary’s intervention in my life, I would not have been able to answer this call. I also believe that she needs to play a role in each and every one of our lives so that we can give our fiat like Mary:

“Let it be done unto me according to your word.” — Luke 1:38

Mary is Immaculate, and she is the only member of God’s Church to be perfectly obedient to the will of God throughout her life.

If we desire to fulfill God’s will, we should be close to the Virgin Mary so that we too may learn to be obedient sons and daughters of the Father.

Trusting in Mary’s unwavering intercession, I entrust my vocation to her, knowing that she will help me fulfill the will of her Son moving forward to give my yes, day by day.

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Learning What It Truly Means to Be Catholic

Now, I am currently in my discipleship year as a committed member of the Seeds of the Word community.

If you were to tell me three years ago that I would be a member of a Charismatic community, I would have looked at you with a disappointed face.

Why?

Because of the many misunderstandings and illusions I had within my heart from what I heard from others, as well as my own preconceived notions of the Charismatic Renewal in the Catholic Church.

Mostly because I listened to the voices of other people expressing their own viewpoints and conceptions about the renewal rather than listening to the actual voice and will of the Church.

This caused a great distrust toward the Church and a division within me.

A “Current of Grace”

Thanks be to God, I can now say today that I am extremely happy and fulfilled to be a member of a Charismatic community within the Catholic Church.

St. Pope Paul VI described the Charismatic Renewal as a “current of grace.” Indeed, I have experienced this current through a life in the Holy Spirit with the Seeds of the Word community.

Living in this community, the Lord has begun a process of making all things new for me, as Jesus says in Revelation 21:5:

“Behold, I make all things new.”

The Seeds community has shown me what it truly means to be Catholic: to live a life centered on the sacraments of the Church and the Word of God that sustain and nourish a personal relationship with Jesus.

The Church Is Alive and Well

Jesus says in Matthew 16:18:

“And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.”

The Church is alive and well.

The question is: Is our faith and trust in Jesus alive and well?

Jesus has given us His Church to have as our Mother and refuge, where we can realize the will of God in our lives.

Everything Begins With Encountering Jesus

In conclusion, everything needs to flow from a personal encounter with Jesus Christ.

If I do not have this encounter with the living person of Jesus, then I will have no desire to seek God’s will and listen to the Church.

Jesus has a personal call and will for each member of the Church, and it looks different for everybody.

The Church gives us all that we need to encounter the living God of Jesus Christ. We, on our part, need to take the step forward in trusting the Church in what it proposes to us so that we can live a life of intimacy with God, seeking His will.

Trust the Church. Trust God’s Process.

“The will of the Church is the will of God,” says St. Faustina:

“I will follow Your will,” St. Faustina promised the Lord, “insofar as You will permit me to do so through Your representative. O my Jesus, it cannot be helped, but I give priority to the voice of the Church over the voice with which You speak to me.”
— Diary of St. Faustina, 497

Whether or not you have found your home within the Church, we can all trust in God through His Church more, and in doing so we will all be gathered together as many members in the one Body of Christ, living together in unity as the Psalmist says:

“Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!” — Psalm 133:1

Trust God’s process and plan that He has for you, and live under the protection of obedience that Jesus gives to us through Holy Mother Church.

Obedience will save the world, as St. Paul says:

“For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous.” — Romans 5:19

Without the Church and its protection ordained by God, we would be lost like sheep without a shepherd.

Most importantly, be open to the action of the Holy Spirit in your life and give God permission.

TOTUS TUUS. AVE MARIA.

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For Deacon Michael Bellinder, the moment that changed his life forever came late one night in March 1996.

Bellinder had been working relentless days—running a struggling family printing business during the day and selling cable services door-to-door at night to support his wife and three children. The routine often stretched to 16 or 17 hours.

“I kept praying, ‘Lord, something’s got to give,’” he recalled.

What came next was not the answer he expected.

On March 21, the first day of spring, Bellinder was locking up the cable office around 11 p.m. after escorting lady coworkers to their cars—a safety practice he had started himself after the company stopped providing escorts.

When he opened the door to leave, the night exploded into chaos.

“The door just whooshed out of my hands,” Bellinder said. “Before we knew it, five ski-mask men were on top of us.”

His first thought was disbelief.

“This is a joke,” he remembered thinking.

Then a gun was pressed against his throat.

Facing Death

The prayer he remembered from childhood

The robbers forced Bellinder and a coworker to kneel on the floor with their noses touching the ground. Their hands were duct-taped behind their backs.

“If there’s anybody else in the building,” one attacker shouted, “you’re a dead man. We’re going to kill you.”

Bellinder said he could almost feel his heart pounding out of his chest.

In that moment, a memory from childhood surfaced. Catholic nuns had once taught him what to do if he believed death was near: pray the Act of Contrition.

“My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you…” he prayed silently.

What happened next surprised him.

“As I prayed that prayer, I went into the most incredible state of peace I’ve ever felt in my entire life,” Bellinder said. “I felt like I was having an appetizer of the banquet of heaven.”

The robbers were there to steal cable boxes from the warehouse—devices that could be resold illegally for hundreds of dollars.

When a hidden alarm sounded, the plan collapsed.

One of the men fired a gun. Point blank range. The heat flashed up his back.

“I Forgive You”

The bullet struck Bellinder in the lower spine.

“As I’m falling to the ground,” he said, “three words shot out of my mouth just as fast as the bullet that went into my spine.”

“I forgive you.”

Bellinder insists he didn’t consciously decide to say it.

“I have no way of thinking that fast,” he said. “It was an automatic response because of the depth of that peace that I felt.”

The bullet lodged between vertebrae in his lower back. Doctors later said it came dangerously close to causing permanent paralysis.

Even today, Bellinder lives with neuropathy in his left leg.

“My left foot feels like it’s asleep all the time,” he explained.

Sports he once loved, such as basketball, soccer, and tennis, are now impossible.

Yet he says he has never felt anger toward the men who shot him.

“That was 30 years ago,” he said. “And I’ve not had one day of anger against them.”

A Father’s Reaction

When Bellinder’s parents arrived at the hospital and saw his bruised and battered face, his father reacted with fury.

“My dad said, ‘I’m going to get those—’” Bellinder recalled.

But Bellinder stopped him.

“I said, ‘Dad, I’ve already forgiven them. I want you to forgive them too.’”

The response stunned him.

“I saw his countenance change,” Bellinder said. “That permission gave him the freedom also to forgive.”

Since then, Bellinder has devoted much of his speaking ministry to the topic of forgiveness.

He recalls one woman at a senior home who initially refused to attend his talk.

“I don’t need any talk on forgiveness,” she said. She was just a mean old wretched woman.

She listened anyway.

Two days later, the chaplain called Bellinder with news.

The woman had phoned her daughter—ending a 15-year estrangement.

Walking With the Dying

Today Bellinder serves as a hospice chaplain, a role he describes as the most meaningful work of his life.

“I believe death is the last and most intimate experience that we all have to go through,” he said.

His job is to walk families through that final moment.

“I tell them how privileged I am to walk with them,” he said.

Bellinder asks patients and families a series of questions meant to uncover deeper spiritual concerns: fears about death, unresolved conflicts, doubts about faith, or struggles with forgiveness.

One experience stands out vividly.

After praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet beside a dying man named John, Bellinder told the family that a faithful Christian’s greatest gift is the final breath—the moment when a soul meets Christ.

“When I said ‘last breath,’ John took his last breath,” Bellinder said.

The room fell silent with shock and awe. “And we felt the presence of Jesus in that room,” he recalled.

The Crisis of Meaning

Through years of hospice ministry, Bellinder says he has noticed a troubling pattern.

Many people reach the end of their lives without a clear sense of purpose.

“It’s sad,” he said. “God has given us meaning. He’s given us purpose. But it’s up to us to discover what that purpose is.”

For men especially, he believes fatherhood plays a central role.

“Because we don’t have strong fatherhoods,” he said, “we don’t have strong families.”

Bellinder encourages men searching for direction to review their lives carefully.

“What lights your fire?” he asks them.

Often, he says, that spark points directly toward God’s calling.

Looking back at his own life—from speech therapy as a child to years in the business world—Bellinder believes every experience prepared him for ministry.

“Everything that I’ve done has culminated to the point where I’m at now,” he said.

Heroes Who Inspire Him

Bellinder draws inspiration from historical and spiritual figures who lived with courage.

One is Desmond Doss, the Seventh-day Adventist medic portrayed in the film Hacksaw Ridge, who rescued 75 soldiers in World War II without carrying a weapon.

“He would say, ‘Lord, let me save just one more,’” Bellinder said.

Catholic saints also shape his vision of heroism.

Among them:

• Saint Joseph, whom Bellinder calls the ultimate model of fatherhood

• Padre Pio, known for spending up to 18 hours hearing confessions

• Saint Maximilian Kolbe, who volunteered to die in a Nazi concentration camp to save another man

• Mother Teresa, who served the poorest of the poor

Their examples push him toward a radical spiritual ambition.

“I pray every day,” Bellinder said, “Lord, I want to die for you. You died for me. I want to die for you.”

Seeking heroism

Bellinder says heroism rarely appears overnight. “It’s a process,” he said.

Even his own faith took decades to mature.

The gunshot wound, years of depression and anxiety from medical complications, and the upheaval of the COVID-19 pandemic each deepened his spiritual life.

Now he and his wife pray together nightly—an hour of rosaries, chaplets, and devotional prayers.

“Seek the will of God in your life every day,” he advises men.

“Do an examination of conscience every day. Where have I failed today? How can I make it right tomorrow?”

Heroism, he believes, grows through thousands of small decisions.

“You don’t just become a hero overnight,” Bellinder said.

“But if you do the will of the Heavenly Father, you will set the world on fire.”

Pornography isn’t a surface problem—it reshapes the brain, distorts relationships, and fractures a man’s identity. Dean Patterson, Tom Hornacek, and Matt Christoff unpack what happens after the damage: how a man rebuilds, reconnects with God, and restores his life through discipline, habits, and brotherhood.

What You’ll Learn
✅ Why porn is described as a “center of the soul” sin
✅ How the brain begins to heal after quitting
✅ The role of confession, identity, and spiritual discipline
✅ Practical tools to break cycles of temptation and rebuild habits

In 1530 England, the air is charged with unease. Ships are pushing across the Atlantic into the New World, scholars are poring over Plato and Cicero, and the printing press is turning universities inside out, putting learning and Luther’s defiance in the hands of anyone who can read or read aloud.

At the center of this storm stands King Henry VIII, a king desperate for a son, furious that Rome won’t untie his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. His solution is to dislocate the English church from allegiance to the Pope, and crown himself supreme.

Right beside him, until he couldn’t be, is Thomas More. Lawyer, scholar, wit, he is Henry’s friend. A man who once wrote Utopia, probing what a just society could look like. A man who rose to become Lord Chancellor of England, second only to the king.

At this time, the clergy has already been forced to admit Henry as “supreme head… as far as the law of Christ allows.” That’s lawyerly air cover, a hedge. But the campaign keeps advancing: restraint of appeals to Rome; the realm declared an “empire”; the King’s courts now the last stop for souls as well as suits. By 1534, Parliament adds fresh teeth: make the wrong speech about supremacy, and your words are treason.

The Wars of the Roses are only a lifetime behind him. Every courtier can imagine England slipping back into faction and blood.

Thomas More’s job was to keep the country together, and in those days, heresy and treason were close allies. Especially with a king edging toward becoming his own pope. Humanists grumble that religion is bloated with superstition; radicals smuggle books that say a plowman, Bible in hand, can tell a bishop he’s wrong, and Luther’s idea unravel the body of Christendom into warring factions of princes and prelates. ‘Heresy’ was not edgy thought, but a solvent poured on the load-bearing walls of a sacramental society.

When he prosecutes heresy as Chancellor, More isn’t crushing free thought; he’s holding the country together, the way a mason braces a cracked arch. Heresy is a contagion that unravels law, oath, and sacrament.

More believes deeply in the medieval Catholic order, with the Pope at its center, king and country was your identity. Dissent crushed for the sake of safety.

So when the Crown presents the Oath, More reads it like a lawyer, a theologian, and a man with a soul on the line. Could he swear to the succession? Yes. He’d already told friends he could live with a statute settling the crown. But the preamble? That’s where his pen stalls. It requires him to deny papal jurisdiction and affirm a chain of claims he cannot bind to God’s name without, in his mind, lying to God.

More was a lawyer to the bone, and oaths weren’t casual. To him, an oath was sacred, binding before God. To swear what he didn’t believe would be to damn himself.

He tried to walk a razor’s edge: silent enough to avoid treason, firm enough to keep his conscience intact. Silence as shield. Silence as protest. We see a king who fears dynastic chaos more than excommunication, and a counselor who fears perjury more than death. But Henry’s paranoia saw silence as defiance.

More was sent to the Tower.

He’s not playing the hero; he’s trying to thread a needle. He refuses to rail against the King; he even blesses Henry’s health and Anne’s welfare. He prays for his judges.

He keeps the circle of his conscience small—family, sacrament, Scripture, the undivided Church he still believes exists across borders. This is not modern individualism. It’s a medieval conscience inside a Renaissance mind. He trusts that truth is real, and oaths either align to it or break your soul.

More’s life is a brutal reminder: you can’t fake an oath. You can’t lie to your own soul and walk away whole.

The Thomas More Challenge

Being a man of your word means you have integrity. People know what they’ll get when they deal with you. It builds a gravity field around you: trust, predictability, a kind of strength. More’s enemies hated him, but they trusted he wouldn’t lie.

For a man today, it means you stop living split. No hidden caveats, no half-promises, no “I’ll try.” When you speak, people relax or brace because they know you’ll follow through. That consistency is rarer than talent or charisma. It makes you someone others can anchor to in chaos.

Be slow to promise, and ruthless about keeping the promises you do make. In a world where words slip like water, treat yours like steel. Say fewer things. Mean it more. When you agree, you make the quiet decision to move heaven and earth to deliver—unless you discover it’s truly wrong to do, or truly impossible. Those are the only two exits. Everything else is weather. You push through weather.

Over the next seven days, practice doing what you promise. Do it well, and don’t look for a reward.

Your word becomes a kind of currency—hard, dependable, not inflated by excuses. Opportunities start to find you, because others know that if you say yes, it’s as good as done. And inside, you feel a steadiness grow; you don’t have to juggle masks or scramble for cover stories, because your life matches your mouth. Every time you keep a promise, no matter how small, you weld another plate of armor onto your character. Over years, that adds up to something rare: a reputation that outlives you.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

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Listening to Bishop Scott McCaig’s talk, one point kept rising to the top like a bell: evangelization cannot be built on fear, pressure, or mere strategy. Its starting point is far deeper—God’s own love made personal, meant to be received, internalized, and then shared. Only then do “methods” and “mission” make sense, because without that foundation everything becomes either empty ritual or cold manipulation.

Love is the irreplaceable theological foundation

McCaig frames the entire question of evangelization as a theological matter first: What kind of God are we announcing? If God is presented only as almighty majesty to be appeased, then religion inevitably slides into transactional behavior—payments, penances, anxiety, and distance. But if God is truly Father, whose very identity is love, then faith becomes filial: trusting, approaching, returning, and growing.

This emphasis aligns with the Catechism’s insistence that faith in God’s love includes an obligation to respond with sincere love, and that the first commandment calls us to love God above all. In Catholic terms, love is not a sentimental extra; it is the shape of the Christian response to divine charity.

And the Catechism connects that love of God directly to love of neighbor: “Love of neighbor is inseparable from love for God.” So evangelization, at its heart, is not primarily winning arguments—it is drawing people into the same reality of love that orders one’s life toward God and neighbor.

The danger of “religion without love”: Jansenism as a warning

McCaig illustrates his point with the history of Jansenism, a distortion that began with truths about God’s holiness and justice but twisted them into a spiritual atmosphere of dread. The key danger, as he describes it, is that people come to fear God rather than trust him—especially in relation to the sacraments.

The Church’s own condemned errors help clarify why this matters. In a decree condemning Jansenist errors, the Holy Office indicates that Christ’s sacrifice was not restricted in the way the Jansenists effectively implied. For example, one error states that Christ gave himself “not for the elect only, but for all the faithful only.” Another notes that when love is lacking in “great sinners,” faith is lacking as well—“their faith is not divine but human.”

In other words: if love is removed from the picture, even “faith” can be reduced to something smaller than God’s own life. McCaig’s insistence that evangelization must flow from love is not merely motivational; it guards against a profoundly real spiritual error.

“Yes, God is holy”—but God’s holiness is not cold distance

McCaig does not deny God’s transcendence. He speaks of awe and reverence—God’s greatness is real. Yet he insists that majesty does not cancel love. The Catechism describes God’s faithfulness and mercy, revealing that God is “rich in mercy” by giving up his Son, and that Jesus’ saving work manifests divine fidelity even amid human sin.

So the announcement at the center of evangelization is not: “God is terrifying; survive the threat.” The announcement is: God is Father, rich in mercy, drawing people into communion.

Even medieval mystical spirituality, like that attributed to St. Catherine of Siena, portrays the soul’s movement as joy and compassion—grieving for God’s offense and a neighbor’s loss, not obsessing over self. This spiritual “direction” mirrors McCaig’s core claim: love reorients the whole inner life.

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Evangelization is not partial “religious work”; it is the Church’s mission

McCaig also pushes a practical warning: don’t reduce evangelization to a checklist. This matches Pope Paul VI’s insistence that attempts to define evangelization in a partial way risk impoverishing or distorting it. Evangelization includes many elements—proclaiming Christ, preaching, catechesis, conferring baptism and other sacraments—but “any partial and fragmentary definition” is inadequate to evangelization’s full complexity.

So when a diocese talks about mission rather than maintenance, the goal is not simply to “do more things.” It is to ensure those things are permeated by the same reality: God’s love encountered and shared.

From Christendom to mission: the terrain has changed

A major historical thread in McCaig’s talk is that the Church is living in a different era: the broad social environment that once sustained Christian practice is no longer the default. This is why he speaks of transition and adaptation—without changing the gospel itself.

This idea connects well with the Church’s teaching on the “new evangelization.” The key point is that what is “new” is not the content of the gospel, but the Church’s posture and the way she proclaims it in a changing culture. As one study summarizes, Vatican II and subsequent magisterial teaching make clear that evangelization adapts the unchanging gospel to the current cultural climate, and that the new evangelization is “new” in “inner thrust,” “ways that correspond with the power of the Holy Spirit,” and in methods and expression suited to times and situations.

It also cautions against the idea of a one-size-fits-all program: the new evangelization does not mean “a single formula… the same for all circumstances,” but rather renewed ardor, methods, and expression.

What does adaptation look like in the Church’s ordinary life?

McCaig warns against two temptations: retreating into enclaves or surrendering to the culture’s moral relativism. Yet his alternative is not vague optimism; it points to concrete apostolic continuity—preaching, sacramental life, catechesis—done with gospel clarity and pastoral courage.

Here the Council of Trent provides a helpful “continuity anchor.” Trent teaches that bishops have a personal duty to preach the Gospel, or to appoint suitable preachers if impeded. It also states that parish clergy must feed the people with “wholesome words,” teaching what is necessary for salvation, and explaining vices to avoid and virtues to follow.

Trent even emphasizes that sacraments should be explained so people approach them with reverence and devotion. Bishops and parish priests are to explain the efficacy and use of the sacraments and, during mass, explain the sacred oracles and maxims of salvation so these teachings impress hearts and instruct in the law of the Lord.

This is exactly where McCaig’s message meets practical diocesan life: evangelization is not an add-on to parish work; it is how preaching, catechesis, and sacramental ministry become living encounters with the saving love of God.

Conclusion: rally close to the heart of Christ

McCaig’s closing vision—“great and wonderful days,” not gloom—makes sense only if the heart of evangelization is truly intact: God’s love given and received. When that foundation is secure, the Church can adapt methods, re-express the faith, train disciples, and enter the mission field “in the backyard” of everyday life.

But if love is missing, everything else becomes unstable. Fear shrinks the heart; strategy without love turns people into numbers; maintenance replaces mission. The Church’s task remains what it has always been: proclaim Christ, and draw people into a relationship where faith becomes trusting love rather than servile dread.

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Caleb Campbell did not begin with victory. He began with a wound that was breaking him open from the inside.

We asked what story of heroism lights him up, and he turned to a mythical figure: Chiron, the wounded healer.

Chiron was someone who could not heal his own pain, and yet became a source of healing for others. Campbell said that idea stayed with him because it reflected his own life.

Healing, for him, is not the removal of pain but the ability to carry it without being crushed by it.

That framework reshaped how he understands his past. Long before the NFL or West Point, he said he lived with a persistent ache, a belief that no matter what he achieved, it would never be enough.

At first, that belief drove him forward. It sharpened discipline and fueled ambition. It also built an identity around performance so complete that success became the only language he knew for belonging.

Raised in rural Texas, Campbell grew up in a financially strained household on a farm outside a small town. He was also raised in evangelical Christianity, where he was taught that God had a great plan for his life. Combined with natural athletic ability, that message quickly intensified. Coaches, pastors and family reinforced the same idea: his talent meant something, his success mattered, and failing to live up to it carried weight far beyond himself.

The result was pressure early and constant. He learned to interpret achievement as both validation and obligation. To succeed was not simply to win. It was to prove something deeper.

When achievement stops working

That crushing mindset carried him far. Campbell rose through high school football, earned a scholarship to West Point, became team captain and emerged as one of the top players at his position. Then came the NFL draft, the moment many athletes spend their lives chasing. He stood in Radio City Music Hall, surrounded by thousands of fans, as his name was called.

From the outside, it looked like fulfillment. Internally, the same doubt remained.

With success came visibility, and with visibility came pressure. Campbell described hearing himself labeled “America’s athlete,” and interpreting it as a demand: do not fail, do not break, do not show weakness.

He became skilled at maintaining that image. Outgoing, high energy, always moving, always performing. Underneath, he was avoiding stillness because stillness meant facing the pain he had spent years outrunning.

Eventually, that strategy collapsed.

He recalled waking up one morning late for practice, seeing substances on his bedside table and realizing how far he had drifted. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he broke down. The identity he had built could keep going for a while, but he knew where it would end.

He saw two options: continue pretending or walk away.

He walked away.

Letting an identity die

Looking back, Campbell describes that moment as a threshold. Everything that had brought him success no longer worked for the life he wanted next.

What changed him was not encouragement to push harder, but language that reframed his experience. A conversation with a mentor introduced him to a simple idea: there is no new life without death. The pain, resistance and confusion he felt were not signs of failure but signs that an old identity was ending.

That realization shifted the task. He no longer needed to prove he could hold everything together. He needed to let something end.

The boiler room

That surrender led him into a stark new reality. After encountering a church community in Canada, he packed his belongings, crossed the border and started over. He moved into a basement boiler room with a single cot and spent years working in humble roles while trying to rebuild his inner life.

The contrast with his previous life was extreme. Stadiums to a boiler room. Public acclaim to anonymity. Yet he described that transition as a release.

Walking away created space. The pressure that had defined him began to lift. For the first time in years, he felt something close to relief.

At the same time, he felt deeply alone.

He described that season as one of isolation, where the people who had known him before could not follow him into what came next. It was painful and disorienting. It was also formative. He now sees it as the period when he began to rebuild his relationship with himself.

Faith, expanded

Campbell’s return to faith happened during that season, though it did not look like a return to his earlier beliefs. He sought help, found a community, and began a process of healing that reshaped his understanding of God.

As he worked through his pain, the framework he had inherited as a child began to feel too small. His experience expanded his sense of what faith could be. Eventually, he left the institutional setting he had joined, but he did not see it as leaving God. He saw it as moving toward something larger, more alive and more real.

That shift changed how he understood prayer. Rather than limiting it to words, he now sees prayer as the posture of a life. A way of being that reflects love, presence and connection. In that sense, he said, a life can become a living prayer.

Loneliness and the threshold

Campbell now focuses on people who find themselves at the edge of their old life, unable to move forward but unable to go back. He describes this as a threshold between the first half of life and the second.

The first half teaches men how to earn belonging through effort, performance and control. The second requires letting go of those strategies. That transition feels like death because the old self was once necessary. It helped a man survive.

Letting it go can feel like losing part of yourself.

He speaks about that older self with respect, almost as if addressing a loyal companion that carried him through difficult years. But surviving and living are different, and the tools that once preserved a life can later limit it.

Loneliness becomes central in this transition. Campbell describes it not simply as being alone, but as feeling unseen and unknown. At the threshold, loneliness also reveals a deeper truth: the familiar version of the self can no longer carry you forward.

Facing that reality is painful. Avoiding it, he said, is worse.

He rejects the idea that men should handle this alone. While the work is personal, it does not have to be isolated. He emphasizes the importance of speaking about loneliness openly and asking others for space, honesty and support. That act, he argues, requires a deeper kind of strength than maintaining a polished exterior.

Living fully alive

Today, Campbell defines heroism differently than he once did. He points to everyday examples, especially his wife, whose life as a mother reflects what he sees as the core of spirituality: giving of oneself so that something new can grow.

His work now is to guide others through the same transition he experienced. He focuses on those who feel stuck, exhausted, unable to close the gap between the life they have and the life they imagined.

He does not offer shortcuts. Instead, he offers language and presence.

Asked what it means to live fully alive, his answer is direct: be present. Stop running forward or backward. Meet life as it is. That includes pain, doubt and uncertainty, but also possibility.

For years, he believed his pain was the obstacle. Now, he sees it as the doorway.

Porn isn’t harmless—it’s reshaping men’s brains, relationships, and spiritual lives in ways most never fully see. In this episode, Matthew Kristoff breaks down the concept of the “pornified man,” exposing how pornography impacts the mind, body, marriage, and society—and why understanding the damage is the first step toward change.

What You’ll Learn
✅ How porn rewires the brain and drives addiction
✅ Why it weakens focus, emotions, and decision-making
✅ The hidden damage to marriage, attraction, and family life
✅ The broader social and spiritual consequences most ignore

At Santiago Catholic Trade School, we believe the Church’s future depends not only on well formed minds but on well formed hands and hearts. The trades are more than a means to a paycheck; they are a pathway to purpose, discipline, and dignity. When a young man learns to build, repair, or cultivate, he is also learning to serve, to provide, and to persevere. These are the same virtues that define Heroic Catholic Men.

Where Faith and Formation Meet

Our mission began with a simple conviction: faith and formation belong together. Too many young men today are adrift, disconnected from the Church, uncertain of their place in the world, and searching for meaning in temporary things. The workshop, the farm, and the job site become classrooms for reclaiming that meaning. Here, they encounter mentors who pray with them before they pick up their tools and remind them that the work of their hands is part of God’s creative design.

A Daily Rhythm Rooted in the Church

At Santiago, we mirror the rhythm of the Church. The day begins at five thirty in the morning with prayer as the sun rises over the canyon. After breakfast at table, with classmates the training in the trades begin. By noon, our men gather for Mass, anchoring the day in the Eucharist. Afternoons are filled with study, and then dinner shared together at table once again, followed by Evening Prayer of the Church. Before bedtime , we pray the Rosary together to quiet the mind and bring the heart back to peace. This cadence forms not just habit but holiness. It roots each man in the liturgical life of the Church and allows him to explore his vocation in the fullest sense of the word—his calling to work, to lead, to love, and to live in communion with Christ.

Where Work Forms the Man

Each day is a balance of prayer, labor, and reflection. In the shop or on the farm, they learn that craftsmanship and character grow side by side. When a student finishes a project, he does not just see a completed wall, a functioning engine, or animals feed; he sees evidence that he can contribute to something lasting and good.

True Freedom Is Found in Responsibility

In a culture that confuses freedom with comfort, we teach that true freedom is found in responsibility. Our students learn that their strength is meant for service, their skills for stewardship, and their faith for leadership. They leave knowing that the Church and the world need them, that their hands, guided by grace, can rebuild what is broken.

The Call of Catholic Manhood

This is the call of Catholic manhood: to live with clarity, courage, and conviction. At Santiago, we are building that foundation, one young man, one trade, and one act of faith at a time.

By Mark McElrath, Executive Director, Santiago Catholic Trade School

Learn more!

Odysseus comes from Ithaca, a hard, stingy island at the edge of a Mycenaean world going brittle from battlefronts. This is the Late Bronze Age: palaces run like war-corporations, herds tallied in clay tablets, oxhide copper ingots stacked in storerooms, ships sliding along wine-dark trade corridors between Crete, Egypt, the Levant.

Homer calls Odysseus polytropos—many-turning. Not just clever. Curved. A mind that moves like a school of fish. Look at his bloodline: his grandfather Autolycus was a thief favored by Hermes, the god of travelers, liars, and luck. Odysseus is born into that weathe: half storm, half brain. Even his name carries friction: from odussomai, to be angered, to cause pain. He’s the man trouble clings to, and the man who knows how to make trouble work for him.

Ithaca forces that out of him. It’s not a fat kingdom; it’s a rock with goats. You can’t win there by muscle. You win by reading wind, calculating tides, keeping track of who owes you what across a web of guest-friendships that stretch from hut to throne room. This is the world of xenia—sacred hospitality—where a stranger under your roof becomes a kind of brother. Break that code and Zeus takes notice. Keep it, and doors open in the next harbor. Odysseus builds his life on that invisible network; it’s his insurance policy in a violent world.

And then the siege of Troy summons an alliance of demigods, generals, warriors, and soldiers. Ten years turns men into blunt, exhausted tools. Odysseus is the weird counter-current: the one still thinking when everyone else can only swing a blade. He recommends the giant wooden horse as the last move in the game, a fake surrender, a tribute to Athena to grant them all safe passage home. He knows the Trojans will want to desecrate it, own it, and ensure they never return to attack again. And so he plays his trap masterfully. Troy falls days later, and the war galleys make a taut turn behind the headland, and rush the walls.

That’s when his adventures gets worse, and troubles fly at him from right and left. There’s no time to plan, to think, to prepare. He must react right on the edge of danger, and he must not fail. This kind of knife-edge response comes from years of training your mind, preparing your soul, so that your team can count on you when all other lights go out.

The gods of his return sea voyage aren’t metaphors; they are the elements themselves. Poseidon in every broken wave that wants to flip your ship, Athena in the sudden, surgical thought that saves your crew. Odysseus struggles to stagger between them: the soldier of strategy patroned by the goddess of craft, hunted by the god he offended when he blinded a one-eyed son.

He faces Lotus-Eaters, numbed from the world’s pain into a soft couch of oblivion where men trade memory for food and naps. The Sirens promise praise, offering the joy of perfect knowledge and fame if you just steer your life into their greedy teeth. Scylla and Charybdis is the awful cost of leadership, when every option costs blood: choose the narrow passage, lose a few, save the many, and live with the screams in your dreams forever. Calypso’s island is cruelest of all: eternal comfort offered by a goddess who loves you. No taxes, no storms, no battles… all the creature comforts you desire, along with the slow death of purpose.

Odysseus skirts the edge of each one, fumbles and fails forward through these adventures, because he understands nostos: the hero’s long, dangerous return (usually by sea) and the restoration of his house and name. He has a noble call to restore of order—of a man, a marriage, a household, a kingdom. He is called to be a man, and to become a good man. Immortality and ease are distractions that could destroy him.

That’s why Athena backs him. Not because he’s perfect, but because he keeps choosing the hard loyalty—crew before comfort, home before glory, Penelope’s fidelity over Calypso’s golden cage. When he disguises himself as a beggar and walks into his own hall, he is doing more than setting a trap; he is measuring the rot. The suitors are the sewer rats of a kingdom without its king: hospitality twisted into theft, strength turned into swagger, men devouring the future of the house because no one will check them.

He draws the bow and restores order.

Odysseus isn’t just clever; he’s conditioned. He doesn’t invent brilliance on the spot, he trains his body to respond before panic hijacks him. The challenge is to rehearse micro-choices until they’re reflexive.

The Odysseus Challenge

When you face a decision, the worst thing you can do is drift. Indecision is a form of self-betrayal—it means you’re allowing fear, or the fantasy of the perfect outcome, to take control of your life. The world doesn’t wait for you to get it right; it punishes hesitation just as much as it punishes recklessness.

Odysseus knew this. Every island, every storm, every monstrous choice demanded that he act. He didn’t have the luxury of circling back endlessly. He made a decision, and then another, and then another.

Your challenge is this: when a decision confronts you, stop. Take two deliberate breaths. On the first, admit the temptation to postpone, to keep yourself “safe” in paralysis.

On the second, focus the question: Which option carries me closer to my highest aim, even if it is difficult? Then pick an option, and do it. You are training yourself to act and move, to break out of inaction.

Practice doing this for seven days. Write down what you will do, and read it every day.

Start with small matters: ordering a meal, choosing the next task, speaking a truth you’d rather avoid. That’s practice for the larger ordeals where the cost will be real, where quick decisions will be needed to create freedom and safety for others.

First: you’ll notice hesitation becoming more obvious. You’ll actually see the moments you normally stall—scrolling a little longer, re-reading an email three times, weighing trivialities until they feel heavy. The act of two breaths pulls that fog into focus.

Second: you’ll begin to experience a sharper sense of time. Decisions that once dragged into hours or days will collapse into minutes. You’ll discover that most choices don’t require perfect information. They just need enough information, and a dash of courage. That speed creates momentum, and momentum starts changing how others read you. They’ll sense confidence you’re willing to move.

Third: you’ll feel the weight of responsibility more directly. When you make quick decisions, you can’t hide behind “I didn’t know” or “I couldn’t choose.” That pressure can be uncomfortable, but it’s also energizing. You’ll also decide more quickly to stop what doesn’t work. You’ll decide to start faster what is good for you. You’ll build a steadier spine.

We do the best we can, and when we know better, we do better.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

See the Full Series

Most men go through life as if it all depends on them—grinding, striving, white-knuckling their way through stress, ambition, and pressure. But every now and then, a deeper question breaks through the noise:

What am I actually living from? Who is holding me up when I have nothing left?

For some men, this question comes during suffering. For others, it’s in success. For me, it came in stillness. One line of Scripture flipped everything:

“For in Him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28)

At first glance, it sounds poetic, even philosophical. But if you sit with it, it becomes a full-body confrontation.

This verse isn’t decoration—it’s dynamite. And if a man lets it, it will wreck his pride, demolish his illusions, and rebuild him stronger.

You are not self-made. You are held.

St. Paul spoke these words to Greek philosophers—brilliant men who’d built complex systems of thought, gods, and metaphysics. He didn’t condemn their questions. He honored their hunger. Then he redirected it.

“You’re reaching for transcendence,” he said. “Let me introduce you to Him.”

In a world where men are told to “build your brand,” “make your mark,” or “be your own god,” this verse flips the script. It tells the truth we’ve avoided:

You are not the source. You are not self-sustaining. You are not God.

But you are held. Continually. Intimately. Tenderly. Powerfully.

And that changes everything.

“Every day for the rest of your life, what you got to do is give up your life for your wife. The job of a man is to lay down his life for others.” —Fr. Larry Richards

The job of a man isn’t to be the source of strength. It’s to be a conduit. A channel. A servant. Your strength is borrowed. Your breath is grace.

The masculine myth of autonomy dies here

Most guys live like functional atheists—even if they go to Mass. We act like God’s up there watching while we hustle down here.

But Acts 17:28 disrupts that illusion. It drags God out of the clouds and into your bloodstream.

This verse forces a man to stop asking, “What can I do for God?” and start asking, “What is God doing in me right now?”

It demands trust. Surrender. Dependence.

And that’s terrifying.

Why? Because dependence feels like weakness. But in the kingdom of God, dependence is the gateway to power. Real power. Power not fueled by ego or performance—but by love.

Every moment is sacramental

Once this truth sinks in, your life starts to look different. Not just at church. In your living room. On your commute. In your job.

“You’re not doing life for God. You’re doing life in Him.”

Your morning coffee? Holy.

That argument with your spouse? Sacred space.

The workout that felt like a grind? Worship.

Why? Because you are never outside His presence. There is no such thing as “God-time” and “real-life time.” It’s all real. It’s all His. And it’s all held together by Him.

The question is whether you’ll become aware of it—or keep living numb.

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Practices for the man who wants to wake up

Awareness doesn’t just happen. It must be trained.

Here’s how:

1. Morning liturgy: Speak the verse aloud

“In You I live… and move… and have my being.”

Say it before your feet hit the floor. Say it before the phone grabs your brain.

Let that truth shape your day—not your to-do list.

2. Movement with meaning

Before a meeting, a workout, or a hard conversation—whisper:

“In You I move.”

Remind yourself: You are not walking into the moment alone.

3. Identity reset

When shame creeps in—when you feel like a failure, a fraud, or just tired—speak this:

“I have my being in You.”

You’re not valuable because of what you do. You’re valuable because of where you are—in Him.

4. The Being Walk (once a week)

Take 30 minutes. No phone. No podcast. Just walk.

With each step, say:

“In You I live.”
“In You I move.”
“In You I have my being.”

Let your body remember what your soul knows: You’re not earning your place. You’re receiving it.

Final challenge: Lay down the illusion, pick up the truth

You want to be strong? Grounded? Heroic?

Then start here: Stop pretending you’re self-made.

Let go of the myth that you’re in control. And step into the reality that you are deeply, eternally, unshakably held.

That truth will change how you father your kids. How you look at your spouse. How you carry yourself in a world on fire.

Because when a man stops trying to be his own source, he becomes unstoppable.

He becomes free.

He becomes a man in whom God lives, moves, and breathes.

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A Catholic ministry leader urges men to talk, act, and protect kids in an always-online world

In a third conversation on Men Answering the Heroic Call, Jim O’Day arrives with a message built for men who feel trapped: there is hope, and there are concrete steps.

O’Day, executive director of Integrity Restored, has spent the prior episodes mapping the scale and damage of pornography. This episode turns toward recovery: how men break the secrecy cycle, how parents protect kids, and how spiritual tools pair with practical guardrails.

“This flourishes in isolation,” O’Day says, framing pornography as a loop that feeds on secrecy, stress, and the sense that a man fights alone.

Bring the struggle into daylight

O’Day urges men to open the topic with a brother in a casual, low-pressure way—referencing the podcast itself as a natural entry point.

He describes the cultural fear around discussing pornography as misplaced, arguing the deeper engine is addiction mechanics and algorithm-driven attention capture—similar to social media and gambling loops.

The practical target: remove the belief that a man is alone.

He describes a common interior story men carry in church: everyone else appears holy, while the struggler feels like a fraud. O’Day says the antidote is brotherhood and honesty, because every man is fighting something.

Kids imitate what they see

One of the darkest areas discussed involves child-on-child sexual harm—kids exposed to explicit content and then acting it out through curiosity.

O’Day contrasts his own childhood exposure (print magazines) with today’s high-definition, high-violence pornography available through phones, tablets, and shared content inside friend groups.

The warning for parents: exposure shapes imagination, expectations, and behavior long before maturity exists to process it.

A script for asking other adults about porn protection

O’Day points to a public-service style scenario: a parent asks another parent about firearms in the home before a playdate, and receives a calm answer about secure storage.

He argues pornography is a bigger exposure risk for many kids—yet parents rarely ask the parallel question: what safeguards exist on devices, Wi-Fi, consoles, and tablets?

He frames it as a plain, protective question, similar to any other safety check.

Gaming systems are internet devices

A major theme in the episode: modern gaming systems function as always-online internet machines. They allow chat, browsing, uploads, and exposure through user-generated content and contact with strangers.

O’Day says many parents still think of consoles like older cartridge systems—sealed and offline. That assumption, he argues, leaves a gap big enough for explicit content and predatory contact.

His proposed fix: aggressive parental controls on consoles and devices, plus learning the settings through tutorials and guides.

AI raises the stakes

O’Day describes a family contacting him after their teenage son became involved in an online sexual relationship with what he believed was a teenage girl. He later discovered the persona was AI-generated, and extortion followed: demands for money paired with threats to release recordings.

He also warns against posting children’s faces online, describing how images can be copied into explicit avatar content for predators.

His message to adults: new technology can be used to protect families, yet criminals also use it to exploit children.

Using tech to guard against tech

When the hosts bring up Covenant Eyes and similar tools, O’Day endorses filtering plus accountability reporting as a practical layer of protection.

He highlights a common dashboard approach: green/yellow/red summaries of browsing patterns, prompting follow-up conversations rather than vague suspicion.

He emphasizes urgency: a red report triggers an immediate talk to understand what drove the behavior, rather than only punishment.

The BLASTED triggers: Six feelings that drive the loop

O’Day names a core framework he uses with families: BLASTED—bored, lonely, anxious, stressed, tired, depressed.

He calls these common triggers for pornography use across ages. The challenge, he says, is that these emotions are ordinary human states, so a plan is needed for healthy response.

His tactical tool: 15 minutes of active distraction—stand up, change location, move the body, pray, walk, push-ups, a rosary, a different task. The goal is to outlast the wave of craving until the brain returns to clearer thinking.

Scripture as redirection

When the conversation turns spiritual, O’Day argues prayer alone rarely resolves entrenched patterns without cooperation through habits, accountability, and healing practices.

Scripture, he says, can redirect attention toward mercy, hope, healing—and toward relationships larger than the self. He frames pornography as a short dopamine burst compared with deeper intimacy: with God, a spouse, children, friends, and community.

He reads from the Letter of James and closes with prayer language invoking Mary, Joseph, and Michael as spiritual allies in the fight.

A practice that flips the impulse

O’Day shares an early struggle: he would be on fire for the faith, then become distracted by lust immediately.

A spiritual director offered him a reframing: seeing beauty is part of human design; the problem lies in what the mind does next.

O’Day describes a practice he adopted: the moment he recognizes beauty, he prays for the woman—asking God to bless her and meet her needs. He says that act drains lust from the moment and turns it into intercession.

Final challenge to men: Find a brother, speak, seek help

O’Day ends with a direct call: faithful men still face this struggle. Shame keeps men stuck. He urges choosing a trusted brother, speaking openly, and seeking help through priests, counselors, recovery groups, and Integrity Restored connections.

He frames healing as possible—toward flourishing relationships with God, family, and brothers.

Imagine this Polish boy, ten years old, staring into a vision. A vision that would hang over his whole life like a quiet countdown. He says the Virgin Mary appears to him, holding two crowns. One white, one red. The white means purity. The red means martyrdom. And she asks him which he chooses. He says, “Both.”

And that’s not just the whim of a boy who doesn’t know better. At ten years old, that was already Maximilian Kolbe’s way of living. Saying yes to the hard path.

Kolbe grows up in a Poland under intense pressure. His father is executed fighting for independence in the Polish Legions. He joins the Franciscans, becomes a priest, and builds a publishing house so massive they call it the “City of the Immaculata.” He prints staggering numbers of magazine, starts a radio station, and even launches missions overseas. He’s relentless.

He’s training his mind, his brothers, his people. He’s shaping habits of courage, discipline, and devotion. He’s not playing small. He’s saying: if you’ve got a calling, live it with your whole life.

And then the Nazis march in. 1939. The world goes black and red. The cleansing machine of gas camps gets underway, fed by overloaded trains that squeal through the days and nights of local villages. Most people close their windows and keep their heads down.

Kolbe doesn’t. He shelters Jews, feeds refugees, even running a temporary hospital right up until he’s arrested, beaten, and thrown into Auschwitz. Stripped of his name, he is branded 16670. He’s starving, whipped, made to haul stone until his body can’t handle it any more.

But he doesn’t stop being a priest. After hours, he celebrates Mass, hears confessions, whispers prayers with condemned men. When others collapse into despair, he becomes a shepherd of hope in hell.

That’s not just good genes. That’s a habit. That’s twenty years of training in prayer, purity, and sacrifice. His early yes to Mary’s crowns shows up here: when life narrows to nothing, he already knows how to live, because he practice.

Then a prisoner escapes. The commandant lines up the men, commands a brutal, routine punishment to deter future escapeees. Ten men must will die in the starvation bunker.

One man, Franciszek Gajowniczek, begs for mercy, for the sake of his wife and children. Kolbe steps forward. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t grandstand. He just volunteers: “I am a Catholic priest. Let me take his place.”

The boy who chose both crowns became the man who chose another man’s death.

In the bunker, they sit in the stinking dark for two weeks with no food, no water, no relief. Kolbe keeps his head, leads prayers, starts hymns. He turns a starvation cell into a chapel.

When the guards finally enter, everyone has keeled over, dead. He’s still the last one alive. And he’s calm. They kill him with a syringe of carbolic acid. He dies August 14th, 1941, the eve of Mary’s Assumption.

Kolbe didn’t just decide one day to be heroic. He trained himself. Trained to die to himself, to surrender his comfort, to let his devotion shape him. When the impossible moment came, it wasn’t impossible anymore. He was ready.

The Kolbe Challenge

Practice sacrifice in the small things, so when the great moment comes, you’re ready.

Here’s how: every day this week, give something up for someone else—your time, your comfort, your food, your ego. Don’t wait to be asked. Offer it. Volunteer. And don’t ask for any acknowledgement or praise.

Journal what you did every day. It’s important to keep it fresh in your mind and your attention. Pray to St Maximilian to inspire your attention, and help you to do it well.

You’re preparing for the day when somebody else cries out in need, and you’re the one who needs to step forward.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

See the full series

So here’s what happened…

During Lent, I went to our parish for confession like many of you. It was a reconciliation event that featured 7 visiting priests as well as our pastor. Typically, I find the shortest line and wait my turn. I have grown to love the sacrament, and I do my best to examine my conscience and come to encounter God’s mercy.

When the door opened, I went into the small meeting room, met “Father John” for the first time, and proceeded to share my sins and remorse. After a brief pause, Father John asked if I’d be open to hearing what he sensed God was asking of me?

“Yes”. (what other response is there?).

He shared that the Holy Spirit was prompting him to challenge me to forgive people who were and are now in my life. He then led me to pray “Lord, show me those you are calling me to forgive”.

For my penance, he assigned me to listen to two podcasts that taught a strong process of lasting forgiveness (“Restore the Glory” episodes 67-68) once I discerned my list of those I needed to forgive.

All this surprised me. But it shouldn’t have. We need to seek forgiveness and are called to forgive others. The two go hand in hand.

Why we even started talking about this

Earlier this month, my “Men Answering the Heroic Call” podcast co-host Tom Hornacek and I felt strongly that we needed to devote an episode to talk candidly about the sacrament of reconciliation.

Research shows that nearly half of catholic men doubt and avoid this critical, grace-filled sacrament. So, here are two points about confession to affirm your practice to experience it, or challenge you to return to the confessional for the first time in long time.

1. Forgiveness isn’t a feeling, it’s a decision

First, forgiveness of others is not a mere feeling or passive acceptance of wrongdoing. It is an act of the will, rooted in grace, by which a person chooses to release resentment we feel and entrust justice to God.

It reflects the very nature of God Himself, who is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Psalm 103:8). When Catholics speak of forgiveness, we speak about participation in divine mercy l a conscious decision to love even if our emotions say otherwise.

2. Let’s be clear: this is what forgiveness is NOT

Second, it is important to clarify what forgiveness is not.

Forgiveness is not the denial of harm or pretending that evil did not occur. It does not mean excusing sin, abandoning justice, or allowing continued abuse. Tom made these points strongly on our podcast.

The Church never teaches that wrongdoing is acceptable; in fact, sin is taken with utmost seriousness. Nor does forgiveness always require reconciliation, which depends on repentance and trust.

One may forgive another internally, before God, even if a relationship cannot be restored. Forgiveness is also not a feeling that must come naturally; often, it is a difficult and repeated choice made in obedience to Christ.

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Why forgiveness matters more than we think

Ever wonder why forgiveness matter so much to God? Because it is inseparable from love, and God is love.

In In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus teaches us to say, “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” This is not poetic symmetry; it is a spiritual law.

To receive mercy, we must be open to giving it. God desires to heal the human heart, but unforgiveness hardens it, creating a barrier to grace.

When we cling to resentment, we place ourselves outside the flow of divine mercy. Forgiveness restores that flow, freeing both the offender and the offended in different ways.

Why this hits men differently

Is it harder for me? I think so.

We guys are formed and to value strength, justice, and self-reliance. While these are not inherently wrong, they can make forgiveness feel like weakness.

To forgive may seem like surrendering control or diminishing the seriousness of the offense. Men may also struggle to articulate or even acknowledge emotional wounds, and that will make the process of forgiveness harder.

Men also desire justice. We often like to exact our own justice, swiftly,

It’s easy to say but true, lasting forgiveness is not weakness but courage. It requires humility, honesty, and faith. It asks a man to confront his wounds, relinquish his desire to do “unto another” and trust in God’s justice and mercy.

Doing this, at least trying to, gets us closer to being the man God created us to be.

A question worth asking yourself

I realize here is so much more that can be said here about our makeup as men and the sacrament of reconciliation.

I am inspired today because I was given a holy wake-up call at my recent confession, and I don’t think it was meant for me alone. It was personal to me, of course.

Yet, are you open to asking God if there is anyone in your past or present whom you need to forgive? Does God want to take the weight of that off your shoulders?

If you’re like me, it will stretch you to lean into God and choose to forgive. As with anything God calls us to, He won’t ask you to this alone and the fruits of the spirit await you.

Peace, DP

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Pornography is now one of the fastest-growing addictions in the world, and the average age of exposure in the United States is between eight and 10 years old.

That statistic alone, says Jim O’Day, should stop parents in their tracks.

“We’re raising up generations,” says O’Day, executive director of the Catholic ministry Integrity Restored. “Used to be able to say guys. Can’t do that anymore. Women are just as at risk.”

O’Day returned for a second conversation on Men Answering the Heroic Call to move beyond personal testimony and into what he calls the “three pillars” of understanding pornography: science, spirituality and relationships.

We get a portrait of a crisis that stretches from smartphones in elementary school backpacks to confessional lines on Saturday afternoons.

A childhood shaped by porn exposure

Tom Hornacek cites a study estimating that 90% of children between eight and 16 have seen pornography.

“Absolutely correct,” O’Day responds.

The problem extends beyond passive exposure. He references research from the United Kingdom showing that girls between 12 and 14 are asked for nude images, on average, ten times per night.

“These poor young girls eventually give in because that’s where they see their value,” he says. “Their value is only in their body parts. And how sad is that?”

He recounts speaking with a young woman who described trying to imitate what she saw online in hopes of being loved.

“I spent the last five years being a really pathetic porn star,” she told him.

O’Day’s reaction: “Any man who hears that, we should be infuriated.”

87% of Christian Men: A crisis inside the Church

A recent study by the Barna Group found that 87% of Christian men who attend church reported viewing pornography within the previous week.

“These are our brothers,” O’Day says. “Our guys who get it, who want to live the faith.”

The ministry he leads trains priests through its Three Pillars to Purity program and offers resources for spouses suffering betrayal trauma. It also provides free educational materials online.

“If you yourself are not struggling today,” O’Day says, “you absolutely know and love someone who is.”

Bigger Than the NFL

The pornography industry generates more annual revenue than the NFL, NBA, Major League Baseball and the NHL combined, O’Day says.

“What’s scary,” he adds, “they dwarf them with only 10% of paid content. Ninety percent of what they give away is free.”

The strategy is simple: hook users early, then monetize escalation later. When states attempt to implement age-verification systems, many major sites block access entirely rather than comply.

“They know the younger they get these kids, the more likely they’re a paid customer in the future,” O’Day says.

The Brain on Porn

From a neurological perspective, O’Day explains, pornography floods the brain with dopamine at levels far exceeding everyday experiences like friendship or exercise.

“The brain says, ‘Whoa, too much dopamine. I gotta turn off some of these receptors,’” he explains.

As receptors diminish, users require more time or more extreme content to achieve the same effect. The brain’s search for novelty drives escalation.

“Enough is a never enough,” he says.

He describes cases of men who had lived heterosexual lives but later found themselves seeking increasingly novel material.

“We have to protect our brains,” he says.

Isolation as Lifestyle

O’Day points to trends in Japan, where declining marriage and birth rates have alarmed government officials. Some young men, he says, opt for isolation: work, alcohol, pornography, video games.

“That is more convenient,” he says. “They are totally isolating themselves against relationships, against hurt, against feeling.”

The pattern mirrors broader Western trends of loneliness and digital immersion.

Do Men Take Sin Seriously?

Hornacek references commentary suggesting pornography is now the most frequently confessed sin.

O’Day argues that many men have lost clarity about sin itself.

A previous Barna survey asked respondents which was the greater sin: not recycling or watching pornography. Nearly 90% chose not recycling.

“We have allowed the world, society, culture to infiltrate our faith,” he says.

He urges clergy to address the issue directly from the pulpit and in pastoral counseling.

“It’s a scary topic,” he acknowledges. “People are going to be uncomfortable. But when God put me in uncomfortable places, that’s when I grew.”

Guardrails and First Steps

Thirteen states currently have some form of age-verification laws, O’Day says, though enforcement remains uneven.

He advocates for parental vigilance, policy engagement and accountability tools for families.

“Be uncomfortable and let’s grow,” he says. “Let’s protect our families. Let’s protect our marriages. Let’s protect our brothers.”

For O’Day, the crisis is cultural, neurological and spiritual at once.

And for Catholic men, he believes the response must be equally comprehensive.

“This challenge is hitting everybody,” he says.